we pitched our little camp under a shady grove of trees close by; and
thus, in the capital of the land of poetry and promise, the far-famed
paradise of the Hindoo, we brought our wanderings to an end for the
present, and gave ourselves and our retainers a rest from all the
toils and troubles of the road.



A Halt in the Valley.

Being fairly settled in our quarters, we were not long in putting our
new staff of dependants into requisition; and, taking to our boat,
sallied forth to get a general view of the city of Sirinugger.[6]
Finding, however, a review of the army going on, we stopped at the
parade-ground to witness the interesting ceremony. The troops we found
drawn up in lines, forming the sides of a large square, and dressed in
what his Highness Rumbeer Singh believes confidently to be the ENGLISH
COSTUME. As far as one could see, however, the sole foundation for
this belief lay in the fact of their all wearing trousers! These were
certainly the only articles of their equipment that could in any way
be called English in style; and they bore, after all, but a slender
resemblance to the corresponding habiliments of the true Briton.

The head-dress, generally speaking, was a turban. One regiment,
however, had actually perpetrated a parody on the English shako --
a feat which I had always hitherto considered absolutely impossible.

The cavalry were mounted upon tattoos, or native ponies, and wore
white trousers, with tight straps, which rendered them for the time
being the most miserable of their race.