"Now then, if we could only get a good fat hen to brander, and a wheen eggs to make an omelet, I'm thinkin', wi' the help o' these cold vivars, and twa or three bottles o' this light claret, we may manage to make an indifferently-good breakfast, or tiffin rather; for I'm thinkin' the day has ta'en the turn afore now." So said the Doctor, half soliloquising and licking his lips, as he busied himself in unpacking the contents of the cowrie-baskets, consisting of a cold buffalo's hump, a tongue or two, biscuits, rice, and other eatables; together with a goodly store of French claret, Hodson's ale, and brandy.

"Methinks you may do that same, with great safety, friend Æsculapius," said Mansfield, tapping him on the shoulder; "and say grace afterwards, with a clear conscience, provided you have breath enough left to do so, after lining your stomach with the many good things you have been enumerating. Why man, here is a breakfast fit for a prince, all ready to your hand-cold meat, biscuits, beer, claret! Why man, what would you have?"

Na,

"Hoot fie, sir; would ye hae us feed upon cauld junk, like ignorant pagans, after sic a march as this, and us in the midst o' plenty? na, sir, I hae nae intention o' offending my stamach that way; we munna want the brandered hen, or the omelet, on no account. Let abe that tongue, Captain," continued the Doctor, as Mansfield was about to help himself to a slice, with his hunting-knife. "Let it abe, I say-mind, sir, we are no' in the jungles now, and we maun study manners a little; ye hae appointed me master o' the kitchen, for the present, and I maun insist on feeding you like a gentleman, whether ye will or no."

"Far be it from me, most sapient Doctor, to dispute your authority," replied Mansfield. "You shall order the time and manner of my feeding, as appears unto you most fitting, and shall have ggs and fowls to your heart's content, if it only be for the sake of bringing that fellow the Cotwall to his senses. I shall slip Azapah at him-I suspect the sight of a Peon's belt and silver badge coming from his friends, the travelling apothecaries, will astonish him a little. Here, Azapah!"

"Sahib," answered Azapah-the tall handsome-looking Peon before mentioned, stepping up to Mansfield, making a respectful salaam, and remaining as steady as a soldier on parade.

"Azapah!" said Mansfield, speaking in Hindoostanee, "put on your again-go to the village, and bring me the Cotwall here, by the

belt

ears.

"Hookum, Sahib !"* replied Azapah, without altering a muscle; and facing to the right-about, he marched away with a most soldier-like air.

"Had I told that fellow, Azapah, to bring the Cotwall's head instead of his whole person, he would have gone upon his mission with equal coolness, and obeyed me to the letter," said Mansfield, smiling. Azapah !"

"Sahib !"

"I have changed my mind about Cotwall-you need not bring him by the ears; just say I want him, and see that he comes."

"Atcha, Sahib,"† replied Azapah, making his salaam with the same

* Hookum Sahib-it is an order, my lord. April.-VOL. LV. NO. CCXX.

↑ Atcha-very good.

2 M

imperturbable gravity, and marching off again with the same stately

pace.

Azapah soon returned, followed by the Cotwall, cringing like a rated hound. The Peon's belt of office had acted like a talisman; a single glance was sufficient to open the eyes of the astonished functionary. Those whom he had foolishly taken for half-caste Apothecaries, and whom he fancied he might bully with impunity, turned out to be Burrah Sahibs!* real Burrah Sahibs-there could be no doubt of the fact; for their Peon wore an embroidered shoulder-belt, and a silver badge. Such visiters seldom honoured his village by their presence. Had he only been commonly civil, he might have received, with tolerable certainty, a handsome present; but he had insulted them, and instead of receiving a present, was nigh having the beard torn off his chin. Oh! Mustapha! Mustapha ! what dirt hast thou been eating!

The Cotwall's cringing civility now became even more disgusting than his former insolence had been. The wretch grovelled in the dust. There was nothing good enough for their excellencies-the Burrah Sahib's clean straw came tumbling in by waggon - loads — hens laid eggs by word of command-the starved chickens were suddenly transformed into well-fed capons, and a troop of dancing-girls, darkeyed Houries, from the neighbouring Pagoda, were sent for to charm their Highnesses into good humour, by their bewitching smiles and graceful movements. Every man, woman, and child in the village, were the bounden slaves of their Mightinesses; and of these, the most devoted was Mustapha himself, who, not contented with exhausting his whole vocabulary of highflown oriental compliments, made an ostentatious display of his disinterested zeal in their service, by banging the ears of an unfortunate Ryat, with the heel of his slipper, and calling him a cheating rascal, for daring to ask half the price for clean straw and fat capons, which he himself had demanded, half an hour before, for dirty litter and starved chickens. In short, the amiable Mustapha spared no pains to make himself agreeable, and gain "master's favour." But the Burrah Sahib was inflexible, and no dustoor was forthcoming. Mansfield turned a deaf ear to all his highflown compliments; and, after reading him a lecture on the impropriety of attempting to impose upon unfortunate half-castes; and assuring him that the first time he heard of his being uncivil to any traveller, of any rank whatever, he would report his conduct to the collector of the district, and have him removed from his situation; he dismissed him with merely the price of the things he had provided, whilst a handsome present was given to the dancing-girls and other natives.

This was touching the avaricious Cotwall in the right place. Had Mansfield broken a stick over his head, and given him a few rupees to buy a plaster withal, he had pocketed the affront with thanks. to see his inferiors pocketing their rupees, whilst he, the great man, was sent away disgraced and empty-handed, was gall and wormwood to his grasping spirit, as the Doctor remarked with a chuckle-" It was touching the life o' the niggardly craiter—his heart's blood-the very marrow o' his banes."

• Burrah Sahibs-great men. + Ryat-peasant.

The Doctor's culinary operations now progressed rapidly, and the good cheer he provided was done ample justice to by his hungry companions, after they had refreshed themselves by a change of dress, and a swim in the cool tank. The tents arrived and were pitched. The Shikarie* of the village was summoned to an audience, and reported that the surrounding country abounded with wild hog, and that amongst them was a certain boar of gigantic size, which had, for years, been the terror of the Ryats, and had laughed at the beards of the most skilful Shikaries; but which, he had no doubt, would fall beneath the invincible spear of his Highness-the terror and destroyer of wild. beasts. Scouts were despatched in all directions to gain intelligence of the mighty boar; a goodly band of coolies were ordered to be in attendance by to-morrow's dawn. A couple of sheep were killed, and distributed amongst the happy camp-followers; fires blazed in all directions; earthen pots boiled and bubbled; the light-hearted natives, calculating on the morrow as a day of rest, abandoned themselves to all the joys of feasting and merriment; and, long after midnight, happy voices might be heard, chanting wild Hindoostanee airs to the simple accompaniment of the zittar or the tom-tom.

(To be continued.)

KOONDAH.

POOR RELATIONS.

AUTHOR OF

BY EDWARD HOWARD, Esq.

66 OUTWARD-BOUND," &c.

"6 RATTLIN THE REEFER," "POOR relations!" The vermin! The unendurable misery-the worse than the worst of evils-worse than physical pain!-Poverty! What is it? Nothing very bad in the abstract, indeed. As a nursing mother to virtue, it is a positive, as the actual mother of invention, an absolute, good. Moreover, it affords us so fine a scope for being sententious, and is such a beautiful peg whereon to hang some of our best aphorisms-it is a valuable adjunct to poetry, and a staple in moral essay-a very essential in homilies and sermons.

Poverty, indeed! the more I consider it, the more cause I see to be enamoured with it; that is to say, when viewed at a proper distance. Contemplated in imagination only, one may entertain it as intimately connected with our own identity, for a few minutes; but, as allied to a relation, it is the very essence of all that is nauseous-the very nostrils rebel against it.

A poor relation! the frigorific-have not the whole species humanity enough among them to take pity upon the race of mankind, and disappear from the face of the earth, by jumping down each other's throats? We request, we entreat, we implore them, by all that is

Shikarie-hunter.

dear to ourselves, to think upon some certain and expeditious method of self-extirpation: have they no compassion, no commiseration, no feeling?

What is a poor relation? A contradiction, and, at the same time, a union of miseries,-a proud humility,—a chartered beggar,—a supplicant robber,—an assassin that you cannot hang,-a reptile that you may tread upon, but which you cannot destroy. He is of your blood, and it curdles at him; really, he is something without the pale of humanity, and yet, the audacious creeping thing claims to be admitted within your family circle: he not only dares to breathe and live, but actually expects to do so under your very nose. It is too much! A poor relation is the one bitter drop in the cup of life that causes it to overflow in anguish. Suicide may be justifiable, since murder may not be legally done upon a poor relation.

This picture is not so much exaggerated, as the exempt from the calamity of a poor relation, especially if he be virtuous, may suppose; at least, my opulent friend, Mr. Rigby Rigby, is of this opinion.

Mr. Rigby Rigby had been poor, very poor, himself, and he therefore knew how hateful poverty really was. He had been poor, in company with several brothers and sisters. Every body said that he had prospered. He knew better! He had made himself that unfortunate subject-the rich relation-whilst the other scions of his family wilfully and wickedly, and with malice prepense, as it appeared to Mr. Rigby, had chosen to remain poor relations. If it had not been possible for them to grow rich, they ought to have reflected that ponds contain water, and if they could not find ways to get on in the world, there are many obvious ones of getting out of it.

Now, though Mr. Rigby Rigby had a very handsome income, as incomes go, in these income-wasting times, and a still handsomer daughter, even in these times, and in this land of the handsome, yet, seeing that he had a younger brother, who had neither income or handsome daughter, as it was fitting and proper, Mr. Rigby Rigby was vastly miserable. We say vastly, because it was a word vastly in vogue with him; and vastly miserable was Rigby when he bethought him of his brother Erasmus.

Erasmus Rigby was the very cleverest man that ever any body knew; indeed, he was too clever; for every body, wondering why so clever a man did not immediately make his fortune, left him to himself, as one that needed no intrinsic assistance, and thus he was generally admired, and almost starved.

Then he had such delicate feelings: if the butcher or the baker repaired to him for assistance in some difficulty, they easily found the relief, but could not find so easily any means of rewarding so wise, so learned, and so delicately-minded a man. He wrote all the letters of consequence in his neighbourhood, for all sorts of people-petitions, remonstrances, and memorials, fell to him exclusively, as if by divine right; he had more business than the lawyers, and gave more advice than the parson; yet, still his coat was threadbare, and his visage lean, hunger-stricken, and penitential. He was never, as the story goes, but once known to ask for money, and then it was very humbly to request his change from a shilling; and he seemed utterly surprised when he had received it. If, then, Erasmus was so nervous in asking for his own

money, it is not surprising that ne could never summon up sumcient resolution to ask for other people's.

We know that the intelligent reader is just now asking this very pertinent question: "Then how did this Erasmus live?" We never said he lived, in the proper and Christian acceptation of the term. When God made man to live, he meant that some little of enjoyment should be included in the design, else had all the race of humanity perished. But we are working actively against this beneficent purpose, and are contriving that about two-thirds of the human race should only do that which Erasmus did-exist in poverty, and hunger, and humiliation. But even this state of existence requires food, that is, a very little, and some sort of raiment; society sternly requires that, with a legal selfishness, and abode, something to screen off such suffering from shocking the nerves of this same society, for that must have its feelings respected.

Now Erasmus procured the little food that he devoured-the very poor do not eat, but devour-and his really decent habiliments, and his very humble home, by following in the steps of the ancient philosophers, he was classical-he taught. The miseries of that teaching! the tyranny to which he was compelled hourly to succumb!

Poor Erasmus had thirty-three urchin-tyrants-all the best-dispositioned and cleverest youths in the world— and, as each of these thirty-three averaged about three other tyrants in connexion with him, there were just ninety-three tyrants over one subject. An awful disproportion, and an astonishing antithesis, to the way that tyrannies are in general worked, where a few millions are barely sufficient for the solace of one legitimate tyrant. We put the case thus, in order that it may be seen, what a concentration of misery fell upon the heart of our poor scholar. That heart had been long broken; but still the shreds of its fibres vibrated to all goodly feelings, and gave out a plaintive music to some few affections.

If any one will take the trouble, and risk the danger, of going to that spot, where the suburbs of Westminster unite with those of Pimlico, he will see a vast variety of edifices; he will look around and wonder, that, in this day of improvement, such very kennels should be permitted to house even dogs; yet, their roofs cover, without sheltering families, and hordes of families, with all the ramifications into which depraved misery branches.

Amidst the very densest of these, there was, and there still is, a court called Cat's-court, and at the bottom of it is a place where, at least, half a dozen asses, belonging to the costermongers who abound in the neighbourhood, are stabled. It was a miserable hole of dirt and dilapidation, and even an imposition to locate asses amongst its filth. Over this stable was a space, which, in the stables' better days, might have boasted the title of a hayloft; it was now Erasmuss' apology for his Grove of Academus. The place was lighted, or rather the light was intercepted by a range of long, low, and cobwebbed-festooned windows, that had once boasted of diamond glazings; but all the lead had been long ago purloined for dumps, and other indispensable scholastic purposes, and the shifts that were now made to let as much of the light in as possible, and as little of the weather, was, of itself, a prima facie evidence of the astonishing ingenuity of the pedagogue. Oiled paper was the general substitute for glass; though here and there, were actually to be seen a