cannot
claim to possess the erudition necessary to verify and restore the many
quotations to verbal accuracy; all that is hoped is that, by a careful
rendering, the correct sense has been preserved.

The translator begs the indulgence of English readers for all
imperfections of style and language; in the words of the Sanskrit
proverb: "Who is to be blamed, if success be not reached after due
effort?"

The translator's best thanks are due to Mr. John C. Staples, for
valuable help in the early chapters.--London, July, 1892

Contents

In Bombay
On the Way to Karli
In the Karli Caves
Vanished Glories
A City of the Dead
Brahmanic Hospitalities
A Witch's Den
God's Warrior
The Banns of Marriage
The Caves of Bagh
An Isle of Mystery
Jubblepore

FROM THE CAVES AND JUNGLES OF HINDOSTAN

In Bombay

Late in the evening of the sixteenth of February, 1879, after a rough
voyage which lasted thirty-two days, joyful exclamations were heard
everywhere on deck. "Have you seen the lighthouse?" "There it is at
last, the Bombay lighthouse."

Cards, books, music, everything was forgotten. Everyone rushed on deck.
The moon had not risen as yet, and, in spite of the starry tropical sky,
it was quite dark. The stars were so bright that, at first, it seemed
hardly possible to distinguish, far away amongst them, a small fiery
point lit by earthly hands. The stars winked at us like so many huge
eyes in the black sky, on one side of which shone the Southern Cross.
At last we distinguished the lighthouse on the distant horizon. It was
nothing but a tiny fiery point diving in the phosphorescent waves. The
tired travellers greeted it warmly. The rejoicing was general.

What a glorious daybreak followed this dark night! The sea no longer
tossed our ship. Under the skilled guidance of the pilot, who had just
arrived, and whose bronze form was so sharply defined against the pale
sky, our steamer, breathing heavily with its broken machinery, slipped
over the quiet, transparent waters of the Indian Ocean straight to
the harbour. We were only four miles from Bombay, and, to us, who had
trembled with cold only a few weeks ago in the Bay of Biscay, which has
been so glorified by many poets and so heartily cursed by all sailors,
our surroundings simply seemed a magical dream.

After the tropical nights of the Red Sea and the scorching hot days
that had tortur