him, being inspired thereto by the devil and apple brandy. Nothing less
than the immediate execution of the culprit by hanging, drawing, and
quartering would satisfy the outraged feelings of our henchman.

I promised a yet severer punishment. I said I would "cut" the wretched
minion's pay that month to the amount of a rupee. Vengeance was satisfied,
and the victim reduced to tears.

It is good to hear Jane--who for many years has been accustomed to having
her own way in all household matters--ordering breakfast.

"Well, Sabz Ali--what shall we have for breakfast to-morrow?"

"Jessa mem-sahib arder!"--with a friendly grin.

"Then I shall have kidneys."'

"No kidney, mem-sahib! Kidney plenty money--two annas six pice ek. Oh,
plenty dear!"

"I'm tired of eggs. Is there any cold chicken you
could grill?"

"Chota murghi one egg lay, mem-sahib, anda poach. Sahib, chicken grill
laike!"

"Oh, all right! But I thought of a mutton-chop for the major sahib."

"Muttony stup" (mutton's tough). "Sahib no laike!"

"Very well, that will do--a poached egg for me and grilled chicken for the
sahib."

"No, mem-sahib--no 'nuf. Sahib plenty 'ungry--chicken grill, peechy
ramble-tamble egg!"

"Have it your own way. I daresay the major sahib _would_ like scrambled
eggs, and we'll have coffee--not tea."

"No, mem-sahib. No coffee--coffee finish!"

"Send the shikari down to the bazaar, then, for a tin of coffee from
Nusserwanjee."

"Shikari saaf kuro lakri ke major sahib" (cleaning the golf-clubs). "Tea
breakfast, coffee kal" (to-morrow).

And, utterly routed on every point, Jane gives in gracefully, and makes an
excellent breakfast as prearranged by Sabz Ali!

The news is spread that there will be an exhibition of pictures held in
Srinagar in September. Every second person is a--more or less--heaven-born
artist out here, so there promises to be no lack of exhibits. I dreamed a
dream last night, and in my dream I was walking along the bund and came
upon an elderly gentleman laying Naples yellow on a canvas with a trowel.
The river was smooth and golden, and reflected the sensuous golden tones
of the sky. Trees arose from golden puddles, half screening a ziarat which,
upon the glowing canvas, appeared remarkably like a village church. "How
beautiful!" I cried, "how gloriously oleographic!" and the painter,
removing a brush from his mouth, smiled, well pleased, and said, "I am a
Leader among Victorian artists and the public a