The entrance is usually marked by a
shrine containing a hideous idol, painted red and finished off with
cheap-looking patches of gold or silver tinsel. In the larger towns,
evidences of English philanthropy loom conspicuously above the hut-like
shops and inferior houses of the natives in the form of large and
substantial brick buildings, prominently labelled "Ferozabad Hospital" or
"Government Free Dispensary." A discouraging head-wind blows steadily all
day, and it is near sunset when the thirty-seven miles to Sbikarabad is
covered. A mile west of the town, I am told, is the Rohilcund Railway,
the dak bungalow, and the bungalow of an English Sahib. Quite suitable
for a one-mile race-track as regards surface is this little side-stretch,
and a spin along its smooth length is rewarded by a most comfortable
night at the bungalow of Mr. S, an engineer of the Ganges Canal, a
magnificent irrigating enterprise, on the banks of which his bungalow
stands. Several school-boys from Allahabad are here spending their
vacation, shooting peafowls and fishing. Wild boars abound in the tall
tiger-grass of the Shikobabad district and the silence of the gloaming is
broken by the shouting of natives driving them out of their cane-patches,
where, if not looked after pretty sharply, they do considerable damage in
the night.

A curious illustration of native vanity and love of fame is pointed out
here in the case of a wealthy gentleman who has spent some thousands of
rupees in making and maintaining a beautiful flower-garden in the midst
of a worthless piece of sandy land, close by the railway station. Close
by is an abundance of excellent ground, where his garden might have been
easily and inexpensively maintained. Asked the reason for this strange
preference and seemingly foolish choice, he replied: "When people see
this beautiful garden in the midst of the barren sand, they will ask,
'Whose garden is this?' and thus will my name become known among men.
If, on the other hand, it were planted on good soil, nobody would see
anything extraordinary in it, and nobody would trouble themselves to ask
to whom it belongs."

Youthful Davids, perched on frail platforms that rise above the
sugar-cane, indigo, or cotton crops, shout and wield slings with
dexterous aim and vigor, to keep away vagrant crows, parrots, and wild
pigs, all along the line of my next day's ride to Mainpuri. In many
fields these young slingers and their platforms are but a cou