blossoms exactly where they had been the
day before. Accordingly he took his gardener
again in the evening to see them, and again
they could not be found. Finding them once
more, the following morning, looking as fresh
as ever, his gardener said: " These cannot
be the same flowers, they must have blown
since." But Linnæus himself, not being so
easily satisfied, re-visited the plant as soon
as it was dark, and, lifting up the leaves
one by one, found the flowers folded under
them, and so closely concealed as to be
completely invisible at first sight. Led by
this incident to observe other plants of the
butterfly tribe, he found that they all, more
or less, closed their wings at nightfall; and
this fact formed the basis of his theory of the
Sleep of Plants.

  The seed-vessel of the indigo plant is
like that of the common pea. Once sown
in a loose and dark soil, the indigo plant
requires no further care, until the time
comes for cutting it. As the rainy season
approaches, and the red butterfly blossoms
begin to appear, the planter hastens to have
it cut, for fear of the dye being washed
away or spoilt by the inundations. In the
month of July, parties of Hindús may be
seen in the indigo plantations in the upper
provinces, clipping the bright green leaves
and twigs to the level of the ground, followed
by others who, picking up the plants as they
are cut, bind them together and load them
upon carts, while the planter passes through
the fields, wearing a hat with a brim nearly
as large as an umbrella, covered with white
cloth, and comfortably perched in a houdah
or car on the back of a huge elephant,
whose neck is bestrode by a native mahout
or driver armed with an iron rod.

  From the fields the indigo is taken into a
building called a vat, which is about thirty
feet broad, and forty feet long. There are
steps outside, leading to a platform within
the building, from which a sort of immense
bath is seen filled with the plant. Water
being then let in from a reservoir, the indigo
is allowed to ferment for about fourteen or
sixteen hours.  At the end of that time, the
plant becoming entirely decomposed, and the
water turning quite green, it is allowed to
run into another building called a beating
vat.  A dozen natives, with scarcely any
covering upon their bodies, and with their
skins dyed blue—deeply and darkly, if not
beautifully, blue—may be seen here, striking
the liquid with long sticks, and making
a sound like the splashing of oars in a
river. When at work they shout and
scream, as indeed they always do when trying
to exert their strength.  After having been
beaten for about three or four hours, and the
green liquor having become blue, just as our
black blood becomes red from contact with
oxygen of the air, it is left alone, to allow the
sediment to settle at the bottom. The water
is then gradually drawn off by taps fixed at
equal distances in the sides of the vat, leaving
a beautiful, soft, blue, pulpy matter, like
very thick cream, on the floor. This blue
cream is next boiled, until no froth or scum
rises to the surface, and the blue cream
looks as smooth as liquid glass.  It is then
poured into huge sieves, made by stretching
coarse cloth over wooden frames, through
which the water strains off gradually, leaving
the indigo of the consistency of cream-cheese.
It is still, however, unfit for travelling
to Calcutta, and from thence to all parts
of the world.  It must, therefore, be put
into boxes with perforated bottoms, where
every drop of moisture is finally squeezed
out by mechanical pressure.  The pressed
indigo is then cut into cakes about three
inches square, and is put into a drying-house,
where it remains for three months.

The indigo is now fit for packing and
travelling. It is truly astonishing to see
the quantities of this paste, which are
annually sent from Bengal, for the use of the
painters and dyers distributed all over the
globe.  Indigo, however, is not only employed
in dyeing blue, but is necessary for the
production of almost every other colour.
The indigo plant in itself is perfectly harmless,
while the indigo paste prepared from it
is a rank poison.  When rubbed with the
finger nail, the paste assumes a copper
colour.

  The smell of an indigo factory is very disagreeable;
and the Hindús who work in
it, besides having their bodies dyed of a
dreadful colour, are very meagre; yet they
are contented with the work, and do it well.

  An European indigo planter in the interior
of India leads an isolated life, which, however,
is not without its enjoyments.  His
business, though it has its anxieties, is
not irksome.  He is generally a farmer
and a sportsman, and master and owner
of a fine mansion, with plenty of elephants
Arabian horses, cows, sheep, goats, and
dogs, and perhaps a few tame leopards
and tigers.  His elephants, besides being
useful in enabling him to ride over his
plantations, will carry him better than any
other animal, when out in the jungles tiger-hunting.
The planter often lives twenty
or forty miles from any other European; but
this does not prevent him from constantly
making and receiving visits.  Moreover, his
time is well taken up with paying his
people, superintending his vats, and settling
disputes among the neighbouring farmers.
In his own district, the planter is perfectly
independent, being looked up to with awe
and respect by all around him.  In their
hour of trouble, the poor, miserable, hard-worked,
and ill-fed ryots or labourers always
fly to the British planter for protection
against the oppressions of their own masters
and countrymen.

  One of the annoyances of a planter's life is
the plague of flies.  All over India, they