demands that the tents be artificially heated by stoves, and that bonfires for the camp-followers be lighted outside.
Lovelier even than the days were the nights, whether star-lit or moon-lit. Those grateful associations, which cluster round the harvest-moon in England, are in northern India devoted to the moon of November. To the natives this moon tells of one harvest safely garnered and another crop successfully sown, of the rainy season having been fully vouchsafed, and everything set in tune for the coming agricultural year. The beauty of its illumination befits the graciousness of its message. Not in the Isles of Greece, nor on the shores of the Mediterranean, had Thomason beheld such moonlight as that which he enjoyed November after November in Hindustán.
After the week's routine of his camp, there was always a halt for the Sabbath. He had ever enforced the prohibition against prosecuting any public works on that day, in order that the Christian character of the Government might be vindicated before the people. He would himself set a pattern in his own encampment. So on the Sabbath morn all was hushed and quiet, not only in the street of tents, but also in the surroundings, which on other days resounded with the hum and bustle of movement. For this one day man and beast — the men of several creeds and races, the animals of many species — were in repose. But in the forenoon, midway in the
