is a lurking conviction at the bottom of every Hindu heart that the best of all manures is human blood. Blood is life, and when it is poured out upon the ground the life soaks in with it. It is this superstition that is at the bottom of occasional murders. A foolish woman who has no children will believe that her barrenness may be overcome by anointing herself with the blood of a child. A short time before Queen Victoria died her Majesty had an illness, and a rumour went through the bazaars of Madras that a number of men were to be slain to restore her to health. Some sepoys, belonging to one of the native regiments stationed at the time in the Presidency town, were ordered into camp for signalling practice. The men were greatly perturbed, and the officers had some difficulty in persuading them that their lives were not going to be sacrificed on behalf of the Queen.
The great trouble with the garden in India is the trespassing goat and the blundering buffalo. The animals rarely enter by the open gateway; they prefer the gaps. The invasion is aided and abetted by the owners of the animals. It is said of an English garden, where the pruning is not done with a liberal hand, that once in a way the visit of a sheep is beneficial. The Indian black goat does not come singly. It browses upon everything that is green and tender, and its agility is so great that it can almost climb a tree. What is spared by the goat is trodden underfoot by the buffalo.
Of all the domestic animals in India the buffalo is the stupidest. Like the carnel, it will eat anything that comes within its reach, sticks, leaves, rotten fruit, dead rats, and garbage of all sorts. In spite of its unwieldy horns and staring eyes, which give it a savage look, it is abject before its keeper, usually a small, black urchin with a shaven head and a piece of string tied tightly round his waist for clothing. The urchin goes to sleep
