reach of a man's hand?' 'Of course they are', replied he, 'because
people would not be able conveniently to distinguish them if God were
to write them higher up.'

Shaikh Sâdî has a very pretty couplet, 'Every leaf of the foliage of
a green tree is, in the eye of a wise man, a library to teach him the
wisdom of his Creator.'[6] I may remark that, where an Englishman
would write his own name, a Hindoo would write that of his god, his
parent, or his benefactor. This difference is traceable, of course,
to the difference in their governments and institutions. If a Hindoo
built a town, he called it after his local governor; if a local
governor built it, he called it after the favourite son of the
Emperor. In well regulated Hindoo families, one cannot ask a younger
brother after his children in presence of the elder brother who
happens to be the head of the family; it would be disrespectful for
him even to speak of his children as his own in such presence--the
elder brother relieves his embarrassment by answering for him.

On the 27th[7] we reached Damoh,[8] where our friends, the Browns,
were to leave us on their return to Jubbulpore. Damoh is a pretty
place. The town contains some five or six thousand people, and has
some very handsome Hindoo temples. On a hill immediately above it is
the shrine of a Muhammadan saint, which has a very picturesque
appearance.


There are no manufactures at Damoh, except such as supply the wants
of the immediate neighbourhood; and the town is supported by the
residence of a few merchants, a few landholders, and agricultural
capitalists, and the establishment of a native collector. The people