At the end of the first stage, one of my active bipeds opened the doors of my palankeen, popped in his greasy frontispiece, reeking with oil and perspiration, and, with a grin, said something I did not understand, but in which the word _buckshish_ (presents) was remarkably distinct. “Go to the d——l,” exclaimed I; “boxes, no _sumjha_[20] boxes.” My friend now tried it on another tack, and, placing the finger of one hand in the palm of the other, with a knowing look, repeated the word “rupee.” Oh, thought I, are you there? I see your drift; but, knowing they had already been paid, I abruptly closed the doors and the conversation at once, with thundering “_Jow-jehanum!_”[21] a phrase I had picked up (without knowing the precise meaning of it) from Capt. Marpeet, who, in his intercourse with the natives, made frequent use of it, as a sort of receipt in full. I passed the greater part of the following day with a planter on the road, a friend of Mr. Capsicum’s, and started again in the evening. The fresh air of the morn aroused me after my second nocturnal journey, and I looked out. We were in a rich, flat, and luxuriant country; all nature seemed smiling; the ryot was moving out to his work, and ruddy streaks appeared through the tall, tufted stems of coco-nut and taree-palms, blushing Aurora truly looking out of the barred casements of the East. I calculated that I must now be nearly at the end of my journey; and this supposition was, in a few minutes, most agreeably confirmed by a young officer, in a red raggie and hunting-cap, riding up on a pony, and addressing a few words to my bearers in Hindostanee. I looked hard at him, and in an instant recognized the well-known features of my schoolfellow, Tom Rattleton. The recognition was mutual, and electrical the effect; out I rolled, _sans chapeau_; off he tumbled from his tattoo, and we were soon locked in a close embrace—aye, I say in a close embrace; true affection, like true courage, is a desperate grappling affair, and a mere handshaking would have been high treason to the feelings which at that moment swelled our bosoms. “My dear Frank!” “My dear Tom!” “How glad I am to see you!” “How you are grown! but I should have known you anywhere, old fellow.” “So should I you, old boy.” “Well—eh—and how goes it?” Thus we exploded a volley of queries and interjections, which escaped by fitful jerks, like water from bottles suddenly inverted. There was no acting here, but a hearty burst of honest nature—fresh as the morning air we were breathing. The warmth of our greeting a little subsided, I resumed my recumbent position in the palankeen, and on went the bearers, jolting along at a rattling pace, having apparently caught all our animation, with revived hopes of “_buckshish_.” Rattleton trotted alongside, talking incessantly, and in a short time the military cantonment of Barrackpore broke in view.