Hindostan. It has been the object of the Court of Directors to attach the people by making them happy. O, how wise! O, how worthy of an eternal monument! What! though some of the Company's servants have done wrong, and inflicted injury, have they not been dragged like tigers from their dens, to suffer from the spears of reprobation; and shall we blame a large body for the acts of an individual? No; British justice, English good sense, and the East-India Company's known intentions to do good, have gained them the hearts of Hindostan. May it be perpetual! Ye who have power, let not colonization commit robbery! O, let not a licentious press disseminate poison instead of instruction, where there is not an antidote in public opinion! Guard the prejudices and religious institutions of the meek and gentle inhabitants from the meddling, foolish attacks of bigots and fanatics, who think that God cannot accomplish his wise purposes, without the aid of creatures framed from perishable dust. Continue to them their own panjaits, or native village courts, for the trial and settlement of all criminal and civil cases. Give them the benefit of education and science, those

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openers of the eyes of human understanding; and when they see error, let it be corrected by a regular surrender, instead of being extirpated by invasion and persecution. Justice, like honesty, is the wisest policy.

I have said, that it always afforded me great pleasure to see happy faces. Village life, therefore, was my study and delight in India. When I was in the Carnatic, in Bengal, in Malabar, in Mysore, in Guzerat, in Kutch, and in the Deckan, as well as in the Koncan and at Bombay, it was the charm of my evenings to walk or ride to the villages, and witness the sports and amusements of the people.

"I love thee, Twilight! for thy gleams impart
Their dear, their dying influence to my heart,

When, o'er the harp of thought, thy passing wind
Awakens all the music of the mind;

And joy and sorrow, as the spirit burns,

And hope and memory sweep the chords by turns."

MONTGOMERY.

At this melting period of time I have frequently seen crowds of Hindoos, male and female, commixed as in our village scenes, and equally full of laugh, fun, and life, amusing themselves with the exhibitions of jugglers, story-tellers, buffoons, and

play-actors. Sometimes these displays of ingenuity and feats of art were in the open air, on the clean turf, under overspreading trees; at others, in large tents, or temporary erections, covered with palm-leaves.

The Madras jugglers perform nearly all our legerdemain tricks: they moreover astonish Europeans by swallowing swords; leaping through hot irons and pointed instruments; poising men on long poles resting on their breasts, chins, and noses; tumbling and vaulting on the tight-rope; swinging and balancing on the slack-rope; so that many of them would excite surprise, even after the wonders and deceptions of London and Paris. I have given specimens of the story-telling art: the buffoons are half equal to our fools and harlequins in making horrible faces, and in performing extraordinary feats. Monsieur Alexandre could scarcely transform himself faster than the heroes of a Hindoo pantomime. They enter in all manner of shapes; as tigers, lions, bears, buffaloes, wolves; as gods, with monstrous heads of elephants, monkeys, fishes, and all the astonishing variety in Hindoo mythology; as old women,

old men, lovers, warriors, Europeans, drunken sailors, &c. It is a curious fact, that the natives of India ridicule on the stage what they adore in the temple. They laugh at their gods under ridiculous transformations; but the utility of their actions, which induced them to assume these disguises, prevents the contempt at the altar which is felt in the theatre. To understand their ideas and feelings, it would be necessary for us to read the history of their religion, or to hear their popular legends with somewhat of kindred superstition. I need not say more than this respecting the buffoons; but it may be interesting to offer a brief notice of their histrionic performers.

Sir William Jones, and other elegant oriental scholars, have placed the higher dramatic productions of the Hindoo school so well before us, that I need not adduce any thing further than my own eye and ear views. The Indian villagers are amused with our three descriptions of theatricals. I have seen tragedy, comedy, and farce; you may also witness opera singing and pantomime, as well as efforts a-la-mode de Mathews and Henry. Their stage is generally formed of a few carpets,

in as many moments: some mats answer well enough for a screen, or dressing-room. They care little about artificial scenery, having such luxuriance in all its natural beauty. Their orchestra is in general very good; for music is the soul of their pieces, sometimes accompanying the speakers, and always playing when the actors are silent. Much of the plot of every piece is carried on in dumb shew; and I often thought that the audience were more excited by what they supposed or imagined, than by the story, which is in general very simple and brief.

The village theatricals of India consist of sacred and profane tales, thrown into dialogue, and transmitted by the power of memory from one to another; for few of them are found in writing. In their sacred plays, many of which are farces, the actions of the gods are described; their loves with the daughters of men; their disguises to destroy giants and tyrants, to overcome magicians, to liberate captive beauties, and to benefit mankind. The Hindoos laugh at the same incidents that our peasantry would extol to the skies; such as the upsets which the gods encounter from