When in Alexandria we visited with deep interest the site of the famous Alexandrian Library, in which lay stored the most precious treasures of the world. Had it escaped destruction, how many questions which have vexed scholars would never have arisen, and how much ground which it has been necessary for genius to reconquer would have come to us as our heritage!

The Cleopatra's Needle now in New York, the counterpart of the one in London, was still in Alexandria when we were there. Seventeen hundred years before Christ this huge monolith, which is cut out of solid rock, was erected at Heliopolis, and it was transported thence several hundred miles to its present site. It measures sixty-eight feet in height, and is not less than eight feet square at its base—one solid shaft of granite; but this is exceeded by the one still at Thebes, which is a hundred feet high. It struck me as a notable coincidence that the ingenious Frenchman who first proved the truth of the supposed hieroglyphic alphabet should have done so by assuming that the name repeated so frequently upon a certain stone extolling the virtues of Ptolemy Soter, must be that of the famous Cleopatra, and so it proved. Thus this extraordinary woman, who filled the world with her name during her life, and for centuries after, once more renews her tenure by linking herself with the world's history two thousand years after her death.

The museum in Cairo is said to comprise more Egyptian antiquities than are possessed in the world besides. It is filled with mummies, sarcophagi, jewelry, coins and statues, one wooden statue shown being no less than four thousand six hundred years old. Anything less than five thousand years of age one gets to consider rather too modern to suit his taste. Upon some of the lids of the tombs the inscriptions are as fresh as if cut yesterday. Egypt furnishes the earliest records of our race, because the dry sands of the desert on each side of the Nile, blowing over the cities of the past until these were completely buried, hermetically sealed them, and this preserved them from decay, and would have done so for ages yet to come. Is it any wonder that this narrow strip, filled with buried cities, should have given rise to a body of men who devote themselves to the search for rich spoils of the past and to deciphering the inscriptions? You meet occasionally an Egyptologist, and seem to know him instinctively.

But grand as is Egypt's past, and varied as her fortunes have been, it may surely be said that never during all her misfortunes has she occupied a position as deplorable as that which saddens the traveller of today. If any one wants to see what personal rule in its fullest development is capable of producing, let him visit Egypt. The condition of its finances is notorious, but we did not expect to witness such convincing proofs of insolvency.

The Khedive has been maintaining a standing army of sixty thousand men, but it has not been paid for more than two years. Retrenchment having been insisted upon by England and France, it was resolved to reduce the force to some eight thousand, and orders of dismissal were accordingly issued. But about two hundred officers who were in Cairo and had not yet been paid, entered the Prime Minister's chambers a few days before our arrival in the city, clamoring for their dues, and refused to leave until paid. Some slight violence was even used toward that functionary, and the English agent, who came manfully to his assistance, was roughly pushed about. It was finally arranged to pay all dismissed soldiers two months of their arrears. The train upon which we travelled from Cairo carried many of these men to their homes. While the army is not paid, we see on every hand unmistakable proofs of the Khedive's reckless personal extravagance. Here lies his grand steam yacht rotting in the harbor. In the station we noticed the imperial cars stowed away; on the river his large summer boat; and every other remarkably fine house in Cairo seemed to be one or another of the Khedive's palaces or harems. The man does not seem to have had the faintest idea of what was due to his country, or, even worse, what was due to himself. But take the greatest and best man in the world, surround him by people who assure him morn, noon and night that he differs from other men, and has a born right to their obedience—make a khedive, or czar, or king out of him—if kind nature has not made a fool of him at the start, men will do it, and if he has brains, brutality will soon be added to his folly. If he hasn't brains, then he becomes the fool pure and simple. George Washington himself would have been spoiled by royal notions in less than six months—good as he was and sound republican to boot.

One becomes indignant with a people so supine as to endure such waste and oppression. Everything is taxed, and the masses of the people are ground down to the lowest stage compatible with mere animal existence. England and France have been compelled recently to take strong measures in order to prevent impending ruin. The Khedive not long since dismissed the only one of his ministers who seemed to comprehend the state of affairs, but I see the faint remonstrance of these powers has sufficed to reinstate him; in other words, the Khedive has been told he is a figure-head, to reign, not to govern, and we may hope for an improvement in consequence. The population is only five millions, and it is estimated that at least two millions more could be supported by the country; so it seems that only good government is required to restore Egypt to prosperity.

The tenure of land is an important question just now, and men's minds are disposed to give the subject consideration. Mr. George's exciting book has attracted surprising attention. "Thou shalt not sell the land of the Lord thy God for ever," seems likely to prove correct. Egypt has a land history of much significance. Anciently the land was the property of the priests, and of the king and the military class. Although there were no castes, still the fact that the son usually followed his father's occupation, served the purpose of caste. Even Joseph did not purchase the land of the priests when he bought all the rest. Before the time of Mehemet Ali, say up to about a hundred years ago, a kind of feudal system prevailed, but by the massacre of the Mamelukes the feudal system was destroyed. Mehemet Ali seized almost all the landed property, and gave the owners pensions for life. There is scarcely such a thing as private tenure of land now in Egypt.

This little bit of cultivated land has actually borrowed in the last fifteen years no less than L80,000,000 sterling ($400,000,000). Twelve hundred miles of railway have been built, and numerous canals, harbors, and lighthouses constructed; but the amount spent in useful works bears but a small proportion to that squandered. The greatest item of all, however, is the discount paid upon the five successive loans by which funds were obtained. None of these loans cost less than 12 per cent, per annum, while the one for railways cost 26 per cent, per annum. These rates, I believe, are calculated upon the issue prices; what commissions the bankers received is unknown. A report upon the finances states that the Government received only about one-half the amount of the loans.

I have referred to the discontent which had shown itself in the army during our stay in Cairo. How rapidly events have travelled since then! The rise of a popular leader, Arabi, who possessed the confidence, or at least, who was accepted by the people as their only instrument of reform,—effectually put down by the English Government, which surely was misled by its agents in Egypt.

Now that England has been so foolish as to interfere, but two courses are open. She must either rule Egypt as she does India, or, what would be infinitely better both for Egypt and for England, retire, and allow the people of Egypt to undertake the management of their own affairs. This would be unfortunate for the bondholders, no doubt, but it would sooner or later secure for Egypt those institutions for which she is suited. I am convinced that England is to see the day, and that ere long, when she will bitterly repent ever having thrown her power in the scale against men who revolted at a state of affairs against which revolt was meritorious, and gave to the world the best proof that sufficient sound timber existed in Egypt to form the nucleus of firm national institutions. England's position in Egypt is all wrong. She of all nations should know that there are stages in the life of nations where oppression can be overthrown only by violent means. Ah! John Bright proved himself here once more the true statesman. Had his advice been followed, how different might have been the result! But ere the Egyptian question is settled we may see stranger events still than those which have surprised us.

The cry from the moment you set foot in Egypt until the steamer sails is "Backsheesh! Backsheesh!" Give! give! give! Crowds surround you at every place, and from child to withered eld it is an incessant chorus. If one is weak enough to give a piastre he is done for; the crowd increases, and the roars of the beggars with it. There is no place in Egypt which can be enjoyed, owing to this nuisance; even on the top of the Pyramid the evil is unabated. Travellers must be to blame for such an annoyance. For our part we resolved never to give anything to a beggar, and adhered strictly to the rule, which preserved us from many a fierce attack; but the objects begging were sometimes piteous-looking enough to haunt one.

The surest means of obtaining a livelihood as a beggar in Egypt is to feign idiocy, which, I am told, is frequently done. Idiots are regarded as saints, and are never restricted in their movements, maniacs alone being confined, and they are often met with in the streets. My Swedenborgian friends might account for the absence of sense being held proof positive of the saintly character by urging that idiots were certainly free from one of the worst evils of this generation denounced by the Swedish Seer as "self-derived intelligence."

The never ending work of creation is finely illustrated in the remarkable depression of the northern shore of Egypt, which is continually going on, notwithstanding the vast deposits from the many mouths of the Nile annually discharged upon it, while on the southern shore, near Suez, a contrary phenomenon is observable. The consequence of this movement is seen in the ruins of places on the Mediterranean shore, and the drying up of large portions of the Gulf of Suez. Indeed the bed of the Red Sea may be traced for miles north of the town of Suez, which is now at the head of the gulf, and places far north of the town were on the coast in historic times. An equally remarkable change is observable in the level of the Nile. Two thousand years B.C. it is found that at Semneh the mean height of the famous river was twenty-three feet greater than it is to-day. Imagine what results would flow from a change of the level of the Mississippi twenty-three feet higher or lower than now! It would change the continent. While such startling changes are found right under our own eyes, surely we do not require the "doctrine of catastrophes" to explain the creation of this little ball—the earth! The silent, irresistible, unchanging laws of Nature suffice.

We arrived too late to get a run up the Nile, as the boats had ceased to ply for the season. There remained but Cairo and Alexandria to visit, and a few days spent at each place exhausts the sights; but we concluded that nothing could be more enjoyable than a three-months' sail upon the Nile, in one's own boat, breathing the remarkably pure and dry air as it comes from the desert, moving day by day from one to another scene of the far past, and at night enjoying the unequalled sunsets, when it seems, as some one has beautifully said, that "the day was slowly dying of its own glory." This is the trip of trips for an invalid, or for one overtaxed by work or oppressed with sorrow; and for a bridal tour—to give the lovers plenty of time and opportunity to become thoroughly acquainted with each other—it can be highly recommended.

The rapid rise of our western rivers is very different from the gradual swelling of the Nile, which begins at Khartoum, at the junction of the White and Blue Niles, as early as April each year, but which is not felt at Cairo until after the summer solstice, while the greatest height is not reached till autumn. A good flood gives a rise of forty feet at the first cataract, and about twenty-five at Cairo; a scanty rise is when only between eighteen or twenty feet occurs at Cairo. The inundation is good if it is between twenty-four and twenty-seven feet; if beyond the latter it becomes a destructive flood. Upon such a narrow margin—the rise of a few feet more or less in the Nile—depends the entire crop of Egypt! Once for a period of seven years (A.D. 457-464), the rise failed and seven years of famine ensued. A great engineering work, designed to regulate the inundation by means of a barrage across both branches of the river below Cairo, was begun some years ago, but, I believe, has been abandoned. When Egypt reaches good government from within herself, not through foreigners, one of its first works should be to complete the barrage. Surplus water will then be allowed free escape, and inundations prevented. When the flow is scanty, egress at the river mouths will be retarded, and thus Egypt will be secured regular harvests. We watch men at work everywhere raising water from narrow ditches to higher levels, that all parts may be irrigated from the fruitful Nile. We could get no estimate of the amount of water which one man can raise in a day; but when human labor is so cheap, we guessed that it was, upon the whole, an economical mode. At all events a complete revolution in the management of land, and probably of its tenure, must precede the general use of machinery for this purpose. The "shadoof" of today is the same in form as that used by the ancient Egyptians. Two columns of mud, or brick, erected at the side of the ditch, support a beam of wood, across which is a pole with a weight at one end, and a rude wooden bowl- shaped bucket, suspended by a stick, at the other. A man stands under the bucket and pulls it down into the water. The weight helps him to push it up to the ditch above, where it is emptied. The operation is very quickly performed, and the bucket kept constantly going. It would be hard to beat these ancient Egyptian shadoofs by any device requiring human labor where the amount of water required is small. Water-wheels, driven by bullocks or cows, and sometimes by one animal only, are sometimes used. There is also a double shadoof worked by two men, and even steam pumps are used in extreme cases where the volume of water desired is unusually large. Steam, no doubt, is ultimately to drive out the shadoof, ancient as it is. We had a strange meeting at Cairo upon entering the breakfast-room the morning after our arrival. Whom should we be placed opposite to but my friend the Rev. Mr. D., of Dunfermline, my aunty's minister, nae less! He was en route to the Holy Land with his father-in-law; but we had several days together at Cairo, and talked upon many subjects, from theology to town affairs. I had received a telegram the day of his departure which told me my mother was to sail from New York that very day to join me in Scotland, as had been arranged, and we drank her health and wished her bon voyage in good style.

Before bidding farewell to the East, I wish to indulge in just a few general reflections. Life there lacks two of its most important elements—the want of intelligent and refined women as the companion of man, and a Sunday. It has been a strange experience to me to be for several months without the society of some of this class of women—sometimes many weeks without even speaking to one, and often a whole week without even seeing the face of an educated woman. And, bachelor as I am, let me confess what a miserable, dark, dreary, and insipid life this would be without their constant companionship! This brings everything that is good in its train, everything that is bright and elevating. I cannot satisfy myself as to what the man of the East has to struggle for, since he has dethroned woman and practically left her out of his life. To see a wealthy Chinaman driving along in his carriage alone was pitiable. His efforts had been successful, but for what? There was no joy in his world. The very soul of European civilization, its crown and special glory, lies in the elevation of woman to her present position (she will rise even higher yet with the coming years), and this favor she has repaid a thousand-fold by making herself the fountain of all that is best in man. In life, without her there is nothing. Much as the lot of woman in the East is to be deplored, that of man is still more deplorable. The revenge she takes is terrible, for she drags down with her, in her debasement, the higher life of man. I had noted the absence of music as one great want. Not an opera nor a concert—not even a hand-organ. Scarcely a sweet sound in all our journey. When we found an English church or a regimental band, we rejoiced. I went to hear the organ upon every occasion, and was seldom absent when the band played; but were women there as with us, wouldn't music spring forth also! so that even this want I am disposed to attribute to the first cause.

The absence of a regularly recurring day of rest ranks next in importance, I believe, in the list of causes which keep the East down in the scale of nations. With few exceptions, the race is doomed to a life of unremitting toil—from morning till night, and every day without respite; for festival and fete days recurring at long, irregular intervals are no substitute for the one regular day to which labor looks forward with us. The prospect of one day of rest frequently intervening gives a toiler something bright to look forward to, without which his life must stretch before him as one unceasing, unvarying drag. In this one blessed day his slavery ceases, the shackles fall. He is no longer a brute—fed and clothed solely because of his physical powers, his capacity to bear burdens—but a higher being, with tastes, pleasures, friends. Life becomes worth living. The man puts on his best clothes—and there is much in this—the woman gives her cottage an extra brushing up. Something extra is prepared for dinner—there is a great deal in this, too—and, in short, the day is marked by a hundred little differences from those of labor—a stroll in the fields, a visit to relatives, or a meeting with neighbors at church, all in their best; and then the swelling organ and the choir—these things lie closely at the root of all improvements; and if ever the race is to be lifted to a higher platform—and who shall dare doubt it?—the weekly day of rest will prove itself an agency in the good work only second to the elevation of woman.

The best mode of improving its most precious hours for the toiling masses is therefore a question of infinite moment, apart altogether from the question of its divine character, and viewed only as a human enactment of the highest wisdom. It would seem clear that to make this only respite from manual labor a day exclusively set apart for the mournful duty of bemoaning our manifold shortcomings—which must at best give rise to gloomy thoughts—would defeat the purposes I have indicated. I want a compromise—church service in the morning, with a sermon "leaning to the side of mercy," as Sidney Smith suggested, which meant that it should not exceed twenty minutes, for, as one wit says, "a minister who can't strike ile in twenty minutes should quit boring"—and then the fields and streams for the toilers who are cooped up in factories and workshops all the week long, or a visit to picture galleries, museums, or to musical concerts of a high order in huge centres—for in London and a village it is not the same question at all—to anything that would tend to brighten their existence. I am now convinced that there is an important change to be made in the mode of keeping our Sundays—the cessation of labor, as far as it is possible, to remain a cardinal point, but better facilities to be provided for cultivating the higher tastes of our poor workers, that the day may be to them indeed "the golden jewel which clasps the circle of the week."

One more observation upon the East and I am done: the work that England is doing there. You know that she has in one way or another obtained the keys to the East. Some islands she owns; some small strips of the mainland she also has acquired and governs; at Shanghai, Hong Kong, and other points in China; at Singapore, Penang, Ceylon, Aden, Malta, and indeed all through our journey, we stand now and then on British soil. And wherever the meteor flag floats, there you find order, freedom, schools, churches, dispensaries, clean streets, hospitals, newspapers, justice; and under that flag you will find thousands of Chinamen and Malays, Indians, Cingalese, Arabs—indeed men of all races—settled and enjoying the blessings of good government. No revolution there, no slavery, no arbitrary arrest, nor forced levy. As a native lawyer in India said to me—he talked freely because of our American look—"There is between natives under English rule perfect justice; but," he added, "every one must behave himself. There is no war nor plundering when one settles under them, for these English won't stand any nonsense, and they will have peace."

England, therefore, has planted throughout the East small models of perfectly governed little States, enjoying all the blessings of the highest civilization. Daily and hourly these teach their lesson to the native races, and when they do acquire this lesson—and who that believes in the progress of mankind can doubt but the day must come?—they will look westward with grateful hearts and say, "All this we owe to thee, noble England!"

But while this is true, there is another phase of England's work to which I have referred in my remarks upon India. The source of England's good work springs from example. It is where the native races are drawn to her standard, as at the many points named, where their freedom is not destroyed, that great results can alone be looked for. This is the very reverse of England's position in India. She stands there as the destroyer of native institutions, and forces her views upon an unwilling people wholly unprepared to receive them, instead of resting, as at Hong Kong, Singapore, Aden, and such places, saying to the natives, "Come, try our system, and, if you like it, remain and share its benefits." Nothing but good can result from the latter, and nothing really good can flow from the former; the injury done must more than absorb any temporary gains. Force is no remedy; and some of these years, unless the ablest natives are induced to participate in the government of India, and soon allowed the chief control, England will rise to a rude awakening.

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ALEXANDRIA, Friday, March 14.

Off at nine this morning for Naples, taking Sicily en route. The voyage was a smooth one, and we landed at Catania upon the morning of the fourth day. As we stepped ashore we felt in a moment that we were once more within the bounds of civilization. What a difference between this and the East! And there frowned Mount Etna, ten thousand feet above the sea level, thirty miles distant, and yet seemingly so near we thought that we could almost walk over to its base after breakfast. We ascended a small hill in the centre of the city—which, by the way, has a population of a hundred thousand—and there lay Sicily spread out before us in all its wondrous beauty. Lemon and orange groves in full bearing, and fields of vines just budding; and in the town clean paved streets and pavements, which are unknown in the East; people with shoes and stockings on; statues and fountains, and a good old cathedral; harps and violins, and the chime of church going bells. Ah! Western civilization is not a mistake, nor a myth, nor a thing of doubtful value, as we can testify. At least so thought two happy travellers in Sicily that bright balmy morning, as they felt how blessed a thing it was to be once more in a civilized country.

The pretty island of Sicily (Sechelia, as the Italians pronounce it) contains nearly three millions of people—nearly as many as Scotland—and supports them almost entirely by the produce of the land, for manufactures are little known. The olive and the vine are everywhere, and the crops of oranges and lemons go to most parts of the world. An English gentleman told us he had bought oranges in the season for one cent per dozen. There is one item of export of rather peculiar character—sulphur—which is obtained from the volcano. We saw it drawn through the streets in large blocks.

Only two hundred years ago an eruption of Mount Etna took place, and 27,000 people were buried by the lava. We saw where the stream had rushed down from the crater through part of the town, and far into the sea—almost a mile in width, and thirty miles from its source, bearing destruction to everything in its course, and yet to-day fine new houses stand upon the cold lava, and away up and along the sides of the volcano for miles are to be seen cottages clustering thickly together, the inmates busily engaged in cultivating their vineyards. It was only a few days ago—the monster gave a warning and shook these houses; but they still "sit under their vine and sing the merry songs of peace to all their neighbors"—these merry, light-hearted Sicilians!—as if they had Mount Etna under perfect control.

The railway skirts the shores of the island for its entire length—some fifty miles—and a more beautiful ride is not to be seen in all the world. It is a succession of fine old castles, in perfect ruin, upon every petty promontory, and we go through nothing but orange and lemon groves and vineyards. We pass at the base of Mount Etna; but although all was smiling in the valleys below, its top was enveloped in dark clouds and busy with the thunder and the storm.

Messina is a very quaint Italian city. The funeral services of a distinguished lady were in progress when we stepped into the cathedral, which was illuminated with hundreds of candles—I think I might say almost a thousand—the interior being one mass of light, which shone with strange effect upon the rich black velvet with which the walls were draped. A lady in our party counted the carriages as they passed, and told us there were fifty-three, most of which would compare favorably with those of New York or London. This will give you some idea of the richness of Messina, which we had thought to be an unimportant town.

The Sicilians are strict Roman Catholics and completely under the dominion of that faith. There is scarcely a trace of dissent to be found. When we were about to sail from Messina for Naples a priest walked upon the deck and collected contributions from the devout passengers, for which in return he was expected to give to our good ship the august protection of Holy Mother Church. We noticed that all the passengers contributed and received his blessing with much solemnity. Faith is still there. They were going to sea—probably a first experience to most if not all of them, and were naturally apprehensive. Should we have a stormy night, no doubt, notwithstanding their bargain with the priest, some will resolve with good Dame Partington that under like circumstances if ever she set her foot on dry land she would never again trust herself "so far out of the reach of Providence." But my mother remembers well that when a member of the congregation was about to start from Dunfermline to London, a rare event in those days, though not so very long ago, that his safety was always prayed for in church. I mentioned this to Vandy when he was deploring the ignorance and, as he thought, the impiety of the Sicilians. We are not entirely free from superstition ourselves, and were in the last generation where the Sicilians are in this.

The scene in "The Tempest," the enchanted isle, must have been in the neighborhood of Sechelia, and surely no fitter region in all the world could be found; indeed I found sweet Sechelia so enchanting that I voted it the very spot, and selected my Prospero's Cave on the glittering shore within sight of Mount Etna.

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BAY OF NAPLES, Thursday, March 20.

Early morning! Yes, my dear friends, it is round. Here stands Mount Vesuvius in full view this morning, making for itself pure white clouds of steam, which float in the otherwise clear, cloudless sky of Italy. No entering the crater now as we did before, for the volcano is no longer at rest. Vandy and I shake hands and recall our pledge made in the crater years ago, and say, "Well, that is now fulfilled, and may life only have for us in its unknown future another such five months of unalloyed happiness (save where the dark shades of death among friends at home have saddened the hours) as those we have been so privileged to enjoy."

It is well never to be without something to look forward to, and speculate upon; and by a happy chance Vandy and I have hit upon our next excursion, when we shall have earned another vacation by useful work. The very thought of it already brings us pleasure. And so, all hail, sunny Italia! What a picture this Bay of Naples is! We sail past our former haunts, Capri and Sorrento, and are soon in our hotel at Naples, where we are delighted to rejoin our friends.

From this time forth it is impossible but that a change must occur in the character of these notes. There is a first time to everything, and it is first impressions which I have endeavored honestly to convey; but my first impressions of Europe were obtained years ago. The gloss and enthusiasm of novelty are wanting. The sober second thought is proverbial; but there is a sober second sight as well, and it is this I am about to take. Besides this, Europe is more familiar to everybody than the East. Many know it through personal experience, and I shall therefore content myself with giving the salient features of our homeward progress from this point.

We find Naples, Sorrento, Capri, and all the pretty spots around the bay much improved since our last visit. The people seem to us to be remarkably fine-looking, but perhaps this is mainly owing to the miserable races we have been seeing lately. The museum which contains the principal treasures found at Pompeii and Herculaneum is greatly improved, and one has no difficulty now in determining just how the people of those cities lived. There are even models of the houses shown. The frescoes and sculptures are far finer than I had remembered them, and indeed there are so many articles of furniture and domestic utensils that one cannot help admitting that those who argue that man travels in a circle just as the world goes round, and never advances, have some ground for their theory in these remarkable productions of the first century. We are in the land of music, sure enough!—Here is the list of operas to be performed to-night, apart from numerous dramatic performances: "Norma," "Sonnambula," "La Belle Helene," "Martha." You will please take it for granted that our nights here, with few exceptions, will be spent hearing one or another opera, for of all the pleasures of civilized society which we have missed most in our travels, we rank first after the absence of refined women the total absence of music. We hunger for sweet sounds.

We were fortunate this time in getting into the Blue Grotto—the sea being quite smooth. The reflections upon the rocky roof were not as fine as we expected; but Miss N. pronounced the water "the prettiest blue that ever was," and she is an authority upon color. While at Capri we ascended to the villa of Tiberius, on the edge of a perpendicular cliff nearly two thousand feet high. It was from this rock that ruler was wont to throw his victims into the sea. He found they never troubled him again. And now I write amid the orange groves of Sorrento, where we have been spending a few days.

We have just finished, in company with our friends, a three-days' excursion to Paestum, embracing the famous drive along the coast to Amalfi. Certainly I know nothing of the kind in the world equal to this road in grandeur, and if any of you ever visit Naples I advise you to let nothing interfere with your going to Amalfi. At Sorrento we joined our friends, Mr. H. and party, and our Windsor Hotel delegation was further and happily augmented by Mr. and Mrs. I. and family. Can you wonder that our daily excursions were delightful?

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ROME, March 26.

Rome once more! What a change! A miniature Paris has been added to old Rome since we first saw it, and even old Rome itself is modernized completely. Much of the picturesque is lost, but well lost, since it brings us clean streets, improved dwellings, and all the accompaniments of progress; but, notwithstanding its now greater likeness to modern cities, it is not with these Rome vies. Her empire is not of to-day, but over the mighty past she alone holds undisputed sway, and the spirit of ages gone still infuses itself into everything in Rome. I thought even modern structures were unlike their fellows elsewhere, as if the mere fact that they stood in Rome invested them with a peculiar halo of classic dignity and importance. Then Rome still has to boast of so many of the best things which the world has to show. No other cathedral is so grand as St. Peter's nor so beautiful as St. Paul's; no other "bit of color" is equal to the Transfiguration; no other heroic statue is to be compared with the Augustus; nowhere else is so sweet a girl-face as the Cenci; no other group is to be named with the Laocoon, no other fresco with the Aurora; and where is there another Moses, or Apollo Belvedere, or Antinous, or where is there vocal music so heavenly as that of the Pope's choir? Nowhere. And so it comes that the world still flocks to Rome, and must continue its pilgrimage hither to this Mecca for a thousand years to come; and artists by the score, day after day, multiply copies of these wonders of art, the recognized "best" in their various classes which man has yet brought forth. All these works, and others unmentioned, I returned to with enhanced pleasure. They all seemed greater and finer to me than when I saw them before. I had not forgotten them, while the mass of mediocre works had left no trace.

It is thus that the true fire of genius vindicates its right to immortality. Generations may come and go, fashions and tastes may change, but "a thing of beauty" remains "a joy forever." While the statues and pictures of Rome, therefore, gave me far greater pleasure than before, I have to confess that the historical associations gave me much less. When in Rome before I was overflowing with Shakespeare, Byron and Macaulay, and would wander away alone and recite to myself on the appropriate sites the passages connected with them. This time I fear our friends proved too congenial. We dwelt too much in the happy present to give ourselves up to the historical past; but I do not think one gets the sweetest juices out of Rome unless he gives way to the melancholy vein now and then, and "stalks apart in joyless reverie."

Another reason for the difference suggests itself. One fresh from Egypt, where he has been digging among the five thousand years B.C., and lost in amazement at what the race was even then producing, must experience some difficulty in getting up a respectable amount of enthusiasm for structures so recent as the time of Christ; the "rascally comparative" intrudes to chill it with its cold breath.

There is a third reason, perhaps—and reasons do seem as plenty as blackberries, now that I begin to write them down—we are so near home the echoes of business affairs begin to sound in our ears. We snuff the battle as it were afar off. It is impossible to become so entirely absorbed in the story of the Cenci as to prevent the morning's telegram from home intruding, and so it came about that this time we did less moralizing than before. We were fortunate in being in Rome during Easter Week, which gave us an opportunity to hear the best music; and certainly there is no choir for vocal music which can rank with that of the Pope. It is the only choir I ever heard which I felt the finest organ would spoil. It produces a strange and powerful effect, the music itself seeming to be of a peculiar order unlike any other. One of our young ladies, describing her feelings to a friend, said that at one time she felt she was really in heaven; but when the "Miserere" broke forth, she knew she was only a poor sinner struggling to get there.

We visited, with our friends, the various studios. In painting there does not appear to be a high standard of excellence. The Roman school does not stand well, but in statuary it is better. A young American artist, Mr. Harnisch, seemed to me to be doing the most creditable work. His busts have already given him reputation, and he has a figure now in plaster, "Antigone," which I rate as the best classical statue in process of completion which we saw. This young artist is not probably as good a manager as some of his more pretentious countrymen, and, I fear, we are to wait some time before a Congressional committee can be induced to give him a commission; but in the opinion of real Italian sculptors he is an artist. There are those who have "adorned" our public edifices with huge works to whom certainly no one outside of America would apply the name. We shall hear of Mr. Harnisch by-and-by; he is young, and can wait. I was highly gratified at making the acquaintance of Dr. Smiles, author of "Self-Help," and that favorite of mine, "The Scotch Naturalist," and other valued works. He is a most delightful companion and a true Scotchman, and hadn't we "a canny day thegether" at Tivoli! Through him I met Mr. William Black, who is a small, young man, with a face that lights up, and eyes that sparkle through his spectacles. Mr. Petty, R.A., and he were doing Italy together, and no doubt we are to see traces of their travels in their respective lines ere long.

* * * * *

FLORENCE, Wednesday, April 9.

We spent a few days in Florence, but it rained almost continually, as indeed it has done all winter. This has been the most disagreeable season ever known in Italy, we hear from every quarter. Sight-seeing requires sunshine: but we nevertheless did the galleries, and were delighted with the masterpieces for which the city is famed. The statuary, however, is much inferior to that of Rome. In the way of painting I was most interested in comparing the numerous Madonnas of Raphael, and seeing how he, at last, reached "the face of all the world" in the San Sisto. He seems to have held as loyally as a true knight to his first love. His Madonnas have all the same type of face. You could never hesitate about their authorship. Emphatically they are one and all "Raphael's Madonnas," and very much alike—even the one which the Grand Duke loved so fondly as to take it about with him wherever he travelled is only a little sweeter than the rest. It is a strange fact that it was not by painting Madonnas at all the master obtained his inspiration. He painted the portrait of a lady, which is still seen in the Pitti Palace, from whose face he drew the lacking halo of awe and sublimity. He idealized this woman's face, and the San Sisto came to satisfy all one can imagine about the Madonna. But the face of Christ! Who shall paint it satisfactorily? No one. This is something beyond the region of art. A divine-human face cannot be depicted, and all the efforts I have seen are not only failures which one can lament, but many are caricatures at which one becomes indignant. I was greatly pleased that a true artist, Leonardo da Vinci, realized this, and painted his Christ with averted head. Every great painter in older times seems to have thought it incumbent upon him to paint a Christ, and consequently you meet them everywhere. As for the "Fathers" (i.e., Jehovah) one sees, these seem to me positively sacrilegious. I wonder the arms of the men who ventured upon such sacred ground did not wither at their sides. To paint old men with tremendous white flowing beards—a cross between Santa Claus and Bluebeard—and call them God! Here is materialism for you with a vengeance. These audacious men forgot that He was not seen in the whirlwind, neither in the storm, but never seen at all; only heard in the still, small voice.

Of course I visited Mrs. Browning's grave in Florence. I had the melancholy satisfaction of hearing, from one who knew her intimately, many details concerning her life here. Mr. Browning left Florence the day after she died, leaving the house, his books, papers, and even unfinished letters, as they were when he was called to her bedside the night before, and has never returned; nor has he ever been known to mention her name, or to refer to the blow which left him alone in the world. He seems to have been worthy even of a love like hers. We stayed over two days at Milan to see friends, and while there ascended to see once more the celebrated cathedral. It is finer—I do not say grander—but much finer, especially as seen from the roof, than any other building in Europe.

From Milan we went to Turin, and spent a day there, as we had never seen that city. It is prettily situated, very clean, with regular streets, but without any special objects of interest. The splendid view of the snow-clad Alps, and the fertile valley of the Po, as seen from the monastery, fully repaid us for the day given to Turin. We leave Italy in the morning. It is impossible not to like the country and to be deeply interested in its future. While it has made considerable progress since the genius of Cavour made it once more a nation, still its path is just now beset with dangers. A standing army of six hundred thousand and all the concomitants of royalty to maintain, and a large national debt upon which interest has to be paid—these require severe taxation, and even with this the revenues show a deficit. That last resort, paper currency, has been sought, and now the circulating medium—although "based on the entire property of the nation," as our demagogues phrase it—is at a discount of ten per cent., which threatens to increase.

But the chief trouble arises from the religious difficulty—that sad legacy from the past, of which, fortunately, a new land like America knows nothing. The Pope and all strict Catholics stand coldly aloof from the government, ready to give trouble whenever opportunity offers. But I have faith in Italy. She will conquer her enemies, and once again be a great power worthy of her glorious past. All her troubles, however, are not to seek.

* * * * *

PARIS, Thursday, May 1.

Now comes somewhat of a return to the more prosaic side of life. We made an excursion to the famous iron and steel works of the Schneider Company at Creuzot. What a concern this is, and how small we all are upon the other side of the Atlantic! Fifteen thousand five hundred men are employed here. We saw fifteen steam hammers in one shop. The mill for rolling only is 1,500 by 350 feet, filled with trains. The giant, however, is the 80-ton steam hammer, with its huge appliances. Masses of steel 35 tons in weight are handled as readily as we move a rail ingot. One ingot of steel weighing 120 tons was shown to us. This monster hammer is required only for armor plate and guns—war material. The happier demands of peaceful industry are met with ordinary machinery. Long may it be, therefore, before America can boast an engine of even half the size. Our visit to Creuzot was both interesting and instructive. Mr. Schneider and his officers were most cordial and attentive to us.

We spend a few days in Paris, which shows even more than the other cities we have revisited the march of improvement. It is farther beyond competition in its line than it ever was. I appreciate its attractions more than I have done upon previous visits; but one must be exceptionally strong who can persist in leading an earnest and useful life here, where so much exists to persuade one that after all amusement is the principal thing to be sought for. Most of the American residents seem to me to sink naturally to the level of thinking most—or certainly talking most—of the newest opera, or even the best ballet, or where is to be found the best table d'hote; but, after all, what can a man do who leaves his own country, and the duties incumbent upon him there, to become a man about town here, with no work in the world to do. Good Americans come here when they die, it is said. I think it would be well for most of them if they did postpone their journey until then.

As we have travelled through France bands of the "Reserves" have been constantly seen repairing to their camps. Every Frenchman now, without exception, must serve as a soldier and drill at least one month every year. No substitutes are allowed. Soldiers! soldiers everywhere! Not a petty town at which we have stayed over night but has its barracks—its troops who parade its streets every morning. The entire male population is being trained so as most skilfully to murder, upon the first favorable opportunity, such of their fellow-Christians who may happen to be called Germans, while in Germany a similar state of affairs is rendered necessary to prevent the success of their "brothers'" intention. You see there was a frontier that was not "scientific," and it was "rectified" a few years ago; but these rectifications, of all things in the world, never remain rectified, and so we are to awake some fine morning to find the "civilized" Christian (!) nations (save the mark!) nobly engaged in butchering each other, even if this is the nineteenth century and we all worship Christ and have the same Father in heaven. That thoughtful educated people, even in England and America, can still deliberately send a son "to the army," to be taught the butchering trade, his victims being human, always saddens me when I think of it. The progress of the world has not only been slow but small, till the profession of arms, as it is called, is held to be unfit except for men of brutal natures.

In Italy it is much the same. She has 600,000 men under arms, and is drilling others, while Russia has just ordered an addition to her hosts exceeding five-fold the entire American army. England's war expenditure this year exceeds that of only five years ago by $30,000,000, which is more than America spends for her army altogether. And so the whole of Europe is armed and arming, as if conscious that a storm is about to burst, or at least that such a stupendous drain upon her productive resources has to be endured to insure safety. Happy America! she alone seems to occupy a position free from grave and imminent dangers.

* * * * *

LONDON.

Our next step brought us to monster London, where we attended the interesting meeting of the British Iron and Steel Institute, and being called upon as the only representative of American iron and steel manufacturers present, I had to venture a few remarks. Whatever England may be justly chargeable with in the past for her neglect of scientific methods and the improvements of the day, it is evident she now occupies the van in this respect.

No one could be present at these meetings without being impressed with the amount and thoroughness of the scientific knowledge now engaged in the iron and steel manufacture of Great Britain. Not less remarkable seemed to me the willingness upon the part of all to report and explain every advance made in the various processes to their fellows. The old idea of trade secrets seems thoroughly exploded, and a free interchange of practice and theory is now seen to be the best for all. I cannot but believe that had the manufacturers of America adopted this policy years ago, many millions squandered in the erection of works at unsuitable locations would have been saved. It struck me as strange that no less a personage than Earl Granville, who has had charge of her Majesty's foreign affairs and been leader in the House of Lords, should have been in attendance and participated in these meetings. The company also had the attendance of two dukes; but these were Lord Granville's compeers only in title. All of the three, however, rightfully claim to rank with us as iron-masters. The Bessemer medal was presented this year to Peter Cooper, of New York, much to the honor of the donors, I think.

For one shilling, any one curious to know something of the sights of this London, can do so by purchasing a good-sized volume—Dickens's London. A look at it will soon satisfy one how true it is that compared to London all other cities are but villages. It will very soon count four millions of people under its sway. Every year one hundred thousand are added to the mass, and not even depressed times seem to limit this increase. The reason for this is patent; there is everything here that there is elsewhere, and much that can be found nowhere else; in every department of life, for earnest work in any special line, or for amusement—for sight-seeing, study, or fashion—it is here that the very best of everything is concentrated; the very cream of all the world is here, because no other place is large enough or rich enough to support it. To know the best that has been said and done in the world of the past is no doubt much, as Matthew Arnold says, but there is also much in seeing and living where the best of to-day is said and done, and if possible in the company of those who have said or done any of the best things in any line. Life with godlike men on earth must be the best preparative for companionship hereafter. This is possible in Britain only in London, for the celebrities and their works are centred here. An unusually large proportion of the population is of the wealthy classes, for the height of the average Briton's ambition is, in addition to the essential estate in the country, to be in possession of a mansion in London. After these are acquired, and his wife and daughters have been presented at court, any after- successes may be regarded as details which ornament the solid edifice of position attained; and truly, as far as I have seen human life in any part of the world, I know of no state which in itself seems capable of affording so much pleasure—were happiness dependent upon external circumstances—as that which rewards successful Britons when with their usual good sense they retire from business.

If the owner of a large estate in Britain with its hundreds of people, who are as it were, under his care, its pretty quaint villages and honeysuckled cottages, its running brooks, its hedge- rows and green fields, all giving him scope for change and improvement—if such a man is not happy and does not enjoy life, let him seek for some more favorable conditions in some other planet than this, say I. I must not attempt to follow our steps through England and Scotland, nor to tell you of the cordial welcomes and thousand kind attentions bestowed upon us. We spent a very, very happy month among dear kind friends, and never enjoyed Merrie England more. My mother and Miss F. joined us in London, and took care of us until we sailed for New York, which we did by the new Cunard steamer Gallia, June 14th, reaching New York on the 24th, exactly eight months from the day we sailed out of the Golden Gate. And now, June 25th, I write these lines at Cresson, on the crest of the Alleghanies, having reached our starting point and earned our right to fellowship with the favored fraternity of globe-trotters.

The voyage round the world should be made sailing westward from London or New York, as this gives the traveller the prevailing winds in his favor; at least after he reaches New York, for the Atlantic is never quite blessed with steady winds from the west. The trade-winds waft the traveller on his way when he goes toward the west; should he take the contrary direction and start via England to the East, he must experience many rough days and nights upon the sea. We saw the steamers from England battling against the monsoon, which only served to push us steadily and smoothly on. Let all my readers make due note of this—westward, not eastward. Another even greater advantage, at least to those who, like myself, are affected by heat, is obtained by taking the westward course: the various countries can be visited in months during which no extreme heat is possible. The best time to start from San Francisco is early in September, so that Japan is reached about the first of October, which is a delightful month in that pretty toy-land, neither too hot nor too cold. A month will enable the tourist to see all that is specially interesting—Yokohama, Yeddo, Kiobe, Kioto, Osaka, Nagasaki, and some of the notable inland sights. This brings him to China (Shanghai) the middle of November. After a few days there, a trip up the Yangtse, on one of the excellent American style of river boats, some six hundred miles to Hang-Kow, should not be missed, as one gets by this the best possible look at the Chinese at home. Hong Kong, the next stage, is reached, say early in December. Here you do Canton, Macao, and other interesting points, and reach Singapore, almost at the equator, and eat your Christmas dinner directly below your friends at home. If the reports from Java are favorable, a tempting excursion to that interesting island can be made from Singapore; but when we were at Singapore Europeans were being brought there from Java, and hurried north to cool places as the only cure for maladies contracted in that island. Therefore we abandoned our intended trip thither.

The traveller can decide whether to take steamer from Singapore via Bankok, Siam, and do that coast of Asia, and reach Calcutta from the west, or to follow our course via Ceylon. If he has plenty of time, the former may enable him to see more of India; but our experience was that there is more to see by any route than can be properly taken in upon one journey. If the wanderer follow us to Ceylon, we advise him to cross from Colombo to Southern India by steamer to Philipopolis, and go up through Southern India by land to Madras, as this will give him an opportunity to see the strange architecture and many customs peculiar to that region. We did the principal sights of India, but we advise any of our readers who make the journey, instead of returning from Delhi as we did, to go further north to Amritsir, and as far toward Cabool as the rail may extend. Simla upon the hills should also be visited. We often regret that we had not a week or two more to spend in India. We were rather late in the season, and Bombay was getting hot—indeed, it is always rather hot anywhere at the equator—but with the exception of a few hours at midday no great inconvenience was found, and the nights and the mornings were pleasant.

By the time the traveller has reached Egypt, and seen Alexandria and Cairo, he will be disposed, if our condition be any guide, to rest and be thankful, consigning any further extended travels to some future time when he has fully digested what he has gathered in his wanderings, and is fresh. When he touches pretty Catania, on his way west, he will feel for the first time that he is once more, as it were, at home among his own kith and kin, and has been quite long enough among strangers. Going round the world yields one exquisite pleasure which cannot be experienced upon any other tour. Our way over the long seas has not to be retraced. The farther we go, the nearer we come to home; every day's journey away from those we love, is also one day's step nearer to them. I think, also, that no amount of travel in detached portions of the world enables one to contemplate the world and the human race as a whole. One must traverse the ball round and round to arrive at a broad, liberal, correct estimate of humanity—its work, its aims, its destiny.

Go, therefore, my friends—all you who are so situated as to be able to avail yourselves of this privilege—go and see for yourselves how greatly we are bound by prejudices, how checkered and uncertain are many of our own advances, how very nearly all is balanced. No nation has all that is best, neither is any bereft of some advantages, and no nation, or tribe, or people is so unhappy that it would be willing to exchange its condition for that of any other. See, also, that in every society there are many individuals distinguished for traits of character which place them upon a par with the best and highest we know at home, and that such are everywhere regarded with esteem, and held up as models for lower and baser natures to emulate.

The traveller will not see in all his wanderings so much abject, repulsive misery among human beings in the most heathen lands, as that which startles him in his civilized Christian home, for nowhere are the extremes of wealth and poverty so painfully presented. He will learn, too, if he be observant, that very little is required after all to make mankind happy, and that the prizes of life worth contending for are, generally speaking, within the reach of the great mass.

Did you ever sum up these prizes and think how very little the millionaire has beyond the peasant, and how very often his additions tend not to happiness but to misery! What constitutes the choice food of the world? Plain beef, common vegetables and bread, and the best of all fruits—the apple; the only nectar bubbles from the brook without money and without price. All that our race eats or drinks beyond this range must be inferior, if not positively injurious. Dress—what man, or rather what woman wears—is less and less comfortable in proportion to its frills and its cost, and no jewel is so refined as the simple flower in the hair, which the village maid has for the plucking. All that women overload themselves with beyond this range is a source of unhappiness. To be the most simply attired is to be the most elegantly dressed. So much for true health and happiness in all that we eat, and drink, and wear.

If we extend the inquiry to the luxuries and adornments of life, is there any music—which of course comes first—comparable in grandeur to that of the wave, stirring the soul with its mighty organ tones as it breaks upon the beach, or any so exquisitely fine as that of the murmuring brook which sings its song forever to every listener upon its banks, while above birds warble and the zephyr plays its divine accompaniment among the trees! We spend fortunes for picture-galleries, but what are the tiny painted copies compared to the great originals, the mountains, the glens, the streams and waterfalls, the fertile fields, the breezy downs, the silver sea! These are the gems of the universal gallery, the common heritage of man, the property of the humblest who has eyes to see, and as free as the air we breathe. We have our conservatories and spend our thousands upon orchids, but which of nature's smiles ranks with the rose and the mignonette, the daisy and the bluebell, and the sweet forget-me-not blooming for all earth's children, and which grow upon the window-sill of the artisan and which the laborer blesses at his cottage door!

If we go higher still in the scale, we find that the companionship of the gods is not denied to the steady wage-receiving man, for Shakespeare and our Burns and our Scott can be had for sixpence per volume. In this blessed age in which we are privileged to live even the immortals are cheap and visit the toiler. We see the rich rolling over the land in their carriages, but blessed beyond these is the man who strolls along the hedge-rows. The connoisseur in his gallery misses the health-giving breeze which brings happiness to the devotee who seeks the original afield. The lady in her overheated conservatory knows nothing of the joyous rapture of her more fortunate sister who gathers the spoils of the glen. Ah, my friends, ponder well over this truth: the more one dwells with her, the more one draws from her, the closer one creeps to her bosom, the sweeter is nature's kiss. From man's neglect of her for meaner substitutes come most of the disappointment and unhappiness of life. The masses of mankind are happy all round the world because their pleasures are drawn so largely from sources which lie open to all. The rich are not to be envied, for truly "there is no purchase in money" of any real happiness. When used for our own gratification, it injures us; when used ostentatiously, it brings care; when hoarded, it narrows the soul. Nature has not provided a means by which any man can use riches for selfish purposes without suffering therefrom. There is only one source of true blessedness in wealth, and that comes from giving it away for ends that tend to elevate our brothers and enable them to share it with us. Nature is gloriously communistic after all, God bless her! and sees that a pretty fair division is made, let man hoard as he may. The secret of happiness is renunciation.

Another advantage to be derived from a journey round the world is, I think, that the sense of the brotherhood of man, the unity of the race, is very greatly strengthened thereby, for one sees that the virtues are the same in all lands, and produce their good fruits, and render their possessors blessed in Benares and Kioto as in London or New York; that the vices, too, are akin, and also that the motives which govern men and their actions and aims are very much the same the world over. In their trials and sufferings, as in their triumphs and rejoicings, men do not differ, and so the heart swells and the sympathies extend, and we embrace all men in our thoughts, leaving not one outside the range of our solicitude and wishing every one well. The Japanese, Chinese, Cingalese, Indians, Egyptians, all have been made our friends through individuals of each race of whom we have heard much that was good and noble, pure lives, high aims, good deeds, and how can we, therefore, any longer dwell apart, believing our own land or our own people in any respect the chosen of God! No, no; we know now in a sense much more vivid than before that all the children of the earth dwell under the reign of the same divine law, and that for each and every one that law evolves through all the ages, the higher from the lower, the good from evil, slowly but surely separating the dross from the pure gold, disintegrating what is pernicious, consolidating what is beneficial to the race, so that the feeling that formerly told us that we alone had special care bestowed upon us gives place to the knowledge that every one in his day and generation, wherever found, receives the truth best fitted for his elevation from that state to the next higher, and so

"Ilka blade of grass keps its ain drap o' dew,"

and grows its own fruit after its kind. For these and many other reasons, let all thoughtful souls follow my example and visit their brethren from one land to another till the circle is complete.

The unprecedented advance made by western nations in the past and present generations, upon which we continually plume ourselves, is shared by the world in general. Wherever we have been, one story met us. Everywhere there is progress, not only material but intellectual as well, and rapid progress too. The oldest inhabitant has always his comparison to offer between the days of his youth and the advantages possessed by the youth of to-day. Matters are not as they were. We saw no race which had retrograded, if we except Egypt, which is now in a transitional state, and will ultimately prove no exception to the rule. The whole world moves, and moves in the right direction—upward and onward—the things that are better than those that have been and those to come to be better than those of to-day. The law of evolution—the higher from the lower—is not discredited by a voyage round the world and the knowledge of what is transpiring from New York round to New York again gives us joy this morning as we sum it all up.

The trip has been without a single unpleasant incident. We have not missed one connection, nor ever been beyond the reach of all the comforts of life, nor have we had one unhappy or even lonely hour. Every day has brought something new or interesting. And sitting here in our quiet mountain home this morning, I feel that there is scarcely a prize that could be offered for which I would exchange the knowledge obtained and the memories of things seen during my trip. One of the great pleasures of travel in the East is the unbounded hospitality—excessive kindness—everywhere met with. Will the numerous kind friends to whom we are so deeply indebted—a host far too great to name—please accept this general acknowledgment as at least a slight evidence that their goodness to us is not unappreciated? At every stage of our travels I have been struck with the cheering thought, that notwithstanding the indisputable fact that a vast amount of misery seems inseparable from human life, still the general condition of mankind is a happy one. Even the Hindoo in India, or the Malay in the Archipelago—and these seem to exist under the worst conditions—each of these constantly sees cause to bless his good fortune and render thanks—sincere, heartfelt thanks—to a kind Providence for casting his life in pleasant places, and not in damp, foggy England, or amid American frosts and snows. We have their sincere sympathy, I assure you. Nor is patriotism a peculiarly western virtue. No matter who or what he is, the man of the East in his heart exalts his own country and his own race, and esteems them specially favored of the gods. And indeed it is with nations as with individuals: as none are entirely good, so none are entirely bad. The unseen power is at work in all lands, evolving the higher from the lower and steadily improving all, so the traveller finds much to commend in every country, and seeing this he grows tolerant and liberal, and able more heartily to sing with Burns—

"Then let us pray that come it may— As come it will, for a' that— That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, for a' that; For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet, for a'that, That man to man, the warld o'er Shall brothers be, for a' that."

In which hope, nay, in the confident and inspiring belief in the sure coming of the day of the Brotherhood of Man, I lay down my pen and bring to a close this record of my tour round the world.

THE END