boards of directors, sitting very often in London, own large estates in the foot-hills of the Himalayas. The local superintendent, in each case, is an important and highly paid official, with an expensive European staff, and a number of native "sirdars," or foremen. The company has its agent in Calcutta, who, in addition to receiving consignments of tea, and charging brokerage, supplies everything required on the estate, down to the nails, sheet-lead, and hoop-iron of the tea-chests, on all of which articles he gets a good commission.

In a race between the thrifty Chinese peasant proprietor, who works for a bare subsistence, and the great company, with its well-paid directors and many expenses, there is no question which will win. If teagrowing does not pay in India, it is not because Nepalese and Bengali coolies are living in luxury on half a crown a week. To hear planters talk on the burning question of coolie importation, one would think that the Indian Government is bent on destroying tea-culture in India, by a sentimental immigration policy, dictated by Exeter Hall, which makes labour inordinately dear; but, like a good many other people with grievances, these gentlemen shun figures in their philippics, and find it easier to rail at humane provisions for the proper treatment of labour, than to make themselves acquainted with the true economical reasons of their failure to compete with China.

January 8.-Darjeeling, as we left it, was wrapped

in a fog so thick that we could hardly see twenty yards before us. It was very cold, and we were glad of heavy wraps for a long time after we began the descent of the Himalayan flanks. Presently, however, we emerged into sunshine, and saw the plains of India below us stewing in tropical heat. In the course of a few hours we slipped by insensible degrees from a chilly to a hot climate, and, arrived at Silligouri, prepared ourselves for another awful night in the "sleeping-carriages" of the Northern Bengal Railway.

CHAPTER XVI.

BENARES.

January 10-13.

ALTHOUGH the East Indian Railway is the chief line in India, its sleeping-carriages, like those of the Northern Bengal, give the traveller only a bench to sleep on, lavatories without soap or towels, and no carriage attendants. Anglo-Indians carry their own bedding, and so many other comforts, that a man getting into a night train looks as if he were changing house and travelling with his furniture. This is all very well for people who move about with a bed-maker, a soap-bearer, a toothbrush tender, and a human towel-horse; but travellers like ourselves are obliged to camp out as best they can on Indian railways. We begin to loathe the swarms of servants with whom Europeans surround themselves in India. When the fellow whose business it is has lighted his master's pipe, or another has brushed his clothes, each squats on his haunches and sleeps till he is wanted for similar services. Caste prejudices prevent Hindoos from waiting at table, so that, in addition to the little army of Hindoo servants required

for the most modest establishment, a Mahometan or two must be kept for the dining-room. A man, indeed, can neither eat, drink, sleep, ride, nor drive without first putting in motion a ridiculously elaborate machinery of service. The English are to blame for fostering a system which the native abuses in the interests of his natural indolence. In Bombay, we are told, domestic service has been brought very nearly into accordance with European practice, and it seems undignified on the part of the English in Bengal to continue the extravagances of a practice which arose in the old, ostentatious days of the Company's rule.

Leaving Calcutta, the East Indian Railway follows the Hooghly for about a hundred miles, and then strikes north-west to the Ganges, pursuing the course of this river as far as Cawnpore. There it turns west, and, in another hundred miles, reaches the left bank of the Jumna, which stream it follows to Delhi, the terminus of the line. About half-way between Calcutta and Delhi is Benares, lying on the left bank of the Ganges, and reached by a bridge of boats, which will soon be superseded by a railway bridge, now in course of construction. The country traversed is without any marked features, the Ganges valley being an apparently level plain of fine detritus, whose enormous extent and thickness recall to our minds the Bluff formation of the Mississippi. The piers of the new bridge at Benares are sunk a hundred feet into this alluvium, and there is

Engineers in India

bed rock for their

still an unknown depth of it below. do not attempt to get down to the foundations; they only go deep enough to avoid the scour of the river. The plain is well cultivated, wheat at this time of year being the predominant crop, while clumps of trees and palms give a slight relief to what would otherwise be a monotonous scene. Wood is so scarce, or ants so destructive, that the telegraph posts are made of stone, and the line is fenced with cactus, a capital frontier for all kinds of animals. We were struck with the number and beauty of the Indian birds, especially after birdless Japan. The crows are no less numerous in the country than in Calcutta, and live on the most familiar terms with both man and beast. It is curious to see them perched upon the quiet oxen, or antediluvian-looking buffaloes, waiting for such treasures as may be found in their droppings. Lovely little green parrots, with long tail feathers, flew from tree to tree, flashing in the sunlight, while many other brilliant birds, whose names we do not know, are common, and, all alike, are tame.

Benares is the "Holy City" of India, the most formally religious country in the world. Every circumstance in the life of a Hindoo, from his birth to his death, is closely connected with religious observances, and the most insignificant as well as the most important acts cannot be performed without being accompanied by religious rites, Indian theology is pro