have been reclaimed. You would be interested in the work, I know, and I must not fail to tell you that I love this people very much. I like their affectionate, dependent ways. It does encourage me to think

how many love me and pray for me at home.

[TO HIS SISTER.]

PERIAKULAM, March 24, 1862.

It does come upon me so once in a while, the thought that home is slipping slowly out of grasp! It is very oppressing to feel the impressions of home becoming gradually more indistinct, the shades of homelife, that render the whole picture so pleasing, growing more shadowy, till the merest outline is lost; the consciousness that all this is actually passing out of my hold and that there is no hope for it is really painful. I find myself already straining my memory to recal the appearance of certain parts of the house, and it makes me feel badly. I ride out on horseback every morning, and home rarely escapes coming up for a theme of thought.

[JOURNAL LETTER.]

MARCH 20.

I go to Andipatti to-morrow morning early. This is my first tour by myself; perhaps you would be interested in the disposal of things. I have had no touringbox made yet, so this time I make use of an old camphor trunk. Into this go the canisters for tea and sugar; a butter-pot, its top secured by a cloth and string; plates, napkin, pepper and salt-box are stowed snugly away. In a tin case are two loaves of bread; a tin washbowl, rice and curry dishes, lamp, sweet

potatoes, plantains, and a roast chicken all find accommodation in some corner of this odorous trunk. Pots and kettles go into a separate basket. When the bandy has come I shall see that there is plenty of straw on which to lay the mattress. To the inside somewhere I must tie my touring-cot, and place inside also my camp-chair and table, and after all, myself.

MARCH 27.

I was only away on my tour a single day, as I had a sore throat and headache, and there was trouble in the household. Our good-natured horse-keeper had met with an accident. I set my "ticker," that invaluable companion, to wake me up at half-past four in the morning. It was faithful, and by five I was off in the bandy with a good moonlight, and dawn soon breaking. The distance to Andipatti is eleven miles, and the bandy-man, whom you must know as Anikatti, or "Young Elephant," managed to reach Andipatti by 9.30, four hours and a half travel. Vetham the cook, Savarimuttu's father, was on hand; but when we came to open the camphor trunk, the brass key broke. That was a pretty pickle to be in, for I wanted breakfast, and there was the chicken, the plates, and everything else nicely locked up. However we sent for a blacksmith and I managed to pry the cover up. The natives were coming in to pay their respects, but when the table was ready they disappeared, as they do not consider it polite to look at another eating.

In a few minutes after breakfast and before I was ready for them, the bridal party, of which I had been told, appeared. I had made but little preparation, but put a bold face on and proceeded to business. The

little church was full of spectators, partly heathen partly Christian. The bride's mother sat next to her, seeing that her cloth was kept perfectly arranged, and especially so that no part of her face should be visible. She sat the very impersonation of modesty, giving no one a chance to pronounce on her beauty, though a glimpse that I caught of her face made me think that fancy would pronounce better judgment than actual sight. She opened her cloth while the ceremony was performing. The most noticeable feature of her countenance was a deep blood-red dash of dye along each cheekbone, making her look as though her throat were cut. I can't tell you how her hair was dressed, as it was never visible, a fortunate thing for me. The groom had no modesty to boast of, but sat with a big wreath of white flowers round his neck and a cloth thrown over his shoulders loosely. The company were all behind, an arrangement which I commend to bashful young men and women at home. We have a marriage formula here, not uniform, but each missionary adapts what appears to himself suitable. The native style of wedding is by what is called a Tâli. It is a small ornament hung by a cord around the woman's neck, tied there by the husband. I believe it is never taken off. The man ties it at the time. We have lately adopted the open Bible as a suitable emblem for our Christians. I read Ephesians on marriage to them, married them, prayed a very short prayer, and pronounced the benediction. A hymn followed to the tune of "Old Hundred." Then the father of the bride brought forward the fee, for bride and groom each, three annas and four pice, ten cents. Which twenty cents I duly deposited in H.'s keeping as her first pin-money. After

the hymn I wished them both joy and supposed we were well through. But no: the catechist asked me to talk to them. I declined, and he receiving permission, preached to them nearly half an hour, on various topics more or less relevant to the matter in hand. Then another hymn and prayer, and another benediction by the catechist, a layman, in which the whole company joined, as is the custom here. The crowd then left, after the groom had received a copy of the New Testament from me, as he could read. I suppose the groom was in clover, but I was rather surprised to see him come to the church before meeting, seeming to have nothing special to do, and again in the evening to find him at the catechist's house, calling. Not a very faithful spouse.

I

We had a meeting in the afternoon, in which I talked in a familiar way to the church-members, urging them to learn to read. A man has just moved in with his old mother from a place in Mr. Herrick's field, and he came asking to be received to communion. Such requests are rare and I was glad to hear it. woman also wished the same. I shall write to Mr. Herrick about them, and examine them the next time I visit Andipatti.

The old

I decided to visit the church at a place two miles south called Maniakarampatti. Patti is a common termination, meaning village. Here is my largest congregation, numbering one hundred and five. I expected to hold a meeting, but the first news that greeted me on reaching the church was that my people were in great tribulation. There is a good deal of young grain growing now, and while young it is almost sure death to cattle who eat it. They die, the natives say, from a

little insect that is in the grain, which chokes them. How true the explanation is I cannot say, but that day five or six cows had strayed into a field, eaten and died. Our people are poor enough, and they can ill afford to lose them. The cows were all together, and the people with them, so I went to see them. It was a doleful sight indeed. Five nice-looking cows lay stretched out dead, and the women were sitting around them, or walking about, uttering most pitiful lamentations over their loss. One cow was just dying, and a crowd was standing round it mourning every fresh indication of coming death. I could say but little and do less. They had poured water down with no avail, and asked me if I had not some medicine. I got my catechist, or teacher, who was with me to tell the people, many of whom were heathen, of Job, how he suffered, and how he bore it. They appeared somewhat interested in the tale. But it was really a mournful sight to see the affection manifested toward the animals. "They were Christian cows," they said. I left them finally and walked back toward Andipatti. A few accompanied me on the way, some distance, till I gave them leave to

return.

I was pleased to witness the anxiety manifested to have the Lord's Supper administered there, which they had not had, they said, for a long time. Walking home by starlight I had ample time to meditate on the work before me, its extent and its character. I felt a quiet exultation at the thought of having so much to do, and I longed to be able to speak readily, that I might carry out a plan of touring among heathen villages that I have been concocting. Reaching the church I had tea, and then walking over to the cate