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the wheelbarrow an excellent thing, but the missionary, happening among them one day, found some men carrying bundles, barrow, and all on their heads. It is a good illustration of the way that Hindûs do things. You have your spades and shovels, common hoe and potatoe-hoe, rake, sub-soil plough and side-hill plough, harrow and cultivator, patent seed-planters, and what

All that the Hindû has to do the work of these is the plough, the hoe, and his toes and fingers. Such a plough! it is of wood, two sticks, one the beam, and the other the handle and share; there is a bit of iron fastened to the end which is about two inches broad. The bullocks draw this machine over the land, and it makes a scratch of perhaps three inches deep at the most. They will have eight or ten yoke of oxen ploughing together, a little to one side of each other, and it was doubtless while ploughing in this style that the prophet Elisha was called. They plough twice a year, in spring and in fall, just after enough rain has fallen to soften the ground a little. If they have what is called “ wet cultivation " rice-fields, they plough when the water is so deep as to hide the ground, and they go plashing through, up to their knees in mud. But the hoe is the most striking example of the civilization of the people. It is not such a hoe as you know.

. It is called a dirt-digger, and the iron is more like a spade in size. The handle again is not like that of a hoe, except in the way it is inserted. It is about three feet long, and I have seen them not over a foot in length, and nearly parallel with the iron. You wonder that the backbone does n't crack, they have to bend it

A spade would not do for bare feet, and this really seems to be an admirable instrument. The


people are quite handy in the use of it. It is used just as much for digging the foundation of a house, or preparing the ground for planting, as it is for the cutting of weeds or working after a plough. It goes much deeper than a plough.

The cattle they have would hardly draw a little horse-plough. They are quite small and very different looking from home cattle. But the cows — they are the breed to draw the prize for milkers. Some of the families here keep half a dozen, with as many calves, and you would think at first sight that they were going into the dairy business ; but when I tell you that the best milkers don't give over a quart and a half at a milking, you will see that a family of babies will need a family of cows. The cows here have a way, too, of not giving milk unless they have their calves by them. The people never kill a calf; it stays by its mother till she dries up. Our cow's calf died, and the cow-man, to insure the milk, skinned the calf and stuffed it.

This was presented to the cow at each milking, and duly licked by the mother. When we went to the Hills for our health, the cow was taken also, but the man thought it hardly worth while to take the stuffing. But he took the skin, and daily it had to be licked, or the cow would not give down the milk. The people here milk a cow on the left side.

The grains that are raised here are numerous enough, but hardly one is known at home. Wheat of an inferior kind is raised upon the Hills, where it is cooler. They raise a kind of maize, but it is poor. Some vegetables have been imported and grow tolerably well. We have tried gardening, and have new tomatoes, cucumbers, squashes, and melons. Pease, beans, turnips, cabbage, lettuce, celery, beets, have also been planted. Some have come up, but whether they do well or not remains to be seen. The chief difficulty is in getting good seed.

Well, after going into agriculture, I have space left to say “ How do you do?” to one and all. .

I need no fancy or stereoscopic view to tell me how things look at Uncle Wi's. I can see the old Maltese as she dives into that square hole in the back porch. I can see the shiny, creamy pan of milk in that pantry, and my! does n't it smell tip-top? I can see the keys hanging on the nails in the kitchen, the ostrich eggs, the supplement to the “Courant.”' I can hear the chair crush up the wall, pounding the clothes as if bound to give them a good pinching for getting dirty. . . I might go on to specify the several smells, good, bad, and indifferent, that even now salute me, as memory runs over the days gone by, spent in that blessed spot hard by the Folly. I tell you, H., those were glorious days for me, and there are none that I look back upon with such unmingled satisfaction.




[WHILE on the Pulney Hills, David's interest was excited by the report that there were in the neighborhood monumental remains, which might throw some light upon the investigations which he had been making concerning the earlier inhabitants of India. He made an excursion to the place, and afterward, discovering similar remains in the valley, he entered upon an enthusiastic exploration which was promising valuable results when it was brought to an end by his death. I have collected into one narrative the accounts of the various excursions which he made, the last occurring but a few days before his death.]


PULNEY HILLS, May 22, 1862. I had what might fairly be termed a tramp, and with rather an unusual object in view. You know I have always been interested in the antiquities of India, and especially in matters pertaining to the hill tribes. I had read often of the relics found on the Nilagiris, but did not know until recently that similar remains were to be found on these Pulney Hills. A few weeks ago I heard from Mr. Taylor that such remains were upon the hills and accessible, so I at once proposed an excursion in search. Yesterday we started


off, Mr. Taylor, Mr. Burnell, Mr. Hunt, and I. A Coolie went with us carrying provisions for the day, and my gardener carried a crowbar and hoe. We had a cup of tea early, and were off by half-past six. went down the mountain to the first landing-place on the

way to Periakulam. But then, instead of descending the mountain, we went up in another direction, by a decidedly rough specimen of a path, often having to dismount and pull our horses along. After a toilsome ride we arrived, at half-past nine, at the ruins of an old house, occupied by a former collector of this district. It is called Blackburn's bungalow. Here we stopped, opened our box and breakfasted. We were greatly annoyed by flies, that reminded us of Livingstone's famous tsetze-fly, they tormented us and the horses so. We left our horses here in charge of our Coolie, and then set out for the supposed site of the cromlechs. The foot-path was a most romantic one. It skirted the side of a high mountain, looking down into a beautifully wooded stream away below, from which we heard a perfect orchestra of insects. It wound along, descending gradually until it brought us to a brook, a good way down the hill. We left our coats by the side of the path, for tramping was hard work, and the sun was hot, even under umbrellas. Crossing the brook, we scoured along by the side of another hill and down over another brook. Here the recent footprints of elk were clearly seen and the hollows where they wallow.

We had travelled so far, a little over an hour, when Mr. Taylor, who always keeps his eyes open, shouted, “There they are ! Cromlechs ! Hurrah !” and away we rushed pell-mell at what he pointed out. Sure enough, here was the veritable thing, not to be mis

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