English-speaking Hindus, who are often eager to talk about religious matters, are inclined to take up the cudgels in favour of Protestantism, as compared with Roman Catholicism. But meeting an intelligent Brahmin in a train in the Mysore State, he did just the reverse, showing an unusual knowledge of ecclesiastical affairs. "Do you know how the Pope is elected?" he asked of an old engine-driver who happened to be a fellow-traveller, who seemed rather embarrassed by such an unlooked-for question from such a source. "It is the most extraordinary thing on earth," the Brahmin went on to say, and he proceeded to describe pretty accurately the process of election.

"Now if the Pope was to come to St Paul's Cathedral, would your Archbishop of Canterbury receive him with due respect as the greatest dignitary on earth?" asked the Brahmin.

I said that the circumstances were not very likely to occur, but that if they did, I had no doubt the Pope would be received with the respect due to his office.

"And if your Archbishop went to Italy, would he stay with the Pope?" said the Brahmin.

I replied that I did not think it likely that he would get an invitation, but that if he did, he would probably accept it. The Brahmin at times made use of semi-profane expressions when talking English. "Good Lord! what a crowd," he said, putting his head into the window of a carriage when we were changing at a junction. But in spite of his knowledge of ecclesiastical affairs, he called on the Hindu god Rama when settling down for the night.

Meeting a Parsee, who having been educated at a Roman Catholic school knew something of Christianity, I asked him how it was that this knowledge had borne no practical fruit. His reply was that when in Christian colleges attendance at a religious class is compulsory, it makes the heathen boys hate Christianity.

Very few Parsees have become Christians. I asked another Parsee the cause of this. He said that their religion was so pure that they did not need to seek a better, and that they only looked upon light as a symbol of God. But when the electric light was turned on in the railway carriage where we were sitting, another old Parsee, looking up at it, put his hands together and touched his forehead, after the manner of a Hindu saluting an idol.

The real secret of their want of interest in Christianity probably lies in the fact that they are the successful business people of India, and their minds being much engrossed in worldly affairs there is little room left for religious thought. Some of the richest people in India are to be found amongst them. You seldom see a poor-looking Parsee, partly perhaps because they have the reputation of being very charitable towards their own people, and so they will not suffer one of their number to feel the pinch of real poverty. They are also lavish in their gifts for public purposes, although their act would have more grace if the name of the donor was less prominent.

One day two Persian ladies came to see the village church, with an English lady as their companion. The latter said that one of the Persians was a big personage, and did not wish her name to be known. They had noticed the boys playing about as they were passing by, and, attracted by their faces, came in. On entering the church, the chief Persian lady seeing the embroidered picture of the Crucifixion, genuflected, and sending a little boy of hers to put some money on the altar, she told him to kiss it and return. On leaving, she asked that two candles should be burnt for her on the altar the next Sunday.

The effect that the church has upon visitors has been described already, and how the din of controversy dies down within its walls. In discussing theology with people of an entirely different religion to one's own, it is almost inevitable that the conversation should gradually become controversial; and when it reaches that stage, all power for good in the intercourse is at an end. The proximity of the church can then be turned to good account. "Would you like to see the church?" is a question which nearly always draws out a ready assent, and the pending risk is averted.

Many of Mr Hole's beautiful pictures illustrating the Life of our Lord are framed and hanging round the walls of the church, something after the fashion of the Stations of the Cross. In a church which Hindus often frequent the Stations are not suitable, not merely because they only represent the suffering side of our Lord's life, but because they leave Him dead and buried. A selection from Mr Hole's pictures, from the Annunciation to the Ascension, enables us to take a Hindu round the church and tell him our Lord's life delightfully in picture story. The best testimonial to the fidelity and correctness of detail in these pictures is that they commend themselves entirely to the Eastern mind. Even quite young Indian boys will turn away from large and gay cartoons supposed to illustrate correctly some Scripture subject, and will eagerly study its smaller and more sober counterpart, often pointing out with much discrimination wherein the large cartoon errs, and the particular points in which the smaller painting excels.

A young Hindu, who began by being very controversial, after visiting the church and expressing extreme pleasure at what he saw there, finished up by saying as he went away: "You Christians believe in your religion. We Hindus don't believe in ours, and so we are all divided up."

I asked one of our visitors what work he was doing. He said that as he had not been able to qualify for Government service, he was not doing any work. It transpired that he possessed some land, and I asked why he did not occupy himself usefully by cultivating it. He replied that he had quarrelled with all his relations, and so there was no one to help him in its cultivation. As he was married, I said that in the north of England a farmer and his wife were quite capable of cultivating a small plot like his, without relations at their elbow. He said that in India this would be impossible.

As it appeared that he had not been on good terms with his relations for some years, I said that Hindus were habitually quarrelling and refusing to forgive, but that a true religion would teach the sin of remaining for long periods at enmity with others. He answered that this was one of the weak spots in their religion; that India needed reform in its methods of trade and other matters; that when it had been reformed its religion would improve.

I replied that that was beginning at the wrong end, and that before an effectual reform of morals could take place there must be the foundation of a true religion.

"Then is Hinduism not the true religion?" he asked.

On my replying in the negative, he said: "If I had time I would prove to you that it is, only unfortunately my brother will be home presently and I must go to meet him." And he went away.

Indians, nowadays, are rather inclined to back out when it comes to solid argument, but they are often clever in rapid repartee and in scoring a point quickly. A Hindu boy having been rude and troublesome, I said that he must not come again for pictures for three months, and that if he came I should not give him any. "Not if I come on the King's Coronation Day?" (which was close at hand) he asked promptly. And I was obliged to smile and say that if he came on that day it would be all right.

Indians are beginning to understand something of what is meant by the dignity of labour, although they are slow in making personal application of the lesson. I was pointing out to a middle-aged visitor the Boys' Home in the distance, on the other side of the compound. Looking across, he caught sight of one of the Sisters carrying a pail of water for the garden. "Why, the Sister is working!" he said with eager astonishment and approval. "That is what we need to learn to do in India, instead of sitting about talking or sleeping."