on the misapprehension and indifference that prevails on the subject of India, for sentimental reasons alone, though they are, we think, sufficiently cogent, but we take our stand on other grounds also.
When India was transferred to the direct government of the crown, the people of England promised, by their representatives in parliament, to attend to the interests of the country, and to see that it was governed constitutionally. They were warned at the time that they would soon get weary of the task they had undertaken, but they indignantly repudiated the suggestion, and took the irrevocable step. Since then, how has the promise-inferred if not directly given—been fulfilled? Have the members of the House of Commons studied India, and tried to make up by zeal and attention for their want of knowledge of the subject? Have they been guided by the advice of experienced men, of whom there were numbers available? Has a proper check been kept on the proceedings of the Secretary of State for India? Unless the parliamentary reports given in the papers are false, none of these things have been done. Sir C. Wood is, to all intents and purposes, an arbitrary despot, and the mention of the word India, in the house, acts as a dinner-bell to all except a few members whom conscientious motives or a sense of duty induce to remain. Every one is believed but those most worthy of credence, and fictions obtain the credit due to fact. Surely we have a right to complain of such a state of affairs. It is not our part to discuss the best mode of obviating the failures that take place and overcoming the difficulties that arise. We have pointed out the disease, the remedy is in the hands of every one.
THE ADVENTURES OF PRINCE LULU.
Prince Lulu was the only son of King Gratanfulish, a mighty monarch in his own estimation, but whose noble deeds ungrateful history has forgotten to record. The negligence or ignorance of geographers has likewise left us unacquainted with the site of his kingdom—Big-but-poor. The last syllable, however, of its name seems to show that it was somewhere in the south of Asia. The son of this great king was brought up in a manner befitting his station. A renowned preceptor—Fatanlazee-who had at an early age acquired the highest distinctions of learning, and had ever since spent about four-fifths of his time in eating, drinking, and sleeping, was appointed his chief instructor. Withal, Prince Lulu was melancholy and discontented. “I am sick of this life,” he said to his tutor; “I would see the rest of the world. You have often told me that you are the greatest logician in the world, you shall therefore persuade my father to let me travel.”
Fatanlazee grew pale on hearing these words.
“Your royal father,” said he, “is more in the habit of chopping off heads than chopping logic when he finds any one who ventures to differ from his own royal opinion.”
Prince Lulu frowned.
“My father may behead you,” said he, “if you do what I tell you to do, but I certainly will if you don’t.”
Fatanlazee, after revolving for some time in his mind these alternatives, at last came to the conclusion that it was better to incur simply the risk than the certainty of being put to death. He therefore, accompanied by the prince, went to the king and made known to him his son's desire.
The monarch was astounded and angry when he heard of the indiscreet wish of Lulu.
“What could have put so ignoble a desire into your heart?” he said to him. “And how could you proceed in life unguided by the advice which I daily take the trouble to pour into your ear?”
The remembrance of this advice was too much for the prince, who incontinently yawned. Never had this indecorous act been committed in the royal presence before, save once, when a courtier interrupted the king in an oration he was making on his own clemency by a most undeniable yawn. The king had then finished his speech on clemency, and stopped the courtier's propensity for yawning by having him instantly decapitated. He was, however, loth to inflict this punishment on his son, though by no means inclined to be so forbearing towards his son's preceptor. Fatanlazee now saw himself in danger of undergoing the fate he had anticipated, when the prince, taking pity on him, calmed his father's wrath by retracting his request for permission to travel, and by asseverating that what had been mistaken for a yawn was only a gape of wonder caused by recollection of his father’s wisdom.
But, although the prince had openly renounced his design, he still resolved to effect it secretly. He had a young attendant, named Ahmed, to whom he was much attached, and to him he communicated his scheme of flight, proposing that Ahmed should accompany him.
“My prince,” said Ahmed, “I can well under stand that you, who have never seen the world, and do not know how detestable it is, should wish to make this expedition, but I who have experienced the storms of life am by no means anxious to leave the only quiet haven I have found.”
“That may be, Ahmed,” replied the prince. “The question, however, is not whether you shall leave it-no, but whether you shall be ignominiously expelled for ever from it, or leave it now and return to it hereafter. If you refuse to accompany me, I will have you disgraced; but if you go with me you shall, if it ever lies in my power, be rewarded for your devotion to me.”
The prince persuaded Ahmed as easily as he had persuaded Fatanlazee. They both disguised themselves, and, having concealed about their persons as many valuables as they could conveniently carry, they stole out of the palace. They travelled about from country to country for some time until the prince, who was tired of being only an observer, expressed a wish to become an actor in life.
“What occupation,” said he to Ahmed, “is most beneficial to mankind?”
“Least injurious, I suppose you mean?” replied Ahmed, who was by no means in a philanthropic mood, or inclined to give other men credit for feelings which he did not himself possess. “The