begin to be seen, and the ear once | Hyde Park. The sight is even more more catches the sounds of machinery imposing. Most of the higher classes and commerce. The cold emotions of use stately landaus, or open barouches; wonder, and the pain of reflecting that and the ladies are without bonnets. one has arrived in the regions of deg- Crowds of gentlemen are on horseback. radation and idolatry, now give place Indian side-runners give a princely air to a sense of exhilaration and home- to the slow procession. The shipping ness. On every side is evidence of the of every nation, the clear horizon, the presence of those who stand with the noble fort, the city front, the pleasurehighest among the civilized, the free, boats, the beautiful ghauts, &c., make the scientific, and the religious nations it a scene which always pleases; and of the earth. Hope portrays the future, the citizens repair thither from day to benevolence stands ready to act, and day, and from year to year, without discouragement is cheered by assurance weariness or satiety. of coöperation. At length, in passing a bend in the river, called "Garden Reach," a superb array of country-seats opens on the eastern bank. Luxury and refinement seem here to have made their home. Verdant and quiet lawns appear doubly attractive to a voyager, weary of ocean and sky. Buildings coated with plaster, and combining Grecian chasteness with Oriental adaptation, lift their white columns amid noble trees and numerous tanks. Steamboats, budgerows, and dingeys, ply about upon the smooth water. The lofty chimneys of gas-works and factories rise in the distance, and every thing bespeaks your approach to a great city. We passed just at sunset. The multiform vehicles, for which Calcutta is famous, stood before the doors, or rolled away through the trees, followed by turbaned servants in flowing muslin. Ladies and children, with nurses and bearers, lounged along the smooth paths, and it was difficult to realize that this beautiful climate should prove so insidious. The general observation, however, is, that death owes more victims to high living, indolence, exposure at night, fatigue in shooting excursions, &c., than to the positive effects of climate. Indeed, some affirm India to be as salubrious as England, and the aspect of some who have been long in the country would seem to countenance the assertion. A farther advance brings an indistinct view of the fort and the fine buildings of the Chouringy suburb, all presented in one great curve, which is soon relinquished for a more minute and inquisitive contemplation of "the course." This is a broad road on the bank of the river, passing round the esplanade and fort, to which the Engsh residents drive every evening at inset. As every clerk in the city, eps his buggy, or palankeen carriage, erowd of vehicles rivals that at On passing Garden Reach, the river becomes covered with boats of every conceivable form, from which a dozen different languages meet the ear. A multitude of vessels lie at anchor; steam-engines pour from their towering chimneys volumes of smoke; beautiful ghauts slope into the water; palankeens, tonjons, buggies, coaches, phaëtons, gares, caranches, and hackaries, line the shore, and before us spreads out the great city, containing, with its suburbs, almost a million of souls. All who die in or beside the river, and even those whose dead bodies are committed to it, being deemed certain of future bliss, multitudes are brought to die upon the banks, or are laid at low water on the mud, whence the return of the tide washes them away. These and the half-consumed relics from the funeral pile, in every variety of revolting aspect, are continually floating by. Government boats ply above the city to sink these bodies; but many escape, and we daily saw them float by, while vultures stood upon them contending for the horrid banquet. There being no wharves or docks, you are rowed to a ghaut in a dingey, and landed amid Hindus performing their ablutions, and reciting their prayers. No sooner does your boat touch the shore, than a host of bearers contend for you with loud jabber, and those whom you resist least, actually bear you off in their arms through the mud, and you find yourself at once in one of those strange conveyances, a palankeen. Away you hie, flat on your back, at the rate of nearly five miles an hour, a chatty boy bearing aloft a huge palm-leaf umbrella to keep off the sun, whom no assurances that you do not want him will drive away, but who expects only a pice or two for his pains. The bearers grunt at every step, like southern negroes when cleaving wood; and though they do it as a sort of cho rus, it keeps your unaccustomed feel- | ings discomposed. Arrived at the house, you find it secluded within a high brick wall, and guarded at the gate by a durwan, or porter, who lives there in a lodge, less to prevent ingress, than to see that servants and others carry nothing away improperly. The door is sheltered by a porch, called here a verandah, so constructed as to shelter carriages-a precaution equally necessary for the rains and the sun. The best houses are of two stories, the upper being occupied by the family, and the lower used for dining and store rooms. On every side are contrivances to mitigate heat and exclude dust. Venetian blinds enclose the verandah, extending from pillar to pillar, as low as a man's head. The remaining space is furnished with mats, (tatties,) which reach to the floor, when the sun is on that side, but at other times are rolled up. When these are kept wet, they diffuse a most agreeable coolness. The moment you sit down, whether in a mansion, office, or shop, a servant commences pulling the punka, under which you may happen to be. The floor is of brick and mortar, covered with mats, the walls of the purest white, and the ceilings of great height. Both sexes, and all orders, dress in white cottons. The rooms are kept dark, and in the hottest part of the day shut up with glass. In short, every thing be trays a struggle to keep cool. Another great contest seems to be against ants. You perceive various articles of furniture placed upon little dishes of water or quick lime, without which precaution every thing is over run. White ants are most formidable; for from those it is impossible wholly to guard. They attack every thing, even the beams in the houses. A chest of clothes, lying on the floor a day or two only, may be found entirely ruined. A mere pinhole appears in your precious quarto-you open it, and behold a mass of dust and fragments! The number of servants, and their snowy drapery, huge turbans, stubby mustachios, bare feet, and cringing servility, form another feature in the novel scene. Partly from the influence of caste, but more from indolent habits, low pay, and the indulgence of former masters, when fortunes were easily made, they are appointed to services so minutely divided as to render a great number necessary. * A walk into the native town, pro duces novel sights on every side. The houses, for the most part, are mere hovels, with mud floors and mud walls, scarcely high enough to stand up in, and covered with thatch. The streets are narrow, crooked, and dirty; and on every neglected wall, cow-dung, mixed with chaff, and kneaded into thin cakes, is stuck up to dry for fuel. The shops are often but six or eight feet square, and seldom twice this size, wholly open in front, without any counter, but the mat on the floor, part of which is occupied by the vender, sitting cross-legged, and the rest serves to exhibit his goods. Mechanics have a similar arrangement. Barbers sit in the open street on a mat, and the patient, squatting on his hams, has not only his beard, but part of his head, shaved, leaving the hair to grow only on his crown. In the tanks and ponds, are dobies slapping their clothes with all their might upon a bench or a stone. Little braminy bulls, with their humped shoulders, walk among the crowd, thrusting their noses into the baskets of rice, gram, or peas, with little resistance, except they stay to repeat the mouthful.* Bullocks, loaded with panniers, pass slowly by. Palankeens come bustling along, the bearers shouting at the people to clear the way. Pedlers and hucksters utter their ceaseless cries. Religious mendicants, with long hair matted with cow-dung, and with faces and arms smeared with Ganges mud, walk about almost naked, with an air of the utmost impudence and pride, demanding, rather than begging gifts. Often they carry a thick triangular plate of brass, and, striking it at intervals with a heavy stick, send the shrill announcement of their approach far and near. Now and then comes rushing along the buggy of some English merchant, whose syce, running before, drives the pedestrians out of the way; or some villanous-looking caranche drags by, shut up close with red cloth, containing native ladies, who contrive thus to "take the air." No Englishmen are seen on foot, except the very poorest, as it is deemed ungenteel; nor native women, except of the lowest castes. Costumes and complexions, of every variety, move *These are individuals turned loose when young, as offerings to an idol, which are thenceforth regarded as sacred. Though no one looks them in good order; and mixing so much among after them, their privileged mode of life keeps crowds, from which they meet no ill treatment, makes them perfectly gentle. about without attracting attention unlike any thing in any other part of Hindus, Mussulmans, Armenians, the world, that weeks elapse before Greeks, Persians, Parsees, Arabs, Jews, the sensation of strangeness wears Burmans, Chinese, &c. &c. Bheesties, away. with leather water-sacks, slung drip A Bheestie. ping on their backs, carry their precious burden to the rich man's yard, or hawk it along the street, announcing their approach by drumming on their brass measure. Snake-charmers, jugglers, and blind musicians, gather their little crowds. Processions are almost always abroad in honor of some idol, or in fulfilment of some promise; making all possible clamor with voices, drums, cymbals, and trumpets. Women carry their children astride on their hips. Wretched carriages, drawn by more wretched ponies, jingle along, bearing those who have long walks and moderate means. Women crowd about the wells, carrying water on their hips, in brass jars. One is constantly struck with the excessive cruelty displayed toward oxen and horses by the natives; so strongly contrasting with the tenderness of Burman drivers. The cattle are small, lean, and scarred all over with the brands and fanciful figures of their owners. Poor in flesh, and weak, they are urged with a large stick, and by twisting the tail, in the most violent manner. The heavy blows were continually sounding in my ears, and, with the creaking of the wheels, which are never greased, keep up an odious din. The horses of their miserable caranches fare no better-the driver scarcely ever suffering his whip to repose. Close to my residence was one of those numerous tanks resorted to in this city, not only for drinking-water, but ablutions of all sorts. Every hour in the day some one was there bathing, Those who came for water, would generally walk in, and letting their jar float awhile, bathe, and perhaps wash their cloth; then filling their vessel, bear it away with dripping clothes. Some dobeys, or washermen, resorted thither, whose severe process fully accounted for the fringes constantly made on the edges of my clothes. Without soap or fire, they depend on mere labor; standing knee deep in the water, and gathering the end of a garment in their and habits. A spectacle of frequent | often carried in a palankeen, and the recurrence was the wedding procession bridegroom on horseback, held by a of young children, affianced by their friend. Sometimes the little things relations. Music and many torches are borne in a higly-ornamented litter, dignify the procession. The girl is as in the engraving. It is always af fecting to think that if the poor little boy die, his betrothed is condemned to perpetual widowhood. Many of these, as might be expected, become abandoned characters. I saw many funerals, but none in which any solemnity or pomp prevailed. The body, without a coffin, was carried on its own paltry bedstead by four men, covered merely with a sheet; a few followers kept up a wailing recitative, and beat upon small native drums. The body was thus conveyed to the place of burning, or thrown into the Ganges. Serampore. The name of Serampore is so intimately associated with the history of modern missions, especially those of the Baptist denomination, that I of course spent some time there. A pleasant ride of fifteen miles brought me to Barrackpore, a military station on the river side opposite to Serampore, and the seat of the governorgeneral's country residence. The road is bordered with fine trees the whole distance, and the country, as far as the eye can reach, is in high cultivation. Many laborers were ploughing-an operation which stirs up but a couple of inches of soil, and would call forth the surprise and contempt of a NewEngland farmer. The plough costs but fifty cents, and the miniature oxen which draw it, but five dollars the pair. The latter are generally marked all over with lines and circles, burnt upon their skin. The view of Serampore from the river, is exceedingly attractive. The same architecture which prevails at Calcutta, gives the houses the appearance of elegant marble villas, and the huge college, with its superb columns, confers dignity on the whole scene. The river is here about eight hundred or a thousand yards wide, placid, and full of boats. The population of Serampore is fifteen thousand. About one hundred of the houses are designed for Europeans, but nearly half of them are empty. I was kindly received by the venerable survivor of that noble triumvirate, which will never be forgotten while missions retain an advocate. Though in his sixty-ninth year, Dr. Marshman's eye is not dim, nor his step slow. He leads the singing at family worship, with a clear and full voice; preaches with energy; walks rapidly several miles every morning, and devotes as many hours every day to study as at any former period. His school for boys, and Mrs. M.'s for girls, are continued, though less lucrative than hitherto, from the number of similar ones now established in the country. Every walk through the town and its environs, presents objects which awaken tender and serious thought. There is the ghaut, where thirty-six years ago, Marshman family landed, friendless and the opposition of the ernment, There, by V S. ago, landed Harriet Newell and Ann H. Judson, whose feet now tread the starry plain. And up those steps, for many years, missionaries of all names and parties have ascended, to receive a fraternal welcome to India. Close by are part of the foundations of the houses of Carey and Ward, long since overturned by the encroachments of the river. Further down is the printing-office, whence so many thousands of thousands of portions of the word of God, in languages spoken by more than half the pagan world, have been produced. Still further is the college, a superb and vast edifice, the principal hall of which is said to be the largest in India. It is a chaste and noble building, constructed of the most durable materials throughout. The staircases are of ornamental cast iron, imported from England at great expense. Its library is exceedingly valuable, and contains the immense collection of dried botanic specimens by Dr. Carey. Connected with the institution are about one hundred pupils, but for the most part young, and studying only preparatory branches, At this time, there are but two regular students in the college proper. The building was erected when there were no similar institutions in India, and shows the capacious plans and noble spirit of its founders. But the starting up of so many schools of similar character, and other causes, have prevented the expected accession of students. There is reason to hope that the active operation of the numerous elementary schools in the vicinity, will, ere long, create a race of scholars prepared to proceed in the elevated course of studies intended to be here pursued. In the rear of the college are two professor's houses, in one of which Carey spent his last years. The room in which he died called up indescribable sensations, and I trust wrought improvement upon my spirit. Behind is the extensive botanic garden, where that wonderful man, by way of relaxation, gathered a vast collection of trees, flowers, fruits, and vegetables, from every part of India, and from whence he diffused a taste for natural science, which is now yielding invaluable results. A little to the north of the town, in a calm and retired spot, is the mission grave-yard, surrounded with palm groves. It contains about an acre, enclosed with a good brick wall; and along its nice gravel walks are mahog any trees, set at proper distances. The monument for Ward is a circular pavilion, beautiful and chaste, with a suitable inscription on one side, read from within. Carey's is a plain cenotaph, built many years ago, for some of his family, and now bearing additional inscriptions for himself and his widow. His own epitaph, by his express direction, is merely this: WILLIAM CAREY, BORN 17TH OF AUGUST, 1761, DIED 9TH OF JUNE, 1834. "A wretched, poor, and helpless worm, On thy kind arms I fall." Mrs. Carey, his third wife, died about a year after her husband. Mr. Ward's widow survived him ten years. Carey's son is now a missionary in the upper provinces. Ward left two daughters, both of whom are pious and have been married several years. A handsome church was built in the town, by the Danish government, many years ago; but no chaplain has ever been appointed, and the missionaries have always officiated there. They have beside this a commodious chapel of their own, where worship is performed on week days and Sunday evenings, and a considerable church of natives. A mile and a half from town is another. This mission was commenced in 1793. Its history is too well known to leave me the necessity of describing it, or dwelling on its fruits. It was the commencement of those grand operations, which we trust the church will never relinquish till the earth be filled with the knowledge of the Lord. With the exception of what had been done in the Tamul and Malayalim languages, the whole of India was then entirely destitute of the scriptures in their vernacular tongues. Few in number, and sustained by their own resources, the missionaries have given the world the whole Bible in Sunscrit, Chinese, Bengalee, Hindu, Mahratta, Oriya, Sikh, Pushtu or Afghan, Cashmere, and Assamee; and the New Testament in the Gujeratee, Kunkun, Multanee, Bikaneer, Bhugulcund, Maruar, Nepaul, Harotee, Kanoja, Mugudh, Oojuyinee, Jumbo, Bhutneer, Munipore, Bruj, Kemaoon, Shree-nagur, and Palpa; beside portions of the New Testament in various other languages. Some of these versions have been repeatedly revised, and successive editions printed. |