Two days after this His Highness had a fainting attack; at least he described it as such to me. He said he had been so ill that it had been necessary to give him wine to restore his senses. He desired me to examine the wine and ascertain if it were a suitable stimulant for him. A bottle was handed to me and I poured some out into a wine-glass. It was a clear amber-coloured liquid--may be Chablis, I thought. I was about to drink it, when His Highness said, “Khubar dar!”--“Take care, it is strong;” and he suggested my adding some sherbet. “Chablis and sherbet!” I thought; “No, I am not a Mahomedan,” and I smiled and tossed it off. Sword of Damocles! It was liquid fire! I swallowed and swallowed and blinked and gasped. As expressing a rapid succession of complicated emotions my face must have been a study, for the Amîr leant back on his pillows and roared with laughter. As soon as I could get my breath I coughed out that it was a very bad wine and not at all suitable for His Highness. It was Vodki, I believe, or a Russian spirit of some sort--neat. I went on to say that for the complaint His Highness was suffering from, every kind of wine was more or less harmful; but that, if faintness rendered it necessary, the best he could drink would be good old whisky. I knew that Pyne had brought a supply to Kabul, and when he went away on leave, he had let Stewart and Myddleton have the residue. I therefore rode off to the shops to beg a bottle. When I returned to the Palace, I placed it before His Highness, and explained how it should be taken:--One ounce of whisky to two of water, or, in extreme cases, in equal quantities. His Highness desired me to show him how to take it. It was the first and only “medicine” the Amîr asked me to taste before him. I poured out an ounce, added two ounces of water, and drank it. Then I sat down. [Sidenote: Effect on the Physician.] Presently, I began to feel a little giddy; not that I was uncomfortable--on the contrary; and it struck me what a good thing it would be to tell the Amîr an amusing story that I had suddenly thought of. I remembered, however, in time that he did not understand English, and thought that probably the point would be lost, or at any rate blunted, if it had to first penetrate an Interpreter’s head. And then it occurred to me that Vodki, or whatever the Russian abomination was, followed by a whisky peg, was not a good thing for a Physician to drink, fasting. I said to His Highness, that being unaccustomed to Shrâb (alcohol), the doses I had taken were beginning, I was afraid, to affect my wits: would he allow me to withdraw. “Be not disturbed,” His Highness said. “I can cure you.” He ordered a cup of strong tea, with a lemon squeezed in it, and directed me to drink it at once. It certainly did clear my head in a wonderful way. By-and-bye, I got away to my room and went to sleep in the arm-chair.