Beyond the heavy rain which is pouring down, the hills of Rajmahal are seen in the distance; they are beautifully wooded, and full of game of every description. No scenes can be more picturesque than those in the interior. The wild climbers hang from the forest trees in luxuriant beauty, especially that magnificent one, the _cachnar_ (bauhinia scandens)—a specimen of its leaves gathered in these hills is in the Museum. The _dandīs_ from the boats that anchor at Sīckrī-galī go up the hills in gangs to cut wood for firing, and bring it down in great quantities. The _byā_ birds hang their long nests from the extreme end of the slight branches of the delicate _bābul_-tree pendant over a pool or stream for security. The Museum also contains nests of this little bird suspended on the broad leaf of the fan-palm. The fable declares that the “Old birds put a fire-fly into their nests every night to act as a lamp.” For a further account of these interesting little creatures, see “Wanderings of a Pilgrim,” (vol. I. 220, 221, and vol. II. 74). The marshes at the foot of the hills are full of leeches the low-lands abound with wild fowl, hares, and partridges of a peculiar sort, said to be found only at Rajmahal, and one other station in India. The hill-men are a most singular race of people; they are about five feet high, very active, remarkable for lightness and suppleness of limb, with the piercing and restless eye, said to be peculiar to savages. They wear their hair drawn tight up in a knot on the very top of their head, the ends fastened in with a wooden comb. They are good-natured, gay-looking people. Their principal food is Indian corn, boiled and mashed. They kill wild hogs with a poisoned arrow, taking the precaution to cut out the flesh around the wound before they eat the animal. Their bows and arrows are rough and wild-looking; the strips of feather on the latter are from the wing of the vulture. They assert that they procure the poison, into which they dip their arrows, from a remote hill-tribe, and are ignorant of its nature: it appears to be a carefully guarded secret. Three of these arrows are in the Museum. At the proper season the hill-men descend into the plains to gather in the crops of uncut rice. A country boat filled with bales of cotton is floating down the stream; and the crew of a Dacca _oolāk_, which is aground, are striving to shove her into deeper water.