etch passed on the road to-day.
The infatuated rajah completed the task, after months of torture, on
all-fours, accompanied the whole distance by a crowd of servants and
priests, all living on his bounty.

Many people now wear wooden sandals held on the feet by a spool-like
attachment, gripped between the big and second toes. Having no straps,
the solid sole of the sandal flaps up and mildly bastinadoes the wearer
every step that is taken.

Another night in a caravanserai, where rival proprietors of rows of
little chowkees contend for the privilege of supplying me char-poy, dood,
and chowel, and where thousands of cawing rooks blacken the trees and
alight in the quadrangular serai in noisy crowds, and I enter upon the
home-stretch to Allahabad.

In proof that the cycle is making its way in India it may be mentioned
that at both Cawnpore and Allahabad the native postmen are mounted on
strong, heavy bicycles, made and supplied from the post-office workshops
at Allighur. They are rude machines, only a slight improvement upon the
honored boneshaker; but their introduction is suggestive of what may be
looked for in the future. As evidence, also, of the oft-repeated saying
that "the world is small," I here have the good fortune to meet Mr.
Wingrave, a wheelman whom I met at the Barnes Common tricycle parade when
passing through London.

There is even a small cycle club in quasi existence at Allahabad; but it
is afflicted with chronic lassitude, as a result of the enervating
climate of the Indian plains. Young men who bring with them from England
all the Englishman's love of athletics soon become averse to exercise,
and prefer a quiet "peg" beneath the punkah to wheeling or cricket.
During the brief respite from the hades-like temperature afforded by
December and January, they sometimes take club runs down the Ganges and
indulge in the pastime of shooting at alligators with small-bore rifles.

The walks in the beautiful public gardens and every other place about
Allahabad are free to wheelmen, and afford most excellent riding.

Messrs. Wingrave and Gawke, the two most enterprising wheelmen, turn out
at 6 a.m. to escort me four miles to the Ganges ferry. Some idea of the
trying nature of the climate in August may be gathered from the fact that
one of my companions arrives at the river fairly exhausted, and is
compelled to seek the assistance of a native gharri to get back home. The
exposure and exercise I am taking daily