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Swinburne, T. R.

"A Holiday in the Happy Valley with Pen and Pencil"

The brilliancy of the morning
gave way in the afternoon to a soft haze which fell over the snowy ranges,
mellowing their clear tones to a soft and pearly grey, while the
reflections of the big chenars which graced the river bank deepened us the
afternoon shadows lengthened and spread over the wide landscape. Towards
evening we strolled along the river bank plucking the ripe mulberries, and
idly watching the terns and kingfishers busily seeking their suppers over
the glassy water; and at night we sat on deck while the moon rose higher
in the quiet sky, and the dark river banks assumed a clearer ebony as she
rose above the lofty fringe of trees, until the towing-path lay a track of
pure silver reaching away to the dim belt of woodland which shrouded
Avantipura.
That is a perfectly accurate description of the day, and so is this:--
It was very hot--and there is nothing hid from the heat of the sun on
board a wooden house-dounga. The flies, too, were unusually malevolent,
and I could scarcely paint, and my wife could hardly read by reason of
their unwelcome attentions.
The coolies were a poor lot and a slack, and as the day grew stuffier and
sultrier so did their efforts on the tow-path become "small by degrees and
beautifully less."
That irrepressible bird--the old cock--refused to consider himself as
under arrest in his hen-coop, and insisted upon crowing about fifteen
times a minute with that fidgeting irregularity which seems peculiar to
certain unpleasant sounds, and which retains the ear fixed in nervous
tension for the next explosion of defiance or pride, or whatever evil
impulse it is which causes a cock to crow.


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