into deep river bottoms of rich soil, and correspondingly heavy and miry roads. The whole way there are farms, some better, some poorer, and some, especially those on the river bottoms, very fine.

Down a long slope at a quick trot, rattle over a bridge of loose boards at the bottom, with a thundering noise, into and out of an extra mud hole on the other side with a jolt, a rattle, and a crackwell! when we get time to breathe, we have only broken the iron that supports the body of the waggon and connects it with the spring! But a bolt still holds, and we jog on slowly and carefully for a mile or two, till we reach a blacksmith's. "Oh ho!" says he, "it will take all to-day and part of next week, to mend this." Besides, he guessed he didn't think he'd do it. "What shall we do?" "I'll tell you," said a farmer standing by, "I'd have a pole, and put it in under, and fasten it to the springs, and rest the body of the carriage on it." No sooner suggested than carried out. The nearest fence supplied a rail. There was an axe in a wood pile close by. Our friend the farmer cut the rail to the proper length, and shaped it—a good timber oaken pole -it was inserted and fastened, and it carried us on safely all the day. For aught we know, and it is likely enough, it is doing duty under that waggon yet.

There was one very pleasant incident in the journey, and that was our midway rest at Plymouth. There was a patriarchal kind of simple hospitality about the inn which made it very delicious. Our boy drove right into the yard at the side of the house, and proceeded to put up his horses. The captain and we found our way round to the front, opened the unfastened hall door, and walked into a large room, the public room of the inn, and at the same time the general sleeping room of the family. A huge fire-place occupied the whole of the end of the room, while along under the window stretched a wooden settee or sofa, or "dais," as it would be called in Scotland, at the end of it a small round table, with a big Bible on it. On the walls hung a chart of presidential portraits, a map of Ohio, and a map of the United States. In a recess were some books, among them Tupper's Providential Philosophy, well thumbed! By and by, when the host came in, I found he was much in the habit of reading it.

At the back of the house was the usual bench, with the unfailing tin basin, and a piece of home-made soap on it. The well was not far off. Our host's daughter brought us the unwonted luxury of CLEAN towels, so we soon made a rapid el fresco toilet, under more favourable circumstances than usual; for in American country travelling the common towel, and the common brush and comb, are no vagaries of the imagination. Then came the usual country dinner-fried ham and eggs, both superb, with coffee and bread, not sour, but deliciously sweet and good. The quiet of the place, the sort of patriarchal simplicity of the whole, the modest bashfulness and withal attention of mine host's daughter, to say nothing of the good cheer, were things to be remembered.

Towards seven in the evening we were approaching Athens, down the valley of the Hocking. The river winds through a broad bottom of great richness. This bottom is hemmed in by high hills clothed with trees. Looking back, the valley stretched away between its

us.

environing hills till lost in the brightness of the setting sun. From hill to hill ran parallel lines of red, and orange, and gold-coloured light, the glow of which cast a haze of coloured atmosphere over the whole scene. Following down stream, this magnificent sunset was behind Presently, however, our road began to ascend along the side of the hill. It is growing dark, and the moon is mixing her pale light with the lingering glories of the sunset. Down through the trees, the wanderings of the river are traceable by the silver shining of the water; and here and there the light of some lonely dwelling appears like a star in the dusky hollow. Now we have reached the crest of the hill. For a moment we can look down either side, but only for a moment, for we have already begun to descend opposite to the side on which we came up. But the river has swept round the hill, and is on this side too. Further off, and we can just dimly discern in the moonlight, some less elevated and rounded knolls from the site of Athens. And now we are driving through the principal street. But what horrid smell is that, which almost takes away one's breath, so acrid is it, and disagreeable? It is a skunk, and this is the first time we have come across the unclean animal, knowing it to be one, though indeed we have felt that smell before, but certainly care not though we never do so again. It is seldom, however, those animals come near houses, and this must be some stray one that has wandered from the wild wood close by. Such was our inodorous welcome to Athens.

THE BENGAL REBELLION.

"WATCHMAN, Watchman, what of the night ?" is still the cry that resounds along our anxious shores. The gloomy pall of an insurrectionary war still overhangs a wide district of our eastern possessions. At length, however, on the dim horizon, one is fain to trace the first faint streaks of the coming morn. It may be that the wish is father to the thought, and that we delude ourselves with this fancy, like the thirst-maddened pilgrim mocked by the mirage in the desert; but so far as human eye can discern, the Indian mutinies appear now to have reached their culminating point. The tide of fortune has turned, and now tends directly in our favour. Many days ere these pages are in the reader's hands, Outram will in all probability have reinforced Havelock, the safety, sooner or later, of Lucknow will have been placed beyond doubt, if not actually accomplished, and the first great blow will have been dealt at the very core of the rebellion. Like the Roman Emperor, we might well wish that the scattered legions of mutineers might be concentrated into one gigantic body, whose existence might be put an end to at a single stroke. But at least there can be no doubt that the first few strokes will be the

decisive ones. A prompt victory at Lucknow will be all important in its influence on our fortunes elsewhere. The worth of an engagement, said a great general, depends not so much on the number of men you manage to kill, as on the impression you produce on the mind of the enemy. If you can once convince them of your luck or your superiority, you have as good as carried the day. In our present circumstances this maxim finds a striking illustration. A signal display of the force of

our arms at Lucknow will go far to breach the walls of Delhi for the triumphant entry of our gallant troops. The thorough defeat of the rebels at Lucknow, where matters, but a week back, looked so dark for us, so favourable for their bloody purposes, will pierce to the very vitals of the conspiracy. It will overwhelm the rebels at Delhi with confusion and dismay; shatter their confidence in their ability to cope with the Fringhees, and utterly demoralize them. Every man will fight with the halter more firmly twisted round his neck; and when men fight in that way they grow more desperate, but it is blind desperation, leading to inevitable destruction. Even as it is, the invariable supremacy of our soldiers in open conflict has told damagingly on the spirit of the mutinous organisation, which is now tottering to its fall, and which a few more shocks, if only prompt and vigorous enough, will cast crumbling in the dust.

Taken from the point of view afforded by the last mail's intelligence,* such is the prospect that naturally suggests itself. The news must be already too familiar to every one to require repetition. Outram was expected to join Havelock on the 12th September, and the united force was at once to march to the relief of Lucknow. Near Delhi, a body of rebels, thrown out to intercept the British siege train, which was advancing towards it, had been signally routed by Nicholson. Inside Delhi, the direst confusion and misery prevailed. Filthy living had bred sickness; the wounded lay dying in the streets, without medical aid; supplies of powder and shot were failing fast; money was at a discount; the bankers had refused any advances to the king, except in government notes; and the King had put sentries at every banker's door; the commanders were at loggerheads; the soldiers disorderly. Outside Delhi, the British were quickly gathering strength; and by the 3d of September, it was anticipated, all appliances for the assault would have been in readiness. Thereafter, no time was to have been lost.

The result of these circumstances is inevitable. Not for a moment can any one question that ultimately our arms will prevail. The victory is sure, but it may not be speedy. It is sure to be costly, even at the cheapest estimate, in our most valuable treasure-our soldier's lives. And even when at length the British standard shall wave above the crumbling ruins of the accursed capital, blood-stained with the butchery of tender women and helpless babes and sucklings, who knew not their right hand from their left, and haunted by the shades of those who suffered tortures which the tongue of man dare hardly tell, and at the very thought of which the blood curdles in our veins-even when Delhi shall have fallen, though the mutiny will be more than half killed, and the main danger will have been subdued, our troubles and difficulties will have little more than commenced. Sparks will smoulder in hidden places, and the fire will break forth again and again, now in one quarter now in another, ere it be finally crushed out. And then when at length danger's troubled night shall have passed away, and the star of peace shall have risen in the cloudless firmament, the mighty labour to which England, in these latter days, has been called by the great disposer of events, will be but entered upon. Then will come the glorious labour of re-establishing our empire-not on the mutual dissensions, on the fri

*Arrived October 10.

volities and evil passions, on the ignorance and fears, on the sin and misery of the native races-but on the best qualities of their naturally noble natures; on their intelligence and affection, on their united brotherhood and advancing civilization, on truth, justice, and mercy. Hitherto we have dealt with this people in the spirit of sordid hucksters and careless oppressors; hereafter, if we would retain our place in the east, we must deal with them in quite another spirit and after another fashion. We must whip all mere money-changers out of the gate of justice before we can rear an empire that will be stable and enduring. We have sinned in neglecting our adopted children. We have done nothing to train the Hindoos in the way of life, but have been content to pocket our gains, and to let the people live as they listed, so long as they meddled not with us. There is an end to that state of affairs. This terrible mutiny has been our last warning; and if our humiliation-day is to mean ought, we must take this warning to our hearts. A sick-bed repentence avails little. Good intentions only pave the way to hell. Unless we make up our minds to discharge our duties to our Eastern subjects more righteously than we have done; unless we mean to give more thought to their well-being, and to sympathise more in their affairs-unless we both mean and do these things, our humiliation day has been a mockery, a delusion, and a snare-a piece of silly hypocrisy before the nations, and wicked blasphemy before our God. The lesson we have to digest is simple enough, and is the result of no ingenious investigation. It lies glaringly enough on the face of the matter, and no man can plead ignorance of it. Rightly or wrongly, we took a great duty upon our shoulders. We set ourselves up as the rulers of many millions of people. We have neglected them. We have flattered ourselves into a belief that we held a firm seat in their affections and regard, and now that our bubble-dream is burst, and its bright hues vanished; now that these men, whom we called our friends, and gave our hearts to, have turned upon us and rent us, we have no right to cast on their shoulders the whole guilt, crying, "Are we our brethren's keepers ?" We have given too little heed to how things went in India. In our anxiety to maintain mere surface order and quiescence, careless or blind to the storm that was brewing underneath, we have walked after other gods to our hurt, and have not held firmly to our Christian principles. Our aim has been too much to keep things pleasant, no matter at what cost. We have tried to serve too many masters, and to be all things to all men. We have tried to deal with idolaters as though we were idolaters, and at the same time with Christians as though we were Christians; and the idolaters in the land having the majority, our line of conduct has savoured more of favour for idolatry than for our own Christian faith. And in this way, to avoid offending the prejudices of the Brahmins, we have, in forming our native regiments, practically excluded Christians, and rendered conversion a heavy breach of discipline-heavier, judging from the punishment it brings down on the proselyte, than any other short of murder or treason-for it seems to have entailed almost invariably expulsion from the ranks. A serious stumbling-block was thus placed in the way of the missionaries, hardly to be surmounted; for expulsion from the regiment not only led to the loss of an honourable and well-paid employinent, but carried with it disgrace and privation.

The man who was turned out, like a mangy sheep from the flock, for fear he should infect the others, was branded with a mark of ignominy and disgrace, hardly effaceable by his recantation of Christianity. We are not speaking without facts in this charge. Here is a case in point, established on unchallangeable authority. It is from an account written in 1837, by Mr. Fisher, a missionary. A Brahmin named Matthew Prahbu Din was dismissed the Company's service in 1819, simply and solely because he had become a Christian; and Mr. Fisher gathered the facts from the man's own lips.

“The Brahmins, now finding him so resolved to become a Christian, tried to shake his steadfastness by the offer of money, and proposed to subscribe and settle upon him a monthly sum of twenty rupees for his life. This he instantly rejected, saying that he believed Jesus Christ would provide for him much better than they could, and with this advantage-that it would be for ever. Finding him resolute, they endeavoured to vilify his character, represented him to be a drunkard and a glutton, nay, at last insisted upon it that he was insane. Some of these scandals appear to have been believed by some of his superiors, for a regimental court of inquiry was instituted into his conduct, the result of which, however, was that the most satisfactory evidence was brought forward, not only that he had always conducted himself remarkably well, but that he was a particularly smart, intelligent, and active soldier.

"He has remained at Meerut ever since, living on his pay. Better than all, he continues to live consistently with his profession, a sincere and faithful Christian believer.

"When Sir Edward Paget was Commander-in-Chief, and was passing on his tour of inspection through Meerut, I stated, in conversation, all the above particulars to him. He expressed a most lively interest in the situation and circumstances of such a man, and authorised Colonel Nicol to propose to Matthew Brabhu Din to appoint him to a higher rank in some one or other of the local corps. Matthew expressed himself grateful for such condescension, but said, with great emotion, although respectfully, I cannot accept this. I have done nothing that should involve dismissal from my own corps, in which I am now a degraded man. Send me back to my regiment, and I shall have the disgrace washed out, and I will thankfully go back.' As this request, however, could not be complied with, (though I know not why), Matthew remained on his pension pay. I ought not to withhold one circumstance which I think highly creditable to his character. At the commencement of the Burmese war Matthew Prabhu Din requested me to communicate to Major-General Sir Thomas Reynell his wish to be allowed to volunteer and join any of the native corps that were going on the service. I have long eaten their salt,' said he, and men are wanted: I am ready!' Sir Thomas highly appreciated his military feeling, and admired the man. He is a fine, tall, athletic soldier, and his spirit is of a noble order, but it seems there were some insurmountable difficulties in the way, and he was courteously told it could not be. I am not acquainted with the reasons. "Some few years, too, after these events his old corps marched through Meerut. The non-commissioned officers and men of the company came to visit Matthew, and greeted him with much cordiality and kindness. Many of them exclaimed, 'Why don't you come back to us? what harm have we done? Our officers, the Sahib log, are Christians. Our serjeant-major and quartermaster serjeant are Christians. The drummers also are Christians. Why cannot you remain?' What could be reply? It is the Company's will and pleasure.'

"I believe this feeling now widely prevails, for I have learned, from authority which I cannot doubt, that many Sepoys have expressed their conviction that however our British law of toleration warrants the free exercise of his own faith to the Mohammedan or to the Hindoo, yet that in embracing Christianity the doom of Matthew Prabhu Din most inevitably awaits them. They would be dismissed from their regiment as unfit to be employed, and disqualified for any association with their equals, and for the confidence of their superiors. The Rev. Anund Musseeh assured me that several Sepoys had expressly told him, 'We are heartily disposed to embrace the truth, but these consequences are too painful for us to endure.'

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