nose, and a
little antimony on the eyelids, or myrtle juice on the finger and toe
nails. Here, too, the matron, or the withered old crone of a
grandmother, spins her cotton thread; or, in the old scriptural
hand-mill, grinds the corn for the family flour and meal; and the
father and the young men (when the sun is high and hot in the heavens)
take their noonday _siesta_, or, the day's labours over, cower round
the smoking dung fire of a cold winter night, and discuss the prices
ruling in the bazaar, the rise of rents, or the last village scandal.

In the middle of the town, and surrounded by a spacious fenced-in
compound, which sloped gently to the lake, stood the Planters' Club, a
large low roofed bungalow, with a roomy wide verandah in front. Here
we met, when business or pleasure brought us to 'the Station.' Here
were held our annual balls, or an occasional public dinner party. To
the north of the Club stood a long range of barrack-looking buildings,
which were the opium godowns, where the opium was collected and stored
during the season. Facing this again, and at the extremity of the
lake, was the district jail, where all the rascals of the surrounding
country were confined; its high walls tipped at intervals by a red
puggree and flashing bayonet wherever a jail sepoy kept his 'lonely
watch.' Near it, sheltered in a grove of shady trees, were the court
houses, where the collector and magistrate daily dispensed justice, or
where the native _moonsiff_ disentangled knotty points of law. Here,
too, came the sessions judge once a month or so, to try criminal cases
and mete out justice to the law-breakers.

We had thus a small European element in our 'Station,' consisting of
our magistrate and collector, whose large and handsome house was built
on the banks of another and yet lovelier lake, which joined the town
lake by a narrow stream or strait at its southern end, an opium agent,
a district superintendent of police, and last but not least, a doctor.
These formed the official population of our little 'Station.' There
was also a nice little church, but no resident pastor, and behind the
town lay a quiet churchyard, rich in the dust of many a pioneer, who,
far from home and friends, had here been gathered to his silent rest.

About twelve miles to the north, and near the Nepaul boundary, was the
small military station of Legoulie. Here there was always a native
cavalry regiment, the officers of which were frequent and we