plants, they are obliged to taste it themselves before they can sell it. I did not require this proof at their hands, preferring to trust them unreservedly, at least in my demeanour. Trust always begets a kindred trust, and I am quite sure that my safety among those savages was owing to my having adopted this course of conduct.

I went on board to get the money for the armrings, and after Achmet had paid the men, directed him and the rais to return. Several of the Shillooks followed, offering articles for sale, and the vizier, who had waded out, holding up his new shirt so that it might not be wet, climbed upon the gunwale of the boat and peered into the cabin. I changed my position so as to stand between him and the door, gave him two onions which he saw on deck and had an appetite for, and hurried him away. The shekh and all the warriors had come down to the shore, but without their spears, and were seated on the ground, holding a consultation. By this time, however, the rais was at the helm, and the sailors had begun to shove the bow of my boat into the stream. I called out,― "Ŏ Shekh Abd-en-noor!" in a familiar way, and waved my hand as a token of parting. He rose, returned the salute, made a gesture to his men, and they all went slowly back to the village. As we were leaving, the sailors informed me that one of the Shillooks, who had come down to the boat while I was seated with the shekh on shore, took a fancy to the fat, black slave who cooks for them, and expressed his determination to take her. They told him she was one of the Sultan's wives, and that as his majesty was now the shekh's friend, he dare not touch her. "Oh," said the Shillook, "if she is the Sultan's wife, that is enough," and he immediately returned to the shore. I forgave the impertinence of the sailors in passing off such a hideous creature as one of my wives, in consideration of the adroitness with which they avoided what might have been a serious difficulty.

The Shillooks have not the appearance of men who are naturally malicious. The selfish impudence with which they demand presents, is common to all savage tribes. But the Turks, and even the European merchants who take part in the annual trading expedition up the river, have dealt with them in such a shameful manner, that they are now mistrustful of all strangers, and hence it is unsafe to venture among them. I attribute the friendly character of my interview with them, as much to good luck as to good management. The rais has since informed me, that if the shekh had not been satisfied with the dress I gave him, he would certainly have attempted to plunder the vessel. He says the Shillooks are in the habit of going down the river as far as the country of the Hassanichs, sinking their boats and concealing themselves in the woods in the day time, while by night they venture into the villages and rob the people of their dourra, for which they have a great fondness. They cultivate nothing themselves, and their only employment is the chase of the elephant, hippopotamus, and other wild beasts. All the region east of the river abounds with herds of elephants and giraffes, though I have not yet been fortunate enough to get sight of them.

Here is the true land of the lotus, and the Shillooks, if not the lotophagoi of the Greeks, are at least the only modern eaters of the plant. I am too late to see it in blossom, and there are, besides, but few specimens of it among these islands; but not far beyond this it appears in great profusion, and both the seeds and roots are eaten by

the natives. Dr. Knoblecher, who ate it frequently during his voyage two years ago, informed me that the root resembles the potato in consistence and taste, with a strong flavour of celery. These islands are inhabited only by the hunters and fishers of the tribe, who abandon them in summer, when they are completely covered by the inundation. At lat. 12°, or about fifty miles south of this, both banks of the river are cultivated, and thence, for upwards of two hundred miles, the villages are crowded so close to each other all along the shores, that they almost form two continuous towns, fronting each other. This part of the White Nile is the most thickly populated region in Africa, and perhaps in the world, China alone excepted. The number of the Shillooks is estimated at between two and three millions, or equal to the population of all Egypt.

10 P.M.

As we were leaving, I found that the men had taken down both sails and shipped the oars for our return to Khartoum. The rais had kept his word even too closely for my wish, and was determined to go no farther than the southern end of Aba. I knew there was certain danger in going further, and that I had no right to violate my agreement and peril others as well as myself; but there lay the great river, holding in its lap, to tempt me on, isles of brighter bloom and spreading out shores of yet richer foliage. I am now in the centre of the continent. Beyond me all is strange and unknown, and the Gulf of Guinea is less distant than the Mediterranean, which I left not three months ago.-Why not push on and attempt to grasp the Central African secret? The fact that stronger, braver, and bolder men have failed, is one lure the more. Happily for me, perhaps, my object on commencing the voyage was rest and recreation, not exploration. Were I provided with the necessary means and scientific appliances for making such an attempt useful, it would be impossible to turn back at this point.

I climbed to the mast-head and looked to the south, where the forest archipelago, divided by glittering reaches of water, wove its labyrinth in the distance. I thought I saw-but it may have been fancy-beyond the leafy crown of the farthest isles, the faint blue horizon of that sea of water and grass, where the palm again appears, and the lotus fringes the shores. A few hours of the strong north-wind, now blowing in our faces, would have taken me there, but I gave myself up to Fate and a chibouk, which latter immediately suggested to me, that though I was leaving the gorgeous heart of Africa, I was going back to civilization and home. The men rowed lustily, and, taking to the western side of the river, soon put an island between us and the village. It was about two o'clock when we left, and the wind fell sufficiently before night to allow them to make considerable progress. We swept along, under the lee of the islands, brushing the starry showers of yellow blossoms that trailed in the water, and frightening the ibises and herons from their coverts among the reeds.-The hippopotami snorted all around us, and we had always a convoy of them following in our wake. The sun sank, and a moon, four days old, lighted the solitude of the islands, but the men still rowed vigorously, till we passed the spot where the Shillooks buried their canoes in the morning. They have now deemed it safe to come to anchor in the middle of the stream, though the watch-fires of the savages are still blazing brightly in the distance.

JACK SEPOY.

THE strangest part of that strange political phenomenon, the British Empire in India, is the significant fact, that the country is protected against internal tumult and foreign invasion, by an army mainly com. posed of the people, whose territories we have appropriated, and whose authority we have usurped. We have beaten and subjected the natives of India, and made them beat and subject others for us. We have put arms into the hands of the conquered, and that which might seem to be an element of decay, is in reality the chief pillar of our strength. There is nothing stranger, indeed, than this Sepoy army. Louis Napoleon may dream of conquering England, but we will undertake to say that he never dreams of keeping his new dominions in order with British troops.

It is true that the East India Company have constantly in their pay a few regiments of European infantry of their own, less than half-adozen in all; and a few battalions of European artillery. It is true that a large number of Her Majesty's regiments, horse and foot, are sent out to India, to draw the Company's pay, and fight the Company's battles. But the Indian army, by which our empire in the East is upheld, is after all, the native army; and it is no small matter, therefore, that the fidelity of "Jack Sepoy" should be uncorruptedly maintained.

Every now and then, however, there comes upon us, flashed as it were by the magic fire-ships, which have brought India and England within a month's journey of each other, some uncomfortable disturbing report of the infidelity of a portion of the native army. Certain Sepoy regiments, if they have not broken out openly into revolt, have shown, it is narrated in the newspapers, evident signs of disaffection. It may be on the borders of some river which they are disinclined to pass, far off on the north-western plains, or it may be down on the south-eastern coast, with the black water before them. Something is required of them, which they like not to do; or something is taken from them which they wish to retain. Some offence is given, by interfering either with their prejudices or their comforts. Then there are low grumblings and mutterings, indications of a coming storm; then the storm itself, an outburst of disaffection; and then, either some compromise on the part of government, or else some measure of severity to crush the young monster, as he escapes from the shell, lest in time he should desolate the land.

And, accompanying these reports of disaffection, we are wont to hear, from time to time, certain laments over the decline of the native army. The Sepoy, it is said, is not what he was. He has fallen from his high estate. He is less loyal and less robust. He is not as willing as he was, in the old days of Coote and Lake, to follow his officers anywhere, to do anything at their bidding. The bond between the white-faced officer, and the dusky soldier, it is said, is loosened. They do not love one another as they did. A new order of things has arisen. As it was in those old days, it never can be again.

Now, all this is partly true and partly false. It is a very important matter; and it is right that it should be understood.

The native army of India is composed of a mixed race of Mahomedans and Hindoos. They are enlisted voluntarily into the service. There is no conscription. There are no recruiting establishments. They come and seek service; present themselves to the legitimate staff of any regiment they may select; are then duly examined, passed or rejected, as the case may be; sworn, put upon the rolls, and sent to drill. The service is esteemed an honourable one: neither Hindoo nor Mahomedan enters the ranks of the Company's army, because he has previously failed in any other trade or profession. When he enters the service of the Company, he has not emphatically "gone for a soldier.” He is not, in any sense, a gone man. He is honoured and esteemed;

he bears himself highly, he is proud of his profession. His father has been a soldier before him, and he intends that his son shall be one after him. He is well paid; and, if he lives long enough, he is well pensioned. He is as sure, humanly speaking, of his pension, as he is of his pay. There is no need of drums and fifes, and gaudy ribbands, and strong drink, and the lies of recruiting sergeants, to induce him to enlist. If he is inspired with military ardour, it is by the stories which he has heard his veteran father-an old Company's pensioner-tell, under the shadow of a mangoe tree, in his native village; not by the beer and tobacco, and the false promises of the tricky sergeant under a booth at a country fair. So far, everything is in favour of the Sepoy. There are many reasons why he should be true to his employers. In no native service-under no native states-have soldiers ever been so regularly paid and so securely pensioned. The Company's military service is "a certainty" to Hindoo or Mussulman. John Company always keeps faith with Jack Sepoy. Happen what will to the former, the latter always gets his pay.

But then, on the other hand, there are things to be said, there are sets-off to be remembered. The Sepoy soldier has enlisted into the service of an alien master. He eats the salt of a stranger and an usurper. He is lorded over by men of a different colour and a different creed; men speaking another language, and bowing down to another God. There can be little community of interests between them, there can hardly be any sympathy. They are so distinct from one another, the foreign master and the native servant. But it was not always so. In these days men go out to India; but they are Englishmen still. They carry with them English habits and English feelings; and they keep them. A journey to Bengal or Madras, is not now transportation for life. The voyage, indeed, is accomplished with such rapidity, that you meet a friend in the streets, and he tells you that he has just returned from India, though you had not known that he had gone there. It seems but the other day that you met him at the club. But in the old times, men betook themselves to India with little expectation, perhaps with little desire, of ever returning to their native country. They very soon forgot their native land. They forgot all the old ties. They divorced themselves from the habits and the feelings which they had taken out with them. Little by little they Indianised themselves. At Rome, they did as they do at Rome. It was convenient, they thought it was pleasant, to cast off the trammels of Christian morality and the restraints of European civilization; and they allowed themselves to be absorbed, without qualms or compunctions, into the general mass of heathendom which surrounded them.

The charms of European female society were denied to them, so they formed connexions, of more or less permanency, with the dark-faced, supple-limbed women of the country, and reared a dusky race of Zenanabred children. Thus pursuing unrestrainedly the bent of their inclinations, they learnt of necessity the language of the country; and, in some sort, familiarized themselves with the customs, and looked indulgently on the prejudices of the people. We do not say that this was a state of things to be desired or commended. We only assert that it existed. And we are bound to add that out of this state of things, however objectionable in itself, arose that close and sympathizing connexion between the European officer and the native soldier, which, now that our Indian cantonments are sparkling with English wives and sisters and daughters, we are never likely to see again.

We have said that in these days the Englishman goes out to India, not as a settler, but as a temporary sojourner in the land. He brings his European feelings, habits, associations with him, and they seldom leave him to the last. He finds in almost every cantonment in India a sufficiency of European society to occupy his time and satisfy his tastes. There is no lack of European female society. If he desire to form domestic ties he may choose for himself a wife. The English officer who solaces himself in his exile with the delicia of the Zenana is a marked man. Such connexions are looked askance at, because they are rare. Instead of a native mistress the officer now-a-days has an English wife. His family engross his time and his affections; or, if he has not yet settled down into the condition of the pater-familias, he spends his leisure hours, in no small measure, making morning calls, riding with the ladies, attending dinner-parties, getting up balls, and so on. It is not in this way that the native language is to be learnt; any familiarity with native habits to be attained; or any sympathy with native feelings and prejudices to be imbibed. The young Englishman grows into the middle-aged Englishman; and thence, if he live long enough, into the old Englishman. He is scarcely more a native when he leaves the country for ever than when he first arrives. He gains, in most instances, but a smattering of the language; of the habits and feelings of the people, in all probability, he knows nothing. He has no kindly feeling towards them; he has no sympathy with them. Whether they be the servants of his household, or the Sepoys of his regiment, they are simply black fellows," nothing else. He has no brotherhood with them. He turns his back on them, and dwells apart.

66

Now we are very sensible of the great improvement in the moral and social habits of the English in India, which has taken place since the commencement of the present century. We rejoice in it-we love to record it. But we should have gloried in it more if it had not been accompanied by the drawback of which we speak. We are afraid it must be acknowledged that if we have better men in India, we have worse officers. We speak of course with relation to this particular subject-the management of the native army; for in many important respects the Indian officer has advanced professionally, as he has morally, and puts his predecessors to shame. Viewing him we say only in this aspect, as the commander of the native soldier, it is not to be denied that he has undergone a woful depreciation. He is now simply the commander-not at all the associate. He does not know his men as he once did; he does not take the same pride in them. He looks at them