very naturally, that his admiring companions clapped their hands vehemently, and cried, Wah, wah! with all their little lungs. Wah, wah! they screamed,—­Wah khoob tamasha kurta hi!  Phir kello, Mungloo!  Bahoot ucchi-turri nuhkul, kurte ho toom! “Bravo!  Bravo!  Such fun!  Do it again, Mungloo,—­do it again! it takes you!” Certainly Mungloo did it to the life,—­for he was dead.

* * * * *

To conclude now with a specimen of the tales with which the native story-tellers entertain little heathens on street-corners.

There was once a bastard boy, the son of a Brahmin’s widow; and he was excluded from a merry wedding-feast on account of his disgraceful birth.  With a heart full of bitterness, he prayed to Siva for comfort or revenge; and Siva, taking pity on him, taught him the mystic mantra, or incantation, called Bijaksharam,—­Shrum, hrim, craoom, hroom, hroo.  So the boy went to the door of the apartment where the wedding guests were regaling themselves and making merry; and he pronounced the mantra backwards,—­Hroo, hroom, craoom, hrim, shrum.  Immediately the fish, and the cucumbers, and the mangoes, and the pumplenoses took the shape of toads, and jumped into the faces of the guests, and into their bosoms and laps, and on the floor.  Then the boy laughed so loud, that the astonished guests knew it was he who had conjured them; so they went to the door and let him in, and set him at the head of the table.  Then the boy was satisfied, and uttering the mantra aright, he conjured the toads back into the dishes again; and they all lay down in their places, and became fish, and cucumbers, and mangoes, and pumplenoses, just as if nothing had happened.

Glory to Siva!

MUSIC.

The promise of the autumn has not been fulfilled; instead of the anticipated feasts, we have had but few concerts, and, as yet, no opera.  Some few noteworthy incidents have occurred, however, which we desire to record.  We pass over the ever welcome orchestral concerts, the quiet pleasures of our delightful chamber music, and the inspiring four-part singing of the Orpheus Club.  Neither can we give the space to notice fully the debut of a young singer,—­a singer with a rare voice, full, flexible, and sympathetic, and who, with culture in a larger style, and with maturity of power and feeling, will be a real acquisition to our musical public.  Few young performers know

  “How much grace, strength, and dignity lie in repose.”

They dazzle us with pyrotechnics in the finale of Com’ e bello or Qui la voce, but the simple feeling of Vedrai carino is beyond their grasp.  Firmly sustained tones, careful phrasing, flowing grace in the melody, and just, dramatic expression, are the great requisites; without them the brilliant flourishes of a modern cadenza astonish only for a brief period.