n the block." His "god in a halo of gold dust"
seriously discourages any attempt to brand him with the mark of the
reverting carnivor.

IV

NATIVE INDIA

From Simla we have come down to the plains and the work of the English
in Imperial India. Thence we pass to India herself. Concerning native
India Mr Kipling's principle thesis--a thesis illustrated with point
and competency in many excellent tales--is that for the people of the
West there can be no such thing as the real India--only here and there
an understanding that wavers and frequently expires. Mr Kipling does
not insolently explain that India is thus and thus. He allows the
impression to grow upon us, as once it grew upon himself, that in India
all the settled ways of the West are insecure, that at any moment we
may be looking into the House of Suddhu.

"A stone's throw out on either hand
From that well-ordered road we tread,
And all the world is wild and strange:
Churel and ghoul and Djinn and sprite
Shall bear us company to-night,
For we have reached the Oldest Land
Wherein the Powers of Darkness range."

It is not for an Englishman to speak of the real India. Let him stand
with Mr Kipling between East and West, and allow each thing he sees to
add to his dark and intricate impression. India will then assume her
own uneasy and vast form, will press upon the nerves, and be declared
mysterious.

There are a few pages in _Life's Handicap_ describing the City of
Lahore by night. There is great heat in these pages; there is distance
also, and the breathless air of streets where the formic swarming of
India, her callous fecundity, the tyranny of her skies, and her old
faith, prepare us for the House of Suddhu and the return of Imray:

"The roof-tops are crammed with men, women, and children; and the air
is full of undistinguishable noises. They are restless in the City of
Dreadful Night; and small wonder. The marvel is that they can even
breathe. If you gaze intently at the multitude you can see that they
are almost as uneasy as a daylight crowd; but the tumult is subdued.
Everywhere, in the strong light, you can watch sleepers turning to and
fro, shifting their beds and again resettling them. In the pit-like
courtyards of the houses there is the same movement.

"The pitiless Moon shows it all. Shows, too, the plains outside the
city, and here and there a hand's-breadth of the Ravee without the
walls. Shows