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Upon the necks of these camels, beautiful little Persian kittens are seen seated, the venders finding a ready sale for their live cargo both at European and native houses. These silken-haired, bushytailed cats make the prettiest and the most useful pets of an Indian establishment; they are capital mousers, and will attack snakes and the larger kind of lizards; a bungalow, tenanted by one of these long-furred specimens of the feline race and a terrier-dog, will soon be cleared of vermin. They are in great esteem all over the country, and will fetch from eight to fifty rupees, the latter price being offered at Calcutta, where they are not so easily procured as in the upper country. The common cat of Hindoostan is exceedingly ugly when unmixed with foreign breeds; but there is a very pretty and curious variety in the Indian islands, with a sleek coat and a short flat tail, square at the end. The Persian merchants also bring very beautiful greyhounds to India for sale, but they are always extremely high-priced, being much in request; the native, or pariah dogs, are a degenerate and useless race of mongrels, and infinite care is taken to preserve foreign breeds, which require great attention, the climate being very unfavorable to all except the hardiest sort of terriers.

The unsheltered site of Etawah affords ample opportunity for the contemplation of the changes of the atmosphere; in no part of India do the hot winds blow with greater fury. This terrible visitation takes place in March, and continues during the whole of April and May. The wind usually arises about eight o'clock in the morning, and if coming from the right point (the west), and strong enough to cause sufficient evaporation, the tatties are put up, thick mats, made of the roots of a fragrant grass (cuscus), upon bamboo frames, fitting into the doors or windows; all the apertures in a contrary direction being closely shut. These tatties are kept constantly wet, by men employed to throw water upon them on the outside, and the wind which comes through them is changed into a rush of cold air, so cold sometimes as to oblige the party within to put on additional clothing. While the wind continues steady, the only inconveniences to be borne are the dark- that second plague of Egypt common to Indian houses, and the confinement; for those who venture abroad pay dearly for their temerity the atmosphere of a gasometer in full operation might as easily be endured; exhaustion speedily follows, the breath and limbs fail, and, if long exposed to the scorching air, the skin will peel off. Yet this is the period chosen by the natives for their journeys and revelries; they cover their faces with a cloth, and with this simple precaution brave the fiercest blasts of the simoom. These winds usually subside at sunset, though they sometimes blow to a later hour, and are known to continue all night. If they should change to the eastward, the tatties are useless, producing only a hot damp steam. In this event, the only means of mitigating the heat is to exclude the wind by filling up the crevices, hanging thick curtains (purdahs) over the doors, and setting all

ness,

the punkahs in motion; inefficient expedients, for, in despite of all, the atmosphere is scarcely bearable; excessive and continual thirst, languor of the most painful nature, and irritability produced by the prickly heat, render existence almost insupportable. Every article of furniture is burning to the touch; the hardest wood, if not well covered with blankets, will split with a report like that of a pistol, and linen taken from the drawers appears as if just removed from a kitchen fire. The nights are terrible; every apartment being heated to excess, each may be compared to a large oven, in which M. Chaubert alone could repose at ease. Gentlemen usually have their beds placed in the verandahs, or on the chubootur, as they incur little risk in sleeping in the open air, at a season in which no dews fall, and there is scarcely any variation in the thermometer. Tornadoes are frequent during the hot winds; while they last, the skies, though cloudless, are darkened with dust, the sun is obscured, and a London fog cannot more effectually exclude the prospect. The birds are dreadful sufferers at this season; their wings droop, and their bills are open as if gasping for breath; all animals are more or less affected, and especially those which have been imported to the country. Our Persian cats were wont to coil themselves round the jars of water in the bathingrooms, and to lie on the wet grass between the tatties, where they frequently received a sprinkling from the copious libations poured upon the frames without. If, tired of confinement, they ventured into the verandah, they would speedily return, looking quite aghast at the warm reception they had met with abroad.

The breaking up of the hot winds affords a magnificent spectacle; they depart in wrath, after a tremendous conflict with opposing elements. The approaching strife is made known by a cloud, or rather a wall of dust, which appears at the extremity of the horizon, becoming more lofty as it advances. The air is sultry and still, for the wind, which is tearing up the sand as it rushes along, is not felt in front of the billowy masses, whose mighty ramparts gather strength as they spread; at length the plain is surrounded, and the sky becomes as murk as midnight. Then the enchained thunder breaks forth; but its most awful peals are scarcely heard in the deep roar of the tempest; burst succeeds to burst, each more wild and furious than the former; the forked lightnings flash in vain, for the dust, which is as thick as snow, flings an impenetrable veil around them. The wind, having spent itself in a final effort, suddenly subsides, and the dust is as speedily dispersed by torrents of rain, which in a very short time flood the whole country. The tatties are immediately thrown down, and though they may have previously rendered shawls necessary, the relief experienced when breathing the fresh air of heaven, instead of that produced by artificial means, is indescribable. All the animal creation appear to be endued with fresh life and vigor, as they inhale the cooling breezes; the songs of the birds are heard again, and flocks and herds come forth rejoicing. Before

the watery pools have penetrated into the parched earth, so rapid is the growth of vegetation, patches of green appear along the plain, and those who take up their posts in the verandah for an hour or two, may literally see the grass grow. In the course of a single day, the sandy hillocks will be covered with verdure, and in a very short time the grass becomes high and rank. While the clouds are actually pouring out their liquid treasures, the rainy season is not unpleasant; punkahs may be dispensed with, and the venetians may be removed without danger of being blinded by the glare; but the intervals between the showers are excessively hot, and the frequent changes of the atmosphere, and the malaria arising from the surrounding marshes, render it dreadfully unhealthy. Fever and ague are the common complaints; the former is often fatal, and the utmost vigilance is requisite to avoid the danger to which both natives and Europeans are continually exposed, since infection is frequently brought from distant places in currents of air.

The effect of these partial tornadoes is very curious; they are almost seen to traverse the plain, their course resembling that of a swollen river or a lava-flood. Persons at a very short distance may stand without feeling the agitation of the elements, and behold the devastation which they cause; trees are torn up by the roots, roofs are stripped of their tiles, and the choppers of outhouses fly off like gigantic birds, being carried several yardsbeyond the place where they originally stood. I once witnessed a very amusing scene of this nature: the servants of a neighbour, anxious to preserve their master's property, on the roof of the cookroom taking wing, rushed out of their houses, and with great vigor and alacrity seized the ends of the flying bamboos ere they reached the ground, running along with their canopy until its impetus had ceased, and then restoring it to the deserted walls on which it had formerly rested.

The rains usually continue from the first or second week in June until the middle of October, and in some seasons are extremely violent; the desolation on the rivers' banks is frightful; whole villages are plunged into the flood, a catastrophe seldom attended by loss of life, as the natives usually have timely warning, and escape with their goods and chattels, taking care, however, like the Sicilians in the neighbourhood of Etna, to build again in places equally exposed to inundation. Bungalows often sustain considerable damage during a very wet season; the pillars of the verandahs sink and lose their perpendicular, and out-offices and servants' houses are frequently washed away, leaving nothing but fragments of mud-walls behind. The thunder and lightning which accompany these cataracts are terrific, filling the heavens with blue and crimson light, and carrying death into the plains, where herdsmen and shepherds frequently perish. The final fall is generally the heaviest, lasting three or four days, and bringing cold weather along with it. A sudden and grateful change of climate

takes place upon the departure of the rain; the sun is deprived of its noxious power, and renders the heavens bright without being sultry; exercise may be taken on foot until ten o'clock in the day, in the upper provinces, and in a carriage at all times without inconvenience. While the weather is cloudy (generally during a few days in December), it is exceedingly practicable to walk out in the middle of the day in Etawah, and higher up, at Kurnaul, this gratification may be enjoyed for two months.

The climate all over India, even in Bengal, is delightful from October until March; all is brightness and beauty outside the house; summer gardens glow with myriads of flowers, native and exotic, while within, fires, especially in the evening, are acceptable, and blankets are necessary to ward off the inclemencies of the night. This is the gay season, and even Etawah loses part of its dulness, being visited by regiments on their march to and from other stations, who sometimes make it their halting-place for a couple of days. A canvass city starts up, as if by magic, on the bare plain; bullocks, camels, horses, and elephants are grouped amid the tents; sheep, cows, goats, and poultry, following the fortunes of their owners, occupy temporary farm-yards in the rear; and bazars are opened for the sale of all the necessaries of life. At day-break, the striking of tent-pins, the neighing of horses, the lowing of herds, and the grunt of the camels, mixed with the long roll of the drums and bugle-calls, give warning that the march is about to commence, and when the sun has risen, troops of hid-. eous white vultures are seen feeding on the offal, where all the day before had been crowd and bustle.

CRITICAL NOTICES.

[From "Tait's Edinburgh Magazine, No. 10."]

ART. I.- Memoirs and Correspondence of Sir James Edward Smith. 2 vols. 8vo. Price 17. 11s. 6d. London. Longman & Co.

In moral tendency this work is to be classed with the Memoirs and Letters of Cowper and Heber, of Collingwood, Sir Thomas Munro, and Dr. Edward Clarke, or of such old English worthies as More and Penn. It is consequently, in our estimation, among the books which, from their moral beauty alone, are to be regarded as the most precious treasures of literature. Such works are too few in number, and they are almost peculiar to England. They are quiet, truthful, domestic pictures of her best and greatest men, and of the sound and virtuous heart of her worthiest society; often making the power and charm of the hidden and enduring worth of the English character, be suddenly felt when it was feared all was hastening to vanity and demoralization. They are images of a kind of life on which no one can look with feeling, and in earnest, without a softening and moulding of the whole man into some faint resemblance of their pure and serene beauty. The appearance of works of this character in these troublous times, gives them double value. They are as the bow in the blackened and stormy heavens, giving promise of serener weather, and telling of all the peace and loveliness that is hid behind the gathered clouds. Though we rank this memoir with those manuals of humanity which, through the affections, teach youth how to grow unto virtue, and to live with honor and usefulness, we do not mean to say that their excellent and amiable subject, a man of accomplishment and information, a man of science also, and, in one branch of natural science, enthusiastic and eminent, was either a Cowper or a Heber, although we may assert that the record of his early life will be perused with nearly equal pleasure, and with at least equal advantage, as their memoirs. Sir James Edward Smith is here but one of an English family group. He is the most prominent figure, but some of those by whom he is surrounded are, to our taste, quite as captivating.

The life of Sir James Edward Smith is chiefly unfolded by his own correspondence; though the book is edited by his widow with the intuitive delicacy and fineness of perception, inspired by a warm and refined affection, and an unreserved, though dignified devotion to the memory of her husband, which beget a cordial sympathy in her readers. If there is fault to be found, it is with the almost overweening. modesty which makes Lady Smith draw herself so completely into the shade, that we only obtain a transient glimpse of her through the lights reflected from the object of

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