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