comes in contact, just as powdered paint would stain it. Walking over such dust is impossible for a lady who would wear light garments and keep them spotless. As for the smells, they are indescribable. A friend, who was once on a visit to us, went for a drive along the marina. The sea breeze had died away and there was a land wind.
'How far did you go?' I asked on his return.
'I went along the beach until I came to a smell. Poof! It was like a wall! You could have cut slabs off it! It was enough for me, and I turned back.'
From his description I knew exactly the spot where he had turned.
The heat in the middle of the day, when it is incumbent on gentlemen to pay their calls, is somewhat trying. The seasoned old Anglo-Indian adopts the prudent course of wearing a sun-hat in his brougham. On arrival at a house it is exchanged for the smarter head-covering that fashion decrees should be worn on these occasions. It is told of a certain absent-minded man lately arrived from up-country, who was making a call on one of the grandes dames of Madras, that he effected the change of hats in the brougham correctly, but forgot to leave his topee in the carriage when he entered the drawing-room. Throughout the regular ten minutes of small talk he continued unconsciously to wear his black hat while he held his sun-topee in his hand.
Among the compensations of calling were the drives which I was obliged to take to accomplish my visits. They led me to the four points of the compass, and were full of interest. The scenery, the natives, the gorgeous colouring, the brilliant sea and sky never failed to delight the eye. In addition, each district of the town, whether covered with buildings or with luxuriant tropical vegetation, was full of historical associations.
My first impressions of Madras were received on the
