In all this weird ceremony there is much crude philosophy and some wisdom, as will be admitted. The primitive savage has a sense of justice and right. The Andamanese even give a very good reason for their hostility to strangers, namely, that they were once friendly, but have been unmercifully treated in the past by Chinese and Malay traders. A semblance of poetry is also to be found in some of their customs and ceremonies. Such, for instance, as the Such, for instance, as the naming of girls by what they term "Flower names." The natives of the Andamans seldom use names when directly addressing one another, and only the simplest names suffice to indicate a person not present. These are very much alike, and no distinction is made between sexes in common names, which are usually taken from some physical characteristic. Young girls, however, are given additional names, taken from the names of trees and plants, which are often musical in sound. It is a sad reflection that the better instincts of these people are never to come under the influence of a higher civilization than their own, for they are fast dying out. Diseases, mostly brought to the islands by the prisoners, are responsible for this, and soon, perhaps, the race will be gone.

We were resting in the shade of the hut eating our rice and fish when suddenly one of the bearers, who was some distance away, cried out, "Sahib, baibo, jarawas tir marto hai," which was a timely warning to throw myself down; the Jarawas were shooting. This was a complete surprise, for, as has been said, we supposed that all the warriors were at the extreme northern end of the islands attending the funeral of a chief. We were, nevertheless, being attacked by a party of natives, and were soon on the defensive. I experienced the unpleasant sensation of feeling an arrow whiz by me and seeing it imbed itself in a tree.

The party of Jarawas, mostly old men, women, and boys, as we discovered later, had established itself in a cleared place some distance away. A few shots from the revolver soon had them on the run, however, as they probably mistook our party for the posse known to have been sent out from Port Blair after them.

The incident served thoroughly to frighten my bearers, who up to this time had been kept busy cutting out, or trying to cut out, the pestiferous little ticks from

their bare legs. They were now almost afraid to stop at any point for fear of another attack. As we saw no more of the natives for some time, their fears subsided somewhat, and we continued to pick our way through the thickets and jungle. Sleeping, eating, and tramping, the bearers carrying the outfit, of which the most cumbersome parts were the curios we had collected and the photographer's paraphernalia, occupied the next few days.

I shall never forget the ever-changing beauty of the forests. Here and there flourishing creepers festooned the trees, while rare orchids swung from the limbs of others, and the evergreen trees laden with climbers were cooling to look upon. Occasional groves of bamboo and valuable woods stretched for miles. And I shall never forget the beautiful, silent nights. The moon was at the full, and as the silvery rays sifted through the branches they brought out weird shadows, which took strange shapes.

After supper the bearers would smoke, chew betel-nut, and tell ghost-stories in their strange tongue, then fall into dreamless sleep, except one or two, who were on guard. The silence of the night in the Andaman jungle, aside from innumerable insect life, is broken by the screech of the owl and the cry of the köi. This latter bird has a most humanlike note, not unlike a boy, lost in the woods, whistling to keep up courage. Its strident notes continue night and day, and when they are about at night it is, to say the least, very distracting.

The koi is very cunning, and the tendency to get something for nothing is so strongly developed as to have warranted its appearance as a trickster in the recent drama in which birds were used with symbolic significance. One of its little tricks. is to lay its eggs in the nest of a crow, which it very much resembles in color and shape. The fraud is not discovered until the fledgling has been hatched out by the mother crow and is ready to fly, when discord reigns.

As our supplies were beginning to run low, we attempted to quicken our advance, but with disastrous results. Often we would find what appeared to be a path, only to have it end in jungle and be forced to retrace our steps, which was particularly hard on the bearers, who were

anything but strong. Their accustomed slight diet had undermined their vitality until they could go only a short distance over rough country without rest. Kumali and Subodha, nevertheless, were always alert and lent valuable assistance.

As we were picking our way through the tangle of underbrush one day in an effort to reach a comparatively clear space, I heard a slight noise. As I was some distance ahead, I turned aside to investigate. I could see what appeared to be a small animal moving about near the base of a scrub-palm, and naturally concluded it was a wild pig, and cautiously approached, as a tree was between me and the object.

Finally, the animal, as I supposed, remaining perfectly quiet, I stepped out into the slight clearing.

The pig was a human dwarf, and we interrupted just as he was settling down to a full meal of cocoanuts. I have never seen such an expression of mingled surprise, fear, and rage in my life as was in the face and eyes of that creature as it looked up at me. We captured the little fellow without trouble, and I brought him back to India.

Cocos-for that was the name we gave him-was a real dwarf. The natives of the Andamans are not in any sense dwarfs, though undersized. There are probably a great many dwarfs sitting down to feasts of cocoanuts on the islands every day, but they are not a race, or missing links in the human chain. According to the certificate of measurement, Cocos is a cross between a Chittagongese and Burmese, and his height is two feet, nine inches. As he was being measured, Cocos was extremely nervous, and I repeatedly put my hand to his forehead to quiet him. When the calipers were applied to his head, however, he be

came frantic with fear and prostrated himself, begging me not to kill him.

There is a superstition among the Hindus that dwarfs have supernatural powers. A legend to the effect that Vishnu, the Hindu god, becoming jealous of man, came to earth in the form of a dwarf, and that henceforth all dwarfs became possessed of all the power of the gods, is commonly believed in. As a consequence of this belief, Hindu women, at the sight of Cocos, would immediately prostrate themselves in prayer, which seemed to please him after he became accustomed to it.

On the fifth day, the bearers being exhausted, when we came upon a small clearing near nightfall we encamped for the night. We had passed a few natives, mostly old men and women, so guard was kept as usual, though it was changed frequently that all might rest. Supper of tea and cold rice was eaten in silence, and at dawn we were aroused by the bearer on guard, who had found a trail which led down a slope to the coast. Quickly gathering up the outfit, we moved cautiously down the trail. It was thorny and rough, but at last, about 11 A.M., we came in sight of the water. The coast was bare and desolate, and the loose stones made walking difficult; but it was a great relief to see it.

We looked eagerly for the launch which was to meet us, but it was nowhere to be seen. We camped under some bamboos near the water, and Kumali and two bearers were sent up and down the beach to look for the boat. After five hours of anxious waiting, they returned with the news that the launch was coming. Needless to say, we soon had our stuff aboard and steamed back to Port Blair.

the play of "King Henry VIII." That play was first published in the first Shakspere folio, 1623. The date of its composition is not known; neither is the date of its first presentment on the stage. Some Shakspere editors, among them Theobald, Malone, and Dr. Johnson, maintain that it was produced before the death (1603) of Queen Elizabeth; other Shaksperean editors, among them Collier, Dyce, and Knight, contend that it was not produced until after the accession of King James the First. A favorite belief is that it was performed, under the title of "All is True," on June 29, 1613, at the Globe Theater, London, on which occasion the discharge of small cannon,—perhaps in the coronation scene, Act IV, Scene 1, or, more probably, in the scene of King Henry's entrance, as a masker, at a festival in the palace of Cardinal Wolsey, Act I, Scene 4,set fire to the theater and caused its destruction. Controversy on this subject hinges mainly on the prologue to the play and the speech delivered by Cranmer at the christening of the royal infant.

Two plays relative to the story of Cardinal Wolsey, one of them being ascribed to Henry Chettle, a dramatist of Shakspere's time, of whose biography scarcely anything is known, were acted in London in 1601, and Malone assigns Shakspere's "King Henry VIII" to that year. The play is one that would have pleased Queen Elizabeth more than it could be supposed likely to please her successor, King James the First. That queen delighted in servile adulation, and she exacted abject deference to her authority; but her sense of delicacy was not such as is easily shocked.

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arine's eminently queenlike statement of her position or been displeased by a representation of the gallant behavior of King Henry the Eighth, her father, on the occasion of his meeting with the fair Anne Boleyn. She knew the reason why her father had desired and procured the annulment of his marriage to Catharine of Aragon, and though the demeanor of King Henry toward Anne Boleyn in the masque scene is that of a bold and expeditious wooer, it is not such as Elizabeth would have regarded as unseemly.

On the other hand, King James had no reason to revere the memory of Queen Elizabeth, who is specifically honored in Shakspere's play, that sovereign having kept his mother, Queen Mary of Scotland, for eighteen years incarcerated in prison, subjected her to indignity, and finally sent her to death on the block; and it is known that, in fact, he abhorred her memory. The speech which is delivered by the Archbishop of Canterbury in the scene of the christening was well calculated to please. Queen Elizabeth, but it does not contain anything, aside from the lines of homage to her successor, likely to have gratified King James. Those lines, seventeen in number, beginning, "Nor shall this peace sleep with her," and ending, "Thou speakest wonders," break the continuity of the address; but they serve the purpose of adulation of a vain monarch, notoriously susceptible to flattery. They probably, as was suggested by Theobald, were interpolated into Cranmer's encomium, some time after the first presentment of the play, when Elizabeth had died and James had ascended the English throne. Shakspere

himself might have inserted them, or they might have been inserted by another hand. It has been surmised that the revival of the play in the summer of 1613 was prompted by the wish to profit by contributing to the general public rejoicing incident to the marriage of the Princess Elizabeth, daughter of King James, to Frederick, the Elector Palatine. That marriage occurred about the middle of the previous February, and it is hardly reasonable to suppose that the production of an "historical masque or show play" or show play" (Coleridge) intended as a spectacle apposite to that occasion would be deferred till the end of June, a period of more than four months. The conjecture put forth in 1850 by that respected scholar Spedding, to the effect that, in writing his play of "King Henry VIII," Shakspere had proceeded "as far, perhaps, as the third act, when, finding that his fellows of the Globe were in distress for a new play, with which to honor the marriage of the Lady Elizabeth, he handed them his manuscript," and that they intrusted it to John Fletcher, "already a popular and expeditious playwright," to be completed, is ingenious, but also it is unwarranted. "Expeditious" Fletcher may have been, but there is abundant reason to believe that Shakspere was at least quite as energetic, and could himself have finished his play with equal despatch.

In the absence of definite, decisive information, it seems, on the whole, probable that Shakspere's "King Henry VIII" was first presented toward the end of the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and that the play called "All is True," acted in 1613, with disaster to the Globe Theater, was Shakspere's play, revived for an occasion, and altered in such a way as to make it acceptable to the time of King James. The compliment to that royal person, supposing it to have been then first inserted in the text, miscarried, because the theater caught fire before the performance had reached the christening scene, and Cranmer's honeyed words, occurring in the last act, were not spoken. No record has been discovered of the cast of "All is True," but among the Harleian Manuscripts there is a letter, addressed by the Rev. Thomas Lorkin to Sir Thomas Puckering, dated "this last of June, 1613," in which a reference is

made to the burning of the Globe Theater: "No longer since than yesterday, while Bourbage his company were acting at the Globe the play of Henry VIII and there shooting of certain chambers in way of triumph, the fire catch'd." The implication would seem to be that Burbage participated in the representation. If so, he would have played one of the principal parts, either King Henry or Cardinal Wolsey, for he was then in the prime of his renown. Contemporary reference to "All is True" sometimes calls it by that name and sometimes by the name of "Henry VIII.".

No mention is made of any presentment of this drama in the interval between 1613 and 1663, the interval, roughly speaking, between the period of Burbage and that of Betterton. Shakspere's manuscript remained in possession of the managers, who owned it from the time when the play was first performed (whatever time that may have been) till the time of its first publication. To what extent or by what hand it may have been altered after the death of Shakspere in 1616, and before it was published in 1623, investigation has failed to discover. Modern scholarship assumes that, because of certain peculiarities of the versification, notably the use of "double endings," much of the play must have been written by some hand other than that of Shakspere, possibly or probably that of Fletcher, whose use of "double endings" was habitual. That theory, however, like other theories which, resting on surmise and not on evidence, would discredit Shakspere's authorship of his writings, is merely conjectural. It would be amusing, if it were not painful, to observe the assurance with which theories about Shakspere are adopted and proclaimed as fact, sometimes by thoughtful commentators, from whom a larger measure of discretion might reasonably be expected.

The first positively recorded representative of King Henry the Eighth was John Lowin, one of the best actors of Shakspere's time, and, in contemporary favor, second only to Richard Burbage. Authentic assurance is furnished by Downes that Lowin was instructed by Shakspere himself as to the performance of this part. Lowin, born in 1576, lived to be eightytwo years old, became very poor in his latter days, kept an inn, called The Three

Pigeons, at Brentford, and died there in 1658. Sir William Davenant (1605-68) was acquainted with the acting of Lowin, and when, in 1663, he cast the part of King Henry the Eighth to Thomas Betterton, he instructed that actor relative to the method of his admired predecessor. Betterton's performance was accounted essentially royal, and the example of stalwart predominance, regal dignity, and bluff humor thus set has ever since been followed. Barton Booth imitated Betterton, and when Quin assumed King Henry, he avowedly, but not successfully, imitated Booth. In this part, Quin is described as having been ungraceful in manner, deficient of the requisite facial expression, and vocally weak. Booth seems to have satisfied every requirement of it. There was grandeur in his personality, vigor in his action, and at times a menace in his look which inspired terror. In life, King Henry, as the reader of the excellent memoir of Wolsey by George Cavendish clearly perceives, was essentially selfish, despotic, tyrannical, capricious, and capable of cruelty. In Shakspere's delineation of him, the rigor of his character and the harshness of his temper have been much softened; and while he is shown as egotistical, haughty, arbitrary, impetuous, self-willed, and sternly regal, he is accredited with a certain amiability, a sense of justice, good humor, and geniality of disposition. It appears that he was thus represented, with admirable fidelity and effect, by Barton Booth. That actor's enunciation of "Go thy ways, Kate," after the Queen's majestic exit from the trial scene, is mentioned as exceptionally expressive of the King's character and hu

mor.

Specific information as to details of the dressing of King Henry the Eighth by the actors of old cannot be obtained. Kings, on the stage, wore scarlet cloth ornamented with gold lace. Sometimes an opulent. nobleman, patron of the drama, would give to a favorite actor the costume that he had worn at the coronation of the reigning monarch, and that was considered and used as an appropriate garb for theatrical majesty. Burbage, if he acted King Henry, wore robes of red and gold. Betterton and his followers continued the custom; but as it was well known that King Henry wore his hair short, they dis

carded the usual wig when playing that part. Davies declares that King Richard the Third and King Henry the Eighth were garbed in something like appropriate costume, while suitability of attire, in presentment of the coöperative characters, was for the most part disregarded. In England, the chronicle of notable performers of King Henry the Eighth includes the names of Mathew Clarke, John Palmer, Joseph George Holman, Alexander Pope, Francis Aickin, Thomas Abthorpe Cooper, George Frederick Cooke, George Barrett, John Ryder, Walter Lacy, William Terriss, and Arthur Bourchier.

On the occasion (1663) when for the first time Betterton acted King Henry the Eighth, his associate and competitor Henry Harris acted Cardinal Wolsey, "doing it," says Downes, "with such just state, port, and mien that I dare affirm none hitherto has equaled him." The word "hitherto" refers to the period of about sixty years immediately prior to 1663, as to which period theatrical history affords comparatively little exact and particular information. Harris was a painter and a singer as well as an actor. He led a profligate life, but he is accredited with possession of dramatic talent of a high order, and it is certain that his ability was versatile, for he excelled equally as Romeo and Sir Andrew Aguecheek. He was one of the intimate friends of Samuel Pepys, the quaint diarist, and a portrait of him as Wolsey is in the Pepys Library at Cambridge, England. Detailed description of his performance of the Cardinal has not been found. He was prominently succeeded on the old London stage by John Verbruggen, 1706; Colley Cibber, 1723; Anthony Boheme, 1725; Lacy Ryan, 1743; West Digges, 1772; Robert Bensley, 1772; John Henderson, 1780; Alexander Pope, 1786; John Philip Kemble, 1805; Charles Mayne Young, 1844; William Charles Macready, 1823; and Samuel Phelps, 1844. On the Dublin stage Wolsey was acted by Henry Mossop in 1751.

Opinion as to the diversified representations of Wolsey that were given by those actors, long past away, must necessarily be somewhat vague. Such records of them as exist are in almost every case meager. Authorities are often misleading.