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[Illustration: Portrait of the Author.]




         My Trip Around the
               World

                BY

           ELEONORA HUNT

      AUGUST, 1895--MAY, 1896

  PRIVATELY PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR
              CHICAGO
               1902




         DEDICATED TO MY
            GRANDSONS

    _John and Hunt Wentworth_




_Introduction._


_I must acknowledge that I hesitate to place this manuscript in print.
It has been a struggle for me in my declining days, with impaired health
and imperfect vision; but my desire is that my grandsons, John and Hunt
Wentworth, to whom I dedicate this book, may glean from its leaves some
knowledge and, perhaps, it may create a desire to take the same trip
some day, having first gained for themselves a storehouse of knowledge
with which they may be enabled to see the Orient and other foreign lands
with a greater degree of appreciation. By that time, the "Problems of
the Far East" may have been solved, and light divine will shine in the
dark places._

_If a few copies find their way into the hands of friends, those who
know me well will have charity, as they know the difficulties I have had
to surmount in accomplishing the work._

                                                       _E. H._

    _July 31, 1902._

    Wm. Johnston Printing Company
              Chicago




_My Trip Around the World_


                                CHICAGO, August 19, 1895.

Have you ever had a desire so great that it became a controlling
influence, and when that desire or wish was gratified and that day dream
became a reality to feel an overwhelming sadness--a heart failure? If
so, you can realize how on August 19, 1895, at 6:30 p. m., I left
Chicago with a heavy heart for a voyage around the world in company with
my brother, his wife and son, the latter just relieved from college
life.

We arrived in St. Paul in time for breakfast, the train already made
up that was to convey us on the Canadian Pacific Railroad to Vancouver,
B. C.

Our attention was at once directed to the immense wheat fields of
Minnesota and villages few and far between. Through the endless prairies
of the Dakotas, with no signs of vegetation along the railway, and but
little animal life. A few Indians visit the station on the arrival of
trains; some to barter, others--blind or crippled--to beg. The third day
out, at 1:30 p. m., we reached the Glaciers, where we remained
twenty-four hours. Through Assinniboin, north of western Dakota, we had
noticed deep furrowed trails of the buffalo crossing the road from north
to south. Now and then, their bones were seen in white patches on the
prairies, and at the stations tons were ready for shipment east to make
tooth-brush handles and bone dust for soda fountains, etc. We had been
advised to stop at the Glaciers instead of Banff, perhaps by some
traveler who felt the inconvenience of getting up at three o'clock in
the morning to take the train. We regretted it, however, when we were
told that the hotel is nestled among the mountains rising over 5,000
feet above it, all of them snow capped and far down the sides of the
deep gorges was still seen the same white vestment. The Glacier House,
where we spent the night, is like a Swiss chalet in architecture. To sit
upon its piazza and gaze on the lofty mountain peaks is a sublime sight.
To watch the sun climbing its sides, rose-tinting the snows which lie
like a mantle over their height, is not soon forgotten; and to listen to
the mighty roar of the foaming cataract, which tumbles over the
precipitous foothills, one can but exclaim: Almighty One, how great are
thy works! The path leading through the forest to the glacier is most
picturesque, but not easily trodden. The constant fear of encountering a
wolf or bear, together with the sight of the great mountain of ice, soon
cools one's ardor, and we were content to retrace our steps and to
gather after dinner around an old-fashioned stove in the exchange of the
Inn with a score of travelers and listen to the stories of their
adventures and have for an object lesson skins of the grizzlies but
lately captured, which had not a soporific effect, but less terrific
than meeting their majesties face to face.

The scenery from the Glacier House to Vancouver, through the Selkirk
Mountains is overpowering; around countless curves, over lofty trestles
and ragged edges of fearful precipices the line of cars pursues its way.
The stupendous heights are at times absolutely shrouded in smoke; the
climb of twenty-seven hundred feet in thirty miles around the mountain
shelves and through vast snow sheds (most expensive in their
construction), to emerge again into the light for a glance down the
gorges into the glaciers, over and above to the lofty summits, is all
the imagination can picture, and the traveler feels like a "mighty atom"
in the midst thereof.

On the fifth day out from home we arrived in the city of Vancouver. Our
vessel, the "Empress of Japan," lay at anchor very near the wharf, and
after securing our cabins and seats at the table we returned to the
Hotel Vancouver, where we remained from Saturday till Monday morning.
Owing to a delayed train, we did not sail before midnight. We had
forty-seven out-going missionaries, some returning from a vacation
granted once in seven years, others were about to enter on untried
duties. The Rev. S. F. J. Schereschewsky, wife and daughter, were among
the number. He was a paralytic--the stroke was superinduced by a
sunstroke in China, where he had labored heroically in a translation of
the Bible into the Chinese language. He was taken to Paris where, under
Charcot's care, he recovered sufficiently to return to Cambridge, Mass.,
where his work was completed ready for publication. This he desired to
have done in Shanghai. We were told his translation would excel all
others that have ever been made.

At 10 o'clock each day, during the voyage of fourteen days the
missionaries would gather together for a short service in the salon,
where admittance was free to all. The ship averaged 370 miles a day; a
few of the passengers found the "rocking in the cradle of the deep"
rather disagreeable, but the majority of them kept their chairs and were
well repaid, for the air was a tonic too good to be missed. The ship was
well disciplined, the table inviting, the service entirely
Chinese--whose sense of decorum was most marked.

On Sunday evening, the thirteenth day out, we expected to anchor at
Yokohama, but a fearful wind arose; the captain left his seat at the
dinner table in haste and ordered the ship's course changed. We were
skirting a terrific typhoon. We were in sight of land, but instead of
reaching it at seven-thirty in the evening we did not accomplish it
until 10 o'clock Monday morning. The steamer "Belgic" was stranded that
night forty-three miles from Yokohama. The captain, who had for forty
years made successful trips, was destined to see his vessel wrecked; no
lives were lost but the rebuke he received cost him the loss of his
position--and much greater the loss of reason. He was taken to a
madhouse.

The 9th of September found us in the hands of our guide, who had been
engaged to meet us on board the vessel on our arrival. Jinrikishas were
in waiting, we rode to the custom house and from there to the Hotel
Grand, along the Bund skirting the water's edge. The sun shone
brilliantly, and all Nature seemed to bid us welcome. The hotel site is
unequaled; the gentle sea breezes seem to follow us; Englishmen and
Americans crowded the verandas, and apparently gave us a warm welcome.
Long lines of jinrikishas formed a barrier between the waters of Yeddo
Bay and the hotel, each in charge of a coolie, whose dress (if any)
shocked us; but to this nude condition we soon became oblivious.

A ride along the shore of the Mississippi Bay, and through the country
where rice and millet grow abundantly, in a jinrikisha with a good
natured coolie is a delight. The Bungalow of the native all exposed to
view is a sample of neatness, while the children, most gentle with each
other, play in numbers around the home.

On this drive and but a short distance from Yokohama is the English
concession, homes hidden almost from view by high walls and dense
foliage. In that land of sunshine, with the cool breeze from the sea,
the constant influx of European and American travelers, keeping one in
touch with the world and with the simplicity of the surroundings, one
can imagine a tranquilizing life and a happy coterie.

The streets of Yokohama are narrow, the houses of one, sometimes two
stories, all on line with the sidewalk and with apparently no privacy.
The gutters are flushed with water, which seems to be used for all
purposes, even to the bathing of children. The absence of horses gives
ample room for the masses of men, women and children who throng the
streets. No haste is manifested, save when a line of jinrikishas of
heavily freighted coolies appear, and then with perfect good nature the
right of way is given. No menace, no insults are heard. The perennial
smile of women and the submission of the men is enough to conquer all
antagonism to foreigners, if any exists. Nevertheless, a guide is
indispensable to protect against intrusive curiosity, for wherever you
stop, there the gaping crowd surrounds you.

The shopping fever seems to manifest itself almost immediately on
arrival at Yokohama; in fact, I heard of no epidemic so fatal to
visitors. Your guide, who has an eye to the commission he will receive
on all your purchases, gives you his advice as to where you shall
buy--to his best advantage. As truthfulness is not a Japanese virtue, it
is well to consult your fellow traveler and to use your own judgment as
to quality. Each city of Japan seems to have its specialty; for
instance: We found the handsomest kimonas, the finest cloisonais in
Yokohama: the best carving in ivory in Tokio.

As for a gentleman's outfit it would be advisable to go to Yokohama with
an empty trunk, for good materials and perfect fit are guaranteed for
marvelously low prices. There your duck suits, Pongees and silk
underwear for the tropics are laid in with great satisfaction. The
adaptation in imitation is most striking. A waist of a dress given the
tailor will be so closely copied in fit and style and delivered in so
brief a space of time that it makes you fairly sigh when you think of
the waste of time and mistakes that our own modistes often subject us
to, but there is no originality displayed by the Japanese.

The native woman is always clothed; the unmarried, known by the style of
hair dressing, are neat and gayly attired in their kimonas and bright
sashes, are attractive, but the absolute negligence of the mothers is
revolting. The hair if not in strings, is most loosely bound up; no more
pomade and bows; their teeth blackened, and their bosoms so exposed that
their elongated condition becomes revolting. We were told that supply of
the human dairy never ceases while the demand exists. No sooner does one
child let go, than another takes hold--hence the accessibility.

To visit the temples is of daily occurrence. There, hundreds of natives
are huddled together, prostrating themselves before the tinselled
altars, leaving behind them in the space they have occupied a coin, of
but little value, it may be, but something to denote their willingness
to support their religion. These coins are gathered by the priests, and
a theft is unknown.

Strangers are admitted without hesitancy to the rooms where cloisonai
and bronze are manufactured, the close quarters, the simplicity of
utensils, the perfection of workmanship, the untiring patience is to the
nervous American the wonder of the age.

At night the streets of the city are thronged. Along and outside the
curbstone are peddlers with their wares spread upon the ground with a
single lamp light, around which gather the customers. The jugglers
seated behind open lattice work perform their feats to admiring groups,
while theatrical performances all in full blast, shut up from view from
the street with but a slight screen, seem well patronized.

Many women are sold by their parents for the payment of a debt or the
support of their families. The government confines these characters to
their own quarters; they are not allowed on the streets of the city. We
turn willingly on the following day to something more elevating and
visit Enoshina, via the Imperial Railroad. The chief object of interest
at Kamakura, our first stopping place, is the "Dai Butsa"--"Great
Buddha." It stands alone as the highest embodiment of Japanese art;
height, forty-nine feet and seven inches; circumference, ninety-seven
feet and two inches; surrounded by beautiful Camphor and Echo trees.
This bronze image is supposed to have been erected in 1252. The temple
built over this image was destroyed in 1494. Since then it has remained
exposed to the elements. Within the image is a space containing a
shrine. The eyes of Buddha are of pure gold; the silver boss on the
forehead weighs thirty pounds--it signifies light, or wisdom. Not far
from this image of bronze stands the temple of Kovanon, the Goddess of
Mercy, whose image is seen indistinctly behind folding doors. It is of
brown lacquer, gilded and is thirty feet high. We enter and
involuntarily lay our hand upon it for the virtue that may arise from
our act of faith.

We again summon our coolies and, along the water's edge, are drawn to
the hillside on whose summit is one of the most picturesque tea houses
in Japan. The ascent is rather steep, but through shaded paths lined on
either side with stands where attractive souvenirs may be purchased,
chopsticks of fancy design, jewelry, shell ornaments, etc., etc. The
view from the tea house overlooking the sea is most charming. There our
guide has laid for us a tempting lunch brought from the hotel at
Yokohama. Tea and service is offered us by most graceful Japanese
waitresses, who have no hesitation in assisting our gentlemen change
their clothing for the bathing suit, that they may follow them to the
water's edge to see them sport like fish in the bright blue waters, and
were it not for the pestiferous fleas, one might declare the excursion
perfect.

The journey to Niko by rail is most diversified, shaded for miles by the
Cryptomeria trees. The pear tree, trellised with its luscious fruit
somewhat like our Russet apple or a taste akin to watermelon, is seen.
The day's journey is made all the more agreeable by the luncheon of
quail sandwiches, fruits and hot tea, the latter made by our guide in
our compartment. At five-thirty o'clock in the evening we arrive at the
Hotel Niko, the weather cold and rainy, a poor table and damp,
uninviting apartments. A brazier is at the solicitation of the guests
placed in the drawing room. There we barter all evening with natives for
furs of the monkey, idols of ivory and objects of interest of wood and
bronze. The trip to Lake Chuzendi, eight miles from Niko, is made by
chairs and jinrikishas carried and drawn by the coolies. For our party
of four we take two chairs and three jinrikishas and seventeen
coolies--four for each chair, two to pull and one to push the
jinrikishas. The third jinrikisha is for our guide and hamper of
provisions. The road zigzags in many turns up the steep sides of the
mountain, followed by a dashing stream issuing from Lake Chuzendi, known
as "Kenon-no-taks," which falls in beautiful cascades and seethes over
the dizzy heights, while our sturdy pullers keep up a tremendous pace
with a continuous cry of warning to a chance pedestrian or cart of a
street vender, whom we meet on the narrow ledges drawn by the same
patient coolie. Baskets hung on a pole and borne by two men often
contain a native woman and perhaps a child; mules with panniers so large
filled with vegetables and merchandise that you can scarcely see the
poor animal, slowly plodding along this highway led by a woman or more
often a small boy with a rain cloak of straw and a wide brimmed hat of
the same material, which are so cumbersome that you look almost in vain
for the wearer. We dismount wherever a fine view is obtainable, and
invariably find a tea house. Attentive waitresses, clad in their bright
kimonas, regale you with small cups of tea and cake, to say nothing of
the peppermint candies offered for a few pennies with a low bow and
bewitching smile. Cushions to rest upon--with invisible occupants
(fleas), who insist upon accompanying you during the journey,
notwithstanding your efforts to shake them off. If a bright day is
vouchsafed the traveler the view from the summit is glorious, the tea
house commodious; fishing with nets adroitly thrown brings in an
abundant supply for the table. Our curiosity led us into an apartment
where the noon meal was being prepared by a wife for her liege lord. The
cooking was done over a few coals in a brass brazier filled with ashes.
A steel skewer placed upright in the ashes on which was suspended a
fish, overhanging the coals, which by frequent turnings was most
effectually dried and apparently made a savory dish. An omelet most
tempting and a bowl of rice was then placed upon a low table before
which the husband sat upon his haunches and ate most leisurely, while
the wife retired into a corner endeavoring to satisfy a hungry infant.
The great question of the Orient is: Will the day ever come when an
equality of sex will be acknowledged? We put the question to our
well-educated guide, who shook his head and replied, "In America women
rule, but in Japan the master is man." A missionary told me that they
endeavored early to marry the converted man to the Christian woman and
to insist that they should sit together at their meals, but it was a
hard lesson and seldom adopted.

The temples of Niko surpass all others that we saw in Japan. Broad
avenues, well shaded, lead up to the hills upon which they were built.
In 1617 Hidetada, the second Shogun, removed the body of his father to
this spot. He was deified by an order of the Mikado, under a name
signifying "The Light of the East," the great incarnation of Buddha. His
grandson finished the temple erected in memory of his grandfather and
was himself enshrined there. The five-story pagoda, 105 feet high, lends
interest to this spot. The decorations of these temples are of carved
wood in panels, painted in gorgeous coloring. Much of this carving is
the handiwork of the celebrated "Hidare Jingoro," other work that of
"Tunza." The group of three monkeys, blind, deaf and dumb, and the
"sleeping cat," all have religious signification. The floors of these
temples are covered with padded matting; in consequence, no one is
allowed to enter without removing his shoes, or slipping a cotton
covering over those he has on. The altars are ornamented with immense
brass storks, with candelabra in their mouths, and tinselled lotus
flowers with leaves of brass are much in vogue. The tombs are guarded
with painted monsters representing gods of Wind and Thunder. The
services are not unlike those conducted in the Catholic Church by
continuous chanting. Pilgrims are coming and going, offering their
prayers after first signaling the gods by ringing a bell, the rope of
which is often made of human hair, a sacrifice made to appease the gods
during an epidemic. Near by and in the same enclosure is the sacred
horse, a stupid looking animal, guarded by an old woman, who for a
trifling recompense will feed it a few beans from a small saucer.

From Niko we go to Tokio, a city of magnificent distances, the home of
the Mikado. We stop at the Imperial Hotel, the best kept in Japan.
Temples and tombs set apart in sequestered groves, seem to be the resort
of pleasure-seekers and pilgrims. Once the ceremonial worship is over,
the people clap their hands to notify their god of their duties having
been performed, and turn for rice, tea or chat. Many of the petitions
are written on slips of paper and are left on the gratings that protect
the idols, and those frightful guardians at the entrance are frequently
covered with moistened balls of paper containing their written prayers.

Thirty years of civilization has not changed the agricultural
implements. The same plow that upheaved the soil one thousand years ago
turns it now; the same punt that furrowed the waters is the same to-day;
the style of architecture of the old Tartar order, derived from the old
Tartar tents, with immense curving and overhanging roof, repeats itself
in keeps and temples. Possibly this stereotype is the result of being
for ages cut off from other nations. The ponderous bells, struck by
great beams of wood swung from the outside, give forth mighty mysterious
murmurings.

The population of the city of Tokio is a million and a half (1895) and
covers a territory as large as London. The castle of the Mikado, in the
center of the city, occupies a space of several miles in circumference.
There are three castles, and between each a moat; the inner side of each
has a wall of sixty to ninety feet high, built of huge stones of massive
weight. The inner castle is surrounded by beautiful wooded grounds,
miniature lakes, streams and meadows. The public buildings and those
occupied by government officials are of European architecture. The
streets of the city are narrow, no sidewalks, and the one-story houses
serve as workshop and residence for the occupant. The inhabitants go
bareheaded, carrying umbrellas. The convenience of the river that runs
through Tokio and the canals that intersperse its streets is very
apparent. Public education is compulsory. Japan in its whole extent,
with all its islands included, covers about as much territory as North
and South Dakota combined. Although it has an immense system of
irrigation, only one-twelfth of its soil is under cultivation, and the
rice crop entirely dependent upon it. The population of forty million of
people of untiring industry is rewarded by a mere living. For centuries
the cultured class of patrons of the temples have given these people
work, for every rich temple adds to its wealth bronzes, lacquered work,
vestments of brocades, tapestries and carvings of images, each having
its fire-proof building in which its treasures are kept; they are not
seen in the temples. As for the missionary work, we visited the "Mary
Colby Seminary," a boarding and day school in Yokohama, Miss Grafton of
Vermont being principal. At that time there were fifty native children
as scholars, most of them able to pay for their own tuition. It is
impossible to calculate the strength and influence of these teachings,
and where the schools become self-supporting they must be strongholds.
We were told that demand for teachers was much less than the number
waiting to be called. At Kiota we visited the "Dobisha School," a
university started in 1875, under the auspices of the American Board of
Missions; connected with this institution is the girls' school and
training school for nurses; also a hospital. A warm reception by Miss
Benton, the principal of the girls' school, from Los Angeles, Cal.,
awaited us, and we were shown through the buildings, and were most
astonished at the well built and commodious edifices, surrounded by well
laid out grounds. There were not a half-dozen scholars. On inquiring why
the accommodations were so great and the number of occupants so small,
we were told cholera had kept many away. The few half-grown girls were
seated around the table intent in reading a translation from Shakespeare
of "King Lear," and others Walter Scott's "Lady of the Lake."

One of the girls played upon an instrument some four feet long with two
wire strings. Upon the third finger of her left hand she wore an ivory
ring, and with this she would strike the ivory knots placed at intervals
on the instrument, producing sounds not unlike a guitar. She sat upon
the floor and seemed sullen. The teacher remarked to us that many were
very obstinate. We saw the table prepared for their dinner--a large bowl
of rice in the center and small bowls at each plate, with a dried fish
upon it and a pair of chop sticks. One of the studies most enjoyed is
the arrangement of flowers, which is really a life's study. The
ceremonial tea is conducted with great precision and is regarded as a
graceful accomplishment. The price of tuition was 2 yen 80 sen per
month, caring for their own rooms and doing their own washing. It is
under the Congregational and Presbyterian auspices, and was not in a
flourishing condition financially. After this we visited a dancing
school which was most interesting. The teacher, a gray-headed woman, sat
upon the floor with a dozen or more pupils around her. In one hand she
held a wand, in the other a fan. Each child received individual
instruction, the scholar standing bare-footed, with her eyes fixed upon
the instructor; in her hand an oiled paper parasol, which when swaying
her body to and fro she handled most gracefully, while the only music
was the old woman's voice in mournful cadence, by the rhythm of which
her fan seemed in sympathy. With the wand she would strike her fan when
she wished an emphatic stamping of feet.

The bronze factories, open to the traveler, are well worthy of a visit.
The mixture of gold, copper, tin and silver into these ornaments are
regulated in price by the quantity of gold and silver used. The intaglio
figures are overlaid with these precious metals, and the deft hand of
cunning workmanship is perceptible in every article produced. The Rapids
of Katsuragawa (a famous resort in the maple season) is fourteen miles
by jinrikisha from Kiota, which takes about three hours and a half to
accomplish. Our party of five required five jinrikishas and ten men,
much of the road being upgrade and through tunnels. Rice fields abounded
and the scenery wild and picturesque. A tea house at the end of the ride
affords room for us to have our own luncheon spread, and after an hour's
rest we take a boat, to which our jinrikishas and coolies are
transferred. The descent of the rapids requires two hours' time. The
pilot stands half clad at the helm, while three men with long ropes
attached to the vessel run along the rocky shore, pulling with all their
strength. The bed of the river is rocky. Artificial improvements have
been made rendering the channel more navigable, but the weirdness of the
scene is heightened by the flashes of lightning and the low,
reverberating thunder claps that were followed by slight rain. The boat
trembles and bends before the fury of the waters. We are assured that
the pilot is skillful and an accident is the exception. We land at
Arashizama and resume our jinrikisha ride to Kiota.

Alternate days are spent in the shops. We find jade to be an expensive
article. The stone is very difficult to carve, hence its value. The pale
green in color is most desirable; a cup of cornelian red, very tiny, was
145 yen; a small figure of a lion, beautifully carved, 175 yen. There is
a superstition among the natives of Japan and China that anklets or
bracelets of jade keep off the evil eye.

We next visit Nara, the holy city. It is not to-day a tenth of its
former size, as it is no longer the imperial seat of government.
Situated at the foot of a range of mountains are beautiful groves,
through which wind broad avenues, shaded by the cryptomeria trees.
Temples are hid away in sequestered spots; in one of these the sacred
rite of an ancient dance is kept up by priestesses. For a stated fee you
can have it executed. The dress worn is of ancient type and bears the
Wisteria crest of the Hasaga temple. These dancers wear a white,
expressionless mask; their movements, together with the doleful music
furnished by the priests with kotos, pipes and drums, make you feel well
satisfied with a brief performance, the tune suggesting Watts' "Hark
from the tombs, the doleful sound," etc. Here we meet crowds of pilgrims
enjoying the beautiful groves with old trunks of trees covered with
camellias, wisterias, plum and wild ivy, which are the marvels of the
place. The great bell, thirteen feet high, containing thirty-six tons of
copper, an image of Buddha, fifty-three feet in height, and a museum
erected and sustained by the government are the chief attractions of
Nara. Together with the Temple of Taconda, with its fine wood carvings
and its beautiful little lake near by, with shoals of speckled fish
which are fed daily for the entertainment of visitors. Our inn was
strictly Japanese. The apartment set aside for us was partitioned into
rooms by mosquito netting. Imagine a room sixty feet long; at intervals
of fifteen feet were hooks, placed in the cornice, upon which were hung
mosquito nets with teaster-tops, forming, as it were, a square chamber.
On the floor of each, beds were made, which consisted of three or four
comforters or futahs, immaculately clean, placed one upon the other,
while one was rolled for our head rest. Before retiring we were asked to
place our valuables in the hands of the proprietor for safety, which we
did in part. Our dinner consisted of soup, chicken and potatoes,
beefsteak and onions. The curiosity of the waitresses of the inn is
laughable; nothing escapes their eyes; even the linings of our dress
skirts were investigated.

The founder of one of the temples is said to have ridden to this place
in 767 on a spotted deer. Since then the animal is almost deified and is
by some supposed to be a messenger from earth to heaven. The groves are
full of these favorites.

Osaka, the Birmingham of Japan, is built upon canals, on either side of
which are lines of storehouses containing cotton goods, chinaware and
wooden utensils. The castle here was occupied by a military force, and
all admittance was denied. Kobe, two hours' ride via railroad, is the
point of departure for us from Japan, after sailing through the Inland
sea and stopping a few hours at Nagasaki. Kobe has an English
concession. Club houses, banks and good hotels gives it a European
appearance. The Japanese portion has its bazaar, crematories and
temples. The hour for cremating is at six o'clock in the evening, and we
visited this place in time to see three bodies already placed in the
furnaces; two of these were in casks, as they were in a sitting
position; that of an infant in a rude box, in such as our oranges are
shipped, and tied with twine. The crematory was on the summit of a hill,
at the foot of which was the cemetery, where the ashes were interred.
The sailing of the "Empress of China" through the Inland Sea is lovely
beyond description. The sky cloudless, temperature about 72 (Oct. 1st,
1895); Americans and English crowded the deck. The harbor at Nagasaki is
fine. War vessels from almost every country lie at anchor in the
sparkling waters. The "Centurion" of the British line and the
"Charleston," of the American, commanded by Captain Coffin, Messrs.
Sharp and Littlefield, officers, gave us a courteous welcome. When the
day was far spent and the last rays of the setting sun reflected its
beautiful coloring on the waters, which glistened like diamonds in an
emerald setting around the vessels, our own flag waved its colors and
the soul-stirring strain, "Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot," aroused
all the patriotism and tenderness in our hearts. As we waved a good-bye
to the land of "The Rising Sun" it was with the desire that we might
return to the scenes that had contributed so much to our enjoyment. The
twelve guns fired from the "Centurion" in honor of the occasion seemed
as echoes from the hills bidding us adieu with an au revoir.




FROM JAPAN TO CHINA AND CEYLON.


                                STEAMER EMPRESS OF JAPAN,
                                  YELLOW SEA, October 4, 1895.

Seated at the table with the first officer, who proves most loquacious
and intelligent, we discuss the "Prince of Wales," the English rule in
foreign lands and the works of George D. Curzon, a man of great
expectations and great possibilities. He loaned me "Problems of the Far
East," which I found most entertaining, clear and authentic. On my left
are seated Dr. and Mrs. Ashmore. The former has been forty-five years in
the missionary field in China. Mrs. Ashmore, as Mrs. Brown, was the
founder of the "Mary Colby Seminary" at Yokohama, afterwards removing to
China with her second husband. One of her daughters married Mr. Curtis,
editor of a Kobe paper, the other, Mr. McCarty, a transportation
merchant of Yokohama. Mrs. Ashmore expressed her views freely regarding
the Dobisha school in Kiota. The great extravagance in building and in
furnishing the university had forced it to the verge of bankruptcy. Dr.
and Mrs. Ashmore labor under the Baptist auspices, and both feel that
the most encouragement is offered the missionary in China rather than
Japan. The conversion of the Chinese was far more permanent when once
accomplished than that of the Japanese; they were more truthful and with
less varnish. We have on board Isabella Bird Bishop, gray-haired and
with mild blue eyes, rather below the average height of woman. She
writes so much in favor of Japan that the freedom of the hotels is
offered her. After the third day of smooth sailing we anchor in the
Yang-tse-kiang, as one writer says, "a stream of lofty dignity of
conscious might." Broken short ridges of mountains are seen from a
distance, with valleys and plains interspersed. The great plain lying on
the sea coast is alluvial, made so by the deposit of the Hoang-Ho and
the Yang-tse-kiang (Broad River) combined. The former river often bursts
its confines, causing great destruction to life and property. The mouth
of the Yang-tse-kiang to-day is far removed from where it was many years
ago. The Hoang-Ho is for the greater part of the year unnavigable, owing
to floods during the summer months, the disasters being so great it is
sometimes called the "Chinese sorrow." Fish abound and is the flesh food
of the average Chinaman, although pork is his delight. The mode of
fishing is varied; often men and boys dive for them, but the more
entertaining method is by the cormorant. A dozen or more of these
trained birds are perched on a bamboo pole across the bow of a boat, but
before diving, a cord is placed around their throat to prevent them
from swallowing their prey, and they rarely fail to bring up one or
more fish. Their eagerness for success is most noticeable, and they are
rewarded after having satisfied their owner, by being given some of the
small fry. Our steamer anchored fifteen miles off of Shanghai, and our
heavily freighted tender was two hours reaching land. The harbor was
filled with bright colored sailing vessels, junks and sampans,
stern-wheel kickaway and chop boats; also the bateaux of the "Tanka"
girls who work the ferries. The form of the natural eye painted on these
vessels is most apparent; the reason for so doing is, the Chinese will
reply, "No eye, no see."

We at once contrast the well-built and improved bund which skirts the
water's edge with the less pretentious Japanese ports. It is not until
we enter the Chinese quarters, with its low dwellings and apparent
squalor, that we realize what the English concessions are to the
traveler. The dress of the Chinese is refreshing to the eye after our
sojourn in Japan, where among the coolies little was left to the
imagination.

The drive to the "Bubbling-Well," a square enclosure of stone some eight
feet in dimension, reveals a spring of water whose surface was green
with slime, from which issued two clear streams of pure crystal fluid.
Well-dressed, painted Chinese women, guarded by eunuchs, drive in
landaus along this fashionable drive, which leads to club houses and
well laid out grounds. The tiny feet of the women as they peep out from
under the richly embroidered gowns assured us that navigation to them on
foot was almost impossible. This process of deformity is begun about the
sixth year of their lives and rarely fully accomplished before the
seventeenth. The suffering is said to be intense. Government has in many
provinces interfered, and as civilization advances it is to be hoped
this cruelty will be abolished. A missionary told me, in appealing to
the Chinese, "to desist from this vain and sinful habit, they would at
once retaliate by replying, 'Why do American or European women deform
their waists?'" The rough, uncultivated fields attached to the homes
along the drives we are told are burial places of their dead. Mere
hillocks of earth, so scant as to allow the caskets to be seen plainly,
and oftimes skeletons protrude. Do you wonder that epidemics prevail?
The warning is constantly given the travelers to keep away from native
quarters, but curiosity leads us into temptation. Warehouses,
manufactories, shops, theaters, dwellings and temples are crowded
together; the streets offensive and disgusting. The shops for silks in
the English concession are most fascinating. Beauty of coloring and
quality, with most unique designs, are offered at such low prices that
one must have great control over herself to resist buying in quantities.
The better class of Chinese are most elaborately gowned in these gold
embroidered textures--far more costly than the simple embroidered
kimonas of the Japanese. The absence of jewelry in the latter makes the
love of it with the Chinese most conspicuous. Anklets, imitation of jade
and silver bangles are always in evidence.

Jugglers throng the piazzas of the hotel, and for a trifling
compensation will swallow a sword three feet long which he flaunts
before our eyes and which disappears to all appearances down his throat
with great strangling; this we do not ask him to repeat.

A charming sail of three days brought us into the harbor of Hongkong.
The city is built on the mountainside; a narrow strip along the water's
edge is laid out in a fine driveway, warehouses, hotels and club houses
facing the water. The dwellings, with beautiful gardens attached, are
built upon the terraces of the mountains, which can only be reached in
sedan chairs, borne by coolies. The botanical gardens are most
attractive and are within walking distance of the hotel. Alongside of
these gardens is the St. John's Cathedral, in Gothic style of
architecture. The clock tower is a conspicuous building from which all
local distances are measured. On the summit of the mountain overlooking
the city is Victoria Gap. An inclined railway, worked by means of cable
to an elevation of fourteen hundred feet, leads to it. It cost the city
140,000 Mexican dollars, and pays about five per cent on the investment.
The round trip is fifty cents. The views are grand in extent, but it
requires considerable nerve to face the apparent danger. However, we
find ourselves on the summit in an incredibly brief space of time. The
ten square miles of harbor is spread out before you with its myriads of
vessels and floating hospitals. The enjoyment of this scene quite repays
one for the undertaking. Queen's road (the principal street of Hongkong)
runs parallel with the water; from this street, running toward the
mountain, the grade is uphill. We ascend stone steps, twenty to thirty
in number, to reach the street beyond; consequently we do not frequent
them often. Flowers are in profusion for sale and most artistically
arranged. The drive to the "Happy Valley," the burial place of the
European, Parsees and Mahometans, each within their own walls, is indeed
aptly named. We were preceded by two sedan chairs borne by four coolies,
each dressed in red kilted skirts and white turbans. The occupants were
two small boys, eight and ten years of age, with their amia, or nurses,
who bore quantities of lovely flowers. On alighting we followed them to
two freshly made graves; from these the boys removed decayed flowers and
placed most lavishly those they had brought with them. It was a touching
sight. We imagined the parents had been the victims of a scourge that
was still hovering over the city. It is a trying climate. The American
consul, Mr. Hunt, from Tennessee, called upon us, and we returned the
visit at his home, nestled among the palm trees and alongside the
botanical gardens. His family were feeling the effect of their
protracted sojourn here and yearned for a change.

The distance from Hongkong to Canton is ninety-five miles by the river.
We were somewhat surprised to find the captain of our vessel from
Prairie du Chien, Wis., whose family was still residing there. It is
said that a population of 300,000 people live in boats upon these waters
and have no other home. With the baby on her back the mother swings the
heavy scull, while the other children act as ducks in the water, some
being tethered to the vessel, apparently without any sense of danger. At
the slightest indication that one of these boats are needed, fifty or
more will rush to the spot, clambering in loud voices for their rights;
while the wonder is that the baby's head does not roll off of its
shoulders. The mother is seemingly indifferent as to its existence.
Along the shores of the river are rice fields and orchards, interspersed
with pagodas, which from a distance look like hanging gardens. Chance
wind bears sand and seed to these overhanging roofs, and shrubs and
flowers grow and bloom. Whampun and Homan, two lofty pagodas, made
famous by their age and height, are seen from the steamer, and an
occasional dead body of a Chinaman floats by us. As we near the landing
of Canton small boats filled with lepers come alongside soliciting alms.
They are most pitiful in appearance and, judging from the coins thrown
them, it is the only means of their maintenance.

Guides are in waiting at the steamer's wharf, and we only feel safe when
protected by them. Six chairs with four men each, made up our van. Mr.
Wilder, of Honolulu, had joined us. These coolies groan as they trot
along. With the thermometer about 80 and no clothing save the loin
cloth, they stop only long enough to change the pole from one shoulder
to the other, which are lacerated and in great welts. If it were not for
the novel sights that meet the eye the sympathy aroused would be too
trying for the traveler. Canton is called the "City of Rams," or the
"City of the Genii." These names are derived from the supposed visit of
fire-protecting spirits that came from heaven two thousand years ago. It
is the chief trading city of southern China. Foreigners first visited
here in the eighth century. In 1568 the Portuguese were in China, and in
1615 the Tartars invaded it. We passed through what is known as the
Tartar town; it was neater and cleaner than the other quarters. Later
the East India Company took possession and for a century and a half
controlled the foreign trade. The British invaded the city of Canton in
1841 and took possession, but the ransom of six million was made for its
redemption. Again in 1857 the allied forces of British and French
captured it, and for nearly four years it was in the hands of
foreigners, its government being administered by a joint commission. It
has now its European concession. Canton is a typical Chinese city, the
contracted streets, not exceeding six feet in width except in spaces
where some official residence or temple is built. It is with great
difficulty we make any headway through these narrow lanes, and are often
compelled to leave our chairs and with our guide pursue our way on foot.
If by chance a shop is entered a gaping crowd so surrounds you that you
are not only in danger of being robbed, but of losing your guide. The
foreign quarters are separated from the mainland by a stream of water
connected by two bridges. A wall encircles the native quarter and the
gates are closed at night and guarded; the discharge of firecrackers in
the early morning announce their opening, and from the river boats
another discharge, almost deafening, which is supposed to keen them from
the "evil one" through the day.

The Temples of Confucius, Buddha and Shinto religions are much alike in
their construction. One of the most famous of these is that of the five
hundred Genii, founded in five hundred, the year of our Lord, and was
rebuilt forty years ago. In the midst of these immortal five hundred
images is that of "Marco Polo," who visited here in the twelfth century.
The Temple of Horrors, whose tableaux in brass and wood represent the
punishments meted out to those in Buddha's purgatory, boiling the
culprit in oil, or grinding him in a mill, or still worse, to place him
in an upright position between two planks of wood and then sawing him in
pieces--all these pleasant reminders are heightened by the
reincarnation against the will of a man's soul into that of a wild
beast, destined to another life here on earth, which is too realistic to
dwell upon.

The Examination Hall, where all males from eighteen to eighty years of
age may compete for honors, is well worth a visit. Stalls are built for
12,000 students, in which are placed a table and chair. Once the man is
seated there is no release for three days. A strict watch is kept to
prevent any communication; even if a death occurs a hole must be knocked
in the surrounding wall to transport the body, for under no
circumstances are the gates opened during the trial. A subject for an
essay is given, and each applicant is forced to render an example of his
ability. Less than two score of these receive degrees, and from this
examination they go to a higher court in Pekin and there high honors
await them in official positions. No caste is observed. The water clock,
built five hundred years ago, is composed of three copper vessels placed
on top of each other with an indicator in the lower one. The passing of
time is indicated by the raising of the water in this lower one, into
which trickles the same fluid from those above. The prisons seemed
crowded; the inmates were chained to stones or bars of iron, all
apparently in one large hall, separated from the spectators by upright
bars of iron. When we approached they made a rush toward us as well as
their heavily burdened limbs would allow, and begged for money with
which their freedom could be bought. The yoke some wore was most
torturing. I could think only of Dante's inferno. The execution grounds
was a most grewsome place, about twenty-five feet long and ten or twelve
feet wide, used daily for drying and storing pottery. The prisoner was
made to kneel, bowing his head, while the executioner's ax did the work.
We saw a head which had been decapitated before our arrival. From the
wall of Canton we could see mountainsides, which seemed to be one vast
number of graves, whose entrance were in the form of a horseshoe. In the
city is a building they call the "Old Man's Paradise." It is kept up by
the wealthy class. The remains of the male dead can be left here for
five years, incased in a huge lacquered wood coffin, costing $1,500.
Under it is placed plates of lime to prevent white ants from destroying
the wood. Before the coffin is a drop curtain to shield it from the gaze
of the passer by, in front of which is an altar decked with tinselled
flowers; beside this is an empty chair, around which are grouped wooden
images supposed to be the servants of the departed master waiting his
return, with rice and tea prepared and placed near by. A couch for a
servant who guarded the body was occupied each night. The place was
rather attractive than otherwise. We lunched upon the walls of Canton in
a deserted building, but old with memories. We visited some shops where
the crepe, for which the manufactory is noted, can be found in almost
all colors, some beautifully embroidered, for moderate prices. The
markets are disgusting with the skinned rats and bloody fish which are
offered for sale, and a few days' sojourn amidst such surroundings
satisfies the traveler.

On our return to Hongkong (the port from which we sailed) the sight of
the French steamer "Melbourne," which was to bear us on our journey, was
an agreeable vision, although on that line of steamers little is done
for the pleasure of the passengers. We took on at Saigon the Governor of
Siberia, his wife and secretary; also the Siberian Minister to China,
with his wife, with many Russians. The ladies of the party were
handsome, and often regaled us with their beautiful voices. A Japanese
colonel, who had by his feats of bravery made himself famous, sat at my
right at the table, and it was with great interest I listened to him
telling of his trip on horseback from Russia on the Trans-Siberian line
to China, which took seventeen months to accomplish, with the use of
three horses. The extreme cold of Siberia, 45 degrees below zero, with
those sluggish people, made the days he spent with them most memorable.
He averaged twenty-five miles a day, traveling through grand forests,
and, as daylight continued till midnight, he was enabled to travel much
at night during the summer months. He was in the employ of the Japanese
government. We afterward met him at Cairo. Two days out from Hongkong
(Oct. 19, 1895) we skirted the Island of Hainan, which is separated from
the mainland of China by the Gulf of Tonquin, and passing the Empire of
Anan we enter the St. James River, eight degrees north of the
equator--Far. 83. The river in width is about forty rods, the banks of
which on either side are covered with dense jungles. The mango and
banana tree were strangely intermingled with vines covered with flowers,
while groups of monkeys keep up a perpetual chatter and bright plumed
parrots were seen at every turn, to say nothing of the wild boar that
were hid among the jungles. The low thatched huts along the shore,
surrounded by the waving palm tree, looked rather attractive at a
distance. The dress of the Coachin-Chinamen consists of long, loose
flowing trousers, with a black or white robe falling from the shoulders,
and a red or white turban on their heads. The heat at Saigon in October
was oppressive, and we were advised to keep aboard the vessel till late
in the evening. Our ride to the botanical gardens over smooth roads of
red clay in the jinrikisha, with a bright turbaned coolie, was most
picturesque amid the perfection of tropical growth of plants and trees.
Convoys of storks, plumed golden pheasants, the Coachin China chickens,
cages of monkeys, leopards and bears all amuse and entertain the
traveler. Saigon is a French concession and has at least 100,000
inhabitants. Late in the afternoon the Governor General of Coachin China
boarded the vessel with his son. Citizens in their white duck suits and
pith helmets and soldiers escorted him to the steamer in their bright
uniforms with great ceremony to bid him bon voyage to France to
negotiate a loan in behalf of a projected railroad. The governor wore
the decoration of the Legion of Honor and was most dignified in his
bearing.

A smooth sea and fair breeze made the next two days and a half fairly
enjoyable, but the heat was overpowering at times; the nights were spent
by many on deck, where the firmament could be enjoyed, as the Southern
Cross was seen in its great beauty. Singapore, the next stopping place,
afforded us a fine drive in a chariot through the country. These
vehicles seat comfortably four persons, a charioteer, who drove, and an
outrider seated behind. Their turkey-red calico sacques, with a white
cheese cloth skirt and high red turban, gave them a showy appearance,
while the diminutive animal which drew us in the most submissive fashion
plodded his way over the well-rolled roads of red clay. The tropical
growth of trees and shrubbery almost hid from view the bungalows of the
better class of people. These buildings were one story in height,
surrounded by wide verandas, the roofs of which were thatched with huge
palm leaves, while the bamboo split in two formed excellent gutters to
convey the water to the ground. Dates hung in profusion upon the trees
alongside of the road, and bananas half as long as your arm were offered
you, the taste of which is very unlike ours. The palm and rubber trees
grow like the forest trees in our own land. The red and white arbiscus,
running wild over trees and house, with the ox-eyed daisy, almost as
large as the sunflower, and the marigold, which is the flower that the
Indian idolater uses in his worship, grows in profusion here. The
abundant moisture from frequent showers, followed by a blazing sunshine,
produces that tropical luxuriance for which this portion of the Orient
is celebrated. To sit upon the steamer's deck at early dawn one sees
close to the horizon in the north the Pole Star, in the south a few
degrees higher the constellation of the southern cross is in full view,
while on land the scene of the greatest activity is at this hour. The
rude cart, drawn by cream-colored, humped-back, reversed-horn cattle,
driven by a coal-black Tamil in a bright red turban and perhaps a loin
cloth, lends interest to the picture, and the superb shoulders of the
natives are well exhibited, as they unload from barges drawn close to
the steamer's side huge sacks of coal, which they heave to one another
till they reach the hold of the vessel. This is performed mostly by
women with a weird chant of "heave ho" that seems to render the task
less irksome.

Singapore was purchased by the British. It is the greatest tin producing
country in the world. Sago is grown in quantities and shipped to every
port; it is the pith of the tree trunk. Here the gum of the rubber tree
is gathered and dried in chunks, placed in gunny bags and sent to all
quarters of the globe in the crude state. The rattan, which is
elaborately woven by the natives into chairs and other useful pieces of
furniture, is light in weight and capable of great endurance. The tree
grows like a palm to a great height, throwing above ground long tendrils
extending a half mile. These are cut in lengths of thirty feet, soaked,
scraped and ready for use. The indigo bush is cut and dried, then
boiled, the sediment forming the dry substance exported. Tea is also
cultivated successfully. Mangoes, yellow as pumpkins, in shape of pears,
with disagreeable flavor, but most in favor with the natives, as well as
the children of adoption, are the Dorean fruits, with custard-like
contents, offensive to the smell, but agreeable to the taste. The
business portion of the city is substantially built, but we were told
that the use of opium, like the Upas tree, casts a blight on this fair
country and its inhabitants. We invited a missionary to dine on the
steamer with us. He conducted a boys' school of 600 pupils. The building
cost $20,000, built by local contributions of the English and Chinese.
They practice the Salvation Army methods in gathering audiences for
Bible instruction, and those who accepted Christianity closely adhered
to their vows.

We now enter the straits of Malacca, as smooth as a river, but clouds
and showers render the atmosphere low and depressing. We meet on the
steamer those who have spent years in this climate. A lady from Holland
told me that it was so exhausting that life was almost unendurable. She
spoke of the Queen of Holland, the young "Wilhelmina," and of her
mother, the Dowager Queen Emma, now acting as regent. She was the second
wife of King William of Holland, and had this only daughter. He had
three sons by his first wife, all deceased. This present widow was a
German princess, and at this time (1895) was thirty-four years old and
her daughter fifteen. It was very evident from the conversation of this
Holland lady that Germans were in disrepute with her people--the Holland
Dutch. From the straits we run into the Indian Ocean, "with a wet sheet
and a flowing sea, and a wind that follows fast." To forget the swell I
take up a sensational novel, "The Old Love and the New," but that
influence is not enough to drive away mal de mer, that soon gets the
better of the passengers and drives us to our cabins. Four days of
sailing brings us to Ceylon's shores, where we fail to catch the spicy
breezes of which we have so often sung. We are on deck early to realize
the descriptions given of the southern coast of this island, then turn
northward and round into the harbor of Colombo. The hotels and
government buildings are located along the quay. The forest of cocoanut
palms and the lofty peaks of the mountain form an impressive background.
Ceylon is two-thirds as large as Ireland and is in possession of the
English. Some English writer has said "that in the train of England's
conquests comes the broadest, wisest and most tolerant statesmanship the
world has ever witnessed. To be humbled by her is to be exalted by
her." There seemed a good feeling between the natives and their rulers.
The Oriental Hotel swarms with people of all nations. Breakfast is
served in your room, consisting of coffee, toast, fruit and sweets.
Luncheon is a hasty meal, but dinner to the foreigner, served at 7 or 8
p. m., seems thoroughly enjoyable. The Englishman, dressed in black
trousers, broad sash-belts of black or red silk, which seems to make
more pronounced the smooth shirt bosom, with a spotless white
pea-jacket, forms a refreshing costume. Ladies almost invariably are in
low-neck black dresses, with a broad piece of white lace which droops
gracefully as a bertha, with bright flowers in their hair, while a band
of stringed instruments makes the scene enlivening. The broad arcade
from which you enter the dining hall is after dinner filled to
overflowing with guests seated around small tables, where brandy and
coffee is served, and is the harvest time of the tradesmen, who are
allowed to spread before you their embroideries, laces, jewels and
baskets of curious workmanship and bright colors, together with
elephants of ebony and ivory. Close to the entrance of the hotel are
jugglers with their baskets of cobras, whose poisonous fangs have been
extracted; together with the dwarfed trees which miraculously grow
before your eyes, and divers tricks are performed to entertain the
stranger and to earn for themselves a scant livelihood. The Singhalese
and Tamil women, men and children, whose features seemed carved in
ebony, are of the Aryan race--so different from the Mongol Malay race.
It is amusing when riding to be followed by the native children crying
"No papa, no mamma, no rice." And when these claims are recognized they
laugh immoderately and wait for other persons to attack with the same
pathetic appeal. A drive to the Cinnamon garden, in the midst of which
is a fine museum with a rare collection of sea urchins; these fasten
themselves to a rock, in which with their black, stiff, cigar-shaped
feelers they dig a cell, resembling machine work so accurate are they in
their measurement to fit their bodies. Here we are shown the original
tooth of Buddha, which looks more like a small tusk of an elephant. This
is placed under a glass cover; the sea-horse suckling its young, the
myriads of birds, besides every wild beast of the forest are finely
preserved. The bungalows of more wealthy inhabitants are built along
these beautiful drives, and are almost concealed by the dense foliage,
and must necessarily be damp, as the sun's rays can scarcely enter. We
are offered neatly bound bunches of camphor wood and cinnamon by
children on the road, but which have little aroma left. The men are
athletic in appearance, erect and graceful, hair black and curly. The
Singhalese wear a circular shell comb to confine their glossy curls. The
men are semi-clad; the women wear low-neck corset covers with an ample
strip of cloth that is pinned around the body for a skirt, which shows
the ankles with their silver anklets, while the black neck and arms are
adorned with gilt beads and bangles, the nose and lobes of the ear being
pierced and fairly weighed down with jeweled rings. The deformity is
appalling among the lower class; their only compensation is that the
stranger never passes them by without bestowing some gift, denoting
their sympathy. We are in Ceylon in the tail end of a monsoon (October
30). Such sheets of water, deluging alike streets and people, are
scarcely heeded--so soon do the sun's rays dry up the roads. We take a
cart drawn by two bullocks, goaded by a small boy, who sits on the yoke
and so close to the animals that one can scarcely detect his mode of
thrusting a sharp steel instrument into the body to make them move, but
this is his great incentive, as he easily could outwalk them; it is the
novelty that attracts, not the speed. We are landed close by the market,
where all fish, fowl and vegetables are sold. We purchase a bunch of
Betel leaves, neatly piled one upon the other. The nut of the same bush
is cut into small pieces, mixed with a teaspoonful of slackened lime,
and a little tobacco or more often opium. This mixture laid upon a leaf
is rolled and we are asked to try it. We give that pleasure to our small
boy or guide. One of these leaves will be material enough for two or
three hours' pleasure, and the coolie is seldom seen without this
delectable morsel in his mouth. He seldom expectorates but seems to
swallow the fluid, which is like red ink in color; the habit is most
disgusting, but assuages hunger.

We frequently see on the children's naked body a cord around the loins.
The placing of this is a religious ceremony, with a religious
signification. The drive along the beach is grand, and the roads smooth.
The crowds of English and Australians taking their evening outing,
cheered by the music of the military band and stimulated by the dashing
of the breakers on the sea-girt shore add to the pleasure. If you are
walking you are waylaid at every step by some drummer who represents his
own or the shop of some one whose jewels are displayed in the greatest
profusion. Sapphires, diamonds, rubies and pearls and other stones are
shown the customer until the eye fairly wearies of the sparkle. If you
decide not to purchase them but to call again, woe be to you if you do
not keep your word, as you are followed and the cry of "Lady, come back,
you promised!" becomes a trifle wearisome.

To visit Kandy, situated eighteen hundred feet above the sea, in the
mountains of the interior of Ceylon, we take passage on a railroad of
marvelous engineering. To quote a traveler's words may give you some
idea of the beauty of the views obtained: "As one skirts the flanks of
the mountains and looks down into an enormous gorge, its sides clad with
the most beautiful and varied foliage of flowers and trees, and on the
level bottom lands can be seen cascades, which are formed by the
artificial lakes that overflow the exquisitely delicate green of the
young rice." Our attention is directed to the Tollipot tree, which
flourishes for sixty years, and blooms just before it dies. The bloom is
at the top of the tree and reminded me of huge bunches of pampas grass.
The distance from Colombo to Kandy is seventy-eight miles. Roundabout
this region live the tea planters with their families. Kandy is a
resort, during the summer season, for the inhabitants of the lowlands,
and is built on the shore of a charming little lake, its banks shaded by
the Tamarind and royal palms. The vine-clad bungalows add to its
attractiveness. Within sight of the hotel is the Malagawa Buddhist
temple, the most sacred of the shrines of Buddhism. We are again shown
an actual tooth of the Deity, two and one-half inches long and one inch
wide.

On the evening of our arrival a great festival was held at the temple.
The procession was headed by eight standard bearers, dressed in full
white skirts, followed by eight more in red costumes. Their waists were
uncovered. They bore aloft flaming torches, followed by the most
fantastically dressed musicians beating drums and dancing in a frantic
manner. Close behind these were the "Devil dancers," four in number,
whose skirts of gay-colored silks were elaborately studded with jewels
and turbans to match. These skirts were so full that when making their
convolutions they looked like inflated balloons. The contortions of
their bodies were painful to witness, and as the reflection from the
torches lit up their faces one could but feel they were aptly named.
Three elephants walked abreast, most gorgeously apparelled, and moved
with a dignity most surprising. They wore jewelled masks, their bodies
enveloped with jewelled mantles, while on the back of the center animal
rested a gilded cage, in which, in a pagoda-shaped vessel, was the
sacred tooth. Following the elephants were more drummers, more Devil
dancers and other elephants, whose huge tusks were incased in gold. Each
animal was closely guarded by his keeper, while riders sat astride in
the most gorgeous-colored skirts and turbans. The chief man of the
temple, representative of the old Kandy kings, rivaled Falstaff in his
appearance. He wore a full white skirt, a large white hat, with a white
mantle or cape thrown over his shoulders. His dignified tread was akin
to that of Jumbo, and was greeted by all along the procession. We were
told he was the banker of the village. During the August festival the
procession is much more impressive, as three hundred elephants are in
line. The festivities ended by a feast at the temple. Along each side of
the entrance the poor of the village sat with their empty vessels, which
were to be filled by those in authority. Buddha was most conspicuous on
the altar of the temple, carved woods and ivories surrounding the image,
where later a dance was performed; but we were too unholy to be
permitted to remain and witness it. A description of the Paradeniza
gardens would be like attempting to picture to one's imagination the
Garden of Eden. The two hundred and fifty varieties of palms, the
bamboo, one hundred feet high and growing in clumps one hundred and
fifty feet in circumference, give some idea of the tropical growth. We
see spicy cinnamon, the chinchona, the upas tree, the latter bearing to
a great height its lofty head, not unlike a palm in growth, with its
bark gray and spotted like a snake. It is not indigenous to the soil,
but comes from Java, where its dense groves are called the "Valley and
Shadow of Death," and when I stood under its shade without knowing the
tree, I will confess a superstitious fear came over me when I was told
by our frightened guide that I was in danger. The candle tree produces a
fruit shaped like a candle, but not edible. The traveler's palm gives
the thirsty traveler a refreshing drink when an incision in the stem of
its leaves is made. Cocaine grows in profusion, while alongside, coffee
and tea plants and nutmegs and other spices grow apace. The Jacqueminot
and La France roses grow to the size of saucers, while the orchids
fasten themselves like grape vines over wooden props, beautiful and
varied in color, and are native to the jungles, brought therefrom and
sold by coolies to the traveler for a pittance. The governor's palace is
beautifully located. From its windows we gaze upon a beautiful river,
while the grounds are watered from the spray of fountains. The palace
was unoccupied and we were permitted to go through its spacious rooms
and halls. The drives all about Kandy are fascinating, and are made more
so by now and then a temple hid almost from sight, but of interest when
visited, while the industrious weaver of straw mats, a yard and a half
in length and a yard wide, meets us along the way, urging us to buy--a
temptation we cannot resist, although we wonder what we shall do with
them when we get them. But adieux must be made to Ceylon, with its spicy
breezes, for the "Steamer Pekin" lies at anchor off Colombo which is to
bear us over 1,300 miles to Calcutta, the voyage only broken by a short
stay at Madras, where a brief visit is long enough, for the heat and
dust are oppressive. We see the juggernaut car lying in disuse on the
roadside under a temporary covering of a palm thatched roof. A most
cumbersome vehicle, the wheels of which are so closely set together that
one can imagine the poor victims over whose body it rolls, could easily
be reduced to powder. Government interferes in its further usage, save
in territories not easily managed. The official buildings are European,
but the homes of the natives are of burnt clay, with no windows--a
small open door reveals its inmates stretched out sleeping, almost
devoured by flies. The filth of the quarter makes it uninviting; the
botanical garden is hardly worth the ride there. We take the only small
vessel in use to carry us back to the steamer awaiting us in this
beautiful Bay of Bengal. The governor's house is lofty in appearance,
the exterior dingy from dust and dirt, but we are told the household
appointments are magnificent, the decorations partly in the oriental and
some of them in European style; servants by the score, hundreds of
coolies who do nothing but keep the Punkas (swinging fans) in motion in
every part of the building by day and night. The natives of Madras are
quite dark in color, with straight hair and regular features, diminutive
in stature, slender forms, with small hands and feet, and have a pensive
look and manner. The deformity among the beggars is revolting, and we
fear to alight from our chariot, lest we may come in contact with these
poor, unfortunate beings. We learn that the wheels of government move
slowly in these oriental countries. If an audience with the governor is
desired, a book is given you in which the name of the solicitor is
registered. At the end of two weeks the governor gives notice that he
will give a public breakfast at the palace, and those who have
registered their names will be received and their requests will be
heard. Time seems not to be considered of any import.

The calm waters of the Bay of Bengal, with its southern breezes, makes
the journey pleasant, as the traveler seeks his extended chair on deck
of the steamer, protected from the scorching sun by its broad awnings.
On entrance to the Hoogly River, a native pilot comes aboard--for here
the ever-moving sands render navigation uncertain and perilous--until
the dangerous sand bars of the James and Mary rivers are passed; every
sailor must be at his post as the steamer wends its way through the
treacherous channel, and each passenger silently congratulates himself
when he is assured the Rubicon is past. The bottom of these rivers is a
vast quicksand. The vessel entering must await the tide. The banks are
low and sandy. Straw thatched huts, shaded by clusters of date palms,
gave a picturesque appearance to the shores, and the tropical growth
grew richer and more dense as we approached Calcutta. The excitement on
arrival of the steamer is intense; custom house officers present
themselves: all baggage is ordered from the cabins on deck, even to the
smallest hand-bag; search is made for fire arms: strict laws regarding
them are enforced, and if you are unfortunate enough to have one in your
possession, as was one of our party, you are quickly relieved of it, and
only by paying as much as the original price, with much red tape, are
you enabled to regain it.




INDIA.


India, in 1892, had a population of 300,000,000. The area of the land on
which they live is equal to the United States, east of the Rocky
Mountains of Colorado. Much of it is uncultivated; other lands yield
crops under irrigation. The soil in places has become exhausted by use
without manure. Between monsoons (that is, periods of no rainfall),
these regions cease to produce and there is a scarcity.

Regions cultivated by irrigation are enhanced in value, for the products
bring better prices, but when rivers and tanks dry up from which water
for irrigation is drawn, then scarcity becomes a famine, where the rain
has failed. There are two annual crops in India; the former inferior
grade is used for home consumption, the other for export. Of the army,
seventy thousand strong, forty per cent are incapacitated by diseases.
Civil servants are superannuated at fifty-five years of age and are sent
home on a pension, seldom enjoying life longer than two years afterward.

Seven per cent native males read and write; only one per cent native
females can read or write. The different castes will not intermarry and
will not touch each other's food.

Calcutta is a city of 500,000 inhabitants, of these, 14,000 are
Europeans.

The streets of the English concession are broad and well laid out. Fine
hotel buildings, banks and storehouses line the main thoroughfare. The
hotels have broad verandas extending from the second floor, over the
sidewalk, affording a cool resting place for the guests, and would be
most acceptable were it not for the myriads of insects that cover you.
The protection these porches afford at night to the natives who, wrapped
in their cotton blankets, lie closely huddled together along the
sidewalk, while scarcely leaving room enough for a pathway for the
pedestrian serve to exempt them (the natives) from the dews of the
night. The palace of the viceroy, centrally located, is surrounded by
beautiful grounds, with magnificent shade trees. It is built upon the
grand esplanade, three miles in length, and skirts the water's edge.
From the hours of 5:00 till 8:00 p. m. this grand avenue presents a
lively appearance, for all the elite of Calcutta seems gathered there.
Handsome victorias drawn by beautiful horses, coachmen and footmen, with
their bright turbans and oriental dress, lends enchantment to the view
and reminded one of the display Aladdin made when he went to claim his
bride. In the Garden of Eden, near by, a band of forty native musicians,
well trained, discourse sweet music--the latest European airs. During
the performances all vehicles must remain in one position, thus
affording the scores of flower venders opportunity to move noiselessly
roundabout the carriages, offering the beautiful orchids, camellias and
roses, for a small pittance, to the occupants. To say nothing of toy
monkeys, which one cannot resist buying. The European residence quarters
lie along this beautiful, sun-baked road. The houses are large and well
built, with the luxuriant surroundings of tropical growth that almost
hide the homes from view. On every veranda is the tea table, with its
urn or samovar; all English observe the hour of 4:00 o'clock to serve
the necessary stimulant at home and abroad. The city is supplied with
water from the Hoogly River, gathered into large reservoirs, and
filtered. The Esplanade is sprinkled by the native coolie, who, from his
well-filled goatskin, moves gracefully in a surpentine fashion over its
well rolled surface; while the streets in the business portion are
watered from carts managed by women. A visit to the crematory at the
early dawn--the hour set apart for burning their dead--is interesting,
but horrible, to witness. A building of 100 feet is located upon the
bank of the river. At intervals of ten feet on its earthen floor are
trenches, dug the length of a body; they do not exceed two feet in
depth, if that. In this excavation is placed some clean straw and sandal
wood with myrrh and sweet perfumes. Upon this is laid, first crosswise
and then lengthwise, sticks of cordwood, and a fresh bed of straw, upon
which the body is laid. The body of an aged woman was brought in for
cremation while we stood there. It was wrapped in white cheese cloth and
rested on the bed upon which she died, which is their custom to burn. It
is the length of the body, made of rope interlaced; at each end are two
small wooden legs which support the wooden sides and are, in height,
like the old-fashioned trundle bed. The winding sheet was removed, the
body anointed with oil and rubbed with saffron powder. The face, which
was most emaciated and betrayed great suffering, was completely
besmeared with this mixture. The body was then placed face downwards on
the pile. Being somewhat longer than the bed prepared for it, the limb
from the knee was bent towards the body. The cracking of the dry bones
was most grewsome. The body had a fresh wrap of cheese cloth thrown over
it, the face having her caste designated by lines of ashes on her
forehead, made by a priest, and sticks of cordwood were placed crosswise
and then lengthwise so close together that the entire body was
concealed. A pitcher of water from the sacred Hoogly River, nearby, was
brought and thrown over the pile. Then the nearest relative of the
deceased ran violently around the body seven times, crying in a loud
voice to the gods that another soul was awaiting reincarnation, while a
wild-eyed, maniacal-looking priest took up a huge bunch of straw and
made the circuit seven times, giving vent to the most uncanny wail, when
the son or husband of the dead touched the burning torch to the straw
underneath; soon all was ablaze. The mourners, a few women, withdrew,
and a man, whose office it is, stood near by, and as the arms or legs or
pieces of burning wood fell, would replace them with a pitch fork.
Scores of bodies were brought in that morning, but seeing two cremations
was all we needed to make an indelible impression not easily eradicated.
It requires about two hours to reduce the body to ashes, or a granulated
substance, when it is gathered and thrown into the holy river, and the
excavation is made clean for another body.

The Ghats or sacred steps leading down to the waters of the Hoogly are
in the same vicinity. Throngs of bathing pilgrims, of both sexes, were
gathered for their morning ablutions. After wading out nearly waist
deep, they would place their hands reverently together, and apparently
after a prayer with great earnestness, dip themselves three times into
the water, and those who had flowers (the marigold seemed the favorite),
as they prayed would cast them upon the waters one by one, then scour
their feet, rinse their mouth and wash their garment, filling a brass
vessel which hung to their side with the holy water, and proceed to the
well situated under a Boho tree at the head of a Ghat, when they would
sprinkle the diminutive gods that were placed there. Priests stood in
readiness with paint and ashes and made upon their foreheads the mark of
their caste, for which they received a compensation. At a time during
the eclipse of the moon, 100,000 pilgrims often find their way to this
holy water. It seems as if half their lives are spent in making these
pilgrimages in these eastern countries, and if they die far from the
holy stream, they are cremated and their ashes sent to some priest,
whose office is to make the consecration before sprinkling them on the
sacred rivers.

We turn from this scene, not wishing to obliterate the memory, but to
forget for awhile in other and perhaps no less disgusting scenes in the
native quarters. We are warned to make our visits few, for contagious
diseases lurk in these narrow streets and among these filthy people.

We enter narrow lanes, in these quarters, flanked on either side by
tumbled-down houses. We are in pursuit of pearls. Strange surroundings
for such beautiful gems. We are led into a narrow hall and up a long
flight of steps of stone, so worn by the tread of time that we could
scarcely keep our foothold. We reach a chamber fronting on a court. The
floors are covered with padded matting over which were sheets spread.
Kneeling, or rather squatting on these were natives busily employed
sorting pearls. Before each were piles of different sizes. The wonderful
dexterity displayed by these coolies in separating the large, medium and
smaller seed pearls from each other in parcels, by or through the sense
of touch of the index finger, seemed to convey to their minds weight and
size.

A table or counter was in one end of this room, behind which were seated
dignified patriarchal looking dealers, and evidently owners of the
establishment. We were shown diamonds of such weight and brilliancy that
fairly bewildered us and dazzled our eyes. Emeralds, sapphires, and
pearls of different colors (black, pink and white), the former of such
size that we almost doubted their genuineness. Evidently we were in a
wholesale department, for while there, there came in foreign buyers
collecting many of these precious stones. Prices were fixed. The dealers
were in touch with the world's market, and values ruled accordingly;
there seemed no chance to barter. Our address is taken when we decline
to purchase, which means that we will be followed to the hotel by a
native who will there unfold the wonders of India's product again to
us--specimens even more tempting than those shown in the shops. Our lack
of confidence in ourselves as experts and a growing distrust of the
dealer makes a breach between buyer and seller. In these places where
gems are kept the stock ofttimes seems meager, and we manifest our
disappointment, but are at once assured that their supply is large, but
at the present time the rarest and most costly have been sent to some
Maha Rajah who makes regal purchases, and those he declines, perhaps
from his sufficiency, are returned for sale to those whose love for gems
is weighed in a balance with their purse.

An English lady artist who was solicited to paint the portrait of one of
these Rajahs in his own palace, and to abide in the premises during her
time of labor, told me her powers of description failed her in the
attempt to portray to others what the coffers of these rulers of
provinces contained, and with which they adorned themselves on state
occasions, and to convey to canvas their beauties, would have been the
work of the Hand that created them.

Calcutta, city of palaces, has a number of theaters, one of which we
attended. The evening was warm; the audience quite large. In the gallery
sat parties in groups; over each stood stalwart coolies, in whose hands
were held a long-handled palm-leaf fan. Not for one moment did they
falter, but with an unerring movement, gracefully and uninterruptedly
handled this cumbersome article, which must have had a soothing effect.
The play was not well supported; now and then was pleasure or
displeasure manifested by the audience in a loud voice speaking, we were
told, direct to the actors. After the play was over (by the way, it was
long drawn out) the foyer rapidly filled and great hilarity prevailed.
Full dress, now in evidence among the ladies, and gentlemen with their
tall silk hats and boutonierres looked most like English swells, while
those in Oriental dress were not eclipsed in brilliant coloring.

The insect life in Calcutta was most annoying. Before going to the
theatre I had left a small flicker from the gas jet in my room and the
windows open. What was my dismay on returning to find the originally
whitewashed walls of my apartment of a dull grey appearance. I doubted
if my steamer trunk had not been transferred in my absence to a more
sombre looking chamber, but on my appeal to Brahma, my servant, who lay
at my door, he assured me that it was innumerable shad flies (as we
would call them) which had been caught by the glare and had lined walls
and ceilings and covered my bed spread. Dust pans and brushes were in
requisition, counterpane shaken, and lace mosquito netting drawn down
and tucked in before I felt like retiring for the night. To attempt to
read by an overhanging light was simply impossible, for the print of
paper or book would be completely obscured by these pestiferous
creatures, and when we sought an outside veranda that we might, in the
darkness, at least, carry on a conversation, they would fly down one's
throat, when we opened our mouths. Imagine what a sacrifice this was to
be compelled to be dumb, when we had so much to say.

In traveling through India a body servant is indispensable. He lies at
the door of your sleeping apartment, waits upon you at the table, buys
your ticket, cares for your baggage and divers other attentions are
rendered by the patient but most indolent Mohammedan. We are advised not
to employ a Hindoo servant, as they refuse to serve flesh or fowl to you
at the table; according to their religious belief, it would be
pollution.

At 9:15 p. m., Nov. 18, 1895, we find ourselves in a most comfortable
compartment car, with shower bath and other conveniences. Alongside, but
not connected in a way that we could speak to them only by calling from
the car window or door, was the apartment designated for servants. They
lie down at night on the floor with an extra cotton wrap, which is used
for the purpose, and I fancy they use their turban for their pillow. To
our party of four we were entitled to an entire compartment, and no
intrusion can be made en route, on our privacy. On either side of the
car are long, cushioned seats, well upholstered and covered with dark
green leather; over these are suspended corresponding ones which, if not
in use, are thrown to the ceiling, where they are made secure. At the
one end is a shorter seat (width of the car) and at the opposite side a
door leads into a toilet room. The traveler provides his own bedding,
which consists of pillows or cushions, and steamer blankets or shawls.
The nights are cold, but the heat through the day, were we not in
motion, would be insupportable, together with the dust that arises along
the road, for lack of rain, adds nothing to our comfort. Our coolies, if
called upon to roll up our bedding, whether from lack of inclination or
from physical weakness we know not, would look morose, or call in, if at
a station, additional help to share in the labor, and never fail at the
end of the day to ask for compensation for the annas expended on their
co-workers.

I could better appreciate the statement made by an English missionary
from the Isle of Wight that he kept sixteen servants in his own
household (and he was a bachelor); that no one coolie would perform what
he himself considered to be the work of two men. I must confess to their
indolence, but it appeared to me a trifle extravagant for a dependant
upon the missionary board. He was a most agreeable gentleman, however,
and I am under many obligations for a prescription which enabled me,
when I had it filled, to accomplish my sight seeing, and travel in
India, our own remedies having no effect in that country or climate. In
returning to the question of manual labor: the working of the "punkas,"
or swinging fans, alone required many men, to keep the air in motion
for the comfort of people. In the hotel dining room these fans were hung
on wires, stretched at intervals the entire length and breadth of the
salon, say five feet apart. The material used was a white or drab
drilling (cotton cloth) made into huge box plaits; wire or rope was
attached to and drawn above these punkas to holes in the wall, which
separated the dining room from a corridor. There sat, or rather
squatted, a dozen, more or less, coolies with these wires either in
their hands or fastened to their feet, and would sway to and fro,
causing a vibration in the air that was most acceptable in these warm
climates, while eating.

The native coolies are neither scrupulously truthful nor honest,
indolent to a degree, rather sullen, but to all appearances submissive.
They are fond of stimulants, more especially opium and tobacco. In
traveling you are under the surveillance of your servants, fearing you
may make some purchase without their knowledge, causing them to lose a
commission to which they feel themselves entitled for having directed
your steps or attention to the shop of the dealer.

They receive their stipulated wages, traveling expenses defrayed by the
employer, but added to this is a constant appeal to your sympathies; for
instance: "I am just in receipt of news from home. My son is lying
(great stress on son) very ill. My mother has no money to employ a
doctor. What am I to do if the good lady will not assist me to send
some help to her?" It has been proven that these same applicants have no
family and have recklessly spent their allowance in riotous living on
their journey. We have to provide a winter outfit if it is cold, such as
a night blanket of cotton cloth, and some clothing--for during the
heated term clothing is unnecessary--and pay for the return trip to
their home, without we find travelers going the same route we have just
taken, and if the servants have merited a recommendation we give it to
them and are thus relieved ourselves. We found one of the tricks of the
trade was for the coolie to secure a returning party--we will say, to
make ourselves lucid, from Bombay to Calcutta--but to keep the matter
secret from us so that we might give them a return ticket, which they
could easily sell. In spite of our experience there must be some good
and true natives, for her majesty, Queen Victoria, has for her closest
body-servant the Indian, chosen for his submission and faithfulness.

Our journey to Benares was at night, because of the freedom from dust
and heat. The early dawn found us awake and peeping out of shutters for
a sight of the country through which we were passing. The stations are
well built, and crowds of natives, men and women, flock there on arrival
of trains, offering for sale flowers, sweets, fruits, the cocoanut,
lemons and a sort of banana. At your desire the cocoanut, nicely scraped
and clean, will be broken so that you may quaff at your leisure what
must be to them a delicious cool drink--a little goes a good way with
me. It is well to be supplied with plenty of their small coin, for they
are so slow in making the necessary change that the car has proceeded on
its way before they have accomplished the task.

The experience of one of our party was a lesson to us. A gentleman from
California, desiring some nuts or fruit, gave in exchange a pound in
gold--all he had at hand. The train started, but all in vain were his
protestations; the speed increased, and what was most provoking, was to
see at a safe distance the naked boy running, apparently, trying to
overtake us, but laughing immoderately at the joke--he will get his
reward. This reminds me of a story to the point. On one occasion in my
own native land I had an appeal made for help for a poor family. Having
often allowed my heart to run away with my head, I determined this time
to be forearmed. So I visited the house of distress, found things clean
and tidy, but cupboards empty and a man in bed, supposed to be the
husband of the woman who had sought my aid. It was with apparent
difficulty he spoke to me. I hurried to order from the adjacent market a
full supply for several days. After exhausting my strength I felt myself
unable to go farther into the city where I could replace an undershirt
his loving spouse said had been stolen from the clothes line, and his
need of a change was most pressing. On my way home, tired and footsore,
I resolved to call on a neighboring friend where gentlemen were more
plentiful than with me, and ask for cast-off underwear. On interrogating
me, my friend laughed to see my distress, and informed me it was an old
trick of the woman. The sick man was a perfectly strong, well man--and
rarely was the same man on exhibition. Alack, for me! I had, during the
day, met our pastor, Mr. Monroe Gibson, and begged that he might call at
his earliest convenience, lest the dying man might go out of the world
without a prayer, for his soul's salvation. In the twilight I retraced
my steps to tell Mr. Gibson how, in common parlance, "I had been sold."
After a sympathetic look, he in his Scotch brogue said: "Well, never
mind; you remember the man who put a crown in the contribution box where
he intended to put a penny and, on retiring from the church, went to the
man who had charge of the alms box and told him that he had made a
mistake. The pastor did not offer to refund it, but simply said:
'Brother, you will have your reward in heaven'" (for a good intention,
not for the amount given).

Low mud houses, hid among the palms, afforded shelter from the sun
during the noonday hours. Men, women and children, the former and latter
nude or scantily clad, grouped together along the road; the faces of the
women were partially veiled. The scene is rather picturesque, with the
chatter of the monkeys and the singing of bright plumaged birds. They
lend some animation to the otherwise barren prospects. We learn there
are common schools throughout the country for the male population, but
women are uneducated except in religious art and duties. Government no
longer tolerates the wife sacrificing her body on the pyre of her dead
husband; but death is preferable to a life of widowhood, owing to the
self-denial forced upon her by his family.

The climate of India is conducive to economy in clothing, as little, if
any, is needed. The diet of the native would be starvation in a cooler
clime. A mud hut gives the needed shelter, and the offal of the animals,
dried in cakes on the sides of their hovels, give them sufficient fuel
to boil their rice and other vegetables. The masses have never known
anything but oppression; they are apparently kind to man and beast. We
never heard any wrangling, nor witnessed any street brawls. A native
will step aside, rather than tread upon an ant, which is the pest of the
country.

Benares is sixteen hours' ride from Calcutta, a distance of 450 miles.
We find there Clark's Hotel patronized by tourists, on the outskirts of
the city, a refreshing looking spot and most restful bungalow. We rested
under the cool shades of the palm trees until a favorable hour, and then
drove to the "Holiest of Holy Cities," situated on the Ganges river,
once alike holy to the Buddhist as it is now to the Hindoo. The sacred,
the three-fold divine river, runs, according to their religion, through
Heaven, Hell and Earth. To die on its banks, and to have one's ashes
thrown upon its bosom, is a through ticket to Paradise. Troops of men,
women and children, tired and footsore, are met wending their way to the
shrines. To bathe in the Ganges is to wash away all sins.

Crowds throng the narrow, dusty streets; the women rather gracefully
attired, with a profusion of silver ornaments, ear-rings, nose-rings,
bracelets and bangles; the men nude or with a scant loin cloth. The
houses are built of clay, sun baked, some of brick, stuccoed, ancient as
time in appearance, unfit for habitation, but are grouped among the
shops and temples in close proximity. The monkey temple is especially
interesting, surrounded by well wooded grounds where the monkeys frisk
and frolic all day long and are fed by an admiring crowd, who regard
them as sacred animals. These temples are reached by a long flight of
stone steps, which I found myself slowly climbing, when, without
warning, I was rudely pushed to one side. On looking around, I saw a
diminutive grey cow ascending the steps with great dignity, and it was
the contact with this animal that had so shocked me. I quickened my
gait, and in my attempt to get out of the way. I rushed into the first
opening that met my view, which proved to be the entrance to the temple
grounds, set apart for these sacred cows. The animal was close beside me
and I vaulted like a school boy to a neighboring ledge of rock. I became
agile from fear, but the fright occasioned by the cow's triumphant entry
was nothing to the brandishing of arms of the natives in charge. I was
brushed aside like a fly in the sacred enclosure, where no heretic was
allowed to enter. Truly, I felt far from home! Garlands of marigolds,
kept fresh at wells of water, are sold to devotees to lay at the feet or
to encircle the gods of brass and stone that are seen in every
direction. We are not permitted to enter a Hindoo temple, but get a
glimpse in passing of their tinselled gaudiness. This seething caldron,
where beasts usurp the rights of men, women and children, who are all
bowing down to objects of wood and stone, is a sight one may long
for--but once in a lifetime is quite satisfactory, and we gladly
withdraw.

The early dawn of day finds us driving through the already crowded
streets on our way to the "Ghats." Boats lie in readiness to convey us
along the sacred shore of the Ganges, for but one bank is consecrated;
the opposite shore seems a dreary waste. For miles homes and sacred
structures are reared; here and there massive ruins attest the powers of
the Ganges' floods on solid masonry. From a distance it is picturesque,
but on close inspection has a most dilapidated appearance. The
well-built stone steps, or Ghats, are crowded at this early hour with
pilgrims and devotees wrapped in their white robes. They wade out into
the holy stream, bowing and drinking double hands full of water, so
nauseous in appearance, and taking off from themselves garlands of
marigolds, throw them on the surface of the water, then wash their
mouths, and return on shore for certain ministrations that the priests
stood in readiness to perform for them, which seemed to complete the
purification. Their caste was manifested by certain marks made with
ashes or paint on their foreheads.

From the upper deck of our small steamer we overlook the ceremony of
cremation, not unlike that we had seen in Calcutta. The bodies were
wrapped in crimson-colored cheese cloth and laid upon a rude bier
composed of two poles, laced together with rope; so near the water were
these bodies placed that the feet were completely covered. We were told
that very sick persons were brought when dying, and the immersion in the
holy water would bring about a reaction, and restoration to health would
ensue. No mourners were around the body, and those who ministered at the
cremation were ostracized socially, being considered unclean for a
certain length of time, and are of the lowest caste. The sheik who has
charge of the burning has the ashes thoroughly sifted to secure any
jewelry that may have been on the body, and as theft is often committed
by the men employed to rake up the ashes, great disputes arise in
consequence.

The colossal form in stone of the "God Beem" lies prostrate on the
ground, and women in peril of childbirth come in throngs on moonlight
nights to pray for the safe deliverance of a son; girls are at a
discount in the Orient. We saw a man stretched upon a bed of spikes,
paying penance for some sin committed, or to find favor by
self-abnegation with his god. When we appeared, incredulous as to the
actual facts, the man arose to show the pierced flesh and the sharp
points of which his bed was composed. The upholding of an arm until the
flesh withers, and the limb stiffens, is most revolting. These devotees
allow their finger nails to become, so extended that they look like
claws, or more like the roots of a tree seen in Ceylon, which lie on top
of the ground. We are privileged to visit the palace of the Maha Rajah,
which is quite a distance from Benares and on the unconsecrated shore of
the Ganges. Numbers of naked coolies run along the shore, pulling with
all their strength on the ropes attached to the boat. When we arrive
opposite the palace we are transferred to a raft, which is rowed and
pushed to the landing. The gloomy structure rises before us, and the
approach to it is rather intricate, through courtyards much littered up
with debris. As we enter with our guide, we are informed of the Rajah's
absence from home, but we are permitted to wander through rooms most
inhospitable in appearance. A few pictures adorn the walls and some
handsome bric-a-brac is scattered here and there. We are told that the
Rajah himself is most hospitable, and much more would have been shown us
had he been at home. The great attraction in making this visit is to see
the hundreds of elephants and tigers he has in his possession, but "the
shades of night were falling fast" and we declined any further delay.

Our trip to Benares was much more rapid on returning. We floated down
the Ganges by moonlight; it was a grewsome scene. We were gathered
together on the deck of our steamer, while our guide, at our feet, was
beguiling the weary hours by his weird tales. Visions of crocodiles,
awaiting their prey, float before our eyes; lights from the shore grew
indistinct, and our little group most abject; but the landing place at
length was in sight, and we had kept our carriage awaiting our return.
We were driven through dark, narrow streets to the garden of a temple,
where lived the holy man of Benares. We remained in our vehicle until
our guide ascertained whether we could have an interview. It was 9:00
p. m., but being American tourists, we were admitted. He was a man
apparently sanctified by his mode of living, not unlike that of Buddha.
He was emaciated, and as we approached him, he arose from his cot not
entirely nude, but a simple loin cloth was his only clothing. A canopy
was above his bed, and that was his home, day and night. He is a
profound Hindoo scholar, and without doubt will be canonized after
death. His manner toward us was most cordial and especially towards the
one of our group who hailed from Chicago. He spoke through an
interpreter, saying that the governor of Chicago had called on him
before the World's Fair, urging the holy man to visit him at the time of
the exhibition, but he could not think of ever leaving India. He then
sent for his book of registration and showed us the name registered as
Carter H. Harrison. We were asked to write our names, which we did, and
were then offered by an attendant fruits and given a book containing his
own life to date. He was born in 1833, married at twelve years of age,
and was a father at eighteen. Like Buddha, he withdrew from all natural
ties and set himself apart for a religious life. When asked if he did
not feel the cold night air to be injurious, his reply was in his
graceful gesture pointing heavenward, and in his signal language made us
understand that under a watchful eye no harm could befall him.

The country from Benares to Lucknow is but little different from what we
have already passed, though the distance is 190 miles. Population,
250,000. Manufacturers of carpets, rugs, gold lace and embroideries are
found here, and seemingly the natives are interested in their
employment, but are poor and oppressed. The remains of mausoleums and
palaces attest former grandeur before its ownership was absolutely in
the hands of its conquerors. Hotel accommodations are poor. We drove to
the park to "Leeundea Bagh," where during the mutiny of 1857 two
thousand mutineers were killed within two hours--Sir Colin Campbell
under command. The residency was built in 1800 by Sahondah Ally Kahn.
During the mutiny it contained only 927 Europeans, who were besieged by
the rebels. Shot and shell marks are to be seen in the walls. The Fort
Mueks' Bhawan, built during the famine as relief work at great cost, is
of much interest; also a museum filled with objects of curiosity.
Lucknow, famous in song, ran through my mind as we looked in vain for a
Lalla Rookh, the imaginary character of the poet Moore.

Cawnpoor, thirty miles further on, with 130,000 inhabitants, presents
large industries of leather work, rice mills and jute manufactories. The
drive to the beautiful park, which now crosses the battlefield, is most
interesting. The stately monument of pure white marble, surmounted by a
female figure, with widespread wings, and in each hand a palm of most
exquisite workmanship, combined with gracefulness. An English officer
stands near by ready to give you a brief but graphic account of the
mutiny. The monument stands on the spot over the great well, into which
were thrown alive 700 men, women and children, who were hurled into it
in one day by the order of Nana Sahib. A beautiful memorial church not
far away has been erected in memory of the loved and lost. We enter
during vesper hours; such perfect peace and quiet reigns in and around
this sacred spot, where many English men and women were gathered at the
service. It seemed so isolated to me so far from home. The drives in the
vicinity are fascinating, yet the rice fields were beginning to grow
scarce and less grass was seen. We journey on. Wheat fields appear more
frequently; apparently no demarcation between land of different owners.
Trees are scarce, but the excrement of cattle is sun baked and used for
fuel. The homes of the people are mud-walled pens, huddled together,
surrounded by walls of the same material. This grouping of homes, such
as they were, attracted our attention all along our journey. This is
evidently for protection. No isolated farm houses, with the comforts of
life, were in evidence.

The pay of the laborers who construct the railroad is three annas a day
(2-1/4 cents); an English-speaking servant will get 34 cents a day (one
rupee and four annas) for food. We do not realize how thickly settled
the country is in traveling on the railroad, but by and by we see the
mud-walled village again with its hundreds of inhabitants, who rush out
on the approach of the train, the women and children crying piteously
for backsheesh. The wealth and strength of the past ages is now seen in
their morgues, mausoleums and palaces, many of them wrecks of their
former beauty, but patience and long years of toil are evident in their
crumbling walls.

The Punjab country lies between the five great branches of the Indus
River. The men here are magnificent specimens of physical development.
The Sikh soldiers are the handsomest known. We see them acting as
policemen at Hongkong, and we stop to admire their erect carriage and
military tread. There is one defect, however, in the anatomy of the men
of India; they have no calves to their legs. The Sikh is less servile
than any other tribe, hard fighters, but attain to more or less civility
in their contact with Europeans.

Our next stopping place to Benares was Aigra, so full of interest;
namely, the Fort; the Pearl Mosque, the imperial palace, built by Abkur,
the grandfather of Shah Jehan; the palace of wonders; its walls inlaid
with agates, topaz, tagula and other more precious stones. The rooms set
apart for the harem women are exquisitely beautiful. The oriental
imagination must have lost itself in the construction and adornment of
this palace. The apartments built for his favorite wife, with a boudoir
and marble baths--the water furnished for the latter was delicately
perfumed--and walls, mirrored with small pieces of glass, looked like
the firmament in its brightness, but it remained for Shah Jehan to
astonish the world with the mausoleum built for his (not the most
correct) wife. The Tag Mahal, the tomb of his sultana, Montag Mahal, is
the most beautiful creation in marble in existence. We are told she was
beautiful; her devotion to Shah Jehan was proverbial, and his for her
idolatrous. Her dying request was that her husband should never take for
himself another wife, and in her memory should build a tomb that could
have no rival, and one that all the world would admire. "Tag" is a pet
name of endearment; "Mahal" means great or beautiful; "Montag Mahal,"
the chosen of the palace. In the words of another I will describe the
Tag Mahal, as I know no more fitting words to use. "Passing through a
majestic Saracenic arch, eighty feet in height, supported by two
abutments of sand stone, on the panels of which are carved passages from
the Koran, is a long vista of cypress trees, shading a marble paved
canal, on either side of which are beds of flowers and crystal
fountains. At the end of this magic avenue stands the "Tag" on a
terrace; at either corner of this square is an edifice of sandstone,
with a dome of the same material. The "Tag" is built of polished white
marble, its oriental dome shaped like a globe, tapering up into a spire
surmounted by a golden crescent. The platform upon which the "Tag" is
placed is a square of 313 feet each side and eighteen feet in height.
From each of the corners rise four lesser domes of the same matchless
marble, forming graceful minarets." By moonlight and by sunset we gaze
upon this Arabian night or day dream. "A thing of beauty is a joy
forever." Italian, Sarascenic and Persian are all suggested in its
architecture, and we are told that Shah Jehan expected to build for
himself a tomb of black polished marble within sight, but on the other
side of the River Jumna, but the depleted state of the treasury caused
alarm in the mind of his son; fearing he would be impoverished, he made
his father a prisoner in the imperial palace. We stood in the room
wherein he had lain in his dying hours, and gazed out of the windows, as
he did, upon the beautiful vision which was within his sight, his last
wish was gratified, and his earthly vision failed in the view he had of
Montag's tomb. He looked out beyond the Jumna, as the western sun's rays
kissed the pure white marble, reflecting on its polished surface--the
reflex it may have been of a heavenly vision, vouchsafed only to those
who pass the portals.

Delhi, the next station en route, notwithstanding the dust and heat, has
its attractions. The Bungalow Hotel is kept by an Englishwoman who, with
her sons, had a number of hostelries in India and along the tourist line
of travel. This one offered but few comforts. The proprietress assured
me that they would soon build a good hotel, as travel demanded it. She
evidently had received a telegram that we were on our way from her son's
place, at whose table we had sat at Aigra. She sent her private
conveyance for us to the depot, and received us herself with some
cordiality, and was much gratified to learn of our pleasant memories of
Aigra, with its tombs, temples, and its exquisite embroideries--the best
we saw in India--woven of the finest texture and wrought upon with such
delicacy that we could scarce realize that the dark, swarthy fingers of
those poor native Indians could work out such marvels. We bought
handsome table decorations in embroidered satin and bemoaned that we did
not get more, after we were too far away to retrace our steps.

One of the attractions of Delhi is the tower of Kutah Mina, rising to a
height of 240 feet, divided into five stories, built of red, buff and
pink sandstone. The column, or tower, is of fluted architecture for most
of the height, and decorated at intervals with layers of white marble
slabs. We were told it was built for a favorite daughter of the ruling
monarch, that she might, from its height, view the Holy River Jumna,
which was at a great distance from her home. According to the tale told
us, this tower must be ascended before she broke her morning fast. Near
by stands the iron pillar, nearly a foot and a half in diameter and over
forty feet high above the ground. It is a solid shaft of malleable iron,
the natives claim its foundation is laid in the center of the earth. To
see the tower and iron pillar necessitates a ride of eleven miles
through dust and dirt and but little of any interest along the wayside.
We visited the tomb of Johanara, the daughter of Shah Jehan, who shared
her father's captivity. Pure in spirit and humble she chose a plain
block of marble or alabaster, to cover her grave, screened by a
delicately wrought white marble. The epitaph inscribed on her tomb
reads:

    "Place naught but one green herb above my head;
     This alone befits the poor and lonely dead."

Pious monks keep fresh grass on her tomb; a slab at the head of the
grave bears this inscription in Arabic: "God is life and the
resurrection." The shops are attractive and we find and purchase some
ivories and, if one cares for the likeness of Shah Jehan, they will be
able to purchase paintings in miniature of him and his wife, done on
porcelain. Whether or not true to nature, we are unable to judge.
Beautiful pink pearls are shown us. How often I have regretted not
buying some of them; we never found them so perfect after leaving Delhi.
The enameled bracelets are shown in great variety, and yet we pass them
by.

Jeypore is a typical Indian city, twelve hours by rail from Delhi. The
streets are wide and well watered, the houses of stucco, gaudily painted
in hieroglyphic designs, are two and three stories high. In the middle
of the streets, at intervals of two or three squares, are stone wells,
around which rested diminutive gods of wood and stone. In the early
morning hours the natives lay an offering of flowers before these idols
and wash their hands or faces in the water and go on their way
rejoicing. Innumerable pigeons, regarded as sacred, swarm in the
streets, where they are fed.

We spend Thanksgiving day (November, 1895) in Jeypore, sight-seeing, our
hearts longing for the dear ones at home. In our wanderings we met a
wedding party. The bride, we are told, was twelve years old, the groom
twenty-one. They were seated in a gaudily decorated car, drawn by oxen.
A scarlet canopy, with India shawl draperies, hung gracefully down and
almost concealed the little veiled lady; she wore a scarlet wrap. The
groom elect, sat Turkish fashion, wore a tall hat and looked most
solemn. We entered a bazaar, where bronze and lacquer were for sale,
together with ancient armor, kept by one Mr. Zoroaster, a man of
distinction. While on the second floor of the building, overlooking a
court-yard, some gaily dressed veiled women came in and began to beat
their tomtoms. Mr. Zoroaster remarked: "It is only on great occasions
that my sister ever leaves her home. It is she who is below, accompanied
by her women in waiting, and have come to bid my family to the wedding
of her daughter." He told us the bride and groom were wealthy, and that
her father was to give a feast to five thousand people on this, their
wedding day. He, Mr. Zoroaster, told us the dress of his sister for the
occasion cost 2,000 rupees. It was crimson, embroidered in gold, a
fluted skirt; many yards in width. Her bracelets and bangles were
studded with jewels. The band played as the procession moved slowly
through the streets.

The palace of the Maha Rajah was opened for inspection; the rugs were
rolled; the furniture covered and, as the Rajah was away from home,
things seemed neglected. Pigeons were stalking around and in the palace,
and rare birds of bright plumage seemed to the manor born as they stood
or flew in and out at their own sweet will. Hundreds of elephants were
kept on these grounds and owned by the Maha Rajah. It was an imposing
sight to see these clumsy but dignified animals with their oriental
trappings and painted ear flaps. The coloring was most harmonious.
Horses innumerable were in the stables and were with their care keepers,
making ready for their daily outing. It is a scene, when elephants,
horses and tigers are led through the streets and, perhaps, witnessed
nowhere else in such regal splendor. Camels stalked through the highways
with their burdens; panther dogs, led by their masters, strolled
leisurely along; in fact, one might feel it was a gala day and a
menagerie on exhibition. There are public cages here; lions and tigers
can be seen within the city's limit. Around these cages, where the
crowds gather, come the poor, wretched, deformed beggars, heart-rending
to gaze upon--to say nothing of the loathsome lepers, which were more
hideous than the wild beasts.

A school of fine arts, sustained by the rulers of Jeypore, was well
equipped with men and boys, who were industriously and skillfully
beating and moulding brass into useful and decorative articles. Pottery,
and especially lacquer work is carried on, we were told, to a greater
degree of perfection than elsewhere in the world.

It was at Jeypore we saw the Nautch girls, kept by the Maha Rajah for
his own amusement. Our guide would have us believe that we were greatly
favored in this, our opportunity. One hour spent with them was quite
enough, and cost us six dollars, a ridiculous expenditure. However, we
have started out to see the sights; this is one of them. We were taken
to a house and led up to the second story back porch, we might call it,
overlooking a gloomy courtyard. A white quilted rug was thrown upon the
floor. Three native girls appeared, dressed gorgeously in knife-pleated
skirts to the knees, embroidered in gold. On their heads were thrown
beautiful grenadine scarfs, drawn gracefully over their shoulders.
Coronets studded with jewels, with ear-rings, bracelets and bangles
resplendent with dazzling gems. Three women stood behind these girls,
advancing and retreating, keeping time with their rude musical
instruments. They move their bodies in a most disgusting manner from the
hip down, while they attempt to portray great intensity of feeling. In a
short time they became very familiar, and disposed to be very
flirtatious with the gentlemen of our party, taking off their bracelets,
ear-rings and other ornaments and attempted to place them on their
wrists or hang them on their ears. They, in return are anxious to secure
a ring or any ornament we wear. They are repulsive and full of evil,
judging from their looks and actions. They were roughly spoken to by an
old, grey-headed woman, who evidently had them in charge, and, we
thought, was urging them to offer us wine or refreshment, from which we
could not escape before paying, but we had been forewarned and hastily
withdrew, our guide settling our bill, while we hurried into our
carriage. In their gyrations they would represent snake charmers,
kite-flyers and divers and other mysterious movements that were anything
but graceful.

Our visit to Amber, a city of ruins adjacent to Jeypore, was made partly
by carriage and the ascent of the mountain by elephant to the winter
palace of the Rajah. A small ladder was attached to the howdah on the
back of the animal, and one by one we climbed and took our seat, two on
one side and two on the other--back to back. While making this climb
the huge elephant knelt, all four feet doubled under him. When we were
seated he arose. The motion was not pleasant, but all fear was dispelled
by the two faithful coolies who walked on either side of Jumbo and
directed his footsteps with an iron probe. We reach the palace, after a
tedious ride, and to alight was a feat, but we were quite repaid by the
interior views. We were too late for a sacrifice that had just been made
of a sheep or lamb; saw nothing but a sprinkling of blood and the dying
embers, or ashes, upon which a portion of the animal sacrificed is
cooked for the priests in attendance. The walls of the palace were most
unique. Doubtless, while the plaster was still wet, pieces of mirror,
the size of a 25-cent piece were imbedded in it, and so thickly studded
were these walls and ceilings that the effect was brilliant. The rooms
were large and orange trees grew apace where a spot of ground appeared.
The ruins of Amber, which we overlook, seemed the haunts of fakirs,
naked and covered with dirt; with their thin, long hair matted, hanging
over their shoulders or on their faces. These fanatics, in their self
abnegation, are looking for their reward in Nirvanna, where they think
only those enter who from self-denial purify themselves. Our return down
the mountain seemed perilous, but our sure-footed Jumbo forbids fears
and where his instincts failed the goad of the native caretakers seemed
effective. We found it a slow mode of traveling, but sure. We could but
admire the oriental coloring of Jumbo's ear flaps; they were those of a
superb India shawl. On the wayside we saw altars for sacrifice and to
imitate blood was rude bespatterment of red paint or a like mixture. I
wondered if their religion taught them that this is emblematic of the
blood that cleanseth from all sin. I could not learn from inquiries made
of my guide.


BOMBAY.

The trip from Jeypore to Bombay was the most tedious of any made in
India, as we made no stops. It took us from 10:30 p. m. Monday till 8:30
p. m. on Wednesday. The road was monotonous and dusty; however, the
nights were cool and comfortable. Our compartment, although commodious,
was covered with, it seemed, the dust of ages, but on pointing it out to
our stupid servant he immediately took off his turban of white cheese
cloth and mopped with it the seats and floor, shook off the dust,
literally, and replaced it in form of a turban, slightly changed in
coloring. The chiaroscuro was striking. The meals obtained at the
stations were most unattractive.

Bombay is built upon an island, although the separation from the
mainland is scarcely perceptible. The waters of the bay are studded with
islands, and the harbor is capacious enough for the commerce of the
world. The beautiful road skirting the bay leads to Malabar Hill, upon
which are the homes of the foreign officials, and upon this boulevard is
the exquisite statue in white marble, most delicately carved, of Queen
Victoria in her palmy day appearance, when youth and hope make the
countenance brighter. This statue was rudely defaced during the recent
plague (1899) by unknown hands. On the summit of Malabar Hill are the
Towers of Silence, surrounded by a grove of palm trees, with well laid
out grounds. On either side of the entrance to these towers are chapels
on whose altar burns the unquenchable fire and in whose purification the
following of Zoroaster believe.

There are eighty steps to ascend to reach these towers, the place where
the Parsee dead are deposited. Four carriers support the bier, followed
closely by two long-bearded men (who alone enter the tower, handling the
corpse with tongs and gloved hands). Fifty or a hundred men follow, two
by two (clothed in white, with the funnel-shaped hat worn by the
Parsees). One peculiarity of this solemn procession was the tying of the
right and left hand of each couple, which had some religious
signification. A short burial service is held in the chapel and then the
body deposited at the foot of a ladder that clings to and reaches the
door of the tower. This aperture is about five feet from the top of the
tower, wherein lies a gridiron circular in form, ready for the dead.
The tower is cylindrical in shape, built of strong masonry, at a cost of
from $100,000 to $150,000. There are four of these in the enclosure; the
largest is twenty-five feet high, and from eighty to one hundred feet in
diameter. A deep well is underneath the tower, and as the flesh is
consumed by the vultures, which are perched close beside each other on
top of this circular wall, the bones fall into a deep well
(subterranean), where by some chemical process they soon dissolve and
pass off through a conduit to the sea. The voracious vulture is so
gluttonous over the amount of food brought for their consumption that
they frequently become so gorged that they are unable to fly back to
their perch from the grating. There is nothing visible that is
revolting, and no odors are emitted. The winding-sheet used on and
dispensed with on depositing the body in the tower is burnt; in this way
there are no remains of impurity. The Parsees worship one supreme God,
and revere the sun and fire only as manifestations of the Deity, and
never fail to show their adoration when the sun is declining below the
horizon, by stretching forth their hands and bowing to its expiring
rays, thus acknowledging the teachings of Zoroaster, their leader.

Bombay has a mixed population. Besides the native Indians are Persians,
Arabians, Abyssinians, Syrians, Turks, Greeks and people from the Island
of Madagascar, and--last and much in evidence--the English. The
Parsees, the most respected sect, vie with the educated Hindoo in
establishing charity schools and hospitals, and both are alike
represented in the legislative councils. The more opulent of the Parsees
educate their sons at Cambridge and Oxford, and generally are great
travelers. They dress in European costume, but never at home lay aside
their Parsee hat, so characteristic of the sect. We were told it is
never discarded by day or night. Caste does not separate them and animal
food is not forbidden.

We are invited to the home of Mr. Tata, a Parsee gentleman. His family
ranks high in wealth and position in Bombay. My brother had, on one
occasion, traveled with him up the Nile. His father and mother adhere to
the Parsee dress, but their sons, having been educated in Cambridge and
Oxford, have adopted the European dress, but still wear the hat of their
sect. Their home occupied an entire square, and a small park separated
it from the boulevard. We were invited to a four-o'clock tea. As we
drove into the grounds and to a porte cochere we passed, in a victoria,
Mr. Tata's brother with his wife. She was dressed in the graceful,
elegant robes that the Parsee lady wears with such apparent ease. The
doors were thrown open on our approach, by two turbaned and handsomely
clad servants. Their white turbans were striped with gold thread; their
dignified, quiet demeanor was refreshing. At the head of some twenty
marble steps, full thirty feet in length, we were met by more servants
in oriental dress, and were shown into the reception room. Mr. Tata was
there to receive us, and after a few commonplace remarks I could
restrain myself no longer and began to expatiate on the surroundings. He
then told us that the house was thrown open once a week for a length of
time after it was first built, that their friends might come and bring
guests to see their collection of bric-a-brac and the rare pictures. At
the head of these marble steps we reached a hall, the walls of which
were lined with valuable oil paintings. The house was built on the line
of the street--a solid front--but the interior rooms faced a court yard,
filled with the most exquisite foliage plant and palms like forest
trees. A glass roof, that could be slid aside, kept these from the
elements. With a modest air of ease Mr. Tata took us from room to room.
The portieres separating these apartments had been made to order in
Japan--embroideries on satin of pale grey, lined with different shades
of pink, blue, nile green, and some with white silk. On both sides of
these portieres were hung what we would call the sheerest linen cambric.
Tying back each pair, when desired, were ribbons or tassels of
corresponding colors. All the wood used in this house was imported, rare
in quality. The collection of carved ivories was surpassingly
beautiful, as were also articles of jade. We, who had priced them in
China, Japan and India, knew their value. The dining room was oblong,
and at an oblong table in the middle of the floor could be seated five
hundred guests. The table had a hollow center. By lifting up a hinged
leaf persons could be seated on either side. We were shown the butler's
pantry, large enough for an army of servants. Its floors were inlaid as
Mosaic with pieces of broken china and cut glass. Mr. Tata said it was
his father's idea and he urged him to get out a patent. The wine
department made one thirsty, and the coolers are most unique, built in
the wall, each bottle lying on its side in marble chiseled grooves, the
process of cooling being hid from sight. We ascended a stairway of
marble, whose broad steps afforded a landing place for our feet, and we
could but linger to admire the works of art hung upon the walls. A
beautiful stained glass window, with full effect of the setting sun,
fronted the south and west at the head of these steps of mammoth
dimensions. We were taken into Mr. Tata's own private parlor and from
his bed-room, or an anteroom, sprang at our approach more turbaned and
splendidly arrayed servants, who immediately after seating us offered on
gold salvers delicately shaped tea cups, filled with the inviting Indian
tea, and delicious rolled sandwiches hid in doilies of jeweled satin.
Well, we drank the tea, but visions of the castle that Aladdin had built
in one night by the fairies was before my eyes, and fairly blinded me.
We were disappointed in not meeting his mother and father, both of whom
he said were at the bedside of his aunt, who was very ill. In bidding
adieu to our admirable host, we were told a carriage was ready to join
ours that would convey his best friend with us to a Parsee wedding. We
wondered why Mr. Tata himself did not accompany us, but found no Parsee
would be bidden or allowed to enter the place set apart for the guest at
a wedding feast, without a wedding garment, and when we saw that of the
gentleman who went with us, we thought Mr. Tata did not care to make
such an appearance before his American friends.

The dress of the men was of white cotton cloth, made into short, stiff
and exceedingly full skirts reaching to the knee, an embroidered jacket
and a tall Parsee hat, bare legs and sandals. The ladies wear one
outside garment of silk crepe about five yards long of delicate pink,
blue and other dainty tints and on either edge of this garment is a
narrow velvet ribbon an inch wide, of a contrasting color--dark blue,
light blue, pink or maroon in shade. This strip of velvet is embroidered
in gold and silver thread and inlaid with turquoise, emeralds, pearls,
etc. This article of drapery is first thrown over the head to cover one
ear, on the other of which, by the way, is hung the most gorgeous
solitaire diamond, emerald or ruby. This scarf is then draped most
artistically about the shoulders and waist and droops in graceful folds
over a silk or satin petticoat. They are very expensive; even those
wrought with imitation gems cost more than we felt like expending.

There seems to be a building, or rather two of them, set apart for the
wedding ceremonies which, we were told, were only consummated at certain
seasons of the year (December and January). The grounds around were
beautifully laid out with arches of electric lights spanning the
fountains, with their sparkling waters, made more scintillating by the
flickering lights above them. The bride's house was on one side of the
entrance, the groom's on the other. Her friends were with her; the
groom's friends with him. He sat at the door, with a magnificent India
shawl folded and thrown over his arm, the gift of his best man, and wore
the costume described above. The bride wore a blue crepe of very light
shade. At a given signal she, with a female friend, was followed by all
of those men, women and children in procession from the door of her
apartment to that of the groom's. He received her at the threshold and
conducted her to one of four seats--two for themselves and two for their
attendants. These chairs were placed on a rug. Priests, two in number,
stood on either side of them. A table with a large silver salver,
filled with well scraped cocoanut in their shells, together with two
large bowls of rice were brought and placed before them, the former
designating plenty, the latter denoting increase or conveying the
command, "multiply and replenish." These the priests hold in their hands
after first causing the bride to take a seat opposite her husband elect
and, throwing a cord around their waists, tie them closely together, and
begin alternately to speak in an emphatic manner, showering,
continually, the rice on their devoted heads; when the quantity was
exhausted the bowls were replenished. Afterwards cocoanuts were given to
each to hold, and for two hours this went on. The crowd, in the
meantime, stood while a rug was spread and chairs were given to us, the
honored guests. The children were most elaborately attired in pink and
blue satin, short and full skirt, with bracelets and bangles in
profusion; they were very attractive. One of these dear little girls
never let go my hand, but had led me in the procession to the groom's
house, and sat with me during the ceremony. Love begets love and I felt
like keeping her close to me. Beautiful little satin slippers matched
their dresses. After the ceremony was over, the cord was loosened and
the bride sat at her husband's left and received congratulations. We
then returned to the bride's house, across the court-yard and had a rich
feast of fruits, dainties and wines; a few drops of the latter turned
my head, but had to be drank for the sake of politeness. The ceremony
was only half over when we left, all exhausted, for immediately after
refreshments another two hours of this harangue by the priests had to be
endured. What bliss was this?

On the following day the visit to the Elphanta caves by sailing vessel
was most tedious, as the wind was against us, but on our return it was
in our favor, "and we flew like a bird from the mountain" homeward. The
landing at these caves was difficult. Stepping stones of huge dimensions
stretch out into the water like a pier; an ascent of one hundred and
fifty steps from the sea level brings us to the home of the carekeeper,
who at once, for an admittance fee, proceeds to the temple close by and
explains clearly all things necessary for our enlightenment. The temple
is of solid rock; the builders began half way up the mountain of stone
and cut down perpendicularly, thus removing the mountain face to a depth
of thirty feet by one hundred and fifty feet in width. This Besaltic
rock is chiseled into the interior of the mountain, where perfect
chambers, with colossal gods, wrought by hand out of the stone, stand in
representation of the Trinity gods. Brahma represents the creative
power; Vishnu the preserving power, and Siva the destroying power. The
guardian of this temple, an old Englishman and his wife, who keep things
scrupulously clean, and in their own habitation offer us refreshments
for a small compensation. Our ship the "Caledonia," Capt. Andrews in
command, sails to-morrow. All is bustle and confusion at the Oriental
Hotel. We have enjoyed Bombay, with its beautiful carved woods; its
ivories, and lovely sandal wood boxes; its teak furniture; its markets,
where everything from a shoe string to a monkey or parrot can be bought;
its bazaars, where one must have a level head to survive the noise of
bartering, to say nothing or but little of the jugglers who swarm
beneath the veranda of the hotel, performing most marvelous feats with
their cobras and swords for the few piasters that are thrown from an
admiring and amazed crowd of travelers. We must not fail to speak of
pleasant acquaintances made; of Sir Richard and Lady Campbell, who will
be our companions en voyage when we leave this port of Bombay until we
shall say good bye to them, and Mr. and Miss ----, of England, of whom
I have before written. We ship all trunks, save our steamer, to Albert
Docks, London, where we hope to reclaim them before re-embarking for
home. The parting of retired army officers, their wives and daughters,
from the sons and brothers who are left behind to achieve fame perhaps,
or lose their lives in the farther service to their country, seemed less
affecting than I imagined such scenes would be, but we find patriotism
very pronounced among the British subjects. They expressed hope of a
speedy return for one or many more wild boar or tiger hunts amid the
jungles, where they may add to their already large stock of skins. We
found the best stock of these for sale in Calcutta in a famous house on
the opposite side of the street from the Grand Hotel. It is essential to
select a tiger skin with perfect claws and natural teeth, as too often
artificial ones are used to promote a sale, and to have them perfect in
their curing is most desirable; if not, your trunk in which they are
packed will be well filled with vermin. A zinc trunk is advisable, which
can be purchased in the shops, and at reasonable prices.

Adieux are spoken, the beautiful bay sparkles in the sunlight, and we
bid a farewell to the land we may never see again. My own personal
regrets are few, for I have suffered during the entire sojourn from a
depression very unlike my normal condition. I hope this benighted race
may yet be brought from darkness into light and that one common
brotherhood may be established, and love divine shine over all.




EGYPT.


The Arabian sea is to me a reminder of tranquility; the thought of no
more temples to see, no more heights to climb, no poor, wretched beings,
whose only existence is prolonged agony to behold, for at least from the
hour of sailing, 12 a. m., on Saturday, 14th of December, 1895, until we
reach Ismalia, Saturday, December 21, at 12:30 p. m., what blissful
anticipation, and so fully realized on this quiet trip. A snug, cool
cabin all to myself, which opened into a private hallway with a great
open hatchway, or open half-door, gave me the delicious sea air in its
fulness of life and vigor without the necessity of my going on deck. Our
steamer chairs bought at Hongkong were shipped through from Ismalia on
the same vessel we were sailing to Albert Docks, London, where I found
mine in good condition. I could recline in this private hall, book in
hand, and cull from its valuable contents, information of the objects I
had seen, and what was still in store for me--all the Oriental steamers
have well-chosen libraries for the benefit of travelers. I had in
anticipation from the beginning of my trip a strong desire to note in my
diary items of interest, that I might have enough driftwood on my return
home for winter fireside, and from further research to be able to leave
to my grandchildren some fruit that would be to them a lasting
remembrance of me.

We have booked on the steamer "Caledonia" seventy first-class
passengers. Among them, my new-made acquaintances, Sir Richard Campbell,
wife and two daughters. The former was none too happy in his retirement
from active service to a passive one in the bogs of Ireland or to a
shoot on the moors of Scotland. We will credit him with no desire to
capture and hold captive the native coolies, but with a longing while
still in sight of India's coral strand for the boar and tiger haunts. I
suggested when he bemoaned of having no longer sufficient work to do to
keep him happy, that he would write a book of experiences of his life in
English service. He replied: "The market is overstocked and with but
little variety or freshness in the productions of the pen." His wife
will long live in my memory as a fac simile of gentleness and
refinement. I doubt whether she is in the body at my time of writing, as
a slow but sure sapping of life's strength was going on from her long
stay in India's treacherous climate.

Sunday's service was read on board our steamer by an officer, at whose
right hand at the table, I was seated during our voyage. He was clever
and I enjoyed the conversations held with him. A smooth sea and a
fresh-laundried shirt waist were most refreshing on that warm, but
lovely sail. We landed at Aden, a British port and important coaling
station, at 11:00 a. m., December 17 (Wednesday), where we lay three
hours. From Aden is exported Mocha coffee. Where it grows I cannot
imagine, for the port is to all appearances, the most rocky, barren
shore we have yet seen--desolation of desolation. Fortunately no coaling
was necessary for our vessel; it is a most disagreeable task, and
passengers go ashore if possible to escape the dirt and noise. All the
carpets and furniture are covered with temporary coverings during the
transfer from the barges of these huge sacks filled with coal. From hand
to hand are they tossed by the native coolies, the majority of the
number employed being women. The labor here, as on the Nile, seems to be
lightened by a cry, or wail, which never ceases till the work is
accomplished. Natives in their canoes came in swarms around the steamer
as she lay at anchor, bringing their stock in trade, which consisted of
ostrich feather boas, black or a color bordering on it, with those of
the original grey. In our excitement to get a bargain we purchased, but
they were poor specimens and not worth the pound we paid for them, but
we enjoyed the fun of bartering. Some of the passengers bought long,
stiff, white plumes, which could be utilized in making fans. After our
purchases were made Mrs. Dudley and myself having each selected a grey
boa, were warned by one who had been there before that we had more than
we bargained for, and that it would be better before depositing them in
the trunks to investigate. We needed no farther explanation, but held at
a safe distance the coveted articles and rushed to my cabin, while Mrs.
Dudley sent to the head steward for a package of cayenne pepper, which
had been my suggestion. After a fierce struggle, we succeeded in
thoroughly sprinkling the feathery lengths, and then purloined a steamer
towel, sewing them up until we should reach Paris, where we determined
to have them steamed and curled, providing there was anything to curl.
On my arrival in that city of fashion, I immediately sought a Tapissier
or cleaner, and besought them not to sue me for damages, if they should,
on opening the package, sneeze themselves to death. In a few days, on my
return to our Pension with two friends, we passed the feather cleaner's
establishment, when what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a huge
caterpillar in appearance in the window, which we all declared, must
have escaped from the jardin d'acclimatation. After many uncomplimentary
remarks, I was compelled to acknowledge that it belonged to me and was
bought in the Orient among other articles of "virtu." But to return to
Aden. We were struck with the weird looks of the natives, with nothing
to conceal their nakedness but the sacred cord around their loins. Their
hair was red; their skin black; the "Witches of Endor" would have paled
in comparison. The water seemed to be their native element; they would
dive down and under the vessel, appearing on the opposite side for a
piaster, which, when thrown from the deck of the vessel into the water,
they would bring to the surface in their mouths.

The day following we were on the Red Sea--smooth sailing, and no land in
sight; weather, (December 18th,) beautifully cool and pleasant. The
passengers on deck enjoyed the sport so much in vogue on these "P. and
O." steamers. "Pull for your life," which enlisted the participation of
ladies and gentlemen; the latter, after removing their shoes, could
stand on the well-sanded deck. The leaders locked horns and their
comrades chose sides, each placing their arms around the waists of the
one preceding them, and then came the "tug of war." It was as great fun
to the bystander as it was good exercise for those engaged in the sport.
A reward followed to the victorious side, which, perhaps, took the form
of ginger ale or seltzer. We enter the Suez canal at 4:00 p. m.,
December 21st (Saturday afternoon). The evening shadows closed around
us; the low shores sank into half-transparent vagueness, and threw into
relief against the evening sky a solitary individual straying along the
water's edge, while within, a hundred yards from shore, were a band of
Arabs, folding their tents, preparatory to a long journey across the
desert. It was a most impressive scene. The quiet was almost
overpowering. The lonely hour and the more lonely surroundings, all
combined, made an indelible impression. The camels were in the act of
kneeling to receive the burden they must carry on the journey. In the
moonlight, the undulating sands of the Lybian and Arabian deserts looked
like the billows of an ocean, and the camels with their swaying motion
like moving sail vessels, were lost to sight in solemn silence. This
voyage on the Suez canal has a charm of its own indefinable.

The Suez maritime canal is about 120 miles in length from sea to sea
(Mediterranean to the Red). Out of this length only thirty-eight miles
were found to be above sea level; the remaining eighty-two were either
below or on the same level. About midway between the two seas is Lake
Timsah, nine miles in circumference. That basin is converted into a
central harbor, where vessels may at all times find a safe and
convenient anchorage. From El Guise, through which the canal passes to
the Mediterranean, the width is 240 feet, and from El Guise to Ismalia
it is 180 feet, after which it passes into the proper width, 240 feet.
The estimate of keeping the canal in order, from its completion in 1869
to 1895, is about £75,000 sterling. Great dredges lie near the shore as
we pass, from which vessels steer away. Charges agreed upon for transit
are ten francs, or two dollars, per ton; hence, our steamer "Caledonia"
paid for her weight of 4,125 tons, $825. The Indian steamers, instead of
stopping at Suez, steam directly to Port Said, anchoring off Ismalia
only long enough for passengers to land. We reached this point at 12:00
p. m. Before arriving a late supper was ordered by a few to celebrate
the leave-taking, for many who had traveled together so far were to
continue their journey to Marseilles and from thence to England, and
others with us were to go into Egypt. We here bade good-bye to Mr. and
Miss Donnesthorpe, who had been with us en route from Nagasaki, Japan.
Before leaving Mr. Donnesthorpe gave me his confidence regarding his
engagement to an English girl he had left at home. The outward-bound
vessels, instead of stopping at Alexandria, steam direct through the
canal to Suez and Bombay, while one vessel homeward bound passes through
this canal every week. Thus, two vessels a week make 104 a year.
Averaging 1,000 tons per vessel, the aggregate 104,000 tons at two
dollars a ton will produce the sum of £41,600 sterling annually. These
vessels carry to and from home about 10,000 persons a year, and this
number pay £4,000, so that from the Peninsular and Oriental line of
steamers alone the canal company will receive £45,000 annually,
exclusive of the duties received from coal ships. Total averages from
other lines are about £185,000, to say nothing of the pilgrims from
Tunis, Tripoli, on their pilgrimages to Medinah and Mecca. $5,000 to
$8,000 is saved on this route of travel to the merchants from England
to India. The depth of this canal in every part is twenty-six feet.
Steam is supplanting the use of sails, for the Red Sea offers no
exceptional difficulties to steamers. No vessel would require more than
her sails, for the wind blows strong and steady during nine months of
the year.

The opening celebration of the canal by the viceroy was regal. An opera
house, theatre and circus were constructed in Cairo; gas was introduced
into the city of the Mameluke Caliphs; Ezhekiah plaza was renovated in a
manner that ten years before would have been thought impossible; the
streets were laid out and flanked by granite and freestone curbing, and
sidewalks laid with massive flagstone; railway stations renovated and
the streets leading to it improved, so that on first introduction a
stranger would be favorably impressed. The viceroy's palaces were
repainted and every hotel in Cairo was engaged for the guests of the
Khedive, to feed them and lodge them at 48 shillings per day per capita;
all carriages and cabs free and at their disposal, the cost of
entertainment was $2,000,000. Light houses were erected at Bitter Lake,
and electric lights of great power at Port Said. Ismalia, the center
part of the Suez canal, is on Lake Tismah; it was filled with water from
the Mediterranean, November, 1862, through the canal the average depth
was nineteen feet. Ismalia stands at the confluence of three canals;
the Maritime, Sweet Water from Suez to Ismalia, and the canal from
Zazazed to Ismalia, which runs through Ancient Goshen, in whose confines
dwelt the children of Israel 400 years.

"The harbor of Suez roadbeds was found to afford anchorage for 500
ships, its depth being from sixteen to twenty-four feet, bottomed with
soft mud. In 1858 the canal company chose for its president M. Ferdinand
de Lesseps. In 1859 the work was commenced. Mohammed Said Pasha of Egypt
took 177,642 shares. In 1863 Said Pasha died and Ismail, son of Ibrahim,
son of Mohammed Ali, succeeded to the vice-royalty of Egypt. England was
jealous of the concession to France. The sultan wavered, but Napoleon
III. had his eye on him, and he was frightened out of his intended
course. Ismail broke his contract with the canal company and would
furnish no fellahs. Napoleon III. came to the rescue of De Lesseps. A
committee composed equally of French and Egyptians, was called by
Napoleon and declared in favor of the company to the amount of
£3,600,000, to be payable in installments in fifteen years."

De Lesseps, long calumniated, individually persevered against
disadvantages in the undertaking, until finally (November 17, 1869) he
exhibits with worthy pride his mighty achievement to the civilized
globe, represented by crowned heads and dignitaries of all countries,
monarchial and republican.

During our stay of twenty-four hours, or even less time, in Ismalia, we
visited the home De Lesseps occupied during his sojourn here. It was
within an enclosure where beautiful trees overshadowed the house and it
looked lonely and forsaken. We also went to the house or palace which
the Viceroy had built for himself. Dogs formidably guarded the entrance.
We did not tarry long, but my brother and I wandered far enough into the
sands of the desert to satisfy all our longings forevermore. The canal
was built by the French, but the English bought most of the stock and
have control of it, although it runs through Egyptian territory. From
the inhospitable Hotel Victoria we rode on a tramway to the depot, where
rather a poor train of cars awaited us, conveying us for miles through
the desert sands, suddenly merging into plains and reaching Cairo at
6:00 p. m., the 22nd of December. Little by little the plain becomes
less green as we approach the Egyptian capital; the valley contracted
and the pyramids appear roseate beneath the rays of the setting sun. On
the right, through the palm trees, against the yellow tones of the
Lybian desert, are the heights of Mokattam, with the citadel and the
mosques of Mahomet Ali, the dome of which shines brilliantly between two
tapering minarets. A forest of minarets and white walls and we have
arrived amid deafening cries of the cabmen and the running omnibuses for
the different hotels. My brown "Cheap Jack" purchased in Bombay to
carry a steamer rug which I had bought there again proved a white
elephant, but after many gestures it is transferred by a porter to
Shephard's Hotel. Crowds stand waiting for rooms to be allotted them,
and as good luck has so far followed me both on steamers and at hotels,
I find myself in a brief time nicely ensconced in a sunny room. We
hasten to make ready for dinner, and are most happy to be seated
alongside of Mrs. John A. Logan and her party of four young ladies and
Doctor B., who heads the table and proves himself a most fitting
decoration. The salon is crowded, and at one end on a stage is stationed
a band of native musicians, male and female, with European musical
instruments upon which the latest opera airs were played. It is
customary after dinner is served to join the immense crowd that
promenades or is seated, according to choice, in the corridors and
exchange of the building. There tiny cups of coffee with brandy,
absinthe and cigarettes are offered by the coolies in picturesque dress.
Ladies, as well as men, partook freely, handling the cigarette with an
air of nonchalance which bespoke its frequent use. It seemed that people
from every nation and every tribe were assembled there. The air became
dense, and it has been truly said that nowhere else than in Shephard's
Hotel can such a transformation scene be witnessed. Many of my own
neighbors from Chicago were here. We met our Japanese colonel again. He
had just returned from the Nile trip. He walked with the assurance of a
man who had won laurels and was wearing them. I was glad to meet him, as
our close proximity at the table on the steamers promoted a good feeling
between us. Cairo is a winter resort for English, Arabians, Swedes and
in fact the climate attracts from all over the world. The ladies who are
there for the season make as great a display of fine clothes as we see
in our own drawing rooms at home; in fact, the display of jewels is
regal. But of this the traveler wearies, as our days are so busy; we
willingly retire early to restore nature's wasted powers. One old lady
from Wales sat with her gouty feet on a cushion, to which you were
oblivious, for she was so bejewelled. She was an Egyptologist, she told
me. I found her an agreeable woman, but fond of display. I apologized
for my Quaker-like garb, explaining to her why I did not feel at ease in
such a crowd in my quiet silk gown; that I had only a steamer trunk with
me, and while its contents might ordinarily have passed muster, the
piling on top of them--a lot of "Benares brass"--had crushed what little
stiffness my balloon sleeves had once maintained. She scanned me closely
and, with a confidential air, whispered: "You are a good
conversationalist, anyhow, so never mind." I really began to feel a
sense of inflation, and looked to see my sleeves puff up.

The poor villages of Egypt, a collection of dilapidated houses built of
clay, baked by the burning sun and roofed with dry sorghum leaves, were
scattered here and there. Here are seen cafes built of loam and straw
and rickety planks upon which exhausted beggars sleep in sordid rags,
where poor peasants devour a doura cake and drink a cup of coffee; women
in long, blue gowns, carrying water in heavy clay pitchers; camels
loaded with sugar-cane; asses bending beneath bulky bags of rice; heron,
plover and white pigeons; Pharaoh's chickens hover overhead, watching
with piercing eyes their prey; pelicans amid the Papyrus, a blue lotus,
a plant dear to the Pharaohs, which one finds everywhere engraved on the
walls of their temples; dusky girls with long, slender hands and
tapering fingers, the nails reddened with Henna, holding a corner of
their garment between their teeth to hide their faces and pushing flocks
of turkeys before them. They walk slowly, gazing frankly, while the
copper bangles clank gently on their delicately moulded ankles.

The population of Cairo in 1895 was about 350,000. The Khedive lives
with his wife and family at the Palace of Ismalia, near the Nile bridge.
He is a strict monogamist, loyal in his married life and detests slavery
as much as polygamy. All his attendants are paid wages. He is said to
rise at 4:00 or 5:00 a. m., eats no breakfast, exercises two hours, and
between seven and eight o'clock drives in state to Abdin Palace, which
is about a half mile from Ismalia, his home. Abdin is the usual place
for receptions and ceremonial visits. Here the Khedive spends the day,
transacting various business, seeing ministers, reading letters and
telegrams and talking with his courtiers. At 5:00 p. m. he drives again
with his guard, preceded by his athletic sais about forty feet in
advance, while in his victoria sits always some companion beside him.
These sais attract much attention, so very graceful are they in
appearance. Their white Turkish trousers, their gold embroidered bolero
jacket, with bright, oriental sashes and a cap of bright color that sets
off their fine features and well-shaped head. They are very fleet, but
we were told that their earthly race is soon run, the exercise being too
violent. We take donkeys to visit the bazaars. There is a change of
temperature, about 60 deg. Fah., but the attempt made to keep our seat
on our lively animals brought out the perspiration, as this was our
maiden effort. The name of the present Khedive is Lewfak (1895). On a
recent occasion he was asked: "What would be the effect on the harem if
the slaves and eunuchs were no longer on guard?" He replied: "The women
would rush into all sorts of license." He agreed that education was the
one thing needful, and in accordance with his convictions has started a
high school for girls, at his own expense. The Mussulman women's morals
are very low; their influence on the children of the harem is most
deplorable. The Ezbekiah Garden confronts us nearby the hotel. It was
formerly a lake surrounded by trees and habitations. At the present,
after many changes, it is of rectangular form, with corners cut off,
surrounded by an iron railing. A basin with swan, and carefully sanded
paths with strange trees brought from the interior of Africa is a
beautiful sight. The limpid blue sky and the rays of the magnificent
eastern sun makes it an attractive place to linger, particularly so at
4:00 p. m., when a military band performs its European repertoire. Beer
shops, restaurants and photographic pavilions are installed in and near
this garden; veiled women, men in silk gowns of various colors, mostly
blues, roam about with the most perfect ease. Beautiful Egyptian tents
were erected for a bazaar while we were there. No one can appreciate,
without seeing their effective display, made of sailcloth, with red,
yellow and blue calico in plain colors, appliqued on in strange
hieroglyphic designs. Rugs were on the ground and tapestries were used
as portieres, while the Turk or Egyptian sat in the doorway, apparently
indifferent to the passerby. To visit Heliopolis, we took a victoria and
an expert dragoman. We passed the viceroy's palace, with its lane of
lemon trees and the well cultivated plain of Metarrah, covered with
gardens. We stop at the virgin's tree, where Mary and the child rested
in their flight to Egypt. This, with the field around it, is watered by
a sakieh, which draws sweet and refreshing water from the bottom of a
well. With the cooling draught, we are presented with a tiny bunch of
flowers, for which we return a few piasters. A paling surrounds Mary's
Sycamore, under whose shade, tradition says, she washed the infant's
clothes, and that wherever a drop of water fell a Balsam tree sprang up.
All that remains of Heliopolis, the city of the sun, is the obelisk of
Usertesan. Heliopolis is the On of the Hebrews. It was here the Bennonz,
Phoenix, the fabled bird, with its gold and crimson plumage, without a
mate, came from Arabia every five hundred years to expire, and to be
reborn of its own ashes on the altar of the sun.

I left my companion in the victoria, and wended my way alone to the
obelisk, not far distant. It may be he preferred to contemplate on
Heliopolis' past glory, as he was fresh from Yale's classic shade, and
deep, no doubt, in its lore, rather than touch its hieroglyphics. To see
the bees so thickly settled there was of little satisfaction, but what
were we there for if not to touch, taste and handle? The climatic
effects will preserve this wonderful monument for ages, while their
consorts on the Thames and in New York Central Park already show signs
of decay.

The ostrich farm was a more enlivening scene. One thousand of these
ugly, vicious birds were kept in an enclosure, the fence surrounding
them being so high we were obliged to seek an elevation from which we
could look down upon them. They are most ungainly, but their strut is
indicative of vanity. To probe them, as some did through an opening in
the gateway, was to arouse their wrath, and the warning was soon given
to desist, by the care-keepers. Many of the eggs were emptied of their
contents and for sale. Throughout the land morgues are crumbling to
ruins, the Arab seemingly powerless to repair them, or to build new
ones. Cairo is built from the ruins of Heliopolis and Memphis.

To return to Cairo by the Kooha road is to meet at 5:00 p. m. the
Khedive and suite on their return from Abdin palace. It is said the
Khedive is never seen to smile; we can testify that he did not smile on
us, although we rode parallel with him that day. The tramp of his
attendant cavalry always attracts a crowd. We see, as we drive along,
the donkeys roll with their saddles in the sand; swarms of naked soiled
children, with their deafening yell, increase the clamor made by the
native pipe seller and blower. These are made of bamboo, and, when
properly handled, give out a noise peculiar to those people.
Water-sellers, with filled goatskins on their shoulders, leather aprons
to their knees, striking their copper goblets one against the other,
richly caparisoned mules, bearing venerable Mohammedan priests, whose
gowns are kissed as they go by--all these and more join this medley in
human or animal form. Traffic is suddenly stopped by a long string of
camels coming, laden with thick pieces of timber, rugged stones or
enormous bales of merchandise. They walk silently in the dust with long
strides, waving to and fro, exhaling an insupportable odor. Their heavy,
incommodious cargoes strike right and left, breaking everything before
them. Woe betide the pedestrian, who does not anticipate their coming,
and prepare to skip. These caravans are only momentary disturbances,
then all is righted till another passes. Through all this pandemonium we
drive to the tombs of the Caliphs, the independent sovereigns of Egypt
from the ninth to the twelfth century. In the face of the ruins
crumbling slowly beneath the action of centuries, one feels an
unutterable melancholy. Mosque of El Achraf-ynal El Ghours is near the
tombs of the Caliphs, their courts are full of rubbish and plants and
brambles, with its fountains for ablutions in ruins. These mosques
contain tombs and stone mausoleums. We pass out into a dilapidated
village of low mud houses, few shops, with fruits to sell, camels lying
down, asses and tattered children and old men. We ascend not far away
the staircase with disjointed steps, the mosque of Karl Bey. The
interior court, open to all elements, is paved with marble mosaics. The
ceiling of the mosque is carved, painted and gilded. The rose windows,
cut in massive stone, is in great perfection, but all is crumbling, like
everything else in the east.

The tombs of the Caliphs we overlook from the citadel, where we listen
to the guide who relates the daring feats of the Mamelukes. To see the
sun set from this point is one of the pleasures that Cairo affords. Here
is a fortress, where Ramises II detained his Assyrian captives, when the
Roman legion under Caesar held Egypt. The vile, stuffy smells that greet
you on entering are appalling, and the ragged children eaten up by
vermin, and afflicted by sore eyes rub against you. You enter the Coptic
church of the Virgin Mary; partitions in woodwork separate three naves.
Mother of pearl and ivory inlaid work decorate the interior, but it was
so dark the beauties were lost to me, but we are not insensible to the
vile uncleanliness, for that is paramount. We are taken to the banks of
the Nile, shown the ancient Nile meter, and the exact spot where Moses
was found in the bulrushes. From all this we turn with weary steps to
the university, where scholars from the extreme north, south, and those
who scarcely know from whence they came, are here to study the four
rites taught from the Koran. They board at the Mosque and also receive a
small allowance and oil for their lamps. Gathered together in circles,
holding their tablets in their hands, lying or sitting on their mats
covering the ground, they learn by heart verses from the Koran, which
they recite aloud in a drawling voice, swinging the body, as is peculiar
to the Orientals. A special fund is raised from pious fanatics for the
support of the blind who become scholars, no less fanatic than their
teachers.

Another day for the museums at Boulah to be taken before, and after
going up the Nile. From its terrace the views are splendid. The
supporting walls bathe in the Nile, where multitudes of vessels lie side
by side. Across the desert come caravans from Abyssinia, with coffee and
incense from Arabia; pearls, precious stones, cassimeres and silks from
India.

In dahabehis from Esneh come ivories, ostrich feathers, acacia gum,
nitre from Kenner, boats loaded with pottery of porous earth, in which
to keep the water of the Nile in amphoræ (large earthen jugs) in all
sizes. Edfou sends its pipes, vases of red clay and black. Barges filled
with indigo, cotton and barley, dahabehis of carpets and woolen stuffs
with flagons of rose water. From the North come rice, maize and Syrian
tobacco; draperies from Aleppo, Smyrna and Damascus; dried grapes from
the mountains of Karamania; soap from the isles of the Archipelagos, and
in the midst of all this enterprise, donkey boys yell, and camels make
their unearthly cry, while I, who am mounted on a donkey, scarcely look
to the right or left, lest I go over "Abraham Lincoln's" head.

We have left the museum and are on the road leading to Cairo, the Champs
Elysee of this capital city. Tuesdays and Sundays the gay world is met
on this thoroughfare. We overlook the port of old Cairo to see all we
have described, besides dahabehis from Nubia and Soudan with goods and
passengers. The ferry passing between Bedrashen and old Cairo is full to
overflowing. Men, women, Bedouin negroes, asses, camels overburdened
with merchandise, cages of fowls, and fruit in kouffas; people
gesticulating and grumbling in an inconceivable manner--all this
confusion we pass through to reach our hotel to dream of our journey to
the pyramids the following day. Our dragoman secures an open carriage
that seats four persons, besides the coachman and himself on the
coachmen's seat. We are told that twenty years were consumed in building
the great pyramid, costing 600 talents (the Hebrew weight 94 lbs.) in
Hebrew money; 100,000 men were employed on the works, and were changed
every three months. They say nothing changes in the valley of the Nile;
the Fellah has always bent the spine to the stick. Lives innumerable
were sacrificed by the Pharaohs in building for themselves, and others,
tombs that time could not change, and where thieves could not break
through and steal. How all earthly plans are frustrated. Now the hidden
places of the pyramids are laid bare. The museum at Boulah contains the
mummied forms of the builders, and the entrances to their sepulchres
are open to bats and men. I did not ascend the pyramids farther than to
look into these excavations. This effort was most exhausting, even when
assisted by these athletic Arabs, and the demand for backsheesh was
overpowering. The sheik, under whose patronage these coolies work,
stands looking on without intervention until your dragoman is forced to
appeal to him to quell the disturbance, but we could see that he berated
those who were delinquent in making their demands good. The sphinx near
by can be reached either by camels, who stand in readiness to convey
you, or you can walk. We prefer the latter rather than to have another
bombardment for backsheesh, but waiving, as we did, all assistance but
our dragoman, we were followed by these wretched persecutors. There is
in this colossal figure a dignity--an air of mystery. It is with
difficulty that the sands of the desert are kept from enveloping it, but
the climatic effect is wonderful; it seems destined for time and
eternity.

Friday is the day for religious service with the howling dervishes. One
never cares for a repetition. Those who take active part in the ceremony
are men whose regular features are set off by a tall, round,
sugar-loafed hat, surrounded at its base with a turban wound very tight,
clothed in long, flowing gowns, very full, open in front. A second gown
underneath of mauve silk shows a blue jacket and orange-colored
trousers. One carries a flute, and now and then a soft, ethereal note is
heard. Around this musician are others with their instruments. In a
semi-circle, with arms falling at their sides, stand at least thirty
dervishes, their long gowns of different colors fastened tight around
their waists with a red silk sash, red, white and green turbans, and
linen or woolen caps. Their hair is of extraordinary length, dyed with
henna, and falling to their knees. At a signal from their leader, all
uncover their heads at the same moment, and, as they bend balancing
themselves slowly at first, with each jerk pronouncing the word "Allah!"
This swinging motion becomes by degrees rapid; voices burst out; one
hears the piercing note of the flute, and the ring of the cymbals. The
sepulchral roll of the Dara-bonkas make the flesh creep, and finally
ends in a delirious exaltation.--They assume frightful contortions;
their bodies bend; the hair whips the air and the cry of "Allah! Allah!"
penetrates bone and marrow. After a while their ways become more
regular, voices clearer, and they seem again to possess their faculties.

The great artery of trade cuts bazaar quarters into the old Frank
quarters where east and west mixes. Living side by side, the occupants
of these shops speak, when opening the shutters in the morning, and when
closing them in the evening, and frequently offer each other tea and
cigarettes through the day, and that terminates all connection. A Babel
street, dealers in French novelties; an American dentist; a barber, a
Jewish money changer side by side, while on foot in the roadway divers
people from diverse nations throng--few groups but a constant movement.
Among them are loaded camels, people on horses, donkeys, mules,
victorias drawn by Arab steeds always on the trot. The guards driving to
one side the crowd by blows in the face with their sticks, water
carriers, soldiers, in fact, everybody, hustling, bustling in search of
something. In the bazaar of Khan Khabiel we found copper utensils of all
forms and sizes, coffee pots, perfume burners, ewers, chandeliers for
mosques, Persian caskets chiseled to perfection, articles of rhinoceros
horn, Circassian and Saracen steel armor, inlaid with gold, tables of
mother of pearl and ivory. A dealer in old clothes sat at the angle of
the street playing a game of chance with his neighbor. We see Koran
letters in green on black ground hung in black frames standing against
the wall, while the owner sits dreaming near by, apparently deriving
much comfort from his kief. The streets are narrow, often hedged from
houses by a trellis work, fashioned from palm leaves. The sun penetrates
in spots. Through these apertures one sees the clear blue sky and black
kites, vultures and hawks describing circles, and at intervals wild
geese from the north go flying by. The roads are covered with dust
which, when it rains, becomes almost impassable. We see coming towards
us women accompanied by slave bathing attendants, going to a public
bath house reserved for females. They meet by appointment, burn perfumed
aloes, etc., send for singers and treat themselves to pastry and sweets.

The roofs of carpet bazaars, half covered with mats and shreds of cloth,
permit the soft light to filter through, and upon the sacred prayer rug
throws a mellowed light. Piles of camels' bags, some brilliant in color,
with mountains of rugs from all parts of the east; those of the velvety
silken texture with blended colors come from Persia. A coarser kind of
many stripes comes from Rabah, Tunis and Kurdistan. Long squares with
ground of soft blue are used by the Mohammedans in their devotion and
are made in Smyrna and Bokhara. The gem polisher sits within the doorway
of his shop, with wheels and implements, whereon he perfects his work.
We are interested in the Persian turquoise, the most desirable to be
purchased. We buy, we think, flawless ones of exquisite shades.

The Ramhadin, or season of fasting, by the Moslems, continues one month,
and during that time they neither taste nor smell food or tobacco
between sunrise and sunset. After this vile durance, we were told, their
appetites can scarcely be appeased, nor their tempers curbed.

The weddings in December and January are in rule and, by applying for an
invitation, your dragoman as a great favor to his lady, can and will
obtain one or more, for which you must compensate him, besides
defraying all expenses, and giving flowers and presents. You must expect
but little less expenditure than at our own weddings in our own country,
and but little to repay you. On the evening of the 24th of December
(1895), Christmas trees were on exhibition at the hotel for the benefit
of the guests; the ladies only received presents. The room was most
brilliant with electric lights and three large trees most artistically
decorated with bright balls, cornucopias and trinkets. A card was given
each lady and the number thereon drew a prize. My first was a box of
candy and a small toilet article. Not eating candy, I presented both
articles and asked Mr. Bailey, our host, for another chance, which drew
me a white satin sofa cushion cover. For a time we almost forgot we were
so far from home. There were so many familiar faces gathered around
those trees, besides no limit to others who believed that the "Coming of
Christ" meant good gifts to men. The 30th of December my brother and his
family left me to return to America. I was over-persuaded to go up the
Nile, a trip I most reluctantly made. As I felt the depression of the
Egyptian atmosphere, added to my depressed condition from the medicine
taken (prescribed by a missionary doctor on board the steamer "Pekin")
throughout my Indian journey that I was unfit to travel any longer--and
I had no desire to die so far from home--the pressure against my own
judgment outweighed in the balance, and I left Cairo on the steamer
"Ramises III" at 9:15 o'clock a. m. December 31st, 1895. The room
assigned to me by Thomas Cook & Co. was No. 63, on the upper deck. I had
no room mate, much to my joy. This was my "mascot" from the time I
boarded the steamer at Vancouver--with but one exception, and that was
on the steamer "Pekin" from Columbo to Calcutta where I had a dear old
lady from Australia (Mrs. Champion) share my cabin. We had seventy
first-class passengers. Among them were Mrs. John A. Logan, Dr. B., of
Brooklyn, Miss Paul, Miss Koon and Miss Dousman, Mr. and Mrs. George
Hale and his sister, Mrs. Mathews, Conan Doyle, wife and sister, and
from England we had the knighted organist of Westminster Abbey and Lady
Campbell and daughter, while others I could mention to whom I became
attached were Mrs. Allis and daughter, of Milwaukee, and Mrs. Wilbur and
daughter, from Flatbush, Long Island. I must not fail to speak of Mr.
Osterburg, the Swedish consul in Cairo, who made himself most agreeable.
Our dragomen were Richard and Claudius, the former a Syrian, the latter
I saw less of, but some of the passengers, who became interested in him,
visited in person his little wife, about fourteen years old, who had a
mud hut in the vicinity of one of the stopping places on the Nile.

After lunch was served on our first day out we made our first landing at
Bedrashead, site of Memphis and Sakkarah, where we saw the colossal
statue of Ramises II, lying prostrate, in readiness to be transferred to
some less favored spot. I had a fine mount, and Richard stuck close to
"my lady" (you must remember that much respect is paid to the aged in
the Orient). The temple of Ptah, the step pyramid, pyramid of Teta,
pyramid of Pepi 1st, and the Ape's Mausoleum, were shown us. This last
was most interesting. Magnesium lights of the guides enabled us to
distinguish in these dark, subterranean passages, where 3,700 years ago,
naked foot-prints left on layers of sand, placed in the corners of these
mortuary chambers, testify to a primitive appearance. Here people made
superhuman effort to hide their burial places for all ages to come, to
prevent rude hands from pulling their bones apart until, according to
their religion, their souls would again return to their well preserved
bodies--to enjoy Nirvana.

We saw the tomb of "Thi," Necropolis of Saharah; also Marrek's house. To
the latter is due much credit for his perseverance in unearthing and
protecting the contents of these buried ruins. My first donkey ride was
a success, not that I enjoyed it, but owing to a most considerate donkey
boy, who walked at the side of the beast (instead of the rear) and
allowed me to hold in my left hand the reins and my right arm around his
swarthy neck. Thus, I took all those excursions on the Nile without an
accident, till I gave myself the title of "the lady of a fond embrace,"
while others, more daring and perhaps more dainty of touch, were more
than once thrown over the donkey's head, suffering from bruises that
took more than a day to heal. Immediately on reaching the steamer, at
4:30 p. m., tea was served on deck. I was more than weary and so sore I
could scarcely taste of my dinner, but, thanks to a kind Providence, I
was by morning on deck, but that day we made no excursions. The
following day we landed at Beni-Hassan, visiting the Rock Tombs,
consisting of chambers, shaft and corridors, where the mummies were once
placed, but now all are swept and garnished. All that remains to tell
the tale, are the writings and sculpturing on the walls. The scribe has
taken precaution that he who runs may read. The series of bas-reliefs is
a biography in stone with illustrations. The entire life of a man is
written there. I must quote from a writer a few lines that have
impressed me: "It is said that man's head becomes smaller every day, his
muscle and chest enlarged; animal strength develops at the expense of
the brain, which diminishes in proportion. The law of the strongest is
the law of human species, one-half of which is seeking to destroy the
other." These scenes depicted on the crumbling ruins, enriched by color,
are strikingly realistic, built partly during the life time, and often
after the death of the person. These give the best possible insight
into the life of the Egyptians of that period. From past ages to the
present hour are men building their own monuments, immortalizing, if
possible, their virtues. How well the foundation should be laid, that
the principles, overlapping each other, may make a fitting example for
future generations.

There are no new cities built of any magnitude; the new would only
depopulate the old. From Memphis, reduced to a state of quarry, is built
Alexandria; from Heliopolis we have Cairo. In passing the limestone
cliffs we experience cold and wind; the mummied crocodile pits we pass,
and stop at Aizril. Peddlers besiege the vessel, and the vociferating
yell was kept up until long after 10:00 p. m., the hour when all lights
in the cabin are shut off. At Aizul, we buy Nubian veils, which are made
by embroideries in gold stars on black and white heavy netting, and are
most becoming when worn by Nubian women. Soudanese embroidery is thrust
upon us, but to all we turn a deaf ear and again mount donkeys to visit
the bazaars. It was market day; the roads dusty; long lines of camels
with their undulating necks and inhuman cry, impeded our way and shocked
our nerves. What vagueness in the stare of a camel; what great, sad
eyes; walking slowly with their heavy burdens, urged on by the voice and
gesture of sober-looking Bedouins, perched upon the beast. Women with
ravaged features and with soiled garments pass us, with babies seated
astride of their shoulders; little girls clutching their gowns, with
leather or silver amulets on their neck or suspended between their eyes;
the flowing chemise, of crude colors, mostly blue, their heads bound in
a turban of muslin, their black tresses flying in the wind. The arms of
these children of the desert are encircled in bracelets, some of which
we purchased with a few annas. They are gilded and tarnished, perhaps
from lack of usage. A sad smile seems to lurk on their faces, casting a
gleam in their dark eyes, and they will follow for a great distance your
donkey, offering you their poor, little, ragged dolls for a backsheesh;
the very touch of them would be pollution. You cannot resist, if an anna
is within reach, of throwing it to them and receiving in return a
glimpse of their pearly teeth between their red lips in their attempts
at a smile. The Arab men, wrapped in their burnoose, look on
mechanically, turning their rosewood beads in their hands. Their yellow
dogs, with pointed muzzles, prowl around restlessly, as if they would
cry out with joy if a bone was thrown them. On passing through the
bazaars I spied a Nubian veil, and to inspect it within a doorway, I was
obliged to dismount; not being satisfied with work or quality, I
attempted to remount, with the assistance of my diminutive donkey boy,
but alas, we were not equal to the feat; when, from a distance, came a
red coat, an English soldier, who threw me on the saddle and demanded a
backsheesh. Is begging contagious, or is their need so great? Over the
tranquil scenes creep the cold shadows of night, with their unhealthy,
impenetrable gloom; lights of the steamer are extinguished; the water
shadoufs, with lean bullocks for their motive power, with hanging
fetlocks, conducted by a little fellahin, gave a sharp, hollow, grinding
sound as the brake wheels were made to revolve. These brake wheels set
others in motion, which in their turn start still others at the
extremity of the spokes on the water circles, where jars of baked clay
were fastened with cords made of palm fiber. The latter, in their
constant rotation, scooped up water, pouring it into basins, from which
ran gutters, dug at right angles in the earth, and spread like silver
threads through this thirsty land. These shadoufs are placed at
intervals along the Nile and from its beneficent waters the desert is
made to bloom as the rose.

The early mornings are bright, but cold. As we proceed up the Nile the
noonday sun feels uncomfortable, but invariably the nights are cold.
Then it is that the awnings are closely drawn around the upper deck,
where a piano, tables and chairs are placed for the pleasure and
convenience of the guests, while flags of different nations brighten and
enliven the scene, festooned on the canvas that wraps us in from the
prevailing miasma. An evening on the Nile steamer may not be irksome,
although our steamer ties up at nightfall. The lack of motion is made up
by music and dancing and pleasant intercourse. A few moments after
dinner I would retire to the saloon or library room, where pens and
paper were provided for the guests. There I would jot down in my journal
my transactions of the day and write home if we were within postal
quarters. We never made excursions on the Sabbath day; our trips were so
arranged by Cook, who had our boat under his rules, that all who cared
for rest might enjoy it. We disembarked at Dendarah, where we spent two
hours in the early morning. As we recall these days on the Nile, with
Richard in his Oriental robes of lovely colors, fully conscious of his
good looks, taking his position between the extended tables of the
dining room at the close of the meal and there make known the plan for
the next day's excursion. "Ladies and Gentlemen!" was generally followed
by an audible smile, the guests knowing full well what was to
follow--breakfast at the early hour of seven, a ride from five to
fifteen miles either by donkey or chair, with a set speech when we
arrived at tombs or temples; but we had come to see, why not muster up
courage for still another prolonged agony? I found books in the library,
most entertaining when off duty, by Mrs. Edwards and Charles Dudley
Warner, together with the book furnished by Cook to each purchaser of a
passage ticket. This attempt to post up on what I saw, and what was yet
in store for me, precluded much sociability, of which I am fully aware
with such pleasant people as we had on board, was my loss. I denied
myself much, but I was unable to cope with both to any great extent, but
I shall long recall with pleasure the few hours I gave myself in this
delightful recreation.

Our arrival at Luxor by sunset was well timed. The beautiful rays of the
departing god seemed to throw over all the surroundings a halo. We knew
an early breakfast meant early to bed, which command I was not slow in
obeying. At 9:00 a. m. we took donkeys for Karnak, passing through the
village on a market day, where each man squatted before his salable
articles spread upon the ground under the shade of some umbrageous tree.
Through a long road, lined at intervals, were the remains of the Sphinx,
of which we have so often read. The ruins are most imposing, excavations
were still being made. The Nile's inundations are fast making inroads,
undermining the foundations, especially at Luxor, which temple is
located so near the bank. We linger and gaze on the stupendous work,
even in its crumbling, tottering condition it is one of the wonders of
the age. We find the Scarabaeus are bought here to an advantage. The
Arabs, however, have no scruples in selling false beetles for the
genuine ones that are sometimes taken from the tombs in excavating. They
are becoming more and more rare. Mummies, so diminutive, made of metal
or plaster, Stela, a small column, having neither base or capital, which
are sold as the genuine antique, is manufactured almost within sight.
One of the amusing scenes on shipboard is to see purchasers comparing
these articles; their ignorance of their value is laughable. The beetle,
or Scarabaeus, is a symbol with this ancient people of "eternal
duration." We are told it lays its eggs near the shores of the Nile,
afterwards to roll them through the dust and sand to a safe place of
deposit, thus providing for a perpetuation of their species. I am not an
admirer of the beetle, consequently bought no reminders of the bug. I
did buy here a string of red cornelian beads, not for their value but as
good specimens. The trip to the tombs of the kings, most laborious of
all, I declined to take. I did not feel I was able, but by remaining
alone on board of the steamer was like choosing between two evils. The
days when the vessel is deserted the crew go through a systematic house
cleaning process. Truly, there is not a dry place for the sole of your
foot. My only safety was in bed, but even there intrusions were
frequent. Like all Oriental workmen, they sway the body and keep time to
the scrub brush and broom with their voices, in a monotonous wail of
Allah! Allah! After some six to eight hours it grows a trifle irksome,
as it is incessant, so that I quite resolved before the day was over
that tombs were pleasant places to visit and donkeys delightful animals
upon which to ride. When a half-hour's ride was suggested, the next day,
to the temple of "Rameses the Great" and tomb known as "35," I did not
remain on deck, but on the contrary wandered through the Judgment Hall
of Osiris, and through the temple of Medinah Kaboo; also inspected a
small temple of "Thotmas III," passing the "Colons" on our way to the
small boats, to which we were carried through the water in the arms of
natives. We lay at Luxor three days, leaving at 11:00 a. m. the fourth
morning after our arrival. We stopped at Esneh, where another temple was
on exhibition, and proceeded to Edfoo, where we tied up for the night.
There we saw really a wonderful temple, fresh from the hands of the
excavators. On the 12th of January we arrived at Assouan, at 4:00 p. m.,
and small boats were brought alongside the steamer for those who wished
to visit the "Elephantine caves." Not to see it would have been just the
thing you should not have missed. And again we buckled on the armor and
struck out direct from the shoulder. The sail around the island was an
agreeable pastime, but the Arabs clamoring for backsheesh and for the
sale of their beads, were beyond human endurance. I felt almost
murderous. I bought a few strings of beads, and for days, whenever I
touched them, each one seemed to cry aloud: backsheesh! backsheesh! We
went from Annan to Philae by train; and what a train! No provision
whatever for the comfort of the traveler. If by chance a seat was given
you, you were in luck; if none was secured, "you beat the bush" all the
way through the desert sands. The distance is not great. In a half or
three-quarters of an hour we are on the spot which artists have sought
and many have longed for and died without the sight. We lunch in among
the ruins, and are then led into the interior of the temple as it now
stands, falling and fallen. Crowds of little Arab children offer their
services as guides, and I recall, with a sense of pathetic pleasure, Mr.
George Hale, with his crown of grey hair, being led by one of these
little girls. "December and May"--old age and infancy. She was not over
five years old, poorly clad, with her silver amulet on a leather string
around her neck, and barefooted. In her hand she carried a Nile fly
brush, with which she would gently attempt to brush off from Mr. Hale
any invader, and in the same breath would whisk it with a vengeance in
the face of any of her comrades who sought to take her charge from her.
It was an amusing scene. Many purchase from these children their
amulet. I could but wonder if they were punished on returning to their
homes for having parted with their talisman, which are religiously
placed upon them in childhood. We now return to our boats. We are to
skirt the first cataract of the Nile. We are divided into groups, and
small boats are provided for each party. With fear and trembling we
embark, but confiding in the Arab pilot, who seldom fails in the work
assigned him, we soon regain our equilibrium. To me it was not as
perilous as the descent of Lachine Rapids, in the St. Lawrence River,
nor more exciting. That everlasting wail of Allah! Allah! was kept up
until we landed near our Rameses III, and until we had filled well the
bag with piasters that was handed around. We were not able to disembark.
As I hastened alone to the gang plank of our river home, I saw Mrs. John
A. Logan, whose boat had preceded ours, with her head of crowning glory,
stretched from the low window of her cabin and in her hand was the "Red,
white and blue" unfurled to the Nile zephyrs. I thought of Barbara
Frietchie, and exclaimed: "Take in your flag!" That night there was a
jollification on board, for the day following we were to begin our
descent of the Nile. We took on board many passengers who had gone up on
the previous trip of the Rameses III, and gone beyond to the second and
third cataract and had returned to Assuan for the downward trip. Among
these were the widow of Major General Jed Baxter, of Washington, D. C.,
and also Mrs. Stroud, of Philadelphia. Mrs. Logan brought Mrs. Baxter to
me, and introduced her. "Can this be my Mrs. Baxter?" I said, and she
replied: "And this my Mrs. Hunt, of whom dear Senator Morrill has so
often spoken?"

We were mutually bound together by one common friend, who had, by his
praise, made us friends without ever having met before. We were no
longer strangers. We stopped again at Luxor. There I had time, before
the night shades gathered around us, to call at the hotel Luxor, where a
gentleman with an attack of malarial fever had been transferred on our
upward trip. His wife and daughter I had become much interested in. They
were from the state of Maine, and we had mutual friends. They were glad
to see me again, and were feeling most depressed in their isolation, but
were buoyant with the hope that the husband and father would soon be
able to be taken back to Cairo. They had been able to secure a trained
nurse, and a good physician. I think Luxor is a military post. Many of
the passengers improved the shining hours in revisiting the bazaars and
by moonlight the gay, light-hearted and free among our young folks went
again to see the ruins of Karnak. We bought many photographs here, which
were most satisfactory. We next visited Keneh, where the jugs and
gargoulets are made, for the Nile water. The factories are near by and
many purchased these porous amphorae, hoping that in their own homes the
water poured in them might come out as deliciously cool as did the water
of the Nile.

We stop at Dirneh and Ballianah, but at Abydos we linger longer, where
we take a seven-mile ride to the temple of Seti, finding on those
sculptured walls much to admire. We lunched again in the ruins, and
having no desire to eat, I fed through the iron-barred gate my share to
the poor, wretched Arab children that swarmed around. I hate to recall
these poor, down-trodden people. Is life worth living to them? What I
declined to eat, they devoured with such voraciousness that it almost
made me hungry. I am told Cook & Co. are regarded by these natives as a
Godsend. He surely does much towards bringing them in touch with
humanity. And now a day's rest is to follow this tiresome one, and until
we reach Assouit we can rest without any rude alarms, which will be at
least for twenty-four hours. Confusion, worse confounded, was the scene
at the landing at Assouit. The wharf was piled high with parcels of
merchandise, the owner of each crying in a deafening voice, the
surpassing features of their commodities, pushing and pulling each other
to establish their rights. We dare not pass through this motley crowd to
mount our donkeys until our dragoman interfered, striking
indiscriminately right and left with his stick, which too often fell
upon their heads or backs. We did succeed in examining the rhinoceros
canes, made of hides, which sold at $5.00 apiece, and of teak wood,
which, we were told, were inclined to splinter. However, we took our
chances. There were also embroidered portieres, and draperies, most
elaborate Soudanese embroideries, specimens of which I gladly possessed
myself. If the crowd is too threatening, you can barter from the
steamer's deck. These Arabs are very dexterous; they bundle their goods,
and with a grace we know not of, throw them up to the deck for
inspection. Woe betide the unfortunate one who attempts to return the
articles by the same process, if by mischance the precious bundle falls
into the water. Sheiks rush in frenzy, and the noise from the crowd
grows like the roar of a mighty cataract; and in one case of the kind,
where the party was unlucky in his aim, he was compelled, for the peace
of the passengers, to pay for the lost articles. I heard among the crowd
on deck some one exclaim: "This is great fun!" Perhaps it is, but I
failed to appreciate it.

At 4:00 p. m., the 19th of January, we landed in Cairo, a tired but a
wiser crowd, and we are not yet through the wilderness. O, for a Moses!
Why did he not survive the Deluge? Backsheesh from every one of that
crew. Those who had brushed the dust or sand from your shoes or clothes
as you flew by them at each landing place; those with shoo-fly or
brushes, whom we had never encountered during the entire trip, were in
line for a piaster, to say nothing of the big fees expected by the male
attendants at table and in your cabin. But greatest of all were the
expectations of the dragomen, who were most sullen if anything less than
one or two pound note or gold piece was offered them. It is safe to say
to go under "Thomas A. Cook & Co.'s auspices up the Nile," you cannot
get off without paying at least three hundred dollars for a three-weeks'
excursion. Already, competing companies at reduced prices are
manifesting themselves, and I heard with perfect satisfaction to their
patrons, but the Sheiks, they say, are bought up by the "Cook's." How
much of this is Nile gossip, I did not attempt to fathom. I had made the
trip; never missed but one excursion, and still being in the body, gave
thanks that it was finished.

We were again booked for Shephards. What a cosmopolitan crowd gathered
in the exchange of that hostelry that evening. Many permanent guests for
the season; many more in a transition condition; many waiting for the
return of our vessel, as it was the best on the river, to go again on
that bourne, from which most travelers return. The room allotted me was
on the ground floor; I think in my weakness I would have accepted it,
but Mrs. Stroud and Baxter, my patron saints, declared it unfit for me,
and a cot was placed in a large upper room which had been assigned these
ladies, and I was forced by them to take the best bed. At the end of
three days the crowd grew less and accommodations better, and a sunny,
bright room was given me all to myself. Can such kindness as those
friends conferred upon me ever be forgotten? Not by me, nor those of the
name who come after me. One is not apt to forget an "oasis in the
desert." Having decided to remain in Cairo for at least two weeks, in
anticipation of meeting a friend who had followed in my wake "around the
world," I decided to have some repairs made in my wardrobe, such as old
buttons taken off, new ones in their place; new veils, new gloves, etc.
All this was done at a little shop near by, kept by an English woman
named Cole. There Mrs. Baxter accompanied me, and I came out quite
renewed, as far as my clothes were concerned. Having a spark of life yet
remaining, and with my usual amount of energy, I was again persuaded to
go to Jerusalem with a party, rather than to remain for the Bombay
steamer that was, I supposed, to bring my friend with whom I had agreed
to return home. When the proposition was made me by Mrs. Logan--I will
confess, even to my grandsons, to a little irreverence--the very thought
of more temples to see and more tombs to encounter, was a trifle too
much for my endurance, and I simply said "No! Not if I expected to meet
my Lord!" for to tell you the truth, I expected and felt He would come
and meet me if rest was not soon obtained. But after a week's sojourn in
Cairo I agreed to join the party and go over to Jerusalem and Damascus
for a brief stay of ten days. Plans were made with T. Cook & Sons for
dragomen and provisions, when all were frustrated by quarantine being
declared. Our only escape from Egypt was to be made by Brindisi and
Marseilles. All ports of the Turkish dominion were shut off from us on
account of several cases of cholera which had broken out in Alexandria.
"To arms" was never before more readily responded to than by the inmates
of that caravansary. Tickets were secured by those who had not yet
bought. I had, in purchasing mine at Bombay, bought through to
Marseilles; luggage was brought forward, big bags, little bags and my
"Cheap Jack" was much in evidence. Lunch baskets were prepared by the
hotel for the journey to Ismalia that resembled great wooden bird cages.
Among those friends we left behind were those destined for the Nile trip
and a few habitues of Cairo, not easily frightened. With homesick eyes,
those of our country followed us, and as a parting gift gave us lovely
bouquets of flowers.

I must, before leaving Cairo, give an account of a large ball given in
honor of those who had been up the Nile, and those who were awaiting a
departure thence. It was given by the proprietors of Shepheards. The
salon was cleared of its tables and the military band assisted the house
musicians in furnishing music. The crowd was large, but I speak
truthfully and without exaggeration when I say that American women take
the palm in dancing. There is a stiffness, a want of gracefulness, in
those ladies of foreign nations. We were shocked by the innovation of
the British army officers, with their red coats, and swords dangling at
their side, which were permissible in this Oriental city, but when their
spurs were worn, to the detriment of the gauzy draperies of ladies
participating in the dance, it was a breach we could not overlook.




FROM EGYPT TO FRANCE


And now we are in Ismalia, our sailing port. Two steamers are
momentarily expected; one bound for Brindisi, the other for Marseilles.
The poor hotel accommodations were emphasized when this avalanche of
people came down upon them. After baggage was identified and there was
no room in the inn for many of us, I selected a sofa in the drawing
room, on which to rest till the signal was given that the "Caledonia"
was in sight. It was not a bed of roses, but many around me had a worse
accommodation; but upon it I became half unconscious from sheer
exhaustion, when a tender hand was laid upon me, and a kind, persuasive
voice whispered in my ear: "Come with me; there is room for you with
us." Almost reluctantly I arose and followed Mrs. Logan, who had,
through her well-known forethought, secured two apartments for herself
and party, the latter having agreed to double up and give me the extra
cot in Mrs. Logan's room. We expected surely the cry would come at
midnight, and we slept with one eye open to sight our steamer's coming.
It was a cold, moonlight night. The desert's glistening sands were on
one side of us, the sparkling waters of Lake Tesmah in the Suez Canal
on the other. There was a bird with a lone, peculiar cry that added
loneliness to the scene, and when the morning light dawned upon us we
were still in Ismalia. A most inhospitable breakfast was served us, and
at nine o'clock came the welcome cry: "Ship ahoy!" The wharf from off
which these steamers anchored was near to the hotel and a procession of
yawning pedestrians was soon on its wending way, followed by innumerable
dragomen, who were still in anticipation of one more backsheesh, and a
crowd of blear-eyed, frowsy Arab children brought up the rear. Breakfast
was awaiting us on the good old ship "Caledonia," and a warm welcome
from Capt. Andrews. My spirits rose, and my traveling friends, Mrs.
Wilbur and her daughter, soon were on deck, taking in the surroundings.
We landed at Port Said about 5:00 p. m. I invested my last piaster in an
olive wood paper cutter. Port Said is said to be the most wicked place
on earth. As I hailed from Chicago I thought perhaps honors were even.
We did not go ashore, but got our steamer chairs in readiness for the
next day, as we were told we would have a choppy sea, and we fully
realized the truth of the prophecy. Our cabins proved the safe retreat,
and there I remained until we reached Brindisi, at 6:00 a. m., February
the 5th. At 5:30 we were called on deck by a visit from the health
officers, as our vessel hailed from an infected district. All bore the
inspection and we soon set sail again and landed in Marseilles the 7th
of February. My baggage was soon O. K.'d, and a cab took me with my
luggage to the hotel. Later in the day I took a drive through the city,
and was much impressed with the growth since a former visit in 1881. Off
the coast of Marseilles is built the famous prison Chateau d'If,
immortalized by the author of Monte Cristo, a fine view of which is seen
from the church of Notre Dame, built on a high rock on the outskirts of
the city. The train for Paris leaves at 9:00 p. m., and after a fair
night's rest, I am in the French custom house, where I have no trouble.
A cab is secured for me and I land safely in time for coffee and rolls
at Madame Therries, where I am expected. A hasty toilet and refreshments
taken, gave me fresh strength, and I soon found my way to Brown &
Shipley, bankers, where I found eight letters from home. I took up one,
the latest date; found from its contents "all were well," and I retraced
my steps to my own apartment, where I spent a most blessed day, reading
and writing letters.

Paris, as it is to-day (1896) strikes a visitor as one of the most
cleanly, most attractive cities in the world with its triumphal arches,
which Napoleon had erected in commemoration of his victories, one of
which, "The Arc de Triomphe," was begun in 1806, although the work was
not completed till 1836, long after the founder and architect had passed
away. This arch is the largest in the world. The arch is ninety feet
high and forty-five feet wide. It is considered too narrow for its
height, and the insignificant ornaments along the top of the structure
destroy all grandeur of outline. You will find "Hare's Walks" your best
guide book for Paris and its surroundings. A year and a half's
researches are herein condensed. I never fail to revisit Versailles,
when the opportunity presents itself. Your early studies in history will
enable you, in later life, after seeing this beautiful architectural
pile, to long for a more extended history. The fountains are only in
full play on the Sabbath day, and throngs of people of all walks in
life, are seen in these grounds and crowd the corridors of historical
paintings. La Madeline, one of the popular churches, resembles a Pagan
temple. Begun by Louis XV (1777) as a church, and finished under Louis
Philippe in 1832, it resembles the Parthenon of the Greeks. You will
hear fine music at the Church of "La Trinita," but the Parthenon is full
of interest. The first church on or near this site was built by Clovis,
and dedicated to St. Genevieve; it was burnt by the Normans and after
numerous changing of owners, it was finally, by the order of Louis XV,
torn down and rebuilt, as a votive offering to St. Genevieve, who he
believed to be his patron saint during his extreme illness. The first
stone of the new church was laid by this king in 1764, and was completed
by the architect, Rondelet, the pupil of the first architect Soufflot
(deceased), in 1780. It is the burial place of illustrious citizens.
Its possession was in a transition state for years; first a church of
God, then a resting place for the immortal dead. At length, in 1885, it
was taken from the worship of God and given Victor Hugo, whose tomb to
the right as you enter is usually the first to be shown. The tombs of
Voltaire and Rousseau are empty, having been pillaged during the
revolution. Pere La Chaise and Montmartre are cemeteries where familiar
names are recorded on tombstones and mausoleums. In the former lie
Abelard and Heloise, the tragedienne Rachel, and the open sarcophagus
ready for the remains of Sarah Bernhardt, when she, too, shall lay off
this mortal coil. There are in Pere La Chaise, and in Montmartre, many
musical celebrities. While I was there, in April or May (1896), Ambrose
Thomas' funeral cortege solemnly wended its way from La Trinita to this
field of tombs. The funeral dress of the Frenchman is what we term full
evening dress. The bier or catafalque is clothed in black broadcloth,
embroidered in silver. The floral offerings are piled upon it; colossal
wreaths of violets and immortelles, strung on wire, are emblematic in
their designs. No music on that lonely march on foot but the quiet tread
beats a requiem for the dead.

Fine views are obtained from the galleries of the Trocadero. In the same
vicinity is the "Palais d'Industrie," which was used in 1852-55 for the
great exposition, and will be utilized again in 1900 for another fair.
The shops of Paris are small; the windows seemingly contain most of the
stock. We must except those great magazines, the "Louvre" and the "Bon
Marche."

"The Musee de Luxembourg, by the order of Louis XVIII, contains only
such works of living artists as were acquired by the state. The works of
each artist are removed to the galleries of the Louvre ten years after
his death; the pictures are constantly changing. The walks in the Garden
of the Luxembourg are the best types of ancient palace pleasance. They
are considered the pleasantest spots in Paris. The character of the
Louvre has changed from a fortress or a state prison (1367) to a picture
gallery. It was the great dungeon tower in the center of this palace, or
castle, called the Louvre, that the great feudataires came to take or
renew the feudal oaths; it was there the great ceremonies took place.
The Louvre was enlarged by Charles V, who added many towers and
surrounded it with a moat, which was supplied from the Seine. He made a
palace into a complete rectangular, always preserving the great central
dungeon tower. Francis I destroyed this tower (1527). It took five
months to do this, as it was as strong as the day it was built. It was
regretted by the populace, because they lost the pleasure of seeing
great lords imprisoned there. The existing palace was begun under Pierre
Lescot in 1541. During Henry II's reign of twelve years, Lescot
continued his work. After Henry II's death his widow, Catherine de
Medici, came with her children to live in the new palace. Henry IV
united the buildings that Catherine de Medici had built with those she
had previously built, which, under the name of Tuilleries, were still
outside the limits of the town. And from this time no one touched the
Louvre till Richelieu demolished all that remained of the feudal
buildings and used only in rebuilding the existing wings as the half of
his facade of his new Louvre, and built two others on the same plan to
make the building a perfect square.

"While the minority of Louis XIV lasted, Anne of Austria lived with her
children in the Palais Cardinal, now Palais Royal, and even while the
work was going on at the Louvre, apartments were given to the exiled
Henrietta Maria of England, daughter of Henry IV, who met with most
generous treatment from her sister-in-law. Little more was done toward
improving the Louvre through the reigns of Louis XV and XVI, and then
came the revolution (1848). Napoleon III determined, as he was in power,
to unite the Tuilleries and Louvre into one great whole. This was
carried out and accomplished in 1857."

During my visits to Paris (1881 and 1896) the repairs to the central
facade of the Tuilleries had not been made. This unmeaning, desolate
space presents to the mind the ruthless hand of war in the conflict of
man's ambition for supremacy. Before the revolution of 1876, historians
tell us that between the beautiful chestnut avenues, across the
brilliant flowers and quaint orange trees of the garden, beyond the
sparkling glory of the fountains, rose the majestic facade of a palace,
infinitely harmonious in color, indescribably picturesque and noble in
form, and interesting beyond description from its associations, the one
spot to be visited by strangers, which attracted the sympathies of the
world.

We see the Arc de Triomphe du Carousal, built in 1806, by Fontaine, for
Napoleon I. The car and horses are a reproduction of the famous group on
St. Marks at Venice, which Napoleon captured, but were afterwards
restored by the allies. The street scenes of Paris are most
entertaining, but to enjoy it in its perfection, go when you are young,
before your muscles grow stiff and your eyes dim, for the "run for your
life" requires agility and good vision.




HOMEWARD BOUND


We now bid "au revoir" to Paris, and cross the English channel, from
Calais to Dover, without any great inconvenience. And mighty Neptune did
not call on us for many returns of the day. We proceed from Charing
Cross station to the hotel of the same name, where we remain until we
obtain more pleasant surroundings in the west end of London. Daily
excursions, always on top of omnibuses, when there were seats for us,
run to the Picadilly, Pall Mall, down Regent and Oxford streets and into
Dickens' haunts, when time afforded, out to St. John's Woods, and
without fail to Kensington, to the Museum, which is most absorbing of
time and interest. We take carriages and drive through Carleton terrace
and through streets where the city homes of the royalty are located. To
drive in Hyde Park or Rotten Row, with a crest on your carriage door,
would be fine, but as we had left our crests at home we were denied many
of those privileges. I recall here with pleasure an opportunity that was
afforded my daughter and myself, in 1881, while on a visit to
Kensington. While wandering in the vicinity of Albert Hall, we were
attracted by crowds of people gathering roundabout its doors. On inquiry
we learned a bazaar was in progress therein for the benefit of some
London hospital. By paying the admittance fee of one pound each ($5.00)
we could enter, where we could see royalty, each person of note in his
or her booth with the name attached. "Maidens like moths are caught by
glare," and we were soon in regal atmosphere. Here were ladies of high
degree, dressed in Queen Anne's style, who had been brought thither by
lackeys in sedan chairs of that ancient class. Most marvelous was the
display of jewels which met our bewildering gaze, and these high-born
ladies, with their pretty feet and high insteps, delicately formed hands
and tapering fingers, gave evidence of good blood. We were approached by
these noble men and women, soliciting us to take chances in prizes that
were to be raffled off, but we declined for two reasons. In the first
place, we could not see how we could accommodate in our steamer trunks
the huge Chinese umbrella, under whose shade at least fifty people or
more could find shelter at a garden party, and the greater reason why we
did not invest was that our entrance fee was quite enough for the good
cause. However, we felt ourselves most favored at this extraordinary
opportunity of witnessing the gentle manners, and hearing the musical
intonation of voice that marks good birth.

On Sunday afternoon we went in search, in the east end of London, for
the "Palace of Delight," and its surroundings. We took the tramway and
inquired of a demure, missionary-looking lady, the way to the most
degraded quarters. She replied: "You are in that region now," and having
no male escort, we were not particularly over-confident of our position.
The streets were swarming with children; some fairly well clad, others
ragged and soiled. Groups of men and women, many in Sunday attire,
others whose habiliments were evidences of great want and poverty. But
few were hilarious. On the contrary, serious countenances betrayed
earnest conversation between and by these groups of people. We
encountered no special exhibition of degradation; but upon the women's
faces we detected the marks of toil and care, and in many of their
offspring, idiotic, expressionless faces. Woman's work among women may
bring in God's own good time a fulfillment of things hoped for. Again, I
recall a scene I witnessed in 1881. We were inmates of Mr. Burr's hotel,
as he termed it. Among his guests were people of some distinction. Mrs.
Mary Livermore, of Massachusetts, was in this category. She had been
sent over by her state or the city of Boston, to investigate the "Coffee
Houses" of London, and Mr. Burr was known as a philanthropist in that
city. Preparations were made to see London by gas light, and I was among
the few invited to go with Mrs. Livermore. Two carriages were provided
for the party, and each held besides four occupants, a seat either for
Mr. Burr or his son, with the respective coachmen. We drove to the
station and then took the steam cars to "Wandsworth," a short distance
from London. On disembarking we walked to one of the public resorts
known as a "Coffee House," where light refreshments, with tea, coffee
and chocolate are offered at a trifling price; also a bottled drink
labelled Ozone, which had no intoxicating influence. These institutions
were for the congregating of the laboring classes, where they might
spend an hour or so in discussing the news of the day, or in social
intercourse, where no intoxicating beverages could be obtained, and
which served to entertain and keep them off the streets or from dens of
infamy. Here husband and wife, with clean hands and faces, and perhaps
sweethearts for aught we knew, were apparently happy in this hour of
recreation. Mrs. Livermore was asked to speak to that body of people,
and her satellites drew close around her, not knowing how she would be
received. Suffice to say that motherly face drew the attention of all,
and the appeals she made to men and women present drew many a tear from
the female portion, and to suppress an emotion, an apologetic cough
issued from rough exteriors. We retraced our steps to London and there
our carriages awaited us. We were driven to the "Seven Dials," and worse
places, if possible, where we were subjected to jeers and penetrating
glances into our carriage by the passers-by. Across these streets were
hung clothes lines and under the glare of electric or gas lights could
be inspected the second-handed garments that were hung thereon.
Markets, whose stale and unhealthy condition revealed itself to our
sensitive nostrils, and we were glad to turn away from this unkempt
crowd to a theatre in close proximity, whose doors were thrown open
early to those who could afford a penny or more to enter. On the stage
was a young girl, dressed in clean apparel. A check apron gathered at
her neck and fell nearly to the tops of her shoes. She was amusing the
audience with a dance they called a "hoe down." She kept time to the
music by the clatter of slip-shod shoes. Then some "Punch and Judy"
exhibition followed, and refreshments similar to those we saw at
Wandsworth, were passed around, from which the hungry could appease
their hunger, and with the tea and coffee, their thirst was satisfied
for a mere trifle.

Thus the hours wore away which might have otherwise been spent, and
would have rendered these people unfit for the next day's work. By ten
o'clock all was over, and a very orderly crowd dispersed, we will hope,
to their homes. The theaters in London are well patronized. I saw among
other plays the "Prisoner of Zenda," and realized fully that to wear the
court train, and handle it, and yourself gracefully must be to wear it
often. The boxes are well patronized by coroneted women. I saw no one
who struck me as being to the manor born. The universal law of removing
all head covering is most strictly observed. The average appearance of
the English woman does not compare with dainty, well-gowned French
woman, but neither English nor French rival the American woman, when she
starts out to please. No one visits London for the first time without
seeing the tower, with its grewsome walls and its regal splendor of the
crown jewels. The national and royal academies claim many hours, and to
visit the churches and cathedrals one makes haste.

We were in London on Easter Sunday. We heard in his own pulpit Dr.
Parker and, more than that, his wife, now deceased, stood on the left of
the pulpit. Before the sermon by her husband, she appealed to the women
of London, as well as the women of every nation, to spare the birds, and
repeated several verses of her own composition in their behalf.

We fully intended to visit the cathedral towns of England, but sickness
of one of our party, deprived us of that privilege, and after a lot of
shopping, and more sight-seeing, we spent one day at Windsor, and saw
the Eton College grounds. Not far away, but in sight, I believe, of
Windsor Castle, is "Stoke Pogis," made memorable by "Gray's Elegy."

Her majesty, the queen, was not at home. We were shown one room in
particular, which has been thrown open to the public since my visit
there in 1881; that was, the one containing the "jubilee gifts of
1897," when hearts and hands must have been emptied in making these
royal presents. The treasures of India were there, those of Afric's
sunny shores, and from every nation and every tribe that acknowledged
Victoria. Queen and empress, each and all, poured forth their trophies
at her feet. Her stables were shown us, well stocked with thoroughbred
steeds from far off Arabia and the Shetland Isles.

"Time and tide waits for no man," and we are booked for the "Augusta
Victoria," that sails April ----, 1896. Some love to roam, but I like it
better when I am nearer home. Our trip across the Atlantic is not what
we hoped for, and a choppy sea with an occasional swell made us feel
uncomfortable. I had the pleasure in Paris of making the acquaintance of
a gentleman, wife and young lady daughter, who invited me to return to
America in their company, and seldom, if ever, has it been my lot to
have my lines cast among more delightful people than they and, although
our homes are far apart, my heart often goes out to them.

When our own home port is sighted and the sensation the appearance of a
custom-house officer always creates is over, and the welcome "O. K." is
visible on our luggage, we feel like taking off our chapeau to "Liberty
Enlightening the World."

It is midnight when we land on the Jersey shore, and the gallant
captain, no less courteous on land than on sea, bids us return to our
cabins and rest, when we have obeyed our country's mandate, the custom
house officer.

A hasty breakfast and a few good-byes are spoken, and my heart swells
within me, as I spring from the gang-plank to the shore, and the lines

    "My native country, thee,
    Land of the noble free,
      Thy name I love;
    I love thy rocks and rills,
    Thy woods and templed hills,
    My heart with rapture thrills
      Like that above,"

seem to express all and more than all that I could say.

A short stay of a few hours in New York, and an uneventful trip on the
New York Central Railroad brought me into Chicago, where those nearest
and dearest to me were in waiting to bid me welcome home. And now in
closing, my dear children, I will say: "That if the work I have done in
leaving you these impressions and footprints, gives the pleasure hoped
for, I will feel compensated, notwithstanding I have labored when the
flesh was weak and my vision clouded. When you have reached my age
(sixty-three), when youth and vigor are not in their fulness, this work
of love may then be appreciated."

                                   Your Grandmother,

                                     ELEONORA HUNT.

    Nov. 20, 1897.





End of Project Gutenberg's My Trip Around the World, by Eleonora Hunt