breath is in motion, and one becomes conscious of an increased frequency of inspiration to make up for the rarefaction of the atmosphere. The slightest exertion fatigues one; streams of perspiration trickle down the back while sitting writing at table, and at night the very bed clothes are wet, notwithstanding the indispensable punkah.
Appetite fads one, food becomes loathsome, sleep deserts the couch, strength leaves the muscle, life is an existence little better than a vegetation, and as Bishop has been heard to express himself from the pulpit "one feels like a boiled cabbage."
The European now shuts up his house to keep out the heat as carefully as the Laplander does his, to keep out the cold; and not content with that, he shuts out the light of day also, allowing no more to enter than suffices to read or write by, and spends a good part of the day recumbent. After dark he throws open his doors as a besieged garrison throw open their gates when an invading army has withdrawn, and luxuriates in the welcome sea-breeze that whistles delightful music to his ear as it rustles through his chamber.
3. OF THE N. W. PROVINCES.—In the Upper Provinces, contrary to what might be expected, the hot weather is much more intense than in Bengal. The hot winds blow with all the ardour of a blast from a furnace, and, what adds to their
