about 46,000 letters and 35,000 newspapers, and distributing them in about 250 bags, ready for dispersion all over India immediately on the arrival of the ship at Bombay. The following is a specimen of the directions. which occasionally tax the ingenuity of the sorters (copied literatim) J. Faden Sapper Engear Bromeday. This letter had been sent to three Bromleys in different parts of England before it was suspected that Engear meant India, and Bromeday, Bombay. At daybreak on the twenty-seventh day after our departure from Southampton, the high land of the Ghats, near Bombay, was visible about fifty miles distant. When the sun rose it disappeared in the haze. A few hours later we entered Bombay harbour, passing the Serapis' and several fine men-of-war lying at anchor. The advent of the Prince of Wales had preceded ours by about two days. FIRST IMPRESSIONS. BOMBAY, NOVEMBER 10, 1875 We need not quote a Western poet1 in support of the trite truism that impressions on the mind, to be deep, must be made by scenes actually witnessed. There is an Eastern saying that the distance between the ear and the eye is very small, but the difference between hearing and seeing is very great. Much information can be gained about India from books and newspapers, and much by asking questions of old Indians who have spent their lives in the country, but, after all, India must be seen to be understood. s; The instant I set foot on the landing-place at Bombay, I became absorbed in the interest of every object that met my sight-the magnificent harbour with its beautiful islands, secluded creeks, and grand background of hills the picturesque native boats gliding hither and thither; the array of ships from every quarter of the globe riding at anchor-every feature in the surrounding landscape, every rock and stone under my feet, every animal and plant around me on the shore, every man, woman, and child in the motley throng passing and repassing on the quay, from the Bhisti, or water-carrier, who laid the dust. by means of a skin slung on his back, to the boy who importuned me for Bakhshish to exhibit a fight between 1 'Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem Quam quæ sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus.' a snake held in his hand and a mongoose concealed in a basket. Though I was born in India, and had lived as a child in India, and had been educated for India, and had read, thought, spoken, and dreamt about India all my life, I had entered a new world. On the esplanade, in front of the chief public buildings of Bombay, an extraordinary spectacle presented itself. An immense concourse of people was collected, waiting for the Prince of Wales, who was expected at the Secretariat to hold his first levée-no dingy crowd of Londoners hustling each other in a foggy, smoky atmosphere, but at least a hundred thousand turbaned Asiatics, in bright coloured dresses of every hue, moving sedately about in orderly groups under a glittering sky. The whole plain. seemed to glow and flash with kaleidoscopic combinations of dazzling variegated colours. Rows of well-appointed carriages belonging to rich Bombay merchants, some containing Pārsi ladies and children in gorgeous costumes, with coachmen in brilliant liveries, lined the esplanade. Gem-bespangled Rājas, Mahārājas, and Nawabs dashed by in four-horsed equipages, with troops of outriders before and behind. One part of the spacious plain was set apart for 12,000 children, from various schools-Hindū, Pārsī, Muhammadan, Roman Catholic, and Protestant-collected from Bombay and the neighbourhood. The fact that it was possible to bring together from a limited area so vast an assemblage of children, male and female, all under education in an Eastern country, was in itself full of significance and interest. They were seated in rows, one behind the other, grouped according to the communities to which they severally belonged, a passage being left in the centre for the Prince. Every child was provided with a printed hymn, or poetical address to the Prince in Gujarātī, to be sung by the whole assemblage at the moment of his appearance among them. I was told that the children were mostly from the middle ranks of the inhabitants of Bombay. Certainly it was difficult to believe in the poverty of their parents, dressed as they were, boys and girls, in rich silks, satins, brocades, and velvets of all colours, from bright red and yellow to simple white, with gold-embroidered caps and jewels of great value on their feet and arms, necks and ears. It is no uncommon thing for parents to deck their children on festive occasions with ornaments worth hundreds of pounds. Their appearance and bearing suggested an idea that Asiatics think more of beauty of dress than beauty of form, Europeans more of beauty of form than of beauty of dress. That same evening I left Bombay and travelled northwards through Gujarat by the Bombay and Baroda railway. At the very first station out of Bombay, the anthill-like density of India's teeming masses made itself apparent. At least a thousand natives were collected, waiting for the train, some bound for Bombay to see the Prince of Wales, others on their way home after having witnessed the great Tamashā. The vast crowd vociferated and swayed to and fro in an alarming manner. The sound was like the roar ing of a mighty ocean. We began to think that a second mutiny was imminent, that our carriage would be stormed, and ourselves perhaps shot down on the spot. Our fears were allayed on learning that the lower classes of Hindus are in the habit of talking and shouting to each other at the top of their voices, in perfect good humour, whenever they are congregated in crowds. Notwithstanding their apparent excitement, noisy demonstrativeness, and overpowering numbers, they made no attempt (as English excursionists would have done) to force their way into the first or second-class compartments, but sub 1 Sleeman remarks (Rambles,' p. 77) that the stentorian voices of the natives are probably due to their meeting and discussing subjects connected with their own interests in the open air under trees. mitted quite patiently and resignedly to be penned like sheep in third-class carriages, some of which had an upper story. It was evident that no caste-prejudices interfered with their making full use of our railways. As the morning dawned on us in our northward course, sensations of real cold made us forget we were in India, till, looking out, we were reminded of our locality by unmistakeable signs, and notably by certain ominous streaks of cloud in the horizon, which turned out to be flights of millions of locusts. When they are seen approaching, the natives assemble in crowds, fire guns, and make hideous noises to prevent their settling on their crops. After passing Surat, Broach, and Baroda, I alighted at the Mehmoodabad station, and began my Indian experiences in the Collector of Kaira's camp. A brief description of my first day's adventures may give an idea of the kind of life led by Anglo-Indians when camping out in the country during an Indian winter. My only room was of course a tent. It had four doors and no windows, and a fifth door leading into a kind of canvas lean-to or small annex, fitted up with a large bath. Happily no one need trouble himself with a portable bath in India, because this indispensable convenience is found everywhere. The tent had a lining of brown and yellow chintz, and for a carpet a stout blue and white cotton cloth laid on flax straw. All the doors had two coverings or rather flaps, one of the same material as the tent, the other a kind of wire screen, called a chick, to let in air, and keep out as far as possible inquisitive intruders—not men and women, but huge bees, wasps, grasshoppers, squirrels, snakes, and all manner of winged and creeping things innumerable. For furniture there were two or three chairs, a dressing-table, and a good iron bedstead with hard mattresses, woollen pillows, and musquito curtains, well tucked in all round. Let the reader, then, imagine me comfortably ensconced, after my month's voyages and travels, within my four canvas walls, and looking forward with pleasant |