ges water. Of these, some have been seen creeping along with the flesh half eaten off their bones by the birds; others with limbs torn by dogs and jackals; and others partly covered with insects.

After a person is taken down to the river, if he should recover, it is looked upon by his friends as a great misfortune. He becomes an outcast. Even his own children will not eat with him, nor offer him the least attention. If they should happen to touch him, they must wash their bodies, to cleanse them from the pollution which has been contracted. About fifty miles north of Calcutta are two villages inhabited entirely by these poor creatures, who have become outcasts in consequence of their recovery after having been taken down to the Ganges.

At the mouth of the river Hoogly, which is one of the branches of the Ganges, is the island Sanger, which I saw as we approached Calcutta, after having been at sea one hundred and twenty-eight days. Now, my dear children, if you come to India as missionaries, you will have to sail nearly one hundred and thirty days before you can reach it. Sanger

Island is the place where, formerly, hundreds of mothers were in the habit of throwing their children to the crocodiles, and where these mothers were wont to weep and cry if the crocodiles did not devour their children before their eyes. Think what a dreadful religion that must be, which makes mothers willing to do such things.

I am glad to tell you that the British government in India has put a stop to the sacrifice of children at that place; but mothers continue to destroy their children elsewhere, and will continue to destroy them, until Christians send the Gospel to them. It is not improbable that many children are annually destroyed in the Ganges. Mothers sacrifice them, in consequence of the vows which they have made. When the time to sacrifice them has come, they take them down to the river, and encourage them to go out so far that they are taken away by the stream, or they push them off with their own hands.

NUMBER XXVII.

MY DEAR CHILDREN: In my last letter I remarked that the mothers of India will continue to destroy their children until the Gospel is sent to them. That the Gospel does prevent such things, the following circumstance will show: Several years ago, a missionary lady went from New-England to India. As she was walking out one morning, on the banks of the Ganges, she saw a heathen mother weeping. She went up to her, sat down by her side, put her hand into hers, and asked what was the matter with her. "I have just been making a basket of flags," said she, "and putting my infant in it, pushing it off into the river and drowning it, and my gods are very much pleased with me because I have done it." After this missionary lady had heard all she had to say, she told her that her gods were no gods; that the only true God delights