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 was time to go home. So they called to their daughters and called again, but no one answered them.

Frightened at the silence, they searched every corner of the garden, the house, and the neighbouring wood, but no trace of the girls was to be found anywhere. The earth seemed to have swallowed them up. The poor parents were in despair. The queen wept all the way home, and for many days after, and the king issued a proclamation that whoever should bring back his lost daughters should have one of them to wife, and should, after his death, reign in his stead.

Now two young generals were at that time living at the court, and when they heard the king’s declaration, they said one to the other: ‘Let us go in search of them; perhaps we shall be the lucky persons.’

And they set out, each mounted on a strong horse, taking with them a change of raiment and some money.

But though they inquired at every village they rode through, they could hear nothing of the princesses, and by-and-by their money was all spent, and they were forced to sell their horses, or give up the search. Even this money only lasted a little while longer, and nothing but their clothes lay between them and starvation. They sold the spare garments that were bound on their saddles, and went in the coats they stood up in to the inn, to beg for some food, as they were really starving. When, however, they had to pay for what they had eaten and drank, they said to the host: ‘We have no money, and naught but the clothes we stand up in. Take these, and give us instead some old rags, and let us stay here and serve you.’ And the innkeeper was content with the bargain, and the generals remained, and were his servants.

All this time the king and queen remained in their palace hungering for their children, but not a word was heard of either of them or of the generals who had gone to seek for them.

Now there was living in the palace a faithful servant

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Hawaii v. Standard Oil Co./Dissent Douglas

MR. JUSTICE DOUGLAS, dissenting.

Today's decision reflects a miserly approach to the fashioning of federal remedies rectifying injuries to the collective interests of the citizens of a State through [p267] action by the State itself. It is reminiscent of the ill-starred decision in Ohio v. Wyandotte Chemicals Corp., 401 U.S. 493.

Hawaii, in her fourth amended complaint, sues for damages and injunctive relief as parens patriae by virtue of her "duty to protect the general welfare of the State and its citizens." She alleges that the alleged conspiracy among the respondent oil companies has "injured and adversely affected the economy and prosperity" of Hawaii as follows: "(a) revenues of its citizens have been wrongfully extracted from the State of Hawaii;

"(b) taxes affecting the citizens and commercial entities have been increased to affect such losses of revenues and income;

"(c) opportunity in manufacturing, shipping and commerce have been restricted and curtailed;

"(d) the full and complete utilization of the natural wealth of the State has been prevented;

"(e) the high cost of manufacture in Hawaii has precluded goods made there from equal competitive access with those of other States to the national market;

"(f) measures taken by the State to promote the general progress and welfare of its people have been frustrated; [p268]

"(g) the Hawaii economy has been held in a state of arrested development.

I see no way of distinguishing the instant case from Georgia v. Pennsylvania R. Co., 324 U.S. 439. The Georgia case held that a State may sue as parens patriae under the antitrust laws for injury to the economy of the State resulting from a conspiracy to restrain trade and commerce through the fixing of railroad rates. Id., at 446. As we said: "'Georgia as a representative of the public is complaining of a wrong which, if proven, limits the opportunities of her people, shackles her industries, retards her development, and relegates her to an inferior economic position among her sister States. These are matters of grave public concern in which Georgia has an interest apart from that of particular individuals who may be affected.' Id., at 451."

So-called "growth," "progress," and "development" are more than symbols of power in modern society; they represent the goal which planners—private and public alike—establish and seek to attain. And the State plays an important, at times crucial, role in achieving that goal. If Hawaii can sustain her allegations by proof, [p269] she establishes injury both as respects her tourism and her industry, her "growth" and her "development."

The Court of Appeals was "skeptical of the existence of an independent harm to the general economy." 431 F. 2d 1282, 1285. But as Alabama states in her brief amicus: "'Economists have developed models for measuring the effects upon local economies from infusions or extractions of given sums of money from those economies. In short, a state's economy is susceptible of articulation and measurement.'"

Hawaii is the magnet of tourism and of industry as well. She measures the health of her economy by her economic growth. No one citizen can stand in her shoes in those respects, for she represents the collective. Those interests should be held to be the State's "business or property" interests, within the meaning of the Clayton Act, and not merely the plants, factories, or hotels which she may own as a proprietor. We held as much in the Georgia case. It is indisputable that if Hawaii does prove damages, Georgia authorizes recovery. For as MR. JUSTICE BRENNAN points out, Georgia was denied damages only because of a technicality irrelevant to the present case.

Injury to the collective will commonly include injury to members of the collective. In that event, damages recovered by Hawaii could not later be recovered by individual entrepreneurs. It might, of course, be shown that the individual's loss for the period in question was distinct from any impact on the collective. Thus, if [p270] Hawaii failed to prove that the alleged conspiracy damaged her economy, a single entrepreneur might still be able to prove that it drove him to the wall. The difficulties advanced in this regard are more imaginary than real. They are doubtless rationales that express a prejudice against liberal construction of the antitrust laws. Since a collective damage is alleged, I would allow the case to go to trial, saving to Congress the question whether § 4 of the Clayton Act should be restricted to a State's proprietary interests.

I would adhere to the Georgia case and allow Hawaii a chance to prove her charges and to establish the actuality of damages or the need for equitable relief.

I would reverse the judgment and remand the case for trial.

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


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Rh three years. Perceiving the difficulties of his case, and feeling compassion for the poor women, who were by far the best of our scholars, 1 had no desire that he should be in a hurry to make a full profession by baptism, and put away all his* wives but one. His principal wife, too, was the most unlikely person in the tribe to partake his views. I have seen him again and again send her out of church to put on her gown, and she walked away with her lips shot out, the very picture of unutterable disgust at his new-fangled notions.

When he at last applied for baptism, I asked him how, being acquainted with the Bible, he thought he ought to act. He went home, and gave each of his supernumerary wives new clothing, together with all the goods they had been accustomed to keep in their huts for him. He then sent them to their parents with an intimation that he had no fault to find with them, but that he wished to follow the will of God. When he and his children were baptized, great numbers came to see the ceremony. Some thought, from a stupid story which had been circulated by the enemies to Christianity in the south, that the converts would be made to drink an infusion of "dead men's brains," and were astonished to find that only water was used. Seeing several old men in tears during the service, I afterwards asked them the cause of their weeping. They were crying to see their father, as the Scotch remark of a case of suicide, "so far left to himself." They seemed to think that 1 had thrown the glamour over him and that he had become mine. All the friends of the divorced wives now became the opponents of our religion. The attendance at school and church dwindled down to very few besides the family of the chief. They all continued to treat us with respectful kindness, but to Sechele himself they uttered things which, had they ventured on in former times, would, as he often remarked, have cost them their lives.

I pass from the chief to give a rapid sketch of our dealing with his people, the Bakuena, or Bakwains. When first we went to reside at Chonuane about ''5l. '' worth of goods were given for a small piece of land sufficient for a garden. This purchase seemed strange to a tribe with whom the idea of buying land was entirely new; but we explained to them that we wished to avoid any cause of future dispute when ground had


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Portal:Social work

Works

 * This Side the Trenches (1917), by Karl de Schweinitz
 * The Art of Helping People Out of Trouble (1924), by Karl de Schweinitz

Laws

 * Social Workers Registration Ordinance (Amendment of Schedule 2) Notice 2022 (2022), Hong Kong

title: Portal:Social work


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StatisticsStyle of performanceEnglish, French, Italian, GermanBöhm's opinionForeign players of note.

is interesting to note the comparative numbers of flute-players produced by the various civilized countries. Out of a fairly complete list of 486 flautists of all times I find of German or Austrian birth, 201; French, 85; English, 54; Italian, 46; Dutch, 21; Belgian, 14; Hungarian and American, 12 each; Danish, 11; Bohemian, 8; Russian, 6; Spanish and Swiss, 4 each; Polish, 3; Swedish and South American, 2 each; Greek, 1. The predominance of those of German origin is very remarkable.

Flute-playing seems very frequently to run in families. Thus I find one instance of a father, son, and grandson; in three cases, a father and two sons; about twenty cases of a father and son; five cases of two brothers; and one of an uncle and nephew. I also find four players of the name Köhler and four Mullers, three Petersens, Wunderlichs, Gabrielskys and Fahrbachs, and two each of the following names: Günther, Heindl, Balleron, Bauer, Kuhlau, Maquarre, Voigt,


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Rh become more valuable. They readily acquiesced, and agreed that a similar piece should be allotted to any other missionary, at any other place to which the tribe might remove.

In our relations with this people w-e exercised no authority whatever. Our control depended entirely on persuasion ; and, having taught them by kind conversation as well as by public instruction, I expected them to do what their own sense of right and wrong dictated. Five instances are known to me in which by our influence on public opinion w^ar was prevented ; and where, in individual cases, we failed to do good, the people at least behaved no worse than before. In general they were slow, like all the African people, in coming to a decision on religious subjects; but in questions affecting their worldly affairs they were keenly alive to their own interests. They were stupid in matters which had not come within the sphere of their observation, but in other things they showed more intelligence than our own uneducated peasantry. They are knowing in cattle, sheep, and goats, and can tell exactly the kind of pasturage suited to each. They distinguish with equal judgment the varieties of soil which are best suited to different kinds of grain. They are familiar with the habits of wild animals, and are well up in the maxims which embody their ideas of political wisdom.

During the first year of our residence at Chonuane we were visited by one of those droughts which occur from time to time in even the most favoured districts of Africa. The belief in the power of rain-makinɡ is one of the most deeply- rooted articles of faith in this country. The chief Sechele Avas himself a noted rain-doctor, and he often assured me that he found it more difficult to give up this superstition than anything else which Christianity required him to abjure. I pointed out to him that the only way to water the gardens was to select some never-failing river, make a canal, and inigate the adjacent lands. The whole tribe moved accordingly to the Kolobeng, a stream about forty miles distant. The Bakwains made the canal and dam in exchange for my labour in assisting to build a square house for their chief. They also erected their school under my superintendence. Our house at the river Kolobeng, which gave a name to the settlement, was the third I had reared with my own hands.


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 and Sauvlet, whose relationship to each other I do not know.

As regards style of performance, there is a considerable difference between the various nationalities. The English school (founded by Charles Nicholson) differs from that of most continental Style of players chiefly in its vigour and robustness of tone, especially on the lower notes. In the hands of unskilful players of this type there is a certain tendency to coarseness of tone, and a lack of refinement and delicacy of expression. The English players have also introduced much greater variety of articulation. The French and Belgian flautists aim chiefly at producing silvery purity and sweetness of tone rather than volumequality rather than quantity. Their tone almost invariably sounds weak to British earsBerbiguier himself termed them "joueurs de flageolet." They often seem to lack fire and dash; they are too tame. On the other hand, the foreign style is marked by refinement and delicacy of taste, and the phrasing is often exquisite. Moreover, they seem somehow more sympathetic in their playing. In pianissimo passages the result is often perfect; they will make a shake on the highest notes die away into nothing; but in fortissimo passages they seem, as a rule, afraid to bring out the full power of the instrument, especially on the lower register. The Italian players, whilst bold, full, firm in tone, and skilled in florid execution, are generally somewhat lacking in polish and delicacy, and often defective in tune. Mendelssohn in 1830, writing


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 from Rome, says:"I heard a solo on the flute where the flute was more than a quarter of a tone too high; it set my teeth on edge, but no one remarked it, and when at the end a shake came they applauded mechanically." The Germans approach more nearly to the English style, but are too fond of technicalities.

Böhm has some interesting remarks on the various players of his day"As to your question about German flute-players, I am sorry to say there is not one like Dorus or De Vroÿe, if I speak of perfection in every respect." He speaks of some of his German pupils as being very good orchestral players; "and I think about as good solo players as your London players, with the exception of Mr. Pratten, whom I like very much As to fine taste, I consider Dorus and De Vroÿe as first; as to tone, Ott, Krüger, and several others are superior. When De Vroÿe had played here many said to me, 'De Vroÿe is a very fine artist; but if we remember your tone and playing, he seems little and weak in comparison.' As to playing in a grand style, I never heard anything like Nicholson and Tulou. They play now [1866] much more, but less in quality." Again in 1871 he says:"De Vroÿe is a first-rate artist, but his tone is too small for London, where Nicholson is still remembered. I did as well as any continental flautist in London in 1831, but I could not match Nicholson in power of tone, wherefore I set to work to remodel my flute. Had I not heard him, probably the Böhm flute would never have been made All Nicholson's immediate


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 successors had, more or less, a powerful tone, but they made a trumpet of the flute. [This reminds one of Mrs. Browning's line, 'I am no trumpet, but a reed.'] Their tone was loud enough, but loudness alone is not what is wanted for singing."

Other famous exponents of the French style were Altes, Taffanel, and more recently Krantz, who is renowned for the softness and "flutey" character of his tone and his observance of light and shade. Amongst present-day exponents of the German school the most prominent are Prill; Tillmetz, a pupil of Böhm, who in 1882 performed in Parsival at Bayreuth under Wagner himself, and is noted for his technique; and Büchner; whilst among the ItaliansNegri, Rabboni, Boucher, Ciardi, and Briccialdi had an able successor in Ernesto Köhler, a native of Modena, who settled in St. Petersburg, and whose brilliant execution and fine tone were considered second to none in all Europe. He died in 1907.


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SuitabilityFemale players in classic timesMore recent flautistesEnglish flautistes of to-dayAmerican flautistesFemale composers for the flute.

flute is the only wind instrument which has to any appreciable extent been adopted by women. Still, in modern times at any rate, flute-playing has never found many votaries amongst women, and none have ever attained the very first rank as performers. The mere man might attribute this to the fact that one cannot flute and talk at the same time, or possibly it may be, as a fair flautiste is recently reported to have said, because kissing is fatal to flute-playing: in such a contest it is, of course, the flute that goes under. In early Victorian times it was considered most unlady-like and vulgar. Yet the instrument is extremely well suited for ladies. The attitude when playing is graceful and healthy, affording ample opportunity for the display of a beautiful arm; it is a gentle instrument, requiring but little physical exertion. Moreover, women possess more delicacy of touch and deftness of finger than men, and their lips are softer and more flexible.


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 Among the ancients female flute-players were numerous. One of Alexander's generals wrote that he had captured 329 ladies of the Persian monarch's harem, who were skilled in flute-playing; the biographies of no fewer than 535 fair fautistes are said to have been destroyed in the burning of the Alexandrian Library at Athens. The most celebrated of the ancient flautistes was a very beautiful Egyptian named Lamia, who lived at Athens. She was taken prisoner on the occasion of a battle between Ptolemy Soter (whose mistress she was) and Demetrius Poliorcetes, c. 312 ; whereupon Demetrius conceived so violent a passion for her that, at her instigation, he conferred extraordinary benefits on the Athenians, who in consequence dedicated a temple to her as "Venus Lamia." Her portrait is preserved on an amethyst in the Bibliotheque Nationale in Paris. A sister of the Empress Theodora frequently performed in public. Athenæus mentions one Harmonia as a great female flautiste, and Diodorus Siculus says that Minerva with her flute was present at her wedding in Samothrace. Plutarch mentions Nanno, a beautiful girl flautiste of the sixth century, in whose honour Mimnermus, himself a flautist, composed an elegaic poem.

For many centuries we find no particulars of any female performers on the flute, but doubtless there were many such. The flute-player in the engraving in Spenser's Shepherd's Calender, 1579, is a lady (see p. 33, ante). There is a picture by Philip Mercier


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 (1743) of a concert with a lady playing a flute. Sarah Schofield played the flute in Gorton Chapel, Manchester, in 1775. A flute was presented by an admirer to the famous Susanna Kennedy, Countess of Eglinton, in the days of George III. On attempting to blow it she found it obstructed by a copy of verses, expressing the donor's envy of the lucky pipe which was to be pressed to her lips! A sister of the Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, about 1780, played a flute made by Quantz, and took lessons from Dulon. In 1825-26 a little girl of twelve, named Cann, of Hereford, created quite a sensation in England by her performances at the Hereford and Gloucester Festivals, and the Quarterly Musical Magazine (8,268) says that her tone was clear and sound, her execution rapid and neat. On these occasions she played Drouet's "God Save the King," "Rule Britannia," and Tulou's French air with variations. She died in Paris in her twentieth year. An Italian lady player of note, Signora Maria Bianchini, was a pupil of Briccialdi. A Danish flautiste, Miss Julie Petersen, of Copenhagen, performed in her own country with great success in 1894. She subsequently visited New York, and in 1898 gave flute recitals in London, where I had the pleasure of hearing her. During her stay there she had the honour of appearing before Queen Alexandra (then Princess of Wales) at Marlborough House, and was specially chosen for musical honours by the King of Denmark.

Two English flautistes. Miss Greenhead and Miss


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 Paggi, obtained considerable reputation, but probably the most famous of all English lady flute-players is Miss Cora Cordigan (Mrs. L. Honig), whose charming tone and brilliant execution has earned for her the title "The Queen of Flute-players." Mrs. Honig plays also the piccolo and the violin. Several other British lady flautistes of the present day deserve brief mention. Miss Erroll Stanhope (a daughter of Mr. Collard, the well-known professor of the flute), Miss Mary Woolhouse, Miss Nellie Flood-Porter, Miss N. Crump, Miss E. Penville (who has given recitals in London), Miss Elgar (sister of Mr. Eli Hudson, whose recent performances both on the flute and piccolo at the London Colisseum have attracted much attention), and Miss Elsie Wildwho originally took up the flute out of bravado, because her young brother, who played it a little, said "No girl could play it properly." Miss Wild was the first lady to play a wind instrument in the orchestra of the Royal College of Music, then under the conductorship of Sir Charles Villiers Stanford. On her first appearance in the orchestra she was so terrified that she wished there was no such instrument in the world as the flute.

America has produced at least two lady flautistes of noteMiss May Lyle Smith of New York (b. 1873), who never visited England; and Miss Marguerite de Forest Andersen, a native of Maryland. The last-named lady appeared in London in 1905 and gave a recital in the Queen's


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 Hall, for which Mde. Chaminade specially orchestrated her fine flute concerto.

Female composers for the flute are by no means numerous; Miss E. A. Chamberlayne, whose Scherzo Ariel for strings, harp and flute was played at the Crystal Palace in 1895, Miss Dora Bright, Miss G. Rockstro, Mrs. Honig, who has written for the piccolo, Madames Chaminade and De Grandval; and quite recently, Miss Katherine Eggarthese practically exhaust the list.


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Early notices and playersLater players of foreign originErnstIntroduction of the Böhm fluteNative American playersKyleLemmone.

flute has always been quite a popular instrument in the United States of America, and The American Musical Journal of 1834 mentions that the amateurs of the flute in New York were numerous, and that many had attained considerable proficiency. In the eighteenth century the churches in Boston usually supplied the place of an organ by a flute, bassoon, and violoncello. The names of some of the early performers have been preserved. The Pennsylvania Gazette of 1749 contains an advertisement of "John Beals, music-master from London in his house Fourth Street, near Chestnut Street," as a teacher of both the German flute and common flute (i.e., Recorder), and specially mentions that he will attend young ladies at their houses: possibly the fair dames of Boston favoured the flute. In Philadelphia, James Bremner taught the German flute in 1763; and Ernest Barnard, George D'Eissenberg, and John Stadler played it in the principal concerts in that


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 city at this period. Flutes were imported from Europe into New York by Peter Goelet (1773) and John Jacob Astor (1789), who lived in 81 Queen Street. In 1821, John R. Parker of Boston announced that he had a choice collection of fashionable music for the flute, and in 1823 Meline played the flute obligato to Bishop's Echo Song in that city, Mrs. Holman being the vocalist. In New York Italian Opera in 1825 the flute desks were occupied by Blondeau and P. Taylor, whilst Flotter (appropriate name!) was flute in the Park Theatre in that city in 1832. In 1839, Downe played Böhm's Introduction, Air, and Variations at the New York Euterpian Society's Concert in the City Hall, and there were on that occasion four flutes in the orchestra, whilst the oboes, clarinets, and bassoons only numbered two each. The scarcity of oboe-players in America at this time often necessitated the oboe parts being played on flutes, of which apparently there was no lack. In 1849, Edward Lehman played the flute part in Kalliwoda's Concertante for flute, violin, and violoncello at the Mendelssohn Quartett Club of Boston.

Many European flautists have from time to time settled in America. One of the earliest, Philip Ernst (1792-1868), a gunsmith, was born at Mentz, Hesse Darmstadt, Germany. When recovering from a serious accident his physician advised him to play the flute to exercise his lungs, and he actually gave lessons and played at public concerts whilst still on crutches. After acting as first flute in the theatre of his


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 native town he made a tour of Germany and Switzerland with success. The composer, Winter, engaged him as principal tenor singer in the Royal Theatre, Munich. Going to Paris, Ernst was appointed first flautist to King Charles. When the revolution of 1830 broke out he visited England and succeeded Nicholson at flute in the Royal Italian Opera. Whilst in England he gave flute lessons to the Princess Augusta of Cambridge, Lord Brougham, Sir Robert Peel's daughters, and other distinguished pupils. Soon afterwards he settled in New York, and was one of the first to introduce the Böhm flute into that city. This instrument had already been seen there, however, in the hands of a tourist named Brix, a South American, who had visited Europe. In 1846 a special musical committee was appointed in Boston to judge of its merits. The first Böhm flute manufactured in the United States was made by a Mr. Larribee. Felix J. Eben, another foreigner, became a leading player and conductor in New York about 1849. Carl Zerrahn (c. 1850), a native of Wurtzburg, who at one time played in Mapleson's opera orchestra and subsequently became first flute in the famous Germania orchestra and conductor of several leading musical societies in Boston; he is said to have been a marvellous sight-reader and a fine orchestral artist. Two of Böhm's pupils, C. Wehner (b, 1838) and Heind'l, settled in America. The latter became a leading player in Boston, and is reported to have possessed a very pure tone and good execution. He died of a disease


text: Agreement relating to Malaysia between United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Federation of Malaya, North Borneo, Sarawak and Singapore/Annex D/Third Schedule


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 from an infected flute which a stranger had requested him to try. These men laid the foundation of the popularity of the Böhm flute in America. Others deserving brief notice are Eugene Weiner (1847-1903), born in Breslau, a member of the New York Philharmonic Club and Thomas' Orchestra; Charles Molé (1857-1905), a Parisian and pupil of Altes' at the Paris Conservatoire; Alfred Quesnel, born in Thuringia in 1869, who was first flute in the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra, and subsequently became solo flautist in the Thomas Orchestra at Chicago; and Leonardo de Lorenzo (b. 1875), composer of some fine studies and solos, who has settled in New York as first flute in the Philharmonic Society. He is a native of Naples and studied at the conservatoire in that city.

The earliest native-born player of note was John Kyle (c. 1810-70), son of an English bassoon-player. During most of his career he played the old eight-keyed flute, and later on the Siccama model. Towards the end of his life, he adopted a silver Böhm. Kyle was for many years a leading musician in New York. He filled the post of solo flute in the New York Opera and the Philharmonic Society. His tone was remarkably rich and sweet. Kyle accompanied Jenny Lind and Catherine Hayes in their tours through America, and subsequently performed at the Sontag Concerts. He is said to have played obligatos to the voice so skilfully that it was well-nigh impossible to tell which was voice and which flute. On one occasion when a prima donna broke


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 down in a solo, Kyle took up her part and played it till she had recovered, for which he was much applauded. He was a handsome man with a peculiarly oval face and most charming manners. When dying Kyle requested that his silver flute should be placed in his hands and buried with him, which was done.

Another who gained a great reputation was Otto Osterle (1861-1895), born in St. Louis, of German parentage. He from time to time filled the post of first flute in Thomas' orchestra, and those of Seidl and the New York Philharmonic. He also was professor of the flute in the National Conservatoire in New York. When Patti visited America, Osterle played obligatos with her. He played on a wooden Böhm flute, and his taste and phrasing have been highly spoken of, whilst his tone is said to have been marvellously sympathetic and sonorous, especially in slow movements. Other prominent native-born American flautists were John S. Cox, of Philadelphia, a member of Gilmore's and Sousa's bands, and an excellent piccolo player; and Sidney Lanier, the poet-flautist (see p. 246, post). No native American flautist, however, has attained any notoriety outside his own country.

Australia has produced a remarkable flute-playerMr. John Lemmone, who visited England some years ago and played with great success. Mr. Lemmone, who plays the Radcliff model, has a fine tone and good style. He is gifted with a remarkable memory, and can play over a hundred solos without the music.


text: Report of The Inter-Governmental Committee, Malaysia/National language


text: Report of The Inter-Governmental Committee, Malaysia/Special position of Indigenous races


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 dance" (Coriolanus v., 4, 52),a passage recalling Nebuchadnezzar's band; "The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife" (Othello, iii., 3, 352), and in The Merchant of Venice (ii., 5, 29), "the drum and the vile squeaking of the wry-neck't fife." The epithet "wry-neck't" probably refers to the neck of the player="wry-necked fifer"; as Barnaby Rich in his "Irish Hubbub" (Aphorisms, 1618) says, "a fife is a wry-neck't musician, for he always looks away from his instrument," and the footman in Overbury's Characters (1614) "with a wry neck falls to tuning his instrument."

The fife is mentioned by Holinshed (1577), by King James 1st in Chorus Venetus (c. 1600); and frequently in our early dramatists (almost always along with the drum). In Cartwright's Ordinary, ii., 1 (1651), a military character comparing dishes of food to military instruments has a fat collar of brawn served for a drum, and "a well-grown lamprey for a fife"; a curious allusion to the alleged derivation of the word "flute", just as Browne in Britannia's Pastorals says a little stiffened lamprey's skin served the fairies for a flute. Sackville's Gorboduc (1561) mentions flutes and drums


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 (iii. v.). The dramatists seldom mention the "flute." It occurs in the morality play Mankind (c. 1475) and in the "Banns" prefixed to the Chester miracle plays for 1600. In the fifteen volumes of Dodsley's Old Plays, I only find it named once (The True Trojans, 1633, where it is rhymed with "lute"). It is mentioned once in Beaumont and Fletcher (Monsieur Thomas). Jonson never mentions it in any regular play, but it occurs in several of his masques, in one of which (World in the Moon) he also speaks of a flute-case. Nor can I find it in any play by Randolph, Massinger, Marlowe, Chapman, T. Heywood, Middleton, Kyd, or Greene (who all mention the fife), Dekker, Ford, Peele, Webster, Wycherley, Vanbrugh, Congreve, or Farquhar. Lyly naturally has it in his Midas (1592). Gaiscoyne's Jocasta (1566) mentions fifes and drums, and has a stage direction that the flutes should play a very doleful noise during the dumb shows. There is a similar direction in Marston's Sophonisha (1606), and in that author's Antonio and Mellida (1602) we have a stage direction, "The still flutes sound a mournful cynet"probably low-pitched flutes are intended. He also speaks of "a noise (i.e. small band) of flutes" in his Dutch Courtesan (1605). The amorous Don Antonio in Dryden's Don Sebastian (ii. 2) plays the flute, and in Thomas Shadwell's Squire of Alsatia. (ii. 1) a song is accompanied by "two flutes and a thro' bass."

In the poets a flute is very frequently introduced when shepherds are mentioned, and as a rustic or pastoral instrument:


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 Patie in Ramsey's Gentle Shepherd plays the flute. Wordsworth's Ruth cheers herself in her loneliness with a flute made of hemlock stalk, and in The Prelude (viii.) mention is made of the shepherd's sprightly fife; but the poet more usually refers to "the fife of war" (ib., vi.), and twice speaks of "the thrill of fifes." Wordsworth did not himself playhe says "I whose breath would labour at the flute in vain" (Epis. to Beaumont)but one of his boyish playmates was a flautist (Prelude, ii.), and in one of his sonnets he refers to the playing of a friend.

How beautifully does Keats address the "happy melodist unwearied, for ever piping songs for ever new," depicted on a Grecian urn playing a double flute:

In Endymion he speaks of "ebon-tippéd flutes." Shelley also refers to the double-flute (Unfinished Drama), and in his Prometheus Unbound speaks of "a lake-surrounding flute," whose sounds o'erflow the listener's brain, so sweet that joy is almost pain.

Poetic reference is very frequently made to the


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 softness and sweetness of the flute: as Austin Dobson daintily sings

Its power over the passions (more especially love) is alluded to in Dryden's oft-quoted lines (set to appropriate music by Handel)

and in Alexander's Feast, where he mentions Timotheus and his breathing flute, who could swell the soul to rage or kindle soft desire, and raise a mortal to the skies. This varied power of the flute over the feelings and emotions is frequently referred to. According to Thomas Gordon Hake (1809) it has a like power over animals

Prior in his Pleasure speaks of the softening effect of the flute on other instruments, and Addison mentions the flute as mellowing the sharper sounds of the violin.


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 Lewis Morris declares "The flute is sweet to Gods and men." Poets have termed it "mellow," "melodious," "softening," "soft and tender," "peaceful," "amorous," "soul-delighting," "charming," "warbling," "wailing," "melancholy," "lonely." In Paradise Lost, Satan's army moves to "The Dorian mood of flutes and soft recorders." Milton elsewhere speaks of the "oaten flute" of Lycidas and the "jocund flute" of Comus. Browne in his Pastorals (iii. 1) has a "hollow, heavy flute." Swinburne in Songs before Sunrise has "the fierce flute." Surely no epithet could be less appropriate!

Cowper evidently regarded the flute as an instrument of effeminacy and wantonness (see The Timepiece, 260, and The Progress of Error, 133); he considered that Mrs. Throckmorton's bull-finch could "all the sounds express of flageolet or flute." The songs of birds and the notes of the flute are frequently compared. Longfellow in The Masque of Pandora calls birds "feathered flute-players," and in The Spanish Student says the fife has "a cheerful, soul-stirring sound, that soars up to my lady's window like the song of a swallow." In Hiawatha the gentle Chibiabos, best of all musicians, plays on "Flutes so musical and mellow," and Pau-Puk-Keewis dances his mystic dance to the sound of flutes. In his Divine Tragedy Longfellow introduces the "flute-players" at the death of the daughter of Jairus. The poet has here anticipated the revisers of the Bible; they have substituted "the flute-players"


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 for "the minstrels" of the authorised version (Matthew, ix. 23). In Revelations (xviii. 22) the revised version again reads "flute-players" where the authorised version read "pipers." The only instance of the word "flute" in the authorised version is in the account of Nebuchadnezzar's orchestra in Daniel, iii. (where pan-pipes or else a double flute is intended), but in I. Kings (i. 40) the word "pipes" has a marginal reading "flutes."

Browning's references to the instrument are somewhat contemptuous. He speaks of a "fife-shriek," and of a candlestick-maker blowing his brains into a flute (Shop), and in Up at a Villa he has "bang-whang-whang goes the drum, tootle-te-tootle the fife," which recalls the delicious description of the tuning of the orchestra in Smith's Rejected Addresses

The fascination of rhyming "flute" with "lute" seems irresistible; it occurs in innumerable instances. One of the latest is in Oscar Wilde's Ballad of Reading Gaol, ii. g. Tennyson says, "Knaves are men that lute and flute fantastic tenderness" (The Princess, iv.).

Leigh Hunt in The Fancy Concert has a somewhat similar passage beginning "Flageolets one by one, and flutes blowing more fast." Robert L. Stevenson was very fond of playing his flute "to tune up his ideas," and refers to it several times in the New Arabian Nights


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 and elsewhere. In one of his poems he describes how "Aye the gauger played the flute." Stevenson also wrote some very curious verses entitled an autobiographical reminiscence, "To Theobald Böhm, Flautist (inventor of the fingering which bears his name)." I quote a few lines.

The poet proceeds to tell how Böhm, having sold his soul to the fiend in exchange for the flute, found he could not play it. Apparently Stevenson did not like the Böhm system.

Addison in one of his most whimsical and charming papers in The Tatler (No. 157) compares ladies to various musical instruments; here is his description of the lady who resembled a flute, by which probably he meant a recorder: "The person who pleased me most was a flute, an instrument that, without any great compass, has something exquisitely sweet and soft in its sound; it lulls and soothes the ear, and fills it with such a gentle kind of melody as keeps the mind awake without startling it, and raises a most agreeable passion between transport and indolence. In short, the music of the flute is the conversation of a mild and amiable woman, that has nothing in it very elevated, or at the same time anything mean or trivial."


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 In the end he suggests a marriage between the flute and the lute.

Oliver Goldsmith as a youth used to play the flute accompanied by Miss Contarine on the harpsichord. He himself tells us he was but an indifferent performer, and when insulted he used to relieve his feelings by blowing into it "with a kind of desperate, mechanical vehemence." During his wanderings over Europe in 1755 he more or less supported himself by means of his flute. He recalls in The Traveller how he "lipped his flute in France." Under the name of George Primrose in The Vicar of Wakefield he describes how

"Whenever I approached a peasant's house [in France] towards nightfall, I played one of my most merry tunes, and that procured me not only a lodging, but subsistence for the next day. I once or twice attempted to play for people of fashion, but they always thought my performance odious, and never rewarded me even with a trifle."

An American writer has said that the fable of the playing of Marsyas teaches us how to treat young men who play on the flute, and certainly several modern novelists seem to regard the instrument chiefly as a subject of ridicule. They dwell principally upon its melancholy aspect. Dickens is the chief offender in this respect, but his humour excuses him. How delightful is the description of Mr. Mell, the mild schoolmaster (the assistant-master in Thackeray's Doctor Birch also plays the German flute) in David Copperfield, "a gaunt, sallow young man with hollow cheeks," who carried his flute in three


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 pieces in his tail-coat pocket, and used at night to blow it until it seemed that he would gradually blow his whole being into the large hole at the top, and ooze away at the keys!

"There never can have been anybody in the world who played worse. He made the most dismal sounds I have ever heard produced by any means, natural or artificial The influence of the strain upon me was first to make me think of all my sorrows until I could hardly keep my tears back; then to take away my appetite; and lastly to make me so sleepy that I couldn't keep my eyes open."

Then, again, the description of Dick Swiveller (Old Curiosity Shop), who, hearing that Sophy Wackles was lost to him for ever, took to flute-playing as "a good, sound, dismal occupation," and for the greater part of the night lay on his back, half in and half out of bed, with a small oblong music book, endeavouring to play "Away with Melancholy" very slowly, and repeating one note a great many times before he could find the next, thereby maddening the inhabitants of all the surrounding houses. No wonder he received notice to quit next morning. As Goethe says, "There is scarcely a more melancholy suffering to be undergone than what is forced on us by the neighbourhood of an incipient player on the flute or violin." The young gentleman at Mrs. Todgers' musical party (Martin Chusslewit) blows his melancholy into a flute: "he didn't blow much out of it, but that was all the better."

So, too, Bulwer Lytton in What Will He Do With It? speaks of Dick Fairfield as "the cleverest boy at the school, who unluckily took to the flute and unfitted


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 himself for the present century," a sentiment which was embodied in the ancient Greek proverb. "To flute-players, nature gave brains, there's no doubt: But alas! 'tis in vain, for they soon blow them out." Readers of Mrs. Ward's Robert Elsmere will remember the description of the duet played by the Rev. Mr. Mayhew and Miss Banks:

"After an adagio opening in which the flute and piano were at magnificent cross-purposes from the beginning, the two instruments plunged into an allegro very long and very fast, which became ultimately a desperate race between the competing performers for the final chord The shriller and the wilder grew the flute, and the greater the exertion of the dark Hercules performing on it, the fiercer grew the pace of the piano Crash came the last chord, and the poor flute nearly half a page behind was left shrilly hanging in mid-air, forsaken, and companionless, an object of derision to gods and men."

Very frequently the novelist's flautist belongs to the Church, generally of the type of little Mr. Sweeting in Charlotte Bronte's Shirley (c. 7), who always carried about the pieces of his flute in his pocket. As its "squeaking and gasping notes" are mentioned, we gather he was not much of a performer. Another flute-playing curate (Mr. Baily) occurs in G. M. Fenn's This Man's Wife.

Pearson's Magazine for May, 1903, contains a remarkable story entitled The Flautist by J. H. Yoxall, M.P. It relates how a drunken flautist in the band at the Alcazar Restaurant saw a German flute hanging in the window of a slop-shop, which, when he took it in his hand, felt warm and flexible, almost


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 alive. Finding that it produced a magnificent tone, he purchased it, whereupon his playing improved so marvellously that he got an engagement at the Queen's Hall. Coming home very drunk one night, he staggered out of bed at two o'clock in the morning and took the flute out of its case to have a look at it. For the life of him, he could not get it back into its case. In drunken frenzy he seized it by the end and dashed it against the edge of the chest of drawers, again and again. "He cursed it, loosed it, and it seemed to spring at him; like a warm, flexible, snaky cord it clipped his throat A rustle, a rattle, a thick breath, a triumphant hiss. The flautist gasped, and fell backward against the dingy bed;" where the next morning he was found dead with a mark on his throat.

American writers often mention the flute. There is a pathetic story "The Flute-player" in Harper's Magazine, May, 1908, which tells of a blind flautist, who played a tiny flute "half pipe, half reed," for coppers in an archway; it has, however, no special reference to the flute. But in Mr. James L. Allen's Flute and Viol, we find a charming portrait of an old Kentucky parson, whose "shy divinity" was his flute, which was hung by a blue ribbon above the meagre top shelf of books. "The older he grew and the more patient and dreamy his grey eyes, always the more and more devotedly he blew his little friend." He used to play late at night before going to bed, till he almost fell asleep. "They


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 were airs of heavenly sweetness His long out-stretched legs relaxed their tension, his feet fell over side-wise on the hearthstone, his eyes closed, his head sank on his shoulder. Still he managed to hold on to his flute, faintly puffing a few notes at greater intervals, until at last by the dropping of the flute from his hands or the sudden rolling of his big head backward, he would awaken with a violent jerk. The next minute he would be asleep in bed."

Mr. H. Clay Wysham has written some amusing lines entitled That Amateur Flute:


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Scribner's Magasine, October 1800, contains a somewhat mystical poem, "The Flute," too long to quote fully


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 [The flautist then plays a quiet measure.]

[He then plays a martial measure.]

Louisa N. Alcott has written a pretty poem on Thoreau's flute, telling how after his death


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Of a similar character is Bayard Taylor's Greeting to Sidney Lanier

Sidney Lanier (1842-81) was one of the most brilliant flautists of America, and also a poet of no mean rankhe has been termed "an American Rossetti." He


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 was a tall, handsome man, born in Macon, Georgia, and descended from the Huguenot family of famous musicians (including several flautists) in the service of Charles I. and Charles II. of England. On the outbreak of the war between North and South, Lanier enlisted in the Confederate Army, and he took part in several battles. When taken prisoner he hid his flute up his sleeve, and by its means gained the favour of his gaolers. In 1874 he joined the Peabody orchestra in Baltimore, and devoted himself to music and literature, becoming Professor of English in the John Hopkins University. Lanier composed music to several of his own poems, and wrote a novel and several important works on literary subjects. He is said to have produced strange violin effects from his flute.

Asger Hamerik, the director of the Peabody orchestra, says of Lanier's flute-playing: "In his hands the flute no longer remained a mere material instrument, but was transformed into a voice that set heavenly harmonies into vibration. Its tones developed colours, warmth, and a low sweetness of unspeakable poetry His playing appealed alike to the musically learned and to the unlearnedfor he would magnetize the listener." Lanier had a firm belief in a great future for the flute; he said: "The time is not far distant when the twenty violins of a good orchestra will be balanced by twenty flutes." Here is how he speaks of the instrument in his poem The Symphony:


text: A Chinese Biographical Dictionary/Fêng Po


text: A Chinese Biographical Dictionary/Fêng Tao


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A commemoration of Lanier was held in the John Hopkins University in February 1888, at which the poet's flute and a roll of his MS. music were hung on a bronze bust of the poet. A little memorial volume was published to commemorate this event.

Another poet-flautist, Richard Yates Sturges, born in Birmingham in 1843, and known as "The Flute of of Flutes," attained very considerable tone and technique. He died in Bristol in June 1910 Sturges was an enthusiastic Dante student. His poems are of very decided merit. Terschak set some of them to music, and dedicated his flute piece "Die Flammen von Surachani"


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 to Sturges. Denmark has also produced a poet-flautist and novelist in the person of Sten. Stenson Blicher (1782-1848).

The classical tales of Minerva, Pan, Syrinz, Apollo, and Marsyas are often alluded to by English poets and dramatists; amongst others by Lydgate (who makes Pan's instrument a bagpipe), by Spenser, by Kyd, by Campion, by the author of Lingua, by Cowper, by Mrs. Browning, by Matthew Arnold. Heywood gives a comic version, and Lyly has a most amusing comedy on Midas. In O'Hara's burlesque of the same name Apollo's instrument is the guitar and Pan's is the bagpipe.

The following modern Greek legend is said to have been derived from Asia Minor:

A great king had a son who was a fine flute-player but very shy and a woman-hater. His father, wishing him to marry, ships him off to a foreign court to select a wife from amongst the princesses. The ship is wrecked, but the prince is carried by the waves to a beautiful island. Here he exchanges clothes with a poor fisherman and sets out for the palace of the king of the island, where he obtains employment as a stable-boy In the evening he plays so enchantingly upon his flute that even the nightingales stop their singing to listen. The king's daughter hears him play and persuades her father to make him her music-master. Perceiving that the princess loves him, he discloses to her that he is a king's son, and ere long they are happily married.


text: A Chinese Biographical Dictionary/Fa Shun


text: A Chinese Biographical Dictionary/Fan Ch'êng-hsün


text: A Chinese Biographical Dictionary/Fan Ch'êng-mo


text: A Chinese Biographical Dictionary/Fan Ch'êng-ta


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160 talk about citizens of the world and the ideal wise man is rather poetry than philosophy. They rightly connect happiness with virtue, and virtue with wisdom; but so did Aristotle some centuries before them.

But their great fault (says Cicero) is, that they ignore the practical side of life. So broad is the line. which they draw between the "wise" and "foolish," that they would deny to Plato himself the possession of wisdom. They take no account of the thousand circumstances which go to form our happiness, To a spiritual being, virtue might be the chief good; but in actual life our physical is closely bound up with our mental enjoyment, and pain is one of those stern facts before which all theories are powerless. Again, by their fondness for paradox, they reduce all offences to the same dead level. It is, in their eyes, as impious to beat a slave as to beat a parent: because, as they say, "nothing can be more virtuous than virtue,—nothing more vicious than vice." And lastly, this stubbornness of opinion affects their personal character. They too often degenerate into austere critics and bitter partisans, and go far to banish from among us love, friendship, gratitude, and all the fair humanities of life.

The fifth book carries us back some twenty years, when we find Cicero once more at Athens, taking his afternoon walk among the deserted groves of the Academy. With him are his brother Quintus, his cousin Lucius, and his friends Piso and Atticus. The scene, with its historic associations, irresistibly carries their minds back to those illustrious spirits who had

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Rh once made the place their own. Among these trees Plato himself had walked; under the shadow of that Porch Zeno had lectured to his disciples; yonder Quintus points out the "white peak of Colonus," described by Sophocles in "those sweetest lines;" while glistening on the horizon were the waves of the Phaleric harbour, which Demosthenes, Cicero's own great prototype, had outvoiced with the thunder of his declamation. So countless, indeed, are the memories of the past called up by the genius of the place, that (as one of the friends remarks) "wherever we plant our feet, we tread upon some history." Then Piso, speaking at Cicero's request, begs his friends to turn from the degenerate thinkers of their own day to those giants of philosophy, from whose writings all liberal learning, all history, and all elegance of language may be derived. More than all, they should turn to the leader of the Peripatetics, Aristotle, who seemed (like Lord Bacon after him) to have taken all knowledge as his portion. From these, if from no other source, we may learn the secret of a happy life. But first we must settle what this 'chief good' is—this end and object of our efforts—and not be carried to and fro, like ships without a steersman, by every blast of doctrine. A. C. vol. ix.

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 we will surely come,” Mat Drus made answer, employing the cautious formula of his people.

"And forget not the girl Mînah," added the youth. But here a third voice broke into the conversation—a voice shrill and harsh and angry, which ran up the scale to a painful pitch, and broke queerly on the higher notes.

"Have you the heart, Kria? Have you the heart to bring this message to my man. We are both of age, you and I. We know and understand. May the Grandfather die by a spear cast from afar! May he die a violent death, stabbed, bowstrung and impaled crosswise! May he die vomiting blood, and you, too, Kria, who are but the hunting-dog of the Chief!"

"Peace! Peace!" cried Mat Drus in an agitated voice, turning upon his wife a face that betokened an agony of fear. "Hold your peace, woman without shame. And Kria, do you tell the Grandfather that we will surely comic, aye, and the girl Mînah also. according to his bidding; and heed not the words of this so foolish woman of mine."

"I care not to bandy words with a hug," said Kria. "But the Grandfather will be wroth when he learns of the ill things that your woman has spoken."

"They are without meaning—they are of no account—the words of a woman who is growing childish," protested Mat Drus. "Pay no heed to them, and I pray you, speak not to the Grandfather concerning them."


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 "She hath a wicked mouth, this woman of yours, and it is not fitting that such words should be spoken. I am loath to repeat them to the Grandfather, for were I to do so, a great evil would certainly overtake you. Show me that spear of yours—the ancient spear with a silver hasp at the base of the blade. I have a mind to borrow it. Ah, it is a good spear. and I will take it as an earnest of the love you hear me."

"Take it," said Mat Drus meekly; and Kria having possessed himself of this weapon, which he had long coveted, swaggered off to pass the word to other villagers that the Chief required their services for the weeding of his rice crop.

The sun stood high in the heavens, its rays bending down pitilessly upon the broad expanse of rice-field. A tall fence of bamboo protected the crop, shutting it off on the one side from the rhododendron scrub and the grazing-grounds beyond which rose the palm and fruit groves and the thatched roofs of the village, and on the other three from the forest, which formed a dark bank of foliage rising abruptly from the edge of the land which had been won from it by the labour of successive generations of men. The cubit-high spears of the pâdi carpeted the earth with vivid colour, absorbing the sun's rays and refracting them, and the transparent heat haze danced thin and restless over the flatness of the cultivated fields. The weeders, with their sârongs wound turban-wise about their heads to protect them from


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 the sun, squatted at their work—men, women, and little children—the vertical rays dwarfing their shadows into malformed almost circular patches around their feet. They moved forward in an irregular line, digging out the tares by the roots with their clumsy pârangs.

Near the centre of the largest field a temporary hut had been erected, walled and thatched with palm fronds. Within it was garnished with a ceiling-cloth of white cotton, from which on all sides depended wall-hangings of the same material and of many colours. The only furniture were the sleeping-mat and pillows of the Chief, and numerous brass trays, covered by square pieces of patchwork, and filled with food and sweetmeats specially prepared for the occasion. These reposed upon a coarse mat fashioned from the plaited fronds of dried mĕngkûang palms. In the interior of the Malay Peninsula in those days the luxury accessible to even the richest and most powerful natives was of a somewhat primitive order; but to the eyes of the simple villagers the interior of this hut represented as advanced a standard of comfort and civilization as did the château of a noble in pre-revolutionary France to the peasants who dwelt on his estate.

About noon the Chief emerged from his hut and began a tour of inspection among the weeders, throwing a word to one or another of the men, and staring boldly at the women, with the air of a farmer apprizing his stock. Half a dozen well-armed and


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 gaudily clad youths followed at the heels of their master.

Old Mat Drus and his son Dâman, with three or four women, were squatting near the edge of the jungle, weeding diligently, and as the Chief drew near, Mînah, the girl who had recently married Dâman crept a little closer to her husband.

The Chief halted and stood for a while gazing at the group of toilers. He was a big, burly fellow, of a full habit of body, and well past middle age. He had a large, square, brutal face, garnished with a ragged fringe of beard that proclaimed his Sumatran descent, and his feet and hands were of unusual size. When he spoke his voice was harsh and coarse.

"What is the news, Mat Drus?" he asked, employing the common formula of greeting.

"The news is good, O Grandfather," replied Mat Drus, stopping in his work, and turning submissively toward the Chief. All the rest of the party, squatting humbly in the dust, moved so as to face their master, the womenfolk bowing low their heads to evade the hungry eyes of the Chief.

"Who is this child?" the great man inquired, indicating Mînah with his outthrust chin.

"She is the wife of your servant's son, O Grandfather," replied Mat Drus.

"Whose daughter is she?"

"She is your servant's daughter, O Grandfather," an old and ill-favoured woman made answer, from her place at Mat Drus's elbow.


text: The New York Times/1918/11/11/Spirit of Victory Fills Haig's Men


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 "Verily a sâlak fruit," cried the Chief. "An ugly tree, thorny and thin, are you, but you have borne a pretty, luscious fruit."

The weeders laughed obsequiously.

"How very witty are the words of our Grandfather!" ejaculated Mat Drus, in a voice carefully calculated to reach the ears of his master. The Chief did not even condescend to look at him.

"Dainty Fruit," he said, addressing Mînah, "you are parched by reason of your toil and the heat. Come to my hut yonder, and I will give you delicious sweetmeats to slake the thirst in that pretty throat of yours."

"Don't want to," mumbled the girl.

"Nay, but I bid you come," said the Chief.

"Go, child," urged her mother.

"Don't want to," the girl repeated, edging more close to Dâman, as though seeking his protection.

"What meaneth this?" roared the Chief, whose eyes began to wax red. "Do as I bid, you daughter of an evil mother."

"She is afraid," pleaded Mat Drus in a trembling voice. "Be not wroth, O Grandfather. She is very young, and her fears are heavy upon her."

"May she die violent death!" bellowed the Chief. "Come, I say. Come!"

"Go, child, go," urged all the women in a chorus of frightened whispers; but the girl only nestled closer to her husband.

"Are your ears deaf?" cried the Chief. "Come


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 forthwith, or in a little you shall be dragged to my hut,"

"Have patience, O Grandfather," said Dâman sulkily. She is my wife to me. She doth not desire to go. Let her be."

"Arrogant one!" screamed the Chief. "You are indeed a brave man to dare to flout me. Already I hear the new-turned earth shouting for you to the coffin planks. You shall lend a hand to drag her to my hut."

At the word Dâman leaped to his feet. Until now, like the rest of his fellows, he had squatted humbly at the feet of the Chief—a serf in the presence of his lord; but now he stood erect, an equal facing an equal—a man defending his womenfolk from one who sought to put a shame upon them and upon him.

"Peace, Dâman! Have patience!" cried Mat Drus, his voice shaking with terror; but his son had no thought to spare for any save the Chief just then. His clear young eyes looked unflinchingly into the brutal, bloodshot orbs set in the sodden, self-indulgent face of his enemy, and the Chief's gaze faltered and quailed. Dâman's palm smote his wooden dagger-hilt with a resounding slap, and the Chief reeled hastily backward, almost losing his footing. The youngster, inspired by the passion of fury and indignation that possessed him, was lifted out of himself. The traditions of a lifetime were forgotten, together with the fear of rank and power that custom had instilled into him. The peasant had given place to the primordial man, fighting for his woman


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 against no matter what odds, and had the two been alone it would, in that hour, have gone ill with the Chief.

The latter's armed youths surged up around their tottering master, and the coward felt his courage returning to him when he realized that they were at hand.

No word was spoken for a little space, as the enemies eyed one another; but Mînah, crouching close to Dâman's mother, whimpered miserably, though a thrill of love and admiration ran through her as she marked the bearing of her man.

Suddenly Kria, who stood a little to the right of the Chief, raised his arm in the act to throw, and the intense sunlight flashed for a moment on the naked blade of a spear—a spear with a silver hasp which, until recently, had been the property of Dâman's father. Kria's eye sought that of the Chief, and the latter signalled to him to use his weapon. Immediately the long spear, with its shining blade, flew forward with incredible velocity, like a snake in the act of striking; but Dâman leaped aside, and the missile hissed harmlessly past him.

"Strike with the paralyzer," yelled the Chief; and at the word one of his youths ran forward and stabbed swiftly and repeatedly at Dâman with a long, uncanny-looking weapon. It was a very long forked spear, with two sharp blades, barbed and of unequal length; and in spite of Dâman's frantic efforts to avoid the thrusts of his assailant, the longer of the two points was presently driven deep into his


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 chest. He was now powerless, for the barbed tip could not be withdrawn, and the sharp point of the shorter blade prevented him from running up the spear, and getting to close quarters with his kris, as has frequently been done in the Peninsula by one mortally stricken.

The women screamed shrilly, and Mînah sought to run to her husband's aid, but those around her held her fast in spite of her tears and struggles. The weeders from all parts of the field had assembled, and stood watching the unequal fight, the men standing aloof, murmuring sullenly, but not daring to interfere, the women huddled together in terrified groups, wailing piteously—and above the tumult the coarse laugh of the Chief rang out.

"Verily a fish at the tip of a fish spear! Watch how he writhes and wriggles! Have a care not to kill him until we have had our sport with him!"

But Dâman, who had not uttered a sound, was still fighting gamely. He soon found that it was impossible for him to wrench the barbed spear from his breast, and seeing this, he threw his kris violently in the face of the man who had stabbed him. The snaky blade flew straight as a dart, and the tip ripped open the cheek and eyelid of Dâman's assailant. Blinded by the blood, the latter dropped the end of the spear, and Dâman now strove manfully, in spite of the agony it occasioned him, to wrench the blade free. This was an unexpected turn for affairs to take, and the Chief's laughter stopped abruptly.

"Kill him! Kill him!" he screamed to his men;


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 and forthwith Kria, who had recovered his weapon. stabbed Dâman full in the throat with the broad spear-blade. The murdered man collapsed on the ground, giving vent to a thick, choking cough, and no sooner was he down than all the Chief's youths rushed in to whet their blades in his shuddering flesh.

Mînah, distraught with grief and horror, threw herself prostrate upon the ground, seeking to shut out the sight with her tightly clasped hands; and as she lay on the warm earth, the wailing of the women, the rough growlings of the men, and the soft whisperings of the steel blades, piercing the now lifeless body of her husband, told her that all was over.

The day waned, the darkness shut down over the land, and the moon rose above the broad, still river, pale and passionless, looking calmly down upon a world which, bathed in her rays, seemed unutterably peaceful and serene. But all through that night, and during many days and nights to come, the pitiful wailing of a girl broke the stillness of the silent hours in the neighbourhood of the Chief's compound. It was only Mînah mourning for her dead, and taking more time than her friends thought altogether necessary to become accustomed to her surroundings as one of the household of the Chief.

Her new lord was not unnaturally annoyed by her senseless clamour; and beating, he discovered, ended only to increase the nuisance. But crumpled rose leaves are to be met with in every bed of flowers, and the Chief had, at any rate, the satisfaction of


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 knowing that for the future the season of weeding would be a merry time for him, and that all would be conducted with seemliness and with order, with out any risk of his peace or his pleasure being further disturbed by rude and vulgar brawls.


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 channel narrows somewhat at this point, and is confined between high walls of rock, water-worn to a glassy smoothness, and the raging torrent pouring down the fall is obstructed by the jagged blocks of granite, with which the river-bed is studded. One of these leans slightly upstream, for the friction of ages has fashioned a deep cavity at the point where the full force of the river strikes it; and when the waters are low, it is impossible for a raft to avoid this obstacle.

The rafts, which are the only craft in use upon the upper reaches of Malayan rivers, are formed of about eighteen bamboos lashed side by side, and held in horizontal position by stout wooden stays. bound firmly above and across them by lacings of rattan. They are usually some twenty feet in length, the bow consisting of the larger ends of the bamboos, trimmed so as to present an even front to the stream, and the sterns of the tapering extremities cut short a couple of feet or so from their tips. Bamboos of rather larger size than the others are selected to form the two sides of the raft, and in the centre a low platform, some four feet square, is raised above the general level, and floored with split and flattened bamboos for the accommodation of a passenger or baggage. Each bamboo, of course. consists of a series of more or less watertight compartments—quite watertight at the outset, very imperfectly so later on, when the rafts have been subjected to the rough usage to which a journey down a rock-and rapid-beset river exposes them: but


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 You be far—too far—my Brothers, gnarled brown faces that I know, Men who dealt with me aforetime, friend with friend and heart with heart— Our paths lie worlds asunder, since the Fates would have it so, For behold "the Order reached me," and to-day, old Friends, we part. Yet you will not quite forget me, O my Brothers over sea— Let me keep that fond illusion: it will help me on my way— And I pray you tell the little ones, who gather round your knee, Of those days we saw together in the land of the Malay.

And my thanks are yours, my Brothers, for a thousand acts of grace, For the trust wherewith you trusted, for the love wherewith you loved. For your honest, open greetings, lifted hand and friendly face, For the kindness that you dealt me when through all your land I roved. It was mine to toil and struggle, it was mine to war with wrong, It was mine to labour for you, aye, to sorrow, hope, and yearn; But I'll shout it from the house-tops from Barbados to Hong-Kong — If to you I rendered service, I from you had most to learn.


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 CHAPTER III

lifted critical eyes to gaze upon him, apprising his physical beauty with calm appreciation. Then she spoke again.

"Are you mad?" she whispered. "Are you mad, or have you a wager with death? Do you know that it is a sin past all forgiveness for a Sudra—a man of servile caste-thus to pollute the waters of the sacred places?"

"But I am no Sudra, I!" said Chun proudly. "I am of the number of the demigods! Mark me well. Is not my body fashioned in their likeness? For a very long time the secret of my birth has been known to me, and to-night at last my divinity has been proved—proved!"

The triumphant music of his own words thrilled him. The tremendous truth seemed to take to itself a new might and majesty, now that he had dared to translate it into speech.

"Blasphemer! Blasphemer of the most holy demigods!" she exclaimed in mock horror, and a light laugh tripped at the heels of her cry.


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 CHAPTER IV

SLAT

, the old wise man, sat in the doorway of his hut, preparing a quid of betel-nut. His withered body was bare to the waist, its skin a network of intricate, fine wrinkles. The folds of his som-pot covered him from waist to knee; his thin, bony legs were crossed compactly in front of him; his feet were unshod. The worn, frayed soles of them resembled rotting leather. Above the bulging protuberances of his brow, to which his emaciation lent an added prominence, his white hair rose in an erect shock, stiff, straight, and close. His features were craggy—the fore- head, heavy with thought, was massive and rough-hewn as a boulder; the line of the nose irregular and strong; the chin firm and thrust- ing. Even the empty gums, and the hollows into which the lower part of the face had sunken above them, could not rob the mouth of its calm strength. Shaggy eyebrows sprouted in thick, white clusters above eyes set in innumer- able radiating wrinkles. The chisels of time had scored deep furrows across his brow, and


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 CHAPTER V

THE BEHEST

and over Angkor Wat a moon, a little past the full, was rising. On earth the night. was intensely still; the air—hot, moist, scent- laden—seeming to float in suspension above the ground, like a dense vapour, invisible but stifling. But, high aloft in the heavens, atmospheric currents were raging, and vast masses of black cloud, ragged and fantastic, rushed storm-driven across the sky, rapidly changing their formation as they scudded, like some vanquished host in panic-stricken flight. Almost incessantly the horizon toward the south was illumined by wide flares of summer lightning that, with the irregular regularity of a helio- graph, were blazoned for an instant above the jagged line of forest tree-tops—shimmered and went out. Pale stars glimmered mistily in little patches of open sky, till the storm-wrack over- whelmed them and they seemed to soar upward into infinite, smoky depths of air. Amid this noiseless violence of inaudible storm, the moon


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 CHAPTER VI

AN APPEAL TO THE GODS

the half-built southern portal of the outer cloister of Angkor Wat, a gang of perhaps five hundred men was toiling in the blazing heat of noon. The moving shadows which they cast were circular, squat patches of blackness, stain- ing the white dust; those thrown by the sheer walls of the cloisters were incredibly narrow, clean-cut and hard. The sparse cocoanut palms—their fronds lifting and stiffening in the heat—had little sun-striped circles drawn about their boles. For the rest, the rank growth of grass. and the blinding earth, where the passage of innumerable unshod feet had worn the vegetation to powder, lay exposed to the vertical sun rays, and the refraction from them struck upward with an intolerable intensity.

High noon poised above Angkor Wat—tropical noontide, fierce and pitiless; yet within the half-finished gateway, where old Slat was sitting, a dim dusk prevailed. Above him roughly-hewn stones, the successive strata inclining more and more to meet at last in the


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 CHAPTER VII

IN THE BA YON

had fallen once more, and of a sudden all Angkor Thom was clamorous with a wild, insistent outcry to the Gods, that they might hear.

From the temples grouped around the central forum of the city, screaming conchs broke out, as the last of the daylight died—in prolonged, passionate appeal. Drums boomed and sobbed a restless accompaniment.

In the echoing courtyards of the sanctuaries, bearded Brahmans, grown old in the service of the Gods, paced to and fro, their faces rapt, their eyes half closed in transports of ecstatic excitement. They moved rhythmically, their bodies swinging from the hips, both hands clutching the great shells which they held to their lips, whence fiery spears of sound seemed to thrust upward to clash against the very gates of Heaven.

Surely the Gods would hearken! Surely this clamour, arousing them for an instant from their luxurious self-absorption, would cause them to


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 CHAPTER VIII

THE SWORD OF INDRA

stood there before them all, in his nakedness and his shame, his body, with its incomplete extremities and its discoloured and nodulous surfaces, palsied a little by feebleness or emotion. His weak eyes, from the red rims of which the lashes had moulted, peered and blinked at the lights blazing upon the altar. His knees vacil- lated, as though they with difficulty sustained his weight. His unsightly hands groped at the air, with motions wavering and aimless. Then, giving vent to an inarticulate sound, he collapsed suddenly in a heap, which writhed itself into an extended prostration—his face against the flags, his arms flung out before him, his hands palm downward, upon the worn and slippery stones.

There he lay, the ruler of thousands, the head and front of a proud and priestly caste, bearing upon his misshapen shoulders the burden of an immense tradition, and reduced pitifully to this—a man, cursed beyond the common lot of men, craving abjectly from the Gods an impossible boon.


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 CHAPTER IX

IN THE HANDS OF A WOMAN

"! I have done your behest! I have it here have brought it with me—to lay at your feet!"

Chun spoke breathlessly, his face uplifted to the little, shadowy figure which stood before and above him in the darkness. It was the moment of triumph that all day he had been promising himself, of which the thought had been like a warm and glowing joy, close hidden in his heart.

Once again he had kept a long and solitary vigil; but though the suspense of expectancy had been hard to endure, he had not experienced the paroxysms of despair which formerly had visited him. He had known that she would come to him. And now she was here—very near him—so that, as she stood looking down at him, he fancied that he could catch the faint fragrance of her breath: no mocking shadow, this, but the creature of delicious flesh and blood who was his love.

The words that should tell her of his deed


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 CHAPTER X

THE FEAST OF THE CITY

day of full moon, which synchronised most nearly with the summer solstice, had come, and throughout the Khmer Empire all the world made holiday.

It was the day, tradition related, which had seen the foundation of Angkor Thom, the first and greatest of cities; the day upon which Indra, Lord of the Thunders, incarnated in the likeness of a youthful warrior, had appeared suddenly before the Brahman king, and had placed in his hands the Sacred Sword.

Every Khmer peasant could repeat by heart the mystic dialogue which had then ensued between the aged monarch—worn and white- bearded, after a lifetime of battle, seated gravely among his councillors—and the god, resplendent with supernatural light, and in all the pride and glory of immortal youth.

"Guard well this Sword," Indra had con- cluded, "for within its blade, not made with hands, shall the Spirit of the Land abide. While it is in thy grasp, thy house shall


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 CHAPTER XI

THE PROCESSION OF THE SWORD

forum, packed with people, was a sea of shifting, kaleidoscopic colour, with a surface of black heads and brown upturned faces. The outer courts and cloisters of the Ba Yon were thronged by a struggling, perspiring multitude. The crowd, filling every available spot of standing-room, overflowed in broken waves on to the crests of walls, on to the temple-steps, into the branches of trees, and clung in clusters to the steep sides of tile and thatched roofs.

At the foot of the great stairway leading upward into the Ba Yon, elephants, their big bodies covered with rich but tawdry caparisons, and with tall howdahs on their backs, were massed. They stood there, with the people pressing fearlessly about them, almost touching their flanks, with their mahouts, goad in hand, standing at their shoulders, and with three or four disreputable-looking ruffians—such as in Asia are always to be found in the train of an elephant-driver—astride upon them. Their little, wise eyes looked forth from the immense


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 CHAPTER XII

DEFEAT THAT CROWNS A VICTORY

", tell me all."

She issued her command to the man who, in an hour, had sprung from obscurity to become the leader of the people, with the same calm assurance, the same air of unquestioned superior- ity, that she had used to Chun, the unknown Sudra. For a moment, surprise and disappoint- ment, and a dull, resentful pain, more bitter than disappointment, held him dumb.

They were not hiding in the shadows, as of old, but instead were sitting in the moonlight outside the central portals of the upper temple of Angkor Wat.

At their feet, the abrupt mass of masonry, which is the immense plinth whereon the temple stands, fell in a precipitous descent, sheer to the courtyard eighty feet below them, scaled in three places by perilous stairways. The courtyard, blocked in one spot by the guard-houses, no longer tenanted by Brahmans, was plunged deep in shadow; but beyond it rose the walls and arched roofs of the inner cloisters, which almost


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 CHAPTER XIII

ANARCHY

dawn-wind stirred among the palm-fronds with a harsh, rattling sound, and in the ears of old Baguan Dass—as he stood shuddering a little, and drawing his cloak more closely about his shoulders-it was as though the bones of a hanging skeleton were set in motion.

The long panic and agony of the night were ending: the cold despair of morning had come.

Beyond the high wall which enclosed the palace-buildings, where yesterday portions of the town had been visible, nothing was now to be seen save mounds of charred débris, from which smoke-clouds ascended to mingle with the mists arising from the dew-drenched ground.

Not a living thing moved, except a lean cur or two, nosing and questing among the ruins ; and a great silence reigned, for to-day—for the first time for centuries—no pulse of drum nor scream of conch sounded from the temples to speed the vanishing shadows and herald the rising sun.


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 CHAPTER XIV

THE SECRET OF SLAT

days and nights had come and gone since the morning which had seen the palace- buildings invaded and sacked and burnt by the Sudras; and to old Slat, sitting alone in one of the courts of the upper temple of Angkor Wat, it had seemed to be the mission of each passing hour to make manifest the vanity of his hopes.

He had withdrawn now to this secluded spot that he might avoid sights and sounds sympto- matic of the prevailing anarchy, each one of which moved him to contempt, to indignation, or to disgust.

He had his seat on the floor of one of the cloisters which, raised to a height of some five feet above the flags of the square court, ran round all four sides of it. Looking across the open space, he could see the shady interior of the opposite cloister, and the steep pitch of the heavily sculptured roof above it, sloping upward to the ridge, along which the effigy of a huge snake writhed against the sky-line.

With the loving eye of the artist, he took in


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 CHAPTER XV

THE INNER SHRINE

palm-leaf mats, spread before the big bronze portals of the inner shrine, Chun found his two loutish, peasant brothers sitting, chew- ing betel-quids, and talking listlessly. They had been camped there, day and night, for a week, and they had been enjoying themselves immensely. Their slack curiosity concerning the world-shaking events, which were taking place outside the temple, was satisfied by the news that from time to time filtered through to them; and, for the rest, they had attained suddenly to the realisation of an impossible ideal. To eat and sleep only—that, to these drudges of the house, and toilers in the quarry and the workyard, had been a phrase which from childhood, had seemed to enshrine for them the perfect existence; and, behold, here, seated or lying upon mats of luxurious softness, nothing was expected of them save eating and sleeping. It was incredible, no less. Also, to complete their well-being, an ill-favoured damsel of the temple—who had thought to grasp a golden opportunity by making to herself friends


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 CHAPTER XVI

SEEDS

afternoon, a little before the last of the daylight died, Chun was seated alone at a spot just without the main portals of the upper temple. To the right and left of him, the narrow abutting platform flanked the massive walls, and spread away to the angles of the building, where other porches projected, crowned high overhead by their tremendous domes. At his feet, far below, and already plunged in shadow, lay the courtyard, with its twin guard- houses indistinctly seen. Beyond the huddle of roofs on its further side, which formed Chun's immediate foreground, and the long, distant line of the exterior cloisters, the forest—pitch-black in the dusk—rose in sombre, broken wave-crests against the sullen reds and purples of the sunset. On the horizon to the north-west, the waters of the Great Lake were visible, glinting with a dull and ruddy sheen as they faintly reflected the glow in the sky.

Chun was deep in thought; but remotely he was conscious of an insistent, half-heard com- motion within the dark recesses of the Wat.


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 CHAPTER XVII

THE THRONE OF THE SNAKE

passed swiftly through the passages and courtyards of the Wat, his head held high, his shoulders swinging a little, his gait lithe and buoyant—every movement of his body and limbs betokening the immense reserves of physical energy that were latent within him. Youth and health were his, endowing him with courage and with force; yet was his mind freighted with almost intolerable burdens.

The sights, of which he was a daily witness, told an uncompromising story of the utter demoralisation of the people. The ceaseless jibes and taunts of old Slat stirred into a tortur- ing restlessness his sense of responsibility for all that had befallen. The foresight with which he was cursed forbade him to ignore the sure calamities that lay ambushed in the future, by which the populace would presently be beset, if nought could be done to allay or check the dementia which had seized upon. them.

The necessity for action was imperative, if the mob were to be saved from the results of their


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 when this conviction pressed upon her, "ah! the Fairy was wiser than I! She has given my Viola all gifts in one. 'She shall make the best of everything!' the good spirit said; and, blind that I was, I could not see that to make the best of everything was to have no faculty undeveloped, no power wasted; to let no opportunity be lost, to be conquered by no trial, to pursue the right path steadfastly and unweariedly, to find out the use of the very roughness of the road! That blessed endowment surpasses the boon of genius and beauty, yet gives birth to both! Assuredly, no one can know how abundant are God's blessings, (come they in what shape they may,) until he has made the best of every one!"

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 CHAPTER XVIII

THE HEART OF THE MULTITUDE

chill hour of reaction, after the uproar and excitement of recent events, had come to the people of Angkor; and men who had had much to lose, had time now to look about them and to make a reckoning of their loss. These, of necessity, were in a minority, but possessing more of intelligence and enlightenment than their fellows, their thought leavened that of the mob, and they formed a nucleus, around which mal- contents instinctively gathered. They were traders, mostly, who had always held the quarry- folk in deep disdain, and hating the Brahmans mainly because they were tax-gatherers who levied heavy dues on merchandise, and because, from the height of their fabled divinity, the demigods looked down upon all men who were not of the twice-born caste, drawing scant distinction between class and class. To many of these it had seemed that, if once the Brahmans were extirpated, the dominant power would pass, naturally, into their hands. Now they stood aghast, gazing upon the ashes of their


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 CHAPTER XIX

THE HEART OF THE RULER

In the more southerly of the two stone buildings which, on the western side, half fill the central courtyard of Angkor Wat, Chun was seated, just after the night had fallen, engaged in the transaction of public business.

Formerly, these solid and elaborately sculp- tured structures had served as guard-rooms, in which the wardens of the sacred places had been wont to keep unending vigil; but Chun had made of them respectively his council- chamber and his audience-hall—the little power- houses whence was transmitted the energy that ruled, and made belief to revivify the Khmer nation.

In Chun, the Liberator of the Sudras, the chosen Servant of the Snake, the past few weeks had wrought many changes. His figure was as erect and as alert as ever; but the feverish rapidity of his movements, and the slight trembling of his hands, told their own tale of wire-drawn nerves. He had lost much flesh, and there were dark, bruise-like shadows


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 CHAPTER XX

THE INCARNATE SPIRIT

In the middle of a discordant, frantic note, the scream of the conchs broke off abruptly; with one last brazen clash the cymbals ceased their harsh reverberations; with a rapid roll and patter, the throbbing beat of the drums dropped back into the silence; and Chun, stepping from beneath the state umbrella, which two of his henchmen had been holding over his head, walked alone up the three stone steps that led to the threshold of the inner shrine.

As he laid his hand upon one of the enormous metal bolts, by means of which the two heavy doors were secured, the musicians and the mob of armed quarrymen, who formed his escort, sank in squatting attitudes upon the flags, their heads bowed, their faces buried between their extended arms.

Chun stood still for a moment, glancing back at them over his shoulder.

With mingled scorn and satisfaction he noted how abjectly the people grovelled; and he drew pleasure and confidence from the know-


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 CHAPTER XXI

THE SETTING SUN

many days, every effort had been made by the schemers in the Wat to kindle anew, among the people of Angkor, the fiery religious enthusiasm by which, so short a while before, they one and all had been consumed.

Chun's despotism had gathered around it, not only the mob of ruffianly quarrymen who were its undisciplined army, and the sweepings of those men of the warrior caste who had straggled back to the capital after the disastrous encounter with the invading barbarians, but also a number of pseudo-scholars and pandits, tale- bearers and spies—men who possessed a little more learning, wit, or cunning than their fellows, and who, in this hour of rising scum, came naturally to the surface. This band of panders and sycophants with one eye cocked upon their master, the better to anticipate his pleasure, and the other watching the wind, as it played among the straws, lest by some sudden gust of popular feeling their cockle-boats should be taken aback—had of late been busy. They were ubiquitous—


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 CHAPTER XXII

THE TRIUMPH OF THE SNAKE

Slat, a grey figure, huddled to the chin in a cloak against the chill of the dawn, squatted at the head of the steps near the north-eastern corner of the upper temple, watching the day break.

First, low down in the east, the sky became faintly luminous, the dead darkness giving gradual place to a wan and sallow light. Then a soft, pink tinge suffused it; and next the sky was ripped suddenly, across and across, by great streaks and slashes of crimson.

As Slat sat watching, the intensity of the colour kindled and glowed—as though upon the fires of some huge furnace, hidden below the sky-line, mighty bellows were at work; and from the horizon, immense waves of crimson rose. higher and higher, invading in quick succession each shadowy bank of cloud, until the very zenith of the heavens was attained. Answering fires awakened in the west; and presently the whole firmament had become one fervent, glorious canopy. Here and there, where


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 Though he and Constanza often met, it was never again in secret, and Andrea breathed no word of love into the maiden's ear. Time tested, and forbearance strengthened, their affection. Andrea's powers as a sculptor kept steady pace with his ambition. In a few years he won renown, and, with it, a richer guerdon, for the Duke bestowed upon him the hand of his daughter. But this dearest triumph was wrought, not by the fame which crowned his genius, but by the glorious victory he had gained over himself.

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 CHAPTER XXIII

THE SNAKE'S DECREE

, crouching on the ground with the rest, but in spirit uplifted and thrilled by the intensity of his relief and exultation, glanced upward, over his shoulder, at the small, erect figure standing alone and above him under the gilded canopy of the howdah.

Even through the gauze of her veil he could see how her eyes shone. Her breast, beneath the glittering scales, heaved; her whole frame quivered with the ecstasy of her triumph.

She had conquered—his dear Divinity! Had vanquished this mob of the discontented, the rebellious, and the sceptical, even as, at her first coming, she had enslaved his own soul.

Her victory was complete; and Chun, freed suddenly from the crushing burden of his anxiety and fear for her, found in her success an intoxication and a delight more potent than any achievement of his own could ever have pro- duced. The knowledge that it was through him that the woman he so loved had attained to this pinnacle of ascendancy over the inhabitants of


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 CHAPTER XXIV

THE HUT IN THE FOREST

short dusk of the tropics lay, like a soft coverlet, over the hot face of the land; and in the interior of the hut, under the high-pitched roof of thatch, it was already dark.

In the mud fireplace at the back, pots stood above the flames, supported on flat stones, blackened by wood-smoke. Two or three women busied themselves with the cooking, and a little group of children of both sexes squatted near them, occasionally scolding or striking at a couple of lean cats which prowled about, restless and expectant. On a palm-leaf mat near the low doorway, from which a ladder of untrimmed wood led to the littered space before the hut, Slat, now a very old and feeble man, was seated, chewing his betel-quid mechanically. At a little distance from him, Sud and Muth, grown heavier with years, squatted placidly in bovine silence.

Through the uneven oblong of the door, and beneath the ragged fringe of thatch above it,


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 will miss the love of the only man whose affection she could have returned, and will spend her desolate and uncomforted age in mourning over the vanished triumphs which were her sole happiness, but which can never return; or else, just as she suspects that her light is beginning to wane, she will allow the most abject of her admirers, after numberless petitions, to swear himself her slave for life. But when he humbly encircles her taper finger with the golden round, the twain will change places. All the chains with which Amanda has manacled others will seem gathered together, and their weight heaped upon her own spirit; all the arrows she has sped will fly back and transfix her own heart. She will find the slave of yore transformed into the most unsparing of tyrants, and the dethroned sovereign will hopelessly sink into the humblest, dullest, most dejected of captives.

Hearken, fair Amanda, and be warned! Surrender at discretion! Lay down thine arms at the feet of some worthy suitor, yield thyself up trustingly to his mercy, and escape either destiny predicted.

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 eyes upon the unambitious wife, her youthful contemporary, who never dreamed of being a belle, whom Melinda scorned for her even, unpretentious. ways, but who still retains a lingering freshness, a kindly warmth, a serene vivacity, a soul-renewed loveliness that have preserved a husband's devotion intact, and won from time-tried friends reverence and tenderness in abundance, and now make the nonpareil beauty of other days reflect despairingly upon her wasted opportunities, her hollow and valueless existence, and inwardly murmur, "Oh, that I could change places with her, here and hereafter!"

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