been nurses, and we their babies.

Natives of India are truly a wonderful people. However unsteady the
thing may be, they are sure to walk on it, and sit on it, with the
greatest comfort. They think nothing of sitting whole hours on the top
of a post--maybe a little thicker than an ordinary telegraph post. They
also feel perfectly safe with their toes twisted round a thin branch
and their bodies resting on nothing, as if they were crows perched on a
telegraph wire.

"Salam, sahib!" said I once to an ancient, naked Hindu of a low caste,
seated in the above described fashion. "Are you comfortable, uncle? And
are you not afraid of falling down?"

"Why should I fall?" seriously answered the "uncle," expectorating a
red fountain--an unavoidable result of betel-chewing. "I do not breathe,
mam-sahib!"

"What do you mean? A man cannot do without breathing!" exclaimed I, a
good deal astonished by this wonderful bit of information.

"Oh yes, he can. I do not breathe just now, and so I am perfectly safe.
But soon I shall have to fill up my breast again with fresh air, and
then I will hold on to the post, otherwise I should fall."

After this astounding physiological information, we parted. He would not
talk any more, evidently fearing to endanger his comfort. At that
time, we did not receive any more explanations on the subject, but this
incident was enough to disturb the scientific equanimity of our minds.

Till then, we were so naive as to fancy that only sturgeons and similar
aquatic acrobats were clever enough to learn how to fill up their
insides with air in order to become lighter, and to rise to the surface
of the water. What is possible to a sturgeon is impossible to man,
speculated we in our ignorance. So we agreed to look upon the revelation
of the above described "uncle" in the light of a brag, having no other
aim but to chaff the "white sahibs." In those days, we were still
inexperienced, and inclined to resent this kind of information,
as coming very near to mockery. But, later on, we learned that his
description of the process necessary to keep up this birdlike posture
was perfectly accurate. In Jubblepore we saw much greater wonders.
Strolling along the river bank, we reached the so-called Fakirs' Avenue;
and the Takur invited us to visit the courtyard of the pagoda. This is a
sacred place, and neither Europeans nor Mussulmans are admitted inside.
But Gulab-Sing said something to the chief Brahman, and we ent