An Indian Correspondent of _The Times_ who has made a special study of the condition of his fellow-countrymen studying in England writes that it would be almost impossible for an Englishman who has never been in the East to realize the enormous difference between the life to which the student has been used and the life to which he has come. In many instances his home is in some far off lonely village. He may have been to some town to study in a Government or missionary school or college. But that has not given him an insight into English life. In the Government institution he sees little of his English teacher or professor outside lessons or lecture hours. He never has the chance of knowing an English lady. The student has little time for more than his studies, so numerous are the subjects and the prescribed text-books for Indian examinations. In the vacations the Professors go to the hills, or sail for England, and the student goes back to his village. He has acquired little or no knowledge of the English. He comes to England feeling there is a gulf between the East and the West, save in the case of a missionary interest in his soul. He is by nature extremely sensitive. On board ship he and his brother Indians keep together. The English passengers, fatigued after a period of hard work in a hot climate, have no energy left for the effort of trying to draw out and know this batch of silent Orientals. So the gulf gapes wide. If they tarry in Marseilles or Paris there are those who are anxious and ready to widen this gulf between the Indians and English. Then the student arrives in London, where a man can be more lonely than anywhere in the world. Here he has to find a dwelling. The man from a dreamy, lonely, Eastern village, from the land of the sun has to select an abode in London. Hotels and boarding houses and lodgings there are in abundance; but the hotel or boarding house or lodging suitable to this man's need--fitted to introduce him to English life, may exist, but how is he to find it? He is not only bewildered, he is terribly home-sick. His wish to come to England has been, gratified, but oh! for a sight of his own people and, his simple home. He must drown this longing as best he may. There are many ways of drowning it in London. There are many who will assist him to forget what he had better never forget--his village home. But after all there are some English people who will know him. He has found lodgings, and the landlady and her family make themselves most agreeable. He knows no other English people. He wants friendliness so far away from home, so these and theirs become his friends.