The sun shone brilliantly, and we sat under the almond trees. The Prince, in native costume, sat on a sort of divan with carpet and cushions. I had a chair and table. The tutor and others were there, and the guards were posted around under the trees. I smoked cigarettes and talked. It was very pleasant, surrounded as we were by flowers and grass, and there were so many trees that we seemed almost in the heart of a wood. I actually saw the Prince laugh!--for the first time. He was a dignified and polished little man, and has, the Amîr says--with one other son--the “Royal manner.” At one o’clock lunch was brought. Afterwards the Prince asked if I would accompany him to the Chahar Bagh, to see the sports again. I said I should enjoy doing so, and he went away with his tutor to be attired in “purple and fine linen,” or in other words, in European military dress. They were some time gone, and I wandered about under the trees by myself. When the Prince returned we started. Being the Sabbath there were a greater number of spectators than on the previous occasions. So much time was taken up in finding suitable Mazarîs to oppose the muscular Turkomans, that there was no opportunity for the Kabuli wrestlers to come into the ring. Otherwise the dancing and wrestling were a repetition of the former days. [Sidenote: The Mother of Prince Hafiz Ullah.] When we got home the Prince sent me some oranges, and a Russian knife, fork, and spoon, in a case, and a Turkestan cap embroidered with gold, worked by his mother. This lady, a wife of His Highness’s, is from Kaffristan. She is said to be one of the most beautiful women in the country, and is called, on account of her perfect pink and white complexion, “The Pomegranate Flower.” I made a careful pencil drawing of the Prince one day. He is a fair-haired little fellow, with good features and dark eyes. It was a pretty picture, and I heard that His Highness was very pleased. The Sultana, they said, was not so well pleased: the Prince is not her son. About this time, it was in April, I had some trouble with one of the Generals, a fat man--not that I object to fat men unless they interfere with me--with a voice like that of a full-grown bull. This fat man attempted to bully me. I reached the Hospital that morning at ten a.m., having seen thirty or forty patients at my own place first. General M---- A---- Khan, who was visiting the Hospital, enquired why I did not come earlier. I politely explained that I was seeing patients at my own house. He said I ought to come to the Hospital first, and attend to the others afterwards. I was surprised and somewhat annoyed, and looking him in the face, I said-- “Chira?” “Why?” He let the matter drop. We then went into the different wards, or rooms, where the patients were, and he said that such and such men had been in the Hospital for so long, why did I not cure them and send them out. I said--