not unfrequently, the focus of intrigues against our power.'
In 1856 the question was again brought under notice by the death of the King's heir, and Lord Canning strongly enforced his predecessor's view. The phantom dignities of the King were, he pointed out, unmeaning, useless and dangerous. The ultimate decision was that the legal heir to the discrowned monarch should be recognised, but only on condition of surrendering the title of King and of residing elsewhere than at Delhi. The child of the King's favourite wife, whom his mother's ambition destined as his heir, was wholly put aside. The Queen was loud in lamentation and busy with intrigue. The young Prince, her son, was growing up a bitter hater of the English. In 1856, there is reason to believe, these feelings rose higher than usual in the royal circle. A famous priest was poisoning the King's ear, and performing propitiatory sacrifices to hasten the moment of restoration. Exciting rumours filled the air. Russia was to avenge the Crimea by the invasion of India and the re-establishment of the Mughals. Persia was to help. The hundred years' rule by the aliens of the West was about to close.
Vague talk took at last a more solid form, and in March, 1857, a proclamation, posted on the gates of the Great Mosque, announced that the King of Persia was marching to the destruction of the British Ráj, and that it behoved the faithful to be ready to fight the unbeliever. Thus was Delhi prepared to welcome
