both sides of the line. No light was visible, and the scene was more desolate than the plain. A little later a grey light on the eastern horizon heralded the Indian day. We passed over the Cauvery River, its silvery waters broken by dark water- worn boulders and its banks covered with elephant-grass and tangled jungle. Before the sun touched the distant hills, which we had left behind, the train pulled up at Erode, where we were more occupied in the consumption of the welcome cup of morning tea than in studying the beauties of nature.
The run from Erode to Trichinopoly at that period took about five hours. 'Haste is of the devil,' says the Hindu, who hates to be hurried. The leisurely pace at which we travelled gave ample time to enjoy the charms of tropical nature displayed in the full light of the morning sun.
The line passes down the fertile valley of the Cauvery. Twice a year the river comes down in flood from the hills, bringing with it a fertilising deposit. At each over- flow the land yields a bountiful crop without requiring the assistance of artificial manures.
In all directions nature, whether under cultivation or in a wild state, was prolific. The trees and flowering shrubs, the scarlet gloriosa lily festooning the thorny arms of the cactus, the weaver-birds' nests hanging from the boughs above the water channels, the green parrakeets and bronze honeysuckers and sunbirds, the blue roller jay-bird, and golden oriole playing about the foliage in the sunshine 'like a yellow lambent flame,' were sights that reconciled me with parting from Madras.
At every station a crowd of happy, chattering people climbed into the train, taking the seats of others who left the overflowing carriages. The object of their journey was a feast at some temple, a visit of ceremony to a friend or relative, or to be present at a wedding. The
