On being questioned concerning his personal knowledge of the localities in question, Chiniah said he well knew the way to the summit of the rock; and although ignorant of the abode of the “Jinn,” professed his firm belief in the existence of tigers, having on one occasion accompanied his former “sahib” on a tiger-shooting expedition to this very spot; although he admitted that they had not been then successful in the pursuit. Chiniah was, however, a bold and willing fellow; and probably forgetting at the moment that he was no longer under the shadow of the unerring rifle of his former lord, but acting as dry-nurse to a couple of regular “griffs,” he unhesitatingly offered to second our views by performing the part of guide. We accordingly forthwith started on our exploratory expedition, in spite of the warning voice of the old “phulwallah,” who unsparingly censured the rashness of the Ferringhees, whom he stigmatized as being all “dewanah,” or, as the doctor would have expressed it, “gone clean daft!” Painful and toilsome to a degree was the ascent; but when breathless, almost exhausted with fatigue, with our limbs and garments lacerated by the numerous thorny brambles which had opposed our upward progress, we at last succeeded in reaching the summit of the rock, we felt ourselves amply repaid for all the toil and labor we had undergone. Like a huge ball of fire, the eastern sun was just dipping its burning orb behind the dark ocean of jungle which bounded our view to the west; and whilst the rest of the landscape was already cast into that brief twilight which so shortly precedes the rapidly approaching darkness of a tropical evening, the white buildings of the town, and the whiter tents composing our camp, pitched in the adjacent hollow, were already looking dim and indistinct under the darkening shadow of the opposite hill: the ruined pinnacles of the lofty “Guebres’ tower” (for such we were determined to consider it) was still lit up by the rays of that brilliant luminary in whose honor it had perhaps been raised by the old fire-worshipers of yore—the time-honored followers of Zoroaster, who was supposed to be the mysterious founder of this creed. Both time and scene most appropriately combined in our favor to nourish this poetic—though, may-be, far-fetched—idea: the crumbling Cyclopean remains of many other massive ruins, which—as subsequent experience taught me—bore in their solid structure unmistakable evidence of the ancient architecture of the Hindoos, and whose solid and gigantic materials could scarcely have been misplaced save by some convulsive effort of nature: the huge disjointed and blackened fragments of rock cast in every direction around, and forming the colossal stepping-stones of our toilsome accent; all favored the impression that— “Each ravine, each rocky spire Of that vast mountain, stood on fire.” * * * * *