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Rh occasional spree when they brew trouble for themselves. The race will die out, but their reputation will last long after the old fellows are gone. The memory of the wars of a century or more ago is green among the natives of the south, and they have a wholesome respect for the British soldier. When he is drunk they fear him more than a little. The uproarious laugh that follows the joke as he strolls along with a boon-companion is a sure sign to the timid Hindu that Tommy Atkins has had too much of the fiery arrack in the toddy shop.

There was an old pensioner at Trichinopoly who occasionally found himself in trouble. He used to send to the chaplain praying him to come and extricate him from his difficulties. He had a Eurasian nephew who tried to keep the old man in order by hiding his trousers. On recovery from one of his sprees,' as he called them, he wrote a pitiful letter begging for an old suit. His disrespectful nephew had deprived him of his clothes, and he was 'left in a condition not fit for a gentleman. It was impossible to walk abroad like a dirty Mohammedan in pyjamas.'

A pair of white ducks was sent, and a day or two later a visit was paid to the old Irishman. He was repentant and excused himself on the score of having received his pension. He had had a few glasses of drink, and feeling rather merry and light-hearted, he had fastened a brass pot round his neck with a bit of string, and had played a little tune on it with the door-key. As he walked along the bazaar, sure, he thought he would give 'em a bit of song to cheer 'em up. But the natives had got no music under their black skins. They took offence at his song, and the police locked him up. When he had paid his fine and had gone home his rascally nephew took away his trousers. His reverence really must speak to the boy seriously. It was not the proper way to treat his old uncle.