Alas! how many of that gay throng—men
and women, husbands, fathers, wives, and
daughters, who had assembled to witness
the ceremony, have perished during the recent
revolt in the upper provinces of India!
Those who were present on that sixth of
December, eighteen hundred and forty-nine,
and, who, in eighteen hundred and fifty-seven,
quietly reflect on what has occurred since,
will scarcely believe in their own existence.
It must appear to them—as it often appears
to me—as a dream: a dream in which we saw
Sir Charles Napier, with his spare form, his
eagle eyes, his aquiline nose, and long, grey
beard, joking Sir Dudley Hill on his corpulence
and baldness, and asking him what sort
of figure he would cut now, in leading a
forlorn hope? and Sir Dudley, proudly and
loudly replying, that he felt a better man
than ever. Presently, the meek civilian, in a
white neckcloth, and ignorant of Sir Dudley's
early deeds, was so unfortunate as to put
the question:

"Did you ever lead a forlorn hope, Sir
Dudley?" a query which induced Sir Dudley
Hill to groan, previously to exclaiming:

"Such is fame! A forlorn hope, my dear
sir, I have led fifty!"

This was, of course, an exaggeration; but
I believe that Sir Dudley Hill had, in the
Peninsular War, led more forlorn hopes than
any other officer in the British army.

I have wandered away from the high road
to Agra, and must return to it. I parted
with the ensign at Bewah, and
commenced reading the books which the
then unknown lady had entrusted to my
care. The day towards noon became hot,
damp, and extremely oppressive; and there
was no dak bungalow, or other abode, within
nine miles of me. Before long, I heard thunder
in the distance; and, presently, the bearers
communicated to me that a heavy storm
was approaching, and that, in order to escape
its fury, they wished to halt at a village
just a-head of us. I consented, and was
now hurried along the road at the rate
of five miles an hour. My palkee was
placed beneath a shed, and the bearers
congregated around it. One of the number
lighted his pipe (hubble-bubble), and passed
it to his neighbour; who, after three whiffs,
passed it to the next; who, after three whiffs,
sent it on, until each had partaken of the
smoke.

The little village, which was a short distance
from the road, contained about sixty
or seventy inhabitants, and about double that
number of children, of various ages. My
presence excited no small degree of curiosity;
and the whole of the villagers approached the
shed, to have a look at me. The men and
women, of course, were not alarmed, and
looked on simply with that stupidity which
is characteristic of the cultivators of the
soil in the upper provinces of India. But it
was otherwise with the more youthful, the
children. They held aloof, and peeped from
behind their parents, as if I had been
some dangerous wild animal. My bearers
wished to drive them all away; but I forbade
this—partly, because I had no desire to
deprive the villagers of whatever pleasure
a long inspection of me might afford them,
and partly because I wished to sketch the
group, and listen to their remarks, which
were chiefly of a personal character, and for
the most part complimentary, or intended
so to be.

A vivid flash of lightning, and an awfully
loud clap of thunder, accompanied by a
few large drops of rain, speedily dispersed
the crowd, and I was left to myself and
my bearers, who now huddled themselves
together for warmth's sake. The air had
become chilly, and even I was compelled
to wrap my cloak and my blanket about
my thinly-clad limbs. Another vivid flash
of lightning, and another awful clap of
thunder; then down came such hailstones
as I had never seen before, and have
never seen since in the plains of Hindostan.
In size and weight they equalled those which
sometimes fall in the Himalaya mountains
in June and July. With these storms the
rains usually "break up," and then the cold
weather sets in; and with this season of
the year what climate in the world is superior
to that of the upper provinces of India?
When the thunder, lightning, and hail had
ceased—and their continuance did not exceed
fifteen minutes—the sun came out, and the
face of heaven was as fair as possible; but
the earth gave evidence of the severity of the
storm. Not only was the ground covered
with leaves and small branches, intermingled
with the hail, but cattle and goats had been
killed by the furious pelting of the huge stones;
whilst the electric fluid had descended on one
of the mud huts of the village in which I had
taken refuge, and had stretched out in death
an old man and two of his grandchildren, a
boy of six years of age, and a girl of four.
The parents of these children were absent
from the village, and were not expected to
return until the evening. On being informed
of the accident, I expressed a desire to see
the bodies, and was conducted by several
of the villagers to the hut in which
they were lying. I recognised at once the
features of the old man, who was a prominent
figure in my sketch, and of one of the
children, the little girl, who held the old man
so tightly by the hand, while she peeped at
me. The face of the boy had not struck me.
There they were lying dead, but still warm,
and their limbs, as yet, devoid of rigidity.
The matter-of-fact way in which the natives
of India regard the death of their relations
or friends, is something wonderful to behold.
It is not that their affections are less strong
than ours, or their feelings less acute. It is
that fatality is the beginning and end of their
creed. They are taught from their childhood