In the chapter of accidents for another year we read of a mail runner who was carried away in broad daylight by a man-eating tiger, another mail runner was attacked by a wolf described as “the terror of the country side,” but he succeeded in killing the animal after a severe struggle. “Slain by a tiger,” “badly mauled by a leopard,” are descriptions of the accidents to other postal servants. Even that slow-moving animal the elephant is in some districts in India the carrier of his Majesty's mails. In the tea district may be seen post offices built on piles to get above the swamp, and the elephant is the carrier at the last stage of the journey of a letter which probably started in a limited mail train. The typical postman of India is the runner or “harkara.” The railways in that country are mostly trunk lines, and runners are employed for the whole internal network of postal lines, mail carts being used only in very few places where the weight of the mails is particularly heavy. The pay of the runner is usually not more than Rs. 5 a month; in a few districts it is as much as Rs. 7; while in others it falls to Rs. 4. This is equivalent to 7s. or 8s. a month, and on this modest sum the Indian runner can live, and perhaps bring up a family. It is said of him that “he has no idea of luxuries,” and perhaps for his own sake this is fortunate. The Department provides him with a mud stage hut, and the local landlord is often induced to give the runner a small piece of land, in cultivating which he spends most of his leisure time, and perhaps increases his salary by growing eatables which he can sell. The runner's dress is a short white cotton coat and a dhotee tied lightly round his loins, coming nearly to the knees, so as not to interfere with the free movement of his limbs. He wears a red pugaree for a head-dress. Then he has a leather belt and a spear with bells. The bells are a concession to an old superstition, as they are supposed to frighten away evil spirits and wild animals. The imagination of Rudyard Kipling was stirred by the runner tearing through the jungle with his staff and ringing bells. We all know the verses. I will quote two only:— “In the name of the Empress of India make way, Oh, lords of the jungle, wherever you roam; The woods are astir at the close of the day— We exiles are waiting for letters from home. Let the robber retreat, let the tiger turn tail— In the name of the Empress, the Overland Mail. With a jingle of bells as the dust gathers in He turns to the footpath that leads up the hill, The bags on his back and a cloth round his chin, And tucked in his waistband the post office bill— 'Despatched on this date, as received by the rail, Per runner, two bags of the Overland Mail.'”