principle [as] Montesquieu was; and will tell us that, in countries like India, a chief, to govern well, must have a smack of the devil (’shaitan’) in him; for, if he has not, his public servants will prey upon his innocent and industrious subjects.[5] In India there are no universities or public schools, in which young men might escape, as they do in Europe, from the enervating and stultifying influence of the zanana.[6] The state of mental imbecility to which a youth of naturally average powers of mind, born to territorial dominion, is in India often reduced by a haughty and ambitious mother, would be absolutely incredible to a man bred up in such schools.  They are often utterly unable to act, think, or speak for themselves.  If they happen, as they sometimes do, to get well informed in reading and conversation, they remain, Hamlet-like, nervous and diffident; and, however speculatively or ruminatively wise, quite unfit for action, or for performing their part in the great drama of life.

In my evening ramble on the bank of the river, which was flowing against the wind and rising into waves, my mind wandered back to the hours of infancy and boyhood when I sat with my brothers watching our little vessels as they scudded over the ponds and streams of my native land; and then of my poor brothers John and Louis, whose bones now he beneath the ocean.  As we advance in age the dearest scenes of early days must necessarily become more and more associated in our recollection with painful feelings; for they who enjoyed such scenes with us must by degrees pass away, and be remembered with sorrow even by those who are conscious of having fulfilled all their duties in life towards them—­but with how much more by those who can never remember them without thinking of occasions of kindness and assistance neglected or disregarded.  Many of them have perhaps left behind them widows and children struggling with adversity, and soliciting from us aid which we strive in vain to give.

During my visit to the Raja, a person in the disguise of one of my sipahis[7] went to a shop and purchased for me five-and-twenty rupees’ worth of fine Europe chintz, for which he paid in good rupees, which were forthwith assayed by a neighbouring goldsmith.  The sipahi put these rupees into his own purse, and laid it down, saying that he should go and ascertain from me whether I wished to keep the whole of the chintz or not; and, if not, he should require back the same money—­that I was to halt to-morrow, when he would return to the shop again.  Just as he was going away, however, he recollected that he wanted a turban for himself, and requested the shopkeeper to bring him one.  They were sitting in the verandah, and the shopkeeper had to go into his shop to bring out the turban.  When he came out with it, the sipahi said it would not suit his purpose, and went off, leaving the purse where it lay, cautioning the shopkeeper against changing any of the rupees, as he should require his own identical money back if his master rejected any of the chintz.  The shopkeeper waited till four o’clock in the afternoon of the next day without looking into the purse.