42 Leaves from an Indian Jtingle. 



Our hog-hunting cost us nothing no two thousand rupee 

 racehorses no heavy tent club mess bills. But we got our 



Pig I 



As the rider* canters over the level cultivated plains four 

 miles due west of Junglypur, there rises to meet him, ovef 

 long stretches of cotton and millet, a line of nodding, slen- 

 der-necked date-palms, their drooping plumes hanging 

 above the tangled coverts of a little stream known as 

 "thePakhalNaddi." 



The name of this beautiful piece of 1 pig covert is perhaps 

 derived from the word pakhdl, meaning a bhistts water- 

 bag ; and a happy 'simile it is, for the stream watering 

 it may aptly be likened to a never-failing massak. Through^ 

 out the driest hot-weather season its springs well forth in 

 the midst of a parched and dusty plain, and break away ifl 

 a deep cool stream, meandering over a muddy bed from 

 pool to pool, the still dark depth of which reflect the grace* 

 ful overhanging forms of shady boughs. 



This covert is extremely thick, and of the kind known s6 

 well to Deccan hog-hunters as a tindhthund, where the 

 undergrowth is largely composed of dwarf date bushes, 

 intermingled with lantdna and Tcarunda, and where impene- 

 trable masses of dense green creepers, encouraged by the 

 moisture-soaked soil, swarm tumultuously up the highest 

 palms, flinging thick canopies of verdure over their drooping 

 plumes, and smothering the underwood in an all-pervading 

 embrace. Hard by, irrigated by little channels led off the 

 main stream, are several betelnut, sugarcane, and other 

 gardens, affording a cover scarcely less secure than 

 the palm ndla itself; the whole, in sooth, forming a 

 retreat calculated to lull the most suspiciously inclined 

 porker with soft dreams of high feeding and undisturbed 

 peace. 



