[Illustration: _Portow._ ] At daybreak on the 23d of January, having finished our packing and procured a Karen guide who could speak Burmese and Talaing to serve as my interpreter as far as Maing Loongyee, we had the elephants brought in and loaded. Here Dr Cushing’s power as an organiser became apparent. The baggage had been stacked into six loads, two smaller than the others for the elephants which were to be ridden by us. The howdahs, however, proved of unequal size, and some of them would not hold the tin boxes and cases which were intended for them. The air was filled with complaints and remonstrances. Each of the Karen mahouts, naturally, wished his beast to carry less than its portion. Each objected to have another burden foisted on him. Loogalay and Portow were worse than useless: both made confusion worse by fussing about, tugging at the Madras boys, and putting them out of temper by imperious commands mixed with abuse. Ignorance, according to the copy-books, is boastful, conceited, and sure. I never saw the proverb better exemplified than by these two men throughout the journey. It was impossible, in Portow’s opinion, that Portow could be mistaken; he knew everything; he was always ready and eager to advise, and equally ready to jeer at and snub any one else who ventured to do so: but although he had been the head-man of his village, and was an egregious blockhead and an egotistical bumpkin, he was eminently good-natured, and bore no malice when plagued, as he frequently was, by our Madras boys. Loogalay, or Moung Loogalay, as he liked to be called, was a hectoring, swaggering blade, as gaily dressed as a game-cock, and as vain as an actor. A well-built lad of about two-and-twenty, who had been brought up in an English school, tall and good-looking, thoughtless, gay, and careless, in his gaily coloured Burmese costume he looked the beau-ideal of a dashing youth. His hair tied in a chignon on the top of his head, and festooned with a loosely arranged silk kerchief; his _putso_, or plaid, serving as a petticoat, with the end jauntily thrown over his shoulder; his clean white cotton jacket with gold buttons, and the flower stuck in his ear,—how could one help enjoying the sight of him, however much one might be put out by his indolence!