dried fish, or some savoury vegetable is generally added. As soon as it is dark, all the female members of the family gather round the hearth, and carry on such work as can be carried on by what light they can get from the fire; though in villages near fir forests some pine splinters are generally kept handy for use when an extra bright light is required for a few minutes. The men either gather in the "zawlbuk" or in some house where there is drink going, but the young bucks sneak off to court their lady loves, which the girls' parents give them every facility for doing. In the other seasons of the year, that is from March to December, the people are engaged in their jhums from the morning to the evening meal, as is described later on. Lushai parents are very fond of their children, and fathers are often seen carrying their infants about. In times of scarcity, what rice can be got is reserved for the young children, the rest of the people living on yams, jungle vegetables, and the pith of the sago palm. The children assist their parents as much as they can, tiny girls accompanying their mothers to the spring, and bringing up one or two bamboos of water, while the lads help their fathers in cutting the jhum. No one, however, takes any care of children, and they are allowed to run about the village as they like, in all weathers, which no doubt accounts largely for the heavy mortality among them, as their clothing is of the scantiest. Teknonymy is very common. The parents of a child called Thanga will generally be known as Thanga-Pa and Thanga-Nu, and I have come across old widows whose real names were unknown. There is a strong and general dislike among all Lushais to saying their own names. When we first occupied the hills, a man would not tell you his name; if asked he would refer to someone else and say, "You tell him." The following explanation, given me by a Lushai, seems to me scarcely satisfactory:--"Lushais are shy of saying the name of their father and mother and their own names. Because it is their own name they are shy of saying it. Some people are shy because their names are bad. Their parents' names--because they are their parents they never call them by their names, therefore they are shy of saying them. Their own names also they never say; just for that reason they are shy of saying them. The names of their brothers and friends they are always saying, therefore they are not shy of saying them." Long ago another explanation was given me. When a man kills another, he calls out his own name: "I, Lalmanga, have killed you!" so that the spirit of the dying man may know whose slave he will be in Mithi-Khua, the dead man's village; it was suggested that it was unlucky to say one's name on less important occasions.