The two chief sirdars were not even at Lahore when we were there. I thought they might eventually be taught to flirt, and wanted Mr. A. to try and make up a match between the old fakeer and old Miss J., who is between sixty and seventy, and something like the fakeer. Mr. A. was quite willing, but unluckily Miss J. did not come. Thursday, Oct. 17. The gentlemen got up some racing yesterday, to which the Sikhs came, and we all went. Racing is one of the few amusements they can enter into, and they were very much amused. G. gave a silver hookah to be run for, and the aides-de-camp a silver cheroot box, &c. The Sikhs saw us drawing a lottery for the races and enquired what it meant, and in their quick way set one up. Lehna Singh sent word to twelve of his guards to start; wrote all their names in Persian on bits of paper, and said with a complacent smile, 'Lotteree.' Their races were very funny. They started as fast as the horse could go--no Sikh horse can gallop 100 yards--and then they trotted on, or walked, or stopped; but towards the winning-post the first man always came in waving his whip over his head, looking in a prodigious hurry, with the others at least a quarter of a mile behind. They rode with their heavy shields and helmets on, and one man in chain-armour, which helped to break his horse's leg. However, G. gave him a new horse, and gave the four winners a pair of shawls each, so they thought English racing quite delightful. Friday, Oct. 18. The Sikhs had their farewell durbar to-day. They are in such a fright, poor people! at going back to their disturbed country, that they begged for even one of the Government House hirkarus as a protection. They say they were sent by Kurruck Singh, whose power has now passed into the hands of his son and his minister, and they don't know what may be done to them when they go back. Noor Mahal and Dhian Singh called before them the uncle of Cheyt Singh, whose murder I mentioned to you in my last Journal, and after trying to make him confess where some pearls and jewels were hidden, killed him with their own hands, and threw his body out before the palace gate. Another chief, _they_ say, killed himself in prison, but others say they poisoned him. The Punjâb is fast returning to the barbarous state from which Runjeet redeemed it. The native writer describes it all so like some of the old Jewish troubles. He says: 'The Maharajah refused comfort, and asked if he were really king, or if the power had left him; and the Koonwur (Noor Mahal) and the Rajah answered, that he was the Lord of the World, and that they were his slaves. The Maharajah went out to take the air on his elephant, and the Koonwur sat behind him and drove the flies from him with a chowry, and the Rajah carried a chattah (an umbrella) over his head'--and then they came back and imprisoned and beat more of his servants.