either shore, losing the swampy appearance of Lower Aracan; and the view, as we tacked up, was lovely in the extreme. On either side villages, of a far superior description to any yet seen, lay clustered on high banks, amid groves of plantains, mangoes, guavas, and jacks; and in front of us extended ranges of purple hills, from which stood out in relief a beautiful group, covered with green jungle, and crowned with a jedi (the Kyuktau), beneath which the river winds, sweeping in a semicircle to the W. We anchored late in the afternoon, in a very populous country, thickly studded with villages all the way from Apawa, a town on the last reach, about 8 miles down, where we passed two or three Madras brigs at anchor.

Shwélyn is a very large village, the houses peering through groves of plantains, mangoes, and jack-trees, on a bank full 20 feet above high water. The cotton-tree ("seemul") is here common and I heard the voices of several Indian birds, which are not found, or but rarely so, near the sea; such as the coèl, the wandering cuckoo (Cuculus fugax), and the "oogoos" (Haliætus macei), which at Akyab is replaced by the Haliatus blagrus.

The western shore is rather lower, entirely open, and cultivated; and opposite us lay the village of Poona-roa (the Bramin's village), in which a colony of Bramins had for ages settled. Above this extended, as far as the eye could reach, the villages of Frabong, Tongbo, Chagong, Oukpysé, Atápysé, Kyuktau, Meedan, and Wangewdung; and on our side Kanynroa, Sadagri, Gnwélyn, Shwélyn, Sawungyn, Pryntong, and the Kyuktau jedi. The population here is almost entirely of that neutral class called Mugh Musulmans, who have become completely naturalized in the country, speaking indiscriminately Aracanese or Bengali to each other. Their first immigration from Chittagong (or Dhaka?) is of so ancient a date that they could give me no information on the subject.

Towards evening I went on shore in a large boat belonging to my quondam teacher and ally, Mungola. His boat was a good specimen of a Burmese godoo, but is not of a class much used here; the ordinary boats being very like the choppered dingies of Bengal. Mungola's boat rowed ten oars, and went very fast through the water. The Aracanese are much better rowers than the Hindustanees, who lose much mechanical force by dipping their oars close to the boat's side, instead of at right angles. The stroke oar in these boats is generally a Burmese, and often a "loo-byak," or wag, well versed in songs and witty sayings, wherewith to beguile labour. Every stroke is preceded by a short sentence said or sung, and the stroke itself accompanied by a chorus from the other rowers. The words sounded to me a constant repetition of "Wélykcho "- (chorus) Wélyk (chorus) Wélyk — every time

increasing in energy and rapidity until the rowers seemed crazy, dashing the water most disagreeably about, and making the boat foam along, until, at a general shout, there was a temporary pause or lull. We landed at a good ghaut, a path winding up the steep bank, and walked into the village of Shwélyn aforesaid.

The houses and homesteads are large and comfortable, and irregularly scattered amid railed-off enclosures of plantains, mangoes, jacks, and guava-trees. It was harvest-time, and all the villagers as busy as they could be. At every hundred yards were piles of rice in stalk and heaps of grain, which was being threshed out in the ancient Indian fashion by buffaloes, of which I saw great numbers. The people are all Musulmans, and dress nearly the same as the genuine Mughs, but are very distinct in countenance, having more or less of the disagreeable dull look of the Chittagong. The elders, moreover, wear beards-a rare sight amongst true Aracanese--and all cut their hair, which a Mugh cherishes like any Samson. The village lay along the river side; and inland spread a wide extent of rice, interspersed with scraps of nul or reed jungle. There were a few small tanks scattered about, and some enclosed patches of mïrchaies (Chili pepper), onions, and banguns, which reminded me of the pretty Koormee villages in Chota Nagpur. From the houses we struck inland across the fields for about one mile and a half, and then skirted a low range of wooded hills, from whence, according to our guide, deer and pea-fowl sallied forth of an evening. We came across numerous traces of elephants, which resort to the rice-fields from the jungle to the N.E., in the rains, and cause great mischief to the crops.

7th, Friday.-A heavy driving fog in the morning, cleared off about 8 A.M. The fresh-water mullets here are very inferior in flavour to the delicious fish about Patna and Bhagulpur.

As evening closed in my attention was attracted by singular notes from the trees, "Koo, koo, koo-kukiak, kukiak, kukiak," which I at first supposed to proceed from some species of small owl (Athene), but on closer investigation I discovered the sounds. to belong to a crepuscular species of squirrel.

On my way back to the Petrel I passed a singular pigeonhouse-looking edifice, on piles leaning over the river's bank, and was informed it was intended as a place for the accouchement of women newly arrived from other villages. If a man and his wife immigrate from another town, she will not be allowed by the villagers to be confined in the village, but must retire to this singular lying-in hospital. This interdiction is taken off after the birth of the first child.

8th, Saturday.-We went in the direction taken the day before

yesterday, but, passing through the first low range of hills, came upon large plains of grass and reeds, scattered over with broken chains of small hills covered with tree and thicket jungle. The beaters in line swept these little hills, while the hunters ran on ahead to intercept the game; by which means I was enabled to bag a couple of kâkur, or barking deer (Cervus muntjac), the only things I saw.

It is melancholy to see such wide tracts of rich land lying waste for want of hands to cultivate it. These plains extend about 8 or 10 miles inland, and terminate in boundless forests and ranges of low hills increasing in height up to the great chain of the Yeomatung on the Burma frontier, and frequented by a few wandering Khiangs, or nomadic hill people, who seldom remain more than two years in one place.

9th, Sunday. Leaving a party behind to finish some measurements in Sadagree, I weighed at 1 P.M., and with a pleasant breeze stood up the river. The banks on either side are high and steep, crowned with graceful drooping trees, of every shade of verdure, from the dark tints of the jack and mango to the tender yellow-green of the plantain, enriched here and there with large masses of the scarlet flowers of the dâk jungle. Villages occur the whole way, with an occasional white stone jedi, and the shores were enlivened by groups of men, women, and children, in their gay coloured national costume. The river swept in a grand semicircle to the left, and the reach we were sailing up was bounded by the steep wooded Kyuktau, with its jedi on the summit, casting a rich green reflection on the clear water, where long low canoes glided smoothly in the cool shadow of the hill. Near its base was a small village of Khiangs, their neat little huts built entirely of bamboos. One or two Bengali boats were moored beneath the landing-place, whose owners appeared engaged in traffic with a few of the nearly naked hill men, while several children were playing about the water's edge. Bending to the left, or N.W., the shore on the right bank of the river was clustered with houses as far as the eye could reach, and the different ghâts or landing-places were as beautiful as the most admired of those on the Hooghly or Ganges, with the advantage of a purple background of hills. This reach was about 2 miles in length, when the Koladyn, opposite the village of Wangewdung, turns sharply to the N.E., receiving here a pretty wooded nala, the Peekhyoung, running in from the N.W. The water of the river from our last anchoring-place was beautifully clear and green; the average depth 2 to 3 fathoms. The reach, now turning to the north-eastward, was beautiful in the extreme, the richly-wooded hills coming sheer down into the water, which spread out in other places, forming a chain of calm pools, a quarter of a mile wide

and of great depth. Progressing for about 4 miles, we anchored off a steep landing-place, shaded with majestic timber, at the village of Kangroa, in the circle of Rala. The water was 12

fathoms deep, in a nearly circular basin.

The tide flows here not only perceptibly, and for the usual duration of six hours, but, they tell me, with considerable strength at times, and yet there is not a vestige of brackishness in the water, which is so pure as barely to require filtering.

10th, Monday.-After breakfast went ashore and took a view of the place. The houses are large, in groups of three and four, enclosed in bamboo palisades, with narrow paths winding between them, and all buried in a dense grove of mangoes, jacks, betelnuts, guavas, plantains, cocoa-nuts, and pine-apples, not to speak of jungle and weeds of every description. Deep ravines intersected the village, opening into the river and spanned by trunks of trees, over which I walked circumspectly. Round the skirts of the village were enclosures of onions, banguns, chilies, and dhunnia; and a road for carts ran along the inland margin of the village, about 300 yards from the river. The inhabitants are all Mugh Musulmâns, a most ill-looking set, with heavy Jewish features, and huge turbans. The women generally made themselves scarce, peeping stealthily from behind enclosures. Some were rather good looking; but flat noses, blubber lips, and goggling eyes appeared to predominate. The children were very numerous, but thin and squalid, with protuberant bellies.

At about 11 we started off in quest of sport: but the people had no idea of what I wanted; they took me over wastes of grassland, and at last into such a mass or region of reeds (“nul bun," as they call it), that, what with the heat of the sun and the want of air in these stagnating beds of vegetation, I thought I should have fainted, and, after a struggle of about half a mile, made the best of my way out, and sat down at the edge of the brake to watch their mode of sport. Their plan is to surround a portion of this horrible "nul bun" with large nets, near which (inside) a number of them take post with clubs. A party then goes into the reeds, when they begin yelling, and if an animal bolts into the net he is soon pounded to death with the clubs. If a pig be started, the beaters, who are all Musulmâns, keep quiet, and give him carte blanche to go where he lists. The dung and footmarks of elephants, some quite fresh, were numerous everywhere.

In a remote part of the plain, by the unfrequented banks of the river, we came upon a statue of Gaudama, in his usual squatting posture, of colossal size, for he was full 7 feet high; and here had he remained, solemn and alone, so long that a tree had grown up behind him, and cast its gnarled roots round his body: while, in more recent times, irreverent cow-herd boys had chiselled the nose

off his benign countenance, and avaricious hands dug a pit beneath him, searching for supposed buried treasure.

Towards evening I crossed the river, and had some jungle-fowl shooting. The country on the western side is prettier, being laid out in park-like patches of grass and scattered trees, between rounded wooded hills. The other side, as I have said, consists of wide plains of grass and reeds, bordered by the forest, with a horizon of hills rising over hills, and bounded by the great Yeomadung.

11th, Tuesday.-Held kucherry all day, chiefly hearing petitions. Matrimonial quarrels were abundant, and almost impossible to settle. In Bengal, where no respectable native will drag his wife's name into court, these vexatious cases seldom occur; but here they are the commonest of all, particularly amongst Mugh Musulmans.

At 8 P.M., after dinner, I packed off my servants and some necessaries to Mahamunni, a place about 8 miles inland to the south-eastward, where I wished to see a renowned pagoda.

12th, Wednesday. Having started off my bedding at 6 A.M., I soon after followed with my usual party. Our track lay due E., and the village was soon cleared, as it is of no breadth, though of considerable length along the river. The cultivation also extends barely above a mile inland. Why the people do not till the soil further in I could not understand: it appeared to me rich and good; but they say it is not good for rice, but is a glorious country for indigo, which I heartily hope some day to see put to the proof. For 3 miles our way led through the "nul bun," or reed jungle, and, though the morning was cloudy and cool, the air in this dense gigantic herbage was hot and stagnant; and the marks of elephants so recent, that our guides occasionally lifted up their voices and went along bellowing, in which I felt strongly inclined to join, being naturally anxious to keep these brutes at a distance. Önce or twice we came upon scantily cleared patches of cotton (very poor and short in staple) and of plantains, amongst which the elephants had evidently made themselves at home. The nul jungle became latterly scattered with trees, and at length terminated suddenly in a group of some few houses, belonging to hill people of the Kumooi tribe. As we entered the hamlet a man sallied out of his house and made straight for me, holding out two sticks, as if inviting me to a fair stand-up fight; but, on coming close, the sticks proved to be sugar-canes, presented to me by way of welcome; and these, together with a basket of rotten eggs, I most graciously received, and sitting myself down on a “khiang (stool) in the midst of the houses, had a long chat with him and others assembled. After a little coaxing, their wives and daughters were also induced to come near and squat down, with