TACKLING A TUSKER. 53 



range of the Sewalik hills was on our left, whilst 

 on our right, in the far distance, towered range 

 upon range of billowy, forest-clad hills, which 

 were surmounted finally by the regions of eternal 

 snow, whose rugged outline ever and anon changed 

 from a vivid rose-colour to pearly grey and daz- 

 zling white as the sun rose higher and higher. 

 Oh, the glories of a sunrise in those jungles ! No 

 pen can adequately describe them, no eye but 

 that of an artist or a sportsman (who, I think, is 

 generally a lover of Nature in all her varied 

 scenes and moods) can appreciate. Kind reader, 

 I am only one of the latter class, so I will not 

 attempt a task that from sheer inability I could 

 do but scant justice to. I can only leave it to 

 your imagination, and get along on the track of 

 the tusker. 



After about two miles of sharp walking, we 

 reached a small patch of cultivation where the 

 jungle had been 'cleared.' Here our friend's handi- 

 work was very apparent. The crop had been 

 torn up, and trampled down, as if some playful 

 locomotive, at least, had been engaged in some 

 mad gambol, whilst the great pit-like impressions 

 of the elephant's feet, as yet unhardened by the 

 sun, bore out the truth of Ramiah's over-night 

 statement. The tracks led into some high grass 

 towards the low Sewalik hills, and these we 



