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nothing finds place, which is not rare, attractive and uncommon, or to a city-park in which nothing is visible which is of natural, spontaneous growth but which is all parterres, lawns, trimmed hedges, puzzling mazes, and creepers, clinging to well-pruned branches or hanging from them as so many wreaths and festoons—such as evidence the studious care and the skilful ingenuity of a diligent and tasteful horticulturist. Just as a spectator gives his admiration freely to equestrian performances in a circus or to acrobatic feats at giddy heights—though he him. self does not care or wish to do the like-even so does the reader of Bhattu Murthi rejoice and applaud, as he passes along the array of that poet's countless devices, issuing out of his ceaseless invention. With him, the one wish, above all, appears to have been to elaborate almost every verse into a thing of high art as to liquid flow of metre, and embody in it an imagery—a thing of high art no less. In a word, his muse spoke in music, loved in music, laughed in music, wept in music and did nothing but in music. What wonder then that aspirants to poetic fame, after him, were smitten with a passion to view his most widely-read work, Vasu Charitra, as a model and to have worked on the notion that their best passport to-esteem and to popularity was to take the cue from him and counterfeit his manner as best they might. That the epithet " పిల్ల వసుచరిత్ర" or " miniature
