EXTRACTS FROM AN ANONYMOUS JOURNAL. 55 



found in him a constant yet wise abettor of all sorts of 

 innocent juvenile sports and pastimes. He it was who 

 whittled my first danda guti, and initiated me into the 

 mysteries of that healthful village game. The first bird 

 that I could call my own was his gift. It was a fledgeling 

 Gang salik (Bank myna) just taken out of a hole in the 

 steep bank of the Bhagirati. 



IMAGES OF THE PAST. In calling up images of 

 the past, certain river-side scenes which took hold 

 of my childish imagination come before my mind's 

 eye in all their freshness, and with all the details 

 clearly defined, as if, I were actually gazing at- 

 them now. I find the broad and impetuous river 

 dwindled into an insignificant stream. An abrupt and 

 precipitous bank riddled with countless holes and 

 supporting a rugged bluff flanks \ L'on one side j 

 while on the other a vast expanse of sand spits 

 slope gently down to the water. All is quiet,' 

 except a few straggling gangsaliks hanging about 

 the holes, or a solitary tern skimming the surface of 

 water on the opposite shore in quest of mullets, which 

 affect shallow water. Beyond the low lying flats of white 

 sand, strewn every-where with broken shells of fresh- 

 water mollusks, the spits form a somewhat higher bank 

 supporting a luxuriant vegetation of tamarisk (Jhao). 

 Here and there are depressions, like miniature lakes, some 

 small and some large, but all abundantly fringed with tall 

 reed grass. A couple of Cormorants are disporting 



