"But surely there is some one to watch
the yard?"

"Yes, two sweepers—men of the lowest
caste of Hindoos. And when it is found out
that a grave has been plundered of its railings,
or that the little marble tablet which some
have, has been taken away, they deny all
knowledge of the matter, and are simply discharged,
and two others of the same caste are put into
their places. It would not be much to build a
comfortable little bungalow for an European—
a man like myself, for instance—and give
the yard into his charge, holding him responsible
for any damage done, and requiring him
to see that the grave of every Christian —man,
woman, and child— is kept in good order.
But horrible as is the condition of this churchyard
—looking as it does, for the most part,
more like a receptacle for the bodies of
felons than those of good and brave soldiers
and civilians, and their wives and children—
it is really nothing when compared with the
grave-yard at Kernaul. Kernaul you know,
sir, was our great frontier station some
twenty years ago. It was, in fact, as large a
station as Umballah now is. It had its
church, its play-house, its barracks for
cavalry, infantry, and artillery, its mess-
houses, magnificent bungalows, and all the
rest of it. For some reason or other but
what that reason was I could never discover,
nor anybody else to my knowledge —the
station was abandoned with all its buildings,
which cost the government and private
individuals lacs and lacs of rupees. You may
be pretty sure that the villagers were not
long in plundering every house that was
unprotected. Away went the doors and
windows, the Venetians, and every bar, bolt, nail,
or bit of iron upon which they could lay
their fingers; not content with this, the
brutes set fire to many or nearly all of the
thatched bungalows, in the hope of picking
up something amongst the ruins. The church—
the largest and best in the Upper
Provinces, with no one to take care of it—was
one of the first places that suffered. Like
the other buildings, it was despoiled of its
doors, windows, benches, bolts, nails, &c., and
they carried away every marble tablet
therein erected, and removeable without
much difficulty. And the same kind of havoc
was made in the burial-ground—the tombs
were smashed, some of the graves, and especially
the vaults, opened; and plainly enough
was it to be seen, that the low caste men had
broken open the coffins and examined their
contents, in the hope of finding a ring, or an
ear-ring, or some other ornament on the
person of the dead. I went there a year ago
on some business connected with the grave
of a lady whose husband wished her remains
to be removed to Meerut, and placed in the
same vault with those of his sister, who died
here about eighteen mouths since. I was
not successful, however. There was no trace
of her tomb. It was of stone, and had been
taken away bodily, to pave the elephant shed
or camel yard, perhaps, of some rich native
in the neighbourhood. Looking around me,
as I did, and remembering Kernaul when it
was crowded with Europeans, it seemed to
me as though the British had been turned out
of the country by the natives, and that the
most sacred spot in the cantonment had been
desecrated out of spite or revenge. And it is
just what they would do if ever they got the
upper hand."

[Whilst I write, it has just occurred to me
that this old soldier and his family perished
in the massacre at Meerut on the tenth of
May. He was, in some way, related to, or
connected by marriage with Mrs. Courtenay,
the keeper of the hotel, who, with her nieces,
was so barbarously murdered on that
disastrous occasion.]

"Why, bless my soul! " exclaimed the old.
man, stooping down and picking up
something, " if the old gentleman hasn't shed his
skin again! This is the skin of a very large
snake, a cobra capella, that I have known
for the last thirteen years. He must be
precious old from his size, the slowness of
his movements, and the bad cough he has
had for the last four or five years. Last
winter he was very bad indeed, and I thought
he was going to die. He was then living in
the ruins of old General Webster's vault, and
coughing continually, just like a man with
the asthma. However, I strewed a lot of
fine ashes and some bits of wool in the ruin
to keep him warm by night, and some fine
white sand at the entrance, upon which he
used to crawl out and bask, when the sun
had made it hot enough; and when the warm
weather set in he got all right again."

"Rather a strange fancy of yours, to live
upon such amicable terms with the great
enemy of the human race?"

"Well, perhaps it is. But he once bit and
killed a thief who came here to rob a child's
grave of the iron railings, which its parents,
contrary to my advice, had placed round it,
and ever since then I have liked the snake,
and have never thought of molesting him. I
have had many an opportunity of killing
him (if I had wished to do it) when I have
caught him asleep on the tombstones, in the
winter's sun. I could kill him this very day—
this very hour— if I liked, for I know where he
is at this very moment. He is in a hole, close
to the Ochterlony monument there, in that
corner of the yard. But why should I hurt him?
He has never offered to do me any harm,
and when I sing, as I sometimes do when I
am alone here at work on some tomb or other,
he will crawl up, and listen for two or three
hours together. One morning, while he was
listening, he came in for a good meal which
lasted him some days."

"How was that?"

"I will tell you, sir. A minar was chased
by a small hawk, and in despair came and
perched itself on the top of a most lofty tomb