Whence do these people come? Whither do they go? Where do they sleep? How are they clothed? How do they live? Nay, more, how do they die? In all Triplicane I had not seen one white face, probably not one Christian. All wore the distinctive dress of the Mohammedan, or the mark in the forehead that proclaimed their adhesion to some one of the sects of Hindu idolatry. But this is only one of the suburbs of Madras. Upon another evening I was taken to another quarter, and again to another and another; and again and again did I see similar masses of heathen men, swarming like ants through the thoroughfares of this populous city. As a Christian missionary, my mind was overwhelmed with the power of this one thought of countless masses of men hurrying on unprepared for the awards of eternity.
And yet Christians, professing to believe the Scriptures which declare that no idolater can enter the kingdom of heaven, ask, “Why go abroad?” Would that such could see India or a mere fraction of India in its moral darkness and desolation! Could they do so, they would sympathize with the cry for labourers to enter this vast harvest-field. Reader! let the mil-
