A RAMBLE ROUND SIMLA. 371 
but I cannot remember having seen more than that one. Other 
Partridges, as well as Quail, are to be got in the lower regions of 
the valleys. 
The last game bird I will mention is our old friend the 
Woodcock, Scolopax rusticola. This bird is occasionally met with 
near Simla as early as the end of October or beginning of 
November, when working for the Kalij Pheasant; but it is then, 
at any rate, decidedly scarce. I do not doubt that a few weeks 
later there must be a good number of them scattered about in 
the neighbourhood, but the forest in most places is so extensive 
that the birds are hard to find. In the not very distant Kulu 
Valley, I have been told, on the best authority, that the Woodcock 
shooting in the winter is first-rate. Such, then, is the sport you 
may expect to find in a ramble round Simla. 
If time had allowed, I should like to have said something as 
to the delights there prepared for the artist and the botanist. 
Without being exactly either, your daily ramble is a continual 
feast to the eye. You are gladdened by the red and golden 
autumn tints of the chestnut, the walnut, the wild pear, and wild 
cherry; the deep dark green of the deodar is here and there 
aflame with the scarlet Virginia creeper; the soft grey of the 
steep crags, ever and anon breaking the monotony of the dark 
forest, is a perfect marvel of mosaic in purple and madder, 
carmine and orange,—scarlet, green, and ochre. Under foot it 
is well nigh in some places all fern, the maidenhair and the 
exquisite parsley fern being the most conspicuous: on the open 
hill-sides you recognize your old friend the silver-stemmed 
raspberry, and the bright yellow and scarlet clumps of the bar- 
berry ; you stoop to pick a lingering wild strawberry beautifully 
powdered with white crystals of frost, or a modest white violet, or 
mauve marguerite; and when the day’s delights are at last all 
over, and the last lingering flush has left the snows, you are back 
at your bungalow, where a roaring wood-fire awaits you; you have 
a good dinner of Welsh mutton (it is nearly as good) and roast 
pheasant, smoke the pipe of peace, muse or talk a bit over the 
cheerful flame, pile on the logs, and tumble into bed. 

