a, with the view of pacifying the wrath of the
"Destroyer," excited by the death of the cobra, which is one of his
favourite servants. A few steps before reaching the railway station, we
meet a modest Catholic procession, consisting of a few newly converted
pariahs and some of the native Portuguese. Under a baldachin is a
litter, on which swings to and fro a dusky Madonna dressed after the
fashion of the native goddesses, with a ring in her nose. In her arms
she carries the holy Babe, clad in yellow pyjamas and a red Brah-manical
turban. "Hari, hari, devaki!" ("Glory to the holy Virgin!") exclaim the
converts, unconscious of any difference between the Devaki, mother of
Krishna, and the Catholic Madonna. All they know is that, excluded from
the temples by the Brahmans on account of their not belonging to any
of the Hindu castes, they are admitted sometimes into the Christian
pagodas, thanks to the "padris," a name adopted from the Portuguese
padre, and applied indiscriminately to the missionaries of every
European sect.

At last, our gharis--native two-wheeled vehicles drawn by a pair of
strong bullocks--arrived at the station. English employes open wide
their eyes at the sight of white-faced people travelling about the town
in gilded Hindu chariots. But we are true Americans, and we have come
hither to study, not Europe, but India and her products on the spot.

If the tourist casts a glance on the shore opposite to the port of
Bombay, he will see a dark blue mass rising like a wall between himself
and the horizon. This is Parbul, a flat-topped mountain 2,250 feet high.
Its right slope leans on two sharp rocks covered with woods. The highest
of them, Mataran, is the object of our trip. From Bombay to Narel, a
station situated at the foot of this mountain, we are to travel four
hours by railway, though, as the crow flies, the distance is not more
than twelve miles. The railroad wanders round the foot of the most
charming little hills, skirts hundreds of pretty lakes, and pierces with
more than twenty tunnels the very heart of the rocky ghats.

We were accompanied by three Hindu friends. Two of them once belonged to
a high caste, but were excommunicated from their pagoda for association
and friendship with us, unworthy foreigners. At the station our party
was joined by two more natives, with whom we had been in correspondence
for many a year. All were members of our Society, reformers of the Young
India school, enemies o