and, thanks to the clemency of the enemy to whom he was opposed, he was granted terms which, in his position, he could scarcely have hoped to gain. He allied himself with the most powerful State in Asia, and the safety of his kingdom was assured against all foreign aggression. If he had been a tyrant to his subjects, and thoroughly determined to make his will their law, the reception in his capital of an Embassy from the Power with which he was allied would have been fraught with no danger either to himself or to the Ambassador. But he had not the strength of tyranny sufficient to control the factions of which he was a mere tool, and it seems only too probable that he gradually drifted from his first position of sincerity towards his new allies, to that of a timid spectator of intrigues against the alliance. His weakness and vacillation could not check the danger that was growing so formidable, and, when the final outbreak came, his personal influence was even unequal to saving the life of the man who had trusted so implicitly in his good faith. That Yakub desired the death of Sir Louis Cavagnari we do not believe; that he had been led, insidiously, by men about him to coincide in the view that the Embassy should be forced to leave may be readily credited. And once that Embassy had been destroyed, there is only too much reason to suppose that he was inclined to parley with the men who had brought about its destruction, and to listen to their plausible reasoning that what had been done was irrevocable. The access of personal fear, which drove him to seek safety in the British camp, no more excuses him of responsibility for his acts of omission or commission, than does the voluntary surrender of a murderer condone the crime he has committed. So far as human canons are concerned, repentance cannot blot out guilt, however much it may modify judgment: the supreme quality of mercy is impossible under ordinary conditions of life. Taking the most pitiful estimate of Yakub Khan’s offence, putting aside the idea even of participation in the views of the men who wished him to break the engagements to which he stood pledged, there is the one unpardonable crime still clinging to him—that he stood by, and made no sign, while the lives of men were sacrificed which should have been sacred to him, even according to the narrow creed of the fanatics who surrounded him. His own words, when refusing the help that was so dearly needed, rise up against him when he appeals to our forbearance: “It is not to be done.” Perhaps, hereafter, the same answer may be given when we are asked to preserve the integrity of a country which has always repaid friendship with falsehood, trust with treachery.