We had probably met many times before in that enclosure, maybe sat near one another; but seven-and-twenty years tend to alter _men_; and unless that keynote had been struck, no recognition would have ensued, as in the following spring he joined the majority. He was a regular attendant at Lord’s, and had, he told me, occupied the same seat for many successive seasons; the following year I looked for him in vain—his place knew him no more! He was a keen sportsman and a first-rate shot, and nothing pleased him better than being left behind at Mendoon, the real name of my “El Dorado.” CHAPTER XIII. CLOUDY WEATHER. “Diseases, desperate grown, By desperate appliance are relieved, Or not at all.” “Angry looks can do no good, And blows are dealt in blindness; Words are better understood If spoken but in kindness.” Thus far, the tide of prosperity had been flowing without a check; we had visited many scenes, encountered dangers and surmounted difficulties, when a sudden and unexpected ebb set in. I had quite made up my mind to remain in the country on the principle that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush; besides which I was a little incredulous as to the oft-repeated and over-estimated advantages of India, and by no means eager to partake of its imaginary delights. Calcutta was odious, and Rangoon, in comparison, a paradise; while, besides enjoying excellent health, I was saving a goodly number of rupees, and making many friends. Hitherto the gates of Burmah had been closed to ladies, for whom “No Thoroughfare” had been the stern decree; but all this must ere long be cancelled, and then what an influx there would be of grass widows and perhaps too unmarried belles, tempted to try their fortunes in fresh woods and pastures new! For some time to come, the comforts and pleasures might be inferior to those of Indian stations, but then there would be the reunion of loving hearts, that could find bliss in a cottage, even where the roses and honeysuckle were not. The other day I came across a little book, “The Queen of Flowers,” which the author dedicated to his wife, and my thoughts were carried back to the date at which it was written, the days ere chivalry had fled and men had contracted the bad habit of talking disparagingly of the gentler sex. Now, in the height of their selfishness, they shut themselves up in their clubs, where they pore over the papers, criticize passers-by, and enjoy the fat of the land! With us at that period, civilization was only at its budding stage, but nowhere perhaps did the plant make more brilliant progress than here, under the fostering hand of its Chief Commissioner, who paved the way for the prosperity which was to follow.