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he was thinking only of his imprudent little correspondent, although there was another person in whom he was nearly interested, who might have

been unpleasantly compromised also if that document had fallen into many hands.

CHAPTER VI.

SIR JEKYL'S ROOM IS VISITED,

Ir was near one o'clock. Sir Jekyl yawned and wound up his watch, and looked at his bed as if he would like to be in it without the trouble of getting there; and at that moment there came a sharp knock at his door, which startled him, for he thought all his people were asleep by that time. "Who's there f" he demanded in a loud key.

"It's me, sir, please," said Donica Gwynn's voice.

Come in, will you?" cried he; and she entered.

"Are you sick ?" he asked. "No, sir, thank you," she replied, with a sharp courtesy.

"You look so plaguy pale. Well, I'm glad you're not. But what the deuce can you want of me at this hour of night Ehf

"It's only about that room, sir." "Oh, curse the room! Taik about it in the morning. You ought to have been in your bed an hour ago," "So I was, sir, but I could not sleep, sir, for thinking of it."

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Well, go back and think of it, if you must. How can I stop you Don't be a fool, old Gwynn."

"No more I will, sir, please, if I can help, for fools we are, the most on us; but I could not sleep, as I said, for thinking o't; and so I thought I'd jist put on my things agun and come and try if you, sir, might be still up."

"Well, you see I'm up; but I want to get to bed, Gwynn, and not to talk here about solemn bosh; and you must not bore me about that green chamber, do you see, to night, like a good old girl; it will do in the morning, won t it f"

No, Sir Jekyl." She persisted, with a grim resolution, to say out her say. "You know very well, sir, what's running in my head. You know it's for no good any one sheps there. General Lennox, ye say; well an' good. You know well what a loss Mr. Guy Redcliffe met with in that room in Sir Harry, your father's time."

"And you slept in it, did not you, and saw something? Eh ("

"Yes, I did," she said, in a sudden fury, with a little stamp on the floor, and a pale, staring frown.

After a breathless pause of a second or two she resumed.

“And you know what your poor lady saw there, and never held up her head again. And well you know, sir, how your father, Sir Harry, on his death-bed, „desired it should be walled up, when you were no more than a bey; and your good lady did the same many a year after, when the was a dying. And I tell ye, Sir Jekyl, ye'll sup sorrow yourself yet if you don't. And take a fool's counsel, and shut up that door, and never let friend or foe in human shape sleep there; for well I know it's Let for nothing, with your dead father's dying command, and your poor dear lady's dying entreaty against it, that you put any one to sleep there. I don't know who this General Lennox may be a good gentleman or a bad; but I'm sure it's for no righteous reason he's to lie there. You would not do it for nothing."

This harangue was uttered with a strange and sharp volubility, which, as the phrase is, took Sir Jekyl als ck. He was angry, but he was also per**So it will, sir; only I could rot-plexed and a little stunned by the rest in my bed until I said, seeing unexpected vehemence of his old as you mean to sleep in this room, it housekeeper's assauit, and he stared would never do. It won't. I can't at her with a rather bewildered stand it."

**Stand what I Ead, it seems to me you're demented, my good old Donica."

countenance,

You're devilish impertinent," at last he said, with an effort. “You rant there like a madwoman, just

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"And you going to sleep in this room!" she broke in. "What else can it be ?"

"You mean-what the devil do you mean?" stammered the baronet again, unconsciously assuming the defensive.

"I mean you know very well what, Sir Jekyl," she replied.

"It was my father's room, hey -when I was a boy, as you say. It's good enough for his son, I pose; and I don't ask you to lie in the green chamber."

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"I'll be no party, sir, if you please, to any one lying there," she observed, with a stiff courtesy, and a sudden hectic in her cheek.

"Perhaps you mean because my door's a hundred and fifty feet away from the front of the house, if any mischief should happen, I'm too far away-as others were before me-to prevent it, eh?" said he, with a flurried sueer.

"What I mean, I mean, sir-you ought not; that's all. You won't take it amiss, Sir Jekyl—I'm an old servant-I'm sorry, sir; but I'a made up my mind what to do."

"You're not thinking of any folly, surely You seemed to me always too much afraid, or whatever you call it, of the remembrance, you know, of what you saw there-eh ?-I don't know, of course, what to speak of it to me. I never pressed you, because you seemed-you know you did-to have a horror; and surely you're not going now to talk among the servants or other people. You can't be far from five-and-thirty years in the family."

"Four-and-thirty, Sir Jekyl, next April. It's a good while; but I won't see no more o' that; and unless the green chamber be locked up, at the least, and used no more for a bedroom, I'd rather go, sir. Nothing may happen, of course, Sir Jekylit's a hundred to one nothing would happen; but ye see, sir, I've a feeling about it, sir; and there has been these things ordered by your father that was, and by your poor lady, as

makes me feel queer. Nothing being done accordingly, and I could not rest upon it, for sooner or later it would come to this, and stay I could not. Ijudge no one-Heaven forbid, Sir Jekyl-oh, no! my own conscience is as much as I can look to; so, sir, if you please, so soon as you can suit yourself I'll leave, sir."

"Stuff! old Gwynn; don't mind talking to-night," said the baronet more kindly than he had spoken before; "we'll see about it in the morning. Good night. We must not quarrel about nothing. I was only a schoolboy when you came to us, you know."

But in the morning "old Gwynn" was resolute. She was actually going, so soon as the master could suit himself. She was not in a passion, nor in a panic, but in a state of gloomy and ominous obstinacy.

"Well, you'll give me a little time, won't you, to look about me?" said the baronet, peevishly.

"Such is my intention, sir."

"And see, Gwynn, not a word about that that green chamber, you know, to Miss Beatrix.

"As you please, sir."

"Because if you begin to talk, they'll all think we are haunted." "Whatever you please to order, sir." "And it was not-it was my grandfather, you know, who built it."

Ah, so it was, sir ;" and Gwynn looked astonished and shook her head, as though cowed by the presence of a master-spirit of evil.

"One would fancy you saw his ghost, Gwynn; but he was not such a devil as your looks would make him, only a bit wild, and a favourite with the women, Gwynn-always the best judge of merit-hey? Beau Marlowe they called him-the best dressed man of his day. How the devil could such a fellow have any harin in him?"

There is a fine picture, full length, of Beau Marlowe, over the chimneypiece of the great hall of Marlowe. He has remarkably gentlemanlike hands and legs; the gloss is on his silk stockings still. His features are handsome, of that type which we conventionally term aristocratic; high, and smiling with a Louis Quatorze insolence. He wears a very fine coat of cut velvet, of a rich, dusky red the technical name of which I fo

He was of the gilded and powdered youth of his day.

He certainly was a handsome fellow, this builder of the "green chamber," and he has not placed his candle under a bushel. He shines in many parts of the old house, and has repeated himself in all manner of becoming suits. You see him, threequarters, in the parlour, in blue and silver; you meet him in crayon, and again in small oil, oval; and you have him in half a dozen miniatures.

We mention this ancestor chiefly because when his aunt, Lady Mary, left him a legacy, he added the green chamber to the house.

It seems odd that Sir Jekyl, not fifty yet, should have had a grandfather who was a fashionable and wicked notoriety of mature years, and who had built an addition to the family mansion so long as a hundred and thirty years ago. But this gentleman had married late, as rakes

sometimes do, and his son, Sir Harry, married still later-somewhere about seventy; having been roused to this uncomfortable exertion by the proprietorial airs of a nephew who was next in succession. To this matrimonial explosion Sir Jekyl owed his entrance and agreeable sojourn upon the earth.

"I won't ask you to stay now; you're in a state. I'll write to town for Sinnott, as you insist on it; but you won't leave us in confusion, and you'll make her au fait-- won't you? Give her any hints she may require; and I know I shall have you back again when you cool a little, or at all events when we go back to Dartbroke; for I don't think I shall like this place."

So Donica Gwynn declared herself willing to remain till Mrs. Sinnott should arrive from London; and preparations for the reception of guests proceeded with energy.

THE CRISIS OF BRITISH RULE IN INDIA.

FEW will deny that the fight time has been chosen by the author of The Sepoy War in India" for essaying a task which the British nation could not but desire to see well discharged. Six years have elapsed since the events occurred—an interval long enough to produce soberness of judgment, without depriving the occurrences themselves of that fresh and vivid interest which is necessary to animate the writer's style and procure for him a ready "audience, It was desirable that the history of what is probably to be regarded as the last great Crisis of our Rule in India should be written as soon after the controversies of the hour had subsided as the collection of the proper materials, by the proper person, allowed; and Mr. Kaye was unquestionably fitted by experience and opportunities to fulfil every necessary condition. He had become possessed of materials which others could not obtain. Papers were placed

in his hands of a private character that have materially contributed to the completeness of his narrative. Lord Canning's correspondence, both with his friends and his colleagues, that which was semi-official as well as the ordinary public documents, lay before the historian when he began his work. His account of the rising in the Funjab is derived from the memoranda of Sir John Lawrence and Sir Her bert Edwardes; and similarly, he acknowledges the assistance he received from Sir Charles Wood and other persons, who withheld from him nothing within their reach, throwing light upon the transactions he had set himself to examine. Sir James Outram's letters respecting his operations in Oude would manifestly be among the most valuable of his appliances, and these were given to him by that distinguished servant of the Crown before his death--an act in itself affording strong testimony that Mr. Kaye was looked to by the heroes

"A History of the S. War in India." By John William Kaye, author of "The History of the War in Ananistan." In Three Volumes. Vol. I. London: W. II. Allen

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of the Sepoy war as the fittest exponent of its origin, character, course, and effects. Thus equipped, he had to consider whether he would follow the plan pursued in his former historical treatise, and quote freely from the original documents in the text and notes. Finally he decided to assume that his trustworthiness had been established by the scrupulous accuracy then exhibited, and to abstain, in writing the story of the Indian conflict, from substantiating his statements by citing authorities, except in those cases where "the dramatic force and propriety of the words quoted appeared calculated, without impeding the narrative, to give colour and vitality to the story.' The dispute that has existed, therefore, as to which is the truer historic style, Mr. Kaye determines in favour of the method that is, at all events, the most pleasing to the reader. His pen gains in freedom, and others than dry and hard students can accompany him in his inquiries with satisfaction. It is but fair to set forth at the outset what he wishes to say with regard to the opinions which he expresses in so manly a way-always assigning a reason for the faith that is in himon matters of policy. "Those opinions," he states, "whether sound or unsound, are entirely my own personal opinions-opinions in many instances formed long ago, and confirmed by later events and more mature consideration. In the wide range of inquiry embraced by the consideration of the manifold causes of the great convulsion of 1857 almost every grave question of Indian government and administration presses forward, with more or less importunity, for notice. Where, on many points, opinions widely differ, and the policy, which is the practical expression of them, takes various shapes, it is a necessity that the writer of contemporary history, in the exercise of independent thought, should find himself dissenting from the doctrines and disapproving the actions of some authorities, living and dead, who are worthy of all admiration and respect. It is fortunate when, as in the present instance, this difference of opinion involves no diminution of esteem, and the historian can discern worthy motives and benevolent designs, and generous

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strivings after good, in those whose ways he may think erroneous, and whose course of action he may deem unwise." These sentences augur well both for the spirit in which the book they preface is to be written, and for the independence and vigour the author is likely to display in dealing with large questions of statesmanship and administration. We are bound to say at once that Mr. Kaye is as good as his word. He neither extenuates nor sets down aught in malice. He is neither led away by friendship, nor prevented by timidity from taking the clear path of duty and of truth. speaks plainly with regard to the policy of Lord Dalhousie and its results, and the mistakes of Lord Canning are displayed with equal fidelity, whilst the many great qualities of both Proconsuls are acknowledged, and a comprehensive and generous estimate of their deeds as rulers transmitted to posterity.

He

Mr. Kaye's work is to be completed in three volumes, and the first, after tracing the principal political events, and the social and material progress, of the ten years preceding the revolt, deals with the formation of the Bengal army, the changes it underwent, and the influences that operated upon it, until the close of the Dalhousie Administration; and lastly, treats of the opening year of Lord Canning's government, the earlier incidents of the Mutiny up to the outbreak at Meerut, and the seizure of Delhi. It is manifest, then, that we are just now, in reviewing the volume before us, concerned rather with the social and political condition of India previous to the Sepoy Mutiny, and the causes of that event, than with the features of the rebellion itself, its suppression, or the measures taken at its close for the reconsolidation of our rule. If the last line of investigation were proper to be pursued, it might be shown that there is the best reason for believing another Mutiny improbable, if only the wisdom gained during the late terrible crisis shall control our conduct towards the native races in future. It was necessary, perhaps, to put them down, once for all, and some time or other, if no Mutiny had occurred, such an exhibition of our power might have become imperative; we have learned,

nevertheless, by bitter experience, that something more is required to keep India quiet than the strong arm. Had we never departed from the principles of justice, it is probable that no conspiracy against us could have been more than a local and comparatively unimportant affair. It was a widespread sense of wrong which made the treachery of the Native Army momentous as the signal for universal revoit. The "overeager pursuit of humanity and civilization, according to our author," betrayed Indian statesmen of the New School into the excesses which have been so grievously visited upon the nation;" and although this is doubtless true, there was, besides, actuating the hasty policy of those younger theorists, much of that unworthy contempt for the power and the natural rights of inferior races which has repeatedly led the country into false positions, and even into humiliation. It was this egotism, which, as manifested in coping with the difficulty, Mr Kaye calls "noble," "mighty alike in doing and in suffering,grandly capable of steadfastly confronting the danger,”—that really produced the catastrophe. It will not do to pass it off with an epigram. “Because we were too English the great crisis arose;" "be cause we were English" it was, "that, when it arose, it did not overwhelm us." There is no moral or other necessity laid upon Englishmen as such that they should be aggressive and unscrupulous in their dealings with any, whether a foreign or a dependent, people. Had we not had so masculine and skiiful a bard of subordinate offers in leading positions in India, the chastisement for Annexationism might have been far more severe. The Lawrences, Outrams, Edwardeses, and the rest, were fortunately opposed by insurrectionary chets with more crucity than energy, and greater resources in the power of their armies than they had skal to manage. One of Mr. Kaye's Baconian mottoes is strikingly apposite, and as a summary account of "the reason why of the war of 1857-55 almost hera.y 111 t . *If there be fuel prepared it is hard to tell whence the spark shall come shaiset it on fire.

ertain so why overthrosen

estates, so many votes for troubles. For to think that a handful of people can, with the greatest courage and policy in the world, embrace too large an extent of dominion, it may hold for a time, but it will fail suddenly."

In the instructive record of Indian change for the Ten Years preceding the Mutiny, Henry Lawrence and Lord Dalhousie represent two opposite principles of action. The views of the latter prevailed, and the consequence was what the world knows, Henry Lawrence thought justice the best policy, and despised "the casuistry which gives a glow of humanity to self seeking, and robs people for their own good." He would not, for instance, have reconciled to himself the demolition of a Japanese city of 150,000 inhabitants with the flippant remark that "the Western form of civilization was being thus promoted, or seize on small pretences for the repetition of little wars," every fresh quarrel ending in a new seizure of territory, or the exacting, highwayman-fashion, of an enormous indeinnity. To that principle of action, in every application of it, he was averse, in common with Elphinstone, Metcalfe, Outram, and the older and more experienced Indian officers. It is still a favourite principle, unfortunately, and for a time may possibly be successful elsewhere than in India; but the day of retribution infallibly arrives wherever it is pursued. Henry Lawrence did not, in the words of Mr. Kaye, "look upon the misgovernment of a native State as a valid reason for the absorption of its revenues, but thought that British power might be exercised for the protection of the oppressed, and British wisdom for the instruction and reformation of their oppressors, without adding a few more thousand square males to the area of our British pos sessions, and a few more mallions of people to the great muster rail of Batish subjects in the East." He was the representative of the una, zressive policy, in the spirit of which Lord Hardinge Fad re estali hed peace in the Punjab without interfering with native independence. When that pory was aband med by Lord DalLouse, under a pressure of circumstances which probably might have been otherwise successfully met,

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