EXTRACTS FROM AN ANONYMOUS JOURNAL. 



already seen, one of them still clung to Janardan. Al- 

 though according to his notion its education was 

 complete, he did not venture to let it have freedom 

 at once, as the surroundings were quite new to the 

 creature. Some sort of accommodation was there- 

 fore necessary, and a small old rattan basket being at 

 hand, it was placed on two pegs in the mud-wall of 

 his neat little hut, with a thick tuft of soft dry grass 

 as a bedding. Thus housed, the young bird felt 

 very comfortable and happy, and flew in and out as it 

 listed, and in a few days made friends with other birds. 

 About four months after the events narrated above, 

 business took Janardan to Basantapore, a considerable 

 village on the right bank of the Bhagirathi. 



It was evening. The western sky was glowing with 

 crimson and gold ; the still waters of the sacred Ganges 

 reflected the colours in tenfold beauty. The village 

 common and everything around were bathed in a cheer- 

 ful glow of exquisite loveliness. Anon, the golden rays 

 of the setting sun quivered and danced upon the river 

 breast, and the colours faded away. The glory of the 

 sunset deserted the fields and meadows, but yet lingered 

 upon tall Hijul trees (Barringtonia), which, with their 

 clusters of crimson flowers formed a momentarily res- 

 plendent back ground to the prevailing dullness of the 

 common. Birds that feed during the day were returning 

 in flocks to their accustomed roosting places, transform- 

 ing every road-side tree into a scene of great excitement. 

 Night-herons, and for that matter, other birds that 



