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men lost from single regiments by the enemy's bullets, by cholera, and by sunstroke, during the suppression of the mutiny 370 in one case, 360 in another, 260 in a third.

Such is the record of bravery, of suffering, of death, on these simple slabs; such the catalogue of those whose best monuments are the ruins around them-the scene of their unflinching gallantry or their patient suffering.

Let us cross over the river from the Residency by the brick bridge which has replaced the old bridge of boats, and drive to the Badshah Bagh, a large enclosed garden, with an old palace in it, from the top of which we can have a fine view of the city. The palace is now unoccupied; when there was still a King of Oude, it belonged to one of his ministers; but when the Feringhee took possession, the former tenants were ejected.

Mounting to its flat roof, we look across the river, which is only a quarter of a mile away, on to the imposing mass of palaces which are clustered on the other side. There is the Chutta Munzil, the Fuhreed Buksh, the Kaiser Bagh, the Begum Kotee, and a number of smaller buildings, handsome in outline, and bright and clean in colour. True, they are only of brick and plaster, yet the first effect is not the less striking on that account; their unsubstantial character does not offend one's eye till after looking at them for some little time. Though they look much the same as they must have done fifteen years ago, they no longer contain the magnificence and luxury of an oriental court. Some of them have been put to strangely different uses from those for which they were originally designed. The Begum Kothee, the palace at whose storming Major Hodson at last lost his oft-risked life, is now a post-office; and not far off is what was once a Moslem mausoleum, but is now a bank! When Russian aggression' has finally succeeded, from

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THE PALACES OF LUCKNOW.

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Cashmere to the Sunderbunds, will the Czar turn to similar uses the Government House and Cathedral of Calcutta? Alas for the feelings of the Anglo-Indian of the twentieth century who will have to look upon such a desecration!

But we are forgetting the scene before us. To the left of the mass of palaces already mentioned we can see little but an irregular expanse of roofs and pinnacles, merging into an apparently thick and extensive wood, above which, in the distance, we can distinguish the tops of the Shah Nujjeef, the Secunder Bagh, the Dilkhoosha, and the Martinière.

To the right, and scarcely a mile from where we stand, are the buildings of the Residency, hiding from our view the dense portion of the native city; still farther to the right are the pinnacles and lofty walls of the two Imambarras, with the minars and dome of the Jumma Musjid.

Let us drive up the river to the Inn Bridge, cross, and go on to these somewhat famous buildings. The Great Imambarra is the first in our way. It consists of a very large quadrangle entered by a lofty gateway, opposite to which is a handsome flight of steps leading up to the Great Hall, which forms one of the sides of the square. The style of architecture is imposing and massive rather than beautiful; and, as with all the buildings of Lucknow, the material is brick and plaster. The Great Hall is, in extent at least, a magnificent room; its dimensions are 165 ft. in length, 53 ft. in width, and 49 ft. in height. But the walls and ceiling are neither painted nor carved; and it was either never finished and decorated, or has suffered much from mutilation. It is now used by the Indian Government as an armoury, and is chiefly filled with the great ship guns with which Captain Peel, of the 'Shannon,' did such good service during the advance of Sir Colin Campbell on Lucknow, especially at the storming of the Secunder Bagh and the Shah Nujjeef.

Passing out again from the Great Imambarra, we have not far to go to the Hoseinabad Imambarra. This, like its neighbour, is of brick and plaster; but its architecture is of a more fantastic kind, and it is hideously painted. The quadrangle is filled with a strange mixture of handsome trees and flowers, with grotesque casts of animals and men; the hall, which occupies the ground floor of the main building, is crowded with glass chandeliers, English and French clocks (none of which are going), gaudy glass balls, and tinsel ornaments, mixed up with massive silver shrines canopied with rich embroidery; altogether a most curious jumble, as if the monarch who had designed it had taken the idea from an English twopenny peep-show, but had carried it out on a scale of oriental profuseness. It is in this building that the great Mohurrum festival is celebrated by the Mahomedans of Lucknow at its appointed season. The strange mixture which then takes place of quasi-religious enthusiasm with heathenish revelry, viewed in this gaudy quadrangle, under the light of countless lanterns, must be a curious sight to a foreigner.

As we are so near the Jumma Musjid, we may as well go up its broad flight of steps, look in at the interior of the mosque, and then wind up one of the tall minars at its corners. From the top we overlook the whole of the city, and far into the green and well-wooded plain on all sides; and from here we get perhaps the best idea of the immense size of the city, with its densely-crowded native quarters, and its population of over 300,000.

On our way back to our hotel we pass through the Bazaar, or Chowk, as it is here called. It is narrower and more thoroughly native-looking than the one we shall see at Delhi; and in respect of cleanliness, or rather dirtiness, ranks between that and the one at Cawnpore, the lastnamed possessing an odour truly Oriental. It contains

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shops of all sorts, from those whose stock is jewellery and precious stones, to those dealing in paper kites and sweetmeats. The streets of which it is composed are so narrow that in some places our gharry makes a tight fit of it: happily other gharries are not often met in it, and we thread our way through without meeting anything more bulky than a bullock; an elephant or another gharry would have caused a 'jam' absolute.

Our next route from the hotel must be in an opposite direction to the Imambarras, out towards the Dilkoosha and the Martinière.

We drive past the Chutta Munzil, and through the two miles of streets, lined with houses, up which the relieving forces of Havelock and Sir C. Campbell had to fight their way, and of which one of them, in reporting his hard-won successes, said that every house was a fortress, every fortress filled with armed men.'

We pass by the Shah Nujjeef, an old Moslem tomb, strong in its own construction, and surrounded in addition by a high and solid wall, round which raged one of the fiercest of the many fierce struggles in the course of the second relief.

Soon afterwards we come to the Secunder Bagh, a square garden, whose solid wall resisted for some hours the battering of Peel's naval guns. But when once a breach was made, it soon became the scene of a terrible retribution for Cawnpore: the 93rd Highlanders and a body of Sikhs entered it, and within two hours the place had been turned into a human slaughter-house, for of the 2,000 rebels who fought desperately inside, not one was left alive.

A mile further on we reach the Martinière, a large and handsome, but grotesquely-decorated building, founded in the last century as a school for Eurasians by the French

General Martine. We pass through the schoolrooms and the dormitories, all very clean and neat, and see some of the boys playing about or reading, with much more of a European than an Asiatic cast of countenance, and apparently in almost as ‘rude health' as our English-bred and English-reared specimens of the genus schoolboy generally enjoy.

From a look-out at the top of the building we get a distant view of all the prominent buildings in the city and of the woods on either side. In one direction only, the southeast, a flat piece of desert-looking land appears.

Half a mile from the Martinière, standing in a park well dotted with trees and slightly undulating, is the Dilkoosha House, built some twenty-five years ago by a native potentate as a country residence, now deserted and decaying. It was for awhile the head-quarters of Sir C. Campbell in his advance on Lucknow, and also was used as a resting-place for the relieved garrison on their way to Cawnpore. It was here that Havelock died, when he had lived just long enough to see the final relief of the garrison for whom he had fought so well, and to hear that his country and his Queen were not ungrateful for his life spent in their service.

From the Dilkoosha we may strike to the south-eastwards till we reach the Alumbagh, another house within a walled garden which formed an important military point in the operations before Lucknow. It was the first outpost stormed by Havelock and Outram on their entrance into Lucknow, and it was held by the latter general with a force of 4,000 men against a horde of 20,000 rebels, through the three months which intervened between Sir Colin's two advances on the city.

In the garden is Havelock's tomb, bearing on it a very lengthy inscription. It is a pity that a hero, whose best

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