Page:Wanderings of a Pilgrim Vol 2.djvu/277

 his own back; a drop of milk-white fluid was on the sting, and was left on the spot which he struck; immediately afterwards the scorpion died: Mr. R saw him strike the sting into his own back. When it was over we felt a little ashamed of our scientific cruelty, and buried the scorpion with all due honour below the ashes that had consumed him: a burnt sacrifice to science. In a note in "the Giaour," the idea is mentioned as an error, of the scorpion's committing suicide, but I was one of the witnesses to the fact.

29th.—Saw a fine mule for sale for £10, and bought him immediately for my own riding; mules are generally very safe on these dangerous roads. Also purchased two smaller ones for the estate for £9, water-bags and all. A man brought a number of fine fat Karral sheep, fit for table, from the interior, where they are fattened on acorns; I purchased four of them for twenty-four rupees eight ānās; the mutton is delicious; they have short tails and large horns, are very strong, and their fleeces, long and warm, are suited to their own hill climate.

30th.—The weather constantly fine, cool, and pleasant; we have a little fire lighted merely in the morning and evening. Purchased Sancho, a handsome retriever, from a private in the Lancers.

May 1st.—My friend Mrs. B and her four children have arrived; I invited them to come and stay with me; the children are most interesting,—nevertheless, their noise drives me half crazy; my life has been so perfectly quiet and solitary of late, the change makes my head ache.

Sunday, 6th.—Unable to go to church at Mussoorī; constant rain, very cold and chilly; the clouds are hanging over the mountains in white heavy masses, or drifting on this powerful wind up the valleys, or rather between the ridges of the Hills. I went into the verandah, to see if the Italian greyhounds were warmly housed, and could not help exclaiming, "How delicious is this coldness in the Hills!—it is just as wet, windy, and wretched as in England:" thus mingling the recollected misery of a wet, raw day in England, and the delight of a cold day in India. The boys are calling me to have a game of marbles