of Pânipat. At length, on Jan. 7, 1761, having taken their last meal together, and knowing that their store of food was quite exhausted, they came forth to dieto conquer they could scarcely dare to hope. Who shall describe the wild dash and splendid despair of that first charge, when with cries of "Har! Har! Mâdêo" they broke through the firm-set lines of the Afgâns, and scattered confusion and death around them once more as of old-till here and there the word "victory" rose from a muttered curse to a wild frenzied shout. No man sold his life for nought that day. But all was in vain. The undismayed grim sons of war, that had followed the Abdâlî through fire and blood on so many a field of even fiercer strife, held their own, closed on their mad foes, brought them to bay; and routed them utterly. The slaughter was terrible. The number of those who died is said to have amounted to 200,000 men.1 Almost every chief fell; almost every Mahratta home mourned the death of a father or a son. Never was there a defeat more overwhelming, never was there a calamity which spread in a wider circle of consternation. The Peishwâ never recovered the shock of the terrible news. He died in a few months; and with him died all hope of Mahratta supremacy in India. The Abdâlî, abandoning all thought of holding Hindûstân, retired once more to his home beyond the Indus, having recognised Alf Gohar as Shâh Alâm II. and having established his son Jawân Bakht as regent in his absence.

The Mogul Empire is at an end; the great Hindû confederacy has been broken in pieces like a potter's ì Grant Duff, ii. p. 156.

vessel; and the ground is clear for Clive and his successors to lay the foundation of a firmer and more righteous dominion; a dominion not of aliens, but of a race whose ancestors centuries ago, on the plains of Central Asia, dwelt with and were one with the ancestors of the people of India; formed with them one race and one people-had the same words for God, for father, for mother and for child; a race under whose guidance India has risen from her despair to Occupy once more her proud and time-honoured position of most illustrious of all the countries of Asia.

LORD CLIVE.

We have always thought it strange that, while the history of the Spanish empire in America is familiarly known to all the nations of Europe, the great actions of our countrymen in the East should, even among ourselves, excite little interest. Every schoolboy knows who im- 5 prisoned Montezuma, and who strangled Atahualpa. But we doubt whether one in ten, even among English gentlemen of highly cultivated minds, can tell who won the battle of Buxar, who perpetrated the massacre of Patna, whether Surajah Dowlah ruled in Oude or in Tra- 10 vancore, or whether Holkar was a Hindoo or a Mussulman. Yet the victories of Cortes were gained over savages who had no letters, who were ignorant of the use of metals, who had not broken in a single animal to labour, who wielded no better weapons than those which 15 could be made out of sticks, flints, and fish-bones, who regarded a horse-soldier as a monster, half man and half beast, who took a harquebusier for a sorcerer, able to scatter the thunder and lightning of the skies. The people of India, when we subdued them, were ten times 20 as numerous as the Americans whom the Spaniards vanquished, and were at the same time quite as highly civilised as the victorious Spaniards. They had reared cities larger and fairer than Saragossa or Toledo, and

B

buildings more beautiful and costly than the Cathedral of Seville. They could show bankers richer than the richest firms of Barcelona or Cadiz, viceroys whose splendour far surpassed that of Ferdinand the Catholic, 5 myriads of cavalry and long trains of artillery which would have astonished the Great Captain. It might have been expected, that every Englishman who takes any interest in any part of history would be curious to know how a handful of his countrymen, separated from their I home by an immense ocean, subjugated, in the course of a few years, one of the greatest empires in the world. Yet, unless we greatly err, this subject is, to most readers, not only insipid, but positively distasteful.

Perhaps the fault lies partly with the historians. Mr. 15 Mill's book, though it has undoubtedly great and rare merit, is not sufficiently animated and picturesque to attract those who read for amusement. Orme, inferior to no English historian in style and power of painting, is minute even to tediousness. In one volume he allots, on 2o an average, a closely printed quarto page to the events of every forty-eight hours. The consequence is, that his narrative, though one of the most authentic and one of the most finely written in our language, has never been very popular, and is now scarcely ever read.

25

We fear that the volumes before us will not much attract those readers whom Orme and Mill have repelled. The materials placed at the disposal of Sir John Malcolm by the late Lord Powis were indeed of great value. But we cannot say that they have been 30 very skilfully worked up. It would, however, be unjust to criticize with severity a work which, if the author had lived to complete and revise it, would probably have been improved by condensation and by a better arrangement. We are more disposed to perform the pleasing duty of expressing our gratitude to the noble

family to which the public owes so much useful and curious information.

The effect of the book, even when we make the largest allowance for the partiality of those who have furnished and of those who have digested the materials, is, 5 on the whole, greatly to raise the character of Lord Clive. We are far indeed from sympathizing with Sir John Malcolm, whose love passes the love of biographers, and who can see nothing but wisdom and justice in the actions of his idol. But we are at least equally far from 10 concurring in the severe judgment of Mr. Mill, who seems to us to show less discrimination in his account of Clive than in any other part of his valuable work. Clive, like most men who are born with strong passions and tried by strong temptations, committed great faults. 15 But every person who takes a fair and enlightened view of his whole career must admit that our island, so fertile in heroes and statesmen, has scarcely ever produced a man more truly great either in arms or in council.

The Clives had been settled, ever since the twelfth 20 century, on an estate of no great value, near MarketDrayton, in Shropshire. In the reign of George the First, this moderate but ancient inheritance was possessed by Mr. Richard Clive, who seems to have been a plain man of no great tact or capacity. He had been bred to 25 the law, and divided his time between professional business and the avocations of a small proprietor. He married a lady from Manchester, of the name of Gaskill, and became the father of a very numerous family. His eldest son, Robert, the founder of the British empire in 30 India, was born at the old seat of his ancestors on the twenty-ninth of September, 1725.

Some lineaments of the character of the man were early discerned in the child. There remain letters written by his relations when he was in his seventh year;