Flat, and you picture yourself being wafted
along the bosom of Old Father Thames.
Forests of tall, tapering masts; swarms of
row-boats; piles of stately warehouses;
scores of busy steamboats waft you in
imagination to London. Stroll into the gay jewellers'
shops, the magnificent refreshment-rooms,
the attractive modistes' show-rooms, and
you suddenly find yourself amidst the gilt,
the marble, the mirrors, the pictures, the
vases, of the boulevards of Paris. Squeeze
yourself into one of the perambulating coffins
called palanquins, and suffer yourself to be
borne and jostled through the Burra Bazaar,
"Copitollah," or, "Raneemoody Gulley," and
lo! you feel that Cairo lives, and moves, and
has its being about you. In the most fashionable
quarter of the city—Chowringhee, the
Belgravia of Calcutta—you find African
huts, and Caireen bazaars, jostling London
mansions, and Parisian hôtels. England
supplies this metropolis of the East with
coal, and steam; with shipping, and warehouses.
France finds the dim street-lamps,
the aqueduct, the luxury, the gaiety. Cairo
contributes the noise, and bustle, and dirt.
Timbuctoo waters the highways and byways
with the festering stream of the Hooghly,
squirted, dark and loathsome, from pigs'
skins slung across human backs.

This blending of nationalities may be
found in the institutions of the land, not
less than in its edifices, and in its daily life.
Europe imparts vitality to the Chamber of
Commerce, the press, the supreme court.
Cairo tinctures, with its effete despotism, the
proceedings of the municipal commissioners,
and the legislative council. Commence a
correspondence with the supreme government,
and you find yourself in close contact with red
tape, reeking with the caterpillar dye of
the Timbuctoo Downing Street. Institute
proceedings in the Company's Sudder Court,
and behold it presided over by judges possessing
the sagacity, the soundness, the integrity,
the industry, of Timbuctoo lawyers. Examine
the Company's colleges, and you find their
chairs filled by professors, and the department
presided over by men who have taken
exceedingly high honours at Timbuctoo; the
tree of knowledge therein cultivated, has
been transplanted from the Great Desert of
Sahara; the learning, the order, the wisdom,
the utility, and, above all, the cost, are
deeply imbued with the spirit of Timbuctoo.

If we could weed out the Cairo and
Timbuctoo thorns and thistles, Calcutta might
become a garden of pretty palaces. A good
fire on a very windy day, might answer the
purpose in some respects. But we must, for
our present purpose, take it and describe it as
existing in the year eighteen hundred and
fifty-seven.

After a long voyage full of discomfort, and
some ninety miles of dull, uninteresting river
navigation, the traveller greets every novelty
with the warmest admiration. Shady creeks
become picturesque bays. A clump of
stunted trees are converted into a magnificent
tope or grove. A knot of mud huts
are looked upon as model villages, singularly
picturesque. A bungalow of larger dimensions
and more than ordinary refulgent green
and white, becomes a palace. The Bishop's
College, with ample lawns and pretty landing
place; the Botanical Gardens, with towering
trees and shady walks; and then the
Midaun—the Hyde Park of Calcutta—bounded
on one side by the river full of shipping, and
on the others by lofty mansions and gigantic
palms—all these cannot but strike the new
comer with some admiration. He must be,
indeed, most difficult to please, who can look
on this, and remain indifferent to it.

Take your way along the well-watered
carriage-drive which skirts the Midaun, on
any fair November evening, and you will find
the City of Palaces on horseback, lolling
in carriages, or lounging in gigs, enjoying
the cool, crisp air after the hot glare of a
clear bright day. One might fancy it Rotten
Row—so many and gay are the equipages—
were it not for the admixture of races. The
haughty civilian, stiff with the pride of
the covenanted service—the white man's high
caste—is jostled by the haughtier Baboo,
reclining on velvet cushions, and glistening
with gold and jewellery. The princely
merchant is followed by the country-born clerk
in his humble gig. The general scowls upon
the wealthy English shopkeeper, who dashes
past his military dignity, only to sneer at the
rich Armenian dealer driving his grey Arabs
at the top of their speed to the terror and
anger of the "covenanted" ladies. In ten
minutes you may behold on the Calcutta
Midaun more gaiety, more pride of place,
more intolerant barbarism, than in any dozen
corsos and boulevards, or in any score of
Timbuctoos.

Had the palatial city been emptied out
like a sack, it could scarcely have worn a
more quiet and forsaken air than it does at
the sultry hour of noonday in its most
fashionable quarters, say on any day in April.
It might, for any visible signs of life about
Chowringhee, be the city we read of in
the Arabian Nights; every inhabitant of
which was changed into stone. The granite
masses must have been removed by the
municipal commissioners; for, in street, or
road, or gateway, there is nothing but
blinding sunshine and scorching, choking
dust. The crows and hawks, though
accustomed to warmish weather, and seldom
very particular in their habits, have retired
for the day; dead-beaten by the sultry oppression
of the hour. One, only one huge-billed
adjutant, remains to brave the terrible heat:
perched aloft on the stone dome of the
Governor-General's palace, it stands erect, stiff,
and unyielding, as if instead of an adjutant,
the monster bird had been a common soldier,