In the evening we went to a garden half a mile off, where Runjeet is living, and where he was going to give us an evening fête. He had had the house actually built on purpose, and it was beautifully painted in an arabesque fashion, with small pieces of looking-glass let in, in various patterns. The walks of the garden were all lined with those splendid soldiers. I whispered to Major E., who was sitting on the other side of me, to ask if it would be wrong to step out of the house to look at these gorgeous people, as I had missed all the other opportunities of seeing them; and the old Maharajah did not wait to have the question explained--he delights to show off his soldiers. He jumped up, and took hold of my hand, and ambled out into the garden, and then made all the guards march by, and commented on their dresses, and he looked so fond of the old grey-bearded officers. There is something rather touching in the affection his people have for him. The other day, in going through the city, it struck us all, the eagerness with which they called out 'Maharajah!' and tried to touch him, which is easy enough in these narrow streets, and the elephants reaching to the roofs of the houses. When we had sufficiently admired the golden men, we all ambled back to our silver chairs, and then the drinking and nautching began. Nothing can be more tiresome! But he asked some very amusing questions of G., which I believe C. softened in the translation. If he had a wife? and when satisfied about that, How many children he had? Then he asked _why_ he had no wife? G. said that only one was allowed in England, and if she turned out a bad one, he could not easily get rid of her. Runjeet said that was a bad custom; that the Sikhs were allowed twenty-five wives, and they did not dare to be bad, because he could beat them if they were. G. replied that was an excellent custom, and he would try to introduce it when he got home. Then Runjeet asked if there was anybody present who could drink wine as well as Sir W. C., and I said, for fun, 'Mr. A. could;' upon which there was a general cry for A., and poor Mr. A. was accommodated with a chair in front of all the circle, and Runjeet began plying him with glasses of that fiery spirit he drinks himself. Mr. A. is at present living strictly on toast and water! However, he contrived to empty the glass on the carpet occasionally. That carpet must have presented a horrible scene when we went. I know that under my own chair I deposited two broiled quails, an apple, a pear, a great lump of sweetmeat, and some pomegranate seeds, which Runjeet gave me with his dirty fingers into my hand, which, of course, became equally dirty at last.