IT was the evening of a burning Sunday in June 1844, in an out-ofthe-way village in the southern plains of India, when, seated in my long arm-chair in the verandah, I fell asleep and dreamed.

I had been reading Grimm's Fairy Tales, and my mind was full of Rumpelstiltskin, the little old man who could spin straw into gold; and while I was thinking of this, and of how delightful it would be to have such power, I thought some one touched me on the shoulder and said, "Come with me, and I will show you how you may do even greater wonders than Rumpelstiltskin; for you shall spin water into gold, and cinders into cornfields, and ropes of sand into strings of pearl."

And I looked, and we seemed to be standing on a bare hillside commanding an extensive view of a vast level plain, bounded in the far distance by the sea. And somehow I thought that, notwithstanding the great distance, I could distinguish every detail of the landscape as if through a telescope and a more desolate scene I had never beheld. The whole plain seemed to be one vast desert of burning sand, without a blade of vegetation, and here and there were clusters of wretched mud hovels, the only human habitation; and at the doors were gathered groups of the most miserable, emaciated creatures - men, women, and children-that I had

ever seen.

Then I perceived, to my astonishment, that through this desolate region there ran a great river, with branches like the veins on a man's

hand, provided by nature, so it would seem, for the fertilisation of the soil. And I thought of Egypt and the Nile, and could not help wondering why, with all this abundant water, there should be no sign of vegetation. Then somehow the scene changed, and I thought I was in some great hal! crowded with people, to whom I was going to lecture. By my side was an easel, and on it a huge map of the same vast desert, with all the features I had just

seen.

And again my thoughts ran on Egypt, and the words of Moses, which I had heard that morning in church, kept coming into my head, "Must we fetch you water out of this rock?" Then I took up a pointer, and, with Moses still in my thoughts, began to touch the several arms of the great river on the map, as if to illustrate my lecture; and behold, as I did so, each branch of the river seemed to break into a thousand tiny channels, like silver threads, and at once the colours of the landscape changed, for I still seemed to be regarding the actual scene,—and gradually stretch after stretch of the burnt-up sand was transformed before my eyes into fields of waving corn. The clusters of mud hovels, baking in the sun, became well-built villages shaded by groves of palm; and under the trees were groups of well-to-do country people, and troops of children in school play-grounds. The reaches of the river too seemed to widen and grow beautiful, with a fringe of dense and lovely foliage; and on the broad shining water

ways I saw, following each other in succession, huge barges loaded to the water's edge with merchandise of every sort and description. Among them were market-boats, with their picturesque cargo of fruits and country folk, forming a scene such as once led to the comparison of a well-dressed Eastern crowd to a garden of tulips. And as I watched them dropping down the stream, a strain of sweet music smote my ear, and voices of women and children singing in chorus rose in the clear morning air. In a word, the whole land had suddenly awakened from death to life, and the desert had been turned into a rich and beautiful garden. And as I was wondering by what magic so marvellous a transformation had been wrought, I awoke, and behold it was a dream! And on the table by my side lay an unopened letter "On her Majesty's Service," ordering me to headquarters, and inviting me to take charge of a great scheme of public works in another part of the Presidency.

We can imagine that it was in some such fashion as this that, fifty years ago, the brain of a gifted engineer was inspired to undertake and carry to triumphant completion one of the most extra ordinary and fruitful works of the present century-a work calculated at any time to fill Englishmen with pride, but at the present moment one of vital importance to the empire, not only in itself, but in the help which its history may afford in a crisis of the gravest magnitude.

In all the literature of Indian administration-that vast library of yearly reports whose fate is for the most part to gather dust on

the shelves of our palatial offices at Whitehall-we doubt if there is to be found a volume of more dramatic interest, or more rich in practical lessons, than the modest and at first sight strictly technical record cited at the foot of this page.1

Embedded in its 150 pages, and half hidden under the statistics and technicalities with which they bristle, there lies a veritable historical romance, hardly a whit less wonderful than the airy fancy we have sketched above, amounting as it does to nothing less than the literal and practical realisation of exactly such a dream as we have imagined. 'The Conquest of the Godavery,' in the hands of a master, might indeed be so presented in the form of drama or romance as to rival many a more famous work which has given immortality to the writer of fiction.

It is the story of a herculean task set for execution, of a foresight in essaying it amounting almost to inspiration, of undaunted courage and perseverance in face of overwhelming obstacles, and of a success far surpassing the most sanguine anticipations, such as would at all times be deserving of careful study, but which has special claims on public attention at the present time, and paramount claims on those responsible in any degree for the welfare of India.

And are we not all at this moment realising our share of that responsibility?-face to face as we are once more with the hideous spectre of Famine, threatening millions who depend on us for their daily bread. Day after day our withers are wrung by detailed reports from those on the spot, of

increasing thousands employed on relief works, and of heroic efforts to arrest the tide of impending starvation, till such time as nature shall again furnish the seasonable floods on which the life of the people depends.

Nobly have England and her colonies come forward to give all the help that money and affection can afford; and not less nobly have others joined in the work,kindred States under native Indian rule, and countries far less bound to India than ourselves. The spectacle which India presents today is in truth unique in history, and affords striking evidence, if any were needed, of England's capacity for the great charge she has assumed as an Eastern Power, and not less perhaps of the unnoticed but commanding influence gained over mankind by Christian sentiment. No more eloquent proof could be found of the progress of the past hundred years, alike in Indian administration and in popular feeling, than in the contrast presented by the records of the present great famine with the story told in Sir W. Hunter's 'Annals of Rural Bengal' of that which in 1770 turned Bengal into a howling wilderness.

But when all has been done, and when the threatened lives of helpless thousands have been rescued, we remain still confronted by the uneasy consciousness that the root of the evil is untouched. Like some irresistible tidal wave, Famine in India recedes for a time, only to gather strength in the interval, returning in a few years with overwhelming volume, to find us still unprepared, and driven in the last resort to heroic remedies. Yet surely here is matter for amazement, at least to the unlearned. Shall we, who stand in the forefront of scientific research, who

can bridge Forth and Tay and Menai, who make light of mountain railway or submarine telegraph, and, above all, who pose as the first of oriental Powers, sit down helpless in presence of natural phenomena so familiar as those on which depends the periodical return of famine to a tropical country?

Is it possible that there are no means by which we may render India once and for all independent of such well-understood conditions of Eastern life? With money poured out like water, is it the cost we shrink from? Have we sunk so low that any sordid thought of private interest stops the way? or have we not trust enough in our children of genius? In vain we search report and speech and lecture and narrative, official and unofficial, past and present, of those most interested in and best acquainted with the country, for any really satisfactory answer to such questions as these. In all alike it seems to be taken for granted, as a foregone conclusion, that there can be no thought of ridding the country for ever of the periodical visits of this tremendous calamity, and that all that the resources of man can hope to achieve is to battle successfully with the enemy when he is at the gates. But the note of a more hopeful strain is in the air, and we make bold to say that in this most opportunely published record of a great work actually accomplished is to be found an answer at once convincing and full of encouragement—an object-lesson of incalculable value in the treatment of Indian famine, writ so large that he who runs may read.

It needs exceptional courage, we are well aware, to essay an excursion into the records of a public office, and to face the chilly

reception to be met with, alike from liveried porter, from gentlemanly clerk, and from distinguished secretary; but there are times when such an ordeal may be faced, and when we may be rewarded by something even of greater interest than the last Society novel.

If, attracted by the photographs and maps in which this volume is rich, the visitor is enticed to dip into the narrative they illustrate, we can promise him that he will have his reward. It is a chapter of Indian history familiar enough to those on the spot too familiar, strange to say, to some of our highest authorities-and it is one which needs only to be more widely known so to react on public opinion that its lessons shall not be lost. For we learn here how within the last fifty years a great district covering 3000 square miles, which fifty years ago was in so deplorable a condition as to compel the active intervention of the authoritiesdecimated by famine, and with population and revenue decreasing year by year-has been permanently converted into a rich and prosperous province, with revenue and population steadily increasing, and which, when famine visits the land, serves as a granary for starving districts on every side.

Of the twelve short chapters into which the story is condensed the two first contain a brief but clear and interesting sketch of the geography of the Godavery delta, and of the original plans for the utilisation of the waters of the great river for the twofold purpose of irrigation and navigation. In the succeeding chapters, from the third to the ninth, we have the detailed history of the works carried out in the delta, and a deeply interesting history it is, -notwithstanding its necessarily technical character, with its ex

VOL. CLXI.-NO. DCCCCLXXX.

citing incidents of varying success and failure, its full extracts from official correspondence, lifting the curtain upon bygone scenes of hot official warfare, of heroic struggles with disappointment and disaster, of battles battles with overmastering obstacles in storm and flood, in official mistrust and opposition, in sickness and exhaustion of physical strength. In the tenth and eleventh chapters are recorded the means by which the waters, finally bridled by human genius, have been compelled to serve for ever the double duty of irrigation and navigation, to the immense advantage of the country. Finally, in the twelfth chapter are summarised, with a brevity more eloquent than pages of comment, the net results of the works as affecting finance, revenue, population, cultivation, and communications. The theme is illustrated not only by statistical tables showing at a glance the results of the system at work, but by a series of clearly drawn maps and plans and of admirable photographs, enabling the general reader to realise vividly the nature both of the country itself and of the gigantic work whose history is here recorded.

Enthusiasm, it is well known, begets enthusiasm, and we prophesy with confidence that no reader-however little acquainted with India or with the mysteries of engineering science-will lay down this book without having caught something of the infection of its hero's spirit, and sharing his earnest, almost pathetic, desire that its lessons should be applied throughout the length and breadth of India. It was in the year 1843 that the lamentable condition of the Godavery district, with its "decreasing population and dwindling revenue," "forced the Government into action." The "sad

3 M

increasing thousands employed on relief works, and of heroic efforts to arrest the tide of impending starvation, till such time as nature shall again furnish the seasonable floods on which the life of the people depends.

Nobly have England and her colonies come forward to give all the help that money and affection can afford; and not less nobly have others joined in the work,kindred States under native Indian rule, and countries far less bound to India than ourselves. The spectacle which India presents to day is in truth unique in history, and affords striking evidence, if any were needed, of England's capacity for the great charge she has assumed as an Eastern Power, and not less perhaps of the unnoticed but commanding influence gained over mankind by Christian sentiment. No more eloquent proof could be found of the progress of the past hundred years, alike in Indian administration and in popular feeling, than in the contrast presented by the records of the present great famine with the story told in Sir W. Hunter's 'Annals of Rural Bengal' of that which in 1770 turned Bengal into a howling wilderness.

But when all has been done, and when the threatened lives of helpless thousands have been rescued, we remain still confronted by the uneasy consciousness that the root of the evil is untouched. Like some irresistible tidal wave, Famine in India recedes for a time, only to gather strength in the interval, returning in a few years with overwhelming volume, to find us still unprepared, and driven in the last resort to heroic remedies. Yet surely here is matter for amazement, at least to the unlearned. Shall we, who stand in the forefront of scientific research, who

can bridge Forth and Tay and Menai, who make light of mountain railway or submarine telegraph, and, above all, who pose as the first of oriental Powers, sit down helpless in presence of natural phenomena so familiar as those on which depends the periodical return of famine to a tropical country? Is it possible that there are no means by which we may render India once and for all independent of such well-understood conditions of Eastern life? With money poured out like water, is it the cost we shrink from? Have we sunk so low that any sordid thought of private interest stops the way? or have we not trust enough in our children of genius? In vain we search report and speech and lecture and narrative, official and unofficial, past and present, of those most interested in and best acquainted with the country, for any really satisfactory answer to such questions as these. In all alike it seems to be taken for granted, as a foregone conclusion, that there can be no thought of ridding the country for ever of the periodical visits of this tremendous calamity, and that all that the resources of man can hope to achieve is to battle successfully with the enemy when he is at the gates. But the note of a more hopeful strain is in the air, and we make bold to say that in this most opportunely published record of a great work actually accomplished is to be found an answer at once convincing and full of encouragement—an object-lesson of incalculable value in the treatment of Indian famine, writ so large that he who runs may read.

It needs exceptional courage, we are well aware, to essay an excursion into the records of a public office, and to face the chilly