NISBET AND CO., BERNERS STREET.

Price One Penny.

April 1866.]'

E

PALANQUIN TRAVELLING.

WE Copy the following passage from the late Miss Tucker's interesting little book, "South-Indian Sketches." We know not any

38

PALANQUIN TRAVELLING,

description which will enable our readers more readily to realize what palanquin travelling is in India.

When setting out on a journey in England, you have only to pack up the clothes and books you are likely to want, and get into whatever carriage you intend to travel by, knowing that you will be able to order your dinner, or take up your abode for the night, at some comfortable inn upon the road.

But you must make very different preparations for travelling in India. Your palanquin must be not only your carriage, but your bed, your library, your wardrobe, and the bearer of almost every thing you will require on your journey. You may pack a few of your clothes in the imperial on the top, but must leave room in it for your tea things, your knife and fork, candlestick, wax candles, bread, tea, sugar, pepper, salt, and, in short, for all those minor comforts, which, while we possess, we so seldom think of or are grateful for, but of which we sadly feel the want when deprived of them.

On the outside a tea-kettle must repose among the folds of a coarse blue cloth which lies on the top, and occasionally serves as a cover to the palanquin; a gurglet of water, in a wicker case, is slung at the back; and some place must be found for a camp stool, which is by turns to serve as a seat, a table, or a washing-stand.

Within the palanquin is a mattress and pillow, two little drawers, and every thing to make you comfortable by night and neat in the day.

All being ready, you get into it, the bearers lift it on their shoulders, and you set out on your strange journey. The poles of the palanquin are carried by three men in front and three behind, while six more run by the side, ready to change with them every three or four minutes. The "musalchee," or torch-bearer, runs also with them, holding in his left hand the torch, made of twisted cotton-cloth, and in his right a flask of oil, with its long bamboo neck, to feed the flame. But your party is not yet complete: you must have a "cavady coolie," to carry the remainder of your books and clothes, in two tin boxes, fastened to the ends of a long bamboo, and slung across his shoulder.

You will start probably about five or six o'clock in the afternoon, and as you proceed, the stillness and coolness of the evening air, the clearness of the atmosphere, giving to the stars a brilliancy unknown in colder climates, or revealing the moon as a globe of light suspended in the firmament, and the evening planet almost like a smaller moon, the fireflies flitting round and round the trees,-all combine to give you a feeling of romance and delight, perhaps scarcely known before; while the only sounds you hear are the strange noises and the footfall of the bearers, or the distant croaking of the frogs, which your inexperienced ear will probably mistake for the bleating of lambs or kids; "sounds. inharmonious in themselves and harsh," but not unpleasing when all else around is silent.

You will be struck, as you travel on, by the choultries, which are very numerous, both on the roads and on the banks of rivers. They have been built at different times by wealthy natives, for the accommodation of travellers, particularly of pilgrims, for whose use one, or sometimes.

PALANQUIN TRAVELLING.

39

more, are attached to the larger pagodas; and before so many travellers' bungalows had been provided, Europeans also were often very glad to take shelter in them.

They vary greatly in size and beauty, and some of them are very splendid; but, in general, the smaller ones consist merely of a kind of deep colonnade, the back being a solid wall, and the sides and front having only the open pillars which support the roof. The floor is paved, and raised one or two feet above the ground. The larger ones have usually a shallower colonnade with a door in the middle of the back, opening into a cloistered quadrangle, which serves for the temporary home of the passing traveller; while the bazaar, which is seldom wanting, supplies his few and simple wants of rice, curry-stuff, and chatties.

At four or five o'clock in the morning you will be roused by the bearers' cry of "Sepoy, Sepoy?" and by finding your palanquin set down at the door of a travellers' bungalow. The summons is quickly answered by a respectable-looking man, often with a white beard, and with a red or white turban, whose red soldier's jacket over his native dress tells you that he has belonged to our Indian army. The door is soon unlocked, and you and your palanquin are admitted.

These travellers' bungalows have been erected by Government, at intervals along the principal roads, for the use of European travellers, and consist usually of two rooms, each having a bath-room attached to it. The only furniture is a table, and two or three chairs, with now and then a cot; but many of them have lately been supplied with a small religious library by the liberality of private friends.

Your first business will be to unpack your palanquin, and then to bathe and dress; and by the time you have finished, your tea-kettle is boiling, milk and eggs have been procured from the neighbouring bazaar, and you sit down to a hungry breakfast.

After breakfast your tea-things must be washed and re-packed, and you will then have some hours for reading, writing, or meditation, as you feel most disposed.

Your bearers have left you to get food and rest, the Sepoy and Peon in charge have laid themselves down to sleep, and you are left to the enjoyment of the most perfect quiet and repose. Nature itself partakes of the general stillness; not a breath of air is stirring to move "the market flag" that points out the neighbouring bazaar; and the shadow of the cocoa-nut has become a fixed spot upon the ground.

Sometimes, however, the silence is broken by the distant sound of the village drum, calling the inhabitants to join in some idolatrous procession, and painfully reminding you that you are in the midst of a heathen land.

Dinner time now approaches: a fowl has been procured for you, and by the help of the shadow of the bungalow, which serves him as a dial, the Sepoy contrives to bring your curry and rice at the time you ordered it.

After dinner, if it is tolerably cool, you will probably saunter out to look about you. If a tank is near, your eye will catch the bright deep red blossom of the sacred lotus, with its "broad and buoyant" leaves, now lying motionless on the water, and now gently flapping up and down as a