52 BRITISH RESIDENCY AT LUCKNOW.
mentation, and the interior, supported by a number of
columns, is of a similar ground-tint, relieved by quite
an artistic arrangement of glossy vine leaves in plaster,
painted pale green and white with pink veins; these
cover the entire surface of the wall, producing a most
brilliant effect as they stand out upon the deep red
wall. I cannot resist recommending this style to
decorators, now that they are no more allowed to work
in the same groove year after year, but are rather
expected to produce new effects on all occasions. From
the roof of this building there is a splendid view of
the surrounding country.
Within a handsome park stand the ruins of the
British Residency, so bravely defended during the
Mutiny by Sir Henry Lawrence, and after his
death by Brigadier Inglis, until Generals Havelock
and Outram came to the relief of the small garrison,
consisting of no more than 160 souls, they, the victorious
army, being in their turn besieged until Lord Clyde
forced his way to their rescue. There are four or five
buildings, one of which, the banqueting hall, made into
an hospital during the siege, another the house of Dr.
Faegels, where Henry Lawrence died after having been
struck by a shell at the Residency. All now are black
and-in ruins; on one side lies the cemetery, where
those who had died during the siege were buried.
CHRISTMAS AT LUCKNOW. 53
One morning, whilst at breakfast at the hotel—and
there is not a more comfortable one elsewhere in India
I was disturbed by the noise of a funeral procession
of a young girl, who, shrouded in pink muslin, was
carried on a lofty bier covered with beautiful flowers,
and marshalled by a number of camels; the one in
front carrying a flag-bearer, the others sacks of cakes
and fruit, which the riders threw among the crowd.
Two elephants followed the bier, also some six or eight
horses, richly caparisoned, led by the bridle, and a
pretty brown Cashmere pony, the special favourite of
the deceased, a band of musicians, relatives throwing
money among the crowd of beggars, and a large conflux
of people dressed in their best and gayest colours.
The bungalows of Europeans are, as usual, surrounded
by gardens, and divided from the dusty road
by handsome balustrades of Oriental pattern, chunamed
and with grey copings; these line the so-called
“ Strand,” an elegant promenade, which winds along the
canal, presenting in the afternoon a very lively appearance,
when crowded with ladies and gentlemen on
horseback and in fine carriages, and accompanied by a
couple of outrunners in party-coloured turban and
jackets.
Christmas happened to fall upon one of the days
during my stay at the Imperial Hotel, where it was