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said, crossing himself clumsily. The wife and children followed suit. Then, all together, they struck up the wailing chant that I heard on the hill-side:

"Dir hane mard-i-yemen dir

To weeree ala gee.”

I was puzzled no longer. Again and again they sung, as if their hearts would break, their version of the chorus of "The Wearing of the Green :

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'They're hanging men and women, too,
For the wearing of the green."

A diabolical inspiration came to me. One of the brats, a boy about eight years old could he have been in the fields last night?-was watching me as he sung. I pulled out a rupee, held the coin between finger and thumb, and looked-only lookedat the gun leaning against the wall. A grin of brilliant and perfect comprehension overspread his porringer-like face. Never for an instant stopping the song, he held out his hand for the money, and then slid the gun to my hand. I might have shot Namgay Doola dead as he chanted, but I was satisfied. The inevitable blood-instinct held true. Namgay Doola drew the curtain across the recess. Angelus was

over.

“Thus my father sung. There was much more, but I have forgotten, and I do not know the purport of even these words, but it may be that the god will understand. I am not of this people, and I will not pay revenue."

"And why?

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Again that soul-compelling grin. "What occupation would be to me between crop and crop? It is better than scaring bears. But these people do

not understand."

He picked the masks off the floor and looked in my face as simply as a child.

"By what road didst thou attain knowledge to make those deviltries?" I said, pointing.

"I can not tell. I am but a Lepcha of Darjiling, and yet the stuff

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"Which thou has stolen," said I.

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"Nay, surely. Did I steal? I desired it so. The stuff-the stuff. What else should I have done with He twisted the velvet between his

the stuff?"

fingers.

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"But the sin of maiming the cow-consider that." Oh, sahib, the man betrayed me; the heifer's tail waved in the moonlight, and I had my knife. What else should I have done? The tail came off ere I was aware. Sahib, thou knowest more than I." "That is true," said I. Stay within the door. I go to speak to the king." The population of the state were ranged on the hill-side. I went forth and spoke.

"Oh, king," said I, "touching this man, there be two courses open to thy wisdom. Thou canst either hang him from a tree- he and his brood-till there remains no hair that is red within thy land."

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"Nay,” said the king. “Why should I hurt the little children?

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They had poured out of the hut and were making plump obeisances to everybody. Namgay Doola waited at the door with his gun across his arm.

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Or thou canst, discarding their impiety of the cow-maiming, raise him to honor in thy army. He comes of a race that will not pay revenue. A red flame is in his blood which comes out at the top of his head in that glowing hair. Make him chief of thy army. Give him honor as may be fall and full allowance of work, but look to it, oh, king, that neither he nor his hold foot of earth from thee henceforward. Feed him with words and favor, and also liquor from certain bottles that thou knowest of, and he will be a bulwark of defense. But deny

him even a tuftlet of grass for his own. This is the nature that God has given him. Moreover, he has brethren-"

The state groaned unanimously.

"But if his brethren come they will surely fight with each other till they die; or else the one will always give information concerning the other. Shall he be of thy amy, oh, king? Choose."

The king bowed his head, and I said: "Come forth, Namgay Doola, and command the king's army. Thy name shall no more be Namgay in the mouths of men, but Patsay Doola, for, as thou hast truly said, I know."

Then Namgay Doola, new-christened Patsay Doola, son of Timlay Doola-which is Tim Doolan-clasped the king's feet, cuffed the standing army, and hurried in an agony of contrition from temple to temple making offerings for the sin of the cattle-maiming.

And the king was so pleased with my perspicacity that he offered to sell me a village for £20 sterling. But I buy no village in the Himalayas so long as one red head flares between the tail of the heavenclimbing glacier and the dark birch forest.

I know that breed.

ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE

ALPHONSE MARIE LOUIS DE LAMARTINE, poet, historian and statesman, was born near Macon, France, in 1790; died at Paris in 1869. In 1811 Lamartine went to Italy, but returned when Napoleon was sent to the island of Elba. On the return of the Em

peror, he became again an exile. He published in 1820 his first volume, "Poetical Meditations." The Revolution of 1848 called him again into the political arena, but after four months he returned to lead a literary life. He was a voluminous writer. His literary and prose, especially his historical prose, are of a high order, and place him in the front rank of French authors of the nineteenth century.

THE CEDARS OF LEBANON

(Translated by Toru Dutt)

EAGLES, that wheel above our crests,

Say to the storms that round us blow,

They cannot charm our gnarled breasts,
Firm-rooted as we are below.

Their utmost efforts we defy.

They lift the sea-waves to the sky;
But when they wrestle with our arms,
Nervous and gaunt, or lift our hair,
Balance within its cradle fair
The tiniest bird has no alarms.

Sons of the rock, no mortal hand
Here planted us: God-sown we grew.
We are the diadem green and grand
On Eden's summit that He threw.

When waters in a deluge rose,
Our hollow flanks could well enclose
Awhile the whole of Adam's race;
And children of the Patriarch
Within our forest built the Ark
Of Covenant, foreshadowing Grace.

We saw the tribes as captives led,
We saw them back return anon;
As rafters have our branches dead
Covered the porch of Solomon;
And later, when the Word made man
Came down in God's salvation-plan
To pay for sin the ransom-price,

The beams that form'd the Cross we gave:
These, red in blood of power to save,
Were altars of that Sacrifice.

In memory of such great events,
Men came to worship our remains;

Kneel down in prayer within our tents,
And kiss our old trunks' weather-stains,
The saint, the poet, and the sage,
Hear and shall hear from age to age
Sounds in our foliage like the voice
Of many waters; in these shades

Their burning words are forged like blades,
While their uplifted souls rejoice.

THE TEMPLE PRISON

E left Louis XVI. at the threshold of the

WE Pétion

without his being able to know as yet whether he entered there as suspended from the throne or as a prisoner. This uncertainty lasted some days. The Temple was an ancient and dismal fortress,

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