writer. "What became of this native
editor? " may be reasonably asked. I hear
that he is now aide-de-camp and military
secretary to Bahadoor Khan, the rebel, who is at
the head of a considerable army, and according
to the latest accounts, in possession of the
entire Bareilly district! He (the native
editor), is a Mahommedan of very ancient
and good family; he has an extremely
handsome person, and plausible manners; and
should I again wander in India, it will not
at at surprise me to find him in the service
of the British government, and filling some
office of considerable dignity and emolument.

I have incidentally spoken of the theatre
at Meerut. It was a building about the
size of the Adelphi Theatre, and was
built by subscription, some twenty-five
years ago. The performers were, of course,
amateurs, officers in the civil and military
services, and now and then an interloper,
possessed of histrionic abilities. The
ladies were those young gentlemen who
could be best made up to imitate the gentler
sex. The scene-painters, scene-shifters,
prompters, and so on, were men belonging to
the various European corps quartered in the
station, men who had been about, or
connected with, London theatres, and who
understood their business thoroughly. On
an average, there was a performance
once a fortnight. Tragedy was seldom or
never attempted; nothing but standard
comedies and approved farces. It pains
me to think of the last performance I
witnessed on the Meerut boards; for, with
the exception of myself and another gentleman,
every one who had a character assigned
to him is now numbered with the dead.
The play was the Lady of Lyons. Claude
Melnotte was an officer in the governor-
general's Body-guard; his height was under
five feet, and his weight exactly eight stone.
Pauline was the magistrate of Bolund-
Shahur, who was six feet three, and weighed
twenty-one stone and some pounds. In short,
Claude was about the smallest, and Pauline
about the biggest, man, in British India.
These two died of natural causes within the
last three years. The rest have all been
massacred or killed in action. Some
perished at Cawnpore, and other stations, and
some have fallen before Delhi, and before
Lucknow. And, alas! amongst the audience
of that night, how many have since been
prematurely despatched from this world,—
men, women, and children!

There are some matters connected with
theatricals in India, in the upper provinces,
which would strike any gentleman or lady
fresh from Europe as very odd. Huge
punkahs are suspended from the ceiling, and
pulled by natives, during the performance.
Without the punkahs the heat in the house
would be unbearable. Then, there are no boxes,
and there is no pit. One part of the house,
that nearest to the stage, is set apart for the
officers civil and military, and their wives
and families. The rest of the house is generally
filled by non-commissioned officers and
private soldiers. As a matter of course, the
greatest order prevails throughout the play,
which is usually produced, "under the
patronage of the officer commanding the
station and his lady." The actors are never
hissed; but the applause, in which the men
always join, is loud, long, frequent, and
encouraging.

In most of the large stations, where European
troops are quartered,—such stations as
Meerut, Agra, Umballah, Cawnpore, Lahore,
—the non-commissioned officers and men
of the regiments get up theatrical
performances, which are attended by the
society. And very creditably, too, do they
perform. I have seen a sergeant of the
Eighth Foot (Colonel Greathead's regiment)
play, at Agra, the character of Doctor
O'Toole, in the Irish Tutor, in a style and
with a racy humour, which reminded me
more of the late Mr. Power than any actor
on the metropolitan or provincial boards in
England, ever did. And at Umballah, I
have seen a corporal of the Third Dragoons
act the part of the Stranger in a way that
moved an audience, "unused, albeit to the
melting mood," in the literal sense of the
phrase, to involuntary tears. But by far
the best actor (I am speaking of non-professionals)
that I ever listened to, considering
the range of characters that he played, was
a private in the Ninth Lancers. I would
have gone night after night, to see him in
tragedy, comedy, or farce; or even to hear
him sing a sentimental or a comic song. He
was a younger brother of an intelligent,
influential, rich, and deservedly respected
London tradesman, whose name is known in
every quarter of the world where the English
language is spoken. It behoves me to say
that these three men (who, by the way, are
all dead) were possessed of great general
ability, and had respectively received a good
education.

It is not for a wanderer and an interloper
like myself, to make any suggestions to an
enlightened (I use the word advisedly)
government; but I do hope that when order is
restored throughout our Eastern dominions,
when the affairs of the country are a matter
of local consideration, the health, comfort,
and recreation of the British soldier in those
hot plains will command more attention than
has hitherto been bestowed upon them. I
hope to see barracks in which the men can
live in comparative comfort— barracks lofty
and spacious, and fitted with punkahs, and
other conveniences such as are required for
the climate, and such as one always finds in
the abodes of officers and gentlemen. I hope
to see separate sleeping apartments for the
married couples, and separate sleeping
apartments for the mass of children above seven