not so easy to get beyond, and the means of locomotion by which the
traveller makes the journey to Benares are of the most original nature.

The morning of New Year's Day found me comfortably ensconced in a roomy
carriage, built almost upon the model of an English stage-coach, in
which, with my fellow-traveller, I had passed the night, and which was
being dragged along at the rate of about four miles an hour by ten
coolies, harnessed to it in what the well-meaning philanthropist of
Exeter Hall would call a most barbarous way.

The road along which we were travelling in this extraordinary manner was
not, as might be expected, impassable for horses; on the contrary, it was
an excellent macadamized and perfectly level road, denominated the Great
Trunk Road of Bengal.

The country through which this road led us was flat, stale, but not
unprofitable, since on either side were paddy-fields extending _ad
infinitum_, studded here and there with clumps of palms.

The climate was delightful, and the morning air tempted us to uncoil
ourselves from our night-wrappers, and take a brisk walk in the dust;
after which we mounted the coach-box, and devised sundry practical
methods for accelerating our team, who however were equally ingenious in
contriving to save themselves fatigue.

The mid-day sun at last ridded them of their tormentors, and we once more
betook ourselves to our comfortable beds in the interior of the
conveyance, there to moralize over the barbarism of a man, calling
himself an enlightened Englishman, in employing men instead of horses to
drag along two of his fellow-countrymen, who showed themselves even more