LITTELLS LIVING AGE. No. 1439. January 6,1872. CONTENTS. Coruhill Magazine, 1. A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. By Matthew Arnold, 2. ThE NEAP REEF. By the author of Dorothy Fox. Part II.,. Good Cheer, 3. O~ THE PHILOSOPHY OF MYTHOLOGY. By Max Muller, 4. STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. Told by one of the Sev- en millions five hundred thousand who voted yes. By M. M. Erckmann-Chatrian, 6. THE LAST TOURNAMENT. By Alfred Tennyson, 6. THE MAID OF SKER. Part VII. 7. THE SOUTH-SEA ISLANDS CooLIE 5. DECEMBER 16, 1773 TIME, SORROW, THALASSA, Contemporary Review, Cornhill Magazine, Contemporary Review, Biaclewoods Magazine, Spectator, Boston Daily ~1dvertiser, POETRY. 2THE POET, 2 I THE LAST TOURNAMENT, - 21 A QUEENS SPEECH,. SHORT ARTICLES. - 64 I MISCELLANEOUS, .2 - . - 47 28, 60, 64 NUMBERS OF THE LIVING AGE WANTED. The publishers are in want of Nos. 1179 and 1180 (dated respectively Jan. 5th and Jan. 12th, 1867) of THE LIVING AGE. To subscribers, or others, who will do us the favor to send us either or both of those numbers, we will return an equivalent, either in our publications or in cash, until our wants are supplied. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & GAY, BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. Fox EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING Aex will be punctually for- warded for a year,free ofpostage. But we do not prepay postageon less than a year, nor where we have to pay commission for forwarding the money. Price of the First Series, in Cloth, 36 volumes, 90 dollars. Second 20 60 Third 32 SO The Complete Work, 100 250 Any Volume Bound, 3 dollars; Unbound, 2 dollars. The sets, or volumes, will be sent at the expense of the publishers. PREMIUMS FOR CLUBS. For 5 new subscribers ($40.), a sixth copy; or a set of HoRsIES INTRODUCTION TO THE BIBLE, un- abridged, in 4 large volumes, cloth, price $10; or any 5 of the back volumes of the LIVING AGE, in nuIn- bers, price $10. .3 .16 29 39 47 66 - 61 63 2 TIME, ETC. TIME. TIME speeds away away away; Another hour another day Another month another year Drop from us like the leaflets sear; Drop like the life-blood from our hearts, The rose-bloom from the cheeks departs, The tresses from the temples fall, The eyes grow dim and strange to all. Time speeds away away away; Like torrent in a stormy day. He undermine the stately tower, Uproots the tree and snaps the flower, And sweeps from our distracted breast The friends that loved, the friends that blest, And leaves us weeping on the shore To which they can return no more. Time speeds away away away; No eagle through the skies of day, No wind along the shore can flee So swiftly or so smooth as he. Like fiery steed, from stage to stage, He bears us on from youth to age, Then plunges in the fearful sea Of fathomless Eternity! SORROW. UroN my lips she laid her touch divine, And merry speech and careless laughter died; She fixed her melancholy eyes on mine, And would not be denied. I saw the West-wind loose his cloudlets white, In flocks, careering through the April sky; I could not sing, though joy was at its height, For she stood silent by. I watched the lovely evening fade away, A mist was lightly drawn across the stars. She broke my quiet dream, I heard her say, Behold your prison-bars! Earths gladness shall not satisfy your soul, This beauty of the world in which you live; The crowning grace that sanctifies the whole, That I alone can give. I heard, and shrunk away from her afraid; But still she held me, and would still abide. Youtha bounding pulses slackened and obeyed, With slowly ebbing tide. Look thou beyond the evening sky, she said, Beyond the changing splendours of the day. Accept the pain, the weariness, the dread, Accept, and bid me stay! I turned and clasped her close, with sudden strength, And slowly, sweetly, I became aware Within my arms Gods angel stood, at length, White-robed and calm and fair. And now I look beyond the evening star, Beyond the changing splendours of the day, Knowing the pain He sends more precious far, More beautiul, than they. Dublin University Magazine. THALASSA. I LOOK across the land and sea, I gaze into the quiet west, I hear the waves low lullaby, And yet my heart is not at rest. The heron wings his stately way In silence to his reedy nest, The white mists steal upon the day, And yet my soul is all unrest. The even bells break from the coast, Like sudden songs of angels blest, That love at lingering hours the most To bring the hearts of mortals rest. Weep not, they say, the plaint of love Is but a holy loss confessd; Sweet eyes look ever from above. Be still, sad heart, and sink to rest! Once a Week. THE rOET. SWEET did you say that my verse was? O could I but bring to your ear The soundless songs that entrance me, Which only my, soul can hear, Songs learned when my soul was beginning, Before it was fettered in me, And could hear the universe singing Its endless symphony. I hear those harmonies ever, And whenever I strive to sing, My soul is sad with the failure To make my melodies ring As they rang when it bathed in the brightness That streamed on it from the Throne, Where thought of itself is music, And effort and fruit are one. Spectator. A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. 3 From The Cornhull Magazine. bodies of Protestant Dissenters, to do A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY, them justice, are never wanting; to a per BY MATTHEW ARHOLD. ception that the ease against the Church of England may be yet further improved EVERYBODY has this last autumn been by contrasting her with the genuine article either seeing the Ammergan Passion Play in her own ecclesiastical line, by pointing or hearing about it; and to find any one out that she is neither one thing nor the who has seen it and not been deeply inter- other to much purpose, by dilating on the ested and moved by it, is very rare. The magnitude, reach, and impressiveness, on peasants of the neighbouring country, the the great Place in history, of her rival, as great and fashionable world, the ordinary compared with anything she can herself tourist, were all at Amniergan, and were pretend to. Something of this there is, no all delighted; but what is said to have doubt, in some of the modern Protestant been especially remarkable was the affiu- sympathy for things Catholic; but in gen- ence there of ministers of religion of all eral that sympathy springs, in Churchmen kinds. That Catholic peasants, whose re- and Dissenters alike, from another and a ligion has accustomed them to show and better cause, from the spread of larger spectacle, should be attracted by an ad- conceptions of religion, of man, and of his- mirable scenic representation of the great tory, than were cnrrent formerly. We moments in the history of their religion, have seen lately in the newspapers, that a was natural; that tourists and the fashion- clergyman, who in a popular lecture gave able world should be attracted by what an account of the Passion Flay at Ammer- was once the fashion and a new sensation gau, and enlarged on its impressiveness, of a powerful sort, was natural; that many was admonished by certain remonstrants, of th~ ecclesiastics there present should be who told him it was his business, instead attracted there, was natural too. Roman of occupying himself with these sensuous Catholic priests mustered strong, of course. shows, to learn to walk by faith, not l)y The Protestantism of a great nnmber of sight, and to teach his fellow-men to do the Anglican clergy is supposed to be but the same. But this severity seems to have languid, and Anglican ministers at Ammer- excited wonder rather than praise; so far gan were sympathizers to be expected. had those wider notions about religion and But Protestant ministers of the most umi- about the range of our interest in religion, impeachable sort, Protestant Dissenting of which I have just spoken, conducted us. ministers, were there, too, and showing To this interest I propose to appeal in favour and sympathy; and this, to any one what I am going to relate. For the Pas- who remembers the almost universal feel- sion Play at Ammergau, with its immense ing of Protestant Dissenters in this coun- audiences, the seriousness of its actors, try, not many years ago, towards Rome the passionate emotion of its spectators, and her religion, the sheer abhorrence brought to my mind something of which I of Papists and all their practices, could had read an account lately; something not but be strik~ing. It agrees with what produced, not in Bavaria nor in Christen- is seen also in literature, in the writings of doni at all, but far away in that wonder- Dissenters of the younger and umore pro- ful East, from which, whatever airs of gressive sort, who show a disposition for superiority Europe may justly give itself, regarding the Church of Rome historically I all our religion Imas come, and where relin- rather than polemically, a wish to do jus- ion, of some sort or other, has still an em- tice to the undoubted grandeur of certain pire over mens feelings such as it has institutions ~nd mcmi produced by that nowhere else. This product of time remote Church, quite novel, and quite alien to the East I wish to exhibit while the remem- simple belief of earlier times, that between brance of what has been at Ammergau is Protestants and Rome there was a meas-~ still fresh; and we will see whether that ureless gulph fixed. Something of this bringing together of strangers and enemies may no doubt, be due to that keen eye for who once seemed to be as far as the poles Non-conformist business in which our great asunder, which Ammergan in such a re 4 A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. markable way effected, does not hold good and find a parallel even in Persia. Count Gobineau, formerly Minister of France at Teheran and at Athens, pub- lished, a few years ago, an interesting book on the present state of religion and philosophy in Central Asia. lIe is favour- ably known also by his studies in eth- nology. His accomplishments and intelli- gence deserve all respect, and in his book on religion and philosophy in Central Asia he has the great advantage of writing about things which he has followed with his own observation and inquiry in the countries where they happened. The chief purpose of his book is to give a history of the career of Mirza Ali Mahommed, a Per- sian religious reformer, the original B6b, and the founder of Bdbism, of whieh most people in England have at least heard the name. Bab means gate, the door or gate of life; and in the ferment which now works in the Mahometan East, Mirza Ali Mahommed,who seems to have been made acquainted by Protestant mission- aries with our Scriptures and by the Jews of Shiraz with Jewish traditions, to have studied, besides, the ~religion of the Ghe- bers, the old national religion of Persia, and to have made a sort of amalgam of the whole withMahometanism, presented himself; about five-and-twenty years ago, as the door, the gate of life; found dis- ciples, sent forth writings, and finally be- came the cause of disturbances which led to his being executed, on the 19th of July, 1849, in the citadel of Tabriz. The Bab and his doctrines are a theme on which much might be said; but I pass them by. ex- cept for one incident in the Bibs life, which I will notice. Like all religious Mahome- tans, he made the pilgrimage to Mecca; and his meditations at that centre of his religion first suggested his mission to him. But soon after his return to Bagdad he made another pilgrimage; and it was in this pilgrimage that his mission became clear to him, and that his life was fixed. He desired ~ I will give an abridg- ment of Count Gobineaus own words to complete his impressions by going to Kufa, that he might visit the ruined mosque where Ali was assassinated, and where the place of his murder is still shown. lie passed several days there in meditation. The place appears to have made a great impression on him; he was entering a course which might and must lead to some such catastrophe as had hap- pened on the very spot where he stood, and where his minds eye showed him the Imam Ali lying at his feet, with his body pierced and bleeding. His followers say that he then passed through a sort of moral agony which put an end to all hesi- tation of the natural man within him. It is certain that when he arrived at Shiraz, on his return, he was a changed man. No doubts troubled him any more: he was penetrated and persuaded; his part was taken. This Ali also, at whose tomb the Bab went through the spiritual crisis here re- corded, is a familiar name to most of us. In general our knowled~e of the East goes but a very little way; yet almost every one has at least heard the name of Ali, the Lion of God, Mahomets young cousin, and the first who, after his wife, believed in him, and who was declared by Ma- homet in his gratitude his brother, dele- gate, and vicar. Au was one of Ma- homets best and most successful captains; he married Fatima, the daughter of the Prophet; his sons, Hassan and Hussein, were, as children, favourites with Ma- homet, who had n@ son of his own to suc- ceed him, and was expected to name Ali as his successor. He named no successor. At his death Au was passed over, and the first caliph, or vicar and lieutenant of Ma- homet in the government of the state, was Abu-Bekr; only the spiritual inheritance of Mahomet, the dignity of Imam, or Primate, devolved by right on Ali and his children. Ali, lion of God as in war he was, held aloof from politics and political intrigue, loved retirement and prayer, was the most pious and disinterested of men. At Abu- Bekrs death he was again passed over in favour of Omar. Omuar was succeeded by Othman, and still Ali remained tranquil. Othman was assassinated, and then Au chiefly to prevent disturbance and blood. shed, accepted the caliphate. Meanwhile the Mahometan armies had conquered Persia, Syria, and Egypt; the Governor of Syria, Moawiyah, an able and ambitious A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. 5 man, set himself up as caliph, his title was recognized by Amrou, the Governor of Egypt, and a bloody and indecisive battle was fought in Mesopotainia between Alis army and Moawiyahs. Gibbon shall tell the rest In the temple of Mecca three Charegites or enthusiasts discoursed of the disorders of the church and state; they soon a~,reed that the deaths of Ali, of Moawiyah, and of his friend Amrou, the Viceroy of Egypt, would restore the peace and unity of religion. Each of the assas- sins chose his victim, poisoned his dagger, devoted his life, and secretly repaired to the scene of action. Their resolutioa was equally desperate; but the first mistook the person of Amrou, and stabbed the deputy who occupied his seat; the prince of Damascus was dangerously hurt by the second; Ali, the lawful caliph, in the mosque of Kufa, received a mortal wound from the hand of the third. The events through which we have thus rapidly run ought to be kept in mind, for they are the elements of Mahometan his- tory: any right understanding of the state of the Mahometan world is impossible without them. For that woild is divided into the two great sects of Shiahs and Sunis; the Shiahs are those who reject the first three caliphs as usurpers, and begin with Ali as the first lawful successor of Mahomet; the Sunis recognize Abu-Bekr, Omar, and Othman, as well as Ali, and regard the Shiaks as impious heretics. The Persians are Shiahs, and the Arabs and Turks are Sunis. Hussein, one of Alis two sons, married a Persian princess, the daughter of Yezdejerd the last of the Sassanian kings, the king whom the Mahometan conquest of Persia expelled; and Persia,through this marriage, became specially connected with the house of Ali. In the fourth age of the Hegira, says Gibbon, a tomb, a temple, a city, arose near the ruins of Kufa. Many thousands of the Shiahs repose in holy ground at the feet of the vicar of God; and the desert is vivified by the numerous and annual visits of the Persians, who esteem their devotion not less meritorious than the pilgrimage of Mecca. But, to comprehend what I am going to relate from Count Gobi~eau, we must push our researches into Mahometaa history a little further than the assassination of Ali. Moawiyah died in the year 680 of our era, nearly fifty years after the death of Ma- homet. His son Yezid succeeded him on the throne of the caliphs at Damascus. During the reign of Moawiyah Alis two sons, the Imams Ilassan and Hussein, lived with their families in religious retirement at Medina, where their grandfather Ma- homet was buried. Ia them the character of abstention and renouncement, which we. have noticed in Ali himself, was marked yet more strongly; but, when Moawiyah died, the people of Kufa, the city on the lower Euphrates where Ali had been assassinated, sent offers to make Hussein caliph if he would come among them, and to support him against the Syrian troops of Yezid. Hussein seems to have thought himself bound to accept the proposal. lie left Medina, and, with his family and relation~, to the number of about eighty persons, set out on his way to Kufa. Then ensued the tragedy so fau~i1iar to every Mahometan, and to us so little known, the tragedy of Kerbela. 0 death, cries the bandit-minstrel of Persia, Kurroglou, in his last song before his execution, 0 death, whom didst thou spare? Were even Hassan and Hussein, those footstools of the throne of God on the seventh heaven, spared by thee? No! thou madest them martyrs at Kerbela. We cannot do better than again have recourse to Gibbons history for an account of this famous tragedy. Hussein trav~ ersed the desert of Arabia with a timorous retinue of women and children; but, as he approached the confines of Irak, he was alarmed by the solitary or hostile face of the country, and suspected either the de- fection or the ruii~ of his party. His fears were just; Obei~allah, the governor of Kufa, had extinguished the first sparks of an insurrection; and Hussein, in the plain of Kerbela, was encompassed by a body of 5,000 hprse, whQ intercepted his com- munication with the cRy and the river. In a conference with the chief of the enemy he proposed the option of three conditions thm~t he should be allowed to return to Medina, or be stationed in a frontier gar- rison against the Turks, or safely con- 6 A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. ducted to the presence of Yezid. But the and their trihute of enthusiastic mourning. commands of the caliph or his lieutenant But Count Gobineau relates, in his book were stern and absolute, and Hussein was of which I have spoken, a development of informed that he must either submit as a these solemnities which was unknown to captive and a criminal to the Commander Gibb9n. Within the present century of the Faithful, or expect the consequences there has arisen, on the basis of this story of. his rebellion. Do you think, replied of the martyrs of Kerbela, a drama, a he, to terrify me with death? And dur- Persian national drama, which Count Gobi- ing the short respite of a night he prepared, neaii, who has seen and heard it, is bold with calm and solemn resignation, to en- enou~h to rank with the Greek drama as a counter his fate. He checked the lamen- great and serious affair, engaging the tations of his sister Fatima, who deplored heart and life of the people who have the impending ruin of his houses Our given birth to it; while the Latin, English, trust, said Hussein, is in God alone. All French, and German drama is, he says, in things, both in heaven and earth, must comparison a mere pastime or amusement, perish and return to their Creator. My more or less intellectual and elegant. To brother, my father, my mother, were better me it seems that the Persian tezyas for than I, and every Mussulman has an ex- so these pieces are called find a better ample in time Prophet. He pressed his parallel in the Ammergau Passion Play friends to consult their s~ fety by a timely than in the Greek drama. They turn flight; they unanimously refused to desert entirely on one subject the sufferings of or survive their beloved master, and their the Family of the Tent, as the Imam Hus- courage was fortified by a fervent prayer sein and the company of persons gathered and the assurance of paradise. On the around him at Kerbela are called. The morning of the fatal day be mounted on subject is somnetimes introduced by a pro- horseback, with his sword in omie hand logue, which may perhaps one day, as the and the Koran in the other; the flanks and need of variety is more felt, become a rear of his party were secured by the tent- piece by itself; but at present the prologue ropes and by a deep trench, which they leads invariably to the martyrs. For in- had filled with lighted fagots, according to stance, the Emperor Tamerlane, in his the practice of the Arabs. The enemy conquering progress through the world, advanced with reluctance; and one of arrives at Damascus; the keys of the city their chiefs deserted, with thirty followers, are brought to him by the governor; but to claim the partnership of inevitable the governor is a descendant of one of the death. In every close onset or sin~le murderers of the Imam Ilussein; Tamer- combat the despair of the Fatimites was lane is informed of it, loads him with invincible; but the surrounding multitudes reproaches, and drives him from his press galled them from a distance with a cloud ence. The emperor presently sees the of arrows, and the horses and men were governors daughter splendidly dressed, successively slain. A truce wa.s allowed thinks of the sufferings of the holy women on both sides for the hour of prayer; and of time Family of the Tent, and upbraids the battle at length expired by the death and drives her away as he did her father. of the last of the companions of Hussein. But after this he is haunted by the great The details of Husseins own death will tra~edy which has been thus brought to come better presently; suffice it at this his mind, and he cannot sleep and cannot moment to say he was slain, and that the be comforted; he calls his vizier, and his women and children of his family were vizier tells him that the only way to soothe taken in chains to the Caliph Yezid at his troubled spirit is to see a tazya. And Damascus. Gibbon concludes the story so the tazya comamnences. Or, again (and thus: In a distant age and climate, the this will shoxv how strangely, in the reli- tragic scene of the death of Hussein will gious world which is now occupying us, awaken the sympathy of the coldest reader. what is most familiar to us is blended with On the annual festival of his martyrdom, that of which we know nothing): Joseph in the devout pilgrimage to his sepulchre, and his brethren appear on the stage, and his Persian votaries ab. ndon their souls to the old Bible story is transacted. Joseph the religious phrenzy of sorrow and indi,- is thrown into the pit and sold to the nation. merchants, and his blood-stai ed coat is Thus the tombs of Ali and of his son, the carried by his brothers to Jacob; Jacob is Meshed Ali and the Meshed Hussein, then left alone, weeping and bewailing standing some thirty miles apart from one himself; the angel Gabriel enters, and another in the plain of the Euphrates, had, reproves him for his want of faith and when Gibbon wrote, their yearly pilgrims constancy, telling him that what he suffera A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. 7 is not a hundredth part of what Au fins- So we are carried back, on this old Asiatic sein, and the children of Hussein will one soil, where beliefs and usages are heaped day suffer- Jacob seems to doubt it; layer upon layer and ruin upon ruin, far Gabriel, to convince him, orders the angels past the martyred Imams, past Mahome- to perform a tazya of what will one day tanism, past Christianity, to the priests of happen at Kerbela. And so the tczya Baal gashing themselves with knives and commences. to the worship of Adonis. These pieces are given in the first ten The telcyas, or theatres for the drama days of the month of Moharrem, the an- which calls forth these celebrations, are niversary of the martyrdom at Kerbela. constantly multiplying. The king, the They are so popular that they now invade great functionaries, the towns, the wealthy other seasons of the year also; but this is citizens like the kings goldsmith, or any the season when the world is given up to private person who has the means and the them. King and people, every one is in desire, provide them. Every one sends mourning; and at night and while the contributions; it is a religious act to fur- tazyas are not going on, processions keep nish a box or to give decorations for a passin5, the air resounds with the beating te~qc; and as religious offerings, all gifts of breasts and with litanies of 0 Hassan! down to the very smallest are accepted. Hussein!~ while the Seyids, a kind of There are tekyas for not more than three popular friars claiming to be descendants or four hundred spectators, and there are of Mahomet, and in whose incessant popu- tekyas for three or four thousand. At larizing and amplifying of the legend of Ispahan there are representations which Kerbela in their homilies during pilgrim- bring together more than twenty thousand ages and at the tombs of the martyrs, the people. At Teheran, the Persian capital, tazyas, no doubt, had their ori~in, keep each quarter of the town has its tekyas, up by their sermons and hymns the entha- cvery square and open place is turned to siasm which the drama of the day has cx- account for establishing them, and spaces cited. It seems as if no one went to bed; have been expressly cleared, besides, for and certainly no one who went to bed fresh teky~ s. Count Gobinean describes could sleep. Confraternities go in proces- particularly one of these theatres, a sion with a black flag and torches, every tekya of the best class, to hold an audience man with his shirt torn open, and beating of about four thousand, at Teheran. The himself with the right hand on the left arrangements are very simple; the tekya shoulder in a kind of measured cadence to is a walled parallelogram, with a brick accompany a canticle in honour of the platform, salcou, in the centre of it; this martyrs. These processions come and salcomt is surrounded with black poles at take po. t in the theatres where the Scyids some distance from each other, the poles are preaching. Still more noisy are the are joined at the top by horizontal rods of companies of dancers, striking a kind of the same color, and from these rods hang wooden castanets together, at one time in coloured lamps, which are lighted for the front of their breasts, at another time be- praying and preaching at night when the hind their heads, and marking time with representation is over. The salcou, or cen- music and dance to a dirge set up by the tral platform, mnakes the stave; in con- bystanders, in which the names of the nection with it, at one of the opposite Imnams perpetually recur as a burden. extremities of the parallelogram length- Noisiest of all are the Berbers, men of a wise, is a reserved box, tdgmmumd, higher darker skin and another race, their feet than the salcou; this box is splendidly dee- and the .upper part of their body naked, orated, and is used for peculiarly interest- who carry, some of them tambourines and ing and magnificent tableaux, time court cymbals, others iron chains and long nee- of the Caliph, for example, which occur dies. One of their race is said to have in the course of the piece. A passage of formerly derided the Imams in their afflic- a few feet wide ms left free between the tion, and the Berbers now appear in expia- stage and this box; all the rest of the tion of that crime. At first their music space is for the spectators, of whom the and their march proceed slowly together, foremost rows are sitting on their heels but presently the music quickens, the close up to this passage, so that they help chain and needle-bearing Berbers move the actors to mount and descend the high violently round, and begin to beat them- steps of the tdgnmmrnd when they have to selves with their chains and to prick their pass between that and the salcou. On each arms and cheeks with the needles first side of the tdgammoid are boxes, and along gently, then with more vehemence; till one wall of the enclosure are other boxes suddenly the music ceases, and all stops. with fronts of elaborate woodwork, which S A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. are left to stand as a permanent part of their genuine sense of the seriousness of the construction; facing these, with the the business they are engaged in. They floor and stage between, rise tiers of seats are, hue the public around them, pene- as in an ampitheatre. All places are free trated with this, and so the actor throws the great people have generally provided his whole soul into what he is about, the and furnished the boxes, and take care to public meets the actor halfway, and effects fill them; but if a box is not occupied of extraordinary impressiveness are the when the performance begins, any ragged result. The actor is under a charm, street-urchin or beggar may walk in and says Count Gobineau; he is under it so seat himself there. A row of gigantic strongly and completely that almost al- masts run across the middle of the space, ways one sees Yezid himself (the usurp- one or two of them being fixed in the ing caliph), the wretched Ibn-Said (Yezids saleou itself; and from these masts is general), the infamous Shemer (Iba-Saids stretched an immense awning which pro- lieutenant), at the moment they vent the tects the whole audience. Up to a certain cruelest insults against the Imams whom height these masts are hung with tiger they are going to massacre, or against the and panther skins, to indicate the violent women of the Imams family whom they character of the scenes to be represented. are ill-using, burst into tears and repeat Shields of steel and of hippopotamus skin, their part with sobs. The public is neither and flags and naked swords, are also at- surprised nor displeased at this; on the tached to these masts. A sea of colour contrary, it beats its breast at the sight, and splendour meets the eye all round. throws up its arms towards heaven with Woodwork and brickwork disappear under invocations of God, and redoubles its cushions, rich carpets, silk hangings, India groans. So it often happens that the actor muslin embroidered with silver and gold, identifies himself with the personage he shawls from Kerman and from Cashmere; represents to such a degree that, when the there are lamps, lustres of coloured crys- situation carries him away, he cannot be tal, mirrors, Bohemian and Venetian glass, said to act, he is with such truth, such porcelain vases of all degrees of magni- complete enthusiasm, such utter self-for- tude from China and from Europe, paint- getfulness, what he represents, that he ings and engravings displayed in profusion reaches a reality at one time sublime, at everywhere; the taste may not always be another terrible, and produces impressions soberly correct, but the whole spectacle on his audience which it would be simply has just the effect of prodigality, colour, absurd to look for from our more artificial and sumptuousness which we are accus- performances. There is nothing stilted, tomed to associate with the splendours of nothing false, nothing conventional; na the Arabian Nights. ture, and the facts represented, themselves In marked contrast with this display is speak. the poverty of scenic contrivance and The actors are men and boys, the parts stage illusion. The subject is far too in- of angels and women being filled by boys; teresting and too solemn to need them; but the children who appear in the piece the actors are visible on all sides, and the are often the children of the principal exits, entrances, and stage-play of our families of Teheran; their appearance in theatres are impossible; the imagination this religious solemnity (for such it is of the spectator fills up all gaps and meets thought) being supposed to bring a bless- all requirements. On the Ammergau ar- ing upon them and their parents. Noth- rangements one feels that the archmolo- ing is more touching, says Count Gobi- gists and artists of Munich have laid their neau, than to see these little things of correct finger; at Teheran there has been three or four years old, dressed in black no schooling of this sort. A copper basin gauze frocks with large sleeves, and having of water represents the Euphrates; a heap on their heads small round black caps em- of chopped straw in a corner is the sand broidered with silver and gold, kneehiu~ of the desert of Kerbela, and the actor beside the body of the actor who reprc- goes and takes up a handful of it, when sents the martyr of the day, embracing his part is about to require him to throw, him, and, with their little hands, covering in Oriental fashion, dust upon his head. themselves with chopped straw for sand, There is no attempt at proper costume; in sign of grief. These children evidently, all that is sought is, to do honour to the he continues, do not consider themselves personages of chief interest by dresses to be acting; they are full of the feelinc~ and jewels which would pass for rich and that what they are about is something of handsome things to wear in modern Per deep seriousness and importance; and sian life. The power of the actors is in though they are too young to comprehend A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. 9 fully the story, they know, in general, that it is a matter sad and solemn. They are not distracted by the audience, and they are not shy, hut go through their pre- scribed part with the utmost attention and seriousness, always crossing their arms respectfully to receive the blessing of the Jmam Hussein; the public beholds them with emotions of the liveliest satis- faction and symyathy. The dramatic pieces themselves are without any authors name. They are in popular language, such as the commonest and most ignorant of the Persian people can understand, free from learned Arabic words, free, comparatively speaking, from Orient~l fantasticality and hyper- bole. The Seyids, or popular friars, al- ready spoken of, have probably had a hand in the composition of many of them. The Moollalis, or regular ecclesiastical authorities, condemn the whole thing. It is an innovation which they disapprove and think dangerous; it is addressed to the eye, and their religion forhids to represent religious things to the eye; it departs from the limits of what is revealed and appointed to be taught as the truth, and brings in novelties and heresies; for these dramas keep growing under the pressnre of the actors imagination and emotion, and of the ima~,ination and emotion of the public, and receive new developments every day. The learned, again, say that these pieces are a heap of lies, the produc- tion of ignorant people, and have no words strong enough to express their contempt for them. Still, so irresistible is the vogue of these sacred dramas that, from the king on the throne to the beggar in the street, every one, except perhaps the Moollahs, attends them, and is carried away by them. The Imams and their family speak always in a kind of lyrical chant, said to have rhythmical effects, often, of great I pathos and beauty; their persecutors, the villains of the piece, speak always in prose. The stage is under the direction of a cho- ragus. called oostad, or master, who is a sacred personage by reason of the func- tions which he performs. Sometimes he addresses to the audience a commentary on what is passing before them, and asks their compassion and tears for the mar- tyrs; sometimes, in default of a Scyid, he prays and preaches. He is always listened to with veneration, for it is he who ar- ranges the whole sacred spectacle which so deeply moves everybody. With no attempt at concealment, with the book of the piece in his hand, he remains con- stantly on the stage, gives the actors their cue, puts the children and any inexperi- enced actor in their right places, dresses the martyr in his winding-sheet when he is going to his death, holds the stirrup for him to mount his horse, and inserts a sup- ply of chopped straw into the hands of those who are . about to want it. Let us now see him at work. The theatre is filled, and the heat is great; young men of rank, the kings pages, officers of the army, stuart func- tionaries of State, move through the crowd with water-skins slun~ on their backs, dealing out water all round, in memory of the thirst which on these solemn days the Imams suffered in the sands of Kerbela. Wild chants and litanies, such as we have already described, are from time to time set up by a dervish, a soldier, a workman in the crowd. These chants are taken up, more or less, by the audience; sometimes they flag and die away for want of sup- port, sometimes they are continued till they reach a paroxysm, and then abruptly stop. Presently a strange, insignificant figure in a green cotton garment, looking like a petty tradesman of one of the Teheran bazaars, mounts upon the salcoo. He beckons with his hand to the audience, who are silent directly, and addresses them in a tone of lecture and expostulation, thus : Well, you seem happy enough, Mussul- mans, sitting there at your ease under the awning; and you imagine Paradise already wide open to you. Do you know what Paradise is? It is a garden, doubtless, but such a garden as you have no idea of. You will say to me: Friend, tell us what it is like. I have never been there, cer- tainly; but plenty of prophets have de- scribed it, and angels have brought news of it. However, all I will tell you is, that there is room for all good people there, for it is 330,000 cubits long. If you do not believe, inquire. As for getting to be one of the good people, let me tell you it is not enough to read the Koran of the Prophet (the salvation and blessing of God he upon him!); it is not enough to do every- thing which this divine book enjoins; it is not enough to come and weep at the tazyas, as you do every day, you sons of dogs you, who know nothing which is of any use; it behoves, besides, that your good works (if you ever do any, which I greatly doubt) should be done in the name and for the love of Hussein. It is Hussein, Mussul- mans, who is the door to Paradise; it is Hussein, Mussulmans, who upholds the world; it is Hussein, Musslumans, by 10 A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. whom comes salvation! Cry, Hassan, there rush in a number of big and fierce Hussein ! boys, and begin to pelt the little Imams And all the multitude cry: 0 Hassan! with stones. A companion shields ilus O hussein! sein with his own body, but he is struck That is well; and now cry again. down with a stone, and with another stone And again all cry: 0 Hassan! 0 hlus- hussein, too, is stretched on the ground sein! And now, the strange speaker senseless. Who are these boy-tyrants goes on, pray to God to keep you con- and persecutors? They are Iha-Said, and tinually in the love of Hussein. Come, Shemer and others, the future murderers make your cry to God. Then the multi- at Kerbela. The audience perceive it with tude, as one man, throw up their arms into a shudder; the hateful assailants go off in the air, and with a deep and long-drawn triumph; Au re-enters, picks up the cry exclaim: Ya Alich! 0 God! stunned and wounded children, brin~s Fifes, drums, and trumpets break out; them round, and takes Hussein back to the kernas, great copper trumpets five or his mother Fatima. six feet long, give notice that the actors But let us come at once to the days of are ready and that the lazya is to com- martyrdom and to Kerbela. One of mnence. The preacher descends from the the most famous pieces of the cycle is a salcou, and the actors occupy it. piece called the Marriage of Kasse?n, To give a clear notion of the cycle which which brings us into the very middle of these dramas fill, we should begin, as on these crowning days. Count Gobineau has the first day of the Moharrem the actors given a translation of it, and from this begin, with some piece relating to the translation we will take a few extracts. childhood of the Imams, such as, for in- Kassem is the son of Husseins elder stance, the piece called The Children Dig- brother, the Imam Hassan, who had been ging. Au and Fatima are living at Medina poisoned by Yezids instigation at Medina. with their little sons Hassan and Hussein; Kassem and his mother are with the Imain the simple home and occupations of the Hussein at Kerbela; there, too, are the pious fallily are exhibited; it is morning; women and children of the holy family, Fatima is seated with the little Hussein Omm-Leyla, Husseins wife, the Persian on her lap, dressing him. She combs princess, the last child of Yezdejerd the his hair, talking caressingly to him all the last of the Sassanides; Zeyneb, Husseins while. A hair comes out with the comb; sister, the offspring, like himself, of Ali the child starts; Fatima is in distress at and Fatima, and the granddaughter of having given the child even this momentary Mahomet; his nephew Abdallah, still a uneasiness, and stops to gaze upon him little child; finally, his beautiful daughter tenderly. She falls into an anxious rev- Zobeyda. When the piece begins, the erie, thinking of her fondness for the child Imams camp in the desert has already and of the unknown future in store for him. been cut off from the Euphrates and be- While she muses, the angel Gabriel stands sieged several days by the Syrian troops before her. He reprove~ her weakness: under lbn-Said and Shemer, and by the A hair falls from the childs head, he treacherous men of Kufa. The Family of says, and you weep; what would you do the Tent were suffering torments of thirst; if you knew the destiny that awaits him, one of the children had brought an empty the countless wounds with which that body water bottle, and thrown it, a silent token shall one day be pierced, the a,ony that of distress, before the feet of Abbas, the shall rend thine own soul ! Fatima, in uncle of Hussein; Abbas had sallied out despair, is comforted by her husband Ali, to cut his way to the river, and had been and they go to~ether into the town to slain. Afterwards Ali-Akher, Husseins hear Mahomet preach. The boys and some eldest son, had made the same attempt of their little friends begin to play; every and met with the same fate. Two younger one makes a great deal of Hussein; he is brothers of Ali-Akber followed his cx- at once the most spirited and the most ample, and were likewise slain. The amiable child of them all. The party Imam Hussein had rushed amidst th~ amuse themselves with digging, with mak- enemy, beaten them from the body of the ing holes in the ground and building Ahi-Akber, and brought the hody back to mounds. Ali returns from the sermon and his tent; but the river was still inacces- asks what they are about; and Hussein is sible. At this point the action of the made to reply in ambiguous and prophetic Marriage qf Kassem begins. Kassem, a answers, which convey that by these holes youth of sixteen, is burning to go out and and mounds in the earth are prefigured avenge his cousin. At one end of the interments and tombs. Ali departs again; sakou is the Imam hussein seated on hi~ A PERSIAN PASSION~ PLAY. 11 throne; in the middle are grouped all the members of his family; at the other end lies the body of Ali-Akber, with his mother Omm-Leyla, clothed and veiled in black, bending over it. The icernas sound, and Kassern, after a solemn appeal from Hus- sein and his sister Zeyneb to God and to the founders of their house to look upon their great distress, rises and speaks to himself: Ka~sem. Separate thyself from th~ women of the harem, Kassem. Consider within thyself for a little; here thou sit- test, and presently thou wilt see the body of Hussein, that body like a flower, torn by arrows and lances like thorns, Kassem. Thou sawest Ali-Akbers head severed from his body on the field of battle, and yet thou livedst! Arise, obey that which is written of thee by thy father; to be slain, that is thy lot, Kassem Go, get leave from the son of Fatima, most honourable among women, and sub- mit thyself to thy fate, Kassem. Hussein sees him approach. Alas, he says, it is the orphan nightin~aie of the garden of Hassan, my brother I Then Kassem speaks : Kasse?n. 0, God what shall I do be- neath this load of affliction? My eyes are wet with tears, my lips are dried up with thirst. To live is worse than to die. What shall I do, seeing what bath befal- len Ali-Akber? If Hussein suffereth me not to go out, 0 misery! for then what shall I do, 0 God, in the day of the resur- rection, when I see my father Hassan? When I see my mother in the day of the resurrection, what shall I do, 0 God, in my sorrow and shame before her? All my kinsmen are gone to appear before the Prophet: shall not I also one day stand before the Prophet; and what shall I do, 0 God, in that day ! Then he addresses the imam : Hail, thr shold of the honour and majesty on hi~h, threshold of heaven, threshold of God! In the roll of martyrs thou art the chief; in the book of crea- tion thy story will live forever. An orphan, a fatherless child, downcast and weepin~, comes to prefer a request to thee. Hussein bids him tell it, and he an- swers : 0 light of the eyes of Mahomet the mighty, 0 lieutenant of Ali the lion, Ab- bas has perished, Ali-Akber has suffered martyrdom; 0 my uncle, thou hast no warriors left, and no standard-bearer. The roses are gone and gone are their buds; the jessamine is gone, the poppies are gone. I alone, I am still left in the garden of the Faith, a thorn, and miser- able. If thou hast any kindness for the orphan, suffer me to go forth and fight. Hussein refuses. My child, he says, thou wast the light of the eyes of the Imam Hassan, thou art my beloved re- membrance of him; ask me not this, urge me not, entreat me not; to have lost Au- Akber is enough. Kassem answers : That Kassem should live and Ali-Akber be martyred sooner let the earth cover mc! 0 king, be generous to the beggar at thy gate. See how my eyes run with tears and my lips are dried up with thirst. Cast thine eyes toward the waters of the heavenly Euphrates I die of thirst; grant me, 0 thou marked of God, a full pitcher of the water of life; it flows in the Paradise which awaits me. hussein still refuses; Kassem breaks forth in complaints and lamentations, his mother comes to him and learns the rea- son. She then says : Complain not against the Imam, light of my eyes; only by his order can the commission of martyrdom be given. In that commission are sealed two-and-seventy witnesses, all righteous, and among the two-and-seventy is thy name. Know that thy destiny of death is commanded in the writing which thou wearest on thine arm.j This writing is the testament of his father hlassan. He bear~ it in triumph to the Imam Hussein, who finds written there that he should, on the death-plain of Kerbela, suffer Kassemn to have his will, but that he should marry him first to his daughter, Zobeyda. Kassem consents, though in astonishment. Consider, he says, there lies Ali-Akber, mangled by the enemies hands! Under this sky of ebon blackness, how can joy show her face? Nevertheless if thou commandest it, what have I to do but obey? Thy com- mandment is that of the Prophet, and his voice is that of God. But Hussein has also to overcome the reluctance of the in- tended bride and of all the women of his family. Heir of the vicar of God, says Kas- sems mother to the Imam, bid me die, but speak not to me of a bridal. If Zo- beyda is to be a bride and Kassem a bride-. groom, where is the henna to tinge their hands, where is the bridal chamber? Mother of Kassemn, answers the Imam solemnly, yet a few moments, and in this field of anguish the tomb shall be for marriage-bed, and the winding-sheet for 1~2 A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. bridal garment! All give way to the Hussein. Beloved child, what the will of their sacred Head. The women Prophet forbids, that cannot I mako and children surround Kassem, sprinkle lawful. him with rose-water, hang bracelets and Kassem. I beseech thee, let my lips be necklaces on him, and scatter bon-bons but once moistened, and I will vanquish around; and thcn the marriage procession thine enemies! is formed. Suddenly drums and trumpets Hussein presses his own lips to those are heard, and the Syrian troops appear. of Kassem, who, refreshed, again rushes Ibn-Said and Shemer are at their head. forth, and returns bleeding and stuck with The Prince of the Faith celebrates a darts, to die at the Imans feet in the tent. marriage in the desert, they exclaim So ends the marriage of Kassem tauntingly; we will soon change his fes- But the great day is the tenth day of tivity into mournin~,. They pass by, and the Moharrem, when comes the death of Kassem takes leave of his bride. God the Imam himself. The narrative of Gib- keep thee, my bride, he says, embracing hon well sums up the events of this great her, for I must forsake thee! One mo- tenth day. The battle at length expired ment, she says, remain in thy place one by the death of the last of the com- moment! thy countenance is as the lamp panions of Hussein. Alone, weary and which giveth us light; suffer me to turn wounded, he seated himself at the door of around thee as the butterfly turneth, gen- his tcnt. He was pierced in the mouth tly, gently! And making a turn around with a dart. He lifted his hands to heaven him, she performs the ancient Eastern rite they were full of blood and he ut- of respect from a new-married wife to her tered a funeral prayer for the living and husband. Troubled, he rises to go: The the dead. In a transport of despair, his reins of my will are slipping away from sister issued from the tent, and adjured me! he murmurs. She lays hold of his the general of the Kufians that he would robe: Take off thy hand, he cries, we not suffer Hussein to be murdered before belong not to ourselves! his eyes. A tear trickled down the sob Then he asks the Imam to array him in diers venerable beard; and the boldest of his winding- sheet. 0 nightingale of the di- his men fell back on every side as the dy- vine orchard of martyrdom, says Hussein, ing Imam threw himself among them. as he complies with his wish, I clothe The remorseless Sheiner a name de- thee with thy winding-sheet, I kiss thy tested by the faithful reproached their face ;~ there is no fear, and no hope, but of cowardice; and the grandson of Mahomet God! Kassem commits his little brother was slain with three-and-thirty strokes Abdallah to the Imams care ; Omm-Leyla of lances and swords. After they had looks up from her sons corpse, and says to trampled on his body, they carried his Kassem: When thou enterest the gar- head to the castle of Kufa, and the inhu- den of Paradise, kiss for me the head of man Obeidallab (the governor) struck him Ali-Akher! on the mouth with a cane. Alas! ex- The Syrian troops again appear; Kas- claimed an aged Mussulman, on those sem rushes upon them and they all go off lips have I seen the lips of the Apostle fighting. The Family of the Tent at Ilus- of God scm s command, put the Koran on their For this catastrophe no one tazya suffices; heads and pray, covering themselves with all the companies of actors unite in a vast sand. Kassem re-appears victorious; he open space; booths and tents are pitched has slain Azrek, a chief captain of the round the outside circle for the spectators; Syrians, but his thirst is intolerable, in the centre is the Imams camp, and the Uncle, he says to the Imam, who asks day ends with its conflagration. him what reward he wishes for his valour, Nor are there wanting pieces which my tongue cleaves to the roof of my carry on the story beyond the death of mouth; the reward I wish is water. Hussein. One which produces an cx- Thou coverest me with shame, Kassem, traordinary effect is The Glmris!ian Damsel. his uncle answers; what can I do? Thou The carna~ e is over, the enemy are gone; askest water; there is no water! to the awe-struck beholders, the scene Kassem. If I might but wet my mouth, shows the silent plain of Kerbela and the I could presently make an end of the inca tombs of the martyrs. Their bodies, full of Kufa. of wounds, and with weapons sticking in Hussein. As I live, 1 have not one them still, are exposed to view; but around drop of water! them all are crowns of burning candles, Kassem. Were it but lawful, I would circles of light, to show that they have en- wet my mouth with my own blood. tered into glory. At one end of the saAou A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. 13 is a high tomb by itself. It is the tomb sein. Yezid orders his wife to be put to of the Imam Hussein, and his pierced body death, and sends the head of Hussein to is seen stretched out upon it~ A brilliant the children. Sekyna, the Imams young- caravan enters, with camels, soldiers, ser- est daughter, a child of four years old, vants, and a young lady on horseback, in takes the beloved head in her arms, kisses European costume, or what passes in Per- it, and lies down beside it. Then Hussein sia for European costume. She halts near appears to her as in life: Oh! my the tombs, and proposes to encamp. Her father, she cries, where wast thou? I servants try to pitch a tent; but wherever was hungry, I was cold, I was beaten they drive a pole into the ~round, blood where wast thou? But now she sees sprin~s up, and a groan of horror bursts him again, and is happy. In the vision of from the audience. Then the fair traveller, her happiness she passes away out of life, instead of encamping, mounts into the she enters into rest, and the piece ends tagnuma, lies down to rest there, and falls with her mother and her aunts burying asleep. Jesus Christ appears to her, and her. makes known that this is Kerbela, and These are the martyrs of Kerbela; and what has happened here. Meanwhile, an these are the sufferings which awaken in Arab of the desert, a Bedouin who had an Asiatic audience sympathy so deep and formerly received Husseins bounty, comes serious, transports so genuine of pity, love, stealthily, intent on plunder, upon the and gratitude, that to match them at all saleou. He finds nothing, and in a parox- one must take the feelings raised at Am- ysm of brutal fury he begins to ill-treat mergau. And now, where are we to look, the corpses. Blood flows. The feeling of in the subject-matter of the Persian pas- Asiatics about their dead is well-known, sion-play, for the source of all this emo- and the horror of the andience rises to its tion? Count Gobineau su~gests that it is height. Presently the ruffian assails and to be found in the feeling of patriotism; wounds the corpse of the Imam himself, and that our Judo-European kinsmen, the over whom white doves are hovering; the Persians, conquered by the Semitic Ara- voice of Hussein, deep and mournful, calls bians, find in the sufferings of Hussein a from historub: There is no God but God! portrait of their own martyrdom. Hus- The robber flies in terror; the angels, the sein, says Count Gobineau, is not only the prophets, Mahomet, Jesus Christ, Moses, son of Ali, he is the husband of a princess of the Imams, the holy women, all come upon the blood of the Persian kings; he, his the sakou, press round Hussein, load him father Ali, the whole body of Imams with honours. The Christian damsel taken together, represent the nation, re- wakes, and embraces Islam, the Islam of present Persia, invaded, ill-treated, de- the sect of the Shiahs. spoiled, stripped of its inhabitants, by the Another piece closes the whole story, by Arabians. The right which is insulted bringing the captive women and children and violated in Hussein, is identified with of the Imams family to Damascus, to the the right of Persia. The Arabians, the presence of the Caliph Yezid. It is in this Turks, the Afghans Persias implacable piece that there comes the magnificent and hereditary enemies recognize Yezid tableau, of which I have already spoken, as legitimate caliph; Persia finds therein of the court of the caliph; the crown jew- an excuse for hating them the more, and els are lent for it, and the dresses of the identifies herself the more with the usurp- ladies of Yezids court, represented by ers victims. It is patriotism, therefore, boys chosen for their good looks, are said which has taken the form, here, of the to be worth thousands and thousands of drama to express itself. No doubt there pounds; but the audience see them with- is much truth in what Count Gobinean out favour, for this brilliant court of Yezid thus says; and it is certain that the divi- is cruel to the captives of Kerbela. The sion of Shiabs and Sunis has its true cause captives are thrust into a wretched dun- in a division of races, rather than in a dif- geon under the palace walls; but the Ca- ference of religious belief. liphs wife had formerly been a slave of But I confess that if the interest of the Mahomets daughter Fatima, the mother Persian passion-plays had seemed to me to of Hussein and Zeyneb. She goes to lie solely in the curious evidence they see Zeyneb in prison, her heart is afford of the workings of patriotic feeling touched, she passes into an agony of re- in a conquered people, I should hardly pentance, returns to her husband, upbraids have occupied myself with them at all this him ~vith his crimes, and intercedes for the length. I believe that they point to women of the holy family, and for the chil- something munch more interesting. What dren, who keep calling for the Imam Hus- this is, I cannot do more than just mdi- 14 A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. cate; but indicate it I will, in conclusion, and then leave the student of human na- ture to follow it out for himself. When Mahomets cousin Jaffer, and others of his first converts, persecuted by the idolaters of Mecca, fled in the year of our era 615, seven years before the Hegira, into Ahyssinia, and took refuge with the king of that country, the people of Mecca sent after the fugitives to demand that they should be given up to them. Abys- sinia was then already Christian. The kind asked Jaffer and his companions what was this new religion for which they had left their country. Jaffer answered: We were plunged in the darkness of ig- norance, we were worshippers of idols. Given over to all our passions, we knew no law but that of the strongest, when God raised up among us a man of our own race, of noble descent, and long held in esteem by us for his virtues. This apos- tle callcd us to believe iu one God, to wor- ship God only, to reject the superstitions of our fathers, to despise divinities of wood and stone. He commanded us to eschew wickedness, to be truthful in speech, faith- ful to our engagements, kind and helpful to our relations and neighbours. He bade us respect the chastity of women, and not to rob the orphan. He exhorted us to prayer, alms-giving, and fasting. We be- lieved in his mission, and we accepted the doctrines and the rule of life which he brought to us from God. For this our countrymen have persecuted us; and now they want to make us return to their idol- atry. The king of Abyssinia refused to surrender the fugitives, and then, turning again to Jaffer, after a few more explana- tions, he picked up a straw from the ground, and said to him: Between your religion and ours there is not the thickness of this straw difference. That is not quite so; yet thus much we may affirm, that Jaffers account of the re- lie,ion of Mahomet is a great deal truer than the accounts of it which are common- ly current amongst us. Indeed, for the credit of humanity, as more than a hun- dred millions of men are said to profess the Mahometan religion, one is glad to think so. To popular opinion everywhere, religion is proved by miracles. All reli- gions but a man s own are utterly false and vain; the authors of them are mere impostors; and the wonders which are said to attest them, fictitious. We forget that this is a game which two can play at; although the believer of each religion always imagine~ the prodigies which at- test his own religion to be fenced by a guard granted to them alone. Yet how much more safe is it, as well as more fruit- ful, to look for the main confirmation of a religion in its intrinsic correspondence with ur,,ent wants of human nature, in its pro. found necessity! Differing religions will then be found to have much in common; but this will be an additional proof of the value of that reli0ion which does most for that which is thus commonly recognized as salutary and necessary, In Christendom one need not go about to establish that the~ religion of the Hebrews is a better religion than the religion of the Arabs, or that the Bible is a greater book than the Koran. The Bible grew, the Koran was made; there lies the immense difference in depth and truth between them! This very inferiority may make the Koran, for certain purposes and for people at a low stage of mental growth, a more powerful instrument than the Bi- ble. From the circumstances of its origin, the Koran has the intensely dogmatic char- acter, it has the perpetual insistance on the motive of future rewards and punish- ments, the palpable exhibition of paradise and hell, which the Bible has not. There- fore, to get the sort of power which all this gives, popular Christianity is apt to treat the Bible as if it was just like the Koran; and because of this sort of power, among the little known and little advanced races of the great African continent, the Ma- hometan missionaries are said to be much more successful than ours. Nevertheless even in Africa it will assuredly one day be manifest, that whereas the Bible-people trace themselves to Abraham through Isaac, and the Koran-people trace them- selves to Abraham through Ishmael, the difference between the religion of the Bible and the religion of the Koran is almost as the difference between Isaac and Ishmael. I mean, that the serious- ness about righteousness, which is what the hatred of idolatry really means, and the profound and inexhaustible doc- trines that the righteous Eternal loveth righteousness, that there is no peace for the wicked, that the righteous is an ever- lasting foundation, are exhibited and incul- cated in the Old Testament with an au- thority, majesty, and truth which leave the Koran immeasurably behind, and which, the more mankind grows and gains light, the more will be felt to have no fellows. Mahomet was no doubt acquainted with the Jews and their documents, and gained something from this source for his religion; but his religion is not a mere plagiarism from Judea any more than it is a mere mass of falsehood. No; in the seriousness, A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. elevation, and moral energy of huinseif and of that Semitic race from which he sprang and to which he spoke, Mahomet mainly found that scorn and hatred of idolatry, that sense of the worth and truth of righteousness, judgment, and justice, which make the real greatness of him and his Koran, and which are thus rather an independent testimony to the essential doctrines of the Old Testament, than a plagiarism from them. The world needs righteousness and the Bible is the grand teacher of it; but, for certain times and certain men, Mahomet too in his way, was a teacher of righteousness. But we know how the Old Testament conception of righteousness ceased with time to have the freshness and force of an intuition, became something petrified, narrow, and formal, and needed renewing. We know how Christianity renewed it, car- rying into these hard waters of Judaism a sort of warm gulf-stream of tender emo- tion, due chiefly to qualities which may be summed up as those of inwardness, mild- ness, and self-renouncement. Mahometan- ism had no such renewing; it began with a conception of righteousness, lofty indeed, but narrow, and which we may eall old Jewish; and there it remained; it is not a feeling religion. No one would say that the virtues of gentleness, mildness, and self-sacrifice were its virtues and the more it went on, the more the faults of its original narrow basis became visi- ble, more and more it became fierce and militant, less and less was it amiable. Now, what are Ali, and Hassan, and Hus- sein and the Imams, but an insurrection of noble and pious natures against this hardness and aridity of the religion round them; an insurrection making its authors seem weak, helpless, and unsuccessful to the world and amidst the struggles of the world, but enabling them to know the joy and peace for which the world thirsts in vain, and inspiring in the heart of man.: kind an irresistible sympathy. The twelve Imamns, says Gibbon, Ali, Hassan, hussein, and the lineal descendants of Hus- sein to the ninth generation, without arms, or treasures, or subjects, successively en- joyed the veneration of the people. Their names were often the pretence of sedition and civil war; but these royal saints de- spised the pomp of the world, submitted to the will of God and the injustice of man, and devoted their innocent lives to the study and practice of reli,,ion. Abnegation and mildness, based on the depth of the inner life, and visited by un- merited misfortune, made the power of the first and famous Imams, Ali, Hassan, and Hussein, over the popular imagination. 0 brother, said Hassan, as he was dying of poison, to Hussein who sought to find out and punish his murderer, 0 brother, let him alone till he and I meet together before God! So his father Ali had stood back from his rights instead of snatching at them; so of Hussein it was said by his successful rival, the usurping Caliph Yezid: God loved Hussein, but lie would not suffer him to attain to anything. They might attain to nothing, they were too pure, these great ones of the world as by birth they were; but the people, which itself also can attain to so little, loved them all the better on that account, loved them for their ahne- gation and mildness, felt that they were dear to God, that God loved them, and that they and their lives filled a void in the severe religion of Mahomet. These saintly self-deniers, these resigned suffer- ers, who would not strive nor cry, supplied a tender and pathetic side in Islam; the conquered Persians, a more mobile, more impressionable, and gentler race than their concentrated, narrow, and austere Semitic conquerors, felt the need of it most, and gave most prominence to the ideals which satisfied the need; but in Arabs and Turks also, and in all the Mahometan world, Ali and his sons excite enthusiasm and affec- tion. Round the central sufferer, Hussein, has come to group itself everythin~ which is most tender and touching; his person brings to the Mussulmans mind the most human side of Mahomet himself, his fond- ness for children, for Mahomet had loved to nurse the little Hussein on his knee, and to show him from the pulpit to his people. The Family of the Tent is full of women and children, and their devotion and sufferin~s, blameless and saintly women, lovely and - innocent ehildren; there, too, are the beauty and the love of youth; all follow the attraction of the pure and resigned Imam, all die for hhn; their tender pathos flows into his and en- hances it, till there arises for the popular imagination an immense ideal of mildness and self-sacrifice, melting and overpower- ing the soul. Even for us, to whom almost all the names are strange, whose interest in the places and persons is faint, who have them before us for -a moment to-day, to see them again probably, no more for ever, even for us, unless I err greatly, the power and pathos of this ideal are reco,,nizable. What must they be for those to whom every name is familiar and calls up the most solemn and cherished associations; I I Q 16 THE NEAP REEF. who have had their adoring gaze fixed all had set in unusually early; her grand- their lives upon this exarnpler of self-de- father had been entirely laid up with a nial and gentleness, and who have no severe attack of his old enemy, rheuma- other? If it was superfluous to say to tism; and the responsibility of gaining English people that the religion of the what little they could, at a time when Koran has not the value of the religion of work was scarce and provisions dear, fell the Old Testament, still more is it super- wholly to Margots share. Poor child! fluous to say that the religion of the Imams the nei~hbours who saw her with her load has not the value of Christianity. The in the village, and Mrs. Lee, who sneer- character and discourse of Christ possess, ingly said she looked like a packman, little I have often elsewhere said, two signal knew that the burthen she carried was powers: mildness and sweet reasonable- light compared with her heavy heart ness. The latter, the power which so heavy and sorrQwful, as she remembered puts before our view duty of every kind how small was the sum for which she had as to give it the force of an intuition, as to been able to sell her nets and one or two make it seem, to make the total sacrifice boxes, and how little it would do towards of our ordinary self seem, the most sim- giving them even necessaries in the home pie, natural, winning, necessary thing in from which she had started that morning the world, has been hitherto applied with all but fasting. but a very limited range, it is destined to She so wanted to take the poor old man an infinitely wider application, and has a a little tobacco; he hadnt had a pipe for fruitfulness which may yet transfoi~m the days, and, as he often said, he could stand world. Of this the Imams have nothing, anything so long as hed got his baccy. except so far as all mildness and seif-sacri- Not a murmur had escaped his lips, but fice have in them something of sweet Margot knew well the cause of his rest- reasonableness and are its indispensable lessness, and the reason why he couldnt preliminary. This they have, mildness and sleep at night. Just before she reached self-sacrifice; and we have seen what an the small shop, she turned up a side lane attraction it exercises. Could we ask for to count her money once more, and see if a stronger testimony to Christianity? she could only get half-an-ounce, even that Could we wish for any sign more convinc- would be such a treat to him; and resting ing, that Christ was indeed, what Chris- herself by leaning against the low stone tians call him, the desire of all nations? So wall, she stood looking at her money, and salutary, so necessary is what Christianity trying to persuade herself that she was contains, that a religion a great, powerful not so very hungry: she really thought she successful reli,ion arises without it, and might do without anything more until she the missin~, virtue forces its way in! Chris- got back again. tianity may say to these Persian Mahom- Margot, said a voice at her side, and etans, with their gaze fondly turned she started to find Dick Barry there. towards the martyred Imams, what in our Were you counting your money, he Bible God says by Isaiah to Cyrus, their asked laughingly, to see how much youve great ancestor : I girded thee, though got for Mother Whites sugar-sticks? thou hast not lcnown me. It is a long way Sugar-sticks! when she was so hunger- from Kerbela to Calvary; but the sufferers ing after a piece of. bread that she could of Kerbela hold aloft to the eyes of mil- scarcely think of aught else and the lions of our race the lesson so loved by the tears, which lay close to her eyes while sufferer of Calvary. For he said: Learn she battled to keep them down, brimmed of me, that I am mild, and lowly of heart; over and rolled in great drops down her and ye shall find rest unto your souls. cheeks. Whats the matter then, eh, Margot? and the young fellows tenderness spoke in his voice. Oh, nothing! she answered, brushing From Good Cheer. her hand across her eyes; but winter is THE NEAL REEF, a sad time, and grandfather has been ill, BY MRS. PARR, AUTHOR OF DOROTHY FOX. and is so stiff. Are ye going to Mayors with the CHAPTER V. nets? he asked, looking at her bundle. AND how had it fared with Margot dur- Ive been and and the tears ing these months of Philips absence? would come and the voice grew husky Alas! but sadly. The winter, which was they they took two boxes, but they always a time of hardship and privation, dont want any nets. THE NEAP REEF. 17 Love is the best sharpener of some in- acting and skylarking about as I do? No; stincts. Dick didnt want to be told 1 tis more often a heavy heart than a light more; he understood flow the reason of one sets me off; and somehow I dont find the drooping attitude, the wistful gaze at sprecing the same as it used to be; and, the few coins in her open hand, and why since that talk we had after Phil went, her tears were so ready to foxy, and you told me of your promise to him, Dont be ca~t down, he said softly, and how things could never he different If you didnt want to carry em back, and between us two, Ive thought over the youd let me have emIm goin~ to Lu- words you said, Margot, and I do want to ton to-morrow I might get an offer there do as you asked me to, only I havent for em. somehow got the upper hand o myself; Truly! Oh, I should be so glad to get and I aint able to. Oh, Margot! don them sold! for you know, Dick, we heve let me slip back for want o help; I feel been very hard driven this last month. almost as if I was iven a last chance, and I didnt knoxv, he said, looking down if I let this one go, the devilll see I never and kicking at the flints which lay in his get another. way. flow should I know? You never What do you want me to do? she tell me anything. You wont even treat asked softly. me like a friend. Tisnt as you promised Why, nothing, but let me come and see in that talk, Mar~ot; and Ive kept my you sometimes, and sit quiet and yarn with word, you know. the old man; then I should ha~ a reason She tried to avoid answering him by for stopping away from Crafts. And undoing the bundle she carried, Ilonfleur then if youd ask me to do any little thing fashion, across her back. so as I saw yon trusted me, why it ud Ah! she exclaimed with a sigh of cheer me up so that I know I should get relief; hut it was heavy. The nets will on. make it all the lighter when theyre gone. Margot was silent. Surely, she thought, You shant carry any of it further, said Philip could not objeet to this; he was a T)ick resolutely. Get what youve got to good man, ready to help anybody, and, a~ buy, and Ill wait where you like, and as he said, he only disliked Barry because he long as you like, hut Im going to carry was idle and too fond of gay company, this home for you. which he would not believe he ever in- No, no, please; Id rather not; let me tended to give up. Poor fellow! that was have the boxes; Im not a bit tired now. just it; nobody believed him; they all Of course I dont want to force my laughed at his intentions, though she felt company on you, said the yonn~ man certain he meant what he said. Then she moodily; if youre ashamed for it to be had told him that Philip and she were seen, or said, that you walked down the betrothed lovers; so of course Philip village with me, Ill go one way and you would not be jealous any more. Still she can go another. felt doubtful and hesitated. Did n t the Dick! and Margot looked into his good God see her heart and know her face, when youve just been so kind to wish was to please Ilim and Philip? me! Should she say Yes or No? lIe would Kind! he echoed impatiently. I help her; and repeating the words alter~ aint kind; tisnt kind to do what pleases nately on her fin~,ers, and finding the little ye most in the world. Oh, Margot! he finger and Yes came last and together, went on, you dont know what a different she turned round, and putting her hand on chap you might make o me only by giving Dicks, said me a hoist up now-and-then by askin~ me It shall be as you say now; and when to do any little thing for ye. I dont look Philip comes back we will all be friends, for more than that now, because I see you and he will help you more than anybody havent got it to give me; but hes away, could. Stay, and I will go and get my and the old mans laid by, and twouldnt bread and the tobacco for grandfather, be much to let me strive to make you see and then well go up the road and back by I aint such a reglar bad one but that you Turacross. might make a man of me. I know what On their road Margot artlessly let Dick youre thinking about, he continued look- into many of the privations which she and ing at her somewhat perplexed face; her grandtitther had lately suffered, the youre wondering what hed say. AhI consequence of which was that the kind- tis easy enough for him to keep straight; hearted fellow determined to stick hard at do you think, if Id had the luck to win work, and not spend his wa,,es beforehand, what he has, that I should want to go jack~ by which means he could, by different de- LIYWG AGE. VOL. XXIII. 1O9~ 18 THE NEAP REEF. vices, contrive to help Margot and her grandfather without their suspecting it. So a few days after, he went to the cottage with a story of a shop at Luton which had given him an order for various nets and lines. If youll make em, he said, addressing old Dutton, Ill undertake to get them convoyed all right. Whereupon, between receiving the money for those already disposed of, and this order, which insured more to come, the poor old fellow, weakened by his recent illness, was quite overcome, and in a quaverin~ whisper told Dick that God would bless ,him, for theyd bin two upon one for the last month. Ah! and its longer than that since my poor lass has known what the taste of a full meal is. I know the meaning of her being chock-a-block afore shes had enough to feed a sparrur; tis all cos o me that I shall ha the more, and a sob choked his utterance and obli~ed him to be silent lest Margot should overhear him. This, then, was the foundation for the village gossip. Dick Barry stuck to his work; he was frequently absent from Crafts, and when he went, instead of waiting to be among the last to leave, he was often amon~ the first to go, saying he must be up early in the morning: lastly, he hadbeen met several times crossing the beach, or, if the weather was bad or the tide hi0h, goin,, down Turncross way. Will Smith had met him, and asked if he was bound on a French cutting-out expe- dition; and his chums began throwing out hints about Margot, at which the young fellows good-looking face would redden-up like a girls, and he would stain- mner out such flat denials as only confirmed their suspicions. But Margot heard noth- ing of this.; she only saw that by degrees Dick was growing different. She felt their brother-and-sisterly sort of footing to be very pleasant; and it was cheerful for somebody to come and chat with her grandfather, whose stren,,th came but slowly. Dick had a fine voice, and loved music dearly, and first he would sing, and then Margot would join him. Sometimes they would make theold man give them one of his quaint ditties, and Margot would laugh till the tears came, as, in a very high key, he bellowed out Adoo to you panish ladies! adoo to you ladies of Spain! or sang the pathetic history which had for its chorus Oh! take lessonbya fly, Never give way to luxury. Assuredly no people in Redneap spent an evening more cheerfully or innocently, not excepting even Mrs. Lee, although she went to chapel and class meetings, and returned home criticizing th preacher or his hearers; or, if they happened to satisfy her, applying his condemnations am1d re- proof, not to herself, but to omebody she knew, and whom she felt sure they must ha come home to. Even when she prayed for her son, the sole possessor of all the softness in her somewhat hard nature, it was rather in the spirit of thanking God he was not like other sons whom she knew of. lie was honest, sober, upright; yes, she had brought him up to be very differ- ent from most whom she could name. All these praises, in her strong love, were repeated by poor Margot, as she, too, nightly asked God to bless Philip Lee, and send him home in safety to her. To her? AhI how came it that such as she should have the blessing of this mans love? And, in her humility, she joyfully thanked God for his goodness to one who had so little but love to offer in return. It happened about this time, that the rectory Christmas treat was given, and to it all Redneap was invited, including, of course, old Dutton and Margot. The prospect of a little gaiety filled the girl with deli,,ht, the only drawback being that her grandfather didnt see how he could get so far. Tis such a journey round, he said dolefully, and I dont think II could manage Turncross. Yes you can, and you shall, exclaimed Margot. Ill drag you, and push you, and pull you, until you cannot help going on and getting to the top. When Barry came, he volunteered his help, and so it was arranged that he was to come to the cottage at a certain hour, and between them the old man was in some way to be got up to the rectory. And you make your mind easy about getting back, Margot, said Barry, for if its fair Ill get Thompsons boat, and if not Ill go back with you and see him all safe home. Therefore, had all been known, there was really no need for such a nudging of elbows as went round the room when, a little late, her eyes dancing with excite- ment, her rich colour deeper than usual from the no small exertion of pushing. while Barry dragged, poor old D utton up the steep ascent Margot entered between the two men, and went forward to make her curtsey before Mrs. Chenevix and the ladies assembled. Annie ! dye see? Well, I nevcr THE NEAP REEF. 19 did, exclaimed Mrs. Lee in a half-audible whisper, following Margot with her eyes, while Annie thought she had never seen any one so bewitching in all her life. She didnt wonder at the gracious smiles of the gentry at the evident admiration of the men clustered together about the room. All her thought was, did Margot prefer Dick to Philip? if not, what chance had she? Why, he couldnt help himself; nobody could resist her. She believed young Mr. Chenevix even was losing his heart to her as he bent down talking to her in her own tongue, the sound of which brought out ber smiles, and made sweet dimples play about her laughing mouth. Oh I Philip will never give her up, she almost groaned, in answer to another whisper from the widow. Isnt she looking most lovely? Tis the foot, not the face, the devils knowd by, snorted Mrs. Lee; and shes showed her hoof rather too plain for my son, or any other honest man, I hope, to be fobbed off by her brazen face, how- ever pretty it may be. Annie said no more; but as she sat watching her rival her heart sank within her, feeling how little chance her homely face and prim ways gave her. The ques- tion that seemed uppermost in her mind, and which she felt compelled to ask every one who sat beside her, was, Isnt Margot Dutton looking sweet and pretty? Well, yes, answered Mr. Vesey, whom the hospitable rector always be,ged as a personal favour to be present at this gen- eral and social gathering. The gift of a very comely presence has been bestowed upon her, and I trust she will be kept from setting undue store upon what often proves to be one of Satans most powerful snares. We are speaking of our young foreign friend, he added, turning to Mrs. Lee, to whom the kind-hearted ministers charitable blindness was often a sore stum- bling-block. Friend, indeed! said the widow an- grily. I dont know of anybody whod own her as such. She looks to me for all the world like a tambourine wench, with that rory-tory red and yaller handkercher, and them miserable brass ear-drops. Yes, its a thousand pities that nobody takes it upon them to speak out to her, put in the ministers wife, whose amount of tact in smoothing over the numerous offences of the small congregation quite equalled her husbands share of the chief of the Christian virtues. When she came up to us just this minute, Id two minds whether I wouldnt say what lay on my tongue to tell her. My dear! my dear! interrupted her husband hastily, remember the word should be in season, and the girl is young, and has been without guidance. If we pluck at her feathers now, the flesh will he rebellious; let us rather seek to touch her heart by gentle means, and moulting time will come, and these gay feathers will fall off of their own accord. Eh, neighbour Lee? you will agree with me there I know; and he fortunately turned away to speak to some one near, and so escaped hearing the contemptuous snort by which the widow relieved her outraged feelings. I do declare, she exclaimed as soon as Mrs. Vesey was well out of hearing, if Mr. Vesey aint enough to aggravate a saint! Sometimes I wonder whether hes quite so sharp as he should be. You know his sister was a little hippy after her two boys was drownd, and praps tis in the family. Oh my, I hope not! said Annie; but Im glad Mrs. Vesey didnt speak to Mar~,ot; tis better left to some other time than this, I think. Well then, Annie, you think wrong; for if Mr. Vesey dont choose to answer to his call as a minister, his wife should speak for him. Hes a great deal too fond of keeping his mouth shut, is Mr. Vesey, and thereby lettin the devil score one on his side; and, mark my words, if folks as withhold reproofs they should ha uttered dont find that its no such easy business to wipe out that tally. Later in the evening, when Margot, after several attempts, which had been adroitly thwarted, got over to Mrs. Lees side, and feeling drawn towards any one belonging to her absent lover, said in a soft shy whisper, I wish Philip was here, Madam, he would so enjoy it, and we should have nothing left to wish for, Mrs. Lee answered her in a tone which all could hear, that she didnt know what difference her sons being there could make to her. She had to be told if there was any reason why it should make or mar her pleasure. Whereupon the bystanders said to Mrs Lee, that they thou,,ht shed given Marg@t her answer; and to one another, that there was no cause for speaking like that to the girl before everybody; and, as sure as eggs was eggs, Mrs. Lee would be sorry for it some day, for they could see Margot meant nothing towards Barry, though he seemed almost as mad after her as Philip Lee himself, 20 THE NEAP REEF. CIIAPTE~ Vi. Tn~ hawthorn was blossoming in the Redneap hedges, the cuckoo was telling its good tidings to the glad villagers; the winter was over, the spring time had come and with it had come Philip Lee. Yes, Philip was at home again; and, having done ample justice to the substantial tea she had set forth in his honour, he sat by his old mothers fireside, pipe in hand, pre- pared to listen to the vast heap of news which for his benefit, amusement, and in- struction she had been all these months past accumulating. Mrs. Lee took out her knitting, and set- tled herself to enjoy, as only a woman can, the pleasure of retailing all this amount of gossip and soon she was deep in John Chubbs illness and death, the unnecessary display made at his funeral, the sermon preached by Mr. Horan, of whom, it was said, Mr. Vesey was uncommonly jealous; the various good or bad ventures made by the different boats, the prospects of the fishing trade, & c.; until, in the midst of a graphic account of Mrs. Crafts headstone, her son interrupted her by saying, some- what irrelevantly, How are all the maidens? Mrs. Lee gave him a sharp glance, but she only answered, Oh! all very well. Annie Turle was here on Sunday. Ever since you left she would ha me go there o Wednesdays, and have my tea and go to chapel with her; tis quite a pleasure to go to a place o worship with that girl, for shell brine away the sermon, word for word, and repeat it like a book. Anhies her mothers girl there, for all the Bate- ons were wonderful hands at remember- ing tbings. Philip gave a few more puffs at his pipe, and then he asked, Have you seen any- thing of old Dutton? Not lately. Here something went wrong with the pipe, and Philip had to turn completely away from his mother to remedy it, dur- ing which time he said, with assumed in- difference, Nor Mareot? Naomi Lee pursed up her thin lips as, without taking her eyes from her knitting she answered her sons question. No- body ever went down to the beach, or passed Craft, without being pretty sure to see Mareot wherever tbe men are you may hear her voice above all. In my day, a girl wouldnt ha bin much thought of that every man could make free and have his joke with. Oh! she means no harm, mother. You forget how different she was broueht up; twas the natural thing there for the wo- men to sit gossipin~ with the men. Theyre all just like her. Oh, indeed! said Mrs. Lee, with well-feigned surprise. Then Im thank- ful I live in a Christian country where the women know what decency means, and sit in their own houses all the week, and go to church or chapel on Sundays, and dont go giggling and gosterin~ without a bit o bonnet on their heads, and long e ai~-drops hanging to tbeir ears; if thats the French way, thank the Lord that Im English. And Mrs. Lee knitted away more vigor- ously than before, while Philip sat with troubled face and heart, wondering how his mother would act on hearing that he had chosen the chief of these offenders to bear her name, to fill her place, and to step into those shoes which were now employed in shaking off the dust of her resentment into the faces of the whole nation of for- eigners. Come, come, mother, he said at length, you mustnt speak hardly of her, for but Mrs. Lee interrupted him by exclaiming Ale speak hard o her! Well, Im sure Philip, youd best listen to what others ha got to say. Just ask Mr. Vesey whats his opinion o a girl who could go up to the rectory feast flaunting her great long ear-drops as bold as brass afore the ladies, and sit up laughing and jabbering away her lingo to young Mr. Chenevix and Capen Portescue, as if she was one o their own sort; or put the question to Mrs. Davis, if shed let her Sarah Jane set foot inside a dancing booth, as I under- stand Margot might ha bin seen at Rick- field Revels, capering away like one o Richardsons show-gals. But there, tis no business o mine, nor o yours neither, for that matter, so we neednt waste our time haggling over things that dont con- cern us. What Margot does concerns me very considerably, mother, said Philip, deter- mined to avow the engagement without any more delay. Surely ! answered his mother. What a pity then, that you wasnt home to advise her against taking up with a raff like that Barry, who shes walked with for the last why, amost ever since you left. Twas in everybodys mouth; for, as Mrs. Vesey said, far better shed tie a stone round her neck and jump into the sea than drag herself down with such a fel- low as Barry. Ill never believe it! exclaimed Philip, TilE NEAP REEF. 21 breaking his favourite pipe in his excite-I turn up or aside into any place rather ment. Tis an invention o some o them than meet me. lying Redneap gossipers, whore always Was that her fault or yours, mother? on the look-out to ruin a girls character. asked Philip; who, resting his hands on Because they may have seen Barry phulan- the high mantelshelf, leaned his head upon dering about there, for I spied out his theni and gazed moodily into the fire. bearings long before I went away, The last time I saw you together, you theyve put it down at once as a settled was so chuff and stand off that it was no ob; but I know Margot better, mother. wonder she fought shy of coming here. Why, Id doubt my own self in such a Mrs. Lee avoided replying directly to matter as soon as I would her. her ~ons question, but went on, I may Mrs. Lee had been prepared to hear say that Ive never but once been fairly doubts and a certain amount of defence faced by her, and then I own that praps I and argument from Philip, but she was wasnt over cordial; for though, as I said quite unprepared for this excited display before, shes no favourite o mine, still Im of a passion which betrayed itself in voice a mother, Phil, and I have a feeling for and manner more than in words. Was it other mothers, and I thought what would possible that there was more between ha been the feelings o hers who, Ive them than she had known of? If so, all heerd from you, was a respectable, indus- the greater reason that his eyes should be trious woman to see her child enter that opened, and it would therefore need all room afore all the gentry and the village her woman~ s wariness and cunning to fan people with Dick Barry, whom many had his jealousy and inflame his anger. This their doubts if the rector should ha asked she would do without exhibiting her own at all. dislike towards the girl, for experience Margot went to Mr. Chenevixs with had taught her that Philip was ever ready Barry? almost groaned poor Philip. It to screen Margot from blame, and to take must ha bin accidental, mother. her part against any one who expressed Mrs. Lee shook her head. the smallest condemnation of her or her People dont come together and go to- doings. gether unless theyve fixed it all before- I dont -wonder at what you say, hand ;. besides which I heerd her say, if it Philip, his mother began, seeming not to hadnt been for Barry, she should never notice his emotion, for at the first go off ha got up Turncross. And then, when I didnt pay any heed to it neither. Mar- after all these fly-away airs she walks up got is no favourite o mine, and that I to me sayin something about, if Philip plainly own, bnt Ive allays credited her as was there she supposed 1 should be quite being a girl desirous o keeping respect- happy well, I answered rather short, able company, and knowing Im one as is and no wonder neither. set agin the French, Ive not bin above Philip was silent. lie couldnt answer asking my~elf if I didnt praps stickle his mother; he could only keep asking overmuch at her furrin ways. himself if it was possible that Margot had And you have always bin dead against forgotten and forsaken him. Had she, her, mother; from the first she couldnt while he was away toiling and saving that say, nor do, nor look so as to please you they might be married whenever he re- at all. turned, cast him off for the man of all Mrs. Lee checked her angry answer, others most odious to him, a man whom and paused to draw a fresh supply of oil she knew that he disliked and despised? to pour upon the kindled fire. Impossible; but why then go to the rec- I aint the first mother, Phil, whos tory with him, where everybody ~vould see thought nobody good enou~h for her boy, and make their remarks about her, more and perhaps a feeling did sometimes make especially his mother, whom he had begged me speak out more than I meant or felt in her to conciliate as much as possible? Oh! regard to Margot. Theres some mar- it was unkind, cruel! And then his love riages by which you seem to have gained began to plead for the offender, and su,- a daughter, and theres some make ye feel gest that his mother might be exaggerat. youve lost your son; but nobody can ac- ing. He would wait, and, if condemna- cuse me o ever breathing a false word tion must be given, it should be given by agin Margot, or of bringing a charge be- her own lips, not on anybodys elses rep- hind her back I wouldnt ha made before resentation. If he could but go at once and her face. Since youve bin gone shes see her, but it was already late, and the never bin the one to come anigh me, and distance to Shingle Cove was over two if by chance I met her in the village, shed miles, go which way you might. How 22 THE NEAP REEF. should he manage? I think Ill take a turn outside, he said suddenly; I shant be gone ten minutes; and, without wait- ing for the remonstrance which he knew was certain to come, he stepped out, hoping to gain from the cool air relief and inspiration how best to act. He was still calculating in how short a time he could run down to the cottage, in the direction of which he stood gazing, when his reverie was broken by that disagreeable but ac- credited British mode of welcome a hearty slap on the back the perpetrator of which pleasantry wheeled in front of him, exclaiming, What, Phil Lee! why whod have thought it I Come, tip us your flipper, mate. Why, you look more like a man whos got rid of the last shot in his locker than one just come back, as I hear you have, with your pockets full of shin- ers. Philip tried to put on a more cheerful expression as he took his friends proffered hand, and laughingly replied, I dont know much about the pocketful of shiners. Where did you hear that? Why, at the best news-shop in the vil- lage Crafts, to be sure. Oh! what, you still all meet there? I should think so, said his companion. Why I dont believe youd find a house to equal Crafts no, not in sailin0 round the globe. I never met with one; and wherever I go, I generally try em. Theyre such a one-and-all set of fellows there, ready to give and take a joke, and enjoy it, turn how it may no cutting up rou,,h nor moping with them; its Gail gail dessus le quai I And he roared out the refrain to one of Margots songs at the top of his hoarse voice. In his present mood, the sound made Philip feel as if he could have strangled the man. Where did you get that? he ex- claimed snappishly. Where? why from your old flame, the pretty Margot. AhI its well youve come home, or youd have found your flag hauled down, I can tell ye. Ha! ha! you should ha seen Barrys chopfallen look, when young Nat Condy told him you was at Luton; all the fellows were at him; for hes been on dooty at the cottage pretty regular since youve bin away, and he didnt half like being told hed have to sh6er off now to the tune of Get up, Jack, let John sit down. Philips rage seemed to choke him, to the unbounded delight of Sam Collins, who chuckled over the account he should give at Crafts of the clever manner in which he had raised Philip Lees dander, and made him so jealous. Fortunately they had arrived jusf in front of his home, so that. Philip could escape without being obliged to listen to any more of Collinss rollicking jocundity. Im going in, he said gruffly. Good- nir~ht. Oh! good ni,,ht, old chap. I shall tell em at Crafts Ive seen ye. Come now, look in some night and have a yarn with us. You know its always Gail gail dessus le quail And he went off, laughing heartily at Philips mode of receiving his invitation, which was to slam the door with such vio- lence that his mother jumped off her chair, while all the pots and pans and household crockery joined in chorus with her exela- ruation of astonishment. Philip muttered something about the wind being so strong and that fool Collins, and then threw him- self into a chair, and declared he thought he must turn in, for he felt too tired to speak. Mrs. Lee did not attempt to dissuade him. She lit his candle, and told him hed feel all the better for a nights rest; and, pretending not to notice his discomposure, the mother parted with her son for the night thankful that she had thus put a stop to what she saw had gone further than she had any idea of; pitying her boy, from whom she would have taken and willingly borne every pain and sorrow, but nursing hatred towards the girl who could cause him a heartache for which his mother had no healing balsam. And Philip? He tossed and turned, making his old bed creak and groan with his restlessness, as he wore out the long night with imaginary interviews, full of bitter reproaches and humiliating contri- tion, sharp words and timely penitence. Finally he sank to sleep, and dreamed that he was in the midst of a storm, whose fierce raging he heeded not, because he held Margot tight clasped in his arms, and all was for~,iven and forgotten. CHAPTER VII. IT was the day after Philips return, and by three oclock in the afternoon Margot had worked herself into a fever of excite- ment and expectation. What could be keeping him away? Something very im- portant, she felt sure, for no doubt or sus- picion of the truth ever crossed her mind. By a very early hour she had finished her house-work, dressed herself with more than her usual care, and taken up her po- sition on a seat at some little distance from the cottage, where she sat waiting with nervous anxiety for her lover to make THE NEAP REEF. 23 his appearance. Never before had she I had a little job to bring me thia pulled the twine of her netting into such way; so I thought Id just give a look in inextricable knots, never had she felt such here, and say to Lee that you and grand- impatience in undoing them. At length father had both took me by the hand, and her fingers made a sudden stop. She helped me to get quit o some old chums hears a step sees a shadow looks up who were rather too much for me; and and Dick Barry is standing before and that I hoped his coming home wouldnt her. make any difference, and that we should Oh! is that you, Dick? and if a hope all keep friendly, the same as weve bin still lingered in poor Dicks breast, that since hes bin away. look and tone of disappointment crushed And Philip will be the first to say and banished it altogether. Yes, exclaimed Margot. I wonder what Thats a sorry sort o welcome to get, is keeping him. I made certain he would Margot. But, there, I suppose I mustnt be down this morning, and now it is nearly expect much now hes back, he added bit- four oclock. Where can he be? terly. Where? Why so close to Margot that Margots nerves were too much on the he could jealously mark each look that strain to permit of her taking anything flitted across her face, watch every move- coolly; besides she felt vexed and angry ment of her lips as they framed the words with Barry for not being Philip, and, which he strove vainly to hear. woman-like, was inclined to vent her dis- It was thus with Philip. The whole pleasure on the innocent object who had morning he had been wondering what he disappointed her. should do, and how he should act. At You may expect as much as you ever one moment he would determine not to go get from me, she said in a sharp voice; near the cotta~,e for days; he would let and I dont know who you mean by he. her see, that as she could do without him, You know I mean Phil Lee, Margot. he could do without her; then he was for We never managed to put up our horses seeking Barry, and having it out with together yet, and Im doubting if we shall him; at another time he would start up, et on better now. Leastways, Im sure feeling that to listen to the damning evi- we shant if you dont stick by me. dence of Margots faithlessness, which his There, there, forgive me if I spoke mother kept quietly dropping, was more sharp, and Margot, already repentant, than he could bear; and finally, these nar- held out her hand to him. I do feel very rations of Mrs. Lees so maddened him, cross-tempered to-day, and she gave a that he determined to seek Margot and little sigh, tax her with her heartlessness and infidel- Dick divining the probable cause, said ity. Filled with these bitter thoughts, I reckon Phil hasnt got his business he hurried down the rugged path, every over, fore nobodys set eyes on him in the jutting stone and sharp turn of which was village. Have you seen him down here familiar to him, and forced him to recall yet? the times without number when he had Margot shook her head. hastened, joyful and light of heart, to Do you know if he came last night? meetings very different from the one he she asked. was now seeking. These happier memo- Yes, he came, cos I met one or two ries gradually softened him, and growing that saw him. tenderer by the time he gave the final Dick did not say that his principal in- jump, which brought him close to the back formant was Sam Collins, and that, fear- of the cottage, a great portioa of his an- ing from the broad hints thrown out by ger had vanished, and had given place to that worthy, he had been unduly riling a soreness which instead of urging him to Philip and casting false imputations on angry upbraidings, prompted him to take Dicks visits to Margot, he had certain the dear transgressor in his arms, and of finding Philip at the cottage started ask her how she could treat him so, know- off with the intention of setting all square ing as she did that all his heart and love at once. As it was, he hardly knew what and hope lay in her keeping? to do; he never intended letting Margot As usual, the cottage door stood open, suspect that there had been any banter and, as usual, its occupants were not with- relative to her among the frequenters of in to answer his summons. Well, that the village ale-house; still he wanted to gave him neither annoyance nor surprise. give her a hint, in case Philip should be- Most likely round the rock, which gave its tray any jealousy; so he went on, after a protecting shelter to that primitive abode, pause he should find old Dutton busily employed 24 THE NEAP REEF. in mending or painting somebodys boat, minds to step up to ask Annie to put it while Margot, seated on the edge, would off till next week. be chattering away to him, her tongue Dont do anything o the kind, moth- running and her fingers flying as she er, exclaimed Philip sharply. Im well made the coarse nets which her grand- enough. What nonsense you do talk! father so!d. For he felt any distraction would be a re While Philip had been absent, his imag- lief just then~ ination had brightened many a dark night Mrs. Lee said no more, and in due time by recalling the pair, who formed the Annie arrived, and was graciously re- principal figures in a far more picturesque ceived by both mother and son. Her fath- scene than even he realized. Familiarity er, she said would not be able to come had made him indifferent to the grand until the evening; so tea was taken, and beauty of the place, its perilous rockiness Mrs. Lee, havin~ cleared it away, sat and great patches of red sand which, be- down with a feeling of contented satisfac- yond the small pebbled landing-place tion that all was going on swimmingly. where the boats were hauled up, spread Philip talked and joked with Annie as he out for miles round. Often not a soul was had never done before, causing the shy, to be seen but the old grey-headed fisher- silent girl to brighten, so that, as Mrs. man, and by his side, in all the pride of her Lee expressed it, you wouldnt ha young beauty, his dark-eyed granddaugh- named her for the same girl. But alas ter, her well-devised costume setting off for those castles in the air, which are oft- to the greatest advantage a figure which times so suddenly dispelled! Most unex- health and exercise had thoroughly devel- pectedly up jumped Philip, feeling he oped. Philips heart had considerably should go mad if lie stayed much longer, softened, as he turned the point round though he merely said hed see how the which he expected to see the two he night was looking, and have a smoke out- sought; but in an instant every soft feel- side. Mrs. Lee did all in her power to ifl,, vahished, for close by Margot stood make him sit still, smoke his pipe indoors, Dick Barry. From his downcast face, he and be comfortable; but Philip only seemed to be receivin0 his dismissal a laughed as he looked round for his hat, dismissal his faithless siren cannot give and saying he shouldnt be long, closed without betraying, by the way she puts the cottage door behind him. her hand into his, how much pain she suf- Oh! what a relief it was to be in the fers in returning to the man to whom pm- open air, out in the dark night, under dence alone binds her. A rush of blind cover of which he could look as he liked, mad passion swept over Philip Lee, so and give way to all the thoughts he had that when, a few minutes after, stumbling, been striving for hours to battle against! he fell on the grassy cliff-side he was lie walked up the lane, and across to a mounting, he thanked God for turnin0 his rough stone boundary, whence~ when steps from, not towards the guilty pair the flying scud allowed the moon a chance who had wrecked his peace, and stranded of lighting up the darkness he could him desolate and lonely for ever, see the waves which would roll in to the When Philip returned to his home, beach close to where dwelt the cause of though he said nothing of what had all his misery. Leaning his arms on the passed, his sharp-sighted umother felt cer- parapet, he gazed abstractedly and hope- tam that he and Margot had met and lessly, until some one suddenly touched parted, and with the inconsistency of love, him and said softly, Philip! though she had striven for, and rejoiced It was Margot, who, unable to bear the in anticipation over, this end, she hated suspense lon~er, had been lingering near more bitterly than before the woman who the cottage for more than an hour with could cause such despair and agony as she the hope of seeing or hearing somethin~ detected under Philips moody silence, of him. She had said to herself that uP- abrupt movements, and fitful attempts at less it had been impossible for Philip to cheerful conversation. She almost wished run down amid see her, which she was she could find some excuse for putting off certain was the case, she should meet Annie Turle, whomn in honour of his re- him very coolly, and not tell him of her turn, she had invited to tea, and with this joy that her prayers were answered, and thought she ventured to say that he was back safe. She followed him You aint looking a bit yourself to- up the lane, and stealthily towards the day, Phil; your face is as peaky and cliff, intending to surprise himn on his way wished as can be, its so contrairy that to the cottage, to which she felt sure he the Turles should be coming. Ive two was going. THE NEAP REEF. 25 But what makes him stop and droop his head so dejectedly? Can he be in trouble? Ab, Philip I and in an instant she is by his side, her heart overflowing with love, and the tender wish to share his every sorrow. Philips whole frame vibra- ted at the soft touch and well-remembered voice, tic knew that if he did not summon up all his strength and pride, he should take her in his arms, and, in spite of her falseness, her folly, her heartlessness, im- plore her still to be his. But he would master himself; and, turning so that he mi~ht rudely shake off her hand, he said, in as sneering a tone as he could command his trembling voice to assume Yes, its me; not your new fancy, Dick Barry. Dick Barry! repeated the ~,irl all amazed. Philip, what on carth is it that y~n mean? And thereupon Philip gave way to the jealousy which was consuming him; he flung at her the most stinging accusations, the most bitter reproaches mingled with great bursts of a love which, in her roused anger, Margot declared she did not believe in, but that she gladly released him from a tie which they had both felt for a long time was a sore burden. And so they parted Philip standing dogged and sullen until Margot was out of si~ht and hearing, and then uttering the bitter cry, Mar0ot, Margot 1 All the stinging reproaches and hard words he had uttered vanished, and were forgotten in presence of the terrible wounds she had inflicted. Had she shown one trace of sorrow, or given one denial, though all were true he could have forgiven her. But to meet him in the way she had done, she must be false and guilty, and glad, as she said, that at length they were parted for ever. And Philip flun~ himself on the grass, asking how he should endure his life without her who had been its greatest joy and happiness. And Margot? She returned to the little cotta~e with white face and tightened mouth. Quietly she got her grandfathers supper, and sat down on her accustomed stool gazing vacantly before her. From time to time the old man asked her some trivial question, to which she answered yes or no, until, unable to bear seeing her in trouble; he got up and put his arm round her, saying Whats gone amiss, lovey? Taint no- thing wrong with Phil yeve heerd? No, only that he wont come here again. I met him, and he said things that were false and untrue. He said but it is of no consequence we have parted now altogether. No, no! exclaimed the old man, shak- ing his head. Dont ce say so, deane; dont cc say so. Youve only parted com- pany for a time, like most crafts do sooner or later; but youll come to one anchorage yet, spite o that old vinegar-faced mother o his, whos at the bottom o it all, Ill warrant, a-wanting him to take up with Shifty Turles maid. Where have you heard that? asked Margot sharply. Why, one place and tother, for ever so long. But never fear, lovey, Phil aint the one to go backing out o what he knows weve long set our hearts upon. Manys the promise hes gived to me that, come what might, you should be his wife, and not be cast adrift when Im dead and gone, like a ship without a rudder, for such I hold a woman is, without a purtector. Then it was pity which had bound Philip to her. That was all he had to give in ex- change for her love, and through the night long her bitterest cry was, Philip, why did you not tell me? I could have borne it then, but now I have given you all my heart, and I can never take it back again. CHAPTER VIII. Tuu summer months passed away, dur- ing which Mrs. Lee saw but little of her son, who pretended that it was impossible for him to run home as frequently as he had formely done. He had again taken command of the Bluebell, and was actively engaged in bringing fruit, eggs, fish, or whatever was saleable, from the French ports to Luton. Constantly did he regret his inability to throw up his vessel and her trade, and start off for the uttermost parts of the globe, in the vain hope that distance might prove efficacious in curing the hope- less passion which was still a barrier to either peace or contentment. But he could not leave his mother; now that she was getting old and dependent, it was his duty to try and make some return for all the sacrifices she had formerly made for him; besides which she had complained lately, in a way unusual to one who never com- plained, of feeling weak and poorly, and she certainly looked worried and anx- ious. The truth was, that though Mrs. Lees schemes had up to this point succeeded beyond her expectations, the completion of them seemed to be as distant as ever. When Philip came home he always ap- peared glad to see Annie, whom he called