erself they would hastily run and hide. Here, also, I learn that
the natives in this district are dying by the hundred with a malignant
type of fever; that the present season is an exceptionally sickly one,
all of which gives reason for congratulation at my own health being so
good.

It is all but a sub-aqueous performance pedalling along the road next
morning; the air is laden with a penetrating drizzle, the watery clouds
fairly hover on the tree-tops and roll in dark masses among the hills,
while the soaked and saturated earth reeks with steam. The road is
macadamized with white granite, and after one of those tremendous
downpourings that occur every hour or so the wheel-worn depressions on
either side become narrow streams, divided by the white central ridge.
Down the long, straight slopes these twin rivulets course right merrily,
the whirling wheels of the bicycle flinging the water up higher than my
head. The ravines are roaring, muddy torrents, but they are all well
bridged, and although the road is lumpy, an unridable spot is very rarely
encountered. For days I have not had a really dry thread of clothing,
from the impossibility of drying anything by hanging it out. Under these
trying conditions, a relapse of the fever is matter for daily and hourly
apprehension.

The driving drizzle to-day is very uncomfortable, but less warm than
usual; it is anything but acceptable to the natives; thousands are seen
along the road, shivering behind their sheltering sun-shields, from which
they dismally essay to extract a ray of comfort. These sun-shields are
umbrella-like affairs made of thin strips of bamboo and broad leaves;
they are without handles, and for protection against the sun or rain are
balanced on the head like an inverted sieve. When carried in the hand
they may readily be mistaken for shields. In addition to this, the men
carry bamboo spears with iron points as a slipshod measure of defence
against possible attacks from wild animals. When viewed from a
respectable distance these articles invest the ultra-gentle Bengali with
a suggestion of being on the war-path, a delusion that is really absurd
in connection with the meek Bengali ryot.

The houses of the villages are now heavily thatched, and mostly enclosed
with high bamboo fencing, prettily trailed with creepers; the bazaars are
merely two rows of shed-like stalls between which runs the road. In lieu
of the frequent painted idol, these jungle villagers besto