te beggars, but it would not be fair to judge the
people generally by these stragglers into India. There was more life in
their dances than in their religion, though not much grace. It seemed to
me that if elephants could dance, they would do it somewhat in that
style.

[Sidenote: GREAT FAIR AT BAGESWUR.]

In the town of Bageswur there are substantial houses belonging to the
merchants of the Province, and these are occupied by themselves or their
agents during the greater part of the cold weather. During the rest of
the year it is deserted, as the valley is very hot and feverish. During
the colder weeks of the year it is a very stirring place, but it is on
the occasion of the melas, two of which are held within three months,
that there is a large gathering. At the principal mela many thousands
must be present. As in all Hindu gatherings, religion, business, and
pleasure are eagerly prosecuted. A town of booths rises suddenly in the
valley and on the sides of the hills. Whenever I have gone, I have for
miles before reaching the place seen many carrying or trailing branches
of trees, with which they were to erect their temporary abode. These
answer well in good weather, but when rain or snow falls they give no
shelter. The morning is given to bathing. One morning is peculiarly
propitious, and then from the earliest dawn the people are in the
stream, many of them, I suppose, getting well-nigh the only ablution
they have in the course of the year. During the day selling and buying
go on vigorously. As evening approaches the merry-go-rounds are
patronized, and crowds gather round singing and dancing parties. The
dancers are young men linked hand in hand, who move about in circles,
shuffle their feet, and sing in a very monotonous fashion. Many set to
the preparation of the evening meal, and the valley and the hill-sides
are aglow with fires and lights. Amusement, however, has not come to an
end. Singing is kept up till the small hours of the morning, to the no
small disturbance of those who cannot sleep except when there is a
measure of quiet. Between the singing of the people and the
barking--rather the howling--of the Tibetan dogs, such barking as I have
never heard in our own country, wearied though I have been by the work
of the day I have for hours found sleep to be impossible.

Englishmen attending the mela find a temporary abode in tents, and in a
staging bungalow erected for the accommodation of European travellers