Jerusalem. Mes frères, more than a feuille volante might be written on the pet folly that at Willis's Rooms heralded the season that has just passed, and the kindred follies like it that debase and desecrate the cause they profess to serve in the eyes of all thinking men. Little can be said in a loose sheet, but a volume might well be penned on it; for if we lift up its decorous, prettily-broidered veil, there lies underneath, I fear, a skeleton-the ghastliest and blackest we have upon this earth-a skeleton that other ages, disentombing it, and tearing off its seemly robes, will call by its right name-Hypocrisy.

THE FIREMAN.

SONG.

Br J. E. CARPENTER.

WHAT means that wild and piercing cry?
That bright and lurid glare?
The Fireman reads it in the sky,
He knows the danger there.
Away-away-with unchecked rein
The engine hurries past;

'Tis life and death but time to gain-
Fly on good steeds, fly fast.

Oh, brave is he, the Fireman bold,
That succour doth afford,

He earns his pay a thousand-fold,
Whate'er be his reward!

They reach the spot-how seethes and roars
The ever-rising flame!

The well-poised hose a deluge pours—

Not all too soon they came;

The rafters crack, the red roof sinks,
The flame-cloud soars on high;

The Fireman ne'er of danger thinks

As round the embers fly!

Oh, brave is he, the Fireman bold,
That succour doth afford,
He earns his pay a thousand-fold,
Whate'er be his reward.

"Not yet, not yet—

"Back for your lives!"
Our duty is to save."
All sense of danger they forget,
On work the true and brave:
A crash! the warning is too late,
Down comes the tottering wall,
The Fireman, yielding to his fate,
Is buried in its fall!

Oh, brave was he, that Fireman bold;
Worth all the wealth there stored,
His life it was, a thousand-fold-
Then fame be his reward!

THE INDIGO PLANTER IN BENGAL.

IN Knickerbocker's veracious "History of New York" we read of a colonel who, in his tour of inspection to certain border regiments, illfound, ill-dressed, and ill-drilled, always made it a point to single out certain men for punishment, not that they were peculiarly faulty or criminal, but simply to establish the fact that he was "a strict disciplinarian, and would overlook nothing." Now, strange as it may appear, this practice would seem to have found favour with our rulers in England, who, whatever their shade of politics or party, have every now and then an impulse, at the cost of no small cruelty and much injustice, to show that they are "strict disciplinarians, and overlook nothing." Distillers, stockbrokers, provision contractors, ship-builders, army tailors, and Irish landlords, all have had their turn. Even the Church was for a long time baited and worried, till some supposed frauds in the commissariat department drew off public attention from prelates to pickled pork, and the world grew more eager to learn how it was fed than with what it was taught.

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Now, as whatever the peculiar "interest" that may be assailed is sure to be, as regards the mass of the nation at large, a minority, the practice is eminently popular, and certain to redound to the advantage of the party that initiates it. Take gutta percha, for instance, or potted meats, as the subject of persecution, and the chances are that, in your excursions by rail or steamer, you may with great safety inveigh against either, using the most abusive language of the last "leading article" to aid you, and never chance upon any one sufficiently interested in one or the other to rebut your arguments, or arrest your honest indignation. So addicted are we to this sort of thing, and so utterly dependent on it for conversation, that if you were to abstract the topic of "abuses" from our intercourse, I do not believe that Englishmen would be able to interchange anything beyond the most ordinary inquiries for each other's health. Very shameful those discoveries in our dockyards, all the mortar-boats rotten!" "Terrible disclosures these evictions in Ireland, sir!" "Disgraceful frauds in the leather trade; I hope the government will take it up." These are easy texts for all travellers by land or by water, and, once started, the discussion will never flag afterwards. A good "grievance" of this sort is an immense assistance to a government, either embarrassed with a mass of difficult questions, or in want of some measure to attract popular attention. It will serve equally to escape from the pressure of an inconvenient pledge, or to tide over the dulness of an uneventful session. The triumph of success is, however, only to be attained whenever the interest assailed is one which enables the attacking party to enlist popular sympathy on his side, and make his cause the great one of humanity itself. There is no saying what grand things may not be done in this way, particularly with a subject of which the masses are in profound ignorance.

The case of the indigo growers in Bengal is exactly an instance of what I mean. Here is a comparatively small class. The peculiar industry which engages them is followed in a remote and very distant

region; it is pursued under circumstances of soil, climate, habits, and customs, of which we have nothing at home in any respect similar. Every detail and circumstance of this cultivation is so much a study, that a volume of some hundred pages only pretends to impart a mere outline of the system, and explain its ordinary working, the very recurrence of Indian terms and names adding difficulty to the task of understanding; and yet here is an interest which is at the instant not only threatened with attack but actually menaced with utter ruin, and for no other reason that one can see save as the safety-valve to the high pressure of the assumed philanthropy of the Indian authorities.

"The masses are always right," is the great stock adage of a certain sect; and whether they be Irish peasants in revolt, Chinese at war, New Zealanders or Kaffirs in open insurrection, the theme is one upon which platitudes of benevolence can be strung for ever, and a variety of fine sentiments be ventilated at very little cost of time or intellect. In the present case, it is the ryots who are the subject of sympathy. Let us, by a very brief statement of the position, examine how far, in this instance, kind feelings outrun justice.

The cultivation of indigo in the present day is principally conducted in two ways. In the one, the plant is cultivated by the ryots on lands granted to them by the planter, or indigo manufacturer, and on his account. In the other, the planter cultivates his own land with his own labourers. In the former case, the tenure resembles that of the land in Italy, with this difference, that in India all the advances are made by the landlord, while in Italy the peasant, in return for the use of the soil, alone contributes all that is necessary to the production of the crop. There are a vast number of disadvantages in this system, and nearly all of them lie on the side of the owner of the soil. Every Italian proprietor will tell you that, what with the indolence of the peasantry, their obstinate resistance to all improvements in agriculture, their stolid contentment to go on like their fathers before them, the yield of the land is not much more than one-sixth or one-eighth of what might be obtained from it, not to speak of the immense opportunity for fraud, against which all the efforts of the landlord are comparatively powerless.

Each of these detracting influences are at work in the indigo districts, and with this unhappy addition, that difference of nationality imparts a new feature to the conflict, and gives to the litigation that follows all the bitterness of a contest between a dominant race and their inferiors.

In Italy, the proprietor and the peasant are alike Italian. Whatever disparities may separate them in condition and fortune, they are children of the same soil, they are followers of the same religion, they cherish the same sympathies, and speak the same language. In Bengal, the indigo manufacturer is an Englishman; his interest is engaged in the simple exercise of a good investment for his capital, and the honest employment of his money. If no attachment of race or tradition binds him to the soil of Bengal-if he does not feel attached by ties transmitted by long years of family occupation-he is still the son of a people who have learned to know that commercial prosperity and trade successes are never more assured than when conducted with fairness and honesty, and when the humblest of those employed feels his interest engaged in behalf of his employer. The Englishman knows, also, how great a share in the pro

sperity of his country is owing to that teachable spirit, by which men avail themselves of whatever aids modern discovery places within their reach; and he is naturally eager to impart not merely the knowledge, but the ardour that desires it, to a people beneath his rule. To this end he establishes schools, encourages education, institutes loan societies, and contributes in every way that he can to give the far East all the benefits of a Western civilisation. They who question motives at every step of our earthly progress will probably say that all these benevolent acts are the result of a well-conceived policy-that, in the tranquillity and order of an educated and well-to-do people, the trader sees the best security for the permanence of his own interests. Let us concede the point, and merely be satisfied to record the fact, that the indigo manufacturer has shown himself disposed to improve the condition and better the status of those in his employment. If philanthropy accompany his enterprise, it is because the spirit of his nation declares that prosperity has no safe foundation save in the principles of rectitude and honour.

The indigo manufacturer of Bengal has, however, one attribute which is certain to attract towards him no small share of animosity and attack. His gains are supposed to be great, and if all seasons were prosperous, all ryots laborious, all overseers honest, and, last of all, all local magistrates men of intelligence and integrity, there is no doubt that on some properties the profits of the capital employed in this cultivation would vie with many of the most remunerative enterprises; but, unhappily for those whose interests are so engaged, these conditions are peculiarly variable and uncertain.

Now, the growth of indigo is an expensive process, demanding not only a soil of considerable richness, but also the most perfect cultivation and the most careful attention to weeding in a country where weeds are prolific and abundant. The seasons of sowing are spring and autumn, but the harvest-time is nearly the same to each, since the more rapid growth of the spring crop brings it to maturity almost as early as that sown in the months of October and November.

The character of the cultivation, and the large amount of labour required, have to be met by advances from the planter, since the ryot in no case could supply the means for so costly an operation; and to this one cause are attributable nearly all the allegations brought against the whole system. The ryot receives a certain quantity of seed and a certain sum from the planter or indigo manufacturer, and signs a contract, by which he engages to repay the loan by a certain amount of produce. Now each party so thoroughly understands the matter at issue, that all the varying influences of season and weather are taken as important elements of the bargain. The excessive heats and droughts that may destroy, the rains that may flood vegetation, are duly weighed and considered; and the ryot is not one who, either from temperament or capacity, is likely to neglect his own interests. But this is not all. He is by race and instinct a litigant of the first water. There is not an evasive condition, nor a flaw, nor a chink of which he is not ready to avail himself. He is a peasant, it is true; but a peasant whose craft and subtlety no European can compete with. These suits of planter versus ryot have all the ruinous features of Irish landlordism in the olden time. The defendant, strong in his poverty, could defy all consequences: an adverse

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verdict left him no poorer than before, and the victory brought no spoil to the conqueror. In fact, the planter not only had to contend with a precarious climate and an insubordinate peasantry, but with an administration of justice evidently obstructive and faulty. No wonder, then, if instances could be adduced of men who, impatient of their helpless condition or unhopeful of redress, overstepped the strict limits of right, and assumed to take the law into their own hands. Rare instances as they were, they sufficed to exaggerate the case brought against the planters, and strengthened the position of those who professed to sympathise with the ryots.

It is worthy of being remembered, that it was only after the utter ruin of the Irish gentry, and when, by the action of the Encumbered Estates Court, their properties were transferred to other owners, the hardship of their position, as regarded the tenant, was ever thoroughly appreciated or admitted; that all the chances and evasions of the law its hazards, accidents, and delays-were in favour of the peasant; that once settled on the soil, he could only be displaced by a process slow and costly, and that even then his power of mischief extended far enough to enable him, by burning the land and other depredations, to surrender a valueless tract to its owner. And yet, while all these things were so, Irish evictions and landlord cruelties were the stereotyped headings of popular leading articles.

There is a great resemblance between these cases and those before us, and a wonderful similarity in the sort of sympathy and interest they have evoked in one class in Bengal. It required the ruin of the Irish landlord to establish the hardship of his lot; let us hope that a more equitable spirit will deal with the fortunes of British proprietors in Bengal.

The case against them is, that they oblige the ryot to cultivate a crop peculiarly distasteful to him, alike laborious and unremunerative, and that, by the tyranny of capital, they dominate over the people. Now, granting, what need not be granted, that indigo cultivation is not in favour with the ryots, it is yet pursued under a special and distinct compact, which accords to the peasant, for the purposes of his own advantage, the use of a capital he could not obtain in any other mode. The advances made by the planter have no other security than the pledge of the ryots to labour with industry and zeal. That they are not hard bargains is proved by the prosperous condition of the labourers on many of the estates; and upon none did the peasant ever labour for more than three hours of the day. The weeding was principally the work of the women and children. The land applicable to the cultivation of indigo is least fitted for rice; the indigo crop is not exhaustive, but tends to ameliorate the soil. The rich loamy soils are not adapted for indigo, but light, dry, sandy land. It is true that the cultivation is so critical that, when the land has been prepared for the reception of the seed, no time must be lost after the first fall of rain; and it is precisely to this fact is ascribable the power of that tyranny which the ryots are enabled to exercise over the fortunes of the planters.

It is but a few years since that a gentleman, a man of high integrity and considerable ability, then holding the office of under-secretary for Ireland, did incalculable mischief to the cause of order, and severely invalidated the security of property in that country, by the enunciation