the garrison--the elephant--Belinda, my love--my darling--
Macgillicuddy--the scoundrelly mutineers--the deal bo- "

I could say no more; the painful recollections pressed so heavily
upon my poor shattered mind and frame, that both failed once more.
I fainted again, and I know not how long I lay insensible.

Again, however, I came to my senses: the pothukoor applied
restoratives, and after a slumber of some hours I awoke, much
refreshed. I had no wound; my repeated swoons had been brought on
(as indeed well they might) by my gigantic efforts in carrying the
elephant up a steep hill a quarter of a mile in length. Walking,
the task is bad enough: but running, it is the deuce; and I would
recommend any of my readers who may be disposed to try and carry a
dead elephant, never, on any account, to go a pace of more than
five miles an hour.

Scarcely was I awake, when I heard the clash of arms at my door
(plainly indicating that sentinels were posted there), and a single
old gentleman, richly habited, entered the room. Did my eyes
deceive me? I had surely seen him before. No--yes--no--yes--it
was he: the snowy white beard, the mild eyes, the nose flattened
to a jelly, and level with the rest of the venerable face,
proclaimed him at once to be--Saadut Alee Beg Bimbukchee, Holkar's
Prime Vizier; whose nose, as the reader may recollect, his Highness
had flattened with his kaleawn during my interview with him in the
Pitan's disguise. I now knew my fate but too well--I was in the
hands of Holkar.

Saadut Alee Beg Bimbukchee slowly advanced towards me, and with a