priesthood, which for many years has bound his
countrymen, our magistrate has recognised the
sphere which woman is fitted to fill, and in
the persons of his daughters has bravely determined
to restore to them their social rights.
Unbigoted by a morbid love of country, he is
cosmopolitan in all his ideas and affections,
and can recognise in an Englishman a friend
and a benefactor; though at the same time,
judging all men by the one standard of mental
worth, he bows not the knee at the shrine of
any man's wealth or lineage. In him, too, an
Englishman would perceive not a mere flatterer
and place-seeker, but a friend and a
companion, full of the same sympathies as
himself, and capable of the same emotions.

Perhaps the magistrate is a man you would
not have expected to find in such an out-of-
the-way place; but as I have described him, so
he is; and in him I see a sign, not only of
the times, but also of the future, when India's
children, educated by our help, shall throw off
our yoke and form a government of their own,
and when the violence and bloodshed of our
conquest shall be expiated by the blessings
of civilisation, planted and nurtured by our
hands.

TOM BUTLER.

A BOY'S HERO. IN SIX CHAPTERS.
CHAPTER V. THE FUNERAL.

IT would be hard upon me to give in
detail the incidents of this most delightful
of days. I could have gone on thus for a
week, now in the back seat, now walking,
now running, now inside. I only regretted
the absence of Vixen the First, who would
have run under the carriage the whole way,
her red jaws open, and enjoying all far more
than I did. The anecdotes and good things
I heard were indescribable. But at last,
about ten o'clock, when it had grown dusk,
and Mr. John's lamps were blazing, throwing
out a fierce glare on both sides, like two
wicked eyes, the trees began to grow thick,
and the plantations to cluster, and the road
to grow more like a green lane. Mr. John
set about looking round, and breaking into
exclamations, "Modye, Modye! well, well!"
which I assumed was regret, as certain
memorials brought back the memory of the
late owner. Here were cottages, and people
standing at the doors, and here was a
narrow five-barred gate open, through
which we turned—the back avenue. We
now went along smoothly, plunged into a yet
darker avenue cut in a plantation, which
wound round and round about, through
whose trees we saw sparkling the lights of
the house. "Modye, Modye! well, well!"
again came from my companion. And now
we came up, with a sweep and crunching
of gravel, to a great solid house, burly,
strong, and massive, and full of many
windows. The door was wide open, and a
young man, that seemed to me all black,
was coming out.

"Very, very kind of you, Uncle Jack, to
come—very!"

The brave Tom was not in the least
embarrassed to account for his sympathising
presence; in fact, did it so well that the
black gentleman said it was very good of
him, and that he felt it exceedingly. I was
a little hurt to find that no one seemed to
think it good of me to come so far; and,
though the captain whispered him, and
evidently spoke about me, he merely said,
"To be sure, to be sure; quite right."
There was a great hall, with hats on the
table, and it seemed to me full of "grand"
things; a billiard table, antlers, pictures,
and innumerable doors, which led
everywhere. "I'll show you your rooms, and
then we can have dinner when you like,"
he said; a speech which still seemed to
leave me out. Then we went up a large
staircase, they talking in a low voice; "Poor
Jenny bears up wonderful," I heard him
say, "wonderfully on the whole. But
tomorrow morning will be the pull." What
pull could he mean? "Aye, aye!" said
the captain. "I am an old horse myself,
and can't expect to draw for ever." Then
he asked "how was Bill," and Bill himself
came in; a jolly young man with a very
large red beard, his hands in his pockets;
and a very limp old servant-man, whose
head shook mysteriously, and who, I must
say, was the only one who seemed to be
really in grief. He was called "Old Dan."
Dinner was in the large dining-room,
which, I recollect, had a large folding-
screen near the door, all over the most
diverting coloured caricatures. The meal
began in a rather ghostly manner, though
the guests sat down with alacrity, and the
brave Tom, who had now got quite on the
footing of a private relation, declared he
could "eat oats like a horse." After the first
course, the conversation grew almost cheerful,
without any unpleasant reference to
the deceased. As I said, "Old Dan" was
the only one who seemed to feel the situation,
and the man in the beard apologised
for his neglect, saying "that these old
fellows really revelled in funerals." I
noticed that they spoke with infinite zest
and satisfaction "of the way Lord Loveland
had behaved," "such a friendly,
considerate note," and who was going to post
ten miles in the morning to attend the