another of the same house, his brother, General Bruce, whose lamented death—­also in the service of his Queen and country—­followed immediately on his return from the journey in which he had accompanied the Prince of Wales to the East, and in which he had caught the fatal malady that brought him to his untimely end....  How little was it thought by those who stood round the vault at Dunfermline Abbey, on July 2, 1862, that to those familiar scenes, and to that hallowed spot, the chief of the race would never return.  How mournfully did the tidings from India reach a third brother in the yet farther East, who felt that to him was due in great part whatever success he had experienced in life, even from the time when, during the elder brother’s Eton holidays, he had enjoyed the benefit of his tuition, and who was indulging in dreams how, on their joint return from exile, with their varied experience of the East, they might have worked together for some great and useful end.[6]

’He sleeps far away from his native land, on the heights of Dhurmsala; a fitting grave, let us rejoice to think, for the Viceroy of India, overlooking from its lofty height the vast expanse of the hill and plain of these mighty provinces—­a fitting burial beneath the snow-clad Himalaya range, for one who dwelt with such serene satisfaction on all that was grand and beautiful in man and nature—­

  Pondering God’s mysteries untold,
    And, tranquil as the glacier snows,
  He by those Indian mountains old
    Might well repose.

’A last home, may we not say, of which the very name, with its double signification, was worthy of the spirit which there passed away—­“the Hall of Justice, the Place of Rest.”  Rest, indeed, to him after his long “laborious days,” in that presence which to him was the only complete Rest —­the presence of Eternal Justice.’

[1] One of the Indian journals of the day described the ceremony as
    follows:—­’On Wednesday afternoon, the few Europeans in the station
    collected at five o’clock in the Memorial Garden and Monument.  None,
    who had seen the spot after the subsidence of the Mutiny could
    recognise in the well-planned and well-kept garden, with its two
    graveyards, and the beautiful central Monument on its grassy mound,
    the site of the horrid slaughter-house which then stood in blood-
    stained ruin about the well, choked with the victims of the foulest
    treachery the world has ever seen....  The ceremonial was as simple as
    it well could be, and few ceremonies could be more impressive....  The
    Viceroy advanced to the top of the steps of the Memorial, and, through
    the Commissioners, formally requested the Bishop to consecrate that
    spot, and the adjacent burial-places.  The Bishop, taking his place,
    then headed a procession of the clergy and the people present, and
    proceeded round the two burial-places