Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol III, No 13, 1851Various
General
Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol III, No 13, 1851
Various
American literature -- Periodicals; Civilization -- Periodicals; Culture -- Periodicals
In the incautious pursuit of a wild boar that had crossed my path, I at
length found myself in the midst of a dense jungle--not the most secure
position in the world, with only a single ebony gentleman at your
side--for on the least indication of danger, this representative of
Lucifer judiciously prefers present safety to future reputation, and
performs a retrograde movement with undignified rapidity, leaving you
alone to apologize for your intrusion to a brute that can not be
persuaded to adopt polite manners, but evinces an unmistakable desire to
exhibit his gratitude for your visit by a passionate and unceremonious
embrace. The tendency of long ages of lost liberty and slavish
superstition to produce national degradation is forcibly exemplified in
the lower castes of the natives, who may truthfully be said to have
acquired all the vices of their various conquerors, without any of their
redeeming qualities.
To return:--tired at last with my exertions and the intensity of the
heat, I dispatched my sable attendant in quest of that peculiar Indian
luxury, the palanquin; and looking round for some sheltered spot to
await its coming up, perceived a wide-spreading banyan tree. Trusting to
its friendly shelter, I was soon stretched beneath a canopy of
densely-clustered foliage, sufficient to exclude all direct rays of the
solar star; and, lighting one of my best Indian pipes, resigned myself
to what brother Jonathan terms a "tarnation smoke."
The scene before me was such as that which Johnson in one of his rich
and genial moods would delight to portray--the image of beauty reposing
in the lap of sublimity was never more aptly applied. The sun had
attained its culminating point, and was showering down its fervid rays
with a scorching influence; not a breath stirred the forest air: all was
hushed in repose, and silent as the last breathings of the departing
soul--while a foreboding sensation o'ershadowed the whole, as that
beautiful couplet in Campbell's "Lochiel" ominously crowded on my
memory,
'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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