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 (2¼ 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:

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.