REMINISCENCES OF JUNGLYPUR 



H 



OW they come crowding in on us at times 

 the memories of days gone by! And what 

 more favourable moment than when one lies 

 back on the big stuffed chair in front of a 

 glowing fire of coals, pipe in mouth, one's feet comfortably 

 on the inglenook ? 



The thick curtains are drawn, shutting out the bitter 

 prospect of driving sleet and slushy pavement, where 

 night comes down on the fog-blurred lamps, and at one's 

 elbow the cut-glass bottle and seltzer sparkle benignly. 



The thoughts are far afield. Farther than the autumn 

 just past, with its recollections of moor and loch, spinney 

 and fast - rusting bracken ; far beyond these chill seas, 

 " somewhere east of Suez " in fact, away in that " coral- 

 stranded " land of strange interest and warring contrasts, 

 that repels with one hand and beckons with the other! 

 There rises before the mind's eye a vision of the little camp 

 under the spreading branches of some giant mango or 

 banyan tree. The golden sunset glow dying in the west, 

 over mighty forest-clad hills, as we fling ourselves into 

 the comfortable chair and light up a good Indian cheroot 

 not a guinea a hundred here! The hum of voices 

 behind the little 8o-lb. tent, where the skins are pegged 

 out, and the rattle of a cleaning-rod hard at work on the 

 good rifle that has contributed to such an excellent day's 

 sport. In the ravine, hard by, as the shadows deepen, the 

 hoarse bark of a wandering deer. 



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