ecaution to send his principal treasures away,
as also the greater part of his family. This treasure passed through the
city of Agra, the rajah having solicited the civil authorities to permit
the female part of his family to pass through that district to some
distant festival. As the rajah was an ally, this request could not be
refused; and, accordingly, from twenty to twenty-four ruts, containing
the treasures of that potentate, as well as his family, passed through
Agra, to a place of safety.

The station now began to be gay, and nothing but parties, dinners,
balls, suppers, &c., were the order of the day. This routine of gaiety
and festivity was kept up for a considerable time, until the more active
minds began to tire of it. In addition to this, our purses began to
exhibit symptoms of an attack of their old complaints. Mine, in
particular, had had such a regular and confirmed shaking-fit, that the
disease threatened to be vital, unless some immediate remedy was
applied.

The most noble the Marquis of Hastings was on his way up the river to
this station. The object of his voyage up the country was quite secret.
Strange were the surmises, and many of them as ridiculous as they were
strange. Some said Scindia was to be attacked--others, Bhurtpore. His
lordship was very particular and minute in the inspection of the troops
of the upper provinces. The 87th regiment were in excellent order for
service, and I longed to see them as a body again in the field. The
noble marquis was as hospitable as majestic: dinners and drawing-rooms
were now all the go at Cawnpore, and quite astonished the natives. His
lordship's manners were truly winning and devoid of pride. At his
parties he generally selected the greatest strangers to sit next him at
dinner, and was to all extremely affable and condescending. Thus passed
the time till the August following, when his lordship's grand scheme for
the annihilation of the Pindarees was published, and set us all on the
stir. Every one was as busy as trunk-makers, preparing. On every face
was the smile of joy, except on those of affectionate wives, whose
anxieties foreboded numberless ills that were never realized, and
sorrows that never came. Farewell dinners passed in all directions; and,
to wind up the farewell to each other, a station amateur play concluded
the festivities. I played Lord Duberley in the "Heir-at-Law," and Lord
Minikin in "Bon Ton." His lordship seemed highly amused with th