be forgetful of the strong condemnation put upon this policy by one whom he must venerate-Paul? Can he be ignorant that the very same excuse would serve for the Duke of Alva, for Graham of Claverhouse, or for Judge Jeffries? Our author admits that his hero acted too much on the Old Testament. We deny, however, that such actions could flow from anything but the man's own nature. He was a bold, rough, decisive man, and his plans partook of this character. Further speculation on the subject is apt to become mere refining.

For another thing, we demur very much to the pretensions now made for Cromwell as a statesman. He did undoubtedly place himself in a position of great authority, and, as far as his authority went, he acted generally well. We must ever, for example, admire his energetic interferences in behalf of the oppressed Protestants of France and the Canton Vaud. No English heart but must beat high and proudly at the respect he secured for our country amongst foreign states. But Cromwell was merely a successful despot. We have it in his own words, that he believed it to be lawful for the lesser party, when in the right, to force the majority. This is quite enough. He could do nothing to generate a system that would work apart from his own vast personal energies. The parliaments he called about him were all failures. We do not hear of a single minister or coadjutor possessing the slightest share of ability evoked by him. He was like some over-active men in private life, who prevent their servants and children from coming into any efficiency, by doing everything too well themselves. Hence, at his death, there was no arrangement for conducting the state without him. His family and whole system, as far as he had one, vanished away in a few months into an insignificance most surprising, considering what the Protector had himself so recently been. And it cannot but appear to us as saying wonderfully little for his government, that in little more than a year after its cessation, not a voice was heard praising it; but, on the contrary, the nation, like one man, was shouting with joy at the re-establishment of that which Cromwell had spent himself to suppress. The people of England were then confessedly a great and a reflecting people. If so, they could not have failed to appreciate Cromwell and his government, if either had been, on the whole, entitled to their esteem. How is Dr Merle D'Aubigné to reconcile the facts, that the people had both sense and good feeling, and yet saw Cromwell's body, within two years of his death, exposed on a gibbet without a word or act of remonstrance? The plain reading of the events, to our apprehension, is, that Cromwell, however in his own heart a well-intending man, was practically a grievance to his country. We can easily conceive him to have been so, if not from his own positive acts, at least from his preventing the establishment of such a constitutional system as would work peaceably, and give assurance of future peace. Even, perhaps, in that very misrepresentation to which Mr Carlyle and Dr D'Aubigné show he has been exposed for two hundred years, there is something condemnatory for how should he have been from the beginning so totally misunderstood, unless under a sense of his having been somehow a source of suffering to his country? The very recklessness and debauchery of the ensuing age, as in some measure a reaction from the Commonwealth rigours, is a kind of impeachment of Cromwell, as much as it is of Charles Stuart. From a truly wise and just rule no such consequences could have proceeded.

The secret of the whole matter we suspect to be this that Cromwell both started from a false point, and laboured under false views, in his particular

Liable

THE DANCING-GIRL OF INDIA.

THE rajah of Hussunpoor gave a splendid nauch or dance, and supper, to the officers of a detachment of East India Company's troops, then on their way to the seat of war in the Ghoorka mountains. The festivity was conducted on a scale of profuse magnificence, such as the princes of Hindoostan are fond of displaying on state occasions, and which forms a remarkable contrast to their ordinary simple and even frugal style of living. The spot selected for the occasion was outside the town, at no great distance from the British camp. The enormous tent of the rajah was composed entirely of blue and white velvet, in alternate stripes, with a deep border of cloth of gold. The cords were made of twisted strands of silk and gold, with tassels of the same precious metal. The gilded tent-poles had spear-heads of solid gold. The canvas floor-cloth on which the tent was pitched was covered with a carpet of crimson velvet, with a deep fringe of gold bullion. On this, in the centre, was spread a snow-white cloth for the dancers. Attendants, in surcoats and trousers of blue velvet, with crimson shawls about the waist, and turbans of brocade, stood round the sides of the tent, some with silver maces, others bearing large fans, which they waved over the heads of the guests, and others with torches composed of strips of muslin steeped in oil and wrapped around iron spindles. These cast a wild and flaring light over this scene of truly Oriental splendour, in which the Cashmere shawls, jewelled turbans, and loose graceful garments of the native nobles were contrasted with the scarlet uniforms and glittering side-arms of the European officers. The latter were mostly old hands,' who had been long enough in India to be perfectly versed in the customs of the people. The guests reclined at their ease on cushions and couches, eating sweetmeats, or drinking the wines which were served in profusion by the attendants.

At length, at a signal given by the rajah, the nauchnees or dancers made their appearance. There were two of them, young Hindoostanee girls, with fine re

gular features, and dusty bronze-like skins. Their large dark eyes appeared yet larger and more languishing from the circle of black pigment, called soorma (a preparation of antimony), which was drawn around the inner edges of the eyelids. The tips of their fingers and the soles of their bare feet were stained of a rosy hue with the juice of the henna plant. They wore full trousers, and skirts of gay-coloured muslins embroidered with gold, with a muslin chuddur or scarf over the neck, and a figured shawl about the waist-the dress of these females being far more modest than that of European opera-dancers. Silver anklets, hung with little bells, jingled to the slow movements of their feet. The large hanging sleeves of their vests showed the bracelets of gold and gems on their slender rounded arms. In their ears they had rings, of which the golden setting was hardly visible for the brilliancy of the jewels which flashed and glittered in the torchlight. These were presents from their admirers; for the dancers of the semi-barbarous East are almost as much petted, and as widely celebrated, as those of the civilised West-which is saying a great deal.

The musicians now struck up their monotonous scraping and thumping, and the nauchnees commenced their song and dance. The Oriental style of dancing, it is well known, differs greatly from that to which we are accustomed. It consists principally in movements of the body and arms: the feet, though in constant motion, remaining nearly in the same place. Our dances are addressed wholly to the eye, and are intended chiefly to gratify that taste for regular and graceful motion which seems as natural as the love of music. The eastern dance is decidedly of a more intellectual character. It is accompanied by a song, or rather the singing is considered the principal part of the entertainment, to which the dance is subsidiary. Its motions are intended to illustrate the sentiments conveyed in the words. To this end every movement, attitude, and look is made to contribute with wonderful skill. Most of the songs express the passion of love, with all its vicissitudes of gaiety, sadness, hope, suspicion, transport, jealousy, fary, despair. In these cases the acting is sometimes exquisite, and such as would excite admiration in any theatre. Sometimes a martial air is introduced, or a pastoral carol, or a song descriptive of the chase, or other incidents of daily life in the East. Many of these compositions are as famous as the favourite operas and ballets of our boards, and particular dances are called for by the guests of the nauch at their pleasure. The exertions of the dancers are so great, that their excitement soon exhausts them, and several sets are usually ready, who succeed one another, and vary the performances.

The rajah of Hussunpoor had been at some expense and trouble to procure the most celebrated dancers of the country; and many of them were greatly applauded, especially by the foreigners, who, strange as it may appear, almost invariably learn, after a while, to prefer this kind of exhibition to the graces of the ballet by which Taglioni and Elssler have acquired their fame. One of the nauchnees in particular attracted their attention, from her youth and modest appearance. She came forward at first with great diffidence, almost trembling, and sang a pastoral song somewhat similar to the Ranz des Vaches,' with a voice so plaintively sweet, and a manner so graceful and winning, that the call for its repetition was universal. She excited as much curiosity as an actress making her first appearance on the stage. Her complexion was fairer than that of the other nauchnees, and it appeared still more so from the contrast with the chuddur or mantilla which she wore, falling from her head over her shoulders, and which was of black stuff, after the fashion of those worn by the mountaineers of the north. The rajah, a fat old Mussulman, who prided himself on being a connoisseur in the art, was much taken with the new performer. He called to him the sirdar or director of the entertainment, and inquired her name and origin.

6

'Light of the world,' answered the sirdar, the girl's name is Lonee; and she comes from the province of Kemaoon, in the neighbourhood of Almora.' 'She is not a Ghoorka ?' said the rajah.

"The maharajah is right. She is a Vaisya, and was taken captive by the Ghoorkas, who sold her to some merchants, of whom your slave purchased her at the fair of Hurdwar. She has been but two months in training, and promises to make an excellent nauchnee, but for her excessive desire to return to her native land.' 'I think,' observed the rajah with an air of great wisdom, 'that all these mountaineers are mad on that head.'

'True, Khodawund, servant of God,' replied the sirdar. They fall sick with longing for their barren hills and rocks, where the goats starve to death in winter, as I tell Lonee. I have been compelled, in order to keep up the girl's spirits, to promise her that, when she shall have earned a certain sum to repay me for what I have expended on her, she shall be free to return to Kemaoon. Perhaps the maharajah would like to hear the girl relate her own history in a song which Zalim Singh, the bard, has composed for her?'

'By all means,' said the rajah, and the rest of the company eagerly joined in the call. Lonee, who had been standing with folded hands and downcast eyes during this conversation, now came forward, and sang with expressive action some verses, of which the following is a free translation :—

LONEE'S SONG.

Where shines the god-mountain*
Sublime o'er the earth;
Where leaps the god-river

From ice into birth;
Where great Nundidevit

Soars white to the moonThere, there is my country,

Beloved Kemaoon!

The bright stars of midnight
Their dews o'er us wept;
In the valley of Deenah
All peaceful we slept;
And fearless the nightingale
Warbled his song-

He heard but the streamlet
Soft rippling along.
What voices of terror

Ring wild through the night? Up!-up! 'tis the Ghoorka!

Arm, arm for the fight! Bring buckler and broadsword! Bring matchlock and bow! From the hill-sides all round us Down thunders the foe! Too late was the warning, The struggle was vain; Beside their own threshold My brethren were slain; Afar from her kindred

Poor Lonee was torn ;
A slave to the stranger,
She wanders forlorn.
Oh, noble Bahadurs,

No more let me roam-
Redeem a poor maiden
Who sighs for her home.
Think, gentle Feringhees, §
What fond hearts and true,
Beyond the Black Water,
Are pining for you!

This appeal, chanted in earnest, moving tones, was answered not only by general applause, but by the more satisfactory response of a shower of jewels and gold pieces the former coming from the native nobles, and the latter from the British officers. Lonee, with a smile on her lip and a tear in her eye,' hastened to gather up these contributions to her ransom, and was about to withdraw, when the rajah, who had been charmed by the novel and peculiar style of beauty of the young nauchnee, as well as by her character, so different from that of the class to which she belonged, bade her remain, and announced his intention of rewarding her deserts by promoting her into his zenanah. It was plainly his expectation that the damsel would receive this intelligence with transport, as indeed it was an unexampled honour for one of her profession. Poor Lonee, however, seemed to be otherwise affected. She stood for a moment as if thunderstruck; and then sinking at the rajah's feet, with joined hands, in the attitude of supplication, she exclaimed, Mighty rajah, asylum of the earth, your slave is unworthy to enter your zenanah !'

Tush!' returned the old Mussulman; if I say you are worthy, that is enough. Only conduct yourself well, and you shall be favoured.'

Light of the universe,' replied the nauchnee, trembling and wringing her hands, what shall your slave say? She has bargained with the sirdar to pay him a thousand rupees, and then she will be free to return to her home and her kindred.'

'Well, well,' answered the rajah impatiently, 'I will pay the money. Have I not said it? You shall remain with me, to entertain me and my zenanah. You shall dress in brocade and shawls of Cashmere, and shall feast on pilaus and sugar-plums. What more would you have? Bus! (enough!) you can go.'

But in spite of this permission, intended for a command, poor Lonee remained kneeling, with every sign of confusion and dismay. Oh maharajah,' she said, 'pardon your wretched slave, but her heart is in her native land, among the hills of dear Kemaoon.'

'Wallah!' exclaimed the fat old chieftain, puffing and fuming with anger at this unexpected opposition. 'What fool's nonsense is this? Native hills! Dear Kemaoon! Stuff! What is it to me where her heart is? Take her away!'

The attendants, in great haste, were about to obey this imperious order, when they were interrupted by the interposition of a third party. The English officers had listened to this conversation with attention, exchanging remarks now and then among themselves, and evidently sympathising with the dancing-girl. At this moment one of the youngest of them, whose uniform showed him to be a lieutenant, spoke hastily.

This proceeding,' he said, appears to me unjust. If the girl has made a contract with her master, it is right that she should have an opportunity of fulfilling it.'

Well; what then?' inquired the rajah angrily. 'Have I not twice said that I would pay the money?' 'But,' returned the lieutenant, it was a part of the agreement that Lonee should have permission to return to her native land.'

Bal!' retorted the Mussulman, his round eyes gleaming with anger; what do I care for the agreement? What fuss is this about a nauchnee? Is she not a slave? Is not this my land? Can I not do what I please?'

No!' replied the young Englishman quickly; 'not if you were the padshah himself. You shall not perpetrate this injustice in the presence of British offi

cers.'

The rajah turned almost white with rage, and some very unpleasant scene would have ensued, but for the interference of Colonel G, a tall, thin, gray-headed officer, with a yellow complexion, and an air of invincible coolness. Mr R,' he said in English, you are too hasty; you forget yourself.' Then turning to the rajah, he continued in Hindoostanee-'It would be truly un

worthy of our wisdom if we should allow a dispute about a dancing-girl to create ill-blood between us and our esteemed ally, the rajah of Hussunpoor. All this business may be easily settled. The noble rajal, with that generosity for which he is famous throughout the world (here the old chief stroked his beard), has condescended to notice a poor nauchnee, who is a slave, and to offer to pay her ransom, and to provide for her most liberally. Assuredly such munificence is not to be surpassed. But it seems that the girl is anxious to return to the country in which she was born; certainly a natural feeling, and one in which we all partake who are in like manner condemned to spend our lives at a distance from our native land. But she must understand that it is very doubtful whether she would find the home of her childhood, if she should be allowed to seek it. The ravages of the Ghoorkas have been dreadfully destructive throughout that unhappy land. Many villages have been swept away, and their inhabitants exterminated.' Here poor Lonee, sobbing bitterly, covered her face with her hands, vainly attempting to hide her tears. The colonel continued, apparently unmoved, 'It is my opinion, therefore, that she cannot do better than accept the liberal and condescending kindness of our esteemed friend the rajah. But if she should obstinately persist in her resolution to return to Kemaoon, we must endeavour, among us, to make up the sum necessary to satisfy her master, to which I will willingly contribute; and I doubt not that the generosity of the rajah, and of these other princes, will be displayed with its customary magnificence.'

There is no virtue on which Oriental magnates so much pride themselves as on their liberality. The colonel was thoroughly acquainted with the character of those with whom he had to deal, and his speech was received with exclamations of Ucha! bhote khoob!” (Good! well-said!')-in which the old rajah joined, though rather sulkily. But he was well aware that his esteemed allies' were, in fact, his masters, and he had an especial dread of the shrewd imperturbable old colonel.

'Well, Lonee,' said the latter, tell us your final determination. Will you remain in the zenanah of his highness, or will you take the risk of wandering houseless and homeless over the hills of Kemaoon?'

'Protector of the poor,' replied the nauchnee without hesitation, how can your slave answer? She is a poor foolish girl, but her heart is in her native land, and if she does not see it again she will die.'

'Well, gentlemen,' said the colonel, 'I think we can make up a purse among us to ransom the poor girl.' Here he was interrupted by his khitmutgar, or personal attendant-a Mussulman, clad in a showy surcoat of yellow muslin, with yellow trousers, and a blue shawlgirdle and turban, who came forward with joined hands, in the attitude of one asking a favour. Will the Colonel Sahib listen to the petition of his servant?' he said. 'What is it?' inquired the colonel, somewhat surprised.

'I have served the Colonel Sahib fifteen years, and he has found no fault with me.'

་

True, Sahaduk,' replied his master, and you once saved me from a tiger. Well, what now?'

Gurreebpurwar, protector of the poor,' answered Sahaduk, 'I want a wife. My wife died two years ago in Malwa, and I have a little child, and no one to take care of it when I am waiting on your highness. The Colonel Sahib's kindness has made me rich. The Vaisya women have the report of being excellent wives. Let your servant pay the girl's ransom, and marry

her.'

6

With all my heart,' replied the colonel laughing, provided you can get her consent. I am not her father, and cannot give her to you. What do you say, Lonee? Will you be the wife of my khitmutgar? He is a worthy fellow, and will take good care of you.'

The young girl looked earnestly at Sahaduk, who was a handsome man of about thirty, with a counte

Ah, then she deserved it!' said Lonee. I will be your wife, for I think you will treat me well; and I shall see Kemaoon again.'

"Well, off with you both,' said the colonel; 'get married at once, for we start to-morrow morning for Almora.'

The couple, so unexpectedly mated, retired; and the party, whose good-humour had been restored by this little scene, applied themselves heartily to the supper which was now brought in. The rajah washed away the remains of his sulkiness in a bowl of brandy punch, which Lieutenant R- concocted by way of a peaceoffering, and which the sinful old Mussulman drank without regard to the interdict of his religion. The entertainment was not long protracted, as the officers were compelled to withdraw early, having to set off before the dawn'on the following morning.

In ten days, Colonel G, with the troops under his command, had passed the Terrai, or belt of forestland and marsh, noted for its deadly climate, which separates the plain of Hindoostan from the hill-country at the base of the Himalayas. The province of Kemaoon is composed entirely of rocky mountain ridges, intersected by narrow valleys or glens, like the most rugged districts in the Scottish Highlands. Though nearly under the tropic, the vegetation bears the character proper to the northern limits of the temperate zone. Oaks, pines, firs, the pear, the raspberry, the blackberry, and other trees and fruits to which they had long been unaccustomed, reminded the British invaders of their native land. The original inhabitants and proper owners of the country were the Vaisyas, a fine race of mountaineers, who, in their manner of life, and their simple, honest, industrious character, have many points of resemblance to the Swiss. They build good houses of limestone and slate, and cultivate not only their valleys, but even the terraced sides of their rugged hills, wherever this is possible. They have herds of small cattle, which they keep for their milk, but never kill them, that being forbidden by their religion. Although a brave and high-spirited people, they had the ill luck to be conquered by the Ghoorkas, or natives of Nepaul, to the east of Kemaoon, who took advantage of some civil dissensions among the Vaisyas to assail them when disunited, and unprepared for a contest. The Ghoorkas, who are a race partaking of the Tartar physiognomy and character, treated the conquered Vaisyas with great cruelty, ravaging their villages, murdering all who resisted, and selling their wives and children into slavery. Fortunately, in the course of their maraudings, they came in collision with the British authorities; and the result was the war of 1815, in which the Ghoorkas were expelled from the conquered territory. In this contest our troops were greatly indebted to the assistance of the Vaisyas, who, regarding them as deliverers, did all in their power to aid them, acting as guides and messengers, dragging their cannon up the declivities, and fighting bravely when they came to close quarters with the enemy.

Colonel G, with the forces under his command, had been ordered to make a detour in the mountains near Almora, for the purpose of dislodging the enemy from a strong position which they held in front of the British main body. Unfortunately, the guide who had been furnished him was not well acquainted with the

country; and after wandering about for three or four days in the wildest recesses of the hills, the colonel found himself one evening in a rugged defile between two precipices, with no outlet in front but by a narrow and perilous ascent. Determined not to bivouac in this dangerous position, he pushed forward until he was checked by the alarming intelligence that the passage was barricaded, and occupied by a strong body of Ghoorkas. It would have been madness to attack them in the steep path where three men could not advance abreast, and Colonel Gat once gave orders to retreat from the defile by the way in which they had entered. But at this moment word was brought from the rearguard that the enemy had appeared in great force at that end of the pass. It was plain to the colonel and his officers that they were caught in a trap, from which it would be impossible to extricate themselves by fighting, without heavy loss, A hurried consultation was held. Lieutenant R- proposed to scale the side of the ravine with a small party, and surprise the enemy by an attack in the rear. The guide was sent for, and interrogated respecting the feasibility of this movement; but he declared his utter ignorance and perplexity. He was a Vaisya, but from a different part of the province, and had only travelled this road on one occasion many years before. While they were still engaged in the discussion, Sahaduk, the khitmutgar, made his appearance, begging to be heard. His wife, he said, was well acquainted with the country, and might be of service, if they would be pleased to listen to her.

·

'By all means; bring her here, Sahaduk,' said the colonel. Why did we not think of this before? Let us hear what she has to say.'

Lonee now came forward, no longer in the garb of a nauchnee, but apparelled as a Vaisya damsel, in a frock of gray camlet, with a black mantle of woollen cloth over her head. She was perfectly familiar, she said, with the place in which they were, having frequently visited it in search of bilberries and other wild fruit. She knew of a path by which not merely a small party, but, if they chose, the whole force, might ascend the side of the ravine, and regain the main road to Almora without difficulty.

'Show us that, my good girl,' said the colonel, and you will do us a service for which you shall be well rewarded.'

'No, Sahib,' said Lonee eagerly; 'not that. Is it not to free my country from these robbers? And did you not save me from the rajah, and bring me to Kemaoon?'

'Well, my daughter,' said the colonel, 'show us the path, and we will dispute about the recompense hereafter.'

Lonee was as good as her word. The track up which she led was steep and rugged, but practicable for infantry not burdened with heavy arms or baggage. A dozen men could have defended it with ease; but the Ghoorkas were probably ignorant of its existence. By midnight the whole detachment had made its way out of the defile in which it had been blockaded, and was encamped in a valley of some extent, offering a good field for action in case of an attack. Many houses were scattered through the valley, but they were tenantless, and appeared to have been lately shattered and spoiled by ruthless hands. The Ghoorkas have been at work here,' said Lieutenant R. ‘Do you know this place, Lonee?'

'Do I know it, Sahib ?' she said. Ah, wo is me! it is Deenah! It is the valley where I was born. They are all gone. There is not one left. It is as the Colonel Sahib said. Oh, my father!-my mother! I shall see you no more!'

'Perhaps they have only fled, and will return as soon as the Ghoorkas are driven away,' observed Lieutenant R. The remark appeared to inspire Lonee with new hope. She darted up the side of the hill which overhung the valley, and reached at length a lofty crag

which jutted out from the declivity. Standing there, she uttered a shrill, piercing cry, in the tone in which natives of mountainous countries are wont to call to each other. Three times she repeated this call, listening anxiously in the intervals. At length a response of the same kind was heard, but evidently from a great distance, and Lonee slowly descended the hill. There were, she said, some of her people in the neighbourhood, but they were afraid to approach. It would be necessary to wait till the morning, when she would be able to learn more.

When the morning dawned, the British officers perceived that their escape from the ravine had been discovered by the Ghoorkas, who had shifted their ground, and were now drawn up in great force in the road to Almora. Immediate preparations were made for an attack. The struggle which ensued was desperate, the British troops being superior in arms and discipline, and their opponents in numbers, with the advantage of the

ground. The battle, however, was suddenly decided by an unexpected event. A furious attack was made by

some fresh assailants upon the rear of the Ghoorkas, who, surprised and panic-stricken, broke and fled in every direction. The English officers, unwilling that their men should be scattered, soon recalled them from the pursuit. The auxiliaries who had so unexpectedly come to their aid were less forbearing. They were no other than the Vaisyas of the neighbourhood, who, warned by the cries of Lonee, had suddenly collected and assailed their enemies when they found them engaged with the English. They now pursued and cut them down without mercy, thus avenging the many outrages which they had endured at their hands.

When the pursuit was over, the Vaisy as assembled in a body, and came forward to greet their allies. They were headed by a noble-looking old man, whose stalwart form betokened great strength, and who bore in his hand a heavy wooden mace shod with iron, which had evidently been wielded with unsparing vigour. His looks, however, betrayed no exultation, but were composed, and even melancholy. He was heartily welcomed by Colonel G and his officers, who acknowledged the assistance which they had received from his welltimed attack. The old man received their compliments and congratulations very calmly. He said that he and his people should always be grateful to the English for taking so much trouble to deliver them from the tyrannical Ghoorkas. For his own part, he had not much cause for rejoicing: the Ghoorkas had spoiled his homestead, slain his two sons, and carried his daughter into captivity. His house could be repaired, and his fields stocked anew; but of what avail would it be to one who had no children to share in his good fortune, or to succeed him when he died?

Poor Lonee could endure no more. Casting off the black mantle which concealed her face, she threw her arms around her father's neck, laughing and weeping at the same time in the excitement of her joy. The astonishment and delight of the old man at thus unexpectedly recovering his lost child may be readily conceived. It appeared that Lonce's mother was still alive, and there were others of her kindred among the neighbours who were now coming in from all directions. The officers, as may be supposed, were much pleased at witnessing the happiness of their pretty protégée, to whom they themselves had been not a little indebted for their extrication from the embarrassment of the preceding night. As it was impossible to delay their march, Sahaduk was directed to remain at Deenah with his wife until the war was over-an order which, without disparagement to his courage, he was very willing to obey.

In a few weeks the Ghoorkas were compelled to evacuate the country, and a permanent military station was formed at Almora. Sahaduk resided there with his master, until the latter was ordered to another part of India. He then rewarded the faithful services of his attendant, and discharged also his debt of obligation to

Lonee, by fitting up a handsome shop in Almora, which he made over in fee-simple to his ex-khitmutgar. Should any of our friends hereafter chance to visit the capital of Kemaoon, we recommend them to make their purchases in the linen-drapery line of the worthy Sahaduk Bhae, now one of the principal mahajans or merchants of Almora. Lonee is his faithful helpmate, the careful mother of half-a-dozen fine young mountaineers; and from all that we can learn, we have no doubt that he has honourably fulfilled his promise-never to beat her unless she deserved it.

THE FREE BATHS AND WASH-HOUSES
AT EAST SMITHFIELD.

On one of the sultry days in July of the present year, the writer of this paper was induced to visit the free baths and wash-houses in East Smithfield, for the purpose of inspecting the establishment, of which he had read a good deal in the newspapers.

The baths are obscurely situated in Glasshouse Yard, East Smithfield, immediately contiguous to the western entrance of the London docks, and in the midst of a densely populated district, composed for the greater part of the very poorest class, and embracing a great portion of Whitechapel, Wapping, Shadwell, Radcliffe, Commercial Road, the Minories, and Tower Hill. The place is somewhat difficult to be found, and the access to it is rather repulsive, by reason of the adjacent indications of squalor and poverty; but of course these circumstances only render it the more appropriate. The building, which is composed almost entirely of wood, seems originally to have been employed for a different purpose from that to which it is now devoted; and the operations are wholly conducted on the ground floor. The institution, which has been in operation about two years, was set on foot by a few private and wealthy persons, actuated by no expectations of private gain or personal motives of any kind, but solely with the benevolent view of mitigating some of the hardships pertaining to the lot of the poor inhabitants in the vicinity, and of all who chose to avail themselves of its privileges; and this not by donations of money or food, but by means less palpable and appreciable perhaps, but scarcely less essential-namely, by affording them facilities for cleansing their persons, their clothes, and their homes. Its original promoters still exercise an active superintendence over its affairs; and it is maintained almost wholly by voluntary contributions, the exception being, that a charge of one penny is made for a warm bath to persons of a class above those whom the institution was more especially designed to benefit. The individual by whom we believe the baths and wash-houses were originated-at all events, under whose management they have been conducted since their commencement-is a person of a benevolent turn of mind and unassuming manners, Mr Robert Bowie, who practises as a surgeon in the immediate vicinity. To him all the arrangements, so simple, unpretending, and economical, yet so efficient, are owing.

The institution is divided into two departments— namely, one for washing, and one for bathing. Poor people who choose to bring their clothes to be washed, are provided, free of expense, with suitable accommodation in a large apartment, and with washing-tubs, hot and cold water, soap, soda, the use of an ingenious apparatus for drying them in a quarter of an hour, and with irons for ironing them. Finally, before leaving the house, they may enjoy a warm or cold bath, if they choose to avail themselves of either, likewise gratuitously. When we think of the serious incon