of them pasted outside. The notice heading
the list informs us, that they are deposited
by a Tract Society for the benefit of travellers.
We of course overhaul them. There
is a History of Rome, written from a serious
point of view; a History of Greece, written
from a serious point of view; a Life of
Alfred the Great, written from a serious
point of view (with a parable made somehow
out of the cake story); and a Life of Dr.
Dodd, written from a particularly serious
point of view, the moral being that it is a
great pity that such pious persons as he,
should come to be hanged.

On the wall he finds suspended a notice
informing him that travellers occupying
the bungalow for less than three hours,
will be charged eight annas, or one shilling;
for more than that time, and less than
twenty-four hours, one rupee; that
travellers must not stay too long, to the
inconvenience of later arrivals, and that they
must complain of any deficiencies to the
postmaster of the district. Under the last
announcement will be generally found a comic
style of note in pencil, such as " You don't
say so! " or, "What's the use of that? " and
other satirical manifestations. Occasionally,
one sees something a little more eloquent
scrawled upon the walls. In a bungalow
near Shergotty I saw last year a drawing of
a rural cottage, with a garden, and a stream
running through it, on the bank of which a
gentleman was represented landing a trout
nearly as big as himself, in that triumphant
manner so peculiar to sporting pictures.
Underneath was written the name of some
place in Perthshire, and some lines of Briant's
description of the pleasures of home and a
country life. Some homesick traveller had
written this while lying on the bed during an
afternoon reverie. Poor fellow! he told his
tale plainly enough; and a very common tale
it is in India.

"Yes, it comes at last! " Not so bad, after
all. The fowl is certainly more resigned to his
fate than he was half-an-hour ago; and the
eggs have the merit of being still in the freshness
of their youth. The tea is not so good as
in England; but we are too near China to
expect that; besides, it is made with
lukewarm water, after the favourite fashion of
Indian servants. The sugar, too, looks as if
it had been brought promiscuously from the
desert; but this, again, is an article of local
produce, and is, therefore, sure to be bad.
There is no bread, too; but the native
chuppathe, though not good, nevertheless can be
eaten. The absence of butter is not a very
severe infliction, considering that the cook
will very likely bring some red-currant jelly
in a little bottle that has formerly contained
pomade for the hair.

The meal over, and the traveller in that
well-known condition which would permit a
child to play with him, he prepares to start ;
but there is an important ceremony to be
performed. He must enter his name, starting-
place, destination, and the hour of his arrival
and departure, in the travellers' book, in
which he may make remarks upon the
subject of his accommodation. As these books
contain many records of the kind, they
are perhaps the most amusing species of
literature procurable in the Dâk bungalows,
and are eagerly gloated over by travellers on
the look-out for any names that they may
know. Here the different characteristics of
the Indian community freely develope
themselves. Some of the entries are formal;
many facetious; some flippant; others severe.
The following is a fair specimen of the
entries:

Mr. Jos. Sedley, C.I., and family, from Calcutta to
Bogglewallah. Stayed two hours. Breakfast good.
Khitmatgar attentive. Paid two rupees.

That is the formal style. The facetious is
something like the following:

Lieutenant Bolt and Ensign Scamper (funny fellows
generally give wrong names), on sick-leave for pig-
sticking. Came last night. Going presently. Paid
two rupees. Breakfast beastly. No beer. Had to
kick the Khitmatgar for not understanding English.
Why doesn't the fellow get his hair cut?

This sort of entry is illustrated occasionally
by a sketch of the traveller being sick, as a
sarcasm upon the refreshment; or the
portrait of the commanding officer of the
travellers' regiment (if he be unpopular) hanging
on a gallows, and smoking a short pipe.

This is succeeded, probably, by something
like the following:

Mrs. Major- General Muggins, C.B., and five
daughters. Arrived at three in the afternoon, and
stayed to tea. Bungalow very clean. Everything
very nice. Servants attentive.

Underneath an announcement of the kind,
we saw written by a mad wag:

All rot. Everything disgusting. And only two
chairs in the place. Where did four of the Miss
Mugginses perch themselves?

Of course the crusty British traveller, who
complains of everything, comes out strong
upon these occasions:

Curry detestable. Khausamah filthy. No cream.
Harvey's sauce not to be had. Disgraceful to the
authorities.

The servant always receives back the book
with a humble salaam, and, as he cannot read
English, tries to discover by the look of the
traveller whether something to his advantage,
or the reverse, has been recorded. He
generally looks mystified at the illustrations,
and, I believe, considers them as signs of the
traveller belonging to some secret society, or
exclusive caste.

Once more on his road, there is very little
to remark of the other incidents likely to
befal a traveller during an ordinary journey.
All Dâk bungalows are the same, and so are
all the chokee stations where they change
horses. At the latter, a European is still an
object of special curiosity, to judge by the