Having witnessed some of the worst episodes of the Mutiny—the sudden shooting down of trusting officers; arson, massacre, and pillage; blowing from guns, beheadings, and such like cheerful proceedings—and, having marched with camp for many months from pillar to post, the reaction necessitated a thorough change; and, as a return home was impossible, I decided upon a trip round the Bay of Bengal, which brought me once again in contact with Burmah. Before bringing this chapter to a close I wish to allude to a painful subject, which is, however, of too much interest to all connected with the East to be omitted. Wise people at home are pleased to find fault with the order of matrimony as applicable to officers abroad, and their arguments would carry more weight with them were they directed to the anxiety entailed in supporting children at home. That ordeal is unquestionably its principal sting, not from a pecuniary standpoint, but from the sad record of the treatment they endure when their parents are far away and helpless to shield them. Confining myself to personal experiences, I have found relations far ahead of any others for sheer cruelty. One of them, herself a mother, surpassed the rest in her artistic brutality. I have to lay at her door the fate of my eldest son and the early death of two sweet daughters. She was well paid, but turned and stung us as soon as our backs were turned. With such a dearly-bought experience I turned to the stranger. The age of advertising “Happy homes for children, whose parents were going abroad,” was then in its infancy, and not yet raised to a fine art as now-a-days. We tried one; and a short trial sufficed. However, what we failed to find at home we met with abroad. It is, I know, the fashion to say everything bad about foreigners, but all I can say is, that, whatever be their faults, their sense of duty is at least equal to their greed for gain, which is more than can be said for many at home. Marriage, therefore, to nine-tenths of the European population in the East is shadowed o’er with this dark and lowering cloud. Many of our periodicals teem with advertisements anent the “happy home,” in which all the advantages of a thorough moral and intellectual training, combined with much motherly kindness and fatherly discipline, are set forth in glowing terms. Specious as are these insertions, the places themselves prove on inspection still more so—charming people, salubrious locality, and most desirable surroundings. The scenery has been well got up, and the inimitable acting is worthy of a better cause. The inconsolable widow, so passionately fond of children, so anxious to drown her thoughts in occupation, and resolved never to marry again, is to be shunned like a cobra.