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One wondered how the harness held together under our Australian Jehu's vagaries. The Maharajah had chosen the site of his camp well. On a bare maidan overhanging a turbulent river a veritable city of white tents gleamed in the sunshine, all neatly ranged in streets and lanes.

"No true-born Rajputni ever names her lover or her husband." "But you knew that I know Prince Utirupa Singh. He came to my garden party!" "Nevertheless, no Rajputni names her lover to another man or woman calling him by his own name only in retirement, to his face." "Why he isn't he the one who Sir Roland Samson told me ought to have been maharajah instead of Gungadhura?"

Samson, of course, took the law into his own hands on that occasion and thrashed the blackguard within an inch of his treacherous life; and in proof that the thrashing was richly deserved, some one reported to Samson the very next day how the groom had gone straight to the maharajah and had been solaced with silver money.

And there's old Bikram Shamsher Jang scorching up and down the pig-paths of Khatmandu on a motor-cycle. Wouldn't that maharajah you? And the Shah of Persia, that ought to have been Muley-on-the-spot for at least three, he's got the palanquin habit. And that funny-hat prince from Korea wouldn't you think he could afford to amble around on a milk-white palfrey once in a dynasty or two?

'This is a child of the mlechas, said the Maharajah, which was not a very polite way of saying that he was English. 'Protector of the poor, yes. 'Account to me for him. How old is he? 'Seven years, great King. 'And two months, Tooni-ji. Your Highness, may I sit down? 'As old as the Folly. Native term for the Mutiny. 'He came of the Folly, Hazur.

"What, and scrap this outlay?" "Yes. I have a reason. A particular eh reason." Dick nodded, poker face set solid. The maharajah paused. His advantage was that his face was all smothered in the bandages, and the dim light in the tunnel was another good ally. His back, too, was toward the entrance, so that the American's chance of reading between the words was remarkably slight.

The stricken beast tottered forward a yard or two, then turned and stood undauntedly at bay, as a sowar rode at it. But before his steel could touch its hide it shuddered and sank to the ground dead. The dying horse was lifted off the Maharajah who, with the courage of his race, had remained calm in the face of the onrushing death.

For instance, the late Maharajah of Vizianagram, who was devoted to horses, invited us to visit him, placed a furnished house, servants, horses, carriages, food, wines and every other comfort at our disposal, and considered our month's stay much too short. Ladies in India who ride, obtain so much practice as a rule on various kinds of animals, that they soon become expert horsewomen.

The Maharajah, with his usual courtesy, immediately bethought himself of his guests, and invited Their Excellencies to come out into the open and listen to the novel sound. They did, and very pleased and proud they were when they heard the tiger's "twitter" clearly and distinctly through the gathering shade and stillness of the darkening night.

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.