October 9th, Saturday.—Ere the dawn I was up, making preparations for my visit to the Rajah of Puttiala. They were brief. Simon fished out a black frock-coat from one of my portmanteaux, which, with black waistcoat, white trowsers, and a white cap, completed my court costume. Mr. Melville was equally plain in his attire; and an officer of the station who accompanied us was dressed in mufti, so that, altogether, we presented by no means an imposing appearance when, stepping out of the verandah, we offered ourselves to the gaze of the Rajah's horsemen, who were drawn up to escort us in his carriage, and who received us with many salaams and a military salute. They were tall, good-looking Sikhs, tolerably well-mounted and armed—some with carabines or pistols, all with tulwar and long lance; but there was no attempt at uniform on their part, and each man was dressed in his own white cotton, with turbans, shawls, and cummerbunds of colours varying as the wearer's fancy prescribed. The carriage was a large, open barouche, with four places, of English or Calcutta manufacture, and, it was drawn by four fine horses, rather low in the flesh, standing about 15.2 hands high, and harnessed in the English fashion, with some trivial Asiatic deviations in favour of unpolished leather and unrubbed brasses.