smoke effectually disperse for a brief interval. So that the daily practice of one superstitious custom is not without its immediate if temporary effect upon the well-being of its devout observers. [Illustration: THE CURRY VENDOR.] The shops and workshops are open in front to the street on account of the intense tropical heat. There is no difficulty whatever in seeing and hearing every native dealer or craftsman as he pursues his daily employment. The foot-lathe of the woodturner, rude but efficient, whirls busily round, scattering its chips into the street; the barber sharpens his razors, sets his pans and chairs at the edge of the roadway in view of every passer-by, and prepares to shave a head or trim a pig-tail; and the idol-maker spreads his gold and silver leaf upon representations of Buddha made in wood or plaster after a strictly orthodox and ancient pattern. Numerous Buddhist priests in robes of yellow, saffron or orange, pace slowly along with alms-bowls of wood or brass, receiving their daily food from the believers in their ancient faith. Their garments borrow new hues from the lately risen sun, and stand out in vivid and picturesque relief against the more sober tints of the roads and dwellings. The itinerant curry-vendor wastes no time in preparing his unsavoury messes, and is soon busy trying to dispose of them to the passers-by. A pole slung over his shoulder, bears at one end a small earthenware stove with a supply of charcoal and water. At this end he cooks, to order, the various delicacies suspended from the other end of the pole. The water in the pot is drawn from the nearest canal or stagnant pool and is almost a meal in itself. For a farthing you may purchase a bowl of rice, which is warmed in the boiling water while you wait. Another farthing will provide you with a number of attendant luxuries in the form of very fiery pepper or very strong and unhealthy smelling vinegar. The basis of the curry may be frog or chicken, stale meat, fermented fish, decayed prawn, or one of a thousand articles of equally evil taste and pungent odour. Most things are either cooked or re-warmed for the purchaser by the simple plan of suspending them in a sieve inside the pot of boiling water. The same pot and the same water serve for all customers alike, so that the hundredth hungry individual gets for his farthing, not only all that he bargains for, but various tastes of the other delicacies that his predecessors at the counter have elected to buy. No charge is made for the use of the china basin which has not been washed since the last man used it, or for the loan of the leaden or earthenware spoons, or a couple of chopsticks. Neither the proprietor of this strolling restaurant nor the force of public opinion demand that these articles be used, and for many, fingers take the place of either chopsticks or spoons.