that assembly, and in his new sphere, have since been confined to a silent assent in favour of some great man, or in swelling the steady majority of some omnipotent minister of the day. VOL. I. N THE MOFUSSIL. CHAPTER THE FIRST. La Ville est le sejour des profanes humains; les Dieux habitent les Campagnes. ROUSSEAU. It was resolved I should go by dâk The visit so long promised, so often disappointed, could no longer be deferred: so, the bearers having been some days previously written for, and myself fully equipped for the trip, my petarrahs laden with a due proportion of linen, one of them, together with the netting of my palkee, amply stored with sandwiches, biscuits, oranges, beer, and other accompaniments for a dâk trip, I soon adjusted myself in my silk pyjamahs, dressing gown, and slippers, and away we started cheerily by the light of our mussals. Man, after all, is the mere slave of place, as well as of time and circumstances; and like his companion of the feline species, is truly a domesticated and home-revering animal. Far be it from me to confess that I am a prim, immovable, old-maidish sort of Bachelor, whom it is death to put out of his way, and to whom the disarrangement of the economy of daily habits, is an earthly misfortune. But still the misery of packing up, the horror of disturbing the cherished confusion, the heaped disorder of that sanctum sanctorum, and holy seat of slippered retirement, a Bachelor's study, was truly overwhelming: the very anticipation of the task afflicted me for days, and I sat and pondered over it's difficulty, long before I could muster heart to attempt it. The old guns, the scattered fishing apparatus, every ancient and discarded hat, whip, stick, bridle, portion of old harness, broken tool, and empty medicine chest, the collection of accumulated chits, cards, newspapers, auction catalogues and pamphlets, all, all were dear to me. The very dust itself, that encased and embrowned them, enhanced their value in my affection; as the mellowing of age enriches the faded colouring of a Rubens or a Guido. I hallowed even the very sites where they had reposed and been enniched, as it were, in this the temple of my lounging. With what delight did I pounce upon an ancient roomy chest in one of my godowns, in which I could shut up, en masse, the whole of my last collection of letters, MSS., and other papers, to arrange or separate which, would have engaged me for months. But at last all was happily adjusted; and on the evening of the 15th October, 182, the bearers were noisily conveying my palankeen through the northern suburbs of Calcutta, and in full pace and progress towards the Mofussil station of Sahibpore. Happy, indeed, are those able and ready sleepers, who, no sooner dispose themselves to rest, than the leaden hand of Morpheus lets fall their lids, and consigns them at once to deep and undreaming slumber. It is not so with me; and alas! more especially when journeying by dâk. I do dose sometimes, but the first jolt of the palkee, the momentary flaring of the too close mussal―nay, the very smell of the rank and fetid oil that feeds it, without dwelling upon the merciless importunity of the bearers at the close of each stage, soon dispel every thought of sleep; and leave me only to the refuge of my own rueful meditations. And thus I journeyed on; long, long past midnight. The moon had risen in the heavens, and the chill air of the approaching cold season had induced me to wrap myself in my rajye and boat cloak. But I left unclosed the door of the palankeen, for the grandeur and solemn stillness of the night scene, as we passed along an extensive plain, broken only by the scattered topes of |
