pied by officers of the Indian army, we descended by a native bazaar to the Palar River. At Arcot, eighty miles from its mouth, the Palar is more than half a mile wide, and, in the rainy season, a mighty river. But now, without bridge or boat, we passed it in our ox-cart without wetting our bullocks' hoofs. Not a drop of water moistened the heavy sand through which our cart-wheels ploughed their way. It seemed a river of desolation, vast, sandy, parched, and glaring in the noonday sun. But, while thus deathlike to the eye, beneath the sandy surface lie hidden treasures of moisture, which may be obtained by digging a few inches beneath the sand.
The banks between which this river of sand winds its way, are fringed with the graceful cocoanut, the date, the palmyra, and the spreading tamarind. Bending over this glistening, waterless stream, with every leaf glittering in the bright sunlight, these waving trees form a striking contrast to the arid sand. While all on the surface is parched and dreary, their summits are ever green; for they have sent down their roots to the well-springs; and they are drinking from unseen streams. So shall “the righteous flourish as the palm-tree;” for
