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On the day of the procession, it is adorned with painted cloth, garlands of flowers, green shrubbery, and precious stuffs.  The idol is placed in the centre, loaded with jewels, etc., to attract the attention of the people.  Having fastened ropes to this enormous car, eight or nine hundred or a thousand people catch hold of the ropes and slowly drag it along, accompanied with the awful roaring of their voices.  At certain periods they stop; when the immense crowds, collected from all parts of the country, set up one universal shout, or rather yell.  This, with the sound of their instruments and numerous drums, produces much uproar and confusion.  Sometimes the weighty car comes to a stand, from the dampness of the ground or from the narrowness of the streets, when the tumult and noise are redoubled.

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Perhaps you know that on some occasions, when the cars are drawn, people throw themselves under the wheels, and are crushed to death.  This occurs at the drawing of the car of Juggernaut, as you may learn if you will read my Sermon to Children, on the Condition of the Heathen.  Here is a picture of Juggernaut, and on the last page you may see a picture of his car, and two men crushed to death under the wheels.  Not long since, five persons were thus crushed to death.  Many dreadful accidents also take place at the drawing of these cars.  A few years ago several persons in this city had their limbs amputated, in consequence of injuries received.

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When I was in America, I showed to many of the dear children an idol called Pulliar, which was formerly worshipped by Raamu, one of our native helpers, when he was a heathen.  I gave a particular description, of the I manner in which he daily worshiped it, in the sermon above mentioned Here is a picture, which will give you some idea of this god.

You will see that it is partly in the shape of a man, and partly in the shape of a beast.  You, my dear children, would put no confidence in such vain idols; but this people do, as you may know from what I am now going to tell you.

Some months ago, a woman was brought to me with a cancer in her breast.  It had made sad ravages.  On the morning after her arrival I took it out.  Before she was brought to me, her brother went to the temple of the goddess Meenaache, to ascertain what was her will respecting his bringing her to me, or taking her to a native doctor.  In order to ascertain it, he had recourse to the following expedient.  He prepared several bundles of red and white flowers—­the red to represent the red or Tamil man, the white to represent the white man.  These flowers were carefully inclosed in leaves, so as to prevent their color being seen, and then laid down on the ground, at the entrance of the temple.  After this, he called a little child to him, and then proceeded to entreat Meenaache that, if it were her will that he should bring the