suffering and thinned by the bullets of the enemy, proved to their recreant assailants that they would sooner bury themselves beneath the ruins than surrender; and India, in truth, could not have been retained as an appendage of our Crown if it had not been defended by men equal in courage to those who first reduced it to subjection. The garrison, not satisfied with maintaining the defence, sent small bodies of cavalry to rescue their countrymen at the neighbouring stations, and occasionally made sorties against the enemy. In one of these affairs they were overpowered by numbers at a place called Chinut, and obliged to retire within their entrenchments with considerable loss. This disaster, coupled with the massacre of Cawnpore, of which they had just heard, had a depressing effect upon the garrison at first; but the thought that a similar fate awaited their wives and children if they fell into the hands of the enemy, inspired the men with the courage of despair. Their numbers were reduced, but still they held out. Every mine of their assailants was countermined; every rent in their walls was repaired almost as soon as made. In the obstinacy of their defence they equalled the inhabitants of Saragossa; and there was many a fair maid who lauded their courage, tended the sick, and prayed with the dying. During the first part of the siege, Kavanagh was so prostrated by illness that he could render no assistance; he lay chafing in his bed, like the wounded knight in “Ivanhoe,” listening to the din of battle and bemoaning his hard fate. The report of gallant deeds done by others filled his heart with such rapture, that, he tells us, it would have burst if a friend had not leaned on his chest to keep down its emotions. There is no instance, perhaps, on record where strong mental emotion exercised a more powerful influence over the physical frame than in Kavanagh’s case. On the 20th of July he was able to leave his bed, and from that day to the final rescue he proved himself brave amongst the brave. He tells us that from the years of his boyhood he had longed to do some deed to immortalise his name, and his youthful aspirations met with so little sympathy that his uncle assured him he was born to be hanged. But Kavanagh is not the first who has been misunderstood in early life. When he returned from India, the admired of all admirers, his friends were better able to appreciate his character.