who once lived in that pleasure-dome. A stranger or a more bitterly
heart-rending tragedy was never enacted on this earth."

Just at this moment the coolies announced that the train was coming. So
soon? We hurriedly packed up our luggage, as the tram steamed in. An
English gentleman, apparently just aroused from slumber, was looking out
of a first-class carriage endeavouring to read the name of the station.
As soon as he caught sight of our fellow-passenger, he cried, "Hallo,"
and took him into his own compartment. As we got into a second-class
carriage, we had no chance of finding out who the man was nor what was
the end of his story.

I said; "The man evidently took us for fools and imposed upon us out of
fun. The story is pure fabrication from start to finish." The
discussion that followed ended in a lifelong rupture between my
theosophist kinsman and myself.



THE VICTORY

She was the Princess Ajita. And the court poet of King Narayan had
never seen her. On the day he recited a new poem to the king he would
raise his voice just to that pitch which could be heard by unseen
hearers in the screened balcony high above the hall. He sent up his
song towards the star-land out of his reach, where, circled with light,
the planet who ruled his destiny shone unknown and out of ken.

He would espy some shadow moving behind the veil. A tinkling sound
would come to his car from afar, and would set him dreaming of the