This Prince, now become prisoner to his own servants, was brought back to M8rsh8d-abad, full eight days after he had quitted A. D. 1757. it; and this happened the 15th of Shevval in the year 1170. He was in so wretched a condition, that the people of God, who saw him in that wretchedness, and remembered the delicacy, the glory, and the care and pomp in which he had been bred from his very infancy, forgot at once the ferocity of his temper, and the shameful actions of his life, and gave themselves up to every sentiment of pity and compassion, on beholding him pass by. They say that some officers, by whose quarters he was led, could not bear to see that excess of misery and wretchedness, without wanting to rescue him immediately; but they were not seconded by their Commanders, who having their hearts alienated from him, and being under articles to his enemy, who had not been sparing to them of either his gold and silver, and had made them mighty promises besides, did not care to avail themselves of the opportunity; so that the men of lesser note, intimidated by the inaction of their superiors, repressed their own ardour.

We have said, that Mir-djaafer-qhan had taken possession of the palace of Mans8r-gunj. He now fixed his residence in it, as being the abode of sovereignty, and he resigned his own house in Djaafer-gunj to his son Miren, a young man, born to him from Shah-qhanum, half-sister to Aaly-verdy-qhan, who had taken her in his family after her father’s decease. This son of his was not only equal to his father, but he went beyond him by some degrees in every thing, whether we consider his manners and dress,* or his riveted inclination to oppress and torment Abominable character of Miren, son to the new Navvab. people; he was also still more expeditious and quick-minded in slaughtering people, and in committing murders, having a peculiar knack at such matters, and looking upon every infamous or atrocious deed as an act of prudence and foresight. His system was, that such sensations, as pity and compassion, answered no other purpose but that of spoiling business. With such an hero­ical character as this, he esteemed himself a man of mighty wis­dom and prowess, above all men; and, with such a blessed stock in hand, as the murders and other abominable actions he was committing every day without the least scruple, he thought his performances equal to all the achievements of Aaly-verdy-qhan himself, a Prince to whom he was fond of comparing himself. Such was the man, who first heard of Seradj-ed-döulah’s arrival; for his father was then fast asleep at noon-day. He immediately ordered him into confinement, near his own apartment, and proposed to a large company of his friends, then present, to go directly, and dispatch that Unfortunate. This was peremptorily refused by them all, to a man, not one of them choosing to sully his hands with so ugly an action; and some even complained of the proposal. At last, one Mahmedy-beg* accepted the commission, which so many had rejected with indignation. This man, who had been bred in the house of Seradj-ed-döulah’s father, and in that of Aaly-verdy-qhan’s consort; who had made his for­tune by marrying an orphan virgin, in whose education that unfortunate grandmother had taken pleasure; this was the man who undertook the murder; this was the man who accepted the horrid commission; and two or three hours after the fugitive’s arrival, he set out to dispatch him. Seradj-ed-döulah had no sooner cast his eyes upon that miscreant, than he asked, whether he was not come to kill him? And the other having answered in the affirmative, the unfortunate Prince, on this confession, despaired of his life.* He humbled himself before the Author of all mercies, asked pardon for his past conduct, and then turning to his murderer, “They are not then, (broke he with a passionate tone of vice), they are not satisfied with my being ready to retire into some corner, there to end my days upon a pension; (here he paused a while, and, as if recollecting something, he added) —No—they are are not,—and I must die—to atone for Hoeséin-c8li-qhan murder.” He had no time to say more; for at these words the butcher smote him repeatedly with his sabre; and some strokes falling upon that beauteous face of his, so renowned all over Bengal for its regularity and sweetness, the Prince sunk on the ground, but with these words in his mouth: “Enough, —that is enough—I am done for,—and Hosséin-c8li-qhan’s death is revenged.” On uttering these words, he fell on his face, returned his soul to its Maker, and emerged out of this valley of miseries, by wading through his own blood. His body was hacked to pieces, by strokes without number; and the mangled carcase being thrown across the back of an elephant, was carried through­out the most frequented parts of the city, by way of notifying the accession of the new Sovereign’s. But what is singular, and yet is universally attested, the elephant-driver having for some particular business of his own, stopped for a moment, it chanced to be precisely at Hosséin-c8li-qhan’s door, where some drops of blood were seen to drop from the mangled body, and they fell on the very spot where that nobleman had been murdered but two years before.

“See, and take warning, ye that have eyes,

It was in this manner the wind shifted, and the face of things changed.

O world, fickle and fragile! O world, incapable of stability!—

Do not set your heart, my friend, upon such a world; it is like a stranger,

Like a dancer, that goes every day from house to house.* What for to fall in love with a fair one,

Who shifts her husband every morning?

And indeed to a wise man the world is but like a beauty,

Who constantly roves from one to another.

Acquire and bring together all Caron’s wealth,

You shall carry no more with you, than what you have enjoyed, or bestowed.—

Do good to-day, since the field is yours, and you have the power of it;

Make haste; for the next year, the field will pass to another tenant.”

Seradj-ed-döulah’s mangled body having been carried through so many streets, was passing by his mother’s gate, who being a Princess accustomed to live immured, knew nothing of the Affecting narrative. revolution; and she only inquired what was the cause of the confused noise and cries she heard to-day without her walls. On being informed of the matter, the unfortunate Princess, unable to contain herself, forgot at once her sex, veil and slippers, and running out of the house, like one distracted, she threw her­self on the body, which she covered with her kisses, and sate disconsolate, striking repeatedly her face and breasts. This spectacle greatly affected the by-standers; but Qhadum-hassen-qhan, who had just got upon the terrace of his house, to feast his eyes with the sight of the mangled carcase of his master and benefactor’s son, no sooner perceived the effect it made on the honest folks, than finding fault with the tenderness of that pious throng, he sent a number of mace-bearers and other servants, who by dint of blows and cudgelling, and by the most indecent violence, forced back that unfortunate Princess, who at the sight of her son’s body, had lost her mind, and knew not herself where she was. Numbers of other ladies, that had followed her, in the same condition, were used in the same barbarous manner.

It must be remembered, that when Seradj-ed-döulah was brought into town, Mir-djaafer-qhan was taking his afternoon nap; for that sudden and excessive alteration in his circumstances so far from having affected that custom of his, had only added strength to it; especially when he had taken his dose of bang.* The dose now being taken on the chair of command, and on the Mesned of dominion, had operated in a twofold manner: he lay dead to every thing; nor was any man daring enough to awake him. But there was no need of interrupting his slcep; his virtuous son, before any intelligence had been conveyed to his father, had already disposed of that unfortunate Prince; and as Mir-djaafer-qhan, on rising from sleep, had made haste to send a message to that highborn son of his, for recommending vigilance and watch­fulness over the deposed Prince (for such was his expression), the hopeful son laughed at the message, and returned for answer, “that he was not a man to neglect so important a charge;” and then turning to the by-standers, who were in great numbers, he tauntingly reflected on his father, who was now sending mes­sages and injunctions, on a matter, which he had already taken care of, by disposing of the man, and effectually doing his busi­ness. “Pray Gentlemen, (added he) is not my father a curious man with his message? And indeed as a son to Aaly-verdy-qhan’s sister, how could I prove dilatory in so important a matter?” Such was the end of Seradj-ed-döulah.