and to the full extent of their scanty means even charitable and benevolent.  With the average ryot a little business goes a great way.  There are some irreconcileable, discontented, worthless fellows in every village.  All more or less count a lie as rather a good thing to be expert in; they lie naturally, simply, and instinctively:  but with all his faults, and they are doubtless many, I confess to a great liking for the average Hindoo ryot.

At times, however, their apathy and laziness is amazing.  They are very childish, petted, and easily roused.  In a quarrel, however, they generally confine themselves to vituperation and abuse, and seldom come to blows.

As an instance of their fatalism or apathetic indolence, I can remember a village on the estate I was managing taking fire.  It was quite close to the factory.  I had my pony saddled at once, and galloped off for the burning village.  It was a long, straggling one, with a good masonry well in the centre, shadowed by a mighty peepul tree.  The wind was blowing the fire right along, and if no obstruction was offered, would sweep off every hut in the place.  The only soul who was trying to do a thing was a young Brahmin watchman belonging to the factory.  He had succeeded in removing some brass jars of his own, and was saving some grain.  One woman was rocking to and fro, beating her breast and crying.  There sat the rest of the apathetic villagers in groups, not lifting a finger, not stirring a step, but calmly looking on, while the devouring element was licking up hut after hut, and destroying their little all.  In a few minutes some of my servants, syces, and factory men had arrived.  I tied up the pony, ordered my men to pull down a couple of huts in the centre, and tried to infuse some energy into the villagers.  Not a bit of it; they would not stir.  They would not even draw a bucket of water.  However, my men got earthen pots; I dug up fresh earth and threw it on the two dismantled huts, dragging away as much of the thatch and debris as we could.

The fire licked our faces, and actually got a footing on the first house beyond the frail opening we had tried to make, but we persevered, and ultimately stayed the fire, and saved about two thirds of the village.  I never saw such an instance of complete apathy.  Some of the inhabitants even had not untied the cattle in the sheds.  They seemed quite prostrated.  However, as we worked on, and they began to see that all was not yet lost, they began to buckle to; yet even then their principal object was to save their brass pots and cooking utensils, things that could not possibly burn, and which they might have left alone with perfect safety.