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N the days when everybody started fair, Best Beloved, the Leopard lived in a place called the High Veldt.* ‘Member it wasn’t the Low Veldt, or the Bush Veldt, or the Sour Veldt, but the ’sclusively bare, hot, shiny High Veldt, where...

Except for those who, under compulsion of a sick certificate, are flying Bombaywards, it is good for every man to see some little of the great Indian Empire and the strange folk who move about it. It is good to escape for a time from the House of Rimmon—be it office or cutchery—and to go abroad under no more exacting master than personal inclination, and with no more definite plan of travel than has the horse, escaped from pasture, free upon the countryside. The first result of such freedom is extreme bewilderment, and the second reduces the freed to a state of mind which, for his sins, must be the normal portion of the Globe-trotter—the man who “does” kingdoms in days and writes books upon them in weeks. And this desperate facility is not as strange as it seems. By the time that an Englishman has come by sea and rail via America, Japan, Singapur, and Ceylon, to India, he can—these eyes have seen him do so—master in five minutes the intricacies of the Indian Bradshaw, and tell an old resident exactly how and where the trains run. Can we wonder that the intoxication of success in hasty assimilation should make him overbold, and that he should try to grasp—but a full account of the insolent Globe-trotter must be reserved. He is worthy of a book. Given absolute freedom for a month, the mind, as I have said, fails to take in the situation and, after much debate, contents itself with following in old and well-beaten ways—paths that we in India have no time to tread, but must leave to the country cousin who wears his pagri tail-fashion down his back, and says “cabman” to the driver of the ticca-ghari.

“I am very content.” He stroked the creaseless spirals of his leggings. “Now let us go and see the captain and George and the lighthouse boat. Be quick, Madame.”

This is not that Badalia whose spare names were Joanna, Pugnacious and M‘Canna, as the song says, but another and a much nicer lady.

The Bee Boy’s Song Bees! Bees! Hark to your bees! ‘Hide from your neighbours as much as you please, But all that has happened, to us you must tell.* Or else we will give you no honey to sell!’ A maiden in her glory,...

The modern politician, Samuel P. Huntingthon has stated that at the age XXI will enter the calsh of civilization. In fact, not all of scientist agree with Huntingthon, for example John L. Esposito has declared that Islam is not the threat but it will become the dynamic challenge to solve civilization in the future. In this sense, the writer has optimistic that needed is to epistemology reconstruction. This is the main reasons and that of reference. Hence, the epistemology of Ibrahim should be an altemative.

The Mother’s Son

Lalun is a member of the most ancient profession in the world. Lilith was her very-great-grand-mamma, and...

Who is the happy man? He that sees, in his own house at home, little children crowned with dust, leaping and falling and crying. Munichandra, translated by Professor Peterson.* The polo-ball was an old one, scarred, chipped, and dinted. It stood on...

‘So the matter,’ the Regimental Chaplain concluded, ‘was correct; in every way correct. I am well pleased with Rutton Singh and Attar Singh. They have gathered the fruit of their lives.’ He folded his arms and sat down on the verandah. The hot day had...

(To be sung by the unlearned to the tune of ‘King John and the Abbot of Canterbury,’ and by the learned to‘Tempest-a-brewing.’)

In the days beyond compare and before the Judgments, a genius called Graydon° foresaw that the...

‘Hear and attend and listen...’ Rudyard Kipling is a supreme master of the short story in English and a poet of brilliant gifts. His energy and inventiveness poured themselves into every kind of tale, from the bleakest of fables to the richest of comedies, and he illuminated every aspect of human behaviour, of which he was a fascinated (and sometimes appalled) observer. This generous selection of stories and poems, first published in the acclaimed Oxford Authors series, covers the full range of Kipling’s career from the youthful volumes that brought him fame as the chronicler of British India, to the bittersweet fruits of age and bereavement in the aftermath of the First World War. It includes stories such as ‘The Man who would be King’, ‘Mrs Bathurst’, and ‘Mary Postgate’, and poems from Barrack-Room Ballads and other collections. In his introduction and notes Daniel Karlin addresses the controversial political engagement of Kipling’s art, and the sources of its imaginative power.

The Song of the Dead

The horror, the confusion, and the separation of the murderer from his comrades were all over before I came. There remained only on the barrack-square the blood of man calling from the ground.°...

‘Now there were two men in one city; the one rich, and the other poor.°