ly knowing why, began to do the
same; and my little son Henry[1] caught the infection, and wept
louder than any of them. I was obliged to hurry over the interview
lest I should feel disposed to do the same. The poor old Rani,[2]
too, suffered a good deal in parting from my wife, whom, she says,
she can never hope to see again. Her fine large eyes shed many a tear
as she was getting into her palankeen to return.

Between Jabera and Hardua, the next stage, we find a great many of
those large forest trees called 'kalap', or 'Kalpa Briksha' (the same
which in the paradise of Indra grants what is desired), with a soft,
silvery bark, and scarcely any leaves. We are told that the name of
the god Ram (Rama) and his consort Sita will be found written by the
hand of God upon all.[3]

I had the curiosity to examine a good many in the forest on both
sides of the road, and found the name of this incarnation of Vishnu
written on everyone in Sanskrit characters, apparently by some
supernatural hand; that is, there was a softness in the impression,
as if the finger of some supernatural being had traced the
characters. Nathu, one of our belted attendants[4] told me that we
might search as deeply as we would in the forest, but we should
certainly find the name of God upon every one; 'for', said he, 'it is
God himself who writes it'. I tried to argue him out of this notion;
but, unfortunately, could find no tree without these characters--some
high up, and some lower down in the trunk--some large and others
small--but still to be found on every tree. I was almost in despair
when we came to a part of the wood where we found one of these trees
down in a hollow, under the road, and another upon the precipice
above. I was ready to stake my credit upon the probability that no
traveller would take the trouble to go up to the tree above, or down
to the tree below, merely to write the name of the god upon them; and
at once pledged myself to Nathu that he should find neither the god's
name nor that of his wife. I sent one man up, and another man down,
and they found no letters on the trees; but this did not alter their
opinion on the point. 'God', said one, 'had no doubt put his name on
these trees, but they had somehow or other got rubbed off. He would
in good time renew them, that men's eyes might be blessed with the
sight of His holy name, even in the deepest forest, and on the most
leafless tree.'[5] 'But', said Nathu, 'he might not have thou