a crisis — a crisis the more terrible in that there was not one of them who would allow himself to regard it as possible; not one of them, with the exception of Mr Grant, who believed in its immensity even when it was upon them.
But, at the moment of Lord Canning's arrival, it seemed as though clerks would be as useful to him as councillors. The surface was calm and unbroken. There was not visible on the horizon even the little cloud no bigger than a man's hand. On his journey homewards Lord Dalhousie had written a minute, in which he had painted in roseate hues the condition of India, the contentment of the sipáhís, and the improbability of disturbance from any cause whatever. He had quitted India amid the applause, largely mingled with regret at his departure, of multitudes of sorrowing disciples. By these he was reverenced as the greatest of men. If some captious subaltern dared to insinuate that the discipline of the army had deteriorated, that the minds of the sipáhís were inflamed against their masters, he was silenced by the contemptuous remark that it was improbable that his knowledge could be more deep-reaching than was that of Lord Dalhousie.
On the 29th of February, then, and for the rest of the year 1856, all was calm and smiling on the surface, and Lord Canning was well content with his clerks.
Nor, during the remaining months of 1856, did there occur any overt act on the part of the many discontented throughout India to weaken the impression that the picture painted by Lord Dalhousie in his elaborate minute was absolutely correct. As far as appearances went, the prevailing impression made on the minds of those residing in the great centres of the several provinces was that it was a year of more than ordinary humdrum. It was
