‘_July 23._--I saw to-day a sight which perhaps never met your eyes in India, and which I never wish to see again; though it was not without something of melancholy beauty. On Sunday towards dusk I was with some of the boys, and they called out “Locusts!” I looked up into the sky, and saw what my old eyes would have considered harmless clouds high above me; but the young eyes must have detected the motion of countless wings. To-day there was no possibility of mistake. I was in a Zenana, in the full light of day, gazing up at myriads and myriads,--dark against white clouds, light against the blue sky,--passing over Batala. They looked to me like God’s terrible army; so strong; so vigorous; not one amongst the millions appeared to be weary; not one did I see drop down as if faint from long flight. They flew as if they had a purpose; our fair green fields did not appear to tempt the destroyers,--only I saw a comparatively small number in one,--but they were clearly intent on going somewhere else. Alas for the land where they alight! A Native told me that they would probably come back again. How helpless is man against such a foe! We can only ask for mercy, as Pharaoh did.’