gruous system at present followed under the names of Buddha, Saka, Salivahana, Gaudma, Xaca, and Fo.

The paper which was laid by me before the Edinburgh Antiquarian Society, it is proper to observe, was written previous to the publication of Mr. O'Brien's book and the work of Major Moor, and, consequently, at the time of my examination of the Brechin tower, and the reading of that paper to the Society, I had no knowledge of such works being in existence. Your obedient servant,

London, July 7th, 1834.

R. TYTLER, M.D.

"THOUGH YEARS HAVE PAST."*

BY BABOO KASIPRASAD GHOSH, OF CALCUTTA.

BENEATH the beams of morning bright,

Creation smiles around,

And every being feels delight

With wreaths of bright hopes crowned:

But they no joy to me impart

They have no charm for me;

Though years have past, my lonely heart
Still fondly turns to thee.

Cool breezes fan my burning brow,
And strive to charm the sense
With grateful odours, which they now
From blooming flowers dispense.
But what can cool the fires, which dart
From sorrow's flames, in me?

Though years have past, my lonely heart
Still fondly turns to thee.

When lone I view the silver beams

Of Chandra fair and bright,

And gaze upon the stars, whose gleams
Once brought me such delight-

How from my eyes the tear-drops start,

And flow incessantly!

Though years have past, my lonely heart
Still fondly turns to thee.

Although I mingle with mankind,

And glad and gay appear,

Yet can my heart no solace find

When, sweet one, thou'rt not near.

The shape of joy doth soon depart,
And sorrow chastens me;

Though years have past, my lonely heart
Still fondly turns to thee.

To think of thee 'tis sadly sweet,
'Tis pain so mixed with joy;

I would not for one moment fleet

Give up the strange alloy.

Even as thou wert, so now thou art,

Though dead, beloved by me;

Though years have past, my lonely heart
Still fondly turns to thee.

*From the Calcutta Literary Gazette.

DELIGHTEDLY did Ellen Rayner quit the quiet village in which she had spent her early years for a visit to Bath, at that time-fifty years ago-a place of great fashion and importance. Ellen had been left to the care of an aunt, an almost unportioned orphan. Education was not so elaborate or so expensive a process in those days as at the present era of fashionable acquirements, but that of Ellen had not been neglected; she sang her wood-notes wild to the accompaniment of an old harpsichord, the spinnett being already out of date; she read Telemachus in the original, and was an adept in the most esteemed modes of stitchery. The library at Ashleigh was not very extensive, but it contained a sufficient number of volumes filled with stirring portraitures of the great world to render Ellen anxious to mingle in some of the busy scenes of life. Her aunt, Mrs. Henley, had, in the earlier part of her existence, mixed a good deal in society, and her reminiscences still further excited the ardent inind of a young girl, who, not unambitious, fancied that she had only to see and to be seen, to be placed in the path of fortune, the road which leads to distinction. The rural seat beneath the alders, the sylvan view, the strip of common dotted with sheep, and watered by a shallow brook, with the green sloping hill in the background, seemed tame, dull, and unprofitable to one who desired to gaze upon the majestic architecture of cities, or the lavish magnificence of nature in lands more blessed than her own. Ellen, though of a cheerful disposition, often felt inclined to quarrel with the destiny which chained her down to an obscure nook, wholly devoid of interest, and which caused her to waste her bloom and beauty amid a circle composed of unrefined persons, totally incapable of entering into her feelings or of sympathizing in any of her pleasures. There seemed to be little chance of the arrival of visitors in so secluded a spot, and she became almost impatient under the idea of being condemned, during her whole life, to associations with no better companions than the fox-hunting squire and the gouty parson.

Mrs. Henley saw her niece vegetate in obscurity with truly maternal regret ; she felt no small degree of anxiety concerning her establishment in life, and had long indulged a wish to send her to try her fortune in the grand mart of female beauty, that delightful resort of the rich and the gay, whence so many undowered spinsters had emerged wealthy brides, and where the pump-rooms and the public walks each day witnessed the triumphs of radiant eyes. Ellen's speculations were not so wholly matrimonial; at least it never occurred to her that, in wishing to see the world, and in dreaming of conquests, she was virtually desirous to seek for a husband; she would have shrunk from that idea as indelicate, and satisfied herself that she thought of nothing but an amusing variation of the monotonous course of her life.

At length, an opportunity offered itself for a visit to Bath; preparations were soon made for her departure; she flew to the seat under the alders, to the hazel copse, the church-yard, and the vicar's garden, haunts of her childhood, to take one look, which she internally hoped might be the last; her aunt, she trusted, would rejoin her in some more congenial sphere; and thus, enchanted with the prospect before her, and loathing all that she left behind, she departed from her native village.

Bath did not disappoint the young debutante's expectations; it seemed, and indeed it was, at that time, a most delightful abode. Society was placed upon the easiest footing imaginable; the great threw aside their stateliness, and

mingled freely with persons who were far beneath them in rank and fortune; the public amusements were within the reach of all the visitors, and perhaps the only drawback was the facility offered to adventurers to intrude themselves upon the undesigning. Ellen Rayner did not appear to be a mark for any one of those chevaliers d'industrie who, at all times, have found in Bath so ample a field for their exploits; her fortune did not exceed a few hundred pounds, and her friends made no secret of the narrow state of her finances. She, therefore, entertained no fears, upon making her first appearance at the rooms, of being sought by a partner from interested motives, and gave herself up to the pleasures of the hour, without the slightest apprehension of future evils. Her partner was a stranger; all the beau monde was strange to her; she was struck with his military appearance, and thought her own consequence increased in conversing with an officer lately arrived from India. Captain Shaw was high in the favour of a native prince, and had come over to England to negociate with the Court of Directors on a matter of great importance. He wore a pink diamond upon his finger, of inestimable value; the lid of his snuff box was formed of emeralds, and his person glittered with gold chains and jewels. No wonder that Ellen was dazzled, especially as he talked of the pomps and splendours of the East, and the queenlike grandeur which surrounded those ladies who made it their temporary home. Captain Shaw was handsome in his person, and extremely plausible in his manners; his inexperienced companion could have listened to him for ever, and those who had seen more of the world were satisfied to allow him to engross their young charge.

How beautiful was the night on which Ellen first imbibed the honied draught of adulation! Few, if any, now living can remember the lower rooms at Bath as they existed fifty years ago. At that time, the South Parade, of which they occupied an opposite corner, was a noble pile of building, justly esteemed for its architectural magnificence, though now presenting a melancholy picture of desolation and decay. The windows of the ball-room overlooked a cheerful tract of country, fields and gardens bounded by the shining Avon and backed by the rising grounds of Claverton and Whitcombe. The moon fell brightly on the scene, frosting with silver all the fruit-tree tops, and exhibiting in all their grandeur the richly-decorated fronts of the adjacent buildings. Ellen's eyes drank in delighted a prospect so congenial to her previously formed ideas of the beauty and splendour of the world beyond her native village; her ears were not less fascinated as she listened to the tale of other scenes still more gloriously splendid, and the awakened hope that she might, at no distant period, visit these enchanting regions, filled her heart with joy.

Captain Shaw's attentions lasted longer than the evening of the ball; in the promenade, at the breakfast, at Spring Gardens, the library, and the toy-shop, he was Miss Rayner's constant attendant, and she was never weary of hearing the details of his adventures in foreign lands, and of those chivalric actions, which led to his advancement at the court of his patron. Nor was Ellen the only person who thought highly of the Indian officer; the gay butterflies of the place looked with great respect upon a man who had seen service in Eastern climes, and an old veteran, who had retired from the toils of office, found him so conversant with places and persons belonging to a part of the world then very little known, that he pronounced him to be fully entitled to the confidence of the community. Ellen's letters to Ashleigh overflowed with descriptions of the wealth and grandeur of the East, as she had heard them detailed by her lover, for such he had now declared himself to be. A dozen yards of silver

muslin were despatched as a present to the recluse, who, though she could have no opportunity of wearing such a piece of preposterous finery, might cherish it as a sample of the splendour which awaited her happy niece. Mrs. Henley, dazzled and delighted, gave a joyful consent to the marriage. Ellen's little fortune was withdrawn from its securities, and after a month of felicity, in which the good aunt joined the circle at Bath, the new-married couple repaired to London, whence they were to embark for Calcutta.

Ellen had gained her wish; the world, which she had so ardently panted to enter, lay open before her; she was about to visit new scenes, to be introduced to new circles, to be actively engaged in the busy drama of life, and to enact a part which she flattered herself would lead to honour and distinction. Full of youthful confidence, and warmly attached to her husband, no misgiving arose in her mind, no dread of entrusting herself to the care and guidance of a person whom she had known for so short a period; his roving disposition had rather an advantage, since it secured for her the foreign travel which, in the enthusiasm of her spirit, she was willing to undertake.

The voyage, though tedious, was not attended by danger, but it served to shew poor Ellen that she had trusted too implicitly to professions. Captain Shaw's time and attentions were engrossed by two ladies, the wife and sister of a civilian of rank proceeding to join their relative in Calcutta. Mrs. and Miss Woodward were gay imperious women, accustomed to the devotion of their male acquaintance, and very ready to exact the homage of those who appeared to be of sufficient consequence to do them credit. Captain Shaw was the only passenger on board whom they deemed worthy of their notice, and his vanity was not proof against the flattery conveyed by this preference.

Ellen felt the neglect, to which she was speedily consigned, very keenly. Alas! this was not the picture which her fancy had so vividly painted in her solitary wanderings under the alders of Ashleigh; these were not the expectations raised by the tender attentions lavished upon her at Bath. The mildest complaint produced a stern rebuke; afraid of offending, and striving to persuade herself that she was unreasonable in wishing to be the exclusive objeet of her husband's care, the unhappy wife spent her time in contrasting hopes with realities, and in sighing over the illusions which she had so long and so fondly cherished. A cipher in the midst of a gay circle, she was overlooked and disregarded by her present associates; her beauty rendered her an object of dislike to her female companions, who, though fine women, were destitute of her pretensions to softness and grace, and though there were men on board who would willingly have consoled her for the neglect of her husband, they were soon repulsed by her dignified rejection of their gallantries.

Long before the voyage was at an end, Ellen arrived at the painful conclusion that her hand had been sought merely for the indulgence of a transient fancy, that she had given her whole soul to a heartless being, incapable of feeling or of understanding true affection, and that she had quitted her home to follow the fortunes of a man who, now that he had gratified a passing impulse, regarded her as an incumbrance. The disposition and manners of Miss Woodward were evidently more to his taste; he was continually making disparaging comparisons, and the half-in-jest and half-in-earnest declaration, that marriages contracted in England were not considered binding on the Indian side of the Cape, coupled with the extraordinary encouragement given to his attentions, filled Ellen's heart with alarm. Every day, the unblushing acknowledgment of some profligate sentiment gave her a painful insight into the depravity of the world; she became a prey to distracting fears and

vain lamentations after that tranquil abode which she had so easily aban-: doned.

Upon her arrival in Calcutta, her situation was not at all mended. The party proceeded to the house of Mr. Woodward, who received them with the warmest hospitality, but who, engrossed by the duties of his office, left the domestic arrangements entirely to his wife. The ladies, paramount in their own abode, found no difficulty in excluding poor Ellen from their parties; upon some pretence or other, she was always kept in the background; she had no opportunity of making a friend, or even an acquaintance; and if such had been allowed, so long as her husband sanctioned the conduct of her entertainers, how could she complain? She was unwilling to sow family dissension, by unburthening her mind to Mr. Woodward, and as yet she had not obtained sufficient enlightenment upon the villainy of mankind, and the characters of her associates, to suspect the whole truth. There were occasional returns of tenderness on the part of Captain Shaw, which revived her fondest hopes, and she was too inexperienced to be wholly overcome by the manifestations of a desire to be rid of an inconvenient engagement, which might have operated as a warning to a less trusting heart. She heard with much joy of preparations for a journey into the interior, whither the now dreaded Miss Woodward would not accompany them. She was not daunted by the idea of hardship, nor did her disappointment of the pleasures promised in Calcutta prevent her from cherishing vivid expectations of the amusement and gratification to be derived from the splendours and novelties of a native court. She was going to enter those spirit-stirring scenes, whose descriptions had so inflamed her imagination in the ball-room at Bath, and she flattered herself that her husband, once removed from the fascinating influence of his new friend's society, would be again all that he had been during the fleeting period of her happiness.

Under this impression, she embarked on board a handsomely fitted up boat, and commenced her voyage full of the exhilarating confidence of a youthful heart. The splendid landscapes, which opened themselves before her as she ascended the Ganges, absorbed her whole attention; the novelty of the scenes, presented on every side, filled her mind with delight. Shaw, though deeply engaged amidst books and papers, was not unkind or inattentive, and her only regret was caused by the exchange of the servants, who had embarked with them from Calcutta, for new ones. The loss of the ayah, who spoke English very tolerably, and seemed exceedingly attached to her, she felt severely; she was disappointed in the estimate she had formed of her character, for she was told that the woman had run away from an unwillingness to fulfil an engagement which took her farther from her own home than she liked to go. Shaw very much discouraged his wife's attempts at learning the language of the country, and poor Ellen was thus rendered entirely dependent upon him, and unable to communicate with the natives, excepting through his interpretership. But, notwithstanding these drawbacks, the voyage was as full of wonders and fascination as a fairy tale. The strange birds, the lustrous flowers, the stately elephant fanning off the flies with a newly gathered branch, as he stood under the canopy of some patriarchal tree; the camel, waiting by the side of a well; the picturesque beauty of a pagoda, sequestered amid groves; the florid grandeur of a native city, and the gay groupes of the ghauts, quite as vivid but infinitely more graceful than any thing she had seen painted upon foreign china, afforded her almost rapturous sensations of pleasure. She kept a diary to send to England, and anticipated the delightful gratification, at