We arrived at Shikarpoor with a great number of sick who had fallen ill of the epidemic on the way, and it was resolved that we should remain here a few days. Shikarpoor is a large well built town, and contains two fine mosques, several roofed bazaars, and two or three large manufactories. The British Resident has a fine house here, the gardens of which are tastefully laid out in the European style. Notwithstanding the clean looking appearance of the town it is far from being healthy, and from ten to twelve of our troops were daily carried off by the cholera during our stay. Amongst the number was Captain Ogle of the 4th Light Dragoons, who fell a victim to his humanity in visiting the sick of his troop. This lamented gentleman was only in his thirtieth year, and was a great favourite with his corps. He was unfortunately a married man, and had been looking forward with feelings of eager anticipation to his reunion with his family. Being of a buoyant and joyous temperament, his loss was felt severely in the circle of his brother officers; his ready jest and imperturbable good humour rendering him the life and soul of the mess table. Captain Ogle looked upon the private soldier as something more than a mere automaton placed at his disposal, and whilst he had always a due regard for the discipline of the service, he exercised the power entrusted to him with humanity and judgment, the act in which he lost his life being but the last of a countless series of generous and disinterested offices which he was in the habit of performing for those under his command. Few men have left behind them a memory so associated with every thing that is valuable and estimable in social and military life.