on returned to the Residency to
heap dead panthers upon those who had called them "pork butchers," and
to stir up the lake of envy with the torpedo of brilliant description.
The Englishman's attempt to compare the fusillade which greeted the
panther to the continuous drumming of a ten-barrelled Nordenfeldt was,
however, coldly received. Thus harshly is truth treated all the world
over.

And then, after a little time, came the end, and a return to the road in
search of new countries. But shortly before the departure, the
Padre-Sahib, who knows every one in Udaipur, read a sermon in a
sentence. The Maharana's investiture, which has already been described
in the Indian papers, had taken place, and the carriages, duly escorted
by the Erinpura Horse, were returning to the Residency. In a niche of
waste land, under the shadow of the main gate, a place strewn with
rubbish and shards of pottery, a dilapidated old man was trying to
control his horse and a _hookah_ on the saddle-bow. The blundering
garron had been made restive by the rush past, and the _hookah_ all but
fell from the hampered hands. "See that man," said the Padre, tersely.
"That's ---- Singh. He intrigued for the throne not so very long ago."
It was a pitiful little picture, and needed no further comment.

For the benefit of the loafer it should be noted that Udaipur will never
be pleasant or accessible until the present Mail Contractors have been
hanged. They are extortionate and untruthful, and their one set of
harness and one tonga are as rotten as pears. However, the weariness of
the flesh must be great indeed, to make the wanderer blind to the
beauties of a journey by clear starlight and in biting cold to Chitor.
About six miles from Udaipur, the granite hills close in upon the road,
and the air grows warmer until, with a rush and a rattle, the tonga
swings through the great Dobarra, the gate in the double circle of hills
round Udaipur on to the pastures of Mewar. More than once the Girwa has
been a death-trap to those who rashly entered it; and an army has been
cut up on the borders of the Pichola Lake. Even now the genius of the
place is strong upon the hills, and as he felt the cold air from the
open ground without the barrier, the Englishman found himself repeating
the words of one of the Hat-marked tribe whose destiny kept him within
the Dobarra. "You must have a hobby of some kind in these parts or
you'll die." Very lovely is Udaipur, and thrice pleasa