ing those whose fidelity, innocence, or, perhaps, timely repentance, is fully proved.'
The subject was still under discussion when, on May 12th, there came news from Upper India whose transcendent importance at once revolutionised the situation. The station of Meerut, some forty miles north-east of Delhi, was one of the very few in India where adequate means existed for quelling an outbreak of native troops. There was a regiment of English Dragoons, a battalion of the 60th Rifles, and a strong force of Horse and Foot Artillery, far more than sufficient to deal with the three native regiments who were also quartered in the cantonment. The court-martial on the eighty-five men of the 3rd N. C. who had refused to take their cartridges, had by this time completed its inquiry. The men were sentenced to long terms of imprisonment. The sentence was carried out with impressive solemnity. On a morning, presently to become historical — the heavens sombre with rolling clouds — the brigade assembled to hear their comrades' doom — to see them stripped of their uniform and secured with felons' manacles. The scene produced intense emotion. Resistance was impossible. There were entreaties, tears, imprecations, as the prisoners were marched away to jail. Discipline had been vindicated by a terrible example. The next day was Sunday. In the evening, as the European Riflemen were gathering for Church, a sudden movement took place in the native quarters. The Cavalry dashed off to the jail
