—but it is a solitary grandeur, and a 'dread magnificence.'

The hills always have a rich treat in store in a good first-view-when they break upon one for the first time in all their unrivalled sublimity. There they stand, ever the same as when the eyes of the first man permitted to have a sight of them gazed upon their majestic heights, defying winds and storms, and even old Time himself. But gradually they take off the edge of the appetite, till at last we feel to have 'supped full on horrors' and hills.

To this day, as some thirty years ago, when Jacquemont travelled through these regions, there is scarcely to be observed a house in a day's journey.' The wild tract is not fit for the abode of man. Not even the poor Santhal thinks of rearing a hut in these rocky solitudes. Particular spots remain perhaps in the same state as on the day of creation. Ages have rolled away, and yet the steps of man have not trod upon them, nor the stroke of the spade hath changed a single item in their fea

tures.

No doubt that, in the abundance of vegetation all around us, there are thousands of shrubs and trees, the use of which is yet unknown to man. How is a modern botanist at a loss to reconcile with old Moses' account all this vegetation, the seeds of which alone would have freighted Noah's whole ark. Near the foot of the hills was a solitary man cutting away wood for fuel. He has nearly filled up a cart-load. It has cost him only his labour, and he shall go to the next bazar to sell the

wood for the necessaries of life. Of the waste-lands spreading on all sides, much is now suffered to be common property by use, if not by right. No bunkur revenue is derived from them yet. The proprietors, therefore, connive at the trespasses of cattle browzing, or cutting wood, or hunting for birds or honey-combs on the lands, the value of which they would fain see to have been increased by such trespasses.

Though the bears and tigers formerly infesting these regions have greatly diminished, still the traveller is not without apprehensions of their turning up in his path. Not many years ago, a number of passengers were coming down the road after dark. There was a Hindoostanee, who happened to go ahead of the company by a few steps, carrying slung across his shoulders a lotah fastened to his club. A tiger, lurking near the road, suddenly sprang upon and ran off with him to the woods. It was vain to have attempted a rescue in the dark night; and the poor Hindoostanee was carried awaythe clink of his brass-pot being distinctly heard, as he was dragged to the bush over the rugged ground.

Only last year, an up-country gentleman fell in with a bear. It was a hot day, and the animal had been tempted from his den by the outside cool air of the evening. The brute lay straight across the road. Luckily it was not quite dark, and Bruin could be distinctly seen stretched out in his hideous length, from some fifty or sixty yards off. The horse shied, and would not move forward a step. The coachman began to blow hard on his horn. But Bruin cared not to obstruct the public

thoroughfare. Finding the shaggy monster loath to remove, the gentleman, at his wits' end, thought proper to get up on the top of the gharry, to make himself scarce from the reach of the foe. In this ticklish position, at a gloomy hour, and amid a gloomy scene, he remained at a stand-still for full twenty minutes. It pleased at last Mr Bruin to get himself upon his legs, and shaking the dust off from his body, to go slowly past down the slope of the road, when way was made to speed on as fast as possible.

to

Rarely, however, are such unwelcome tenants of the forest now encountered on the road. The frequent resort of men and merchandise have scared them away the more impervious thickets and deep-retired dells, which they are seldom tempted to quit. The tender care of a paternal Government for the safety of travellers has placed chowkeys and serais at intervals of every two or three miles. There are scouts to watch at night from machauns, or cock-lofts, posted along the road. On these machauns is perched a tiny hut of reeds and leaves, sufficient to admit a man and his bedding-and up there creeps the paharadar after dusk to spend the night in keeping a look-out after the travellers. Indeed, law and police, trade and industry, do far more than people of romantic dispositions will readily admit, to develop in our minds a sense of the wilder beauties of nature. A traveller must be freed from all apprehension of being killed or starved before he can be charmed by the bold outlines and rich tints of the hills.' It shall be a great day for India, when the progress of cultiva

A Halting-place.-Dangerous Road. 215

tion shall extirpate the races of its wild beasts, and when the last tiger roaming the land shall be slain and preserved as a curiosity for posterity.

The mile-stones give as it were a tongue to distance, and the Electric Telegraph, passing through the heart of the forest, carries our voice from Indus to the pole.'

After running for twenty miles in a continuous succession, the hills recede for a time, and are succeeded by an open valley, in which a line of huts is honoured with the name of a serai. Halted to bathe and breakfast. The third tank on this side of Raneegunge is seen in this valley. Towards evening the hills again made their appearance. The alternation of steeps and ravines that now succeeded made the journey very toilsome, and not a little dangerous. The doctor and the tradesman, coming together in one gharry, narrowly escaped a serious accident. They were coming down the road over a declivity. The gharry, which at such places rolls with a partial impetus of its own, forced the horse out of the road, where it had a bend. Fortunately, the driver had presence of mind to rein up the horse, and the servants on the top gave the alarm to jump out of the carriage. Had the gharry rolled into the bottom of the ravine, it would have been all over with our friends. Quite a similar accident befell a native gentleman coming up last year from Calcutta to Benares. He was travelling with his wife and child in the same gharry. Somehow or other it got upset, and slided down into the ravine. Indeed, nobody was

actually killed, but the poor lady rose with a fractured shoulder-bone, and the child severely bruised. It is particularly unsafe to cross the causeways slightly protected by fences of stone loosely piled up, not even breast-high, and one foot deep. A prank of the horse on one of these causeways is sure to terminate in a fatal plunge into the awful chasm below.

Some of the spurs, abutting almost on the very road, seemed to obstruct the passage in the distance. It was near the close of the day. But a sunset among the hills is very different from a sunset behind the fantastic clouds of an autumn evening in the horizon of Calcutta. There, the parting day

'Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues

With a new colour as it gasps away,

The last still loveliest, till-'tis gone-and all is gray.' Here, the sun no sooner sinks behind the hills than they throw their tall shadows on the ground, and excluding every ray, envelop the scene in a sudden gloom. The luminary is not allowed to cast 'a longing, lingering look behind.' He sinks plumb down, and all is dark in a minute or two.

Arrived at Belcoopee an hour after nightfall. The place is interesting for some hot-springs, which lie about 300 yards from the road. A Brahmin volunteered to conduct us to the spot. But night was not the proper time for exploration through the jungles. In the opinion of our valiant tradesman, to alight from the carriage in the jungles after dark is to step right into the maw of a tiger.