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Rh sharply by fever this morning.' The sea-breezes were, however, a potent medicine. There was no look of feebleness about Lord Mayo, when on the 12th January, 1869, he landed at Calcutta, under the salute from the Fort, and with 'God Save the Queen' playing, as he drove through the lines of troops, and amid the vast multitude which formed a living lane along the whole way from the river-bank to Government House.

The reception of a new Viceroy on the spacious flight of steps at Government House, and the handing over charge of the Indian Empire which immediately follows, forms an imposing spectacle. On this occasion it had a pathos of its own. At the top of the stairs was the wearied veteran Viceroy, Sir John Lawrence, wearing his splendid harness for the last day; his face blanched and his tall figure shrunken by forty years of Indian service; but his head erect, and his eye still bright with the fire which had burst forth so gloriously in India's supreme hour of need. Around him stood the tried counsellors with whom he had gone through life, a silent calm semicircle in suits of blue and gold, lit up by a few scarlet uniforms. At the bottom, the new Governor-General jumped lightly out of the carriage, amid the saluting of troops and glitter of arms; his large athletic form in the easiest of summer costumes, with a little coloured neck-tie, and a face red with health and sunshine.

As Lord Mayo came up the tall flight of stairs with