A SKETCH IN AN INDIAN JUNGLE 9 



and chest, and the pouches formed by its loose folds and the 

 man's skin contain all the coolie's worldly goods tobacco, meat 

 (cooked or uncooked), and any other thing to eat good or bad, 

 money (if he has it), a bottle of spirits (if he has been abste- 

 mious enough to keep any in it even for a moment, which is very 

 rare), his pipe in fact, everything which he can possibly beg or 

 steal rests snugly in that warm corner against his brawny 

 bosom. The scenery around is certainly magnificent, and fresh 

 and beautiful during the young hours of the day. The ever- 

 present, beautifully shaded green is only broken and set off by 

 the silvery stream and its yellow shore, now sparkling in the 

 morning sun, as its rays catch the sand and broken quartz still 

 wet with dew. The larger trees are teak and sal chiefly, with 

 here and there a silvery barked gigantic cotton-tree, its leafless 

 branches now one mass of bright crimson flowers, the resort 

 of countless long-tailed, noisy parrakeets. The graceful tree 

 fern with its delicately cut dark green leaves, and the fresher 

 coloured plantain with heavy bunches of green fruit, raise them- 

 selves proudly above the dense underwood an impenetrable 

 interwoven network of canes, rattan, and creepers of every 

 description. 



How peacefully, almost noiselessly, the water glides past us as 

 we walk up the rough bed of one of the smaller streams ; so tiny 

 is the rivulet now that it is difficult indeed to imagine how ever 

 it could have been the mighty torrent which but lately had the 

 strength to move those enormous boulders scattered about every- 

 where, when, all powerful, it had swept them down in its mad 

 course like so many pebbles, far away from down the mountains, 

 swept them down with resistless force, and then, by constant 

 friction as it rushed past, had gradually smoothed their rough 

 edges and polished them and even hollowed them out. There is 

 a patch of giant " elephant " grass, 12 feet high and more, now 

 dry and yellow, so thick that only the heaviest animals can force 

 their way through. Then the mountains on either side approach 

 each other more, and the valley contracts rapidly into a narrow 

 gorge, into which the sun, except at noon, cannot send its warm- 

 ing rays. The air here is laden with moisture, there is a chilli- 

 ness about, and, as a fit guardian to such a place, an immense 

 snake slowly glides away at our approach. The vegetation is 

 more luxuriant, and those shrubs and trees which rejoice in 



