ings, or by the less violent, but not one bit less offensive, course of refusing trust and countenance and favour and honour to any man because he is of a class or a creed. Do this, and get others to do it, and you will serve India more than you would believe.'
Those who raved against Lord Canning little knew of the nobility of the man whom they were endeavouring to ruin. The friends who were admitted to his confidence found that, under a cold and unimpassioned exterior, there glowed the warm instincts of chivalry. Sir Frederick Halliday, who was Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal in 1857 and in constant and confidential communication with the Governor-General, narrates how, on one occasion, when the outcry against him was loudest, Lord Canning showed him papers illustrating the scandalous brutality of certain of the special tribunals. The Lieutenant-Governor urged their publication, by way of reply to his calumniators. 'No,' said Lord Canning, taking the papers and locking them up in his drawer, 'I had rather submit to any obloquy than publish to the world what would so terribly disgrace my countrymen. It is sufficient that I have prevented them for the future.'
At the opening of the new year Lord Canning decided to move to Allahábád, both for freer opportunities of communication with the Commander-in-Chief during the impending operations in Oudh and Rohilkhand, and with a view to a more complete
