THE NOTE OF PATHOS. 



SO laboriously by the hand of man, and you have passed 

 in a moment from life to death. The line is drawn as 

 with a ruler, and until you stumble upon just such 

 another oasis, you journey on through a lifeless wilder- 

 ness. The oasis may be smaller or larger, but where 

 water fails the result is for ever the same. Verily, as 

 Lord Curzon has so aptly remarked, it is a land where 

 " Nature seems to revel in striking the extreme chords 

 upon her miraculous and inexhaustible gamut of sound." 



But there is still another note which is struck by 

 a sojourn in the East — the note of pathos. The sight 

 of failing vitality where once was power and strength is 

 always a sad one, and here in the lands of the Near 

 East time broods heavily over her cities. They look 

 back with the dimmed sight of old age at a youth 

 which has long since fled, and as they peer drowsily 

 into the future they see nought but death hovering 

 near, attendant on life which is all but spent. The 

 heyday of youth is far past, and decay, indecorously 

 encroaching ere life is yet extinct, warns them that 

 they stand trembling on the brink of the grave. When 

 power sits once more on the thrones where Xerxes and 

 Darius ruled, it will not be the power of the East, but 

 an intruder from the more youthful West. 



Passing from the Near East into the heart of Asia, so 

 adaptable do you become under stress of the vicissitudes 

 of travel you scarcely feel surprise to find that you are 

 travelling by the aid of steam. Incongruous or not, the 

 train is there, and you accept it as a matter of course 

 and are thankful. In reality, when you come to think 

 it over, it is hopelessly out of place. You may travel 

 all over India by rail and think nothing of it. There 

 there stretch vast networks of iron ways connecting 

 populous towns alive with modern life, where you per- 

 ceive the spirit of the twentieth century in unquestioned 



