147 



THE BIRDS AT THE MANGO TOPE, 



January. 



ke ride of the station. 

 In a country where, 

 look in what direction 

 you may, the eye meets 

 one unvarying expanse 

 of plain, scantily 

 c'othed in the yellow 

 traces of last monsoon's 

 verdure, and dotted 

 with scrubby babul- 

 bushes, it is certainly 

 a grand idea that 

 giant mango-trees 



should collect into patches, and have under them a well and 

 a small temple. These patches, it is true, are like angels' 



