Of the wealth of insect-life much has been written. Besides mosquitoes, ants, white, red, and black, flying and merely creeping, abound in copious variety. Once at least they stopped a ball at Government House, flying in hosts, dropping their wings and therewith their bodies, and reducing the floor to a mucous mass. For me, at Allan-my̆o, others of their species eviscerated all my books during my brief absence. At the beginning of the rains strange creeping, crawling, flying things, slimy things with legs, appear in swarms. The centipede makes his nest in your sponge; the scorpion lurks in your boot. Snakes, too, are fairly numerous and of many kinds, from the hamadryad who chases the wayfarer, to the Russell’s viper who lies dormant in his path, and when trodden on turns like any worm. Apart from these disadvantages, I have no complaint to make of Burma as a country to live in. While discussing these generalities, I may say a few words about the climate. Naturally, in so large an extent of country, this is subject to considerable variations. The Delta is hot and steamy with an abundant never-failing rainfall, and no cold weather to speak of. Much of Upper Burma is an arid plain, with frequent hills, hot and dry, but relieved by a pleasant cold season. Even here we do not seem to get the constant stifling heat, day and night, of which we hear in the plains of Northern India. I suppose some people find the heat trying. An old friend of mine had the habit after dinner of calling his neighbour’s attention to a picture on the wall, while he surreptitiously emptied his finger-bowl down his (own) neck. In Mandalay for some months of the wet season (not so very wet) a tearing wind rages, and is apt to shatter one’s nerves. In Lower Burma the persistent rainfall is impressive. People who have lived there hardly notice that it ever rains in England. But it seldom pours both morning and evening. Generally it is possible to get out for exercise either at dawn or at close of day.