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fended. I carped at authority, because I was wrong; but who ought to be so patient with me, as he that knows so well how to set me right?' Beauciere smiled and bowed, as Napoleon might have done when he thanked the Count de Fontanes for likening him to Cæsar. After all,' said Beauclerc, turning to my grandfather's acquaintance, Johnson, on his hind-legs, can outdo the politest of us.' Will died, to the great regret of the Doctor. He observed, that it was as if Addison and Steele had said they would come to see them, and had changed their minds. 'I would have talked my best,' added he; and if Mr Honeycomb, had been pleased, should have looked upon it as a nod from the Spectator.'

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"Of my father I find it difficult to speak; my recollection of him still affects me so much, when I am obliged to set any thing down upon paper, respecting his virtues and his love of me. His name was Lionel. It was given him, I suspect, out of veneration for the lions in our coat of arins. He was a great reader from bis youth upwards, particularly of the French authors, and of Horace and Virgil. When he was in France, in the year.... he paid a visit to Voltaire, and afterwards corresponded with him. Latterly, he took to reading Greek, led to it, I believe, by his study of Plato's Republic. He regretted that he had not earlier been alive to its great superiority over the Latin. I lost my mother, a most excellent woman, when a child. Till that moment my father had been one of the gayest of the gay. He now wandered about, scarcely knowing what to do or to think. Sorrow was new to him, and the blow was heavy. The French Revolution found him in this serious frame of mind, and he was ever afterwards one of the most thoughtful of us. The natural tenderness of the Honeycomb blood, which had hitherto been generally confined to a sympathy with the fair sex and the graces of private life, suddenly assumed a warmth and an expansion unknown even to my great ancestor in the time of the Parliament. My father successively despaired with the financiers, looked forward with the revolutionists, lamented over the king, shuddered and died with the nobles, execrated the demagogues, but never lost sight of the rights and excuses of the people. They were driven mad,' said he, ‘by despotism; and what can you say against madness? The only thing is, that the nobles were once mad themselves, and Mr. Burke would have them so still. Are we to think a whole people made only to furnish their neighbours with eternal jokes on their servility and wooden shoes?'-My father wrote some of the best anonymous pieces that advocated his side of the question. He lived long enough to be disappointed in the mighty visions which he had conjured up of human improvement; but his temper was too good, and his wisdom too modest, either to make him side with their overthrowers out of one sort of vanity, or to suffer him to pass from excess of expectation into the other self-love of despair. He thought the world could go on without him. Feudality had been done away. The Inquisition had been done away Opinion, in the shape of the press, had publicly taken its stand in the world, as the rival of worldly power. We have done much,' said my father, and may hope every thing by degrees. You cannot send the earth's axis to your coachmaker, to be mended by next Thursday.' He died as he had lived, full of a manly gentleness and hope. Reason and enthusiasm found their meeting points in his character; and brought gravity and playfulness, the literal and the imaginative, to embrace and lean upon one another in a manner more charming than I can express. They were like sisters, ever different, and yet ever loving. I could put them at this minute on his tomb, if I were a sculptor. He died of a fever, caught in rescuing a poor girl of the town from her death on a winter's night. A friend, who did not know that he was on his death-bed, said to him, as he lay suffering, This comes of endeavouring to put off one's nature, and getting out of bed for every cry of a wench.'-' No, no, Tom,' said my father; this comes of not putting on one's coat and waistcoat; of making more haste and worse speed.' His friend seeming to think that the

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spoke too lightly of a situation which alarmed every body, he said, in a tone I shall never forget, 'Would you have me kill the poor boy with melancholy?' for he saw how pale I was, and thought I had gone out of the room. I had slunk behind the cortain, half killed already with his good humour. Finding that I was there, he begged us to retire a little, saying he would sleep. His servant alone stayed behind. The moment he heard us shut the door, he blessed me, and expired. The tears pour down my cheeks."

The character of the present representative of the Honeycombs, I shall leave the reader to gather for himself. He will probably be better acquainted with it than I am. I had two sisters who died in childhood. When I saw my father laid by the side of them and their mother in their last earthly home, my own home appeared none for me. I left it and made the grand tour, from which I have but lately returned. I have also been as far north as Petersburgh, and am acquainted with some curious circumstances relative to the court there, and the history of the late emperor. I stayed in most places a good while, and became more intimate with manners and customs than is usual. My greatest passion is for poetry and romance; but there is one thing in my character, which is peculiar to me above all other Honeycombs, and which I find a great substitute for the want of other goods and superiorities which they possessed; and that is, that if the poetical tendency did not incline me upon the whole into shady places, and bowers, where I can dream of enchantment, I should scarcely know which I enjoyed most, the country or the town. Bond-street and the woods of Buckinghamshire, Covent Garden and the gardens of the East, the solitudes of Spenser and Milton, and the tea-tables and coffee-houses of Pope and Addison,-behold me scarcely knowing to which of them I return the happier.

But enough of myself for the present. I will only add, that my face not being familiar to the town, nor my name either, (in consequence of my long stay abroad, and of the latter quietness of the Honeycombs,) it is my intention, especially as I have disclosed the name, to keep myself as little personally known as possible. If I get any credit by my writings, I shall be content enough with it, as I am. If otherwise, I had better remain so.

You are aware, sir, that the Journal thus introduced to the public, is not a mere journal; not a book of scraps and daily occurrences, but a collection of all sorts of writing; memoirs, verses, translations, adventures mirthful and pathetic, stories both true and imaginary, criticism, anecdote, &c. with a variety of essays on men and manners; which is a department, I fear, I shall be much tempted to increase. But I shall draw as much as possible on my predecessors. Sometimes my father will have an article for me, sometimes my grandfather, sometimes my wild ancestor Dick: and I shall endeavour to make every number I send you contain two or three different ones, for the sake of variety. We have all written more or less (Heavens! what a generation of authors did the nunnery-opener produce !), the ladies not excepted. My grandfather says, that if we had had a dumb one in the family, she would have been the greatest contributor of any. The others, he pretends, had not time enough to write and talk too. But I must observe, that my grandfather, good fellow as he was, dealt more in sarcasm than any

of us. Gentle great-aunt Jemima! he had no right to talk so-had he? -seeing that thou thyself, his sister, with all thy leisure for meditation, and even his provocations to boot, hast scarcely obliged us with a dozen pages of thine own. Much transcription is there from others in thy gentle hand, from poetical friends (female ones, I guess), from Bishop Barrow, and Archbishop Tillotson, excellent reasoning people; and even from seraphic Jeremy Taylor, who did not do thee too much good, I fear, on this side the stars. But thy wild cousin, Betty Honeycomb, has left memorials of thee after thy decease; for which I love her. Other ladies lurk here and there, with a sly article in a corner. Sometimes, I must own, it is no better than a receipt for a rheumatism or a college-pudding. In James's time, there is a long disquisition on yellow ruffs and the death of Mrs. Turner. In Elizabeth's reign, the ladies are most romantic; in Anne's and the first George's, the most sprightly. I hardly know how I could extract some of the gay things which one of the giddy creatures above-mentioned, Betty Honeycomb of the Dorset branch, ventures to send up to town 'From the Bath.' Yet my grandmother sets it all down. Dear Betty! She was lucky enough to marry an honest man, as gay and good-humoured as herself; or it might have gone hard with her. She had a great regard for my grandmother, who she thought (and indeed not without reason, considering the letters) could be as lively as any body, when she had a mind; "only," said she, "Lucy, you have the grace to make it doubly as gay as I do, by not giggling with every foolish fellow. Ah, my dear, (and here," says the Journal," she heaved a sigh,) You are in the right for then, you know, you are never suspected of being wicked except where you ought to be; which is a great thing, and what makes life so respectable."-"This is the way," says the Journal," in which Betty runs on. Poor sou!! George Harvey got hold of something she said; and out of spite, pretended to look sorry; which has sadly put her out. He the coxcomb:-who thinks all women his humble servants till they refuse him, and hypocrites when they do."

But I am beginning my extracts before my time.

Allow me, Sir, if I am not trespassing too much on the laws of the mascherata, to subscribe myself, in gratitude for more than one publication, Your obliged and obedient servant, HARRY HONEYCOMB.

LINES ON A LADY,

WHO DIED IN CONSEQUENCE OF A SUN STROKE.

In the bright purity of worth

Her spirit pass'd the ordeal given-
Like diamond, scorn'd the fires of Earth,
But vanish'd in the beam of Heaven.

JA

SKETCHES OF INDIA.NO. 11.

Ar a considerable distance further down the river Ghoomtee, is situated the Dowlut Khaneh, a palace comprising a large extent of building, partly altered from, and partly rebuilt upon the site of a palace of Asoph u Dowlah, by his successor Saadut Allee. It comprised originally an extensive suite of apartments in the Native style, fitted up with every possible convenience, and calculated for the enjoyment of every Eastern luxury. There was a succession of courts and parterres, watered by tanks and fountains, and abounding with all the fruits and flowers most prized in the East; and summer-houses built of marble were placed among them, in which their inhabitants might sit to enjoy the refreshing airs of evening. An extensive range of baths, constructed of marble and adorned with mosaic work in coloured stones, was ever kept ready for use. And here the founder of this luxurious dwelling used most frequently to hold his revels. Saadut Allee, who affected every thing English, perhaps in flattery or gratitude to those who placed him on the musnud, transformed the greater part of this palace into a house upon the European plan, in which there are several large and comfortable rooms, and an excellent range of kitchens. A portion of the Native suite of apartments is still retained as they were, and the baths are kept constantly hot and ready for use. It appears, however, that in the present reign the palace has been neglected; and part has even been dilapidated, and the materials applied to other purposes. Among other things, a beautiful Baruh Durree, or pleasurehouse, of white marble, has been pulled down to form a part of the childish and fantastic fabrics which his Majesty takes pleasure in erecting.

In this palace are several good pictures by Zoffani and other eminent artists. Among them, the original of a well-known print, representing a cock-fight held at the house of Col. Mordaunt, then resident at Lucnow, at which were present Asoph u Dowlah, with many of his court, and most of the English then at Lucnow. The fat flabby person of tha Nawaub is represented in a light muslin shirt and drawers, with a little skull-cap on his head, in the centre of the room, having in his eagerness risen from the musnud on which he had been seated, and in the act of offering a bet with Col. Mordaunt on a cock then upon the boards. The expression of the Nawaub is admirable, and the likenesses both of his attendants and of the Englishmen present, who are all eagerly engaged in the amusement of the pit, are said to have been excellent. Zoffani had made his sketch of this picture as he came warm from the scene, and completed it while yet fresh in his memory; but it was like to have been his ruin, for the Nawaub hearing of it desired to see it, and was very ill pleased to see himself represented in so unbecoming an attitude: he, however, contented himself with ordering that it might be destroyed, which Zoffani promised, but carefully abstained from performing, and as carefully concealed the obnoxious morceau till after the death of his master. His successor was less fastidious; and the picture, after being engraved, has been carefully preserved ever since. There is likewise in the same place an excellent full-length portrait of Sirjah u Dowlah, in whose countenance there is much of lofty mind and high command.

Two old palaces, one the Houssam Bagh, and another of which I have forgot the name, the residence of Sadut Allee's Begum and Zenanah, form interesting objects in the course of a ride from the residency to the old bridge, which is itself a fine structure: there are attached to these a suite of apartments, with a Baruh Durree, and a large set of baths, remarkable for being built of stone, instead of brick, like every other edifice in Lucnow. The baths are handsomely ornamented with mosaic work or marble, and the floor of one is laid of red porphyry ; the whole, however, is in a sad state of disrepair.

The masses of remarkable buildings in this part of the town, with their groups of gilt cupolas, lofty minarets, and mosques perched on commanding eminences, form a succession of views extremely imposing ⚫and characteristic; nor is that which is obtained from the top of the bridge less striking, when the eye wanders over the same maze of Saracenic domes and turrets reflected tremblingly in the slow majestic current of the river, till it rests upon the long range and arcaded walls of the Dowlut Khaneh. In truth, the cluster of buildings, of which we have now to speak, are of themselves sufficient to rivet all the attention of a stranger possessed of any taste. These consist of the Great Mosque, the Imaum Baruh, and the Chaudnee Chowk, with the Roomee Durwazeh. The mosque is of great size, adorned with three domes, and two lofty minarets of a light and elegant model, and built upon a raised terrace, so that the elevation of the court before it is much greater than that of the external ground. Close to it is the Imaum Baruh, erected upon the same terrace, and containing a prodigious arcaded hall, constructed without a bit of wood, in which the inhabitants of the Mahomedan faith celebrate the Mohurrum: the tombs of Asoph u Dowlah and his Begum are in this place, still unfinished, but covered with rich brocaded cloth; incense and perfumes are constantly burnt before them, and many persons are as continually kept reading the Koran in the apartment near them. The Chaudnee Chowk is a broad market-place of considerable size, in which are erected booths for the sale of goods, and having at each end a lofty gateway, that to the West being built after the model of one at Constantinople, from whence it has obtained the name of Roomee Durwazeh: it is indeed a singularly rich and unique piece of architecture. The chief entrance to the great mosque is on the Southern side of this Chowk, a magnificent archway in a lofty screen with an extent of arcaded wall, and octagonal towers at either side. Opposite, to the North, a similar blind archway and wall answers to that, and completes the uniformity. The whole of these buildings are decorated with a profusion of gilt domes, turrets, cupolas, balustrades, and similar ornaments, producing an effect of richness and magnificence resembling that experienced on looking at a fine specimen of the florid Gothic, mixed with the more fanciful Saracenic style; and they compose a group, which for taste, as well as magnitude, can be eqalled by few, if any modern works of the

kind in India.

The late Nawaub, who resided chiefly in the more modern palaces built by himself, took great pains in laying out the quarter of the town nearest to them with regularity and beauty. He built a long street, extending in a straight line, for a considerable way, along the inclosure of his palace, having rows of small shops on each side for a certain dis

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