Yesterday evening Runjeet gave us a party in the Shalimar Gardens, which were illuminated in every direction. The party was like all the others, except that it was less crowded, and there was an introduction of Afghans. The brother of our enemy Dost Mahomed, who is not fettered by foolish feelings of family affection, has come over to us. He and his sons and followers were rather picturesque, with their enormous coarse turbans and cloth gaberdines, and great jack-boots, amongst all those jewelled Sikhs. Runjeet was extremely civil to them. I thought one of the amusing incidents of the evening would be, that I should topple over backwards, chair and all, into the garden below the sort of open summer-house in which we were sitting. Runjeet is particular in the arrangement of his circle--and also rather peculiar. He and G. were seated just in a corner of the open arch, so as to have a side view of the fireworks, and my chair was put next to Runjeet's in the middle of the arch, with no ledge to the floor and my back to the garden. I moved off, on pretence that I could see nothing, but he sent for me back again, and I think must have been disappointed at the precision with which I sat bolt upright. I always try to flirt a little with Kurruck Singh, the heir-apparent, who is supposed to be a goose, but 'a great _parti_,' as C. would say; but I think the Maharajah sees through me, for he always says to C., 'What's that?' and then answers for his son. I wish he would not--I think my Kurruck would be pleasant, if they ever let him open his lips. I asked him if he had ever tasted any English wine, and he said he never drank any wine at all, upon which Runjeet immediately gave him his own little glass full of spirits, and laughed with the greatest delight at his son's taking it. F. and I came away very early. Most of the camp came in procession with G. and the Maharajah through the town, which F. says was very dirty and not odoriferous. Runjeet led them in and out and round about for two hours. I cannot stand much elephant, so I came across the country in the tonjaun, with Captain E. and Mr. A., who rode. The Sikh guards led us right through the fields, where there was no shade, but it was rather nice, and gave one a reminiscence of Shottesbrooke and partridge shooting. We saw in the distance the dust of our moving camp, and blessed ourselves. It was only four miles by this route from one camp to the other. Of course, Shere Singh and Pertâb came to dinner. The little boy is quite set on learning English, and he says, in such a droll voice, 'Chance, sit up,' 'plate,' 'glass,' and a few other words he has picked up. To fill up the evenings, we have taught him that game of soldiers by making round dots on a piece of paper, which he and W. play at; and before dessert was over, he asked whether it was not time to go into the next room. He wanted to kill Dost Mahomed with his pencil.