hospitals; court-houses, churches, magazines,
and so forth."

"But what barbarians the natives would
think us!"

"What does that signify? Are we the
conquerors of the country or are we not?
As to what they would think of us, they
can't think much worse of us than they do
already. Do we not eat swine's flesh, and
do not English ladies dance (the natives call
it 'jumping about ') and with men who are
not their husbands? Barbarians? Why,
the very dress that we wear renders us
barbarians in their sight."

The sun had now risen high in the heavens,
and his rays fell upon the Taj, which we
were, gradually, approaching. I was wrapped
in admiration, and wishing in my inmost heart
that my talkative companion would cease,
and leave me to gaze, in silence, on that
glorious scene, when suddenly the procession
halted, and the Lieutenant shouted out the
word "Hulloa!" in a voice so loud that I
was completely startled.

"What is the matter?" I asked.

"Matter!" the Lieutenant echoed me.
"Matter? Look a-head! There is a wheel
off one of those rickety carts, and those
confounded boxes are scattered all over the road."
Here the little officer bounded like an
Indian-rubber ball from his seat, and, in a
towering passion with all the world in general,
but no one in particular, rushed to
the spot where the disaster had occurred,
and there began to fret, fume, and snort
most violently.

"Hush, Sahib!" said one of the sepoys,
saluting his officer very respectfully, "or you
may wake the Soubahdar, and then what
will happen?"

This appeal had the effect of restoring the
Lieutenant to calmness and good-humour.
He smiled, and seemed to feel that matters
would certainly have been worse, and the
delay more protracted, had the old man been
alive and witnessed the accident.

One of the boxes was smashed to pieces,
and the rupees were lying about in all directions
—the sepoys picking them up, and
searching for others in the dust and sand.
I never witnessed a more ridiculous or
grotesque scene than this: the native soldiers
in their red coats and chacos, but with bare
legs, and without shoes, kneeling, and sifting
the earth through their fingers—the
Lieutenant in his pyjamahs and solar hat, a
cheroot in his mouth, and in his hand the
buggy whip, which he used as a bâton while
giving his orders.

"Does this often happen?" I was tempted
to ask.

"Constantly," was the Lieutenant's reply.
"The Government have a bullock-train for
the conveyance of stores, and even private
individuals, by paying for the carriage, may
have their goods taken from station to
station; but in respect to treasure, we cling to
the old system. The military authorities
apply to the magistrates, whose subordinates
provide these hackeries, which were in vogue
some five thousand years ago. And just
observe those rotten boxes."

"Why are they not lined with cast iron or
zinc?"

"It would be too expensive. The Government
cannot afford it."

"But why should not the Government use
its own bullock-train for the conveyance of
treasure, instead of hiring these antiquated
and rotten conveyances?"

"Because the bullock-train is under the
post-office authorities; and the military
authorities have nothing to do with the post-
office authorities."

"Is that a reason?"

"No—nor is it rhyme; but it is a part of
our Indian system, and, what is more, it is
Government logic. However, I am not going
to stop here all day. We will push on, and
get into Agra for breakfast. The treasure
will come all right enough, and I will be
there to meet it at the office of the magistrate
and collector."

We now took our seats in the old buggy.
The hood was raised; the Syce sat behind,
and off we went at a canter, which very soon
became a gallop. In the parlance of the
lieutenant, the old horse was indeed a ripper.
When warm there was no holding him, and
he went over his seven and a-half miles of
ground in thirty-seven minutes. At the bridge
of boats which crosses the Jumna, we met, by
chance, the assistant-magistrate (the friend
with whom I was going to stay, and the husband
of the Lieutenant's first cousin). He was
dressed in a pair of large jack-boots, corduroy
breeches, a shooting-coat, and a solar helmet;
and was riding an immensely powerful Cape
horse. He did not recognise either of us at
first, but pulled up, and turned round the
moment the Lieutenant shouted out his
name with the addition of "Old boy!"
—household words in the mouth of the
Lieutenant, for he not only applied them to
things animate, but inanimate; for instance,
his corkscrew, his tea-pot, his buggy, his
watch, his hat, everything with him was an
old boy, in common with the Lieutenant-
Governor, or the general commanding the
division.

After I had been greeted by my friend,
who had been at a loss to account for my
delay in reaching Agra—the Lieutenant thus
addressed him:

"I say, old boy. Look here. I have a lot
of treasure for you about seven or eight miles
from this; but there has been a break-down.
Send out a lot of fellows to give assistance
will you?"

"Yes."

"And look here, old boy. There's a dead
Soubahdar."

"A what?"

"A dead Soubahdar. He died suddenly,