capital appetite and a good digestion to wait upon it. He could eat and assimilate almost anything; and it was probably owing to this that he was able to work in India for upwards of half a century, and that he possessed such wonderful recuperative power. As he moved about from district to district, he was met on the way and welcomed at each halting place by crowds of people with the usual accompaniment of band, banners, and torchlight procession. After a long and tiresome journey, the tamasha began with addresses and songs, and the Bishop replied with unflagging patience. He sat listening by the hour to all that they had to say, and appeared as happy and philosophic as if the dust and heat, the din of tom-toms, the blare of the dreadful brazen instruments, and the evil smell of the oil torches were as refreshing as the bath and dinner that were awaiting him. Even in his old age, when he could scarcely see to read, he stood erect as a palm, the episcopal vestments, the long white hair, the snowy beard, and the clear-cut features giving an ideal presentment of a venerable Bishop.
He was a voracious reader, and remembered what he read, and was a student of nature as well as of books. His studies of the Hindus by whom he was surrounded had a curious effect: their Orientalism seemed to enter his very soul and put him in sympathy with their mode of thought. It enriched his speech with the imagery of the East. The sermons he delivered occasionally from the pulpit of St. John's Church were full of beautiful word-pictures, which touched the imagination and charmed his hearers. It was a style of preaching that was particularly impressive with the emotional Hindus.
In 1843 Caldwell attended Daniel Wilson, Bishop of Calcutta, as interpreter on a pastoral tour through the southern part of the Diocese of Madras. The Bishop, as was the custom with all Government officials, travelled in
