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good for the writer of the line. Go on,' he said coldly, when he had put back his pocket-book with the envelope in it. Hiram told the story
as we know it.
'Is there a gentleman in your case too?' asked Gerard. 'Are we in the same boat, Search ?' 'I don't like his way of takin' it at all,' said Hiram to himself, returning no audible answer to that cynical inquiry. 'It looks mischeevous.'
'If there should prove to be a gentleman in your case, what shall you do, Search?' asked Gerard.
The gaunt Yankee could ride as well as he could do anything else, and he used to hang a little behind his master, mounted on a nervous finicking thoroughbred, ruling him with half-unconscious skilful hand, whilst he kept his eyes for the most part fixed on the figure ahead of him. The whole countryside became familiar with Gerard, riding lonely, or paired with Hiram; and the general sympathy was loud on his side, and deep in its condemnation of Val Strange.
Hiram liked his tone and manner less than ever. I shall let him slide,' he said, and I shall think myself well out of a bad bargain.'
'I shan't let him slide, Search,' said Gerard, very very softly. He had a hand on Hiram's arm, and gripped it so that he made him wince. There was not another word spoken between them; and Gerard, though Hiram saw him several times reading the line on the frayed envelope, never recurred to the subject.
It need scarcely be said that the names of the runaways were never spoken in his presence, or that in spite of that fact they were much talked of. Many a time the sound of Gerard's solid step hushed the talk of his mother and Milly; but the young fellow's stony face never gave a sign that he knew the theme of their converse. Many and many an unspeakable pang his loyal heart suffered, but after the one outburst he hid everything. There was much to trouble his mother in those hard days; but she took everything as women do, with that sublime and quiescent heroism which is the best of their many virtues. A good wife and mother-how shall she be praised? Not-though the wise man of old so praised her-that she seeketh wool and flax and worketh willingly with her hands, and, like the merchant's ships, bringeth her food from afar; but yet as the wise man praised her, that the heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, and that her children have a right to arise and call her blessed. Though she feared for Gerard, in the unnatural calm he bore, she was yet not without pride in him. He was a man, this baby she had nursed. Oh, quaint and sweet and pitiful! she remembered she saw-the infant almost every time she looked at the man, and had just such a tenderness for him now as she had when she nursed him, and no less a desire to protect and defend him. It was one of the poor soul's griefs that she could protect and defend him no longer. Mothers suffer in that way. And yet she was proud that her son bore his grief manfully, and stood under Fate's heaviest inflictions in this rock-like calm, that would not move till riven. Amongst her griefs was one which I must needs indicate; but I leave it with an indication and no more. From the time of Constance's flight, Gerard refused to set foot in a church, or to sit at that decent ordinance of family worship which had always formed one of the household ways. In other matters, he did with a certain heaviness and solidity of manner, as though it were a task, what he had once done gracefully and naturally. He was much alone, ricling solitary over the moors and
And now from purpling moors, and fields yellowing to the sickle, and a sky of English haze, let us get to the Mediterranean and join the wedded lovers. The sea is of that perfect blue which only lives in its waters. Every slowheaving wave that falls against the vessel's side looks hollowed from some transcendent liquid jewel-the colour of the sapphire is shallow by the side of it-and every time the crest tumbles over, it shakes and breaks into diamonds. The sunlight rains down a million little arrowy points of light upon the waters. There is land on each side, if those purple cloud-like fantasies that seem to rise and fall at such vast distances are really of the earth and earthy.
Val and Constance are lolling near each other on the deck, in cane-chairs, sheltered from the sun-god's too savage courtship of the sea by a canvas awning.
'You are sad, Val,' said Constance, looking up from her book.
'Not I,' said Val, brightening a little, and withdrawing his eyes from some dreamland in which, to judge by his looks, he had seen unpleasant things. 'Why should I be sad?' His looks caressed her as he turned to her.
'Who knows?' she said, and lay back silent for a while.
'You are not sad, are you?' he asked after a pause.
No,' she answered with a ghost of a smile. 'Why should I be sad?'
'Like a good wife,' said Val, 'you base your reasoning on mine.'
She smiled faintly in answer, and again they were silent. But in real truth they were both sad, and there was a reason for their sadness. If a man sins, however sweetly, he is pretty sure to suffer for it; and now Val's own scorn was master of him, and in proportion to the very virtues left in him, he suffered. He was never altogether free of Gerard's face, and the accusations it had power to bring against him. A dull man sins with comparative impunity. An imaginative man, who has a heart to feel his own imaginations, suffers out of all proportion, and is yet justly served, inasmuch as he has sinned more deeply, having the more virtue in him to sin against, and seeing beforehand whither he is bound. And so Val and Constance, having sacrificed so much in order to be happy, were unhappy after all. Alas, it was always so. Of what avail can it be to preach a sermon here? There is no royal road to happiness, along which no pains shall be endured.
Constance arose, and looked over the little vessel's side at the sparkling waters; and after a while, Val joined her.
'Yes,' Val assented.
'What is that splendid jewel out there?' she asked. I suppose when we come nearer, we shall find it a mere rocky island. What is it called?'
'I don't know, darling,' said Val drearily. 'Get out your sailing-maps,' she said, striving to occupy his thoughts, and let us find the names of the places we are passing.'
Val obeyed her; and having descended to the cabin, returned with a roll of charts, laid them on a table, had a brief talk with his sailingmaster, and having discovered the position of the yacht, began to name the islands here and there. Constance with forced animation stood over him and assisted in the search. He looked up suddenly, and their eyes met. Val dropped his gaze and walked to the side again; and as Constance bent above the charts, a tear fell upon them. She could not please, she could not soothe him; she had no power to exorcise this demon of regret. She left the deck and went below; and Val having hung a while over the rail, turned and missed her. He began to fold up the charts, and saw the great starred tear-drop on one of them, and his heart fell lower and lower. Somewhat sullenly, he lit a cigar and paced to and fro upon the deck. He loved her with his whole heart; there was nothing he would not do to make her happy, if he could but see his way to it. He was sure of her love in turn, and yet they were both moody, both unhappy.
The French cynic proclaimed that two things were essential to happiness-a hard heart and a good digestion. Though I should be inclined to widen the list a little, I do not think I should quarrel with the essentials. A hard heart is a great help to personal comfort. If you can pass a shivering beggar in a snow-storm and feel your own broadcloth no reproach to you, that is in its way a gain. Perhaps-human nature is perverse -perhaps you would rather be without the gain, though not, in spite of pity, without the broadcloth. This life is but a twisted skein for a man with a conscience. With a hard heart, great gift, you may push through the thin filamental knots almost without an effort. If they are made of human nerves, the nerves are not yours. What resolute creature, bent on happiness, can be stopped upon his way by cobwebs ?
But here were two people of more than common tenderness, and they suffered. The very narrowness of the life which, in the double egotism of their love, they sought to live, added to their miseries, and made ennui and regret inevitable. It would have been wiser to have looked for a refuge in society than in this loneliness; but though both of them knew this, neither of them altogether cared to say it.
In a while, little Mary came on deck to tell her master that dinner was laid in the cabin; and he descended. Fish and flesh of the daintiest, fruits, and wines of famous vintage; and love at the table too, with manly grace and feminine beauty, and yet no joy in anything. They came on deck again, and found the awning cleared away, and a Mediterranean sunset in the skies. A miracle of colour from zenith to horizon, and the purpled rosy golden glory flushing, though more faintly, to the very east. But in the west from which they fleeted, the dying sun
was clothed in splendours which were past all speech, and all the fiery solemn regalities of colour in the sky were imaged in the heaving sea upon a million broken mirrors. From form to form, from tone to tone, from gradual change to change, the glory stole downward into gloom, till here and there, amid the shadowed wrack of skyey gallery and tower, a clear star shimmered, and the day was dead, and night unrolled her own calm panorama. Now there were voices in the waves, and murmurs in the air, and mystery and darkness were abroad. The sad-hearted wedded lovers paced together on the deck, until the moon arose, to build a new city in the clouds, with many a long-drawn parapet and frowning battlement. There are hours when every mood of Nature's suits the soul, and these were of them. Val and Constance paused, hidden by the little deck-house from the man who held the wheel. They were all alone, and all the world to each other, but they embraced with tears, and cheek touched cheek coldly. There was a cry in the heart of each—my fault!
'You know I love you,' he murmured with melancholy tenderness. 'How can I make you happy?'
There is but one way,' she answered, clinging to him. 'Let me see you happy!'
Sad embraces followed. The prescription was one he had no power to fulfil, and they both knew it.
It was at Corfu that they first received English letters. There was one from Reginald to Val, which said simply: 'SIR-My opinion of your conduct is probably of little value to you, though you do me the honour to solicit it, and to offer what seems intended as a defence of your own proceedings. Perhaps, however, I shall indicate it clearly enough if I express my desire to hear no more of you.-I am, Sir, your obedient servant, REGINALD JOLLY.' This stung the recipient a little, but not much. A kinder farewell would have been bitterer to him, for he was one of those men who harden at reproof, but melt at pardon. There was a letter for Constance from her father, in which he, from a heart metaphorically bleeding and broken, quite forgave her. He would rejoice, he said, to welcome her back again to that torn and shattered organ, and was at present living in Paris, where he would be delighted at any time to see her. The emotional gymnastics of this epistle had no effect upon the reader. She handed it to her husband, who, not being even yet so depressed that all humour was dull to him, chuckled above it with a half-hollow enjoyment. But Aunt Lucretia wrote a letter, which bore upon its pages the marks of tears, and in it, with many cruel upbraidings, she told Constance how the news had been brought to Lumby Hall, and how Gerard had received it. Constance would fain have left this letter unread, but the lines seemed somehow to fascinate her, and she could not get away from them.
'What is it troubles you?' her husband asked her, standing near whilst she read, crying and sobbing. She held the letter out to him. May I read it?' he said. 'Yes,' she answered, rising in a sudden tempest. 'It was your doing. Read it.' And with that, she swept from the room, dropped her veil, and walked out of the hotel, angry with herself, angry with him, and bitterly remorseful.
Well, then, Bangalore is a large city in Southern India, with two hundred thousand inhabitants, situated about two hundred miles inland from Madras, the European capital of the Mysore country, a large military cantonment, and one of the most beautiful and delightful stations in all India. Sir Walter Scott speaks of it as 'Bangalore the strong, the happy, the holy city;' and here I cannot help paying a
Val obeyed her injunction, and felt the sting of it before he had gone far. She was right,' he said, standing with drooping head, with the letter at his feet, and his hands depending nervelessly over it. 'It was my doing, and the punishment belongs to both of us.' From that hour the unhappy wedded pair had no power to comfort or console each other. They went on to Constantinople in a wretched reserve, broken by bickerings which ended in reconciliations, but always left the breach between them a little wider. At one of the Pera hotels, Constance met friends of hers, who received her with great cordiality, and with them she and Val crossed over to Cairo. The rainy season came on, and tribute to the genius of the great novelist. In Val gave the party yacht-room, and carried them the Surgeon's Daughter, the plot of which is laid to Naples, where they proposed to winter. The in India, he describes the country over which yacht hung in the bay, and for a brief month he carries his heroine and her deliverer, stretching or two Constance threw herself into the pleasures from Madras to Seringapatam, as minutely and of society, and was acknowledged the reigning beauty of the place. Val took to short absences, accurately as if he had himself traversed the little regretted on either side; and at last with whole route, and looked down from its heights simple coldness, outwardly, though with the frost upon every plateau and every city. It was my of downright despair in their hearts, they parted good fortune some years ago to live in Bangaat Christmas-time, and Val sailed alone up the lore, and I have some recollections that may gloomy Adriatic to Venice, and left it disgusted be not uninteresting, connected with this Indian in eight-and-forty hours, and sailed back to the city. Mediterranean, and everywhere carried his broken hopes and his remorses with him.
About the end of January, Gerard was on a visit, when some people unknown to him, and knowing nothing of his story, came to stay in the same house with him. One of them told the tale of Mr Strange's curious desertion of his charming wife. Mrs Strange was fascinating all the world of Naples, and Mr Strange was yachting about alone at that time of year too, and was it not extraordinary?
peace and obscurity, un
War gives dreadful prominence to localities. A little town remains buried for centuries in a great battle is fought near it; and then its name is echoed to the ends of the earth, and it henceforth finds a place on the pages of history. Who ever heard of Sadowa until a few years ago, when the Austrian forces were crushed beneath its walls; and not many people knew anything about Sedan until the bugle sounding from its ramparts proclaimed to the astonished world that the French Emperor and his army had surrendered. And even the wretched kraals of Zululand were made famous through the surgings of war, disaster, and victory. Thus it was that war made the names and places of the Mysore country very familiar to our grandfathers, as the spot where our laurels. For thirty years and more we waged great Wellington was then winning his first war against Hyder Ali and Tippoo Saib; and although at last victory was ours, and we effectually destroyed that proud and cruel
RECOLLECTIONS OF AN ANGLO-INDIAN Moslem dynasty, it was not until after many hard-contested fights, and not a few humiliating reverses.
One of these Mysore fortified cities, and the second in importance, was Bangalore. It is situated about two miles distant from the present English cantonment. The Fort and pettah were stormed and taken by the English under Lord Cornwallis in 1791. A monument to the memory of the fallen stands opposite to one of the gates, and its inscription tells us that Colonel Moorhouse and other gallant officers and soldiers fell on the very spot at the 'storming of Bangalore.' The Fort still presents a very imposing appearance. With its deep morass and massive ramparts, and innumerable turrets
'Hiram,' said Gerard that evening, 'I shall want you to come with me to London to
that this post-office official was not the only one who had a hazy idea as to the whereabouts of Bangalore.
Hiram quietly assented, and began to get things ready for the journey.
"If that man's come back again,' said the watchful body-guard, looking at his master's face, 'I shall have to keep a pretty sharp look-out to hold you out of mischief. I've got my score against Valentine Strange, Esquire; but I ain't goin' to see you hanged for him, mister. Not if I dog you like a shadder!'
OUR readers need hardly be ashamed if they are not well acquainted with the existence and whereabouts of Bangalore, for not every intelligent Briton is so geographically enlightened. On my return home, I took up my abode at a certain watering-place, and of course one of my first duties was to apprise my friends abroad of my safe arrival. Accordingly, I wrote a letter, and carried it to the post-office, where I inquired the price of the postage to Bangalore. The official looked at me dumfounded, and speedily reduced me to a similar condition when he made the Scotch reply: 'Bangalore! Where is it? Is it in the West Indies or the East?' I had not
although it could not stand against the monster guns of our day, yet it might have made a more stubborn resistance than it did against the British troops in those olden times of a very imperfect artillery. But I suppose that fortune favoured the brave then, as she does still. In this Fort of Bangalore is one of the famous palaces of Tippoo Saib, his favourite residence during the lifetime of his father. It is now very much in ruins, but even these still tell of the barbaric splendour of the Moslem ruler. Here was enacted the tragedy so graphically described by Sir Walter Scott in the work already alluded to, when the arch-traitor Scotchman was revealed by Hyder Ali and put to an instant cruel death.
In this connection, I was told the following romantic incident by an old general officer at Bangalore. Many years ago, a landed proprietor in a midland county of Scotland, whom we shall call Stewart of Stewartfield, was outlawed for homicide, and disappeared from the country, leaving no clue to his whereabouts. Time rolled on; and there being still no tidings of the outlaw, his estate was placed under judicial custody, for the benefit of his representatives. After the lapse of many years, the property was claimed by near relative, who became proprietor, and who, in default of direct proof of the outlaw's death, is said to have tendered, on affidavit, the following circumstantial evidence of it, as related by the late Colonel Campbell of the 74th Highlanders.
When Seringapatam was invested by the English forces in 1791, after the defeat of Tippoo Saib's army at the battle of Mallavelly, the Sultan sued for peace. Accordingly, a meeting of Commissioners was arranged to take place within a garden-house in the immediate vicinity of the fortress, to draw up a treaty. The Commissioners met; and while their proceedings were being engrossed, Colonel Campbell, who was one of the British Commissioners, sat intently gazing at the Mohammedan Commissioner who sat opposite to him at the table. At length he exclaimed half-aloud to Colonel Edington, another Commissioner: If Stewart of Stewartfield is alive, that's the man;' pointing at the same time to his Mohammedan vis-à-vis. Although the remark must have been heard by the Mohammedan Commissioner, he made no sign; but on the breaking up of the conference, and as Colonel Campbell was leaving the room, a voice whispered in English from behind him: Don't look round, or it may cost me my life; but meet me alone, outside the sally-gate at midnight to-morrow.' Notwithstanding the warning, Colonel Campbell was startled by the occurrence, and involuntarily looked round, and saw the same grave Mohammedan Commissioner, whom he had suspected to be Stewart of Stewartfield, moving off in an opposite direction. Campbell kept the tryst at the spot named; but the other party, whoever he was, never appeared. Cautious inquiries were subsequently instituted about the individual in question; but nothing was elicited; nor was he again seen or heard of by any of the British officers to whom his features had previously been familiar. It was surmised that his communication with the English officer in his own tongue
had been overheard, and that probably he had been assassinated as a traitor the fate he antici pated.
Not once, but several times have I seen a Scotchman inadvertently revealing himself under able Mussulman was to be seen daily in the cool the garb of a Turk. A few years ago, a venerof the evening taking his solitary drive along the sea-beach at Madras in his palanquin carriage. Of course he was looked upon as a genuine son of the Prophet, until one day he was taken aback, as many people are, by the exorbitant demand made upon him in a European shop for some European article. His indignant feelings laughed at his disguise, and asserted their nationality in the strong Scotch expression: 'Gude save us; it's no worth a bawbee !' When on my way home, and when on board a small Turkish steamer in the Bay of Alexandria, we having our luggage passed by two Turkish custom officers. I scanned the features of one of them, and ventured to say to my friend Major F- standing beside me: If I were a bettingman, I would stake something upon that Turk being a Scotchman.' The official heard me ; and with a cunning leer, he turned to his companion, and evidently for my satisfaction, addressed him in the broadest Aberdonian dialect.
I must now return to the Fort of Bangalore, for it can tell us another old-world story, not uninteresting to Scotchmen. In an inner court of Tippoo's palace is a deep well, overshadowed by a large tulip-tree. It is now dry, and the dwelling-place of creeping things; but it was not so in Tippoo's days. From its depths were drawn up in rich abundance the cooling waters; and the beasts of burden that were told off to this duty were the English prisoners. There, to the amusement of the ladies of Tippoo's harem, as they looked down from their iron-barred window, the captive English officers were wont to trudge up and down the incline, as they alternately pulled up the full and let down the empty bucket. Among those officers, for many weary months, was to be seen the burly figure of young Sir David Baird. And not far from this well, in one of the deep dark gateways, is the cell where Sir David and his fellow-prisoners were for a time immured. When I looked into its dreary gloom, I remembered the caustic exclamation of Sir David's mother, when the news reached Scotland of her son's capture. Referring to the method in which prisoners were chained together, and to her son's well-known irascible temper, she exclaimed: 'God pity the lad that's tied to our Davie !'
It is pleasant to remember how kindly and mercifully this same noble, albeit fiery Scotchman afterwards behaved, when victory was his, to those very Mohammedan princes, who for four years had subjected him to cruelty in their dungeons at Bangalore and Seringapatam. At seven o'clock on the morning of the 3d of May 1799, Colonel Wellesley, who had attacked the latter place, reported that the breach in the walls was practicable. A storming-party composed of upwards of four thousand men, divided into two columns, were instructed, after entering the breach, to file to the right and left along the top of the rampart. The command was intrusted to Sir David Baird, who had been nearly four years
immured as a captive in the gloomy dungeons of that fortress which he was now about to enter as a conqueror. On the following morning, the troops destined for the assault were got into the trenches; and at the hour of noon they rushed into the breach and took Seringa patam by storm in an incredibly short space of time. Tippoo Sultan, pierced with four wounds, was found dead under a dark gateway of the fortress, where his flight had been stopped by a detachment of the twelfth regiment.
Major Allan was sent to inform the persons within the palace that if they surrendered immediately, their lives should be secured. He afterwards conducted the princes to the presence of General Baird, who had himself experienced the cruelty of their father. His mind, too, had been inflamed by a report, just then received, that Tippoo had murdered all the Europeans made prisoners during the siege. He was, however, sensibly affected by the sight of the princes; and his gallantry on the assault was not more conspicuous than the moderation and humanity which he on this occasion displayed. He received the princes with every mark of regard; repeatedly assured them that no violence or insult should be offered to them, and he gave them in charge of two officers to conduct them to headquarters in camp. They were escorted by a European guard, and the troops were ordered to pay them the compliment of presenting arms as they passed. Everywhere within and about the palace, evidence met the eye or ear of the depraved and sanguinary tastes of Tippoo. His name meant tiger;' he called his soldiers his tigers of war; and the tigers of the Indian jungles were his pets, and often his executioners; for the attendant that offended him, or the prisoner that was brought into his presence, was not unfrequently turned into a barred room or large cage, where the savage animals were let loose upon him. Near the door of his treasury, an enormous tiger was found chained. There were other tigers in the edifice, and so numerous as to give some trouble to Colonel Wellesley.
The history and character of the son of Hyder were in a manner told by the barbarous big toy invented for his amusement, which was found in his palace, and which may now be seen in the library of the East India House, London. This rude automaton is a tiger, killing and about to devour a European, who lies prostrate under the savage beast. There is likewise in the palace of the Rajah of Mysore another automaton figure of a tiger, life-size, so set on springs, that Tippoo could make it leap and light on the person of any unsuspecting visitor, who of course imagined that he was assailed by a living tiger, to the great merriment of the monarch. As evidences still extant of the wild cruelty of this Sultan, I may mention that at Nundidroog, a fortified hill near to Bangalore, there is a huge projecting rock, five hundred feet above the underlying valley, which is called 'Tippoo's Drop,' as over it he was wont to hurl his prisoners; and in the dungeons of the fortress, which are naturally-formed caves, are still to be traced, engraven on the rock, as by rusty nails, the names of English and Scotch soldiers. Looking out from the ramparts of the Bangalore
get an excellent view of the old city
streets, with innumerable palm-trees, whose stems rise up tall, slender, branchless, until, from their towering tops hang down their graceful foliage and clustering fruits. The principal street of the pettah or town stretches from the Fort gate, and is about a mile in length. During early morning, and after the heat of the day is gone, this street is as crowded as the Trongate of Glasgow. To be sure, it is not so wide, nor are its houses on both sides so imposing, but yet it is a very busy scene, full of great interest, and not devoid of the picturesque. It is peculiarly Eastern; and perhaps its aspect to-day is little different from what it was centuries ago, long before the name and rule of England were known in India. For Bangalore was an old city, even when it was surrendered to Hyder Ali by the native prince, who had not the power to resist the might of the usurper. And under the wise and judicious rule of Hyder, Bangalore increased in importance and wealth, and attained a pre-eminence in the manufacture of silks and carpetings.
Of course, when war broke out it had its evil days; its very riches made it the coveted prey to needy friend and plundering foe. When Tippoo Saib wanted money-and it is to be feared that was not a rare occurrence-he did not, as our Chancellor does, increase the Income Tax, or make us pay for the luxury of handling a gun or keeping a dog; that was altogether too slow a process for Tippoo. He wanted money, and forthwith money must be had. The demand admitted of no delay; so, in his extremity he was wont to surround the city of Bangalore with his troops, and holding over the inhabitants the threat of instant plundering, he so fleeced them, that the very women were obliged to part with their most trifling ornaments. But luckily, Tippoo Saib was slain, and the Company reigned in his stead; and under the latter's peaceful and benign rule, Bangalore very soon arose from the dust, put off her sackcloth and ashes, and once more clothed herself with prosperity and riches.
Bangalore is now a more thriving and more important city than ever it was, and its inhabitants form a large, industrious, and on the whole wealthy community. The most important articles of manufacture are silks, cloths, and carpets; for the production of all of which Bangalore has earned a wide reputation throughout India. Thus, under British rule, and stimulated by British enterprise, this Indian city is flourishing. And yet so strangely perverse is human nature, there are to be found not a few of those intelligent Hindus who sigh for the 'good old times, and do not hesitate to say to us: All very well, Sahib, but oh, give us back our old Raj!' It is difficult to make the Hindus grateful to us, and it is almost an impossibility to make them love us. There is a breach that cannot easily be spanned between the conquerors and the conquered, between the white-faced strangers and the dark natives of the soil. We are giving to them, almost without money and without price, the splendid trophies of our scientific research; we are making them the sharers of our commercial enterprise and wealth; we are educating them in our best and purest knowledge; and yet I feel, and every Anglo-Indian feels, that there is a mighty chasm
between the Hindu mind and ours, between their