6 FROM. BOMBAY TO THE WYNAAD.
	the mountain torrents, checked for a moment by trains of heavily laden bullock waggons and bandies that laboriously toil up the steep incline, and often running perilously near utter ruin from collision with carriages on the downward journey, the drive, it will be allowed, is exciting in its way. Sixteen miles from Kullar, the beautiful station of Coonoor, 6500 feet above the sea, is reached. It boasts a picturesque waterfall, foaming over high boulders of rock, deep down into a thickly wooded valley. I have visited several of the hill stations in Upper India, but not one of them appeared to me so charming as this. The beauty of the foliage, the rich deep green of the grass, the fine outlines of the surrounding mountains, the calm surface of the artificial lake, the pretty residences nestling amongst the trees on the hillsides, the varied hues of the trees and shrubs grouped in the hollows, the brilliant crimson of the rhododendron bloom, and the rich colours—browns, yellows, and reds—of the young leaves of some of the trees, form altogether a charm­ing whole. It is a natural picture, in contemplation of which one would fain linger. But it is not to be. The driver has a stern sense of duty; and with a fresh tootling of the horn and cracking of the whip, we hurry away past the Mihtary Sanatorium of "Wellington, a handsome pile of barracks some two miles beyond. With its well-kept roads, smooth turf, and noble eucalyptus trees—the blue gum of