I had an agreeable journey on the whole.

I was honoured by an interview with the Rajah of Mysore, who insisted on showing me all his wardrobe, and his picture gallery.

He has six or seven coloured English prints, not much inferior to those which I have seen in the sanded parlour of a country inn; "Going to Cover," "The Death of the Fox," and so forth.

But the bijou of his gallery, of which he is as vain as the Grand Duke can be of the Venus, or Lord Carlisle of the Three Maries, is a head of the Duke of Wellington, which has, most certainly, been on a sign-post in England.
Yet, after all, the Rajah was by no means the greatest fool whom I found at Mysore.

I alighted at a bungalow appertaining to the British Residency.