tle whitewashed bungalows are the only buildings in the
garden, and one of these is assigned to me for my quarters. Kiftan Sahib
and the young man in the bottle-green roundabout give orders about the
preparation of refreshments, and then squat themselves down near me to
gladden their eyes with a prolonged examination of my face. The
red-jackets separate into three reliefs of four each; one relief
immediately commences pacing back and forth along the four sides of the
bungalow, one soldier on each side, while the remainder seek the shade of
a pomegranate grove that occupies one side of the garden. By-and-by
servitors appear bearing trays of sweetmeats and more substantial fare.
The variety and abundance of eatables comprising the meal, are such as to
thoroughly delight the heart of a person who has grown thin and gaunt and
wolfish from semi-starvation and prolonged physical exertion. The two
long skewers of smoking kabobs and the fried eggs are most excellent
eating, the pillau is delicious, and among other luxuries is a sort of
pomegranate jam, some very good butter (called muscal), a big bowl of
sherbet, and dishes of nuts, sweetmeats, and salted melon seeds. After
dinner the young man in bottle-green, who seems anxious to cultivate my
good opinion, smiles significantly at me and takes his departure; he
turns up again in a few minutes bearing triumphantly an old Phillips'
Atlas, which he deferentially places at my feet. Opening it, I find that
the chief countries and cities of the world are indicated in written
Hindostani characters. In this manner some English officer has probably
been the undesigning medium of giving these Afghans a peep into the
configuration of the earth they live on, and their first lesson in
geography.

I reward the young man by asking him whether he too is a "kiftan." He
acknowledges the compliment by a broad grin and two salaams made in rapid
succession.

After noon a messenger arrives from Mahmoud Yusuph Khan bringing salaams
and a pair of stout English walking-boots to replace my old worn-out
geivehs; and a cake of toilet soap, also of English make. Both shoes and
soap, as may be easily imagined, are highly acceptable articles. The
advent of the former likewise answers the purpose of enlightening me a
trifle in regard to matters philological; the Afghans call their
foot-gear "boots" (the Chinese call their foot-wear "shoes," and their
gloves "tung-shoes," or hand-shoes).

About four o'cloc