When at Calcutta Lord William was fond of spending week-ends at Barrackpore, which is a sort of country residence for the Viceregal people, standing on the banks of the Hugli, and has lovely gardens and grounds, with the advantage of being within a few miles of Calcutta, therefore not much packing up and journeyings required. It was a place much sought after by honeymoon couples. The Vice-reine used to lend it to them, and Lord William had the privilege also of using and lending it when not required by their Excellencies, to those in search of quietness and peace. After the big official Government residence at Calcutta, this homy countrified house was very restful. All felt the moment they arrived that the official smile might be laid aside for a time and some of the stiffness out of the spine. There is an interesting monument at Barrackpore erected to the memory of Lady Canning, sister of Louisa, Marchioness of Waterford, wife of the third Marquis, and therefore aunt by marriage of Lord William. Lady Canning was very beautiful, and like her sister very good. Her husband, Viscount Canning, succeeded Lord Dalhousie as Governor-General in 1856, and when she died in Calcutta, November 18th, 1856, from fever caught while sketching in the Terai, was mourned most sincerely by the community at large, to whom she had always been sympathetic and kind. At the time of her death Lord William was fourteen years old. Louisa, Marchioness of Waterford, shared her sister’s love of art and painting, was indeed an artist of merit. Mr. Watts considered her one of the greatest real artists of that time. One of her celebrated pictures hangs at Ford Abbey, a place which she inherited in Northumberland. The picture is entitled “The Miracle of Healing the Two Blind Men.” Some of her book illustrations were also considered by authorities on such matters as excellent. It was Louisa, Marchioness of Waterford, who designed the beautiful monument of a guardian angel which stands to-day over the fateful well at Cawnpore, where the unhappy English people were thrown in alive during the Mutiny. Anyone visiting that station in India cannot fail, when driving through that dusty, sun-dried place, to be deeply impressed by this beautiful white, calm-looking figure, spelling pity and peace. It is difficult to prevent bitter and revengeful feelings taking possession of us as we remember all that happened in that historic place, but after looking at that calm, peaceful and dignified figure, a certain feeling of “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do,” takes the place of revenge. It is seldom that a monument appeals to us in that way; many are grand, great works of art and manipulation, but that white angel at Cawnpore is something more. If my brain had conceived the idea and my hand designed it, I should be a proud and soul-satisfied woman.