Chapter LII (1)

Mrs. Warmington became a person of some importance with the people of Hartwell. All thoughts were turned towards her house. Everybody wished they could get in and see and hear more; for the news had spread rapidly and wide, colored and distorted; but yet falling far short of the whole terrible truth. When Mr. Short himself arrived in town, he found three other magistrates had already assembled, and that Mr. Atkinson and Sir Philip Hastings' groom, John, were already giving them some desultory and informal information as to the apprehension of Mr. Hazleton and its causes. The first consideration after his appearance amongst them, was what was to be done with the prisoner; for one of the justices--a gentleman of old family in the county, who had not much liked the appointment of the surgeon to the bench, and had generally found motives for differing in opinion with him ever since--objected to leaving Mrs. Hazleton, even for the night, in any other place than the common jail. The more merciful opinion of the majority, however, prevailed. Atkinson gave every assurance that the constable whom he had placed in charge of the lady was perfectly to be depended upon, and that the room in which she was locked up, was too high to admit the possibility of escape. Thus it was determined that Mrs. Hazleton should be left where she was for the night, and brought before the magistrates for examination at an early hour on the following morning.

Even after this decision was come to, however, the conversation or consultation, if it may be so called, was prolonged for some time in a gossiping, idle sort of way. Gentlemen sat upon the edge of the table with their hats on, or leaned against the mantelpiece, beating their boots with their riding-whips, and some marvelled, and some inquired, and some expounded the law with the dignity and confidence, if not with the sagacity and learning of a Judge. They were still engaged in this discussion when the news of Emily's death was brought to Hartwell, and produced a painful and terrible sensation in the breasts of the lightest and most careless of those present. The man who conveyed the intelligence brought also a summons to Mr. Short to return immediately to Sir Philip Hastings, and only waiting to get a fresh horse, the surgeon set out upon his return with a very sad and sorrowful heart. He would not disturb Mr. Marlow; though he was informed that he was in the library; but he remained with Sir Philip Hastings himself during the greater part of the night, and only set out for his own house to take a little repose before the meeting of the magistrates, some quarter of an hour before the first dawn of day.

Full of painful thoughts he rode on at a quick pace, till the yellow and russet hues of the morning began to appear in the east. He then slackened his pace a little, and naturally, as he approached the house of Mrs. Warmington, he raised his eye towards the windows of the room in which he knew that the beautiful demon, who had produced so much misery to others and herself, had been imprisoned.

Mr. Short was riding on; but suddenly a sound met his ear, and as his eyes ran down the building from the windows above, to a small plot of grass which the lady of the house called the lawn, he drew up his horse, and rode sharply up to the gate.

But it is time now to turn to Mrs. Hazleton. Lodged in the upper chamber which had been decided upon as the one fittest for their purpose, by Mr. Atkinson and the rest, with the constable from Hartwell domiciled in the ante-room, and the door between locked, Mrs. Hazleton gave herself up to despair; for her state of mind well deserved that name, although her feelings were very different from those which are commonly designated by that name. Surely to feel that every earthly hope has passed away--to see that further struggle for any object of desire is vain--to know that the struggles which have already taken place have been fruitless--to feel that their objects have been base, unworthy, criminal--to perceive no gleam of light on either side of the tomb--to have the present a wilderness, the future an abyss, the past and its memories a hell--surely this is despair! It matters not with what firmness, or what fierceness it may be borne: it matters not what fiery passions, what sturdy resolutions, what weak regrets, what agonizing fears, mingle with the state. This is despair! and such was the feeling of Mrs. Hazleton. She saw vast opportunities, a splendid position in society, wealth, beauty, wit, mind, accomplishments, all thrown away, and for the gratification of base passions exchanged for disgrace, and crime, and a horrible death. It was a bad bargain; but she felt she had played her whole for revenge and had lost; and she abode the issue resolutely.

All these advantages which I have enumerated, and many more, Mrs. Hazleton had possessed; but she wanted two things which are absolutely necessary to human happiness and human virtue--heart and principle. The one she never could have obtained; for by nature she was heartless. The other might have been bestowed upon her by her parents. But they had failed to do so; for their own proper principles had been too scanty for them to bestow any on their daughter. Yet, strange to say, the lack of heart somewhat mitigated the intensity of the lady's sufferings now. She felt not her situation as bitterly as other persons with a greater portion of sensibility would inevitably have done. She had so trained herself to resist all small emotions, that they had in reality become obliterated. Fiery passions she could feel; for the earthquake rends the granite which the chisel will not touch, and these affected her now as much as ever.

At that very moment, as she sat there, with her head resting on her hand, what is the meaning of that stern, knitted brow, that fixed, steadfast gaze forward, that tight compression of the lips and teeth? At that moment Nero's wish was in the bosom of Mrs. Hazleton. Could she have slaughtered half the human race to blot out all evidence of her crimes, and to escape the grinning shame which she knew awaited her, she would have done it without remorse. Other feelings, too, were present. A sense of anger at herself for having suffered herself to be in the slightest degree moved or agitated by any thing that had occurred; a determined effort, too, was there--I will not call it a struggle--to regain entire command of herself--to be as calm, as graceful, as self-possessed, as dignified as when in high prosperity with unsullied fame. It might be, in a certain sense, playing a part, and doubtless the celebrated Madame Tiquet did the same; but she was playing a part for her own eyes, as well as those of others. She resolved to be firm, and she was firm. "Death," she said, "is before me: for that I am prepared. It cannot agitate a nerve, or make a limb shake. All other evils are trifles compared with this. Why then should I suffer them to affect me in the least? No, no, they shall not see me quail!"

After she had thus thought for some two hours, gaining more and more self-command every moment, as she turned and returned all the points of her situation in her own mind, and viewed them in every different aspect, she rose to retire to rest, lay down, and tried to sleep. At first importunate thought troubled her. The same kind of ideas went on--the same reasonings upon them--and slumber for more than one hour would not visit her eyelids. But she was a very resolute woman, and at length she determined that she would not think: she would banish thought altogether; she would not let the mind rest for one moment upon any subject whatsoever; and she succeeded. The absence of thought is sleep; and she slept; but resolution ended where sleep begun, and the images she had banished waking, returned to the mind in slumber. Her rest was troubled. Growing fancies seemed to come thick upon her mind; though the eyes remained closed, the features were agitated; the lips moved. Sometimes she laughed; sometimes she moaned piteously; sometimes tears found their way through her closed eyelids; and sobs struggled in her bosom.

At length, between three and four o'clock in the morning, Mrs. Hazleton rose up in bed. She opened her eyes, too; but there was a dull glassy look about them--a fixed leaden stare, not natural to her waking hours. Slowly she got out of bed, approached the table, took up a candle which she had left burning there, and which was now nearly down to the socket, and walked straight to the door, saying aloud, "Very dark--very dark--every thing is dark."

She tried the door, but found it locked; and the constable slept on. She then returned to the table, seated herself, and for some five or ten minutes continued to twist her long hair round her fingers. She then rose again, and went straight to the window, threw it up, and seemed to look out. "Chilly--chilly," she said. "I must walk to warm myself."

The sill of the window was somewhat high, but that was no obstacle; for there was a chair near, and Mrs. Hazleton placed it for herself with as much care as if she had been wide awake. When this was done she stepped lightly upon it, and put her knee upon the window-sill, raised herself suddenly upright, and struck her head sharply against the upper part of the window. It is probable that the blow woke her, but at all events it destroyed her balance, and she fell forward at once out of the window.

There was a loud shriek, and then a deep groan. But the constable slept on, and no one knew the fate that had befallen her 'till Mr. Short, the surgeon, passing the house, was attracted to the spot where she had fallen, by a moan, and the sight of a white object lying beneath the window.

A loud ringing of the bell, and knocking at the door, soon roused the inhabitants of the house, and the mangled form of Mrs. Hazleton was carried in and stretched upon a bed. She was not dead; and although almost every bone was broken, except the skull, and the terrible injuries she had received precluded all possibility of recovery, she regained her senses before three o'clock of the same day, and continued to linger for somewhat more than a fortnight in agonies both of mind and body, too terrible to be described. With the rapid, though gradual weakening of the corporeal frame, the powers of the mind became enfeebled--the vigorous resolution failed--the self-command abandoned her. Half an hour's death she could have borne with stoical firmness, but a fortnight's was too much. The thoughts she could shut out in vigorous health, forced themselves upon her as she lay there like a crushed worm, and the tortures of hell got hold upon her, long before the spirit departed. Yet a sparkle of the old spirit showed itself even to her last hour. That she was conscious of an eternity, that she was convinced of after judgment, of the reward of good, and of the punishment of evil, that she believed in a God, a hell, a heaven, there can be no doubt--indeed her words more than once implied it--and the anguish of mind under which she seemed to writhe proved it. But yet, she refused all religious consolation; expressed no penitence: no sorrow for what she had done, and scoffed at the surgeon when he hinted that repentance might avail her even then. It seemed that, as with the earthly future, she had made up her mind at once, when first detected, to meet her fate boldly; so with the judgment of the immortal future, she was resolute to encounter it unbending. When urged, nearly at her last hour, to show some repentance, she replied in the weak and faltering voice of death, but in as determined a tone as ever, "It is all trash. An hour's repentance could do no good even if I could repent. But I do not. Nobody does repent. They regret their failure, are terrified by their punishment; but they and I would do exactly the same again if we hoped for success and impunity. Talk to me no more of it. I do not wish to think of hell till it has hold upon me, if that should ever be."

She said no more from that moment forward, and in about an hour after, her spirit went to meet the fate she had so boldly dared.

But few persons remain to be noticed in this concluding chapter, and with regard to their after history, the imagination of the reader might perhaps be left to deal, without further information. A few words, however, may be said, merely to give a clue to their after fate.

The prosecution of Mr. Shanks, the attorney, was carried on but languidly, and it is certain that he was not convicted of the higher offence of forgery. On some charge, however, it would seem he was sentenced to two years imprisonment, and the last that is heard of him, shows him blacking shoes at the inn in Carrington, then a very old man, in the reign of George the First.

Sir Philip Hastings never recovered his senses, nor did he seem to have any recollection of the horrible events with which his earthly history may be said to have closed; but his life was not far extended. For about six months he continued in the same lamentable state in which we have last depicted him, sometimes singing, sometimes laughing, and sometimes absorbed in deep melancholy. At the end of that period, another paralytic stroke left him in a state of complete fatuity, from which in two years he was relieved by death.

If the reader will look into the annals of the reign of Queen Anne he will find frequent mention in the campaigns of Marlborough and Eugene, of a Major, a Colonel, and a General Marlow. They were all the same person; and they will find that officer often reported as severely wounded. I cannot trace his history much farther; but the genealogies of those times show, that in 1712, one Earl of Launceston died at the age of eighty-seven, and was succeeded by the eighth Earl, who only survived three years, and the title with him became extinct, as it is particularly marked that he died unmarried. As this last of the race is distinguished by the title of Lieutenant-General, the Earl of Launceston, there can be no doubt that this was the lover and promised husband of poor Emily Hastings.

It is a sad tale, and rarely perhaps has any such tragedy darkened the page of domestic history in England. A whole family were swept away, and most of those connected with them, in a very short space of time; but it is not the number of deaths within that period that gives its gloominess to the page--for every domestic history is little but a record of deaths--but the circumstances. Youth, beauty, virtue, gentleness, kindness, honor, integrity, punctilious rectitude: reason, energy, wisdom, sometimes, nay often, have no effect as a screen, from misfortune, sorrow, and death. Were this world all, what a frightful chaos would human life be. But the very sorrows and adversities of the good, prove that there is a life beyond, where all will be made even.

THE END.

From Bentley's Miscellany.

CALCUTTA.

There are in Calcutta four colleges established by Government, besides numerous other institutions for the diffusion of learning. Education, indeed, is very general in the metropolis, and there are but few, even among the natives, making any pretensions to respectability, who have not some acquaintance with European literature. I have heard as pure English spoken by Hindoos in Calcutta as by men of rank in London, and pieces from our poets recited by a lad of color with a correctness of diction and eloquence that would have done credit to any of our youth at home. Go where you will in Calcutta, enter the narrowest streets and the most obscure alleys, and you will find pedagogues engaged in teaching Pinnock or Goldsmith to the children, and ragged urchins of three or four years old shouting in concert, B-l-a, bla; c-l-a, cla. And then turn your eyes in an opposite direction; look at the wealthy and the noble of mature age, enter their houses, and what will you see and hear? You will see their dwellings furnished and their tables laid out in _English_ style; you will see them possessed of libraries composed of the best works of the most approved _English_ authors; you will see _English_ newspapers regularly filed; you will see them corresponding in _English_ with their friends and connections; and you will hear them conversing on the topics of the day or their own private affairs in the _English_ tongue. A person who had never travelled beyond the metropolis would be apt, on seeing all this, to exclaim, "The people will soon be thoroughly Anglicised!" But it is all confined to Calcutta, and even there is rather, perhaps, the result of a wish to outshine, than of a desire to improve.

A Mechanics' Institute was a few years since established in Calcutta. Institutions of this kind are particularly required in India, where the national systems of agriculture, commerce, mechanics, science, literature, and philosophy are so wretched; where prejudice and superstition impede improvement, and sloth and ignorance have had so long a reign. It is surely the duty of those who seek affluence in that country to encourage them, and thus endeavor to benefit the land from whose resources they expect to gain it. But, in spite of the old adage, "What's in a name?" the fate of this institution proved that there is something very important in the nomenclature of a thing. The title "Mechanic" is in a manner _despised_ by the European community of Calcutta and their Euratian brethren; and so long as the Institute continued to bear the title which distinguished it as dedicated to such, notwithstanding the plainness with which it exhibited its claims to support as an institution calculated to disseminate a correct and practical knowledge of science, and a familiar acquaintance with the fine arts throughout the empire, and by the improvements such a knowledge would induce ulteriorly to promote the interests of all connected with India; notwithstanding appeals to the press, public lectures and private solicitations; notwithstanding the most brilliant speeches of the most eloquent orators (among whom may be particularly mentioned Mr. George Thompson), it languished for want of support, gradually decayed, and seemed about to yield up the ghost. It was at last suggested, that though the expedients above alluded to had failed to stay the progress of disease, or invigorate the system, one, powerful as a galvanic battery, yet remained to be tried, a new nomenclature. It was proposed that the vulgar title of "Mechanics' Institute" should be thrown off, and the elegant and euphonious one of "The Lyceum" adopted. This was done; and wonderful was the effect. The young and tender tree revived in an instant, refreshing streams of cash were poured in abundance upon its roots; the very nobles of the land came forward to tend it, and now it flourishes and blooms, and promises ere long to produce a rich abundance of fruit. Still it is in reality the same as before in all but its name.

I have alluded to Mr. George Thompson. His arrival in India in 1843 was greeted by all classes of the community with joy. All had heard of his eloquence and his ability, of the interest he had exhibited in the affairs of, and his design in visiting, India, and therefore hailed him as the champion of her interests. Hindoo and Mussulman flocked eagerly around the standard he raised as a patriot leader, listened to his addresses, and, as he enlarged on their rights and wrongs (so far as he knew them) felt discontent, hatred to the rulers of their country, and bold resolutions to free it from their tyranny, rising within them. The press lauded and flattered him; invitations overwhelmed him; patriotic societies rose from nonentity at his presence; and his person and character were themes of inquiry and constant disquisition; imitative would-be orators sprang up in multitudes, and poured forth torrents of anger and abuse against Government, and all was excitement, all radicalism. Suddenly the man on whom the eyes of the people were fixed as their instructor and guide left the metropolis, and when he again appeared in it, did so in the character of ambassador from the Great Mogul. With what abuse he then met, let the periodicals of the day testify. "Where now," it was asked, "are his magniloquent professions of philanthropy, his self-devotedness, and his zeal in the cause of India?"

In India, as in England, the public appetite for the drama seems to have been satiated. There is a very elegant theatre in Calcutta, but it is now closed. It languished for want of support, though several talented performers were attached to it. Mrs. Leach, its founder and greatest ornament, was an exquisite actress. A Miss Cowley and a Miss Baxter, too, were both superior and elegant actresses. The latter preserved the theatre to the community on a former occasion, when it seemed about to fall. A circumstance, as true as it is laughable, connected with this theatre, occurred in 1841. Two ladies, engaged in England for it, and sent out, were actually entered among the "imports manifest" for the port of Calcutta, as goods consigned to the manager of the playhouse!

The newspaper is as necessary an adjunct to the breakfast table in Calcutta as it is in London. The military man looks eagerly for accounts from the north-west; turns to the lists of promotions and staff appointments, and forgets not to cast his eye at the obituary; the civilian searches for the advertisements which announce fresh arrivals of horses from Persia, Burmah, and Arabia; spinsters' and oilmen's stores from England; and wines and fruits from France; just glancing at the drafts of laws about to be enacted, and conning over the programme of the next races; and the merchant studies the accounts relative to indigo, sugar, and saltpetre. But the greatest excitement prevails when the mail from England is due. How eagerly is it looked for, and when it arrives, how are its contents scanned and analyzed!

There are six English newspapers published in Calcutta and its neighborhood. The editors are all men of experience and talent, who know how to suit the appetites of their customers. An English reader, however, taking up one of our Indian newspapers, would think it a very dull affair, for he would find one-third of it editorial and local news, another third advertisements, and the remainder, extracts from the London magazines. Now this is what just suits the Anglo-Indians. The advertisements tell them what to do with their money, the residue informs them of what is going on, and gives them the very pith of literature without putting them to the trouble of cutting it from the crust.

The Indian press has been stigmatized in England as a "licentious," a "rascally," and an "unscrupulous" one. This is very far from being the case. It has its faults, but they are not of such a kind. Indeed, it seems to me, that in point of purity, honesty, and morality, it may challenge comparison with the press of Great Britain itself, and most decidedly it possesses a powerful influence with the executive. It has been the means, within the last few years, of causing the abolition of lotteries, the appointment of deputy magistrates, and many other measures tending to the moralization and welfare of the country. It scans and fearlessly criticises the acts of Government; it shows a spirit of active benevolence in pleading the cause of the injured, to whatever class they may belong; and proves itself impartially just.

In addition to newspapers several magazines and other periodicals are published in Calcutta. The whole of the periodical publications amount in number to forty. A Quarterly Review has lately been added to those, and also a Magazine, the intended publication of which, and its character, were announced in so curious a manner, that I shall copy the advertisement at full length for the benefit of the reader: "In the press, and will be published on the 1st of July, and continued monthly, a new periodical, entitled, The British India Magazine, and Daily and Monthly Treasury, a most useful Writing and Reading Table Manual of Reference, Memoranda, Expenditure, and Literature, to which is added a Precis of the News of the past month, Political, Fashionable, Social, Commercial, Humorous, and Scientific. It is equally adapted for ladies in general, as for Gentlemen of the Civil, Military, and Uncovenanted Services, Members of the Legal and Medical Professions, Merchants, Indigo and Sugar Planters, and Planters' Assistants, Captains and Officers of Ships, Clerks in Mercantile Houses, &c., or in fact, for all Persons by whom due order and regularity in the expenditure of their Time and Income is considered an object worthy of notice. It is compiled upon a method perfectly novel in the annals of the Press, be it American, Asiatic, or European, and may be had (per dak) in all parts of British India."

There, dear reader, match that in Europe, if you can! "Why this is a real Vade Mecum; and, mark you! a _most_ useful one--one equally adapted for ladies in general as for gentlemen, or in fact for _all_ persons." Doubtless it will have a prodigious circulation as soon as its merits are fully known. I have not met with any one who has read it.

Books published in India, whatever may be their nature, seldom repay the cost of print and paper. Even the Calcutta newspapers have between them all no more than three or four thousand subscribers, and yet our countrymen there read a great deal. But the works which have emanated from the pens of Anglo-Indian writers have in general been so dull and spiritless, that the community has learned to regard all such with indifference; and as the booksellers regularly supply the newest and best European productions, these inferior viands are almost entirely neglected. An annual has once or twice been published, but did not meet with sufficient patronage to allow of its being regularly continued.

The police of India has always been inefficient. Robberies committed under the very noses of the watchmen are common. When they should be on the look-out, they are found sleeping, and when they are awake are careless and negligent. The worst of them in all India are to be found in its great metropolis; in Calcutta, indeed, they seem to possess no honesty or fidelity, and often turn out greater rogues than those they bring to justice. Policemen in the confidence of the European authorities have before now been discovered to be at the head of parties of Thugs, to whom they have thus had the means of communicating all necessary intelligence.

The native _employés_ in our courts of justice are equally corrupt. Every Hindoo and Mussulman who has occasion to resort to these courts, takes with him a bribe, knowing that unless he does so, it will be all but impossible for him to obtain a fair and impartial hearing. The _omlah_ who should decline a bribe, would be accounted a fool by his fellow officials. And so some of them make fortunes; _e. g._, a _sheristader_ at one of our civil courts, who had been only ten years in that office, on a salary of one hundred rupees a month, and with no other income save a trifling share in a small patrimonial estate, managed, a short time back, to purchase landed property to the value of fifty thousand rupees.

Enter a criminal court, whether the deponent swear by the water of the Ganges held in his hand, or by the Koran laid on his head, or by licking off salt from a sword, or by placing a milk-jug on his back, or any other mode practised among them, you will find that perjury and the grossest exaggeration are with him far more common than truth. If he has received a light box or a gentle kick, he will make oath that he has been half murdered; and if he has been robbed of an article worth twenty rupees, will swear its value was a hundred!

A judge has seldom a more conflicting mass of evidence before him on which to decide the merits of a case, than he has who seeks by investigating the principles and conduct of this people to form an opinion of their general character. It seems to me that, as a nation, there is no other people so profligate, so licentious and avaricious, so addicted to lying, dishonesty, procrastination, gossip, and perpetual egotism, so servile, so litigious, and so filthy; and no other so barren of nearly every good quality. Their code of morality, to judge from their practice, is a huge mass of every thing bad, mingled with a few almost imperceptible grains of some things that are good.

In India, when we look around us and see the fertility of the earth, the abundance of grain and fruit it produces, we feel astonished that those engaged in agriculture should be, as they really are, almost destitute of a bare subsistence. The Irish peasantry are rarely so badly off as those of Hindostan. Inquiry shows us this is the result of a system prevailing throughout the country, the oppression of the ryots by the Zemindars. Yes, it is not the taxes, which are comparatively light, that cause this evil, but the exactions of the rich natives from the poor ones. The peasantry have no money, they require advances to enable them to cultivate, these are granted to them at the most exorbitant rate of usury by the landlords, and as the one party never gets out of debt, so the other never ceases its extortions.

Thus the poor are kept poor. The personal property of a peasant seldom exceeds three or four shillings in value. His wardrobe consists of a piece of coarse cloth, just large enough to gird round his body, a similar piece thrown across the shoulders, and a skull-cap or turban, made of long strips of the same material. And as for his household goods, a few drinking vessels, an earthen jar, an iron plate, and a rickety bedstead comprise in general the whole.

Very little attention is paid in Calcutta, or anywhere else in India, to home politics. Indeed they are never discussed at table. Let a man have been ever so violent a Tory or zealous a Whig, six months in India will generally find him, so far as his discourse can testify, neuter. One reason of this is, that if he should attempt to introduce political subjects in conversation, he would not be listened to. It is only when India and Indian interests are concerned, that even a powerful debate in the House meets with the slightest attention. Theatricals, races, retiring funds, public characters, civil and military appointments, these, and such like subjects, form the ordinary topics of discourse. And you may always know when a man has lived any time in India, for a little of the Eastern spice is sure to be found in all his conversation. He cannot conceal it.

An anecdote was one day related to me, which exemplifies the sad condition of those habitual consumers of opium, many of whom are to be found among the natives. A Hindoo gentleman, who was accustomed to indulge in it, being about to remove to a distant and almost uninhabited province, in which he knew it would be difficult to procure opium, laid in a large quantity of it to take with him, and made arrangements for having more regularly forwarded. Soon after his arrival at his destination, one of his servants decamped, robbing him of a large amount in money, and a variety of other articles, among which his entire stock of opium was included. The period at which he expected his first auxiliary supply was yet distant; but he immediately sent for a quantity to his agent; as this however did not arrive for a considerable time, he was at a loss for his usual stimulant, pined away in a few days for want of it, and in less than a fortnight died.

There are numerous low chop-houses and taverns in Calcutta, to which our poorer countrymen resort, and these are the nests of profligacy and licentiousness. Impositions too, of the grossest and most atrocious nature, are practised by the proprietors of some, on those who frequent them.

While in the country I made one of a small party at an annual festival, given by the native officers of a Government establishment in the neighborhood. The worthy _baboo_, who was at the head of the concern, had resolved to prepare for the half-dozen Europeans whom he expected to honor the feast with their presence, two things, of which most _Feringees_ approve, viz., a _pillau_ and a bottle of brandy. Being a Hindoo, however, he had substituted pieces of cheese for meat in the stew, thinking, no doubt, that it would make but little difference to us. Of course, we could not touch it; but we did not mind its loss, as the _aqua vitæ_ yet remained. The master of the ceremonies, however, had forgotten to provide a corkscrew. In this emergency one of our number offered to save the trouble of sending for one by knocking off the neck of the bottle with the butt of his riding-whip. This he attempted, but, missing his aim, broke the bottle and spilt all the liquor. It was too late to send for more, and, as we did not find any thing else to our relish, we came away after all, much to the vexation of our host, without having tasted either bit or drop.

How different in the effects they produce on the heart, and in the sentiments they awaken, are the various seasons of the year in India to the same in our native land. How sweetly speaks the changing year to the minds of the unsophisticated and innocent of England's children! Are their hearts oppressed by misfortune? with the spring they revive, and, like nature, shake off the torpor into which, overcome by their sorrows, they were sinking, while Hope, with the flowers, buds once more sweetly forth. The summer sun brings with it cheerfulness and joy; hearts and hopes together expand; they watch, with anxiety and pleasure, the ripening of the dainty fruits, which promise in autumn to replenish their board; they sport in the new-mown and perfume-exhaling fields; they bathe in the clear, unruffled stream, and feel convinced that earth has not yet been despoiled by sin of all its charms, that there are pursuits at once pure and delightful, that man is not made to mourn but to rejoice, and that in nature, the beneficence of the Deity is demonstrated. Even stern winter has something pleasant in his countenance, and is kind enough to make them sometimes long for his return while enjoying the smiles of seasons more congenial; for they with rapture anticipate a meeting with the friends whom he assembles; the sweet congratulations, the merry tales, the laughter-exciting songs, which will then burst forth from affectionate and happy hearts, and make the blazing hearth a scene of unalloyed ecstasy. But it is not thus in the arid and joyless East. We watch the approach of spring with apprehension, for it brings in its train disease and death; we shrink, and seek in the mountains a refuge from the fiery temper and scorching breath of summer; autumn's gloom makes all nature distasteful to us; and winter, though it affords a temporary relief from pain, is totally unproductive of pleasure.

During the early part of his Indian career, the military officer in the Hon. Company's service, finds that nearly all the labor, though but a small share of the honor or profit, of sustaining our hardly-earned reputation, falls on his shoulders, and on those of his comrades. The honor is almost entirely engrossed, and what little falls to his share is entirely eclipsed by that allotted to his superiors in rank; the income he derives from his position is insignificant when compared with that of his contemporaries of the civil service. The civilian, it is well known, has a far better chance of making a fortune in twenty, than the soldier in forty years. From the period of his arrival in the country, until after having studied and passed an examination in the Hindee and Persian languages, he is reported qualified for the public service, and receives an appointment; the former enjoys a salary superior to that which is paid to the latter as the allowance of an ensign or cornet. The military man cannot obtain any staff employ which affords an augmentation of pay until he shows himself well qualified in the native languages. Then again, the civilian, if he manifest any ability, may, in ten or twelve years, rise to a high and lucrative post; whereas the poor scarlet-coated hero, unless he have the good fortune to get a quarter-master, or interpreter-ship, or to be appointed an aid-de-camp, has to vegetate on two hundred rupees _per mensem_, for some thirteen or fourteen years, when he may receive an additional hundred with a lieutenancy. Supposing him, however, to have obtained a good snug berth, his income will be a trifle when compared with that of the civilian, who escaped from the school-bench at the same time as himself, while he is always exposed to changes and inconveniences of which the latter knows nothing. But the sub has one comfort amidst all this: "In due time," thinks he, "I may hope to be a general."

"Hope told a flattering tale,"

is, however, the exclamation of many an old veteran in his declining years; and still oftener is it the sorrowful evidence of those who live to mourn over the early extinction of even the most brilliant prospects entertained by youthful relatives, who have fallen a prey to the inclemencies of a climate which their constitutions were unfitted to sustain.

But, after all, fortunes are not now-a-days made, even by the most _fortunate_ of our countrymen, so easily as they were some fifty, or even thirty years ago. Nor are we even worthy of comparison with the natives of India in this respect. On the station of Cawnpore are now residing the two sons of a man who, report says, was nothing more than a common _bobarchee_, or cook, in the household of the late king of Lucknow, but who, by his skill in spicing wine, and manufacturing peculiarly delicious draughts of an inebriating nature, attracted the notice of his majesty, a man of licentious and depraved habits, accounted an orthodox Mussulman, but exceedingly fond of the bottle. The monarch having tasted a sample of his _bobarchee's_ elixir, to reward his skill and encourage his merit, presented him with a situation near the royal person, and as, while holding this appointment, he continued to afford him the highest satisfaction, advanced him step by step, and at length, on a vacancy occurring, as a mark of his especial favor, gave him the post of prime minister.

This office he continued to hold until his master's decease; and in the mean time obtained so great an influence with the monarch that his majesty is said to have been little better than an automaton, whose movements were regulated by his hand. His chief object, like that of all his countrymen, being to amass wealth, he tyrannized over the people, and left no stone unturned beneath which he deemed it possible that wealth might be discovered. One mode of "raising the wind" was frequently practised by him. A merchant, or other rich man, having just completed the erection of a large and magnificent abode, in which to spend luxuriously the remainder of his days, the minister would forward to him an official dispatch, intimating that the spot on which he had built must be immediately cleared for state purposes, and that no compensation would be given him.

Astonished and perplexed at such a notice from an authority it was useless to dispute, the unfortunate victim would, perhaps, endeavor, by pointing out some other eligible spot for the presumed purpose of the government, and offering a _muzzur_ of, it may be, ten thousand rupees, to avert the threatened calamity; but to no purpose, for the wily man, who had risen from the office of a slave to the highest post under the crown, would at first accept of no terms. The petitioner, therefore, turned away in despair, and went back to his house, to which, after a few hours, an emissary of the minister would follow him with a message, intimating that should any thing worthy his acceptance be presented to the premier in his private character, he would use his influence with the king to have the order revoked. Elated with this apparent chance of escape, the unlucky individual thus destined to be "squeezed" would, perhaps, offer a sum larger than the minister had anticipated. But even this was sure to be indignantly refused, and not until the victim had been visited over and over again, and no hope of any larger offer remained, would the bribe be accepted. Thus, and by a variety of other means, the _bobarchee_ gathered a vast amount of wealth. On the death of the monarch who had so blindly favored and elevated him, he fared but poorly, however, for the new king threw him into prison. It was now _his_ turn to bribe, and a timely present of fifty lacs of rupees to an influential person procured his release. Even then he had an immense fortune remaining, and thinking it best to secure both his person and his money against further annoyance and depredation, he left Lucknow, and settled down in our dominions.

While residing in Calcutta, I was brought into frequent contact with individuals belonging to the Eurasian or half-caste population, and as comparatively little is known of this class of people in England, I shall here make a few remarks on their character.

They are generally the descendants of European fathers by native mothers. The great majority of them are of Portuguese, many of British, and some of French extraction. Altogether they form a community by themselves, as distinct from the European society around them as from the Hindoos and Mahommedans. They do not travel; here they live and multiply, marrying generally among themselves. As they are daily increasing in number, they will, of course, in time become so numerous as to consider themselves a nation, and to demand a place in history. Should such, however, be the case, I do not think they will occupy a very high position in the scale of nations. Great talent (I will not mention _genius_) and sterling abilities seem very scarce amongst them. They devote no attention to the cultivation of the arts, they manifest no zeal in the pursuits of science, no independence, no brotherly feeling towards each other. The females, at best, receive but a superficial education, it generally extending only to reading, writing, and the mechanical performance of music, dancing, and ornamental needlework, and in none of these do they show any extraordinary skill. As girls they are flirts and coquettes; as women they are vain, idle, and slovenly.

Let me be candid, however. I have found among the Eurasians men possessing a versatility of talent that would do honor to any of our own countrymen, and females adorned with every grace and accomplishment. But such characters are very, _very_ scarce.

From Sharpe's Magazine

REVOLUTIONS OF RUSSIA

THE ACCESSION OF NICHOLAS I., 1825.

FROM THE FRENCH OF ALEXANDER DUMAS.

The death of the Emperor Alexander placed the inhabitants of his empire in mourning; for the grief and loyalty of the lower classes were sincere, and their attachment to his person almost idolatrous in its character. The public feeling was increased by the prospect of the reign of an unpopular sovereign afflicted with mental malady, and devoid of courtesy.

As for the Grand-duke Nicholas, no one thought of him, but the Russian people dreaded the accession of Constantine, whom they considered their sovereign in right of his primogeniture. In no country in the world has this natural law been so repeatedly broken. Every person in Russia was aware that the heir-presumptive had purchased his marriage with a Polish lady, the object of his ardent affections, by the resignation of his claims to the succession, but that he would abide by that act seemed a conjecture too improbable to be entertained by any one. Constantine was nevertheless sincere when he abandoned his rights, and he hastened to assure his next brother that he was so, by his youngest brother the Grand-duke Michael, through whom he forwarded a letter confirming his resignation of the throne, and acknowledging his next brother as his sovereign. The courier from St. Petersburg crossed the Grand-duke Michael, and brought letters from Nicholas acknowledging Constantine as his Emperor, and urging him to ascend the throne. The wife of Constantine joined her entreaties to those of the next heir, and with rare devotion offered to resign her consort rather than that should give up the empire for her. Constantine, over whose mental agonies the soothing influence of the fair Pole possessed a magical power, continued firm in his resolution to remain in the condition of a subject, and he adhered to the determination he had expressed in the important document of which the Grand-duke Michael was the bearer, and which is here subjoined:

"MY VERY DEAR BROTHER,--I received yesterday, with feelings of profound sorrow, intelligence of the death of our adored sovereign, and my benefactor, the Emperor Alexander. In hastening to assure you of the painful feelings this misfortune has excited in my mind, I do only my duty in announcing to you that I have forwarded to her Imperial Majesty, our august mother, a letter, in which I declare, that in consequence of the rescript I obtained from the late Emperor, bearing date February the 2d, 1822, permitting my renunciation of the throne, it is now my unalterable determination to give up to you all my rights to the Empire of Russia. I entreated, at the same time, our beloved mother, to make this declaration public, that the same may be put into immediate execution. After this declaration, I regard it as a sacred duty to beseech your Imperial Majesty to receive the first from me, the oath of fidelity and submission, and to permit me to say that I do not aspire to any other title or dignity than that of Czarowitz, with which my august father deigned to honor my services. My solo happiness, hereafter, will consist in giving your Imperial Majesty continual proofs of my unbounded devotion and respect for your person, of which thirty years of constant and zealous service to the Emperors, my father and brother, are the pledge, in which sentiments I wish to serve your Imperial Majesty, and your successors, until the end of my life, in my present situation and functions.

"I am, with the most profound respect,
"CONSTANTINE."

Upon the receipt of the dispatches which followed this letter, the Grand-duke, called to reign over a vast Empire, by the repeated abdication of his brother of the rights of primogeniture, no longer hesitated,--he published the former correspondence between the Emperor Alexander and the Grand-duke Constantine, with the document already quoted upon the 25th of December, 1825, and fixed the morrow for his recognition as their sovereign by his people.

The inhabitants of St. Petersburg, relieved from their dread of a second Paul by the abdication of the heir-presumptive, began to reflect with hope upon the promise which the talents and pure moral character of their new sovereign afforded them. The handsomest and bravest man in his dominions, his fine person attracted attention, and his reserved manners excited awe. His grave carriage, his downcast look, only raised to penetrate to the soul the man who ventured to observe him, with a glance which compelled him to know and reverence his master--his haughty manner of interrogation, so unlike the suavity of Alexander, or the bluntness of Constantine, had isolated him from the rest of the imperial family, and centred him in the bosom of his own domestic circle. The Russian people, feeling their need of a guide, at once comprehended that the cold dignity of this prince concealed an indomitable will, and that, if they themselves had not chosen their new sovereign, God had considered their need, and given to the Russians, who were at once too polished and too barbarous, a man who would grasp the sceptre in an iron hand covered with a velvet glove.

The morrow, though considered as a day of joy and festivity, was preceded by some rumors that, like the breath of an approaching tempest, gave warning that some great national crisis was at hand. It was whispered in the evening of the 25th that the abdication of the Czarowitz was a forgery, and that Constantine, then exercising the authority of Viceroy of Poland, was on full march for St. Petersburg with an army to claim the empire as his birthright. In addition to this startling rumor, it was said that several regiments, and among them that of Moscow, had determined to take the oath to no Russian prince but Constantine; and the words, "Let Nicholas live, but let Constantine reign," were heard at intervals in the streets as an intimation of the state of the military pulse.

In fact, the conspiracy which had disturbed the last days of the Emperor Alexander was about to raise its head, and seize upon the Great-Duke Constantine's name as its rallying point. This Prince, who had passed his life with the army, was beloved by the soldiers, and the conspirators, who understood little of the character of their new sovereign, supposed the revolt of the regiments stationed in St. Petersburg would compel him to resign his recently acquired rights. They would then summon Constantine to receive the empire, and with it the constitution they had prepared. If he refused to accept it, they intended to imprison him and the rest of the imperial family. They would then establish a republic, an oligarchy in which the despotism of the many would replace the despotism of one. Such was the design of a party composed of military aristocrats, who, bolder than the murderers of Paul, dared, by open force and secret fraud, to contest the throne of Russia with its new sovereign. The soldiers, devoted to Constantine, they designed to make their blind instruments in a conspiracy of which that Prince was not the real object, but their own aggrandisement.

Faithful to their plans, the Prince Stah---- and the two Bes---- went to the barracks of the 2d, 3d, 5th and 6th companies of the Regiment of Moscow, whom they knew to be devoted to Constantine. The Prince then informed these men that they were deceived respecting the abdication of the Czarowitz, and pointed out Alexander B---- to their attention, whom he affirmed had been sent from Warsaw to warn them against taking the oath to the Grand-duke Nicholas. The address of Alexander B----, confirming this astounding communication, excited a great sensation among the troops, of which the Prince took advantage by ordering them to load and present. At that instant the Aide-de-camp Verighny and Major-General Fredericks, who commanded the grenadiers, having the charge of the flag, came to invite the officers to visit the colonel of the regiment. Prince Stah----, who believed the favorable moment was come, ordered the soldiers to repulse the grenadiers with _coup-de-crosses_, and to take away their flag, at the same time throwing himself upon Major-General Fredericks, whom B----, on the other side, menaced with a pistol, with the stock of which he felled him to the earth; then, turning upon Major Schenshine, commander of the brigade, who ran to the assistance of his colleague, he knocked him down in a moment, and flinging himself among the grenadiers, successively wounded Grenadier Krassoffski, Colonel Khavosschinski, and Subaltern Moussieff; and cutting his way to the flag, seized and elevated it with a loud and triumphant hurrah. To that cry, and to the sight of the blood so boldly shed to win the flag, the greater part of the regiment replied, "Long live Constantine! down with Nicholas!" Prince Stah----, followed by four hundred men whom he had seduced from their duty, then marched, with drums beating, to the Admiralty quarter.