ful form of superstition, the martyrs of a miserable faith. They are men who have devoted themselves to self-inflicted torture, tormenting themselves now in the hope of compensation hereafter. One hot day, as I was travelling along a dusty, heated road, not far from Gazipur, one of these poor wretches passed my palankeen. He was covered with dirt and dust, his hair was hanging, long and grimy, about his shoulders; his eyes were bloodshot, and his whole air wild and intense. He was dragging behind him, by a string tied round his waist, a very small wooden cart, not larger than a child's toy. He walked for a few steps, then threw himhimself flat on the ground, stretched out his hands, marked with them the extent of his reach, and then rising, walked forward to the line his fingers had made in the dust, and threw himself down again. And so he was going on, from some place of pilgrimage to another, repeating the same action, mile after mile, hour after hour, day after day, sleeping in the dust, eating only the food which charity and pity might put for him into his little cart. What waste of energy! What desperate exertion of resolution! What degradation of reason! What bitterness of life! Imagination stands baffled at the entrance to this strange nature. Were there splendid visions of future bliss, which visited this man's bewildered mind, and lured him along his exhausting way? Or was it some unseen and fearful fury, the awful figure of some past sin, that lashed him on his journey? Was it partly to be the wonder of men and little children that he cared? or was it alone to be the approved of the gods that he desired? Was it the terrible freak of a mad fancy, or the slow, hard, often-rejected conclusion of overburdened reason, that led him to the accomplishment of such a task? Who can tell? As long as he was in sight, I watched him from my palankeen; and even after I could no longer distinguish his figure, a little cloud of dust marked his passage along the road.

Palankeen travelling is not without its own peculiar incidents and varieties. One of the bearers may slip, and in stumbling trip his companion, so that both will fall, letting down the palkee in front or behind with a great pitch and jolt, which is startling if it happens to come in the middle of the night. Sometimes the bearers get quarrelling together; those who are in advance upbraiding those in the rear with being slow, and clumsy, and not bearing their fair share of the

He

load, till the loud voices wake you up, and then putting your head out of the door you bid them "Choop" or "be quiet," if they want to get bucksheesh, and they are still till their stage is over. Sometimes, if for instance you are delayed on the way, and the fresh relay of bearers who ought to be waiting for you get tired of sitting out through the night, they go off, and when you arrive at the station are not to be found. Then you send the village watchman to call up the responsible official head-man of the little place, who soon comes shuffling along in his slippers, arranging the folds of his turban and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, to attend to the wants of the Sahib. gives his orders, and in a few minutes, after a vigorous resistance of words, the men are dragged out of the huts where they had taken shelter, and with their nap unfinished, have to put their rèluctant shoulders under the pole. The little mud town, with its quiet thus disturbed; the watchman, his cotton chudder wrapped round his head and about his body, moving spectrally in and out of the shadows cast by the moonlight; the village police banging with stout staves at the doors of the huts, and shouting for the bearers to get up and come out, the group of amused lookers-on gathered round the fire that has been lighted at the side of the palkee; the head man of the place standing by with obsequious politeness; and at length the jolting start and farewell while the town is left to sink back into the stillness of the autumn night;all these make up a little night-piece like a thousand that hang ready for framing in Nature's great Eastern picture-gallery.

One Sunday morning as I was travelling in Oude, where the country being still under a native government, all arrangements for travelling are far less regular and certain than in the English possessions; I was roused by the palkee's being suddenly set down on the road, and upon opening the door, saw the bearers running away across the fields. I called to them to come back, but they ran only the faster, leaving the palankeen, the torch-bearer, and myself together. We were in the midst of a fine grove of old mango trees, through which the road ran. At a little distance was a cluster of huts, out of which some men loitered up to us to see what was the matter. They were of little help, for spite of promises of rupees they would not lift the palkee, and professed to be afraid of losing caste if they carried it. It was a practical illus

tration of the miserable inefficiency enforced by the system. Some of them, however, were willing to hunt up bearers, if any could be found, in the nearest villages, and, lighting a cigar, I sat down on the palkee with Mohammedan willingness to wait for whoever might turn up. Before long we heard the creaking of solid wooden wheels, and a cart came up the road, escorted by a party of sepoys. The soldiers were eager to be of service, and some of them went off on the tracks of the runaway bearers. The morning was delightfully clear and fresh. The sun, just risen, sparkled on the leaves of the trees which were covered with dew. The mussalchee had lighted a fire of dry sticks over which he crouched, and at his side was a chilly native from the cluster of huts steadily smoking his hubble-bubble, while the sepoys who remained, stood by in red coats, drying the night-damp off their muskets in the blaze. By-and-bye the others returned unsuccessful, but, before setting out on their way again, they carried the palkee into the inclosure round which the neighboring huts were built, that it might be safer there than in the road, and then went off, taking a note from me to the nearest dawk-master, some thirty miles away. An hour or two more went by, while I sat watching the course of life in the little village, and in my turn giving occupation to the curiosity of its inhabitants. One of the most hospitable brought out a charpoy, a sort of bed made of ropes stretched upon a frame and supported by four short legs, which he placed under a large tree that stood in the inclosure, and invited me to share it with him, while he asked questions, few of which I could answer, a misfortune which he apparently attributed to deafness rather than to my ignorance. It was a pretty place, with a fine air of indolence about all its people; even the cattle seemed to feel idle; and the crows were more impudent than usual, as if they knew no one ever took the trouble to punish them; wild pigeons were cooing lazily in the trees; and there seemed to be no work for any one to do, except for two men who cooked their breakfast in one corner of the yard, and for some women who went out to get water with their jars upon their heads. In the course of the forenoon one of the villagers who had gone off to hunt for men returned, bringing with him one bearer and five coolies; but the coolies were of no use, as they only carry burdens on their heads, and do not know how and could not be persuaded to learn to carry a palankeen

on their shoulders. The afternoon had begun, when at length another of the messengers came with five bearers, who, with the one arrived before, made up a party large enough to get on with, and we bade good-bye to the huts of Kotera.

Such are some of the unexpected incidents of palankeen journeys. Not much in themselves; but, on that very account all the more characteristic of the mode of travelling. To be delayed for a day at Kotera was a pleasant experience, and the palankeen is rarely accountable for any worse accident.

On some of the main roads a system of "horse dawk," as it is called, has been established, and it is a proof of the extent of travel in India, that a year or two since a company was formed for the purpose of competing with the government in the supply of horses and carriages, such as they are, for the convenience of the public. If you have a long and dull piece of road to get over, it is well enough to save time in this way. You have your palkee fastened upon a four-wheeled truck without springs, and with one horse get along much faster than with eight men. It is a sort of compromise between the East and the West. The horses are for the most part vicious and half-broken, and make a great fuss about starting. They back and plunge, while the turbaned driver shrieks and snaps his whip, and half a dozen naked, shouting natives push at the wheels and pull at the horse's mouth, and try to keep him from upsetting the truck, or from turning it down the bank at the side of the road. When at length a start is made, if it be not a false one, the horse is kept at a good pace, and every thing on the road,-men, women, children, carts, elephants, processsions, all have to give way to the truck. The driver has a small brass horn, like a postillion's, hung round his neck, and when he sees any thing in front blows it with a sharp, shrill sound, that means, A Sahib is coming. Stand out of his way." One day as I was coming along the road that leads to Delhi from the north, travelling after this fashion, the driver blew his horn to warn a native whose heavily laden cart was dragging along through the sand, that he must get out from the middle of the track. The man tried to make his bullocks pull to one side, but they preferred to keep the best of the road, and our truck was brought to a stand. The driver sprang from his box, covered the offender with a heap of abuse-and Hindu abuse is more rapid, voluble, and vituperative even than

Italian-and laid on the back of the astonished carter the blows that should have fallen on his beasts. The beating was over before I could interfere. We drove on, and the indignant native stood looking after us, shouting out safe curses, with his affection for the Burra Bibi, or Great Lady as the East India Company is called, somewhat diminished by his experience of the manner in which this petty official of hers had exercised the authority she had entrusted to him. I do not remember ever seeing blows given by one Hindu to another, though nothing was commoner than to see them quarrelling and very angry, except in cases like this where they were exercising transmitted authority, or where they fancied that they were doing a service to a Sahib. Hindu officials of a petty grade are ready enough to air their honors, and to esteem it a privilege to imitate the faults of their superiors. The worst oppression in India is that of bad native subordinate officers, whose petty tyrannies are all the more cruel from being committed on their own race, and all the worse in their consequences, from being supposed by the sufferers to derive their bitterness from the rule of

The

the foreign rulers of the land. miseries springing from a proconsular government exist even when the proconsul is virtuous.

After one of these rapid horse journeys, however agreeable it might be as a variety, I always used to come back with pleasure to the old, quiet, "bearer" dawk. If there were nothing to see during the day time, and one were tired of "holding the sessions of sweet silent thought," one could always read. In the cool of the morning or the evening it was charming to take a walk along the road, and when travelling with a companion, to join company with him during these best parts of the day. And at night, if sleep would not come, though wooed by the drowsy sound of the bearers' low and regularly cadenced sing-song, one could run forward and lose themselves in the solitude of the road, and then turning, watch the pretty effect of the torch-lighted palkee coming up from the distance.

After travelling more than a thousand miles in my palankeen, I felt, in parting from it, as if giving up one of the most characteristic and pleasant experiences of life in India.

two o'clock. The head of the column under General Shields commenced the movement, when the tail of the great bear (not the "ursa major" of our command) was swung round perpendicular to the horizon, and the constellation of Bruin seemed to be taking a leap towards the zenith, and when every star in the firmament was glittering with the lustrous brilliancy that precedes the dawn. The pale crescent of the moon was just visible; its luminous convexity modestly inclined downwards, as if conscious that its light was borrowed, and it was but honest to confess the corn.

For a mile or two our route was traced through a thick growth of mezquit; the road then emerged upon an open prairie, and for a distance of twenty miles, the

dead level of the plain was almost unbroken. Nothing but the long and coarse grass, scorched to a crisp, met the eye for many an hour. Here and there a tree rose mysteriously from the earth, but the phenomenon was of rare occurrence.

Ten

or twelve miles from Presidio encampment, solitary and alone in the vast desert, a fragmentary relic of another mission still stood as a monument of the ubiquitous zeal and industry, but crumbling and decaying power of the "Order of Jesus." The irrigating canals had not yet wholly disappeared, and traversed the plain in all directions; but their fructifying effects were no longer visible in the waving fields of grain, and the vast storehouses in which were garnered up the abundant products of the earth. The hum of human life is there no longer heard; the shepherd no longer "pipes in

the liberal air;" flocks and herds no longer bound over the plain, nor the cattle upon a thousand hills; and this region so lately the scene of active life, and which once knew so many of the busy and the gay, will perhaps know them no more for

ever.

As we slowly pursued our weary way, many miles ahead in the vast expanse of barrenness, there appeared a grove of lofty trees, whose rich dark foliage beautifully contrasted with the lifeless color of the prairie grass. The road winds now to the right, and now to the left, and you trace its sinuosities with an anxious eye, lest it may perchance wander away from the oasis in the distance.

As you advance, an extensive cornfield suddenly presents itself, and an irrigating dyke with running water is such a temptation to your weary and famished beast, that perhaps before you are aware of it, his nostrils are plunged into the refreshing stream. A mile or two farther, and you perceive a collection of white objects in the midst of the grove upon which your eyes have been so long fastened, which in a few minutes assumes the forms of houses, and the village of San Juan de Nava, or as it is commonly called Nava, is before you.

This little town consists entirely of one story houses, built of adobe, with thatched roofs, and presents a neat and picturesque appearance. It contains probably about six hundred inhabitants; many of the buildings are unoccupied; many are untenable, and more fast becoming so. The streets are almost frightfully quiet, no bustle-no activity-no people visible abroad, though many eyes were peering at us from the window gratings. In the whole town there were but four persons to be seen in the streets; two of these were fabricating a Mexican cart-the simplest machine, perhaps, ever invented except a Mexican plough-and two were engaged in twisting what they call a cabrista, or hair rope. Within doors, the women who were not idle were generally employed in weaving their serapis, or blankets, or spinning the raw material with a hand spindle. The process is of course slow and tedious; and hence the enormously high prices of the fabrics, compared with those to which we are accustomed. What would one of the Lowell girls think of such an exhibition of home manufactures? And yet the people of the United States, with all their enterprise and skill, would probably now be but little in advance of the Mexicans in all the useful and industrial arts, if the

felo de se doctrines of free trade had directed the policy of the government for the last thirty years. But for Mr. Clay, and the system which he originated and developed, our independence would practically produce little more than an annual frolic, and like the colonies we should still be in bondage to Great Britain, or, like our Republican neighbor, the vassal of ignorance and imbecility.

The plaza of Nava is quite spacious; the only building fronting it worthy of mention is the church, which is a rude structure not yet completed, but already bearing marks of decay. We took the liberty of entering one of the houses, and were received with civility. The furniture was very simple; and besides a few stools and an apology for a table, we saw a fulllength figure of the Saviour upon the cross, and a few Roman picture-books, manuscripts, &c. We here found a young señorita-perhaps scarcely fifteen-under the process of her toilet, and a more interesting or bewitchingly fascinating being, seldom greets the eye of the wanderer in any country. Above the waist she wore nothing but her chemise. Her arms were bare, admirably rounded, and not unworthy of the attractive developments which they encircled. Her throat was beautifully chiselled, and her neck rose with grace and stateliness, while dazzling loveliness was enthroned upon her brow. Her eyes were dark and piercing. They looked indeed as if they might have been stolen from the sun, or forged in Erebus with the fire of Prometheus. As we entered with careless indifference, she seemed to resent our intrusion with a glance of haughty scorn, and before the braiding of her long, lustrous, sable locks, was completed, she darted from the room, with offended pride and unconcealed passion flashing from her eyes. We saw her no more, but it was pleasant to observe how naturally the old lady, as soon as the young one had departed, took up the head of a child, and began levying the usual poll tax with gratifying success.

With possibly a few exceptions, the people are miserably poor, and extremely ignorant. Their education consists chiefly in a knowledge of the ritual, and of the simplest doctrines of the Roman Church. One of the inhabitants informed us that the people of San Fernando and the Presidio, are fond of amusements, dissipation, fandangoes, and so on, but that those of Nava are quiet and domestic, satisfied if permitted to mind their own business in peace. The latter branch of the proposition may be true, as the crops in the

vicinity are fine, indicating good soil and faithful labor. Hundreds of acres, however, of the prairie around, through which irrigating ditches may be traced, are now lying uncultivated.

There was something peculiarly striking, in the extreme quiet which prevailed during this day's march-the first in the enemy's country. There appeared to be hardly a single man along the whole line, who had life or vivacity enough to get up even a whistle. Two or three were observed to attempt some very grave airs, but their hearts or their lungs failed them, and they soon relapsed into the sober sullenness of sorrow. They trod along through the heat and dust, more like martyrs to some inexorable fate, or captives led to execution, than like volunteer champions in a war of invasion for "indemnity for the past and security for the future." The wrongs they seemed to realize were personal rather than national, and for these there appeared to be no desire for redress. Not a joke, not a laugh, not a song, hardly a curse, echoed along the column. procession moved with the decorum of a funeral, and could hardly have been taken for the march of a triumphant army, bent on victory and conquest. Each man toiled and sweated on, too conscious of its folly from the long visages around, to look for sympathy to his comrades, and too much disgusted with the cud of bitter fancies to seek for consolation in himself. It occurred to me that if a few of the reflections of this day were written out, they would be quite as amusing and in-` structive, in illustrating the "uncomfortableness of patriotism," as Charles Lamb's meditations on the "inconveniences of being hanged." The thermometer was at 90° Fahrenheit, during most of the day.

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About midnight one of the celebrated "Northers" of these regions, born of a zephyr and an iceberg, swept over our encampment with the most disastrous consequences to tents and sleepers. Tentcords snapped; tent-poles trembled and tottered, and tents tumbled bodily to the earth. Many fell directly over their inmates, who grateful for the additional supply of covering, philosophically continued their slumbers, while others less fortunate were exposed to the piercing and pitiless winds, in a state of almost primitive nudity, shivering, shouting, raging, swearing, grumbling, and doing every thing, except repairing their mishaps. Even those whose tents resisted the blast, were almost frozen by the sudden change of temperature, and when re

veille was beaten, the camp was in a state of general disgust and consternation. The Arkansas people were in the greatest distress. Some were without shoes, some without coats or those of cotton merely, and thus hatless, bootless, coatless-almost shirtless, many were exposed to the frigidity of 42° Fahrenheit.

As we passed out of camp, we observed a group of men employed in digging a grave for one of their comrades. The corpse wrapped in a blanket, was in their midst, and around were a few idle Mexicans, ready doubtless to plunder the body of its scanty covering as soon as the army disappeared.

The entire population of Nava apparently came forth to witness our departure through town, though it was hardly sunrise. Men, women, maidens and children, were ranged on each side of the streets, and were evidently quite willing to practise that precept of hospitality which enjoins speeding the parting guest. By a blunder of some of our leaders, the column became divided in leaving the town, so that the march of to-day was effected by two routes. In an enemy's country such an operation might lead to fatal results, but luckily this instance was attended with no disaster. The country for nearly the whole distance between Nava and San Fernando, seems to have been heretofore under cultivation, though fields of growing grain are now found only in the vicinity of the towns. Irrigating canals were intersecting the road at various points, all leading from the Rio Escandido, a small stream winding around the town of San Fernando. The day's march was excessively disagreeable, from the extreme cold, the violent wind, and the immense volumes of dust. troops passed through the town and encamped about three miles beyond.

The

The commanding general, with his train of attachés, was conducted on his arrival to a building recently occupied as quarters by Capt. Juan Galan of the Mexican army, who had very magnanimously abdicated a few days since. The room was furnished with the taste and in the style of a barber's shop, the walls being profusely adorned with coarsely lithographed prints of Emma," "Rosalie," Alice," &c. &c. A hanger on of the camp, in the capacity of beef contractor, trader, and any thing else by which cash may be acquired, had caused coffee and other refreshments to be prepared here for General W. and the Quartermaster, the good-will of those functionaries being of importance.

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