the higher hills almost the whole extent of the valley is visible—a great oval basin, land—locked by fine wooded mountains, above which at various points are seen the soaring peaks of the snowy range—
"Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise."
As we gaze, the light is fading and the mountains gradually assume a deeper, clearer purple against a primrose and orange sky. Like a silver ribbon the Manchra winds its serpentine course through the low-lying rice fields, losing itself in the amethyst twilight. Then the day dissolves itself into night, and the waxing moon throws its glamour over all. Softly and gently with a feeling of exquisite peace the gathering light transforms the scene into a misty, tender nocturne of mauve and silver. A few lights twinkle out in the villages and towns, but the effect is of an indefinite, mysterious lake, and these but the reflections of the stars. From somewhere in the distance comes the faint sound of a temple bell, and instinctively the mind switches like a flash over the 6000 miles which separate
