con

proportion appeared to be lost. For example, one might say that the war for the time being practically killed the University movement. It was with some difficulty that the money tributed for University purposes was saved from being lent or given away to Turkey, which would have meant the postponement of the University idea for many years to come.

Even in the present state of affairs, the leaders of what is known as the Aligarh movement are straining every nerve to dissuade their community from taking what would decidedly be a retrograde step. The Aligarh movement stands for western education as the basis of progress in every department of life. The reactionary movement, always present in the country, but now suddenly showing new life as a result of the war, stands for education, more or less, on the old lines. The promoters of the latter movement point to the failure of Turkey as evidence that, as far as application to the case of Eastern nations is concerned, Western education has been weighed in the balance and found wanting. The splendid movement inaugurated by Sir Syed Ahmad which was just beginning to win general recognition of its usefulness is in danger of being thrown over, at least of being retarded in its career of progress. We hope, however, it will successfully tide over the new difficulties.

A still greater evil occasioned by the war has been, what may be called the paralyzing effect, caused by the loss of political prestige. For a time it seemed as if all motive power had disappeared from the community. It was the result of the shock-shock of defeat, of a great loss, of a painful disillusionment. It is a sort of feeling that one's day is over, one can achieve nothing, one is as good as dead to all intents and purposes.

We consider this war to be the greatest blow to our community. It is bound to have a very depressing effect directly on the Mohammedans and indirectly on the whole of Asia. It is like the unexpected failure of a young man of promise in a public examination, blighting the prospects of a bright future. The Mohammedan community was doing well. It was just becoming conscious of its solidarity and its political importance, when the crushing blow fell drying up its youthful vigor. We consider this nothing less than a dire misfortune, and anything having such a baneful influence on one-fifth of the total population of the country cannot but be considered an almost national calamity.

Let us now turn our attention from the evil to the good that the war has brought out. The evil is temporal, the good is spiritual, and in India, the land of spirituality, spiritual good should far outweigh temporal evils.

The war awakened Islam to a strong sense of religious brotherhood and demonstrated to the world the reality of the bond of religion. It was a thinking spectacle to see the whole of the Islamic world moved from one end to the other like one body with the deepest sympathy and the truest emotion, towards their fellow-religionists in affliction. And what sacrifices it called forth, what noble deeds of devotion, to the brotherhood ideal! School-boys denying themselves the necessaries of life, orphan children foregoing one of their daily meals, women parting with all their jewelry, some of the poorest giving away all their possessions! Islam has won undying fame for such deeds and India is richer for such noble acts of sacrifice and devotion.

In view of these facts what a mistake it is to consider that in the defeat of Turkey Islam as a religion has

been defeated by Christianity. One might with as good a reason assert that in the Russo-Japanese War Christianity was beaten by Buddhism. In fact it is a mischievous mistake to confuse religion with politics, although one must admit that the two are interrelated in varying degrees of affinity in different countries of the world.

The other good that has resulted from the war is the perceptible difference in the attitude of Indian Musalmans towards their Hindu fellowcountrymen. May be that one reason is, that in times past the Musalmans, thinking a little too much of themselves because of the political power of their fellow-religionist outside India, looked down with contempt upon their fellow-countrymen, or at least did not consider them worthy of their attention. This sort of attitude not only increased the gulf between the two communities, still more widened from the time of the Morley-Minto Representative Reforms; but it inclined the Musalmans to care more for prestige than for present worth. It made the Mohammedan lean on others, while the Hindu could look only to himself for success. This produced an increasing spirit of selfThe Hindustan Review,

help in the latter which was reflected in the commercial, educational, and political progress of the Hindu community, while it did a great deal of harm to the Mohammedan character. Happily, all this is changing now. For while, on the one hand, Indian Musalmans are being increasingly led to look to themselves alone for help and guidance in the future, there is distinct evidence that the more thoughtful amongst them feel the need of closer relations with their Hindu fellow-countrymen than has hitherto been the case. If this feeling continue to grow, as we trust it will, it will prove one of the greatest blessings to the country, for parties and divisions are the curse of India and already the Hindu-Mohammedan problem has reached threatening proportions. Just a word here as to the attitude to be adopted by the Hindus towards this new Mohammedan feeling. It is most important to recognize that now is the psychological moment to work hard to bring the two communities closer in the bonds of friendship. True sympathy extended towards Mohammedans in this time of mental distress and nervous strain is sure to meet with a warm and hearty response.

I.

Baban Miji, the wizard, had an exceptionally appreciative audience, and the little dusty market at Manga was almost empty, save where the people stood crushed in a semicircle round him. A few would-be vendors, squatting resolutely under their booths, smothered their curiosity, and awaited, with what patience they could, the resumption of business. The men of them were mostly silent, fingering little pinches of dust with

their finger-ends, but impatience and the business man's scorn for vulgar follies were patent in their glances and occasional petulant change of position. An over-bold vulture hopped towards them with fixed wings half spread and protruding neck, intent on refuse; then stopped as a stone flung by one of the surly merchants splashed near it in the dust. Another followed, and the bird rose heavily, but flew no farther than a neighboring acacia tree, where it perched and re

sumed its hour-long survey of the market. "The vulture is the prince of patience," said the stone-thrower sententiously; "we must learn it from him." "But mine is at an end!" shrilled a wizened hag who had been sitting behind a mat littered with little heaps of shining antimony. With a quick movement she swept her neglected wares into a basket, made a pad of a dirty cloth which hung loose over her shoulder, placed it on her head with a basket on top, and walked evenly away. Her high-toned plaints had scarcely begun ere they were drowned by a long-drawn gasp of wonder from the farther corner of the market-place. Baban Miji, man of mystery, had just drawn a thread through the neck of a boy from one side to the other. Cavilling was useless. Before the eyes of men it had been done, and without pain or mark on the flesh of any kind. Eyes stared and mouths opened. Then voluble comment began, the gist of it being that undoubtedly spirits were active, and it behoved plain folk to pay homage to those who could command their help. Baban Miji paused to sweep up the cowry shells that fell in a little white shower around him. These showers had been frequent of late, and his gains were beginning to grow with increasing deftness. The dreary time of apprenticeship seemed now to be bearing fruit, and there was scarce a village within a radius twenty miles of Manga in which he had not, at this the busiest time of the day, drawn young and old men and women away from their bargains to watch and applaud his performances. For the wrath of the unseduced traders he had little concern. "There remains," he cried to his audi

of

ence, "one more thing of wonder. Watch keenly, all of you!" From the folds of his gown he drew a knife, and laid it gently on the ground before

him. It was such a knife as butchers use, and so sharp enough; and yet not over-sharp, or the neck of the beast to be slaughtered could not resist it, as all have seen it do, while a man shall count fifty. So it is sharp enough to cut if one saw industriously, and the people knew its kind, and bent attentively to watch. Baban Miji bowed himself over the knife, and began to mutter strange words quickly and aloud. Thus occupied, he was taken unawares by an interruption. The onlookers parted suddenly this way and that, almost treading on one another in their haste to avoid the shod hoofs of a horse which halted abruptly in the midst of them. Baban Miji looked up, caught a glimpse of the animal's groomed and hog-maned body, and ceased his incantation.

"Hullo! what's this?" called a boisterous voice from above. "A conjuror, by Jove! We'll have some fun here!"

It was barely a month since Mortimer, subaltern in the 1st Battalion Hausa Rifles, had arrived in the country, and the pink bloom of health which the West African climate turns to dull brown and anon to sallow grey (when it is time to go home) still colored his cheeks. Opinions of him since he joined the army had been consistent and accurate.

They

described him as a keen and efficient officer. His friends referred to him as a "very good sort." He was neither sensitive nor subtle one, in fact, of a common and very likeable type. After a few weeks at headquarters his request for a bush station had been granted, and it was with no small regret that the polo-players there saw him ride off one afternoon, with his sixty carriers behind him, along the road that led to Ilo and the northern territories.

There was much to commend these remote sandy provinces on the south

Baban Miji rose hurriedly and made

to huddle that dingy repository out of sight. But there was no denying Mortimer, now on the crest of publicity. The black bag of mysteries, Baban Miji's sancta sanctorum, was wrested from his embrace and turned inside out.

"Pah! It stinks!" said Mortimer, holding it inverted at arm's-length. He shook out the contents in a sorry stream on to the ground and flicked them disrespectfully with the end of his riding-switch. First came tumbling out the wax bust of a miniature doll, then a bunch of cock's feathers, some strings of cowries, a black skin pouch, similar to the one he had captured,-"A toad's gizzard, by God!" said some one from the now frightened and dwindling crowd, and lastly a quantity of coiled and sodden cloth, which brought with it a little avalanche of ground-nut shells, palmkernels, and dust. The bag was empty. Mortimer threw it down, and stooped to examine the little white half-body which lay on its back with the round glass eyes fixed stupidly skywards.

When he looked up again it was to find himself alone. Only a few traders were visible at the farther end of the market-place. But behind the fences, and in shaded corners of compounds, and along the narrow twisting paths that led in all directions, men and women whispered and pointed. To the power of magic the white men were certainly in great measure immune. But for this one, how should it befall? Could such wantonness escape visitation altogether? Another day would tell, they said at last, and with low greetings dispersed to their several homes.

grew fainter and fainter till it was lost in the distance. His going was not unwatched. From a thicket without the town a man stared at him as he cantered by with a hand raised to steady his big brown topi. It was Baban Miji, the exposed charlatan. He found himself staring dully, long after the moving figure had passed from view. And so for long he stayed, crouching. At last he rose with a shiver. How quickly the night had fallen! And what a dreadful thing was shame-shame which trayelled so far! He tried to picture its geographical limits. The Niger was to the south, a three weeks' journey. Beyond the great river, perhaps, his public abasement would be unheard of. But he must make assurance doubly and trebly sure, for-and the thought took half-audible expressiongreat, beyond doubt, had been his reputation. Momentarily his mind reviewed the range of his professional tours, dwelling fondly on village after village where success had come to him. "Great, beyond doubt," this time he said the words aloud,"great has been my reputation!" Then this last flicker of pride died out and left him comfortless. He began to walk forward swiftly and mechanically, and whenever recollection threatened to return, drove it back with an effort of will.

For a month or two the exposure of Baban Miji was the subject for village songs, half-comic, half-tragic, in which, according to custom, the winning side-that is to say, Mortimer's -was extolled in terms of outrageous eulogy. Not that pity was unfelt for the vanished entertainer, but simply because in Africa street-singing and sycophancy are synonomous terms, and the European generally-and this one in particular-was undeniably "top dog." At last there was hardly a child in Manga who could