"Hear! O Bhikkhus! the Noble Truth of the Pathway which leads to the cessation of suffering. Right Belief, Right Aspirations, Right Speech, Right Conduct, Right Means of Livelihood, Right Exertion, Right-mindedness, Right Meditation." In these few words lies the whole teaching of Buddhism. To king and beggar alike, the world is evil; there is but one road to freedom, and that must be trodden alike by all. In that road none is before or after others. Now to the poor, to the oppressed, there is balm in this thought. Lazarus does not yearn for Abraham's bosom! Before all lies forgetfulness, peace, personal annihilation. This, then, was the teaching which Gâutama Buddha, the son of a king, gave as a gift to his world; and his world, wearied yet once more with formalism, with the ever-growing terrorism of caste and creed, welcomed it with open arms. The progress of the Buddhistic faith was fairly astounding, and half India was converted in the twinkling of an eye. Of the life led by the founder himself much has been written. Many of the incidents bear a strange resemblance to those in the life of Christ. Perhaps none is more beautiful than the story of the woman who applied to Gâutama, begging him to restore her dead child to life. As given in Sir Edwin Arnold's _Light of Asia_, it runs so:-- "Whom, when they came unto the river side, A woman--dove-eyed, young, with tearful face And lifted hands saluted, bending low: 'Lord! thou art he,' she said, 'who yesterday Had pity on me ... * * * * * when I came Trembling to thee whose brow is like a god's. And wept, and drew the face-cloth from my babe, Praying thee tell what simples might be good.' ... 'Yea! little sister, there is that might heal Thee first and him, if thou couldst fetch the thing. Black mustard-seed a tola; only mark Thou take it not from any hand or house Where father, mother, child or slave hath died.' 'Thus didst thou speak, my Lord. ... I went, Lord, clasping to my breast The babe grown colder, asking at each hut: "I pray you, give me mustard, of your grace A tola, black," and each who had it gave. But when I asked: "In my friend's household here Hath any, peradventure, ever died? Husband or wife or child or slave?" they said: "Oh, Sister! what is this you ask? The dead Are very many, and the living few." ... Ah sir! I could not find a single house Where there was mustard seed, and none had died.' * * * * * "'My sister! thou hast found,' the Master said, 'Searching for what none finds that better balm I had to give thee.... Lo! I would pour my blood if it could stay Thy tears, and win the secret of that curse Which makes sweet love our anguish ... I seek that secret: bury thou thy child.'"