Dr. Solly writes thus of Manitou and its springs:—

"The statements concerning the climate of Colorado Springs applies to Manitou, with important modifications owing to its being in a valley instead of on a plateau. The general modifying influences of valleys are confirmed by our local experience. The summer is somewhat cooler and damper, while the winter is slightly less dry and warmer, being more sheltered, the only wind blowing with direct force being the west, which though it comes from the mountains is usually warm. The hours of daylight are shorter.

"The Springs all contain a moderate quantity of carbonate of soda and minor ingredients, and some also iron and Glauber's salts. They are cold, and charged to saturation with carbonic acid, which increases the activity of their properties and makes them extremely palatable. They are peculiarly adapted for drinking and bathing in cases of anaemia and in most chronic stomach, liver, and kidney affections occurring in debilitated persons with whom the climate agrees. A detailed account of these waters will be found in my pamphlet on Manitou, published by the Gazette Publishing Company, Colorado Springs."

Mrs. Dunbar thus describes one of the famous passes in the Rocky Mountains near Manitou.

"The Ute Pass, following up the course of the Fountain, was an old Indian trail into the parks and mountains higher up. Later on, in the gold excitement of 1859, when the rush was made to Pike's Peak, and later still, after the unprecedented excitement and the settlement of Leadville, before the railroad was built, the Pass was thronged with camp-trains pushing their way into the mountains. Now the tourist, the pleasure-seeker and the invalid go leisurely over a good road to pass a delightful summer among the beautiful parks through which it leads. One of these is Manitou Park, which is a summer camping-ground much frequented. The situation is very delightful and its summer hotel is good."

And again the beautiful seven falls in Cheyenne Canyon, she thus speaks of:—

"South Cheyenne is deep and narrow, and nearly a mile long, with perpendicular walls of solid granite rising hundreds of feet and in places over a thousand feet, naked and smooth, with only occasional rifts. It is winding in its course, and narrows into gloomy rock-bound cells or widens into pleasant amphitheatres. A small stream runs quickly through the narrow rocky bed, pushing out around great boulders and leaping over the small ones, forming innumerable cascades that foam and gurgle and sing low quiet songs. At the head of the canyon the water falls three hundred feet, vainly trying to find a resting-place in its seven leaps to the bottom. Stairs have been built to the top of these falls, where are grand views of the canyon and the plains."

The society in Colorado Springs and Manitou is thus detailed by Mrs. Dunbar:—

"The society is the very best; people of culture and refinement, and many possessing much wealth, have been attracted here by the climate and surroundings, and these have drawn others of like tastes and habits, till on this little mesa where the mountains and the plains meet, there has grown up in a few short years a city of nearly six thousand people, 'the cream of eastern society.' Although Colorado Springs is pre-eminently a health resort, and THE health resort of the West, and although 'wealthy invalids from the East make up a good part of the population of the city,' others besides invalids are settled here. Men of means from the East owning large herds of cattle and sheep that roam over the great western plains from Montana to Mexico have found it best to make a home for themselves nearer their business interests, and seeking the best place have come to Colorado Springs. Others interested in the mineral wealth of the Rocky Mountains, especially in Colorado, Utah, and Old and New Mexico, have also settled here.

"Unlike many of the towns and cities of the West, Colorado Springs is not cosmopolitan; it has scarcely any French, German, or Irish element. The people are from the older states of the Union, and from Canada, England, and Scotland; hence an entirely English-speaking community. The people as a whole are probably better educated and possess more wealth than those of an eastern town of the same size. It is more New-England-like in the general make-up of its social, religious, and educational characteristics than any town west of the Mississippi. The poorer people are a respectable class who have received some social and educational advantages; none but enterprising or well-to-do people would ever cross the plains to establish a new home in the West."

On the same point, education, and the accessibility of Colorado Springs, Dr. Solly writes:—

"There is an excellent college, good schools, and private teachers for those who have children to be educated, while for adults, attendance on one or more of the courses of lectures at the College offers the means of passing an hour or so a day in profitable and interesting study. Churches of all denominations are well supported. Two free reading-rooms and a library are open to visitors, and an attractive club welcomes strangers with a good introduction at moderate fees.

Colorado Springs is upon the main line of the Denver and Rio Grande Railway, which follows the course of the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains, sending branches westward through the mountains in all directions and eastward connecting with nearly all the trans-continental routes, being seventy-five miles south of Denver, where it joins the Union Pacific, and Chicago, Burlington and Quincy, and forty miles north of Pueblo, where it connects with the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe. It is less than four days' journey to either the Atlantic or Pacific coasts, while Europe can be reached in fourteen days. For invalids it is wiser, however, to prolong these periods by frequent stoppages. Access is easy from this point to other desirable places of about the same elevation, so that the invalid can keep up the benefit that altitude affords and enjoy the pleasure and advantage of a change."

Of the climate at Colorado Springs, Mrs. Dunbar writes:—

"It is not the purpose of this article to encroach upon the subject-matter properly belonging to a physician, but a few general remarks concerning the climate and its effects upon lung diseases will not be out of place.

"The marked features of this climate are the dry atmosphere and clear sunlight for more than 300 days in the year.

"This year, in February and March for seven successive weeks, there were but five cloudy days, and during each of those five days the sun shone at times.

"Most of our cloudy weather, with threatening snow or rain, is in April and May; the most disagreeable element of the climate is the wind-storms in spring and fall, mostly in April and November. These dry storms of wind and dust, though unpleasant, are of short duration and not injurious to health.

"Statistics might be given concerning the state of the weather from day to day throughout the year, but it is unnecessary here, for they will be found in the weather reports accompanying this article.

"Generally speaking there is no rain from the 1st of September till the next May or June, and often not much till July. July and August are the rainy months, and during this time rain is liable to fall nearly every day. Very seldom is there a long rain-storm, but tempests and heavy showers for an hour or two each day and usually in the afternoon. In the mountains snows are frequent and heavy in the winter, and the higher ranges have snow upon them nearly every month in the year. But on the plains and in Colorado Springs and Manitou there is very little.

"In the early part of the winter, and usually in March and April, there are light snows which remain upon the ground only a short time, not longer than a day or two, and sometimes only a few hours. There is so little snow that cattle and sheep feed upon the plains through the winter with perhaps a few days' exception, on the short buffalo grass, which retains its nourishment in this dry climate like made hay, which it really is.

"The surface soil of Colorado Springs is a coarse, sandy loam, into which the moisture sinks rapidly. It is never muddy here for more than a few hours, so that our streets and walks are practically hard and dry.

"The temperature of this dry country is marked by sudden changes and extremes in summer and in winter. A noticeable feature is the decided difference between day and night, and sunlight and shade. Most of the days in winter one can sit out of doors in the sun, but even after our warmest days the nights are cold, especially towards morning, when the mercury will frequently drop below zero. Owing to the absence of moisture the cold is not more noticeable here with the mercury at zero than when 15 deg. or 20 deg. above in damp localities farther east.

"In summer when the sun shining through the clear, dry atmosphere is so hot, the evenings and nights are always cool and comfortable; also in mid-day it is cool and agreeable in the shade. On account of the absence of moisture in the air we never have any sultry or foggy days. Through the day the mercury seldom rises higher than 90 deg. in the shade. But the heat is not oppressive as it is at this temperature in lower altitudes and damp climates. Such a climate cannot but be favorable to throat and lung diseases."

On the same subject (climate), the following is by Dr. Solly, and indeed so are all the following extracts (regarding Colorado Springs from a medical point of view) from his pen.

"WEATHER.—WINTER.

"People (invalids) sit on porches without extra wraps; so powerful is the sun's heat in winter that sunshades are grateful, and mid-day picnics are taken with enjoyment and benefit. It is at this season that the greatest improvement is noticed in the consumptives. On turning to the tables at the end of this chapter it will be seen that though the nights are often intensely cold, the days are seldom so. However, until we take thermometric observations, both in the sun and shade, and with continuous self-recording instruments, we cannot show what is the real temperature of the hours that especially concern the invalid. To a person unacquainted with physics or practically unversed in climates, the cold of the winter nights may seem a disadvantage; why this is but seldom the case is owing chiefly to the dryness. The proportion of sunshiny days is more remarkable at this resort throughout the year, and especially during the fall and winter, than at any other from which reports could be obtained.

"Sleighing is seldom possible, and only for a few hours at a time in occasional winters.

"Skating, however, is good on most days through the middle of every winter. The frosts at night make the ice so thick and hard, that the hours of sunlight are not long enough to melt it to any appreciable extent, and the dry air absorbs the moisture from the melting ice so rapidly that a smooth hard surface is usually presented for the skaters' enjoyment.

"Snowfall.—The total amount of snow that falls through the whole winter is so slight that there are very few days upon which it is seen at all. The snow when it falls rarely lies more than a day or two, for the reasons that the dry air produces rapid evaporation and the dry soil quick absorption, so that it disappears without evidence of melting, and there is not the danger to the invalid of wet ground with a bright sun overhead.

SPRING.

"The spring is undoubtedly here, as elsewhere, the least desirable season of the year, but it compares favourably with other climates, and there is no period of melting snow or special month to be shunned, and an invalid can on occasion change with advantage his location on the elevated ground of Colorado to New Mexico, for a few weeks, guided by the weather reports.

SUMMER.

"Temperature by Day.—In the shade the heat is seldom over 82 deg. The air being dry, the heat is much less felt than a lower temperature in damper climates. But there being no solar temperature observations, the fact of the intense heat of the direct rays of the sun is not apparent.

"Evaporation.—This heat is, of course, to some delicate invalids, very trying, but sun-stroke is almost unknown, and if the head is protected harm is seldom done by exercising even during the hottest portions of the day.

"The temperature by night is almost invariably cool, as seen by the temperature tables, and two blankets at least are grateful to sleep under; while the mornings and evenings being cool, without dew or dampness, give sufficient daylight hours for exercise for those who shun the mid-day heat.

"The rainfall, which, with the melted snow, averages only fifteen inches for the year, occurs almost entirely between the middle of April and the middle of October, and falls chiefly in the three summer months.

"Thunderstorms, or rather showers, occurring in the afternoons and lasting about twenty minutes or half an hour, when much rain will fall at that one time, are the usual form in which the bulk of the precipitation occurs. These storms arise rapidly, are seldom preceded by the warning sense of discomfort that is usually felt in lower regions, and disappear as quickly, leaving a sense of refreshment after the heat, with few and rapidly evaporating signs of moisture upon the soil.

AUTUMN.

"The autumn is perhaps the most enjoyable season of the year, it is very dry and warm without heat and with few storms. Although there is no reason why patients suited to the climate should not begin their sojourn in any season convenient to them, perhaps September or October are on the whole best, because they then approach the cold nights of winter gradually.

TABLE I.—MEAN TEMPERATURE.

+ -+ + + -+ -+ -+ At 7 a.m. At 10 a.m. At 2 p.m. At 9 p.m. [A]Day. + -+ + + -+ -+ -+ January 17.8 27.3 36.0 20.9 24.4 February 21.3 36.3 42.0 27.1 29.4 March 31.4 46.6 52.4 37.4 36.6 April 38.9 50.8 54.7 42.2 43.9 May 50.2 57.9 62.9 51.7 49.9 June 61.5 66.1 72.6 60.2 65.9 July 66.2 75.2 77.6 65.0 69.7 August 64.9 74.3 76.9 63.6 68.1 September 50.1 60.4 68.8 54.2 57.2 October 37.9 52.0 60.6 42.7 47.8 November 27.9 43.9 48.2 31.3 35.5 December 20.2 22.8 38.2 23.2 27.6 Spring 40.2 51.8 56.7 43.8 42.8 Summer 64.2 71.9 75.7 62.9 67.9 Autumn 38.6 52.1 59.2 42.7 47.1 Winter 19.8 28.8 38.7 23.7 27.1 Year 40.7 51.1 57.6 43.3 46.4 + -+ + + -+ -+ -+

[A] The daily mean is one-fourth the sum of the readings at 7 a.m., at 2 p.m., and double the reading at 9 p.m.



TABLE II.—MAXIMUM AND MINIMUM TEMPERATURES IN WINTER AND SPRING.

PART I.—MAXIMUM TEMPERATURES.

1873-'74. 1874-'75. 1875-'76. 1877-'78. A B A B A B A B December 65.0 44.1 59.0 41.7 67.0 51.6 69.0 — January 63.0 46.6 60.0 35.1 62.0 45.5 59.5 — February 59.0 40.2 58.0 40.8 64.0 51.6 61.5 47.1 Winter 65.0 43.6 60.0 39.2 67.0 49.6 69.0 — March 61.0 48.2 67.0 42.0 65.5 49.1 70.5 — April 82.0 53.6 71.0 — 79.0 60.8 72.0 60.4 May 92.0 74.7 84.0 70.3 84.0 67.6 80.0 65.1 Spring — 58.8 — — — 59.2 — — June 101.0 85.6 91.0 82.2 93.0 77.2 84.0 71.5

1878-'79. 1879-'80. 1880-'81. 1882-'83. A B A B A B A B December 59.5 31.2 — — — — — — January 68.0 37.6 62.5 46.4 63.0 40.5 55.5 36.8 February 68.5 47.1 61.0 39.1 60.0 47.6 62.0 — Winter 68.5 38.6 — — — — — — March 77.0 59.4 — — 70.0 51.3 67.5 54.9 April — — — — 73.5 — 70.5 56.6 May — — — — — — 80.5 66.4 Spring — — — — — — — 59.3 June — — — — — — 90.5 76.5

NOTE.—Column A contains the highest temperature of the month or season; column B the mean of the highest temperatures of the several days.

TABLE III.—MAXIMUM AND MINIMUM TEMPERATURES IN SUMMER AND AUTUMN.

1874. 1875. A B C D A B C D June 101.0 85.6 39.0 50.7 91.0 82.2 32.0 49.7 July 98.0 89.5 48.0 55.5 90.0 76.4 47.0 53.1 August 92.5 85.5 52.0 55.4 93.0 79.7 42.0 51.6 Summer 101.0 86.9 39.0 53.9 93.0 79.4 32.0 51.5 September 87.0 71.0 27.0 42.4 88.0 73.7 27.0 44.9 October 76.0 63.1 20.0 38.6 82.0 68.7 18.0 35.9 November 65.0 52.6 2.0 24.4 74.0 52.3 9.0 24.2 Autumn — 62.2 — 35.1 — 64.9 — 35.0

1878. A B C D June 84.0 71.5 42.0 49.0 July 90.0 83.2 48.5 57.0 August 92.0 81.5 50.0 58.3 Summer 92.0 78.7 42.0 54.8 September 82.0 69.9 33.5 43.0 October 79.0 61.7 13.0 32.1 November 66.0 51.5 5.5 25.7 Autumn — 61.0 — 33.6

NOTE.—Column A contains the highest, and column C the lowest, temperature of the month or season; column B contains the mean of the highest, and column D the mean of the lowest, temperatures of the several days.

PHYSIOLOGICAL EFFECTS OBSERVED AT COLORADO SPRINGS.

"Skin.—'Its activity is increased; it is also better nourished and strengthened.' These effects are very markedly shown, the ruddy appearance of residents indicates at once the activity of the circulation, and the quickness with which the nerves of the skin respond to the impression of cold and heat; whereby, as has been shown, nature protects the body against cold-catching, and indicates its increased activity. These physiological effects are best demonstrated by a consideration of the influence of the climate upon the skin where there is some disorder or disease of it, or of some organ or function upon which it depends. As regards the skin itself, it is a common saying that Colorado is bad for good complexions and good for bad ones. This means that the beautiful pink and white complexion, that is so much admired, is destroyed, the burning of the sun and the vigour imparted to the circulation make fair maidens 'ruddier than the cherry and browner than the berry.' While the complexions of those who are sallow and marked with acne, are improved; the sluggishness and poverty of the skin is stimulated, the colour gets brighter and the glands acting freely again the pores cease to be clogged with the hardened secretion, and by these means the acne is removed.

"Circulation.—'Heart and blood-vessels are probably strengthened.' The frequency of the pulse is certainly increased in individuals upon first arriving in Colorado, being greatest in those most feeble. In well persons and those who regain their health, it also soon returns to its customary number of beats. That each separate beat is made stronger is probable, but hard to demonstrate; however the fact will be admitted by all physicians practising in Colorado, that hearts which are muscularly weak, even when there are bruits, greatly improve in tone, strength and steadiness; while those where from some disease or obstruction the muscle is increased in size and strength, the symptoms are almost always so alarmingly developed that they have to be sent away before there is time to observe what the secondary effects might be.

"Lungs' Respiration.—'The number of respirations is increased at the beginning of the stay, but returns to the normal number after a longer time, and probably the depth of the inspiration is also increased.' This is in accordance with our observations. The greater expansion of the chest, and the frequency with which patients and others volunteer the statement that they can breathe deeper, confirms the opinion that the depth of respiration is increased; more bulk of air being taken in to give to the lungs an equivalent amount of oxygen, greater depth of breathing must needs follow. The increased chest development and the necessarily greater use of the respiratory muscles makes it tolerably certain that they are strengthened.

"Appetite and Assimilation.—'In most cases there is a transient or permanent increase of appetite and assimilation of nourishment.'

"There is certainly direct evidence of the former to be found in Colorado, but as change of scene and air produce it almost everywhere, where the general conditions are not unfavorable to health, and notably so at the seashore, and also on shipboard when the depressing effects of seasickness are absent or passed away, it is doubtful how far this may be taken as a special effect of altitude, except through the increased oxygenation produced by both sea and mountain air. It would appear that in those with whom Colorado agrees there is a greater consumption of meat, a good appetite, and probably an increased one. That there is also an increased assimilation of nourishment may be inferred from an increased appetite without dyspepsia, in fact the improvement that usually takes place in dyspeptic conditions, during residence in Colorado, is a good evidence of increased or, at least, more perfect assimilation.

"Nourishment.—'From this follows an improved formation of blood and nourishment of the organs.' The general vigour of the circulation with the ruddier colour, which has been dwelt upon, would show that the improved quality of the blood must be due not only to the causes previously pointed out, more oxygen absorbed, etc., but also to the more perfect conversion of food into blood; all this will likewise apply to the better nourishment of the organs which can be inferred from similar grounds.

"Sleep 'is usually improved.' This appears to be the case in Colorado in healthy persons, and in those invalids with whom the climate agrees; during their first few weeks of residence there is more or less tendency to nap, though between times they may be particularly wide awake. Later it would seem that less sleep is needed to sustain health, though it is especially profound. As regards the individual, the temperament probably largely influences this matter. The torpid generally are first made drowsy, and afterwards sleep well, the erethic or irritable are specially wakeful on arriving, and later their sleep is broken, exactly the reverse occurring on the sea shore. With respect to meteorological conditions, humidity undoubtedly is the first consideration, it being commonly observed that some sleep better in dry and some in rainy weather; though an increase of elevation without marked change in the humidity will add to the tendency to sleep in the torpid, and the contrary in the erethic, thus indicating that altitude, that is lessened atmospheric pressure, has its own especial influence.

"Asthma, when purely nervous, is almost invariably relieved, and sometimes cured permanently, though more often it reappears with a return to the atmosphere in which it was generated, the rest from attacks and improvement in the general health caused by the climate will, however, even then often ward off a relapse for some time. The elevation at which the greatest relief is afforded varies with the case. When there is much bronchitis and emphysema, or heart trouble, the asthma is often worse at first, though it may afterwards be relieved; where these complications exist their extent and character must be the guide about coming. When the affection of the heart is not very great or long existing, a relief of the asthma generally brings improvement in its tone. Where these complications exist, if a trial of this climate is advised, it is best for the patient to halt two or three times for a few days, at least while ascending the slopes, and avoid all exertion for the first few weeks after arrival, and be prepared to depart if improvement does not show itself at the end of the first month.

"The throat when affected with chronic catarrh is usually much benefited, probably locally, as indicated by Dr. Weber, by the readier separation of the mucus. I have also had cases of tuberculous ulceration of the larynx, in which the ulcers have healed under topical and general treatment, though Dr. Weber states such cases are not suitable.

"Chronic Bronchitis is also improved, though the cough at first is frequently increased for a time. When, as a result or complication of the bronchitis, there is much emphysema, considerable risk is run by coming to this elevation. However, when the emphysema is moderate in extent, and exertion is avoided for the first few weeks, the readier clearing of the bronchial tubes allows the sound portions of the lungs to be more perfectly used; the strain upon the emphysematous parts being thereby relieved, the patient ultimately breathes with greater comfort, and the bronchitis is in time removed. Where old, chronic bronchitis with emphysema exists there is frequently marked dilatation of the right side of the heart, in which case a patient should by all means avoid Colorado.

"Advanced Cases.—Where the disease is much advanced it goes without saying that no honest physician would recommend a change of climate, and especially so great a change as to an elevation of several thousand feet; but cases do often come of their own will, cheered by the delusive hope that is characteristic of the disease, and though the result is usually a hastening of the end, yet death is generally less tedious and harassing, the sick one frequently being out enjoying the sunshine up to the last day, dying quietly and quickly with a failing heart, instead of being confined to bed for days or weeks in a close, heavy atmosphere, which impedes the last struggling efforts at respiration.

TIME OF STAY.

"In cases of decided phthisical tendency, even in the first stage, the treatment should extend over some years, though whether the whole or a portion of each year should be spent on the mountains depends much upon the character of the individual and the place.

"That those cured of phthisis upon the mountains can never live again low down, is not the case; of course a cured consumptive will have to take care of himself for some years, and a return to the social and climatic conditions in which he got sick will always be dangerous, but this difficulty is usually much greater for those who have been cured in warm places than those who have been hardened by the mountains."

I have given all the above copious extracts, because it appeared to me while I was at Colorado Springs, that many people lived and enjoyed good health there, who could not live elsewhere. Some told me so much, and declared the place was full of similar cases. A part of these were English, of whom some had tried the Riviera, and they averred that Colorado Springs was much better for all pulmonary complaints than the northern shores of the Mediterranean. When we consider how easy it is to get to Colorado, seven days to New York, and three and a half days beyond by rail, with luxurious comforts, and no fatigue for invalids, it is, I think, well that sufferers in England, and on the Continent too, should know of the existence of this charming spot and health-giving locality.

But any one interested and wishing to know more should get the book alluded to. I could only in my extracts pick out what appeared to me the most important parts, and I need not say the above gives no idea of the excellence of the work both in a medical and social point of view. I know not if it is procurable in London, but its title is "Colorado Springs and Manitou," and it is for sale by P. Blakiston, Son, and Co., 1012, Walnut Street, Philadelphia.

FOOTNOTE:

[8] Snow, when melted, leaves the ground dry. Garments, fresh from the wash-tub, hung out in the shade, dry in half an hour!



CHAPTER VI.

Ranch again—Tea—American press—Celebrities victimized—Last journey—Chicago—Beauty—Niagara missed—New York—Atlantic—Home.

After my holiday at Colorado Springs, I returned to the ranch, and soon began my preparations for leaving. The climate is the same at both places. It was then the end of September, and nothing could exceed its perfection. Never a cloud in the sky, but bright sunshine all day long, with a bracing atmosphere and a pleasant temperature withal. Then came October, which was equally fine, but the nights began to be very cold. However the house was fairly air-tight, we had good stoves, and spent jolly evenings, to which a cask of excellent beer I had got from Denver contributed not a little. There was much to settle as to how my sons would act, as regards ranch work, after my departure. They were greatly pleased at being landowners, had the sanguine expectations of success so natural at their age, and I am afraid to say how many pipes we got through discussing the bright future they painted. Then came a "snow storm" for a day and a night (it's always so named in America); for twenty-four hours the flakes fell incessantly, and all was white around with nine inches of snow. The following morning the sun rose in his usual cloudless splendour, and shone brightly all day, leaving no snow except on the hills, when darkness came, while owing to the dry atmosphere all moisture had evaporated, and the ground was dry. But the night succeeding was bitterly cold. The thermometer fell to Zero, or near it, and yet when we had been up four hours, the temperature stood at 60 deg. again! This is the usual thing in the high lands of Colorado (and the Water Ranch is near 6000 feet high), for warm days and cold nights are the rule in winter, and hot days and cool nights in summer. Verily, it is a superb climate.

As regards the want of courtesy in America, which I have more than once dilated on, I was at this time much struck with the following:—I saw a girl, some sixteen years old, at the railway station, or rather "Deepot," as it is named and pronounced there. She was evidently waiting for a train, seated near her trunk. There was no one close by, and she came up to me. She was a particularly pretty-looking girl, nicely dressed, and seemed to be of a better class than the usual inhabitants in that somewhat out-of-the-way part of the country. I expected therefore, when she addressed me, she would do it nicely. The following passed:—

Girl.—"I can't fix my box—you do it."

The rope had come off.

Myself.—"Yes, I'll help you. Are you waiting for the train?"

Girl.—"Guess you are right. How stupid you are, don't fix it in that way. Can't you see the rope is long enough to go twice round?"

Myself.—"All right, I'll do it so."

Having completed the job, as the young lady was sitting on the one chair available, I sat on her box, which was a large and strong one.

Girl.—"You fixed it well, thank you, but don't sit on my box."

Myself.—"Why not?"

Girl.—"Because I don't like it. Can't you sit on the steps?"

Myself.—"No, thank you, I'll stand."

Girl.—"Tell me when is the train doo."

Myself.—"Immediately. There it is coming now."

Girl.—"Guess the box is too heavy for one man. Will you help to fix it upon the car?"

She did not wait for a reply, but ran and took her place. No more thanks. I looked round for some one to help with her box, and as I did so she put her head out of the window, and called to a man who was sitting in a cart, and had probably brought her and the trunk.

"Jimmy, can't you see my box? Help that man standing by it to ship it on the car."

Jimmy did kindly help me, and so the difficulty was got over, but I saw or heard no more of the American lassie.

As I made notes of the above (I filled many pocket-books in that way in America), I pondered and thought it over. I don't at all believe the girl meant to be rude or unkind, it's quite likely she would have done as much as she asked of me for some one else, but she had not been brought up to consider courtesy a necessity, and most certainly did not practise it.

The tea usually drunk in the States is dreadful stuff. As I am interested in the growth of tea in India, I inquired much as to the prospects of that tea if sent there, and on my return to England, I wrote the following to one of the papers devoted to tea matters in Calcutta. I give it here, as it exemplifies the difficulty of getting good tea in America, which so many English appreciate, and because large numbers here now are interested in the tea industry of Hindustan.

TEA IN AMERICA.

Would you like to hear as to the prospects of Indian tea in America? Having been in the States some five months and looked into the matter, I can tell you.

At present Indian tea is literally unknown on that side of the water. Not only is the tea unknown, but, with few exceptions, no one here is cognizant of the fact that any tea is produced in Hindustan. This, considering that a fair amount of Indian tea has been sent to America, may appear strange. But the explanation is not far to seek. When those who have not travelled in it speak of that country, they do not realize its vast size. How many dozen countries like England joined together would equal the area of the United States? Take away Scotland and Wales and all that remains, England proper, could be put into Lake Superior! Is it strange then that the comparatively little Indian tea sent has never penetrated into the interior? Again, the tea sent has been delivered in New York. There, and there alone, and in a very minor degree, has it begun to run the course it has pursued in England for years. Very nearly all received has been used to mix with other and weak teas, but the whole quantity has been hitherto far too small to visibly affect the strength even of the teas sold in New York.

Speaking generally, two kinds of tea are used in the States—Java green tea, and what they name "English breakfast tea." The first is Java, and that only, and more woful stuff I have never tasted. It is far weaker than the Chinese mixtures which were used in England years ago, ere the Indian teas came into play. It is literally tasteless. It has no aroma, and very little colour. I never tasted so bodyless an infusion. Nine-tenths of the Americans drink the above.

The other, styled "English breakfast tea," is a compound of Chinese black teas; and into this (the percentage very small, for all received will give no more) is sometimes put a little Indian. Bad as it is, 'tis better than the Java beverage, but, as compared with the general tea sold in England to-day, which is more than one-third Indian, it is a tasteless mixture.

In two words, I conceive all, or nearly all, the Indian tea sent to the States has been used up in New York, and consequently it would be strange if it were known elsewhere.

I travelled much in America, south to New Orleans, west to San Francisco. I asked as to Indian tea in many places. I found it in two only. At a tea-store in San Francisco (excuse the word "store," there are no shops in America) I found one kind, an inferior Souchong, with much red leaf. Still it was very drinkable, and I used no other while on the western coast. It had come, I was told, from Bengal, across the Pacific. Ordinary as the tea was, the store-keeper told me he sold much of it.

The only other place I got Indian tea was at Denver, the capital of Colorado. But it was in a shop kept by an Englishman named Cornforth. He had a large and very successful grocery business and made tea a speciality. He knew all about Indian tea, and had some of the very best, a high-class Pekoe Souchong, said to be from Assam. I was some weeks in Colorado (I bought a ranch there for my sons) and drank Mr. Cornforth's tea all the time. I used to give it to the Americans who came to my house, and they invariably liked it. Mr. Cornforth sells much of it in Denver, and many, his manager told me, drink it pure. Shortly, my experience leads me to believe that Indian tea could be easily introduced into the States.

Were it done, think of the result. The Americans drink individually far more tea than we do. As a rule, they are a sober race. When they drink alcohol, it is a big drink, lasting two or three days, and then for weeks nothing but tea and coffee, but far more of the former. I have not the statistics handy, but I doubt not for "tea per head" the denizens of the United States equal the New Zealanders, who I had previously thought the largest consumers on earth. Then, again, consider the area covered by those tea-drinkers. If Indian tea ever becomes popular with them, the Indian and Ceylon plantations will have to be increased threefold to satisfy the demand.

Tea, I well know, is an aquired taste, and it is not easily, or quickly, that even a better produce will make its way, opposed as it is, to the flavour which has become familiar. But we had exactly the same difficulty in England, and have conquered. We can do the same in America. We cannot expect them, they will not (they did not in England, even few do so here now) drink it pure. It will run in the States as it has here, and runs in a great measure still. Used to mix with and give body to weak teas, our trans-Atlantic cousins will be taught to appreciate the improved flavour, ignorant as the many will still be of the cause. The taste will grow. More will yearly be demanded, and in time, a long time I admit, may happen what will now certainly occur in England in five years more, half the consumption will be Indian.

But how is it to be so introduced? Certainly not by the very puny efforts made hitherto. The quantity sent should be multiplied many times, and arrangements made to forward it on arrival, to some, if not all, of the great cities in the interior. There it should be sold at auction to the highest bidders, as done here in the Lane. Were this done for two or three years, the introduction would be accomplished (it has not been begun yet) and the tea would then make its own way.

But how as to the financial result? Losses at first there would be. Some sacrifice must always be made to carry out large enterprises, but they would not be heavy or of long duration, and every rupee embarked therein would eventually bring back a hundredfold to the tea industry.

Only the Tea Associations of London and Calcutta can carry it out, and even they cannot do it if the garden owners in India and Ceylon do not help. You can assist likewise. Will you kindly do so?

London, 22nd January, 1886. EDWARD MONEY.

I have spoken of the American Press before, but have more to add here, as during my stay on the ranch I saw much of papers published at Denver, the capital of Colorado. If a tradesman wants his goods advertised successfully, it is merely a question of money to get the Editor to allude to them in the body of the paper. Not as done at the bottom of columns with the word "advt." joined on, as some papers print such in England, but in the editorial articles, and as if the notice was put in by the Editor himself, struck with the superiority of what is recommended! Here are one or two examples. These were in the body of the paper, among items of news, &c.

REMOVED.—Gallup, the florist so long at 370 Curtis street, can be found hereafter at 321 Sixteenth street, still with Tunnel & Co. A competent lady floral worker has charge and all orders will receive prompt attention. An abundance of fine flowers always on hand. Telephone connections with greenhouse on Broadway.

MADAME STOUFFS is in charge of Joslin's costume department, and is prepared to receive orders for all kinds of costumes, satisfaction guaranteed in every respect.

HALFORD SAUCE, for uniform use.

YOUMAN'S fall stiff hats are now on sale at J. A. McClurg & Co.'s.

JOSLIN'S have the finest line of dry goods to be found in the West.

COLD WEATHER is coming on, and the little ones must be shod accordingly. If you wish to save money, go to 232, Fifteenth street, just below Holladay. W. H. Moore.

SEE the assortment of fancy plated jewelry at Joslin's.

Another feature is sensational headings. No matter what the subject, the most sensational heading that can be devised appears in large print above it. Political leaders, social news, financial articles are all treated the same way. I had many but lost them. Here are two examples however.

ABDUCTION AND ATTEMPTED MURDER: THE PUEBLO SENSATION.

SILVERTON TREATED TO SOME HARMLESS REVOLVER PRACTICE.

Here, in England, expressions are occasionally made use of in the House which would be better omitted, but the perpetrating delinquent is quickly called to order. Not so in the States. It is difficult to say from the following political leader, if, at the scene described, the combatants came to blows or not, but as it is stated the Sergeant-at-arms failed to keep the peace, and the heading says they "had it out on the floor," I incline to the belief that Messrs. McGilvray and Montgomery did indulge in a sparring-match, doubtless to the delight and edification of their brother statesmen.

The first heading would be unintelligible did I not state that "dukes" mean fists. Sensational enough in all conscience!

"NOW, PUT UP YOUR DUKES."

STORMY AND DISGRACEFUL SCENES IN THE DEMOCRATIC STATE CONVENTION.

BOSS MCGILVRAY AND B. F. MONTGOMERY HAVE IT OUT ON THE FLOOR—JUDGE W. F. STONE NOMINATED.

The proceedings of the State Democratic Convention, held at Turner Hall, yesterday, were disgraceful enough to bring a blush even to the cheek of a Democrat. "Liar," "snide," "put up your dukes, if you want to fight," cat-calls, hooting, and yelling filled up a greater part of the deliberations of the august body. Boss McGilvray, of the Seventh Ward, and B. F. Montgomery, statesman-at-large, vented their personal animosities towards each other. McGilvray said that Montgomery had prostituted every trust, both public and private, ever given into his hands, and Montgomery retaliated by saying that it could not be charged against him, that he was an apostate in the ranks of the party, a Republican who had been brought up in the slums of Chicago. This was a dig at McGilvray, and he responded by calling Montgomery a liar, and offering to fight him on the floor of the Convention.

The breeze grew out of McGilvray's opposition to Montgomery for Chairman of the Convention. The Committee on Permanent Organization reported in favor of Montgomery for Chairman, and McGilvray moved to strike out his name, and substitute that of G. Q. Richmond, of Pueblo. It was a bitter fight, and the result was a McGilvray victory. Montgomery was thrown overboard by an overwhelming majority.

Martin Currigan, the irrepressible, was on hand, and was made Sergeant-at-Arms; but he failed to be of any avail in keeping the peace.

Judge Wilbur F. Stone was nominated for the Supreme Bench without opposition.

The resolutions endorse the administration of President Cleveland, favor the free and unlimited coinage of silver on the present basis, denounce the fencing of large bodies of public land, and insist upon the strict enforcement of the Chinese restriction act.

Interviewing is a science in America. Who has read "Martin Chuzzlewit" and not laughed over Dickens' description of it? Woe to the man or woman who goes to the States with anything in the way of a reputation. He or she will have no more peace than a titled individual has, for remember a lord with no reputation, or a bad one (the latter for choice), is as much an object of curiosity and adulation as the most renowned intellectual genius. It is amusing when any woman, famous for beauty, wealth, intellect, or anything else, visits the States. No sooner does she land than everybody would do anything for her. "She must at once be interviewed" is the dictum at each and every newspaper office, and interviewed she is, by one or more of that artist class, on some pretence or other, whether she likes it or not. I say "artist class" for, considering their wonderful ingenuity in pursuit of their object, they richly deserve the name. If the lady, and thank God many are, is modest and retiring, and cares not to see her name and antecedents blazoned forth in the public prints, and resolutely refuses to see any strangers on any plea,—what happens? Do they desist and leave her alone? Not a bit of it. They will see her, coute que coute, and what's more they do! Cases are recorded, when in the guise of a waiter the opportunity by interviewers to see her at least has been found. Or, should she send out for any article, the individual bringing it is an interviewer, and in this capacity, in some ingenious way, the pretended tradesman is sure to get hold of something. If all other means fail, the chambermaid of her room is pressed into the service, and as regards the poor lady's clothing, if not more, she can and does tell much. Anyhow the victim does not escape. Information is highly paid for and obtained somehow. If she be a celebrity, something has appeared in the English or Continental press about her long ago, and with due foresight has been cut out, and labelled with her name, on the chance of her visiting America later. There it is ready in the office, and is duly made use of. But, if the information get-at-able is in any way insufficient and scanty, the editor or manager of the paper quietly remarks that "Some antecedents there must necessarily have been, that it's a tarnation shame of the said lioness not to assist them to do her honour, but that as she is so blind to her own advantage, and it's a positive necessity that an article about her should appear next morning, the deficiency must be made up." Well he, or some one he deputes, sits down at the last moment (for there are many on watch, and information may drop in during the night) to write the article, which in any case is highly coloured, and as antecedents are scanty and the public must not be disappointed, plausible ones are invented.

Anyhow, next morning articles appear, possibly to the effect that the lovely and talented Mrs., or Miss, A. B. landed yesterday from the Cunard steamer, and took up her abode at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, where spacious rooms had been previously secured. That the editor, from exceptional sources of information, is able to lay before his readers the following short sketch of the talented artiste's previous life, and that it will be his endeavour to supplement this by more facts on the morrow. Then follows a biographical history from the cradle upwards, closing with the menu of yesterday's dinner. Too much is not said in this first notice, the subject must not be exhausted, and materials for further articles are reserved. Poor Mrs., or Miss, A. B., at breakfast that morning, reads much about herself of which she had been previously ignorant!

But this is only the beginning of the campaign. The next day, thanks to the chambermaid, the waiter and others, a more or less accurate list of the wardrobe appears, the jewels she wore the previous day, and those still in the jewel-case, what time she got up, what she ate at breakfast, where she went in the day, how well the hat she wore suited the dress, what a lovely colour her hair is, how her fringe (if she had one) gave her a childish grace, how (if she had none) wisely she acted in discarding that woful fashion, and what a patrician look the absence of it gave to her lovely face, &c., &c. From early morn till she goes to bed (the description kindly halts there) her movements are recorded, and on morning No. 3 the public are informed that Mrs., or Miss, A. B. slept well, and awoke with a fresh colour to add to her other charms!

I need not dilate more. The excitement is kept alive by daily notices. Paper vies against paper in describing and commenting on her European antecedents and her life since she landed, until some new star appears, or until, often the case, the poor lady, in spite of the press assertions that all this homage delights her, is fairly driven out of New York. Some, alas! cannot seek safety in flight, their avocations oblige them to remain; such, it can only be hoped, grow callous, until, the subject being well threshed out and grown threadbare, they are left at peace.

I give here, complete, an article on one of such poor victims, cut out of a Denver paper, which, in its callous indifference to the pain it must have caused the lady under discussion, is a good example. But, as I would not drag this lady into further publicity, I have substituted an initial for her name, which was plainly given in the newspaper. "Madeline's Mash" does duty for Madeline's Lover. The sensational headings, and interpositions in large type, are worthy of notice.

MADELINE'S MASH.

THE APPEARANCE IN DENVER OF A DISTINGUISHED SOCIETY LADY.

RECALLING A TRAGEDY WHEREIN AN ENGLISH ACTOR WAS THE LEADING ARTIST.

The train hence to Kansas City via the Burlington road on yesterday afternoon departed, as usual, on time and, as usual, heavily laden. There was indeed more than the ordinary complement of pilgrims, remarked the Depot Superintendent, and made up of the class who travel luxuriously—of the class to whom luxuries are every-day experiences and whose journeyings, whether from lands of snow to lands of sun or to lands of snow from lands of sun, are accompanied by holiday pleasures. Among those whom the train bore Eastwardly was a fair daughter of Eve, about whose life has been woven a romance, a tragedy as dire in its effects upon two families, at least, as was the tragedy woven out of the warp and woof of the romance born of Paris and Helen. She is related to one of the wealthiest and most prominent families of the country, both socially and financially, and though upwards of forty years of age is yet youthful in appearance and hoydenish as a Vassar miss proud in the possession of her first beau. Twenty years ago she was a Gotham belle, and related to the L.'s, occupied a position of social distinction, which wealth, beauty and graces of character perfectly combined inevitably procure. In the heydey of her youth and beauty she was married, but scarcely mated, to a representative of the Knickerbocker regime and, as is represented, barely consented

TO ENDURE THE BURDEN

officiously ambitious relatives had buckled on her back. It ended as all other matches wherein affection is made to pay tribute to other considerations end, in separation, infatuation with another, death, disgrace, exile. Her home is said to have been unhappy, a cheerless place, unwarmed by an atmosphere of love, whence an impulsive woman unconsciously went out to one who appreciated and was a friend to her. Of course she was obliged to encounter opposition, ostracism, social annihilation with the classes whereof she was at once the peer and superior. But little she cared, and in the salons of Paris, Berlin, Vienna, and St. Petersburgh, she found the salad of variety that was denied her at home up to 1867. She was a regnant queen at Washington, Cape May, Saratoga—in short, at every point she honored with her presence. She was the objective point of attraction to the grave and gay, to the solemn and severe. But while she outwardly accepted, and with pleasure, the homage men deemed themselves privileged to bestow, those familiar with the skeleton in the closet of Madeline R.'s heart, speak of her as one who suffered in silence, until it was a change or a mad-house, and she sought the change.

Those who were visitors to, or residents of New York city during 1867 will remember the advent of Walter Montgomery, the English actor. He came almost unheralded, but in the brief period of his sojourn

ACHIEVED A DRAMATIC TRIUMPH

unparalleled in the history of the American stage. In form and appearance he was a magnificent creation. A trifle larger than Edwin Booth, with a physique modelled by the master-hand of nature, a physiognomy of classic outlines, and a genius for his art, that is said to have rivalled that displayed by the most noted histrions of the English stage. In all respects he is said to have been as ravishingly perfect as the forms Angelo hewed from blocks of marble, or Guido traced on canvas, which to-day haunt the memory as a vanished gleam of sunlight, that kissed life's rippling river—and then was gone. In addition to the qualities mentioned there was entire absence of the shilly-shallying practices many actors delight to indulge, in their efforts to secure applause or attract the admiration of susceptible females. He was esteemed, an accomplished artist and true man. He opened at Niblo's in "Ruy Blas," making his headquarters at the Metropolitan, and frequenting a theatrical club-house on Houston street, known as the "House of Lords." Socially, he was never received by the Knickerbockers of the Empire city, his relations with men of letters and the professions were extremely cordial. How Mrs. R. and himself became acquainted is not clearly defined. But that acquaintance on her part was resolved into an infatuation irresistible and indescribable, and she succeeded in inspiring him with

A RECIPROCITY OF FEELING

that was not to be misunderstood. Wherever he went professionally, she was constantly included in the list of his admirers. Upon the Eastern circuit, throughout the West, from Pittsburg to the Pacific slope, the susceptible Madeline was first and foremost among those who worshipped at the shrine of this gifted exponent of Melpomene.

Upon his return to New York from San Francisco, he concluded his engagements and sailed for Liverpool by the Cunard steamship Scotia. By this time the attentions bestowed upon Montgomery by Mrs. R. had become more than a topic of comment with observers beyond the pale of the social set of which she had been a prime factor. It was reported that they were engaged to be married, and that his return to England was for the purpose of completing arrangements in that behalf. At all events she accompanied him as a fellow-passenger on the Scotia but reached England alone, for during the voyage Montgomery suicided by cutting his throat. No cause was ever assigned for the deed, but the fact that he had a wife, living in London impressed his friends with the belief that remorse at the lengths to which he had permitted his

FLIRTATION WITH MRS. R.

to proceed, prompted the deed. He was buried in Kensal Green, within sight of St. Paul's, and after the completion of the ceremonies at the grave his whilom admirer disappeared, to come to the surface at Paris as the promised wife of Sir St. George Gore, a landed proprietor of Tasmania, off the coast of Australia, and a man of wealth and prominence in the British possessions of the South Pacific. But it is not believed this alliance was perfected by a priestly benediction. Since then she has been a wanderer. Possessed of wealth, beauty, accomplishments, and much that would command esteem, she seeks to find in the excitement of travel a solace for her wasted life, and in intercourse with strangers forgetfulness of her woes. She is said to have come hither from San Francisco via Cheyenne, and that during her stay here she was known as Mrs. F.

One more example of the same kind. The President is about to be married. The following is from a London paper, and though not so stated, it is, I trust, only inserted as a picture of the American system of lionizing any celebrity. The name of the bride that is to be is given in full. I substitute an initial. I conceive the article is taken from a New York paper, but this is not clearly stated, only that the source is American.

President Cleveland's approaching marriage is now regarded as a certainty. It is understood that the engagement took place during Miss F.'s last visit to Washington. If Mr. Cleveland is married at the White House, in June, it will be the second marriage of a President during his term of office. Mr. Tyler was married while he was President, but his marriage took place in New York. The best portrait of Miss F. now in Washington is a large one, which hangs in the President's bedroom. Miss F. was very averse to giving a sitting to the photographers when she was here, and has a great horror of publicity. When she was in Washington last, a number of paragraphs were printed about her school life, which she traced to one or two of her school friends. She quarrelled with them for it. It is said that she went away to Europe so as to be out of the range of possible gossip and criticism during the engagement period. Miss F.'s hair (says a correspondent) is soft and brown, of a shade between light and dark. It is combed well back from her full forehead and loose wave tendrils fall away from their confinement against the ivory whiteness of her face. She has violet blue eyes, a well-shaped nose and mouth, and a full, round chin. The warm pallor of her complexion contrasts with the deep red of her full lips, in which all her colour concentrates itself. Her shoulders are broad, and her bust and waist of classic proportions. She has finely moulded hands and feet; not small, but well suited to her height. With one other pupil at Aurora she shared the palm of being "the beauty of the school," the other being Miss Katherine Willard, of Illinois, who was her intimate friend, though not a fellow-senior, and she is now in Germany cultivating her voice. Miss F. has been with her there during much of the past winter. Many of the young ladies have flowers pressed in their albums, labelled "From the White House," these being mementoes given by her from the boxes of flowers weekly sent her by the President from his conservatories here. For her graduation, last June, he forwarded a particularly lavish supply. On that occasion she wore white satin, and, as one of her schoolmates describes her, "looked more like a goddess than a woman." Her student life has been marked by seriousness and deep religious feeling. She is a member of the First Presbyterian Church of Buffalo. She was deeply loved by her teachers, more for her solidity of character and amiability of disposition than for exceptionally brilliant intellectual traits, though her average of scholarship was good.

The postal arrangements are good in the States. Postage is cheap, and letters are carried and delivered as safely there as in England. The street post-boxes though are not equal to English ones—they are small in size and fastened against the walls, instead of being prominent objects like ours. In some few towns, owing to the scarcity of labour, letters are not delivered at all. Each resident has a number assigned, and a corresponding pigeon-hole at the post-office, where his or her letters are placed. The letters have to be called or sent for. This was the case at Colorado Springs.

Why I know not, but the rule of the road is different in the States to ours. On meeting we take the left side, on passing the right; there they do just the opposite, as in France.

As a rule the Americans are not good drivers. A very common, not universal, habit is to hold a rein in each hand, and it goes without saying that a person doing so cannot drive well.

Their trotting-horses in the trotting-carriages (very light, four-wheeled vehicles, models of good workmanship, with fore and hind wheels of the same size) perform wonders. I speak under correction, but believe fifteen or sixteen miles in the hour is not an unusual feat. Anyhow, I am sure they can trot much faster than any horses we have.

As foolish as we are in that way, the bearing-rein is used in the States. But it is taken over the top of the head between the ears. I know not if this is better or worse than our plan, but this I do know, bearing-reins, like blinkers, are hurtful, cruel appendages to harness, and in India, where I owned horses, I used neither. Had I horses in England I would do the same.

The roads in the States are far behind ours. Perhaps to this is due the fact that there are not many bicycles and tricycles to be seen.

In the first days of November, 1885, I left the ranch on my way home. It was a trial parting with my sons. Let them even do well, it is pretty certain they will not return to England under fifteen years. I am not young, and I could not help feeling, as I said good-bye, that it was very doubtful if I should ever see them again. Still we parted cheerfully, for they were happy with their possessions and the sanguine hope that they were on the high road to fortune.

I had taken my passage home across the Atlantic in one of the Monarch line of steamers, and not caring to halt en route, or linger in New York, I timed my departure from Colorado with no day to spare. At Denver I took a rail-ticket through to New York, and did the distance, about 1700 miles, in eighty-four hours, halting nowhere except the necessary time to make connection at the principal stations between the incoming and outgoing trains. I have not much to say as to this my last journey in the States, still I will briefly describe the country passed through. Nebraska was the first state after leaving Colorado. This, again, like Texas and Wyoming, is a vast country of grassy plains, on which many thousands of cattle are reared. The endless plains, though rich in grass, look desolate, owing to the total absence of trees, except in the vicinity of towns, where some attempt has been made to remedy the want. It is a very thinly inhabited state; for miles and miles, as we swiftly passed on, not a soul could be seen. The rail line through it, from west to east, is about 480 miles long.

Iowa was the next, and beyond that Illinois. They are much alike, so I will describe them together. They are very rich pastoral countries, with large towns, and abound in farms. The scenery in many parts is beautiful, and the general outlook very English. Iowa, by the rail, is about 320 miles across, Illinois about 180 miles.

On the western boundary of Illinois, joining Indiana, and on the southern shore of Lake Michigan, stands the wonderful city of Chicago: wonderful in its quick growth, and wonderful in the way the ravages of the great fire there have been replaced. I was necessarily, by the time-table of the trains, delayed there some six hours, so I walked through the town. It is a beautiful one, not equal in that respect to San Francisco, but still far ahead of New York. Like both the said cities, Chicago is overrun with tram-cars, and like them also other wheel-vehicles are in the minority. Its position on the shore of that vast lake, and on the direct line of rail, is a commanding one for all purposes of trade and commerce, and doubtless to this, in a great measure, may its quick growth be attributed. Formerly, before the fire, it was, I believe, nearly all wood, now the greater part is brick and stone. It is built on the plan of all American towns, in square blocks, so that the streets, which are wide, all run at right angles to each other. It boasts many very handsome buildings, and the display in the shop windows of huge plate glass quite equals London, or Paris either. I was very glad of the six hours' delay, which enabled me to see this magnificent city. Lake Michigan was the first sight I had of those five vast sheets of fresh water, all joining together, which is such a unique feature in North America. As I stood on the shore and saw the boundless waters before me, it was difficult to realize that I gazed on a lake and not on the ocean.

I saw a number of pretty faces at Chicago, and I then first began to think what I should say in this book about the beauty of women in the States. In no country on earth, my experience teaches me, is beauty as common as in Great Britain. Every fourth young girl you meet here, be it in Ireland, England, Scotland, or Wales, has some pretensions to good looks. Perhaps, anyway in my opinion, the claim for beauty as regards the four countries follows in the order in which I have named them. In America, on the contrary, beauty is not sown broadcast through the land, but then to make up for this, when it is found it is very perfect. Some American girls and women are extremely handsome, but in America, far more than in Europe, beauty clings to the upper classes. One point further; I doubt if beauty is as lasting on the other side of the Atlantic as it is here. I believe the high temperature the rooms are kept at with stoves during the severe cold of winter is, to some extent, answerable for this, and the extremes of temperature in summer and winter are doubtless another cause.

While perambulating Chicago, being a stranger, I had to ask my way, and I was then struck, as I had been both in New York and San Francisco, how much better the place desired is pointed out in London. Say you want to find Bond Street and ask the way. If anywhere in the vicinity, the answer is, "Second to the right, first to the left, and first again to the left," or as it may be, and following such a direction is not difficult. Having found Bond Street, the houses are all numbered, and so you easily get to the one you want.

Say in any American city there is a street called Montgomery Street and you ask your way there. The answer is, "On Tenth, between Market and Cheese," and the interrogated passes on. You think the man is laughing at you, are angry, and ask again. A woman this time, the men all seem in such a woful hurry. Again the same answer, "On Tenth, between Market and Cheese." You are bewildered. Can this be a stereotyped joke? You essay a third time, result the same. But the third person you ask is perhaps more considerate, and, seeing your look of astonishment, and divining you are a Britisher, he deigns to explain. After listening a few minutes, you find that the said answer should read, "Out of Tenth Street, between Market Street and Cheese Street;" and adds the interrogated, "But, you see, we've no time to spare in this city, and so answer as short as we can; besides every one knows 'Cheese' means Cheese Street."

Well, anyhow, you now know that Montgomery Street, which you seek, leads out of Tenth Street, and is between Market Street and Cheese Street. The first thing, of course, is to find Tenth Street. You ask your way there. The same answer in kind, though not in words, "On Lawrence, between Nine and Eleven." You do not now think it is a joke, and though confused, determined to see where it will end, you ask again for Lawrence Street. This time you are lucky, Lawrence Street abuts on the street you are in, which is Eighth Street, and the answer is, "Three blocks on." You have learnt before this that all American towns are built in blocks, the streets running between. So "three blocks on" is tantamout to "four turnings on," and thus you easily find Lawrence Street. If you have not forgotten, which you likely enough have, the previous directions, you have now to seek Tenth, which leads out of Lawrence Street. Walking down Lawrence Street, you come to Ninth Street, running off at right angles, so Tenth Street is the next turning, and down that, between Market Street and Cheese Street, as told, you find the street you want, viz. Montgomery Street.

The above, to read, sounds puzzling, but, believe me, it is no exaggeration. You soon get accustomed to the word "street" being omitted, but as you don't know the town at all, to be told the street you ask for leads out of another, with the names of the streets on either side, does not help you much. Why such a roundabout mode of direction is adopted, and it holds all over the States, I never could understand. It may answer for those who know the town more or less, but an outsider it helps but little.

Having attained the street you seek, your troubles are not at an end. Houses are supposed to be numbered; but, unfortunately, only in some instances are the numbers marked on them, and if you ask for a number, no one knows it. You have to explain to any one you inquire of what kind of shop it is, and the name of the shopkeeper; or, if a private house, the name of the dweller. If he knows it, you are then told, either, "Six blocks down," or "Between Eleven and Twelve" which, of course, you now understand; and after some trouble you find it in the block between Eleventh Street and Twelfth Street.

Enough on this. Now as to a point in which the Americans excel us. As I have said, all their cities and towns are laid out in square blocks, the streets running between, and thus always at right angles to one another. The streets running, say from north to south (I'm not sure if I am right as to the points of the compass), are all numbered in succession, thus, first, second, third, and so on for the whole number. The streets running the other way (say from east to west) are all named. Numbering the first is convenient, for if it is one of the numbered streets you seek there is no more difficulty in finding it than a house where all are numbered. But strange that, perceiving the advantage of this, as they of course do, the Americans have not gone a step further, which, if done, would have enabled a stranger to find any street he sought without inquiry. If the named streets were given names, with the first letter of each in alphabetical succession, as Alpha Street, Bishop Street, Canary Street, right through, beginning from one end, the great desideratum detailed above would be accomplished. In other words, whereas now you can find any one of the numbered streets without inquiry, you could then do just the same with the streets which are named.

Another peculiarity in American towns are strong wire ropes, running high up across the street, from which, in the centre, depends, generally in ornamental wire-scroll letters, the name of the shopkeeper on one side and a resume of the articles he sells. In some cases these are illuminated at night, and then have a pleasing effect, besides helping to light the street. I could see no possible objection to the plan, and if allowed in London, on the condition that the owners illuminated them properly at their own cost, the sad darkness our capital lies in, as compared with most others, would, in a great measure, be done away with. Are we never going to light up London with electricity? The Americans, on this point, are far ahead of us. In every large town there the electric light is nearly universal; and on the Continent, too, much more has been achieved in that way than in England.

While on American peculiarities I must mention another, though it is a little thing, and is only universal far out west. The cups have no handles. This is certainly not an advantage when you are drinking hot tea or coffee, for you simply can't lift the cup! I have mentioned before that most of the crockery used in the States comes from England, and in the case of cups for despatch long distances by rail, I presume the handles are omitted to enable them to pack better, one in the other, which of course they do.

I left Chicago when the six hours were up. It was then dark, and as I slept through the state of Indiana I can say nothing about it. Next morning we were in Ohio, and skirting the southern shore of Lake Erie for some hours. I have nowhere seen more beautiful pastoral scenery than I saw there, or a richer country. There were many perfect country seats on the borders of that vast and superb lake, and clean-looking pretty towns and villages. There is no want of rain in this part of America, and the pasture-fields vied in their bright green with those in Ireland, which so richly deserves the name of the Emerald Isle.

In the evening we reached Buffalo, at the eastern extremity of Lake Erie, and had an hour's halt there. That second wonderful sight in the world (I hold the Himalayan snowy range to be the first), the Niagara Falls, lay only twenty miles off, and I could not go and see it! I had only just allowed myself time to catch the steamer from New York, in which I had taken and paid for my passage, and I could not afford to lose the money. I almost cried with vexation at my stupidity, but the fact was I had not realized the line ran so near the Falls. "Don't you tell any one," said an American to me in the train, when we started again, "that you were so near, and yet missed seeing the great sight of our glorious country, because, you see, it's neither creditable or credible, though to miss your passage to Europe, I allow, would be a serious loss. Why didn't you fix it otherwise?" I told him. "Well, keep it quiet," he added, "for your own sake, as it's not a thing to boast of." I have not followed his advice. Would you have done so, reader?

We were close to New York, or rather Jersey City, when I awoke next morning. The terminus of the rail is in the latter. I steamed across the Hudson river in one of the grand ferries, and at ten o'clock breakfasted once more in the American capital.

The cuisine is different in the States to ours. Many small dishes are served in succession, something on the French plan, but the order of succession is not so good, nor are the edibles themselves.

In all but the first and expensive hotels, bathing-towels there are none, and those they give are wofully small and thin. They look and feel more like pocket-handkerchiefs.

The blinds to the windows go up with a spring, but the said spring, owing to the stuff of which the blinds are made being thick, harsh, and stiff, seldom seems able to do more than pull the blind up three-quarters of the way.

There is one great advantage in American hotels. The daily charge is strictly an inclusive one, comprising meals, attendance, and everything but alcoholic drinks. There are positively no extras, and you depart in peace, not having to "remember" waiter, chambermaid, or others.

Turning over my memoranda, I find one very peculiar habit which I ought to have mentioned when out west, for I have not seen it elsewhere. Suppose a man has a box of matches in his hand, and you ask him for a light for your pipe. He takes out a match, lifts up the right leg, bent at the knee to draw the trousers tight, and ignites it on the lower part of the thigh. The effect is peculiar; he seems to be drawing fire from that part of his body! No one there ever lights matches any other way, and doubtless it is easier done so than on any other object, as I learnt by experience. But the posture is most inelegant and grotesque, and had any one prophesied, when I first saw the feat, that I should ever do it, I should have laughed scornfully. But habits, you see continually, take a strange hold of you; my sons never lighted matches any other way, and I, trying it once or twice, found it so convenient, I am almost ashamed to say I was fast acquiring the practice when I left the ranch. Of course, since my return to civilization, I have not been so naughty! I once, in Colorado, saw a girl, and a very nice one, a lady's daughter of ten years old, essay the feat, quite unconscious of doing anything strange. Odd to relate, she succeeded, for petticoats are naturally inferior to trousers as match illuminating surfaces. But the performance convulsed me with laughter, while I pointed out to her mother and her that in her case it was highly dangerous withal.

The Monarch steamer left next morning early, so I slept on board. She was a tiny boat as compared with the City of Rome, in which I had come out, but a good one all the same. Except a twenty-four hours' gale of wind, during which she behaved well, we had a smooth passage. The passengers were not many. We were bound to London, so came up the Channel and river, arriving in thirteen days. After the bright skies I had revelled in, the foggy November weather we encountered, after passing the Scilly Islands, was very gloomy in comparison, and the dingy old Thames, when I recalled the Hudson river, showed out painfully. Still England is dear England to the "Britisher," and as I landed at Blackwall I felt that, with all her faults, I loved her still.

FINIS.

LONDON:

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ST. JOHN'S SQUARE.