India abounds in these forsaken and half-decayed shrines, once, no doubt, centres of busy life and religious ceremonials. Tall cranes, pelicans, ibises, and other large water-birds rose occasionally from the ponds, and fanned themselves slowly away. On portions of the road the telegraph wires, running parallel with the track, were covered with tiny birds of indigo-blue, decked with long slim tail-feathers. As we passed, they would rise in clouds, circle about for a moment, and again settle upon the wires where they had been roosting. Little clusters of rice-birds, scarcely larger than butterflies, floated like colored vapor over the fields, glistening in the warm sunlight. Wild peacocks were seen feeding near the rails, but not in populous districts. In the early gray of the morning, more than once on the lonely plains, a tall, gaunt wolf was observed coolly watching the passing train, or loping swiftly away. Camels were seen in long strings, with their loads protruding on either side, slowly moving over the country roads; while an occasional elephant, with half a dozen people upon its capacious back, served to vary the ever-changing panorama.

Our course was nearly due south, so that we felt an increased rise in the temperature from hour to hour. As before remarked, it was a surprise to see how many of the poor people availed themselves of the railroad. The third class cars were thronged with them going to Benares, or some other holy place, on religious pilgrimages; which, indeed, appears to be the one absorbing idea of their lives. It was not unusual to see two hundred of these pilgrims, composed of both sexes and of all ages, enter the cars from some small station. Though these people wear the scantiest of clothing, yet they affect strong contrasts in colors, which will give picturesqueness even to rags. The third class cars of an Indian railroad are little better than our cattle cars in America; and these natives were hustled into them and locked up, much after the style of loading live stock in Illinois.

Agra, which, like Delhi, stands not on the Ganges, but on its great tributary, the Jumna, is an important city, fully as populous as Lahore; and though its history is rather vague, still there are tangible evidences carrying it back more than a thousand years, while some authorities claim for it a much greater antiquity. Its modern history is interwoven with the great mutiny, and our local guide wearied us by expatiating volubly upon the subject. To all who come hither, the first great object of interest will be the Taj Mahal, or tomb of the wife of Emperor Shah-Jehan, the most interesting building in India, and perhaps the most beautiful in the world. A tomb in this country means a magnificent structure of marble, with domes and minarets, the walls inlaid with precious stones, and the whole surrounded by gardens, fountains, and artificial lakes, covering from ten to twenty acres. Cheap as labor is in India, the Taj must have cost some fifteen millions of dollars, and was seventeen years in building. The Mogul Emperor resolved to erect the most superb monument ever reared to commemorate a woman's name, and he certainly succeeded, for in his effort Mohammedan architecture reached its acme. The mausoleum is situated in a spacious garden, the equal of which can hardly be found elsewhere, beautiful to the eye, and delightful to the senses with fragrant flowers, exotic and indigenous, of every hue, and in endless variety, embracing acres of roses, "each cup a pulpit, every leaf a book." These are softly shaded by trees scarcely less beautiful than themselves. The whole scene is reflected in lakes of clearest water, from which scores of fountains throw up pearly jets in the dazzling sunshine the livelong day and through the still watches of the night. This grand structure, with the ripeness of centuries upon it, is no ruin; there is no neglect in or about the Taj and its gardens. All is fresh, fragrant, and perfect as at the hour when it was completed.

The edifice, which is of white marble, a material retaining its snow-like purity for centuries in this climate, is embellished with domes, colonnades, towers, and all the pomp, finish, and lavishness of Eastern architecture. It stands upon a stone platform of the same material, from three to four hundred feet square, to reach the surface of which one ascends about twenty steps. On the back of this platform runs a marble balustrade overlooking the Jumna. On each corner of the terrace is a marble minaret about a hundred and forty feet in height, of fine proportions, like four sentinels placed there to guard the mausoleum, which forms the centre of the platform. Two mosques, built of red sandstone, stand between these minarets, one on the east and one on the west side. The height of the Taj from the base to the top of the dome must be very nearly or quite three hundred feet. The principal dome in itself is eighty feet high, and of such exquisite form and harmony is the whole, that it seems almost to float in the atmosphere. Agate, sapphire, jasper, and other precious stones are wrought into flowers, and inlaid upon the polished marble, the work having employed the best artists for years. In the centre of the edifice, beneath the glorious dome, are two sarcophagi covering the resting-place of the emperor and his wife, whose bodies are in the vault below. How appropriate the inscription at the threshold: "To the Memory of an Undying Love." On the surrounding grounds are the fragrant blossoms of nature; within are flower-wreaths of mosaic blooming in jasper, carnelian, and lapis-lazuli, fresh and bright as when they came from the artist's hand centuries ago. As we stood beneath the arched roof of the cupola, beside the pure white tombs of glistening marble, a verse from Longfellow's "Psalm of Life" was repeated in a low tone of voice. Instantly there rolled through the dimly-lighted vault above a soft and solemn repetition, which sounded as though voices were repeating the psalm in the skies, with such music and pathos as to dim our eyes with tears. The delicate echo beneath the dome of the Taj, just above where sleep the royal ashes, is one of its most remarkable and thrilling mysteries.

This superb exposition of architectural perfection was visited first in the glow of sunrise, again in the golden haze of sunset, and once under the fiery blaze of midday. It is only beneath an intensely blue sky that one can realize the full and exquisite effect of pure white marble. Nothing finer or more lovely in architecture exists than this faultless monument, this ideal of Saracenic art, in all its rich harmony, erected by an Indian emperor to the memory of his favorite wife, Mumtaz Mahal, which signifies the "Chosen of the Palace." The Taj leaves an undying impression of beauty on all beholders, and certainly in this instance beauty outvalues utility. Shakespeare might well have written of sermons in stones had he seen the Taj. The marble and red sandstone came from Rajpootana, the diamonds and jaspers from the Punjab, the carnelians and agates from Tibet, the corals from Arabia, the sapphires and other precious stones from Ceylon, and the genius that combined them all came from Heaven. Madame de Stael never saw this gem of India, and yet she said that architecture was frozen music. Emerson would have called it a blossoming in stone.

The Palace of Akbar is within the famous fort of Agra, a couple of miles from the Taj, the other side of the Jumna, a structure of such magnitude as to form almost a city within itself, measuring two miles around its walls. Those walls, over fifty feet in height, are of red sandstone, with towers at intervals, and a deep moat. It is situated on the banks of the river, with which its vaults have an underground communication. We were shown one dark and gloomy cellar far below the level of the fort, known as the execution room, where the criminals, condemned in the Judgment Hall above, received their punishment. The headsman's block was still there, and certain dark stains were pointed out to us by means of the candle carried by the guide, which told their own story. In the centre of this dreary vault was a well whose water was level with the river, into which it opened some twenty feet from the surface, and into which the decapitated bodies of the criminals were cast and left to float away with the ebb and flow of the Jumna's tide. The bed of the river showed that at certain seasons it must be at least half a mile in width, but it was a meagre stream when we crossed it that bright and sunny February day.

The royal apartments within the palace are being restored at present, and many skilled workmen were busy upon the frescoes, inlaid stone work, and delicate marble ornamentations, while we were there. The Grotto of Glass, as the principal bath-room designed for the use of the harem is called, was a curious and luxurious marble room, with inviting pure white marble tanks large enough to swim in, and surrounded by tiny glass mirrors let into the walls at such angles as to reflect a figure myriads of times, quite distracting to look upon. All departments of this remarkable royal residence are exquisitely finished, showing no less of refined, artistic taste, than of lavish expenditure. The courts, chambers, boudoirs, fountains, pavilions, reception halls, throne room, all are of marble and mosaic, with beautiful inlaid work everywhere. Many of the floors represented delicate vines and blooming flowers in precious stones, like the modern Florentine mosaic work one sees in such perfection wrought upon tallies at the shops that line the Arno in Florence. The Jewel Chamber, and the suite of apartments formerly devoted to the use of the harem, were curiously screened by a lattice work of white marble, lace-like in effect, and a curiosity in itself. Delicate carving could hardly be carried to more minute finish in alabaster. The marble inches and pockets, for holding the jewelry of the fair occupants, were so arranged that none but a delicate arm could reach the treasures; a man's hand and wrist would be too large; while the stone pockets, being curved at the bottom, required the long sensitive fingers of the owner's hand to extract what they contained.

These apartments all overlooked, by means of exquisite little marble balconies, the grand valley of the Jumna, through which the river may be traced for miles; while on the opposite shore there lies the glorious Taj, with its snow-white domes and minarets looming above the lovely setting of cypresses, and the luxurious vegetation of its surrounding gardens. Within the fort is also the Pearl Mosque, the rival of the little royal temple of similar character which we had seen at Delhi. The front of this Moli Musjed is supported by marble pillars, and is surmounted by three beautiful marble domes, of such perfection and loveliness of outline as to be the puzzle of modern architects, just as our best sculptors are nonplused before the Venus of Milo, and some other examples of Greek art; they may imitate, but they cannot hope to equal them. "Indeed," said a well-known artist to us in the gallery of the Louvre, in presence of this marvelous creation, "the sculptor himself, were he living, could not repeat his work. It was a ray of inspiration caught from Heaven." So we thought of the Moli Musjed.

The Tomb of Akbar at Secundra was visited, a few miles from Agra. It is situated, like most other Mogul buildings of the same period, in a large inclosure laid out as a beautiful garden, with fountains, lakes, statuary, tamarind-trees, oranges, lemons, among the most fragrant flowers. It was a glorious day on which we drove out to Secundra, the air was musical with the merry notes of the minos, in their dusky red plumage, the little chirping bee-eaters, hoopoes, and blue-jays. Some little girls freely plucked the abundant rose-buds, pinks, lemon verbenas, and geraniums, bringing them to us for pennies, instigated by the gardeners, who looked on approvingly. This magnificent tomb would be a seven days' wonder in itself, were it not so near that greater charm and marvel of loveliness, the Taj. It was from this grand architectural structure that the Koh-i-noor was taken. The spacious grounds form one of the finest parks in India, art having seconded the kindly purpose of nature in a favored spot where vegetation is as various as it is luxuriant and beautiful.

Our hotel at Agra was one of the most comfortable and American-like which can be found in India. The scene on the broad piazza, all day long, was curious and interesting, forming a sort of open bazar, where every establishment in the place had a representative and samples of its goods. All tourists are presumed to have come to purchase, and importunity is a part of the natives' business. Photographs, models of the Taj, precious stones, sandal-wood boxes, mosaics, and swords, the variety is infinite, the patience of the dealers equally inexhaustible. Nothing but absolute force could drive them away, and no one uses that. If you utterly decline to purchase anything, they fold their hands and wait. The most curious part of the business, if you purchase at all, is the elastic character of the prices, since no one pretends to pay that which is first charged, the dealer does not expect it, and the running fire of barter, chaffing, and cheapening is most laughable. The vendor begins by asking at least double what he will finally offer his goods for, and in the end probably gets twice their intrinsic value. If one of the natives were to offer his articles at a fixed and reasonable valuation, he would be mobbed on the spot by his companions. Dickering is the poetry of trade to a Hindoo.



CHAPTER VIII.

From Agra to Jeypore.—An Independent Province.—A Unique Indian City.—Wild Animals.—Elephant Traveling.—Trapping Tigers.—A Royal Palace.—The Harem.—Native Rule.—Wild Monkeys and Peacocks.—Long Journey across Country.—Bombay.—The Rival of Calcutta.—The Parsees.—Towers of Silence.—Feeding the Vultures.—A Remarkable Institution.—Island of Elephanta.—Street Jugglers.—Crossing the Sea of Arabia.—The Southern Cross.—Aden.—Passage up the Red Sea.—Landing at Suez.—Traveling in Egypt.

If the reader will consult the map of India it will be seen that few regions in the world present such an array of remarkable cities as have sprung up and flourished in the Ganges-Jumna valley, of which we are now writing. Here we have Agra, Delhi, Cawnpore, Lucknow, Allahabad, Benares, Mirzapur, Patna, Decca, and Murshedabad. What historic associations arise at the bare mention of these Indian cities, each one of which affords a record reaching so far down the corridors of the past as to fascinate the archaeologist by its very mystery.

We left Agra regretfully; one would like more time to examine and become familiar with all its monuments, and yet they seem as deeply impressed upon the memory as though we had known them for years, and had lived long in their midst. The Rajpootana State Railway was taken for Jeypore, situated a hundred and fifty miles from Agra, and justly reputed to be the finest native city in the country: in many respects it is unique. The route thither lay through a very level country of great fertility, showing line crops of cereals, with frequent and vivid fields of yellow mustard in full bloom. Jeypore is the capital of the territory belonging to the Maharajah Mardozing, whose independent possessions are just about the size of the State of Massachusetts, the British not having "annexed" this special territory. The prince is a middle-aged, affable, and intelligent person, very courteous to strangers, but especially so to Americans, concerning whose government he is quite inquisitive. He is a man of more than ordinary culture, has traveled much, is exceedingly progressive in his ideas, and seems to command the respect of the English, and of all who are brought within his circle.

Jeypore is well fortified, and the prince keeps up a modest military organization. In driving about the city we observed long rows of dwelling-houses, rose-tinted, with pretty verandas and latticed windows, besides numerous large and well-arranged public structures devoted to educational purposes; some for teaching music, others devoted to the fine arts, and some to the primary branches of education, such as arithmetic, geography, etc. We were told that several able foreign teachers were in the Maharajah's employment, the schools all being free. Among the public buildings we noticed the palace, half a mile long, and eight stories high, well divided into courts, gardens, and public halls. In one of the latter was being held an extensive fair of Indian goods and manufactures, which for variety, comprehensiveness, richness of the articles, and judicious arrangement, would have done credit to any European city. We noticed a public mint, an observatory, a hospital, and a large arsenal. All these, as well as a very considerable number of the dwelling-houses, bore a certain conspicuous mark, showing them to belong to the Maharajah. He is much more western than eastern in his ideas; more ready to expend his large revenue for the public good than to build Peacock Thrones, which at the same time excite the marvel and cupidity of the world; and so this very presentable city, in the heart of India, is a mixture of Orientalism and European innovation, the streets even being lighted by gas. Though, to speak honestly, this last fact seemed a trifle out of place; wild monkeys and crocodiles in the environs, and gaslights in the streets!

Jeypore is a beautiful little city, and ancient withal, though there are no ruins here; everything gives evidence of present prosperity, peace, and abundance. The houses are painted in a toy-like manner, but are neat and pretty. Queer little canvas-covered, two-wheeled carts, their tops shaped like half an egg-shell, and drawn by a single bullock, trot about the streets in a very lively fashion, some of them closely curtained containing women of the harem, but one sees few women except of the humble class; Oriental exclusion is observed here. Under this prince's seemingly wise rule the population exhibit a marked and favorable contrast to that of India generally, over which the authority of Great Britain extends. There are no mud cabins, no visible want. We did not see a beggar in all Jeypore. The people are decently clothed, and well-lodged in nice-looking houses, most of which are two stories high. The streets are exceptionally broad and neatly kept, being regularly sprinkled by coolies to lay the dust, though in a primitive manner. These fellows carry goat skins, filled with water, fastened to their backs, with the neck coming forward under the right arm, and by swinging the nozzle from side to side the street gets a uniform wetting. This same mode is adopted even in so large a city as Calcutta, where a Yankee watering-cart would supersede the services of twenty-five coolies who are thus employed. Many fountains ornament the streets of Jeypore, placed in the centres of open squares. The expression upon the faces of the people is that of smiling content; in short, an air of thrift pervades everything. All this was in such decided contrast to those portions of the country which we had visited as to make a strong impression, and lead to some deductions not entirely favorable to English rule in India.

In speaking of this subject to an intelligent English resident, he replied that we had seen an exceptional specimen of the native control in this instance; and that other regions of India, were we to visit them, would present a very different state of affairs, all of which may be true. We ventured however, for the sake of argument, to question the justice of the tenure by which England held possession of India, and were promptly answered: "We conquered this territory from the Mohammedan invaders, who were ruling it with a rod of iron. Our coming has been and is a deliverance. We did not even overthrow the Mohammedan Empire. That was done by the Mahrattas, under French officers, from whom, in 1803, we rescued the Emperor, whose descendants we have ever since pensioned. None of the princes and sultans whom we have deposed were hereditary sovereigns. They were actually rebellious viceroys and governors who had assumed their position during the confusion of the times. In short, that our rule is a blessing to India, to-day, does not admit of an argument." We frankly acknowledged very modified feelings upon the subject since arriving in the country.

Wild animals are abundant in the neighborhood, the tiger especially being hunted and feared, and not without abundant reason; for here, as at Singapore, men, women, and children are daily sacrificed to their rapacious appetites in some part of the district. It is said to be a fact that these animals, in their wild state, having once tasted human flesh, will be satisfied with no other food; but will leave the antelope and smaller game, known to be comparatively plenty in the neighborhood of the jungle, and lie in wait for days to capture human prey, even stealing at night within the precincts of the villages, and among the native huts. They exhibit great cunning in their attacks, rarely showing themselves when there is more than one person present, and never doing so where there are numbers, except when driven in the hunt. Instinct teaches them that one individual may be overcome, but that two or three are capable of victoriously defending themselves. The natives set ingenious traps for the tigers, and many are captured, for which they receive a bounty. The usual trap is formed by digging a well in the earth, ten feet square and fifteen feet or more in depth, wider at the bottom than the top. This is ingeniously covered with light branches and leaves, and located in the path where a tiger has been tracked. For some reason this animal, having once passed through a jungle, will ever after follow as nearly as possible his own foot-prints, and can thus easily be led into a pitfall of the character we have described. Having once got into this well he cannot possibly get out, and here he is permitted to become so nearly starved as to deprive him of all powers of resistance, in which condition he is secured. A little food and water soon restores him to his normal condition, when he finds himself a prisoner in a stout cage, behind strong iron bars. For a few days after his capture the animal's rage knows no bounds, and his struggles to free himself are ceaseless, sometimes even ending in self-inflicted death by dashing himself head foremost upon the bars. If not an old animal, he, however, generally subsides into sullen acceptance of the situation after a day or two.

We were shown half a dozen lately taken and confined separately in strong cages in one of the open squares of the city. Two of them had a very bad record, and were real man-eaters, having a score or more of coolies charged to their account. These were all condemned to be killed, as they proved to be too old to sell for exhibition in the European markets, but the young ones are often thus disposed of. A tiger, one or even two years old, can be tamed and rendered quite docile for menagerie purposes; but when taken wild at an age exceeding these figures they are never quite safe. Those which we saw in the square at Jeypore were splendid specimens of their race, full of fire and rage, chafing at their imprisonment, and springing violently against the iron bars of their cages at every one who approached them. They were quite unlike the poor beasts of the menageries, who have had all their spirit and savage instincts subdued by confinement.

Having obtained the necessary permit to visit the royal summer palace of Ambar, a few miles from the city walls, among the picturesque hills, elephants, belonging to the Maharajah were sent for us, and we mounted them, the animals kneeling at the word of command for us to do so. Our party, six in number, was divided so that four persons, including the driver, rode on each elephant. They were large and docile creatures, being respectively seventy and ninety years of age. Their shuffling, flat-footed tread is peculiar, but not very unpleasant, except when the driver hurries the animals; but even then the gait is not nearly so trying to the rider as is that of the camel, which is only comparable to a Cunarder pitching in a head sea. The elephants seem to be very easily controlled by the driver, who, however, is armed with a steel-pointed weapon which he resorts to freely if his directions are not obeyed, and the animal evidently stands in mortal dread of the instrument. All classes of the people ride upon the camel here, from the prince to the peddler; but the elephant is only in common use among the nabobs and members of the royal household, officers of state, and the like. It costs as much to keep and support an elephant as it does to maintain eight horses or ten camels, the latter animal thriving on cheap food.

A visit to the summer palace was very interesting, the local guide pointing out every object of note, and explaining all clearly. That part of the spacious buildings reserved for the harem was simply perfection, in point of luxury, as conceived from an Oriental stand-point. The audience rooms, the throne room, the domestic living rooms, and the various offices of the palace, were large and admirably arranged, furnished in the Eastern fashion. The white marble work was everywhere exquisite in its finish, and, wherever it was possible, superseded the use of wood. The windows, opening from all the general apartments, afforded views across the hills, valleys, and lakes of the city of Jeypore, two or three leagues away. The group of the harem apartments, as usual, all opened inward, upon an area where grew orange, lemon, and fig-trees, full of fruit, also pomegranates and trailing vines, gracefully arranged. There were many varieties of flowers in bloom besides roses, which we strongly suspected came from afar. They were too familiar, those tea, damask, Jaqueminot, Marshal Niel, and moss roses. The indigenous ones were not nearly so full in leaf or pure in color, nor so fragrant or beautiful. The spacious marble bath was also in an open area, or court, shut in from all eyes save those of the denizens themselves, and of such depth and size as to admit of swimming. This tiny lake was bordered by thick growing myrtles, and a shrub with a dagger-like leaf, bearing a trumpet-shaped flower, snow white, but unknown to us, seemingly of the convolvulus genus. The dark winding labyrinths and passages from one part of the Ambar Palace to another were utterly confusing, and of a nature designed to mystify any one but an habitue. When the palace has its summer complement of residents, servants and all, it must contain some three hundred souls, besides the soldiery, who occupy the barracks outside to guard the entrances. It is a fort as well as a palace, and so arranged as to form a citadel capable of sustaining a siege, if necessary; while its lofty and commanding situation is such, that it could not be taken by an attacking force without great loss of life on their part. We were shown in the basement a singular shrine or temple, before which was a large, flat stone, where daily sacrifices of a sheep or goat is made by the priests. In the olden time human sacrifices took place on the stone, according to the guide. Fresh signs showed that the ceremony of blood spilling had lately taken place, and, on inquiry, we were told that the carcass was given as food to the poor, which was certainly one feature of the practice quite commendable.

When at last we mounted the elephants to again return to the city, it was past meridian, but so powerful was the heat of the sun that we could hardly have sustained it without the protection of umbrellas, and thought if this was winter weather in India what must midsummer be? Though so much further north, of the equator than Ceylon, the heat seemed nearly as great, and even more insupportable. There was a certain moisture and softness about the high temperature at Colombo, which we had experienced a month before; while here there was a dry, burning directness of the sun's power which was absolutely withering. As we passed over the road, swayed hither and thither upon the backs of the huge animals, it was amusing to watch the gambols of the wild monkeys in the trees, and to observe the flocks of wild peacocks in the open fields, both monkeys and peacocks being held sacred. There were tall cranes wading on the edges of the ponds, with other queer-legged, odd water-fowls strutting through the mud. The crocodiles were seen sunning themselves on the river's bank, watching for an Indian child or dog to devour. Fancy colored parrots were plenty; and when we got within the city gates, we met such dense flocks of tame pigeons, of various colors, as could not be equaled elsewhere. They were of several species, well-defined: fan-tailed, bloaters, divers, etc., some pure white, some mottled, and some as blue as the sky. Like those at Venice, they are protected by law. Indeed all animal life is spared, from religious convictions, except such as is brought to the altar. We finally got safely back to our quarters, at the Kaiser-i-Hind Hotel, far too well pleased with our trip to Ambar to cavil at a most indifferent dinner.

There are many native princes who govern states in India, as is the case at Jeypore; but they do so under sufferance, as it were, acknowledging their "subordinate dependence" to the British government. They form a body of feudatory rulers, possessing revenue and armies of their own. There is always a British "Resident" at their courts, who acts as an adviser, as it is termed, but who is, in plain English, a sort of acknowledged and permitted spy. These princes are not allowed to make war upon each other, or to form alliances with foreign states; and, upon the whole, all things considered, it is perhaps the best possible arrangement for the princes and for their subjects. England does not hesitate to interfere if a prince is guilty of any decided mismanagement, protecting the weak, and imposing peace. We were informed that the power of life and death, in single cases, rests with the Maharajah of Jeypore, as well as with the rest of the native rulers. Thus one third of India, embracing a population of between fifty and sixty millions of people, is still under native rule.

From Jeypore to Bombay is a distance of seven hundred miles, a journey which we were three days and nights in performing. Most of the route lay through a sparsely-populated country, very similar in character to the sections already described,—the greater part of India being an immense plain. It was curious on this route to observe that all the railroad station-houses were built with white domes like mosques, a fancy which was also carried into practice upon many of the better class of village houses; the effect, however, was far from pleasing to the eye. Now and then a few antelopes were seen; they would gaze fixedly at the train for a moment, then turn and spring away in immense bounds. Now a lynx and now a fox would put in an appearance in the early morning, in the lonely district through which we passed, generally at a wholesome distance from the cars. We were up and watchful; there is not much sleep to be obtained on the cars in India; besides, one does not wish to lose the crisp freshness of the dawn. Before the sun fairly rises the temperature was a little chilly, but directly its power was felt, and it got fairly started upon its diurnal path, there was a change of thirty or forty degrees, and then—it is impossible to describe how the golden sunlight flooded the plains. Small game of various species was frequently seen in the fields and hedges; kingfishers, kites, and hawks put in an appearance, and a tall bird standing four feet high was pointed out to us, called a sarus, gray in color, and of the stork family. The pretty Indian blue jay seemed omnipresent.

As we got further southward we came upon the great poppy fields, cultivated for opium, which formed a remarkable feature in the landscape. They were scarlet in color, mingled occasionally with pink. In other parts of the country we had seen the beautiful, though baleful, fields of poppies, dressed in bridal white. The effect of either is very fine when the eye measures the singular display by miles in extent, the rich, glutinous flowers nodding gracefully in the gentle breeze. We were told that from six to seven hundred thousand acres of land, mostly in the valley of the Ganges, were devoted to the poppy culture. A large share of these opium farms, as they may be called, belong to the English government, and are cultivated by their agents. Those which are conducted on private account are very heavily taxed, and are carried on in the interest of the Parsee merchants of Bombay, who control a large share of the opium trade, handling not only their own product, but also that of the government.

Oftentimes, near these gorgeous poppy fields were broad ripening acres of grain, which would have been denuded of their valuable property by the great flocks of birds floating hither and thither, were it not that precautions were taken to drive them away. A tall platform is raised upon poles in the centre of the field, with a slight straw shelter over it, upon which a young lad or girl is stationed, who thus overlooks the whole. They have no fire-arms, but are supplied with a simple sling and a few stones; should a bird be seen too close to the precious grain, an unerring stone will find him, and his body becomes a warning for his companions. The monkeys, who abound in southern India, are not so easily got rid of. Birds will not fly after dark, nor much before the sun rises in the morning; but the monkeys raid the fruit and vegetable fields by night, and are capable of organizing a descent upon some promising point with all the forethought of human thieves. Besides which, birds, as a rule, will take only such food as they can eat, but the Indian monkeys appropriate whatever they can lay their paws upon, having a special regard for light domestic articles, with which they have a fancy for decking the tops of the highest trees.

While Calcutta is the governmental or political capital of India, Bombay is its commercial metropolis; and an obvious sense of rivalry exists between the two places. The opening of communication with England by the Red Sea route has given the latter city a great business impetus, and it is growing rapidly, possessing more elements of future greatness than any other city in Asia. It forms the western gateway to India, is entirely modern, and three quarters European. The Parsees, Hindoos, and Mussulmans make up the other quarter of the fixed population, while the floating populace represents nearly every Asiatic people. These two principal cities are located on the opposite sides of the peninsula, Calcutta being on the Bay of Bengal and Bombay on the Sea of Arabia. The Parsees number over a hundred thousand, and represent a large portion of the wealth of the city, being also by far the most intelligent and enterprising natives of India. They sympathize entirely with the English government, which gives them freedom of opinion and protection for life and property, neither of which could be assured under native auspices. They keep entirely aloof, socially, from other races, and strictly preserve their well-defined individuality. Their dress is peculiar, partly Oriental, partly European, and they are still like their fathers, after thousands of years, the consistent followers of Zoroaster.

The Parsees settled here more than eight centuries ago, after their expulsion from Persia. Their temples contain no images, nothing but the altar bearing the sacred fire, which their fathers brought with them when they landed here so long ago, and which has never for one instant been extinguished. They worship the sun as the representative of God, and fire in all its forms, as well as the ocean, which would seem to be an antagonistic agent; but as their religion recognizes one Good and one Evil Principle, who are ever contending for the mastery of the universe, perhaps these emblems are no paradox. One of the first places we visited in Bombay was Malabar Hill, a lofty piece of ground just outside of the city, upon the apex of which are the five famous "Towers of Silence," constituting the cemetery of the Parsees. Beautiful gardens, kept ever in bloom and loveliness by the most assiduous care, surround these towers, which are the subjects of such sad associations. The oldest of these structures is between two and three centuries in age, and one is solely designed for the bodies of criminals whose bones are not permitted to mingle with those of the just. When a death occurs among the Parsees, the body is brought here to a small temple, containing the sacred fire, within the grounds. Here a certain formula is gone through with, and a solemn chant without words is performed by the assembled mourners. Presently the corpse is carried upon a stretcher through a door of one of the towers, and is placed upon a grating raised a few feet from the ground, where it is completely exposed. The bearers instantly retire, the door is closed and locked. These towers are open at the top, on the cornice of which hundreds of vultures are always waiting in full view of every one, and as soon as the body is left they swoop down to their awful meal, eagerly tearing and devouring the flesh, absolutely picking it clean from the bones, which fall into a space below in an indiscriminate mass, to be decomposed by time and the elements. The hideous detail of the scene is not visible to the spectators, but the reappearance of these terrible birds of prey upon the walls, an hour later, in a gorged condition, is only too significant of what has transpired within the silent and gloomy inclosure.

During a subsequent early-morning walk the writer observed a funeral procession on its way towards Malabar Hill, and followed it to the Towers. For a moment after arriving there the face of the corpse was exposed, showing the marble features of a young girl of some fifteen years, wearing upon her pale face an expression of seraphic loveliness. The body was covered with a snow-white sheet, exhibiting the outline of a beautiful, budding form suddenly snatched from life. Over and around the body were white buds and half-blown pale flowers, indicative of youth, recalling to mind a similar experience on the banks of the Ganges. There was no apparent want of sentiment and tenderness here. As soon as the brief ceremony was over the beautiful remains, lovely even in death, were deposited in the nearest tower, the door was closed and the bearers retired. Down swooped the ravenous birds to their terrible banquet, as we turned away with a shudder. The devouring flames that wreathed about the child-corpse at Benares did not seem to us so shocking as this.

Seeing an intelligent Parsee, who had evidently been watching us, we asked: "How can you reconcile to your feelings such disposal as that of the remains of a tenderly beloved child?" "What do you do with your dead?" he asked. "We bury them in the earth." "Yes," he continued, "for the worms to eat. And if there is death at sea you sink the body in the ocean to be consumed by the sharks. We prefer to give our dead to the birds of the air." We were certainly answered, though not convinced, as to the propriety of the awful scene just enacted. Perhaps, after all, it makes but little difference what becomes of these tenements of clay. The Parsee feeds the vultures with his dead, the devout Hindoo burns the body, and the professed Christian gives his to the worms and to the sharks. Still as we came down Malabar Hill that morning, and saw the hideous carrion birds, gorged and sleepy, roosting upon the walls of the cemetery, a sense of nausea came over us quite uncontrollable.

Bombay is made up of fine public buildings, sumptuous bungalows, and low hovels, not absolutely combined, each class being found in clusters about its special locality, but all going to make up the aggregate figure of the population. That the numbers should reach the round total of a million of people was a surprise. In the European cities we see the palace and the hovel, wealth and poverty, everywhere jostling each other. In Florence, Rome, or Naples a half-starved cobbler's stall may nestle beneath a palace, or a vendor of roast chestnuts may have established himself there. In Bombay a sense of propriety and fitness has assorted and adjusted these matters. Still poverty and riches are never far apart in the world, even as joy and grief are inevitable neighbors. There cannot be strong light without shade near at hand. Excellent order and neatness are maintained, and well-disciplined policemen are seen at every corner. The municipality is partly elective and partly nominative, the majority of the officials being of native birth, and so far as a casual visitor may judge, affairs are managed economically and judiciously. In the neighborhood of Elphinstone Circle and the Esplanade, the city will compare favorably with any modern European capital, both in the size and style of the public and private buildings, as well as in the broad, liberal squares and thoroughfares, ornamented with statuary and fountains.

A drive in the environs of Bombay, around the base of Malabar Hill and along the picturesque shore of the Arabian Sea, is an experience never to be forgotten by one who has enjoyed its pleasure. It will be sure to recall to the traveler the almost unrivaled environs of Genoa, with those winding, rock-cut roads overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Here the roads are admirable, cool, and half-embowered in foliage, amid which the crimson sagittaria, flaunting its fiery leaves and ponderous blossoms everywhere, meets the eye. About the fine villas, which are set back a short distance from the road, delightful gardens were to be seen of choice flowers, tastefully arranged, comprising an abundance of tropical plants, tall palms lining the drive-way up to the houses where the merchant princes dwell. The broad public roads were lined with oleanders, magnolias, laburnums, jasmines, orange and lemon-trees; and there were honeysuckles, white, scarlet, yellow; and tiger-lilies of marvelous size, each leaf looking as if it were a butterfly, and the whole flower forming a group of them lit upon a stem. Urns, from which drooped variegated flowers, relieved by wreathing smilax, ornamented the posts of gates, and lined the smooth, white graveled paths about the verandas of these suburban palaces in miniature. The flora of our best kept green-houses here bloomed out of doors in wild luxuriance, but not a familiar tree was to be seen. In place of elms, maples, pines, and oaks, there were tall, slender palms, fig-trees, mangoes, and whole groves of bananas bending under the weight of the long, finger-like fruit. Verily, these Parsees, in spite of their bigotry and their adherence to ancient superstitions, know how to make their homes beautiful.

There was one institution visited in Bombay which is, so far as we know, unique, commending itself however, to every philanthropist, namely, An Asylum for Aged and Decrepit Animals. Here were found birds and beasts suffering under various afflictions, carefully tended and nursed as human beings are in a well-regulated hospital. The origin of the establishment was due to a philanthropic native who some years ago left a large sum of money, on his decease, for this purpose, so thoroughly in accordance with his religious convictions. Within the last ten years several liberal endowments have been added, all by natives, until the institution is now self-supporting. We were told of a new bequest, just added, which would enable the trustees to enlarge certain premises. Liberal visitors are also frequently inclined to leave a few dollars to encourage so worthy an institution. Bullocks, cows, dogs, and cats, otherwise homeless, here find good care, food, and shelter. The yard and buildings cover about two acres of ground, where the animals are only so far confined as to insure their own comfort and safety. None of them are ever killed, but are well cared for until Nature herself closes the scene for them. One horse, which we noticed, was swung by belly straps so that his hind feet were quite off the floor; a case, as was explained, where one of his hind legs had been broken, but which had now so nearly healed that the animal would be able to stand once more upon his feet—not to work, but to live out his allotted days in peace. In America, or indeed nearly anywhere else, a horse with a broken leg is at once deprived of life. All through the East, but especially in India, there is, as a rule, a kind consideration for animals that is in marked contrast to the treatment they so often receive in what we term more civilized countries. Under the plea of humanity we take the life of most ailing animals in the Western world, but not so in Bombay. Horses, donkeys, cows, cats, dogs, and monkeys, sick or injured by accident, will be at once taken into this establishment, on application, and kindly cared for, free of all expense, until natural death ensues.

A visit to the Island of Elephanta, in the outer harbor of Bombay, situated about ten miles from the city, will afford all strangers much gratification. A small excursion steamer, tug-boat size, was chartered for our purpose, and with a favoring current took us down to the island in an hour, but was twice as long in working her way back against the tide. It was quite a picnic affair, our refreshments being taken with us from the hotel, and a nice table spread on board the little boat, where we lunched with that best of sauce, a good appetite. This famous island is about six miles in circumference, covered with a thick undergrowth of bushes and some fine specimens of tropical trees. It derives its name from a colossal stone elephant which once stood near the present landing, and formed a conspicuous object visible far away. This monument was thrown down many years ago by some convulsion of nature, and now lies overgrown by vines and bushes, hidden beneath tamarind and banana-trees. As the shore is shelving, the depth of water will not permit boats to approach very near; so that the landing is made over a series of large, deep-sunken stepping-stones, rather slippery and dangerous for one without a cool head. After having landed there is still nearly a thousand irregular steps to ascend before reaching the plateau, where the mouth of the famous temple is entered.

We found this cave temple with its front half hidden by a wild growth of luxuriant vines and foliage. The cavity is hewn out of the solid rock, extending nearly two hundred feet directly into the hill-side. It was strange and incongruous in aspect,—a sort of conglomeration of sensualism, religious ideas, and Buddhist idols. Most of the school geographies of our childhood depict this entrance of the Cave of Elephanta, supported by carved pillars, hewn out of the rock just where they stand, part and parcel of it. The roof is supported by many carved pillars, also similarly hewn out of the native stone. Some of them have been willfully broken, others have mouldered away from atmospheric exposure. The Portuguese in their day, as we were told by the custodian,—a superannuated non-commissioned officer of the English army,—planted cannon before the cave and destroyed many of the pillars, as well as the heathen emblems, by round shot. One sees here the singular phenomenon of hanging pillars, the capitals only extant; but as the whole is carved out of the same huge rock all parts are equally self-supporting. There are many well-executed figures in bas-relief, more or less decayed and broken, which is not surprising when we remember that the antiquarians trace them back with certainty for some fifteen centuries, and some give their origin to a period nearly ten centuries earlier.

Though embodying so much that is curious and suggestive as these rock-cave temples do, presenting such an aggregate of patient labor, the world will probably remain ever ignorant of their true history. An American traveler, whom we met in Bombay, had made these Buddhist temples a special study, and had just returned from a visit to those interesting antiquities, the Caves of Ellora, some two hundred miles from Bombay, consisting of several lofty apartments ornamented in a similar manner to those at Elephanta: in bas-relief. He also mentioned another excavated temple of the same character at Carlee, between Bombay and Puna, which in many respects resembled a Gothic church, having a vaulted roof and colonnades running on either side, like aisles. He was disposed to give the origin of them, as well as of those in the harbor of Bombay, to a period prior to the Christian era. However strange and historically interesting these excavated temples may be to the observant traveler, he will look in vain among the carvings and basso-relievi for any just proportions of form or expression of features. There is a lack of anything like artistic genius evinced, no correctness of anatomical proportions even attempted. The figures doubtless were sufficiently typical to answer their original purpose, but are as crude as Chinese idols. When the Prince of Wales was in Bombay he visited the spot and a sort of barbecue was given to him within the cave, upon which the stony eyes of the idols must have looked down in amazement.

Elephanta is also unique in the production of a species of beetle remarkable for variety of colors and ornamentation of body. We had seen numerous specimens of this insect in southern India and at Singapore, some of which were an inch long, but these of Elephanta were not remarkable for size. They were hardly larger than one's little finger nail, but of such brilliancy of color, red, blue, yellow, and pink, as to cause them to resemble precious stones rather than insects. Some were a complete representative of the opal, with all its radiating fire. Some were spotted like butterflies, others like the expanded tail of the peacock, and again some had half circles of alternate colors like the eyes in a pearl oyster. We were told that only upon this island were such specimens to be found. Children gathered them, and filled little wooden boxes with various specimens, which they sold for a trifle. The harbor of Bombay is a spacious and excellent one. The old fortifications have gone mostly to decay, but two floating monitors, the Abyssinia and the Magdala, now form the principal defense of the port. The city, unlike most commercial ports, is not situated on a river, but is one of a cluster of islands connected with the main-land by causeways and railroad viaducts, turning it into a peninsula.

The fish-market is remarkable here for the variety and excellence of the finny tribe offered for sale. The fish-market of Havana has ever been famous for the size, color, and shapes of the specimens it shows upon its broad marble tables, but Bombay rivals the Cuban capital in this respect. Fish forms a large portion of the substantial sustenance of the common people. The fish-women, those who sell the article in the market, are curious, swarthy creatures, covered with bangles on wrists, ankles, arms, ears, and noses. An East Indian woman seems to find vast satisfaction in this style of disfigurement. To see and to eat prawns in their perfection, three or four inches long, one must visit Bombay, where they create handsome bits of scarlet color piled up amid the silver and gold scaled fishes upon the white marble. The fruit-market is equally remarkable for variety and lusciousness. Mandarins, oranges, lemons, mangoes, grapes, bananas, cocoanuts, rose-apples, and vegetables too numerous to mention, load the tempting counters. One of the dealers, a young woman who would have been pretty if not so bedecked, had perforated each side of her nostrils and wore in the holes small gilt buttons,—this in addition to bangles innumerable, and ornaments dragging her ears quite out of shape. Her swarthy brown limbs were covered to above the calf with rings of silver and gilt, and her arms were similarly decked. Part of her bosom was tattooed with blue and red ink. This woman pressed a mango upon us at a trifling cost, but not having been educated up to liking this fruit, it was bestowed upon the first child we met. The Indian mango tastes like turpentine and musk mixed, only more so.

The last scene witnessed at Bombay, as we were waiting on the pier for the steam-launch which was to take us on board the P. and O. steamship Kashgar, was the performance of some street jugglers. We had seen many such exhibitions at Delhi, Agra, Madras, and Benares, but these fellows seemed to be more expert in their tricks, and yet not superior or even equal to many prestidigitateurs whom we have seen in America. The doings of these Indian jugglers are more curious in the stories of travelers than when witnessed upon the spot. The so-often-described trick of making a dwarf mango-tree grow up from the seed before one's eyes to a condition of fruit-bearing, in an incredibly short period of time, is very common with them, but is really the merest sleight-of-hand affair, by no means the best of their performances. A Signor Blitz or Hermann would put the most expert of these Indian jugglers to shame in his own art. The performers on this occasion were particularly expert in swallowing knife blades, and thrusting swords down their throats; but it was difficult to get up much enthusiasm among the idle crowd that gathered upon the pier to watch them, and the few pennies which the performers realized could hardly be remunerative.

We prepared for our departure from India with feelings of regret at not being able longer to study its visible history, and to travel longer within its borders. Nearly a month and a half had passed since we landed in the country of the Hindoo and the Mohammedan, the land of palms and palaces, of pagodas and temples. Its remarkable scenes and monuments will never be forgotten, and with Japan will ever share our warmest interest. There are some memories which, like wine, grow mellow and sweet by time, no distance being able to obliterate them, nor any after-experience to lessen their charm. India has a record running back through thousands of years and remotest dynasties, captivating the fancy with numberless ruins, which, while at attesting the splendor of their prime, form also the only record of their history. The mosaic character of its population, the peculiarities of its animal kingdom, the luxuriance of its vegetation, the dazzling beauty of its birds and flowers, all crowd upon the memory in charming kaleidoscopic combinations. There can be no doubt of the early grandeur and high civilization of India. To the intellectual eminence of her people we owe the germs of science, philosophy, law, and astronomy. Her most perfect of all tongues, the Sanskrit, has been the parent of nearly all others; and now that her lustre has faded away, and her children fallen into a condition of sloth and superstition, still let us do her historic justice; nor should we neglect to heed the lesson she so clearly presents, namely, that nations, like human beings, are subject to the unvarying laws of mutability.

We embarked from Bombay, February 9th, on board the P. and O. steamship Kashgar for Suez, a voyage of three thousand miles across the Sea of Arabia and the Indian Ocean, through the Straits of Babelmandeb and the entire length of the Red Sea. The most southerly point of the voyage took us within fourteen degrees of the equator, and consequently into an extremely warm temperature. As the ship's cabin proved to be almost insupportable on account of the heat, we passed a large portion of the nights, as well as the days, upon deck, making acquaintance with the stars, looking down from their serene and silent spaces, the new moon, and the Southern Cross, all of which were wonderfully bright in the clear, dry atmosphere. As we approach the equatorial region one cannot but admire the increasing and wondrous beauty of the southern skies, where new and striking constellations greet the observer. The Southern Cross, above all other groupings, interests the beholder, and he ceases to wonder at the reverence with which the inhabitants of the low latitudes regard it. As an accurate measurer of time, it is also valued by the mariner in the southern hemisphere, who is nightly called to watch on deck, and who thus becomes familiar with the glowing orbs revealed by the surrounding darkness. As a Christian emblem all southern nations bow before this constellation which is denied to northern eyes.

Bishop F——, of the Methodist Episcopal Church of Massachusetts, was a passenger on board the Kashgar, bound to Egypt, and on Sunday, February 11th, after the captain had read the usual services, he was invited to address the passengers; this he did in an eloquent and impressive discourse. It was a calm, beautiful Sabbath, a sweet tranquillity enshrouding everything. The ship glided over the gently throbbing breast of the Arabian Sea with scarcely perceptible motion; and when night came, the stillness yet unbroken, save by the pulsation of the great motive power hidden in the dark hull of the Kashgar, the bishop delivered a lecture on astronomy. He stood on the quarter-deck, bare-headed, his snow-white hair crowning a brow radiant with intellect, while the attentive passengers were seated around, and over his head glowed the wondrous orbs of which he discoursed. Naturally eloquent, the speaker seemed inspired by the peculiar surroundings, as he pointed out and dilated upon the glorious constellations and planets blazing in the blue vault above us. He explained the immensity of these individual worlds, the harmonious system which science shows to exist in their several spheres, the almost incalculable distance between them, as related to each other and as it regarded this earth. The sun, the moon, and the rotation of the globe, all were learnedly expatiated upon, and yet in language so eloquent and simple as to inform the least intelligent of his listeners. Finally, in his peroration, in touchingly beautiful language, he ascribed the power, the glory, and the harmony of all to that Almighty Being who is the Parent of our race.

The good ship held steadily on her southwest course, day after day, lightly fanned by the northeast monsoon towards the mouth of the Red Sea. Our time was passed in reading aloud to each other, and in rehearsing the experience of the last six months. We were very dreamy, very idle, but it was sacred idleness, full of pleasant thoughts, and half-waking visions induced by tropical languor, full of gratitude for life and being amid such tranquillity, and beneath skies so glowing with beauty and loveliness. At the end of the sixth day we cast anchor at the island, or rather peninsula, of Aden, a rocky, isolated spot held by English troops, to command the entrance to the Red Sea,—very properly called the Gibraltar of the Indian Ocean. Like that famous promontory it was originally little more than a barren rock,—pumice-stone and lava,—which has been improved into a picturesque and habitable place, bristling with one hundred British cannon of heavy calibre. It is a spot much dreaded by sailors, the straits being half closed by sunken rocks, besides which the shore is considered the most unhealthy yet selected by civilized man as a residence.

The town of Aden lies some distance from the shore where the landing is made, in the very centre of an extinct volcano, the sides of which have fallen in and form its foundation, affording, as may reasonably be supposed, an opportunity for yet another calamity like that which so lately visited Ischia, and which swallowed up Casamicciola. As we passed in from the open sea to the harbor of Aden, the tall masts of a steamship, wrecked here very lately, were still visible above the long, heavy swell of the ocean. The name of these straits, Babelmandeb, given to them by the Arabs, signifies the "Gate of Tears," because of the number of vessels which have been wrecked in an attempt to pass through them; and the title is no less applicable to our time than when they were first named. There is a saying among seamen, that for six months of the year no vessel under canvas can enter the Red Sea, and, for the other six months, no sailing vessel can get out. This refers to the regularity with which the winds blow here, for six months together. Aden lies within the rainless zone, so that its inhabitants see no rain-fall sometimes for two or three years together, depending for their water on wells, tanks, and condensers. The remains of an ancient and magnificent system of reservoirs, antedating the Christian era, and hewn out of the solid rock, have been discovered, whereby the early inhabitants were accustomed to lay in a supply of the aqueous fluid when it did rain, which would last them for a long period of months. Following out the original idea, these stone reservoirs have been thoroughly repaired, and the present inhabitants now lay up water in large quantities when the welcome rain visits them.

As we lay at anchor just off the shore at Aden, the ship was surrounded by a score of small boats, dugout canoes, in which were boys as black as Nubians, with shining white teeth and curly heads, watching us with bright, expressive eyes. Such heads of hair we never chanced to meet with before. Evidently dyed red by some means, the hair is twisted into vertical curls of oddest appearance. The little fellows, each in his own canoe, varied in age from ten to fifteen years. By eloquent gestures and the use of a few English words, they begged the passengers on board the Kashgar to throw small coin into the sea, for which they would dive in water that was at least seven fathoms deep, that is, say forty feet. The instant a piece of money was thrown, every canoe was emptied, and twenty human beings disappeared from sight like a flash. Down, down go the divers to the very bottom, and there struggle together for the trifle, some one of the throng being sure to rise to the surface with the coin displayed between his teeth. They struggle, wrestle, and fight beneath the surface, and when the water is clear can be seen, like the amphibious creatures which these shore-born tribes really are; nothing but otters and seals could be keener sighted or more expert in the water.

Quite a number of natives came on board the ship with curiosities to sell, such as choice shells, toys, leopard skins, and ostrich feathers. There are plenty of these birds running wild but a little way inland, and some are kept in domestic confinement on account of the feathers which they yield; but the tame birds do not develop such fine plumage as do the wild ones. The ladies purchased choice specimens of these elegant ornaments at prices ridiculously low compared with the charge for such in Europe or America. The men who sold these feathers differed from the other natives, and were evidently Syrian Jews, queer looking fellows, small in stature, dark as Arabs, and with their hair dressed in cork-screw curls. These small traders commenced by demanding guineas for their feathers, and ended by taking shillings. Notwithstanding the barren aspect of the surrounding country, Aden manages to do something in the way of exports. Coffee is produced, not far inland, as well as honey, wax, and gums, with some spices, which are shipped to Europe.

It was just about twilight when we got up the anchor, and steamed away from Aden; and as the evening set in a bevy of birds were singularly attracted to the Kashgar. They were quite as much land as water-birds, and were fully twice as large as robins, of a mingled white and slate color. So persistent were these birds, and being perhaps a little confused by the surrounding darkness, together with the blinding lights of the ship, that they permitted themselves to be caught and handled. When thrown into the air they immediately returned, to light on the bulwarks, shrouds, deck, or awnings, in fact, anywhere affording foothold. Scores of them roosted all night on the Kashgar; but with the first break of morning light they shook their feathers briskly for a moment, uttered a few harsh, croaking notes, as a sort of rough thanks for their night's lodging, and sailed away to the Abyssinian shore.

The general appearance of Aden from the sea, though picturesque, is not inviting, giving one an idea of great barrenness. The mountains and rocks have a peaked aspect, like a spear pointed at one, as much as to say "Better keep off." People who land for the first time, however, are agreeably disappointed by finding that every opportunity for encouraging vegetation and imparting its cheerful effect to the rocky soil has been duly improved. When we bid Aden good-by in the after-glow of sunset, the sea on the harbor side was of a deep azure, while in the direction of the ocean it stretched away to the horizon in a soft, pale green. This effect, added to the lingering orange hue in the west, and the sober gray of the rocky promontory itself, made up a pleasing variety of color.

Our course was now nearly north, leaving behind us the island of Prim as well as Aden, the former being also a British stronghold at the mouth of this inland sea, close to the Arabian coast, and less than ten miles from the African shore, which facts will show the reader how narrow is the southern entrance of the Red Sea. The bold headlands of Abyssinia were long visible on our port side, while on the starboard we had a distant view of Arabia with the Libyan range of mountains in the background, forming the boundary of the desert of the same name. Jeddah, the sea-port of Mecca, the resort of all pious Mohammedans, and Mocha, with its bright sunlit minarets, the place so suggestive of good coffee, were to be seen in the distance. In coasting along the shores of Nubia, the dense air from off the land was like a sirocco, suffocatingly hot, the effect being more enervating than that of any previous experience of the journey. Here the water was observed to be much saltier to the taste than that of the open sea, a fact easily accounted for, as it is subject to the fierce tropical sun, and the consequent rapid evaporation leaves the saline property in aggregated proportions at the surface. This is a phenomenon generally observable in land-locked arms of the ocean similarly situated: the Persian Gulf being another instance. The free circulation of ocean-currents, as well as the heavy rain-falls of other tropical regions, renders the conditions more uniform. As we sailed through the Gulf of Suez we had the shores of Egypt on both sides of us. The last day on board the Kashgar was characterized by one of those blazing sunsets that set everything aglow, making it appear as though the world had taken fire at the horizon and was actually burning up.

Before arriving at Aden it was discovered that one of the foremast hands of the ship was quite ill with small-pox, a very annoying thing to happen under the circumstances. There were some thirty or forty cabin passengers on board, and of course serious fears as to contagion were entertained. Our small party, having already run the gauntlet of both cholera and small-pox, took the matter very quietly, though we had before us a five or six days' voyage to consummate before we could hope to land. The sick man was placed in one of the large life-boats on the port bow, which had a broad canvas nicely rigged over it, and in this small, improvised hospital was personally attended by the ship's doctor alone, who in turn isolated himself from the passengers. It was feared that we might be quarantined upon arriving at Suez: but either by management or accident, we arrived late at night and got moored at the dock before any questions were asked. Selfishness and gravitation are both immutable. We are quite satisfied to look out for the interests of number one, and must confess that we know not to this day whether the poor fellow, who lay so sick in the port boat, lived or died.

A modest effort to ascertain why this great arm of the Indian Ocean is called the Red Sea was not crowned with success. The Black Sea is not black, the Blue Danube is not blue, the Red Sea is not red. It extends between Africa and Arabia nearly fifteen hundred miles, and in the broadest part is not over two hundred miles across, gradually contracting at each end. Portions of it are a thousand fathoms deep, but the shores on either side are lined with a net-work of coral reefs and sunken rocks extending well out from the coast. It was observed that the Kashgar for the most part kept nearly in the middle of the sea. Small Arabian vessels hug the shore, as their captains are familiar with the soundings and can safely do so, and yet they never navigate by night nor go out of port when the weather is in the least threatening. They make no attempt to cross the sea except in settled weather, and are what we should call fresh-water sailors, only venturing out when a naked candle will burn on the forecastle. European sailing vessels rarely attempt to navigate the Red Sea; it is too intricate, and the chances too hazardous for anything but steam power to encounter. The color of the sea, so far from being red, is deeply blue, and where it becomes shoal changes to a pale green; but the color of all large expanses of water is constantly changing from various causes. The reflection of the clouds will turn its blue to a dark indigo tint, and even to inky blackness. Experienced seamen, foremast hands, who have no access to the charts, will tell by the color of the water, after a long voyage, that the land is near at hand; the clear transparent blue becomes an olive green, and as the water grows more shallow it grows also lighter.

Landing at Suez early in the morning we strolled about the town, which presented hardly a feature of local interest, except that it was Suez and unlike any other place one had ever seen. The landscape, if worthy of the name, consisted of far-reaching sand and water; not a single tree or sign of vegetation was visible. All was waste and barrenness. The hot sun permeating the atmosphere caused a shimmering in the air, the tremulous effect of which was trying to the eyes, and deceptive almost like a mirage. It was a relief even when a tall awkward necked camel came between one and the line of vision. A characteristic scene emphasized the surrounding desolation, on a neighboring sand-hill, where a flock of vultures were feeding upon the carcass of a mule. Disturbed for a moment they rose lazily, and circling about the spot settled again to their carrion feast. Though there has been a settlement here for five centuries, the place has only sprung into commercial importance since the completion of M. de Lesseps' great enterprise of wedding the Mediterranean and Red Seas. There was a noticeable mingling of nationalities as forming the rather incongruous community. We counted half a dozen insignificant mosques, and visited the Arabian bazars, but saw nothing of interest save a few corals and some handsome shells from the neighboring sea. The people themselves were more attractive and curious than the goods they displayed. Sailors were lounging about the bar-rooms in large numbers, and the sale of cheap liquors appeared to be the one prevailing business of Suez. The floating population was composed of Arabs, Maltese, Greeks, and Italians. Some of the first-named race were noticeable as nervous, sinewy, broad-chested fellows, with narrow thighs and well-shaped limbs, like a Mohawk Indian. Everything appeared poverty-stricken, and it was a relief when the time came for us to take our seats in the dilapidated cars and leave the place.

Zagazig was reached the same afternoon, and though not so populous a place as Suez was much more alive and thrifty. This settlement is also an outgrowth of M. de Lesseps' enterprise, but it does not present any aspect of its mushroom growth, giving one the impression of a place well selected as a settlement, and which had increased slowly and permanently. We were now bound directly to Cairo, which is situated nearly two hundred miles from Suez. The first twenty or thirty miles of the route was through a level desert of sand, scorched, silent, and deserted, devoid of even a spear of grass or a single tree, the yellow soil quivering in the heated air. Mile after mile was passed without meeting one redeeming feature. It was desolation personified. At last we came gradually upon a gently undulating and beautiful district of country, enriched by the annual deposits of the Nile, where careful, intelligent cultivation produced its natural results. Here we began to see small herds of brown buffaloes, and peasants plying the irrigating buckets of the shadoof. Everything seemed verdant and thriving. Perhaps the great contrast between the sterile desert so lately crossed and the aspect which now greeted us made this really fertile region appear doubly so. Not since the plains of middle India had we seen anything forming so fine a rural picture as this. Though it was only the last of February the clover fields were being mowed, and a second crop would follow; the barley and wheat were nearly ready for the sickle, while the peas and beans, both in full blossom, were picturesque and fragrant. As we progressed through this attractive region the pastures became alive with sheep, goats, many camels, and some dromedaries.

On our way we made a brief stop at the late sanguine field of Tell-el-Keber, where the English and Turks fought the closing battle of the late campaign in Egypt. The sandy plain was still strewn with the debris of hastily deserted camps, and not far away was that significant spot which war leaves always in its track,—an humble cemetery, marked by many small white stones, showing the last resting-places of men unknown to fame, but to whom life was undoubtedly as sweet as it is to those whose graves the world honors with monumental shafts.

While we were approaching Cairo, and were yet two or three leagues away, the dim outline of the everlasting pyramids could be seen, through the shimmering haze, softly limned against the evening sky, firing the imagination, and causing an involuntary and quicker pulsation of the heart. It was impossible not to recall the glowing words of the Humpback in the Thousand and One Nights, as we saw the pyramids and glistening minarets coming into view: "He who hath not seen Cairo hath not seen the world: its soil is gold; its Nile is a wonder; its women are like the black-eyed virgins of Paradise; its houses are palaces, and its air is soft,—its odor surpassing that of aloes-wood and cheering the heart; and how can Cairo be otherwise when it is the Mother of the World?"



CHAPTER IX.

Cairo and the Arabian Nights.—Street Scenes and Cries.—Camels and Donkeys.—Turkish Bazars in Old Cairo.—Water Carriers.—The Pyramids of Gizeh.—The Sphinx.—Interesting Visit to a Native House.—Mosque of Mehemet Ali.—The Rotten Row of Cairo.—The Khedive's Palace.—Egyptian Museum.—Mosque of Amer.—Whirling and Howling Dervishes.—Suez Canal.—Ismailia and Port Said.—Island of Malta.—City of Valetta.—Palace of the Knights.—Bird's-eye View.

Cairo is nearly the size of Boston, having a population of about four hundred thousand. It forms a strange medley of human life,—a many-hued crowd constantly pouring through its thoroughfares, dirty lanes, and narrow streets, in picturesque confusion. On one side the observer is jostled by a liveried servant all silver braid and bright buttons, and on the other by an Arab in loose white robe and scarlet turban; now by a woman with her face half-concealed beneath her yasmak, and now by one scarce clothed at all; by jaunty Greeks in theatrical costume, and cunning Jews with keen, searching eyes; by tempting flower-girls, and by shriveled old crones who importune for alms; by Franks, Turks, and Levantines; by loaded donkeys and lazy, mournful-looking camels—a motley group. The water-carrier, with his goatskin filled and swung across his back, divides the way with the itinerant cook and his portable kitchen. In short, it is the ideal city of the Arabian Nights. The Esbekyeh is the Broadway of Cairo, and its contrast to the mass of narrow lanes and passages where the native bazars are located, as well as the dingy houses of the populace, only adds to its brilliancy.

Like Paris, it is a city of cafes. During the evening and far into the night, crowds of individuals of every nationality are seen seated in groups before them in the open air, drinking every sort of known liquid, but coffee taking precedence of all others. In picturesqueness of costume, the Turk leads the world. There is none of the buttoned-up aspect of Europeans about him. His graceful turban and flowing robes are worthy of the classic antique, while the rich contrast of colors which he always wears adds finish to the general effect. As he sits cross-legged before his open bazar, smoking his long pipe, he looks very wise, learned, and sedate, though in point of fact, as has been shrewdly said, there are doubtless more brains under the straw hat of a Yankee peddler than under three average turbans. The dark, narrow lanes and endless zigzag alleys had an indescribable interest, with their accumulated dirt of neglect and dust of a land where rain is so seldom known. One looks up in passing at those overhanging balconies, imagining the fate of the harem-secluded women behind them, occasionally catching stolen glances from curious eyes peering between the lattices. What a life is theirs! Education is unknown among the Egyptian women. They have no mental resort. Life, intellectually, is to them a blank. There was a mingled atmospheric flavor impregnating everything with an incense-like odor, thoroughly Oriental. One half expected to meet Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, as we still look for Antonio and the Jew on the Rialto at Venice. The whole city, with myriads of drawbacks, was yet very sunny, very interesting, very attractive. The dreams of childhood, with those veracious Arabian stories and pictures, were constantly before the mind's eye, in all their extravagant absurdities, stimulating the imagination to leap from fancy to fancy as it achieved grotesque impossibilities, and peopled the present scene as in the days of Haroun Alraschid.

Camels and donkeys were in endless numbers; the latter, small creatures carrying enormous loads, and often having big, lazy men on their backs,—so immeasurably disproportioned to the animals as to seem liable to break their tiny limbs like pipe stems. Of course the fable, wherein the old man was told it was more fitting that he should carry his ass than that his ass should carry him, occurred to us. Scores of Egyptian porters, bent half double, carried on their backs loads that would stagger a brewer's horse. Women who rode their ponies and donkeys astride, man-fashion, were yet very careful to cover their faces from view, their eyes gleaming out of peep-holes like those of a cat in the dark. Others, again, jostled you in the street with little naked children straddling one shoulder, and holding on by both hands to the mother's head. People riding upon donkeys—used in place of cabs here—require a boy to follow behind them with a stick to belabor the poor creatures; otherwise, being so trained, they will not move a step forward. Those who drive through the streets in carriages have a runner to precede them, gorgeously dressed, and carrying a long white wand in his hand, who is constantly crying to clear the way. These runners go as fast as a horse ordinarily trots, and seem never to tire. The common people lie down on the sidewalk, beside the road, in nooks and corners, anywhere in the open air, to sleep off their fatigue like a dog. Speaking of dogs: here, as in Constantinople, their name is legion, and they appear to have no special masters, shrinking away into holes or behind bales of goods during the day, and coming forth by night to seek for food from the debris of the streets, like jackals in India or crows in Ceylon. Every public square has its fountain, and there are two hundred in Cairo, where the domestic portion of the households come to obtain water. The young girls carry water gracefully poised in jars upon their heads, displaying forms and gait of faultless beauty. Some of these girls scrupulously screen their faces from the public eye; others roguishly remove the yasmak when a European smiles at them, and tinkle their silver bracelets as full of roguery as a Viennese.

What a motley aspect these Cairo bazars present! This old Turk, with flowing caftan and white turban, from his dingy quarters dispenses delicious odors, curious pastes and essences, with kohl for the eyes and henna for the fingers. Another has piles of sandal-wood fans, beads, and cheap jewelry of silver and gilt; now we come upon a low platform spread with Syrian crapes of all colors, hues, and patterns, to satisfy the gaudy taste of the slaves of the harem and the negresses of the Soudan; here are sweetmeats, dates stuffed with almonds and honey and sugar, combined in a tempting mixture, with added coloring matter; again we have pipes of all shapes and sizes, with delicate stems of nicely wrought amber, and stores of trinkets from Stamboul; here are red and yellow slippers of kid and satin, some elaborately wrought in silver and gilt, and all turned up at the toes. The narrow way is crowded with white and red turbans, women with fruit in baskets upon their heads, strong and wiry Bedouins leading their horses and taking count of everything with their sharp black eyes. They are the veritable sons of the desert. Nile boatmen, Abyssinian slaves, and lazy Egyptians, with Greeks, Italians, and Maltese, make up the jostling crowd of the bazars; and amid all this one feels inquisitive as to where Aladdin's uncle may be just now, with his new lamps to exchange for old ones.

Your local guide will suggest a short excursion to the Island of Roda, and it is best to go there: if you do not, some one will tell you that it was a great omission; that you will never know what you have missed, and so forth! It is reached by a ferry-boat at a fee of a few pennies. Here the gardener points out the identical spot where Moses was rescued by the king's daughter! Here is to be seen the Nilometer, a square well connected with the Nile, having in its centre an octagonal column on which is inscribed Arabian measures. The flora of the island was interesting, showing a large array of palms, oranges, lemons, bananas, date, and fig-trees. Here also was pointed out to us the henna plant, which we had not before seen, and from whence comes the dye with which the Eastern women tint their fingers, nails, and the palms of their hands. The plant is seen here in the form of a well-trimmed dwarf bush, but it grows more like a tree in its natural state.

The street cries of Cairo are unique. At the early break of the day, or rather at the moment of sunrise, the muezzin is heard: "To prayers, to prayers, O ye believers!" Mustapha translated for us. Here was a seller of peas, crying: "O parched peas. Nuts of love!" He was a rough fellow but had a mellow voice. All those itinerants qualify, or recommend their goods by added words; thus a girl, with cut up sugar-cane in a basket upon her head, cried: "Sugar-canes; white sugar-canes," though the article was black and blue. The water-carrier, with a full skin slung over his shoulder, shouted: "God's gift, limpid water!" A long bearded Copt cried: "O figs; O believers, figs!" and so on. When the crowd is dense in the narrow streets lined by the bazars, the donkey-boy shouts: "O woman, to the left!" or if some peddler of goods be in the way, he or she is designated by the article on sale, as: "O oranges, to the right!" or "O eggs, out of the way!" This, which sounds so odd, is meant in good faith, and answers the desired purpose. No one calls out in Arabic, addressing another, without prefixing some expletive. Thus the dealer of sweetmeats drawls out: "In the name of the Prophet, comfits." Even the beggar says: "O Christian, backsheesh!" as he leans upon a crutch and extends his trembling hand. If you respond, all is well; if not, your ears will be assailed by a jumble of Arabic, which, if your guide faithfully translates to you, will probably be found to signify a hearty wish that Allah may roast your grandfather.

The pyramids of Gizeh are situated about ten miles from Cairo, and after crossing the Nile by a remarkable iron bridge, guarded at either end by two bronze lions, are reached by a straight level road lined with well-trimmed trees. This road terminates at a rocky plateau which serves to give these wonderful structures an elevated site, as well as to form a natural foundation for the enormous weight of solid stone to be supported. There is always an importuning group of Arabs here, who live upon the gratuities obtained from visitors, and they are so persistent us to lead many people to employ them solely for the purpose of ending their annoyance. These hangers-on assist people to ascend and descend the pyramids for a fixed sum, or for a few shillings will run up and down them like monkeys. On the way between Cairo and the pyramids, through the long alley of acacias, we passed hundreds of camels bound to the city, laden with green fodder, and newly cut clover, for stable use in town. They do not employ carts; the backs of camels and donkeys supersede the use of wheels.

Nothing new can be written about these monuments. Famous and hoary, doting with age, the pyramids were disappointing to us,—not as to size, for they are immense. Every one is familiar with the marvelous statistics relating to them. But what do they really amount to? They simply show, standing there upon the border of the desert, a vast aggregate of labor performed by compulsion, and only exhibit the supreme folly of the monarchs who thus vainly strove to erect monuments which should defy all time and perpetuate their fame. Symbols of ancient tyranny and injustice, tears, and death. To-day not even the names of their founders are known. There are plausible suppositions enough about them, each investigator and writer upon the subject having plenty of argument to support his special convictions and theory; but so far as the simple truth is concerned the history of Cheops is much better standing as a blank than resting amid a confusion of very thin speculations. There is no genius evinced in the design or execution of the pyramids. Neither art, taste, nor religion are in any way subserved by these unequaled follies. Nothing could be ruder: there is no architectural excellence exhibited in them; they are merely enormous piles of stone; that is absolutely all. Some pronounce them marvelous evidences of ancient greatness and power. True; but if it were desirable, we could build loftier and larger ones in our day. As they are surely over four thousand yours old we admit that they are venerable, and they enjoy a certain consideration on that account. In the religious instinct which led the Buddhists to build, at such enormous expense of time and money, those cave temples of Elephanta, Ellora, and Carlee; in the idolatrous Hindoo temples of Madura, Tanjore, and Trichinopoly, the shrines of Ceylon, the pagodas of China, and the rich temples of Nikko, one detects an underlying and elevating sentiment, a grand and reverential idea, in which there may be more of truth and acceptable veneration than we can appreciate; but in the pyramids we have no expression of devotion; only an embodiment of personal vanity, which hesitated at nothing for its gratification, and which has only proved a total failure.

The immensity of the desert landscape, and the absence of any object for comparison, make these three pyramids seem smaller than they are, but the actual height of the largest, that of Cheops, is nearly five hundred feet, and it looks to be of that height when one is far away from its base. The fixed object of the pyramids is still a subject of learned discussion, as well as by whom they were built. The theory that they are royal tombs is generally accepted; and yet have not the mummies of bulls and other animals been found in them? All record relating to Cheops is at least very questionable; thus history fades into fable, and is clouded with doubt. Bunsen claims for Egypt nearly seven thousand years of civilization and prosperity before the building of these monstrous monuments. We do not often pause to consider how little real history there is. Conjecture is not history. If contemporary record so often belies itself, what ought we to consider of that which comes through the shadowy distance of ages? It will be remembered that a mummy of a human being, taken from the smallest of the three pyramids, that of Myceninus, is to be seen in the British Museum. The familiar story of the beautiful Egyptian princess, who is said to have erected this pyramid with the fortunes of her many lovers, will occur to the reader. A volume of legendary matter could be filled relative to these structures, which are called pyramids of Gizeh, after the crumbled city which once stood so near to them.

Not many hundred feet from the pyramids, on a somewhat lower plain, stands that colossal mystery, the Sphinx. The Arabs call it "The Father of Terror," and it certainly has a most weird, unworldly look. Its body, and most of the head, is hewn out of the solid rock where it stands, the upper portion forming the head and bust of a human being, to which is added the paws and body of an animal. The great size of the figure will be realized when we recall the fact that the face is thirty feet long and half as wide. The body is in a reclining, or rather a sitting posture, with the paws extended forward some fifty feet or more. This strange figure is believed to be of much greater antiquity than the pyramids, but no one knows how old it is. Notwithstanding its mutilated condition, showing the furrows of time, the features have still a sad, tranquil expression, the whole reminding us, in its apparent purpose, of the great bronze image Dai-Butsu at Kamakura, though it is some five thousand years older, at least, than the Japanese figure. There is also the foundation of an ancient temple near at hand, the upper portion of the structure having long since crumbled to dust. This is supposed to have been in some way connected with the great statue, half animal and half human in form. Ages ago, from a sanctuary between the lion-like paws of the sphinx, sacrifices were undoubtedly offered, as archaeologists believe, of human beings, to the divinity it was designed to represent. Here, for five or six thousand years, more or less, this strange figure has remained unchanged in the midst of change, through ancient Ethiopian dynasties, mediaeval battles, and pestilences; even to our day, calm, unalterable, crumbling in parts, but still bodily extant, and doubtless the oldest known object erected by the hand of man.

In a visit to the house of our guide in Cairo, an intelligent Turk, who wore the full traditional costume of his people, and was a person of some note, though not above receiving eight francs per day for his services, it was interesting to observe the domestic arrangements, which he assured us were similar to those of most of his neighbors. The rooms were of various heights, and irregular in formation, requiring one to constantly ascend or descend a couple of steps in passing from one room to another, no two being of the same height,—a most incongruous arrangement, the object of which was not apparent. The placing of the windows in the dwelling also struck us as being very odd, until the explanation that the design was to prevent being overlooked by one's neighbors. The guide touched a secret spring and showed a door, where we should not have supposed one to exist, leading into a dark, descending passage to the rear and outside of the house. This, he explained, was designed to afford an escape in case of emergency, and was only known to the builder and himself. "All houses in Cairo have some such passages," he remarked. A few minutes later, in a dark corner, a secret door was caused to open, half the size of the first, and to which he pointed mysteriously. "And what is this for?" we asked. "It is to hide treasures in, and to secrete one's self in haste, when desirable," he replied. One would suppose that the universality of these architectural secrets would rob them of all security or usefulness. There was one portion of the house not open to us, which was, as may be supposed, the apartments occupied by Mustapha's wives, of whom he acknowledged to have four behind the latticed blinds of the overhanging balcony.