grand style? We should answer certainly there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting Moon; for Prospero, when he tells us that we are such stuff As dreams are made of, and our little life for Macbeth, when he declares that Macbeth has murdered sleep. From The Queen. THE CHARACTERISTICS OF CROWDS. HE who studies a crowd studies the dominant characteristics of a nation; for, after all, the people, properly so-called, give what we mean by "local color" to a race, good breeding having the tendency to create a dead level of uniformity throughout. Take the three most distinctly marked crowds known to us English, French, Italian and in each we see plainly stamped the results of the form of government and the characteristics of the race to which it belongs, and read more than the mere aspect given by dress and appearance. Good-natured, tenacious, easily amused, the ill-dressed, slovenly-looking English crowd, as it gathers in our streets on a gala-day, is also a little brutal in its strength, and somewhat inclined to turbulency that is rather wilfulness than spitefulness, and more troublesome than dangerous. It is not easily kept in order, and it enjoys nothing so much as to set at defiance the authorities, whom it chaffs with rough humor, but does not mean seriously to annoy. It hustles the soldiers who line The grand style used by a poet writing the streets, and snaps its horny fingers in his own name implies a deep sense at their muskets, butt and barrel; it reof sonorous chords in his own being, insists the "bobbies" who press it back on perfect harmony with the deeper chords the kerb, themselves sometimes a little of the universal order, and this many true poets have never felt at all, and many more only in rare moods. Wordsworth knew well what the grand style was, and used it not unfrequently with the most magnificent effect, as, for example, in the Ode to Duty," every word of which is in the grand style, and in the great ode, on the "Intimations of Immortality," almost the whole of which is written in that style, though with some curious and remarkable flaws. But some of Wordsworth's finer poems were in altogether a different key. "The Daisy," "The Little Celandine," "The Green Linnet," and all the poems of that class, are not and could not have been in the grand style. They do not echo the deep sense of personal grandeur in Wordsworth so far as he was in harmony with the universal order, and were not meant to do so, but only to reflect the little ripple of joy with which he received one of the smaller impressions of nature's beauty. For "the grand style," it is requisite that the writer should first be conscious, either directly or dramatically, of some great personality; and next, that he should feel deeply the sympathy between that personality and the great music of the divine order of which it forms a part. 66 more rough than necessary, and apt to lose their tempers with the most pertinacious of the rebels; it makes light of the mounted police while these are in the middle of the road, but finds itself forced to obey when the word of command is emphasized by the hind-quarters of a backing horse with a switching tail; and no sooner is it marshalled in the ordained ranks than it breaks the invisible line, spreads itself abroad all over the place, and the whole thing has to be done over again. Rough calls to rough from opposite sides of the way, and their rude jokes are enforced by ruder laughter as the chorus; Jem on the roof signals to 'Arry in the street; shrill cat-calls pierce through the hoarser hum and roar of the crowds; and the half-frightened, half-laughing shrieks of the struggling women fighting for places keep time and tune with the treble voices of young Arabs bandying impertinences or counselling aggression. No one gives way to another in an English crowd; for the roughs preponderate over the quieter citizens, and the roughs have no more sense of courtesy than a herd of wolves snarling over the carcass of a dead horse. Even those who are morally respectable members of the State are, for the most part, unmannerly mem - man who walks along the whole length of the line, in front of the guards, the policemen, and the restrained throng, with no notice taken of him, and with the air of possessing the fee-simple of all London, and of having the royal permit in his breast-pocket. But the strength of the crowd comes out when the personages for whom it has assembled pass in review before it. The heartiness with which it cheers and the unmistakable vigor of its hisses; the roughness of its jokes when those whom it despises take their unhonored place; the quickness with which it seizes on any incident, the most trivial, from which it can extract amusement; the sudden overflow of the multitude and the complete breaking of all forms and barriers when the last of the pageant has passed, with the as sudden collapse of all law and order, - these are characteristics of an English crowd in greater proportion than of any other. But the most striking features of all are the vitality of its mood; the lustiness with which it expresses its sentiments either of approval or disdain, of popularity or of unpopularity; and the sentiment which it conveys of undisciplined strength might be dangerous to the spectator who surveys it from an eminence. bers of society, and push to the front | truders; the quiet, self-possessed gentlewhere they can, no matter on whose toes they tread nor whom they shoulder out of their places. There is no giving way for politeness or respect. The masterful, domineering, and aggressive qualities of the English race come out in a crowd in all their strength; and we understand how India was conquered and Waterloo won, how Egypt was taken and how Ireland is not pacified, when we watch the doings of the men on the pavement and read the history of the nation in the struggle for the best place which every one makes each fighting for his own hand independent of authority or previous possession with the necessary victory to the most pushing and the most powerful. Sometimes a coarse kind of good-humored gallantry is shown to women sometimes, but not often when a tall, broad-shouldered fellow, who can see over the heads of the rest, will step back a few inches and drag before him some panting, breathless girl, half smothered in the crowd, with a "There yer are, ma'am! Now you jist hold on and make yerself comf'ble," as he probably hugs her up to him as a kind of wages for his civility. He loses nothing by giving her this place in front of him. If he did, he would not have done it. Sometimes, too, an artisan, who has "little chaps " of his own at home, will take up a terrified and crying child, and set it on his shoulder out of harm's way. Perhaps this presence of children in a dense crowd is one of the most painful things of all. We believe that rarely, if ever, is there a public throng in London without the death of a baby, smothered in its mother's arms; or the loss of some poor little straying creature who has escaped from the guiding hand, and in a moment is cast away and shipwrecked in these great human breakers surging all around. It is marvellous how women can be so selfish and so thoughtless as to expose their children to such risks. But the love of sightseeing is an instinct, and, as it proves itself, an instinct stronger with some than even the maternal, which passes as the strongest of all. And where does the inevitable lost dog come from? to whom does he belong? and what is he seeking? The lost dog careering madly down the middle of the street, jeered at, kicked, frightened by the howling populace, is an incident as unvarying in the London crowd as the pickpocket detected by the police. man; the slatternly woman in a ragged shawl, who breaks the line and dashes across the street when cleared of all in From The Contemporary Review. THE ENCHANTED LAKE. From the VANA PARVA of the MAHABHARATA, page 825, line 17,305, of the Calcutta 4to text. [The following curious episode (now for the first time translated) occurs at the close of the Third Book of the Great Sanskrit epic; and is, perhaps, chiefly remarkable for anticipating the classical fable of the Sphinx, as well as for containing probably the most ancient conundrums recorded. There are thirty-four in all of these propounded by the Yaksha, or Spirit of the Lake, but some of them are here omitted. The Yakshas of Hindoo mythology are a kind of fairies, generally benignant and harmless, commonly called, indeed, punyajanas, or 'good people," but possessed of great power and knowledge. 66 - and In the preceding section the five Pandu princes have been wandering in the forest, greatly distressed for want of water. The concluding portion of the translation illustrates a passage in my previously published version of the "Swargarohana," where the god Dharma praises the King Yudhisthira for his equity and self-denial.] THEN Yudhisthira spake to Nakula: So Nakula Clomb a tall tree; and looking, cried aloud, "Green leaves and water-plants I see, which love The marish and the pool; also, I hear "Go!" said the king, "and fetch for us to drink, Filling thy quiver." Then sped Nakula, Obeying Yudhisthira with swift feet, And found a crystal pool brimmed to the bank : The great red-crested cranes stalked on its marge. And down he flung to drink; but a voice cried, "Beware to drink, rash youth! ere thou hast made "I go," quoth Sahadev; and sought the pool, And saw the water, and saw Nakula Prone on the earth. Then mightily he grieved, Spying the prince outstretched; yet, all so fierce His drouth was, that he ran and flung him down, Making to quaff; when, once again, the voice Yet, so the stress Of thirst o'ercame him, that he heeded not, But drank, and rose, and -reeled among the reeds Lifeless. Then, once again, great Kunti's son Spake, saying: "Oh, Arjuna, Fear of foes! These, our twain brethren, tarry go thyself, And speed, and bring them back, and bring to drink; Our trust thou art, for we are sore distressed." Which hearing, Gudâkesa seized his bow And arrows, and with drawn sword sought the pool. "He of the knotted locks," a name of Arjuna. But coming thither, saw those heroes stretched, With lifted bow, and arrow on the string, Seeking some foe; but when none came in sight, So wild his thirst was, and the pool so clear, Despite me, Kunti's son ! thou canst not drink, Then shot he shafts this way and that; and And darts he flung, of magic might, which find Thine anger is; answer me fair, and drink; The prince regarded not, and stooped, and drank, And fell down dead. Then Yudhisthira spake : "Bhima! thou terror of thy foes! see now! Arjuna, Nakula, Sahadev are gone To fetch us water; but they come not back. Seek them, and bring to drink." And Bhima said, "So be it ;" and he went unto the place Where those, his mighty-hearted brethren, lay. But when he saw them-all three-dead and stark, Sore grieved that long-armed lord, and gazed around, Deeming some Yaksha or some Rakshasa Had wrought their doom, and chafing for the fight. "But first," quoth he, "'twere good to drink," Then, long time left alone, Kunti's wise son Uprose-great Yudhisthira-sorrowful, Perplexed in thought; and strode into the wood: A leafy depth, where never foot was heard Of man, but shy deer roamed, and shaggy bears Rustled, and jungle hens clucked in the shade; With tall trees crowded, in whose crown the bees Swarmed buzzing, and strange birds builded their nests. Through this green darkness wending, Yudhisthir Passed to the pool, and marked its silver face Shine in the light, rimmed round with golden Who wast so princely-hearted, and upheldst All people cried: 'Here is the chief shall bring The glory back to us, having such strength Ah, Jishnu! how is this befallen here, love Made all our dangers sweet? And Sahadev, The Pandanus odoratissimus. ↑ Vrikodara, i.e., "Wolf's belly." Is my heart stone that now it breaketh not, The times and places and observances, Not slipped into the notches of your bows?" So broke the sorrow forth from Yudhisthir Beholding all four brethren lying still, Prone, like four corpses set asleep by Death; Much grieved he, and the marvel chilled his blood: Nor wist he, though so wise, whither to look For that which slew them. Yet, close-ponder ing, Unto himself he spake, "No hurts they bear Some spirit of the waste! But let me drink, Thus mused the king, but murmured pres ently: "Pure and unsullied seems the water; fresh My brothers' faces are; no poison-stain Mars limb or lip! 'tis Yama's self hath come, The conqueror of all, and slain them here, Whom none but he dared strike, being so strong." So saying, to the brink he drew, athirst, And stooped to drink, when, close at hand, he heard A bird's cry, and the Yaksha, taking shape, draw!" Spake Yudhisthir: "Who art thou? Art thou chief Of Rudras, or of Vâsus, or Marûts? Desiring aught; wonder and fear possess My burdened heart! I pray thee, show thyself, Reveal what God thou art, who hauntest here." "Yea, king!" came answer; "I am not a bird Wading the shallows, but a Yaksha dread, And I, as now thou seest me, killed these four." Rajah! (so Vaisampayana went on), The fan-palms waving near; shining as shines Drank of the pool, despite me, and were slain. "I would not break thy rule," quoth Yudhisthir; "The wise have said, 'Keep everywhere the law,' And, Yaksha! wherein thou wilt question me None can speak better than he understands, So, what I know, that will I answer. Ask!" Then thus he questioned, and the king replied: Yaksha. What teacheth division 'twixt spirit and frame? And which is the practice assisteth the same? K. Y. K. Slander and cruelty defame; And Death marks him and all the same. Who is it that gifted with senses to see, To hear, taste, smell, handle; and seeming to be Sagacious, strong, fortunate, able, and fair; Hath never once lived, though he breatheth the air? The man who, having, doth not give What thing in the world weigheth more What thing goeth higher than white clouds are curled? What thing flieth quicker than winds o'er the main ? And what groweth thicker than grass on A mother's heart outweighs the earth; Y. Whose eyes are unclosed, though he slumbers all day? And how K. What finally freeth the spirit? King. The Veds division plainly show; Y. How cometh a man in the Veds to be wise? What bringeth the knowledge of God to his eyes? What learning shall teach him the uttermost lore? And whence will he win it? Reply to these four. And what's born alive without motion? and, say, What moveth, yet lives not? and what, as it goes, Wastes not, but still waxes? Resolve me now those. With unclosed eyes a fish doth sleep; Y. What help is the best help to virtue? and, then, What way is the best way to fame among men? What road is the best road to heaven? and how Shall a man live most happy? Resolve me these, now. K. Capacity doth virtue gain; Gift-giving will renown obtain ; Y. What soul hath a man's which is his, yet another's? What friend do the gods grant, the best of all others? What joy in existence is greatest? and how May poor men be rich and abundant? say thou. |