from Bombay Island to Salsette (called Lady Jamsetjee's Cause way), and the aqueduct for supplying the city of Poonah with water. I had a glimpse of him one evening, as his carriage passed me in the street; he was then verging upon his eightieth year, and very infirm. His eldest son, Cursetjee, inherits his enterprise and boldness, and possessess a large fortune of his own making. Another of his sons has distinguished himself as a Persian scholar, and has published a work on the Era of Zoroaster. Dr. Bhawoo Dajee, a distinguished Hindoo physician, kindly accompanied me to Sir Jamsetjee's town residence, a large and elegant mansion within the fort. The old gentleman was absent, but we were received by his son Sorabjee, who showed me a North American Review, containing a biography of Sir Jamsetjee. The residence is very elegantly furnished, in a style combining European comfort with Oriental display. Portraits of the different members of the family occupied the walls, and in the centre of the principal saloon stood a splendid testimonial, in wrought silver, three feet high, presented to Sir Jamsetjee by three of the Bombay

merchants.

The Parsees settled on the Malabar Coast about eight centuries ago, after their expulsion from Persia. They are, as is well known, followers of Zoroaster, recognising one Good and one Evil Principle, who contend for the mastery of the Universe. They worship the sun, as the representative of God, fire in all its forms, and the sea. Their temples contain no images, but only the sacred fire, and though they have fixed days for the performance of various rites, they repeat their prayers every morning, soon after sunrise. The dead are neither buried nor burned, but exposed to the air within a walled enclosure, on the summit of a hill. The bodies of the rich are protected by a wire screen, until wasted away, but those of the poor are soon devoured by birds of prey. The children are generally married at from two to five years of age, and brought up together, until of a proper age to assume the duties of married life. Most of the marriages are celebrated in the winter season, and the streets continually resounded with the music of the bridal processions. First came a string of palanquins and carriages, filled with children of both sexes-and very beautiful are the Parsee children-clad in silk bespangled with gold, and with pearl and emerald ornaments in their ears. Then a band of native musicians, generally playing popular airs; after them the bridal dowry, covered with massive extinguishers of silver, and the procession was always closed by a concourse of women, whose loose floating mantles of scarlet, crimson, orange, yellow, and purple silk, gleamed in the sun

"Like tulip beds, of different shape and dyes,

Bending beneath the invisible west-wind's sighs."

Cursetjee Merwanjee accompanied me one afternoon in a drive around the environs of Bombay. After passing the esplanade, which is thickly dotted with the tents of the military and the bamboo cottages of the officers, we entered the outer town, inhabited entirely by the natives. The houses are two or three storeys in height, with open wooden verandahs in front, many of which have a dark, mellow, old look, from the curiously carved posts and railings of black wood which adorn them. Mixed with the houses are groups of the beautiful cocoa-palm, which rise above the roofs and hang their feathery crowns over the crowded highway. Outside of the town hall is shade and the splendour of tropical bloom. The roads are admirable, and we rolled smoothly along in the cool twilight of embowered cocoa, brab, and date palms, between whose pillared trunks the afternoon sun poured streams of broad golden light. The crimson sagittaria flaunted its flame-like leaves on the terraces; a variety of the acacia hung thick with milky, pendulous blossoms, and every gateway disclosed an avenue of urns leading up to the verandah of some suburban palace, all overladen with gorgeous southern flowers. We rode thus for miles around and over Malabar Hill, and along the shores of the Indian Ocean, until the hills of Salsette, empurpled by the sunset, shone in the distance like the mountains of fairy land.

In the course of our excursion we visited a Hindoo Temple on the western shore of the island. It is dedicated to the five principal divinities, each of whom has his separate shrine. We were not permitted to go further than the doors, but the attendants removed the hangings and showed us the figures of the gods. Their names were in the Mahratta language, and I do not remember the Sanscrit appellation of any except Mahadeo. The temple occupied the summit of a small hill, and was approached by ghauts, or flights of steps, of hewn stone. Near it there was a much older shrine, with an image in a dark recess. A tiger, rudely sculptured, sat in the outer porch, facing it. Several bells hung from the roof, and each of the natives who accompanied us rang one of these, both on passing in, and out.

Dr. Bhawoo Dajee took me to visit the Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy Hospital, the name of which declares its founder. It is a onestorey stone building, in the Gothic style, and divided into a number of wards, where the destitute Christian, Jewish, Hindoo, Parsee, or Mahometan invalid is taken in and well cared for. There were about three hundred patients at the time of my visit. The hospital is very clean, kept in excellent order, and the patients appeared to be enjoying as much comfort as was possible, in their condition. Opposite the hospital is the Grant Medical College, an excellent institution, which was then attended by about thirty native students. Bhawoo Dajee himself is a graduate

of this college, where he received the gold medal, and was besides awarded a prize of six hundred rupees for an essay on Infanticide. As a physician and surgeon he is among the first of his class in Bombay, and in that refinement and liberality which distinguishes the gentleman and the scholar, he would be a noted man anywhere. I esteem it a particular good fortune which brought me to his acquaintance.

While in Bombay, I took a step farther back into the past than ever in all my previous experience. In Egypt, you are brought face to face with periods so remote, that they lie more than half within the realm of Fable; yet there the groping antiquarian has pierced the mystery, and leads you down from dynasty to dynasty. on the crumbling steps of hieroglyphic lore. But in India-the cradle, as many believe, of the human race-we have no such helps, and while we gaze upon the tokens of a faith which was no doubt pre-existent to that of the Pharaohs, science sits down baffled and leaves us to wander in the dark. No Wilkinson or Champollion writes on the altars of the gods, "B.C.-so and so much." whole backward vista of time is thrown open, and we are free to retrace the ages, even to the days when there were giants. I no longer marvel at any of the ancient faiths; I only wonder that those vast, strange, and gorgeous systems of mythology ever should have disappeared from the religions of the world, while such types of them remain in existence.

The

The Hindoo faith, in its original and pure form, was a consistent monotheism, and no doubt is still so understood by the more intellectual of its professors. The parent deity, Brehm, was an invisible and omnipotent God, the maker of heaven and earth, and like the divinity of the Buddhists, too great for mortal comprehension. The three deities who sprang from him may be regarded rather as personifications of his attributes than as distinct personalities. These deities, who form the Trimurti, or Hindoo Trinity, are Brahma, the Creator, Vishnu, the Preserver, and Shiva, the Destroyer. Among the emblems of the latter, is a new-born infant, showing that life is continually reproduced from death. From these three spring a host of inferior deities, who, with their progeny, amount to the number of thirty-three millions, of whom three millions are evil, and the remainder good. Here the preponderance of Good over Evil in the government of the world, and consequently the beneficence of the ruling Deity, is strikingly acknowledged. The original faith has greatly degenerated, as all the old religions have, and among the ignorant millions exists only in the most extraordinary superstitions and the grossest forms of idolatry; but no one can deny the simple grandeur of its first conception.

However, as I am a traveller, and not a theologian, let me return to the subject, which is my visit to the Cave-temples of

3

Elephanta. These celebrated remains are upon the Island of Elephanta, in the bay, and about seven miles distant from Bombay. I was accompanied by the captain of an American bark. We engaged a bunder-boat, a craft with a small cabin, something like the kangia of the Nile, embarked at the Apollo pier, and went up the bay with the flood tide. We passed the fort and floated along the shore as far as Mazagaun, where the wind favoured us for a run out to the island. The scenery of the bay is beautiful, the different islands rising from the water in bold hills covered with vegetation, while the peaks of the Malabar Ghauts cut their sharp outlines against the sky on the opposite side. Butcher's Island, which lies between Bombay and Elephanta, is comparatively low and flat, and has a barren appearance, but it contains a number of European bungalows, and seems to be a favourite place of residence. Elephanta, on the contrary, which is about a mile in length, is lofty, and covered with palm and tamarind trees. form is very beautiful, the summit being divided into two peaks of unequal height.

Its

The water is shallow on the western side, and as we approached several natives appeared on the beach, who waded out two by two, and carried us ashore on their shoulders. A well-worn foot-path pointed out the way up the hill, and in a few minutes we stood on the little terrace between the two peaks, and in front of the temple. The house of the sergeant who keeps guard over it still intervened between us and the entrance, and before passing it I stocd for some time looking across to Bombay and Salsette, enchanted with the beauty of the prospect before me. More than half the charm, I found, lay in the rich, tropical foliage of the foreground.

The

Turning, I passed around the screen of some banana trees and under the boughs of a large tamarind. The original entrance to the temple is destroyed, so that it is impossible to tell whether there was a solid front and doorway, as in the Egyptian rocktemples, or whether the whole interior stood open as now. front view of Elephanta is very picturesque. The rock is draped with luxuriant foliage and wild vines, brilliant with many-coloured blossoms, heightening the mysterious gloom of the pillared hall below, at the farthest extremity of which the eye dimly discerns the colossal outlines of the tri-formed god of the temple. The chambers on each side of the grand hall are open to the day, so that all its sculptures can be examined without the aid of torches. The rows of rock-hewn pillars which support the roof, are surmounted by heavy architraves, from which hang the capitals and shattered fragments of some whose bases have been entirely broken away. The Portuguese, in their zeal for destroying heathen idols, planted cannon before the entrance of the cave, and destroyed many of the columns and sculptured panels; but the faces of the colossal Trinity have escaped mutilation.

This, the Trimurti, is a grand and imposing piece of sculpture, not unworthy of the best period of Egyptian art. It reminded me of the colossal figures at Aboo-Simbel, though with less of serene grace and beauty. It is a triple bust, and with the richlyadorned mitres that crown the heads, rises to the height of twelve feet. The central head, which fronts the entrance, is that of Brahma, the Creator, whose large, calm features are settled in the repose of conscious power, as if creation were to him merely an action of the will, and not an effort. On his right hand is Vishnu, the Preserver, represented in profile. His features are soft and feminine, full of mildness and benignity, and are almost Grecian in their outlines, except the under lip, which is remarkably thick and full. The hair falls in ordered ringlets from under a cap, something between a helmet and a mitre. The right arm, which is much mutilated, is lifted to the shoulder, and from the half-closed hand droops a lotus-blossom. The third member of the Trinity, the terrible Shiva, the Destroyer, is on the left of Brahma, and, like Vishnu, his head is turned so as to present the profile. His features are totally different from the other two. His forehead is stern, ridged at the eyebrows; his nose strongly aquiline, and his lips slightly parted, so as to show his teeth set, with an expression of fierce cruelty and malignity. A cobra twists around his arm and hand, which grasps the snake by the neck and holds it on high, with hood expanded, ready to strike the deadly blow.

Nothing astonished me more, in this remarkable group, than the distinct individuality of each head. With the exception of the thick under lip, which is common to all three, the faces are those of different races. Brahma approaches the Egyptian, and Vishnu the Grecian type, while Shiva is not unlike the Mephistopheles of the modern German school. The group stands in an excavated recess, or shrine, at the entrance of which, on each side, are two colossal statues. They are more rudely executed, and the faces exhibit a grosser type, the nose being broad and slightly flattened, and the lips thick and projecting. The hand holds the lotus-flower, and the eyes are closed, but the expression of the face is that of happy reverie rather than sleep. Had the temple been Buddhist, I should have said that they were meditating their final beatific absorption into the Divine Essence. The same figures are seen in other parts of the temple, and their aspect perfectly harmonises with the symbols introduced into the purely ornamental parts of its architecture.

This reminds me of the columns supporting the roof, which were unlike any others I had seen. The lower part is square, resting on a plinth, but at about half the height it becomes circular and fluted—or rather filleted, the compartments having a plane and not a concave surface. The capital is a flattened sphere, of nearly double the diameter of the shaft, having a narrow disc, with fluted