a millionth part of a grain to a dog and caused
instant death; and to Doctor Lithmus, F.R.S.
(of Edinburgh), who had given double that
quantity to another dog of Scottish extraction,
without impairing the ordinary relish of the
animal for his usual meals. To the Sunday
papers, for the gorgeous richness of details and
pre-Raphaelite delicacy of touches, I owe a debt
of gratitude. Positively I was getting better
under the Burton-on-Trent business; and, on a
Monday morning, when my Indian warrior and
his brother arrived to take me to the country, I
found I could actually crawl, walking beautifully,
with only suppressed gasps and spasms. But the
learned judge was charging. At two o'clock, my
domestic warrior enters with news that the jury
had retired. At five o'clock, my Indian warrior
returns with word that Mr. William Rudd had
been found guilty, that the Scotch dog had been
justly discredited, and Doctor Alkaly's terrier
gloriously vindicated. The express leaves at
half-past eight—the cab waits at the door. This
time I was not more than half an hour reaching
it. We drove as is customary at funerals, and
yet these poor bones of the ossified man, how
they cracked and pierced me, as though some
one was striving savagely to snap them across
his knee! Every stone that paves the court of
Euston-square station was as a stab. We were
in time, with fifteen minutes to spare.

It was a painful business the extrication of
the ossified man and living skeleton, but it
was done under cover of night. Wrapped in an
enormous horseman's cloak of large folds, my
poor swelled arms and wrists swathed in
bandages, with a warm travelling-cap drawn
well over my eyes and ears, I walked in the
centre and leant painfully for support on my
two warrior sons. The Indian, with his tall
martial figure and coal-black beard, of which I
was justly proud, held me tightly on one side,
the domestic fighting lad propped me on the
other. In this order we emerged on the platform,
into the long lines of lamps, and trundling
trucks, and flying porters, and the general hurly-burly
waiting on departing expresses.

"What a crowd!" says the Indian warrior. A
crowd, indeed, expectant, noisy, but respectable,
with many policemen battling with them and
keeping them back by persuasion and pressure.
As we get near the carriages, a curious murmur
bursts out; we are in an instant pressed on,
hustled, and surrounded with a hundred faces,
peering at us with a strange curiosity. "There
he is!"—" There he is!"—"Yes, that's him!"
(Thiswastheungrammatical interjection.)—"No,
it isn't!"—" Keep back!"—" Let me see!"—
"Who is it?" But policemen fight them off
desperately, and we stand in a sort of ring at a
first-class carriage. " What does it mean?" the
Indian warrior says, doubtfully. My heart was
beating proudly. I knew what it all meant.
There, beside me, stood the brave but modest
hero of Bundelcund, who had fought his way
into the citadel, and through a murderous fire
carried out the three European ladies on his
crupper. His fame had travelled before him.
Heroes were dear and scarce in those days. The
coal-black beard, the little decoration of the
Griffin at his button-hole, had betrayed the secret.
My voice trembled as I whispered, " My brave
boy!"

A kind of superior policeman, a tightly-
buttoned official, now came up and said to him,

"The governor sent word you were not
coming until the next train."

I had sent no message of the kind, but I
found he did not allude to me.

"What governor?" said my son.

"Colonel Cranker. I don't know what to do,
I'm sure. You had better put him in here, I
suppose."

I thought this tone a little contemptuous;
but the unworthy feeling was all swallowed up
in the high compliment to my son. This conduct
of the high military authorities was considerate
indeed. The behaviour of the mob,
towards myself personally, was disgraceful: I
happened to slip, entering the carriage, and was
greeted with a roar of laughter intermingled
with groans, and I heard low coarse remarks
about the way I carried my poor swathed hands
under my cloak. I distinctly heard one ruffian
use the word "handcuffs."

"Of course, you'd wish this compartment all
to yourself?" the official went on, locking the
door smartly. Another graceful compliment to
my brave boy.

"By no means," I said, hastily. "Thank
you, very much; but I like company."

"Well," he said, taking no notice of my remark,
"what shall you do?"

"Leave the door open, of course," said my
son, " as he wishes it."

"Oh, just as you like," the official said; "you
know best, of course," then went away; and,
coming again, said, carelessly, "the Wan will
meet you at Stafford, eh?"

"I have not heard," I said, doubtfully, overpowered
at this new attention; " I suppose it's
all right."

"I say," the official says again, not heeding me
as before, " is the wan to meet you at Stafford?"

"I believe so—I hope so," my brave boy
answered, confidently. Then the other went his
way.

I do believe that the English, when gratifying
their curiosity, are the worst-behaved people in
the world. The conduct of the passengers—
first-class passengers—on this occasion, defies
description. I could allow much for a generous
enthusiasm towards one who had fought and
bled for his country; but it was pushed to the
verge of ill mannsrs; it was brutal. I sat, as I
have mentioned, in the centre, wrapped in my
cloak, with a son on each side. Persons crowded
at the window, stared their fill, and then gave
place to others; gentlemen, under specious pretext
of taking a place there, brought in their
bags and packages, sat a few moments with eyes
riveted on my person, then withdrew hurriedly.
A demure lady entered presently, took out her
yellow railway volume and began to read, unconscious
of who was near her. A gentleman