A cane bridge crosses it,* [Whence the name of Bhomsong Samdong, the latter word meaning bridge.] but had been cut away (in feigned distrust of us), and the long canes were streaming from their attachments on either shore down the stream, and a triangular raft of bamboo was plying instead, drawn to and fro by means of a strong cane.

Soon after arriving I received a present from the Rajah, consisting of a brick of Tibet tea, eighty pounds of rancid yak butter, in large squares, done up in yak-hair cloth, three loads of rice, and one of Murwa for beer; rolls of bread,* [These rolls, or rather, sticks of bread, are made in Tibet, of fine wheaten flour, and keep for a long time: they are sweet and good, but very dirtily prepared.] fowls, eggs, dried plums, apricots, jujubes, currants, and Sultana raisins, the latter fruits purchased at Lhassa, but imported thither from western Tibet; also some trays of coarse milk-white crystallised salt, as dug in Tibet.

In the evening we were visited by the Dewan, the head and front of all our Sikkim difficulties, whose influence was paramount with the Rajah, owing to the age and infirmities of the latter, and his devotion to religion, which absorbed all his time and thoughts. The Dewan was a good-looking Tibetan, very robust, fair, muscular and well fleshed; he had a very broad Tartar face, quite free of hair; a small and beautifully formed mouth and chin, very broad cheekbones, and a low, contracted forehead: his manners were courteous and polite, but evidently affected, in assumption of better breeding than he could in reality lay claim to. The Rajah himself was a Tibetan of just respectable extraction, a native of the Sokpo province, north of Lhassa: his Dewan was related to one of his wives, and I believe a Lhassan by birth as well as extraction, having probably also Kashmir blood in him.* [The Tibetans court promiscuous intercourse between their families and the Kashmir merchants who traverse their country.] Though minister, he was neither financier nor politician, but a mere plunderer of Sikkim, introducing his relations, and those whom he calls so, into the best estates in the country, and trading in great and small wares, from a Tibet pony to a tobacco pipe, wholesale and retail. Neither he nor the Rajah are considered worthy of notice by the best Tibet families or priests, or by the Chinese commissioners settled in Lhassa and Jigatzi. The latter regard Sikkim as virtually English, and are contented with knowing that its ruler has no army, and with believing that its protectors, the English, could not march an army across the Himalaya if they would.

The Dewan, trading in wares which we could supply better and cheaper, naturally regarded us with repugnance, and did everything in his power to thwart Dr. Campbell's attempts to open a friendly communication between the Sikkim and English governments. The Rajah owed everything to us, and was, I believe, really grateful; but he was a mere cipher in the hands of his minister. The priests again, while rejoicing in our proximity, were apathetic, and dreaded the more active Dewan; and the people had long given evidence of their confidence in the English. Under these circumstances it was in the hope of gaining the Rajah's own ear, and representing to him the advantages of promoting an intercourse with us, and the danger of continuing to violate the terms of our treaty, that Dr. Campbell had been authorised by government to seek an interview with His Highness. At present our relations were singularly infelicitous. There was no agent on the Sikkim Rajah's part to conduct business at Dorjiling, and the Dewan insisted on sending a creature of his own, who had before been dismissed for insolence. Malefactors who escaped into Sikkim were protected, and our police interrupted in the discharge of their duties; slavery was practised; and government communications were detained for weeks and months under false pretences.

In his interviews with us the Dewan appeared to advantage: he was fond of horses and shooting, and prided himself on his hospitality. We gained much information from many conversations with him, during which politics were never touched upon. Our queries naturally referred to Tibet and its geography, especially its great feature the Yarou Tsampoo river; this he assured us was the Burrampooter of Assam, and that no one doubted it in that country. Lhassa he described as a city in the bottom of a flat-floored valley, surrounded by lofty snowy mountains: neither grapes, tea, silk, or cotton are produced near it, but in the Tartchi province of Tibet, one month's journey east of Lhassa, rice, and a coarse kind of tea are both grown. Two months' journey north-east of Lhassa is Siling, the well-known great commercial entrepot* [The entrepot is now removed to Tang-Keou-Eul.—See Huc and Gabet.] in west China; and there coarse silk is produced. All Tibet he described as mountainous, and an inconceivably poor country: there are no plains, save flats in the bottoms of the valleys, and the paths lead over lofty mountains. Sometimes, when the inhabitants are obliged from famine to change their habitations in winter, the old and feeble are frozen to death, standing and resting their chins on their staves; remaining as pillars of ice, to fall only when the thaw of the ensuing spring commences.

We remained several days at Bhomsong, awaiting an interview with the Rajah, whose movements the Dewan kept shrouded in mystery. On Dr. Campbell's arrival at this river a week before, he found messengers waiting to inform him that the Rajah would meet him here; this being half way between Dorjiling and Tumloong. Thenceforward every subterfuge was resorted to by the Dewan to frustrate the meeting; and even after the arrival of the Rajah on the east bank, the Dewan communicated with Dr. Campbell by shooting across the river arrows to which were attached letters, containing every possible argument to induce him to return to Dorjiling; such as that the Rajah was sick at Tumloong, that he was gone to Tibet, that he had a religious fast and rites to perform, etc. etc.

One day we walked up the Teesta to the Rumphiup river, a torrent from Mainom mountain to the west; the path led amongst thick jungle of Wallichia palm, prickly rattan canes, and the Pandanus, or screw-pine, called "Borr," which has a straight, often forked, palm-like trunk, and an immense crown of grassy saw-edged leaves four feet long: it bears clusters of uneatable fruit as large as a man's fist, and their similarity to the pine-apple has suggested the name of "Borr" for the latter fruit also, which has for many years been cultivated in Sikkim, and yields indifferent produce. Beautiful pink balsams covered the ground, but at this season few other showy plants were in flower: the rocks were chlorite, very soft and silvery, and so curiously crumpled and contorted as to appear as though formed of scaled of mica crushed together, and confusedly arranged in layers: the strike was north-west, and dip north-east from 60 degrees to 70 degrees.

Messengers from the Dewan overtook us at the river to announce that the Rajah was prepared and waiting to give us a reception; so we returned, and I borrowed a coat from Dr. Campbell instead of my tattered shooting-jacket; and we crossed the river on the bamboo-raft. As it is the custom on these occasions to exchange presents, I was officially supplied with some red cloth and beads: these, as well as Dr. Campbell's present, should only have been delivered during or after the audience; but our wily friend the Dewan here played us a very shabby trick; for he managed that our presents should be stealthily brought in before our appearance, thus giving to the by-standers the impression of our being tributaries to his Highness!

The audience chamber was a mere roofed shed of neat bamboo wattle, about twenty feet long: two Bhoteeas in scarlet. jackets, and with bows in their hands, stood on each side of the door, and our own chairs were carried before us for our accommodation. Within was a square wicker throne, six feet high, covered with purple silk, brocaded with dragons in white and gold, and overhung by a canopy of tattered blue silk, with which material part of the walls also was covered. An oblong box (containing papers) with gilded dragons on it, was placed on the stage or throne, and behind it was perched cross-legged, an odd, black, insignificant looking old man, with twinkling upturned eyes: he was swathed in yellow silk, and wore on his head a pink silk hat with a flat broad crown, from all sides of which hung floss silk. This was the Rajah, a genuine Tibetan, about seventy years old. On some steps close by, and ranged down the apartment, were his relations, all in brocaded silk robes reaching from the throat to the ground, and girded about the waist; and wearing caps similar to that of the Rajah. Kajees, counsellors, and shaven mitred Lamas were there, to the number of twenty, all planted with their backs to the wall, mute and motionless as statues. A few spectators were huddled together at the lower end of the room, and a monk waved about an incense pot containing burning juniper and other odoriferous plants. Altogether the scene was solemn and impressive: as Campbell well expressed it, the genius of Lamaism reigned supreme.

We saluted, but received no complimentary return; our chairs were then placed, and we seated ourselves, when the Dewan came in, clad in a superb purple silk robe, worked with circular gold figures, and formally presented us. The Dewan then stood; and as the Rajah did not understand Hindoostanee, our conversation was carried on through the medium of a little bare-headed rosy-cheeked Lama, named "Tchebu," clad in a scarlet gown, who acted as interpreter. The conversation was short and constrained: Tchebu was known as a devoted servant of the Rajah and of the heir apparent; and in common with all the Lamas he hates the Dewan, and desires a friendly intercourse between Sikkim and Dorjiling. He is, further, the only servant of the Rajah capable of conversing both in Hindoo and Tibetan, and the uneasy distrustful look of the Dewan, who understands the latter language only, was very evident. He was as anxious to hurry over the interview, as Dr. Campbell and Tchebu were to protract it; it was clear, therefore, that nothing satisfactory could be done under such auspices.

As a signal for departure white silk scarfs were thrown over our shoulders, according to the established custom in Tibet, Sikkim, and Bhotan; and presents were made to us of China silks, bricks of tea, woollen cloths, yaks, ponies, and salt, with worked silk purses and fans for Mrs. Campbell; after which we left. The whole scene was novel and very curious. We had had no previous idea of the extreme poverty of the Rajah, of his utter ignorance of the usages of Oriental life, and of his not having anyone near to instruct him. The neglect of our salutation, and the conversion of our presents into tribute, did not arise from any ill-will: it was owing to the craft of the Dewan in taking advantage of the Rajah's ignorance of his own position and of good manners. Miserably poor, without any retinue, taking no interest in what passes in his own kingdom, subsisting on the plainest and coarsest food, passing his time in effectually abstracting his mind from the consideration of earthly things, and wrapt in contemplation, the Sikkim Rajah has arrived at great sanctity, and is all but prepared for that absorption into the essence of Boodh, which is the end and aim of all good Boodhists. The mute conduct of his Court, who looked like attendants at an inquisition, and the profound veneration expressed in every word and gesture of those who did move and speak, recalled a Pekin reception. His attendants treated him as a being of a very different nature from themselves; and well might they do so, since they believe that he will never die, but retire from the world only to re-appear under some equally sainted form.

Though productive of no immediate good, our interview had a very favourable effect on the Lamas and people, who had long wished it; and the congratulations we received thereon during the remainder of our stay in Sikkim were many and sincere. The Lamas we found universally in high spirits; they having just effected the marriage of the heir apparent, himself a Lama, said to possess much ability and prudence, and hence being very obnoxious to the Dewan, who vehemently opposed the marriage. As, however, the minister had established his influence over the youngest, and estranged the Rajah from his eldest son, and was moreover in a fair way for ruling Sikkim himself, the Church rose in a body, procured a dispensation from Lhassa for the marriage of a priest, and thus hoped to undermine the influence of the violent and greedy stranger.

In the evening, we paid a farewell visit to the Dewan, whom we found in a bamboo wicker-work hut, neatly hung with bows, arrows, and round Lepcha shields of cane, each with a scarlet tuft of yak-hair in the middle; there were also muskets, Tibetan arms, and much horse gear; and at one end was a little altar, with cups, bells, pastiles, and images. He was robed in a fawn-coloured silk gown, lined with the softest of wool, that taken from unborn lambs: like most Tibetans, he extracts all his beard with tweezers; an operation he civilly recommended to me, accompanying the advice with the present of a neat pair of steel forceps. He aspires to be considered a man of taste, and plays the Tibetan guitar, on which he performed some airs for our amusement: the instrument is round-bodied and long-armed, with six strings placed in pairs, and probably comes from Kashmir: the Tibetan airs were simple and quite pretty, with the time well marked.

During our stay at Bhomsong, the weather was cool, considering the low elevation (1,500 feet), and very steady; the mean temperature was 52.25 degrees, the maximum 71.25 degrees, the minimum 42.75 degrees. The sun set behind the lofty mountains at 3 p.m., and in the morning a thick, wet, white, dripping fog settled in the bottom of the valley, and extended to 800 or 1000 feet above the river-bed; this was probably caused by the descent of cold currents into the humid gorge: it was dissipated soon after sunrise, but formed again at sunset for a few minutes, giving place to clear starlight nights.

A thermometer sunk two feet seven inches, stood at 64 degrees. The temperature of the water was pretty constant at 51 degrees: from here to the plains of India the river has a nearly uniform fall of 1000 feet in sixty-nine miles, or sixteen feet to a mile: were its course straight for the same distance, the fall would be 1000 feet in forty miles, or twenty-five feet to a mile.

Dr. Campbell's object being accomplished, he was anxious to make the best use of the few days that remained before his return to Dorjiling, and we therefore arranged to ascend Mainom, and visit the principal convents in Sikkim together, after which he was to return south, whilst I should proceed north to explore the south flank of Kinchinjunga. For the first day our route was that by which I had arrived. We left on Christmas-day, accompanied by two of the Rajah's, or rather Dewan's officers, of the ranks of Dingpun and Soupun, answering to those of captain and lieutenant; the titles were, however, nominal, the Rajah having no soldiers, and these men being profoundly ignorant of the mysteries of war or drill. They were splendid specimens of Sikkim Bhoteeas (i.e. Tibetans, born in Sikkim, sometimes called Arrhats), tall, powerful, and well built, but insolent and bullying: the Dingpun wore the Lepcha knife, ornamented with turquoises, together with Chinese chopsticks. Near Bhomsong, Campbell pointed out a hot bath to me, which he had seen employed: it consisted of a hollowed prostrate tree trunk, the water in which was heated by throwing in hot stones with bamboo tongs. The temperature is thus raised to 114 degrees, to which the patient submits at repeated intervals for several days, never leaving till wholly exhausted. These baths are called "Sa-choo," literally "hot-water," in Tibetan.

We stopped to measure some splendid trees in the valley, and found the trunk of one to be forty-five feet round the buttresses, and thirty feet above them, a large size for the Himalaya: they were a species of Terminalia (Pentaptera), and called by the Lepchas "Sillok-Kun," "Kun" meaning tree.

We slept at Nampok, and the following morning commenced the ascent. On the way we passed the temple and lake of Neongong; the latter is about 400 yards round, and has no outlet. It contained two English plants, the common duckweed (Lemna minor), and Potamogeton natans: some coots were swimming in it, and having flushed a woodcock, I sent for my gun, but the Lamas implored us not to shoot, it being contrary to their creed to take life wantonly.

We left a great part of our baggage at Neongong, as we intended to return there; and took up with us bedding, food, etc., for two days. A path hence up the mountain is frequented once a year by the Lamas, who make a pilgrimage to the top for worship. The ascent was very gradual for 4000 feet. We met with snow at the level of Dorjiling (7000 feet), indicating a colder climate than at that station, where none had fallen; the vegetation was, however, similar, but not so rich, and at 8000 feet trees common also to the top of Sinchul appeared, with R. Hodgsoni, and the beautiful little winter-flowering primrose, P. petiolaris, whose stemless flowers spread like broad purple stars on the deep green foliage. Above, the path runs along the ridge of the precipices facing the south-east, and here we caught a glimpse of the great valley of the Ryott, beyond the Teesta, with Tumloong, the Rajah's residence, on its north flank, and the superb snowy peak of Chola at its head.

One of our coolies, loaded with crockery and various indispensables, had here a severe fall, and was much bruised; he however recovered himself, but not our goods.

The rocks were all of chlorite slate, which is not usual at this elevation; the strike was north-west, and dip north-east. At 9000 feet various shrubby rhododendrons prevailed, with mountain-ash, birch, and dwarf-bamboo; also R. Falconeri, which grew from forty to fifty feet high. The snow was deep and troublesome, so we encamped at 9,800 feet, or 800 feet below the top, in a wood of Pyrus, Magnolia, Rhododendron, and bamboo. As the ground was deeply covered with snow, we laid our beds on a thick layer of rhododendron twigs, bamboo, and masses of a pendent moss.

We passed a very cold night, chiefly owing to damp, the temperature falling to 24 degrees. On the following morning we scrambled through the snow, reaching the summit after an hour's very laborious ascent, and took up our quarters in a large wooden barn-like temple (goompa), built on a stone platform. The summit was very broad, but the depth of the snow prevented our exploring much, and the silver firs (Abies Webbiana) were so tall, that no view could be obtained, except from the temple. The great peak of Kinchinjunga is in part hidden by those of Pundim and Nursing, but the panorama of snowy mountains is very grand indeed. The effect is quite deceptive; the mountains assuming the appearance of a continued chain, the distant snowy peaks being seemingly at little further distance than the nearer ones. The whole range (about twenty-two miles nearer than at Dorjiling) appeared to rise uniformly and steeply out of black pine forests, which were succeeded by the russet-brown of the rhododendron shrubs, and that again by tremendous precipices and gulleys, into which descended mighty glaciers and perpetual snows. This excessive steepness is however only apparent, being due to foreshortening.

The upper 10,000 feet of Kinchin, and the tops of Pundim, Kubra, and Junnoo, are evidently of granite, and are rounded in outline: the lower peaks again, as those of Nursing, etc., present rugged pinnacles of black and red stratified rocks, in many cases resting on white granite, to which they present a remarkable contrast. The general appearance was as if Kinchin and the whole mass of mountains clustered around it, had been up-heaved by white granite, which still forms the loftiest summits, and has raised the black stratified rocks in some places to 20,000 feet in numerous peaks and ridges. One range presented on every summit a cap of black stratified rocks of uniform inclination and dip, striking north-west, with precipitous faces to the south-west: this was clear to the naked eye, and more evident with the telescope, the range in question being only fifteen miles distant, running between Pundim and Nursing. The fact of the granite forming the greatest elevation must not be hastily attributed to that igneous rock having burst through the stratified, and been protruded beyond the latter: it is much more probable that the upheaval of the granite took place at a vast depth, and beneath an enormous pressure of stratified rocks and perhaps of the ocean; since which period the elevation of the whole mountain chain, and the denudation of the stratified rocks, has been slowly proceeding.

To what extent denudation has thus lowered the peaks we dare scarcely form a conjecture; but considering the number and variety of the beds which in some places overlie the gneiss and granite, we may reasonably conclude that many thousand feet have been removed.

It is further assumable that the stratified rocks originally took the forms of great domes, or arches. The prevailing north-west strike throughout the Himalaya vaguely indicates a general primary arrangement of the curves into waves, whose crests run north-west and south-cast; an arrangement which no minor or posterior forces have wholly disturbed, though they have produced endless dislocations, and especially a want of uniformity in the amount and direction of the dip. Whether the loftiest waves were the result of one great convulsion, or of a long-continued succession of small ones, the effect would be the same, namely, that the strata over those points at which the granite penetrated the highest, would be the most dislocated, and the most exposed to wear during denudation.

We enjoyed the view of this superb scenery till noon, when the clouds which had obscured Dorjiling since morning were borne towards us by the southerly wind, rapidly closing in the landscape on all sides. At sunset they again broke, retreating from the northward, and rising from Sinchul and Dorjiling last of all, whilst a line of vapour, thrown by perspective into one narrow band, seemed to belt the Singalelah range with a white girdle, darkened to black where it crossed the snowy mountains; and it was difficult to believe that this belt did not really hang upon the ranges from twenty to thirty miles off, against which it was projected; or that its true position was comparatively close to the mountain on which we were standing, and was due to condensation around its cool, broad, flat summit.

As usual from such elevations, sunset produced many beautiful effects. The zenith was a deep blue, darkening opposite the setting sun, and paling over it into a peach colour, and that again near the horizon passing into a glowing orange-red, crossed by coppery streaks of cirrhus. Broad beams of pale light shot from the sun to the meridian, crossing the moon and the planet Venus. Far south, through gaps in the mountains, the position of the plains of India, 10,000 feet below us, was indicated by a deep leaden haze, fading upwards in gradually paler bands (of which I counted fifteen) to the clear yellow of the sunset sky. As darkness came on, the mists collected around the top of Mainom, accumulating on the windward side, and thrown off in ragged masses from the opposite.

The second night we passed here was fine, and not very cold (the mean temperature being 27 degrees) and we kept ourselves quite warm by pine-wood fires. On the following morning the sun tinged the sky of a lurid yellow-red: to the south-west, over the plains, the belts of leaden vapour were fewer (twelve being distinguishable) and much lower than on the previous evening, appearing as if depressed on the visible horizon. Heavy masses of clouds nestled into all the valleys, and filled up the larger ones, the mountain tops rising above them like islands.

The height of our position I calculated to be 10,613 feet. Colonel Waugh had determined that of the summit by trigonometry to be 10,702 feet, which probably includes the trees which cover it, or some rocky peaks on the broad and comparatively level surface.

The mean temperature of the twenty-four hours was 32.7 degrees (max. 41.5 degrees/min. 27.2 degrees), mean dew-point 29.7, and saturation 0.82. The mercury suddenly fell below the freezing point at sunset; and from early morning the radiation was so powerful, that a thermometer exposed on snow sank to 21.2 degrees, and stood at 25.5 degrees, at 10 a.m. The black bulb thermometer rose to 132 degrees, at 9 a.m. on the 27th, or 94.2 degrees above the temperature of the air in the shade. I did not then observe that of radiation from snow; but if, as we may assume, it was not less than on the following morning (21.2 degrees), we shall have a difference of 148.6 degrees Fahr., in contiguous spots; the one exposed to the full effects of the sun, the other to that of radiation through a rarefied medium to a cloudless sky. On the 28th the black bulb thermometer, freely suspended over the snow and exposed to the sun, rose to 108 degrees, or 78 degrees above that of the air in the shade (32 degrees); the radiating surface of the same snow in the shade being 21.2 degrees, or 86.8 degrees colder.

Having taken a complete set of angles and panoramic sketches from the top of Mainom, with seventeen hourly observations, and collected much information from our guides, we returned on the 28th to our tents pitched by the temples at Neongong; descending 7000 feet, a very severe shake along Lepcha paths. In the evening the Lamas visited us, with presents of rice, fowls, eggs, etc., and begged subscriptions for their temple which was then building, reminding Dr. Campbell that he and the Governor-General had an ample share of their prayers, and benefited in proportion. As for me, they said, I was bound to give alms, as I surely needed praying for, seeing how I exposed myself; besides my having been the first Englishman who had visited the snows of Kinchinjunga, the holiest spot in Sikkim.

On the following morning we visited the unfinished temple. The outer walls were of slabs of stone neatly chiselled, but badly mortared with felspathic clay and pounded slate, instead of lime; the partition walls were of clay, shaped in moulds of wood; parallel planks, four feet asunder, being placed in the intended position of the walls, and left open above, the composition was placed in these boxes, a little at a time, and rammed down by the feet of many men, who walked round and round the narrow enclosure, singing, and also using rammers of heavy wood. The outer work was of good hard timber, of Magnolia ("Pendre-kun" of the Lepchas) land oak ("Sokka"). The common "Ban," or Lepcha knife, supplied the place of axe, saw, adze, and plane; and the graving work was executed with small tools, chiefly on Toon (Cedrela), a very soft wood (the "Simal-kun" of the Lepchas).

This being a festival day, when the natives were bringing offerings to the altar, we also visited the old temple, a small wooden building. Besides more substantial offerings, there were little cones of rice with a round wafer of butter at the top, ranged on the altar in order.* [The worshippers, on entering, walk straight up to the altar, and before, or after, having deposited their gifts, they lift both hands to the forehead, fall on their knees, and touch the ground three times with both head and hands, raising the body a little between each prostration. They then advance to the head Lama, kotow similarly to him, and he blesses them, laying both hands on their heads and repeating a short formula. Sometimes the dorje is used in blessing, as the cross is in Europe, and when a mass of people request a benediction, the Lama pronounces it from the door of the temple with outstretched arms, the people all being prostrate, with their foreheads touching the ground.] Six Lamas were at prayer, psalms, and contemplation, sitting cross-legged on two small benches that ran down the building: one was reading, with his hand and fore-finger elevated, whilst the others listened; anon they all sang hymns, repeated sacred or silly precepts to the bystanders, or joined in a chorus with boys, who struck brass cymbals, and blew straight copper trumpets six feet long, and conch-shells mounted with broad silver wings, elegantly carved with dragons. There were besides manis, or praying-cylinders, drums, gongs, books, and trumpets made of human thigh-bones, plain or mounted in silver.

Throughout Sikkim, we were roused each morning at daybreak by this wild music, the convents being so numerous that we were always within hearing of it. To me it was always deeply impressive, sounding so foreign, and awakening me so effectually to the strangeness of the wild land in which I was wandering, and of the many new and striking objects it contained. After sleep, too, during which the mind has either been at rest, or carried away to more familiar subjects, the feelings of loneliness and sometimes even of despondency, conjured up, by this solemn music, were often almost oppressive.

Ascending from Neongong, we reached that pass from the Teesta to the Great Rungeet, which I had crossed on the 22nd; and this time we had a splendid view, down both the valleys, of the rivers, and the many spars from the ridge communicating between Tendong and Mainom, with many scattered villages and patches of cultivation. Near the top I found a plant of "Praong," (a small bamboo), in full seed; this sends up many flowering branches from the root, and but few leaf-bearing ones; and after maturing its seed, and giving off suckers from the root, the parent plant dies. The fruit is a dark, long grain, like rice; it is boiled and made into cakes, or into beer, like Murwa.

Looking west from the summit, no fewer than ten monastic establishments with their temples, villages and cultivation, were at once visible, in the valley of the Great Rungeet, and in those of its tributaries; namely, Changachelling, Raklang, Dholi, Molli, Catsuperri, Dhoobdi, Sunnook, Powhungri, Pemiongchi and Tassiding, all of considerable size, and more or less remarkable in their sites, being perched on spurs or peaks at elevations varying from 3000 to 7000 feet, and commanding splendid prospects.

We encamped at Lingcham, where I had halted on the 21st, and the weather being fine, I took bearings of all the convents and mountains around. There is much cultivation here, and many comparatively rich villages, all occupying flat-shouldered spurs from Mainom. The houses are large, and the yards are full of animals familiar to the eye but not to the ear. The cows of Sikkim, though generally resembling the English in stature, form, and colour, have humps, and grunt rather than low; and the cocks wake the morning with a prolonged howling screech, instead of the shrill crow of chanticleer.

Hence we descended north-west to the Great Rungeet, opposite Tassiding; which is one of the oldest monastic establishments in Sikkim, and one we were very anxious to visit. The descent lay through a forest of tropical trees, where small palms, vines, peppers, Pandanus, wild plantain, and Pothos, were interlaced in an impenetrable jungle, and air-plants clothed the trees.

Illustration—IMPLEMENTS USED IN BOODHIST TEMPLES. Praying cylinder in stand (see Chapter VII); another to be carried in the hand; cymbals; bell; brass cup; three trumpets; conch; dorje.



CHAPTER XIV.

Tassiding, view of and from—Funereal cypress—Camp at Sunnook— Hot vapours—Lama's house—Temples, decorations, altars, idols, general effect—Chaits—Date of erection—Plundered by Ghorkas —Cross Ratong—Ascend to Pemiongchi—Relation of river-beds to strike of rocks—Slopes of ravines—Pemiongchi, view of— Vegetation—Elevation—Temple, decorations, etc.—Former capital of Sikkim—History of Sikkim—Nightingales—Campbell departs—Tchonpong—Edgeworthia—Cross Rungbee and Ratong— Hoar-frost on plantains—Yoksun—Walnuts—View—Funereal cypresses—Doobdi—Gigantic cypresses—Temples—Snow-fall— Sikkim, etc.—Toys.

Tassiding hill is the steep conical termination of a long spur from a pine-clad shoulder of Kinchinjunga, called Powhungri: it divides the Great Rungeet from its main feeder, the Ratong, which rises from the south face of Kinchin. We crossed the former by a bridge formed of two bamboo stems, slung by canes from two parallel arches of stout branches lashed together.

The ascent for 2,800 feet was up a very steep, dry, zigzag path, amongst mica slate rocks (strike north-east), on which grew many tropical plants, especially the "Tukla," (Rottlera tinctoria), a plant which yields a brown dye. The top was a flat, curving north-west and south-east, covered with temples, chaits, and mendongs of the most picturesque forms and in elegant groups, and fringed with brushwood, wild plantains, small palms, and apple-trees. Here I saw for the first time the funereal cypress, of which some very old trees spread their weeping limbs and pensile branchlets over the buildings.* [I was not then aware of this tree having been introduced into England by the intrepid Mr. Fortune from China; and as I was unable to procure seeds, which are said not to ripen in Sikkim, it was a great and unexpected pleasure, on my return home, to find it alive and flourishing at Kew.] It is not wild in Sikkim, but imported there and into Bhotan from Tibet: it does not thrive well above 6000 feet elevation. It is called "Tchenden" by the Lepchas, Bhoteeas, and Tibetans, and its fragrant red wood is burnt in the temples.

Illustration—GROUP OF CHAITS AT PASSIDING.

The Lamas met us on the top of the hill, bringing a noble present of fowls, vegetables and oranges, the latter most acceptable after our long and hot march. The site is admirably chosen, in the very heart of Sikkim, commanding a fine view, and having a considerable river on either side, with the power of retreating behind to the convents of Sunnook and Powhungri, which are higher up on the same spur, and surrounded by forest enough to conceal an army. Considering the turbulent and warlike character of their neighbours, it is not wonderful that the monks should have chosen commanding spots, and good shelter for their indolent lives: for the same reason these monasteries secured views of one another: thus from Tassiding the great temple of Pemiongchi was seen towering 3000 feet over head, whilst to the north-west, up the course of the river, the hill-sides seemed sprinkled with monasteries.

We camped on a saddle near the village of Sunnook, at 4000 feet above the sea; and on the last day of the year we visited this most interesting monastic establishment: ascending from our camp along the ridge by a narrow path, cut here and there into steps, and passing many rocks covered with inscriptions, broken walls of mendongs, and other remains of the via sacra between the village and temple. At one spot we found a fissure emitting hot vapour of the temperature of 65.5 degrees, that of the air being about 50 degrees. It was simply a hole amongst the rocks; and near the Rungeet a similar one is said to occur, whose temperature fluctuates considerably with the season. It is very remarkable that such an isolated spring should exist on the top of a sharp ridge, 2,800 feet above the bottom of this deep valley.

The general arrangement on the summit was, first the Lamas' houses with small gardens, then three large temples raised on rudely paged platforms, and beyond these, a square walled enclosure facing the south, full of chaits and mendongs, looking like a crowded cemetery, and planted with funereal cypress (Cupressus funebris).

The house of the principal Lama was an oblong square, the lower story of stone, and the upper of wood: we ascended a ladder to the upper room, which was 24 feet by 8 wattled all round, with prettily latticed windows opening upon a bamboo balcony used for drying grain, under the eaves of the broad thatched roof. The ceiling (of neat bamboo work) was hung with glorious bunches of maize, yellow, red, and brown; an altar and closed wicker cage at one end of the room held the Penates, and a few implements of worship. Chinese carpets were laid on the floor for us, and the cans of Murwa brought round.

The Lama, though one of the red sect, was dressed in a yellow flowered silk robe, but his mitre was red: he gave us much information relative to the introduction of Boodhism into Sikkim.

The three temples stand about fifty yards apart, but are not parallel to one another, although their general direction is east and west.* [Timkowski, in his travels through Mongolia (i. p. 193), says, "According to the rules of Tibetan architecture, temples should face the south:" this is certainly not the rule in Sikkim, nor, so far as I could learn, in Tibet either.] Each is oblong, and narrowed upwards, with the door at one end; the middle (and smallest) faces the west, the others the east: the doorways are all broad, low and deep, protected by a projecting carved portico. The walls are immensely thick, of well-masoned slaty stones; the outer surface of each slopes upwards and inwards, the inner is perpendicular. The roofs are low and thickly thatched, and project from eight to ten feet all round, to keep off the rain, being sometimes supported by long poles. There is a very low upper story, inhabited by the attendant monks and servants, accessible by a ladder at one end of the building. The main body of the temple is one large apartment, entered through a small transverse vestibule, the breadth of the temple, in which are tall cylindrical praying-machines. The carving round the doors is very beautiful, and they are gaudily painted and gilded.

Illustration—DOORWAY.

The northern temple is quite plain: the middle one is simply painted red, and encircled with a row of black heads, with goggle eyes and numerous teeth, on a white ground; it is said to have been originally dedicated to the evil spirits of the Lepcha creed. The southern, which contains the library, is the largest and best, and is of an irregular square shape. The inside walls and floors are plastered with clay, and painted with allegorical representations of Boodh, etc. From the vestibule the principal apartment is entered by broad folding-doors, studded with circular copper bosses, and turning on iron hinges. It is lighted by latticed windows, sometimes protected outside by a bamboo screen. Owing to the great thickness of the walls (three to four feet), a very feeble light is admitted. In the principal temple, called "Dugang," six hexagonal wooden columns, narrowed above, with peculiar broad transverse capitals, exquisitely gilded and painted, support the cross-beams of the roof, which are likewise beautifully ornamented. Sometimes a curly-maned gilt lion is placed over a column, and it is always furnished with a black bushy tail: squares, diamonds, dragons, and groups of flowers, vermilion, green, gold, azure, and white, are dispersed with great artistic taste over all the beams; the heavier masses of colour being separated by fine white lines.

Illustration—SOUTHERN TEMPLE.

The altars and idols are placed at the opposite end; and two long parallel benches, like cathedral stalls, run down the centre of the building: on these the monks sit at prayer and contemplation, the head Lama occupying a stall (often of very tasteful design) near the altar.

Illustration—MIDDLE TEMPLE.

The principal Boodh, or image, is placed behind the altar under a canopy, or behind a silk screen: lesser gods, and gaily dressed and painted effigies of sainted male or female persons are ranged on either side, or placed in niches around the apartment, sometimes with separate altars before them; whilst the walls are more or less covered with paintings of monks in prayer or contemplation. The principal Boodh (Sakya Sing) sits cross-legged, with the left heel up: his left-hand always rests on his thigh, and holds the padmi or lotus and jewel, which is often a mere cup; the right-hand is either raised, with the two forefingers up, or holds the dorje, or rests on the calf of the upturned leg. Sakya has generally curled hair, Lamas have mitres, females various head-dresses; most wear immense ear-rings, and some rosaries. All are placed on rude pediments, so painted as to convey the idea of their rising out of the petals of the pink, purple, or white lotus. None are in any way disagreeable; on the contrary most have a calm and pleasing expression, suggestive of contemplation.

Illustration—ALTAR AND IMAGES. Central figure Akshobya, the first of the Pancha Boodha.

The great or south temple contained a side altar of very elegant shape, placed before an image encircled by a glory. Flowers, juniper, peacock's feathers, pastiles, and rows of brass cups of water were the chief ornaments of the altars, besides the instruments I have elsewhere enumerated. In this temple was the library, containing several hundred books, in pigeon-holes, placed in recesses.* [For a particular account of the images and decorations of these temples, sea Dr. Campbell's paper in "Bengal Asiatic Society's Trans.," May, 1849. The principal object of veneration amongst the Ningma or red sect of Boodhists in Sikkim and Bhotan is Gorucknath, who is always represented sitting cross-legged, holding the dorje in one hand, which is raised; whilst the left rests in the lap and holds a cup with a jewel in it. The left arm supports a trident, whose staff pierces three sculls (a symbol of Shiva), a rosary hangs round his neck, and he wears a red mitre with a lunar crescent and sun in front.]

Illustration—PLAN OF THE SOUTH TEMPLE. A. entrance; B. four praying cylinders; C. altar, with seven brass cups of water; D. four columns; E. and F. images; G. library.

The effect on entering these cold and gloomy temples is very impressive; the Dugang in particular is exquisitely ornamented and painted, and the vista from the vestibule to the principal idol, of carved and coloured pillars and beams, is very picturesque. Within, the general arrangement of the colours and gilding is felt to be harmonious and pleasing, especially from the introduction of slender white streaks between the contrasting masses of colour, as adopted in the Great Exhibition building of 1851. It is also well worthy of remark that the brightest colours are often used in broad masses, and when so, are always arranged chromatically, in the sequence of the rainbow's hues, and are hence never displeasing to the eye. The hues, though bright, are subdued by the imperfect light: the countenances of the images are all calm, and their expression solemn. Whichever way you turn, the eye is met by some beautiful specimen of colouring or carving, or some object of veneration. The effect is much heightened by the incense of juniper and sweet-smelling herbs which the priests burn on entering, by their grave and decorous conduct, and by the feeling of respect that is demanded by a religion which theoretically inculcates and adores virtue in the abstract, and those only amongst men who practise virtue. To the idol itself the Boodhist attaches no real importance; it is an object of reverence, not of worship, and no virtue or attribute belong to it per se; it is a symbol of the creed, and the adoration is paid to the holy man whom it represents.

Beyond the temples are the chaits and mendongs, scattered without much order; and I counted nearly twenty-five chaits of the same form,* [In Sikkim the form of the cube alone is always strictly preserved; that of the pyramid and hemisphere being often much modified. The cube stands on a flight of usually three steps, and is surmounted by a low pyramid of five steps; on this is placed a swelling, urn-shaped body, which represents the hemisphere, and is surmounted by another cube. On the latter is a slender, round or angled spire (represented by a pyramid in Burma), crowned with a crescent and disc, or sun, in moon. Generally, the whole is of stone, with the exception of the spire, which is of wood, painted red.] between eight and thirty feet high. The largest is consecrated to the memory of the Rajah's eldest son, who, however, is not buried here. A group of these structures is, as I have often remarked, extremely picturesque, and those at Tassiding, from their number, variety, and size, their commanding and romantic position, and their being interspersed with weeping cypresses, are particularly so.

The Tassiding temples and convents were founded upwards of 300 years ago, by the Lamas who accompanied the first Rajah to Sikkim; and they have been continuously served by Lamas of great sanctity, many of whom have been educated at Lhassa. They were formerly very wealthy, but during the Nepal war they were plundered of all their treasures, their silver gongs and bells, their best idols, dorjes, and manis, and stripped of their ornaments; since which time Pemiongchi has been more popular. In proof of their antiquity, it was pointed out that most of the symbols and decorations were those of pure Lama Boodhism, as practised in Tibet.

Although the elevation is but 4,840 feet, the weather was cold and raw, with rain at noon, followed by thunder and lightning. These electrical disturbances are frequent about midsummer and midwinter, prevailing over many parts of India.

January 1st, 1849.—The morning of the new year was bright and beautiful, though much snow had fallen on the mountains; and we left Sunnook for Pemiongchi, situated on the summit of a lofty spur on the opposite side of the Ratong. We descended very steeply to the bed of the river (alt. 2,480 feet) which joins the Great Rungeet below the convents. The rocks were micaceous, dipping west and north-west 45 degrees, and striking north and north-east, which direction prevailed for 1000 feet or so up the opposite spur. I had observed the same dip and stroke on the east flank of the Tassiding spur; but both the Ratong on its west side, and the Great Rungeet on the east, flow in channels that show no relation to either the dip or strike. I have generally remarked in Sikkim that the channels of the rivers when cutting through or flowing at the base of bluff cliffs, are neither parallel to nor at right angles to the strike of the rocks forming the cliffs. I do not hence conclude that there is no original connection between the directions of the rivers, and the lines of fracture; but whatever may have once subsisted between the direction of the fissures and that of the strike, it is in the Sikkim Himalaya now wholly masked by shiftings, which accompanied subsequent elevations and depressions.

Mr. Hopkins has mathematically demonstrated that the continued exertion of a force in raising superimposed strata would tend to produce two classes of fractures in those strata; those of the first order at right angles to the direction of the wave or ridge (or line of strike); those of the second order parallel to the strike. Supposing the force to be withdrawn after the formation of the two fractures, the result would be a ridge, or mountain chain, with diverging fissures from the summit, crossed by concentric fissures; and the courses which the rivers would take in flowing down the ridge, would successively be at right angles and parallel to the strike of the strata. Now, in the Himalaya, a prevalent strike to the north-west has been recognised in all parts of the chain, but it is everywhere interfered with by mountains presenting every other direction of strike, and by their dip never remaining constant either in amount or direction. Consequently, as might be expected, the directions of the river channels bear no apparent relation to the general strike of the rocks.

We crossed the Ratong (twenty yards broad) by a cane bridge, suspended between two rocks of green chlorite, full of veins of granite. Ascending, we passed the village of Kameti on a spur, on the face of which were strewed some enormous detached blocks of white and pink stratified quartz: the rocks in situ were all chlorite schist.

Looking across the valley to the flank of Mainom, the disposition of the ridges and ravines on its sides was very evident; many of the latter, throughout their westerly course, from their commencement at 10,000 feet, to their debouchure in the Great Rungeet at 2000, had a bluff, cliffy, northern flank, and a sloping southern one. The dip of the surfaces is, therefore, north-west, the exposure consequently of the villages which occupy terraces on the south flanks of the lateral valleys. The Tassiding spur presented exactly the same arrangement of its ravines, and the dip of the rocks being north-west, it follows that the planes of the sloping surfaces coincide in direction (though not in amount of inclination) with that of the dip of the subjacent strata, which is anything but a usual phenomenon in Sikkim.

The ascent to Pemiongchi continued very steep, through woods of oaks, chesnuts, and magnolias, but no tree-fern, palms, Pothos, or plantain, which abound at this elevation on the moister outer ranges of Sikkim. The temple (elev. 7,083 feet) is large, eighty feet long, and in excellent order, built upon the lofty terminal point of the great east and west spur that divides the Kulhait from the Ratong and Rungbee rivers; and the great Changachelling temple and monastery stand on another eminence of the same ridge, two miles further west.

The view of the snowy range from this temple is one of the finest in Sikkim; the eye surveying at one glance the vegetation of the Tropics and the Poles. Deep in the valleys the river-beds are but 3000 feet above the sea, and are choked with fig-trees, plantains, and palms; to these succeed laurels and magnolias, and higher up still, oaks, chesnuts, birches, etc.; there is, however, no marked line between the limits of these two last forests, which form the prevailing arboreous vegetation between 4000 and 10,000 feet, and give a lurid line to the mountains. Pine forests succeed for 2000 feet higher, when they give place to a skirting of rhododendron and berberry. Among these appear black naked rocks, rising up in cliffs, between which are gulleys, down which the snow now (on the 1st January) descended to 12,000 feet. The mountain flanks are much more steep and rocky than those at similar heights on the outer ranges, and cataracts are very numerous, and of considerable height, though small in volume.

Pemiongchi is at the same elevation as Dorjiling, and the contrast between the shoulders of 8000 to 10,000 feet on Kinchinjunga, and those of equal height on Tendong and Tonglo, is very remarkable: looking at the latter mountains from Dorjiling, the observer sees no rock, waterfall, or pine, throughout their whole height; whereas the equally wooded flanks of these inner ranges are rocky, streaked with thread-like waterfalls, and bristling with silver firs.

This temple, the most ancient in Sikkim, is said to be 400 years old; it stands on a paved platform, and is of the same form and general character as those of Tassiding. Inside, it is most beautifully decorated, especially the beams, columns, capitals and architraves, but the designs are coarser than those of Tassiding.* [Mr. Hodgson informed me that many of the figures and emblems in this temple are those of Tantrica Boodhism, including Shiva, Devi, and other deities usually called Brahminical; Kakotak, or the snake king, a figure terminating below in a snake, is also seen; with the tiger, elephant, and curly-maned lion.] The square end of every beam in the roof is ornamented either with a lotus flower or with a Tibetan character, in endless diversity

Illustration—INTERIOR OF THE TEMPLE AT PEMIONGCHI.

of colour and form, and the walls are completely covered with allegorical paintings of Lamas and saints expounding or in contemplation, with glories round their heads, mitred, and holding the dole and jewel.

The principal image is a large and hideous figure of Sakya-thoba, in a recess under a blue silk canopy, contrasting with a calm figure of the late Rajah, wearing a cap and coronet.

Pemiongchi was once the capital of Sikkim, and called the Sikkim Durbar: the Rajah's residence was on a curious flat to the south of the temple, and a few hundred feet below it, where are the remains of (for this country) extensive walls and buildings. During the Nepal war, the Rajah was driven west across the Teesta, whilst the Ghorkas plundered Tassiding, Pemiongchi, Changachelling, and all the temples and convents to the east of that river. It was then that the famous history of Sikkim,* [This remarkable and beautiful manuscript was written on thick oblong sheets of Tibet paper, painted black to resist decay, and the letters were yellow and gold. The Nepalese soldiers wantonly employed the sheets to roof the sheds they erected, as a protection from the weather.] compiled by the Lamas of Pemiongchi, and kept at this temple, was destroyed, with the exception of a few sheets, with one of which Dr. Campbell and myself were each presented. We were told that the monks of Changachelling and those of this establishment had copied what remained, and were busy compiling from oral information, etc.: whatever value the original may have possessed, however, is irretrievably lost. A magnificent copy of the Boodhist Scriptures was destroyed at the same time; it consisted of 400 volumes, each containing several hundred sheets of Daphne paper.

The ground about the temple was snowed; and we descended a few hundred feet, to encamp in a most picturesque grove, among chaits and inscribed stones, with a peep of the temples above. Nightingales warbled deliciously night and morning, which rather surprised us, as the minimum thermometer fell to 27.8 degrees, and the ground next day was covered with hoar-frost; the elevation being 6,580 feet. These birds migrate hither in October and November, lingering in the Himalayan valleys till the cold of early spring drives them further south, to the plains of India, whence they return north in March and April.

On the 2nd of January I parted from my friend, who was obliged to hurry to the great annual fair at Titalya. I regretted much being unable to accompany Dr. Campbell to this scene of his disinterested labours, especially as the Nawab of Moorshedabad was to be present, one of the few wealthy native princes of Bengal who still keep a court worth seeing; but I was more anxious to continue my explorations northward till the latest moment: I however accompanied him for a short distance on his way towards Dorjiling. We passed the old Durbar, called Phieungoong ("Bamboo-hill," so named from the abundance of a small bamboo, "Phieung.") The buildings, now in ruins, occupy a little marshy flat, hemmed in by slate rocks, and covered with brambles and Andromeda bushes. A wall, a bastion, and an arched gateway, are the only traces of fortifications; they are clothed with mosses, lichens, and ferns.

A steep zigzag path, descending amongst long grass and scarlet rhododendrons, leads to the Kaysing Mendong.* [Described at Chapter XII.] Here I bade adieu to Dr. Campbell, and toiled up the hill, feeling very lonely. The zest with which he had entered into all my pursuits, and the aid he had afforded me, together with the charm that always attends companionship with one who enjoys every incident of travel, had so attracted me to him that I found it difficult to recover my spirits. It is quite impossible for anyone who cannot from experience realise the solitary wandering life I had been leading for months, to appreciate the desolate feeling that follows the parting from one who has heightened every enjoyment, and taken far more than his share of every annoyance and discomfort: the few days we had spent together appeared then, and still, as months.

On my return to Pemiongchi I spent the remainder of the day sketching in the great temple, gossiping with the Lamas, and drinking salted and buttered tea-soup, which I had begun to like, when the butter was not rancid.

My route hence was to be along the south flank of Kinchinjunga, north to Jongri, which lay about four or five marches off, on the road to the long deserted pass of Kanglanamo, by which I had intended entering Sikkim from Nepal, when I found the route up the Yalloong valley impracticable. The village and ruined convents of Yoksun lay near the route, and the temples of Doobdi, Catsuperri and Molli, on the Ratong river.

I descended to the village of Tchonpong (alt. 4,980 feet), where I was detained a day to obtain rice, of which I required ten days' supply for twenty-five people. On the way I passed groves of the paper-yielding Edgeworthia Gardneri: it bears round heads of fragrant, beautiful, yellow flowers, and would be a valuable acquisition to an English conservatory.

From Tchonpong we descended to the bed of the Rungbee (alt. 3,160 feet), an affluent of the Ratong, flowing in a deep galley with precipitous sides of mica schist full of garnets, dipping west and north-west 45 degrees: it was spanned by a bridge of two loose bamboo culms, about fifteen yards long, laid across without handrails; after wet sand had been thrown on it the bare-footed coolies crossed easily enough, but I, having shoes on, required a hand to steady me. From this point we crossed a lofty spur to the Ratong (alt. 3000 feet), where we encamped, the coolies being unable to proceed further on such very bad roads. This river descends from the snows of Kinchin, and consequently retains the low temperature 42 degrees, being fully 7 degrees colder than the Rungbee, which at an elevation of but 3000 feet appears very remarkable: it must however be observed that scarcely anywhere does the sun penetrate to the bottom of its valley.

We encamped on a gravelly flat, fifty feet above the river, strewn with water-worn boulders, and so densely covered with tall Artemisiae, gigantic grasses, bamboo, plantain, fern, and acacia, that we had to clear a space in the jungle, which exhaled a rank heavy smell.

Hoar-frost formed copiously in the night, and though above the sun's rays were very powerful, they did not reach this spot till 7.30 a.m., the frost remaining in the shade till nearly 9 a.m.; and this on plantains, and other inhabitants of hot-houses in England.

Hence I ascended to Yoksun, one of the most curious and picturesque spots in Sikkim, and the last inhabited place towards Kinchinjunga. The path was excessively steep and rocky for the first mile or two, and then alternately steep and flat. Mixed with many tropical trees, were walnuts of the common English variety; a tree, which, though planted here, is wild near Dorjiling, where it bears a full-sized fruit, as hard as a hickory-nut: those I gathered in this place were similar, whereas in Bhotan the cultivated nut is larger, thin-shelled, and the kernel is easily removed. We ascended one slope, of an angle of 36 degrees 30 minutes, which was covered with light black mould, and had been recently cleared by fire: we found millet now cultivated on it. From the top the view of the Ratong valley was very fine: to the north lay Yoksun, appearing from this height to occupy a flat, two miles long and one broad, girdled by steep mountains to the north and east, dipping very suddenly 2,200 feet to the Ratong on the west. To the right was a lofty hill, crowned with the large temple and convents of Doobdi, shadowed by beautiful weeping cypresses, and backed by lofty pine-clad mountains. Northward, the gorge of the Ratong opened as a gloomy defile, above which rose partially snowed mountains, which shut out Kinchinjunga. To the west, massive pine-clad mountains rose steeply; while the little hamlet of Lathiang occupied a remarkable shelf overhanging the river, appearing inaccessible except by ropes from above. South-west, the long spurs of Molli and Catsuperri, each crowned with convents or temples, descended from Singalelah; and parallel to them on the south; but much longer and more lofty, was the great mountain range north of the Kulbait, with the temples and convents of Pemiongchi, and Changachelling, towering in the air. The latter range dips suddenly to the Great Rungeet, where Tassiding, with its chaits and cypresses, closed the view. The day was half cloud, half sunshine; and the various effects of light and shade, now bringing out one or other of the villages and temples, now casting the deep valleys into darker gloom, was wonderfully fine.

Yoksun was the earliest civilised corner of Sikkim, and derived its name (which signifies in Lepcha "three chiefs") from having been the residence of three Lamas of great influence, who were the means of introducing the first Tibetan sovereign into the country. At present it boasts of but little cultivation, and a scattered population, inhabiting a few hamlets, 5,500 feet above the sea: beautiful lanes and paths wind everywhere over the gentle slopes, and through the copsewood that has replaced the timber-trees of a former period. Mendongs and chaits are very numerous, some of great size; and there are also the ruins of two very large temples, near which are some magnificent weeping cypresses, eighty feet high. These fine trees are landmarks from all parts of the flat; they form irregular cones of pale bright green, with naked gnarled tops, the branches weep gracefully, but not like the picture in Macartney's Embassy to China, whence originated the famous willow-pattern of our crockery. The ultimate branchlets are very slender and pendulous; my Lepcha boys used to make elegant chaplets of them, binding the withes with scarlet worsted. The trunk is quite erect, smooth, cylindrical, and pine-like; it harbours no moss, but air-plants, Orchids, and ferns, nestle on the limbs, and pendulous lichens, like our beard-moss, wave from the branches.

In the evening I ascended to Doobdi. The path was broad, and skilfully conducted up a very steep slope covered with forest: the top, which is 6,470 feet above the sea, and nearly 1000 above Yoksun, is a broad partially paved platform, on which stand two temples, surrounded by beautiful cypresses: one of these trees (perhaps the oldest in Sikkim) measured sixteen and a half feet in girth, at five feet from the ground, and was apparently ninety feet high: it was not pyramidal, the top branches being dead and broken, and the lower limbs spreading; they were loaded with masses of white-flowered Coelogynes, and Vacciniums. The younger trees were pyramidal.

I was received by a monk of low degree, who made many apologies for the absence of his superior, who had been ordered an eight years' penance and seclusion from the world, of which only three had passed. On inquiry, I learnt the reason for this; the holy father having found himself surrounded by a family, to which there would have been no objection, had he previously obtained a dispensation. As, however, he had omitted this preliminary, and was able to atone by prayer and payment, he had been condemned to do penance; probably at his own suggestion, as the seclusion will give him sanctity, and eventually lead to his promotion, when his error shall have been forgotten.

Illustration—TEMPLE AND WEEPING CYPRESS.

Both temples are remarkable for their heavily ornamented, two-storied porticos, which occupy nearly the whole of one end. The interior decorations are in a ruinous condition, and evidently very old; they have no Hindoo emblems.

The head Lama sent me a present of dried peaches, with a bag of walnuts, called "Koal-kun" by the Lepchas, and "Taga-sching" by the Bhoteeas; the two terminations alike signifying "tree."

The view of Yoksun from this height was very singular: it had the appearance of an enormous deposit banked up against a spur to the south, and mountains to the east, and apparently levelled by the action of water: this deposit seemed as though, having once completely filled the valley of the Ratong, that river had cut a gorge 2000 feet deep between it and the opposite mountain.

Although the elevation is so low, snow falls abundantly at Doobdi in winter; I was assured that it has been known of the depth of five feet, a statement I consider doubtful; the quantity is, however, certainly greater than at equal heights about Dorjiling, no doubt owing to its proximity to Kinchinjunga.

I was amused here by watching a child playing with a popgun, made of bamboo, similar to that of quill, with which most English children are familiar, which propels pellets by means of a spring-trigger made of the upper part of the quill. It is easy to conclude such resemblances between the familiar toys of different countries to be accidental, but I question their being really so. On the plains of India, men may often be seen for hours together, flying what with us are children's kites; and I procured a jews'-harp from Tibet. These are not the toys of savages, but the amusements of people more than half-civilised, and with whom we have had indirect communication from the earliest ages. The Lepchas play at quoits, using slate for the purpose, and at the Highland games of "putting the stone" and "drawing the stone." Chess, dice, draughts, Punch, hockey, and battledore and shuttlecock, are all Indo-Chinese or Tartarian; and no one familiar with the wonderful instances of similarity between the monasteries, ritual, ceremonies, attributes, vestments, and other paraphernalia of the eastern and western churches, can fail to acknowledge the importance of recording even the most trifling analogies or similarities between the manners and customs of the young as well as of the old.



CHAPTER XV

Leave Yoksun for Kinchinjunga—Ascend Ratong valley— Salt-smuggling over Ratong—Landslips—Plants—Buckeem— Blocks of gneiss—Mon Lepcha—View—Weather—View from Gubroo —Kinchinjunga, tops of—Pundim cliff—Nursing—Vegetation of Himalaya—Coup d'oeil of Jongri—Route to Yalloong—Arduous route of salt-traders from Tibet—Kinchin, ascent of—Lichens— Surfaces sculptured by snow and ice—Weather at Jongri—Snow— Shades for eyes.

I left Yoksun on an expedition to Kinchinjunga on the 7th of January. It was evident that at this season I could not attain any height; but I was most anxious to reach the lower limit of that mass of perpetual snow which descends in one continuous sweep from 28,000 to 15,000 feet, and radiates from the summit of Kinchin, along every spur and shoulder for ten to fifteen miles, towards each point of the compass.

The route lay for the first mile over the Yoksun flat, and then wound along the almost precipitous east flank of the Ratong, 1000 feet above its bed, leading through thick forest. It was often difficult, crossing torrents by calms of bamboo, and leading up precipices by notched poles and roots of trees. I wondered what could have induced the frequenting of such a route to Nepal, when there were so many better ones over Singalelah, till I found from my guide that he had habitually smuggled salt over this pass to avoid the oppressive duty levelled by the Dewan on all imports from Tibet by the eastern passes: he further told me that it took five days to reach Yalloong in Nepal front Yoksun, on the third of which the Kanglanamo pass is crossed, which is open from April to November, but is always heavily snowed. Owing to this duty, and the remoteness of the eastern passes, the people on the west side of the Great Rungeet were compelled to pay an enormous sum for salt; and the Lamas of Changachelling and Pemiongchi petitioned Dr. Campbell to use his influence with the Nepal Court to have the Kanglanamo pass re-opened, and the power of trading with the Tibetans of Wallanchoon, Yangma, and Kambachen, restored to them: the pass having been closed since the Nepalese war, to prevent the Sikkim people from kidnapping children and slaves, as was alleged to be their custom.* [An accusation in which there was probably some truth; for the Sikkim Dingpun, who guided Dr. Campbell and myself to Mainom, Tassiding, etc., since kidnapped, or caused to be abducted, a girl of Brahmin parents, from the Mai valley of Nepal, a transaction which cost him some 300 rupees. The Nepal Durbar was naturally furious, the more so as the Dingpun had no caste, and was therefore abhorred by all Brahmins. Restitution was demanded through Dr. Campbell, who caused the incensed Dingpun to give up his paramour and her jewels. He vowed vengeance against Dr. Campbell, and found means to gratify it, as I shall hereafter show.]

We passed some immense landslips, which had swept the forest into the torrent, and exposed white banks of angular detritus of gneiss and granite: we crossed one 200 yards long, by a narrow treacherous path, on a slope of 35 degrees: the subjacent gneiss was nearly vertical, striking north-east. We camped at 6,670 feet, amongst a vegetation I little expected to find so close to the snows of Kinchin; it consisted of oak, maple, birch, laurel, rhododendron, white Daphne, jessamine, Arum, Begonia, Cyrtandraceae, pepper, fig, Menispermum, wild cinnamon, Scitamineae, several epiphytic orchids, vines, and ferns in great abundance.

On the following day, I proceeded north-west up the Ratong river, here a furious torrent; which we crossed, and then ascended a very steep mountain called "Mon Lepcha." Immense detached masses of gneiss, full of coarse garnets, lay on the slope, some of which were curiously marked with a series of deep holes, large enough to put one's fist in, and said to be the footprints of the sacred cow. They appeared to me to have been caused by the roots of trees, which spread over the rocks in these humid regions, and wear channels in the hardest material, especially when they follow the direction of its lamination or stratification.

I encamped at a place called Buckeem (alt. 8,650 ft.), in a forest of Abies Brunoniana and Webbiana, yew, oak, various rhododendrons, and small bamboo. Snow lay in patches at 8000 feet, and the night was cold and clear. On the following morning I continued the ascent, alternately up steeps and along perfectly level shelves, on which were occasionally frozen pools, surrounded with dwarf juniper and rhododendrons. Across one I observed the track of a yak in the snow; it presented two ridges, probably from the long hair of this animal, which trails on the ground, sweeping the snow from the centre of its path. At 11,000 feet the snow lay deep and soft in the woods of silver fir, and the coolies waded through it with difficulty.

Enormous fractured boulders of gneiss were frequent over the whole of Mon Lepcha, from 7000 to 11,000 feet: they were of the same material as the rock in situ, and as unaccountable in their origin as the loose blocks on Dorjiling and Sinchul spurs at similar elevations, often cresting narrow ridges. I measured one angular detached block, forty feet high, resting on a steep narrow shoulder of the spur, in a position to which it was impossible it could have rolled; and it is equally difficult to suppose that glacial ice deposited it 4000 feet above the bottom of the gorge, except we conclude the valley to have been filled with ice to that depth. A glance at the map will show that Mon Lepcha is remarkably situated, opposite the face of Kinchinjunga, and at the great bend of the Ratong. Had that valley ever been filled with water during a glacial period, Mon Lepcha would have formed a promontory, and many floating bergs from Kinchin would have been stranded on its flank: but I nowhere observed these rocks to be of so fine a granite as I believe the upper rocks of Kinchin to be, and I consequently cannot advance even that far-fetched solution with much plausibility.

As I ascended, the rocks became more granitic, with large crystals of mica. The summit was another broad bare flat, elevated 13,080 feet, and fringed by a copse of rose, berberry, and very alpine rhododendrons: the Himalayan heather (Adromeda fastigiata) grew abundantly here, affording us good fuel.

The toilsome ascent through the soft snow and brushwood delayed the coolies, who scarcely accomplished five miles in the day. Some of them having come up by dark, I prepared to camp on the mountain-top, strewing thick masses of Andromeda and moss (which latter hung in great tufts from the bushes) on the snow; my blankets bad not arrived, but there was no prospect of a snow-storm.

The sun was powerful when I reached the summit, and I was so warm that I walked about barefoot on the frozen snow without inconvenience, preferring it to continuing in wet stockings: the temperature at the time was 29.5 degrees, with a brisk south-east moist wind, and the dew point 22.8 degrees.

The night was magnificent, brilliant starlight, with a pale mist over the mountains: the thermometer fell to 15.5 degrees at 7.30 p.m., and one laid upon wood with its bulb freely exposed, sank to 7.5 degrees: the snow sparkled with broad flakes of hoar-frost in the full moon, which was so bright, that I recorded my observations by its light. Owing to the extreme cold of radiation, I passed a very uncomfortable night. The minimum thermometer fell to 1 degrees in shade.* [At sunrise the temperature was 11.5 degrees; that of grass, cleared on the previous day from snow, and exposed to the sky, 6.5 degrees; that on wool, 2.2 degrees; and that on the surface of the snow, 0.7 degrees.] The sky was clear; and every rock, leaf, twig, blade of grass, and the snow itself, were covered with broad rhomboidal plates of hoar-frost, nearly one-third of an inch across: while the metal scale of the thermometer instantaneously blistered my tongue. As the sun rose, the light reflected from these myriads of facets had a splendid effect.

Before sunrise the atmosphere was still, and all but cloudless. To the south-east were visible the plains of India, at least 140 miles distant; where, as usual, horizontal layers of leaden purple vapour obscured the horizon: behind these the sun rose majestically, instantly dispersing them, while a thin haze spread over all the intervening mountains, from its slanting beams reaching me through otherwise imperceptible vapours: these, as the sun mounted higher, again became invisible, though still giving that transparency to the atmosphere and brilliant definition of the distances, so characteristic of a damp, yet clear day.

Mon Lepcha commands a most extensive view of Sikkim, southward to Dorjiling. At my feet lay the great and profound valley of the Ratong, a dark gulf of vegetation. Looking northward, the eye followed that river to the summit of Kinchinjunga (distant eighteen miles), which fronts the beholder as Mont Blanc does when seen from the mountains on the opposite side of the valley of Chamouni. To the east are the immense precipices and glaciers of Pundim, and on the west those of Kubra, forming great supporters to the stupendous mountain between them. Mon Lepcha itself is a spur running south-east from the Kubra shoulder: it is very open, and covered with rounded hills for several miles further north, terminating in a conspicuous conical black hummock* [This I have beau told is the true Kubra; and the great snowy mountain behind it, which I here, in conformity with the Dorjiling nomenclature, call Kubra, has no name, being considered a part of Kinchin.] called Gubroo, of 15,000 feet elevation, which presents a black cliff to the south.

Kinchinjunga rises in three heads, of nearly equal height,* [The eastern and western tops, are respectively 27,826 and 28,177 feet above the level of the sea.] which form a line running north-west. It exposes many white or grey rocks, bare of snow, and disposed in strata* [I am aware that the word strata is inappropriate here; the appearance of stratification or bedding, if it indicate any structure of the rock, being, I cannot doubt, due to that action which gives parallel cleavage planes to granite in many parts of the world, and to which the so-called lamination or foliation of slate and gneiss is supposed by many geologists to be due. It is not usual to find this structure so uniformly and conspicuously developed through large masses of granite, as it appeared to me to be on the sides of Kinchinjunga and on the top of Junnoo, as seen from the Choonjerma pass (Chapter XI, plate); but it is sometimes very conspicuous, and nowhere more than in the descent of the Grimsel towards Meyringen, where the granite on the east flank of that magnificent gorge seems cleft into parallel nearly vertical strata.] sloping to the west; the colour of all which above 20,000 feet, and the rounded knobbed form of the summit, suggest a granitic formation. Lofty snowed ridges project from Kubra into the Ratong valley, presenting black precipices of stratified rocks to the southward. Pundim has a very grand appearance; being eight miles distant, and nearly 9000 feet above Mon Lepcha, it subtends an angle of 12 degrees; while Kinchin top, though 15,000 feet higher than Mon Lepcha, being eighteen miles distant, rises only 9 degrees 30 minutes above the true horizon: these angular heights are too small to give much grandeur and apparent elevation to mountains, however lofty; nor would they do so in this case, were it not that the Ratong valley which intervenes, is seen to be several thousand feet lower, and many degrees below the real horizon.

Illustration—KINCHINJUNGA AND PUNDIM FROM MON LEPCHA.

Pundim has a tremendous precipice to the south, which, to judge from its bareness of snow, must be nearly perpendicular; and it presented a superb geological section. The height of this precipice I found by angles with a pocket sextant to be upwards of 3,400 feet, and that of its top to be 21,300 above the sea, and consequently only 715 feet less than that of the summit of Pundim itself (which is 22,015 feet). This cliff is of black stratified rocks, sloping to the west, and probably striking north-west; permeated from top to bottom by veins of white granite, disposed in zigzag lines, which produce a contortion of the gneiss, and give it a marbled appearance. The same structure may be seen in miniature on the transported blocks which abound in the Sikkim rivers; where veins of finely grained granite are forced in all directions through the gneiss, and form parallel seams or beds between the laminae of that rock, united by transverse seams, and crumpling up the gneiss itself, like the crushed leaves of a book. The summit of Pundim itself is all of white rock, rounded in shape, and forming a cap to the gneiss, which weathers into precipices.

A succession of ridges, 14,000 to 18,000 feet high, presented a line of precipices running south from Pundim for several miles: immense granite veins are exposed on their surfaces, and they are capped by stratified rocks, sloping to the east, and apparently striking to the north-west, which, being black, contrast strongly with the white granite beneath them: these ridges, instead of being round-topped, are broken into splintered crags, behind which rises the beautiful conical peak of Nursing, 19,139 feet above the sea, eight miles distant, and subtending an angle of 8 degrees 30 minutes.

At the foot of these precipices was a very conspicuous series of lofty moraines, round whose bases the Ratong wound; these appeared of much the same height, rising several hundred feet above the valley: they were comparatively level-topped, and had steep shelving rounded sides.

I have been thus particular in describing the upper Ratong valley, because it drains the south face of the loftiest mountain on the globe; and I have introduced angular heights, and been precise in my details, because the vagueness with which all terms are usually applied to the apparent altitude and steepness of mountains and precipices, is apt to give false impressions. It is essential to attend to such points where scenery of real interest and importance is to be described. It is customary to speak of peaks as towering in the air, which yet subtend an angle of very few degrees; of almost precipitous ascents, which, when measured, are found to be slopes of 18 degrees or 20 degrees; and of cliffs as steep and stupendous, which are inclined at a very moderate angle.

The effect of perspective is as often to deceive in details as to give truth to general impressions; and those accessories are sometimes wanting in nature, which, when supplied by art, give truth to the landscape. Thus, a streak of clouds adds height to a peak which should appear lofty, but which scarcely rises above the true horizon; and a belt of mist will sunder two snowy mountains which, though at very different distances, for want of a play of light and shade on their dazzling surfaces, and from the extreme transparency of the air in lofty regions, appear to be at the same distance from the observer.

The view to the southward from Mon Lepcha, including the country between the sea-like plains of India and the loftiest mountain on the globe, is very grand, and neither wanting in variety nor in beauty. From the deep valleys choked with tropical luxuriance to the scanty yak pasturage on the heights above, seems but a step at the first coup-d'oceil, but resolves itself on a closer inspection into five belts: 1, palm and plantain; 2, oak and laurel; 3, pine; 4, rhododendron and grass; and 5, rock and snow. From the bed of the Ratong, in which grow palms with screw-pine and plantain, it is only seven miles in a direct line to the perpetual ice. From the plains of India, or outer Himalaya, one may behold snowy peaks rise in the distance behind a foreground of tropical forest; here, on the contrary, all the intermediate phases of vegetation are seen at a glance. Except in the Himalaya this is no common phenomenon, and is owing to the very remarkable depth of the river-beds. That part of the valley of the Ratong where tropical vegetation ceases, is but 4000 feet above the sea, and though fully fifty miles as the crow flies (and perhaps 200 by the windings of the river) from the plains of India, is only eight in a straight line (and forty by the windings) from the snows which feed that river. In other words, the descent is so rapid, that in eight miles the Ratong waters every variety of vegetation, from the lichen of the poles to the palm of the tropics; whilst throughout the remainder of its mountain course, it falls from 4000 to 300 feet, flowing amongst tropical scenery, through a valley whose flanks rise from 5000 to 12,000 feet above its bed.

From Mon Lepcha we proceeded north-west towards Jongri, along a very open rounded bare mountain, covered with enormous boulders of gneiss, of which the subjacent rock is also composed. The soil is a thick clay full of angular stones, everywhere scooped out into little depressions which are the dry beds of pools, and are often strewed with a thin layer of pebbles. Black tufts of alpine aromatic rhododendrons of two kinds (R. anthopogon and setosum), with dwarf juniper, comprised all the conspicuous vegetation at this season.

After a two hours' walk, keeping at 13,000 feet elevation, we sighted Jongri.* [I am assured by Capt. Sherwill, who, in 1852, proceeded along and surveyed the Nepal frontier beyond this point to Gubroo, that this is not Jongri, but Yangpoong. The difficulty of getting precise information, especially as to the names of seldom-visited spots, is very great. I was often deceived myself, undesignedly, I am sure, on the part of my informants; but in this case I have Dr. Campbell's assurance, who has kindly investigated the subject, that there is no mistake on my part. Captain Sherwill has also kindly communicated to me a map of the head waters of the Rungbee, Yungya, and Yalloong rivers, of which, being more correct than my own, I have gladly availed myself for my map. Gubroo, he informs me, is 15,000 feet in altitude, and dips in a precipice 1000 feet high, facing Kubra, which prevented his exploring further north.] There were two stone huts on the bleak face of the spur, scarcely distinguishable at the distance of half a mile from the great blocks around them. To the north Gubroo rose in dismal grandeur, backed by the dazzling snows of Kubra, which now seemed quite near, its lofty top (alt. 24,005 feet) being only eight miles distant. Much snow lay on the ground in patches, and there were few remains of herbaceous vegetation; those I recognised were chiefly of poppy, Potentilla, gentian, geranium, fritillary, Umbelliferae, grass, and sedges.

On our arrival at the huts the weather was still fine, with a strong north-west wind, which meeting the warm moist current from the Ratong valley, caused much precipitation of vapour. As I hoped to be able to visit the surrounding glaciers from this spot, I made arrangements for a stay of some days: giving up the only habitable hut to my people, I spread my blankets in a slope from its roof to the ground, building a little stone dyke round the skirts of my dwelling, and a fire-place in front.

Hence to Yalloong in Nepal, by the Kanglanamo pass, is two days' march: the route crosses the Singalelah range at an elevation of about 15,000 feet, south of Kubra, and north of a mountain that forms a conspicuous feature south-west from Jongri, as a crest of black fingered peaks, tipped with snow.

It is difficult to conceive the amount of labour expended upon every pound of salt imported into this part of Sikkim from Tibet, and as an enumeration of the chief features of the routes it must follow, will give some idea of what the circuit of the loftiest mountain in the globe involves, I shall briefly allude to them; premising that the circuit of Mont Blanc may be easily accomplished in four days. The shortest route to Yoksun (the first village south of Kinchin) from the nearest Tibetan village north of that mountain, involves a detour of one-third of the circumference of Kinchin. It is evident that the most direct way must be that nearest the mountain-top, and therefore that which reaches the highest accessible elevation on its shoulders, and which, at the same time, dips into the shallowest valleys between those shoulders. The actual distance in a straight line is about fifty miles, from Yoksun to the mart at or near Tashirukpa.

The marches between them are as follows:— 1. To Yalloong two days; crossing Kanglanamo pass, 15,000 feet high. 3. To foot of Choonjerma pass, descending to 10,000 feet. 4. Cross Choonjerma pass, 15,260 feet, and proceed to Kambachen, 11,400 feet. 5. Cross Nango pass, 15,770, and camp on Yangma river, 11,000 feet. 6. Ascend to foot of Kanglachem pass, and camp at 15,000 feet. 7. Cross Kanglachem pass, probably 16,500 feet; and 8-10. It is said to be three marches hence to the Tibetan custom-house, and that two more snowy passes are crossed.

This allows no day of rest, and gives only five miles—as the crow flies—to be accomplished each day, but I assume fully fourteen of road distance; the labour spent in which would accomplish fully thirty over good roads. Four snowed passes at least are crossed, all above 15,000 feet, and after the first day the path does not descend below 10,000 feet. By this route about one-third of the circuit of Kinchinjunga is accomplished. Supposing the circuit were to be completed by the shortest practicable route, that is, keeping as near the summit as possible, the average time required for a man with his load would be upwards of a month.

To reach Tashirukpa by the eastern route from Yoksun, being a journey of about twenty-five days, requires a long detour to the southward and eastward, and afterwards the ascent of the Teesta valley, to Kongra Lama, and so north to the Tibetan Arun.

My first operation after encamping and arranging my instruments, was to sink the ground thermometer; but the earth being frozen for sixteen inches, it took four men several hours' work with hammer and chisel, to penetrate so deep. There was much vegetable matter for the first eight or ten inches, and below that a fine red clay. I spent the afternoon, which was fine, in botanising. When the sun shone, the smell of the two rhododendrons was oppressive, especially as a little exertion at this elevation brings on headache. There were few mosses; but crustaceous lichens were numerous, and nearly all of them of Scotch, Alpine, European, and Arctic kinds. The names of these, given by the classical Linnaeus and Wahlenberg, tell in some cases of their birth-places, in others of their hardihood, their lurid colours and weather-beaten aspects; such as tristis, gelida, glacialis, arctica, alpina, saxatilis, polaris, frigida, and numerous others equally familiar to the Scotch botanist. I recognised many as natives of the wild mountains of Cape Horn, and the rocks of the stormy Antarctic ocean; since visiting which regions I had not gathered them. The lichen called geographicus was most abundant, and is found to indicate a certain degree of cold in every latitude; descending to the level of the sea in latitude 52 degrees north, and 50 degrees south, but in lower latitudes only to be seen on mountains. It flourishes at 10,000 feet on the Himalaya, ascending thence to 18,000 feet. Its name, however, was not intended to indicate its wide range, but the curious maplike patterns which its yellow crust forms on the rocks.

Of the blocks of gneiss scattered over the Jongri spur, many are twenty feet in diameter. The ridge slopes gently south-west to the Choroong river, and more steeply north-east to the Ratong, facing Kinchin: it rises so very gradually to a peaked mountain between Jongri and Kubra, that it is not possible to account for the transport and deposit of these boulders by glaciers of the ordinary form, viz., by a stream of ice following the course of a valley; and we are forced to speculate upon the possibility of ice having capped the whole spur, and moved downwards, transporting blocks from the prominences on various parts of the spur.

The cutting up of the whole surface of this rounded mountain into little pools, now dry, of all sizes, from ten to about one hundred yards in circumference, is a very striking phenomenon. The streams flow in shallow transverse valleys, each passing through a succession of such pools, accompanying a step-like character of the general surface. The beds are stony, becoming more so where they enter the pools, upon several of the larger of which I observed curving ridges of large stones, radiating outwards on to their beds from either margin of the entering stream: more generally large stones were deposited opposite every embouchure.

This superficial sculpturing must have been a very recent operation; and the transport of the heavy stones opposite the entrance of the streams has been effected by ice, and perhaps by snow; just as the arctic ice strews the shores of the Polar ocean with rocks.

The weather had been threatening all day, northern and westerly currents contending aloft with the south-east trade-wind of Sikkim, and meeting in strife over the great upper valley of the Ratong. Stately masses of white cumuli wheeled round that gulf of glaciers, partially dissipating in an occasional snow-storm, but on the whole gradually accumulating.

On my arrival the thermometer was 32 degrees, with a powerful sun shining, and it fell to 28 degrees at 4 p.m., when the north wind set in. At sunset the moon rose through angry masses of woolly cirrus; its broad full orb threw a flood of yellow light over the serried tops south of Pundim; thence advancing obliquely towards Nursing, "it stood tip-toe" for a few minutes on that beautiful pyramid of snow, whence it seemed to take flight and mount majestically into mid-air, illuminating Kinchin, Pundim, and Kubra.

I sat at the entrance of my gipsy-like hut, anxiously watching the weather, and absorbed in admiration of the moonrise, from which my thoughts were soon diverted by its fading light as it entered a dense mass of mare's-tail cirrus. It was very cold, and the stillness was oppressive. I had been urged not to attempt such an ascent in January, my provisions were scanty, firewood only to be obtained from some distance, the open undulating surface of Jongri was particularly exposed to heavy snow-drifts, and the path was, at the best, a scarcely perceptible track. I followed every change of the wind, every fluctuation of the barometer and thermometer, each accession of humidity, and the courses of the clouds aloft. At 7 p.m., the wind suddenly shifted to the west, and the thermometer instantly rose from 20 degrees to 30 degrees. After 8 p.m., the temperature fell again, and the wind drew round from west by south to north-east, when the fog cleared off. The barometer rose no more than it usually does towards 10 p.m., and though it clouded again, with the temperature at 17 degrees, the wind seemed steady, and I went to bed with a relieved mind.

Jan. 10.—During the night the temperature fell to 11.2 degrees, and at 6 a.m. was 19.8 degrees, falling again to 17 degrees soon after. Though clouds were rapidly coming up from the west and south-west, the wind remained northerly till 8 a.m., when it shifted to south-west, and the temperature rose to 25 degrees. As it continued fine, with the barometer high, I ventured on a walk towards Gubroo, carefully taking bearings of my position. I found a good many plants in a rocky valley close to that mountain, which I in vain attempted to ascend. The air was 30 degrees, with a strong and damp south-west wind, and the cold was so piercing, that two lads who were with me, although walking fast, became benumbed, and could not return without assistance. At 11 a.m., a thick fog obliged us to retrace our steps: it was followed by snow in soft round pellets like sago, that swept across the hard ground. During the afternoon it snowed unceasingly, the wind repeatedly veering round the compass, always from west to east by south, and so by north to west again. The flakes were large, soft, and moist with the south wind, and small, hard, and dry with the north. Glimpses of blue sky were constantly seen to the south, under the gloomy canopy above, but they augured no change. As darkness came on, the temperature fell to 15 degrees, and it snowed very hard; at 6 p.m., it was 11 degrees, but rose afterwards to 18 degrees.

The night was very cold and wintry: I sat for some hours behind a blanket screen (which had to be shifted every few minutes) at my tent-door, keeping up a sulky fire, and peering through the snow for signs of improvement, but in vain. The clouds were not dense, for the moon's light was distinct, shining on the glittering snow-flakes that fell relentlessly: my anxiety was great, and I could not help censuring myself severely for exposing a party to so great danger at such a season. I found comfort in the belief that no idle curiosity had prompted me, and that with a good motive and a strong prestige of success, one can surmount a host of difficulties. Still the snow fell; and my heart sank, as my fire declined, and the flakes sputtered on the blackening embers; my little puppy, who had gambolled all day amongst the drifting white pellets, now whined, and crouched under my thick woollen cloak; the inconstant searching wind drifted the snow into the tent, whose roof so bagged in with the accumulation that I had to support it with sticks, and dreaded being smothered, if the weight should cause it to sink upon my bed during my sleep. The increasing cold drove me, however, to my blankets, and taking the precaution of stretching a tripod stand over my head, so as to leave a breathing hole, by supporting the roof if it fell in, I slept soundly, with my dog at my feet.

At sunrise the following morning the sky was clear, with a light north wind; about two feet of snow had fallen, the drifts were deep, and all trace of the path obliterated. The minimum thermometer had fallen to 3.7 degrees, the temperature rose to 27 degrees at 9 a.m., after which the wind fell, and with it the thermometer to 18 degrees. Soon, however, southerly breezes set in, bringing up heavy masses of clouds.