The calamity broke through his accustoined stoicism. 'When, in obedience to his orders,' writes his Private Secretary, 'I went into the death-chamber, the proud, reserved man could not restrain his tears, and wrung my hand with a grip that showed how great his emotion was.' Lady Canning's funeral took place at Barrackpur. the Governor-General's country seat on the banks of the Húglí, where the skill of engineers and gardeners has carved an Eastern landscape into agreeable resemblance to an English park. Here at a lovely bend of the river — Lady Canning's favourite haunt — her body rests. 'Honours and praises,' so runs the epitaph, which her husband's hand inscribed. 'written on a tomb are, at best, a vain glory:' vain, too, the regrets of saddened hearts, which mourned far and wide in India the loss of the beautiful and gifted woman, who had with such fortitude and devotion shared the anxieties and lightened the labours of Lord Canning's troubled reign. Her serene courage in hours of danger and anxiety, when the hearts of many around her were failing them for fear — her readiness to help in all beneficent projects — her sympathy with all human suffering — her nobility of character, shining bright above catastrophe and vicissitude, made her death a public loss — a common sorrow — and make her memory now one that Englishmen treasure among the precious relics of their country's past.
Lord Canning's work was nearly done. His successor was to arrive in March. All the great topics were disposed of; but he was still busy with arrange-
