lute safety veritable women are from time to time snapped up.

Doubtless the tiger at Ramnagar had frequently contemplated a visit to the village, but not precisely in this style. Reflection on this unfulfilled intention may add to the poignancy of his feelings. However it be, he is the most sublimely wrathful creature I ever saw. Still fresh from the jungle he has not learned that trick of restlessly pacing round the cage, with which Zoological Gardens tigers amuse themselves. He lies at the remote end half rising when a crowd gather round, and with lips drawn back and bristles stiff as lancepoles, he growls. At times the noise, which seems to shake the cage, is more like a moaning sigh of infinite regret than an ordinary growl. Here are these people, ten or a score of them, within the length of half a bound, and between him and them what looks like a frail immaterial mesh of bamboo. But he knows its strength, for he has tried it, springing with a single bound from the further end of the cage, expecting to find himself plump in the crowd, astonished and dismayed to find his head beaten against iron bars.

He has given that up now, and, spreading out his magnificent body at full length at the end of the cage, only growls. Once an in

genious villager rattled a stick through the open bars of a narrow porthole by the tiger's head; then he leaped up, and, with hate and rage blazing from his eyes and thunderous growls issuing through his closed teeth, he smote the iron bars with his mighty paw.

After the tiger the palace of the Maharajah was a very poor affair. Admission is obtained through a gateway and by an ill-kept courtyard, flanked on either side by shabby huts in which the prince's retainers live. There was a sentry at the gate dressed in what looked like the cast-off clothing of a British soldier. He was lounging about the gateway as we approached. At sight of us he took up his gun, and, like the faithful sirus, whom he resembled to the extent that he had a red tuft on the top of his head, showed a disposition to peck at us with the bayonet. As he was inflexible we had to wait till our cards were sent in and were permitted to pass only when the Maharajah's private secretary, a baboo with kindly face and gentle manner, came to the rescue. When we left, the sentry was again caught napping; but he shouldered his rifle with comical alacrity as we came in sight, and as he saluted, looked more than ever like the soldier of the burlesque stage.

The apparition, not unfrequent, of natives

with red hair is startling till it is known that the effect is obtained by dye. The mandlee, a leaf something like the myrtle, works this wonder, and is much used by the Mahomedan soldiers. We did not see the Maharajah, who happened to be at prayers. His Highness engages in devotion for twelve hours a day straight off, and has done so for twenty years. This habit, commendable in itself, interferes somewhat with his opportunities of social intercourse. Six hours he sleeps, six hours he devotes to mundane affairs, and the rest to heaven. Should there be any imperative call upon him, such as the visit of the Nizam, which happened the day before our visit, he takes the necessary time out of his sleep. One half the day is inviolably dedicated to preparation for the world to come. I asked the baboo whether the heir-apparent was devotional to equal extent.

"No," he said, with a sigh; "he takes only one hour in the morning and half an hour at night."

The rooms of the palace are large and lofty, but the effect is spoiled by the importation of glass chandeliers with coloured globes and furniture from Tottenham Court Road. The attendant showed with especial pride half a dozen French musical boxes under glass

cases, which when wound up played jigs and set birds hopping about on trees, monkeys performing, niggers clanging cymbals, and other vulgarities. It was pitiable to see these things in the house of a man who had within reach the illimitable art treasures of India. The only decent things in the palace were the marble floors, the inlaid marble chimney-piece in the drawing-room, and an ingenious clock, a duplicate of which the Maharajah with characteristic generosity presented to the Prince of Wales, who had admired the original.

As we rowed back to Benares the sun had set, and night was swiftly descending over river, fields, and city. The mist, rising from the Ganges, had wrapped itself round the city like a mantle. A second fire had been lit close by where the ashes of the one we had watched in the afternoon still smouldered. They glowered upon us as we passed the low bank like two great red eyes peering across the darkling river at the great city on the other side, which we could not see, though we could hear the far-off murmur of its multitude.

CHAPTER XV.

THE RESIDENCY AT LUCKNOW.

LUCKNOW might well be named the City of Palaces. Long the residence of the kings of Oude, it has been dowered with many imposing buildings where formerly royal state was kept, and where now British officials carry on their work, or the infrequent footfall echoes through tenantless rooms. It would seem that whenever time hung heavy on his hands the King of Oude built a new palace. They are not excellent in any way, and a glance at the outside as the traveller passes is sufficient to meet the requirements of the occasion.

Prominent among a score of these royal buildings is the Hoseinabad Imambara, with which the third King of Oude endowed the city. Like many of the ancient buildings in India, it is a mausoleum, inclosing the tombs of the king and his mother. It is a poor,