m no quarter, even for women and children,
could be expected in case of defeat.

We may now take up a book of a very different kind, the production,
not of an Anglo-Indian amateur, but of an eminent English novelist who
has lived, though not long, in India--Mr. Marion Crawford. Here we are
back again in the region of romance, for, although the story opens at
Simla in Lord Lytton's reign and during the second Afghan War, Mr.
Isaacs, the hero (whose name gives the book its title) is outwardly a
Persian dealer in precious gems, but esoterically an adept in the
mysteries of what has been called occult Buddhism. This queer science,
as professed by a certain Madame Blavatsky, had much vogue in Northern
India about 1879, particularly at Simla. To sceptics it appeared to be
an adroit mixture of charlatanry and mere juggling tricks, with some
elementary knowledge of the beliefs and practices of the true Indian
Yogi, who seeks to attain supernatural powers by rigid asceticism, and
who has really some insight into secret mental phenomena, being in
this line of discovery the forerunner of the English Psychical
Society.

The part played in this story by Mr. Isaacs, who is not in all
respects an imaginary personage, might remind one of Disraeli's
Sidonia. He is an enigmatic character, versed in the philosophy of the
East and the West, who excels on horseback and in tiger shooting, yet
can discourse mystically and can bring the mysterious influences at
his command to bear upon critical situations. The novel has thus two
sides: we have the usual sketch of Anglo-Indian society--the soldiers,
the civilians, the charming young English girl whom Mr. Isaacs
fascinates. But a writer of Mr. Crawford's high repute is bound to put
some depth and originality into his Indian tale, and so we have the
Pandit Ram Lal, who is somehow also a Buddhist, and who is Mr.
Isaacs's colleague whenever occult Buddhism is to give warning or
timely succour. The chief exploit occurs in a wondrous expedition to
rescue and carry away into Tibet the Afghan Amir, Sher Ali, who had
just then actually fled from Kabul before the advance of an English
army; and it must be confessed that so fantastic an adventure sounds
rather startling in connection with a bit of authentic contemporary
history.

On the whole, whether we assume that the object of a novel is to
illustrate history, or to present a faithful reflection of life and
manners, or to render strenuous action dr