At Kurnal we found our tents pitched in a pretty spot, under large trees, just outside the walls of the town. But we were carried off by an old friend, Colonel Trench, superintendent of the government stud at Kurnal, to his bungalow. Tent life is very pleasant, but after a long time of it one appreciates the solid comforts of four walls and a roof. The stud was a very interesting sight, everything being in the most perfect order. There were about eight hundred horses altogether, three hundred of them colts. We saw them turned out for exercise in a large field. How they tore about, with manes and tails streaming! Then they formed up, with distended nostrils, to have a look at us, and were off again. Kurnal used to be one of the largest and most favourite stations in India; but it became, from some unknown reason, dreadfully unhealthy. Hundreds of Europeans died there, and it was abandoned as a military station. We spent Christmas here. Christmas is a season of rejoicing in India to the natives as well as to us. Yellow flowers are profusely used as decorations, and it is the custom for all the principal employés to present ‘dollies’ to their masters, or the heads of departments. As colonel commanding a regiment, I received ‘dollies’ from the kotwal of the regimental bazaar, from the commissariat baker, and many others, and now on the march the chief of the camel-men brought a hill ‘dollie.’ They are almost always of the same shape, that of a large, round, flat basket, with the contents tastefully arranged so that everything is seen at once. Oranges, pomegranates, raisins, sugar, spices, and Cabul grapes, packed up in little boxes, each grape in cotton wool, are the usual gifts. To touch the basket with the right hand, in sign of acceptance, is sufficient, and then the servants get the contents, or, if there is any special delicacy, you appropriate it.