and cobras, lazy Indian ladies, Madras schools, a Court native writer's knowledge of English, the doings of "John Company," military and civilians; in short, of every thing and every body, from her own baby down to a "crack Collector." The good natured Madrassís were astounded at the impudence of "a Lady" who had come boldly forward to paint their flourishing presidency; while, at the same time, they smiled over the flippant and impertinent, yet clever style of the writer. The Londoners, of course, fancied the mirror was admirably held up to nature. The Bengalís unanimously said that the volume was" very amusing." The Madrassís, in a vain hope that the storm would blow over, merely treated the intruder with a sort of contempt, making use of the letters for the lighting of a cheroot or the packing up of jewellery.

The

No literary advocate came forward to crush the usurper. "Letters from Madras" would be forgotten as children of a day. But although this neglect of the "Letters" was fairly due to the Madrassís, it did not exactly suit the pocket of Mr. Murray, who, some three years after the first appearance of the letters, came down with overwhelming force the assailants being neatly drawn out in the "Home and Colonial Library"-" cheap literature for all classes."

The letters, on their re-appearance, met with a flattering reception from some of the principal London Journals, where the "beauties" were extensively exposed to public view. By some they were praised considerably above their merit: but this was to be expected; for who can pass an unquestionably fair opinion on an Indian book without having been in India? In the edition before us, however, we have detected a slight omission from the half bound volume which first attracted our notice. From Rajahmundry, in the old edition, in a comparison between the civil and military ladies, we have as follows:

"The military ladies....a ..are always quite young, pretty, noisy, affected, showily dressed, with a great many ornaments, mauvais ton, chatter incessantly from the moment they enter the house, twist their curls, shake their bristles, and are altogether what you may call "Low Toss.”—P. 169. Ed. 1843.

In the present volume, we have "mauvais ton," and the three last extremely vulgar remarks, entirely omitted. Their ejection has certainly effected an improvement in the book; but when we come to consider that these remarks were written by "a Lady"-the wife of a high officer in the Honourable Company's Service-either she or her friends should have endeavoured to suppress the re-appearance of a book which can only injure the name of the fair author of it. In addition to the above, we are treated with such choice dainties as "sick and solemn," "waste their substance and their stomach-aches on spongy shaddocks and sour oranges," ," "scratch their musquito-bites," "a tough job of it," and about one hundred more such elegant expressions: but we have no desire to plague our readers, so shall at once ask them to accompany us to Rajahmundry, accurately described by the writer as "a most lovely spot, on the banks of a magnificent river, the Godavery, with fine hills in the distance."

Let us suppose ourselves on the march with troops, en route from the Nizam's territory to Rajahmundry. The morning is fresh and clear, and the sepoys are plodding steadily along, leaving the little village of Pedda Pungadi well in the rear. Within eight miles of the Godavery, all are anxious to reach as quickly as possible the banks of that noble river. We are fairly on its banks just as the morning" opes its golden gates." It is the month of January: and, in consequence of the river not being down, a considerable march through the sand is necessary before we can near the water. While the sepoys and the baggage are being transported across, some zealous note-taker pulls forth his pocket-book, and writes: "The scenery around is of a quiet, graceful, and beautiful description. Viewing Rajahmundry, from the opposite side of the river, the Court-house is the chief object which catches the eye;-to the right of that, is the Judge's mansion, from which extends a line of green foliage, dying away into a comparative vacancy-the scenery around enriched by beautiful hills at the distance. The Godavery is certainly a superb river, stately and majestic, flowing along with a tranquil grandeur,-much more picturesque, though, perhaps, not so impressive, as the rapid and dark flowing Kistna." The nearing of the Bulkut* disturbs the raptures into which the note-taker has flown with the scenery and a fancied well turned sentence. It may be as well to state for the information of those who have not visited India, that this, for the note-taker, too speedy boat is very large, and is composed of two long boats, put together side by side, and thick planks placed along and cross. By this construction, we have a very safe vessel for the conveyance of large quantities of baggage and troops across a wide river. In general appearance the boat is somewhat similar to a raft of two large pontoons, which can with safety bear the pressure of upwards of seventy cwt. In about half an hour, Rajahmundry is reached, from whence proceeded the greater number of the "Letters from Madras." We ride through the town, and find it to be of considerable size, and more cleanly than the generality of native towns. The traffic is considerable, and travellers may purchase excellent thick cloths at a very cheap rate. Rajahmundry is celebrated for its cloth, tobacco, pottery, and its agates and cornelians from the Godavery. These stones are finely polished here, and any one wishing to make a collection may easily find what he requires. Rajahmundry is certainly "a most lovely spot," and, is as interesting from its historical association as from its beautiful scenery. In 1759, when the French and English were contending for the sovereignty of India-the French intriguing with the Soubahdar of the Dekhan, and the English with any Rajah that would pay-a petty chief attacked Vizagapatam and took it from the French, to whom it had been given by the munificent Soubahdar. This Rajah, as he styled himself, by name Anunderaz, having been refused assistance by the Council at Madras, to aid him in the expulsion of the French from the Dekhan, went to Bengal and

*This is a Telugú word, as well as Tamil, and means a large boat.

received the necessary aid from Clive. An expedition, under Colonel Forde, was dispatched to the Northern Circars. Aided by Anunderaz, the English force marched against M. Conflans, and entirely defeated him at Peddalore, distant about forty miles from Rajahmundry, "the French," says Thornton, "retreating with incredible speed." "The retreat of the French," continues our new historian of the Indian Empire, "was conducted upon the principle of each man providing for himself. The flying troops took various routes, but most of them towards Rajahmundry. To this place the French Commander, M. Conflans, bent his way; and if he had gained little reputation as a soldier, he seemed resolved at least to challenge the distinction of being a bold and rapid rider. No instances are recorded of his care to preserve the remnant of his army; but it is related that he traversed the whole distance from the field of battle to Rajahmundry, at full gallop, and by obtaining changes of horses, performed the journey in an incredibly short space of time." This appears to be one of the characteristics of a great French leader (Sir M. Conflans was one of the great Bussy's Commanders), the deserting the army in a case of emergency, and, as it is commonly termed, looking after number one. Even Napoleon was not free from this fugitive weakness. The French were at length assembled in Rajahmundry; but wisely deemed it impolitic to remain there. There was certainly a fort, but they had lost all their cannon; so they fled with all possible speed across the Godavery, and history treats us with nothing more important concerning M. Conflans and his army. The subsequent capture of Masulipatam, our victories over the French, our gradual co-operation with the Soubalıdar of the Deccan, and our founding a firm footing on the Coromandel Coast, are all well known to the readers of Indian history.

In a quiet spot like Rajahmundry, it would be natural to suppose, that a lady who loved letter-writing (and how many educated ladies are there who do not ?) would find an excellent field for the enjoyment of her wise recreation and such is the nature of the situations in which very many of our English ladies in India are placed. Letter-writing is the only branch of literature in which the fair may be allowed to bear away the palm. Woman appears to have been ordained to excel in the epistolary style. They have certainly shone for a considerable time in the higher walks of literature-those talented beings who spring from the crowd and tower above their sex; yet many can never read a novel or an astronomical problem by a woman, without exclaiming, "This clever lady would have been better employed in writing a good letter!" Letter-writing would seem to be peculiarly her province-to say pleasant and agreeable things in a pleasant and agreeable way. Woman's sincere letter is like her own love, the very emblem of herself. We can easily imagine the "wedded bride" of but a few months past, writing to her husband who has been ordered off some distance on field service, "If you can be capable of any jealousy, let it be for the fond caresses I shall bestow on your letters, and envy only the happiness of those rivals."

We are not so extremely partial to those ladies, whose characteristic tendency it is" to perform the function of Conscience-keepers and Lecturers to their acquaintances," as a London reviewer remarks in a notice of a new work entitled "Letters to my unknown friends." Mrs. Chapone is, we should say, the only lady who ever could do this with any grace and even now she is little read; and when she is, we are thrown back from our pleasant times to the evening assemblies of the last century, and think of the "blue stockings" in their brightest colours. It is with woman's general literature, as it is, or rather as it ought to be with her letters. Female literature ought to be always of a different nature from that which adorns the other sex. To see a lady plodding over a Laplace or a Blackstone, seems as much out of place as to behold a gentleman sitting down with a needle and worsted to embroider a Dido or a Chief Justice on a piece of canvass. But the study of music, painting, that style of book-literature which is in accordance with the nature of the sex-and especially the works of our best lady letterwriters these conjointly, must form the really valuable literary lady.

When, launched into the wide ocean of life, she begins to think of giving a few charming letters to the world, one of the principal things to be considered is the vast difference between wit and vulgarity. A man of an enlightened mind can never forgive vulgarity in a clever woman; and we have every right to suppose that the purely minded woman bears the same feeling towards a vulgar man. "Wild, absurd, and ever-changing opinions" are also decidedly hostile to good letters. Did we possess the caprice, the eccentricity, the artificiality, the fastidiousness, of the "Sublime and the beautiful Walpole," as Macaulay amusingly denominates him; or the pertness and admirable powers of description of Lady Montague, our fickleness and exaggeration of opinion might be excused by the reading world. But where this is almost entirely wanting, letters will never do with only a sort of cleverness to recommend them. In our opinion, the following is one of the best passages in the "Letters from Madras: "

"The snakes have very much confirmed my belief in physiognomy. They certainly have a great deal of countenance; a cunning, cruel, spiteful look that tells at once that they are capable of any mischief; in short, "beaucoup de caractère,” and the more venomous the snake, the worse his expression. The harmless ones look harmless; I think I should almost know a "too much good snake” by his too much bad countenance. The Cobra is the worst, his eyes are quite hideous; and that boa constrictor at the Cape was very disgusting: but after all I do not know that there is any thing more horrid in the way of physiognomy than a shark; there is a cold-blooded, fishy malignity in his eyes that quite makes one shudder."-P. 50. L. XI. This is powerful and natural writing, and is as good in its way as the following burst of maternal affection :

"That is the grand Indian sorrow-the necessity of parting with one's children."-P. 137. L. 26.

Had we only been favoured with a few more such passages in the place of the many absurd and scurrilous ones, we could so easily present to our readers, the "Letters from Madras" might have earned an honourable and lasting reputation.

About three years after the writer's first arrival in Madras, during which period she had entered more into the spirit of "Indian Affairs' than perhaps any other English lady on record, frequently as much out of her proper sphere as the women in France of a certain rank who interfered in politics before the revolution, we find her at Bangalore, previous to departure for England. The pleasant occupation of drawing appears to have been one of her favourite pursuits; and for this we give her the highest credit for good taste, writing from Bangalore she says:

"I am busy now making a drawing of a very uncommon pagoda inside the fort. It is a mixture of Hindu and Moorish architecture, very grotesque and curious indeed. I perceive there are regular styles and orders in the Hindu architecture. Wild and confused as it seems, it is as determinate in its way as Grecian or Gothic. A-thinks it is all derived from Jewish or Egyptian traditions, and there is as much of corruption as of invention in their idolatry.”—P. 140, L. 26.

In the whole history of the antiquities and literature of India, there is nothing which excites more general admiration than her architecture. How the inhabitants of a nation-to many so seemingly barbarous— could have raised such beautiful temples, could have constructed so many skilful and frequently graceful columns, strikes us with a rare astonishment. Yet such is generally the fate of nations. Italy could not now build another Colosseum, in splendour equal to the great original : Greece could not give us another Temple of Minerva. The classic architectural greatness of Greece and Italy, as well as that of India, has vanished away. We have seen most of the principal pagodas in the South of India, and it has often struck us that they were in some measure copies of the Egyptian style; and we believe this to be a general supposition. We remember a French Engineer informing us, after his having taken the sections of one of these pagodas, that the style of architecture was so wonderful, and so incomprehensible, in many respects, that he believed the world knew nothing at all about it. The Engineer, we believe, made a complete plan of it, and took the interesting sketch with him to Paris.

Crawford gives an affinity between the inhabitants of Hindústan, and those of ancient Egypt, but he concludes by stating that he cannot find any thing to warrant the assertion, that the laws, religion, and customs of Egypt had been brought to India. In the course of our travels, the most beautiful" mixture of Hindu and Moorish architecture" we have met, was at Condapillay, a village about one hundred and eighty miles from Secunderabad, and fifty-five from the town of Masulipatam. It is nothing more than the ruins of a palace, or, as Manfred would term it :

"A noble wreck in ruinous perfection."

To visit the remains of the palace, situated about the summit of a large rocky hill, we wound through a kind of stony road, probably the ancient approach to the seat of royalty. This road, through its manifold windings, appeared to be nearly a mile in length; and the traveller makes his way slowly, but not surely.