Dak Bungalow to be closed to all travellers for some time to come. This was a pretty lookout for two wet and weary men whose tents were still a march or two back on the road, for the Dak Bungalow was the only public house of entertainment in P. We sent for the issuer of this disastrous order and demanded instant shelter if he wished it to be complied with, and he soon solved the difficulty by breaking open the Public Works Department Rest House and allotting us excellent quarters therein. After refreshment in front of a roaring fire, we found that the rain had stopped and the clouds had lifted, and that we were in a very lovely little place, not high enough to be classified as a hill station, and apt to be uncommonly hot in June and July, but very pleasant in April. A ruined church, a ruined club-house, a ruined school, a new dak bungalow and sessions-house, built on anti-earthquake lines,-that is, of light wood framing, instead of solid masonry, showed us that the traces of the appalling earthquake of 1905 were still very visible. Nowhere in India had its effects been more terrific than in the district of which P— is the centre. overwhelming as to the unfortunate English tea - planters. A few years ago so many members of this cheery community lived on their own estates within riding distance of P that seventy used to sit down on big nights to the club dinner. A succession of bad seasons put them into difficulties, from which the present improvement in tea might have extricated them, but then came the earthquake. There remained only one thing, and that was to sell their estates to rich native capitalists from Amritsar, Benares, and Lahore for any song they would fetch, and go out and begin life again. We spent about a week at P and other places in the tea district, and moved about among the people, looking at the, to us, unfamiliar teagardens, and asking many questions. The central fact that remained impressed on our minds was that the English planters had succeeded, as a class, in winning the trust, affection, and loyalty of their native neighbours to an extraordinary degree. By By their surnames they were unknown, but the meanest field - hand would point to a mass of ruins and tell us that there "Willy Sahib" had lived and died; that there "Freddy Sahib's" wife had been pinned by a falling beam and taken out with a broken leg; that there "Bobby" and "Teddy Teddy" and "Franky" had succeeded their father and grandfather, only, in the end, to be compelled to sell an estate "worth three lakhs " for Rs. 25,000 to a native banker after the earthquake. Teddy Smith, they would add, was now employed by a timber-merchant, Bobby had gone to Calcutta, and so on. When asked how they liked their new masters, their comments were "frequent and free." One man said, "We have been paid no wages for eleven months, and can't go away now or we shall never recover what is due to us"; another, "These sowcars [bankers] treat us as if we were cattle"; while a friend added, In the Sahib's time there was always medicine for us when sick, and five rupees for a wedding." life, to judge from the amount of time they were able to devote to us. For at least half the hours of daylight they were within hailing distance of the guest-house, watching all our movements with avidity, and ever ready for a chat. The eldest brother, a fine-looking man, had snared a hawk a day or two before, and was engaged in accustoming her to her new surroundings prior to further training. Meanwhile, the hawk sat on her master's wrist from dawn till dusk, and I have no reason to suppose that she occupied any other place during the hours of sleep. She was simply a part of the man himself for the time being, and a gentle, languid hand was constantly employed in stroking her head and back. Natives of India tame wild birds of all kinds in a way perfectly incomprehensible to Europeans, who can't understand why partridges and quail run after their masters, like dogs, along the public roads. It is much the same all over Upper India. Stop and search a loafer in the Lucknow Bazaar, or your Khitmatgar in his quarters behind the bungalow, and you will probably find a fighting quail or grey partridge somewhere on his person. Similarly search (or, for choice, get some one else to search) a stalwart young Pathan on the hillside, and the odds again are that a chikor, tame and perfectly contented, will be discovered lurking in his armpit. Having now been joined by all our belongings, human, canine, and sporting, which had been marching up from the railway, we moved on by invitation to the home of a man belonging to my regiment, who, though a very humble individual in his squadron, was of the most ancient royal lineage in the world, added the title "MIAN" to his name (which was Labh Singh), and only soldiered because it was traditional to his race to do so. Here we were received by two of his brothers, and found ourselves established, with much ceremony and honour, in the family guest-house, which was a pleasant little bungalow set in the midst of a tea-garden, and which, by some fluke, had remained standing though the family mansion itself, 200 yards away, had collapsed in the earthquake. Our good hosts seemed to lead an easy discovered Soon after our arrival we that an English planter lived close by, one of the very few who still remained, and so we went off to pay our respects, glean information about the state of the passes in front of us, and beg him to keep an eye on the dogs we were leaving behind. This planter was referred to universally as "Freddy Sahib," but as we neared his house it seemed better to try and discover an address slightly less informal, so we asked by what other name he was known. Two of our escorting hosts declared unhesitatingly that he had no other name; the third, after turning the matter over in his mind, said that he thought that "Freddy Sahib's" father had been called "Frizzle." As a matter of fact he hadn't, but it was near enough to identify with a well-known Irish surname. We were received with true planter hospitality in a pretty little one-storied wooden bungalow that had been run up close to the big stone house, which the original "Frizzle" had built, and which had been so dangerously shaken and cracked in the earthquake as to be uninhabitable, though still standing. We found "Freddy Sahib" to be a clever, cultivated man, living a very lonely life, but keeping in touch with the world by means of books, magazines, and papers. He had stemmed the tide of disaster that had overwhelmed his neighbours by having many irons in the fire besides tea, such as herds of cattle, flocks of sheep, timber concessions, grazing rights, and potatogrowing tracts. He took us round his estate next day, and showed us all the processes of tea - making, from the plucking of the leaf by handsome stalwart women and children down to its final deposit in air-tight tins. Many processes there were, and much modern machinery was used in them, but to our surprise we learnt that the operation as a whole was a short one, and that the leaf we had seen growing on its bush in the morning could end the day as the finished article in our teapot, though this speed is not usually demanded of it. Next morning we had a note from the planter saying that some men were at his house about a contract for carrying salt for his sheep up to their pastures, and that, being summer residents of the country we were hoping to reach, they might give us some useful information. This was an opportunity not to be lost, so we hurried over and interviewed the strangers, or rather stood by while "Freddy" addressed them in a dialect of which, despite many years' residence in India, we could not understand a single word. The upshot, however, was discouraging to the last degree, for we were told that the season was quite an abnormal one, that the snowfall had been both heavy and late, and that the various routes into " our country" would not be open for six weeks after the usual dates. The particular Pass for which we were making was even force him into receiving rather higher than the others, -14,000 feet against about a coin of the realm, and call 12,000, and although these shepherds crossed it in most years at the beginning of May, they were not going to attempt to do so this season. A select band of picked men were going up by forced marches to " open a track" (if they could) over another Pass, and try to get through that way. If successful, their task was to clear their summer homes of snow, repair damages caused caused by winter storms, sow & few patches ment, transferred the sum of round each village with barley and autumn millet crops, and then return for their flocks, herds, and families. it "Sai," he appears to be hypnotised into a state of immediate and passive acquiescence in your wishes. In accordance, therefore, with this very admirable custom, I sidled up to one Panchi, who had previously stated that he would be too busy to show us any ibex - ground himself, but would see that some one else did so, and with a dexterous by winter and quite unexpected move They absolutely scouted the idea of taking us with them. We therefore reluctantly abandoned the idea, and parted from our new friends after being assured that should we get in (how we smiled at the proviso!) they would give us a hospitable reception, supply us with milk and sheep, and show us plenty of good ibex and brown bear, for no white man had been in their country for years, and game was abundant. "Freddy" now recommended us, in an undertone, to secure the best shikarry of the crowd by a small gift in the nature of "Sai," and pointed out the victim. Now "Sai" is nothing more nor less than earnestmoney, and is a thing looked upon in those regions with quite incredible reverence. A man may be intensely unwill. ing to do you a particular service, or sell you something you wish to obtain, but if you can coax, wheedle, cajole, or two rupees from my pocket to his palm, saying in good round Hindustani, which somehow he seemed to understand, "That is Sai for you to be my shikarry when I get to your country." A more disgustedlooking man I have rarely seen; but he could not fight fate, and made no useless struggle, but said that on hearing we were on the Pass he would leave his village and come three marches down to meet and take us to good ground. Thus we parted. Panchi, unfortunately, I never saw again, but still consider him as entirely bound to my service (and to no one else's) by this transaction for the next ten years at least, and I have no doubt but that he thinks the same. Eventually we determined to go forward, shoot for a fortnight on the near side of the 14,000 feet Pass, and then try to get over. So off we went. The dogs, some of whom death, in the form of leopards and other hill dangers, prevented us from seeing again, came the first few miles, and left us in the heart of a delightful oakwood through which a clear mountain stream ran musically, to return to the house which had been placed at their disposal for the summer by our royal Sowar. The second or third march took us over Pass which tested our lungs, for though it was of very modest height, the track up it was simply a staircase. On reaching the crest we found the northern side deep in the snow in which we were to live for so many weeks to come, and down this we slid, and through it we plunged into the profound valley below. There remained a long pull up to a village on the opposite slope, outside which we pitched our modest camp. It is one of the customs of the country to welcome the wandering Sahib by sending down a gang of the village menials to sweep his campingground clean, and to supply him with as many wooden tentpegs as he requires. The headman of the village and his humbler brother official, the watchman (or "Chokidar "), also attend to pay their respects, arrange for supplies of fowls, milk, and wood on payment, and find out the number of men that will be needed to transport the stranger (and the sooner the better) to his next halting-place. At this particular village the headman turned out to be a handsome, jolly old hillwoman, who was acting for her husband during the latter's absence on a sheep-buying expedition to a remote hill State. VOL. CLXXXVI.—NO. MCXXX. This old lady stood no nonsense, gave out her orders very fiercely, and was implicitly obeyed by every one but a small and rosy-cheeked grandson. She soon found that the best position for indulging in the fashionable pastime of watching the white man wash and eat was close to our kitchen - tent, where pickings, in the way of tea, sugar, and empty tins, were doubtless obtainable. But she never failed to pay us a ceremonial visit twice a day at the camp-fire, where, seated on a large stone, she warmed her scarlet trousers at the blaze, jingled her heavy turquoise necklaces, and amused us with her shrewd comments. We spent a few days here, and Addington raised our hopes by actually seeing a brown bear. This forlorn creature had awakened from his winter sleep a month before the proper date, and had emerged from his lair only to find himself alone in a strange white world, with a strange white man looking at him. This he did not like, so he ran away up thousands of feet of snow slopes faster than the white man could run after him, and disappeared from human ken for ever. We then moved quietly on towards the Pass, and got to one rather delightful camp, which only the hopeless inaccuracy of our rifles prevents us from looking back to with more pleasure than we do. We reached this camp by a way that I shall never get fond of,-not if I live to be a hundred. On reaching a cer 3 H |