It is curious to note, in letters written nearly a hundred years ago, that many of the things now said about India were said then, and hopes and fears and perplexities concerning the progress of Christianity were couched in much the same terms as at the present day.

Bishop Heber writes: "I have seen enough to find that the customs, the habits, and prejudices of the people of this country are much misunderstood in England." These words of the Bishop are still true, in spite of the multitude of books which have been written about India since his day, and the increasing number of people who visit the country.

Even the same misunderstandings linger. "We have all heard," writes the Bishop, "of the humanity of the Hindus towards brute creatures, their horror of animal food, etc.; and you may be, perhaps, as much surprised as I was, to find that those who can afford it are hardly less carnivorous than ourselves. And though they consider it a grievous crime to kill a cow or bullock for the purpose of eating, yet they treat their draft oxen, no less than their horses, with a degree of barbarous severity which would turn an English hackney-coachman sick. Nor have their religious prejudices and the unchangeableness of their habits been less exaggerated. At present there is an obvious and increasing disposition to imitate the English in everything, which has already led to very remarkable changes, and will, probably, to still more important." The same sentiments might be written with equal truth to-day, and would be news to many.

The Bishop also describes the Hindu character with a good deal of accuracy, but he adds truly: "I do not by any means assent to the pictures of depravity and general worthlessness which some have drawn of the Hindus." But when speaking of their religion as a "demoralising and absurd religion," he is much nearer the truth than those modern writers who try to idealise it.

Speaking of dissenters, Bishop Heber writes that they are "very civil, and affect to rejoice at our success; but they, somehow or other, cannot help interfering and setting up rival schools close to ours; and they apparently find it easier to draw off our pupils, than to look out for fresh and more distant fields of enterprise." This description would apply to the mission field in many places now, especially to the action of Roman Catholics and the Salvation Army.

The amazing rashness of the earlier settlers and missionaries comes out in some of their books and journals, and it is no wonder that the mortality amongst them was great, so that going to India was regarded as an heroic act, and the chances of return dubious. The chief precaution against the sun that they indulged in was to get up extraordinarily early, so as to get their exercise while it was still cool, and they took a long sleep in the middle of the day. Bishop Heber in one of his letters from Calcutta says: "I held my first visitation this morning at 6 o'clock (!), to avoid the heat of the day." In another letter, when on tour, he writes: "I rise by three in the morning and am on horseback by four." Again, speaking of his life in Calcutta, he says: "Our way of life is simple, and suited to the climate. The general custom is to rise at six in the cool season, and at half-past four in the morning during the hot weather, and to take exercise on horseback till the sun is hot; then follow a cold bath, prayers, and breakfast." The plunge into the "cold bath" should be noted, as being the ultimate cause of the Bishop's sudden death. Few people take a cold bath in India now, and certainly not in the early morning. Nor is the chill air in the early hours of the Indian day in the cold weather a particularly healthy time, and nowadays the few people who come to India with the intention of conforming to the ancient custom of early morning exercise soon drop it. It is to be regretted that the tendency now is to go to the opposite extreme, and late hours at night, and comparatively late getting up, grows increasingly common. Few people, however, now look upon the midday siesta as a necessity.

There are authentic sketches of Bishop Heber and others out for a ride, dressed in frock coat and tall hat, as if they were in Rotten Row. The Bishop, nevertheless, seems to have accommodated his dress to the necessities of the climate more than most of the clergy, at any rate when on tour. There is an amusing paragraph, bearing on this point, in the journal of the Archdeacon of Bombay in 1825. When Bishop Heber was drawing near to Bombay, after a long and arduous tour, he was joined by the Archdeacon, who says in the course of his notes that "there are some points, such as his wearing white trousers and a white hat, which I could wish were altered with more regard to his station, and which, perhaps strike me the more after being accustomed to the particular attention of Bishop Middleton in such points." But he goes on to say that he felt compelled to forgive him, on the score of all his other excellent qualities. In a note the editor explains that "on his journeys the Bishop wore a white solar hat, with a very broad brim (lined with green silk), made from the pith of the bamboo. As it afforded more protection from glare and heat he preferred it to the episcopal hat, his usual dress when residing at any of the presidencies. The white trousers he adopted soon after his arrival in India, from their greater coolness; and he recommended them to his clergy on all ordinary occasions." It might be added that coolness is not the only thing to be considered for residents in India. A chill of some sort is the cause of many Indian ailments, and shirt and trousers of flannel, however thin, should be the invariable dress, by day and by night.

One of the ways of trying to regain health amongst those early workers in the East, was to go for an excursion of some weeks' duration on a river. Possibly they had in mind the beneficial results of a boat excursion on the Thames. But slow progress in a native boat, alongside the mud-banks and reedy swamps of many Indian rivers, was about as sure a way of getting, or increasing, malaria as they could have devised.

There is a strong spirit of conservatism amongst most Englishmen when they live in India. They appear to catch the traditional spirit of the country, and "what has been must always be." Hence arrangements adopted by the earlier settlers are continued to the present day, even though in some respects they are particularly inconvenient. The old-fashioned bungalow, which is always a one-storied building nearly all roof, is simplicity itself as regards plan. But it is certainly not beautiful to look at, and has nothing specially to commend itself from a practical point of view. Yet it is only very gradually that houses more attractive in appearance, and more adapted to the ways of civilisation, are taking its place. Even in modern bungalows, the extremely primitive arrangements for bathing, which formerly had to suffice because there was nothing better, are still perpetuated. The bathroom is often a dingy, lean-to shed, opening out of your sleeping room. It has another door leading to the outer world for the use of the water-carrier, as well as for the mysterious being who glides in and out as he attends to the sanitary needs of the bathroom in a country where there is no drainage.

The actual area for bathing is something like the sink in an English scullery, but level with the floor and on an enlarged scale. The hole in the wall, as an exit for the water, is unpleasantly suggestive of a possible inlet for snakes. Nor is this fear without foundation. The hole in the wall leading into the cool, damp, dark bathroom is a distinct invitation to snakes to enter in, which they sometimes accept. The wire guard is often absent, or broken. The water for bathing is stored in utensils, varying in type according to the part of India in which you may happen to be. Sometimes it is kept in tall black earthenware pots, suggestive of those in which the Forty Thieves of the Arabian Nights concealed themselves. Sometimes it is found in a gigantic sort of round pie-dish, such as a giant might use for his supper. Sometimes a modern galvanised iron tub indicates the fusion of Eastern and Western habits.

A servant-boy will bring you a pailful of hot water from the kitchen—that remote apartment, in some far-away corner of the compound, to which no one ventures to penetrate, unless he is prepared to eat his dinner ever afterwards with misgivings. A certain suspicion of greasiness on the surface of the water is suggestive of cooking and of vessels imperfectly cleansed. It is always rather a problem to know how one is meant to use the water in the pail, which is usually scalding hot. A visitor emptying it into the big tub of cold water, and having a luxurious tepid bath, found that in so doing he had unwittingly used up a store of cold water which was meant to last for several days. There are many parts of India where clean fresh water is scarce, and has to be fetched from a distance and used with economy.

The remaining apparatus provided for your comfort in the bathroom is a wooden board, or rack, on which you squat, while you pour water over yourself with a tin pint-pot. It is well to see that no scorpion, or other stinging insect, has hid up in any of the crevices of the board. A very refreshing bath can be secured in this primitive way, and suggestions for improved methods are scarcely welcomed by those who have got accustomed to, and now prefer, the old-fashioned plan.