sufficiently strong to keep out any ordinary rise
of the tide, which is there perfectly salt, except
during the season of the freshets.

These bhulls are rendered fertile by the
inundation of the sea, which usually sweeps over
them, burying them from the sight during the
first three months of the year. The sea at that
time retiring, is bunded or walled out, and the
mud thus fertilised is prepared for sowing. The
ryots put off to the bhulls in canoes, swimming
behind them the buffaloes required for treading
the soft mass of soil, to plough which would be
impossible, even if requisite. Carrying a flat
basket of seed on his back, the ryot crawls along
the slimy face of the ground, previously gone
over by a well-trained buffalo, led by a child, also
crawling. To walk on the soft treacherous mass
would be impracticable; the sower, therefore,
with his seed, half crawls, half swims, along this
jelly-like surface, dropping, as he goes, a seed or
two into each foot-print of the buffalo, making no
attempt to cover it, which, indeed, is not necessary.
The heat and moisture combined quickly
cause the grain to germinate, and in a week or
two these sea-fields are green with waving corn
blades. The salt water at ordinary high tides
rises nearly to the surface of the low embankments,
and the bright green fields seen at a
distance, as it were, floating on the ocean, wear a
most singular appearance. When the spring
freshets set down the river sufficiently strong to
fling back the salt water, and rise to the level of
the mud dykes, openings are made in them to
allow the fresh water to cover the young crops
and give additional fertility to the soil. As
these freshets subside, the water is permitted
to escape, the apertures are again closed, and
the rice is left to arrive at maturity.

A harvest-home amongst the bhulls of Scinde
is a remarkable ceremony. The ryots put off to
the bhull-lands in boats, and launch themselves,
with their long knives, to gather in the harvest,
upon rafts made of light dry sticks and bundles
of straw, or dried grass firmly tied together.
At that season the water is generally high over
the embankments, and little more than the
upper parts of the ripe corn can be seen above
the surface of the sea. The ryots, therefore,
are compelled to paddle about with their sickles,
and sometimes swim with their loads to the
large boats waiting at a distance for the harvest
crop. When all is cut, the long line of boats,
canoes, and rafts make for the land with loud
shouts, beating of tom-toms, and waving of flags,
ending their labours with a feast.

The fact of the large consumption of rice in
many European countries speaks highly for it
as a useful addition to the vegetable food
of the world. Since the first famine in
Ireland brought the cheap East India rices into
notice in the West, the consumption of the
grain has gone on steadily increasing until it
now reaches the enormous total of from 70,000 to
80,000 tons yearly. The whole of this vast
importation of rice is not, however, for purposes
of food.

There are some inferior descriptions of the
grain, such as those from Arracan, Java, and
other places, which, though cheap and well
cleaned, are not suitable for culinary purposes.
These are taken in large quantities for grinding
into flour, and employed by the manufacturers
of cotton goods to impart tenacity to the
threads whilst weaving.

Great quantities of starch of very fair quality
are prepared from East India rice; and recently,
it has been used in the distillation of spirits,
thus tending to economise the employment of
wheat and other European cereals.

BUYING A PRACTICE.

How to begin Practice? is a mighty question
to young medical men who have advanced no
farther than to the diploma, the first baiting-place
upon the highway of ambition. If the
world be as it used to be, there are brave hearts
among those young men, covering noble aspirations
under careless chatter; cherishing sacred
dreams of future homes under an affectation of a
worldliness that satisfies their comrades and
strikes awe into their juniors. If the world be
not changed, these young men, simple and
warm-hearted, are the chosen worms of certain
hard-beaked birds, who generously offer them a
place in their own nests, who snap them up and
convey them to those nests on terms of advantageous
partnership. The worms are introduced
for a consideration. I myself was once a worm in
a rook's nest; we were Mr. Rook and Mr. Worm,
surgeons, many years ago. But in my case the
worm was lucky—wriggled out, had a bad fall,
and a complete recovery.

If I am not quite an obsolete croaker, and if
the world should have still a pinch of the old leaven
in it, give me liberty to speak. There is a dear,
kind-hearted, blundering old public, on the one
hand; there is, on the other hand, a battalion of
brave young aspirants. As a friend to the one
and to the other party let me try to bring them
fairly face to face.

Since rogues are to be mentioned, let me set
out by declaring an assured belief that there are
a thousand reasonably honest men to set against
every rascal in the universe. Every man is
indeed some sort of cheat; but the great majority
of men err only by falling into pits and over
snares; those are the few, who dig and spread
them. We shall discuss medical rogues, and,
therefore, let me for myself remember to how
many of the men I honour and love most in the
world, and have most reason to love and honour,
physic is meat and drink. What noble toil,
what sacred aspiration, what self-denial, what
divine soul of charity, have I seen animating men
of the prescription and the pestle! Well, I
know by the old doctors what the young doctors
—a still better educated race—will be. But if the
world be not changed, the race of rooks is active
in its search for worms. The recruit marching
to join an army has to press through a rascal
crowd of camp-followers before he reaches its
main body, and will guard his pocket in their
company. There are underground workers in