a royal priesthood, "making us kings and priests unto God." Its source lies in the clause "who loved us," with a love unsolicited, unmerited, immeasurable, and unrequited. We cannot comprehend the height of God's love, for we know not the full glory which the Son of God laid down; nor its depth, for we but faintly appreciate the enormity of sin; nor its length, for we cannot take in eternity; nor its breadth, for the multitude of the redeemed no man can number. It is a love of pity, for we were miserable and lost; a love for enemies, for we defied the Almighty; a love that kept back no part of the price," for "he gave himself for us."

It is not a love that was surprised into exercise in a moment of chivalrous pity, or uncalculating generosity. He knew the depth to which he must descend, the bitter worthlessness of the sinners he would save; their ingratitude and folly even when saved; and yet, with a full clear view of all these conditions from the beginning, Jesus, with a love that passeth knowledge, came to save them that were lost. If we trace this river from its source, along its blessed bourne we find it washing away our sins. We had sin; it defiled us, we needed to be washed. It was no casual misfortune, nor was it a light thing; its wages is death. The sin was in us, in our nature-in the soul, our immortal nature. Had it only infected the body, bad as it is, it would not be so infinitely worse as it is in the soul as well as body. Sin was mortal to both the material and spiritual in man. There was no venial, no exceptional sin. "The soul that sinneth, it shall die." There was no discharge in that war. No fabled shirt of Nessus, treacherously given to Hercules, can adequately represent the evil, misery, madness, and curse of sin. To us it was irremediable: "no man can redeem his brother." It is fairly to be presumed that nothing less than the blood of the Mediator could wash us from it, since He who wastes no power gave the death of his Son for us. God is a creditor who never exacts more than is due from debtor or surety. Divine justice is no extortioner. When it required death-the death of the substituteits demand was irresistible. The Son of the Highest takes a mortal nature, and gives a human life, ennobled by its mysterious union with the Divine, that we might be "washed from our sins."

This washing is effectual-blots out the guilt fully, and leaves us justified. Henceforth when we confess sin to Him, we cry as erring children to our Father, rather than as culprits to a Judge. This, in the language of experimental religion, is called "going again to the cross." A human spirit makes an effective resistance against sin, and against Satan its personal head, when by faith the man sees sin put away, and Satan vanquished in

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the cross of Christ. The prophet predicts a time when "a nation shall be born in a day." A great national birth, such as some we have witnessed of late years in Italy and Germany, is an august spectacle. But infinitely grander would it be to realise the Old Testament image of the new birth of a nation of priests," "a royal priesthood." This is the new creation of the Prince of the kings of the earth, who hath made us kings and priests unto God. Kings and priests hold the highest offices in Revelation, as well as in the world. No higher image could be conceived of honour, sacredness, and majesty. Kings and priests were solemnly anointed to their consecrated functions, so are believers. "Ye have an unction from the Holy One." Born of the purple blood of redemption, the blood-wash precedes your consecration to the royal priesthood. Nor is this an empty theological compliment. The Spirit of Inspiration uses no unmeaning phraseology. A king is a man of power, the man who can, the Agamemnon, leader of men, who can go in and out before them, and marshal the way to victory over their enemies. That was the old Hebrew ideal of a king, when Saul, the tallest man of all the tribes, awoke the national enthusiasm for the office. It should be still the ideal, but it is only the Christian realises it. He wages war, after the prince-priestly order of Melchizedek, with the power of a new and endless life imparted to him from above, against all God's enemies and his own. They are on his territory-in his soul. He fights for their overthrow and expulsion. He makes no truce with them, except when, like Joshua with the Gibeonites, their guile entraps him into treaty with them. This holy war-not a crusade for an empty tomb where a Redeemer had been buried, but for the house and lineage of the living God—is a war of sacrifice to the knife, a war of self-denial, of extermination: the sword of the prince-the knife of the priest, is never laid down. When lusts and sins, one after another, are smitten down, and the nail of the sure place is driven home through the head of each carnal and ungodly Sisera, the war-cry of his spirit, thinking less of his own than of his Saviour's honour, is, " So let all thine enemies perish, O Lord!" His heart breathes a filial echo of the Father's proclamation, when to the Son he saith, "Rule thou in the midst of thine enemies! " "Such honour have all his saints," and theirs is the same command, carrying the pledge of victory in its bosom, to "go forth conquering and to conquer."

Similarly distinguished is the Christian's priestly office. When Aaron was ordained, his ceremonies of consecration were washing with water, offering of sacrifice, putting on of symbolic apparel, and filling his hands, in emblem of sacerdotal activity. All these have their counterparts with the saints

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NATIVE COINS.

HE first thing that shocked me on landing at Quilou, was the heavy manual labour I saw performed by the native women. Four or five of them, mostly under the medium size, and half nude, were employed by the servant who accompanied us from Bombay, to unload the luggage from our boat, and they carried great boxes which I should not myself have cared to lift. When all were safely deposited on the landing-place, I inquired how much was to be paid. The native coins of Travancore, called chuckrams, with which I had been supplied, were of silver, about the size of half a pea, and worth about a penny each, and one of the women coming forward, held out both hands together open to receive the hire for all. Imagining at the time that this was a quiet intimation that she expected a good handful of the tiny silver coins, and remembering the English rates of hire, I felt quite ashamed to offer the four or five chuckrams which I was told was the proper amount. The women seemed, however, quite satisfied with what was given, and I afterwards learned that the holding out of both hands to receive anything from a superior, was imperatively required by the rules of native polite

ness.

PALANKEEN TRAVELLING

My wife and I started at night in two palankeens to travel from Trevandrum to Pareychaley, a distance of twenty-one miles. This was our first experience of this mode of locomotion and what puzzled us quite was the noise made by the bearers, of whom there were two dozen, besides one man to carry the torch. The men grunted and sighed and moaned and groaned the whole night long, and we wondered why they took all this trouble and wasted their breath in this way while carrying their heavy burdens. I thought that it might be intended to show us how laborious and distressing the work was, and to excite our

feelings of commiseration so as to secure an additional gratuity in the morning. My wife, I found, on our comparing notes, had been so affected by the sufferings and cries of the poor men, that she had actually tried to lean as lightly as possible upon their shoulders in the palankeen! However, we arrived safe and well at our destination in the early morning. I soon discovered the rationale of the singing of the palankeen-bearers, and after being accustomed to it for some time thought it a dull day when the men did not shout right heartily. The singing is intended partly to enable them to keep step together, and for mutual encouragement, as the Hindoos like to make a great shouting when at work together; but no doubt it is also useful to frighten off wild beasts which may be lurking by the wayside, and serpents in jungle travelling. I have sometimes seen a large snake rush out of the grass on one side of the road, and get in amongst the feet of the bearers. Down came the palankeen, but the poor frightened snake was instantly off into the bush on the other side. For the purpose of frightening off these dangerous reptiles, natives often carry a light iron staff with numerous loose rings along its length, which keep up a constant rattling and jingling as they walk.

A story is told in India-for the literal truth of which, however—I will not vouch, of a very simple "griffin," or European new-comer, who was timid of entrusting his valuable person to the care of the natives. Before undertaking his first palankeen journey, he anxiously inquired whether he should be quite safe in the hands of the natives. "Is there no danger," he asked, “to be apprehended from the bearers?" "No," said his waggish host, "you may trust them fully-unless, indeed, they begin to shout together; should they do so, it is a sign that mischief is intended, and you must escape for your life." The bearers refrained from their usual ory until they had got

well started on their journey, but immediately they began, the credulous traveller jumped out of the palakeen, and fled back for protection to the house which he had just left.

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VERNACULAR IDIOMS.

As soon as I had made some progress in the grammar of the language, I made a point of engaging as frequently as possible in conversation with the natives, so as to put my new acquirements into practice, and to show a friendly feeling towards the people. In doing so, however, I made at first odd mistakes from want of acquaintance with vernacular idioms and native usages. One day, addressing a man of very low caste, I asked, What-is-your-name?" "Mallan," he replied. "Where-do-you-live?" and he told me. I had been warned already not to make any inquiries about a man's wife, so I next asked, in a friendly tone, "How-many-children-haveyou?" and at once he burst out laughing at me. At first I felt this very keenly. "I have come," thought I, "to this country with the most kindly sympathies towards the people-in fact, solely to seek to do them good; I have spoken to this man as courteously as I could, and put to him a kindly question on a subject on which I have understood the Hindoos like to converse, and he bursts out laughing in my very face."

I found out afterwards that it was the language I had used, which seemed to the man so extraordinary and ludicrous. I had adopted the terms which are given in the dictionary, and such as I would use in my own language and country. But instead of asking a person of his caste how many children he had, I should have inquired, "How many calves (or monkeys) have you?" and then he would have answered, putting his hand over the mouth, as they always do, to prevent the breath from polluting the individual addressed, “ Sáhib, inikka nálu kurangugal unda"-sir, to me there are four monkeys (or three monkeys, or whatever number of monkeys he might happen to be the father of). So servile and degrading is the language which the poor slaves and low-caste people in Travancore are required by the cruel laws of Hindoo caste to employ in the presence of superiors.

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VISIT TO THE RAJAH OF TRAVANCORE.

On Thursday evening, 9th of February, 1860, I paid an interesting visit, in company with several missionary friends, to His Highness Martanda Vurmah, the late Rajah of Travancore, at his palace inside the Fort of Trevandrum. Passing through the guards at the fort gates, and through the Brahman streets inside the fort, we handed in our cards at the palace, and were at once ushered into the drawing-room and accommodated with seats. Here a number of sleek-looking attendants stood about, dressed in accordance with native ideas of

comfort and simplicity, in a single cotton cloth fastened round the waist, leaving the upper part of their body uncovered. The entrance was guarded by a couple of soldiers of the body-guard, with swords drawn, and wearing a very respectable uniform, but, of course, without either shoes or stockings. The apartment was abundantly supplied with handsome European furniture, and crowded— in fact, over-decorated-with large mirrors, curious clocks, carvings, paintings, and other curiosities or works of art. In a few minutes His Highness appeared, and each of us was introduced by our senior missionary, and most courteously received.

The Rajah was then about forty-six years of age, rather below the middle size, of stout build, and closely shaven, with the exception of the kudumi, or tuft of hair, which was hidden under the cap. He was by no means dark in complexion, but of a light brown or coffee colour; the features rather irregular, but the expression kindly and good natured. He wore a short coat of some green pattern, red trousers, and blue velvet cap trimmed with gold lace. The Rajah had, in accordance with native etiquette, laid aside his shoes, and received us with uncovered feet, while we of course had removed our hats as our European mark of respect.

The conversation was at first somewhat formal and ceremonious, the Rajah seeming hardly at ease, and as if he were expecting the introduction of some troublesome matter of official business. However, after some conversation on our respective locations, and on the vernacular languages, one of us mentioned that we happened to be all together in Trevandrum, and had taken the opportunity of coming to pay our respects to His Highness. The conversation now became more free and familiar, and on mention being made of a fine oilpainting which had lately been finished for the Rajah, he invited us to inspect it.

We followed the Rajah up a winding staircase to the flat roof of the drawing-room, which formed an open space in front of an upper suite of apartments. From this we had an extensive view on every side, including the lofty tower or pagoda of the great temple, the buildings and walls of the fort, and the purple mountains of the western ghauts in the distant background. Here, also, we found a multitude of nicknacks and ornaments, besides numerous paintings of the Rajah executed at different periods and by various European artists. The latest was a fine group representing the Rajah and his favourite attendants, including also the Dewán, or prime minister: the work seemed both accurate and beautiful. We noticed, also, portraits of the Rajah's nephews and other members of the royal family. His eldest son here joined us, and we were somewhat surprised to observe that he also wore but the single piece of calico