a list of errata prefixed to the second edi- | Wyse, Richards, the two Mayors, Bytion; others have been silently corrected water, Jackson, Rutherford, and many othin the text. For instance, Sídws, which was ers, since the publication of the tract. supplied in the first edition as the present We have, however, already given reasons participle of Sidwμ on p. 44, is now silently for the belief that the treatise is, in parts printed Sídovs; in the same way the editor at least, of an age considerably later than has treated oxyaрxíav éπé úμovv, p., 93; the Aristotelian epoch, that post-classical οἵτινες δοκῶσι, ν. 122 ; ὀχέτους μετεώρας, usages are interwoven into the very warp p. 125; ei éλwow, p. 142. But others and woof of it, and that to emend it into nearly as bad still survive; we still have strict accordance with the Greek of Aris[τῶν ἀρεσκο]μένων on p. 44, as if ἀρέσκεσ- totle's age would be almost equivalent to Bat could mean "to be pleasing in Attic rewriting the work. Further, we are disprose; we have ó év ȧyopa σîtos ȧpyòs for posed to think that even after all the violaἀργὸς σίτος, Ρ. 127; ἐπιμελεῖσθαι ὅπως tions of classical usage had been pruned πωλῆται Xρnowvται, p. 126; and exoué- away, not even then would the essay provous for exovras on p. 125, in the very next duce on a judicious reader with an ear for line to that in which μerepas is silently style the impression of being the work of corrected to μereopovs; in correcting the Aristotle, or even of one of his immediate wrong gender, why did not the editor re- successors; and that wholesale emendamove a shocking solecism in the next tion might do more harm than good by line? On р. 97 κатασkevσaci is of course disguising from us the real character of an a misprint; it is as yet uncorrected. The essay which, though ancient and full of second edition still contains very bad mis-interest and instruction, does not seem to takes, for which the editor now owns that have emanated from Aristotle, nor from he, not the codex, is responsible. On p. any of the pupils whom he taught in per16 we have μéμνnke, on p. 66 Tiμoolévov, son. ... on p. 100 Ευκλείδους, on p. 1οι πρὶν ἀπογράφηται, and on p. 11o ἐπὶ τῶν θεωρι kŵv, though in each case, as Mr. Kenyon now ingeniously confesses, the codex had the grammatical form, μέμνηται, Τιμοσθέ νους, Ευκλείδου, πρὶν ἂν ἀπογράφηται, and From The Cornhill Magazine. EIGHT DAYS. PERIL. I will a round unvarnished tale deliver. - Othello. Tì TO DEWρIKÓν. In filling up undecipher- BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE TOUCHSTONE OF able lacunæ words are supplied which are grammatically incompatible with the words which can be read. Thus we find éλwow supplied after ei, and av omitted after Tρív. It is hard to conceive how any one THE young man, on whose movements on reading κal κown (p. 103) should have so much depends, knows the whole counfailed to decipher words so naturally sug-tryside up to Abdoolapore very well, and gested to the mind as kai idia, and should have printed instead kapdía, which is absolutely nonsense. Again, or Xpýσeral, on p. 63, and τ Toλéu, on p. 140, are quite unmeaning; while by printing & Tɩ and Tw, which are no changes at all as far as the MS. is concerned, we gain a perfect sense. We are, however, under such deep obligations to the authorities of the British Museum, that we are unwilling to judge toc harshly these defects. They have been the occasion of bringing out some fine scholarship, and showing that England can still hold the great position she has won in the art of brilliant and certain emendation. We have already mentioned Sikáčovor okoтało (p. 145), the admirable conjecture of Dr. Sandys. It would be a pleasure to record here, if space permitted, the many excellent suggestions which have been made by various scholars, by so is able to make his way along the least frequented village pathways. He passes over the eight miles unmolested. Arrived, he leaves the "native" city on one side and passes into the English station; he moves along the deserted roads and by the burnt-down bungalows of the cantonment. He inquires at a little bazaar for the residence of the brigadier, to whom he has been charged to deliver the missive, and is told that he and the other English residents have left the cantonment and taken up their quarters in a fortified enclosure known as the "Dum-duma." This very road leads up to it. The young man is very well acquainted with the native, but not with the European portion of Ab. doolapore; and so he gets quite close to the fortified position, which is all that the Europeans at present occupy or hold, without knowing it. He is passing by a small house by the side of the road, in which Why do they not take him on to Major Cox?" "The prisoner, the spy, says he is most anxious to speak to the presence." "He is not armed, he has no arms about him?" says the brigadier anxiously. 66 Oh, no." there is an outlying picket of English | then, after it comes the much loved aftersoldiers, when he is challenged by the sen- noon sleep. try and not knowing the meaning or import of the words, he continues to press on; is challenged again, and then again, as he continues to hurry on, full of the importance of his mission, the saving of so many human lives is he not too a Ramanandi? And then he gives a jump as he hears the report of a musket, and a bullet whistles by him within an inch of his nose. And then comes the sound of rapid footsteps, and he finds himself in the grasp of a couple of English soldiers, who hurry him rapidly off the road and into the temporary guard-house. Sure, he is a sapoy ye can tell it by the cut of the whisker!" says an Irish soldier. That special cut of the whisker was to cost many an innocent native his life during the coming two years. "He is a bloody mutineer," says an English soldier. "Then tell them to bring him in-to bring him in." The sergeant and the soldiers make their military salute. The sentry makes his report. The man was trying to steal by the out. post, was trying to get stealthily - most stealthily-by it, and refused to halt when challenged, so he (Murphy) fired at him, and the other men - Private Higgins, and Private Bell, and Private Dougherty — ran out and caught him. Then he kept saying, "Brigadier," "Brigadier," and so they brought him here. "Why do you want to see me?" demands the brigadier sharply. The Hindoostan language is a lingua franca that had its rise in the camps and The young neophyte is of a nervous bazaars of the great river-side mart and temperament. He does not like his presentrepot and metropolis of Delhi, where ent position. He has always held these the different tongued natives of Hindos- white men as a very terrible people. And tan and western Asia met. Now has he has heard that the wrath of Englishcome a large admixture of English. The men in Abdoolapore burns just now young messenger spoke his own village strongly against his fellow-countrymen, dialect, and the soldiers spoke the bar- several of whom have been disposed of rack-room Hindostanee, in which English, very summarily by hanging or shooting, and not Sanscrit, or Hindee, or Persian, within the last few days. And so it is in forms the leading element. Consequently a trembling, stuttering voice, obviously they did not understand one another. But indicative of his guilt, that he utters the still the captors could comprehend the sentence, reiterated Brigadier Sahib, Brigadier Sahib," of the captive. "Shure he wants to see the brigadier. He may have something to say to him. Let us take him to him. It's but a step." The brigadier has his temporary quarters just within the adjoining gateway of the enclosure. The captive spy, as the soldiers deem him, is conveyed thither. When the brigadier's servants announce to him, with a good deal of excitement, that the soldiers at the neighboring picket have seized a spy, it becomes an accepted fact that the man is a spy. "But why have they brought him here?" says the brigadier irritably. It is now within a few minutes of two o'clock, at which hour the brigadier has his tiffin. All his meals are of the utmost importance to him; he lives only for them and his rubbers of whist; but he is especially fond of his tiffin, for that is the meal at which he has his first bottle of beer, and, his office work being over before "I am a disciple of the Guru Toolsi Dass, the Ramanandi "Gurus, and Tulsis, and Ramnands," interrupts the brigadier angrily. "What is he talking about? Probably pretending to be mad. A favorite dodge with the natives. I know them well. He was try ing to steal by the picket, you say?" 66 Trying to steal quietly by it." Proud of his exploit, the young soldier has come to believe this sincerely. Alas for poor facts! And what a thing is human testimony! "He thought, sir, that I would be in the shadow of the house, on the other side." "And if he had got into the enclosure we could not have known that he was not one of our own coolies. He could have done what he liked there, the scoundrel. Take him away take him to Major Cox!" cries the fat old brigadier in his thick, husky voice. "He is saying something about a chit," (note, letter), "sir," says his good-natured - is my name there? "No, sir." "Look inside "No, sir." "I thought it could not be for me -a piece of common bazaar paper." "It is not English, sir." "I thought the fellow was lying. Throw it into the waste-paper basket." The little bit of paper, laden with so many human lives, goes down into the midst of the pieces of torn paper meant to be cast away. And the khansaman announces tiffin, and the old brigadier says peremptorily, "Take him away. Take him away to Major Cox. He shall be tried by courtmartial to-morrow." Wretches hang that jurymen may dine. So far as the young messenger knew, the basket might be the proper receptacle for letters; and so far as he was aware the document had been read and his errand fulfilled. In any case, he makes no further remark as the soldiers hurry him away. And those whose thoughts have followed him with so much of hope and fear have to beguile the hours succeeding his departure as best they may. They pair off. Major Fane and Mrs. Fane retire a little way into the wood and seat themselves at the foot of a tree in order to discuss the events of the last few days quietly together, as they have not been able to do before. And then their thoughts fly away from the present back into the past, that past which seems to come up so vividly before them in this time of trouble. - "I do not believe we have been in a wood together since that last day we drove to Lyndhurst," says Mrs. Fane. That was shortly after they were married. And then they talk very tenderly together. A cold, calm, self-possessed, "hee! haw!" drawling sort of man; a proud, cold, haughty woman—that is the outside estimate of the two. But now they are gentle and tender and sentimental, as tender and sentimental as any pair of young lovers as William Hay and their daughter seated together under another tree. For, as has been said before, it is in moments such as these that the strength of the relationship, which is apt to become weakened amid the commonplace of ordinary times, is felt in its full force. Then a common atmosphere once more envelops the husband and wife, each of whom has brought into the life of the other the most important circumstance in it; then the strength of the tie which binds them to one another and separates them from the rest of the world is felt in all its fulness. And Beatrice asks William Hay with tender solicitude about his wound, and he makes light of it, though at that very moment it is paining him greatly, and he has a private fear that he may have to lose his arm. And when Beatrice, worn out by the dangers and hardships, the fatigue and physical sufferings of the last three terrible days, cannot help breaking down for a moment the tension of exertion gone he sustains and cheers and comforts her, going for comfort to the source from which he has ever been accustomed to draw it. Are not God's everlasting arms under her, and is he not strong to save? And then he repeats some of the verses from the Psalms, which his constant perusal, and the effect of them upon his soul and spirit, and likewise upon his sensitive ear, have made so familiar to him. Lilian. "How terrible to have met people "Immortality imports that the soul reonly a day or two before- and to be look- mains after the body, and is not corrupted ing forward to meeting them again and or dissolved with it. And there is no then to see them lying dead before you!" inconvenience in attributing this sort of "Whom did you see lying dead before immortality to the brute creation. you?" asks Hamilton, rather a matter-of- whether they return into the soul and fact young man. spirit of the world, if there be any such thing, as some fancy, or whether they pass into the bodies of other animals which succeed in their room, is not necessary to be particularly determined. It is suffi cient that they are a sort of spirits. And as this was always the common philosophy of the world, so we find it to be a supposition of Scripture, which attributes souls to brutes as well as to man, though of a much inferior nature." "Oh, poor Captain Smith, and -and Mr. Hill, and-and- and Mr. Walton." At last she has arrived at the name which has been foremost. And now the hot tears come rolling down her blistered, burning cheek, and she wipes her eyes with her rent and grimy sleeve; their garments are very much torn as well as very dirty. And Major Coote passes an hour in hearing the Guru discourse. The Ramanandi could not have had a full talk about his creed only with a Kant or a Spinoza. His present auditor is no metaphysician; but he is a willing listener, and though he has to ask for explanation of some philosophical terms, he has a good colloquial knowledge of the language. And so the Guru launches out into a long discourse on the history and peculiar tenets of his sect. He describes how the sect was founded by Ramanand and extended by Kabir, who attacked the idolatrous worship of the Brahminical system, and whose teaching greatly influenced Nanuk, the founder of the Sikh religion; how he taught the doctrine of the identity of God and man, God in us and we in him; that old doctrine of the indwelling God, only so recognizable, "in whom we live and move and have our being " as St. Paul, quoting from an early pantheistic writer, put it from whom all things are, who produced and maintains and pervades all that is; the old Sufy doctrine of the Mahomedans, a doctrine asserted by Grotius and Archbishop Tillotson, and set forth by Pope in his "Essay on Man: And now the terrible heat and glare and the fiery, furious, dust-laden gale, are upon them. Now the mother and daughters seek shelter within the hut, which has been devoted to their exclusive use; and soon they come out again to seek relief from its stifling atmosphere. But the heat and the glare without are terrible. The vast open plain before them seems like a sea of fire. Little whirlwinds fly about on it; huge dusky dust-cones move slowly across it. The natives hold that each of these contains a devil; that the smaller whirlwinds are due to the twirling about of the mad little demons, or imps; the dust columns to the graver movements of the devils of a superior age and size and station. Certainly here is the burning marl, here the fiery cope of heaven, of Milton's Pandemonium; and here may be Satan and Belial and Beelzebub, and the lesser evil spirits. Then the women retire again into the comparative darkness of the hut, which also prevents the hot wind from blowing directly upon them. Then they rush out again, unable to endure its choking heat. Fierce the heat, terrible the glare, dreadful the fiery, dust-laden wind. But the fierce heat is also their friend; the terrible glare is also their ally; the fiery, dust-laden wind is also their protector. They prevent people from being abroad at this hour. Not a soul comes near the hut. It is, however, like purchas ing salvation at the stake. The warmth is considerable. But the centuries go by, and so do the hours. The sun is now dropping down towards the west. hot wind has begun to lull. The glare It may, perhaps, interest some reader to which had been torturing becomes only know that Archbishop Tillotson has set painful; then only disagreeable. But the forth this portion of the old doctrine-mental sufferings of the poor women in. that the life of animals is divine, that they crease as their bodily sufferings diminish. they too have immortal souls likewise Their fears rise as the sun goes down. in his writings. These are his words: The time for movement and traffic has All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is and God the soul; how in the world and throughout the universe "all the existing corpuscles of life derive the effluence of existence from the source of real unity; "how this applies to animals, to all living creatures, as well as to man; how all life is therefore sacred, to destroy it therefore most culpable, to cherish it therefore most meritòrious. The "What! would you dare set foot in my place of worship?" he cries. "Do you not see the images?" and he points to the pottery figures of the curly-tailed monkeygod. come again. Now may travellers be ex- | very fast themselves. They all scuttle in, What is that cloud of dust upon the track? Is it a herd of cattle? Is it the delivering escort, the escort sent to bring them in? How the hearts of the women beat! It is a troop of horsemen, there is soon no doubt of that. And it comes from the right direction, from the eastward. It comes nearer and nearer. And now the horsemen have left the dusty track and are riding along the harder surface of the plain, and stand out clear above it. What is this? Surely that is the bizarre uniform, so familiar in their eyes, of the nuwâb of Khizrabad's cavalry? The officers have often laughed at it; they do not feel inclined to laugh at it now. "Not your men! The nuwâb's men!" cries the Guru. "Into the hut at once, before they see you." But they have seen them, as is too surely testified by their shouting and yelling; and now they come dashing onward. There is a great commotion among the fugitives. The men hurry the women toward the hut, and hurry them in, and, humiliating as they may feel it, hurry in the sen Great is the power of superstition; nay, great is the power of sentiment timent of religion, of honor, or of good taste. The young man stands still. "And the hut is part of the platform, and is therefore also sacred and holy, a sanctuary. No man dare set foot within it." "They are slayers of kine. But they too have within them the spark divine. I must protect them, as I would protect any other living thing-wolf, or cat, or dog. Besides, they are now in sanctuary, and even a murderer, one who has slain his brother man, is safe in sanctuary." "But we have the nuwâb's orders to seize these people." "These people why these people?" "Oh, we know these are the peoplethree women and four men, who were confined in the guest-house at Chundpore, and who got out of it no one knows how - by the power of magic some say. A young Brahmin came to the nuwâb's palace and gave information about them "The strayer from the path of righteousness," exclaims the recluse. We "And we were sent to bring them in. "And they are now in sanctuary." |