land from its powerful enemies. But when the valiant Tak came in sight of the foe, he was not long in realising that any attack that might be made by his small army against the much greater numbers of the Burmese, could only end in his utter defeat. He promptly fled with all his own retainers, and with as many of the soldiers as cared to follow him, to the port of Chantaboon. Here he leagued himself with all the fighting men and chiefs of the neighbouring provinces, and finally collected an army of about ten thousand men. He supported himself and his soldiers by robbing and pillaging all the villages along the coast.

A SCAVENGER.

The Burmese, carrying with them many captives, and much treasure of gold and silver gained at the sack of Ayuthia in 1767, at last returned once more to their own land. Then Phya Tak came north again, and on the spot where the Regent's palace now stands, built himself a home and proceeded to found the walled city of Bangkok. Having accomplished this work, he several times defeated the Burmese, then re-organised some form of administration and caused himself to be acknowledged as king of the land. Associated with him in all his adventures and successes was a close personal friend and confidential adviser. This man was of noble birth and vigorous character, and it was to his counsel and assistance that the new sovereign owed much of his success. Soon after the king had completed his great work of re-organisation he unfortunately became insane. The priests brought against him accusations of sacrilege and impiety, and tried to stir the people to revolt. He was extremely unpopular on account of the heavy taxes he had levied on the wealthier classes, as also for the extreme cruelty with which he had treated all ranks of his subjects. Stimulated both by the exhortations of the priests, and by the oppressive treatment to which they were daily subjected, the citizens of the new capital at length rose in rebellion. Their sovereign fled from his angry subjects and took refuge in a neighbouring monastery, where he donned the yellow robe and declared himself a priest. This declaration saved his life for a short time, but soon after his flight he was put to death by his favourite friend and general, who then followed the promptings of his ambition and the suggestions of his fellow-noblemen, in assuming the royal robes and crown. He called himself Somdetch Pra Boroma Rahcha Pra Putta Yaut Fah, and became the first king of the present dynasty. It is with the fall of Ayuthia, the rise of these two usurpers, and the founding of Bangkok that the authentic history of Siam commences. A period of about one hundred and forty years comprises the limits within which the chief facts of Siamese history can be substantiated. Bishop Pallegoix, compiled from native annals an account of Siam and its people, extending back to a very remote period; but His Majesty the late King has somewhat lessened one's confidence in these annals by declaring that they are "all full of fable, and are not in satisfaction for believe."

The city which was thus founded by Phya Tak, has ever since remained the chief home of the sovereign, and the seat of government. It is now one of the most interesting of Oriental towns. From the break of day till scorching noon, from scorching noon till the first cool breeze of evening, from sunset until midnight, and from then on through the small hours of the morning, the busy streets of Siam's capital present a never ending procession of curious and picturesque scenes. With the first faint glimmer of light in the east, the life of the city begins. The approach of day is heralded with the sonorous voices of the huge gongs that are being vigorously beaten by the official welcomer of the dawn, in a turret within the walls of the Royal Palace. The cocks, who have crowed the whole night through with troublesome persistency, greet the rising of the sun in notes both long and shrill, as if they were trying to impress upon their hearers the belief that they have but just awakened from the profoundest of slumbers. The bull-frog croaks his surly good morning. The pariah dogs howl or bark with an amount of vigour and determination, that shows that they too are anxious to contribute their share to the combination of discordant sounds, that forms a fitting prelude to the noise and bustle of the coming day.

It is not to be supposed that the wealthier members of Siamese society rise at this early hour. As a matter of fact, they have but recently retired to rest, and will not appear again either for business or pleasure until the sun has crossed the meridian. All the business of the State, and all the pleasures of Society are conducted in the cool hours of evening, night, or early morning, while during the broiling heat that comes and goes with the daylight, officialdom sleeps and rests. It is an excellent arrangement. The lower classes, however, are soon awake and astir. First to arise are the Chinese inhabitants. Here, as everywhere in the East, the subjects of the Celestial Empire have found their way, and, by their untiring energy and their wonderful adaptability to all changes of custom, life, and government, have managed to establish themselves so securely that any attempt to dislodge them would, if successful, be fatal to the best interests of the country. They live and die in the same atmosphere of superstition that surrounded them at their birth. No matter to what country their industry and enterprise may lead them, they never forget during their daily toil to give frequent evidence of their keen faith in the supernatural. Their first act on rising in the morning is to explode a number of noisy fire-crackers in every doorway, to dispel the crowds of evil spirits, who, during the dark hours of the night may have congregated round their thresholds with intent to do them harm. In the swarms of buzzing flies and stinging mosquitoes there are innumerable emissaries of the powers of ill, and these the noise and smoke effectually disperse for a brief interval. So that the daily practice of one superstitious custom is not without its immediate if temporary effect upon the well-being of its devout observers.

THE CURRY VENDOR.

The shops and workshops are open in front to the street on account of the intense tropical heat. There is no difficulty whatever in seeing and hearing every native dealer or craftsman as he pursues his daily employment. The foot-lathe of the woodturner, rude but efficient, whirls busily round, scattering its chips into the street; the barber sharpens his razors, sets his pans and chairs at the edge of the roadway in view of every passer-by, and prepares to shave a head or trim a pig-tail; and the idol-maker spreads his gold and silver leaf upon representations of Buddha made in wood or plaster after a strictly orthodox and ancient pattern.

Numerous Buddhist priests in robes of yellow, saffron or orange, pace slowly along with alms-bowls of wood or brass, receiving their daily food from the believers in their ancient faith. Their garments borrow new hues from the lately risen sun, and stand out in vivid and picturesque relief against the more sober tints of the roads and dwellings. The itinerant curry-vendor wastes no time in preparing his unsavoury messes, and is soon busy trying to dispose of them to the passers-by. A pole slung over his shoulder,