The Jubraj became Regent. The Senaputti became Jubraj. Prince Angao ” Senaputti. Zillah Singh ” Samoo Hengeba. Therefore in future I shall use these titles in writing of the new Government to avoid confusion. CHAPTER XII. Vigour of the new reign—A magic-lantern performance—Conduct of the bandmaster—First mention of Mr. Quinton—Visit to Burmah—Beauty of the scenery—House ourselves in a Pagoda—Burmese love of flowers, and of smoking—Visit Tummu—Burmese love of chess—First meeting with Grant—He helps us to make a cake—Search after orchids—Arrival of visitors—Important telegram from Chief Commissioner—Coming events commence to cast shadows. Early in November I returned from the hills, and went back to Manipur. Everything seemed changed by the alteration in the government of the state. There was little doubt that the new Jubraj was practically ruler of the roost, and the improvement was very great in everything. Roads that had been almost impassable in the ex-Maharajah’s reign were repaired and made good enough to drive on. Bridges that had been sadly needed were erected; some of them on first-class plans, which were calculated to last three times as long as the flimsy structures which existed previously. The people seemed happier and more contented, and my husband found it much easier to work with the Manipur durbar than he had done when there were eight opinions to be consulted instead of four. There were no more petty jealousies and quarrels among the princes, and I had no fears about asking them all at once to any festivity. At Christmas they all came to a magic-lantern performance. My husband had got one out from England, and he made the slides himself from photographs, choosing as subjects groups of Manipuris, or photographs of the princes and bits of the country. A picture of Miss Maïpâkbi was greeted with much applause on the part of the Jubraj, who, by the way, had decided to add this young lady to his other nine wives. The performance concluded with a large representation of the ex-Maharajah in royal dress. Dead silence greeted it, and an awkward pause; but my husband changed the slide almost directly to one of a humorous character, which caused everyone much amusement. I mentioned the royal dress in the Maharajah’s photograph. This was worn only on very great occasions, usually of a sacred nature. It consisted of a coat and Dhotee made of silk, of a grayish shade, embroidered all over in purple silk in a fleur-de-lis pattern. No one but a prince could wear this particular stuff; and if anyone was found with it on, whether in his house or on the public thoroughfare, he was immediately seized, and deprived of the garments in question, and everything else he happened to have on at the same time.