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Updated: June 15, 2025
The End of the first Vision of Mirzah. No. 160. Monday, September 3, 1711. Addison. ... Cui mens divinior, atque os Magna sonaturum, des nominis hujus honorem. Hor. There is no Character more frequently given to a Writer, than that of being a Genius. I have heard many a little Sonneteer called a fine Genius.
"I must try and make a royal present to Willoughby's wife, a timely one and lose a half a lac of rupees to Abercromby. They may find a way to pass the matter over." He dared not press Ram Lal to a public exposition of all the wanderings of Mirzah Shah's jewels. "If I had not told them that fairy tale, I might hedge; but it's too late now.
When I was at Grand Cairo, I picked up several Oriental Manuscripts, which I have still by me. Among others I met with one entitled, The Visions of Mirzah, which I have read over with great Pleasure. I intend to give it to the Publick when I have noother Entertainment for them; and shall begin with the first Vision, which I have translated Word for Word as follows.
Slowly peering over the paper, the crafty Ram Lal said: "You forget, Sahib, that I was sent away to Lucknow and Cawnpore, by Mirzah Shah, with letters to Nana Sahib and Tantia Topee. I was shut out of Delhi till after the British were camped on the Windmill Ridge, and for months I never saw the royal jewels! Every moon the list was made anew.
He lifted me from the Ground, and taking me by the hand, Mirzah, said he, I have heard thee in thy Soliloquies; follow me. He then led me to the highest Pinnacle of the Rock, and placing me on the Top of it, Cast thy Eyes Eastward, said he, and tell me what thou seest. I see, said I, a huge Valley, and a prodigious Tide of Water rolling through it.
And, with a sudden intention, he vanished toward the Club, for the knife of Mirzah Shah was reeking, and Hugh Johnstone had gone out on his darkened path alone. He had left Delhi forever. Morning in Delhi! The fiery sun leaped up, gilding once more the far Himalayas and lighting the bloodstained plains of Oude.
With a quick motion, still covering the cowering wretch with his pistol, Hawke drew out the package from his bosom, clumsily tearing off a silk neck scarf-wrapper with his left hand. He laid down on the table the blood-incrusted dagger of Mirzah Shah. The golden haft, the jeweled fretwork and the broad blade were all covered with the life tide of the great man whom no one mourned in Delhi.
But the acute adventurer's mind returned to fix itself upon Ram Lal Singh, now blandly smiling in his jewel shop, where the morning gossips babbled over Johnstone Sahib's tragic death. "I must telegraph to Euphrosyne," thought the Major, "and to 9 Rue Berlioz, Paris, for my will-o-the-wisp employer. But, Mr. Ram Lal Singh, you shall pay me for what ruin Mirzah Shah's dagger has wrought!"
They were all duly weighed and listed, and duplicate official invoices lay signed upon the table. "You were Mirzah Shah's Royal Treasure Keeper? Tell me. Are all his jewels here? The treasure that disappeared at Humayoon's Tomb before Hodson slew the princes in the melee?"
It was Hugh Johnstone himself who sought Ram Lal in his pagoda that afternoon, and, after making some heavy purchases, finally drew out a list of jewels. "I wish you to certify, Ram Lal," he cautiously said, "that these are all the jewels of Mirzah Shah, that you handled as 'Keeper of the Prince's Treasure, before the Meerut mutineers rushed down upon us."
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