for half an hour.' St. Cloup, the chef, is cursing and clattering among the country cooking-pots. Guns are incessantly booming. The Rájás come and go, swaying in their gilded howdahs; the 'irregular horsemen, like parts of a melodrama, go about curvetting and spearing.' Prince Henry of Orange joins the camp, a fair, quiet-looking boy; 'very shy and silent' he seems at first; but is pronounced presently 'the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young prince; indeed, able to corrupt a saint.' At Lucknow, which we reach on December 27, the king is too ill to see us; but his son, who has come to Cawnpur and has been received in Darbár by the Governor-General, does the honours of the Oudh capital. On Wednesday, January 3, the scene abruptly changes. Long before we left Calcutta, the effects of the failure of the rainy season in the Upper Provinces had begun to make themselves felt. Early in September the expediency of marching a large camp through the distressed districts had been discussed. But it had been decided that supplies should be procured from Oudh; and that as the march would be on the fringe of the threatened famine, and for a few days only, the project should not be abandoned. Now on Wednesday we are entering the famine zone. 'We left Cawnpur on Tuesday, and now that we are out of reach of the District Societies, &c. the distress is perfectly dreadful. You cannot conceive the horrible sights we see, particularly children; perfect skeletons in many cases, their bones through their skin, without a rag of clothing, and utterly
