Himalayan Journals
Volume II

## Appendix

C.
ON THE SOILS OF SIKKIM.

There is little variety in the soil throughout Sikkim, and, as far as vegetation is concerned, it may be divided into vegetable mould and stiff clay—each, as they usually occur, remarkably characteristic in composition of such soils. Bog-earth is very rare, nor did I find peat at any elevation.

The clay is uniformly of great tenacity, and is, I believe, wholly due to the effect of the atmosphere on crumbling gneiss and other rocks. It makes excellent bricks, is tenacious, seldom friable, and sometimes accumulated in beds fourteen feet thick, although more generally only about two feet. In certain localities, beds or narrow seams of pure felspathic clay and layers of vegetable matter occur in it, probably wholly due to local causes. An analysis of that near Dorjiling gives about 30 per cent. of alumina, the rest being silica, and a fraction of oxide of iron. Lime is wholly unknown as a constituent of the soil, and only occasionally seen as a stalactitic deposit from a few springs.

A layer of vegetable earth almost invariably covers the clay to the depth of from three to twelve or fourteen inches. It is a very rich black mould, held in its position on the slopes of the hills by the dense vegetation, and accumulated on the banks of small streams to a depth at times of three and four feet. The following is an analysis of an average specimen of the surface-soil of Dorjiling, made for me by my friend C. J. Muller, Esq., of that place:—

a.—DRY EARTH

Anhydrous Water | 83·84 16·16 ———— 100·00

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b.—ANHYDROUS EARTH

Humic acid Humine Undecomposed vegetable matter Peroxide of iron and manganese Alumina Siliceous matter, insoluble in dilute hydrochloric acid Traces of soda and muriatic acid | 3·89 4·61 20·98 7·05 8·95 54·52 -- ———— 100·00

c.—Soluble in water, gr. 1·26 per cent., consisting of soda, muriatic acid, organic matter, and silica.

The soil from which this example was taken was twelve inches deep; it abounded to the eye in vegetable matter, and was siliceous to the touch. There were no traces of phosphates or of animal matter, and doubtful traces of lime and potash. The subsoil of clay gave only 5·7 per cent. of water, and 5·55 of organic matter. The above analysis was conducted during the rainy month of September, and the sample is an average one of the surface-soil at 6000 to 10,000 feet. There is, I think, little difference anywhere in the soils at this elevation, except where the rock is remarkably micaceous, or where veins of felspathic granite, by their decomposition, give rise to small beds of kaolin.

D.
(Vol. i., p. 37)
AN AURORA SEEN FROM BAROON ON THE EAST BANK
OF THE SOANE RIVER.
Lat. 24° 52′ N.; Long. 84° 22′ E.; Alt. 345 feet.

The following appearances are as noted in my journal at the time. They so entirely resembled auroral beams, that I had no hesitation in pronouncing them at the time to be such. This opinion has, however, been dissented from by some meteorologists, who consider that certain facts connected with the geographical distribution of auroras (if I may use the term), are opposed to it. I am well aware of the force of these arguments, which I shall not attempt to controvert; but for the information of those who may be interested in the matter, I may remark, that I am very familiar with

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the Aurora borealis in the northern temperate zone, and during the Antarctic expedition was in the habit of recording in the log-book the appearance presented by the Aurora australis. The late Mr. Williams, Mr. Haddon, and Mr. Theobald, who were also witnesses of the appearances on this occasion, considered it a brilliant display of the aurora.

Feb. 14th, 9 p.m.—Bax. Corr. 29·751; temp. 62°; D.P. 41·0°; calm, sky clear; moon three-quarters full, and bright.

Observed about thirty lancet beams rising in the north-west from a low luminous arch, whose extremes bore W. 20° S., and N. 50° E.; altitude of upper limb of arch 20°, of the lower 8°. The beams crossed the zenith, and converged towards S. 15° E. The extremity of the largest was forked, and extended to 25° above the horizon in the S.E. by S. quarter. The extremity of the centre one bore S. 50° E., and was 45° above the horizon. The western beams approached nearest the southern horizon. All the beams moved and flashed slowly, occasionally splitting and forking, fading and brightening; they were brightly defined, though the milky way and zodiacal light could not be discerned, and the stars and planets, though clearly discernible, were very pale.

At 10 p.m., the luminous appearance was more diffused; upper limb of the arch less defined; no beams crossed the zenith; but occasionally beams appeared there and faded away.

Between 10 and 11, the beams continued to move and replace one another, as usual in auroras, but disappeared from the south-east quarter, and became broader in the northern hemisphere; the longest beams were near the north and north-east horizon.

At half-past 10, a dark belt, 4° broad, appeared in the luminous arch, bearing from N. 55° W. to N. 10° W.; its upper limb was 10° above the horizon: it then gradually dilated, and thus appeared to break up the arch. This appeared to be the commencement of the dispersion of the phenomenon.

At 10.50 p.m. the dark band had increased so much in breadth that the arch was broken up in the north-west, and no beams appeared there. Eighteen linear beams rose from the eastern part of the arch, and bore from north to N. 20° E.

Towards 11 p.m., the dark band appeared to have replaced the

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luminous arch; the beams were all but gone, a few fragments appearing in the N.E. A southerly wind sprang up, and a diffused light extended along the horizon.

At midnight, I saw two faint beams to the north-east, and two well defined parallel ones in the south-west.

E.
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY OF THE SIKKIM HIMALAYA, EAST NEPAL,
AND ADJACENT PROVINCES OF TIBET.

Sikkim is included in a section of the Himalaya, about sixty miles broad from east to west, where it is bounded respectively by the mountain states of Bhotan and Nepal. Its southern limits are easily defined, for the mountains rise abruptly from the plains of Bengal, as spurs of 6000 to 10,000 feet high, densely clothed with forest to their summits. The northern and north-eastern frontier of Sikkim is beyond the region of much rain, and is not a natural, but a political line, drawn between that country and Tibet. Sikkim lies nearly due north of Calcutta, and only four hundred miles from the Bay of Bengal; its latitude being 26° 40′ to 28° N., and longitude 88° to 89° E.

The main features of Sikkim are Kinchinjunga, the loftiest hitherto measured mountain, which lies to its north-west, and rises 28,178 feet above the level of the sea; and the Teesta river, which flows throughout the length of the country, and has a course of upwards of ninety miles in a straight line. Almost all the sources of the Teesta are included in Sikkim; and except some comparatively insignificant streams draining the outermost ranges, there are no rivers in this country but itself and its feeders, which occupy the largest of the Himalayan valleys between the Tambur in East Nepal, and the Machoo in Western Bhotan.

An immense spur, sixty miles long, stretches south from Kinchin to the plains of India; it is called Singalelah, and separates Sikkim from East Nepal; the waters from its west flank flow into the Tambur, and those from the east into the Great Rungeet, a feeder

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of the Teesta. Between these two latter rivers is a second spur from Kinchinjunga, terminating in Tendong.

The eastern boundary of Sikkim, separating it from Bhotan, is formed for the greater part by the Chola range, which stretches south from the immense mountain of Donkia, 23,176 feet high, situated fifty miles E.N.E. of Kinchinjunga: where the frontier approaches the plains of India, the boundary line follows the course of the Teesta, and of the Rinkpo, one of its feeders, flowing from the Chola range. This range is much more lofty than that of Singalelah, and the drainage from its eastern flank is into the Machoo river, the upper part of whose course is in Tibet, and the lower in Bhotan.

The Donkia mountain, though 4000 feet lower than Kinchin, is the culminant point of a much more extensive and elevated mountain mass. It throws off an immense spur from its north-west face, which runs west, and then south-west, to Kinchin, forming the watershed of all the remote sources of the Teesta. This spur has a mean elevation of 18,000 to 19,000 feet, and several of its peaks (of which Chomiomo is one) rise much higher. The northern boundary of Sikkim is not drawn along this, but runs due west from Donkia, following a shorter, but stupendous spur, called Kinchinjhow; whence it crosses the Teesta to Chomiomo, and is continued onwards to Kinchinjunga.

Though the great spur connecting Donkia with Kinchin is in Tibet, and bounds the waters that flow directly south into the Teesta, it is far from the true Himalayan axis, for the rivers that rise on its northern slope do not run into the valley of the Tsampu, or Tibetan Burrampooter, but into the Arun of Nepal, which rises to the north of Donkia, and flows south-west for many miles in Tibet, before entering Nepal and flowing south to the Ganges.

Sikkim, thus circumscribed, consists of a mass of mountainous spurs, forest-clad up to 12,000 feet; there are no flat valleys or plains in the whole country, no lakes or precipices of any consequence below that elevation, and few or no bare slopes, though the latter are uniformly steep. The aspect of Sikkim can only be understood by a reference to its climate and vegetation, and I shall therefore take these together, and endeavour, by connecting these phenomena,

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to give an intelligible view of the main features of the whole country.*

The greater part of the country between Sikkim and the sea is a dead level, occupied by the delta of the Ganges and Burrampooter, above which the slope is so gradual to the base of the mountains, that the surface of the plain from which the Himalayas immediately rise is only 300 feet above the sea. The most obvious effect of this position is, that the prevailing southerly wind reaches the first range of hills, loaded with vapour. The same current, when deflected easterly to Bhotan, or westerly to Nepal and the north-west Himalaya, is intercepted and drained of much moisture, by the Khasia and Garrow mountains (south of Assam and the Burrampooter) in the former case, and the Rajmahal hills (south of the Ganges) in the latter. Sikkim is hence the dampest region of the whole Himalaya.

Viewed from a distance on the plains of India, Sikkim presents the appearance—common to all mountainous countries—of consecutive parallel ridges, running east and west: these are all wooded, and backed by a beautiful range of snowy peaks, with occasional breaks in the foremost ranges, through which the rivers debouch. Any view of the Himalaya, especially at a sufficient distance for the remote snowy peaks to be seen overtopping the outer ridges, is, however, rare, from the constant deposition of vapours over the forest-clad ranges during the greater part of the year, and the haziness of the dry atmosphere of the plains in the winter months. At the end of the rains, when the south-east monsoon has ceased to blow with constancy, views are obtained, sometimes from a distance of nearly two hundred miles. From the plains, the highest peaks subtend so small an angle, that they appear like white specks very low on the horizon, tipping the black lower and outer wooded ranges, which always rise out of a belt of haze, and from the density, probably, of the lower strata of atmosphere, are never seen to rest on the visible horizon. The remarkable lowness on the horizon of the whole stupendous mass is always a disappointing feature to the new comer, who expects to see dazzling peaks towering in the air. Approaching nearer, the snowy mountains

* This I did with reference especially to the cultivation of Rhododendrons, in a paper which the Horticultural Society of London did me the honour of printing. Quarterly Journ. of Hort. Soc., vol. vii., p. 82.

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sink behind the wooded ones, long before the latter have assumed gigantic proportions; and when they do so, they appear a sombre, lurid grey-green mass of vegetation, with no brightness or variation of colour. There is no break in this forest caused by rock, precipices, or cultivation; some spurs project nearer, and some valleys appear to retire further into the heart of the foremost great chain that shuts out all the country beyond.

From Dorjiling the appearance of parallel ridges is found to be deceptive, and due to the inosculating spurs of long tortuous ranges that ran north and south throughout the whole length of Sikkim, dividing deep wooded valleys, which form the beds of large rivers. The snowy peaks here look like a long east and west range of mountains, at an average distance of thirty or forty miles. Advancing into the country, this appearance proves equally deceptive, and the snowy range is resolved into isolated peaks, situated on the meridional ridges; their snow-clad spurs, projecting east and west, cross one another, and being uniformly white, appear to connect the peaks into one grand unbroken range. The rivers, instead of having their origin in the snowy mountains, rise far beyond them; many of their sources are upwards of one hundred miles in a straight line from the plains, in a very curious country, loftier by far in mean elevation than the meridional ridges which run south from it, yet comparatively bare of snow. This rearward part of the mountain region is Tibet, where all the Sikkim, Nepal, and Bhotan rivers rise as small streams, increasing in size as they receive the drainage from the snowed parts of the ridges that bound them in their courses. Their banks, between 8000 and 14,000 feet, are generally clothed with rhododendrons, sometimes to the almost total exclusion of other woody vegetation, especially near the snowy mountains—a cool temperature and great humidity being the most favourable conditions for the luxuriant growth of this genus.

The source of this humidity is the southerly or sea wind which blows steadily from May till October in Sikkim, and prevails throughout the rest of the year, if not as the monsoon properly so called, as a current from the moist atmosphere above the Gangetic delta. This rushes north to the rarefied regions of Sikkim, up the great valleys, and does not appear materially disturbed by the north-

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west wind, which blows during the afternoons of the winter months over the plains, and along the flanks of the outer range, and is a dry surface current, due to the diurnal heating of the soil. When it is considered that this wind, after passing lofty mountains on the outer range, has to traverse eighty or one hundred miles of alps before it has watered all the forest region, it will be evident that its moisture must be expended before it reaches Tibet.

Let the figures in the accompanying woodcut, the one on the true scale, the other with the heights exaggerated, represent two of these long meridional ridges, from the watershed to the plains of India, following in this instance the course of the Teesta river, from its source at 19,000 feet to where it debouches from the Himalaya at 300. The lower rugged outline represents one meridional ridge, with all its most prominent peaks (whether exactly or not on the line of section); the upper represents the parallel ridge of Singalelah (D.E.P.), of greater mean elevation, further west, introduced to show the maximum elevation of the Sikkim mountains, Kinchinjunga (28,178 feet), being represented on it. A deep valley is interposed between these two ridges, with a feeder of the Teesta in it (the Great Rungeet), which runs south from Kinchin, and turning west enters the Teesta at R. The position of the bed of the Teesta river is indicated by a dotted line from its source at T to the plains at S; of Dorjiling, on the north flank of the outer range, by d; of the first point where perpetual snow is met with, by P; and of the first indications of a Tibetan climate, by C.

A warm current of Air, loaded with vapour, will deposit the bulk of its moisture on the ridge of Sinchul, which rises above Dorjiling (d), and is 8,500 feet high. Passing on, little will be precipitated on e whose elevation is the same as that of Sinchul; but much at f (11,000 feet), where the current, being further cooled, has less capacity for holding vapour, and is further exhausted. When it ascends to P (15,000 feet) it is sufficiently cooled to deposit snow in the winter and spring months, more of which falling than can be melted during the summer, it becomes perennial. At the top of ginchin very little falls, and it is doubtful if the southerly current ever reaches that prodigiously elevated isolated summit. The amount of surface above 20,000 feet is, however, too limited and

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broken into isolated peaks to drain the already nearly, exhausted current, whose condensed vapours roll along in fog beyond the parallel of Kinchin, are dissipated during the day over the arid mountains of Tibet, and deposited at night on the cooled surface of the earth.

Other phenomena of no less importance than the distribution of vapour, and more or less depending on it, are the duration and amount of solar and terrestrial radiation. Towards D the sun is rarely seen during the rainy season, as well from the constant presence of nimbi aloft, as from fog on the surface of the ground. An absence of both light and heat is the result south of the parallel of Kinchin; and at C low fogs prevail at the same season, but do not intercept either the same amount of light or heat; whilst at T there is much sunshine and bright light. During the night, again, there is no terrestrial radiation between S and P; the rain either continues to pour—in some months with increased violence—or the saturated atmosphere is condensed into a thick white mist, which hangs over the redundant vegetation. A bright starlight night is almost unknown in the summer months at 6000 to 10,000 feet, but is frequent in December and January, and at intervals between October and May, when, however, vegetation is little affected by the cold of nocturnal radiation. In the regions north of Kinchin, starlight nights are more frequent, and the cold produced by radiation, at 14,000 feet, is often severe towards the end of the rains in September. Still the amount of clear weather during the night is small; the fog clears off for an hour or two at sunset as the wind falls, but the returning cold north current again chills the air soon afterwards, and rolling masses of vapour are hence flying overhead, or sweeping the surface of the earth, throughout the summer nights. In the Tibetan regions, on the other hand, bright nights and even sharp frosts prevail throughout the warmest months.

Referring again to the cut, it must be borne in mind that neither of the two meridional ridges runs in a straight line, but that they wind or zigzag as all mountain ranges do; that spurs from each ridge are given off from either flank alternately, and that the origin of a spur on one side answers to the source of a river (i.e., the head of a valley) on the other. These rivers are feeders of the main

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stream, the Teesta, and run at more or less of an angle to the latter. The spurs from the east flank of one ridge cross, at their ends, those from the west flank of another; and thus transverse valleys are formed, presenting many modifications of climate with regard to exposure, temperature, and humidity.

The roads from the plains of India to the watershed in Tibet always cross these lateral spurs. The main ridge is too winding and rugged, and too lofty for habitation throughout the greater part of its length, while the river-channel is always very winding, unhealthy for the greater part of the year below 4000 feet, and often narrow, gorge-like, and rocky. The villages are always placed above the unhealthy regions, on the lateral spurs, which the traveller repeatedly crosses throughout every day’s march; for these spurs give off lesser ones, and these again others of a third degree, whence the country is cut up into as many spurs, ridges, and ranges, as there are rills, streams, and rivers amongst the mountains.

Though the direction of the main atmospheric current is to the north, it is in reality seldom felt to be so, except the observer be on the very exposed mountain tops, or watch the motions of the upper strata of atmosphere. Lower currents of air rush up both the main and lateral valleys, throughout the day; and from the sinuosities in the beds of the rivers, and the generally transverse directions of their feeders, the current often becomes an east or west one. In the branch valleys draining to the north the wind still ascends; it is, in short, an ascending warm, moist current, whatever course be pursued by the valleys it follows.

The sides of each valley are hence equally supplied with moisture, though local circumstances render the soil on one or the other flank more or less humid and favourable to a luxuriant vegetation: such differences are a drier soil on the north side, with a too free exposure to the sun at low elevations, where its rays, however transient, rapidly dry the ground, and where the rains, though very heavy, are of shorter duration, and where, owing to the capacity of the heated air for retaining moisture, day fogs are comparatively rare. In the northern parts of Sikkim, again, some of the lateral valleys are so placed that the moist wind strikes the side facing the south, and keeps it very humid, whilst the returning cold current from the neighbouring

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Tibetan mountains impinges against the side facing the north, which is hence more bare of vegetation. An infinite number of local peculiarities will suggest themselves to any one conversant with physical geography, as causing unequal local distribution of light, heat, and moisture in the different valleys of so irregular a country; namely, the amount of slope, and its power of retaining moisture and soil; the composition and hardness of the rocks; their dip and strike; the protection of some valleys by lofty snowed ridges; and the free southern exposures of others at great elevations.

The position and elevation of the perpetual snow* vary with those of the individual ranges, and their exposure to the south wind. The expression that the perpetual snow lies lower and deeper on the southern slopes of the Himalayan mountains than on the northern,

* It appears to me, as I have asserted in the pages of my Journal, that the limit of perpetual snow is laid down too low in all mountain regions, and that accumulations in hollows, and the descent of glacial ice, mask the phenomenon more effectually than is generally allowed. In this work I define the limit, as is customary, in general terms only, as being that where the accumulations are very great, and whence they are continuous upwards, on gentle slopes. All perpetual snow, however, becomes ice, and, as such, obeys the laws of glacial motion, moving as a viscous fluid; whence it follows that the lower edge of a snow-bed placed on a slope is, in one sense, the termination of a glacier, and indicates a position below that where all the snow that falls melts. I am well aware that it is impossible to define the limit required with any approach to accuracy. Steep and broken surfaces, with favourable exposures to the sun or moist winds, are bare much above places where snow lies throughout the year; but the occurrence of a gentle slope, free of snow, and covered with plants, cannot but indicate a point below that of perpetual snow. Such is the case with the “Jardin” on the Mer de Glace, whose elevation is 9,500 feet, whereas that of perpetual snow is considered by Professor J. Forbes, our best authority, to be 8,500 feet. Though limited in area, girdled by glaciers, presenting a very gentle slope to the east, and screened by surrounding mountains from a considerable proportion of the sun’s rays, the Jardin is clear, for fully three months of the year, of all but sporadic falls of snow, that never lie long; and so are similar spots placed higher on the neighbouring slopes; which facts are quite at variance with the supposition that the perpetual snow-line is below that point in the Mont Blanc Alps. On the Monte Rosa Alps, again, Dr. Thomson and I gathered plants in flower, above 12,000 feet on the steep face of the Weiss-thor Pass, and at 10,938 feet on the top of St. Theodule; but in the former case the rocks are too steep for any snow to lie, they are exposed to the south-east, and overhang a gorge 8000 feet deep, up which no doubt warm currents ascend; while at St. Theodule the plants were growing on a slope which, though gentle, is black and stony, and exposed to warm ascending currents, as on the Weiss-thor; and I do not consider either of these as evidences of the limit of perpetual snow being higher than their position.

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conveys a false impression. It is better to say that the snow lies deeper and lower on the southern faces of the individual mountains and spurs that form the snowy Himalaya. The axis itself of the chain is generally far north of the position of the spurs that catch all the snow, and has comparatively very little snow on it, most of what there is lying upon north exposures.

A reference to the woodcut will show that the same circumstances which affect the distribution of moisture and vegetation, determine the position, amount, and duration of the snow. The principal fall will occur, as before shown, where the meridional range first attains a sufficiently great elevation, and the air becomes consequently cooled below 32°; this is at a little above 14,000 feet, sporadic falls occurring even in summer at that elevation: these, however, melt immediately, and the copious winter falls also are dissipated before June. As the depth of rain-fall diminishes in advancing north to the higher parts of the meridional ranges, so does that of the snow-fall. The permanence of the snow, again, depends on—1. The depth of the accumulation; 2. The mean temperature of the spot; 3. The melting power of the sun’s rays; 4. The prevalence and strength of evaporating winds. Now at 14,000 feet, though the accumulation is immense, the amount melted by the sun’s rays is trifling, and there are no evaporating winds; but the mean temperature is so high, and the corroding powers of the rain (which falls abundantly throughout summer) and of the warm and humid ascending currents are so great, that the snow is not perennial. At 15,500 feet, again, it becomes perennial, and its permanence at this low elevation (at P) is much favoured by the accumulation and detention of fogs over the rank vegetation which prevails from S nearly to P; and by the lofty mountains beyond it, which shield it from the returning dry currents from the north. In proceeding north all the circumstances that tend to the dispersion of the snow increase, whilst the fall diminishes. At P the deposition is enormous and the snow-line low—16,000 feet; whilst at T little falls, and the limit of perpetual snow is 19,000 and 20,000 feet. Hence the anomaly, that the snow-line ascends in advancing north to the coldest Himalayan regions. The position of the greatest peaks and of the greatest mass of perpetual snow being generally assumed as indicating a ridge and watershed, travellers, arguing from

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single mountains alone, on the meridional ridges, have at one time supported and at another denied the assertion, that the snow lies longer and deeper on the north than on the south slope of the Himalayan ridge.

The great accumulation of snow at 15,000 feet, in the parallel of P, exercises a decided influence on the vegetation. The alpine rhododendrons hardly reach 14,000 feet in the broad valleys and round-headed spurs of the mountains of the Tunkra and Chola passes; whilst the same species ascend to 16,000, and one to 17,000 feet, at T. Beyond the latter point, again, the great aridity of the climate prevents their growth, and in Tibet there are generally none even as low as 12,000 and 14,000 feet. Glaciers, again, descend to 15,000 feet in the tortuous gorges which immediately debouch from the snows of Kinchinjunga, but no plants grow on the débris they carry down, nor is there any sward of grass or herbage at their base, the atmosphere immediately around being chilled by enormous accumulations of snow, and the summer sun rarely warming the soil. At T, again, the glaciers do not descend below 16,000 feet, but a greensward of vegetation creeps up to their bases, dwarf rhododendrons cover the moraines, and herbs grow on the patches of earth carried down by the latter, which are thawed by the more frequent sunshine, and by the radiation of heat from the unsnowed flanks of the valleys down which these ice-streams pour.

Looking eastward or westward on the map of India, we perceive that the phenomenon of perpetual snow is regulated by the same laws. From the longitude of Upper Assam in 95° E to that of Kashmir in 75° E, the lowest limit of perpetual snow is 15,500 to 16,000 feet, and a shrubby vegetation affects the most humid localities near it, at 12,000 to 14,000 feet. Receding from the plains of India and penetrating the mountains, the climate becomes drier, the snowline rises, and vegetation diminishes, whether the elevation of the land increases or decreases; plants reaching 17,000 and 18,000 feet, and the snow-line, 20,000 feet. To mention extreme cases; the snow-level of Sikkim in 27° 30 minutes is at 16,000 feet, whereas in latitude 35° 30 minutes Dr. Thomson found the snow line 20,000 feet on the mountains near the Karakoram Pass, and vegetation up to 18,500 feet—features I found to be common also to Sikkim in latitude 28°.

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The Himalaya, north of Nepal, and thence eastward to the bend of the Yaru-Tsampu (or Tibetan Burrampooter) has for its geographical limits the plains of India to the south, and the bed of the Yaru to the north. All between these limits is a mountain mass, to which Tibet (though so often erroneously called a plain)* forms no exception. The waters from the north side of this chain flow into the Tsampu, and those from the south side into the Burrampooter of Assam, and the Ganges. The line, however tortuous, dividing the heads of these waters, is the watershed, and the only guide we have to the axis of the Himalaya. This has never been crossed by Europeans, except by Captain Turner’s embassy in 1798, and Captain Bogle’s in 1779, both of which reached the Yaru river. In the account published by Captain Turner, the summit of the watershed is not rigorously defined, and the boundary, of Tibet and Bhotan is sometimes erroneously taken for it; the boundary being at that point a southern spur of Chumulari.† Eastwards from the sources of the Tsampu, the watershed of the Himalaya seems to follow a very winding course, and to be everywhere to the north of the snowy peaks seen from the plains of India. It is by a line through these snowy peaks that the axis of the Himalaya is represented in all our maps; because they seem from the plains to be situated on an east and west ridge, instead of being placed on subsidiary meridional ridges, as explained above. It is also across or along the subsidiary ridges that the boundary line between the Tibetan provinces and those of Nepal, Sikkim, and Bhotan, is usually drawn; because the enormous accumulations of snow form a more

* The only true account of the general features of eastern Tibet is to be found in MM. Huc and Gabet’s travels. Their description agrees with Dr. Thomson’s account of western Tibet, and with my experience of the parts to the north of Sikkim, and the information I everywhere obtained. The so-called plains are the flat floors of the valleys, and the terraces on the margins of the rivers, which all flow between stupendous mountains. The term “maidan,” so often applied to Tibet by the natives, implies, not a plain like that of India, but simply an open, dry, treeless country, in contrast to the densely wooded wet regions of the snowy Himalaya, south of Tibet.
† Between Donkia and Chumulari lies a portion of Tibet (including the upper part of the course of the Machoo river) bounded on the east by Bhotan, and on the west by Sikkim (see chapter xxii). Turner, when crossing the Simonang Pass, descended westwards into the valley of the Machoo, and was still on the Indian watershed.

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efficient natural barrier than the greater height of the less snowed central part of the chain beyond them.

Though, however, our maps draw the axis through the snowy peaks, they also make the rivers to rise beyond the latter, on the northern slopes as it were, and to flow southwards through gaps in the axis. Such a feature is only reconcilable with the hypothesis of the chain being double, as the Cordillera of Peru and Chili is said to be, geographically, and which in a geological sense it no doubt is: but to the Cordillera the Himalaya offers no parallel. The results of Dr. Thomson’s study of the north-west Himalaya and Tibet, and my own of the north-east extreme of Sikkim and Tibet, first gave me an insight into the true structure of this chain. Donkia mountain is the culminant point of an immensely elevated mass of mountains, of greater mean height than a similarly extensive area around Kinchin junga. It comprises Chumulari, and many other mountains much above 20,000 feet, though none equalling Kinchinjunga, Junnoo, and Kubra. The great lakes of Ramchoo and Cholamoo are placed on it; and the rivers rising on it flow in various directions; the Painomchoo north-west into the Yaru; the Arun west to Nepal; the Teesta south-west through Sikkim; the Machoo south, and the Pachoo south-east, through Bhotan. All these rivers have their sources far beyond the great snowed mountains, the Arun most conspicuously of all, flowing completely at the back or north of Kinchinjunga. Those that flow southwards, break through no chain, nor do they meet any contraction as they pass the snowy parts of the mountains which bound the valleys in which they flow, but are bound by uniform ranges of lofty mountains, which become more snowy as they approach the plains of India. These valleys, however, gradually contract as they descend, being less open in Sikkim and Nepal than in Tibet, though there bounded by rugged mountains, which from being so bare of snow and of vegetation, do not give the same impression of height as the isolated sharper peaks which rise out of a dense forest, and on which the snow limit is 4000 or 5000 feet lower.

The fact of the bottom of the river valleys being flatter towards the watershed, is connected with that of their fall being less rapid at that part of their course; this is the consequence of the great extent in

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breadth of the most elevated portion of the chain. If we select the Teesta as an example, and measure its fall at three points of its course, we shall find the results very different. From its principal source at Lake Cholamoo, it descends from 17,000 to 15,000 feet, with a fall of 60 feet to the mile; from 15,000 to 12,000 feet, the fall is 140 feet to the mile; in the third part of its course it descends from 12,000 to 5000 feet, with a fall of 160 feet to the mile; and in the lower part the descent is from 5000 feet to the plains of India at 300 feet, giving a fall of 50 feet to the mile. There is, however, no marked limit to these divisions; its valley. gradually contracts, and its course gradually becomes more rapid. It is worthy of notice that the fall is at its maximum through that part of its valley of which the flanks are the most loaded with snow; where the old moraines are very conspicuous, and where the present accumulations from landslips, etc., are the most extensive.*

With reference to Kinchinjunga, these facts are of importance, as showing that mere elevation is in physical geography of secondary importance. That lofty mountain rises from a spur of the great range of Donkia, and is quite removed from the watershed or axis of the Himalaya, the rivers which drain its northern and southern flanks alike flowing to the Ganges. Were the Himalaya to be depressed 18,000 feet, Kubra, Junnoo, Pundim, etc., would form a small cluster of rocky islands 1000 to 7000 feet high, grouped near Kinchinjunga, itself a cape 10,000 feet high, which would be connected by a low, marrow neck, with an extensive and mountainous tract of land to its north-east; the latter being represented by Donkia. To the north of Kinchin a deep bay or inlet would occupy the present valley of the Arun, and would be bounded on the north by the axis of the Himalaya, which would form a continuous tract of land beyond it. Since writing the above, I have seen Professor J. Forbes’s beautiful work on the glaciers of Norway: it fully justifies a comparison of the Himalaya to Norway, which has long been a familiar subject of

* It is not my intention to discuss here the geological bearings of this curious question; but I may state that as the humidity of the climate of the middle region of the river-course tends to increase the fall in a given space, so I believe the dryness of the climate of the loftier country has the opposite effect, by preserving those accumulations which have raised the floors of the valleys and rendered them level.

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theoretical enquiry with Dr. Thomson and myself. The deep narrow valleys of Sikkim admirably represent the Norwegian fiords; the lofty, rugged, snowy mountains, those more or less submerged islands of the Norwegian coast; the broad rearward watershed, or axis of the chain, with its lakes, is the same in both, and the Yaru-tsampu occupies the relative position of the Baltic.

Along the whole chain of the Himalaya east of Kumaon there are, I have no doubt, a succession of such lofty masses as Donkia, giving off stupendous spurs such as that on which Kinchin forms so conspicuous a feature. In support of this view we find every river rising far beyond the snowy peaks, which are separated by continuously unsnowed ranges placed between the great white masses that these spurs present to the observer from the south.* From the Khasia mountains (south-east of Sikkim) many of these groups or spurs were seen by Dr. Thomson and myself, at various distances (80 to 210 miles); and these groups were between the courses of the great rivers the Soobansiri, Monass, and Pachoo, all east of Sikkim. Other masses seen from the Gangetic valley probably thus mark the relative positions of the Arun, Cosi, Gunduk, and Gogra rivers.

Another mass like that of Chumulari and Donkia, is that around the Mansarowar lakes, so ably surveyed by the brothers Captains R. and H. Strachey, which is evidently the centre of the Himalaya. From it the Gogra, Sutlej, Indus, and Yaru rivers all flow to the Indian side of Asia; and from it spring four chains, two of which are better known than the others. These are:—1. The eastern Himalaya, whose axis runs north of Nepal, Sikkim, and Bhotan, to the bend of the Yaru, the valley of which it divides from the plains of India. 2. The north-west Himalaya, which separates the valley of the Indus from the plains of India. Behind these, and probably parallel to them, lie two other chains. 3. The Kouenlun or Karakoram chain, dividing the Indus from the Yarkand river. 4. The chain north of the Yaru, of which nothing is known. All the waters from the two first of these chains, flow into the Indian Ocean, as do those from

* At vol. i. p. 185, I have particularly called attention to the fact, that west of Kinchinjunga there is no continuation of a snowy Himalaya, as it is commonly called. So between Donkia and Chumulari there is no perpetual snow, and the valley of the Machoo is very broad, open, and comparatively flat.

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the south faces of the third and fourth; those from the north side of the Kouenlun, and of the chain north of the Yaru, flow into the great valley of Lake Lhop, which may once have been continuous with the Amoor river.*

For this view of the physical geography of the western Himalaya and central Asia, I am indebted to Dr. Thomson. It is more consonant with nature, and with what we know of the geography of the country and of the nature of mountain chains, than that of the illustrious Humboldt, who divides central Asia by four parallel chains, united by two meridional ones; one at each extremity of the mountain district. It follows in continuation and conclusion of our view that the mountain mass of Pamir or Bolor, between the sources of the Oxus and those of the Yarkand river, may be regarded as a centre from which spring the three greatest mountain systems of Asia. These are:—1. A great chain, which runs in a north-easterly direction as far as Behring’s Straits, separating all the rivers of Siberia from those which flow into the Pacific Ocean. 2. The Hindoo Koosh, continued through Persia, and Armenia into Taurus. And, 3. The Muztagh or Karakorum, which probably extends due east into China, south of the Hoang-ho, but which is broken up north of Mansarowar into the chains which have been already enumerated.

F.
ON THE CLIMATE OF SIKKIM.

The meteorology of Sikkim, as of every part of the Himalayan range, is a subject of growing interest and importance; as it becomes yearly more necessary for the Government to afford increased facilities for a residence in the mountains to Europeans in search of health, or of a salubrious climate for their families, or for themselves on retirement from the exhausting service of the plains. I was therefore surprised to find no further register of the weather at Dorjiling, than

* The Chinese assert that Lake Lhop once drained into the Hoang-ho; the statement is curious, and capable of confirmation when central Asia shall have been explored.

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an insufficient one of the rain-fall, kept by the medical officer in charge of the station; who, in this, as in all similar cases,* has neither the time nor the opportunity to give even the minimum of required attention to the subject of meteorology. This defect has been in a measure remedied by Dr. Chapman, who kept a twelve-months’ register in 1837, with instruments carefully compared with Calcutta standards by the late James Prinsep, Esq., one of the most accomplished men in literature and science that India ever saw.

The annual means of temperature, rain-fall, etc., vary greatly in the Himalaya; and apparently slight local causes produce such great differences of temperature and humidity, that one year’s observations taken at one spot, however full and accurate they may be, are insufficient: this is remarkably the case in Sikkim, where the rainfall is great, and where the difference between those of two consecutive years is often greater than the whole annual London fall. My own meteorological observations necessarily form but a broken series, but they were made with the best instruments, and with a view to obtaining results that should be comparable inter se, and with those of Calcutta; when away from Dorjiling too, in the interior of Sikkim, I had the advantage of Mr. Muller’s services in taking observations at hours agreed upon previous to my leaving, and these were of the greatest importance, both for calculating elevations, and for ascertaining the differences of temperature, humidity, diurnal atmospheric tide, and rain-fall; all of which vary with the elevation, and the distance from the plains of India.

Mr. Hodgson’s house proved a most favourable spot for an observatory, being placed on the top of the Dorjiling spur, with its broad verandah facing the north, in which I protected the instruments from

* The government of India has gone to an immense expense, and entailed a heavy duty upon its stationary medical officers, in supplying them with sometimes admirable, but more often very inaccurate, meteorological instruments, and requiring that daily registers be made, and transmitted to Calcutta. In no case have I found it to be in the officer’s power to carry out this object; he has never time, seldom the necessary knowledge and experience, and far too often no inclination. The majority of the observations are in most cases left to personal native or other servants, and the laborious results I have examined are too frequently worthless.

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radiation* and wind. Broad grass-plots and a gravel walk surrounded the house, and large trees were scattered about; on three sides the ground sloped away, while to the north the spur gently rose behind.

Throughout the greater part of the year the prevailing wind is from the south-east, and comes laden with moisture from the Bay of Bengal: it rises at sunrise, and its vapours are early condensed on the forests of Sinchul; billowy clouds rapidly succeed small patches of vapour, which rolling over to the north side of the mountain, are carried north-west, over a broad intervening valley, to Dorjiling. There they bank on the east side of the spur, and this being partially clear of wood, the accumulation is slow, and always first upon the clumps of trees. Very generally by 9 a.m., the whole eastern sky, from the top of Dorjiling ridge, is enveloped in a dense fog, while the whole western exposure enjoys sunshine for an hour or two later. At 7 or 8 a.m., very small patches are seen to collect on Tonglo, which gradually dilate and coalesce, but do not shroud the mountain for some hours, generally not before 11 a.m. or noon. Before that time, however, masses of mist have been rolling over Dorjiling ridge to the westward, and gradually filling up the valleys, so that by noon, or 1 p.m., every object is in cloud. Towards sunset it falls calm, when the mist rises, first from Sinchul, or if a south-east wind sets in, from Tonglo first.

The temperature is more uniform at Mr. Hodgson’s bungalow, which is on the top of the Dorjiling ridge, than on either of its flanks; this is very much because a good deal of wood is left upon it, whose cool foliage attracts and condenses the mists. Its mean temperature is lower by nearly 2·5° than that of Mr. Muller’s and Dr. Campbell’s houses, both situated on the slopes, 400 feet below. This I ascertained by numerous comparative observations of the temperature of the air, and by burying thermometers in the earth:

* This is a most important point, generally wholly neglected in India, where I have usually seen the thermometer hung in good shade, but exposed to reflected heat from walls, gravel walks, or dry earth. I am accustomed from experience to view all extreme temperatures with great suspicion, on this and other accounts. It is very seldom that the temperature of the free shaded air rises much above 100°, except during hot winds, when the lower stratum only of atmosphere (often loaded with hot particles of sand), sweeps over the surface of a soil scorched by the direct rays of the sun.

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it is chiefly to be accounted for by the more frequent sunshine at the lower stations, the power of the sun often raising the thermometer in shade to 80°, at Mr. Muller’s; whereas during the summer I spent at Mr. Hodgson’s it never rose much above 70°, attaining that height very seldom and for a very short period only. The nights, again, are uniformly and equally cloudy at both stations, so that there is no corresponding cold of nocturnal radiation to reduce the temperature.

The mean decrease of temperature due to elevation, I have stated (Appendix I.) to be about 1° for every 300 feet of ascent; according to which law Mr. Hodgson’s should not be more than 1·5° colder than Mr. Muller’s. These facts prove how difficult it is to choose unexceptionable sites for meteorological observatories in mountainous countries; discrepancies of so great an amount being due to local causes, which, as in this case, are perhaps transient; for should the top of the spur be wholly cleared of timber, its temperature would be materially raised; at the expense, probably, of a deficiency of water at certain seasons. Great inequalities of temperature are also produced by ascending currents of heated air from the Great Rungeet valley, which affect certain parts of the station only; and these raise the thermometer 10° (even when the sun is clouded) above what it indicates at other places of equal elevation.

The mean temperature of Dorjiling (elev. 7,430 feet) is very nearly 50°, or 2° higher than that of London, and 26° below that of Calcutta (78°,* or 78·5° in the latest published tables†); which, allowing 1° of diminution of temperature for every degree of latitude leaves 1° due to every 300 feet of ascent above Calcutta to the height of Dorjiling, agreeably to my own observations. This diminution is not the same for greater heights, as I shall have occasion to show in a separate chapter of this Appendix, on the decrement of heat with elevation.

A remarkable uniformity of temperature prevails throughout the year at Dorjiling, there being only 22° difference between the mean temperatures of the hottest and coldest months; whilst in London,

* Prinsep, in As. Soc. Journ., Jan. 1832, p. 30.
† Daniell’s Met. Essays, vol. ii. p. 341.

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with a lower mean temperature, the equivalent difference is 27°. At 11,000 feet this difference is equal to that of London. In more elevated regions, it is still greater, the climate becoming excessive at 15,000 feet, where the difference amounts to 30° at least.* The accompanying table is the result of an attempt to approximate to the mean temperatures and ranges of the thermometer at various elevations.

Altitude | Mean Shade | Mean Warmest Month | Mean Coldest Month | Mean Daily Range of Temperature | Rain-fall in inches |
11,000 feet 15,000 feet 19,000 feet | 40·9 29·8 19·8 | 50·0 40·0 32·0 | 24·0 11·0 0·0 | 20·0 27·0 35·0 | 40·0 20·0 10·0 | 1°=320 feet 1°=350 feet 1°=400 feet

Supposing the same formula to apply (which I exceedingly doubt) to heights above 19,000 feet, 2° would be the mean annual temperature of the summit of Kinchinjunga, altitude 28,178 feet, the loftiest known spot on the globe: this is a degree or two higher than the temperature of the poles of greatest cold on the earth’s surface, and about the temperature of Spitzbergen and Melville island.

The upper limit of phenogamic vegetation coincides with a mean temperature of 30° on the south flank of Kinchinjunga, and of 22° in Tibet; in both cases annuals and perennial-rooted herbaceous plants are to be found at elevations corresponding to these mean temperatures, and often at higher elevations in sheltered localities. I have assumed the decrease of temperature for a corresponding

* This is contrary to the conclusions of all meteorologists who have studied the climate of the Alps, and is entirely due to the local disturbances which I have so often dwelt upon, and principally to the unequal distribution of moisture in the loftier rearward regions, and the aridity of Tibet. Professor James Forbes states (Ed. Phil. Trans., v. xiv. p. 489):—1. That the decrement of temperature with altitude is most rapid in summer: this (as I shall hereafter show) is not the case in the Himalaya, chiefly because the warm south moist wind then prevails. 2. That the annual range of temperature diminishes with the elevation: this, too, is not the case in Sikkim, because of the barer surface and more cloudless skies of the rearward loftier regions. 3. That the diurnal range of temperature diminishes with the height: that this is not the cane follows from the same cause. 4. That radiation is least in winter: this is negatived by the influence of the summer rains.

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amount of elevation to be gradually less in ascending (1°=320 feet at 6000 to 10,000 feet, 1°=400 feet at 14,000 to 18,000 feet). My observations appear to prove this, but I do not regard them as conclusive; supposing them to be so, I attribute it to a combination of various causes, especially to the increased elevation and yet unsnowed condition of the mass of land elevated above 16,000 feet, and consequent radiation of heat; also to the greater amount of sunshine there; and to the less dense mists which obstruct the sun’s rays at all elevations. In corroboration of this I may mention that the decrease of temperature with elevation is much less in summer than in winter, 1° of Fahr. being equivalent to only 250 feet in January between 7000 and 13,000 feet, and to upwards of 400 feet in July. Again, at Dorjiling (7,430 feet) the temperature hardly ever rises above 70° in the summer months, yet it often rises even higher in Tibet at 12,000 to 14,000 feet. On the other hand, the winters, and the winter nights especially, are disproportionately cold at great heights, the thermometer falling upwards of 40° below the Dorjiling temperature at an elevation only 6000 feet higher.

The diurnal distribution of temperature is equally and similarly affected by the presence of vapour at different altitudes. The lower and outer ranges of 6000 to 10,000 feet, first receive the diurnal charge of vapour-loaded southerly winds; those beyond them get more of the sun’s rays, and the rearward ones more still. Though the summer days of the northern localities are warmer than their elevation would indicate, the nights are not proportionally cold; for the light mist of 14,000 feet, which replaces the dense fog of 7000 feet, effectually obstructs nocturnal radiation, though it is less an obstacle to solar radiation. Clear nights, be it observed, are as rare at Momay (15,300 feet) as at Dorjiling, the nights if windy being rainy; or, if calm, cold currents descend from the mountains, condensing the moist vapours of the valleys, whose narrow floors are at sunrise bathed in mist at all elevations in Sikkim. The rise and dispersion of these dense mists, and their collection and recondensation on the mountains in the morning, is one of the most magnificent phenomena of the Himalaya, when viewed from a proper elevation; it commences as soon as the sun appears on the horizon.

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The mean daily range of the thermometer at 7000 feet is 13° in cleared spots, but considerably less in wooded, and certainly one-third less in the forest itself. At Calcutta, which has almost an insular climate, it amounts to 17°; at Delhi, which has a continental one, to 24·6°; and in London to 17·5°. At 11,000 feet it amounts to about 20°, and at 15,000 feet to 27°. These values vary widely in the different months, being much less in the summer or rainy months. The following is probably a fair approximation:—

At 7,000 feet it amounts to 8–9° in Aug. and Sept., and 17° in Dec.
At 11,000 feet it amounts to 12° in Aug. and Sept., and 30° in Dec.
At 15,000 feet it amounts to 15° in Aug. and Sept., and 40° in Dec.
At London it amounts to 20° in Aug. and Sept., and 10° in Dec.

The distribution of temperature throughout the day and year varies less at Dorjiling than in most mountainous countries, owing to the prevailing moisture, the effect of which is analogous to that of a circumambient ocean to an island: the difference being, that in the case of the island the bulk of water maintains an uniform temperature; in that of Dorjiling the quantity of vapour acts directly by interfering with terrestrial and solar-radiation, and indirectly by nurturing a luxuriant vegetation. The result in the latter case is a climate remarkable for its equability, and similar in many features to that of New Zealand, South-west Chili, Fuegia, and the damp west coasts of Scotland and Ireland, and other countries exposed to moist sea winds.

The mean temperature of the year at Dorjiling, as taken by maxima and minima thermometers* by Dr. Chapman, is nearly the same as that of March and October: January, the coldest month, is more than 13·4° colder than the mean of the year; but the hottest month is only 8·3° warmer than the same mean: at Calcutta the months vary less from the mean; at Delhi more; and in London the distribution is wholly different; there being no rains to modify the summer heat, July is 13° hotter, and January 14° colder than the mean of the year.

* The mean of several of the months, thus deduced, often varies a good deal from the truth, owing to the unequal diurnal distribution of heat; a very few minutes’ sunshine raises the temperature l0° or 15° above the mean of the day; which excessive heat (usually transient) the maximum thermometer registers, and consequently gives too high a mean.

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This distribution of the seasons has a most important effect upon vegetation, to which sufficient attention has not been paid by cultivators of alpine Indian plants; in the first place, though English winters are cold enough for such, the summers are too hot and dry; and, in the second place, the great accession of temperature, causing the buds to burst in spring, occurs in the Himalaya in March, when the temperature at 7000 feet rises 8° above that of February, raising the radiating thermometer always above the freezing point, whence the young leaves are never injured by night frost: in England the corresponding rise is only 3°, and there is no such accession of temperature till May, which is 8° warmer than April; hence, the young foliage of many Himalayan plants is cut off by night frosts in English gardens early in the season, of which Abies Webbiana is a conspicuous example.

The greatest heat of the day occurs at Dorjiling about noon, owing to the prevalent cloud, especially during the rainy months, when the sun shines only in the mornings, if at all, and the clouds accumulate as the day advances. According to hourly observations of my own, it occurred in July at noon, in August at 1 p.m., and in September (the most rainy month) there was only four-tenths of a degree difference between the means of noon, 1 p.m., and 2 p.m., but I must refer to the abstracts at the end of this chapter for evidence of this, and of the wonderful uniformity of temperature during the rainy months. In the drier season again, after September, the greatest heat occurs between 2 and 3 p.m.; in Calcutta the hottest hour is about 2.45 p.m., throughout the year; and in England also about 3 p.m.

The hour whose temperature coincides with the mean of the day necessarily varies with the distribution of cloud and sunshine; it is usually about 7 a.m. and 7 p.m.; whereas in Calcutta the same coincidence occurs at a little before 10 a.m., and in England at about 8 a.m.

Next to the temperature of the air, observations on that of the earth are perhaps of the greatest value; both from their application to horticulture, and from the approximation they afford to the mean temperature of the week or month in which they are taken. These form the subject of a separate chapter.

Nocturnal and solar radiation, the one causing the formation of

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dew and hoar-frost when the air in the shade is above freezing, end killing plants by the rapid abstraction of heat from all their surfaces which are exposed to the clear sky, and the other scorching the skin and tender plants during the day, are now familiar phenomena, and particularly engaged my attention during my whole Indian journey. Two phenomena particularly obstruct radiation in Sikkim—the clouds and fog from the end of May till October, and the haze from February till May. Two months alone are usually clear; one before and one after the rains, when the air, though still humid, is transparent. The haze has never been fully explained, though a well-known phenomenon. On the plains of India, at the foot of the hills, it begins generally in the forenoon of the cold season, with the rise of the west wind; and, in February especially, obscures the sun’s disc by noon; frequently it lasts throughout the twenty-four hours, and is usually accompanied by great dryness of the atmosphere. It gradually diminishes in ascending, and have never experienced it at 10,000 feet; at 7000, however, it very often, in April, obscures the snowy ranges 30 miles off, which are bright and defined at sunrise, and either pale away, or become of a lurid yellow-red, according to the density of this haze, till they disappear at 10 a.m. I believe it always accompanies a south-west wind (which is a deflected current of the north-west) and dry atmosphere in Sikkim.

The observations for solar radiation were taken with a black-bulb thermometer, and also with actinometers, but the value of the data afforded by the latter not being fixed or comparative, I shall give the results in a separate section. (See Appendix K.) From a multitude of desultory observations, I conclude that at 7,400 feet, 125·7°, or +67° above the temperature of the air, is the average maximum effect of the sun’s rays on a black-bulb thermometer* throughout the year, amounting rarely to +70° and +80° in the summer months, but more frequently in the winter or spring. These results, though greatly above what are obtained at Calcutta, are not much, if at all, above what may be observed on the plains of India. This effect is

* From the mean of very many observations, I find that 10° is the average difference at the level of the sea, in India, between two similar thermometers, with spherical bulbs (half-inch diam.), the one of black, and the other of plain glass, and both being equally exposed to the sun’s rays.

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much increased with the elevation. At 10,000 feet in December, at 9 a.m., I saw the mercury mount to 132° with a difl: of +94°, whilst the temperature of shaded snow hard by was 22°; at 13,100 feet, in January, at 9 a.m., it has stood at 98°, diff. +68·2°; and at 10 a.m., at 114°, diff. +81·4°, whilst the radiating thermometer on the snow had fallen at sunrise to 0·7°. In December, at 13,500 feet, I have seen it 110°, diff. +84°; at 11 a.m., 11,500 feet; 122°, diff: +82°. This is but a small selection from many instances of the extraordinary power of solar radiation in the coldest months, at great elevations.

Nocturnal and terrestrial radiation are even more difficult phenomena for the traveller to estimate than solar radiation, the danger of exposing instruments at night being always great in wild countries. I most frequently used a thermometer graduated on the glass, and placed in the focus of a parabolic reflector, and a similar one laid upon white cotton,* and found no material difference in the mean of many observations of each, though often 1° to 2° in individual ones. Avoiding radiation from surrounding objects is very difficult, especially in wooded countries. I have also tried the radiating power of grass and the earth; the temperature of the latter is generally less, and that of the former greater, than the thermometer exposed on cotton or in the reflector, but much depends on the surface of the herbage and soil.

The power of terrestrial, like that of solar radiation, increases with the elevation, but not in an equal proportion. At 7,400 feet, the mean of all my observations shows a temperature of 35·4°. During the rains, 3° to 4° is the mean maximum, but the nights being almost invariably cloudy, it is scarcely on one night out of six that there is any radiation. From October to December the amount is greater=10° to 12, and from January till May greater

* Snow radiates the most powerfully of any substance I have tried; in one instance, at 13,000 feet, in January, the thermometer on snow fell to 0·2°, which was 10·8° below the temperature at the time, the grass showing 6·7°; and on another occasion to 1·2°, when the air at the time (before sunrise) was 21·2°; the difference therefore being 20°. I have frequently made this observation, and always with a similar result; it may account for the great injury plants sustain from a thin covering of ice on their foliage, even when the temperature is but little below the freezing-point.

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still, being as much as 15°. During the winter months the effect of radiation is often felt throughout the clear days, dew forming abundantly at 4000 to 8000 feet in the shaded bottoms of narrow valleys, into which the sun does not penetrate till 10 a.m., and from which it disappears at 3 p.m. I have seen the thermometer in the reflector fall 12° at 10 a.m. in a shaded valley. This often produces an anomalous effect, causing the temperature in the shade to fall after sunrise; for the mists which condense in the bottom of the valleys after midnight disperse after sunrise, but long before reached by the sun, and powerful radiation ensues, lowering the surrounding temperature: a fall of 1° to 2° after sunrise of air in the shade is hence common in valleys in November and December.* The excessive radiation of the winter months often gives rise to a curious phenomenon; it causes the formation of copious dew on the blanket of the traveller’s bed, which radiates heat to the tent roof, and this inside either an open or a closed tent. I have experienced this at various elevations, from 6000 to 16,000 feet. Whether the minimum temperature be as high as 50°, or but little above zero, the effect is the same, except that hoar-frost or ice forms in the latter case. Another remarkable effect of nocturnal radiation is the curl of the alpine rhododendron leaves in November, which is probably due to the freezing and consequent expansion of the water in the upper strata of cells exposed to the sky. The first curl is generally repaired by the ensuing day’s sun, but after two or three nights the leaves become permanently curled, and remain so till they fall in the following spring.

I have said that the nocturnal radiation in the English spring months is the great obstacle to the cultivation of many Himalayan plants; but it is not therefore to be inferred that there is no similar amount of radiation in the Himalaya; for, on the contrary, in April its amount is much greater than in England, frequently equalling 13° of difference; and I have seen 16° at 7,500 feet; but the minimum

* Such is the explanation which I have offered of this phenomenon in the Hort. Soc. Journal. On thinking over the matter since, I have speculated upon the probability of this fall of temperature being due to the absorption of heat that must become latent on the dispersion of the dense masses of white fog that choke the valleys at sunrise.

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temperature at the time is 51°, and the absolute amount of cold therefore immaterial. The mean minimum of London is 38°, and, when lowered 5·5° by radiation, the consequent cold is very considerable. Mr. Daniell, in his admirable essay on the climate of London, mentions 17° as the maximum effect of nocturnal radiation ever observed by him. I have registered 16° in April at Dorjiling; nearly as much at 6000 feet in February; twice 13°, and once 14·2° in September at 15,500 feet; and 10° in October at 16,800 feet; nearly 13° in January at 7000 feet; 14·5° in February at that elevation, and, on several occasions, 14·7° at 10,000 feet in November.

The annual rain-fall at Dorjiling averages 120 inches (or 10 feet), but varies from 100 to 130 in different years; this is fully three times the amount of the average English fall,* and yet not one-fourth of what is experienced on the Khasia hills in Eastern Bengal, where fifty feet of rain falls. The greater proportion descends between June and September, as much as thirty inches sometimes falling in one month. From November to February inclusive, the months are comparatively dry; March and October are characterised by violent storms at the equinoxes, with thunder, destructive lightning, and hail.

The rain-gauge takes no account of the enormous deposition from mists and fogs: these keep the atmosphere in a state of moisture, the amount of which I have estimated at 0·88 as the saturation-point at Dorjiling, 0·83 being that of London. In July, the dampest month, the saturation-point is 0·97; and in December, owing to the dryness of the air on the neighbouring plains of India, whence dry blasts pass over Sikkim, the mean saturation-point of the month sometimes falls as low as 0·69.

The dew-point is on the average of the year 49·3°, or 3° below the mean temperature of the air. In the dampest month (July) the mean dew-point is only eight-tenths of a degree below the temperature, whilst in December it sinks 10° below it. In London the

* The general ideas on the subject of the English rain-fall are so very vague, that I may be pardoned for reminding my readers that in 1852, the year of extraordinary rain, the amounts varied from 28·5 inches in Essex, to 50 inches at Cirencester, and 67·5 (average of five years) at Plympton St. Mary’s, and 102·5 at Holme, on the Dart.

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dew-point is on the average 5·6° below the temperature; none of the English months are so wet as those of Sikkim, but none are so dry as the Sikkim December sometimes is.

On the weight of the atmosphere in Sikkim; and its effects
on the human frame.

Of all the phenomena of climate, the weight of the atmosphere is the most remarkable for its elusion of direct observation, when unaided by instruments. At the level of the sea, a man of ordinary bulk and stature is pressed upon by a superincumbent weight of 30,000 pounds or 13·5 tons. An inch fall or rise in the barometer shows that this load is lightened or increased, sometimes in a few hours, by nearly 1,000 pounds; and no notice is taken of it, except by the meteorologist, or by the speculative physician, seeking the subtle causes of epidemic and endemic complaints. At Dorjiling (7,400 feet), this load is reduced to less than 2,500 pounds, with no appreciable result whatever on the frame, however suddenly it be transported to that elevation. And the observation of my own habits convinced me that I took the same amount of meat, drink, sleep, exercise and work, not only without inconvenience, but without the slightest perception of my altered circumstances. On ascending to 14,000 feet, owing to the diminished supply of oxygen, exercise brings on vertigo and headache; ascending higher still, lassitude and tension across the forehead ensue, with retching, and a sense of weight dragging down the stomach, probably due to dilatation of the air contained in that organ. Such are the all but invariable effects of high elevations; varying with most persons according to the suddenness and steepness of the ascent, the amount and duration of exertion, and the length of time previously passed at great heights. After having lived for some weeks at 15,300 feet, I have thence ascended several times to 18,500, and once above 19,000 feet, without any sensations but lassitude and quickness of pulse;* but in these instances it required great caution to avoid painful symptoms. Residing at 15,300 feet, however, my functions were wholly undisturbed; nor could I detect any quickness of pulse

* I have in a note to vol. ii. p. 160, stated that I never experienced in my own person, nor saw in others, bleeding at the ears, nose, lips, or eyelids.

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or of respiration when the body was at rest, below 17,000 feet. At that elevation, after resting a party of eight men for an hour, the average of their and my pulses was above 100°, both before and after eating; in one case it was 120°, in none below 80°.

Not only is the frame of a transient visitor unaffected (when at rest) by the pressure being reduced from 30,000 to 13,000 pounds, but the Tibetan, born and constantly residing at upwards of 14,000 feet, differs in no respect that can be attributed to diminished pressure, from the native of the level of the sea. The averaged duration of life, and the amount of food and exercise is the same; eighty years are rarely reached by either. The Tibetan too, however inured to cold and great elevations, still suffers when he crosses passes 18,000 or 19,000 feet high, and apparently neither more nor less than I did.

Liebig remarks (in his “Animal Chemistry”) that in an equal number of respirations,* we consume a larger amount of oxygen at the level of the sea than on a mountain; and it can be shown that under ordinary circumstances at Dorjiling, 20·14 per cent. less is inhaled than on the plains of India. Yet the chest cannot expand so as to inspire more at once, nor is the respiration appreciably

* For the following note I am indebted to my friend, C. Muller, Esq., of Patna.—

According to Sir H. Davy, a man consumes 45,504 cubic inches of oxygen in twenty-four hours, necessitating the inspiration of 147,520 cubic inches of atmospheric air.—At pressure 23 inches, and temp. 60° this volume of atmospheric air (dry) would weigh 35,138·75 grains.—At pressure 30 in., temp. 80°, it would weigh 43,997·63 gr.

The amount of oxygen in atmospheric air is 23·32 per cent. by weight. The oxygen, then, in 147,520 cubic inches of dry air, at pressure 23 in., temp. 80°, weighs 8,194·35 gr.; and at pressure 30 in., temp. 80°, it weighs 10,260·25 gr.

Hence the absolute quantity of oxygen in a given volume of atmospheric air, when the pressure is 23 in., and the temp. 60°, is 20·14 per cent. less than when the pressure is 30 in. and the temp. 80°.

When the air at pressure 23 in:, temp. 60°, is saturated with moisture, the proportion of dry air and aqueous vapour in 100 cubic inches is as follows:—

Dry air Vapour | 97·173 2·827

At pressure 30 in., temp. 80°, the proportions are:—

Dry air Vapour | 96·133 3·867

The effect of aqueous vapour in the air on the amount of oxygen available for consumption, is very trifling; and it must not be forgotten that aqueous vapour supplies oxygen to the system as well as atmospheric air.

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quickened; by either of which means nature would be enabled to make up the deficiency. It is true that it is difficult to count one’s own respirations, but the average is considered in a healthy man to be eighteen in a minute; in my own case it is sixteen, an acceleration of which by three or four could not have been overlooked, in the repeated trials I made at Dorjiling, and still less the eight additional inhalations required at 15,000 feet to make up for the deficiency of oxygen in the air of that elevation.

It has long been surmised that an alpine vegetation may owe some of its peculiarities to the diminished atmospheric pressure; and that the latter being a condition which the gardener cannot supply, he can never successfully cultivate such plants in general. I know of no foundation for this hypothesis; many plants, natives of the level of the sea in other parts of the world, and some even of the hot plains of Bengal, ascend to 12,000 and even 15,000 feet on the Himalaya, unaffected by the diminished pressure. Any number of species from low countries may be cultivated, and some have been for ages, at 10,000 to 14,000 feet without change. It is the same with the lower animals; innumerable instances may with ease be adduced of pressure alone inducing no appreciable change, whilst there is absence of proof to the contrary. The phenomena that accompany diminished pressure are the real obstacles to the cultivation of alpine plants, of which cold and the excessive climate are perhaps the most formidable. Plants that grow in localities marked by sudden extremes of heat and cold, are always very variable in stature, habit, and foliage. In a state of nature we say the plants “accommodate themselves” to these changes, and so they do within certain limits; but for one that survives of all the seeds that germinate in these inhospitable localities, thousands die. In our gardens we can neither imitate the conditions of an alpine climate, nor offer others suited to the plants of such climates.

The mean height of the barometer at Mr. Hodgson’s was 23·010, but varied 0·161 between July, when it was lowest, and October, when it was highest; following the monthly rise and fall of Calcutta as to period, but not as to amount (or amplitude); for the mercury at Calcutta stands in July upwards of half an inch (0·555 Prinsep) lower than it does in December.

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The diurnal tide of atmosphere is as constant as to the time of its ebb and flow at Dorjiling as at Calcutta; and a number of very careful observations (made with special reference to this object) between the level of the plains of India, and 17,000 feet, would indicate that there is no very material deviation from this at any elevation in Sikkim. These times are very nearly 9.50 a.m. and about 10 p.m. for the maxima, the 9.50 a.m. very constantly, and the 10 p.m. with more uncertainty; and 4 a.m. and 4 p.m. for the minima, the afternoon ebb being most true to its time, except during the rains.

At 9.50 a.m. the barometer is at its highest, and falls till 4 p.m., when it stands on the average of the year 0·074 of an inch lower; during the same period the Calcutta fall is upwards of one-tenth of an inch (0·121 Prinsep).

It has been proved that at considerable elevations in Europe, the hours of periodic ebb and flow differ materially from those which prevail at the level of the sea; but this is certainly not the case in the Sikkim Himalaya.

The amplitude decreases in amount from 0·100 at the foot of the hills, to 0·074 at 7000 feet; and the mean of 132 selected unexceptionable observations, taken at nine stations between 8000 and 15,500 feet, at 9.50 a.m. and 4 p.m., gives an average fall of 0·056 of an inch; a result which is confirmed by interpolation from numerous horary observations at these and many other elevations, where I could observe at the critical hours.

That the Calcutta amplitude is not exceptionally great, is shewn by the register kept at different places in the Gangetic valley and plains of India, between Saharunpore and the Bay of Bengal. I have seen apparently trustworthy records of seven* such, and find that in all it amounts to between 0·084 and 0·120 inch, the mean of the whole being 0·101 of an inch.

The amplitude is greatest (0·088) in the spring months (March, April, and May), both at Dorjiling and Calcutta: it is least at both in June and July, (0·027 at Dorjiling), and rises again in autumn (to ·082 in September).

The horary oscillations also are as remarkably uniform at all

* Calcutta, Berampore, Benares, Nagpore, Moozufferpore, Delhi, and Saharunpore.

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elevations, as the period of ebb and flow: the mercury falls slowly from 9.50 a.m. (when it is at its highest) till noon, then rapidly till 3 p.m., and slowly again till 4 p.m.; after which there is little change until sunset; it rises rapidly between 7 and 9 p.m., and a little more till 10 p.m.; thence till 4 a.m. the fall is inconsiderable, and the great rise occurs between 7 and 9 a.m.

It is well known that these fluctuations of the barometer are due to the expansion and contraction by heat and moisture of the column of atmosphere that presses on the mercury, in the cistern of the instrument: were the air dry, the effect would be a single rise and fall;* the barometer would stand highest at the hottest of the twenty-four hours, and lowest at the coldest; and such is the case in arid continental regions which are perennially dry. That such would also be the case at Calcutta and throughout the Himalaya of Sikkim, is theoretically self-evident, and proved by my horary observations taken during the rainy months of 1848. An inspection of these at the end of this section (where a column contains the pressure of dry air) shows but one maximum of pressure, which occurs at the coldest time of the twenty-four hours (early in the morning), and one minimum in the afternoon. In the table of mean temperatures of the months, also appended to this section, will also be found a column allowing the pressure of dry air, whence it will be seen that there is but one maximum of the pressure of dry air, occurring at the coldest season in December, and one minimum, in July. The effect of the vapour is the same on the annual as upon the diurnal march of the pressure, producing a double maximum and minimum in the year in one case, and in the twenty-four hours in the other.

I append a meteorological register of the separate months, but at the same time must remind the reader that it does not pretend to strict accuracy. It is founded upon observations made at Dorjiling by Dr. Chapman in the year 1837, for pressure temperature and wet-bulb only; the other data and some modifications of the above are supplied from observations of my own. Those for terrestrial and

* This law, for which we are indebted to Professor Dove, has been clearly explained by Colonel Sabine in the appendix to his translation of Humboldt’s “Cosmos,” vol. i. p. 457.

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nocturnal radiation are accurate as far as they go, that is to say, they are absolute temperatures taken by myself, which may, I believe, be recorded in any year, but much higher are no doubt often to be obtained. The dew-points and saturations are generally calculated from the mean of two day observations (10 a.m. and 4 p.m.) of the wet-bulb thermometer, together with the minimum, or are taken from observations of Daniell’s hygrometer; and as I find the mean of the temperature of 10 a.m., 4 p.m., and the minimum, to coincide within a few tenths with the mean temperature of the whole day, I assume that the mean of the wet-bulb observations of the same hours will give a near approach to that of the twenty-four hours. The climate of Dorjiling station has been in some degree altered by extensive clearances of forest, which render it more variable, more exposed to night frosts and strong sun-heat, and to drought, the drying up of small streams being one direct consequence. My own observations were taken at Mr. Hodgson’s house, elevated 7,430 feet, the position of which I have indicated at the commencement of this section, where the differences of climate due to local causes are sufficiently indicated to show that in no two spots could similar meteorological results be obtained. At Mr. Hodgson’s, for instance, the uniformity of temperature and humidity is infinitely more remarkable than at Dr. Chapman’s, possibly from my guarding more effectually against radiation, and from the greater forests about Mr. Hodgson’s house. I have not, however, ventured to interfere with the temperature columns on this account.

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DORJILING METEOROLOGICAL REGISTER.

| Jan. | Feb. | Mar. | Apr. | May | June
Pressure of Atmosphere* Range of Pressure Mean Shade Maximum Shade Maximum Sun Greatest Difference Mean Maximum Shade Minimum Shade Minimum Radiation Greatest Difference Mean Minimum Shade Mean Daily Range of Temps Sunk Thermometer Mean Dew-point Mean Dryness Force of Vapour Pressure of Dry Air Mean Saturation Rain in inches | 23·307 ·072 40·0 56·0 119·0 72·0 47·2 29·0 16·0 12·7 32·8 14·4 46·0 34·3 5·1 ·216 23·091 ·84 1·72 | 23·305 ·061 42·1 57·0 124·0 78·0 50·0 25·5 23·0 15·3 34·2 15·8 48·0 37·2 3·9 ·239 23·066 ·87 0·92 | 23·307 ·083 50·7 66·5 120·0 60·0 58·4 37·0 27·8 8·7 43·1 15·3 50·0 45·8 5·8 ·323 23·084 ·82 1·12 | 23·280 ·085 55·9 68·5 125·0 66·0 63·7 38·0 33·0 16·0 48·1 15·6 58·0 49·8 6·6 ·371 22·909 ·80 2·52 | 23·259 ·088 57·6 69·0 125·0 65·0 65·3 38·0 40·0 10·0 50·0 15·3 61·0 54·4 2·7 ·434 22·825 ·91 9·25 | 23·207 ·067 61·2 71·0 126·2 62·2 66·7 51·5 47·0 4·8 55·8 10·9 62·0 59·5 2·0 ·515 22·692 ·93 26·96

| July | Aug. | Sept. | Oct. | Nov. | Dec. | Mean
Pressure of Atmosphere* Range of Pressure Mean Shade Maximum Shade Maximum Sun Greatest Difference Mean Maximum Shade Minimum Shade Minimum Radiation Greatest Difference Mean Minimum Shade Mean Daily Range of Temps Sunk Thermometer Mean Dew-point Mean Dryness Force of Vapour Pressure of Dry Air Mean Saturation Rain in inches | 23·203 ·062 61·4 69·5 130·0 62·0 65·5 56·0 52·0 3·5 57·3 8·2 62·2 60·7 0·8 ·535 22·668 ·97 25·34 | 23·230 ·070 61·7 70·0 133·0 62·0 66·1 54·5 50·0 3·5 57·4 8·7 62·0 60·4 1·1 ·530 22·700 ·96 29·45 | 23·300 ·082 59·9 70·0 142·0 70·0 64·7 51·5 47·5 10·0 55·2 9·5 61·0 58·5 1·4 ·498 22·802 ·95 15·76 | 23·372 ·075 58·0 68·0 133·0 65·0 66·5 43·5 32·0 12·0 49·5 17·0 60·0 52·5 4·2 ·407 22·865 ·86 8·66 | 23·330 ·078 50·0 63·0 123·0 68·0 56·5 38·0 30·0 12·0 43·5 13·0 55·0 46·5 3·2 ·331 22·999 ·90 0·11 | 23·365 ·062 43·0 56·0 108·0 77·2 51·6 32·5 26·0 10·0 34·9 16·7 49·0 31·8 10·6 ·198 23·165 ·69 0·45 | 22·289 ·074 53·5 65·4 125·7 67·3 60·2 41·3 35·4 9·9 46·8 13·4 56·2 49·4 4·0 ·383 22·906 ·88 Sum 122·26

* These are taken from Dr. Chapman’s Table; and present a greater annual range (=0·169) than my observations in 1848–9, taken at Mr. Hodgson’s which is higher than Dr. Chapman’s; or than Mr. Muller’s, which is a little lower, and very near it.

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Horary Observations at Jillapahar, Dorjiling, Alt. 7,430 feet.
JULY, 1848

No. of Obser- vations | Hour | Baro- meter corrected | Temp. Air | Dew Point | Diff. | Tension of Vapour | Weight of Vapour | Humi- dity | Pressure of Dry Air
7 23 27 22 20 26 12 11 25 23 13 10 6 6 22 6 6 19 | 1 a.m. 8 9 10 11 Noon 1 p.m. 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 Midnight | 22·877 ·882 ·884 +·899 ·899 ·884 ·876 ·866 ·852 ·846 –·840 ·845 ·853 ·867 ·878 ·885 +·887 ·887 | 59·6 62·1 62·6 63·5 64·1 65·0 64·1 64·4 64·8 64·1 64·7 63·7 62·7 61·0 60·7 60·5 60·2 59·8 | 58·9 60·6 61·3 61·7 62·3 63·1 61·7 61·0 62·6 61·7 64·0 61·5 61·1 59·5 59·4 59·5 59·2 59·1 | 0·7 1·5 1·3 1·8 1·8 1·9 2·4 3·4 2·2 2·4 0·7 2·2 1·6 1·5 1·3 1·0 1·0 0·7 | ·504 ·534 ·546 ·554 ·565 ·580 ·566 ·541 ·571 ·554 ·597 ·549 ·542 ·515 ·512 ·514 ·508 ·507 | 5·65 6·03 6·10 6·12 6·27 6·44 6·13 6·00 6·32 6·13 6·62 6·12 6·03 5·74 5·72 5·75 5·70 5·68 | ·988 ·950 ·960 ·945 ·945 ·940 ·923 ·892 ·930 ·924 ·978 ·928 ·948 ·952 ·960 ·968 ·965 ·975 | 22·373 ·348 ·338 ·345 ·334 ·304 ·310 ·325 ·281 ·292 –·243 ·296 ·311 ·352 ·366 ·371 ·379 +·382

AUGUST

No. of Obser- vations | Hour | Baro- meter corrected | Temp. Air | Dew Point | Diff. | Tension of Vapour | Weight of Vapour | Humi- dity | Pressure of Dry Air
15 26 28 28 24 23 21 21 21 19 19 19 19 19 19 19 19 19 | 1 a.m. 8 9 10 11 Noon 1 p.m. 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 Midnight | 22·909 ·904 ·915 +·917 ·915 ·905 ·898 ·884 ·873 ·855 –·853 ·863 ·865 ·878 ·890 +·893 ·892 ·889 | 59·8 62·1 63·1 64·3 64·7 64·7 65·3 65·0 64·8 63·9 63·2 62·3 61·6 61·1 60·7 60·3 60·1 60·0 | 59·5 61·5 61·9 62·7 63·1 63·4 63·3 63·4 63·1 62·4 61·7 60·8 60·4 60·2 60·0 59·7 59·7 59·4 | 0·3 0·6 1·2 1·6 1·6 1·3 2·0 1·6 1·7 1·5 1·5 1·5 1·2 0·9 0·7 0·6 0·4 0·6 | ·514 ·549 ·558 ·572 ·580 ·586 ·584 ·586 ·579 ·568 ·554 ·538 ·531 ·527 ·523 ·518 ·517 ·513 | 5·70 6·13 6·20 6·35 6·42 6·50 6·48 6·50 6·43 6·30 6·15 6·00 5·92 5·88 5·85 5·78 5·79 5·73 | ·992 ·980 ·962 ·950 ·948 ·958 ·940 ·950 ·943 ·952 ·952 ·952 ·962 ·970 ·976 ·980 ·988 ·980 | +22·395 ·355 ·357 ·345 ·335 ·319 ·314 ·298 ·294 –·287 ·299 ·325 ·334 ·351 ·367 ·375 ·375 ·376

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SEPTEMBER

No. of Obser- vations | Hour | Baro- meter corrected | Temp. Air | Dew Point | Diff. | Tension of Vapour | Weight of Vapour | Humi- dity | Pressure of Dry Air
28 29 28 24 23 23 23 23 23 19 19 20 21 22 24 24 23 | 8 a.m. 9 10 11 Noon 1 p.m. 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 Midnight | 23·000 ·013 +·018 ·009 22·995 ·980 ·962 ·947 –·944 ·944 ·948 ·958 ·975 ·986 +·991 ·989 ·994 | 59·2 60·1 60·8 61·6 62·4 62·7 62·8 62·3 61·8 60·3 59·4 58·7 58·2 57·8 57·4 57·0 56·7 | 58·1 58·5 59·5 60·0 60·5 60·5 60·4 60·0 59·9 58·6 58·4 57·4 57·0 56·6 56·4 55·9 55·4 | 1·1 1·6 1·3 1·6 1·9 2·2 2·4 2·3 1·9 1·7 1·0 1·3 1·2 1·2 1·0 1·1 1·3 | ·492 ·497 ·514 ·523 ·533 ·532 ·531 ·522 ·521 ·498 ·496 ·479 ·473 ·467 ·463 ·456 ·449 | 5·50 5·57 5·77 5·83 5·93 5·92 5·90 5·83 5·82 5·58 5·58 5·60 5·33 5·25 5·23 5·15 5·07 | ·968 ·945 ·958 ·950 ·942 ·942 ·925 ·924 ·940 ·940 ·968 ·960 ·962 ·960 ·968 ·962 ·927 | 22·508 ·526 ·504 ·506 ·462 ·448 ·431 ·425 –·423 ·446 ·452 ·479 ·502 ·519 ·528 ·533 +·545

OCTOBER (22 days)

No. of Obser- vations | Hour | Baro- meter corrected | Temp. Air | Dew Point | Diff. | Tension of Vapour | Weight of Vapour | Humi- dity | Pressure of Dry Air
11 19 20 20 19 13 15 13 13 14 16 13 6 7 3 7 14 18 14 | 6-6.30 7 a.m. 8 9 10 11 Noon 1 p.m. 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 Midnight | 23·066 ·072 ·086 ·099 +·100 ·079 ·072 ·055 ·033 ·027 ·024 –·022 ·033 ·045 ·038 ·061 +·072 ·067 ·068 | 54·4 54·3 55·2 56·3 57·1 57·6 57·9 58·0 57·7 57·9 57·9 56·6 55·9 55·4 53·7 55·1 54·6 54·5 54·1 | 52·7 52·3 53·7 54·4 55·5 55·6 56·1 56·4 56·6 56·2 56·1 54·8 54·4 53·8 53·3 54·1 53·0 53·0 52·8 | 1·7 2·0 1·5 1·9 1·6 2·0 1·8 1·6 1·1 1·7 1·8 1·8 1·5 1·6 0·4 1·0 1·6 1·5 1·3 | ·409 ·403 ·423 ·434 ·450 ·451 ·459 ·463 ·466 ·460 ·458 ·439 ·433 ·424 ·417 ·429 ·413 ·413 ·411 | 4·65 4·58 4·78 4·90 5·07 5·08 5·15 5·17 5·25 5·16 5·15 4·98 4·90 4·80 4·75 4·83 4·82 4·82 4·65 | ·943 ·025 ·950 ·935 ·942 ·935 ·940 ·950 ·962 ·940 ·940 ·948 ·950 ·950 ·990 ·965 ·949 ·950 ·962 | 22·657 +·669 ·663 ·665 ·650 ·728 ·613 ·592 ·567 ·567 ·–·566 ·583 ·600 ·621 ·621 ·632 ·659 ·654 ·657

Appendix A | Appendix B | Appendix C | Appendix D | Appendix E | Appendix F |
Appendix G | Appendix H | Appendix I | Appendix J | Appendix K | Appendix L |