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In addition to this, he is obliged to tell his age, and to give in an account of his property; is directed how to spend it; compelled to go to school; ordered to keep on constantly his belt and bayonet; and forbidden to buy superfluous food, or to dine from his mess, he must have no jolly parties, and, moreover, even on Sundays, he must be in his tent by nine o'clock.
“Such as, without a murmur, prompt obey,
It is absolutely a shame, “tis pitiful, tis wondrous pitiful,” that a high spirited youth should be thus restrained by the shackles of discipline and decorum; and we seriously recommerid it to the Directors to allow the Cadets to drink, to stray about, and in short to do just as they please; as there can be no doubt that the adoption of such a system would be productive of consequences as beneficial to the British authority in Hindostan, as to the Cadets themselves.
In part the third, I by myself I, monopolizes the major portion of the song; and here we find the best, or rather the least bad lines in the poem, and are pleased with the sentiments which they express. But, whenever the author gets back to the Cadet, he drops, past all sounding line, into the gulph of dulness. He cannot bear the idea of controul, and indignantly asks,
“Don’t harmless worms, which after death despoil
And a few pages further on, he tells the hapless tribe, of which he sings-
“ Ye taste the mingled chalice of distress;
The remainder of this part, or canto, is a comment on this * may be,” and from it we extract the valuable information that
“Few, I can boldly venture to aver,
Part the fourth tells us, that persons in India may probably be robbed, and likewise sent to prison for debt. These two misfortunes do, and, we fear, not unusually, happen in other countries; even in England itself. With respect to jails and their
inhabitants, the author has been fortunate enough to make some discoveries. He is “ fully persuaded that criminals in gaols frequently commit excesses of all kinds;" he “ fancies that a prison is but too often a dangerous school for every kind of profligacy;” he really believes the gaol to be exempt from no kind of vice that is practised among mankind; and has “no
doubt that many horrible circumstances have place in a gaol,
which are never heard of beyond its confines.” Surely, every reader must exclaim, “O wise young judge A second Daniel come to judgments’ And yet, after all, we have some idea that these discoveries might have been made without a four years residence in India. A display of the miserable consequences of drunkenness, a severe censure of the British female emigrants to Hindostan, and a little abuse of the Hindoos, wind up part the fourth. Among other enormities, of the same kind, of which an Indian Devotee is guilty, we are assured that
“Frequent he cuts his throat in reason's spite,
In Part the fifth, he embattles, in formidable array, every circumstance which can tend to excite a horror of India. Among these are bloody-minded and torturing pirates, superstitious self-tormenting Fakeers, dancing prostitutes, carrion-eating crows and ravens, and a variety of other nuisances and plagues. But Tamine is the prominent figure in the groupe, and his personification of this tremendous fiend is such a master-piece in its way, that it would be cruelty to our readers to deny them the pleasure of beholding it presented to their view in all its poetical deformity.
“ Picture the monster, from Tartarean lakes, .
Her breasts resemble bladders void of wind, O'er : " - O'er-soil'd with filth, deform'd with sores unkind: ' ' ' : Her nether parts, disgusting to behold, .” Roll vast along, in many a length’ning fold; . A monstrous sight—whilst eager round her waist, . . Voracious harpies clamour for their feast: Alternate each within her arms she hugs, And feeds the scraggy monsters from her dugs; Then sets them on to work her fell behest, Whilst gasping Horror issues from her breast: Seizes on all, and Famine at his heels Speeds on, and in her own corruption reels.” • In the sixth part, the author is pathetic on the miseries of those who are so unwise as to marry the fortune-hunting misses, who go to India on matrimonial speculations. He then, not unnaturally, slides to bilious disorders, and next gives a loathsome account of the selfishness of military officers in India, who, if he may be credited, watch for the deaths of their comrades with as much eagerness as a vulture does for carcasses. In conclusion he assures us, that not one in fifty persons escapes from Jndia; and that the one who does escape to England, far from being happy there, lingers out the short remnant of his days in
solitude and misery.
“Years spent in exile, all he finds at home,
The remainder of the first volume consists of minor poems, one of the largest of which is “a brief sketch of the island of JMadeira.” From this we gather that the author does not like Madeira; that he considers mountains as “abrupt excrescences;” and that he is very angry with the people of the island, for being over-run with vermin, and being malignant and superstitious; and also for wearing few clothes, and paying more attention to the vines, than they do to shrubs and flowers. It would not, perhaps, be difficult to urge something in extenuation
of the last two crimes, and especially of the last of the two;
but we do not wish to involve ourselves in a controversy with so formidable an antagonist as the author of The Cadet. He inght take it into his head to write on the subject, and we might be compelled to read. It is this dislike of a contest, which prevents, us likewise from questioning, and perhaps directly contradicting his doctrine, that “Memory is one of the sublimest among the intellectual faculties.” “ Farther on and fare worse.” We have at last reached the second volume, and a delectable prospect is spread before us, “ Egbert and Amelia” is a tale, of between three and four thousand limes, and, to make the matter absolutely unbearable, '*' - it
it is in blank verse. While we drawled along before, in the old
gedy will avail themselves of it. Let the next piece that is written, end with a philanthropic general massacre, in order to spare the spectators the pain of thinking after they get home, that, perhaps, at that moment, Don Felix is sitting under a willow, lamenting the loss of Donna Violatite, and Domna Clara is going mad, “in white satin,” through the perfidy of T}om Rodrigo. In comedy, too, as a hanging bout would not be quite suitable to its character, it would be well if a com" plete gaol delivery were to take place, a miraculous conversion of the rogues to be effected, and sufficient annuities for life settled on them, that no awkward fears might remain as to their future destiny. Though we have but scanty room left for extracts, we can. not forbear quoting the following ludicrous image, which we believe to be original—
“But who shall bustle thro’ the war of strife,
Among the fair sex the author will have few partisans; for he has said a thing, which cannot fail to offend all the ladies who are in, and even beyond, their teens. Speaking of a certain time, he with infinite gallantry, informs us, that
- ** Amelia then Would just attain her two and twentieth year, An age when womanhood commences wise.”
He does not inform us at what age ladies become fully wiset but, if they do not begin to learn till they are two and twenty’ we imagine that he will be disposed to fix at a very distant date the period of their mature wisdom. We wish, while he was on this subject, that he had given us his idea of the time at which men grow sage; as it would have enabled us to judge, whether he is likely to commit again the juvenile indiscretion 3f publishing wretched verses. Of the remaining poems in the volume, some of which are tolerably long, and in blank, the blankest, verse, much need not be said. There is nothing in them, except their sentiments, which we can praise, consistently with a regard to truth. We must lament that the author has lain violent hands on the beautiful story of Cupid and Psyche, and has mangled it in a barbarous manner. Psyche he treats worse than even the ma" signaut Venus did— * Still