138 HOURS WITH NATURE. 



kadamba in Svamiji's park. Overhead their wide- 

 spreading branches meet and interlace one another, 

 forming a shady canopy so dense that, even during the 

 fierce heat of an Indian summer, the scorching rays of 

 the sun reach the ground subdued and broken into a 

 thousand fragments, to give light and life to the in- 

 numerable species of ferns, aroids and other under- 

 growths with which the grounds abound. Here, during 

 the livelong summer days, cuckoos answer cuckoos, and, 

 fairy-like, the paradise flycatcher flits about from bough 

 to bough or dances to the music of the doyal and the 

 bulbul. Leaving their mountain home behind, flocks of 

 gay warblers, with the merry companions of their mi- 

 gration, the bee-eaters and fly-catchers, winter here, and 

 enliven the aspect of the park by their sprightly cheer- 

 ful ways. Sitting in the midst of thick foliage, and 

 screening itself from the profane gaze of man, the tiny 

 chatak (white-winged green bulbul) utters its long-drawn 

 mournful note, supplicating, it is said, for a drop of 

 water. Be that as it may, there is something mysterious 

 in the sound which carries with it a sense of gloom 

 rather than cheerfulness to the mind, especially in the 

 still hours of a summer midday. 



But the most striking feature of the grove on a 

 bright windless summer day is the abundance of butter- 

 flies. Their conspicuous beauty, elegant forms, and 

 rich and varied colours can hardly fail to strike even a 

 casual observer. Maddened with the pleasure of mere 

 existence, a vast multitude of them flutter and dance 



