Dudley had appeared much and deeply affected during this narrative, and although in general his feelings found a ready vent in words, he seemed too much overpowered by the sad tale he had heard, to enter for some minutes into any diffuse observations on it. At length he pressed the hand of Percival, whose tears were flowing fast, and said, "This story conveys a strong and powerful moral. We are all aware of the sin and danger of unlawful wishes, but we may learn from Lord Ellerton's example that even lawful wishes may be perilous and pernicious, if indulged to an excessive degree. It is natural and allowable to wish for offspring, but if Providence deem fit to withhold this blessing, it is as culpable as it is unavailing to repine at his dispensations. The whole of the afflictions which befel Lord Ellerton may be traced in the first instance to his unreasonable anxiety for an heir. All subsequent events might have been averted, had he been submissive and resigned to his appointed lot. Lady Ellerton affords an equal exemplification of the sin attending even lawful wishes, if unlicensed means be resorted to for their fulfilment. Her love for her husband was praiseworthy; her dutiful solicitude that his hopes might be gratified was honourable to her; under her peculiar circumstances she might even have been pitied for feeling the temptation to act as she did; but had she called on her heavenly Father to assist her in the moment of trial, she would doubtless have been inspired with sufficient strength to resist it. On the close of her history, however, we may dwell with perfect satisfaction; she was humble and meek in her contrition, and her patient devotion to her husband was unremitting and exemplary. Let us then, while we trust that her errors will be shunned by all her sex, rejoice that she was spared to confess and deplore them, and dwell with hope and thankfulness on these words of promise-" There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth." SONNET. TO VENICE. CITY of palaces and dungeons dread, Thy Bridge of Sighs in me may stir not gloom ;` As when of Silvio Pellico I read The rigorous and most unnatural doom, Who, in the strength of manhood and the bloom, Gorgeously desolate, old ocean-queen! Such pangs, such blood, and tears as thou hast seen, RICHARD HOWITT. MEMOIRS OF A CADET.1 In the month of May we were visited by the most terrific hail-storm I ever witnessed in the plains of India. It came from the north-east, and must have been cradled in the mountainous regions of that airt. At about four P.M. the north-eastern horizon darkened to pitchy blackness. The air was still, and not a sound disturbed the breathless tranquillity, save an occasional low growl of thunder very distant. The dark mass at first advanced so slowly that the motion was not perceptible, and we were only conscious that it did approach, in the manner we are aware that the hour-hand of a clock has moved after an interval of time. Suddenly a flash of lightning clove the thick gloom, which for an instant only disclosed a gulph of liquid and living fire, that made the succeeding darkness more intense; a crash of thunder followed, that shook the habitations of men to their very foundations. It seemed as if this first discharge were the signal for a general storm, which came on rapidly; the lightning gradually became one flashing stream of fire, the thunder an almost unceasing roar above and around us, accompanied by a tremendous fall of hail. There appears to be a general depression of nature, animate and inanimate, during a thunder-storm, and the wildest spirits seem attempered to seriousness. It is felt as the voice of the Ruler of all worlds, that will be heard and listened to with solemn awe and deep reverence by all his creatures; and I have seen the most reckless scoffers at religion abide with blanched cheek and in solicitous anxiety the duration of a storm, and the boldest hold his breath while the voice of the Lord of all things has spoken in thunder. The storm lasted in its fullest violence for about two hours, and after it had ceased, an evening so calm, so cool, so ethereally beautiful, succeeded, that words would utterly fail in an attempt to describe it. Those who have witnessed such a storm will also have experienced the calm relief and joyousness of spirit which succeeds when the storm has passed away, and the agitated air again sighs itself to rest, refreshed and purified. In this storm several of the natives were killed by the lightning, and the flagstaff was shattered to pieces. The time of our sojourn at Berhampore had now nearly expired. A fortunate increase in the army had given lieutenancies to all the ensigns of my standing, and the order had arrived which posted us finally to regiments. Those of us whose destinations were attainable by water conveyance, were, by the kind and considerate permission of government, allowed to remain at Berhampore until the rise of the river should render the shallow places navigable. The water in the various rivers of India begins slowly to rise about the month of April, although the rainy season does not commence in Upper Hindostan till late in June. This is consequent, in the first 1 Continued from p. 224. place, on the heavy falls of rain and hail in the mountains during March and April; and, secondly, on the melting of the snow in the higher regions, when the sun becomes more vertical, and which appears to me to be one of the most striking and beautiful arrangements of Divine Providence which can be imagined. Almost the whole of Upper Hindostan is one vast plain, so level, that the fall of the Ganges, after quitting the mountains, is by survey averaged at no more than four inches in the mile. From the breaking up of the rainy season, in the latter end of September, to its recommencement late in June, rain is scarcely known to fall, excepting in a few very light showers occasionally about Christmas. It may be well imagined, therefore, that the burning tropical sun, pouring its unceasing heat for nearly nine months successively upon the sandy soil of India, would dry up the rivers, and calcine the surface of the land with all its vegetable produce to dust, had not the omniscient Creator caused the very agent of destruction itself to be its own corrector, even from the moment that the work of desolation would otherwise commence; for the self-same heat that parches the plains opens exhaustless fountains of water in the mountains, by dissolving their snows, and the rivers are thus unceasingly supplied. It was not till the commencement of July that we were able to leave Berhampore, as we were detained by the commanding officer of the station to perform the local duties, in consequence of the paucity of officers, until the arrival of a new corps finally relieved us. We commenced our voyage under the auspices of a fine easterly wind, which carried us rapidly up the Bhagritty.* On the third evening we entered the mighty Ganges, which appeared like an ocean rolling its waves along. We came to for the night a few miles beyond the village of Sootee, where we found two budgerows with their attendant boats already moored. On inquiry, we ascertained that they were tenanted by a small party of officers proceeding to Agra, my promised land. A Introductions are speedily effected in India, especially in the army. Milden and I sent a message with our cards to Captain Morland and his brother, a young lieutenant, purporting that we should be happy to wait on them in their boat, if perfectly agreeable to them. polite answer came, that they should be glad to see us. We accordingly went, and introduced ourselves to the captain and his brother. The captain then performed the same ceremony between us and a third gentleman, who was in their company. This was a Lieutenant Lake. Such was my first meeting with these officers, with whom I became subsequently on terms of great intimacy. Captain Morland was the officer whose return from England had been awaited by the native servant Seurage, as formerly mentioned. This man was now with him, and recognising me, came to make his salaam. I shall say no more of the captain at present than that he was a man of very mild and gentlemanly manners, and a good performer on the violin. *The first stream that leaves the main river to find its own way to the Bay of Bengal. This branch, though a comparative rivulet, carries away with it all the holiness from the native Gunga, which, after this separation, is by the natives called Pudda. When he returned to India, his brother Henry accompanied him as a cadet. He was now a lieutenant, for the East India army disavowed, as it were, the rank of ensign at that period, on account of the proper complement of lieutenants being incomplete. The intermediate grade was therefore passed through as a matter of form. These fine times could not, however, last for ever; and I dare say the ensigns of the present day consider their stay in that rank sufficiently long. Henry Morland was posted to the same regiment and battalion in which his brother was, by chance and not from application. He was of a "hasty temperament," kept, however, in considerable check by his brother's presence and example. Our voyage on the Ganges was one of peculiar interest. There is a remarkable feature which attaches to that river throughout its whole course, from its entrance into the plains to the sea; one of its banks is invariably high, while the other is a mere low sandy plain, extending for some miles inland. When the low bank becomes elevated, which it generally does abruptly, the opposite one invariably as suddenly falls, so that during the rainy season the river has always sufficient space for expansion either to the right or left along the lower line of country. This would be a complete safety valve, as it were, for the protection of the towns and villages on the higher bank, were the latter composed of hard and durable material; but this is not the case, the soil is sandy, and consequently, when the current is strong during the flood season, the banks become rapidly undermined, and large masses fall continually into the water with a great noise. This causes, in a very few years, a material change in the course of the river, and particularly affects landed property. In a single season large estates become completely embedded, and new ones created from fresh deposits of alluvion. The Ganges, during the rains, is so muddy, that Major Rennell says-" The quantity of sand held in suspension by its waters is so great, that in the year 1794, one of the mouths of the Bhageruttee," (Ganges,)" at Sadigunge, full five miles in length, was in the course of a week filled up very nearly to a level with the contiguous country, although it must have contained about nine hundred million solid feet. In the neighbourhood of Colgong, where the depth of the river is in many places upwards of seventy feet, new islands have risen to more than twenty feet above the level of the stream. At about two hundred and forty miles from the sea by the river, there is a variation in its height of thirty-one feet at different seasons." This is immense, when we consider the amazing increase in the breadth of water for each foot of elevation in so level a country. I have thought it advisable to give the above sketch of the Ganges, it may render the narrative of my journey along its devious course more intelligible. as About noon on the second day after our departure, we discovered right ahead a large fleet of boats, like our own, proceeding upwards. These contained detachments of European soldiers, with their officers, who were en route to join their various regiments stationed in the interior. As their vessels were for the most part much heavier sailers than ours, we rapidly gained upon them, and had nearly closed in with the rear, when our manjhee (both pilot and helmsman) advised us to run ashore with all speed, and moor awhile, as a heavy squall appeared brewing to windward. To this we immediately acceded, as it is very dangerous to thwart these people in their wishes on such occasions. Many young men have lost their lives, or property, or both, by so doing. Not only ourselves, but the whole fleet, appeared actuated almost simultaneously by the same impulse; and we had all well nigh snugly sheltered ourselves, when a rush of wind swept suddenly across the river, that was perfectly irresistible. One boat only, a heavy sluggish barge, had not yet attained the shore, and it was upset in an instant. It contained soldiers, with some women and children, besides the boatmen. Fortunately, the vessel had succeeded in getting clear away from the strong current of the river, and lay in almost still though deep water at the distance of perhaps twenty yards from the shore. The boatmen (who are almost amphibious) and the soldiers who could swim, made their way to land; but the remainder, with the women, were in a most perilous situation. The poor creatures were seen clinging, as their only hope, to the wreck, which was momentarily yielding to the violence of the storm, and must inevitably go to pieces very shortly. The boatmen offered no aid, and the soldiers, who were able to swim, were struggling in the waves for their own lives. At this moment a young sepoy belonging to the native guard which accompanied the detachment, "a strong swimmer," plunged in from the shore, made his way to the heaving vessel with astonishing speed, and returned ashore with one saved. This he repeated eight or nine times, each successive time rescuing a perishing fellow-creature from a watery grave, till at length the wreck went to pieces, and one soldier and two children sank to rise no more. The humane sepoy was soon after promoted to the rank of naick (corporal). The whole battalion was paraded for the purpose of witnessing his preferment; and, in front of it, the two chevrons, or official stripes, were attached to his sleeve; also the order from government for his promotion, with a high encomium on his excellent conduct, was read aloud to the men. Shortly after this, we came within sight of the Rajmuhal hills, and on the eighth day from our departure arrived at Rajmuhal. This place was once the capital of Bengal. The palace of its former" princes is, however, nothing now but a mass of ruins. |