At the foot of the Himalayas is a very extensive territory called Teraj. Its soil is very fertile and adapted for tea culture. The whole territory is covered with timber, bushes and other plants, which, with the exception of certain cultivated portions, form an impenetrable jungle, affording a natural resort for tigers, leopards, and other wild beasts. The lofty mountains and the dense jungles shut out the sun, and the whole region is full of poisonous vapors which are never dispelled. It would be almost certain death for an European to live there for any length of time, and it is customary even in passing through the country on the railway train to take double doses of quinine as a precaution. The fever and cholera which are thus generated in the jungles and spread through the rice fields cause terrible ravages, not only among the Europeans, but also among the natives. Medical science has done a great deal to mitigate this evil, and the cholera, at least, has been carefully studied and controlled by the medical department of the Anglo-Indian army, so at present the malady is not feared so much as might be expected. The germs of the disease consist of microbes, which are carried in swarms by the wind. If such a pestiferous current of air strikes a place where soldiers are stationed, they are immediately ordered to break camp, and in a few hours the whole force is marching at a right angle with the wind, and after a day's march and a night's bivouac the physicians are generally able to tell whether the troops are out of the cholera district or not. If not, the march is continued day after day, always at a right angle with that of the preceding day, until the air contains no more cholera microbes. Old officers of the army told me that they had seen the cholera pass over one part of the camp attacking every fourth man on one side of the camp street without touching a single one on the other. It is claimed that the fear and anxiety caused by this dreadful malady are even more dangerous than the disease itself. One day while sitting at my breakfast table I received a message from the University hospital that an American sailor was very anxious to see me before he died. I immediately drove over there and was met at the entrance by the president, Dr. J. M. Coates, but when I arrived in the cholera apartment the man had just died. A sister of mercy was present at his death-bed, and had promised to carry his last message to me, which consisted in a greeting of love and a few trinkets to be sent to his mother in the state of Maine. There was a large apartment filled with cholera patients. Many of the native patients were visited by their friends and relatives; for the Hindoos do not entertain any fear of death, but rather court it, believing that a death caused by a contagious disease or a poisonous snake is simply a dispensation of Providence by which they are called away to a better life.