the broad stairs to take part in the spectacle. Lord Canning still young-looking, and a little shy amid the throng of strange faces: Lord Dalhousie lame, bent with disease, and prematurely aged, but stately and imperial to the end. When the procession reached the Council Chamber, and the new Governor-General was being sworn in, John Lawrence whispered to Dalhousie, and asked him what was his feeling at that moment. 'I wish I were in Canning's place and he in mine,' was the Dalhousie-like reply. 'And then, wouldn't I govern India! But no — I could not wish my worst enemy to be the poor, miserable, broken-down, dying man I am now.'
During the next week Lord Dalhousie rested — if deep and anxious converse with his great lieutenants and the new Governor-General on the pressing needs of India can be called rest. The public, Native and European alike, awakened to the fact that in a few days they were to lose for ever 'the glorious little invalid' who, during eight years of toil and sorrow, had been the foremost man in India. Addresses and deputations from every section of the community poured in upon him. The only day of real repose which he allowed himself was his last Sabbath. As Governor-General, Lord Dalhousie had punctiliously maintained the dignity of the Church of his Sovereign, and regularly attended the Cathedral with the Aide-de-camp on duty. This Sunday he went quietly
