As o’er that darkling stream
Another sun shall haply rise,
To cheer it with its beam.
So, on the soul, its chast’ning o’er,
Shall burst eternal light—
The light that gilds that happy shore.
Whose day shall know no night.
A few days more brought us to Boglipore, a very beautiful station, surrounded by rich park-like scenery.
Having visited the boiling spring of Seetacoond, to which a plentiful crop of legends is attached by the credulous natives, filled a few bottles with the water, which is remarkable for its purity, and I believe medicinal virtues (though, as I was not much of a water-fancier at that time, I rather give this on report than from actual experience), we soon reached the ancient fortress of Monghyr, a place which cuts a considerable figure in Indian history, although more celebrated in modern times as the seat of an extensive manufactory of tea-kettles, turn-screws, toasting-forks, &c., as also of fire-arms, after European models.
These guns have occasionally winged a few griffs, and have consequently a bad name, though the vendors are willing to prove them in your presence. Nevertheless, though dirt-cheap, they are not often bought, except by the very green. There is no enjoyment in a suspected gun, any more than in a doubtful egg.