and all was still. The man-eater was dead, and his victims avenged.

My gang, attracted by the sound of my shots, came rushing up almost breathless, and long and loud were the rejoicings when the tiger was recognised by Kistimah as the cunning man-eater who had been the scourge of the surrounding country for months.

He was covered with mange, and had but little hair left on his skin, which was of a reddish brown colour, and not worth taking. I made Chineah cut off the right paw with his axe, and sent a post-runner into camp with it to announce my success. A bullockcart was then fetched from the village, on which the carcass was with much difficulty hoisted, and dragged off in triumph by the villagers, for the bullocks were so frightened by his smell that they would not allow themselves to be harnessed to the cart; all force and coaxing being in vain to get them sufficiently near to place the yokes on their necks.

All the villagers turned out to witness our entry, poojahs (religious ceremonies) were performed, sheep and cocks sacrificed, and prayers offered up to sundry Sawmies (Hindoo gods) in my name. I was the centre of attraction of all the young girls of the village, whose dark sparkling eyes flashed kindly on me as they stood waving their hands on either side. of the road. As for the old women, I really had some difficulty to get out of their clutches; they

kissed the hem of my old green baize shooting-coat, cracked their knuckles over my forehead for luck, stroked my face and beard, patted me on the back, and at last became so vehement in their attentions that I had to beg of my gang to keep them off.

All the men in the village turned out with torches and firesticks to escort me home to camp. Rockets and fireworks were burnt, matchlocks discharged, and tomtoms, dubties, and cholera horns poured forth their notes of triumph before the dead tiger, whose head was carried in the front on a spear.

My gang marched at the head of the procession, and five ancient dancing-girls from the village were pirouetting before the cart, howling and yelling as they whirled on the "light fantastic," in such a manner that they reminded one strongly of the witch scene in Macbeth. The whole camp turned out to view the carcass of the man-eater, and many were the congratulations I received from all parties that evening.

I gave a few sheep and fowls to my gang, with some rackee, and throughout the night "there was a sound of revelry." The next day the mutilated carcass was paraded on a cart in all the neighbouring villages by Kistimah and the dhoby, who, by levying contributions either in coin or kind, realised a little fortune for themselves.

I have killed many tigers both before and since,

but I never met with such a determined enemy to mankind, for he was supposed to have carried off more than a hundred individuals. He fully exemplified an old Indian saying, "That when a tiger has once tasted human blood he will never follow other game, men proving an easier prey." On the spot where the tiger was killed a large mausoleum now stands, caused by the passers-by each throwing a stone until a large heap is formed. Since that day many a traveller who has passed that way has been entertained by the old pensioned sepoy who is in charge of the public bungalow, with a long account of the death of the celebrated Admee Khanna-wallah (Man-eater), and old friends have told me that many anxious and kind inquiries have been made as to the health and welfare of the black-bearded cavalry officer who slew him.

SECTION II.--SOUTHERN INDIA.

CHAPTER IX.

TRICHINOPOLY.

Trichinopoly. The evil influence of caste in India.-The return of Chineah, and our prospects of sport.-My shooting-cart and battery described.-Preparations for a start.

I

WAS quartered for some time at Trichinopoly, one of the dullest of our military stations in Southern India, which city certain learned authorities aver has only a single sheet of brown paper between it and the infernal regions. Every Anglo-Indian will tell you that it is famous for three things—viz., magnificent snipe-shooting, unrivalled cheroots, and delicate and exquisitely wrought gold-chains.

Trichy (short for Trichinopoly), like most other Indian cities, possesses a stone citadel, formerly an old pagoda, built on an almost inaccessible rock, which rises isolated out of the plain and commands the neighbouring country. This is surrounded by a pettah or native town, fortified by double bastioned walls of solid masonry, a deep ditch (which

can be filled from the Cauvery, that flows at a short distance from the northern face), a covertway and glacis. This place was the scene of some severe fighting in the year 1753, when the French attempted to assault the place by surprise without success. Within the walls are the ruins of a handsome palace, which was formerly the habitation of Ameer al Oomra, also several Mussulman mosques, and Hindoo pagodas, dedicated to divers Sawmies (images) of uncouth appearance and very questionable character, if we are to believe the history of their lives, which is generally carved on the exterior of their temples. The mainguard, commanded by an European officer, is in one of the principal gateways of the fort, which also contains an arsenal (formerly an old pagoda), barracks, magazines, storehouses, and a well-stocked bazaar, in which everything may be bought, from a handspike to an elephant. Outside of the walls are extensive suburbs, and at a short distance is the military cantonment, where are quartered an European regiment of foot, either of Her Majesty's or the East India Company's service; a regiment of Native Light Cavalry, some Artillery, and three battalions of Native Infantry.

Trichinopoly is situated on the south bank of the river Cauvery, and is considered a holy city by the Hindoos, being to the Madras Presidency what Benares is to the Bengal. Almost opposite the town, upon an island formed by the division of the stream,