THE BIRDS AT THE MANGO TOPE. 



149 



like "the mast of some great ammiral," and its wealth of 

 shade and coolness. To the unsophisticated ryot it is no 

 question. He conceives that cultivation could only emas- 

 culate the pronounced flavour and firm fibrous texture of 

 that prince of fruits, the wild mango, likest a ball of tow 

 soaked in turpentine. The parrots are of the same mind, 

 and competition is so keen between them that all the hot 

 season a big-turbaned urchin of preternatural powers of 

 throat and lung is appointed guardian of the tope. Like 

 Mr. Onoocool Chunder Mookerjee,* he is " filamentous" as 

 to his limbs, but his middle part is unduly distended, and 

 this convicts him in my judgment of living on the green 

 mangoes which it is his duty to guard. But let him pass. 

 At this season our ears are safe from the irruption of his 

 frenzied yells, and our lives from jeopardy by his sling-stones. 

 The road to the tope is what the natives call a sudduk 

 that is, a layer of dust more or less deep, generally more, 

 and just wide enough not to allow two bullock-carts to cross. 

 It lies over a barren plain, with here a cotton-field, and there 

 a stubble-field, but all the way the keen morning air is astir 



The reader is earnestly advised to procure the Life of this gentleman 

 written by his nephew, and to read it. 



