the flames were mounting high. At Calcutta the English community, profoundly shocked and agitated, began to criticise and condemn the action of the Government. Lord Canning was mortified to find that some of the officials about him were not giving him the moral support for which, at such a crisis, he had a right to look. There was much despondent talk, many prophets of evil. Circumstances made it necessary for the Governor-General to assume a confidence which he was far from feeling, and to avoid everything that might suggest to the population of Bengal the idea that the emergency was acute enough to drive the Government to extraordinary expedients. Such a policy does not admit of being publicly explained. Too little trouble was, perhaps, taken to explain it.
Lord Canning found himself working in an atmosphere highly charged with the electricity which soul-stirring events, unexampled disasters, sudden dangers, engender in the public mind. There was thunder in the air — fierce outbursts from agitated and angry men — a hostile press — violent pamphlets, violent speeches, violent acts — everything that could agitate, unnerve, provoke. Yet Lord Canning laboured on in unruffled equanimity. His letters at this time breathe a really noble tone. 'The sky is black,' he wrote to Bishop Wilson, 'and, as yet, the signs of a clearing are faint. But reason and common sense are on our side from the very beginning. The course of the Government has been guided by justice
