Travellers like poets are mostly an angry race.

Is not man born with a love of change - an Englishman to be discontented - an Anglo-Indian to grumble?

Presently our fire being exhausted, and the enemy pressing on with spear and javelin, the position became untenable; the tent was nearly battered down by clubs…

Now the last hookah has gone out, and the most restless of our servants has turned in. The roof of the cabin is strewed with bodies anything but fragrant, inde…