Storied houses, being larger and more pretentious in appearance, have bigger compounds with entrances at each end. The natives consider the second gateway a dignity rather than a convenience, for they dispense with the carriage-drive altogether when on foot themselves; and they term a residence thus favoured a two-gate house.
We had the honour of living in a two-gate house at Trichinopoly, although the building was only a bungalow. The compound was large and possessed some fine trees, as well as an excellent spring of water. This spring was called a well, but it had the character of a small tank, being square in shape with solid stone-walls. The bungalow was in ruins, but by an arrangement with the landlord we were permitted to put it in repair and repay ourselves the cost from the rent. As soon as the move had been effected my attention was turned to the garden. I had already had some horticultural experiences in Madras, and the garden was one of the regrets in leaving the Presidency town.
There are certain conditions about an Indian garden that are a distinct disappointment to the enthusiast fresh out from the temperate climate of England. In the first place there is no turf. Grass grows in abundance, green enough in the wet season, but coarse and rough without any resemblance to the cool, soft, velvety lawns of England. Beneath the grass are creeping things innumerable,' of dimensions that are appalling to the newcomer. They are content to live in the obscurity of their retreat under the green blades if unmolested. Should a blundering human being be tempted to take a seat upon the grass, they declare war and proceed to invest his person. Their feet cling, their tails sting; they tickle, and bite, and scratch until their unfortunate victim rushes headlong to the bathroom to dislodge and
