We were greeted cordially by the Minister Sahib, who was surrounded by a crowd of brothers, only three of whom I knew, viz. the two fat travellers and the future would-be assassin. Jung's house was a large white building, which looked as if a Chinaman had mixed together a Birmingham factory and an Italian villa, every now and then throwing in a strong dash of the style of his own country by way of improvement. It is three stories high, and one wing is devoted to the six "beautiful missises" who compose the female part of his establishment. The state-room was very similar in shape and appearance to that in the palace of the Mahila Sahib, but was, if possible, still more fantastically ornamented. A picture of her Majesty's Coronation was supported on the one side by a lady's bonnet, on the other by a carpet- bag, while a lady's riding-habit, an officer's red jacket, and various other articles of attire were hung round the walls upon pegs; here and there, perhaps partly hidden by the folds of a lady's dress, was to be seen the portrait of some sedate old Nepaulese noble. Jung called our attention to one of these; it was the portrait of a strikingly handsome man, whose keen eye and lofty brow seemed almost to entitle him to the position he held between the Duke of Wellington and the Queen. "See," said Jung, enthusiastically, "here is the Queen of England; and she has not got a more loyal subject than I am." Then turning to the picture of the man with the keen eyes and high forehead, he remarked, "That is my poor uncle Mahtiber Singh, whom I shot; it is very like him." After which he launched into a discussion upon the comparative merits of the Duke of Wellington and Napoleon, and, skipping two cocked hats and a bonnet, went on to some Purdy's rifles, of which he spoke in glowing terms and with all the enthusiasm of a true sportsman. My friend Colonel Dhere Shum Shere now came up, whistling the Sturm Marsch, and challenged me to a game of billiards: he was in his manner more thoroughly English than any native I ever knew, and both in appearance and disposition looked as if he was an Anglo-Saxon who had been dyed by mistake. When in Europe he used to dress like an Englishman, and in company with his brother, the Minister Sahib, in similar attire, patronized Vauxhall, Cremorne, and other places of fashionable resort usually frequented by such fast men as they showed themselves to be. Like Jung, he used to say he could not bear the abominable screeching at the Opera, and consequently never made his appearance until the commencement of the ballet, which was much more in their line.