ntention
to fit it up with fireplaces. In this omission, however, there was a
breach of contract, for in all its details the building was to be
thoroughly English. The defect was pointed out at the last moment, and
strict injunctions were given to repair it. Fireplaces there must be,
and a full complement of them. The matter was finally compromised by
providing a single small square room at the top of the house with one
in each of its side walls. In the same spirit of determination not to
come short of the mark, a rich Bengalee baboo whom I once knew
furnished his drawing-room, a large apartment, with thirty-two round
tables and an equal number of musical boxes.

A great deal more might be said of Oude as I saw it, but the region,
since it became English territory, has been so often and so fully
described that I forbear to dwell on it. At Lucknow, its capital, I
spent a week as guest of Sir Henry Sleeman, with whom, from that time
to the end of his life, I was in constant correspondence. That Sir
Henry was a man altogether out of the common must be evident from his
various publications. I came to know his mind on most subjects very
intimately. In every respect he was original and peculiar, and but for
a rooted aversion to anything like Boswellism I might here depict a
character such as one seldom meets with in these days. To his personal
influence it was largely owing that for many a long year the
annexation of Oude to the Indian empire was suspended in disastrous
balance.

FITZEDWARD HALL.

ONCE AND AGAIN.

Once and again I have nestled in the lap of a small village and
wondered at the necessity of any world beyond my peaceful horizon.
Once and again, after long years, I have entered the old school-room
with the fearful and impatient heart of a boy: I have paced the
play-ground and gone to and fro in the village streets singing, but
the song I once sang came not again to my lips, for it no longer
suited the time or the occasion.

I thought to take up the thread of life where I had dropped it near a
score of years before, and complete the web which fancy had
embroidered with many a flower of memory and hope and love. I had
forgotten that the loom weaves steadily and persistently whether my
hand be on it or not, and that I can never mend the rent in the fabric
I so long neglected.

My record elsewhere is replete with numerous accidents by flood and
field--with the epochs of meetings and marryings, of bir