"Is there anything else you require," I
asked.

"Nothing. Unless you happen to have
with you some fresh bread. My children who
are asleep in the other palkee—are tired of
biscuits, and I imagine we shall not reach
Cawnpore before mid-day to-morrow."

It happened that I had a loaf in my
palkee; and, with all the pleasure of which
the heart of man is capable, placed it in
the hands of the fair traveller. On this
occasion she opened the doors of her palkee
sufficiently wide to admit of my having a
really good gaze at her beautiful features.
She was enveloped in a white dressing-gown,
and wore a hood made of black silk, and
lined with pink. Her hair was brushed back,
off the forehead; but the long dark tresses
came from behind the ears and rested on her
covered shoulders.

"Are you going to Agra?" she inquired.

"Yes." I replied.

"Perhaps you would be good enough to
return two books for me to the wife of the
assistant magistrate. They will, no doubt,
afford you as much amusement on your journey
as they have afforded me. I finished
them this afternoon, and they are now an
incumbrance." With these words she
handed me the volumes, which I faithfully
promised to return. By this time the
bearers had settled their affair, and were
ready to lift the palkees. I bade the fair
traveller "good night, and a safe journey."
We shook hands.

The reader may ask, "Who was your
friend?" I did not know at the time. It
was not until I had arrived at Agra that I
was informed on this head. The books which
she entrusted to my care I had not read;
and, after parting with the ensign at the dak
bungalow at Bewah, they were, indeed, most
agreeable companions. I have mentioned
this little episode in my journey, not because
there is anything in it worth recording, or
because there is anything romantic therewith
connected; but simply to show how readily
we (Christians) in India obliged one another
(albeit utter strangers), and how gladly we
assist each other, whenever and wherever we
meet. Such an episode in the journey of a
traveller in India is one of its most common-
place incidents.

Since the news of the recent deplorable
disasters has reached this country, many
persons have expressed their surprise that a
lady should be suffered to travel alone with
her children, Or be accompanied by no more
than one female servant. The fact is
(or rather was), that, on any dangerous
road, a lady, utterly unprotected, was safer
than a gentleman. The sex was, actually, its
own protection. During my stay in India, I
knew of at least a score of instances in which
officers and civilians were stopped upon the
roads, plundered, assaulted; and, in one or
two cases, murdered, in the upper provinces;
but I can only bring to mind two instances
of European ladies having been molested.
This is not to be attributed to any ideas of
gallantry, or chivalry, on the part of marauders
in the East; but simply to the fact that
they knew the perpetrators of an offence
committed against a lady would be hunted down
to the death, while the sympathies entertained
for the sufferings of a Sahib, would be
only those of an ordinary character, and soon
"blow over." Even the palkee bearers knew
the amount of responsibility that attached
to them when they bore away, from station
to station, a female burden; and, had the
lady traveller been annoyed, or interrupted,
by an European traveller, they would have
attacked and beaten him, even to the breaking
of his bones and the danger of his life,
had he not desisted when commanded by
the lady to do so. This has happened
more than once, in the upper provinces of
India.

In December, eighteen hundred and forty-nine,
the road between Saharumpore and
Umballah was infested by a gang of thieves.
Several officers had been stopped, robbed, and
plundered of their money and valuables. I
had been invited to Lahore, to witness the
installation of Sir Walter Gilbert and Sir
Henry Elliot as Knights Commanders of
the Bath. The danger, near a place called
Juggadree, was pointed out to me by a mail
contractor; who, finding me determined to
proceed, recommended me to dress as a lady
for a couple of stages. I did so. I borrowed a
gown, a shawl, and a night-cap; and, when I
came near the dangerous locality, I put them
on, and commanded the bearers to say that I
was a "mem—sahib," in the event of the palkee
being stopped. Sure enough, the palkee
was stopped, near Juggadree, by a gang of ten
or twelve armed men, one of whom opened
the door to satisfy himself of the truth of
the statement made by the bearers. The
moment the ruffian saw my night-cap (a very
prettily-frilled one it was; lent to me by a
very pretty woman), likewise a small bolster,
which, beneath my shawl, represented a
sleeping baby, he closed the door, and
requested the bearers to take up the
palkee, and proceed!—aye, and what was
more, he enjoined them to be "careful of the
mem sahib!"

I have incidentally spoken of the installation
of Sir Walter Gilbert and Sir Henry
Elliot, in December, eighteen hundred and
forty-nine. Eight years have not yet elapsed,
and how many of the principal characters in
that magnificent spectacle have departed
hence! Sir Walter is dead. Sir Henry is
dead. Sir Charles Napier and Sir Dudley
Hill, who led them up to Lord Dalhousie,
are dead. Colonel Mountain, who carried
the cushion on which was placed the insignia
of the order, is dead. And Sir Henry Lawrence
is dead; and poor Stuart Beatson.