some of them. There are Indian fans which
are never in motion, and French clocks which
keep miscellaneous time; European chandeliers
placed conveniently upon the floor, and
wall-shades perched pleasantly in the middle
of the hall;—bits of Birmingham machinery
which, like the donkey in the ballad,
decidedly 'wouldn't go,' and swords of all
nations, which, like the legitimate drama at
home, seem as if they wouldn't 'draw;'—
bootjacks of a scientific kind, which are
admirably adapted for catching the leg of the
operator, like a man-trap;—a copy of Frank
Stone's 'Last Appeal,' with 'lot two hundred
and ninety-six,' on a square ticket in the
corner, and ditto of Frank Stone's 'Heart's
Misgivings,' with an ancient inscription appended
to it, informing the public that it might at
one time have been had for the sum of
sixteen rupees;—more French clocks with
mirrors: more French clocks with pictures; and
more French clocks, with wooden shepherds,
more or less influenced by machinery, and
who look after their sheep in a spasmodic
manner, whenever the hour—always the
wrong one—condescends to strike. Then
comes, or rather next stands—an effigy—
warranted correct—of the Borak on which
Mahommed was carried to Heaven. He is the
full size of life, but here the resemblance to
anything living or breathing ends; a happy
arrangement which obviates all theological
discussions as to the propriety of imitating
living things. Indeed, all such effigies in this
orthodox building are of objects which must
be altogether incomprehensible to gods or
men. Next comes a patent knife-grinding
machine, and by the side of it a wooden horse,
marked 'Manby and Co., carver and gilder,
Calcutta.' A warming-pan is one of the most
conspicuous objects. These various properties
are contained in a solemn Temple of the Dead;
which is located by the side of a stone
marked by the footprint of Mahommed. But
the Sepulchral Museum must not detain us
too long from producing the promised Court
Circular.

Yesterday—or to-morrow, for it is all one
now—His Majesty Nassir-u-deen Hyder, the
asylum and refuge of the universe, was
attended as usual, about twelve o'clock, by
Sofraz Khan, "the illustrious chief," the title
of nobility bestowed by his majesty on the
European barber who dresses his hair. After
the ceremony, the English tutor—who was
employed to teach his native language to the
king, for the moderate consideration of something
like fifteen hundred pounds a-year—was
admitted.

"Now, master"—(his majesty always calls
his tutor "master")—"now, master, we will
begin in earnest."

The tutor read a passage from the
Spectator, and the king read it after him. The
tutor began to read again.

"Boppery bopp!"—(a native exclamation
equivalent to, Oh, dear me!)—"Boppery bopp,
but this is dry work!" his majesty exclaimed,
stretching himself, when it came to
his turn to read once more. "Let us have a
glass of wine, master."

The glass of wine led to conversation, the
books were pushed away, and the lesson
ended after having occupied full ten minutes.

Surgeon Jones, one of the king's aides-de-camp
appointed by the British resident, and
whom the king delights not to honour, had
the honour of being introduced.

"Jones," said his majesty, "will you play
me a game of draughts?"

"With great pleasure. I shall be honoured
in playing with your majesty," was Jones's
reply.

"For a hundred gold mohurs—a hundred
and sixty pounds sterling," said the king.

"I cannot afford to play for a hundred
gold mohurs, your majesty; I am but a poor
man."

"Master," said the king, turning quickly
round to the tutor, "will you play me at
draughts for a hundred gold mohurs?"

"Your majesty honours me; I shall be
delighted."

The board was brought—the men were
placed—the game was commenced. The tutor
was an excellent chess and draughts player;
but this morning, although the king played
badly, the tutor played worse. While the
tutor was playing so wretchedly, in spite
of striving to do his best, the barber engaged
the king's opponent in conversation, and his
majesty slily took advantage of the opportunity
to alter the position of some of the
pieces on the board. The game was finished.
The tutor was beaten.

"You owe me a hundred gold mohurs,"
said triumphant majesty.

"I do, your majesty; I shall bring them
this evening."

"Don't forget," was Majesty's reply, as he
walked off to the billiard-table, where he won
again, as he invariably does, although it is no
easy matter to manage it adroitly. But the
necessary and useful friend was ready at
hand, to touch the balls slily occasionally,
always in favour of the king and against his
adversary,—now to keep one ball from the
pocket, and now to send another erring one
into it. It is the etiquette not to beat his
majesty in anything.

The royal and European party then
proceeded to the large walled-in garden, where
animal fights often take place, and which is
some three or four acres in extent. No
native attendant is admitted within its
precincts whilst the Western strangers are
there with the king. Either some one had
been describing the game of leap-frog to his
majesty, or else he had seen some pictures of
it; but it had taken his fancy mightily.
The natives had been left, as usual, without
the garden, the heavy gates were swung to,
and majesty commanded that the sport
should forthwith begin. The captain of the