tude of the Government on receiving this telegram was one of blank dismay. It was so little expected. Only two days before, Lord Canning had written a minute strongly supporting disbandment as a severe punishment to a regiment which should mutiny. Mr Dorin, the senior of his colleagues, had recorded an opinion of the same character. The military member of Council, General Low, little realising the nature of the catastrophe he had to face, had suggested that, after all, the conduct of the sipáhís might be due rather to actual dread of injury to their caste than to disaffection. Yet, on the 12th, these rulers were told that disaffection had reached its highest point; that a whole regiment, far from fearing disbandment, had actually disbanded itself, after slaying its officers. Then, indeed, they must have realised that, in their dealings with the 19th, with the 34th, with the men whose conduct Cavenagh had brought to notice, they had been pitiably weak when they had thought they had been strong; that from the first they had misjudged and misunderstood the whole business; that the disaffection, far from being confined to Bengal proper, was probably general — in a word, that they had been living in a fool's paradise.
It is due to Lord Canning to state that, within a short time of his perusal of the terrible news, he had not only recognised the grave character of the crisis, but had taken measures to meet it. On the 12th he did not know the worst. Then it was the mutiny of the 3d Light Cavalry that he had to meet. But two days later he received fuller particulars. On the 14th he heard of the seizure of Dehlí. On the 15th and 16th particulars reached him of the massacre of the Europeans, of the flight of the officers, of the rallying round the resuscitated flag of the Mughal. Then he stood forward as the bold, resolute, daring English-
