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Synopsis Lucknow has lost much of its former splendour and glory; yet it is still a very interesting city to visitors from distant countries, not only for its palaces and magnificent ruins, and its picturesque people, but for the notoriety it acquired during the terrible days of 1857 and 1858. But as there are many, who cannot afford to come here, the want of an illustrated work on the subject, is a much-felt desideratum; and of those, who do visit it, only a few can with difficulty get any idea of the inner and historical life of the capital Lucknow was, a few years ago, the Paris of India—"the City of Roses.Moreover, as the spirit of vandalism is not yet extinct, the edifices, which have historical association or otherwise any architectural pretension, are gradually transformed into debris and ruins; while none yet takes the trouble to prepare a pictorial record of what Lucknow was,—so as to snatch whatever he can from the inevitable oblivion that follows. It is a matter of deep regret to see how the city is throwing off its skin; and its arts and manufactures, its old picturesqueness, and its peculiar civilization, for which Lucknow was famous, are dying an unnatural death. The citizens look on, shed tears like women; and there their business is ended. They do nothing more; for deterioration, the daughter of idleness, is taking place in their physical and mental formations, as in all things else.