Yes and she thought, if when there rings Now to the ground their glances bending, Can be called prayer without offending; Yes: she had smiled, if in the grove Young flow'rs could burst the bonds that fret them, And open to the freshness of The winds that pass and that forget them. Yes: she had wept, if hands we lay Crossed cold on heart that heaves not even, Such dews of grace as fall from Heaven. Yes: she had loved, were't not that pride, Watched always at her heart benighted; Yes: she is dead, whose lips were stirred For the verses to Pépa, the Rappelle-toi, and other test pieces, I had hoped in vain to find room; they will, however, appear elsewhere in company, I hope, with some completer version of de Musset's longer pieces. With regard to the verses To Juana, without which no selection from his writing can be quite characteristic-for they are the breath of his very self-I have something more to say. It is not worth while to speak of most translations of them; but, at the risk of bruising what is too fragile to be so dealt with, I must say thus much of Mr. Lang's (and we must bear in mind that it is the only sample of de Musset's work in his collection): he has sacrificed the poet to the production (in his name) of a graceful little English poem-some pretty verses of regret-without one spark of the origi-. nal's distinctive qualities. For the keynote of the French poem is. its irony and smart. The very first line of it, "O ciel, je vous revois -Madame!' contains a change from passionate surprise to courteous. satire indeed in his work of this sort, where these are not, there is not de Musset. So here is my literal, if I grant unmusical, version: 13: 13 That I may not seem to speak with no due deference of Mr. Lang, let me confess that I like his poem-for it is his-but that the first line of it, 'Again I see you, ah my queen' is no equivalent for the line quoted above; that 'c'était, je crois, l'été dernier' is not How the last summer days were blest;' that 'ma vieille maîtresse'... is not 'How old we are ere spring be green '-nor ‘je m'éveillais, tous les quarts d'heure' 'all night I lay awake.' Least of all is the wonderful line Oh Heavens! I see thee again, my lady! The first and far the tenderest yet. Last summer-if I don't forget! Ah Madam, when we think upon it, Old mistress mine, do you remember, It seems a jest!-come next December, Well, well! my love, I do not flatter; Our evenings, and our famous quarrel? And your confounded old duenna! That daylong frolic of Gehenna My pearl of Andalusia, While your young lover died of pleasure, The old Marquis, jealous of his treasure, Of envy nearly died that day! Ah lady! but beware, I pray you, Shall find again in other days. The heart that once your spell enchaineth, None vast enough to fill your place. What do I say? The world's in motion. Whose waters have no backward flow? And life, and days we both let go; All fast upborne as smoke that flieth, Hope and the fame for which it sigheth, You, whose sweet heart no memory trieth, And I, my love, that loved you so! Adieu ma vie, adieu madame,'' Farewell, farewell, so must it be.' The last verse of Mr. Lang's poem is so nice that it seems pedantic to add that 'fumée' is not 'spray,' and that 'you that not remember it' is hardly modern English. Not but that de Musset could write a farewell, when he would, without satire or fever; only then it was a better thing than Mr. Lang's Juana, having less repining in its tone and more strength and more love. That he could write such a 'goodbye' let this last quotation show. Every nuance of the metre, even the halting of it, has its value, and I shall reproduce them carefully. The whole of the little serious poem is a sigh, and it blinds the eyes for further reading. Farewell! for while this life besets me With you I feel I shall not dwell. No tears, no plaint all unavailing. What is to come I may not rue. So, speed the vessel for your sailing, And I will smile when it departs with you! Forth fare you, full of hope; high-hearted But those who suffer most when you're departed, Farewell! You go a pleasant dreaming, To drink your fill of dangerous delight; One day you will learn, to your profit, And... what we suffer when it's gone. Such as they are, the translations which form the bulk of this paper are my work, selected almost at haphazard from a quantity of material which might perhaps have afforded me fairer samples, but that I have chosen them rather for their accuracy than intrinsic skill. They were put together at various times and at the request mostly of musicians; that there should have been such demand is their sanction, and there needs always, to my mind, be some such warrant for the existence of translations at all. In the world they fill up a place which may be better supplied, when '-from whatever cause, the spread of taste or the much-vaunted culture—they have made it empty.' WILLIAM M. HARDINGE. CHAUCER'S Canterbury Tales have made us familiar with the pilgrimages of the middle ages in Europe. Those of the Hindus continue now what they were in the time of Chaucer and for centuries before. It is chiefly in autumn that the fairs on the sacred streams are held, particularly on the banks of the Ganges and the Nerbudda. The places are consecrated by poetry or tradition, as the scene of some divine work or manifestation. These fairs, and the pilgrimages to them, are at once festive and holy. Every person who comes enjoys himself as much as possible. At the same time they all seek purification from sin by bathing and praying in the holy stream, just as the merry pilgrims to the shrine of St. Thomas at Canterbury sought absolution by praying at his shrine. It is expected of course that laudable resolutions will be made, at the same time, for the future, and if those resolutions are not kept, why, humanity is frail: Thanne longen folk to gon on pilgrimages, Of Engelond, to Canturbury they wende, The holy blissful martyr for to seeke, That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke. The motives and the procedure are similar in the East now. Vishnu is supposed to descend into the nether world (Putal) to attack and oppose Indur. There he stays four months, from June to October, and, during those months, festivities are suspended. But at the date of the reappearance, which depends upon the moon, all the world of Hinduism assembles with glee to hail his resurrection. The intense heat has passed away. All nature is rejoicing. When the mela, or religious fair, is about to take place, the merchants congregate first with their wares. They establish themselves under shady trees, and expose their goods for sale. Horses, elephants, camels, bullocks, buffaloes, cows and donkeys; different kinds of cloth, ornaments, sweetmeats, and a variety of wares are thus exposed for sale. Thousands congregate around. The women are no longer To distant holy places known in sundry lands. veiled, and seem glad to have the opportunity of seeing and being seen. Happy excitement characterises the family for days before the great event. Food is prepared. If food be prepared with ghee (clarified butter) or oil, it may be removed to any distance, and eaten anywhere, provided it be not profaned by unholy hands. It is pukka food. But food not wholly dressed in ghee or oil is kutcha, or kachcha, and would be rendered unclean by removal. Attired in their best clothes-the women with all their ornaments on-they start in every kind of conveyance, but chiefly in carts drawn by oxen, for the scene of the fair. Some have conveyances for their women and children only, and walk themselves. A few on horses, camels, or elephants, are seen wending their way along. The women are still veiled and concealed. But, once arrived at the happy goal, all such restraints are thrown aside. If a scrupulous respect and delicacy towards the female sex are points that denote civilisation,' said Sir Thomas Munro, and with truth, then the Hindus are not inferior in civilisation to the people of Europe.' Hundreds of thousands assemble at some of these fairs. The women display themselves in all the bravery of their fine and manytinted attire, with tinkling ornaments. Children are dressed in their finest clothes, with gold and silver rings about their wrists and ankles. Men with white or dyed turbans and caps, mostly too with long coats and waist-cloths, display themselves to the best advantage, usually carrying swords, or staves, or ornamental sticks. Only the few comparatively have tents, the families usually encamp under the mango trees, their conveyances near, and they sing and chat merrily round their fires at night. The Hindus learned first from the Mohammedans to conceal and veil their women, and the practice soon became fashionable amongst them. But at religious gatherings that practice is altogether renounced, and they revel in their new-found freedom, and know how to use it. Bathing and the reciting of special prayers, or names of the Deity, in the water, are the most usual acts of devotion at these melas. As soon as the bathing is over, they walk to the temple close by, bow to the idol, repeat a few short ejaculatory prayers or invocations, and then retire, making an offering as they go. They constantly repeat the name of some deity, such as Ram, Ram,' with monotonous iteration, as they go to and return from the bathing-place. Whilst the majority of the members of a family are gone to the bathing-place, one or two are left behind to take care of the property brought with them, for thieves and rogues abound in the melas as elsewhere. When the morning's devotions and meal have been finished, the men go strolling about to see the fun of the fair, the women remaining behind, sitting under the trees, gazing at the unwonted sights, and often singing to beguile the monotony of the day. Children are often lost at these melas, some snatched and drowned in |