The order of friars to which he belonged was very
severe indeed, but, not content with living in
their chief convent at Rome, he had asked to be
removed to the strange out-of-the-way place
where we met him. He seemed content
with his lot, said he did not wish to leave Italy,
and declared himself happier as a Capuchin than
he had ever been before. We took leave of him
the next day, and continued our route to Naples,
whence I embarked for Malta, on my road to
India.

About three years after my return to India,
I was fortunate enough to obtain a staff
appointment. On my way up country to join my
new station, I passed through Agra, and
remained some days at the house of a relative
belonging to the Civil Service. One day
I was asked by my friends to go with them
to a lecture upon native education, which
a newly arrived missionary was about to deliver
that evening. The lecturer, it was said,
belonged to one of the English dissenting sects,
and intended to found a mission in some
of the villages near Agra, for the purpose
of educating the poorer villagers, and
converting them to Christianity. It was late
when we arrived at the gentleman's house
where the lecture was to be held, and the
business of the evening had already commenced.
For some time I did not pay much attention
to what was going on. Being placed rather
behind the lecturer, I did not take particular
notice of him, until something in his voice and
manner made me think I had met him before,
and yet for the life of me I could not tell where.
But when he happened to turn round, I
recognised Benton. The shaven head, the long
beard, the coarse gown, were gone; but the man
was the same Father Paulo whom I had last seen
at the Capuchin convent amongst the mountains
of Calabria. When the lecture came to an end,
Benton explained that, tired of the subtleties of
the Romish Church, he had determined to preach
the Gospel to the heathen in the most simple
manner possible. Having renounced Romanism,
he joined one of the Protestant nonconformist
churches, and offered his services as a missionary.
After a certain probation, he had been sent out
to the Upper Provinces of India, where I so
unexpectedly fell in with him.

About three years after, I found myself in London.
I had an engagement one day to dine with a
friend at Norwood, and, hailing a Hansom, told
the driver to take me to the London-bridge
station. On alighting and handing the man his fare,
I was not a little surprised at his saying, as he
took the money, "Thank you, old fellow!" at
the same time chuckling, as if enjoying a good
joke. At first I felt certain that the man must
have been drinking, and congratulated myself
upon having escaped the dangers of an upset in
a drive through the most crowded parts of the
City. But a glance at the fellow's face made
me feel certain that I had seen him before, and
to make a long story short, here was my old
friend Benton—the ex-military man, ex-indigo-
planter, ex-Capuchin friar, ex-Protestant
missionary—reduced to driving a cab in the streets
of London.

I do not care very much for appearances;
but I felt some dislike to entering into a familiar
conversation with a cabman at the door of
a railway station. Moreover, I had barely time
to take my ticket before the train started, so I
took out a card, wrote the address of my lodgings
upon it, together with the words "Come to see me
any evening after ten," and gave it to Benton. I
naturally felt not a little curious to know how
it was that my former fellow-cadet had fallen so
low in the world, and determined to help him,
if it lay in my power to do so.

Nor had I long to wait. In a couple of days
Benton called, and although his dress bore marks
of having seen better days, it was not such as is
generally worn by cab-drivers. He told me that
having formed certain religious opinions—he did
not tell me, nor did I ask him, what they were
—he had come to the conclusion that it was his
duty to resign all connexion with the Missionary
Society, and come home. Once arrived in
England, he found that the greater part of
what little money he had left, was
swallowed up by the bankruptcy of the gentleman
to whose hands he had consigned it for
investment. His patrimony had never been
large, and now, what between his wanderings
and his late losses, he had but a couple of
hundred pounds left. This he placed at deposit in
one of the banks, and in the mean time formed
the extraordinary determination to earn money
by driving a cab. In his new calling he had
now had about six months' experience, and
was already heartily tired of it. Having no
acquaintance whatever in London, he was at a
loss how to obtain any employment, and begged
me to do what I could to get him a situation,
no matter how humble. By a fortunate chance
I heard of a vacancy in the office of a friend,
and procured it for Benton at a weekly salary
of three pounds. At this piece of good
fortune he appeared quite delighted, and said that
for the present his wanderings would be at an
end, as with a hundred and fifty pounds per
annum he could maintain himself with comfort.
Benton wrote a good hand, was an excellent
accountant, and spoke more than one modern
language well, so that I hoped it would not be
long before he got a better salary. In fact, before
I left England his employer had promoted him to
a situation in which he got two hundred a year,
and I felt certain that if he could only conquer
his restless disposition, there was yet some hopes
of his getting on in life.

About this time the Crimean war broke
out, and, like many other Indian officers, I
volunteered to join the Anglo-Turkish Contingent
then in the course of formation at Shumla. In
due time I received a notification that I was
named adjutant of a Bashi-Bazouk corps, and
at once started on my way to the East. On
landing at Constantinople, I of course made my way
to that harbour of refuge for wandering Englishmen,
Misseri's Hotel. As I entered the house,
and was endeavouring by my blandest of manners