vanserai, but there is probably no need of the
big brick structures of Shah Abbas in a winterless country like India.

Interesting subjects are not wanting for my camera through the day; but
the greatest difficulty is experienced about changing the negatives at
night. A small lantern with a very feeble light, made still more feeble
by interposing red paper, suffices for my own purpose; but the too
attentive chowkee-dar, observing that my room is in darkness, and
fancying that my light has gone out accidentally, comes flaring in with a
torch, threatening the sensitive negatives with destruction.

The morning opens with a fine drizzle or extra-heavy mist that is
penetrating and miserable, soaking freely into one's clothes, and
threatening every minute to change into a regular rain. It is fourteen
miles to Futtehpore, and thence two miles off the straight road to the
railway-station, where I understand refreshments are to be obtained. The
reward of my four-mile detour is a cup of sloppy tea and a few
weevil-burrowed biscuits, as the best the refreshment-room can produce on
short notice. The dense mist moves across the country in big banks,
between which are patches of comparatively decent atmosphere. The country
is perfectly flat, devoted chiefly to the cultivation of rice, and the
depressions alongside the road are, of course, filled with water.

Timid youngsters, fleeing from the road at my approach, in their
scrambling haste sometimes tumble "head-over-heels" in the water; but,
beyond a little extra terror lest the dreadful object they see coming
bowling along should overtake them, it doesn't matter--they haven't
any clothes to spoil or soil. Neither rain nor heat nor dense, reeking,
foggy atmosphere seems to diminish the swarms of people on the road, nor
the groups bathing or washing clothes beneath the trees. Some of these
latter make a very interesting picture. The reader has doubtless visited
the Zoo and observed one monkey gravely absorbed in a "phrenological
examination" of another's head. With equal gravity and indifference to
the world at large, dusky humans are performing a similar office for one
another beneath the roadside shade-trees.

Roasted ears of maize and a small muskmelon form my noontide repast, and
during its consumption quite a comedy is enacted down the street between
a fat, paunchy vender of goodakoo and the shiny-skinned proprietor of a
dhal-shop. The scene opens with a wordy controversy about