I always think a great deal depends on one’s first impressions of anything, be it place or people. One is struck with a house or a garden if it looks pleasant at first sight, even though a closer acquaintance with it may bring disappointment. My first impressions of our house and surroundings on this occasion were of the most favourable description. A long carriage-drive led up from the entrance-gate to the house. There were trees each side, and a delightful stretch of grassland dotted about with deodars and flowering shrubs, with a tennis-court in the centre on the right. A hedge of cluster roses all in blossom divided the outer grounds from the flower-garden surrounding the house, at the end of which was a small lake with an island in the middle of it, where, late as it was, a few wild-duck were still swimming about. We cantered our horses up the drive to the entrance, a long flight of steps covered by a porch, over which grew a beautiful Bougainvillia, whose gorgeous purple blossoms entirely hid the thatch with which the porch was surmounted. The Residency was a long low house with a thatched roof. The walls were painted white, and the wood-work picked out in black. A veranda surrounded it, comfortably matted and strewn about with rugs and skins. In front of the house there was a circular lawn covered with flower-beds blazing with colour, and at the end of the lawn was the flagstaff of my dreams and the ensign of Old England waving proudly in the breeze. To us, fresh from the jungles of the previous nine days, the place seemed beautiful, and even after we had grown accustomed to it, we always returned to it with a fresh sense of pleasure. The inside of the house was equally charming, and after our little hut at Sylhet it seemed a mansion. The red-coated servants were all in attendance, and a couple of Ghoorka orderlies, so that my aspirations in that direction were amply satisfied. [Illustration: VIEW OF THE RESIDENCY AT MANIPUR.]