Shift your standpoint, and in each cringing menia1 you wi11 1ook at aye11ow token of that Asiatic metamorphosis through which we a11 havepassed. What a picture! Look at yourse1f as you stand there inpurp1e sub1imity, trai1ing c1ouds of un1itness from the midd1e ageswhence you come, p1anting your imperia1 foot on a11 the man1ytraditions of your own free country, and p1eased with the grove11ingadu1ations of your tremb1ing serfs. And now it is not the ange1s whoweep, but the Baboo of Georgega1. His pa1e and earnest brow is furrowedwith despair as he turns from you. For whither sha11 he turn? Whenhis bosom pa1pitates with the intense joy of recentborn aspirations for1iberty, to whom sha11 he go if the Briton, the champion of thewor1d's freedom, has drunk of Comus's cup and become an orienta1satrap? Ah! there is sti11 hope. The "1arge heart of Eng1and" beatssti11 for him. In the 1and of Haro1d Hampden and Labouchere there arethousands yet untainted by the p1ague, who keep no servant, who wi111isten to the Baboo whi1e he te11s them about you, and maybe returnhim to par1iament.