long Mr. Webb comes with Mr. Hunt, as this is the evening for a prayer-meeting.

Soon after Mr. Webb came, Abraham Alleine, a Christian mûnshi, that is, teacher, came in to greet him. He had been ten years with Mr. Webb at Dindigal. He gave me a pleasing idea of the Christian, " for," said he, in English, "I cannot stop. I must do God's work first; I am on my way to our prayer-meeting," a native meeting. . . . . We had a hearty meeting, praying especially for our own land; the spirit was most refreshing, so natural and rich. After they had gone we opened a budget of letters from Madura and found a hearty All hail! from the missionaries there. It fairly made us cry to get such a warm greeting from strangers; but we are strangers no more.

To one of the letters referred to in the last paragraph he replied as follows:

MADRAS, June 28, 1861.

Nothing, my dear brother Burnell, has affected us so deeply as the receipt of words of hail from those unknown to us, save by name. Let me return your greeting, and try to join you in thankfulness to God that He has counted me worthy to touch India. As a newcomer, let me ask peculiar interest in your supplications for me that I may be fitted, by a personal acquaintance with Christ, to testify of the Gospel of God. I am more impressed as I walk about, with my own lack than with the heathen's misery.

Hoping to see you all in peace, I remain

Yours sincerely,

DAVID C. SCUDDER.

CHAPTER X.

STAY IN MADRAS.

[27 JUNE-16 JULY, 1861.]

[FROM the time of leaving home until his death, my brother kept a full journal, in the form of a letter to his father and mother, which was regularly mailed once a fortnight. This contained the record of his daily life, and was intended for the circle of friends at home, around which it passed; to separate friends also he wrote, and to those who had access to his journal his letters were frequently more personal. From both these sources, his journal and his letters, I am able to give the narrative of his life in India in his own words. The occasional editorial notes which may be required will be indicated in this part by brackets.]

[JOURNAL LETTER.]

THURSDAY, June 27.

This morning I was up and out and oh,

how I did pine for you just to have you by to laugh with me. As it was I had to ha! ha! right out: I could not help it, if I was a missionary. To see a little tot strutting about free as the air, unfettered by civilization, cunning and nimble as Puck! The first thing that stopped me was the sight of three bits of ebony dabbling in the mud, for all the world like white youngsters. The oldest, a little girl, had a necklace on, and all had bright chirk faces. I grinned and they grinned.

I said in Tamil," Are you well?" They only grinned, and so ended my first attempt at trying the children. I like them though, and take back what I once said in our Sabbath-school, on authority, that all the little children in India were old men. They are not; they are bonâ fide children. They romp and look demure and smile at you, and dig in the dirt just as they ought to.

But how can I tell what I saw? Patterns or else the originals of all vehicles, from the "carriages" of the Acts, rather hard! to the go-carts of nowadays; bullocks with stiff and crumpled horns; gaunt sons of Arabs trotting by; bandies of all sorts and shapes. There comes one: two bullocks jog along, with a rope through their nostrils, the driver sitting upon the pole ; inside a space of four feet square sit four or five swarthy sons of this land in hot 'contiguity, looking as if going to be sold in the shambles, chattering like apes. Here comes a woman, modestly apparelled, as all are, with a young brat puss-back, or rather puss-hip; some ride puss-shoulder, always one leg behind, one in front. Here is a fat and oily Brahman with his cord about his neck. Here is a man carrying two earthen pots full of something, slung by a stick over his shoulder. Peons, that is, policemen, walk about with their brass badges, and here is a Mussulman woman covered from head to foot with a white cloth, so that nothing can be

seen.

I walked as far as the stone statue of Sir Thomas Munroe, a former Governor, and turned back. It occurred to me that I had seen no temple, so I looked out on my return, and found one close by a wretched collection of huts, which brought to mind a picture of an African kraal. I saw what looked like a temple,

and would you believe it, it was one of Pilliyar which I had so often described in America. I really could not but feel amused. There it was, a stone or clay building, about twelve feet cube, crumbling to decay, with a low portico, under which was Siva's stone. On the outside, in a small niche about two feet square, sat Pilliyar nearly filling the space and made, I judge, of black stone. The niche had two doors which I suppose

There I stood and looked and

are shut at night. thought and prayed. Inside I could hear the mutterings of the poor priests or worshippers, and as I stood there, a man passing by on his way to work raised his hands and bowed his head and went on. Here was

idolatry; it is marked too on the foreheads of men, in the sectarian signs of chalk and ashes. Turning into the compound or enclosure of Mr. Winslow's house, I met a Christian teacher and passed a few words in English. I said, "This is my first day in India." Yes," said he, "and I am the first person to meet you, which will be pleasant in your memory." small bit of Orientalism I suppose.

66

A

After breakfast I went to Popham's Broadway in a palkee. A palkee, short for palanquin, is about six feet by three, and four feet high, lined with chintz; the bottom of cane, covered with a cushion or bed; two sliding doors on each side; a shelf with drawers in front, and a back of pad, something like a coach-strap, to lean on as you half sit up; a pole is fixed for four men, two at each end. One end is raised, you compose your members properly and then the other end rises. Grunt! off we are, slow at first, then fast and faster. Eh! says one in front, Ay! says one behind, and so it runs from back to front and back again, as the

four men make their way in a dog-trot style, swinging their free arms as if to strike their breasts, and writhing their swarthy bodies very oddly. They sing in a low, monotonous, nasal, and half-pitiful way, eh! oh! ah! eh! oho! ay-ai! the man behind breaking out now and then into a hi! or ho! and something that sounds like pass po! pass po! as if in his last gasp. Every five minutes they change their shoulders, without however setting you down, and begin their grunt again, but always on a different key. I like the way of getting about and the chant is rather soothing.

In the late afternoon we drove out to the beach where everybody goes and which was lively enough. The surf rolls in finely and thus we have Nature's anthem. The band gives us art. The whole road is lined with carriages of all sorts, and horses of every kind galloping about. The horse-keeper always runs ahead of the carriage, shouting to folks to clear the track. Fine turn-outs have two runners, who keep a wisp made from the tail of a yâk, a kind of goat from the north. But this is civilization and you don't care. about that.

I like the affectionate way that the natives. have toward each other. You often see two men walking along with their fingers joined, not the whole hand, but swinging their hands by their fingers. Then at night when all are on their way from work, it is common to see one leaning with one or both hands on another's shoulders in a very brotherly way.

I started at five and

my way to the native bazaar.

FRIDAY, June 28.

a half P. м, and made A bazaar is much like