Each bore on his extended palm a folded-up handkerchief, on which lay a certain number of gold mohurs or rupees, which the old general, contrary to the usual custom in such cases, groped off, and laid beside him in a heap, having previously touched his forehead, by way of acknowledging the compliment. Besides the pecuniary offering, many of the veterans held their swords to the general and my friend, who touched them, and then their foreheads. This pretty custom is universal amongst the military of India and Persia, and is finely expressive of a soldier’s fidelity and devotion. He offers you his sword; what can he more? After the military had entered, various civil functionaries, connected with the bazaar and garrison, and the general’s domestic servants, all arrayed in their holiday attire, were ushered in, and made their salaams and gifts. The latter were set aside in the room, and formed a goodly display of oranges, pomegranates, sweetmeats, sugar-candy, &c., enough wherewith to set up the store of a general dealer in a small way. Last of all, several trays were brought in, each covered with an embroidered roomal or handkerchief; the bearers, having arranged these on the floor, withdrew the coverings with a grand air, as much as to say, “There! what do you think of that?” and a magnificent display of good things appeared. The Kansaman whispered the old general; the old general smiled, and my friend laughed. It was a Christmas gift from Begum Sahib, his pious left-handed Moosulmanee wife, and whose funds had supplied, as I before mentioned, the magnificent _tazeea_ at Sultanpore, Benares. Whilst its examination was going on, I thought I perceived a few curious eyes peeping from behind the curtain, which concealed the _sanctum sanctorum_ of the _zenan khaneh_, or female apartments. After the whole party had retired, and the general and my friend had resumed their chat and their hookhas, I observed the aforesaid curtain once more on the move, and, immediately after, the figure of an old withered Indian lady, covered with a profusion of rings and jewels, with a pair of garnet-coloured trousers of formidable dimensions, and a milk-white _doputta_, or scarf, over her head, issued therefrom. She stood for a moment, placed her finger archly on her lips, as a signal for my friend to be silent, and then gliding slowly towards the veteran, whose back was turned towards her, she placed her long dark slender hands, sparkling with rings, over his eyes. “Halloa!” said the old gentleman, “who have we here? what rogue is this?” smiling pleasantly, and knowing all the while who it was. The old lady laughed, withdrew her hands, and stood before him. “General Sahib,” said she, in Hindustanee, “I am come to make my salaam to you on your _Burra Din_.”