staff passed through the angle formed by his
knees and his elbows, by way of an axle, and
off he goes; a brazen cup, with a bag, and a
hubble-bubble, hang like tassels at the two
extremities of the axle. Thus accoutred, he
often starts on a journey which will occupy
him for several years, like Milton's fiend,

"O'er bog, or steep, through straight, rough,
dense, or rare,
With head, hands, feet, or wings, pursues his way."

On arriving in the vicinity of a village,
the whole population turn out to meet and
escort him with due honours to the public
well or tank; the men beating drums, and
the women singing through their noses.
Here his holiness unbends, washes off the
dust and dirt acquired by perambulating
several miles of dusty road; and, after partaking
of a slight refreshment, enters into conversation
with the assembled villagers just
as if he were an ordinary mortal; making
very particular inquiries concerning the state
of their larders, and slight investigations as
to their morals. Of course every one is
anxious to have the honour of entertaining a
man so holy as to roll to their presence doubled
up into a hoop; and disputes get warm as
to who is to have the preference. Whereupon
the fuqueer makes a speech, in which
he returns thanks for the attentions shown
him, and intimates that he intends taking up
his quarters with the man who is most capable
of testifying his appreciation of the honour.
After some higgling, he knocks himself down,
a decided bargain, to be the guest of the
highest bidder, in whose house he remains,
giving good advice to the community, and
diffusing an odour of sanctity throughout the
whole village. When the supplies begin to
fail, he ties his hands to his heels again, gets
a fresh tire put on, and is escorted out of the
village with the same formalities as accompanied
his entrance.

Like other vermin of his class, he is most
apt to attach himself to the "weaker vessels"
of humanity, with whom he is generally a
prodigious favourite. He is not, certainly, indebted
to his personal advantages for this
favour, for a more hideously ugly race of
men is seldom met with. As if nature had not
made him sufficiently repulsive, he heightens
his hideousness by encircling his eyes with
bands of white paint; daubing his cheeks
a rich mustard yellow: a white streak runs
along the ridge of his nose, and another forms
a circle round his mouth: his ribs are indicated
by corresponding bars of white paint,
which give a highly venerable cross-bones
effect to his breast. When I add, that he wears
no clothes, and that the use of soap is no part
of his religion, some idea may be gained of
the effect the first view of him occasions in
the mind of a European.

On the afternoon of a very sultry day in
June, I had got a table out in the verandah of
my bungalow, and was amusing myself with
a galvanic apparatus, giving such of my
servants as had the courage a taste of what
they called Wulatee boinjee (English lightning,)
when a long gaunt figure, with his hair hanging
in disordered masses over his face, was
observed to cross the lawn. On arriving
within a few paces of where I stood, he drew
himself up in an imposing attitude—one of
his arms akimbo, while the other held out
towards me what appeared to be a pair of
tongs, with a brass dish at the extremity of it.

"Who are you?" I called out.

"Fuqueer," was the guttural response.

"What do you want?"

"Bheek" (alms).

"Bheek!" I exclaimed, "surely you are
joking-- a great stout fellow like you can't be
wanting bheek?"

The fuqueer paid not the slightest attention,
but continued holding out his tongs with the
dish at the end of it.

"You had better be off," I said; "I never
give bheek to people who are able to work."

"We do Khooda's work," replied the
fuqueer, with a swagger.

"Oh! you do,—then," I answered, "you
had better ask Khooda for bheek." So
saying, I turned to the table, and began
arranging the apparatus for making some
experiments. Happening to look up about
five minutes after, I observed that the fuqueer
was standing upon one leg, and struggling to
assume as much majesty as was consistent
with his equilibrium. The tongs and dish
were still extended—while his left hand
sustained his right foot across his abdomen.
I turned to the table, and tried to go on with my
work; but I blundered awfully, broke a glass
jar, cut my fingers, and made a mess on the
table. I had a consciousness of the fuqueer's
staring at me with his extended dish, and
could not get the fellow out of my head.
I looked up at him again. There he was as
grand as ever, on his one leg, and with his eyes
rivetted on mine. He continued this performance
for nearly an hour, yet there did
not seem to be the faintest indication of his
unfolding himself;-- rather a picturesque ornament
to the lawn, if he should take it into his
head—as these fellows sometimes do—to
remain in the same position for a twelve-month.
"If," I said, "you stand there much
longer, I'll give you such a taste of boinjee
(lightning) as will soon make you glad to go."

The only answer to this threat was a smile
of derision that sent his mustache bristling up
against his nose.

"Lightning!" he sneered "your lightning
can't touch a fuqueer,—the gods take care
of him."

Without more ado, I charged the battery
and connected it with a coil machine, which,
as those who have tried it are aware, is capable
of racking the nerves in such a way as few people
care to try, and which none are capable of
voluntarily enduring beyond a few seconds.

The fuqueer seemed rather amused at the