sombre sal jungles is the scarcity of wild fruit.
At home the woods are filled with berries and fruit-bearing bushes.
Who among my readers has not a lively recollection of bramble hunting,
nutting, or merry expeditions for blueberries, wild strawberries,
raspberries, and other wild fruits? You might walk many a mile through
the sal jungles without meeting fruit of any kind, save the dry and
tasteless wild fig, or the sickly mhowa.

There are indeed very few jungle fruits that I have ever come across.
There is one acid sort of plum called the _Omra_, which makes a good
preserve, but is not very nice to eat raw. The _Gorkah_ is a small red
berry, very sweet and pleasant, slightly acid, not unlike a red
currant in fact, and with two small pips or stones. The Nepaulese call
it _Bunchooree_. It grows on a small stunted-looking bush, with few
branches, and a pointed leaf, in form resembling the acacia leaf, but
not so large.

The _Glaphur_ is a brown, round fruit; the skin rather crisp and hard,
and of a dull earthy colour, not unlike that of a common boiled
potato. The inside is a stringy, spongy-looking mass, with small seeds
embedded in a gummy viscid substance. The taste is exactly like an
almond, and it forms a pleasant mouthful if one is thirsty.

Travelling one day along one of the glades I have mentioned as
dividing the strips of jungle, I was surprised to see a man before me
in a field of long stubble, with a cloth spread over his head, and two
sticks projecting in front at an obtuse angle to his body, forming
horn-like projections, on which the ends of his cloth twisted
spirally, were tied. I thought from his curious antics and movements,
that he must be mad, but I soon discovered that there was method in
his madness. He was catching quail. The quail are often very numerous
in the stubble fields, and the natives adopt very ingenious devices
for their capture. This was one I was now witnessing. Covering
themselves with their cloth as I have described, the projecting ends
of the two sticks representing the horns, they simulate all the
movements of a cow or bull. They pretend to paw up the earth, toss
their make-believe horns, turn round and pretend to scratch
themselves, and in fact identify themselves with the animal they are
representing; and it is irresistibly comic to watch a solitary
performer go through this _al fresco_ comedy. I have laughed often at
some cunning old herdsman, or shekarry. When they see you