The battle of Cawnpore, fought on the 16th of July, 1857, justified the opinion thus expressed, and proved that the wearers of the tartan were worthy of their predecessors who conquered at Maida and Assaye. Our victory was complete; but it failed to save the lives of the helpless women and children who had fallen into the hands of that bloodthirsty monster Nana Sahib, whose name will ever live in the annals of the Indian mutiny as the impersonation of all that is perfidious and cruel. He was the adopted son of Bajee Row, the Peishwa, or head of the ancient Mahratta confederacy, and proved himself worthy of such a father. Bajee Row, in 1818, endeavoured in the most treacherous manner to destroy Mr. Mountstuart Elphinstone, the British resident at his court; but, having failed in this attempt, he was driven from Poona, his capital, and, after being chased through the country for several months, was defeated at the battle of Kirkee. His power was thoroughly crushed, so that he might have been forced to surrender at discretion; but he was admitted to terms, and endowed with an annuity of 90,000_l._, which he lived to enjoy for thirty-two years. After his death his immense wealth was inherited by his adopted son, who had established himself at Bithoor, about sixteen miles from Cawnpore, and lived on terms of intimacy with the officers of the garrison, who never suspected his loyalty or good faith. For years he had contrived to dissemble the bitter spirit of hostility to the English which was rankling at his heart, and which sprang from no other cause than the withdrawal of the pension enjoyed by his father. When the native troops at Cawnpore began to exhibit symptoms of disaffection, he volunteered to aid Sir H. Wheeler in protecting the treasury from their rapacity, and his offer was accepted. It was only when the Sepoys broke into open mutiny that he threw off the mask, placed himself at their head, and ruthlessly butchered all the European and native Christians who had not been able to escape to the entrenchment. With his thirst for blood whetted rather than allayed by this carnage, he now closed round the entrenchment, the last refuge of the Europeans, and directed all his efforts to compel the gallant little garrison to surrender. Their heroic defence, protracted from day to day and from week to week, in the vain hope of relief, amid exposure, privation, and the incessant fire of the enemy’s artillery, is one of the most touching episodes in the history of British India, and cannot be read without a feeling of deep emotion. The men would rather have died sword in hand than negotiate with the murderer of the fugitives from Futtyghur; but their hearts were melted by the sufferings of the helpless women and children crouching in holes dug out beneath the walls of the entrenchment; and for their sakes, on the very day when Havelock assumed command of the column intended for their relief, they began to think of capitulating.