gold, rose piled on low wide
counters. In front stood the Palace, looking its best from this point, and
showing huge beside the huddle of wooden and plaster huts which hem it in.

General Raja Sir Amar Singh lives in a sort of glorified English villa.
Were it not for the flowering oleanders and hibiscus in front and the
silvery gleam of temple domes beyond, one might suppose oneself near the
banks of Father Thames. And were it not for the group of stalwart
retainers at the door, the illusion need not be lost on entering the house.

The hall and staircase were decorated with a profusion of skins and horns,
somewhat modern and brilliant rugs, and tall glasses full of flowers
closely copied from Nature; while the drawing-room was of a type very
frequently seen near London.

Like so many British reception-rooms, it shone replete with _objets d'art_,
rather inclining to Oriental luxury than Japanese restraint.

My host, who came in almost immediately, was charming, speaking English
with fluency, although he has never been in England.

He is essentially a strong man, and remarkably well posted in everything,
both political and social, that occurs in the state, mixing far more
freely than his brother with the English, towards whom his courtesy is
proverbial.

His elder brother, the Maharajah of Jammu and Kashmir, is in many respects
of a different type. Keeping more aloof from the English colony, he spends
much of his time in devotion and the privacy of the inner Palace.

On leaving Sir Amar Singh, one of his henchmen conducted me across the
iron bridge spanning a cut from the Jhelum, and into the warren-like
precincts of the Palace; presently we emerged from an obscure passage, and
found ourselves at the "front door," where, in the visitors' book, by
means of the stumpy pencil attached thereto, I inscribed my name and
condition.

_April_ 27.--His Highness the Maharajah having invited us to a luncheon
given by him in honour of Colonel Pears, the new Resident, we prepared to
cross the famous Dal Lake to the Nishat Bagh, the scene of the present
feast, which we fondly hoped might recall the glorious days of the Moguls
when Jehangir dallied in the historic Shalimar with the fair Nourmahal.

"Th' Imperial Selim held a feast
In his magnificent Shalimar:--
In whose saloons ...
The valleys' loveliest all assembled."

Our shikara, a sort of canoe paddled by four active fellows, with the
stern, where we sat on cush