gue inspection," and I meekly gave him my wrist
to feel; he touched my arm somewhere for an indivisible point of time
and withdrew into the night! Then a dark lady in dark dress and straw
hat, became faintly visibly for a second, and felt G.'s wrist. By that
time we were both half awake to the fact that it was a plague
inspection; in a minute or two a third person came in, but I was too
sleepy to notice what he said--but I am quite certain I did not pray for
any of them.

In the grey of the morning, in a most comfortable, restful sleep, we
were awakened again, and were asked for plague passports--and hadn't
any. I believe the third intruder may have called to give me one; at any
rate, I had to hunt about on a platform crowded with natives and other
poor Britishers in pyjamas, in the same plight as myself and looking
mighty cross, and finally got two pieces of paper, each with all sorts
of horrible instructions and threats thereon, and un-understandable
orders to show ourselves somewhere for examination for the next ten
days. Each pass was prepared in triplicate, "original to be retained for
record, the duplicate to be delivered to the traveller and the
triplicate sent _without delay_ to the officer who has to examine him
for ten days," etc., etc., and the traveller is warned any breach of
terms will entail prosecution with imprisonment for a term up to six
months, or fine up to Rs. 1000, "or both!" And the passport officer,
amongst a hundred and one other things, has to ascertain whether there
is any sickness or death in your _house_, or if you exhibit any symptoms
of plague or deadly sickness--this for us, the poor cold-weather
tourists, with never a house or home but our portmanteaux! Your father's
name and your caste and your occupation are also demanded, and your
district, _tulluq_, village, and street. An income-tax paper is plain
sailing to this complicated nightmare of the early morning--you vow and
swear you will never come to Madras again.

It is wonderful how breakfast clears the air, and the drive from the
station through the town helped to cheer us up. Madras smells rather,
and though there are open ditches and swampy places that make one think
of fever; they say it's healthy. I suppose the sea, and the surf in the
air, are disinfectants. The people in the street are not a patch on
Bangalore people in looks or dress. I had to drive from our hotel soon
after our arrival some three miles to the docks, and of