charities were the offspring of generous impulse and an almost reckless disregard of consequences. Many "philanthropic" Parsis have died, and many may die hereafter (God have mercy on their souls!), but none probably have died so widely regretted and so long remembered as poor Rustomji.
The Rustomji Dharamsálá, though a really handsome, well-divided building, has not a piece of furniture it can call its own—not one single chair or piece of bedding. Could not some Bombay Parsi buy the Dharamsálá, say, three hundred rupees' worth of small conveniences?
The Great Man of Little Broach.
Seeing that the Dharamsala was merely an enclosure of bare walls, with hard chunam flooring, Iwrote to my friend Désái Kaliánrái Hukumatrái, to help me with a few chairs. Desai Kaliánrai is the greatest among the Broach gentry, a municipal commissioner, a leading shett, a public-spirited citizen, and a general favourite with friends. The Desái is a man of taste, and keeps his house and grounds in excellent order. The worthy Desái came to my help with chairs, tables, and beddings, and so kindly