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ADURA, the central city of the Tamil population of India and the headquarters of a large and prosperous mission of the American Board, is situated 350 miles south of Madras. Taking the evening train at Madras, on the South Indian railway, the traveler has a cool night ride over a great level plain and arrives at Trichinopoly at dawn. From this place there is a change of scenery. The train begins an ascent of nine hundred feet to Dindigul. On either side are sharpcut hills with great picturesque variety of form, back of which rise high mountains that afford sanitaria for the heat-stricken dwellers of the plains. On approaching Din digul, its celebrated port built on a precipi. tous rock rising 280 feet above the town, is the most prominent object that greets the eye. This port has been the scene of many sieges in Indian warfare. The English took it from Tippoo Saib in 1783 and they were confirmed by him in the possession of the port in 1792. The Lower Pulney Hills on the north and the Sirumalyas on the south afford a pretty environment to the town. On descending towards Madura, the country spreads out into a well-watered plain covered with rice cultivation and dotted with many groves of cocoanut palm and clumps of large fruit trees. The greater portion of the region is made productive by an irrigation scheme carried out by the English government. A large stream of water runs along a plateau on the western side of the mountains and formerly, by a short descent to the coast of Western Hindustan, fell into the sea without benefiting any region. A great dam was thrown

across the course of the river and a large artifical lake was formed. A tunnel of nearly two miles was excavated through the mountains, by means of which the water was led through to the eastern side of the mountains and made to furnish abundant irrigation to the plains of Madura.

Madura is a Hindu city of two hundred thousand inhabitants. It was formerly surrounded by walls, but these have been so thoroughly removed that scarcely a vestige of them remains. A Hindu city is always repulsive on account of its filthiness and Madura is no exception. One glance into the interior of the low, mud-built houses is quite enough to satisfy the inquisitive westerner. Black, putrid pools of disease-breeding filth lie about the houses and pollute the air with their offensive odor. Sluggish streams of the same dark, thick filth slowly find their way down the shallow gutters that constitute the surface drainage system of the city.

The principal objects of interest are the famous Hindu temple, the palace, and Tippokalam. The temple is the largest shrine of Hinduism in India and one of the most noted. It is, perhaps, the best specimen of Hindu architecture. The area covered by it is twenty acres, lying in the center of the city. The temple is surrounded by a stone wall more than twenty feet high. Above the four great entrances rise high, massive towers in the form of truncated pyramids. The lower portion of these towers is built of carved stone. Above rise nine lofty stories, which are covered by the weird and grotesque figures of the gods of the Hindu pantheon wrought in painted stucco work. The fine impression which photographs of these towers produce is greatly impaired by the tawdry coloring and uncouth workmanship which personal inspec

tion reveals. A broad, open space, extending around the four sides of the temple, separates the outer wall from the main building. In the center of the main building is a dim, cloistered court with stone pillars and roof. Here and there are gloomy shrines with hideous images barely visible in the light of a flickering candle, before which devotees are kneeling. Much of the carving that decorates the pillars is coarse and often obscene. At each corner of this interior court are four square outer courts with deep, pillared corridors for walking that surround great square baths of green, slimy water open to the sky. Many were bathing drinking it without

in the filthy water and the slightest hesitation. The temple contains a treasury with a vast collection of precious stones. Some are of enormous value. The stones are generally uncut. They are under the care of seven trustees each of whom has a separate key, lock and seal, so that the treasury cannot be opened

except in the presence of all.

By this arrangement the safety of the jewels is insured against pilfering by any one of the trustees, among whom there is a mutual distrust. One part of the temple is dedicated to Siva and the other part to his wife, Prenatchy. natchy. The shrine of the latter is most frequently visited, and the worship is often conducted with many licentious orgies. The very relation supposed to exist between the god and the goddess teaches immorality. They live together as husband and wife, but without marriage. They are to be married every year, but each year during the centuries, when the marriage ceremony reaches a certain point, a Brahman sneezes and the rite cannot be consummated. Hence the divine pair have never yet been properly married. This is only one of the many immoral phases of Hinduism which Swami Vivekananda held up as a sublime faith to the admiring ladies of Chicago at the Parliament of Religions.-Zion's Advocate.

IN

N a large bazar like that of Secunderabad, for instance, which occupies the streets of more than half a square mile, there is a general classification of business; those who deal in certain lines being found together in a certain locality. There is the "cloth bazar," the "furniture bazar," the "medicine bazar," the "iron bazar," etc., these names sometimes serving in place of street names. Then there is the "market," where meat, fruit and vegetables are sold.

The individual shops in these bazars have usually small openings in front, but the goods are packed closely on shelves, in boxes and drawers, and behind or above is a store-room or "gadúngi" (corrupted into the English "godown") for reserve supplies. In the Secunderabad bazar you can find broadcloth and silk, laces and buttons, gloves and hats, bedding, good sets of furniture, second-hand books, nails, screws, glass, paints and tools of all sorts, sugar, soap and sago, writing-paper, canned goods and Davis' Painkiller; in short, almost any. thing required by natives or Europeans. Each merchant has an astonishing variety of goods in his line. Many of these men would pass for shrewd practical business men in any country. They import goods and understand foreign exchange. Though wealthy, they continue to give personal attention to their business till they retire altogether. They will serve you politely, take great pains to find what you want, and if they haven't got it will try to sell you something else in its place, so as not to let you go away without buying something.

The candy merchant has an attractive show of goods for one who is fond of sweets. Here is one at Hanamakonda, surrounded by products of his own manufacture. He has sugar-drops, a kind of sweet macaroni made of pea flour, cakes of cocoanut and white sugar cut into dia

monds, balls of brown sugar and pea flour flavored with something pungent, and many other strange mixtures, to which must be added the contributions of flies and dust, unless he is more careful than most of his kind.

The most disagreeable part of trading in a bazar is the "bargaining" over the price. Unless you know the value of the goods you desire and know the merchant has a "fixed price," you may be sure that the "'asking price" is far above the proper price. To beat a man down on his price is disagreeable business, but you will have to come to it in India if you do not wish to be robbed.

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Some fine day, just as you are preparing for your after-dinner nap, you will hear a loud cry outside: "Harker!" Harker man!" It is a "madras hawker," a traveling merchant, who has brought his shop with him in trunks and begs the privilege of unstrapping them upon your veranda and showing you what "nice things" he has, "nice things, mam; very cheap." You tell him. that you are well supplied and do not need anything, but he insists on just showing them to you, although you protest that it will be of no use as you shall not buy a single thing. "Never mind, mam; no trouble, mam; madam only look and see what nice things." You consent, you look, you get interested. Surely there is a fine bargain that you ought not to let slip. You try to "settle the price," for these men, of all others in the business, know nothing of a "fixed price." You' get down to his lowest terms. "Lowest price, mam; not one pice less." You don't want it at that price, but make a final offer of a little less. He does not accept at first, but begins to pack up his things. You half regret that you did not give him his own price, but you have said it as "your last word." Presently

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he tosses out the goods: Take, mam; cheap, mam; too cheap." You count out the rupees, well pleased with the transaction

- for a while at least till some friend calls, who tells you she has lately bought the very same thing in the bazar for onefourth less.

The occupations of the Telugus are so numerous that it would be difficult to enumerate them all. We must not, however, pass over a few others of the more important classes or castes. There are the shoemakers of two kinds, the Madagas, who make sandals as well as tan leather, and another low caste branch who make shoes, the difference being that sandals are a clumsy covering for the bottom of the foot held on by straps and loops which are sometimes ornamented by threads of lead wrought into crinkles, dots, and stars. The shoes are of red or yellow morocco, with the sharp-pointed toes turned up like the front of an old-fashioned skate, and the back, where the stiffening ought to be, turned down flat into the inside of the heel. What

keeps them on then? Why, a sort of grasping pressure with the toes. The heels flap loosely at every step, frightening away the snakes and also announcing the wearer's coming long before he reaches your door.

Then there is the washerman (sākali), who whitens your linen beautifully, though at a considerable sacrifice of the texture, and is particularly hard on buttons, for he slaps his clothes upon a bare rock instead of rubbing them on a board, and your garments come back not only minus their buttons but with more buttonholes than you can well use.

The barber, too (múngulavädu), makes his regular visits if you have any shaving or haircutting to be done. He carries, besides his razors and shears, a set of small tools- chisels, knives, and tweezers - in his basket. What are these for, pray? To trim your toe and finger-nails, to be sure, and to pull out the hairs growing in your nose and ears. In addition to these accomplishments he pretends to be something of a doctor, and he will undertake some of the

most difficult operations known to the surgical profession. He is, withal, the newsvender of the village, indispensable and highly appreciated in the absence of daily papers. In fact, he is the counterpart of the European barber of two centuries ago. The butcher's stall, though not an institution of the vegetarian Hindus, is found in every considerable Telugu village in which there are Mohammedans. The Madagas, it is true, slaughter animals and eat their flesh, but they are after hides and are not particular about the vital condition of the animals they take them off of. They may be old and tough or only half alive, from injury or disease, or they may already have died a natural death before coming into their possession. In any case they would scarcely be able to furnish a pound of meat really fit to eat. Europeans always look elsewhere. We, in Hanamakonda, patronized our Mohammedan friends.

There is another institution which we must notice, located, as a rule, like the last, on the outskirts of the village, the toddy

shop or beer-saloon of the Góundlu or "tree climbers," who cultivate or hire groves of date-palms and palmyras, from which they draw the sap daily. This sap if collected in the morning, by afternoon ferments sufficiently to become intoxicating, and the selling lasts from that time until dark. The outfit is very simple, a few earthen pots to hold the stock and some half pint earthen dippers, with which the drink is measured and poured into the mouth, in a small stream through a funnel made of leaf or paper. The customers squat around upon the ground waiting for their turn.

The quantity drunk depends upon the effect desired. What he can buy for one "dub" (one-third of a cent) will warm up the customer nicely, two or three dubs' worth will make his "eyes red," tarrying and imbibing a little longer will make him wonderfully cheerful and talkative, and, if he wishes it, more will make him drunk.

This last degree, however, can be more quickly arrived at by patronizing a sister institution, the spirit-shop or first-class liquor