"Poor devils!" exclaimed our host,
smiling. "But as they won't know anything
about it, they won't feel it much; indeed, not
at all."

"To whom are you alluding?" asked my
lord.

"The Himalayas," sighed our host, passing
the claret to his lordship, who, by this time,
had discovered that he had not got into a
nest of sycophants, who worshipped a title,
no matter how frivolous or how insolent
the man might be who wore it; but that he
had accidentally fallen into the company
of persons of independent character: and
albeit they were desirous of giving him a
welcome, and making him comfortable,—
being a stranger who had lost his way,—
nevertheless were determined to make him
pay in some shape for the want of courtesy
he had exhibited when the bearers set his
palkee down at the door of the bungalow.
This discovery made his lordship a little
uncomfortable, and rather cautious in his
observations. He felt, in short, as one who
knows that he has committed an error, and
that some penalty will be exacted,—but
what penalty, and how exacted, he cannot
imagine. Had he been able to get away,
he would probably have taken a hasty
farewell of us. But that was impossible.
His jaded bearers were cooking their food,
and, until twelve o'clock, there was no hope
of getting them together.

The khansamah came in with a fresh
bottle of wine. Our host, withdrawing his
cigar from his lips, inquired of him, if the
wants of the gentleman's servant had been
attended to?

"Yes, sahib," was the reply.

"And have you given him any
champagne?"

"No, sahib."

"Then, do."

"O pray do nothing of the kind!"
exclaimed his lordship. "He is not accustomed
to it."

"Then he will enjoy it all the more," said
our host. "I hope he is taking notes, and
will write a book on India. I should
much like to see his impressions in
print; and he may possibly dignify me
by devoting a few lines to the character of
my hospitality. It is to be hoped, however,
that should his travel inspire him with a
thirst for literary distinction, he will
confine himself to a personal compilation of
his experience, and not go into judicial or
revenue matters; for, should he do so, you
may find yourself clashing with him, and
that would be awkward. His publisher's
critic might be inclined to break a spear
with your publisher's critic, in their
respective reviews of your respective works,
and it would be quite impossible to
conjecture where the controversy might end.
Indisposed as I am, generally, to obtrude my
advice upon any one—and much less a
perfect stranger to me—I nevertheless feel
that I am only doing you a kindness when I
say that, if I were you, I would regard
Hindostan as a sort of Juan Fernandez, and
myself the Crusoe thereof, and this valet
as my man Friday; and then—with a
due observance of that line of demarcation
which should always be drawn between,
civilised man and the savage,—I would not
permit him to keep even a stick whereon to
notch the day or time of any particular
event that occurred during my residence in
the country, lest he should some day or
other,—in consequence of my having
discharged him, or he having discharged me,—
rise up and instigate some man or other to
call in question the accuracy of my facts.—
The wine is with you; will you fill, and pass
it on?"

Lord Jamleigh became very red in the
face, and rather confused both in manner and
speech. As for myself and the two assistant
magistrates, there was something so benignant
in the expression of our host's handsome
and dignified countenance, something so
quaintly sarcastic in the tone and manner
of his discourse, that, had we known that
death was the penalty of not maintaining
the gravity of our features, our lives would
certainly have been forfeited.

A silence for several minutes ensued after
this; Lord Jamleigh spoke to our host as
follows:

"Most of the young noblemen who come
to this country, come only to travel about
and amuse themselves. I come on business.
I may say, Parliamentary business. My
time is short, and I must make the most
of it. I dare say, when you saw my name in
the papers, as having arrived in India, you
little thought that I was not a man of
pleasure and excursion?"

"Upon my word, the subject never once
became a matter of speculation with me,"
said our host.

After some further conversation, in which
our host spared his visitor as little as was
consistent with good breeding, Lord Jamleigh,
who had been "sitting upon thorns," rose
and said—

"I am afraid I have already trespassed
upon your goodness too long. I will not
attempt to apolo—apolo—or to express how
much—how much; nor to assure you that
—assure you—that when—"

"O, pray, don't mention it!" said our
host, smiling. "You desire your palkee?"

"If you please," said Lord Jamleigh.

The palkee was ordered; and we were
standing in expectation that it would be
instantly announced as "ready"—when the
sirdar bearer (head personal attendant) came
into the room, in a state of excessive
trepidation, and informed us that the sahib's
sahib (Lord Jamleigh's valet) was drunk,
asleep, and refused to be disturbed on any
pretence whatever.