This announcement, which caused general
merriment, induced Lord Jamleigh to
ejaculate:

"That's the champagne, I suspected as
much!"

"Where is he?" inquired our host of the
sirdar-bearer. "In his palkee?"

"No, sahib," was the reply. "He is lying
on that sahib's bed," pointing to me.

Here, again, everybody laughed, except
myself. I was rather angry, being
somewhat particular on this point. So I
suggested that he might be put into his vehicle
at once. The native servants, of course,
were afraid to touch him, lest he should
awake and "hit out;" so we, the five of
us Europeans, the magistrate, the two
assistant magistrates, Lord Jamleigh, and
myself, had to lift, remove, and pack, in his
palkee, the overcome, and perfectly
unconscious valet. He must have been sipping
brandy-and-water before he came to the
bungalow; for he had only half finished his
bottle of champagne. Lord Jamleigh now
got into his palanquin, and composed
himself for the night; or, rather, the remainder
thereof, and in order that there might be
no mistake as to his lordship's destination,
the magistrate sent a horseman to accompany
the cortege, with directions that "the
sahibs" were to be taken to Durowlah, on
the road to Meerut, and to the house of the
magistrate, by whom Lord Jamleigh had been
invited, or rather, "petitioned," to stay with
him, should he pass through that station,
and (to use his Lordship's own terms), as he
had promised to do so, he supposed that he
must keep his word. When a palanquin is
escorted by a sowar, the sowar when the
destination is approached, rides on and gives
notice that a lady, or gentleman, as the case
may be, is coming; and, as the natives of
India can never pronounce European names
properly, the precaution is usually taken of
writing down the name of the traveller on a
card, or a slip of paper, and giving it to the
sowar. In this case, "Viscount Jamleigh"
was written down for the guidance and
information of the Durowlah functionary.

It was about seven A.M. when this card
was put into the hands of the gentleman who
had invited Lord Jamleigh; whom, by the
way, he had never seen. The bungalow was
immediately all life, and in commotion. The
servants ordered to prepare tea and coffee,
the best bed-room vacated by the present
occupants. Hot water in readiness, and ere
long a palkee—a single palkee, loomed in the
distance; the other palkee was a long way,
some three miles, behind. One of the bearers
who was carrying it, had fallen and injured
himself, and thus was a delay of an hour and
a half occasioned. And during that hour and
a half a pretty mistake was committed. The
first palkee was that containing the valet,
and the one behind was that of his lordship.
The valet, on arriving, had not recovered his
potations; and, on being awakened, seemed,
and really was, bewildered and stupified, so
much so, that he could not inform the magistrate
that he was "only a servant," and not
entitled to the attentions that were showered
upon him. With trembling hand, he took the
cup of tea from the silver salver, and gazing
wildly round, murmured, rather than said—

"Brandy! Little brandy!" which was
at once brought and administered. He then
had his warm "wash," and sat down on the
best bed, and suffered himself to be
punkahed by two domestics in snow-white
garments. This revived him somewhat; but
still he felt far too ill to talk. He simply
shook his head, and there was a good deal of
meaning in that shake, if the magistrate could
only have understood it.

"Take some brandy and soda-water, my
lord," said his host.

The valet nodded assent.

The magistrate mixed the dose, and
administered it with his own hands.

The valet sighed, and again shook his head.

"You will be better, presently, my lord,"
said the magistrate.

"Drunk as a lord," hiccupped the valet.

"O, no, my lord! It was the jolting
along the road."

''In that coffin?" said the valet, who now
began to regain the use of his tongue.

"Yes, my lord."

"Am I a lord? He, he, he! Where
am I?"

"At Dorowlah, my lord."

"And who are you?"

"Your host, my lord."

"Then this is not the station-house?"

"Not exactly, my lord."

"Give us a little drop more of that last
brew."

"Yes, my lord."

"Ah! Thank you! I feel better now—
much better. It was that champagne. Good
it was, though. What place was that we
were at?"

"Bijnore, my lord."

"I'm not a lord."

"Would that I were in your place, my
lord!"

"Well, it isn't a bad place," grinned the
valet. "Plenty to eat and drink, little to do,
and good wages. But hang this Hindyer!
It was a mistake altogether!''

The magistrate took this for fun, and
laughed immensely.

"We had Lord Frederick Pontasguieure
staying with us for a week, last winter. A
very amusing character he was."

"O, had you ? Was he amusing ? O!
We don't keep his company. Don't know
him. I'd give a five-pound note to be in
Piccadilly at this moment. This is a nice
mess. But the traps are all right, I see.
There's the dressing-case, and the writing-
desk, and the little medicine-chest."

"Recline upon the bed, my lord, and have