All of these structures are kindred in design, reproducing here at Tanjore the spirit and many of the same figures which were seen at Madura and Trichinopoly. As they are the temples of the same idolatrous race this is natural. All are many centuries in age, and are characterized by grotesqueness, lasciviousness, caricature, and infinite detail of finish. Though they are outrageously gaudy in colors, yet are they on so grand and costly a scale as to create amazement rather than disgust. It would seem that a people equal to such efforts must have been capable of something far better. In all grosser forms of superstition and idolatry, carnal and material elements seem to be essential to bind and attract the ignorant; and this was undoubtedly the governing policy of a religion embodying emblems so outrageous to Christian sensibility. This grand pagoda at Tanjore, taken as a whole, was the most remarkable religious monument we saw in India. The city has, as prominent local industries, the manufacture of silk, cotton, and muslins. It is also surrounded by vast rice-fields the product of which it largely exports to the north. Another day upon the cars traveling due north brought us to Madras, where we found a good hotel and excellent accommodations, to which we were in a frame of body and mind to do ample justice.

In traveling through southern India to this point, we observed frequently on the route of the railroad strange monuments and many ruins of temples, pagodas, and odd structures of stone, manifestly serving in by-gone ages some religious purpose. Now and again in open fields, or more generally by small groves of trees, there were mammoth stone elephants, horses, bulls and cows, more or less crumbled and decayed by the wear of centuries, but evidently objects of worship by the people who constructed them, being still held too sacred to be meddled with by the ignorant and superstitious natives, whose mud hovels cluster about them. At several points, away from any present villages or hamlets, large irregular circles of heavy, unwrought stones were observed in open fields, or near to some mounds of grass grown earth, perhaps covering the remains of former shrines. These seemed of the same character and called to mind the ancient debris which still exists at Stonehenge, and undoubtedly marked the spot of ancient sacrifice. Large flocks of goats tended by herdsmen were distributed over the plains, and so level is the country that the eye could make out these groups for miles away on either side of the track. Well cultivated plantations of sugar-cane, plantains, rice, wheat, and orchards of fruit were constantly coming into view from the cars. The olden style of irrigation was going on by means of the shaduf, worked by hand, the same as was done in the East four thousand years ago; while the very plow, rude and inefficient, which is used upon these plains to-day, is after the fashion belonging to the same period. Indeed, except that the railroad runs through southern India, there seems to have been no progress there for thousands of years. A lethargy of the most hopeless character appears to possess the people. Their mud cabins are not suitable covering for human beings, and are distanced in neatness by the colossal ant-hills of wooded districts. Such a degraded state of humanity can hardly be found elsewhere among semi-civilized races. The women seemed to be worn down by hardships, and were pitiable to look upon; but the men were of dark hue, straight in figure, always thin in flesh, and remarkably like our American Indians. Nudity is the rule among them, clothing the exception. It seems like a strange assertion, but it is a fact, two thirds of the human family go naked in the nineteenth century.

Madras is situated on the open Bay of Bengal, without even the pretense of a harbor, though a grand stone breakwater, like that at Ceylon, is in course of construction. It is after the plan which was adopted by De Lesseps at Port Said, forming the Mediterranean entrance of the Suez Canal. The material which is being employed for the purpose is also the same, and is composed of a conglomerate of small stones and cement in the form of large cubes. The Prince of Wales, when on his visit to India some five or six years since, laid the foundation stone of this structure, but though it is so much needed it seemed to us to grow very slowly. No more unprotected spot could be found on the surf-beaten shore of the Coromandel coast, so completely is it exposed to the fury of the northeast monsoons. It is singular that it was ever selected for a commercial port, being inaccessible to sailing vessels from October to January, and yet it was the first capital of the British possessions in India. Such a surf is nearly always to be found on the shore that nothing but the peculiar boats of the natives can pass it, and in foul weather it is in vain for even them to attempt it. Nevertheless along this inhospitable shore, for a distance of several miles, there extends a thriving, finely laid out city, with a population of nearly half a million.

Madras is spread out over a very large territory, with broad open fields and squares, some designed for drill grounds, some for games of ball, some purely as ornamental, with choice trees and shrubs. An abundant and handsome growth of trees all about the city, lining the thoroughfares and beautifying the open squares, testifies to the judicious attention given by the authorities to this species of ornamental and grateful shade, necessary in so warm a climate. We remember especially a fine and quite remarkable avenue of banyan-trees on what is called the Mowbray Avenue. The wide streets are admirably kept, being carefully macadamized, over which carriage wheels glide with noiseless motion. This description applies, however, only to the European portion of the town, with its fine public buildings, consisting of many literary and scientific institutions, as well as educational and charitable ones. The native portion of Madras is contracted, mean, and dirty in the extreme, the common people showing a degree of indigence and indifference to decency which is absolutely appalling to witness in so large a community, but it was quite in accordance with what we had observed farther south. The elaborate English fort is one of the strongest and best constructed fortifications in the East, forming a most prominent feature of the city, and crowning a moderate rise of ground contiguous to the shore with its attractive surroundings, white walls, graceful though warlike buildings, flower plats, and green, sloping banks. Fort George was the original name of Madras. The noble light-house is within the grounds,—a lofty structure considerably over a hundred feet in height, and visible nearly twenty miles at sea. Near this spot, along the coast to the northward, are the rock-cut temples of Mahabalihuram, rendered familiar by Southey's charming poetry.

At night we were lulled to sleep by the hoarse, sullen roar of the restless waters. By day it was curious to watch the long surf-washed beach, directly in front of our hotel, and to see the fishermen struggle with the waves in their frail, but well adapted native boats, called catamarans. These are constructed of three pieces of timber, ten or twelve feet long, tied securely together with cocoanut fibre; the middle one being longer than the others, and curved upwards at each end. Two men generally go together, and force them through the water with short paddles used alternately on either side. We saw them repeatedly washed off by the surf; but as they are naked and good swimmers, they either reach the boat again, or, if driven away from it by the sea and undertow, regain the shore. Sometimes only one is washed off, but not unfrequently both are compelled to swim back to the shore where the frail boat itself is soon after thrown high upon the beach by the power of the waves. We were told that it was a very rare circumstance for one of these Madras boatmen to lose his life by drowning, as they become such expert swimmers.

A peculiar boat is also used between the wharves and the shipping, which come to anchor some distance off shore, landing passengers or taking them from the shore to the ship. Even where these boats are used, partially protected by the half-completed breakwater, no common boat would answer the purpose, or would stand the strain. The surf runs high even here, though not so fiercely as on the open beach. The Madras boat is large and light, constructed of thin planks sewed together with hide thongs, and caulked with cocoanut fibre. No nails enter into its construction, nor would answer the purpose, which the yielding thongs only are fitted for. Each of these boats is propelled by at least eight rowers, who use an oar shaped like a spoon, being a strong elastic pole with a flat, rounded end, securely lashed to it by hide thongs. The men pull regularly until they get into the surf, and then they work like mad, and the light boat is landed high and dry on the shelving sands.

Along the shore of the business section, the broad street is lined with lofty commercial warehouses, custom house, hongs and godowns, and we observed considerable building in progress just at this point. The submerged breakwater should be brought up to its proper height before anything else is attempted in or near the bay. Anchorage is very precarious, large steamers being compelled to keep up steam to ease any strain which may come upon their land tackle. One large iron vessel lay a wreck upon the beach, and was sold at auction, to be broken up, while we were there. She was loaded with coal for the depot of the P. and O. line.

In driving and strolling about the city we noted many local pictures. Groups of professional dancing girls are to be seen in all of the cities of India, generally attached to some temple, as no religious ceremony or gala day is considered complete without them; and indeed the same may be said of any large private entertainment, as guests never dance in the East, preferring to hire such work done for them. These dancers are accompanied by a musical instrument very much like a guitar, and sometimes by tambourines and fifes. Many of the girls are delicate and graceful both in form and manner. Those who adopt the calling consecrate themselves to it by some religious ceremony, and ever after are connected with the temples. They preserve decency and propriety in their public performances, which is curious to witness; their ankles being covered with silver bells and their wrists and arms similarly decked. Their effort appears to be that the bells should be so agitated as to ring in harmony with the instruments; but the fact is there is no harmony about either. These girls depend more in their performance upon pantomime, expression of features, pose of body, and graceful posturings, than upon any great exertion of muscle.

In their peculiar performance there is no exposure of the person, as in the Parisian style of dancing, only half clad as they are. These Indian girls endeavor to tell a story by their dance: to express love, hope, tenderness, jealousy, and other passions, all of which are so well portrayed, as a rule, that one can easily follow their pantomime. When idle, they sometimes perform as itinerants in the streets and squares, as was the case when we chanced to see a small group at Madras. Positive information regarding them is not to be obtained, but enough was heard to satisfy us that they constitute a priestly harem.

After passing a very pleasant week in Madras, we sailed at daylight, on the 11th of January, in the P. and O. steamship Teheran, for Calcutta, through the Bay of Bengal, a five days' voyage. Soon after leaving the roadstead of Madras there was pointed out to us on the port bow the low lying coast of Orissa, India, where the famine of 1866 carried off one million of souls. As we drew northward a decided difference in the temperature was realized, and was most agreeable; the thermometer showing 70 deg. at Calcutta, in place of 90 deg. at Madras, so that portions of clothing, discarded when we landed at Ceylon, were now resumed. Since entering these southern waters we had remarked the entire absence of sea-gulls, so ever-present on the Atlantic and North Pacific; but the abundance of Mother Carey's Chickens, as the little petrel is called, made up for the absence of the larger birds. It is swallow-like in both its appearance and manner of flight, and though web-footed is rarely seen to light on the water. It flies very close to the surface of the sea, frequently dipping for food; but never quite losing its power of wing, or at least so it appeared to us. Sailors, who are a proverbially superstitious race, seriously object to passengers at sea who attempt to catch the petrel with hooks baited with food and floated on the water, or by any other means, contending that ill-luck will follow their capture.

The ocean currents along the coast of Coromandel are marked and curious, requiring special care in navigation. Unless observations can be had by aid of the sun at noon-day, no ship is sure of her position; dead reckoning will not answer here. We were reminded in these waters of other currents: the Gulf Stream, for instance, on our own shore, finds its rise in the tropics, say in the Caribbean Sea and Gulf of Mexico, moves northeast along the American coast, gets a cant on the banks of Newfoundland, and after crossing the Atlantic, spends its force on the shores of Western Europe. The Japan Current, as it is called by seamen, originates in the Indian Ocean, moves northward along the eastern shore of Asia, and is divided by the Aleutian Islands and the Alaska Peninsula, one branch going to the Arctic Ocean, and the other along the west coast of America into the South Pacific. These details become very interesting to the traveler when passing long weeks upon the ocean, observing how the vessel in which he sails is either favored or retarded by these known forces.

Our course was due north until we anchored at the mouth of the Hoogly River to await a favorable tide, finally arriving at Calcutta on the evening of the 15th of January. The intricate navigation of the Hoogly, with its treacherous sands and ever-shifting shoals, is conducted by a pilot system especially organized by government, and is composed exclusively of Englishmen. No vessel can hope to ascend the river safely without being in charge of one of these pilots. We saw a large iron steamship, which was a quarter of a mile ahead of the Teheran, in her attempt to make the mouth of the Hoogly, caught by an adverse current, through what seemed to be a very trifling miscalculation, and she was cast aground as quickly as though blown on a lee shore by a tornado. We passed her as we went in, with both her anchors out, adopting various nautical expedients to get afloat. As the accident occurred on a rising tide, we have no doubt that she finally got free from her dangerous position.

Calcutta is the political capital of India, but since the opening of the Suez Canal, Bombay rivals it in all commercial respects. It was rather surprising to find so poor a hotel as the "Great Eastern" proved to be. It is calculated to receive within its walls at least one hundred to one hundred and fifty guests, and yet does not present the ordinary domestic comforts to be found in an American country tavern. A good hotel is a prime necessity to any city, and is of more importance to the interests of the inhabitants at large, and to its trades-people especially, than is generally realized. We were told by our banker and others that the complaint in this matter was so general that a company was forming to give to the city a first-class hotel on the American system, a consummation devoutly to be wished. At present tourists visiting Calcutta would be prompted, as we were, to abbreviate their stay in the city, solely for want of a good temporary home.

Calcutta is a very interesting city, very Indian, notwithstanding so many Europeans live here and it has so long been under English rule; but it is by no means entitled to the name so often given to it, the "City of Palaces." It is quite modern, having no remains of antiquity in or about it, and in 1686 was but a mud village. As seen from the Hoogly when one first lands, it has a strong array of fine public buildings; but a passage of a few rods, diverging from the main thoroughfare, brings the visitor upon the dirty streets, the mean and narrow houses, and general filth of the native population. The city is strongly individualized, and it may be remarked that of all the capitals thus far visited no two are alike, or strongly resemble each other. All differ radically in manners and customs, modes of conveyance, dress, architecture, and local color. We visited some of the palaces of the native princes, which show in what extravagant style they formerly lived, until compelled to come under English control. Many of these structures were partially denuded, and none pretended to be kept up to their former standard.

The National Museum is an institution of great importance, rich in its various specimens of Hindoo curiosities, and also in the possession of an extensive zoological and mineralogical collection, the whole contained in a noble building of modern construction. The city has also a number of literary, scientific, and charitable institutions, libraries, social and political clubs, hospitals, and the like. The Government House is a fine specimen of architecture, and is built around an open square ornamented like a garden, but really little less than a citadel if necessity should require it to assume that form. Owing to the nature of England's possession here, Government House is under semi-military organization, always ready to meet a popular uprising, and containing powerful means of defense. The zoological garden is almost a rival to that of London, and in some respects is superior to it. The botanical garden, located about three miles from the city proper, is equally remarkable for its size and comprehensive character. The good taste and appreciation which has gathered here so large and complete a public garden is worthy of all praise.

In this garden there is an enormous banyan-tree, one of the largest in the world, and the original of the picture of the school-books. The leaves are very similar to those of the poplar, and are four or five inches long. Its age is incalculable, being a tree of very slow growth, and continually multiplying itself, so that it may be said to live forever. There is one remarkable avenue of Palmyra palms in these grounds, which we have never seen excelled in beauty of effect even in the plantation avenues of Cuba, where the family of the palm form the pride of the coffee planters. Here was also to be seen specimens of the sacred bo-tree and the camphor-tree of great size; one large conservatory was devoted solely to the cultivation of ferns, which the gardener said contained twenty thousand varieties, from the size of an infant's hand to tall trees.

The various shades of green in this conservatory were no less remarkable than the wonderful variety of form, all being arranged in the most effective manner. The tall tree ferns seemed ready to burst through the glass roof, and were ornamented with little hanging baskets on their branches, containing choice and delicate specimens, while at their base was a rockery over which played a tiny fountain, causing the exquisitely pinnated feathery fronds of the ferns to tremble incessantly. In another part was a little patch of mossy meadow, and again there were decaying logs out of which sprang various ferns in wild luxuriance, as one has seen them in deeply-shaded, low-lying woods. The maiden-hair fern was here seen ranging from leaves as large as one's thumb-nail to a species with leaves the size of pin-heads. There was a charming harmony in the whole arrangement; nothing seemed abrupt, each effect blended gracefully with those surrounding it, like well-balanced colors in an oil painting.

The King of Oude's palace, on the opposite side of the river, will well pay the traveler for a visit. The old king has a reputation of being a little out of his head, or, as the Scotch say, has a bee in his bonnet; at any rate, he is very queer, very fat, and very independent, with his allowance of half a million dollars per annum from the English government who dethroned him, at which time he was King of Oude, one of the richest provinces of India, Lucknow being the capital. He is said to be still a rebel at heart, and was a strong supporter of the mutiny. He is really a sort of state's prisoner in his own palace at Garden Reach, as the place is called, where he has a whole menagerie of animals, and is especially fond of tigers, of which he keeps over twenty in stout cages. He has also a large and remarkable collection of snakes, all Indian, and "millions" of pigeons. He pays fabulous prices for any bird or animal to which he takes a fancy, and is, of course, duly victimized by cunning dealers. He is a fanatic in religious observances, and confines himself within the palace walls, from one year's end to another, with his tigers, snakes, pigeons, priests, and women. He permits tourists to visit his grounds, but will himself see no one. It would not seem that he owes any affection to the English, who, under some specious pretense, seized his private property, including his valuable jewels, and sold them for the benefit of Queen Victoria's treasury. As was said by the British press at the time, the English had no more right to those precious stones and private property than they had to the crown diamonds of Russia.

The government fortifications here will interest travelers, as they are remarkable for completeness, and presenting the advanced ideas in the line which they represent. But we were most entertained and longest occupied in Calcutta by the native bazars, which, as usual, gave one a special insight into the character of the people, their tastes and occupations. An hour was passed of quite an impressive character at a large building inclosing a high-walled area on the banks of the river, known as the Burning Ghat, where the ceremony of cremating the dead is going on at all hours of the day and night. Seven corpses were brought in and placed upon the pyres, built up of unsawed cord wood in cob style, raised to the height of four feet, the fire being applied to a small handful of specially combustible material at the bottom. The whole was so prepared as to ignite rapidly, and in a very few moments after the torch was applied to it, the pile was wreathed in the devouring element. The atmosphere was impregnated with offensive odors, and one was fain to get on the windward side of the smoking mass. The Ghat was open to the sky, so that the ventilation was all that could be obtained. The bodies thus treated are entirely consumed in about three hours, during which the wood requires partial renewal, and all palpable signs having disappeared the ashes are solemnly cast into the sacred river close at hand, the Hoogly being one of the outlets of the Ganges. When first brought to the Ghat, a very simple and brief ceremony is held over each body, and then a member of the family of mourners which attend the burning applies the torch to the pyre. The custom is that this service should be performed by the oldest son of the deceased, if there be such a representative. The first time we witnessed such a scene was at the Calcutta Ghat, but our after experience, as to the disposal of the dead, was still more strange, as we shall have occasion to record in these notes. Close by this Burning Ghat, along the river front, there are a number of sheds, with only partial shelter from the street, where poor dying Hindoos are brought to breathe their last, believing that if they pass away close to the sacred water, their spirits will be instantly wafted to regions of bliss. Here they are attended by persons who make a business of it; and it was intimated to us that they often hasten the demise of the sufferers by convenient means. Human life is held of very little account among these people, whose blind faith bridges the gulf of death, and who were at one time so prone to suicide, by drowning in the Ganges, as to require strict police surveillance on the part of the English to prevent it.

At the close of each day, about an hour before sunset, all fashionable Calcutta turns out in state for a drive on the Maidan,—the Hindoostani name for esplanade,—a broad and finely macadamized roadway, extending along the river's bank, by the fort, the open cricket grounds, the parade, and the gardens, arranged as a circular course of a mile or more in extent, which would be perfection had it only a proper complement of shade trees. It is really a most delightful resort after the trying heat of the day, when the cooling influence of the twilight commences; in short it is the Indian Hyde Park, or Bengal Champs Elysees. The variety, elegance, and costliness of the equipages in grand livery that crowd the Maidan during the fashionable hour was a surprise, the whole scene enlivened by the brilliant dresses of the ladies, the dashing costumes, and gold lace of the nabobs, the quaint Oriental dress of their barefooted attendants, and the spirited music of the military band. The variety of nationality present was infinite; the participants in varied dress were Parsees, Hindoos, Mussulmans, English, Egyptians, with a sprinkling of French and Italians. The twilight hour is brief; the crowd dashed round the long course in the liveliest manner, until the amber shades deepened, and then a hundred electric lights of great power, shielded by ground-glass globes, flashed upon the scene, rivaling in effect the broadest daylight. Then the occupants of the open vehicles and the equestrians gathered about the Eden Gardens, where the music-stand is placed, and in ranks eight or ten lines deep, listened to the popular airs so finely rendered, or chatted gayly with each other during the intervals of the music. These Eden Gardens, always open to the public, with their tropical vegetation, picturesque temples, summer-houses, and refreshing ornamental waters, are a delightful resort in the after-part of the day, when their inviting shade can be best appreciated. The Cascine at Florence, the Pincio at Rome, the Chiaja of Naples, the Prado of Madrid, none of these can compare in point of gayety, variety, and attractiveness with the Maidan of this Indian capital.

It would seem that Calcutta ought to be a healthy city, but, as it regards English residents, it cannot be said to be so. A peculiarity in this connection was explained to us by an officer of the civil service, long resident in the East. Both himself and wife were our companions on board the Kashgar, on the voyage from Bombay to Suez, the gentleman being on leave of absence for a brief month's stay in England, where mother and father were going to meet their three children. It seems that pure blooded European children, even if born in India, are unable to struggle successfully against the enervating effects of its climate, and this applies not alone to Calcutta, but to all parts of the country. Until their sixth year, children apparently retain their health and the ruddy color of the race, but, soon after that age, they grow pale and wan, the listlessness of a premature decay setting in, or some mysterious blight steals over them. Thus, without the symptoms of any fixed disease, they droop and pine, like exotic plants. Nothing but a return to England, the home of their race, will restore them. The utmost care is of no avail. Even removing them to higher table-lands in the hill country has no saving effect. An English gentleman and his wife, who had long resided at Lahore, told us the same; they being also separated from their children, who had been born in India, but necessarily sent home to England to restore their fading health. This singular peculiarity is so well known, that its fatal results are now promptly guarded against by the one and only resort,—of parents and children submitting to separation.

The city is said to contain a million of inhabitants, but this seemed an excessive computation. The frail character of the native houses, in the section of Calcutta occupied by Indians, may be judged of by the fact that the cyclone, which visited the place the year after that of the famine at Orissa, destroyed over thirty thousand of their houses; and, three years later, in 1870, another cyclone was equally destructive among these dwellings. The Hoogly River is visited, during the monsoons, about the last of April, by a tidal wave, which dashes up from the sea at a speed of twenty miles an hour, causing much destruction. Ships lying off the city often part their cables, and are driven on shore; while many small craft, along the eighty miles of river course, are not unfrequently destroyed altogether.

Taking the cars of the Eastern Bengal Railway, we started for Darjeeling, in the extreme north of India, a distance of about four hundred miles from Calcutta. At Damookdea the Ganges was crossed, and the journey resumed by the North Bengal State Railway. At Siliguri the Narrow Gauge Himalayan Railway was taken, by which to ascend the mountains, and a wonderful piece of engineering it was found to be, doubling upon itself frequently in a distance of two hundred feet; in one place the train passing over a bridge which it had passed under a few minutes before. The railroad running up Mount Washington, in New Hampshire, though more precipitous, is less remarkable. The wild, extensive scenery on the route was a constant reminder of the Sierra Nevada mountains, through which we had passed by moonlight, in far-off America. As we progressed upwards, flocks of Tibet goats began to appear, and a hardier race of men and women than those we had left below on the plains of Hindostan. The road was being much improved, and laborers were busy all day along the route, consisting of men and women and young girls, all performing the same style of labor, with shovel and pick, each carrying a small basket of earth and stone on his or her back.

Among these laborers three distinct nationalities were observable, marked by dress, physiognomy, and figure. They were people from Tibet, Nepal, and Cashmere, which border on this part of northern India, and are separated from it by the Himalayan Range. These mingled races formed picturesque groups, the men armed with long, sword-like knives and other weapons, after the fashion of their native lands. Some of the young women were quite pretty, though a little masculine and sturdy in figure, appearing very much like their sisters of Alpine Switzerland. At the noon hour, they gathered in groups near the doors of their shanties on the abrupt hill-sides; where, throwing themselves on the ground, they partook of their coarse, midday meal, quite in gypsy style, about a smoking iron pot, suspended over a fire by a tripod. They watched us curiously, for the passing cars formed the one daily event, connecting them with the far-away populous cities of the plains, places of which they only knew by report. Our train consisted of two cars only, a first and a second class; but the engine, built especially for this service, puffed and snorted like mad, with the wildest vigor, in its struggle to surmount the steep grade, seeming to be vastly refreshed by a few moments' rest at the frequent watering-places. These consisted of a wooden trough running out of the hill-side, and supplied by one of the thousand tiny brooks that burst out everywhere. At these the thirsty little engine drank copiously, and often; until finally, after many hours, we rounded a high projecting cliff, and in a moment after reached the little station of Darjeeling, which signifies "Up in the Clouds."

We arrived early in the afternoon, and fortunately on a clear day, so we anticipated having the rare pleasure of witnessing the sunset upon the loftiest range of snow-clad mountains on the globe. As we rounded the bluff already spoken of, there burst upon our sight, for a few moments, a complete view of the range, lying under a clear sky and warm glow of sunlight, so entrancing as almost to take away one's breath. The imagination had never before depicted anything so grand and inspiring. Our little party could only point at it, and look into each other's eyes. Words would have jarred like a discord upon the ear. What the Bernese Oberland range is to the Alps, this Kinchinjunga group is to the sky-reaching Himalayas. The former, however, are but pygmies compared with these giants at Darjeeling. One gazes in amazement at the peaks, and almost doubts that they belong to the earth upon which he stands. Visitors from a distance are often compelled to depart in disappointment after waiting for days to obtain a fair view of the range. We had reason for gratitude in having reached this elevated spot at so propitious a season.

We ascended the nearest hill soon after arriving at the hotel, and, looking across the intervening valley, could count twelve peaks, the lowest of which was over twenty thousand feet in height, and the highest over twenty-eight thousand, upon which rested eleven thousand feet of perpetual snow,—the snow line being distinctly marked from east to west, as far as the eye could reach. There can be no animal life in that Arctic region, no pulsations of vitality. Only the snow and ice rest there in endless sleep, cold, pitiless, and solemn. The sun was slowly declining in the west, faintly burnishing a few silvery, transparent clouds, while it touched the pearl-white tops of the Himalayas with ruby tints, and cast a glow of mingled gold and purple down the sides most exposed to its rays. Every hue of the rainbow seemed to hang over the range, through which gleamed the snowy robe in which the peaks and sides were clad. The top of Kinchinjunga, the loftiest of them all, towering three thousand feet above its fellows, as it radiated the glory of the sunset, made one hesitate whether it was indeed a mountain top or a fleecy cloud far up in the sky. As we watched with quickened pulse, the sunset glow, like a lingering kiss, hung over the grand, white-turbaned peaks for a moment, as though unwilling to say good night, and then it suddenly vanished. The cool, dewy shadows gathered on the brow of Kinchinjunga like parting tears, and night closed swiftly over the deep intervening valley, shutting out the loveliness of the vision, but leaving its impress glowingly fixed upon the memory forever.

The Himalayas—meaning in Sanskrit the Halls of Snow—form the northern boundary of India, and shut out the country from the rest of Asia. Tibet, which lies just over the range from whence we viewed it and the wild region between, is virtually impassable for travel; and yet bold parties of traders from time to time, wrapped in sheep-skins, force their way over the passes at an elevation of eighteen thousand feet. It is a hazardous thing to do, and the bones of worn-out mules mark the frozen way, telling of suffering and abandonment. The little Yak cow, whose bushy tail is manufactured into lace, has been found to be the best and most enduring animal to depend upon when such journey's are made. She will patiently toil up the steep gorges with a heavy load on her back, and will drop in her very tracks before she shows any stubbornness or want of courage. Sheep are also used at times to carry bags of borax to market near the plains, where they are shorn of their fleece, and return to the mountains laden with salt. The culminating point of the range, and the highest peak in the world, is Mount Everest, a little more than twenty-nine thousand feet above the level of the sea; but it is rarely visible from Darjeeling. In an unsuccessful attempt to ascend Kinchinjunga not long since, an English physician very nearly lost his life, and was obliged to submit to the partial amputation of his feet. He still resides in the neighborhood in government employment.

The sunset view, already spoken of, had fully repaid us for the four hundred miles journey due north. On the following morning we rose betimes to see the meeting between the god of day and those white-robed sentinels of time. We hardly dared to hope for a clear atmosphere. Only the stars, perhaps a little weary with night-watching, were visible now. A fine sunrise to follow so beautiful a sunset would be almost too good fortune. The air was sharp and frosty, but we cared naught for the cold, now at freezing-point, as we were between seven and eight thousand feet above the level of the plains. Our anticipations were sufficiently exhilarating to keep us warm. First came a delicate gray tinge in the leaden sky as the morning seemed to partially awake from its slumber, and gradually a fitful light beamed out of the east, as the stars grew paler and paler. Objects about us became more distinct, until presently the white peaks came into view one after another. Then the veil of night was slowly removed, as Aurora extinguished the last of those flickering lamps, and the soft amber light touched the brow of each peak, causing it to blush like a beautiful maiden aroused from sleep, at sight of one beloved. After the first salutation the rays became bolder, more ardent, and poured their depth of saffron hues all over the range, which now blushed and glowed like mountains of opals, flashing and burning in the glad, glorious sunlight. Dazzling to look upon, it grew yet stronger every moment, until the mountains and valleys were flooded in an atmosphere of azure and gold, and every outline was filled in by the clear, fresh light of the dawn, completing for us an experience never to be forgotten, the loveliness of which neither tongue nor pen can adequately express.

It was not without an effort that one could descend from such elevating and inspiring delights to more material things, but over the coffee local matters of interest were discussed with our host. It appears that Darjeeling is becoming the centre of a great tea-producing district, and that India bids fair to rival China in a product which has seemed, from time immemorial, to belong to the latter country exclusively. English capitalists are buying up the land wholesale; and their agents, employing skilled labor, have already extensive tea plantations in full process of profitable yielding, and sending tea annually to market. At first it seemed strange to us to see the tea-plant flourishing at such altitudes, covering large reaches of the mountain sides; but the fact came to mind that the latitude of Darjeeling is about that of Florida and the West Indies, which solved the apparent incongruity. As to the product of these tea-fields, one could realize no difference in its flavor from that of the Chinese leaf. We were told that it brought a higher price in the European markets, being known as Assam tea. Cinchona was also being raised in the district to a considerable extent, and it was believed was specially adapted to the locality.

We ascended a high hill overlooking the valley and town of Darjeeling, and found upon its crest a sacred stone, where Buddhists had lately sacrificed some object which left the stains of blood, and where incense had recently been burned. It was in a primitive temple constructed of stones and stunted trees, surrounded by growing bushes. The neighboring branches of the trees were decked here and there with bits of red and blue cloth, which the guide explained as being Buddhist prayers. On some bits of paper adhering to the stones there were written characters which we could not understand, but which doubtless were invocations addressed to a superior power. From this elevation we enjoyed extensive and still different views of the Himalayas, and their diadems of frosted silver flaked with gold, while close at hand were seen the hundreds of thrifty tea plantations decking the sloping hill-sides. There are no roads at these extreme heights; it is all climbing to reach them, and the path so narrow that visitors advance only in single file.

Darjeeling is what is called in India a sanitarium; that is, a resort for Europeans from the plains during that portion of the year when it is too hot to reside in the cities. There is a fixed population of over three thousand. The viceroy's summer quarters are elegant and spacious, and there are churches, schools, and a club-room, with hospitals and barracks for army invalids. We saw groups of natives from the neighboring countries, lingering about the depot, quite willing to trade, and offering us their praying machines for filthy lucre. Some of these machines were of finely wrought silver and were expensive. In the centre of the town there is an open space devoted daily to an out-door bazar, where the itinerant traders spread a mat upon the ground and cover it with the articles which they wish to dispose of, seating themselves cross-legged on the ground by the side of their wares. Here we saw displayed copper coins from the neighboring countries, sweetmeats, fruit, beans, rice, betel-nuts, candles, baskets, and toys, besides heaps of various grains. Near the hotel there was an insignificant temple, at the entrance of which a hideous old woman was turning a big cylinder with a crank; a church praying machine. She seemed to have taken a contract to pray for the whole district, she worked so vigorously.

Some of the people in and about the neighborhood are of singular interest. One tribe was pointed out as belonging to the Sikkim race, known as Lepchas, who believe in spirits good and bad, but celebrate no religious rites. There were specimens of the Limboos, who are Buddhists, and whose out-door temple on the hill-top we had chanced upon. Again there were people known as Moormis, of large stature and originally from Tibet. The Nepal and Cashmere people were, small in size, compared to Europeans, but of hardy frames and stout limbs. These latter are very industrious and thrifty. There was some building of stone houses going on at Darjeeling, and some road making in the town; and it was observed that all carrying of stone, mortar, or other material, was performed by Cashmere or Nepal girls and women, who carry baskets of stone on their backs heavy enough to stagger an average American laborer. But these women, under such harsh usage, must become prematurely old.

After considerable hill climbing and exploration of the vicinity we started on our return to Calcutta, and having become acquainted with the grandeur of the scenery as a whole, were better prepared for closer observation in detail. It was all the way down hill now, and our spirited little engine, like a horse under similar circumstances, had more use for the breeching than the traces. However, the speed was a very lively one, and to the uninitiated appeared almost reckless. The pure white magnolia was found to be abundant on the mountain, blooming profusely at over seven thousand feet above the plains. Amid many other flowering trees, unknown to us, the magnolia was most prominent. The wild and abundant growth of the rhododendrons, which here become a forest tree, mingled with a handsome species of cedar, which rose in dark and stately groups, was a marked feature of the woods. The general luxuriance of the vegetation was conspicuous, thickly clothing the branches of the trees with mosses, ferns, and flowering creepers or orchids. Here we saw for the first time the cotton-tree, with red blossom, and which yields a coarse material for native use. A species of lotus was seen, called here "The Queen of the Forest." It belongs to the magnolia family, and the leaves are used by the common people in place of tea. Many bright and exquisitely delicate ferns sprang up among the undergrowth and about the watering stations. Brilliant little butterflies floated in the sunshine everywhere, and contrasted with the repulsive whip-snakes hanging here and there from the branches of the trees. Vegetable and animal life seemed singularly abundant in these hills, so far above the plains of Hindostan towards which we were hastening.

The language of the masses is rather mixed, being composed of Bengali, Hindi, and Nepalese, though English is almost universally understood, even by the humbler classes. We found a very comfortable hotel at Darjeeling, but discovered that the Hindoo milkman knows the trick of judiciously watering his merchandise. The fruits upon the table were bananas, pine-apples, guavas, and oranges. Wild animals are abundant in the hills, including the much-dreaded tiger, which does not confine his operations to the plains. At one of the stations on the mountain railroad, where we stopped for refreshments, a story of the most tragic character was told us of two children carried off and eaten by tigers the previous night. The demoralized condition of one of the poor families bore witness to the truth of the report. We listened to the very harrowing detail of the event, but will not weary the reader with it. The half-howl, half-bark of the jackals at night frequently awoke us. They carry off young kids in these regions, and do not hesitate to attack small dogs, but keep a wholesome distance from human beings.

One day and night upon the route—there are no sleeping-cars, so we did without them—brought us back to Calcutta, extremely gratified with our excursion to the Himalayas, and more than ever impressed with the distinctive character of each new locality. There are no two rivers alike, no two mountain ranges precisely similar, no two races of people that quite resemble each other. There is always some marked distinction to fix the new experience on the mind. Were this not the case, confusion would be the natural result of ten months of such varied travel as these notes are designed to record.



CHAPTER VII.

From Calcutta to Benares.—Miles of Poppy Fields.—Ruined Temples.—The Mecca of Hindostan.—Banks of the Sacred Ganges.—Idolatry at its Height.—Monkey Temple.—The Famous River Front of the Holy City.—Fanaticism.—Cremating the Dead.—A Pestilential City.—Visit to a Native Palace.—From Benares to Cawnpore.—A Beautiful Statue.—English Rule in India.—Delhi.—The Mogul Dynasty.—Lahore.—Umritsar.—Agra.—The Taj Mahal.—Royal Palace and Fort.—The Famous Pearl Mosque.

Calcutta is not a city calculated to detain the traveler more than four days, so we promptly got our baggage together to start for the next objective point, which was Benares, the holy city of the Hindoos, to reach which five hundred miles of central India must be traversed by rail. The route, however, lay through an extremely interesting region of country, where, notwithstanding it was still January, everything was green, and both planting and harvesting were in progress. The people appeared to be wretchedly poor, living in the most primitive mud cabins thatched with straw. Such squalor and poverty could be found nowhere else outside of Ireland, and yet we were passing through a famous agricultural district, which ought to support thrifty farm-houses and smiling villages. It abounded in rice, wheat, sugar-cane, and vast poppy fields,—treacherously beautiful,—from which the opium of commerce is derived. The presence of such abundance made the contrast in the condition of the peasantry all the more puzzling.

This part of India has ever been noted for the excellence and prolific yield of its sugar crops. From here, also, indigo and saltpetre are exported in large quantities. No tea-gardens were seen,—these were left behind in the hills,—nor had we met with coffee plantations since leaving Ceylon. All along the route we saw fruit trees in considerable variety, of such as are indigenous to central India; among these were recognized the lofty and handsome tamarinds, almonds, mangoes, oranges, and limes, interspersed with which was the graceful palm, laden with cocoanuts, and other products of the palm family. Temples centuries in age and in utter ruin came into view now and again, as they had done in the south, between Tuticorin and Madras, and here, as there, they were frequently adjacent to a cluster of low mud hovels. From the branches of the trees flitted birds of such fantastic shapes and plumage as to cause exclamations of surprise. Occasional specimens of the bird of paradise were seen, with its long and graceful tail-feathers glistening in the sun, presenting an array of bright colors never seen in confinement. The tall flamingos, in their bridal plumage, just touched with scarlet on either wing, like soldiers' epaulets, floated along the shores of the numerous ponds, scarcely clearing the ground, or they stood lazily by the bank upon one awkward leg. Parrots glanced across the vision in the bright noontide, in carnival costume; and buff-colored doves, with white rings about their necks, coquetted lovingly in couples. Of song birds there were but few, though the clear notes of the little Indian thrush now and then fell pleasantly on the ear.

As we progressed on our way, we picked up here and there, at various stations, third class passengers in considerable numbers, consisting oftentimes of whole families, in singular variety of dress, "undress," and rags, bound for Benares. They were packed in the rude cars devoted to that class, like cattle, and there they slept and ate upon the rough pine boarding. The roads of India carry these devout people at a most trifling charge, aggregating but about a half penny per mile. And yet we were told that it paid the companies very well, besides making good friends of the natives, who were originally opposed to the laying of railroad tracks; indeed, so bitter and superstitious were they, that for a long time it was necessary to guard the track by a military force, especially in these very districts of central India. It was amusing to watch the expression upon the countenances of some of these pilgrims, who stood on the platform of the depot, watching the hissing steam as it came from the engine. In their intense ignorance and superstition they believe that it contains a "fire-devil," and that it is bribed to do the required work of transportation by frequent drinks of water at the various stations! It was difficult for the more intelligent to suppress their prejudices against the introduction of the railroad into India when it was first begun; but the ignorant, superstitious masses are still believers in the supernatural character of the iron horse. No amount of explanation can disabuse their minds of the impression; they only shake their heads; but getting into the third class compartments avail themselves of the facilities all the same, even when bent, as they all are who travel, upon some devout pilgrimage.

Benares, the first large city on the united Ganges and Jumna, may be called the citadel of Hindooism, containing about one hundred and fifty thousand fixed inhabitants, and nearly as many more of floating population, composed of pilgrims, constantly coming and going. What Jerusalem is to the Jew, Rome to the Latin, Mecca to the Mohammedan, Benares is to the Hindoo. It is supposed by many to be the oldest known habitation of man in the world. Twenty-five centuries ago when Rome was unknown and Athens was in its youth, Benares was already famous. It is supported by the influx of rich and poor pilgrims from all parts of the country, whose presence gives its local trade an impetus, at certain seasons of great amount, and more or less at all times. The city is situated on the left bank of the sacred Ganges, to bathe in which insures to the devout Hindoo forgiveness of all sins, and an easy passport to the regions of the blessed. In entering the ancient capital we crossed the Ganges on a bridge of boats very similar to that at Cologne on the Rhine. As we drove through the streets troops of pilgrims, pitiable to behold, foot-sore and weary, were met coming from the Punjab a thousand miles away, simply to bow down before the local idols and to dip their bodies in the holy river. Faith must be very vigorous in these uneducated creatures to induce such sacrifice to fulfill its requirements; like superstition elsewhere, it is ever strongest in the ignorant.

These pilgrims are not all beggars or in rags. Now and then a gaudily dressed rajah may be seen, with a long line of attendants, wending his steps towards the river's front. Infirm old men and little children, crazy looking fakirs and comely youths, boys and girls, people of all ages and both sexes, were represented in the motley groups who went for moral purification to these muddy waters. There is a singular mingling of races also, for these people do not by any means speak one tongue. They are from the extreme north and the extreme south of India, while the half-starved vagrants of central India could not make themselves understood by either. A common purpose moves them, but they cannot express themselves in a common language. Pilgrims are here from Tibet and Cashmere, the far-off Himalayan country as well as from Tuticorin on the Indian Ocean. Numberless idols and symbols of the most vulgar and loathsome character abound all over the town, and along the river's front, before which men and women bow down in silent devotion. Idolatry is but the synonym of impurity, and is here seen in its most repulsive form. The delusion, however, is perfect, and these poor creatures are, beyond a doubt, terribly in earnest.

The people grovel in this idolatrous spirit, animals forming the principal subjects of worship,—such as bulls, snakes, monkeys, and pigeons. One of the peculiar temples of the city is devoted solely to the worship of monkeys, where hundreds of these mischievous animals find a luxurious home, no one ever interfering with their whims, except to feed and to pet them. This temple contains a singular altar, before which devotional rites are performed by believing visitors, who also bring food offerings for the monkeys. One of the animals during our visit was misbehaving himself, considering that he was a veritable god: rolling, tossing about, and holding on to his stomach with both paws, while he cast his eyes in an agonized manner upwards, and howled dolefully. In plain English his godship had eaten too many bon-bons and sweetmeats, and was paying the penalty from which even sacred monkeys are not exempt. Another, evidently the mother of twins, ran about with one under each arm, now and then stopping at convenient places to nurse them after a fashion ludicrously human. Adjoining the temple is a large water tank in which the monkeys are fond of bathing, their pranks in the water affording much amusement.

It is difficult to realize the mental degradation of a people controlled by a frame of mind leading them to worship these creatures; and it is equally ludicrous to recall the fact, in this connection, that the Japanese eat them. The hollow trunk of a venerable tamarind-tree was shown where all the baby monkeys are born. About the doors of this temple sat women with baskets of yellow marigold blossoms, to sell to native visitors for decorating purposes at the altar. Great use is made of this flower, which seems to be raised in large quantities for this object. Once or twice we saw these women sell a handful for a halfpenny; but it must be a sorry trade whereby to earn a living. Pigeons swarm in and about Benares enjoying a superstitious veneration and protection; while sacred bulls obstruct the passages, and the narrow, nauseous, over-crowded streets, rendering them too filthy for foot passage. Everything appears to be in a state of chronic decay; and as the city flourished twelve hundred years before Christ,—indeed may be said to have been at the zenith of its glory at that period,—it is not surprising that it should be in a tumble-down condition in our day. This very dilapidation, however, renders the river front one of the most picturesque sights imaginable. Being a British possession, there is a European quarter of the town, quite modern in aspect, ornamented with large and fine public structures, churches, post-office, and government buildings, besides some charming private residences or bungalows. But the native portion, always crowded with sacred animals, beggars, curs, and filth of every sort, seemed a very hot-bed for pestilence. In most of the native huts the light of the sun can never penetrate, and compared to them underground dungeons would be desirable residences. Our local guide told us there were over two thousand public temples and shrines in Benares, and he might have added in every stage of dirt, decomposition, and ruin. The sights to be witnessed in them were most repulsive, and yet there were some sincere votaries there. There were rogues also, a fact proven by the circumstance that the guide, native and resident here, had his pocket picked before the altar while explaining matters to our party.

As a fine characteristic view of the city is to be obtained from the river front, a boat was taken, with half a dozen oarsmen, to pull along the ghats, or flights of broad stone steps, descending to the river from the shattered old palaces, prostrate temples, and half-sunken quays, which extend in a continuous line for more than two miles along the Ganges. Here hundreds, nay thousands of people of both sexes and of all conditions, are to be seen at any hour of the day dipping and washing in the sacred waters; which ceremony to them is tangible prayer. Here was a small group gathered about a delicate invalid, who lay upon a litter, brought to the spot that she might be bathed in these waters, which it was hoped would make her whole. Here still another collection surrounded the fading and flickering lamp of life that burned dimly in the breast of age, come to die by the healing river. And close at hand, beneath that sheet, was the cold clay of one already departed, now to be consumed upon the funeral pyre and his ashes cast into the Ganges. What a picture of life and death, what a practical comment upon poor humanity! On these ghats the Hindoos pass their happiest hours, notwithstanding these sad episodes; coming from the confined, dirty, unwholesome streets in which they sleep and eat, to pray and bathe, as well as to breathe the fresh air and to bask in the sun. The hideous fakirs make their fixed lodging-places here, living entirely in the open air, in all their revolting personal deformity, diseased and filthy. Their distorted limbs fixed in every conceivable attitude of penance, their faces besmeared with white clay, and their long hair matted and clotted with dirt. There are pious fools enough to kneel before them, and to give them food and money, by which they are supported in their crazy self-immolation.

It was observed that some of the women took into the river with them short garlands of yellow and white flowers, which they seemed to count over like a Roman Catholic kneeling with her beads, and finally to break them in pieces and cast them upon the surface of the river, watching them borne away upon the tide. Each one was provided also with a small brass jar in which to carry away a portion of the sacred water, after having completed their baths, and washed their clothes therein. The people have no hesitation in drinking this water in which so many have bathed, nor in carrying it home for cooking purposes. Yet they must have, like ourselves, seen the ashes of the cremated corpses cast into it, and have observed the frequent dead bodies floating therein. One would think a single glance at the yellow, filthy hue of the water would be sufficient to debar its use; but the very name of the Ganges sanctifies everything with these mentally blind creatures. Sometimes, though this is not a frequent occurrence, a crocodile takes away a bather; but such persons are rather envied than regretted, since to die in those waters is in their estimation simply to be at once wafted to the elysian fields of paradise.

All this fanaticism, mad zeal, and credulous idolatry could not alone sustain and support a city like Benares, though it attracts millions of pilgrims annually. There must be some reasonable nucleus to form about, some occupation and industry with the semblance of common sense, something besides priestly art and cunning. Therefore, looking about us we find in her bazars the skilled product of real artisans, in the form of brass ware of such admirable finish as to monopolize the markets of the world in this line. And again, there is produced in her dark alleys and dirty lanes an article of silver gilt embroidery of unequaled excellence. Specimens of these remarkable local products are sure to be brought away by appreciative travelers, while the local demand from rich natives is very large in the aggregate. So there are many homes in this strange, idolatrous, dirty, Indian Mecca, which are supported, after all, by legitimate industry.

A bird's-eye view of the city and its environs was enjoyed by ascending to the top of the lofty minaret crowning the great Mosque of Aurungzebe, so high, that not a street or roadway could be detected by the eye in all the densely populated city. The town below appeared like one dense mass of houses, recalling the view of Milan from the pinnacle of its famous cathedral; but the streets of Benares are so narrow that it is hardly surprising to find them undistinguishable from so great a height. The palace of the Maharajah of Vizianagram was also visited, a well-appointed and elegant residence, where were to be seen some fine engravings upon the walls, representing American historical scenes, and especially an admirable portrait of Washington. An ancient observatory was of more than ordinary interest to us, erected by a famous Hindoo patron of science, Rajah Manu. Though now quite neglected and in partial ruins, a sun-dial, a zodiac, meridian line, and astronomical appliances are still distinctly traced upon heavy stones, arranged for celestial observations. This proves that astronomy was well advanced at Benares hundreds of years before Galileo was born, and it will be remembered that the astronomers of India first settled the fact of the rotation of the earth. The Man-Mundil, as this observatory is called, forms a most important historic link between the days of the Pharaohs and the nineteenth century.

Here, as in many other Eastern cities, we found men, women, and children lying down and sleeping in the streets and on the roadways, wherever fatigue overcame them,—all places were the same to them, vast numbers knowing no other home than the ground upon which they stood. And here, as in Calcutta, we saw the bodies of the dead being cremated in public, in the open air, along the river's bank, the pyres being prepared as already described. On one of the bodies brought to the funereal pile, covered with a plain sheet, it was observed that flowers had been strewn, and pale, white rose-buds were in the folded hands. It was the body of a young girl, thus decked by loving hands for her bridal of death, a token of affection and tenderness no one could fail to respect. Five or six women followed, with downcast eyes, the four men who bore the body upon a stretcher, the sad and simple cortege of one who had doubtless been well beloved, "too early fitted for a better state." Something held us riveted to the spot, though we knew very well what must follow. After a few moments the red, scorching flames wound themselves gluttonously about that youthful figure, as though reveling in their victim, and quickly all was blackness and smouldering ashes.

To such extremes do the pilgrims who visit Benares often carry their religious fanaticism, that it has been found necessary by the English government to organize a police system to prevent their deliberately drowning themselves in the sacred waters, actuated by a firm belief that their souls will be at once wafted to paradise. Women are especially prone to the crime of infanticide, imagining that they can do nothing better for their female children than to intrust them to the bosom of the Ganges, which will bear them safely to the ocean of eternity. Poor creatures! From their stand-point of poverty, with its endless deprivations and hardships, and the hopeless condition of their sex in the East, who can be surprised at the conclusion they adopt?

Jackals are the night scavengers of Indian cities, and no sooner have the inhabitants retired to rest than their hideous half-bark, half-wailing notes jar upon the ear. Even in Calcutta, a large and populous city, one is not exempt from their howlings, but in Benares they are a recognized institution, and are molested by no one. These creatures voraciously gobble up everything that is left exposed, good or bad,—vermin, decayed food, offal, every refuse,—thus rendering a certain necessary service in a climate so hot as that of India. The natives are not permitted to keep any sort of firearms, so they could not shoot the jackals if they desired to do so; but animal life is held sacred by them, and no native will spill blood except in self-defense. They seem to have no craving for animal food, supporting their bodies almost entirely upon rice. It may also be that a fellow feeling makes them kind, for they live, eat, and sleep more like wild animals than like human beings, unhoused and unclothed. The degraded condition of eight tenths of the population of India is almost incredible. Slaves to ignorance, slaves to idolatry, they are also political slaves; nor is there, so far as we can see, any better prospect for them in the near future.

Cawnpore is situated on the Ganges, about two hundred and twenty miles west of Benares, and was reached by cars over the Oude and Rohilkund Railway, the characteristics of the route being very similar to that from Calcutta to Benares. Almost the sole interest of this locality to the tourist is created by its connection with the mutiny of 1857, and the several fine monuments which commemorate the prominent features of that event. It is true that the interest in scenes where great crimes have been perpetrated is, more or less, of a morbid character. Mr. Lee, who was a subordinate officer in the English army at that memorable period, now owns and keeps, with his family, the principal hotel, acting also as an efficient guide to visiting parties. He points out the various places of special interest, giving vivid and eloquent descriptions of the sad events, in which he was himself an actor. There is something very impressive in Marochetti's noble monument over the spot which was, at the time of the mutiny, a capacious well, and into which the women and children of the English prisoners, living and dead, were cast, by order of that inhuman wretch, Nana Sahib. It forms a beautiful white marble figure of an angel, with folded wings and palm-laden hands, the eyes cast downward upon the now covered well. The ground surrounding the spot is inclosed by an iron rail, and beautified with lovely flowers, carefully tended. Already familiar with the detail of the tragic deeds enacted in this place, the locality was necessarily impressive, and notably that of the Suttee-chowra Ghat, where the final scene of the Cawnpore massacre took place.

It was a sombre, cloudy day, and some rain fell while we were driving about the extensive grounds of the English cantonment. The influence of the sad story which these monuments commemorate, the funereal aspect of the spot, the gloomy, leaden, weeping sky above us, all served to heighten the effect of the dark story of crime and blood which our guide rehearsed to us. In its palmy days, before the mutiny, two cavalry regiments and three of infantry were stationed here. To use the words of Mr. Lee: "The place was full of officers' wives, children, and pretty women. Private theatricals were given twice weekly, balls as often, and picnics and dinners constantly." It must have been a round of holidays which the English residents enjoyed, while they vied with each other in their mutual hospitalities. Alas! what a volcano they were sleeping upon; and when it burst and the hidden fire poured forth, what rivers of blood were shed from the veins of the innocent and helpless victims!

We refer to events only too well known to the world, and which do not require any rehearsal in these pages. A very complete system of barracks is established here by the English government, and the three arms of the service are fully represented by well organized European troops. The cantonment extends some five or six miles along the river, the whole as level as a billiard-table. The present masters of the country learned too bitter a lesson from the natives to ever again trust them with any military power. Formerly the English army in India was composed of as many, or more, native troops than of those purely English, and they were drilled and taught in the use of all arms. Now the native regiments which are organized are scattered about the country and placed on outpost duty, or colonial service elsewhere, but only as infantry; they will not again be intrusted with artillery. They are looked upon as performing the police duty of the army rather than as constituting a regular portion of its active force. Without actual figures to depend upon, we should say that the English troops in India to-day must aggregate between forty and fifty thousand of all arms. When we realize the awful cruelty and blood-thirstiness of the natives in the rebellion of 1857, their diabolical and deliberate murder of innocent women and children, under the most revolting circumstances, we cannot look upon them as a people striking for liberty, or worthy of it, but as a base, degraded, ignorant, and fanatical race, utterly unfit for self-government. In this light English rule in India is according to the eternal fitness of things.

One day was sufficient for us to see and understand the subjects of interest at Cawnpore, and we took passage by the East Indian Railway for Delhi, a distance of less than three hundred miles, over a very level and rather monotonous stretch of country. This city, which is located on the Jumna, also played a most important part in the great mutiny, the events of which are too fresh in the memory of the world to require special mention; but aside from those associations it has many and grand monuments to engage the attention of the traveler, connecting the ages far back of the Christian era with to-day, it having been for centuries the proudest capital of the Mogul Empire. Within a circle of twenty miles about the present city, one dynasty after another has established its capital, ruled in splendor, and passed away. Instead of occupying the same site, each has founded a new city, leaving the old to crumble into dust, scattering their debris over the plain, and telling of the mutability of human temples. All this ground is now abandoned to an army of foxes, jackals, and owls. Could this archaeological soil be plowed up, and its ancient monuments, palaces, tombs, and mosques exhumed, like the dwellings of Pompeii, what might not be revealed of the hidden past?

One monument which was visited in the environs has thus far defied the destructive fingers of time: the Katub Minar stood alone in the midst of ruins, the loftiest single column in the world, but of which there is no satisfactory record. It is not inappropriately considered one of the wonders of India, and whoever erected it achieved an architectural triumph of gracefulness and strength. It is built of red stone, elaborately finished in the form of a minaret, measuring about fifty feet in diameter at the base, and ten at the top, and is divided into five distinct parts or stories, one above another, each fitted with an outer gallery and adorned with colossal inscriptions in bold relief. The whole exterior is fluted from the bottom to the top, narrowing gradually as it ascends, and affording a good view of the present Delhi, twelve miles away, while it overlooks that broad region of dead and buried cities. Though the Katub Minar has stood for so many centuries, not the least crack in the masonry can be discovered, either inside or out. This singular tower, the original purpose of which can only be conjectured, stands near two courts of an ancient Hindoo temple, which are surrounded by ruins of cloisters. In the middle of the area, between the two lines of cloisters, stands a tall iron pillar with a Sanskrit inscription signifying so long as it remains the power of the Hindoos has not departed.

There is a legend which our local guide related to us, that the Mohammedans tried to destroy this column by digging it up, but were unable to find the bottom of it after working many days. They finally gave up the attempt in superstitious dread, for the Hindoos declare that it extends down to the earth's centre. We visited other temples and tombs, but the Katub Minar rivaled them all in interest. Among the branches of the trees, as we drove back to Delhi, we observed both wild monkeys and apes, the latter species being the first we had seen in India. Many birds were noticed, and whole flocks of pea-green paroquets, tiny things with mottled plumage, circled about the trees and chirped incessantly. On inquiry it was learned that nowhere in all India exists so much bitterness towards the English rule as is secretly indulged in here. That the populace should not be well-disposed towards their present masters is not to be wondered at; and if this community were not completely disarmed, and watchfully kept so, there would likely occur outbreaks among them of a serious character. As none but Europeans are permitted to own firearms, the game hereabouts has greatly multiplied, and some of the best bird-shooting in India goes begging on the plains about Delhi. Standing at the door of our bungalow in the early morning, it was really wonderful to see the number of crows that flew up from their roosting-places in the neighboring wood, and passed overhead dispersing in various directions; but they, as well as the jackals, are the permitted scavengers of the land, and no one thinks of molesting them.

The present city, now in its turn declining, has been a most gorgeous capital, and has twelve fortified gates in good preservation. Its principal streets are broad and full of busy life, exhibiting representatives of all the various Asiatic races. Members of our party wished to purchase a memento of Delhi, and what was there better suited to the purpose than those fine hand-woven Cashmere shawls of many firm but delicate colors, so exquisitely finished? You do not find these hundred-guinea articles displayed in open bazars, but must follow your guide under a broad archway, up steep, narrow, winding steps into the dealer's private house and shop combined. A chair is placed for each visitor, while the proprietor sits down upon a bit of Turkish carpet, cross-legged. A few formal words of welcome pass, then at a sign an attendant brings out from some mysterious corner a few shawls. The cunning Hindoo is studying you with his deep-set lustrous eyes. Not an expression of your face escapes him. He observes what pleases you best, and whether you can appreciate quality as well as looks. More shawls are ordered out from their cases, perhaps of a better grade, while your custom is all the while being quietly but shrewdly angled for, as a disciple of Izaak Walton would play with his game. You are gradually led from one piece of goods to another; your gauge as to price is adroitly discovered; and finally, with consummate judgment, a certain article, characterized by fineness, beauty, and quality, is placed before you. The moment your eyes rest upon it you are charmed. The shrewd old merchant has mentally taken your measure for this myriad-threaded beauty, and you are captivated. The price is named. "Too much," say you. But you are told that this establishment is conducted on the fixed-price principle; if cheaper goods are desired, there are those first shown to you. Why struggle? You are literally caught, and may as well surrender. So this exquisite article from far-off Cashmere is folded up and intrusted to the guide. The gold is counted, and you receive a salaam, as you depart, which might have been accorded to the Queen of Sheba.

In the broad main thoroughfare of Delhi,—the Chandni Chowk,—one constantly meets ponderous elephants, solemn and awkward camels, fine Arabian horses, and the diminutive toy-like pony of Cashmere. Daily marriage processions of the most fantastic description crowd the passage-way, with the animals just named, caparisoned in the most gaudy and harlequin style, accompanied by unskilled musicians, whose qualifications evidently consist in being able to make the greatest amount of noise upon a drum, fife, or horn, which are the three instruments that are employed on these occasions. Some of the white horses in these processions are partially painted sky-blue, some saffron-yellow. In the ranks are covered bullock carts with peep-holes, in which ride the women of the harem. Mingled with these are men bearing banners with Hindoo mottoes and ludicrous characters, half human and half animal, painted thereon. This was called a marriage procession, but upon inquiry it was found to be only a betrothal of children too young to marry. The boy, bridegroom in embryo, appeared upon an elephant, and was dressed like a circus-rider; but the future bride, probably a little girl of six or eight years, did not appear. She remained at home, to be called upon by this motley crowd, when a brief ceremony would take place, presents be exchanged, and the farce would then be ended.

A visit to the palace of the late King of Delhi was full of interest, exhibiting evidences of elegance and splendor almost beyond belief. Here are still to be seen the remains of that famous Peacock Throne, the marvel of the world when the Mogul dynasty was at its zenith,—a throne of solid gold, six feet long and four feet broad, surmounted by a gold canopy supported by twelve pillars composed of the same precious metal. The back of the throne was so made as to represent a peacock with expanded tail, the natural colors of which were exactly imitated with rubies, sapphires, diamonds, and other precious stones, the aggregated value of the whole being over thirty millions of dollars. And this was not an isolated case, an exception, but only an example of the lavish expenditures of the Mogul emperors. They used choice stones, gems, gold, and silver, with precious marbles, in mosaic work, as freely as modern rulers employ bricks and mortar. Their revenues were practically unlimited, and their expenditures were of the same character. The country was one of the richest in the world, but the wealth was in the hands of the few, and the poor were all the poorer in proportion, being taxed to the extremest possible point, and compelled to give free labor to all such enterprises, as the ruling power might dictate.

The Grand Mosque at Delhi is one of the best preserved and most remarkable of her monuments. It has three domes of noble proportions, a hundred and fifty feet in height, surrounded by minarets, the whole structure standing upon an elevated platform accessible by broad marble steps. It is known as the Jumna Musjid, and is conceded to be the finest of which Islamism can boast, owing its construction to that grand builder of tombs, palaces, and mosques, Shah-Jehan,—the creator of the Taj, that poem in marble at Agra, the glory and pride of India. The Jumna Musjid is built principally of red stone, but is freely inlaid with white marble, and as a whole is very impressive and Oriental in feeling.

The Hindoos claim for their country even a greater antiquity than do the Chinese, but there is probably nothing authentic relating to the early history of this people prior to the time of Alexander the Great, say four hundred years before Christ. Of one thing we are positive, that the reign of the Mogul emperors exceeded in splendor all that the world has ever seen outside of Hindostan. Indeed, it was their great wealth, so lavishly displayed, which first challenged European cupidity. We have said the Delhi of to-day is in its turn declining. It has never recovered from the blow it received a century since, inflicted by Nadir Shah, who pillaged the city and carried away, in gold and precious stones, treasures estimated at over a hundred million sterling! Among his prizes on that occasion was the famous Koh-i-noor diamond, since "appropriated" by the English; and which to-day forms a part of Queen Victoria's crown jewels. It will not do to analyze too closely by what means this was brought about. What a romantic history would the true story of that "Mountain of Light" prove, could it be honestly written.

Nature does not exhibit the usual dividing lines in this region as regards the seasons of the years. Flowers are always in bloom in the open fields and gardens, trees ever putting forth their leaves, and perpetual youth is evinced by the entire vegetable kingdom. No winter, spring, or autumn is known to the Indian calendar, the year being divided only into hot, rainy, and temperate seasons. Though it was the last of January while we were in Delhi, only summer clothing was worn; outside garments were not thought of, the thermometer ranging about 68 deg. Such temperature admits of a series of crops tri-annually, if the husbandman chooses thus to time his planting and harvesting,—which processes indeed appear to be going on all the year round. The women were seemingly of rather a coarser type than those we had lately met, and were found working much in the fields, as well as performing a large share of the out-door labor. There is a new canal, with locks, etc., now in course of construction in the environs of Delhi, where men, women, and boys were seen employed in about equal numbers, aggregating some hundreds, carrying dirt and bricks in baskets upon their backs, as well as digging, shoveling, and performing similar work. The guide informed us that the men received as wages twelve cents, the women ten, and the boys eight cents per day of ten hours. We must, however, again refer to the fact that the purchasing power of these sums is much greater than with us, say at least treble; still they are terribly low wages. Perhaps there is no better criterion of judgment as to the true domestic condition of any people, than the current value at which a man's labor is estimated. As to the common class of women in India, kept as all are in the most absolute subjection and ignorance, a more hopeless state than theirs cannot be conceived of. They are divided into two classes, the favored and the humble. The former are treated as toys, the latter as slaves.

The last journey from Cawnpore to Delhi was made by night, so again we were obliged to take the cars on the Scinde, Punjab, and Delhi road for Lahore at nine o'clock P. M., crossing the Jumna almost immediately after starting. The distance from Delhi to Lahore is about three hundred and fifty miles. Traveling, even by rail, in India is still accomplished on primitive principles, and, mostly in the hours of the night. Such bedding as one indulges in must be taken along with the other personal baggage. A pillow and blanket are absolute necessities, and anything beyond these two domestic articles is considered a luxury. With even these slight accompaniments and plenty of fatigue, one is apt to fall asleep and make the best of it, whether upon the stone floor of a bungalow or in an upright position in the oscillating cars. Lahore is the capital of the Punjab, being one of the most ancient and famous cities of the country, and was flourishing and populous at the time of Alexander's invasion. Here are the headquarters of a large division of British troops, the red coats besprinkling every street and roadway. Its history is interwoven with every Mohammedan dynasty of northern India, having been founded almost two thousand years ago.

There is a museum of special local interest where are gathered and well classified specimens of the natural products, industries, native gems, minerals, animals, and birds throughout the Punjab, well worth a few hours of examination and study. Opposite the museum building there was observed, in the centre of an open plot of ground, a large, long cannon mounted, and of Indian manufacture, over a century in age. It was used by Ahmed Shah in the battle of Paniput and is famous among the populace by the name of "Zamazamah." There are also mosques, mausoleums, and forts to be visited, all attractive, with some curious ruins of old palaces and Hindoo temples, to all of which we paid due attention, but a detailed account of which would hardly interest the general reader. In the better part of the town the streets are broad and lined by two-story houses—a style not very common in India. From the ornamental balconies, and projecting windows framed in lattice-work, the women of the harems looked out upon us, with their faces partially covered, but yet taking care to exhibit a profusion of jewelry, having three or four large loops of gold in each ear, as well as nose-rings, outdoing in glitter their sisters of Penang.

The few women to be met with in the streets had their bare feet thrust into the tiniest of pink kid slippers, far too small for them, their ankles covered with broad gold rings, five or six deep, coming up to the calf. Their bare arms showed the wrists covered with bracelets of gold and silver alternately, nearly to the elbow; and above the elbow was a broad gold band. Some of them were so covered with rings, bracelets, bangles, and necklaces as to amount to itinerant jewelry bazars. The etiquette of these women, some of whom were scarcely out of their teens, appeared to be, in the first place, to cover the face above the chin, except the eyes, and then to expose as much of their bodies as could effectively bear jewelry, including necklaces of either imitation or real stones hanging down over the bosom. Add to the whole a reckless disregard for natural delicacy, and you have a Lahore belle of to-day as she appears on the street. We saw nowhere else in India such freedom and publicity permitted to inmates of the harem. Girls are frequently married here at twelve years, and the number of wives a man may possess, in any part of India, is only limited by his purse.

Elephants of greater size than the famous Jumbo, and also camels, enter into common, every-day use here as do donkeys and horses in European cities; but such horses as one sees at Lahore are generally very fine creatures, of the true Arab breed, with faces almost human in intelligence. These animals are at the same time high-spirited and gentle, with forms that are the very ideal of equine grace and beauty. Round bodies, arching necks, small heads and limbs, large eyes and nostrils, with full mane and tail. Lahore is a place of more than usual interest to the traveler, as exhibiting much of the peculiar and inner life of India. We were particularly attracted by public and, private flower-gardens, fruit orchards, and ornamental trees, disposed in such an excellent manner as to give the general effect of a finely and naturally-wooded country; and yet we were told that before the English took possession and built up the European quarter, Lahore was only a city surrounded by sterile fields, and absolutely without a tree, ornamental or otherwise, within its extended borders. The orchards and gardens referred to are those of European residents. Among the exotics we observed the Australian gum-tree and the Chinese tallow-tree, large and thrifty in both instances. Lahore was also the only place in India where we saw mulberry-tree orchards. Like Delhi, the city presents many evidences of its former splendor, with ruins still architecturally grand and beautiful, though rapidly mouldering to dust.

We heard of excellent educational results growing out of missionary efforts at Lahore, and it is really in this direction that the most good will be accomplished. As regards religious converts, they are few and far between, and of very little account when apparently made; but in cultivating the intelligence of the people, a great and good work is being performed, one which must eventually shake the fabric of heathen mythology to its very centre. An idolatrous people must come from the ranks of ignorance,—from a priest-ridden race. When the Hindoo is capable of thinking and reasoning for himself, he no longer believes in the idol-gods of his fathers. The preaching of this or that special faith is of little avail, and to us seems to be the least of all missionary work. The true object is comprised in the single effort of enlightenment. Education is the great Christianizer for India. People of culture will not bow down before graven images, nor worship bulls and monkeys.

Umritsar, the sacred city of the Sikhs, our next stopping-place, is less than forty miles from Lahore, and is a walled city of nearly two hundred thousand inhabitants, composed mostly of Sikhs, Hindoos, Mohammedans, and Cashmiris. The principal attraction of the city to strangers is the famous Golden Temple, so called because the cupola is covered with a thin layer of the precious metal, having the same effect as that of the dome of the Invalides at Paris, or that of the Boston State House. Five hundred priests are attached to this temple, and are constantly performing ceremonies, which, to an uninitiated person, seem like utter nonsense, and want of purpose. By the side of the temple is a very large tank covering three acres or more of ground, supplied by neighboring springs; and though it is constantly bathed in by thousands of pilgrims, and has no visible outlet, was still clear and sweet, which fact the natives attribute to some miraculous intervention. This lake is called Amrita Saras, or the Fountain of Immortality, hence the name of the city. There are other mosques and public gardens of interest, and the traveler should not forget to visit one or more of the shawl manufactories, where the famous Indian article is woven by hand in a most primitive loom worked by two persons. Another specialty is the manufacture of perforated ivory goods, which are brought to great perfection and are in quick demand for foreign markets.

As we passed through an open square near the Golden Temple a dry goods auction was in progress, for the disposal of under-clothing, which seemed like sending warming-pans to the West Indies, since no native wears such articles. A Jew was the auctioneer, and was evidently selling at very low prices to get rid of the goods, for the poor people purchased and handed them about as curiosities. The scene occurred on the high stone steps leading up to a temple, and among the crowd a little girl of four or five years was thrown down the steps, cutting a severe gash on her forehead. With the usual dullness of ignorance, a crowd gathered about the now insensible child, frightened at the sight of blood, while the mother stood inert, where the child lay upon the ground, her own agonized features and clasped hands forming a picture of despair. No experienced traveler will be without sticking-plaster, and for us to pick up the child, wash out the wound, draw the lips carefully together and secure them, binding up the bruised head in a handkerchief, was the work of only a few moments. We were simply compensated by the reviving smile of the little sufferer; but it was impossible to prevent the grateful mother from lying prone upon the ground and kissing our feet.

From Umritsar to Agra is four hundred and fifty miles. One night and day of uninterrupted travel brought us to its interesting borders, where we found a large and well-conducted hotel—one of the best we had chanced upon in the country. This journey was through the plains of middle India, and afforded some attractive and quite varied scenery, including large sugar plantations in full stalk, thrifty mango groves, tall palm-trees, orange-trees with their golden fruit, and far-reaching, graceful fields of waving grain, mingled with thrifty patches of the castor bean. These objects were interspersed with groups of cattle and goats tended by herdsmen, who often stood leaning on long poles in picturesque attitudes, wrapped about in flowing, sheet-like robes of white cotton, relieved by a scarlet belt and yellow turban. These men and their surroundings formed just such figures as a painter would delight to throw into a picture, with the animals feeding in the background. Now and again a group of minarets, with a central dome, would come into view on the horizon, breaking the deep blue of the sky with their dark shadows; or a ruined temple was seen close at hand, charred and crumbled by the wear of the elements for centuries.