On one occasion the bandmaster expressed a wish to have his photograph taken, and my husband arranged to do it for him on a certain day. He arrived with a large bundle, saying that he wished to be allowed to change his attire in our grounds, as he desired to be taken in the royal dress, and could not walk from his house to ours without being subjected to the ignominious treatment I have already described. So he retreated to the largest tree he could find and retired behind it, where he hastily attired himself in the coveted robes, adding as extra adornment a cap of green satin embroidered in gold, shaped like a small tea-cosy, and curious sorts of pads, also of green satin, on the backs of his hands. He put a large red flower in his buttonhole, and borrowed my husband’s watch and chain, as he had none of his own. He looked a very queer character indeed, but the photograph turned out a great success and filled him with delight, which increased tenfold when I painted one for him. He divested himself, after the picture was done, of his fine feathers, and took them away in the same dirty, unsuspicious-looking bundle in which they had arrived. I was sorry to find that this bandmaster had left Manipur when I returned there. He had gone down to Calcutta with the ex-Maharajah, with whom he had always been a great favourite, and left the band to the tender mercies of a havildar, who knew nothing of music. Early in January of this year, 1891, we went to Kohima to meet the chief commissioner, Mr. Quinton, and spent a very pleasant four days there. It was always such a treat to see people. Life in the station at Manipur was so dreadfully monotonous, but I had been better off than my husband, who had not seen any white faces for several months. Not that that troubled him very much. He always adapted himself to whatever er were his circumstances, and made the best of them, never thinking of, and worrying himself for, the many things he had not got. But when the opportunity of getting anyone down to stay with us did arise, he was very keen about it, and while at Kohima we tried very hard to persuade the chief and his daughter to come to Manipur; but it could not be managed, as Mr. Quinton had then arranged his tour, and had not sufficient time to spare to enable him to come such a long distance out of his way. That journey was always the difficulty, and had it not been such a lengthy one, people at Kohima would often have come down to see us at Manipur. But as a rule the whole of their leave was swamped in coming and going.