would endeavour to represent to their master their case, and entreat him to redress their grievance."

I spoke this in Hindusthani, which, as the lingua franca of the greater part of India, I thought was most likely to be understood by the majority of my female audience. I succeeded perfectly in making myself understood, but was not quite so successful in convincing them that it was better that they should return to the Rajah's palace. After rather a stormy discussion, the Mahratta girl, whom we had so much admired on our entrance, stepped forward, and, bowing lowly before us, and crossing her arms, in a very sweet tone of voice proceeded to tell her story, which, she said, was very much the history of them all. The simple, and at times picturesque, expressions, lose much by translation.

"Sir, much shame comes over me, that I, a woman, should speak before men who are not our fathers, husbands, nor brothers, who are strangers of another country and religion; but they tell us that you English sahibs love truth and justice, and protect the poor.

"I was born of Gentoo parents,-rich, for I can remember the bright, beautiful jewels which, as a child, I wore on my head, arms, and feet; the large house and gardens where I played, and the numerous servants who attended me.

"When I had reached my eighth or ninth year I heard them talk of my betrothal,* and of the journey which we were, previous to the ceremony, to take to some shrine in a distant country. My father, who was advancing in years, and in bad health, being anxious to bathe in the holy waters, which should give him prolonged life and health.

"The journey had lasted for many days, and one evening after we had halted for the day I accompanied my mother when she went to bathe in a tank near to our encampment. As I played along the bank and picked a few wild flowers that grew under the trees I observed an old woman advancing towards me. She spoke to me in a kind voice, asked me my name?-who were my parents?-where we were going? and when I had answered her these questions she told me that if I would accompany her a little way she would give me some prettier flowers than those I was gathering, and that her servant should take me back to my people.

"I had no sooner gone far enough to be out of sight and hearing of my mother than the old woman threw a cloth over my head, and taking me up in her arms, hurried on for a short distance. There I could distinguish men's voices, and was sensible of being placed in a carriage, which was driven off at a rapid pace. No answer was returned to my cries and entreaties to be restored to my parents, and at sun-rise I found myself near hills which I had never before seen, and among a people whose language was new to me.

"I remained with these people, who were not unkind to me, three or four years; and I found out that the old woman who had carried me off from my parents, was an emissary sent from the Rajah's hareem to kidnap, when they could not be purchased, young female children whose looks promised that they would grow up with the beauty necessary for the gratification of the prince's passions.

* The usual age for the ceremony among the wealthy in India.

"Sahib! I have been two years an inmate of the Rajah's hareem -would to God I had died a child in my own country with those I loved, than that I should have been exposed to the miseries we suffer. The splendour which surrounds us is only a mockery. The Rajah, wearied and worn out by a life of debauchery, takes no longer any pleasure in our society, and is only roused from his lethargy to inflict disgrace and cruelties upon us. We, who are of Brahmin caste, for his amusement, are forced to learn the work of men-are made to carry in the gardens of the hareem a palanquin, to work as goldsmiths-and may our gods pardon us-to mingle with the dancing girls of the bazaar. His attendants deprive us even of our food, and we sit in the beautiful palace loaded with jewels, and suffer from the hunger not felt even by the poor Pariah.

"Sahibs! you who have in your country mothers and sisters, save us from this cruel fate, and cause us to be restored to our parents; do not send us back to such degradation, but rather let us die by your orders." As with a voice tremulous with emotion, she said these words, she threw herself at our feet, and burst into an agony of weeping.

Deeply moved by the simple expression of such undeserved misfortune, we soothed her as well as we were able, and promising her and her companions to make every effort with the Rajah for their deliverance, we persuaded Rosambhi, the Mahratta girl (their eloquent pleader), to induce them to return for the night to the palace. Upon a repetition of our promise they consented, to the infinite relief of Veneat Rao, who alternately showered blessings on us, and curses on all womankind, as he accompanied us back to the Residency.

And now we had to set about the deliverance of these poor women. This was a work of considerable difficulty.

It was a delicate matter interfering with the Rajah's domestic concerns, and we could only commission Veneat Rao to communicate to his highness the manner in which we had become implicated with so unusual an occurrence as a revolt of his seraglio; we told him to express to his Highness our conviction that his generosity had been deceived by his subordinates. In this we only imitated the profound maxim of European diplomacy, and concealed our real ideas by our expressions. This to the Rajah. On his confidential servant we enforced the disapprobation the Resident felt at the system of kidnapping, of which his Highness was the instigator, and hinted at that which these princes most dread-an investigation. This succeeded beyond our expectation, and the next morning a message was sent from the palace, intimating that the charges were so completely unfounded, that the Rajah was prepared to offer to his revolted women, the choice of remaining in the hareem, or being sent back to their homes.

Again they were assembled in Veneat Rao's house, but this time in much more orderly fashion, for their veils were down, and except occasionally when a coquettish movement showed a portion of some face, we were unrewarded by any of the bright eyes we had admired on the previous visit. The question was put to them one by one, and all with the exception of a few old women, expressed an eager wish not to re-enter the hareem.

VOL. XXVII.

D D

After much troublesome inquiry we discovered their parents, and were rewarded by their happy and grateful faces, as we sent them off under escort to their homes. It was painful to reflect what their fate would be; they left us rejoicing at what they thought would be a happy change, but we well knew that no one would marry them, knowing that they had been in the Rajah's hareem, and that they would either lead a life of neglect, or sink into vice, of which the liberty would be the only change from that, which by our means they had escaped.

In the inquiries we made into the circumstances of this curious case, we found that their statements were true. Large sums were paid by the Rajah to his creatures, who travelled to distant parts of the country, and wherever they could meet with parents poor enough, bought their female children from them, or when they met with remarkable beauty such as Rosambhi's, did not hesitate to carry the child off, and by making rapid marches, elude any vigilance of pursuit on the part of the parents.

The cruelties and degradations suffered by these poor girls are hardly to be described. We well know how degraded, even in civilized countries the pursuit of sensual pleasures renders men, to whom education and the respect they pay the opinion of society, are checks; let us imagine the conduct of the eastern prince, safe in the retirement of his court, surrounded by those dependents to whom the gratification of their master's worst passions was the sure road to favour and fortune.

Besides the sufferings they had to endure from him, the women of the hareem were exposed to the rapacities of those who had charge of them, and Rosambhi did not exaggerate, when she described herself and her companions as suffering the pangs of want amid the splendours of a palace.

This is the reverse of the pleasing picture drawn by the poet of the Eastern woman's existence-but, though less pleasing, it is true -nor need we describe her in the lower ranks of life in those countries, where, her beauty faded, she has to pass a wearisome existence, the servant of a rival, whose youthful charms have supplanted her in her master's affections. The calm happiness of advancing age is seldom her's-she is the toy while young-the slave, or the neglected servant, at best, when, her only merit in the eyes of her master, physical beauty is gone.

Let her sister in the Western world, in the midst of her joys, think with pity on these sufferings, and when sorrow's cloud seems darkest, let her not repine, but learn resignation to her lot, as she compares it with the condition of the women of the East; let her be grateful that she lives in an age and land where woman is regarded as the helpmate and consolation of man, by whom her love is justly deemed the prize of his life.

HISTORY OF SPANISH LITERATURE.

A HISTORY of Spanish literature has long been a desideratum, not only in our own language, but in the Castilian itself. The Spaniards have no general account of their literature, although one was begun by the brothers Mohedano, on a scale which, if completed, would have made a library itself. After some seven or eight quartos, the learned authors had not emerged, as well as we remember, from the Roman era, certainly not from the Gothic; and, before they had come upon the true field of their history, death, as might have been expected, stepped in, and slit the thread of life.

The Germans, with their usual industry, have given some attention to this department of letters. Bouterwek has introduced the Castilian

into his cycle of modern literature. But here it forms only a part of a great whole; and, what is of more consequence, that part is derived, according to his own exposition, from a very scanty stock of original materials.

Sismondi followed in Bouterwek's track, but with no better sources of information. Indeed, he is so limited in this particular, that he is obliged to help himself, manibus plenis, from the stores of his predecessor, as he repeatedly acknowledges; though, in doing so, he confers a sort of originality on that which he borrows by the warm colouring of his style, and the grace of manner peculiar to himself.

In England, with the exception of one or two biographies, there is absolutely nothing in the way of regular history, in this province of letters very little in any other; while the knowledge of Spanish books is pretty much confined to the "Don Quixote," and the "Gil Blas "which last, although of French extraction, is so Spanish in spirit as well as story, that it is inseparably blended with Castilian literature. Yet, in the department of civil history, we have a long roll of eminent names, from Robertson to Lord Mahon. Then, too, we have works of a still more recent date, illustrating the state of art, as well as the social condition of the Peninsula, and the character of its inhabitants. Such are the works of Stirling and Head,-fine specimens of critical taste,-and Ford's admirable " Handbook," which raises the manuel de voyageur to the rank of a scientific text-book, for the student as well as the traveller.

The book before us proposes to occupy the great void in the history of Spanish literature. It is from the pen of an American, who passed some time in Spain, where he collected a very rare and curious library for the illustration of his great theme. On his return to his own country, Mr. Ticknor occupied, for some years, the chair of Modern Languages in Harvard University, near Boston, and there delivered a course of lectures on the Castilian language and letters.

The preparation of these lectures, although they were written on a distinct plan from that of the present work, made the author familiar with the whole ground, to a degree which could not have been obtained by mere study. The long interval-more than twenty years-which has elapsed since the composition of the lectures, has enabled Mr. Ticknor to review all his previous judgments, while the time has been diligently employed in adding new stores of information, and in pushing

his critical inquiries over a far more extensive field. Seldom has a work been the result of a more thorough training and careful meditation.

The subject involves a complete history of Spanish literature from the earliest period to the present century-a magnificent theme, little familiar to the English reader, and which exhibits an intellectual culture of the most peculiar and original kind. The early portions are filled with the true spirit of romantic chivalry, as the literature of Spain dawned amidst all the convulsions of the feudal ages. It is, moreover, deeply tinctured with the Arabic, which gives it a rich Oriental complexion, such as is to be found in the literature of no other part of Europe.

The great difficulty in treating a theme so vast and various must have been, the disposition of the different topics so as to preserve a perfect symmetry, and to unfold the complicated subject with clearness and precision. In this embarrassing task the author has perfectly succeeded. The work is divided into large chronological periods, in which the different kinds of composition, arranged in masses, are shewn up in regular procession, and subjected to a critical analysis. The mention of a few of these will show the fruitful character of a literature in which some people suppose that nothing good is to be found but the "Quixote." Thus we have at the outset the fine old Chroniclers, instinct with the life of the Middle Ages, and showing their romantic daring, picturesque costume and ceremonial, and all the marvellous accompaniments of an age of heroism. Then come the Ballads, national, chivalrous, Moorish, &c.-a department far surpassing what is to be found in any other country for the artless elegance of their language, and the picturesque variety of their incidents. The enchanting effusions of the Moorish minstrelsy have become familiar to the reader in the translations, or rather paraphrases, of Lockhart. Mr. Ticknor has introduced others to our acquaintance in a poetical dress, which, to much spirit, adds a scrupulous fidelity to the original. Then, again, we have the copious vein of the Romances of Chivalry-those pictures of an ideal existence, some of which, like the " Amadis," still linger in our imaginations, while the greater portion have been scattered by the satirical shaft of Cervantes.

But the department which occupies the largest space in Mr. Ticknor's volume is the national Drama, that rich vein, absolutely inexhaustible, which has been worked with great diligence by foreign scholars,—on the Continent even more than in England,-who have found there abundant materials for building up their own reputations. No one, not even the reader of Eugene Sue and Dumas, can have a full conception of the inventive capabilities of the human mind in the literary way, until he has become acquainted with the Castilian drama. Mr. Ticknor, in addition to his analysis of many of the principal pieces, interspersed with occasional translations in prose and verse, has given a minute account of the great theatres, their companies, and all that relates to the getting up of these exhibitions. The subject is curious, and altogether new to us. He has accompanied this by a quantity of personal anecdote, and by full biographies of all the principal writers, some of whom, as Cervantes, Lope de Vega, Calderon, are connected with the most important movements and personages of their times.

These biographies form a leading feature in the work, which, from