following: r, s, t, first, second, and third feet; v, poison gland, communicating with the urticating seta (flagellum) of the lower antenna. Fig. 3.-Rudimentary post-abdominal ramus of Cypridopsis. Fig. 9.-Abdomen and post-abdominal setæ of Cytheridea torosa. EXPLANATION OF PLATE II. Fig. 10.-Illustrating the anatomy of Bradycinetus (adapted from Lilljeborg): the letters are used with the same references as above, except the following: r, secondary branch of lower antenna; 8, mandibular appendages of branchial plate of second maxilla. Fig. 11.-Upper antenna of male Cylindroleberis Mariæ. Fig. 12.-Upper antenna of female Cylindroleberis Mariæ. Fig. 13.-Secondary branch of lower antenna of male Cylindroleberis Mariæ. Fig. 14.-Termination of oviferous foot of Cylindroleberis Mariæ. Fig. 15.-Secondary branch of lower antenna of female Bradycinetus MacAndrei. Fig. 16.-Mandibular foot of Bradycinetus Brenda. Fig. 17.-Termination of oviferous foot of Philomedes interpuncta. Fig. 18.-Post-abdomen of Philomedes interpuncta, seen from below. AN APRIL CLIMB IN THE HIMALAYAS. BY GEORGE E. BULGER, Captain, 10th Regiment. THE morning of April 6th, 1867, looked rather more promising than usual. The sun peeped out at intervals from the light cumuloid clouds that screened the eastern heavens; and even the white peaks of the snowy range were faintly visible when we started from our residence on the west side of Jella Pahar, with the intention of walking to the summit of the great mountain called Sinchul, distant, perhaps, some six or eight miles from Darjeeling, and 8600 feet above the level of the sea. This noble hill-one of the loftiest in British Sikkimis a grand and striking object from any point of view; and its numerous spurs and ramifications furnish nearly all the greater summits in the neighbourhood, upon which are built the stations of Jella Pahar and Darjeeling, and the settlements of Leebong, Tukvar, Dooteriah, Senadah, and Hope Town. Having crossed the ridge of Jella Pahar, we found ourselves in the main road, leading, with a gentle slope, from a dip in the mountain called the "saddle" to the Sinchul barracks, which are situated fully six hundred feet higher up. But before we had gone very far, great piles of mist began to rise from the khuds and valleys below, ever and anon shutting out the view of all objects beyond a hundred yards, and threatening, ere long, to shroud the entire prospect, for the remainder of the day, in a dense mantle of heavy cloud. The road winds slowly upwards, passing through the mutilated remains of glorious forests, that once overspread this mountain-side from base to summit, but which now, alas, in the vicinity of the highway and the military station, are very nearly obliterated from the soil that fed and nourished them, for, perhaps, thousands of years before the axe or the clearing-fire brought destruction amidst some of the fairest scenes on earth. But, even here, all the trees are not yet gone, and aged giants of towering height and huge proportions, gnarled, moss-covered, green with orchids, and festooned with climbers, still stand, among the unsightly stumps of their departed brethren, perfect marvels of magnitude, grandeur, and solemn majesty. The walk to Sinchul is, to me, a somewhat melancholy one, * The weather at Darjeeling and its vicinity has, this year, been almost continually cloudy since the end of March, as, possibly, before that time also. owing to the wholesale destruction that has smitten these splendid woods, and to the continual sound of the fatal axe, which alone seems to break the stillness of the solitude, announcing, but too plainly, the inevitable doom that hangs over the face of nature in this region. Amongst the multitude of trees which make up the forests of the Lower Himalayas, the magnolias and rhododendrons are most striking; and, in the season of bloom, their splendour exceeds, perhaps, anything else of the kind in the world: not that the trees are individually handsomer or finer than many other objects of the vegetable kingdom, but their great size, immense numbers, and profuse inflorescence, and last, not least, the localities where they grow-on the summits and slopes of the hills-which are eminently adapted to show them to the best advantage, come upon the observer in such grand combination as utterly to set aside the lesser, but, perhaps more brilliant glory of more contracted views. Magnolia excelsa, a lofty and stately tree, displays an almost incredible number of white, fragrant flowers, which render even a solitary specimen conspicuous amidst the greenery of the woods fully a mile away; Rhododendron argenteum crowns the summit of the hills, and its glistening and silvery blossoms, in the aggregate, present to the beholder, at a distance, much the same effect as that of a recent fall of snow; and Magnolia Campbelli, a contorted and ungainly giant, at present without leaves, and with few and unsymmetrical branches, offers such a glorious show of rose-purple flowers that it must, in truth, be acknowledged as the pride of these mountain woods. It does not grow on the lower hills, but is abundant near the summit, and on the upper slopes. Wild-flowers are, as yet, far from plentiful, a hardy few, only, having opened their blossoms to greet the returning spring; but, conspicuous from its brilliant azure and extreme beauty, the little Gentiana coronata cannot fail to attract attention, and elicit warm admiration. A purple foxglove and a pale violet (Viola repens) are also abundant; and, on the higher altitudes, the familiar forms of many other European genera, speak home to the heart of the traveller, who welcomes the little, humble-looking plants of his boyish recollections with thrice the warmth accorded to the more gorgeous children of the eastern sun. Animal life is scarce in these dark, moss-grown, mysterious forests, reeking with moisture, and abounding in the most wondrous forms of the vegetable world; and even the occasional note of some lonely bird breaks on the ear as wild, and strange, and out of place, amidst the vastness of the solitude, where, it would almost seem, man stood apart from earth, and in the near presence of his Maker.* During the first part of the ascent, I only observed, in addition to a few tits and warblers, which I could not identify, the white-throated fantail (Leucocerca fuscoventris) and the verditer flycatcher (Eumyias melanops); while, higher up, the little chestnut-headed wren (Tesia castaneo-coronata) seemed to be the sole occupant of the woods. The promise of the morning was not fulfilled; and, ere we had half completed the distance between our starting-point and our destination, we were enclosed in a fog so thick that we could hardly trace the path before us. Blindly following the track amidst this comparative gloom, and clambering over trees and slippery banks of moist and greasy earth, we at last completed the ascent of what we supposed was the highest point of Sinchul, and, sitting down, waited patiently for the atmosphere to clear. It did so, partially, for about ten minutes, and disclosed, not the grand panorama we had anticipated, for the clouds still lay in heavy masses all round the neighbouring hills, but the disappointing fact, that, instead of being, as we imagined, upon the apex of the mountains, we had only attained to one of the lesser summits, which had been cleared of trees for surveying purposes. It was too late in the day, and there was too little hope of a view, to induce us to complete the ascent to the highest peak, so, bidding adieu to the place until some brighter season, in the midst of the thick fog, which had again overspread the country, we descended from our lofty position, and trudged back towards Darjeeling, passing on our way a black and gloomy-looking little patch of water, which seemed more like a rain-puddle than the mountain-tarn I supposed it to be. From the summit of Sinchul, in clear weather, is to be obtained a wide and marvellous view of the Nepal, Sikkim, and Bhotan Himalayas, presenting to the beholder a great and almost graduated crowd of mountains, extending from the lesser hills in the valley of the Great Runjeet river to those matchless tiers of snowy peaks which cluster round the stupendous mass of Kinchin-junga, and afford a prospect which, for grandeur and sublimity, has no parallel on earth. *My subsequent experience of these forests has shown that the scarcity of birds, on the occasion referred to, was owing chiefly to the earliness of the season; for, by the middle of May, the woods were full of feathered creatures, and fairly ringing with the clear, metallic whistle of the black-headed sibia (Sibia capistrata). ELECTRICAL COUNTRIES, AND THEIR ACTION ON THE WEATHER. BY M. J. FOURNET. (From "Comptes Rendus," 1st July, 1867.) Ir cannot be otherwise than interesting, in a scientific point of view, to ascertain whether or not there exist certain countries more electric than others; for, besides the strangeness of such a fact, it is not impossible that meteorological reactions may be produced, even at great distances, from unequal distribution of electricity. The persevering studies of De Saussure, combined with those of other physicists, have made us accurately acquainted with what occurs in our regions in ordinary weather; and, in addition to this, many travellers have recorded certain highly curious effects which usually manifest themselves in remote countries; and, lastly, my own endeavour to add to our information on the storm action of the south-west, have led me to the idea that it may bring us electricity, excited on the other side of the Atlantic. It remains, therefore, to ascertain whether there are in existence any facts which may confirm such ideas. On consulting the important work on Mexican Hydrology by M. H. de Saussure, grandson of the great explorer of the Alps, we see that, at the end of winter, dryness becomes excessive in the elevated plateaux of that country, where evaporation is immense. No vapours then disturb the purity of the sky, and the exhibition of electric sparks at the approach of various objects takes place at times with remarkable intensity. This tension is even sustained in the rainy season, for in 1856, when M. H. de Saussure and M. Peyron ascended the Nevada de Toluca, in spite of the reiterated warnings of the inhabitants, they soon found themselves enveloped in a frostfog-a menacing symptom of the storm which was coming on. Soon came a violent wind, with hoar-frost, then lightning and thunder, pealing incessantly and with a frightful noise, obliged them to descend lest they should be struck with the discharges. At a lower elevation the storm appeared to calm itself for a moment, and the travellers were enveloped in a grey fog, accompanied with hoar-frost; and they noticed the hair of their Indian guides in agitation, as if about to rise up. Soon there came a dull, indefinable sound, at first weak, though in all directions, and then growing stronger and stronger, very distinct, and even alarming. It was an uni |