on were increased at least a thousand dollars by this visit.

In the evening the entire company attended the Church of England at the
invitation of Lord Tremlyn; and the sermon was preached by the Bishop of
Bombay. The Methodists were as much pleased with it as though it had been
delivered by one of their own fold. A portion of the day was passed in
writing letters to their friends at home, and quite a bundle of them was
collected for the post by Louis. They were all sealed, with stamps affixed,
and Morris's servant Mobarak was directed to put them in the mail-box. But
the fellow shook his head, and declined to obey.

His sahib was proceeding to give him a lecture in rather energetic terms,
when Sir Modava interposed, and explained that the servant had religious
scruples, knowing that the stamp had been wet on the tongues of the
senders, which made it unclean to him, and he could not touch it.

"I have heard of a young man not older than Mobarak who lost his life
rather than come in contact with the saliva of a foreigner; but I doubt if
many would carry their fanaticism to that extent," he added.

The next morning the party were up at six o'clock, and after they had taken
their coffee, carried up to them by their servants, went out to walk by two
and threes; but they returned by seven o'clock, and were assembled in the
parlor. The sights in the streets had become rather an old story by this
time, and there was not much to be said about them.

"Have you recovered from the fatigues of Saturday, Mrs. Belgrave?" asked
Lord Tremlyn.

"Entirely, my Lord. I am quite ready for the next item in your programme,"
replied the lady.

"How did you enjoy the play, madam?" inquired Sir Modava.

"As a religious exhibition, from my point of view, it was a failure."

"It does not convey much of an idea of even the mythology of the Hindus,"
added Professor Giroud. "If Krishna was a divinity, or even an incarnation
of one, he is a very bad representation of the piety and morality of the
gods. The affair was well enough as a love-story, but the conclusion looked
like a pleasant satire on those authors who insist that their tales and
novels shall have an agreeable ending;" and the professor indulged in a
hearty laugh as he recalled the manner in which Satyavama had been brought
back to life by the divinity in yellow paint.

"I like that kind of a winding up of a story, and I don't like the other
kind," added the magnate of the Fifth