ay from the door of the residency upon the shaggy
little ponies which had been provided for our use by the Durbar, the
Company's establishment in Nepaul demands a moment's attention. In the
only thoroughly independent state extant in India the British Government
is represented by a Resident, to whose hospitality we were much indebted
during our delightful stay in Katmandu. His house, a Gothic mansion of a
rather gingerbread appearance, is situated in a well laid-out park-like
enclosure, which forms the residency grounds, and which contains two or
three neat substantial houses, the habitations of the two officers of the
embassy. One of them kindly accompanied us in our search after sights,
and directed our steps in the first instance to the temple of Pusputnath.
We passed through the suburbs of Katmandu by a road beautifully paved, in
some places with brick, in others with granite. It was along this road
that the body of Martiber Singh, the late prime minister, and uncle of
Jung Bahadooor, was dragged after he had been shot by his nephew, and was
burned on the bank of the Bhagmutty before the soldiery (with whom he was
an especial favourite) had any idea of his having been killed.

As I approached the temple I remarked some handsome houses, three or four
stories in height, which we were informed were the residences of some of
the priests. As they were good specimens of the architecture of this
country, I may as well describe them here.

The whole front of the Nepaulese houses presented a mass of curiously
carved wood-work, so that the beautiful flat brick of which they were
built (and for the manufacture of which Nepaul is famous) was scarcely
discernible amidst the intricate tracery which surrounded every window,
and hung in broad wooden fringes from the balconies: these are formed
under the eaves, which project five or six feet, and are supported by
rafters, on which quaint figures are depicted in all sorts of impossible
postures; the space between the rafters is also filled by carved wood,
forming a sort of balcony or small room, generally occupied by the women
of the establishment, and flat faces peer out of grotesque windows as you
pass beneath.

But it must not be imagined that the same attraction exists here as in
other Oriental countries to induce you to return their gaze. On the
contrary, the female portion of the Nepaulese community is anything but
attractive. I have seldom seen a race look more debased