Chapter XVIII: Marian's Generosity

Marian was, I believe, genuinely disappointed at Lilian's decision to leave Fairview and retire with her aunt to some cottage home.

'It will look so!' she ejaculated again and again; which words perhaps best expressed her sentiments upon the point. 'People might think I had not been inclined to behave handsomely towards you, you know; but I'm sure no one could offer more fairly than I do. There's the run of the place, and a carriage to ride out in, and your keep, and all that; besides two hundred a year to spend as you please. _I_ had only two hundred a year to do everything with, you know, before Pa died. And if that isn't enough--well, I shouldn't perhaps mind saying'----

'It would be a great deal more than enough,' murmured poor Lilian. 'Only I must be with my dear aunt wherever she is, and she prefers having a home of her own, however humble.--Do you not, auntie?'

Mrs Tipper was very decided upon that point; and Marian did not object. 'Auntie' was quite welcome to consult her own taste in the matter. Indeed Marian was more ready to fall in with the little lady's desire to leave Fairview than it was under the circumstances quite polite to do.

'But for you, dear, it is altogether different,' she went on to urge. 'You are young, and have been brought up like a lady; and it really seems quite cruel for you to be going to live at a cottage, when there's such a home as this offered you.'

'I should prefer being with my aunt,' repeated Lilian, with flushed cheeks, turning her eyes, full of tears, lovingly towards the little lady, who nodded and smiled as though to say: 'Do not fear my being wounded by anything that is said, my dear. I shall only be troubled when you are.'

'You haven't tried it yet, dear,' sagely returned Marian; 'and you don't know what it is to live like poor people. Think better of it; and I will have a _distang-gay_ lady to go about with us; and we will fill the place with company, and have lots of gaieties. Do, pray, think what you will be giving up, before you make up your mind.'

But she found that Lilian was not to be tempted; and Marian was at length brought to see that her arguments were of no avail. So I think she satisfied herself with the reflection that she had done all that could be expected of her, only stipulating that Lilian should acknowledge her generosity to 'people,' as she indefinitely termed the Fairview world.

'It is only fair that it should be made known that I was ready to act generously, you know.'

Lilian promised that it should be made known. Moreover, when at length matters were finally settled, Marian begged Lilian to take anything which she had a fancy for with her.

'I mean, of course, the things that have been given to you, you know,' she said a little hurriedly, as though afraid that her generosity might be interpreted too literally; adding, with a little laugh: 'If you took _everything_ you fancied, there would be nothing left at Fairview, I expect! But there; just say what is yours, and I will take your word for it!' she ejaculated, in another outburst of good-nature.

If it had been left to Lilian, very little would have been taken from Fairview. But it was not left to her; and Mrs Tipper and I were more business-like, and did not hesitate to secure for Lilian not a few valuables. That little lady recollected a great many things which had been named by Mr Farrar as gifts to his child. Fortunately for her, he had been in the habit of talking about any new purchases which he made to add to the glories of Fairview, as presents to Lilian. In fact, had we kept strictly to the letter of Marian's offer, and taken whatever had been given to Lilian, we might have carried away nearly everything the house contained. As it was, we did not scruple to claim a great deal. Her mother's jewellery; a nice little collection of pictures; the grand piano, which had been a birthday present; and an endless assortment of valuables, even to a new silver dinner-service. For the last, we were indebted to Saunders, who reminded Mrs Tipper and Lilian that Mr Farrar had mentioned at the dinner-table having ordered the new pattern expressly for his daughter, by-and-by, naming the cost. Poor Mr Farrar! it is pitiful to reflect how glad we were to avail ourselves of his little ostentatious speeches, for the benefit of his child.

But in spite of herself, Marian began to look very grave and anxious as one thing after another was eagerly named by the servants as 'Miss Lilian's.' They had got scent of what was going on, and were eager to give evidence of this or that having been given to her. She had made up her mind to be generous, and strove hard with herself. But when it came to be a question of a set of diamonds, she could control herself no longer, nervously questioning as to the evidence of its having been a gift to Lilian's mother. Was the inscription inside the case--'To my dear Wife, on our wedding-day'--sufficient to make the diamonds Lilian's; and would Lilian mind repeating his exact words when her father put them into her hands on her last birthday.

'Of course I only want what is right; but she wasn't his wife, you know; so it couldn't be their wedding-day,' anxiously ejaculated Marian, her eyes dwelling fondly upon the jewels in their open cases.

Fortunately for us, Lilian fled at the first words, and we had Robert Wentworth to help us, so we battled courageously for the diamonds, and at length gained the day. Marian was obliged to yield, though she did so with a sigh over 'Pa's extravagance.' 'He never gave diamonds to Ma! Why, Lilian will have quite a large fortune to take away, with one thing and another!' Then, in reply to some allusion from Mr Wentworth about the fortune Lilian was _leaving_, he was sharply reminded that it was not hers to leave. 'People seem to forget that it's only my rights, and if it were not for my generosity things would be very different for Lilian.' For she was, I think, beginning to feel that her generosity was not sufficiently recognised, and it required some little encouragement in the way of being appreciated to keep it alive.

Meanwhile, Mrs Tipper and I were quietly at work in search of a cottage. We succeeded beyond our expectations; being fortunate enough to secure a pretty little place on the outskirts of a neighbouring village, at a very moderate rent, Robert Wentworth giving us material assistance in the negotiations. Having overcome the dear little woman's scruples about accepting half of my fifty pounds as my share towards the first three months' housekeeping, we gave ourselves up to the business of furnishing; and in this also Robert Wentworth was of much assistance to us, though I do not think that any one besides myself attributed it to anything warmer than friendship. Becky and I and a couple of work-people were busily engaged from morning till night in arranging and making ready, in order that no time might be lost in getting away from Fairview before Marian's good-nature altogether collapsed. Lilian was becoming very anxious to take her departure; and it was evident that to Mrs Tipper herself the change would be a very welcome one.

'To tell the truth, my dear, it will be a real blessing to me to live in a small house and be able to go into my own kitchen again,' she confided to me. 'You and the dear child will be the company in the parlour; and I shall make the puddings and pies, and know what's in them!' she ejaculated, enjoying her little jest.

Of course I did not mean to be idle, though I agreed that the dear little lady should reign supreme in the kitchen. Becky was to be our factotum; and very proud she was of the position, making it very evident that Fairview had altogether lost its attractions for her now. We began to plume ourselves upon having quite a little model home, where nothing but love and peace would be admitted. Ah me! it was as well we should think so!

It was a very pretty, if somewhat fantastically built cottage, which had been erected for an ornamental lodge at the entrance of a fine estate, the property of an old but impoverished family, which had been brought to the hammer, and sold in separate portions. The house itself--a fine old place, built in one of the Tudor reigns--stood on an eminence some two miles distant, and had been taken on lease by some benevolent lady, for the purpose of making a Home for girls who had suffered imprisonment, with a view to prevent their further degradation.

Our cottage was situated just out of the village, which lay in the hollow at the foot of the hill, on the side of which stood the house which I have mentioned as being visible from one part of the Fairview grounds, and which I so coveted for my married life with Philip. A little to the left, at the back of our cottage, still stood a portion of the fine old woods as they had been for many a generation of the A---- family. The land on the other side of what had once been the avenue, had been turned into hop-fields and so forth. In front of the cottage, the space had been so much encroached upon that what had once been a fine private road was now but a narrow lane. Branching from that lane, on the right was the village, and on the left another lane leading to a field, through which there was a right of way to the railway station; and from the stile of that field ran two paths, the lane I have mentioned passing the cottage and on to the village; and another lane at right angles with it, leading through the woods.

There was some little talk of _my_ house soon being in the market, said the work-people, to whom I was curious enough to put a few questions about it. The lease was expiring, it seemed, and the present residents did not intend to renew it. This was news indeed. If, by good fortune, Philip arrived in time to secure it, how delightful it would be; the two others I most cared for in the world living so near us! How delightful to be able to shew my appreciation of the kindness I had received in some better way than by words! Then I pleased myself with another pretty picture of the future, in which Lilian and Robert Wentworth were the principal figures.

That Lilian would very long remain as depressed as she now was, I did not believe; her mind was a too healthy one for that. Indeed the reaction had already set in. After the first shock was got over, she was, I think, not a little astonished at the comparatively small amount of regret she suffered on account of the loss of her lover. It might be that she was beginning to realise the fact that her love for him had never really been what she had imagined it. In one point she was mistaken. She believed that he also had deceived himself, and was firmly persuaded that he did not love her and never had.

_I_ knew that Arthur Trafford was in truth suffering the keenest misery in his efforts to tear himself away from her. He loved her better than all the world, except himself; and although he had not sufficient manliness and moral courage to make an effort in the right direction, I was glad to see he had the grace to be heartily ashamed of the part he was playing. I could not help being a little amused by Mrs Tipper's mild suggestions, in the midst of his wild ravings against his miserable fate. Indeed her very practical advice about looking for work, and never blaming Fate or giving up hope as long as he had youth and strength and his two hands to use, was not the lightest punishment he had just now to bear, Lilian being present, sitting white and silent with downcast eyes. I think he was almost driven to the verge of entreating her to share his poverty and challenge fortune with him; but he did not get beyond the verge. Marian silently watched with keen eyes and heightened colour, and it was not difficult to read her thoughts. She still found her position at Fairview a somewhat anomalous one; and would continue to find it so as long as Lilian remained there; the latter being treated as mistress, and she herself as much as possible ignored by the servants.

It was, I think, some little relief to us all when the cottage was declared ready for occupation. Mrs Tipper and I contrived to spare Lilian the leave-takings and final wrench of separation from the home she had always been taught to consider her own. We invited her to go to look at the progress of our work; and once there, we hinted that she might just as well remain at the cottage. There need be no returning to Fairview unless she desired it. As we had hoped, Lilian was only too glad to avail herself of the suggestion; unconsciously shewing how much she had dreaded a parting scene. So we three took tea together in the little parlour, which was to serve as dining-room. Our drawing-room, as we jestingly called it, on the other side of the house, was left unfinished, for Lilian and me to arrange, according to our own taste--in truth to afford some occupation for the former's hands and thoughts, and to leave no time for dwelling upon bygones, at anyrate for a while. Mrs Tipper and Becky had contrived to make it appear quite a festive occasion; the tea-table being spread with all sorts of little home-made dainties, which we felt bound to make a demonstration of enjoying, and I verily believe did enjoy a great deal more than we were conscious of doing, so pleasant was the contrast to the meals we had latterly partaken at Fairview. We could now freely shew our thoughts to each other, and that itself was no slight boon, after being obliged to pick and choose our words, as we had been in Marian's presence.

Afterwards I left Lilian with Mrs Tipper; I knew that she would put aside her own feelings in her desire to please the dear little mistress of the cottage, by shewing an interest in the arrangements which had been made, &c. And I had to set forth for Fairview again, in order to make the best excuses I could for Lilian's non-return.

I found Marian very much inclined to take offence at the method of quitting Fairview. Of course she would have sent Lilian in the carriage in a proper way; and she ought to have been allowed to shew people what her feeling in the matter was. 'Going off in that way makes it look as though I had not been inclined to treat Lilian handsomely; and I call it very unfair towards me!'

I intimated that Mrs Tipper and I had hoped to spare Lilian's feelings in leaving the home she had been taught to consider her own.

'But I think _my_ feelings ought to have been consulted too, Miss Haddon. It's all very well to talk of Lilian's feelings; but it is not fair to let people think I don't want to do right,' she repeated, walking to and fro amidst her gorgeous surroundings. 'Of course they will think so now she has gone off in that way, and all my generosity goes for nothing! Besides, I was not prepared to be left alone in this sudden way, the servants all as upstart and impertinent as ever they can be. And I haven't been able to engage a lady-companion yet.'

In truth, Miss Farrar--I suppose I must give her the name now--had found well-born ladies (she had made it a _sine qua non_ that the lady she sought should be well-born as well as everything else that was desirable in a companion) were either at a premium just then, or they did not incline towards Fairview, for she had not as yet succeeded in finding one after her own heart. In her difficulty, she extended the olive-branch to me; beginning by a little pointedly reminding me that the burden was already heavy enough upon Mrs Tipper's shoulders, and opining that I should no doubt be glad of something to do.

'I shouldn't mind paying you a pound a week till I got suited; and,' she was good enough to add, 'we don't know but what a permanent engagement might come about, if we get on together.'

I declined with as good a grace as I could, politely but very decidedly; and then went upstairs to label the boxes and parcels which were to be sent down to the cottage, and make sundry other arrangements for a final flitting.

THE JUNGLE AND ITS INHABITANTS.

In an interesting volume on the _Large and Small Game of Bengal_,[1] Captain J. H. Baldwin presents us with a peculiarly striking picture of field-sports pursued in the ample game-preserves of India. The tiger, the tyrant of the Indian jungle, has, as is due, the precedence over his feebler or less dreaded congeners. Skirting the base of the Himalayan range, extending east and west for many hundreds of miles, is a tract of land covered with jungle, called the Terai; this is his chosen home. Cradled in the long feathery grass of the jungle, he gambols about in his infancy playful as a kitten, and usually attains when full grown the length of nine or nine and a half feet. Wild hogs, deer, and all the larger species of game, are his usual prey; but sometimes a pair of tigers will take up their abode within a mile of a village, sallying out from their lair every three or four days to pull down a bullock or a buffalo, always selecting the fattest in the herd. The strength of their muscular fore-arms is enormous. Captain Baldwin says: 'I remember in Assam a tiger in the dead of night leaping over a fence nearly five feet high, seizing one of the largest oxen, and again leaping back, dragging the bullock after him across several fields and over two hedges.'

In his old age, when his teeth become worn, he not infrequently becomes a man-eater; and such is the devastation he then occasions, that whole villages are sometimes deserted, and extensive districts laid waste from dread of these feline scourges. In these disastrous circumstances the advent of an English sportsman with his rifle and elephants is hailed as a godsend by the whole neighbourhood.

A tiger when brought to bay often 'spits' exactly like a cat. Contrary to the received opinion, tigers seldom roar; but at night the forests resound with the hideous din of their cries, which resemble the caterwauling of a whole squadron of gigantic Tom-cats. In making a charge the tiger utters a series of short vicious coughing growls, as trying to the nerves as the most terrific roar. Tiger-hunting, even from elephant-back, is always accompanied with danger. One day when Captain Baldwin and a friend were out beating the bush for tigers, one of his beaters, a fine young man, 'foolishly crept forward to try and discover the actual spot where the tiger was hiding. He must have approached within a few feet of the animal, for it struck but one blow without moving or exposing its body, and dashed the unfortunate man with great violence to the bottom of a stony ravine.' He was rescued at once, but died the same evening, his skull having been fractured by the blow from the tiger's paw.

In tiger-shooting, when you discharge your piece, whether you hit or miss you must not move, but standing perfectly still, keep your eye on the animal and put in a fresh cartridge. Many lamentable accidents have occurred from sportsmen going rashly up to fallen tigers, erroneously supposing them to be dead. One or two stones should always be thrown first, to see what power of mischief is left in him, for it is quite possible that he may require another ball as a quietus.

A tiger cannot climb trees, but he can spring to a considerable height, and this should be remembered in shooting them from what are called machāns, a sort of framework of poles resting on the higher branches of a tree. An officer, some years ago, in Central India got into a tree which overhung a water-course to watch for tigers. He was a considerable way up the tree, but he did not advert to the fact that the high bank of the ravine behind him was almost on a level with him. In no long time a tiger came to drink, and he fired at and hit it, but failed to kill it; when the enraged brute rushed up the bank to the higher ground behind, and springing upon him, dragged him out of the tree, and bit and tore him so frightfully that he died very soon after he was rescued.

Powerful and ferocious as the tiger is, he is afraid of the wild-dog. A pack of these ravenous creatures, finding strength in their union, will set upon, kill, and devour a tiger.

In the opinion of some old Indian sportsmen, the panther is even more to be dreaded than the tiger. He is a large, powerful, thoroughly ferocious brute. In old age he also sometimes takes to man-eating, but not so often as the tiger does. Our author, however, gives an instance 'of one in Gwalior who had devoured over fifty human beings, and was the terror of the whole district.' One evening Captain Baldwin, along with a friend, was perched in a tree in an open part of the jungle, near the carcase of a cow, which had been killed as was supposed by a tiger. The body was covered with birds of prey struggling and fighting over it like so many feathered demons, when suddenly a great commotion occurred among the noisy diners-out, and with a whish-h-h of their heavy wings they left their dainty fare, and flew into the trees close by, making way as it appeared for their betters, for very soon a huge brute approached the carcase, and began to tear and gnaw at the flesh. 'A tiger!' whispered the captain to his companion. 'No; a very large panther,' answered the other, firing as he spoke, but not killing the animal. In a minute he recovered himself, and springing up, made straight for the tree. It was an ugly situation, for although a tiger cannot climb a tree, a panther can, as well as a cat. As he approached, another shot was fired at him, which passed between his fore-legs, and he paused and looked up. 'Never,' says our author, 'shall I forget the devilish expression of that terrible countenance.' An awful moment of suspense followed, during which Captain Baldwin contrived to give him his quietus.

The leopard resembles the panther, but is smaller, and altogether a less formidable animal. It never attacks man, and rarely shews fight unless brought to bay, when, like all the felidæ, it is more or less dangerous. The lynx, which is smaller than the leopard, is a rare animal; and the cheetah or hunting leopard is also comparatively seldom met with in a wild state.

The bear, which we are accustomed to associate with cold countries, such as the north of Europe and North America, is also very frequently met with in the very hottest parts of India. Here, as in colder countries, he is a sagacious animal, and varies his carnivorous diet with berries, sugar-cane, honey, and every kind of insect he can get at. It is a mistake to suppose that they hug their victim to death; they draw him towards them with their paws, and bite him on the face or arm. A bear's paw, from the huge curved claws with which it is garnished, is a very terrible weapon. They almost invariably strike a man in the face; and Captain Baldwin tells us of a native named Dhun Singh, 'who was a most enthusiastic follower of the chase, and always joined our shooting-party in the hot-weather months, and who was, by a single blow from the fore-paw of a bear, disfigured for life in an instant, and left senseless on the field. He was afterwards such an awful object that I never could look at him without shuddering.'

The striped hyena is a native of India. He is an ugly cowardly brute, with an indescribably hideous cry. Goats, sheep, dogs, or a young child who has strayed from home, are his favourite prey. He never shews fight, but slinks away from the hunter's presence, much after the fashion of the wolf, who is also credited with a large amount of child-slaughter. A fearful loss of life is caused in this way in some districts by these brutes; and in common with the rest of the Indian carnivora, government offers a price for their destruction. The wild-dog is lighter in colour and taller than the jackal. It is a gaunt, ungainly, ravenous creature, of wonderful speed and endurance. If once a pack get upon the track of any animal, its fate is sealed. They even attack tigers and bears, and as often as not get the best of it. In some parts of the jungle, the wild buffalo are very abundant; they are always found in herds, which sometimes consist of eighteen or twenty, but oftener only of five or seven. The bull is much larger than the cow, and when old is always dangerous.

The dense thick bush and tall reeds and grass which surround the _jheels_ or solitary jungle lakes, are a favourite resort of buffalo. There they feed on the rich herbage, and approach the water by long tunnels in the grass and reeds. The extreme danger of encountering these creatures is graphically described by Captain Baldwin, who one evening, accompanied by a native, went down to one of these jungle lakes, and hearing something move in the long grass, had the temerity to enter a tunnel. Up to his ankles in mud, and with scarcely room to move or turn, he was straining his eyes to discover the game, when there was a sudden crash through the brushwood, and before he could bring his rifle into position, 'I was hurled,' he says, 'to the ground with astonishing quickness by a tremendous butt on the right shoulder, followed by a pair of huge knees on my chest, crushing me down. The buffalo then commenced butting me with his huge head. I was covered with foam from his vile mouth: most luckily the ground was very soft, or I must have been killed. I had fallen on my back, but managed, by clutching the root of a small tree, to draw myself from under him; but as I did so and turned over, he struck me a terrible blow on the back with his foot, breaking two ribs; and then I was powerless, and imagined all hope of escape to be over. He gave me a bad wound on the left arm, another dangerous one under the arm-pit, a third on the hip--all with his horns; and then I found myself lifted off the ground and thrown a tremendous somersault in the air.'

Stunned and bleeding, our unfortunate sportsman was pitched upon his head, and landed behind a low thorn-bush at the edge of the lake. More dead than alive, he had yet sufficient presence of mind to remain perfectly still. A few yards off he could see his shaggy foe, sniffing all over the scene of the late tragedy. Satisfied with his victory, the buffalo then raised his head, listened intently for a few minutes, and to the inexpressible relief of his victim, trotted off in another direction. Faint and dizzy, but feeling that he must make an effort to escape, Captain Baldwin rose, staggered about thirty paces and then fell over in a dead-faint. When he revived a little he found his Hindu servant, who had been far too terrified even to try to help him in his hour of need, crying over him, and trying to bind up his bleeding arm. In a moment he remembered all that had happened; and motioning to the man to be silent, he got him to help him to his feet, and with his assistance, staggered fifty yards farther, when exhausted nature again gave way, and he fell to the ground, able only to murmur in a faint voice: 'Water; bring me water!' The Hindu ran down to the lake with his master's hat, which he filled with water, and having given him a little to drink, poured the rest of it over his head. He then cut his linen coat into strips, dipped them in water, and with them bound up the wounds as well as he could. 'Now,' said his master, 'put your rifle at full cock on the ground beside me, and run for assistance as fast as you can.'

He obeyed, and the captain in this almost helpless state was left alone. Night was beginning to fall; and he could hear from time to time some animal moving behind him through the undergrowth of matted creepers and reeds; but he was too much exhausted either for curiosity or fear, and at last, through sheer weakness, fell into a doze, from which he was awakened by the glare of torches. A brother-officer, after a long search, had found him; and although it was many weeks before he could move hand or foot, he got at last all right again, and was as dashing a sportsman as before; only he ever afterwards took care to give a buffalo bull as wide a berth as possible--in which prudent precaution he is imitated even by the tiger. This latter tyrant of the jungle, red with the slaughter of scores of buffalo cows, is careful to treat with profound respect the grizzled patriarchs of the herd.

Wild elephants, which were once abundant in the dense forests at the foot of the Himalaya, are still plentiful in Assam and Burmah, where many are yearly caught and tamed for the use of the government. Elephant-shooting is prohibited, except when a wild elephant becomes dangerous, and is transformed from a peaceable denizen of the forest into the morose, sullen, and savage brute known as 'a rogue elephant.' The Indian rhinoceros is plentiful in Assam and in the Bootan jungles, and resembles an immense pig, with a long horn curving backwards at the end of the snout. If unmolested, it is harmless; but if assailed, it will make a furious charge, when its long horn is an ugly weapon to encounter.

Wild hogs are very plentiful all through the scrub and brush jungle. Old males are armed with large semicircular tusks nine inches long. A more formidable antagonist than a wild boar with these tremendous weapons in full play need not be wished for. There is no cowardice about _him_; he is game to the backbone, and will fight to the last, and sell his life dear. 'Sportsmen have frequently been mauled,' Captain Baldwin says, 'in encounters with wild boars; and a European in the Customs Department near Jhansi many years ago lost his life, so fearfully was he gored by a hog which he had wounded.' The flesh of the wild boar roasted and eaten cold is delicious.

Passing over the various species of deer, each of which our author describes, we come to the Himalayan chamois and the thar, which frequent the rocky fastnesses of the Himalaya, and the hunting of which is quite as hazardous an amusement as hunting chamois among the mountains of Switzerland. As among the European Alps, so among the Himalayan Alps is the sportsman not only rewarded by the fascination of the sport itself, but by the surpassingly beautiful scenery amid which it is pursued. Above him rise the magnificent hills, dazzling in snowy grandeur, cleaving the skies with peaks which tower nine thousand feet higher than the highest mountain in Europe; below him in the distance spreads a varied and splendid landscape of hill, forest, and river, with distant plains luxuriant with ripening crops, shading beneath his feet into shaggy stretches of woodland, penetrated by deep, well-nigh inaccessible chasms and glens, abysses of pine, and precipices, and foaming torrents, such as Salvator Rosa would have loved to paint. Huge rugged crags tower like vast cathedrals above the giant trees, their crests covered with gentian and stone-crop; while round their base cling dark green clumps of rhododendrons, all ablaze with scarlet beauty, their blossoms shining like points of flame against the foliage of the splendid walnuts, and apricots behind, whose fruit at certain seasons literally strews the ground.

Camp-life in such a spot is beyond all things enjoyable. The atmosphere is clear and exhilarating; a sparkling streamlet gurgles across the little meadow in which your tent is pitched, diffusing a pleasant freshness around; radiant butterflies hover above the water, or alight like living gems upon the long fronds of the magnificent coronets which crown the giant tree-ferns. The ravine behind you, dark with forest, is vocal with the mellow notes of unfamiliar songsters. The eye, as you gaze, loses itself in a stupendous panorama of mountain peaks, rocky ridges, winding valleys, glittering streams, populous plains, and pathless fever-haunted jungles; while nearer, on the verge of the wood, a herd of ravine deer are feeding; lazily you watch them while you sip your coffee, all unconscious of the close proximity of a splendid wild blue sheep, which is gazing intently down at you from its bushy covert. Did you move? The motion was so slight as scarcely to be perceptible to yourself; but the startled creature rushes like an arrow down the grassy slope, and threading the ravine, rejoins the herd of its companions, to whom it immediately imparts the intelligence of your whereabouts, and in a moment they all make off, gliding shadow-like and swift along the precipitous mountain side.

India presents a wide field for the researches of the ornithologist, and is the native home of many of our feathered favourites, such as the peacock. This lovely bird, superb in its native forests, is accounted sacred by the Hindus. It delights in patches of jungle by the side of rivers, where on moonlight nights its shrill discordant cry may be often heard swelling the savage concert. The red jungle-fowl is very like the bantam in appearance, but its plumage is more brilliant, and like its _confrères_ of the poultry-yard, it is very pugnacious.

There are six different kinds of pheasants in the Himalaya, most of them excellent for the table, and all of them more or less beautiful. There are also many varieties of partridge. The quail, which is always fat, is a _bonne bouche_ fit for an epicure. Captain Baldwin says of it: 'A quail-pie or a quail-currie is a dish for a king.' There are four varieties of grouse, the largest of which is the sand-grouse, a very fine bird; but the monarch of Indian game-birds is the bustard. 'It is,' our author says, 'in my opinion the king of game-birds; and the value of its feathers, its excellence as a bird for the table, and last, though not least, the very great difficulty of shooting it, render it a prize to be much coveted.' The oobara is a small species of bustard; and to a certain extent a migratory bird. The floriken, one of the finest of Indian game-birds, has beautiful black and white plumage, and its flesh when cooked is peculiarly rich and delicate. There are two varieties of it; and several kinds of plover, which, however, are not abundant.

Different species of crane abound, as do wood-cock and snipe. Of the latter, as many as fifty or sixty couples are sometimes bagged in a day in a rice-field or by the edge of a swamp.

On the lakes and jheels in the north of India, below the Himalaya, thousands of wild-fowl congregate about the beginning of October on their way south. On the jungle swamps and lakes wild ducks of various kinds abound; wild geese are also common, as are several varieties of the shielsdrake. In company with these migratory wild-fowl arrives the flamingo, a very beautiful bird, with brilliant rose-coloured feathers. It has, however, little except its beauty to recommend it, for when cooked, the universal verdict of the mess-table was, 'that it was a very poor bird.' During the cold season the bittern is plentiful in Northern India, and unlike the flamingo, is very good eating. On the banks of large rivers the curlew is sometimes found, and several kinds of green pigeons abound.

From birds, Captain Baldwin suddenly skips back to beasts, and gives us a sketch of the Indian hare. Of this little creature there are two varieties; and they seem to have as hard lines of it (especially in the neighbourhood of barracks) as their well-known congeners have at home. With a passing glance at this four-footed martyr, we bid adieu to a book which is well fitted to inspire not only a love of sport, but of natural history. Nowhere can this interesting science be studied to greater advantage than in these wide-spreading Himalayan jungles, where mountain torrents gurgling down the beautiful ravines, temper the air to delicious coolness; where great trees grow stately as masts, making a pleasant twilight with their lustrous unfamiliar foliage; where gorgeous flowers bespangle the greenery, and round the overhanging boughs our hothouse ferns cling with ample stems and giant fronds, forming bowers through which lovely bright-hued birds flit, and multitudes of insects find shelter, filling the otherwise silent noon of the tropics with their shrill incessant hum.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Henry S. King & Co. Price 21s.

SUNSHINE AND CLOUD.

IN TWO PARTS.