bystanders, who merrily said, “Take her away; that dodge won’t do, he knows all about it.” The effrontery of the whole proceeding was Afghan throughout. The káfila, we were told, consisted of twelve hundred camels and eighteen hundred followers from Kandahar. The merchandise comprised a varied stock, such as wool, dried fruits, raisins, choghas, barrak, pashmína, specie, and jewels. The value of the whole was estimated at nine laks of rupees, of which about two laks had been plundered in the Bolán. Directing our informants to make their representations to the authorities of Jacobabad, we passed on to our own camp. We were seated on our cots, watching the erection of our tents, when our attention was diverted to four men cautiously approaching us from the direction of the káfila. Their leader was a venerable greybeard, and by his side walked a delicate youth. As they neared us I observed, “Surely, I know those people;” when the elder, hastily glancing around to satisfy himself that he was unobserved by the káfila people, hurried forward, fell at my feet, then quickly rising, took my hands in his own, kissed them, and pressed them to his forehead, uttering all the while a rapid succession of prayers and congratulations on his good fortune in meeting me. “Saggid Mahmúd of Sariáb, what has brought you here from Ghazni?” inquired I, after the customary interchange of salutations, so cordially initiated by himself. “Hush!” said he, in a low voice, turning to my ear. “We are going on a pilgrimage to Karbalá by Bombay, Basrah, and Baghdad, but are obliged to call it Makha for fear of the bigoted heretics composing our káfila. Yes,” continued he, in a louder tone, “we are going the _haj_ to Makha. You see, poor Cásim is no better, though he has carried out all your directions, and finished all the bottles of that excellent medicine you were so gracious as to give him. It was really a most potent medicine, and acted quite like a charm. Cásim was nearly cured by it, and was fast recovering the use of his arm, when our messenger returned from Peshawar with your gracious epistle promising to send that magic chain for him, if I sent him back for it a month later. I did send him, but he never returned, and poor Cásim rapidly losing ground, soon became as bad as ever he was before he took your medicine. God’s will be done. We are all His servants. You did your best for us, and God prosper you.”