fairly find room in polemical essays where he who has formed his convictions must strive to force them upon the erring world. To the artist the world is not so much a mass of errors as a prospect of beauty, even where it errs; and he can simply propose to draw upon the resources of his own soul to enlarge the vistas which he is picturing, only with a view to add to the beauty, and not to the logic, of his work. As the Athenian believed, his beauty carries a silent logic more potent then reason and her quarrelsome ways.
What these problems are, is a matter best left to the text itself. In the preface one can only attempt to introduce. Well, we are at present undergoing strange transitions in matters domestic, social, religious, political, and what not? What with the laden atmosphere of our domestic difficulties, what with the currents of our social ideals and forces, what with the many - tongued voices of the religions which a multiform and party - coloured nation is singing into our ears, what with the constant upheavals of new and jarring worlds of political entities and non-entities rising within one's view whether he locates himself in one of the native states or in any place in British India, one, standing in the midst of all this, is simply tempted to wish, like Cowper, “for a lodge in some vast wilderness;" or for a transmigration back into the body of some quiet and retired Rishi of antiquity.
This universal jar and noise casts a gloomy shadow over many a wistful eye and disconcerts many a well-built hope. We shall leave it to other fields of learning to settle with conviction whether the world in India will survive this deluge of conflict or not, and we may be sure that, even in discussing that, men will differ and fall to quarrelling. The only place, where we may safely look for a peaceful picture in spite of all transient, facts, is art and poetry, In the several volumes of this tale, the landing-place of our
