subsided, tranquillity characterizing the torrent which came foaming and dashing from its source, now leaping a precipice, and now wearing away the solid rock in the impetuosity of its progress.
Beyond the point in which the Ganges enters the plains, to its final junction with the ocean, a distance of twelve hundred miles, it flows smoothly and placidly along, occasionally vexed and ruffled by the tempest, or, assuming an alarming degree of velocity, as swelled by the melting of the snows, its strong current flies with the speed of an arrow. There are, however, no cataracts in its long descent towards the sea, the fall being somewhat less than a foot a mile, through a channel which varies in width very considerably in particular places and at particular seasons, until, as the mighty river approaches the ocean, it spreads out its waters afar, pouring them forth in a flood ten miles broad. The Ganges is not fordable below its conflux with the Jumna; but though it may be crossed by men and animals at several places previous to its junction with this majestic tributary, the navigation is never interrupted from the spot in which it runs into the plains. Its rise is seldom above thirty-two feet, and when it reaches this height, it spreads over the adjacent country like a sea, inundating the low land, and frequently destroying whole villages, those that remain rising like islands in the midst of the flood.
The road by which we travelled was skirted on one side by a precipitous craggy range, clothed with lichens and creepers of various descriptions, and crowned occasionally with a tree spreading its delicate foliage against the sky, a ladder of bamboo here and there aiding the ascent. Beautiful wild flowers, some of them highly odorous, were springing from the clefts, while the bright river which glided beside us blushed with the pink of the lotus blossoming on the surface.
The Ganges, at this place, abounds with fish of all kinds; and, amongst them, the king of the finny tribes, the noble mahaseer, or great-head, which by many persons is esteemed the most delicious fresh-water fish which ever gratified the palate of an epicure. It rises to the fly, affording excellent sport to the angler, sometimes attaining the size of a large cod, and is taken with considerable difficulty, even by those who have been accustomed to salmon-fishing in the most celebrated rivers of Scotland. The mahaseer is sent to table in various ways, Indian cooks being famous for their fish-stews and curries; but it does not require any adventitious aid from the culinary art, as it is exquisite when plain-boiled, being, according to the best gastronomic authority, luscious but yet unsatiating. In India, fish can only be eaten in perfection on the banks of the stream where it is caught; it must be cooked immediately upon its capture, for it will not bear salt, and after boiling can only be kept for a few hours in a pickle composed of vinegar, chilies, and green ginger. With respect to this latter adjunct, those who possess any philanthropic feeling will unite in the hope that at some not very distant period the root which produces it may be made to flourish in European gardens, for there can be nothing that enters more generally into the composition of every dish, whether savoury or sweet. The warm aromatic flavour differs widely from the harsh biting heat of the dried root, while the stewed slices possess a degree of richness and delicacy which are highly agreeable to the taste. This digression in favour of the
