A rolling stone may gather moss, but is almost sure to drop it again; in my second nomadic stage, a clear sweep was made of all that I had accumulated, and, by this time, the surface had probably become too slippery for any to cling to. But it is not my intention to enter into the particulars of the next three years, for my book has already swollen like a mountain stream, and I have more to relate about the part of our dominions I was now leaving. The curtain falls; and, after the manner of the dramatic author, I must ask the reader to imagine an interval of nearly four years before it rises again upon the land of Gautama the contemplative. And, as the audience are looking round the house, I may as well finish this chapter by forging a few connecting links. Those mean “bacilli,” mixing with my pure blood, hurled me from a happy position and forced me to encounter not only cloudy weather, but a hurricane of angry passions dark as Erebus. The first cloud was comparatively no larger than a man’s hand; but it rapidly spread, soon blotting out the azure vault of heaven. Instead of returning when my leave had expired, I was persuaded in some unaccountable manner—still perhaps under some subtle influence of the fever—to join a regiment, with which I marched for six weeks through a country the monotony of which is not to be described. Having obtained “Privilege leave” for a month, I should have a fortnight for looking about, leaving a week for the journey either way. Instead of carrying this programme into force, I found myself—oh, irony of fate!—marching in a diametrically opposite direction. The destination had been depicted in glowing colours, and I found it commonplace, not to be compared with Rangoon or Prome. * * * * * Two years afterwards the sky cleared again for a period of six weeks, after which it became darker than ever; for no sooner had I settled down in a comfortable manner with a young wife, than the Mutiny burst upon us in all its fury, scattering everything to the four winds, ourselves included. It is well known that during a campaign soldiers of every denomination keep in good health; whereas the hospitals fill soon after peace is proclaimed. In the one case they are kept from flagging by activity and excitement, hope of distinction, and “seeking the bubble reputation even in the cannon’s mouth;” but, when the “dogs of war” have been chained up again, their spirit barometer falls suddenly and low. I have noticed the same with our principal trees during and after a heavy storm. The Mutiny formed no exception to the rule; climate, weather, and every kind of hardship were forgotten, as Europeans marched with impunity under the most trying conditions to a conflict tinctured on both sides with the worst elements of human nature.