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face to face with death and compelled to contemplate it every day. From this their talk turned upon the resurrection and immortality, as set forth in the first epistles to the Corinthians and to the Thessalonians.

The catechist, in his narration of these scenes afterward, dwelt with a fond interest upon each little point. He told how, in attempting to flatten a large Scripture placard, David laid it down and put his foot on it, when the scrupulous teacher reproved him with the question, “Sir, may one put his foot upon the word of God?” and “then," said the catechist, “ we talked much, and he thought much within himself, for past one o'clock he called out to the teacher sleeping near, • You say it is not right to put your foot on that placard, but you have got the Bible there for your pillow, showing that he had been thinking much about what we had been talking of."

He rose early on Wednesday morning and proceeded to Maniakarampatti, a village a mile and a half distant, where was a congregation. Here he preached upon the healing of the nobleman's son, the same sermon which he had preached the Sabbath before in the village church. He breakfasted, collected the statistics for which he had visited the place, and then hurried his things into the bandy, wishing to cross the river and return to Periakulam without further delay; no doubt he had some anxiety about the river, as the weather during his absence had been of the most comfortless sort; rain had fallen on the hills, and Tuesday night it had rained uninterruptedly. No wonder he made haste, since the delay of an hour or two might prevent him from crossing the river, and keep him in restless inactivity at Andipatti. The catechists endeavored to dissuade him from setting out, telling him that they had heard from many persons that there was much water in the river, but David knew that the difficulty of the passage would seem more formidable to the natives than to him ; he finally said, “ If there really is a heavy flood, as you say, I will return to Andipatti."

Leaving the bandy to follow, he set out on foot; one of the catechists and a church-member accompanied him, and they reached the river about one o'clock. His plan was to do as he had several times lately done, to swim the river, trusting to meet his horse on the other side, which indeed was sent, as it proved, and at any rate to be able to reach Periakulam, only five or six miles distant, long before his bandy, which would have to wait. He rested until the bandy came up, and lunched, for he had a somewhat arduous walk before him. The river was rising, and indeed was higher than he had known it. The catechist begged him not to go, but he remembered that he had often crossed when it was called impassable, and had not long before made three transits, when he led his horse and carried his clothes. Time was precious to him, and if he waited at all it would likely enough be for two or three days, making him miss the mail and deranging his plans greatly. He felt no misgivings, saying to the catechist, “ I have swum two miles in the ocean and I will try.” But he must have his clothes and his papers, as he would have to walk home, or till he met his horse, and the bandy might not reach him for several days. So he removed and adjusted his clothes, untying and tying them again until he had arranged them so as least to impede the movement of his arms. He placed the papers in his hat and secured it to his head.

He went a little above the regular ford, to a place where a brook makes into the river, in order to take advantage of the current, waded out some distance into the stream, and struck out boldly. The river is about a hundred yards wide at this place, and he had swum easily about half the distance, when suddenly the bystanders on the bank saw, as it were, a new river upon the top of this swift current come down like a wall, overwhelming him; a tank above had given way, and the volume of water to the depth of several feet had rushed vehemently down the stream, carrying everything with it. No strength of man could withstand the force, and the swimmer was carried under. He rose again, freed from encumbrance, but there was no exertion. He floated swiftly down the stream, his upturned face alone visible; soon nothing was to be seen but the turbid water.

The catechist, servant, and other bystanders stood for the first moment terrified on the shore, then rushed along the bank beyond where anything was visible, yet hoping that the flood would throw him on shore at a bend in the river, thirty or forty rods below. They were suddenly arrested by one of the hill torrents created by the sudden rains. They had already passed through a village in their pursuit, and were joined by the villagers, who were aroused by the tidings that a white man had gone down the stream. The Christians turned back with heavy hearts; they could not cross to carry tidings to Periakulam and they went back to Andipatti, to resume the search immediately, following the river down for thirty miles.

It was on the day following only that word could be got to Periakulam. Mrs. Scudder had twice sent the horse-keeper with the horse in expectation of her husband's return, and had waited breakfast. About one o'clock there was a hurried passing to and fro among the servants. She went to the veranda and saw by their faces that something was wrong. She asked the matter, and, dumb at first, one at last said, “Master has gone down the river," and that a note was waiting for her at the police station. She said aloud that it could not be, and sent the servants away, one for the note, another for the Madura collector who was in town, with the word that “Master must be brought back if he could not come.

Two hours of suspense and the note came, a Tamil one, which the mûnshi with great difficulty read aloud into English. All doubt was gone; it must be so. She despatched notes to Mr. Noyes, who was on the Hills, to come to her, to Mr. Washburn, at Battalagundu, and to Mr. Rendall, at Madura, to do what was possible.

Thursday night passed, and on the afternoon following Mr. Noyes reached Periakulam, and was followed by Mr. and Mrs. Washburn a few hours later. The collector had given orders that a watch should be kept, and a search made for forty miles down the river. The members of the church with their pastor also volunteered to go, and the catechists and Christians upon the other bank were equally zealous. The news passed through the district very rapidly, reaching at once the various mission stations. Yet all this was with little hope of recovering the remains. The flood that overwhelmed him had brought down vast quantities of sand, and given reason to believe that even in the moment of his death God had buried him.

The days wore away. On the Sabbath the missionaries and the native Christians assembled in the compound church and listened to words of comfort and exhortation, comfort to all, though spoken in a language unknown to the chief mourner. On Monday before light came Mrs. Webb from Dindigal, having set out on receiving the news. The morning passed ; at one o'clock came a note from the Battalagundu catechist, saying “Mr. Scudder's body just now came from Solavanthan. I hired two bullocks and sent it this morning at nine o'clock. I think they will make some delay on the road. It is better, I think, if you please, to send two pairs of bullocks from Periakulam. The head-constable of Solavanthan and a catechist came along with the bandy.” There could be no doubt about this, though many false reports had repeatedly come. Solavanthan was forty miles from Periakulam, and the turbulent river had carried the body there, where it was discovered on Sunday morning, floating in the stream, and taken in charge by the police stationed at the spot, who took measures to bring it ashore and convey it to his home.

At five o'clock the bandy drove into the gate, but though the form could be distinguished beneath the white cloth, there could be no sight of the face. Preparations were concluded for burial, and on Tuesday morning early, the company gathered upon the veranda, the burial-service was read, and the Divine assistance was invoked upon the burial, which was to be upon the summit of the Pulneys.

66 The sun was just rising," writes Mr. Washburn," when we mounted our horses and started forth. I need not linger by the way. Yet I seemed, as I rode up that zigzag path, to hear the voice that shouted welcome to me when I

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