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elliptical in form, formerly used for the exhibition of gladiatorial combats, fights of wild beasts, and other spectacles. There were subterranean chambers where the wild beasts were confined and fed, which were let loose upon some of the first martyrs of Christianity, such as Ignatius. Could the dead rise up, what a strange tale they would tell of this unique edifice! Close to the Coliseum we observed the triumphal arches of Constantine and Titus. On the latter there was a masonry work representing the victory of Titus over the Jews, the Jewish captives, the golden candlestick, &c. A few yards farther up we noticed the palace of the Cæsars on the Palatine Hill, an immense mass of buildings now in ruins, as well as the site of the Roman Forum, once the centre of political life.

The next day Mr. Long and myself took a drive. From the summit of St. John's Hill we had a commanding view of the seven-hilled city. We noticed at a distance the Church of St. Paul's, standing prominently on the site where the Apostle is supposed to have suffered martyrdom. Ancient Rome looked like a vast pile of tumbled down buildings, interspersed with newly-built houses possessing architectural pretensions. We also visited the De Propaganda Fide, the college designed for the propagation of the Roman Catholic faith in heathendom.

This is the last of the five days we have spent in Rome. We are not sorry for having paid this short visit to this ancient and renowned city. But I cannot refrain from expressing my conviction in regard to the religion prevalent in Rome. If a visit to Rome convinced the "monk who shook the world" of the hollowness of the Romish system and the necessity of a reform, I may say that our sojourn of five days in Rome, and all that we saw and heard here during that time, convinced us more than anything else of the superficial character of Popery. There was a time when the faith" of Rome "was spoken of throughout the whole world," but now it is equally clear that her grand failure must be spoken of everywhere. Romanism has most emphatically lost the essence of religion, and seeks to adapt herself to the failings of fallen humanity. She endeavours to satisfy the sentimental and sensational part, and not the moral and spiritual part of man. She may hold "Ruin, Redemption, and Regeneration," the three central truths of Christianity, but all these are so buried under a rubbish of superstition, saint-worship, sacramentalism, and sacerdotalism, that the sinner and the Saviour are completely obscured. And yet it is very strange that many Christians and even Christian ministers are ready to shake hands with Rome. Many have already joined her ranks, and there are still a great many who are at the "Appii Forum" and the "Three Taverns," very near Rome. A few paces more will take them right into the "Church Catholic," as they designate it, where they will witness all the paraphernalia of the high ritual and ornate service and Mariolatry of Rome, but where, alas! their immortal spirits will remain as empty as ever.

W. T. SATTHIANADHAN.

A FIFTY YEARS' SEARCH FOR PEACE. The Story of Jadu Bindu Ghose. "Cast thy bread upon the waters; for thou shalt find it after many days." Eccl. xi. 1. YING, in the Medical College Hospital at Calcutta, there lay, two months ago, an aged Hindu. Doubtless he is dead now. His story is one of the most remarkable in missionary annals. Let us tell it, briefly.

More than half a century ago, an accomplished missionary of the London Missionary Society, one who could speak in the Bengali tongue as very few Europeans ever succeed in doing Alphonse Lacroix-was preaching in the streets of Calcutta. He saw no fruit of that day's effort, nor indeed of many other days' efforts; and when, some twenty years ago, he lay on his death-bed, after thirty-five years' devoted labours, he could look back on very little visible result of his preaching. He had sown in tears, and had not reaped in joy. But the reaping-time-for him and for many another patient sower-is yet to come. And the sheaf just gathered into the heavenly garner from the hospital bed in Calcutta sprang from the seed he faithfully scattered.

grew up to manhood; he prospered in business; for awhile the impression died away. But for awhile only. Adversity came, and with it came again the sense of sin. He gave up everything, and devoted himself to a pilgrim life. For several years he wandered, and wandered, and wandered, over the greater part of India, worshipping at shrine after shrine in his agonising search for peace. But no peace could he get. Then he joined the society called the Brahmo Somaj, which is composed of Hindus discontented with idolatry but not accepting Christianity, and which inculcates a kind of inferior Unitarianism. It seemed to him to speak sensibly: "Do what is just and right, and all will be well.” Yet no peace; for, to use his own words, "The remembrance of past sin kept rushing on my mind; something seemed to say-Without an atonement for past guilt, you perish. The new society told him of no atonement, and Hinduism did; so, saying, "The old is better," he again became a Hindu, and resumed his pilgrim life. Years went by. He was now an old man. He went back to Benares, the holy place he had often visited before; he tried every sacred spot in that most sacred of cities, and there are two thousand of them; and then one evening he sat down in blank despair. "What more can I do than I have done?" he exclaimed; "yet there is no peace!"

At that moment it seemed to him that an audible, voice spoke to him thus: "Not in ways like this will peace be found; return to your home."

Not long after, one of the missionaries of the Church Missionary Society observed, at a service in Trinity Church, Calcutta, an aged stranger. "His hair was snowy white; his countenance was eager and intelligent; and his eyes sparkled with a sort of missionary to his room, and, bursting into tears, exclaimed, inquiring brightness." Service over, the stranger followed the

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Glory to God! this is what I have been longing to hear for forty years." It was the secker after peace! On arriving in Calcutta he had visited a bed-ridden nephew, who had a Bible and read it to his uncle, and so had been induced to come to a Christian church. Receiving a Bengali Bible, he went away, and for two months nothing was seen of him. Then he came back. He had the Word of God at his fingers' ends. In answer to questions, he "quoted text after text, as if he had been a Bible student all his days."

Was he ready to confess Christ before men? Would he be baptized? "I know," he said, "what it will involve. I am now respected by a large circle of friends; once baptized, I shall be abhorred and denounced by all-yea, my very children will forsake me—give me two days to reflect and pray." He went away. Those two nights he slept not. On the third morning he took the Bible in his hand and cried, “O God! I can stand it no longer; show me by some passage of Thy Word what I must do." The book fell open, and his eyes lighted on these words: Whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot be My disciple" (Luke xiv. 33). That very day he was admitted into the Church of Christ.

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Then the storm fell. "Friends, servants, children forsook him; Brahminical curses were poured on him; wherever he went, the finger of scorn was pointed against him." But he wavered not; he returned blessing for cursing; and in course of time he won back to himself the respect and honour of all who knew him. And all the while his peace and joy were manifest. "O Sahib," he said to the missionary, "the love of Jesus has ravished my heart."

So far we have but told in different words a story told by the A young man of respectable family stood for a few moments in Rev. J. Vaughan (who himself had the happiness of baptizing the listening crowd that day fifty years ago. Then he went on the old man), in that deeply interesting book, The Trident, the his way. But he took something with him; he took a sense of Crescent, and the Cross, which we introduced to the readers of sin in his heart. For the first time he felt that sin was a terrible the GLEANER last year. But Mr. Vaughan does not there menthing, and should be escaped from at all costs. He had heard tion his name. Recent letters, however, from Krishnagur in nothing else; but that one thought he could not shake off. He Bengal refer to an "old patriarch" who had gone thither from

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Calcutta to assist Mr. Vaughan in his very arduous work of reviving spiritual life among the six thousand Native Christians of that district, who-mostly poor labouring people, the children of converts of former days-have for many years been a cause of great anxiety to the Society on account of the very feeble and flickering light they bear amid the surrounding darkness. This old patriarch, Babu Jadu Bindu Ghose, has been described as wielding a most remarkable influence over his back-sliding and half-hearted countrymen; and it occurred to us that perhaps he was the very old man who had found peace after fifty years' search. We wrote to Mr. Vaughan and inquired, and here is his answer:

BOLLOBPORE, January 22nd, 1879.

Yes, you were quite right; the "dear old patriarch" is the same as is mentioned in my book. His advent to this district has given the people a new and unwonted specimen of Christian devotedness. Every soul that has come across him feels that he presents a type of piety hitherto unknown to them. One of the fiercest and most implacable of the caste party exclaimed, "Throughout the whole of this district no man like that can be found."

Alas! I fear this district will see him no more. A month ago he got a thorn in his foot; mortification threatened; I sent him to the Medical College Hospital, Calcutta. There he is now, I fear, sinking into the arms of death. A letter from him the other day, written by a friend, states that, though he longed to live and labour a little longer, he feels that the Master is calling him home. Dear old man! Only lately at Kapasdanga we were conversing of the better land; as we spake of the beatific vision when we shall see Him who redeemed us face to face, his voice faltered, his eyes filled with tears, and he said, "I really feel as if the joy of seeing Jesus face to face would be too much for me to bear!" I ran over to see him in the hospital a fortnight ago. He was dying; I stood gazing upon him; at last he opened his eyes, uttered a shriek of delight, threw his thin arms round my neck and drew me towards him in

a loving embrace. O for a few of his spirit to help us in our sore conflict with ignorance, prejudice, and sin!

If the "dear old patriarch" who so long sought for peace and found it not has already passed into that Presence where there is fulness of joy, is there not another in the Father's house whom we shall long to meet there face to face? And have we not another most precious pledge that the promise cannot fail, "Your labour shall not be in vain in the Lord"? "He is faithful that promised." "Hath He spoken? and shall He not make it good?"

[The two pictures on these pages may serve to illustrate the old man's history. One shows us a group of devotees at the sacred city of Benares, such as he was himself for a while; the other, one of the villages in Krishnagur, where he has been recently labouring.]

MR. MACKAY AT KAGEI.

R. MACKAY'S arrival at Kagei, at the southern end of the Victoria Nyanza, was mentioned in our February number (p. 15). It will be remembered that though he belonged to the original party, he had not been at the Lake before. When he was half-way there he was sent back to the coast invalided, and after that he was long occupied in making the road to Mpwapwa. On arriving at Kagei, he found all the goods left there by Lieutenant Smith and Mr. O'Neill, safe in charge of the chief. The following extracts from his private letters are very interesting:

Kagei, Usukuma, Victoria Nyanza, July 9th, 1878. In a huge hut lent us by Kaduma, the chief of the place, I found all that was left of the valuable property of the expedition, except such

articles as have been already taken to Uganda. Piled in heaps promiscuously lay boiler-shells and books, cowrie-shells and candlemoulds, papers and piston-rods, steam-pipes and stationery, printers' types and tent-poles, carbolic acid, cartridges and chloroform, saws and garden-seeds, travelling-trunks and toys, tins of bacon and bags of clothes, pumps and ploughs, portable forges and boiler-fittings-here a cylinder, there its sole plate-here a crank-shaft, there an eccentric. Despair might well be found written on my features as I sat down, after my two years' march, to rest and look round on the confusion.

Ten days' hard work from dawn to dusk made me give a look round the same hut of much greater satisfaction than when I first gazed on the scene. The rain-guage is no more full of rats' leavings, nor does a boiler-shell contain books. The engines for our steamer stand complete to the last screw, the boiler is ready to be riveted, tools and types have separate boxes, and rust and dust are thrown out of doors. It seems to me more than a miracle how much remains entire of the really admirable outfit which the able directors of the C.M.S. supplied us with when we left England. It reflects the very highest credit on Lieut. Smith, and those who travelled with him, that, amid the most trying difficulties of every step of so long a journey, they were successful in bringing here so many articles of value. When it is remembered that every article had to be cut and broken up into parts at the coast, so that nothing should exceed a man's load, or seventy pounds-and now I find almost everything complete, even to its smallest belonging, after a tedious transport of over 700 miles--we may so far consider the expedition a success, and the blessing on our efforts to this point an earnest of the much more we hope to follow.

The Daisy, which was brought in segments from the coast, but which arrived much shattered, was rebuilt by Mr. O'Neill, and has already been of great service on the Lake. But her days are almost done. I find her in sad condition-not a plank sound. What the teeth of the hippopotamus spared in the survey of Jordan's Nullah, the rays of the sun have split, and the parts sheltered from them have fallen a prey to another formidable foe-white ants, as the vessel lay on the beach at Kagei. Day after day I have been patching the planks, and caulking the leaks, sprawling on the ground below the vessel, with hammer and chisel in hand, and crowds of naked Natives eagerly gazing at the white man mending his big canoe. Plates of copper and sheets of zinc and lead, with nails and cotton wool-these, with oil, will, I hope, enable me to make a safe passage to Uganda, and still leave us in command of this mighty inland sea till we can build a stronger boat, with steam power.

Of an

The people of Kagei are Wasukuma, the largest branch of the great race of Wanyamwezi, and their language but a dialect of that spoken by the people all around Unyanyembe. I like the people here much. They are all friends with me, and I am friends with all. When they see the turning-lathe at work, or find me melting down the fat of an ox and turning out beautiful candles, their wonder knows no bounds. incongruous mass of bars of iron and brass and bolts they could not guess the use of, they have seen me fit together one and another complete steam-engine, and various other things which looked so marvellous, that again and again I have heard the remark that white men came from heaven. Then I teach this and that more intelligent fellow the use of various things, and try to impress upon all a truth I find them very slow to believe-that they themselves can easily learn to know everything that white men know. I tell them that we were once naked savages like themselves, and carried bows and arrows and spears; but, when God began to teach us, we became civilised.

دو

Round comes Sunday, when tools are dropped, and the reason asked "why? I open my Bible, and tell them it is God's Book, and that He commanded the day of rest. Many know a little of Suaheli, which is, in fact, closely allied to their own language; and in that tongue I find many an opportunity to teach the simplest truths of revealed religion, especially how God has come down among men. This "great mystery of godliness" is the astounding story to them; and many I find eager to learn to read, that they may know the Book which I say God Himself

wrote for men.

With the children I am on the best of terms. At all times I find myself surrounded by a host of little boys, eager to help me in anything. More than ever I am longing for the day when the necessary rough work of pioneering will be done, and I can settle down to spend every day in teaching the little ones.

I cannot think the day far distant when I shall see my daily school for these children, and watch them grow in wisdom and understanding, and in the fear of God. Such a class I dream I see a nucleus of a training college, which shall furnish manifold seeds of life in place of the units which we white men must ever be in Africa. Of these will some be trained for the work of the ministry, and the day arrive when a Msukuma will be Bishop of Unyamwezi, and a Mganda Primate of all

Nyanza.

Kagei, August 4th, 1878. Last full moon I hoped to have ventured on my first voyage across the pathless Nyanza, but God ordained otherwise; for just then I was

seized with a violent attack of remittent fever, followed by many days' chronic diarrhoea, my old enemy. Unfortunately, I had no opiates to affect a cure, and my hope of getting away from here seemed entirely shut off, as sickness reduced me to the strength of an infant. At length I resorted to a Native cure-a solution of tamarinds-which, by God's blessing, set me on my legs again, and I recommenced work.

We launched the Daisy, but she proved as leaky as a sieve, in spite of all my patching; while daily gales and thunderstorms, following the solstice, rendered venturing to sea for the time out of the question. I therefore uncoupled the aft section, which was most faulty, anchored the other well out in deep water, and got my friendly Natives to carry the compartment up into the village, where, under the shade of a beautiful large fig-tree, I have subjected the vessel to a thorough repair, putting in new planks, and otherwise overhauling the whole. But no wood was to be found, there being not a tree in the whole vicinity, except a few fig and banana trees in the village. I got, however, a few logs belonging to the dhow which, unfortunately, was wrecked last year near this on her maiden trip from Ukerewe, but these had to be sawn into boards-a no trifling task. I fitted up a pit saw, and set to work, but the heavy end of the operation had to fall on myself, and I had little strength for it, as my men had no idea of straight either with head or hands. One learns to make the most of a board when purchased at the expense of one's own muscles. That is now over, and many a copper nail driven in and well riveted, and I hope to connect the part under repair with the rest, and to put to sea in about a week.

A MAN THAT KILLED HIS ENEMY.

[Miss C. M. Tucker (A. L. O. E.) sends us this interesting communication from Batala, a new station in the Punjab. The Rev. F. H. Baring, son of the Bishop of Durham, is the missionary there.]

HE lady missionary in the Punjab not unfrequently meets in zenanas the husband or brother of the bibi (lady) whom she visits. In such cases the man generally takes up the conversation while the bibi sits mute; and the lady may have to maintain a difficult discussion on religion with some turbaned bigot.

In a zenana which I visited two days ago there were three men; one of them, the bibi's brother, came and sat near me, and I saw that it was with him rather than with her that I should have to converse. If I had had any fear of meeting an opponent in this man such fear was quickly dispelled. I forget exactly how the ice was broken between us, but I think that I first found out that Chandu was no bigot by his remarking, with evident approbation, that the Christian religion inculcates speaking the truth. I was soon made aware that he knew, and honoured for his piety, our Christian maulvie Q. N.

No enemy, but an ally, did I find in Chandu. As, with my imperfect command of language, I told the story of Redemption, Chandu, turning towards his sister, explained to her in Punjabi what I had said in Urdu, not as a mere interpreter, but as one both understanding and believing the wonders of grace.

Whilst

the woman and her husband and father listened in silence, Chandu with animation explained how Christ had died as our Substitute, and His blood was so precious that it sufficed to redeem the world. I afterwards read aloud part of the Sermon on the Mount, and the hearty exclamation, "Wah!" burst from Chandu's lips when he heard of peacemakers being called the children of God, and the joyful expression of his manly face made me feel that he realised the blessing of such adoption. I asked Chandu if he would like me to visit his zenana, and he gladly accepted my offer to do so. I left that house with my spirit refreshed; there I had unexpectedly found grain that seemed ripening for the sickle, though some time may elapse ere we gather it with our sheaves.

After reaching home I made inquiries of a pious Babu as to whether he knew anything of Chandu. He informed me that the man's antecedents had been very unsatisfactory, for he had bitterly opposed maulvie Q. N., had stirred up the people against him, and helped to deprive the convert of property inherited from his father; and it was of that very maulvie I had heard him speak with such respect. I feel little discouraged now by

hearing of Mohammedans being bitter enemies to Christianity. I have, thank God, seen those who had been possessed with that fierce spirit sitting, clothed with His righteousness and in their right mind, at the feet of Jesus. I begin to think that the strongest opponent becomes the firmest friend.

As I went to pay my first visit to Chandu's zenana I met Q. N. on the road. I stopped and spoke a few words to him about Chandu.

"He is a good man," said the maulvie; "but," he added, with his gentle smile, he gave me much trouble."

"How your honour kills your enemies!" I exclaimed, remembering the well-known story of the man who killed his neighbours. The mild, courteous Christian is evidently drawing towards the Cross one who once reviled him and sought to injure him. My coming was expected in Chandu's home. Not only he, but his aged mother, his three brothers and their wives, his son, and his young daughters-in-law, closely veiled, all were present.

Again I had the opportunity of reading aloud the Word of God; again Chandu explained and enforced what I said. His heart seemed to be full of gratitude. "Before missionaries came there were no books," he said; “no one to tell us of God's love." I read the Saviour's words, "Pray ye the Lord of the harvest that He will send forth more labourers into the harvest," and could not forbear adding to the man who in the midst of his family had been speaking Gospel truth, "Pray to God to make you one of the labourers."

The encouragements of the day were not ended. In our Bible-woman's house I met a youthful Brahmin, who, as he hopes, intends to exchange his false religion for the true one, in company with his young wife. The Brahmin told me that every night he and his bibi pray together. Next Sunday we expect another couple, an educated Mohammedan and his wife, to receive baptism in the room which is our chapel. I wish that the fair white frontlet, which is the gift of Lady Ida Low and her friends, and the communion table-cover which has been sent by the family of the Bishop of Durham, might arrive in time; but the war has unhinged traffic, and we know not when they will reach us. We shall probably see the baptismal water in the simple white basin, which has served on so many joyful occasions that a special interest attaches to it.

Two years ago, save the catechist's family, only one man, a converted Brahmin, represented the Native congregation of Batala. Now, God be praised, it has so grown and increased that we are looking out for the site of a church, to be built when funds permit, and are in for "God's acre."

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Christianity has been gaining ground, and may it continue to advance till in Batala-our once bigoted Batala-by God's grace, we slay the last of our enemies, by welcoming them as our friends! A. L. O. E.

LETTERS TO MY PARISH FROM SANTALIA.

BY THE REV. W. T. STORRS.

IV. A Sunday's Work.

TALJHARI, July 8th, 1878. ET me this month give you a description of a Sunday's work: not that the work of every Sunday is alike-for they continually vary, but I will give you one that is a very ordinary

one.

So after five, a little before sunrise, I am awake, and my first conscious thought is that it is Sunday. It is so quiet-the bell has not rung, as it usually does at five o'clock, to call the training and boarding school boys and girls to begin work, the boys by digging, and the girls sweeping and drawing water; but all is very quiet. I turn out of bed, and in the quiet of the morning go into the verandah, Bible in hand, to walk up and down and read. Other mornings the compound would have been all astir, this morning every one seems to sleep a little longer; and the only person whom I see is a woman passing to draw water from a well. I have a delightful quiet half-hour reading, and then I turn into my quiet room, to be alone with God and to

dress. At half-past six the church bells begin to ring (they are really two large brass gongs, but with very pleasant bell-like sound), and their sound floats from the church hill over the compound and to the villages here and there among the trees.

At seven o'clock I have the Holy Communion in Hindi; only a small congregration, for it is intended not for the Santâls but for the Hindispeaking teachers we have in the schools, and the few Christian servants we have of Hindu descent. I enjoy the service, for Hindi is so easy to speak, at least to me, to whom it was the daily language of my life for so many years. I give a longer address than I used to do at the early Communion at Horton, but then I have no reason to shorten it, for there is no Sunday-school to follow immediately after. I say very plain things to my congregation: I know pretty well their faults and their sins, and I things that will apply to myself as well as to them. O that one could make some of them feel and even look very uncomfortable yet I say always live as one preaches! One can only set up one model for people to follow, but how distressingly conscious one feels of not having reached it oneself; one can only preach Christ, but O how infinitely far below Him are we, even when nearest to Him!

Down the hill in the bright sunlight at nearly nine o'clock to have a cup of tea, and then at half-past nine o'clock Lack again to church for the Santali service. One of my young men who is preparing for orders reads the prayers for me, for the church is a large one and a very difficult one to speak in, and I have not the strength that I had in England. Would you wonder at my strength being less, if you saw that during service my clothes were completely wet through with perspiration, and that my surplice is streaked with perspiration, although I have no coat or waistcoat or cassock on underneath the surplice, and though I am sitting still? I preach-not a long sermon, for I find that though the people listen well for about twenty-five minutes, beyond that time their attention begins to flag. Poor agricultural people, such as these Santâls, are not accustomed to sit still and think, and if they sit very long they go to sleep. Yet they are very attentive.

After the sermon is the offertory-not a collection, but a real offertory; the people bring up their gifts to the Lord's table: and I must say I like it much better than our cold English way of collecting the money. These offertories, I am glad to say, have been steadily increasing the last few months, and are three or four times as much as they frequently used to be. Then every other week follows the Holy Communion with about 100 communicants. After service I stand for a moment outside the church to have a look at the beautiful view that there is in every direction; and I generally have a few kind words with some of the people,

especially those who come from the rather distant villages.

As soon as I get home I generally have a number of people come for medicine, and then at last I really get something like a breakfast. At half-past two we have Santali service again, and I read prayers, and one of my young men preaches; our afternoon service is rather irregular, and consists of Litany, and a good many hymns, sometimes a hynn even in the middle of the Litany, which I think a capital thing, if the hymn is a suitable one. Then I go up by train about half-past four to Sahibgunj, about seventeen miles away, or I ride over to Rajmahal about eight miles off, and have English service with the few English residents in one or other of the places; and if Sahibgunj is the place, I have to stay the night; if Rajmahal, I ride back again in the dark, thinking of Horton and home, and Horton Sundays, and home faces, until I forget where I ain, and I am roused up by my horse stumbling or taking fright at something in the dark; and then I wake up for a moment, but only in a few minutes again to wander back to you all, and pray that God may bless the day to you, and give you His presence, even as He does to your unworthy Pastor.

HAT Mr. Storrs says above about the offertory may be further illustrated by the following extract from a private letter from one of our younger missionaries:-

"January 1st, 1878.-A great day with the Santâl Christians. We met for Divine service, and at the offertory sentences the people, according to custom, crowded up, young and old, to the communionrails, and there laid down their thank-offerings to Jehovah for the fruits of the harvest (just ended). It was a most affecting sight to me, and even while I write the tears will come into my eyes. Old men and women, young lads and girls, and little infants all pressed forward, bearing some gift. Bushels and bushels of rice were poured out, seeds of various kinds; here a gourd, there a pumpkin; next, a babe in arms with a handful of pice (one pice about a farthing). Some almost tottered under their load of rice. One poor man brought a jar of milk; and, most touching of all, a little boy of six or seven brought his little live kid and tied it to the chancel rails. The plate was piled up with pice till it would hold no more, and another had to be got to finish the collection. Such are the Santâls! Not, indeed, perfect-very far from it; but with much that is good and noble-much that wins love and admiration."

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