16 The Calendar of Kings. [July, 



a splendid visit to the shrine of a saint, a few miles from Delhi ; and 

 again, when he receives a visit of ceremony from our friend the British 

 resident. The once Lord of India is still better off, his Majesty having 

 nothing in the wide world to do, but to eat, drink, and sleep, to live on 

 a handsome pension, smoke his pipe, perfmne his beard, flog his wives, 

 and let the rest of the world go its own Avay. 



One fool there is, to the scandal of the " magnificent," the heaven- 

 born betel-chewers, the brothers of the sun and moon — the bustling king 

 of the Seiks, whom the deluded biographer thus describes : — ■ 



" Runjeet Sing, the only royal personage under the sky who is a king, 

 either in dignity or policy. He is one of those rare men, whose talents and 

 energies have raised them from the condition of a petty chieftain to the 

 exalted station of a sovereign over a wide and turbulent empire. Endued 

 with vigour of mind and body, possessed of restless ambition, and actuated 

 by unceasing activity, he has overcome all the neighbouring potentates one 

 after another, and reduced them to the condition of humble tributaries; 

 whilst dissensions and anarchy in the state of Caubul have enabled him to 

 add a slice of that kingdom to his own. The primary object of his policy 

 appears to be, to keep at peace with our government ; and this out of a keen 

 conviction of our skill, resources, and military prowess. Such, indeed, is his 

 respect for the latter, that he has endeavoured to introduce our tactics and 

 discipline amongst his own soldiery, and has enlisted a number of French 

 officers into his service, who not oidy drill, but command his troops, especially 

 on more distant and perilous expeditions." 



The king of the Seiks, we foresee, will get his throat cut. How infi- 

 nitely wiser he would have been in following the example of the king of 

 the cards — the Great IMogul ! He will be shot in some skirmish ; or, 

 if he escape that, be sent to the Houries in a cup of rice milk ; or, if he 

 refuse to drink, be smothered in the medicated smoke of his own 

 hookah ; or, if he be poison-proof, he will be strangled between two 

 JMahomedans, or two pillows. And to this comes his life of galloping, 

 sabreing, hungering, thirsting, brain-besieging, broken-heartedness, 

 beheading, blood- dabbling, and wearing bullet-proof waistcoats ! It is 

 not worth the while. 



Among the mortal memoranda of what we might call almost sove- 

 reigns, are the great generals of our day. Of all the leaders of the 

 battle of Waterloo, but one survives : Napoleon, Blucher, Bulow, and 

 Gneisenan are gone. Of the leaders of the allied armies, since the Mos- 

 cow retreat, all are dead: Kutuzoff, Schwartzenburg, Wrede, the 

 Emperor Alexander, PlatofF, and a crowd of other thunderbolts of war. 

 The last memorable death is that of Diebitcsh, who, after rising to the 

 height of military fame by his boldness, vigour, and ability in the con- 

 quest of Turkey, died, a month since, of the cholera, or rather of vexa- 

 tion at the overthrow of his plans for the subjugation of Poland. He 

 was a man of great talent. But so perish the invader of an innocent and 

 unhappy country ! 



