of his arms, and assisting him to keep up with the troops, as they rushed
through the gates. As he ran, he heard horrible cries, but the darkness
hindered him from seeing the dying Affghans rolling in the dust, only he
felt their soft bodies as he hastily passed over them. He heard his
fellow-soldiers shouting and firing on every side. Some fell close beside
him, and others were wounded, and carried off on the shoulders of their
comrades, screaming with agony.

Half an hour after the gates were fired, the city was taken. The news of
the victory spread among the Affghans on the mountains, and the plains,
and the whole country submitted to the British.

The army soon marched to Cabool, that proud city. No one opposed their
entrance, and the bazaar, and the king's garden, and the royal citadel
were visited by our soldiers.

After spending two months in beautiful Cabool, resting their weary limbs
and feasting on fine fruits, the army was ordered to return home. They
began to march again towards the coast, a distance of fifteen hundred
miles, over cragged rocks, and scorching plains.

In the course of this terrible journey, the father of the young soldier
again fell ill, and was forced to stop by the way. His affectionate son
nursed him night and day; closed his eyes in death, and saw him laid in a
lowly grave in the desert. With a bleeding heart the youth embarked to
return to Bombay.

During the voyage, a furious storm arose, and all on board despaired of
life. _Then_ it was the youth remembered the prayers he had offered up by
his dying father's bed; _then_ it was he felt he had not turned to God