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Here, with the Public's kind permission, we will leave them, and although this trivial and unpretentious romance can claim no merit except its undeviating fidelity to nature, I still venture to think that, for sheer excitement and brilliancy of composition, &c., it will be found, by all candid judges, to compare rather favourably with more showy and meretricious fictions by overrated English novelists.

End of A Bayard from Bengal.

N.B.—I cannot conscientiously recommend the Indulgent Reader to proceed any further— for reasons which, should he do so, will be obvious. H. B. J.