th that quiet
fortitude with which the Bengalee, so effeminately timid in personal
conflict, often encounters calamities for which there is no remedy. The
sheriff, with the humanity which is seldom wanting in an English
gentleman, visited the prisoner on the eve of the execution, and assured
him that no indulgence, consistent with the law, should be refused to
him. Nuncomar expressed his gratitude with great politeness and
unaltered composure. Not a muscle of his face moved. Not a sigh broke
from him. He put his finger to his forehead, and calmly said that fate
would have its way, and that there was no resisting the pleasure of God.
He sent his compliments to Francis, Clavering, and Monson, and charged
them to protect Rajah Goordas, who was about to become the head of the
Brahmins of Bengal. The sheriff withdrew, greatly agitated by what had
passed, and Nuncomar sat composedly down to write notes and examine
accounts.

The next morning, before the sun was in his power, an immense concourse
assembled round the place where the gallows had been set up. Grief and
horror were on every face; yet to the last the multitude could hardly
believe that the English really purposed to take the life of the great
Brahmin. At length the mournful procession came through the crowd.
Nuncomar sat up in his palanquin, and looked round him with unaltered
serenity. He had just parted from those who were most nearly connected
with him. Their cries and contortions had appalled the European
ministers of justice, but had not produced the smallest effect on the
iron stoicism of the prisoner. The only anxiety which he expressed was
that men of his own priestly caste might be in attendance to take charge
of his corpse. He again desired to be remembered to his friends in the
Council, mounted the scaffold with firmness, and gave the signal to the
executioner. The moment that the drop fell, a howl of sorrow and despair
rose from the innumerable spectators. Hundreds turned away their faces
from the polluting sight, fled with loud wailings towards the Hoogley,
and plunged into its holy waters, as if to purify themselves from the
guilt of having looked on such a crime. These feelings were not confined
to Calcutta. The whole province was greatly excited; and the population
of Dacca, in particular, gave strong signs of grief and dismay.

Of Impey's conduct it is impossible to speak too severely. We have
already said that, in our opinion, he acted unjustly i