mountains of the Himalayas, with slopes and buttresses extending seventy miles from the summit, seeming like a great wall rising straight up from the plain, as the first view breaks suddenly on the sight, is mysterious and impressive, and hard to realize.

Let us sit and wonder at this scene in the verandah of the friendly rest-house which a parental Government has erected at Kaladungi (‘Black Forest '), where necessary refreshment is supplied at a trifling expense. Fresh eggs and crisp chapatis are not bad fare, and the flavour and aroma of hill tea that comes straight from the Kumaon tea gardens, with sweet goat's milk, are not to be surpassed.

The group of chattering kahars, or dooly-bearers, who sit near the verandah, smoking their hubble-bubbles, squatting on their heels wrapped in brown blankets, as if it was freezing, reminds one that these tired, half-naked and very starved-looking natives of the fever-stricken Terai are waiting for their backshish, and anxious to return to their villages some twenty miles distant. Soon they are dismissed with a rupee among the lot, to add to the six annas each man has already received from the chaudhri, with perhaps the usual deductions. They are bad specimens of a nimble-footed and wiry race being decimated at this season by Terai fever, and cannot compare with the Rohilkhand kahar, who can do his sixty miles at a trot and eat only once a day.

Soon it is time to be stirring, as to-night we shall sleep 7,000 feet above the sea, in the beautiful sanatorium of Naini Tal.

A hill pony of the Bhotia race, sturdy and shaggy and about thirteen hands high, is ready for the ascent; and paharis, or hill coolies, are started by the chaprasi in charge, carrying the bedding and light baggage. The servants, horses, and heavy baggage will arrive some days

later, having marched from the Punjab with a 'hackery,' or bullock cart.

Those who have ridden by the now little-frequented track from Kaladungi to Naini Tal will recollect the everchanging experiences of that fifteen mile ride. The ascent is gradual at first; the road, which is a bridle-path cut through the dense sal forest on the side of the hill, following sometimes the steep spurs of the mountain, and sometimes the narrow valleys with gurgling streams; generally in the shade of evergreen trees, but often in the glare of a tropical sun. Looking back, there are occasional views of the plains below covered with endless dark-green forests of the tall and thick-foliaged sal and saj. The path-like glades and winding courses of the rivers with white, dry, shingly beds, are mapped out beneath. At this season the water which flows from the hills is all underground in the Bhabar, filtering through the shingle which has been swept down from the hills during the rains; when the rivers are foaming torrents, trending all away to the south till they disappear into the swamps of the Terai, now an ocean of yellow waving grass. The panorama becomes wider and more indistinct as one ascends, losing itself in a horizon of blue distant haze. Above, against the sky-line, there presently appear pillarlike stems, with bright-green tufted foliage, of the longleaved tropical pine (Pinus longifolia), which at 4,000 feet takes the place of the black-stemmed sal. Higher up, the forest changes to evergreen oaks of three or four kinds, and eventually to cypress and rhododendrons with profuse globes of scarlet blossom, now nearly over. There is always a rich undergrowth of elephant creepers and bright flowering begonias, followed by berberis and every sort of shrub and fern. Orchids hang from the tree-stems in quaint fashion, and the dwarf date-palm forms a graceful

undergrowth. The sunny sides of the ravines bristle with cactus-like prickly stems of the five-sided euphorbia.* Cultivation in terraces appears in the valleys, where rice has been grown, and villages of stone-built houses roofed with shingles are occasionally met with. The inhabitants are of a new character, being Kumaon paharis, or hill-men, a hard-working and wiry race. Near the villages are plantain groves laden with spikes of fine fruit, and lemons and pommeloes adorn the gardens. Apricots, ginger, and oranges are also grown. The zamindars, or landowners, are better clothed and healthier-looking than those of the plains, but goitre is not infrequent. The lower villages are mostly deserted in the hot weather, and the families move higher up. Charcoal-burning is largely practised; and the smelting of iron, which is found in the hills, has long been an industry, as shown by abandoned smelting furnaces and limekilns rudely built of sandstone.

A strange queer bird frequents these lower forests, called the rhinoceros hornbill.† He flaps along from tree to tree, as big as a goose, with dull yellow and black plumage, short wings, like a huge magpie, and long tail, making a panting sound like the piston of an engine; but his huge head, with Israelitish expression, is his most remarkable feature, and the great yellow and scarlet knob on his hooked bill gives him a top-heavy appearance. He lights on a bough as if he had never done so before, and balances himself with difficulty, only saving himself from falling by jerks of his ugly tail. He looks down at an intruder with a cunning expression in his small beady eye, and when he opens his big mouth there is a noise that would frighten a jackass of the strongest nerves. * Euphorbia pentaptera.

+ Dichoceros bicornis.

His whole aspect and colouring are in the worst of taste, and he succeeds in being amusing without intending it in the least.

The sturdy, sure-footed pony struggles on gallantly upwards, with occasional halts to graze for a bit on the patches of real green herbage, which become more frequent as the forest is left behind, and the hills become barer and more precipitous; yet still the cliffs tower higher, and another appears against the sky as if the summit would never be reached. The rock becomes shaly and disintegrated, and looks as if the mountain was ready to topple down into the abyss below. One great landslip has already occurred, where at least a thousand feet of the precipice have gone down, leaving an awful gash in the mountain breast, where parti-coloured strata are laid bare sloping at a high angle against the sky, blocking up the khud below with acres of confused ruin. The path zigzags frantically towards a gap in the overhanging cliffs, and at length emerges on the ghat, when the scene suddenly changes and the path begins to descend through forests of oak and rhododendron into the peaceful valley of Naini Tal. Presently glimpses are obtained of the shining green waters of the lake, and pretty, red-roofed bungalows and an English church come into view. Cypresses* with pointed feathery shapes clothe the circle of surrounding hills, headed by the lofty peak of China Pahar. A wider road rejoices in the familiar name of the Mall. Evening closes rapidly. The traveller is directed to the hotel, and his journey is at an end.

To describe the well-known hill-station of Naini Tal would be superfluous in these days, when so many go to India and in India so many go to the hills. In the year) 1861, however, it was a much more primitive place than * Cupressus torulosa.

it is at present. It had only recently been adopted as a sanatorium for troops. The Commissioner of Kumaon, Colonel Ramsay, C.B., had some years previously discovered it. There was in those days only a vague report of a beautiful and sacred valley high up in the mountains, uninhabited by any save a few jogis, or priests, but no path was known leading to it. Colonel Ramsay had gone on an expedition to explore the lofty peak of China Pahar, and came suddenly upon the lake nestled in the secluded valley close under the summit. It is not a crater, being on stratified shaly rock, and was probably formed by a gigantic slip down of half the mountain. There is no decided stream running into it, except a small one which comes out of Sukha Tal, a now 'dry lake' basin, and there is no proper overflow from it except in the rains. The water goes out in a subterranean passage, bursting forth in a good-sized torrent among the precipices at the lower end of the basin. It is surrounded by steep hills on every side, apparently clothed with dense jungle of evergreen oaks with silvery under-sides to their shiny leaves, and other beautiful evergreens. The forest was then a favourite haunt of wild animals, sambur deer and gooral (the Himalayan chamois), bears and tigers. Colonel Ramsay used to say he had seen a herd of wild elephants climbing the steep slopes of China, and that he had had such shooting as he had nowhere else found the equal of. In those early days a very steep path had been engineered up the face of the precipice from the Juli side, up which everything had to be carried on coolies' heads. Now there was a native bazaar and a number of fine level roads winding about the hill slopes, and about fifty picturesque bungalows had been built, all roofed with sheet iron, and barracks built of stone. Timber was plentiful, and lime was burnt on the spot.

Colonel Ramsay, who had built