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The melancholy mood into which Captain Parkes voluntarily sank, as he recalled a few acquaintances of his who prided themselves upon the close friendships they had formed, showed distinctly that he himself was not in the most amiable or charitable of humors. But he was of that fine grain of humanity, that any act or word at variance with the prescribed laws of our great human family aroused the indignant spirit which should live in every breast, and which made him speak-if strongly-not untruthfully.

The proceedings at the lawyer's office that day had turned the milk of his human kindness sour, and he waited as one who would reconcile himself to the worst.

Captain Parkes's pride was even a more powerful sentiment than his affection, but it was the pride of a man whose heart was in the right place, and it made, and had made, the love he bore to Emily Raymond one of such a character as the Colonel would not willingly have repulsed, had he been able in his own mind to perceive its excellence. But the Colonel was not blessed with a vigorous understanding or perception, nor with that delicacy of feeling which restrains any external evidence of the thoughts within us; and he had done and said enough that day to prove to the Captain that a breach between them was inevitable.

"Well, let it be so !" mused Parkes, "for I will not sacrifice my self-respect, nor compromise the consciousness of my innocence, even for that sweet girl; nor will I rob her father of her, which I could easily do, for I believe she would follow me to the end of the world! I have no doubt that, if I absent myself from Chowringhee, it will be impolitic; but if I go, my own mind will call it an intrusion: so, as the former shortcoming is the lesser, I will adopt it.

went into his room and wrote a letter.

He

MY DEAREST EMILY,-Obtain a conversation with your father about me he will probably tell you sufficient to account for my not calling again at No. -, Chowringhee.

This is a harsh sentence, my dear girl, but you will acquit me of all blame if your father relates the entire proceedings to you. I have been suspected of petty theft,-your very father has entertained the suspicion; and so injured do I feel, that I cannot, without equal injury to my self-respect, cross your father's threshold. The day may come when the treachery of a certain person will be revealed, and when I can shuffle off the stigma now attached to me by Colonel Raymond, on that day I shall be able to come forward and claim you, but

not before.

Emily, this is written with a bursting heart. I cannot write more.

Yours ever, unchangeable,
GEORGE HOMER PARKES.

He despatched this letter next day, and

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DEAR CAPTAIN PARKES,-I am highly displeased at the contents of the letter which you have addressed to my daughter; for, to say nothing of the gratuitous nature of several of the statements, some of which are incomprehensible to me, the whole are calculated to establish an animosity towards me in my daughter's breast, and such, Sir, cannot be allowed. Fortunately your attempt has failed, and my daughter, who I have no doubt is as indignant as myself, accepts your letter in its general meaning.

I remain, yours sincerely,
EUSTACE RAYMOND.

This was enough for Parkes. The glaring ingeniousness of the epistle gave him a still further insight into the secret character of the Colonel; but he knew that Emily was guiltless of all responsibility for the part her father had made her play in the letter. "It was the old story," thought he "she has been forced into this, and probably the account she has heard bears very little resemblance to the one I could tell her. She shall hear it from me some day!" And he locked the letter up safely in his desk, and went to his military duties that day an altered The difference was observed by all his fellow-officers; and though he strove to be jovial at mess, he failed, and Colonel Glossery several times asked him the cause of his changed life. St. Albans went out to Dum-Dum occasionally, and always endeavoured, when there, to interest and amuse Parkes, but with very poor success: all that he got (so strong a mastery had Parkes over himself) was mere civility, and not a shade

man.

more.

Neither Glossery nor St. Albans ever mentioned the name of the Raymond family to the Captain, while the latter often wondered what Emily's thoughts and feelings were. In short, it was no simple or trivial matter to put away the chalice from which he had imbibed so much pure pleasure.

He made a point now of keeping a copious diary of his innermost thoughts and aspirations, that he might lay it before Emily, if the day should ever come which would witness them re-united, and the old state of happiness restored.

Each officer in his regiment knew the story of the "notes," and the altered state of things at No. -, Chowringhee; but not one of them ever wounded the Captain's feelings by referring to either event.

One day Captain Archer, in the strength of his strange prerogative, alluded to the Raymonds, and said that he had spent the preceding evening there. Parkes brightened up at this. He could speak safely to Archer, he thought.

"Did you see Miss Raymond?" he asked, hurriedly.

His hearer replied in the affirmative; looking at him with a kindly expression as he spoke, which so assured Parkes, that he poured forth a dozen questions about her. "What did she say?" "Did she look well?" "Did she. speak of me?" "Did she seem very happy?—and so many more, that Captain Archer's breath was nearly taken away by answering them.

"I had a short private conversation with her," he said. "It might have been longer, but St. Albans interrupted us."

"Was he there?"

"He is always there," answered Archer, "and always after the same object; and my private opinion is, that the Colonel would gladly make him your successor, if his daughter was willing."

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Have you any idea whether she cares for him or not ?"

"I cannot pass an opinion upon the depth or tone of her sentiments for him; but St. Albans has the power of making any well-educated girl listen to all he has to say, until he has fairly put the lasso over her, and placed himself foremost in her thoughts. But you prevented me continuing the remarks I started with. In the conversation I had with her, she asked me about you,-whether you were well; and her voice was so faltering and tremulous as she spoke, that I saw she had not lessened in her regard for you, whatever you have been given to believe. I told her that, as far as physical health went, it might be that no one ever was better; but that I was of opinion that you would win a gold medal if Government gave one to the unhappiest man in Bengal. She told me that her father had written a letter to you, but that she was ignorant of the contents."

"I knew it!" exclaimed Parkes, with excitement.

"He should thank me for it," remarked Parkes. "I supplied him unintentionally with the excuse he wanted, and which he lost no time in turning to account."

"All right old fellow : nobody would dispute the medal with you; your tone alone would make you victorious. Well, I told Miss Raymond that I purposed retailing the conversation to you, and that if she wished any message to be delivered, she must speak it out, and it would be. Her answer, as nearly as I can recollect, was- If he has blamed me in any way for any act connected with our present separation, he has wronged me, or something to that effect; and I think she would have said more had not St. Albans come up with almost a jealous expression of face, and told my companion that Lady Kean wanted her. When I took my leave an hour afterwards, she looked earnest

ly at me, and said, Say what you like.' It was a significant remark, and one full of hope." Then what would you advise me to do ?** "But for that unfortunate correspondence, I should say, renew your visits, as if nothing had occurred, and don't give up the girl. Her father made her over to you freely and formally, and your promotion sealed the bargain; but you seem to me to have unwittingly cancelled the entire business of your own accord, and without necessity. There was every reason for your being disgusted with the Colonel I admit ; but bless my soul, Parkes ! do you think I would have resigned a charming creature like her for such a cause ? A man may not marry his father-in-law any more justifiably than his grandmother, and you could have made off with the daughter, and eschewed the old gentleman. But come, Job needs comforters. I fully expect to hear of St. Albans gaining her hand-I'll say nothing of the heart, for he has the Colonel, and old Gloss, and Lady Kean on his side, strong; and if you have made any plans, no time should

be lost."

Archer's advice came from his thorough good heart, and Parkes could not help muttering some thanks to him for having given it; but he saw no way of entering the lists again. The idea of St. Albans ever becoming the husband of Emily Raymond maddened him, and he resolved for her sake to prevent that catastrophe, though by what means with St. Albans's powerful partisans-he knew not.

One day, Captain Parkes, being in town, and too early by an hour for an engagement he had made, adjourned to St. Andrew's Library, which was then, as now, a fashionable and instructive way of beguiling away superfluous time. There, in the easiest manner in the world, could be gained a sufficient knowledge of current literature for the ball-room or any other polite coterie. The new novels exposed their catch-penny titles, and it was enough to give one the right of saying that he or she "had seen the work" to wrest the first volume from its two sisters, and read the title-page and the dedication. Young ladies, whose " pretty ankles were encircled in azure," and who used the camel-hair, not on their eyebrows, but on the brows of nature, feasted upon the new specimens of art in that their line of fancy. A cadaverous, stern-looking, closely-buttoned-up gentleman in black was reading one of Doctor Cumming's mental aberrations; and a fine, interesting-looking girl, whose marriage was to come off next week, was deep in a useful treatise-" Advice to Young Mothers." One, a male, who seemed to have prodigally 'consumed the midnight oil, whose face was ashen and care-worn, with spectacles over his large

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dark-brown eyes, and with dark unkempt hair clinging like sea-weed under his snuffcoloured wide-awake, his nether garments of corresponding hue, and not broad enough to cover the cut and side-worn shoes, was lost in a bewildering statistical pamphlet, and inflicted an increased bewilderment and mystification, on the Thursday following, upon the numerous readers of the serial which he then conducted. Two elderly ladies had called in purposely to obtain Sir Edmund Burke's aid in settling a dispute as to whether the Duke of Barehill's first or second daughter was called MIGNIONETTE; the friend of the second daughter won the case, the elder child being RHODODENDRON ASPASIA. She knew she was right. How could Mrs. have forgotten?

Captain Parkes was taking notes ocularly, when a fresh arrival of visitors made their appearance,-Lady Kean, Emily Raymond, Mrs. Gervase, and St. Albans.

Without any hesitation, Emily hurried up to her old lover, as if there had been no ruffle on the current, no break in their compact. She held her hand out with her old innocent smile, and Parkes pressed it fervently. Then St. Albans calmly walked up to them, and entered into conversation, and the group was increased by Lady Kean and Mrs. Gervase.

He merely bowed to the former; she did not encourage any more familiar salute.

Mrs. Gervase was in grief: "I am certain I have seen Le Follet here. Oh! how can they have omitted to send me my own copy?" The fact was, Mrs. Gervase had not got a bonnet to put on, and expressed herself perfectly ashamed to be seen out in such a state. To Parkes's delight, she took Lady Kean away to another portion of the gallery, with as much excitement as an antiquarian after an ancient papyrus, and to her indescribable joy Le Follet lay there on the table before her.

Captain Parkes, turning to St. Albans, observed, "I wish to say a few words privately to Miss Raymond," and, after the hint, led her away to the window. The Bibles were there, so the corner was deserted. George," whispered Emily, with a melancholy accent, they have made me so miserable: they wish me to forget you, and marry Mr. St. Albans !"

66

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“Has he proposed ? "Yes-to papa-for me." "Did my letter to you offend

you?"

"Not offend, but pain." She pressed his hand, and Parkes saw Lady Kean in deep conversation with St. Albans. "And you love me as much as ever, Emily ?"

She looked at him with a sorrowful smile, so intelligible, that words were not needed to convey the meaning of the mute reply, nor the sigh which followed it.

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Mrs. Gervase, not knowing that the couple were seriously engaged, went up to Emily with her treasured Le Follet.

66

My dear," she said, "look at this whitecased bonnet. Is it not a little marvel--the pretty thing? Do you think it would suit my face-suit a pale oval?"

"I think they were!" replied Emily, in a dream; whereupon Mrs. Gervase turned away annoyed, and attacked Lady Kean.

"Oh! Lady Kean, you are apt at bonnets. Look at this little treasure!"

"I am afraid it's rather warm for the present time," she replied, looking over the shoulder of Mrs. Gervase at the Captain and Emily still engaged earnestly.

"Oh! my Lady Kean, not too warm; for although the evening drive is an exertion scarcely to be borne with in this uncongenial climate, still there is often a breeze in the evening. Have you perceived that, Lady Kean ?"

Her ladyship had perceived the breeze, and was then perceiving Captain Parkes talking in such an under-tone, and so seriously to Emily, that she left Mrs. Gervase, and requested Emily to look at a certain bonnet with which Mrs. Gervase was enraptured.

"Well, then, good-bye, Miss Raymond," said Parkes, shaking that young lady's hand, and "Good morning, my Lady Kean," he continued, accompanying those words with a stiff and formal bow, and with another to Mrs. Gervase, and "Good-bye, St. Albans" to that gentleman, turned his back on St. Andrew's Library.

"I shall order a bonnet, my dear, just the fac simile of this," remarked Mrs. Gervase to Emily, "for really it's lamentable-I have not a bonnet to put on !"

The bonnet she had on was a fortnight old, and was, consequently, in such a state, that no respectable individual ought to have been seen out with it. It almost looked as if she had worn it a fortnight, whereas she had only withdrawn it from the bonnetbox thrice.

From St. Andrew's Library they drove to one of the most fashionable millinery establishments in Calcutta, about the "whitecased bonnet," and, after the most trying conversation, made the female head of the establishment understand what was meant.

Mrs. Gervase, however, was not concentrated in self. Within a glass case she saw a "little darling hat," which suited her dear son Lionel, twelve months old; but she must not give him a hat, and her daughter Euphrosyne nothing: so Miss Gervase got a dress, which in the mother's opinion was such a sweet design, so beautifully worked, that it was a shame not to buy it. If it was a shame for Mrs. Gervase not to buy the majority of superfluous articles exhibited to

her by the head of the millinery establishment, she came out of those rooms as free from guile as Eve before she tasted of the tree of knowledge of good and evil; and Mr. Gervase had the privilege of paying for her innocence.

LITHOGRAPHY IN INDIA:

BEING A FEW PRACTICAL HINTS FOR THE

INDIAN AMATEUR,

By A PRACTICAL MAN.*

THE want of a practical guide to the Art of Lithography, compiled from Indian experience, has induced the writer to make the present attempt to supply one which he hopes will be found useful by the amateur in this country. The information it contains will, at all events, be a stepping-stone to the further adaptation and improvement of the art.

The writer by no means claims the merit of originality for his expositions, -they are but collections of facts noted during some years' experience in several of the largest establishments in this Presidency; and he publishes his hints for the benefit of those who have not had like facilities for acquiring proficiency in Indian practice.

HISTORY OF LITHOGRAPHY,

Alois Senefelder, the discoverer of this useful art, was a native of Bavaria. He was of poor but respectable parentage, had the advantage of a liberal education, and was allowed to follow the bent of his own inclination, which led him to try various means whereby to improve his circumstances. Failing in many of his attempts, he hit upon the idea of becoming an author; but fortune seemed to fail him here also, for he had not the means of defraying the charges for publishing his book. He now determined upon becoming his own printer, and for this purpose taxed his inventive talents, till he succeeded in discovering the art of lithography.

It is said that this was a result purely accidental. While Alois was busily engaged essaying on different

*The right of translating and reprinting

these Hints is reserved.

materials, which he had procured, and had lying about in his laboratory, his mother one day entered the room, and asked him to take down the washer

woman's account. There being no paper at hand, he wrote it with one of his chemical inks on a polished slab, intending to copy it at his leisure. When he was about to do so, it occurred to him, that by corroding the surface of the stone with acid, the letters would stand out in relief, and admit of an impression being taken from them. He tried the experiment, and succeeded;

and also soon found that it was not ab

solutely necessary to lower the surface of the stone, but that simply wetting it was sufficient to prevent the printingink adhering to any part except that marked by the composition.

Having made considerable improvements, Senefelder obtained a patent, entered into business, and opened establishments in various parts of Europe.

Since then, the art has made rapid progress, and has flourished to a greater extent than the inventor could have anticipated.

PRACTICE OF LITHOGRAPHY.

General Remarks.-The process depends upon the innate quality which compact calcareous stone possesses for absorbing grease and water with avidity; and the antipathy these bear to each other assists the printer. On the surface of a prepared calcareous stone, a drawing is executed with chemical chalk, or ink; the stone is then sponged with water, rolled over, while wet, with printingink, which combines chemically with the

greasy lines on the stone; a sheet of paper laid on its surface, the whole passed through the press, and a fac simile impression obtained.

As simple as the above process appears, it is nevertheless attended with many difficulties, which are only surmounted by skilful manipulation of the various materials used.

Besides the press and stones, the following are requisites: transfer-paper, transfer-ink, lithographic ink and chalk, rolling-ink, brass rulers (parallel and rolling), drawing and writing pens (steel and quill), sponge, gum, acid, water of Ayr and pumice stone, files, rasps, sand, china saucers for ink, phials for

acids, &c., and a couple of copper vessels with close-fitting covers.

Lithographic Presses.-There are three descriptions of presses in use in India,-cylindrical, lever, and eccentric lever. Of these the last is the best, it being better adapted than either of the others to produce the finest impression required, by means of the powerful leverage it brings into operation, which causes the paper to take up the printingink at each impression sharp and clean, and prevents it running and becoming blotched. It is also particularly portable. However, for facility in producing large quantities of work, it does not surpass the common lever press.

Stones.-Stones which absorb grease and water with facility, and effervesce on the application of acid, are those best adapted for lithographic purposes. No description possesses these qualities in a more eminent degree than compact calcareous stone; and the following hints will be useful in selection, and preparation for use.

The best stone breaks with a conchoidal fracture; on breathing on it, a clayey smell is perceived; colour light straw.

The stones are prepared for chalkdrawings, or writing, by grinding them face to face with sifted sand, sprinkled with water. The motion may be either parallel or circular, the latter for chalk-drawings. By this operation the surface is granulated, and the requisite degree of smoothness and evenness obtained. The stones should, in the first instance, invariably be prepared by parallel grinding, until all traces of scratches or stains are removed, and a uniform surface obtained; and then grained. When required for the reception of writing, instead of being grained, they are polished with pumice stone, and finished with water of Ayr stone. The sand generally used in grinding is of a yellow colour: silver sand is suitable for the purpose, but, being expensive, may be dispensed with where any cheaper variety, containing a maximum quantity of silica, is procurable. Stones with drawings on them are cleaned and prepared precisely in the same manner as at first.

Transfer-Paper.-Owing to the difficulty of writing backwards on the stone, all pen and line work is executed

on prepared paper by damping the back of this paper, and pressing it on the stone, the transfer of the writing is effected. Drawings may be laid without the use of the paper.

Any ordinary writing paper would answer if it gave up the ink on pressure; but this not being the case, the surface requires to be coated with a preparation, which becomes a medium capable of retaining and giving back the ink or any traces of grease, and adheres to the stone on being pressed. The paper is prepared in the following manner.

Apply three successive coats of the following composition to one side of any smooth paper-dry thoroughly after each coating

Prepare starch to the consistency of conjee or gruel; colour with gamboge; strain through a piece of fine muslin : apply with a sponge or piece of cloth.

The quantity of paper to be prepared at a time must depend upon the consumption; it is advisable not to prepare more than will suffice for a couple of months, as the preparation deteriorates with age. When too old for use, the paper bulges up on the application of water in the process of transferring, and the transfer is imperfectly made. Before being used for writing on, pass the paper through the press, with the prepared side down, on a well polished stone; this will give it a smooth surface, and preserve the point of the pen.

Transfer-Ink, or ink used in writing on the transfer-paper.-There are various receipts for making this ink, but the following will be found suitable for all purposes :—

Transfer Ink.-No. 1.
Brown soap..
White wax
Tallow

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