Pythagoras. Primary origin, or creation, is as profound a mystery to us as ever. The world alone is ours and, living, it limits our scopes and hopes. Why are we in such a mortal hurry to waste our estate in our first years of its possession? Let us, in heaven's name, slow down, disintegrate, and recover, before too late, our ancient sense of the sweet and sober uses of time. Let us, above all things, restore the ancient circulation of words, on the perfection of which all beauty was founded, before we come wholly to revert to the uncouth utterances of our simian ancestors. But perhaps that is our doom, The Cornhill Magazine.

and in the vast cycle of events we shall come to bark and curl tails again with the indigenous type which we are racing round to rejoin. In that case, civilization will all be to begin again. I shall hope to retouch it at the point where ignorance made the tolerant and considerate gentleman, where ignorance conceived that sense of humor which deodorizes and sweetens the natural insanitations of the mind, where ignorance was still capable of building up a beautiful fabric of romance on the ugly insensate rock of facts. And in the meantime, "the music of the moon" still "sleeps" for me "in the plain eggs of the nightingale."

Bernard Capes.

CHAPTER II

OLD FRIENDS.

Justin meanwhile rode on with so grave a face that Ibn Ali, horse-boy and humble friend, trotting at his master's stirrup, knew that something must be amiss. Something there was lying upon the Major's mind, touching him more nearly than the importunity of General Fletcher. England in the East, haughtily clean to-day, was then so insolently corrupt that nothing in our recent public life, nothing that has occurred within living memory in our colonies or dependencies will afford an adequate instance. Having no word of our own to connote an idea with which the average Englishman is happily unfamiliar, one must borrow from the too copious vocabulary of our American cousins to describe conditions not dissimilar from theirs. To the boss of an Indian district in Justin's time boodle was the breath of his nostrils, whilst graft was the dream of his white understudy. What else were

they there for? The salaries of both were miscroscopic: they were permitted to "trade" upon their private accounts, which included hypothecations and the purchase of reversions, the buying-up and prosecution of fictitious claims before friendly judges, and the advancing of money at usurious rates of interest.

Hence Justin, who knew, by report at least, of this latest iniquity and other deals as bad, and had marked from outside the extremities and desperate resources of the gamesters, was past being shocked. Where all were rogues, and where every man was for himself and in haste to be rich, jockeying and foul riding were normal; and our friend could well believe that a clique at its wits' end had stooped to the blackest of deeds, and might again. He glanced at the case and passed it without comment, as in the course of his military life he had been compelled to see and to pass without comment many shocking and piteous sights.

What would you? That the man should have broken his sword and gone Home? Nay; there was his service to be considered, and England to boot. His own hands were clean; and hence it had come about that he was going Home with an unbroken sword. For his unlucky commander he had a movement of sympathy. Sir Robin

was a man whose gallant bearing and constitutional high spirits had through life imposed upon himself and others, had secured him step after step, and had at length advanced him to a position where jokes under fire and headlong courage under orders were insufficient. The indecision and moral infirmity which lay at the root of his character had worked to the surface when placed in command and proved his undoing.

No; it was not the difficulties of the man whom he had just left that narrowed the rider's eye and pursed his lip, but the thought of the one to whom he was going. This belated request for an interview had come from an old comrade with whom Justin had not exchanged a word for years, between whom and himself subsisted the misunderstanding of half a lifetime, a misunderstanding patent to their fellows, but based upon a secret understanding to which neither had ever referred, or had hardly so much as admitted to himself.

In years past Justin had awaited this summons; he had for long ceased to expect it: now, at the twelfth hour it had come to him; for apart from his near departure, his enemy, who lived in seclusion, was spoken of as a dying There remained but to accede

man.

to the request.

A regimental quarrel, you are saying? Yes, a regimental quarrel; and how gangrenous a dispute may become between men of the same mess is revealed at times when the amazing findings of a court-martial are dis

cussed in the press and the soiled linen of some historic regiment is washed in public. If these things occur at Aldershot, and the Curragh, in our placable century, what befell, think you, a hundred and fifty years since upon tropical stations, where the liver was normally congested, and pickles and tempers were hot, and a public opinion could hardly be said to have existed?

Yet Justin does not strike one as quite the man for a vendetta. See him caressing the translucent ear of his mare, taking silent farewell of her, as she swings slowly along uphill at that delicious pace of which well-bred and we handled Gulf cattle possess the secret, the rein slack upon her withers, the bit lying lightly upon her bars.

And all suddenly the thought came home to him that this was the last time; that never again, in whatever span of life might be his-and the man felt strong springs of life within him -would eye and ear of his drink in the shows and sounds to which they had been used so long. Suddenly, I say, for His Excellency's summons had come to him as a surprise, and had found him immersed in his work, and had thrown upon him a burden of hasty transferences, payings-off and callings-in, the windings-up of the affairs of years, his own and other men's. These businesses had filled his hands by day and deepened his sleep o' nights for a week past. Now, his work done to the last, least item, his hands hung idle for the first time in his life, his mind relaxed; and eye and ear grew sensitive to impending change.

Home thoughts did not excite him, for to Justin India was home. An orphan, without, so far as he knew, man or woman of his race, he had come out to the East as a boy in his teens, a runaway from indentures forced upon him by a harsh and ras

cally guardian. He was a gentleman volunteer, one of those ragged esquireserrant who marched and fought upon the outside right of the pivot-man of the right company, drawing kit and rations, but touching no pay. No service was too desperate for these young paladins, so be that it was but conspicuous; they were specialists in the affixing of petards, past-masters at two-and-twenty in the art of escalade, and learned in the leading of forlorn hopes. They sent in their names for everything, and took all chances, biting their nails until it should please a jealous mess to recommend them to the favorable notice of an autocratic colonel, who, at his leisure, might-or might not-forward the recommendation to the Honorable Court of Governors at Home. This done, in due time, if fever and bullet forbore him, the lad started as cornet, or ensign, according to his service. Thus had Justin begun, a poor gentleman soldier of fortune. And now he was about to leave it all: the familiar sun between his shoulder-blades, the familiar squeak of his saddle. the kindly whinny of the wheeling kites, and before him upon the white road the little glossy-backed crows drooping their wings in the afternoon heat, and a gray snake crawling. Never again!

He had crossed the Coum River; the last of the bazaars lay behind him; houses of a better class bordered the way, all spick and span-those sowars put match to everything that would burn when they went. Homes of wealthy natives these, and of English too; white-walled bungalows embowered in shady compounds, where toddypalms clapped their hands in the hot wind as if adding their applause to the measured booming of the fort guns.

From the foliage-shaded gateway of one of these residences a tall man in white duck hailed the horseman.

"Hillo, sir!-yes, you, Major-tak' a

pull at yer meare and come in for a bit crack. What! hass the mon nae mercy upo' himsel' that he maun gang stravaugin' aboot 'the sun to the last minute? Come in, sir, come in!"

The speaker was "Old Chisholm," a retired John Company's servant, domiciled for long with a lady of color whom he had married according to the native rite. He stepped forth into the road as he hailed, a great, gaunt fellow, the framework of what once had been a fine, up-standing man; bent now and stiffened by years, but strong yet with the constitutional toughness of an unspoiled race. The bony, deeply lined face was set in a bush of hair; his voice was deep but gentle; he came forward with extended palm, his left hand at play with a little mungoose which twisted and clambered all over him as he moved.

The Major drew rein with the courtesy that was his nature, but unwillingly, dreading the delay incidental to alighting at the gate of an old acquaintance who was an inveterate gossip with the whole of his time upon his hands. Ibn Ali held bit and offstirrup for his master, who was down in one graceful, elastic movement, and had the white-clad figure by the hand.

"Mr. Chisholm, I am glad to see ye. Forgive me for not having called to pay my respects; believe me, no discourtesy was intended, but, knowing of your trouble, I thought—”

The other shrugged his broad shoulders, "Ou, aye, an' indeed I am in tribble, ma frien', and not in a posture to receive, as one may say; but, yersel' is a deeferent maitter, an auld frien', an' you leaving for Home." He laid his great hand upon his visitor's shoulder and led him in. "She is deein', mon, she disna recognize me this sax days."

Justin knew that the reference was to the lady of the house, and bent his head in mute sympathy, for the mar

riage was known to have been one

of mutual affection and had stood the test of years. There was nothing to be said: he had dreaded this leave-taking; a wifeless man, he believed himself bad at condolence, longed for the right word, but found nothing. But his eyes spoke for him, and the old Scot wrung his hand in appreciation.

"Yes, I am for England," said the Major, breaking fresh ground; "yes, upon Government service-as to which ye will excuse me from enlarging. Yes, and I sail to-morrow, as I think. Has my old friend any commands? 'Twill be my duty and my pleasure"

The ancient Scotsman smiled wistfully and drew his long, snuffy moustache through his fingers before replying, and his reply, when it came, was wide of the question. "Man, ye are weel oot on't. Na, na! I am speirin' naethin'. Aiblins I ken as much as yersel', wha was awa' upkintra, as I think, when the mischief was a-doin'. I'm laith to spik ill of a Stuart, but a shentleman bearin' that name should never ha' set his han' to -to-what is laid till him. An' fwhat's at the boddom o't? Loot: juist thot! The question was whedder Rumbold's pindaris or poor Pigot's should hae the shearin' o' the nigger. Sawl o' me!" He took snuff and drove, as it were, the whole bad business from his system with the potency of a magnificent

sneeze.

"An' so ye are takin' yer last luik roun': the ootlandish trees, the minars, the heathen temples, juist the auld fameeliar features o' yer step-mither, India. Ye'll aiblins hae forgot the face o' the mither that bore ye. Twa-andtwanty years mak' a muckle hole in a man's life. Ye cam' oot in the '56, the Black Hole year, aw'm thenkin'. I'm no vara like to forget that year masel'."

"Faith, no!-and yourself in- -?"

"The '46. I had ma rizzons for coming," with a slow, pawky wink. "Ma frien', ye may aiblins has suspeecioned that aw'm a hielan' man. Aweel, I am." He made the avowal with an air of having imparted a family secret, and continued: "Ye'll remember, maybe, the troubles in the '45. 'Twas when ye were a wean, Justin. I wass in the maist o' the fechtin'. For example, I took a sma' wound in the affair wi' Cope's Horse, an' antiher scaith at Preston. Neither wass a maitter to mak' a sang aboot; but the twa o' them weakened me for the coorse wather, and I was left ayint at a place they ca' Warrington, wi' a sair host and weakness of the chest contrackit wi' lyin' wet. An' meantime, Juştin, cam' the retreat fram Derby; and as things seemed gangin' agee, it seemed to me that the British Islands were no' juist a healthy place for me. So, I revairtit to the sea, my oreeginal profession; for I was great at the fushin'. I mind that ma first berth was in a West Indiaman in the Mersey; and fram the Islands I fand ma way till the plantations, and fram the Chesapeake till this. Yes, I landed at Fort George doun yander on my thretty-eighth birthday, whilk mak's me a man o' the screeptural span the day. Aweel, there's ma secret; ye're the first mon to wham I've tellt it. Wheest! ye slippery sma' beaste," he cooed to the lissom creature that slid its sinuous length through his caressing fingers almost as nimbly as one of its secular enemies, the snakes.

Justin smiled sympathetically. The old rebel's adventures had been known to Fort George society for a generation, but it was not in him to wound the innocent vanity of a garrulous veteran who had landed a penniless adventurer thirty-two years earlier, and had won each step by his conduct, had watched the fort surrendered to the French, seen it restored to the British, served

under Clive at the taking and subsequent defence of Arcot, and helped at the making of so much history. But if he had calculated upon brief farewells he had reckoned without his host, Chisholm, whilst talking, had beguiled his guest to the shade of a wild mango, where his bearer, obedient to a nod, served wine.

"Ye maun brak yer rule, Justin, for the auld man's sake. A stoup at pairting, doch-an-doruich, ye ken, the stirrupcup. Be still, ye little torment;" this to the mungoose, whose sharp, black muzzle and beady eyes peered out from the bush of hair about the old man's ears, now from one shoulder, now from its fellow.

"This is nae bad Maderia, Justin. Your health, ma frien'! Bon Voyage! as poor Lally used to toast: a great man, sir, and damnably ill-used by his maisters at the last. I was temptit to tak' sairvice wi' the French masel', but have never repentit me deceesion."

The men had arisen to touch glasses. The visitor set his down, but remained standing with just the hint of expectancy in his manner of the guest awaiting an opportunity for taking his leave. His host saw but ignored.

"Ma commands? he mused. "Man, there's nane that kens the name o' me noo. My faither's hoose is awa' north by Loch Shin. Ye wull never ha' heard tell o' Overskaig in Sutherland? 'Twas hame to me aince, but I ha' not sin the place for mair years than I care to think on. I laft it a feckless laddie o' fifteen, with no English (that I picked up in Embro' and the West), aye, a caddy o' an auld, puir family, wi' a mind to see the warl."

Justin, knowing by this time that he was in for it, nodded and reseated himself.

"An' I've sin it, ye're thenkin'. Ou, aye, from the '25 till the '45 I wass aye upo' the move: in Paris awhile,

whair I foregaithered wi' Monsieur Lally that I named the noo; and wi' mony anither shentleman of fortune of the richt way o' thenkin'. Ye wull no luik gleg upon me if I own to having been in the fair trade for some while, and to rinnin' cargoes o' contraband between Versailles and Embro'." "Neither of them ports, as I think, Mr. Chisholm," laughed Justin.

"And that's true, too; but ye must ken that the stuff I cairrit wad float in vara fleet water. Aiblins it would be a letter between the thicknesses o' the heel o' ma brogue; aiblins money. Oh, they could trust a Chisholm: nane o't stuck to me. When the Prince landed I wass oot on the heather. On the wrang side o' course, a stranger among the clans that drew till him; for, as ye ken, the Sutherlands, the Gunns, the Mackays, and Chisholms were a' for the Black Cockade, 'Ma commands?'" He drew breath. "(The first should be to fill yer quaich.) Aha, it hass come till me! See here, Justin, gin ye should ever find yersel' lying wi' the Black Watch, speir for ony mon o' ma name. There wass mony shentlemans o' the Campbells and Mackays took the aith when that corps wass raisit, and gin there wass an oye o' ma brither's o' the soldiering age 'tis ten to ane he wull be in that regiment; more by token there was never vivers or a douce leevin' to be made alang the shore o' Shin for mair than ane at a time. For the caddies it wass aye "Tak' the road, ma son!' And so it falls that the Chisholms are a restless name. I wass something given to traivel masel' mands? Mountains never meet, but frien's may.'" He quoted the proverb in the Gaelic, hitching forward as he spoke, and detaching from some underbelt a small straight dirk of ancient pattern. "Tak' it, mon, and wear it until ye meet (gin ye ever do) a man o' the auld Sutherland Chisholms, and

'Ma com