other friends, when suddenly the Genius of Silence approached, and from the midst of the most gentle and most delightful activity we see him called to yet higher labors, that those words might be fulfilled which he had for some years addressed to his friends :

'Onward, ever onward.'”

In the number of the Revue Germanique, which contains the Eulogy of Müller, there is an article entitled "Weimar," from which we subjoin some extracts.

"Goethe is no more.

This is the first thought which strikes you as you place your foot on the soil of Germany. But his memory lives in all hearts, his image is every where to be found. Go to the library, and you see two or three portraits of Goethe; the fine bust which a French artist, M. David, sculptured from nature; the bust of Goethe as a young man, the bust of Goethe as an old man; all that was produced by him, all that belonged to him, has been kept with religious care. A letter written by his father is preserved in a case carefully closed, and also a letter of Wieland in which he speaks of Goethe's arrival at Weimar. Go from the library, and you find numberless copies of his image, cast in bronze, engraved on steel, in rings, and upon buttons. You see views of Goethe's house and Goethe's garden. The cicerone to whom you address yourself does not first ask you; Will you go to see the Castle? but, Will you go to see the houses of Schiller and Goethe ?

"It would therefore be difficult for me to give an account of the impression which I received during my stay at Weimar. It was, at once, a bitter regret at not finding there the man whom I should have so much rejoiced to see, and a secret joy at being so surrounded by recollections of him. It was a delusion, accompanied by a sentiment of pleasure to find myself where he had been, to speak to persons who had known him, to learn from the mouth of his friends his mode of life, his studies, his tastes, his connexions, and all those thousand little details about which we take no concern in the existence of an ordinary being, but which interest us so much when connected with the man whom we love.

"I wished at first to visit his dwelling alone, and to return there afterwards with some one who would inform me of all particulars. I seated myself in that modest garden where he so often walked ; there I beheld those alleys he had so many times passed through while composing some of his beautiful verses; I sought still the traces of his steps along those gravel walks between the thick branches of the hedge rows.

"I tore myself from this vague contemplation to enter Goethe's house. I beheld his room, his room so plain, I might almost say so poor; rather such as we might expect to see the room of a poor student, than that of a minister of state. A clumsy table, two chairs, and a small library, composed almost all the furniture. Here he was always found laboring without intermission from six o'clock in the morning until two in the afternoon. Here are the books he loved; some French works presented to him by the authors, which he carefully preserved; and five or six busts of Napoleon, for whom he always professed the highest admiration. On one side is his sleeping-room, as poorly furnished as the former; but this simplicity pleased him, and he did not wish to change it. There is the bed (narrow and without curtains), on which he long reposed; there, the arm-chair in which he breathed his last sigh, with so much calmness, that those who were present did not know the precise moment of his death.

"Ascend into another apartment. There are all the objects of art and of natural history which he had been for so many years bringing together. There are those collections of mineralogy with which he occupied himself with so much interest, and those precious remains of antiquity which were sent to him from all parts, and those magnificent drawings. You are there shown also the plan of that house discovered at Pompeii which bears the name of the house of Goethe'; and the old timepiece which had belonged to his parents, which the king of Bavaria purchased in order to restore it to him, and which has thus sounded the hour of his birth and that of his death. All that belonged to Goethe, all these reliques, are preserved in the state in which he left them."

We may mention in this place, that an edition of Goethe's Works, in forty volumes, was completed in 1830. His posthumous works, and those not included in that collection, are now announced for publication in fifteen additional volumes.

ALTHOUGH to many of the readers of the Asiatic Journal the foreign names of places and things, adopted by European residents in India, must be familiar, yet, for the benefit of country gentlemen,

&c. it will be necessary to explain and translate such words as the Mofussil, which cannot fail to puzzle and perplex uninitiated ears. The Mofussil is a term applied to the provinces; all the places, inhabited by Europeans, beyond the presidency, are called Mofussil stations, and the residents are entitled Mofussillites; but as there is nothing invidious or disrespectful in this term, those who may have barbarized a little during their seclusion in wilds and fastnesses are styled, par distinction, "jungle wallahs." I never could make out the precise meaning of the word wallah; it is usually translated fellow"; but to the natives of India, who apply it indiscriminately to all sorts of persons, trades, and professions, it does not convey the idea which we attach to this expression in England.

Cawnpore is one of the principal stations of the Mofussil, and is situated upon the right bank of the Ganges, about 600 miles from Calcutta. It is seldom that this cantonment has received common justice from its describers, the duty being rather annoying; military men, who, except upon service, usually object to the toils and tasks of their profession, dislike it because they are, what they are pleased to style, harassed by inspections, field-days, drills, committees, &c. &c. Those who do not choose to avow the real cause of their disgust, complain that it is dusty and hot; but these are disadvantages which it must share with all the stations within some hundred miles, while they are more than counterbalanced by the numerous enjoyments afforded by its superior size and the number of its inhabitants. With the exception of the Ganges, which rolls its broad waves beside the British lines, nature has done little for Cawnpore; but the sandy plain, broken occasionally into ravines, which forms its site, has been so much embellished by the hand of man, that an unprejudiced person, not subjected to the miseries of field-days, will not hesitate to say that it possesses much picturesque beauty. The garrison consists of a European regiment of dragoons, and one of native cavalry; several battalions of infantry, horse, and foot; one King's and three Company's regiments of infantry; a major-general in command; and the numerous staff attached to the head-quarters of a large district. There are few civilians, two judges and two collectors, with their assistants, comprising the whole of the Company's civil servants (the aristocracy of India), who are stationed at Cawnpore. These personages, having far better allowances, and being settled in one place for a longer period, have handsomer houses, more numerous trains of servants, and live in better style than the military residents; but the difference at Cawnpore is not so remarkable as at many other stations, on account of the high rank, and consequently the large incomes, of many of the officers belonging to the garrison. Two or three indigo-planters in the neighbourhood complete the grande monde of Cawnpore; but there are other British residents, who form a second circle, the owners of shops and farms, coachmakers, bakers, and tailors, to whom it must be a much more de

sirable place of abode than a smaller station, since it affords them the advantage of society. A solitary individual, belonging to a class which is not considered visitable in India, must feel peculiarly isolated though he might be inclined to stoop to a lower grade, excepting where there is a European regiment, he cannot find associates from his own country; and even an intimate acquaintance with the language could scarcely enable an Englishman to feel any gratification in a companionship with Hindoos or Moosulmans, though of a rank superior to his own.

One objection made to Cawnpore is its want of concentration; the lines of the various regiments straggle to the distance of five miles along the river's bank, and it is deemed a hardship to travel so far to visit a friend: but the scene is thereby agreeably diversified, and the compounds (a corruption of the Portuguese word campania), which surround the bungalows, are larger than could be the case if its limits were more circumscribed. Many of these compounds are beautifully planted, and have a very park-like appearance, particularly during the rainy season, when the cultivated parts of the plain have put on their green mantle. The prickly pear is greatly in request for fences, and the tall pagoda-like aloe, with a base resembling the crown of a giganic pine-apple, frequently intervening, forms a magnificent embellishment to the plantation. The houses at Cawnpore are, with very few exceptions, cutcha, that is, built of unbaked mud, and either choppered (thatched) or tiled; but they are, generally speaking, extremely large and commodious. The plans of bungalows are various, but the most common consists of three centre rooms; those opening on the front and back verandah being smaller than the one occupying the interior, which is called the hall; these rooms communicate with three others, much narrower on each side, and at the four corners are bathing-rooms, taken off the verandah, which stretches all round. The centre, and largest room, has only the borrowed lights permitted by eight, ten, or twelve doors leading out of the surrounding apartments: these doors are always open, but some degree of privacy is obtained by a curtain attached to each, of a sort of gauzework, formed of bamboo split very fine, and colored green; these also serve to keep out the flies, while they admit air and all the light considered necessary by an Anglo-Indian, who seldom allows a single ray to penetrate into his sanctum sanctorum. Many of the Cawnpore houses are splendidly furnished, the chairs, tables, and sofas being of valuable wood, richly carved, with cushions, and coverings of damask: but the absence of curtains, pictures, and looking-glasses, which harbour too many musquitos and other insects to be introduced with impunity, and the bareness of the walls, whose sole ornaments consist of lamps in glass shades, detract from the general effect. The floors, which are of chunam (finely tempered lime), are covered, in the first instance, with a matting, and in the second, with a setringee, a peculiar manufacture of the country, of an exceedingly thick texture, and usually woven in

shaded blue stripes; or with calico printed in Brussels patterns, and so closely resembling a carpet as to deceive all save practised eyes. This forms the general decoration of the houses in the upper provinces; and as it may appear to Europeans to be a very indifferent substitute for our worsted manufactures, it may be necessary to say a few words in explanation. With a little care, this apparently fragile material will last three years; for as the servants never enter the house with their feet covered, and the boots and shoes of the male residents or visitors, not being much used for walking, are lighter and less destructive than those intended for pedestrians, comparatively little damage is done to the floor-cloth. The bungalow will require a new chopper, and a general repair, once in three years, and when this takes place, new cloths are put down. At Mirzapore, a native city between Benares and Allahabad, there is a manufactory of carpets, which are scarcely if at all inferior to those of Turkey: but this fabric is too thick and warm for Indian wear, excepting during the cold season. The exterior of a bungalow is usually very unpicturesque, bearing a strong resemblance to an overgrown barn; the roof slopes down from an immense licight to the verandah, and whatever be the covering, whether tiles or thatch, it is equally ugly in many places the cantonments present to the eye a succession of huge conical roofs, resting upon low pillars; but in Cawnpore the addition of stone fronts to some of the houses, and of bowed ends to others, give somewhat of architectural ornament to the station. The gardens rank amongst the finest in India. In consequence of there being so many settled residents, they are much cultivated and improved; all the European vegetables, with the exception of broad beans, come to great perfection during the cold season, and the grapes and peaches, which are not common to other stations, are particularly fine. The pine-apple does not grow in the upper provinces, but the mangos, plantains, melons, oranges, shaddocks, custardapples, limes, and guavos, are of the finest quality. These gardens, intermixed with forest trees, give Cawnpore a very luxuriant appearance; it is an oasis reclaimed from the desert, for all around wastes of sand extend to a considerable distance. In the centre of the cantonments, and on the highest ground, are two stone buildings of a very imposing exterior, the assembly-rooms and the theatre; the latter, a long oval, surrounded by a colonnade of pillars of the Roman Doric order, though ornamental to the station, is not very well adapted to the purpose for which it was intended: a horse-shoe form would have been better suited for the accommodation of an audience, for the spectators, who are seated in the back rows of the pit (there are no boxes) have little chance of hearing what is going on upon the stage. Beyond the theatre, the road leads to the race-course, which is approached by a long avenue well planted on either side, and well watered during the dry season. This avenue forms the evening drive, and at sunset it is thronged with carriages of every description, and equestrians mounted upon