they need not all be stationed in spots
exposed to such destructive influences. India
will soon be intersected by a system of
railways; and every mile of iron rails thus laid
down will remove a stumbling-block. To
keep a number of regiments in the healthy
mountain quarters, and, in case of outbreak
or invasion, to send down reinforcements by
road, railroad, and steamers of light draught,
is a plan practicable enough. Each regiment
could then take its spell in cantonments in
the hot and insalubrious districts, and
return, after a moderate period, to the
invigorating climate of the hills. A great
saving of life, with corresponding benefit to
the efficiency of corps, would result from the
change.

All India is not, it is true, equally well
provided with hill stations, the deficiency being
greatest on the eastern side of the peninsula.
But the north-west provinces—Upper Bengal,
Oude, Behar, and other adjacent districts—
have the Himalayas at no great distance;
and many new situations might be selected
for sanatories not inferior to Nynee Tal, to
Simla, Umballah, Almorah, Mahalabuleshwar,
and other of the more famous stations
of Northern and Central India. Unluckily,
the chief hill stations have a bad name—
not, I am sorry to say, entirely undeserved
—for gambling, intrigue, and dissipation
of every sort. Half the scandal in India
may be traced to these places; and court-
martial after court-martial has taken place,
consequent on the high play, quarrels, and
duelling, of officers who had invariably been
steady when with their regiments. But much of
this, after all, is the natural result of idleness,
whenever many people with too much time
on their hands are brought together. And it
is but fair to say that a healthier moral tone
is springing up in India.

Simla, in a very cool situation, the favourite
resort of governors-general, is a cheerful
place enough, with its clubs, its races, balls,
and other amusements. It is one of the
few places in India that offer some faint
resemblance to a watering-place in Europe.
Almorah, built on a slope of the Himalayas,
near the Goorkha frontier, is conveniently
situated as regards access, not only
from Delhi, but from Oude. In point of
scenery the place has few attractions, but an
elevation of five thousand four hundred feet
is not to be despised; and accordingly there
are abundance of healthy mountain breezes,
cooled to a most grateful temperature by the
glaciers of what the Hindoos call the eternal
hills. In winter there is actual cold; but in
summer a little shade would be acceptable;
for, though the nights are so chilly as to make
blankets and thick counterpanes necessary,
the sun is strong by day. Indeed, that is the
worst of India, as of all countries in southern
latitudes. Climb as high as you will, ascend
till your feet are actually in the snow, and
yet, when old Aftab shines down on you
from the sky, you must own his power. But
Almorah is much resorted to, and, bleak as
the country is, it gladdens the eye long used
to rice or jowaree fields and baobab trees, to
recognise the humble blackberry and bilberry
of Europe among the low bushes, and to see
the wood-strawberry, the cranberry, and
wild-raspberry, nestling among the slim
birch-trees.

In the Madras Presidency, the greatest and
most famous sanatorium is that of Ootacamund,
built on the Neilgherry, or Blue
Mountains, among the south-west Ghauts,
and at no great distance from the sea. All
along the ranges of the Ghauts,—that run
along the western coast of India, making,
as it were, a steep wall between the flat
coast and the high Deccan table-land,—
there are hill stations built for medical
purposes; but many admirable spots have
been hitherto neglected. Ootacamund, in
the extreme south, is the most attractive
of all, and has a small European
population permanently resident there, who are
attached to the place on account of what is
called its "English" climate by some: its
"Swiss" climate, by others. There is much
truth in these laudations. If one were
taken blindfolded up to Ootacamund, one
might easily believe one's self in some
charming tract of Welsh scenery when the
bandage was removed. The Dodabetta
Peak, soaring almost nine thousand feet
above the sea-level, and crested with snow;
the lake, around which English ladies are
driving in English pony-carriages; the
English-looking cottages and villas dotted about;
the trees, fruits, and flowers; seem to
complete the illusion. Many of the hill stations
are ugly and bare; you put up with privations
and the sight of barren rocks, merely
to get away from your old enemy, the sun;
but Ootacamuud is pretty and cheerful.
There are seldom fewer than a thousand
Europeans there. You can see there, what
you seldom see on the plains: English
children running and laughing merrily, playing
at English games, with something like
English colour in their cheeks. Ladies ride,
and drive, and walk, almost as freely as in
Europe. It is not necessary to snatch one's
exercise at dawn; and there are few days
when a punkah is really needed. The secret
of all this delightful contrast to the general
climate of India is, that the station of
Ootacamund is seven thousand feet above the sea-
level—about on a par with the Grands
Mulets, at Chamounix. The hills and level
table-lands are covered with a short, sweet
grass, mixed with heath, and thyme, and
Alpine gentian, which affords the best
possible pasturage for the sheep and cattle of
the Todahs, the aboriginal possessors of the
country. The only wiid trees are the birch,
the hazel, and the ash, and fir; but there are
pear and plum orchards that would do credit
to Devonshire; and in the proper season, one