nurseryman--has found his way into the
Himalayas; has penetrated their most remote gorges; has climbed their
steepest declivities; and wandered along the limit of their eternal
snow. In search of new forms of leaf and flower, he has forded the
turbid stream, braved the roaring torrent, dared the dangerous
avalanche, and crossed the dread crevasse of the glistening glacier; and
though no printed book may record his adventurous experience, not the
less has he contributed to our knowledge of this great mountain world.
His lessons may be read on the parterre, in the flowers of the purple
magnolia, the deodar, the rhododendron. They may be found in the
greenhouse, in the eccentric blossoms of the orchis, and curious form of
the screw-pine--in the garden, in many a valuable root and fruit,
destined ere long to become favourites of the dessert-table. It is ours
to chronicle the story of an humble expedition of this kind--the
adventures of a young plant-hunter, the _employe_ of an enterprising
"seedsman" well-known in the world's metropolis.

CHAPTER TWO.

A VIEW FROM CHUMULARI.

Our scene lies in the very heart of the Himalayas--in that district of
them least explored by English travellers, though not the most distant
from the Anglo-Indian capital, Calcutta. Almost due north of this city,
and in that portion of the Himalayan ranges embraced by the great bend
of the Burrampooter, may be found the spot upon which our interest is to
be fixed. Literally may it be termed a spot, when compared in
superficies with the vast extent of wilderness that surrounds it--a
wilderness of bleak, barren ridges, of glistening glaciers, of snow-clad
summits, soaring one above another, or piled incongruously together like
cumuli in the sky.

In the midst of this chaos of rock, ice, and snow, Chumulari raises his
majestic summit, crowned and robed in white, as becomes his sacred
character. Around are other forms, his acolytes and attendants, less in
stature, but mighty mountains nevertheless, and, like him, wearing the
vestment of everlasting purity.

Could you stand upon the top of Chumulari, you would have under your
eye, and thousands of feet below your feet, the scene of our narrative--
the arena in which its various incidents were enacted. Not so unlike an
amphitheatre would that scene appear--only differing from one, in the
small number of the _dramatis persona_, and the entire absence of
spectators.

From the top of Chumul