.--The town and lake.--Native houses.--The
Planters' Club.--Legoulie.

Among the many beautiful and fertile provinces of India, none can, I
think, much excel that of Behar for richness of soil, diversity of
race, beauty of scenery, and the energy and intelligence of its
inhabitants. Stretching from the Nepaul hills to the far distant
plains of Gya, with the Gunduch, Bogmuttee and other noble streams
watering its rich bosom, and swelling with their tribute the stately
Ganges, it includes every variety of soil and climate; and its various
races, with their strange costumes, creeds, and customs, might afford
material to fill volumes.

The northern part of this splendid province follows the Nepaulese
boundary from the district of Goruchpore on the north, to that of
Purneah on the south. In the forests and jungles along this boundary
line live many strange tribes, whose customs, and even their names and
language, are all but unknown to the English public. Strange wild
animals dispute with these aborigines the possession of the gloomy
jungle solitudes. Great trees of wondrous dimensions and strange
foliage rear their stately heads to heaven, and are matted and
entwined together by creepers of huge size and tenacious hold.

To the south and east vast billows of golden grain roll in successive
undulations to the mighty Ganges, the sacred stream of the Hindoos.
Innumerable villages, nestling amid groves of plantains and feathery
rustling bamboos, send up their wreaths of pale grey smoke into the
still warm air. At frequent intervals the steely blue of some lovely
lake, where thousands of water-fowl disport themselves, reflects from
its polished surface the sheen of the noonday sun. Great masses of
mango wood shew a sombre outline at intervals, and here and there the
towering chimney of an indigo factory pierces the sky. Government
roads and embankments intersect the face of the country in all
directions, and vast sheets of the indigo plant refresh the eye with
their plains of living green, forming a grateful contrast to the hard,
dried, sun-baked surface of the stubble fields, where the rice crop
has rustled in the breezes of the past season. In one of the loveliest
and most fertile districts of this vast province, namely, Chumparun, I
began my experiences as an indigo planter.

Chumparun with its subdistrict of Bettiah, lies to the north of
Tirhoot, and is bounded all along its northern extent by the Nepaul
hills and fores