ian sage only to mock him. Such assert
that the beauties of the Himalayas have been greatly exaggerated--that,
as regards grandeur, their scenery compares unfavourably with that of
the Andes, while their beauty is surpassed by that of the Alps. Not
having seen the Andes, I am unable to criticise the assertion
regarding the grandeur of the Himalayas, but I find it difficult to
imagine anything finer than their scenery.

As regards beauty, the Himalayas at their best surpass the Alps,
because they exhibit far more variety, and present everything on a
grander scale.

The Himalayas are a kind of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. They have two
faces--the fair and the plain. In May they are at their worst. Those
of the hillsides which are not afforested are brown, arid, and
desolate, and the valleys, in addition to being unpleasantly hot,
are dry and dusty. The foliage of the trees lacks freshness, and
everywhere there is a remarkable absence of water, save in the valleys
through which the rivers flow. On the other hand, September is the
month in which the Himalayas attain perfection or something
approaching it. The eye is refreshed by the bright emerald garment
which the hills have newly donned. The foliage is green and luxuriant.
Waterfalls, cascades, mighty torrents and rivulets abound. Himachal
has been converted into fairyland by the monsoon rains.

A remarkable feature of the Himalayas is the abruptness with which
they rise from the plains in most places. In some parts there are
low foothills; but speaking generally the mountains that rise from
the plain attain a height of 4000 or 5000 feet.

It is difficult for any person who has not passed from the plains
of India to the Himalayas to realise fully the vast difference between
the two countries and the dramatic suddenness with which the change
takes place.

The plains are as flat as the proverbial pancake--a dead monotony
of cultivated alluvium, square mile upon square mile of wheat, rice,
vetch, sugar-cane, and other crops, amidst which mango groves, bamboo
clumps, palms, and hamlets are scattered promiscuously. In some
places the hills rise sheer from this, in others they are separated
from the alluvial plains by belts of country known as the Tarai and
Bhabar. The Tarai is low-lying, marshy land covered with tall,
feathery grass, beautifully monotonous. This is succeeded by a
stretch of gently-rising ground, 10 or 20 miles in breadth, known
as the Bhabar--a strip of for