I have often been asked, “But didn’t you find it lonely in Kabul?” and in giving an affirmative answer, the memory of the many weary hours spent alone after worktime is always brought back to me. In the loneliness of life in Kabul lies its worst feature, and the effect on one of living such a life for several years is far from beneficial, but the extent of the ill effect produced is not properly estimated until one returns to civilization. There is no social intercourse between the Afghans and Europeans, the utmost in this way being a ceremonious call, on some feastday, by those who are well disposed towards the English, and this is generally a compliment for which a substantial return is expected by those who pay it. The loneliness is worse in the winter than in the summer, for then the days are short, and the evenings from four o’clock until bedtime seem interminable, and it gets worse as the winter progresses, for there is little to make time pass but read, and one gets tired of that when there is nothing else to do for several hours each day, and especially so when there is seldom a new book to read. I used to welcome work which necessitated the preparation of plans and drawings, because I could do these after nightfall and make the time pass more quickly; and when all else failed as a means of amusement, I got one of the clocks and took it to pieces and cleaned it, and otherwise damaged it. Another work I left for the evening was the analysis of ores which were sent from all parts of the country to the Amir, who passed them on to me, and I was glad of them as a means of making time pass. Altogether it is very different to what it is in India or England, where the evenings may be passed pleasantly in so many ways.