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had perished, while the rest had fled from their homes. To » 
stay and hope was to die. At last came this rain. It did 
not bring food, but it brought the assurances of future 
harvests, and set the poor souls to work and to hope. Even 
food would grow cheaper, and be more freely obtained as those 
precious drops pattered ; for the rain came at the right time. 
Just when further hope seemed useless ; when, from the Indus, 
all along the Ganges valley to the Bay, from Oude, f the 
garden of India,’ and the principalities of the Rajput 
and Maharattah ; from the wild fastnesses of Sind to the 
palm-fringed shores of the Eastern coast — the danger of 
a second year of drought was gathering force. Just when it 
seemed inevitable that half India must be involved in the 
disasters of Madras, the rain -clouds hurried up in a night, 
and the peninsula awoke from despair.” 
And after a most eloquent and touching account of the 
sufferings during July, August, and September, when the 
natural rain was withheld, he goes on to say : — 
“ So the days wore on to October. The sowing of seed for 
next year’s food now seemed hopeless, and another year of 
famine inevitable; but the people did not repine. They 
waited patiently and pathetically, closing in round the famine- 
works and doing their day’s labour for a day’s food, enduring 
the f evil times ’ without hope but without murmur. Indeed, 
hope looked like folly. The news came from every side that 
crops had failed. The horizon of disaster seemed expanding 
every day. Even the stout heart of the English official began 
to fail him, and he spoke dismally of the future. The sky was 
still unflecked with clouds, and a great multitude was dying at 
his gates. Then, suddenly at last, when it seemed almost 
too late, nature relented. A shadow of clouds had grown up 
on the horizon, the great rain -wind blew, driving a tempest of 
dust before it, whirling the dead leaves from the trees, and 
signalling that help was coming. The birds could be seen 
gathering in the sky, and the cattle turned their heads to the 
wind, for they could scent the approaching showers. There 
would be a strange gloom while the dust-storm was passing, 
and the people would throng, gazing at the clouds, or waiting 
for the rain that they knew was close behind. The streets 
would be filled with men and women, and all hands would be 
idle, and all tongues silent, and then, lo ! the rain. 
“ First, great sullen drops, pattering one by one, and then, as 
if it could not come down fast enough or thick enough, the 
torrent descended. Not a mocking shower, but a glorious 
life-saving deluge, brimming the tanks to overflowing, and 
sending the dead weeds swirling down the nullahs. In 
