On the Indian Hills

WHEN the weather grew warmer in February, animal life became more varied in our jungles, and at our great elevation above the hot Indian plains there was much to remind me of the fauna and flora of England. Among the insects the most common was a small brown dragon-fly exactly resembling the English species. This was abundant everywhere in the openings of the forest and by every stream, but neither striking in color nor peculiar to the country. Another familiar object was the bracken fern. On every estate more than two years old it grew in the greatest profusion. Poothpara, ten years old, was in parts hidden by it, and as I wandered through the dense ferns knee-deep, it was easy to imagine myself at home again on a Surrey hillside. The strange thing is, it never grows in the jungle or on the grass hills. There was not a root of it on our estate, or on the next youngest, Nillacothy; but on the others it was the most vigorous of weeds, and seemed to have risen by spontaneous generation, as it is almost impossible it should have been imported, and equally difficult to think the seeds or roots had lain dormant since the jungle first grew up.

Again, the commonest of our spring birds was a small species exactly resembling in habits and plumage the yellow wagtail so well known at home. I never passed along the stony bed of a nullah without disturbing two or three of these lively little birds, and they twittered as they flew, and jerked their slender tails in their search for insects and small beetles, after the fashion so familiar to any one who has given attention to English country sights and sounds.

Amongst the native butterflies, Papilio polymnestor, which was common during the damp weather at the close of the wet monsoon, almost disappeared when the dry weather came, and the very handsome black-and-gold Papilio pompeius took its place -- an insect with wings five or six inches from tip to tip, looking more like a good-sized bird when flying than a simple butterfly. There is another beautiful species, known scientifically as Hestia lynceus, of even wider expanse of wing, and yielding in grace of flight and habits to none. I had left some specimens behind me amongst my collections in England, but what a poor idea they give of the insect in its native home! Truly in the "specimen" it is possible to admire their thin, semi-transparent, pearly white wings, marked out with numerous black velvet-like blotches, but "at home" the creature looked doubly beautiful. They are essentially water-loving, and the new road by the side of the Manalora was the best place to watch their love-play. Here the trees grow up in steep banks on either side, with the stream beneath and the blue sky overhead, and the lynceus reveled amongst the foliage on which their larvae fed. Their habit was to lazily flap their wings while ascending to the tops of the trees, and then, keeping their wings spread out to the full on either side, they let themselves come slowly sailing down in wide circles, like large white blossoms, until just at the surface of the water, when they flutter over their own bright reflection for a moment, and again rise up to the tree-tops -- a happy, lazy sort of way of spending existence, which I was generally reluctant to disturb, not being one of those naturalists so enthusiastic that they deem no creature has reached the goal of its existence until it has found a place in their cabinets.

It may be wondered how we obtained provisions and the necessaries of life, but the mode was really simple. Our ordinary everyday needs were supplied from Wallenghay, at the foot of the ghaut, and Palghaut on the railway. At each of these places we had a native agent, who received ten or twelve rupees a month, and sent up by estate-tapal or special coolie everything we ordered. Eggs were four for the value of an English penny -- cheap, but very small; butter was also cheap, but, being made of buffalo milk, was white and tasteless. It came in little pats, wrapped up in banana leaves, in the tapal-basket from Wallenghay. Bread in small square loaves, mutton at twopence a pound, and vegetables, came from Palghaut. Sometimes, when there was a considerable demand, the butchers sent up an unfortunate brown sheep, which was slaughtered at one of the bungalows, and the meat distributed to "subscribers." No beef or pork could be had nearer than Ootacamund or Bangalore; and