THE WILDERNESS 29 



brooks tributary to the main river and running 

 to it from hill or lake beneath a lattice archway 

 of greenery. Gliding silently down such a 

 brook, my canoe shot one evening round a 

 bend and full on a great moose that was busy 

 crunching the lily-pads. So intent was the 

 clumsy deer on its summer salad that a few 

 moments elapsed ere the ugly head went up, 

 and then, with a defiant snort of anger at being 

 disturbed, the giant went full gallop up the 

 steep bank, and turned again on a hill-top to 

 snort again before crashing away into the 

 timber. 



Very different from these northern forests, 

 yet akin with the spirit of the wilderness, is 

 the eastern jungle, with its massive pillars of 

 teak and bamboo and deodar, its fern-clumps 

 and giant rhododendrons, and the serpentine 

 creepers gay with gorgeous blooms. Here, 

 too, are veritable seas of high grass, and the 

 carpet is woven of ragwort, thistle, violet, 

 cineraria, and other homelike flowers. Perched 

 amid the hills in the forest are native villages, 

 and down in the plains are ruined temples, 

 steaming paddy-fields, and deserted tanks. 

 The light in the eastern jungle is mystic. A 

 strange, impressive gloom, in extraordinary 

 contrast to the blinding glare in the open, 

 pervades the aisles and transepts of Nature's 

 temples. There are times when this unearthly 



