naghten's peace of mind. His schemes for tightening our hold upon Herát had ended, as we saw, in total failure. Two English envoys, Stoddart and Conolly, were languishing in hopeless bondage at Bokhára. Aktar Khán was still at large, and Dost Muhammad's ablest son, Akbar, had found shelter in the highlands of Kúlum. But for the moment there was no enemy in the open field. The Russians had been scared from attempting to invade Khíva; 'the noses of the Durání chiefs had been brought to the grindstone,' and Afghánistán was 'as quiet as an Indian district.' In Kábul itself, while the Sháh lay tossing on his bed with fever, troubled with thoughts of his half-fledged royalty, our countrymen were enjoying the cool sunshine of a bracing October in the high mountain valley on which their cantonment stood. Most of the married men had been joined by their wives and families, as if Kábul were already an Indian station. The Envoy himself was eagerly awaiting the hour when ho should transfer his charge to Burnes, and turn his back for ever on the scene of his late achievements.
Even then the breath of a new calamity was blowing towards him from an unexpected quarter. Looking out for all possible sources of retrenchment, Lord Auckland had impressed upon his Envoy the urgent need of reducing the outlay on Sháh Shujá's administrative wants. The salaries of his ministers and civil officers were cut down with the Sháh's consent. To touch the subsidies hitherto paid out of the Indian
