We anxiously watched for the break of day, and when the dawn was perceptible, arose from our restless mats, stirred up the sleeping establishment, and proceeded to the banks of the nullah. The weather had moderated a little, and, about mid-day, the water had sunk to about five feet, which gave rather a precarious ford. As the deep part was not very wide, though exceedingly rapid, our bearers consented to make the passage with the empty palanquins on their heads, and afterwards to carry each article separately, whilst we stripped and took the water in support of the sable army. This mode was practised, and successfully performed, though the passage of the palanquins was rather precarious: to have lost them in these wild jungles would have been an irreparable disaster. From hence, our journey through the jungles and hilly country, which we afterwards entered, was slow, but unobstructed. In many parts, the country was eminently beautiful; especially so in the neighbourhood of Ranchee, where dwelt the excellent and hospitable friend, to visit whom had been the object of my journey. The Kholes, who inhabit this tract of country, lay claim to be aborigines of Hindostan; nay, more: they designate themselves as the first people created, "except the English," added a polite barbarian, who was recapitulating the claims to antiquity, with this unfortunate exception, which tended to overthrow the whole fabric. Early one morning, as we were sitting in the verandah of my friend's house, two inhabitants of a neighbouring village made their appearance, and began a most dolorous tale regarding the devastations committed among their kindred by a cruel ghost, to eject which they solicited the sahib's aid. "It is well," replied the controller of spirits; "go, the ghost shall be caught." With a submissive reverence due to such power, the two gentlemen in black took their departure, evidently satisfied with the success of their mission. The ghost complained of was the cholera, which pays frequent visits to this country, but rarely resides more than a few days in a village, when he takes wing in search of fresh victims. A chuprassie, or messenger, dressed in the belt and insignia of office, is sent to the village, and ordered to await until the scourge abates; and as imagination, beyond a doubt, has much influence in this disease, the arrival of the chuprassie, sent officially to catch the ghost, has no doubt a salutary effect on the superstition of the sufferers; and probably, on leaving, there is not a soul in the place foolhardy enough to doubt that the ghost has taken his departure under the chuprassie's belt.