charnel-house. Still I hoped that a fond mother, observant of the change in her daughter's appearance, would have carried her to the salutary air of Beaumont Hall, before the battus and Christmas festivities began; but her fond mother kept her lingering in town, in expectation of the usual fête at Chiswick, the dejeuné at Lord B.'s, and a long et cetera of those rural open-air entertainments which harmonise so happily with our happy climate. In a word she passed through the ordeal of hot suns, cold winds, twilight chills, midnight dews, till the month of September, when she was carried off to Brighton. A ball at the Pavilion brought on a scarlet fever, from which she only recovered to present her skeleton form at a fête given by Lord Charles B. and the Hon. Henry G. Another and another fète succeeded; at all which the countess and her late beautiful daughter figured under the heartless soubriquet of Death and the Lady;' till the time arrived for assembling at one of those Circe rural palaces, the scene of Midnight song and revelry, There I left her. In the following January, it was announced that the Earl and Countess of Beaumont, and Lady Hebe, were on the eve of their departure for the south of France. A week after, as I was passing at an early hour through Grosvenor Square, I perceived the funeral mutes on guard at the Earl's mansion. The hall-door stood open, and I entered mechanically. In the centre of the dining-room stood a bier, bearing a richly-decorated coffin: on the silver plate was inscribed, The Lady Hebe Beaumont, For the following month the papers were full of sympathy for Lady B. The "Year of Sorrow," Mr. W. Spencer's beautiful monody on the four lovely victims whose premature death it deplored, was largely quoted and applied to the death of Lady Hebe, and the despair of her mother. For my part, I felt nothing but indignation; and instantly determined on founding an establishment with my fifty thousand pounds in behalf of the future Lady Hebes; where such mothers as may have a spark of natural feeling left, may carry their daughters away from autumnal fêtes, par terre et par mer, from villa festivities, from Brighton dissipation, and October battus in the country. I have already opened my house for the reception of patients. It is a fine old sedative mansion in a beautiful vale of Devonshire, enclosed by hills, and shaded, but not shut up by venerable trees. The site itself is a calmant to nerves over-excited by the rattle and movement of a pleasurable metropolis; and its rills and its rivulets, "whose murmurs invite one to sleep," have an influence worth all the anodynes of the materia medica. The grounds are laid out in small and formal flower-knots, and well-furnished with gardening tools, and a garden bower, with books on botany, &c. &c. &c. Over the gates, which open to a noble but formal avenue, is inscribed the motto “Ici repose qui ne reposa jamais." There is a dairy adjoining the house, where cows, asses, and goats are milked in the first freshness of the morning, in the presence of the patients. There is a riding house for wet weather, and a plentiful supply of ponies, donkies, and well-broken ladies' horses. There is also a jeu de bague on one side of the lawn; and on the other, targets and bows and arrows, and a level green for all sorts of sports suited to youth and woman. In the interior, there is a noble refectory, where a plentiful but wholesome breakfast, dinner, and supper are served at eight, three, and seven o'clock; but from which luncheons and all intermediate refections, together with ice, champagne, Roman punch, and Mareschino jellies, are severely banished. There is a music-room with all sorts of instruments, and a self-playing piano-forte, which performs dances of every description. The library, a noble apartment, is furnished with books in every branch of literature tending to inform and improve the judgment without heating the imagination. But all fashionable novels, amatory poems, satirical tales, bon-ton journals, annuals, or other books calculated to preserve unbroken fashionable associations, and to keep alive the fervour of dissipation, are religiously excluded. The drapery of the whole house is of a light green, so refreshing to eyes burnt up with gaslights, coal-fires, and a profusion of glittering furniture and or-molu ornaments. The uniform of the patients is a grey English muslin ; and all vivid colours, scarlets and blues are rejected. The rules are few, and principally concern early hours, air, exercise, and a daily devotion to study and the arts; the great object and aim of the institution being to counteract the idleness, fever, and over-excitement of the by-gone season, and to brace at once the mind and the body for its future labours. On this account, visitors are universally excluded, and flirtations pro tempore are suspended. Projected "marriages de convenance" may be carried on equally well without the aid of the principals; and for all others, vipers and objectionables are alike hostile to the design of the establishment, and to the confidence reposed by parents in its conductors. Au reste, love-matches rarely await the conclusion of the season for their lawful termination at GretnaGreen; and the establishment moreover is not an hospital for incurables. To enlarge upon the utility of this retreat is perfectly unnecessary, nor will your limited space permit me to enter more fully on details. It is right, however, to add, that a few rooms are reserved on the upper story for the service of invalided chaperons, in which short whist, not exceeding three rubbers per night, is permitted. But every body must be in bed before the clock strikes eleven. It is calculated that three or four months passed in this manner will complete the cure; but it would be desirable that the patient on leaving the establishment should make a short visit to a maiden aunt, grandmother, or to some distant connexion married to a country curate. N. B. No patients admitted who have not been vaccinated, or who cannot bring unquestionable clean bills of gentility. I have the honour to be, Sir, Your obedient servant, S. P. S. For terms, and further particulars, apply to any of the circulating libraries, and dress-makers west of Regent Street. AN INDIAN STORY. BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE KUZZILBASH." WHO, that knows any thing of India, is ignorant of the beauty of its village scenery? Who, that has traversed the plains of Bengal, or the rich provinces of Bahar, Benares, or the Doab, can have failed of being frequently and pleasingly impressed by the picturesque character of the dwellings of their inhabitants? Embosomed in the most luxuriant verdure, cottages and temples peep through groves of old mango trees, and are shaded by the tall graceful tamarind, or rise from among clumps of plantain trees with their broad leaves and yellow fruit. Banyan, or bhur trees, of dimensions which denote the growth of centuries, fling down their hundred arms, to take root again in their native soil, over-arching huts, pagodas, and shrines, and sheltering their inhabitants or votaries, who seem diminished to mere insects by contrast with these patriarchs of the Indian shades. A rich and varied vegetation mingles every where with the dark hues of the weather-beaten buildings, enveloping their crumbling walls, or is happily contrasted with the sparkling white of some new shrine or freshly-repaired dwelling, while the whole is often reflected in some water-tank, fleckered with the floating leaves and brilliant blossoms of the lotus. It was at such a village, a few miles distant from the ancient towns of Shahzadpore and Kurrah, in the province of Allahabad, that we halted, for a time, during our march through that part of the country, in order to examine the ruins which lie scattered over it; and the morning was pleasantly occupied in traversing the plains which have witnessed so much grandeur, and so much desolation. In the cool of the evening, having walked out to look at the village, we were particularly delighted with the many picturesque "bits,” as an artist would term them, which were presented in a small space to one who could view them with a painter's eye. But there was one small object above them all, which in a singular degree fixed my regards. It was a little Hindoo mut'h, or temple, of antique aspect and peculiar form: the plaster which once covered its walls had long since fallen off in patches, leaving the bricks, of which it was constructed, exposed and coloured with every mellow hue which age and time, and damp impart to decay. The domed roof was rent in many places, and only held together by the roots of a wild fig-bush, (the original author of the mischief which it thus sought to remedy,) and which grew luxuriantly from among the clefts, embracing with its long silver roots a great part of the building. A beautiful tamarind tree grew near, contrasting its light feathery foliage with the darker tints and heavier masses of a fine old bhur, which occupied a large space in front of the mut'h, and almost overshadowed it with one portion of its branches, while others stretched three long arms over a rude ghât, which descended to the village tank. A tope, or grove, of ancient mango trees closed up the view behind, and, through the more varied foliage, on one side at some little distance the curling smoke might be seen arising in the evening air from the huts in the village. It was a scene of perfect retirement and tranquillity, undisturbed by worldly bustle, for the only living objects which intruded on its solitude were the figure of an old Byragee,' who sat on a fragment of mat beneath the bhur tree; a village woman passing to draw water from the tank; and occasionally the more interesting form of a young girl, who with silent step and shrouded face came to make her obeisance before the niche of the mut'h, to place there her offering of a few flowers or a little rice, and then to flit away like a shadow from the presence of the strangers. 1 Byragees are a sect of Hindoo fakeers. September, 1831.-VOL. II. NO. v. B In fact, upon closer inspection, it became apparent that this mut'h, although suffered to fall into decay, was by no means an object of entire neglect. The niche of which we have spoken bore proof of being the receptacle of various offerings: rice, ghee, and flowers had been recently placed there; a little red and white paint had been daubed over the brown walls in sundry places, and the space in front was worn bare of grass by the feet of those who had repaired to visit the place. The growing interest which I felt in this quiet spot, had induced me to sit down and sketch the whole scene; and I had made considerable progress in this occupation, when the silence, which till then had only been interrupted by the distant lowing of a cow, or the shriller accent of a village female, was suddenly disturbed by a bustle and voices at a little distance; and, on turning my eyes, I perceived a native palanquin, attended by several well-dressed servants and bearers approaching through the trees. Springing from the palanquin, as it came near, a well-dressed native in the Mussulman garb, with trim broad turban of crimson and silver, girdle of cashmere shawl, and trowsers of fine striped silken stuff, came forward, and announcing himself as Tesseeldar of the district, presented in military fashion the handle of his tulwar (sabre) as a nuzzer,' professed himself my devoted slave, and desired to know if there was any thing in which he could be useful to the " Saheb Bahauder." Receiving in the usual terms the complement of his offering, which forthwith was restored to his own girdle, I returned his salaam, with thanks for his offers of assistance, and we fell into conversation about the village, the district, the people, the rents they paid, the revenues, &c. &c. "The Saheb is taking off the picture' of this place," remarked he at length inquisitively, as he cast his eyes over the paper and pencil which still remained in my hands. "Ah!-how good-how capitally done!" continued he, with the due expression of admiration at my performance"that's a tree-exact-excellent-and this-this is an elephant-is it not?-Wah! wah! Shahbash! Shahbash! you have done it well!" Smiling, not perhaps without some shade of annoyance, at the ignorance which had converted my beautiful little mut'h into an unwieldy monster,3 I received his polite commendations with suitable courtesy, and consoled myself with the recollection that the natives of India, whatever be their good qualities, have no pretensions to be considered judges of the arts;then putting up my unfinished sketch, I asked the Tesseeldar whether he knew any thing regarding the spot which had awakened my interest. "Kia Ianoon Saheb,-What can I tell, Sir?" said he, "it is some Hindoo affair, of which a true Mussulman like me can know nothing-it is some Dewil, or Mut'h, or Suttee, or something of that sort—these unbelieving Hindoos are always building them." 66 "I should like to learn something about it," said I, half musing; how solitary it stands here beside this fine old tree!" “Aye, it gives a fine shade, certainly," replied the Tesseeldar, casting up his eyes at the thick branches, with an air of indifference. "And see," interrupted I, without attending to what he said, "here comes another-there have been half a dozen women here going through the same ceremony, since I have been sitting in this spot." 66 Jee, poojah Kurtahy, — yes—she is worshipping," said he carelessly. 66 But this does not appear to be a temple dedicated to any particular deity," insisted I; "here is neither Bhowanee, nor Gonesh, nor Mahadeo in any of his shapes. What then is the object of her worship?" "What do I know?" repeated the Tesseeldar again, with a half-peevish, 3 This mistake with many similar has really been made; perhaps the artist may have partaken the merit of them with the native. half-impatient tone but let me see," continued he, "here is one, who no doubt can tell you all that is to be told about the matter. Go," said he to one of his hircarrahs, "go, bring old Lutchmun Byragee, who sits under the bhur tree yonder, into the Saheb's presence. Here Lutchmun-jee—the Saheb calls you." Slowly rising from his mat, the Byragee advanced towards us, and saluting us after the Brahminical fashion with his expanded palms, and muttering a few unintelligible words, which might be blessings or bannings for all we could tell, he stood erect before us. He was a tall emaciated and aged man, whose gaunt limbs and lean body were besmeared with ashes. An orange-coloured rag was wound round his loins, another of the same colour was thrown over one shoulder; a number of beads of various sorts hung round his neck; his matted locks of no certain hue, and clotted with dust and ashes, depended like the hair of a beast of the forest around his head, and mingled with a grizzly mass of unshaven beard; his eyes, hollow and sunken, sparkled nevertheless with an uncertain and restless intelligence, and in his hand he bore a short spear of singular shape. He was one of those fakeers who are to be met with throughout all India; but yet there was something singular in his appearance, which harmonised with the peculiar interest which the scene had inspired, and I felt an instant disposition to conciliate and draw from him what he knew. "Be seated, father," said I; "we wish to ask you some questions concerning this old mut'h-pray do you know any thing of its story?—to whom is it sacred?-for what purpose has it been placed here?—for although I have observed several women come to worship, yet not one man has approached the place since I have been seated here." The fakeer fixed his deep-set eyes upon me with an expression of keenness which contrasted strangely with the immovable repose of his other features, nor did he break silence until I had urged and encouraged him by many kind and flattering observations. "What shall I say?" replied he at length, "Mooddut Ka bât heg-it is a tale of many years ago Why should the Saheb trouble himself about it?" "Why!" re-echoed I, "because I am much interested in all that concerns the Hindoos. I wish to hear every thing about them and their ways do me therefore the favour to tell me what you know." "Well, Saheb, your pleasure shall be done-your servant will tell what he knows." The old Byragee, after some further persuasion and preparation, then commenced his narrative; but its thread was so broken, its style so desultory, and the facts of which it consisted were elicited by so many interrogatories, and with so much difficulty, that, in order to render it intelligible, I must relate his story in my own words. "In the days of the Emperor Akber, the village of M, with its dependent lands, had been bestowed by that monarch in reward of certain services upon a Rajepoot soldier, in whose family it had remained until the period now in question, which was during the latter days of Aurugzebe. The Zemindar of the village at that time was Ram Sing, an easy, good-humoured man, of small capacity, but proud of his family, rigid in all observances of caste and custom, and so liberal, nay, so extravagant in his habits, that he not only had dissipated all the ready money which he had inherited, but had incurred pecuniary embarrassments to such an extent as to deprive him of the means of performing his engagements to government, and threaten his utter ruin. Of the Zemindar's family, once large, but, like his pecuniary affairs, fallen greatly into decay, there remained to him but one son and one daughter. The former, a haughty, imperious, turbulent young man, disliked by all the country round him, possessed over his father that influence which strong minds exercise over |