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s the noose of God' is a quotation from the


Baby-wife. He forbad marriage before the Sufee poet Abû Sa'id-born A.D. 968, died at the age of puberty. ige of 83. He is a mystical poet, and some of his expressions have been compared to our

Indian widow. Akbar ordained that remarGeorge Herbert. Of Shaikh Abû Sa'id it is re

riage was lawful. corded that he said, when my affairs had reacht

Music. “About a watch before daybreak,' I certain pitch I buried under the dust my books

says Abul Fazl, the musicians played to the king ind opened a shop on my own account (i.e.

in the palace. His Majesty had such a knowlregan to teach with authority), and verily men

edge of the science of music as trained musicians represented me as that which I was not, until it

do not possess.' came to this, that they went to the Qadhi and estified against me of unbelieverhood ; and The Divine Faith.' The Divine Faith slowly women got upon the roofs and cast unclean

passed away under the immediate successors of hings upon me.' (Vide reprint from article in

Akbar. An idea of what the Divine Faith was National Review, March, 1891, by C. J. Pick: may be gathered from the inscription at the head ering.)

of the poem. The document referred to, Abul Aziz. I am not aware that there is any rec

Fazl says 'brought about excellent results (1) ord of such intrusion upon the king's privacy,

the Court became a gathering place of the sages put the expressions in the text occur in a letter

and learned of all creeds; the good doctrines of sent by Akbar's foster-brother Aziz, who refused

all religious systems were recognized, and their o come to court when summoned and threw up

defects were not allowed to obscure their good nis government, and after writing an insolent

features; (2) perfect toleration or peace with all and reproachful letter to Akbar in which he

was established; and (3) the perverse and evil. asked him if he had received a book from heaven,

minded were covered with shame on seeing the or if he could work miracles like Mahomet that

disinterested motives of His Majesty, and these ne presumed to introduce a new religion, warned

stood in the pillory of disgrace.' Dated Septemaim that he was on the way to eternal perdition,

ber 1579-Ragab 987 (Blochmann xiv.). and concluded with a prayer to God to bring him pack into the path of salvation' (Elphinstone).

· The Koran, the Old and New Testament, THE BANDIT'S DEATH.* and the Psalms of David are called books by way of excellence, and their followers “ People of the

TO SIR WALTER SCOTT.1 Book”' (Elphinstone).

O GREAT AND GALLANT SCOTT, Akbar according to Abdel Kadir had his son TRUE GENTLEMAN HEART, BLOOD AND BONE, Murad instructed in the Gospel, and used to I WOULD IT HAD BEEN MY LOT nake him begin his lessons ‘In the name of TO HAVE SEEN THEE, AND HEARD THEE, AND Christ'instead of in the usual way 'In the name

KNOWN. of God.'

To drive

Sir, do you see this dagger? nay, why do 4 people from the irancient fold of Truth, etc.

you start aside? Malleson says' This must have happened because I was not going to stab you, tho' I am the Akbar states it, but of the forced conversions

Bandit's bride. have found no record. This must have taken place whilst he was still a minor, and whilst the

You have set a price on his head: I may :hief authority was wielded by Bairam.'

claim it without a lie. I reap no revenue from the field of unbelief.' What have I here in the cloth? I will The Hindus are fond of pilgrimages, and Akbar

show it you by-and-by. emoved a remunerative tax raised by his prede

Sir, I was once a wife. I had one brief essors on pilgrimages. He also abolished the ezza or capitation tax on those who differed

summer of bliss rom the Mahomedan faith. He discouraged

But the Bandit had woo'd me in vain, and ul excessive prayers, fasts and pilgrimages.

he stabb’d my Piero with this. Sati. Akbar decreed that every widow who 1 I have adopted Sir Walter Scott's version of howed the least desire not to be burnt on her the following story as given in his last journal jusband's funeral pyre, should be let go free and (Death of Il Bizarro)-but I have taken the in harmed.

liberty of making some slight alterations. * Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co.

And he dragg’d me up there to his cave

in the mountain, and there one

day He had left his dagger behind him. I

found it. I hid it away.

Glared on at the murder'd son, and to

murderous father at rest, . I drove the blade that had slain mets!

band thrice thro' his breast.

For he reek'd with the blood of Piero;

his kisses were red with his crime, And I cried to the Saints to avenge me.

They heard, they bided their time. In a while I bore him a son, and he loved

to dandle the child, And that was a link between us; but I

to be reconciled?No, by the Mother of God, tho' I think I

hated him less, And-well, if I sinn'd last night, I will

find the Priest and confess.

He was loved at least by his dog: it uz

chain'd, but its horrible yell 'She has kill'd him, has kill'd him,

killd him’rang out all down the

the dell, Till I felt I could end myself too with

dagger-so deafen'd and daze :Take it, and save me from it! I fied..

was all but crazed

With the grief that gnaw'd at my tez.

and the weight that dragg'd at

hand; But thanks to the Blessed Saints tha:

came on none of his band; And the band will be scatter'd now the

gallant captain is dead, For I with this dagger of his-do T.

doubt me? Here is his head:



This is written in the dialect which was carret in my youth at Spilsby and in the country about i


Listen! we three were alone in the dell

at the close of the day. I was lilting a song to the babe, and it

laugh'd like a dawn in May. Then on a sudden we saw your soldiers

crossing the ridge, And he caught my little one from me:

we dipt down under the bridge By the great dead pine-you know it

and heard, as we crouch'd below, The clatter of arms, and voices, and men

passing to and fro. Black was the night when we crept away

—not a star in the skyHush'd as the heart of the grave, till the

little one utter'd a cry. I whisper'd give it to me,' but he would

not answer me-then He gript it so hard by the throat that the

boy never cried again. We return'd to his cave-the link was

broken-he sobb'd and he wept, And cursed himself; then he yawn'd, for

the wretch could sleep, and he slept Ay, till dawn stole into the cave, and a

ray red as blood Glanced on the strangled face-I could

make Sleep Death, if I would

EH? good daäy! good daây! tham :

bean't not mooch of a dažy, Nasty, casselty weather! an' mea baik

down wi' my haäy!

II. How be the farm gittin on? noäwn's

Gittin on i'deeäd ! Why, tonups was haäfe on 'em fingers

an' toäs, an' the mare brokko

kneeäd, An' pigs didn't sell at fall, an' wa ks

wer Haldeny cow, An' it beäts ma to knaw wot she died i

but wool's looking oop ony bor.


An' soà they've maäde tha a parson, an'

thou'll git along, niver fear, Fur I beän chuch-warden mysen i' the

parish fur fifteen year. Well-sin ther beä сhuch-wardens, ther

mun be parsons an' all, An' if tone stick alongside t’uther the

chuch weänt happen a fall.

An' keeäper 'e seed ya an roon'd, an’’e beal'd to ya

*Lad coom hout' An' ya stood oop maäkt i' the beck, an'

ya tell’d'im to knaw his awn plaäce An' ya call'd 'im a clown, ya did, an' ya

thraw'd the fish i' 'is faäce, An''e torn'd as red as a stag-tuckey's

wattles, but theer an' then I coämb’d 'im down, fur I promised ya'd

niver not do it ageän.



Fur I wur a Baptis wonst, an' ageän the

toithe and the raäte, Till I fun that it warn't not the gaäinist

waäy to the narra Gaäte. An' I can't abeär 'em, I can't, fur a lot

on 'em coom'd ta-yearI wur down wi' the rheumatis then-to

my pond to wesh thessens theereSa I sticks like the ivin as long as I lives

to the owd chuch now, Fur they wesh'd their sins i' my pond,

an' I doubts they poison'd the cow.

An' I cotch'd tha wonst i my garden,

when thou was a height-year-howd, An' I fun thy pockets as full o'my pippins

as iver they'd ’owd, An' thou was as peärky as owt, an' tha

maäde me as mad as mad, But I says to tha keeäp 'em, an' welcome'

fur thou was the parson's lad.



Ay, an' ya seed the Bishop. They says

'at he coom'd fra nowtBurn i traäde. Sa I warrants 'e niver

said haäfe wot 'e thowt, But 'e creeäpt an''e crawlid along, till 'e

feeäld 'e could howd 'is oän, Then 'e married a great Yerl's darter, an'

sits o' the Bishop's throän.

An' Parson 'e 'ears on it all, an' then

taäkes kindly to me, An' then I wur chose Chuch-warden an'

coom'd to the top o' the tree, Fur Quoloty's hall my friends, an' they

maäkes ma a help to the poor, When I gits the plaäte fuller o’ Soondays

nor ony chuch-warden afoor, Fur if iver thy feyther 'ed riled me I kep'

mysen meeäk as a lamb, An' saw by the Graäce o' the Lord, Mr.

Harry, I ham wot I ham.

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Now I'll gie tha a bit o' my mind an' tha

weant be taäkin' offence, Fur thou be a big scholard now wi’ a

hoonderd haäcre o' senseBut sich an obstropulous lad—naäy, naäy

-fur I minds tha sa well, Tha'd niver not hopple thy tongue, an'

the tongue's sit afire o' Hell, As I says to my missis to-daäy, when she

hurld a plaäte at the cat An' anoother ageän my noäse. Ya was

niver sa bad as that.

But Parson 'e will speäk out, saw, now 'e

be sixty-seven, He'll niver swap Owlby an' Scratby fur

owt but the Kingdom o' Heaven; An' thou'll be 'is Curate 'ere, but, if iver

tha means to git ’igher, Tha mun tackle the sins o' the Wo'ld, an'

not the faults o' the Squire. An' I reckons tha’ll light of a livin' some

wheers i' the Wowd or the Fen, If tha cottons down to thy betters, an'

keeäps thysen to thysen. But niver not speak plaäin out, if tha

wants to git forrards a bit, But creeäp along the hedge-bottoms, an'

thou'll be a Bishop yit.


But I minds when i' Howlaby beck won

daäy ya was ticklin' o' trout,

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All very well just now to be calling

darling and sweet,
And after a while would it matter

much if I came on the street?


She found my letter upon

of reproach and scorn I had cursed the woman he

him, and the day I wa


You when I met you first-when

brought you : -I turn'd away And the hard blue eyes have it still

, stare of a beast of prey.



They put him aside for ever,

week-no moreA stranger as welcome as Sata

came to my door:

GLOSSARY. Casselty,' casualty, chance weather.

* Haäfe down wi' my haäy,' while my grass is only half-mown.

Fingers an' toäs,' a disease in turnips. * Fall,' autumn.

'If t'õne stick alongside t'uther,' if the one hold by the other. One is pronounced like own.'

'Fun,' found. Gaäinist,' nearest. *Ta-year,' this

year. Ivin,' ivy.

* Obstropulous,'obstreperous-here the Curate makes a sign of deprecation.

Hopple' or 'hobble,' to tie the legs of a skittish cow when she is being milked.

• Beal'd,' bellowed.

In such words as 'torned,'' turned,'' hurled,' the r is hardly audible.

‘Stag-tuckey,' turkey-cock.
‘Height-year-howd,' eight-year-old.
''Owd,' hold.

Peärky,' pert.
'Wo'ld,' the world. Short o.
* Wowd,' wold.

You were his friend-you-you-where

promised to make me his bride,
And you knew that he meant to be

me-you knew-you knew that I


So I turn'd my face to the

mad, I was raving-wild. I was close on that hour of dish

birth of a baseborn chil


He married an heiress, an orphan

half a shire of estate, -
I sent him a desolate wail and a curs.

when I learn’d my fate.


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O you that can flatter your vi

juggle, and lie and cajol Man,

can you even guess at the

soul for a soul?



For I used to play with the knife

, crem
down to the river-shore,
Moan to

for evermore.





I had cursed her as woman and

in wife and woman I fou The tenderest Christ-like crea

ever stept on the ground

What am I doing, you say to me, 'wast

ing the sweet summer hours'? Haven't you eyes?

I am dressing the grave of a woman with flowers.

Would the man have a touch of redak

when he heard what an end

Or brag to his fellow rakes of his congues

over their wine?



She watch'd me, she nursed me

me, she sat day and nig bed,

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For a woman ruin'd the world, as God's

own scriptures tell, And a man ruin'd mine, but a woman,

Money-my hire-his money-I sent la nithe joyless birthday came God bless her, kept me from Hell.

back what he gave, * Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co.

born happily dead.

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