armies, whose violence drove the last Peshwa, more than a
century ago, to seek refuge in a British camp. The political sovereignty
of the Brahmins had disappeared from the time when he placed himself
under British protection; and the Maratha chiefs (who were not Brahmins)
only acknowledged our supremacy after some fiercely contested battles;
with the result that they were confined to and confirmed in the
possession of the territories now governed by their descendants. But it
is quite true that to the memory of a time when for once, and once only,
in Indian history, their caste established a great secular dominion, may
be ascribed the tendency to disloyalty among the Maratha Brahmins.

The case of Bengal is very different. Poona and Calcutta are separated
geographically almost by the whole breadth of India between two seas;
yet the historical antecedents of the Bengalees and Marathas are even
further apart. The Marathas were the leaders of revolt against the
Moghal Empire; they were formidable opponents to the rise of the British
power; their chiefs fought hard before yielding to British authority. On
the other hand, Lower Bengal belonged to a province that had fallen away
from the Moghal Empire, and which was transferred from its Mahomedan
Governor to a British General by the result of a single battle at
Plassey. The Bengalees took no part in the contest, and they had very
good reason for willing acquiescence in the change of masters.

In a comparison, therefore, of the Marathas with the people of Bengal,
we have a remarkable instance of the production of similar effects from
causes very distinct and dissimilar. In the former case their present
unrest may be traced, in a large degree, to the memories of early
rulership and to warlike traditions. In the latter case there can be no
such recollections, military or political, for the country has had no
experience whatever of a state of war, since Lower Bengal is perhaps the
only considerable province of India which has enjoyed profound peace
during nearly 150 years. It is no paradox to suggest that this prolonged
tranquillity has had some share in stimulating the audacity of Bengalee
unrest, for the literary classes seem to have no clear notion that the
real game of revolutionary politics is necessarily rough and
dangerous--certain, moreover, to fail whenever the British Government
shall have resolved that it is being carried too far, and must end.

But it is beyond quest