I sent off a short Journal to you on Saturday, which you will probably never hear of, as in the dearth of Bombay steamers, the Government has been trying a new experiment of taking up a Chinese clipper which will probably be of little use, and they have sent her to Aden with our letters, and have puffed their experiment so successfully that they have actually entrapped me out of a large slice of Journal, so that portion of my life will never be heard of again--'a blank, my lord.' I should not care what becomes of the letters I write, if I could get any to read. This is such a tiresome time of year for that, and I get such yearnings for letters, and such fancies come over me. It seems an odd thing to say to you, but I dare say you have the same thoughts with regard to me, but I sometimes think _if_ anything should have happened to you, what would become of me? and then the thought gets fairly into my head, and runs into all sorts of details, till I cannot get to sleep, and know it is very wrong, and then I ask Dr. D. for a little medicine and I get better, but in the meanwhile it is horrid to be so far off. However, of course you are very well, and so am I; only mind we keep so, because we really must meet again, we shall have so much to say. We heard of dear old Runjeet's death on Saturday. It took place on the 27th. It is rather fine, because so unusual in the East, that even to the last moment, his slightest signs, for he had long lost his speech, were obeyed. It is almost a pity they were, only that one is glad such a master mind should have its dues to the last; but the despatch says, that on the last day the Maharajah sent for all his famous jewels, his horses with their splendid trappings, the surpêche and pearls given him by G., and ordered them to be sent to different shrines with directions that the Brahmins should pray for him; that Kurruck Singh (the heir) and the sirdars who were sitting round his bed burst into loud lamentations and said, 'What will become of us if you give everything away?' and the Maharajah wept, but said it must be so. Then he ordered the Koh-i-noor (the famous diamond) to be sent down to the temple of Juggernaut, but his sirdars again represented that there was not such another diamond in the world, and that the whole wealth of India could not repurchase it, and he consented to let that remain. But the distribution of jewels went on till the evening, and he is supposed, his newswriters say, to have given away the value of two crores of rupees. It is a great pity such a collection of precious stones, quite unequalled, should be dispersed to these shrines, where they will never be seen again. The Rajah Dhian Singh, the prime minister, seems at present to manage everything, and to be in as great favour with Kurruck Singh as he was with the father; and as he is a very superior man, with dominions of his own almost equal to the Punjâb, things may go on quietly if he remains in favour; but young