eeding all over.

"Bang!" went the rifle outside just as the screams of: "Master, aahi,
aahi, kill, kill, kill," were echoing in the drain; and the leopard with
a broken hind leg rolled over on the ground groaning fiercely, by-and-by
trying to retrace its steps to its domicile. The poor Corean lay
perplexed, looking at the scene, all lighted up by the beautiful
moonlight; and his heart bounded with joy, when, after the second or
third report of the gun, he saw shot dead the animal that had already
reached the opening of the drain.

As his master appeared, rifle in hand, and touched the dead beast, his
valiant qualities returned to him in full, and he got out of the drain.
He was badly scratched all over, I dare say, by the paws of the beast,
for it had sprung violently out the moment the bamboo tickled it, though
otherwise he was not much the worse for his narrow escape.

Such is the last story connected with that drain. The grounds, as you
see, extend towards the west as far as the city wall. As we go out of the
gate which we entered, you can see a sort of a portico on the left-hand
side as you approach it. Well, under that, as the spring is approaching,
there are often to be heard the most diabolical noises for several days
in succession. If the season has been a very dry one, you will see
several men and numberless children beating on three or four huge drums
and calling out at the top of their voices for rain. From sunrise until
sunset this goes on, unless some stranded cloud happens to appear on the
horizon, when the credit of such a phenomenon is awarded to their
diabolical howls, and _cash_ subtracted from landed proprietors as a
reward for their having called the attention of the weather-clerk. A
spectacled wise-man, a kind of astrologer, on a donkey and followed and
preceded by believers in his extraordinary powers of converting fine
weather into wet, and _vice versa_, rides through the main streets of the
capital, with lanterns and festoons, on the same principle as does our
Salvation Army, namely, to collect a crowd to the spot where his
mysterious rites are to be performed. Here, supported by his servants, he
dismounts from his high saddle, and, still supported under his arms--the
idea being that so great a personage cannot walk by himself--he at last
reaches the spot, apparently with great fatigue. "To carry all his
knowledge," argue the admiring natives, "must indeed entail great
fatigue."

When rain i