Fidelity to his engagements, however, was not to be expected from Holkar; and at this time Malcolm represents him, as advising a very different system, for overthrowing the British influence, from that which Scindeah was meditating. Holkar strenuously dissuaded his brother Mahrattas, from attempting to cope with the English in the field; and recommended the encouragement of the Pindaries, Patans, and Bheels, in pillaging and laying waste the country. In himself pursuing this system, Holkar gave rise to those enormities, which at length demanded the interference of the British Government; and in 1808, fell into a state of insanity, in which he lingered until 1811, when he died, leaving his states to Mulhar Row, then an infant of four years old, and now at the head of the Holkar government. That the death of Jeswunt Row Holkar should have left his dominions exposed to the direst troubles and calamities, will excite no surprize, when it is recollected of what heterogeneous, and turbulent materials his army was composed. It was fortunate for the reigning prince, then only four years old, that he fell into the hands of TOOLSAL Bhye, another of those remarkable women, with whose history Malcolm makes us acquainted. Attempts were repeatedly made to seize and to murder this young prince; and when at one time, shut up in a fort, and besieged by his enemies, a party of friends forced their way to the chambers of the young Holkar, Toolsah Bhye was found with the child in her arms, and a dagger at his heart, determined, had they been enemies, that they should not carry off so rich a prize in life. Toolsah Bhye, a woman of great vigour, but of loose and dissipated manners, was herself ruled by another female, Meenah Bhye, of whom Malcolm has given us many entertaining anecdotes, to which we can only refer our readers. She experienced the fate of many court favourites: she was superseded in her influence, banished from the palace, and died by poison. Balluram, a Brahmin of distinguished talents, also fell a victim to Toolsah Bhye's cruelty; and we recommend to our readers to peruse Malcolm's welltold account of the murder of his old friend and co-negotiator. It is well known, that Toolsah Bhye herself was murdered in her own camp, the morning on which the bat tle of Mahid poor was fought; and so generally detested had she made herself by her cruelties and immoralities, that although her cries disturbed the silence of the night throughout the camp, not a sword was drawn in defence of her life. After the battle of Mahidpore, the Holkar government found it necessary to negotiate; and the treaty of Mundisson was entered into, and peace established on the terms of the victor. We shall not at present follow our author through the account, which he gives of the petty chiefs of Rajpootana, of the Pindaree leaders, and the Nabobs of Bhopal; but only remark, that this part of his first volume will be found highly entertaining. We have, we hope, said enough to recommend the work to the perusal of all, who are desirous of being acquainted with the history of families and states, with whom recent events has brought us into the closest contact; and we promise them no little amusement and instruction for their pains. From what our author has advanced, as we shall afterwards take occasion to shew, have been drawn conclusions, which some may be inclined to question, namely, that in the States of Central India, there are to be found all the principles and ingredients of social order and independence, and that a short period of peace and prosperity will enable them to protect themselves, and to provide for their own government and happiness, without the aid of foreign assistance. Until we look into the second volume, we shall reserve our opinion upon the weight, due to these highly important conclusions, observing, in the mean time, that there are others, which appear to us still more obvious, upon the perusal of the first. It is clear, that for this country there is no peace or prosperity to be expected, without the existence in it of a power, to which all the others shall look up with one accord, as paramount in strength and influence. Secondly, That in the exercise of this influence, the principles and prejudices, which have been engrafted into the native governments, are in almost all cases, to be respected-in none, to be rashly interfered with and overthrown, where the ruling power is of another faith and region: and, thirdly, That nothing will be found easier, than for this power to restrain even the turbulent Mahrattas and Rajpoots, within the bounds of good order. The first volume of Malcolm, therefore, leads us to look back with astonishment on the policy, which was once pursued. The second, to which we shall turn our attention in our next number, will be found to prove its errors, by displaying the almost incredible blessings, which have flowed from its rejection, and from a return to the very opposite. [To be continued.] OUTWARD BOUND, Or Lines written to a Friend in England, from on board an outward bound Indiaman. BLEST be the man, whose happy thought And blest be he, above all men, THY aid I ask-thy aid is given, WITH hope elate, and favouring gale, q For who by friends was e'er carest, Or who could boast, as I could do, SHALL I forget, how oft we strove, Companions meet for one another? LET tempests rage, and Sirius burn, Till misery's self would own his power, And wonder where she lost an hour.Now many a sad, but hallowed tear, Bedews the friend, and hero's bier. THE Sweetest joys of life I've proved, Both loving dearly, and belovedSo whispered something near my heart, In that sad hour, when doomed to part, 1 bade those honest souls adieu, Who well my numerous failings knew. When closes now my short career, They bless me with a parting tear, And kindly pray, that Hayen may grant, Whate'er my warmest wishes. want. I saw the tear from beauty's eye To her, who shed the hallowed tear, From life's dull calms and tempests rude, Oh! may she every blessing know THEN deem not, when I took my leave, My callous heart refused to grieveFor all the pangs the man that melt I knew; and knowing, sore I felt The anguish that the bosom tears, When melted by a sister's prayers, Stern- purpose staggers, and we pause To break the best of nature's laws. STILL Sound those counsels in my ear That MARY breathed from heart sincereCounsels, that came so sweetly clad, At once they pleased-they made me sad: They told me I was doomed to part With her, who shared my warmest heart, Whose tender care oft watched my bed, When health had flown, and spirits fled, Whose graver wisdom oft had proved My better guide, when I had roved Where youthful follies lead astray From prudence' path and wisdom's way. They spoke me, too, beloved by one, The dearest name I e'er had known; For early she, that gave me birth, Was gathered to her kindred earth. Ere long a mother's cares I shared, For me, alas! no mother cared. Nor oft he wept, nor oft he smiled, The mantle of my mother's mind. AND ah! had she to us been spared, Who once my fond affection shared, Who living came thro' nature's strife, In which the mother yielded lifeStill kindly loved, and near my heart, Though doomed in early life to part, Nor fated one short fleeting year, Her brother's fond embrace to share, She too had felt what Mary knew, When sighing forth a long adieu. E'en when the parting hour drew righ, Soft stole the tear, and breathed the sigh, From him, who made of sterner stuff, BUT tempts my muse the sportive vein, More lacks the spur, than needs the rein. A quarter-deck confines her strains, And here e'en sober sadness reigns. No wit at table seen to flow, The weary moments, sad and slow, Move silent on, from grace to grace, Nor wine itself can urge their pace.→ Nor when the cooling breezes blow, E'er trip we on fantastic toeNo music greets our ill-starred ears, Except the music of the spheres.— Nor e'en the social game at cards Our patience, or our pains rewards. When evening breathes a cooler air, We meet, our miseries to compare; We talk o'er mutual woes-complainThen part, to feel our woes again. I would not ask the childish joys, That please some giddy girls and boys; I would not seek the boisterous mirth, That to the bottle owes its birth; Nor would I give the livelong day, To pastime, dance, or sober play. I'd only steal the vacant hour We now devote to ennui's power; Or when the boisterous waves refuse The rest, which graver studies chuse, And bid such dire confusion reign Within the region of the brain, That were the sacred cell laid bare, You'd doubt, if any brains were there. "BUT you have ladies-have you not?" Ladies! 'tis true-I had forgot, Else had they long ere now been sung, The pretty, plain, the old, the young.— Ours boast not beauties bright nor rare, But hold-I must not touch 'em there; Or should I dare, my courtly muse Will straight the needful strains refuse. YET oft my peevish muse complains, That dull and dismal silence reigns; And girls, to tattle ably able, Are mute and dumb at dinner table. Say, do they leave their tongues behind 'em, And when they need 'em, cannot find 'em? I ne'er was pleased to pass a mill, A little grave, and melancholy. They ne'er in modest beauty shone, In wanton and unchaste array, BUT there are those of modest worth, And longing for a Parent's arms, FAREWELL, my pen! thy task is done D. |