imagine the poor victims over whose body it rolls, could easily
be reduced to powder. Government interferes in its further usage, save
in territories not easily managed. The official buildings are European,
but the homes of the natives are of burnt clay, with no windows--a
small open door reveals its inmates stretched out sleeping, almost
devoured by flies. The filth of the quarter makes it uninviting; the
botanical garden is hardly worth the ride there. We take the only small
vessel in use to carry us back to the steamer awaiting us in this
beautiful Bay of Bengal. The governor's house is lofty in appearance,
the exterior dingy from dust and dirt, but we are told the household
appointments are magnificent, the decorations partly in the oriental and
some of them in European style; servants by the score, hundreds of
coolies who do nothing but keep the Punkas (swinging fans) in motion in
every part of the building by day and night. The natives of Madras are
quite dark in color, with straight hair and regular features, diminutive
in stature, slender forms, with small hands and feet, and have a pensive
look and manner. The deformity among the beggars is revolting, and we
fear to alight from our chariot, lest we may come in contact with these
poor, unfortunate beings. We learn that the wheels of government move
slowly in these oriental countries. If an audience with the governor is
desired, a book is given you in which the name of the solicitor is
registered. At the end of two weeks the governor gives notice that he
will give a public breakfast at the palace, and those who have
registered their names will be received and their requests will be
heard. Time seems not to be considered of any import.

The calm waters of the Bay of Bengal, with its southern breezes, makes
the journey pleasant, as the traveler seeks his extended chair on deck
of the steamer, protected from the scorching sun by its broad awnings.
On entrance to the Hoogly River, a native pilot comes aboard--for here
the ever-moving sands render navigation uncertain and perilous--until
the dangerous sand bars of the James and Mary rivers are passed; every
sailor must be at his post as the steamer wends its way through the
treacherous channel, and each passenger silently congratulates himself
when he is assured the Rubicon is past. The bottom of these rivers is a
vast quicksand. The vessel entering must await the tide. The banks are
low and sandy. Straw thatched huts,