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214 spot where lie the remains of his father and Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, and where an impressive group of the three Cannings now stands to remind Englishmen of the public services of a gifted and distinguished race. Among the mourners who gathered in that last home of so many of England's choicest sons, two heroes of the Mutiny were to be seen — the rugged and soldier-like Clyde, supporting his friend Outram, now too enfeebled to walk without assistance — worthy mourners, indeed, at such a grave. The three men had stood side by side in the crisis of England's fate: together they had confronted that dark hour of anxiety; together they had planned, laboured, and hoped. They had often differed, as it was likely that such strong natures should. Success had come, and all the honours of success, and now to one of them, the end. For his companions, too, the end was near at hand.

A generation has passed. The grave has closed over many another of the men who, in that crisis of their country's fate, served England loyally and well. In the same sacred precinct, another of the companions of Canning's work — John Lawrence — brave and constant heart — has been laid to his rest. Strathnairn, the brilliant genius of victory — Napier, honoured and beloved, have passed away into the silence. Already the haze of distance has settled on the events of the Mutiny. The din of battle grows faint — the cannon's roar — the crash of the charge — the shouts of victory — the sobs — the groans; faint, too, the clatter of angry tongues — the shrill dispute — the eager blame, the storm