A luggage receipt given at the starting point, called for so many pieces. Then we found that to each article was glued a patch of paper on which its destination was marked, and also a number corresponding to the number on the receipt. All well so far. The luggage clerk seemed neither to know nor care, but left each passenger to claim his own. We noticed too that everything imaginable was allowed to be booked, a certain number of _viss_ in weight being allowed free on each ticket. To our observing eyes, each passenger's luggage indicated about how long he had been in the country, or how much he had travelled. Some evil spirit seems to possess the luggage clerk's assistant to glue the label in a new place each time, cancelling other bookings by tearing off loose corners of old labels. This custom is specially trying to spirituality when applied to bicycles, the railroad glue having such affinity for enamel that they stay or come off together. Another thing that impressed us was the suddenness with which the darkness of night came on, as if "darkness rather than light" reigned over this heathen land, and could hardly wait for the usurping sun to disappear behind the horizon. First impressions of our new home we gained late that night, by the dim light of a lantern. Home, did I say? As we peered through the shadows it did not strike us as being a place that could ever, by any stretch of imagination, seem like home. Bare, unpainted walls dingy with age; huge round posts, some of them running up through the rooms; no furniture except a teak bedstead, and a large round table so rickety that it actually bowed to us when we stepped into the room; lizards crawling on walls and ceiling,--interesting and harmless things, as we afterwards found, but not specially attractive to a newcomer. Oh, no,--it was not homesickness, only just lack of power to appreciate a good thing after the weary experiences of our long journey. In the night I was roused from sleep by hearing some one calling. Half awake, I was getting out from under the mosquito net, when my wife remarked, "Better get back into bed. It is only that _taukteh_, that Mrs. ---- told us about." The taukteh is the "crowing," or "trout-spotted lizard." The English call it the tuctoo, from the sound it makes. The Burmans call it taukteh, for the same reason. Some declare that it says "doctor, doctor," as plain as day. Alarming stories are told of this terrible creature; how it loses its hold on the ceiling to alight in a lady's hair, and that nothing short of removing scalp and all will dislodge it. The worst thing we have known it to do was to wake the baby in the dead of the night, when we had got fairly settled to sleep after hours of sweltering. I have shot several for this unpardonable offense. The taukteh's sudden call in the night causes some children to suffer much from fright, though no harm is intended.