My slumbers can hardly be said
to be unbroken to-night, three pariah dogs have taken a fancy to my
quarters; two of them sit on their haunches and howl dismally in response
to the jackals, while number three reclines sociably beneath my charpoy
and growls at the others as though constituting himself my protector.
Some Indian Romeo is serenading his dusky Juliet in the neighboring town;
flocks of roysteriug parrots go whirring past at all hours of the night,
and a too liberal indulgence in red-hot curry keeps me on the verge of a
nightmare almost till the silvery tinkle-tinkle of the Brahman bells
announces the break of day.
Cynics have sometimes denounced Christians as worse than the heathens, in
requiring loud church-bells to summon them to worship. Such, it appears,
are putting the case rather thoughtlessly. Mohammedans have their
muezzins, while both Christians and idolaters have their chiming bells.
Neither Christians, nor Mohammedans, nor heathens need these agencies to
summon them to their respective worldly enjoyments, so that, taken all in
all, we are pretty much alike--cynics, notwithstanding, to the contrary,
we are little or no worse than the heathens.
A loudly wailing woman with her head covered up, and supported between
two companions who are vainly trying to console her, and a party
conveying two cassowaries, a pair of white peacocks, and a kangaroo from
Calcutta to some rajah's menagerie up country, are among the curiosities
encountered on the road the following day.
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