party, on that occasion, have become chiefs
of the recent rebellion, and were accessory
to the massacre of English gentlemen and
ladies.

Hindoo-Rao died in eighteen hundred and
fifty-four. His funeral was thus described
to me by a friend who witnessed it: "They
dressed up the old gentleman's corpse in his
most magnificent costume, covered his arms
with jewelled bracelets of gold, with costly
necklaces of pearls and diamonds hanging
down to his waist, placed him in a chair of
state, sat him bolt upright— just as he used to
sit when alive— and thus, attended by his
relations, friends and suite, he was carried
through Delhi to the banks of the Jumna,
where the body was burnt with the usual rites,
and the ashes thrown into the river."

Mr. Skinner also is dead. He died in
eighteen hundred and fifty-five. When I
think of him I am rejoiced that he did not
survive to be brutally massacred, as his
brothers have been—or to see his house (near
the Cashmere Gate) which was always the
scene of good fellowship and good feeling,
turned into a battery by the rebels— or the
church, built by his father, burned and
destroyed by the people who had for years and
years paid, or affected to pay, unqualified
respect and devotion to his family.

I made the acquaintance of another
personage at Delhi, for whom I had a very great
liking and regard. This was Mirza Futteh
Allee Shah Bahadoor, the heir apparent to
the throne of Delhi. He was a very amiable
and intelligent prince, and had an
extraordinary thirst for knowledge. Amongst
other things that he was curious to learn was
the history of steam power, railroads, and
the electric telegraph. For hours together,
he would encourage me— nay, importune me
—to talk with him on these matters. Apropos
of this prince and his family. While I was
at Delhi, the festival of the Eed came to
pass, and there was an omen which was
variously interpreted. The King—in other
words, the Great Moghul— sacrifices a camel.
The King kills (or used to kill) the camel
with his own hand, by driving a spear into
the breast of the animal. On the occasion to
which I now refer, the King, being extremely
old and feeble, was assisted by two attendants,
and, in attempting to drive the spear, it
broke in two pieces. That was the omen.
The friends of Mirza Futteh Allee Shah
Bahadoor interpreted it as prognosticating
the King's death and the speedy succession
of the heir apparent to the throne. Others,
however, said that it prognosticated the
downfal of the King and of his throne for
ever. Mirza died about a year ago of an
attack of cholera; and it may not be premature,
perhaps, to say that the throne of the
Great Moghul will not in future be recognised.
There was another curious prophecy
connected with the throne of Delhi, and
current for many years in the Punjab. It was
implicitly believed that the Sikh soldiery
would one day or other, and before long,
sack Delhi; and, in eighteen hundred and
forty-five, when the Sikh army crossed our
frontier, Delhi was its destination. This
prophecy has, to some extent, been fulfilled.
The Sikh soldiers have tasted of the plunder
of Delhi. But who could ever have dreamed
that their entry into the city of the Great
Moghul would be in company with British
soldiers? It is as though —and quite as
incredible as if— some one had predicted in
eighteen hundred and sixteen that, in
eighteen hundred and fifty-five, the Queen of
England, a grand-daughter of George III.,
would be a guest at the Tuileries, of an
Emperor of the French, and a nephew of
Napoleon Buonaparte; and that such Queen
would be led upon the arm of such Emperor
to visit the tomb of the prisoner of Saint
Helena.

After leaving Delhi, I crossed over to
Meerut, which was then— as it always has
been since its formation— the favourite station
in the upper provinces of India. In eighteen
hundred and forty-six and forty-seven there
were as many as ten thousand troops
quartered at Meerut, including two regiments
of British foot, a regiment of dragoons, and
three troops of horse (European) artillery.
Until lately, it has always been deemed
prudent to keep a very large European force
at Meerut in order to keep Delhi (only forty
miles distant) in check; for it was stipulated,
in one of our treaties with the family of the
Moghuls, that no British infantry or cavalry,
or other European troops, should ever be
quartered in the Imperial City or its
immediate vicinity. When, however, the Punjab
was annexed, the European force at Meerut
was lessened, to meet the exigencies of the
times; and, of late, Meerut has not been, in
respect to the number of European troops,
the station that it was formerly.

There are no ancient buildings to be seen
at Meerut. All is of European structure.
The church, the barracks, the court-houses,
the treasury, the theatre, the bungalows of
the civilians and military officers, as well as
those of the merchants and "others," are all
of brick and mortar, lath and plaster; and
they were, for the most part, thatched, so
that the Sepoys had very little trouble in
setting fire to them. The reason why houses
are commonly thatched instead of tiled and
shingled is, that the thatch keeps the
interior of the dwelling so very much cooler.

While at Meerut I was a guest of the
editor of the journal which used to issue from
that station, and as my stay extended over
six weeks, during which period I frequently
assisted the editor in his work, I gained some
knowledge of the practical working of the
press in the upper provinces. I am authorised
to make any use I please of this knowledge.

In the first place, I may mention that the
order of government, forbidding civilians or