oil, and so on through the whole population.
The zemindar employs a naib, or accountant,
who is assisted by gomastas, and under these
latter are the paiks, or collecting peons; each
of these worthies exacts abwab, or, as it is
sometimes called, hisabana, from those below
them; and all grind down the miserable ryot
to his utmost ability. So long as the toiling
wretch possesses a measure of rice, a bundle
of tobacco, or a yard of cloth, he is fair game
for the human vultures hovering about his
hut. When we know that a Bengal ryot can
subsist in tolerable comfort on five or six
shillings a month, and that with all his toil
and care, he seldom secures enough to do
more than half feed him, and frequently goes
foodless for days together;—when this is
known, some idea may be formed of the extent
of degradation and hopeless want and misery
to wliich a hundred millions of our
fellow-creatures are exposed.

Such was the information, gleaned, on
various days' journeys, from my travelling
companion: it sounded strangely enough to my
ear after the dazzling view I had taken of
things Oriental; and, although I had no reason
to doubt the accuracy of what was now told
me, I felt deeply anxious to look more closely
into the actual state of the Indian peasantry.

It was very shortly after the above facts
had been detailed to me, that we paused in
our usual morning progress to survey a very
beautiful tract of wide and fertile country.
We sprang from our palanquins, and mounting
a small hillock, topped with luxuriant jungle
trees, indulged in admiration of the lovely
scenery before and below us. Valleys of rich
waving rice fields stretched as far as the eye
could reach, like a vast sea of green. On
either side of those fertile tracts rose gently
undulating lands, on which grew many crops
of motley-tinted green; and over those waved
to the morning breeze the sparkling leaves
of nobly timbered trees; whilst high above,
the lovely azure of the sky set all in
harmony, and nothing was wanting for painter
or for poet. We gazed,  and gazed again.
What sound was that, away under the bamboo
yonder? Was it some lonely bird bewailing
its mate?  It was so gentle, so plaintive, that
it brought the tears to my eyes. It was no
bird! That was a sound of human woe, or
my heart would not have leapt into my throat
as it did! The next moment we were both
rapidly descending the little hill to trace out
the sound. At the brow of the hillock, on the
side opposite to that by which we had
arrived, and adjoining the low rice fields, was
a grove of thickly planted bamboo and
mangoe trees. It seemed as cool and retired
as any grotto of sylvan nymph; but, alas! not
so happy within. Before us sat a little child,
a Hindu girl, of slight and graceful figure,
whose long jet hair curled gracefully, as
though it kindly strove to hide the famine in
her face. In her tiny lap there lay the head
of a wan and bony corpse! As we approached
the spectre, the child ceased her low cry of
sorrow, but did not stir.

My companion addressed a few words to
the girl, who faltered something in reply. I
caught the word "father," then hastened to
our palanquins, and summoned the bearers
to our aid. The body was laid quietly and
silently aside, amongst a heap of moss and
leaves; and then the poor weeping orphan
— too faint and ill, poor child—to say or do
much, shed tears upon my hand as I placed
her softly on an open mat and pillow. A few
of our coolies were sent off for the chief of
the nearest village, and some of the peasantry
to remove the body. Whilst they were gone,
we gleaned from the child that her father had
not tasted food for some days, but that he had
saved a little rice for her, which he made her
swallow in his sight: that the last handful of
food was then wrapped up in her little girdle,
having received it from him just as he
breathed his last. She had no mother, no
brothers, no sisters: famine and sickness had
swept them all away. She was alone. I
thought the little creature would have fainted
in my arms, as she dwelt so sorrowfully
upon that word—alone! We told her she
was not, and should not be alone; that we
would find a mother for her, and sisters
too; but the child did not comprehend our
meaning, and only closed her rich black eyes,
and wept.

Assistance having been procured from the
village adjoining, we caused the body to be
removed; and, having had a litter of sticks and
mats for the child, we took her with us to the
next halting place at no great distance. Our
chief bearer had gleaned from some of the
peasantry around the brief but sad history of
the child and her lost parent. He had been
a Khodkhoot ryot, or resident land-holder,
cultivating a rather large tract of soil under a
"bamiadi pottah," or lease, for unlimited
period, at a fixed jumma, or rent. By industry,
the poor man had contrived to get his ground
into good condition; plentiful crops were the
result, and all seemed right. But the
talukdhar of that zemindari was a man of
subtle devices; he knew well that the regulation,
No. 8 of 1793, gave him power to set
aside the pottah in the local courts, if he could
prove that the rate defined in it was below
the general average of the district; and as
to proof, witnesses could be had at all times
for one rupee each, in any number.
Witnesses were hired; the native amlah of the
court was bribed, and the pottah set aside.
From that day forward the ryot was a lost
man; his rent was heavily increased, the
improvements he had made were all taxed to
the utmost pice, and he was soon forced into
the unrelaxing grasp of the mahajun. Heavy
interest on loans, a bad crop or two, the death
of the mother of his family, and then of his
two sons, all from the low fever of starvation,
made him a miserable and a desperate man.
At last his strength failed, and when the