A vivid flash of lightning, and an awfully loud clap of thunder, accompanied by a few large drops of rain, speedily dispersed the crowd, and I was left to myself and my bearers, who now huddled themselves together for warmth's sake. The air had become chilly, and even I was compelled to wrap my cloak and my blanket about my thinly-clad limbs. Another vivid flash of lightning, and another awful clap of thunder; then down came such hailstones as I had never seen before, and have never seen since in the plains of Hindostan. In size and weight they equalled those which sometimes fall in the Himalaya mountains in June and July. With these storms the rains usually "break up," and then the cold weather sets in, and with this season of the year, what climate in the world is superior to that of the Upper Provinces of India? When the thunder, lightning, and hail had ceased, and their continuance did not exceed fifteen minutes, the sun came out, and the face of heaven was as fair as possible, but the earth gave evidence of the severity of the storm. Not only was the ground covered with leaves and small branches, intermingled with the hail, but cattle and goats had been killed by the furious pelting of the huge stones; whilst the electric fluid had descended on one of the mud huts of the village in which I had taken refuge, and had stretched out in death an old man and two of his grandchildren, a boy of six years of age, and a girl of four. The parents of these children were absent from the village, and were not expected to return until the evening. On being informed of the accident, I expressed a desire to see the bodies, and was conducted by several of the villagers to the hut in which they were lying. I recognised at once the features of the old man who was a prominent figure in my sketch, and of one of the children, the little girl who held the old man so tightly by the hand while she peeped at me. The face of the boy had not struck me. There they were lying dead, but still warm, and their limbs, as yet, devoid of rigidity. The matter-of-fact way in which the natives of India regard the death of their relations or friends is something wonderful to behold. It is not that their affections are less strong than ours, or their feelings less acute. It is that fatality is the beginning and end of their creed. They are taught from their childhood to regard visitations of this character as direct and special acts of God--as matters which it is not only futile, but improper to bewail. None of the villagers--men, women, or children, exhibited any token of grief while gazing on the lifeless bodies they surrounded. And, on asking my bearers whether the parents of the children would weep when they returned, and found their offspring thus suddenly cut off, they replied, rather abruptly, "Why should they weep at God's will?"