The culmination of the morning's trip was at the Kutub Minar enclosure; the magnificent ruined Mosque of Kuwat-ul-Islam occupies a large portion of the space, and dates from the latter part of the twelfth century. The main entrance was through an arched doorway, the courtyard was surrounded by cloisters formed of pillars purloined from Jain temples and piled one upon another. Most of them are richly ornamented, although many have been defaced.



The famous Hindu Iron Pillar stands in front of the ruin; it is one of the most unique antiquities in India, and is a solid shaft of wrought iron, twenty-three feet, eight inches high and sixteen inches in diameter; it has a deeply cut Sanskrit inscription, and is so individual in its character as to prove a distinct reminder of a decayed past.

The most prominent feature of the landscape is Kutub Minar, rightly named the Tower of Victory. Some have thought it of Hindu origin, but the now accepted opinion is that it was built by the Moguls, after the conquest. It is two hundred and thirty-eight feet high, and has five stories with balconies, each story being decorated with bands of inscriptions. The first three stories are of red sandstone and are fluted; the two upper stories are of white marble and have been restored. The diameter of the first story is forty-seven feet, three inches; that of the upper story, nine feet; three hundred and seventy-nine steps lead to the summit, and ninety-five steps lead to the first gallery, from both points of which we obtained a fine view of ruins in every direction.

Tughlakabad lies five miles east of Kutub Minar; the fort is so high and massive as to be seen long before the point is reached. The enclosure covers nearly four miles and contains a ruined mosque and palace. Outside the wall is the tomb of Tujlak Shah; it is situated in an artificial lake, and is connected with the fort by a causeway, six hundred feet long and supported on twenty-seven arches.

Of this tomb Mr. Ferguson says: "The sloping walls and almost Egyptian solidity of this mausoleum, combined with the bold and massive towers of the fortifications that surround it, form a picture of a warrior's tomb unrivalled anywhere."

The day's experience included luncheon at a "rest house" near Kutub Minar; this term applies to a simple semi-hotel, provided by the Government for the convenience of members of the military and civil service and their families; it is situated in places where there are no hotel facilities, and, when unoccupied, the public may share in the convenience.

The long, intensely dusty ride to Delhi,[2] past ruin after ruin, gave us leisure to reflect on the ravages of time and the mutability of all earthly things.



Another afternoon drive about Delhi revealed new points of interest, including some which are associated with the mutiny, such as the Ridge where the British troops were stationed and from which a fine view is afforded; Flagstaff Tower, where the women and children were assembled on May 11, 1857; and the very inadequate Mutiny Memorial Monument, erected to commemorate the heroic deeds of the officers and soldiers who fell during the summer of 1857.

But the scene that will linger longest in my memory is the panorama of the massive walls, towers, gateways, and the half-ruined palace. Then, one can hardly forget the Pearl Mosque, which is of such rare beauty as to prove a fitting memorial to the "Great Builder," Shah Jahan; the latter has a prototype in modern times,—none other than Ludwig II of Bavaria, whose palaces also linger in the memory as a dream of beauty.

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AGRA, December 18th: No one can visit Delhi and Agra without being impressed by the rulers of the golden period of the Mogul Empire, the great Akbar standing forth prominently as a wise potentate and the strongest personality in Indian history, certainly in Central India. His son, Jahangir, was not his equal, but his mantle of power seems to have descended to his grandson, Shah Jahan, who, like him, was famed in the matter of building, as we have seen at Delhi, and furthermore were to see at Agra, our next point of observation. We arrived on the afternoon of December 18th and proceeded to the Hotel Metropole.

As the train approached the city, we caught a glimpse of that incomparable creation, the Taj Mahal, and were immediately under its spell, so we at once took carriages and were conveyed there. As we drew near, the massive, finely proportioned gateway burst upon us. The entrance is of red sandstone, with Moorish arches and pavilions, while a wall of masonry, with turreted corners, encircles the grounds. At the centre of the two adjacent sides are gateways of similar construction to the entrance. One is, however, unprepared for the white-domed vision beyond, which at once inspired admiration and awe. The first view was at sunset, and the atmosphere was filled with a golden haze that rested lovingly on the graceful turrets and dome. We lingered on to catch the moonlight effect, and as the twilight faded and the outlines became shadowy, there was a peculiar illusion, which was heightened by the first glimmering silvery light, soon to be succeeded by a full radiance which illumined the white marble pile and the whole environment. We sat spellbound amidst the loveliness of the scene; no one spoke, and this silent tribute of respect was shared by other "lookers on."



Our last visit was in the full effulgence of the morning, when we were able to obtain new points of view, and to visit the adjacent red sandstone mosque, as well as the corresponding opposite edifice (which is an audience room). Some of the party crossed the river Jumna, which runs back of the grounds, so as to see the reflection of the Taj in the water. No words of mine can fitly describe the impression, but figures sometimes aid the imagination. The foundation is three hundred and thirteen feet square and eighteen feet in height, and the edifice itself is one hundred and eighty-six feet square, with a dome rising to the height of two hundred and twenty feet. At each corner of the foundation stands a tall, graceful minaret, one hundred and thirty-seven feet in height. Add to this the statement that it took twenty thousand men seventeen years to complete the work, at a cost variously estimated at from $17,000,000 to $20,000,000, and you may form an idea of the delicate workmanship and artistic skill which the Taj represents. But simplicity is, after all, the keynote, and there is also a rare personality in its outlines reflecting feminine grace. This is distinctly felt when viewing the cenotaph (the real tomb is in a crypt below), which is, like the entire edifice, built of the whitest of marble and decorated with rare, beautiful designs, while the screen which encloses the cenotaph of the Queen is also of marble, carved in a lacework design of exquisite beauty.

The diamonds, pearls, rubies, and other precious stones which once embellished this and every other part of the edifice, were taken away by ruthless invaders of India; and their places filled by colored stones with little loss of effect. Shah Jahan's cenotaph lies unenclosed at the left, showing that it was not included in the original plan. Indeed, it had been the intention of Shah Jahan to build for himself a mausoleum, of corresponding style, yet of dark marble, across the river Jumna; the shadow which rested on his later life prevented the idea from being carried out. But the creation of this tribute to all womanhood typified in his beloved wife is a monument which time cannot efface. Arjamand Banu Begum was a Persian princess of rare beauty and of great personal charm. She died in giving birth to her eighth child, and through all the years had held the supreme place in Shah Jahan's life; despite the Oriental custom of having other wives, she had won for herself the title of Mumtaz-i-Mahal, "The exalted of the Palace." Hence the Eastern habit of placing a mausoleum in a garden was peculiarly fitting for so peerless a queen; in this instance it forms a perfect setting for the Taj.



The garden was redeemed from a hopeless tangle (into which it had fallen), under the direction of Lord Curzon, who did so much to stay ruin and devastation. It is laid out in a conventional style, one square being devoted to roses, another to poinsettia, while long stretches of foliage plants here and there, with a mass of dark green cypress trees, give it a breadth of view that is enhanced by a marble avenue, leading from the entrance to the tombs, the sweep of avenue being broken midway by a marble seat from which a fine view of the Taj is afforded. Running parallel were marble aqueducts which contained, at set intervals, playing fountains; these were inactive, however, at the time of our visits. One could return to the Taj day after day, as the subtle influence of its beauty and its spiritual significance are ever present. Sad indeed was the fate of the builder, Shah Jahan, who ruled from 1620 to 1658 and who was then deposed by his son, Aurangzeb. The latter transferred the capital to Delhi, causing his father to languish seven long years in a small suite of rooms in the palace at Agra as a prisoner, his only companion a devoted daughter.

While the centre of attraction in Agra is the Taj Mahal, the fort, palace, and Moti Musjid (Pearl Mosque) are of equal interest. Here we see the impress of three rulers, Akbar (the grandson of the noted Mogul king, Baber, and son of Humayun, both of whom lived at Agra), Jahangir, his son, and Shah Jahan, his grandson.

Akbar removed to Agra, from the old capital Fatehpur-Sikri, about 1568, but the only monuments that are now attributed to him are the massive walls of the fort and the red palace. Jahangir built the palace which bears his name, but as it is somewhat gloomy in appearance, his chief claims to distinction as a builder are the tombs of Itimid-ud-Daulah and Akbar's tomb at Sikandra. Shah Jahan built the palace which contains the beautiful Diwan-i-Am, or Hall of Public Audience; the Diwan-i-Khas, or Hall of Private Audience; the Shish Mahal, or Mirror Palace; the Saman-Burj, known as the Octagon, or Jasmine Tower; the Mina Musjid, or Gem Palace (the private mosque of the Emperor); with many other notable edifices. The Moti Musjid, or Pearl Mosque, is furnished with a superb exterior setting.

Having described similar halls in the palace at Delhi, I will only briefly enumerate some distinguishing features of each of the buildings just mentioned. All were either injured or defaced in the mutiny conflict of 1857, which raged in Agra from May 10th to October 10th, six thousand women and children, with a few men, having found a refuge there during the siege. A feature of the Public Audience Room is a grille in the back wall, through which the Sultanas or members of the Zenana could watch the proceedings below; and in the centre of the hall is a raised alcove of white marble, richly decorated in low relief.



The Hall of Private Audience consists of an open colonnade in front of an enclosed room at the back. The illustration shows the front overlooking the court, while beyond is the Octagon Tower, the residence of the chief Sultana. In the court a portion of the marble pavement is made to represent a pachisi or chess board, and it is said the game was played with slave girls, who were used instead of the customary chessmen. The Octagon Tower is built out over the river Jumna, as will be seen in a later picture.

The portion known as the Mirror Palace is unique, as it consists of two dark rooms furnished with fountains and an artificial cascade arranged to fall over lighted lamps. The walls and ceilings are decorated with innumerable small mirrors which were restored in 1875. The palace measures seventy by forty feet, and is built at the east end of a garden two hundred and fifty feet square, planted with flowers and shrubs. Underneath the structure are subterranean apartments for use during the summer heat, and from here passages lead to still cooler rooms in another portion of the fort.

In the southeast corner of this Anguri Bagh, or garden, are three finely decorated rooms which were once the private apartments of Shah Jahan. The Jahangir Mahal, or palace, is noticeable on account of the bright red tiles used in the upper portion. It also has a fine domed hall which leads into a large central court.

But the crowning single feature in this fort (which is over a mile in extent) is the Moti Musjid, or Pearl Mosque. Mr. Ferguson considers it to be "one of the purest and most elegant buildings of its class to be found in the world." It ranks next to the Taj Mahal among Shah Jahan's creations. The entrance gateway is of red sandstone and is approached by a lofty double staircase. The exterior is faced with slabs of red sandstone, but the interior is built of marble, white, blue, and gray veined. The courtyard of the mosque is deservedly celebrated. In the centre is a marble tank for ablutions, and a marble cloister runs around three of its sides. A flight of steps leads to the roof of the mosque, from which a fine view is obtained.[3]



A pleasant excursion across the river led us to the tasteful tomb of Itimid-ud-Daulah. The entrance gate is fine, and the approach through spacious, well-kept grounds gives one a wide perspective. The facade is of marble with considerable inlaid work. Itimid-ud-Daulah was a Persian High Treasurer, and the grandfather of the Lady of the Taj. The tomb was built by Shah Jahangir, as was that of King Akbar at Sikandra, five miles distant from Agra and a delightful excursion to make. It has an imposing gateway and is situated in the midst of a veritable park. It is of red sandstone, inlaid with white marble, and is a pyramidal building, four stories high, the first three being of red sandstone and the fourth of marble. The base measures three hundred and twenty feet, and the fourth story one hundred and fifty-seven feet (narrow stairways leading upward), which indicates a gradual decrease and tapering in size. A massive cloister runs around the lower story, and the fourth story is occupied by the marble cenotaph of Akbar, directly over the crypt which contains his tomb. The cenotaph is engraved with ninety-nine names of the deity. This story is surrounded by a white marble cloister, and on the outer side of each arch is an oval-shaped recess, filled with delicate lacework carving of varied patterns in marble. The effect is unlike anything elsewhere seen. There are several other historic tombs in the vicinity, and many points of interest all the way to Akbar's old capital, Fatehpur-Sikri. This is twenty-two miles distant, a day's excursion, and easily reached in automobiles; although it took some faith to trust one's self to the rather indifferent chauffeurs.

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FATEHPUR-SIKRI: This royal but long-destroyed city is sacred to the memory of the Emperor Akbar, who built a gorgeous structure and selected the site through the advice of the renowned Saint Selim Chisti. He eventually abandoned it on account of its unhealthy location, and transferred the capital to Agra, where, as we have seen, he built a fort and the red palace. There is an unusually imposing gateway on one side of Fatehpur-Sikri, leading up to the mosque, but we made our entrance from the adjacent side; hence our first view was like that in the illustration. A large, five-story building to the left served as a recreation place for the ladies of the court, while back and to the left of this was seen the beautiful dome of the mosque, said to be almost a counterpart of the one at Mecca. So many and varied are the buildings in this fort that it is inexpedient to do more than allude briefly to them.

The three palaces of the Sultanas are notable for their beauty, variety, and wealth of ornament, the Sultanas being Miriam, the Portuguese Christian; Rakinah, Akbar's cousin; and the Turkish Sultana. The Emperor also has a suite of several rooms. The palace of Birbal, Akbar's prime minister, is, architecturally, the most perfect of any in the enclosure and was built for his daughter. The rooms allotted to the Zenana are spacious. Near the recreation building is the famous pachisi or chess board, similar to the one at Agra, where Akbar and his vizier, sitting opposite, marshalled the slave girls to and fro.



The plan of the mosque is unusual in its construction, and so is the massive gateway. Passing through the latter, an exquisite monument presents itself in the tomb of Selim Chisti, the venerable hermit saint, who lived a retired existence in a cave and yet who was the controlling force in Akbar's life. The place is simple, and displays such delicacy of skill in its composition as to excite admiration. It is surrounded by a beautiful white marble lattice-work screen, ornamented with brass, and the canopy over the tomb of the saint is inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The photograph is very effective, but, like many others, it has to be omitted (I have five hundred scenes of the tour). The public audience room is encompassed by cloisters. There is a treasury, a mint, a record office, and a building with three large rooms known as the Minchauli Anch, which is said to be the place where the Emperor played hide-and-seek with the ladies of the court; this is probably an erroneous statement.

The most unusual building is the Diwan-i-Khas, the council chamber. From the outside it seems to be two stories high, yet there is really but one story with a large central pillar which is surrounded by an immense circular capital. From this radiates four stone causeways to the corners of the room; these are enclosed by an open trellis with stone balustrades. The shaft of the pillar is finely carved, and all is in perfect condition, due to careful restoration. It is said that the Emperor sat in the centre of the pillar when he held a council, while the four advisers sat in the corners. Stone staircases lead to the roof, where a glimpse of the whole enclosure is afforded. A novel view is obtained down a stone-paved roadway, leading to a large court, at the north end of which is the deer minaret, or circular tower, seventy feet high, decorated with protruding elephants' tusks in stone. From the lanterns at the top, the Emperor is said to have shot antelopes drawn under the column by beaters employed for that special purpose.

Reading between the lines, one learns that Akbar was a very peculiar character, domineering and despotic, yet generous to the immediate members of his household and to his favorite courtiers,—he was very cruel, however, when they displeased him; very broad in his religious views; and although a devoted Mohammedan, he was tolerant of all religions, and there are accounts of religious discussions taking place, in which every shade of belief was represented. He decreed that his daughters should all marry Hindu princes.



Our guide told us that formerly there were underground passages and apartments, but he did not state, as did another guide to a party of tourists at Agra, that these apartments were for the disciplining and torturing of the members of the Zenana and even of his wives. Taking into consideration the attention he gave to the comfort and pleasure of the ladies of the court, as seen in the palaces and the large recreation building extant, this statement appears inconsistent, and so it is necessary to give him the benefit of the doubt. The "auto" ride back to Agra was accomplished without any broken limbs, and another red-letter day was ended.

Before leaving Agra one should either visit the Taj Mahal for a final look, or, from the Jasmine Tower of the palace, gaze through the intervening two miles of space to catch its shadowy outline as seen by Shah Jahan during those seven solitary years of vigil. I chose the latter method for convenience' sake, after visiting the bazars, and in consequence was rewarded with a never-to-be-forgotten view.

Delhi and Agra are indissolubly connected by their rulers and by historical events; in leaving them one feels as if never again would so much of unique interest be presented in the line of architectural skill and poetic sentiment.

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CAWNPORE, December 24th: We took a night train from Agra to Cawnpore, arriving there early on the morning of December 24th and stopping over a few hours to break the journey. Cawnpore is full of mutiny memories, and we visited some of the historic points, going first to the Ghat (steps) where cruel Nana Sahib burned, or murdered, a boatload of Englishmen; also to other scenes of horror. Then we went to the memorial well, and to the memorial church with its peaceful interior, which was being decorated with greens in true English fashion, for the service of the morrow, when "Peace and good will to men" would ring out, and for the time being mutiny memories would be forgotten. We drove to the park, where, as an accessory to a certain artistic building, there is to be seen an exquisite angel of carved marble, a memorial erected by the Government. Next, we visited some bazars of no special interest.

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LUCKNOW, December 24th: After luncheon, we took the train for Lucknow. On the way, Murray's "Lucknow" was re-read, and another mutiny chapter added. Lucknow is the capital of the province of Oudh. In 1813 the English conferred the title of king on the ruler, but, for reasons of distrust, withdrew it in 1856, and at the same time discharged eighty thousand high-caste soldiers,—an action which produced instant dissatisfaction and was one of the direct causes for the mutiny. We arrived at Wutzler's Royal Hotel in the late afternoon, and felt gladdened by the comfort and good cheer that awaited us,—a hopeful sign inasmuch as the morrow was Christmas Day. A drive to Wingfield Park and a visit to an exquisite tomb mosque ended the sight-seeing day.



Christmas without the usual morning service seemed peculiar, but the law of the majority in our party prevailed, and we drove instead to the Fort and Residency, the centre of interest since 1857. The awe and solemnity inspired by that visit, with the Christmas bells ever and anon breaking the silence, can never be forgotten. The Residency is situated in the centre of a large park which was the scene of a siege lasting from July 1 to November 17, 1857, three thousand men, women, and children, besides the military, being there for safety. The number of refugees was reduced to one thousand by September; the large rooms on the ground floor of the Government building, with two stories above and extensive subterranean rooms, made their stay possible, but involved great suffering and horrible death as the siege went on. The large banquet hall of the Residency near by was converted into a hospital. Both buildings are now in ruins. But the roofless Residency with a tangle of vines (and a decrepit stairway that leads upward) furnishes a fine view of the whole scene, which in its very quietness bespeaks bravery, endurance, and heroic suffering.

The buildings of Lucknow are not important, with the exception of the Jumma Musjid, the great Imambara with its fine gateway, court, and arcades. The Imambara Mosque has two minarets, and the great Imambara Hall, one hundred and sixty-three by fifty-three feet and forty-nine feet high, is one of the largest vaulted galleries in the world. The palaces of the late king of Oudh, the clock tower and other mosques and tombs, were visited, for, as usual, the persistent guide insisted on our seeing all the "sights" (exaggerating the descriptions, it always seemed, in proportion to their lack of importance), and it was "Memsahib this" and "Memsahib that." Christmas Day, with a June temperature, soon came to a close; the dinner was somewhat English in its many appointments, with its roast beef and plum pudding,—other home touches being added by our ever-thoughtful Director. There was good cheer, but we silently thought of home and the friends far away.

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BENARES, December 26th: Benares is the sacred city of India, and the river Ganges with the ghats is the point where thousands upon thousands of worshippers congregate, coming from every point where Hinduism prevails. We had anticipated revolting scenes, and were not disappointed, as the superstition of the devotees, the grasping conduct of the priests, and the disgusting practices in the name of so-termed religion all contributed to that end. We arrived during the afternoon of December 26th, going to the Hotel de Paris. A drive was instantly proposed, and we were taken to the Maharaja's palace, with grounds laid out conventionally, the trees and shrubs representing peacocks and animals of different kinds. The palace was spacious but tawdrily furnished; it is noteworthy as being the home to which the Maharaja and his family repair whenever they feel the approach of death; there is a superstition among the Hindus that death must occur on the north bank of the sacred river Ganges, in order to become a monkey after death (monkeys are considered sacred); for if the demise occurs on the opposite side of the Ganges, one would surely become a donkey.

We next turned toward the celebrated Monkey Temple, a pretentious but inartistic structure of red sandstone, presided over by the monster wife of Siva, the Goddess Kali, who is seated on an interior shrine and almost terrifies the beholder by her demoniacal smile, her neck being wreathed with skulls. The Goddess of Blood demands a daily sacrifice, usually a goat and sometimes even a buffalo. At least twenty terrible-looking priests were in attendance upon her when we arrived and were ready to slay the inoffensive goat if money was forthcoming. We, however, declined to witness such a spectacle. Monkeys, disgustingly old and fat, were everywhere, and filled large trees surrounding the temple, two hundred at least being visible. Beggars, mendicants, and priests were abundantly in evidence.

In an attempt to throw some small coins to some children, I was nearly crushed, the crowd closing around me and separating me from my party, until a tall Brahman priest with a huge stick checked the mob and I escaped, to be admonished by the Director of the party, who declared that I must never repeat the experiment, however much my sympathies might be drawn upon by the scenes that impressed me.



The following morning we proceeded at 7 A.M. to the scene of all others in Benares, the bathing ghats. These are steps leading down from the plateau to the river on the banks of the Ganges and extending a distance of nearly three miles. Seated in a native small boat, we sailed leisurely up and down for hours, watching the unusual spectacle. The Brahman priests were everywhere (there being thirty thousand in Benares who live on the offerings of the pilgrims), some seated under umbrella-like canopies, some under tents, others bathing, and others performing certain sacred offices for the devotees who had come hither in state, on elephants or camels, by train or on foot, all intent on securing an increase of religious zeal. The crowds bathing in the sacred river are a continuous spectacle. There are piers built out into the stream for convenience, filled with pilgrims of every hue and variety of dress and undress, some simply wearing the loin cloth, which startled us at first, but now seemed the legitimate outcome of a lean purse and a hot climate.

In addition, there is a continuous refrain of voices in solemn supplication to one or more of the many thousands of Hindu gods, for it has been stated that there are two hundred thousand divinities in India. At one point there is a burning ghat, and one morning we witnessed the preparation for two cremations, one of a poor man and the other of the wife of a Maharaja. The two ceremonies differed little, except that the wood for the funeral pile of one cost a mere pittance, while the sandalwood for the latter cost six hundred rupees. The corpse is carried on a small litter, or bier, made of bamboo sticks (a man is robed in white and a woman in red), and deposited in the Ganges, feet foremost; care is taken that the whole body be immersed in order that purification may be complete. The relatives arrange the pile of wood, about eight logs being required. Then the body is transferred to the pyre, and the torch is applied by one of the family, the others sitting solemnly around in a circle. When consumed, the ashes are scattered in the river Ganges. It is a gruesome spectacle, however much it may be in the interest of sanitary science; but less so to me, who had witnessed the distribution of the bodies at the Towers of Silence in Bombay.

It will be seen that the principal commodity in Benares is holiness; but there is one creditable industry, namely, the manufacture of brass. Several shops were visited, but we liked the modern styles less than the old Benares brass with which we were familiar.

One thought was uppermost while in Benares; I had pondered over it before in our visit to India. It was that with the masses Hinduism to-day means superstition and idolatry, in spite of the fact that the earlier teaching was of a pure character. That the cultivated Hindus accept the practices and the priesthood is a mystery as subtle as the law of caste or the iron law of custom. It is a depressing thought, and causes a profound feeling of thankfulness that Providence placed us in a fairer land.



The missionary effort of England, America, and other countries has for years been directed toward changing the condition of the masses, but the law of caste is such that, to use a set phrase, if a man become a Christian, he is ostracized, even by the members of his own family, unless they too follow his example. He is also ostracized as regards any business he may follow, and the sacrifice he is forced to undergo seems almost too great for human endurance. Still, according to missionary reports, this sacrifice is frequently made, which is equivalent to true heroism. Naturally, the progress of proselyting is slower in India than in any other country of the Orient, but it is the consensus of opinion that a greater extension of hospitals in charge of so-termed missionaries and a greater extension of schools for the young are the leaven that will work satisfactory results in the future. Another reassuring sign is the establishment of the Central Hindu College at Benares by Mrs. A.B. Besant, the Theosophist. This is intended to elevate the Hindu youth, combining religious and moral education with mental and athletic development. We saw only the exterior of the building.

Four miles from Benares, at the site of the old Benares, called Sarnath, is a most interesting ancient monument known as the Tope of Sarnath. It is the best preserved of any in Bengal. It was erected in Deer Park to mark the spot sanctified by the presence of Buddha. It was explored in 1835 and found to be a stupa; but containing no relics, it was evidently intended to indicate the spot where Buddha first assumed his mission as a teacher. The tope consists of a stone basement ninety-three feet in diameter and solidly built of stone. Above the stone is brickwork rising to a height of one hundred and twenty feet from the plain. The lower story has niches evidently intended for a figure of Buddha, and below this is a band of sculptured ornaments of great beauty; it is thought from the evidences of ornamentation that in date it corresponds to the best period of Delhi. There is an interesting temple in the vicinity, and there formerly was a large Buddhist monastery. One also finds acres of mounds and debris indicating a large Buddhist foundation in the days when Buddha reigned supreme.

We left Benares for Darjeeling the evening of December 27th, and the prospect of a glimpse of mountain scenery in the famed Himalaya foothills, eight thousand feet above the sea, was exhilarating after the depressing scenes behind us.

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SILIGURI, December 28th: We arrived at Siliguri early the following morning, December 28th, and were at once transferred to the Darjeeling and Himalayan Railway (two-foot gauge with open cars), a triumph of engineering skill on account of the sudden and wonderful curves which continue from the beginning to the end and cause the famous Horseshoe Curve of the Pennsylvania Railway to sink into insignificance. The ride was exciting, as every bend revealed something new and startling. Leaving the plain of Bengal behind us, which is a feature of interest, we commenced the ascent; first through a jungle of cane and grass, both very high, where tigers, leopards, bears, deer, and the like have their home; and next through a forest with few familiar trees save the giant oak. Higher up the graceful bamboo is seen, and still higher fruit trees are plentiful; then small tea plantations appear, and a more peaceful landscape. Another bold curve and the glorious snow-capped Kanchanjanga range is in full view,—a perfect panorama, the atmosphere being clear and the sky almost cloudless. It was one of the supreme moments of life. We were now nearing Darjeeling, having made a gradual descent during the last half-hour.



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DARJEELING, December 28th: The Woodlands Hotel, picturesquely situated on the side of a lesser mountain, became our abiding-place for all too short a time. Darjeeling is beautifully located upon a ridge, seven thousand feet above water level. The mountain side is picturesque with its sprinkling of villas and bungalows, tall mountains towering up as a background. The average temperature is eighty degrees in summer and thirty in winter; hence it is a favorite resort. There is a sanitarium here, called "The Eden." The mountain views prove a great attraction; the Kanchanjanga range is seen beyond the intervening mountains, with a vast chasm in the foreground.

The Mall is the principal promenade, and winds around Observatory Hill, from which fine glimpses of the country are to be obtained. In the vicinity is St. Andrew's Church, with interesting tablets, and near by the summer residence of the Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal.

We were admonished to hurry our luncheon in order not to lose the opportunity of seeing the celebrated bazar of which we had heard so much, even in Bombay. I do not refer to the regular street bazar, but to a bazar at which crowds of peasants from different provinces congregate once a week for the sale of silver and turquoise jewelry, which is mostly exhibited on their persons, supplemented by a small bundle which is carried; but the transactions are very primitive and unlike those at any other bazar. Then there are the quaint things they wear,—artistic chatelaines with articles generally suspended and thrown over the shoulder, instead of worn around the waist, immense earrings, finger-rings, bracelets, and anklets; also large round silver pins for the hair, suspended between two long ornaments resembling an elongated corkscrew—all linked together with a narrow black ribbon tied in a bow. The wearing of this latter head ornament was very grotesque, and I bought one taken from the hair of a peasant, besides purchasing some other articles which now serve as a reminder of the quaint scene. The dress of the men, women, and children was peculiar, and varied according to their province, such as Bhutias, Tibetans, Nepalese, Pelaris, Ghorkas, and others.



Their shrewd faces were illuminated with smiles as they realized the success of a bargain which was doubtless far in excess of the value of the article purchased; or failing of a bargain their persistent attempts to secure one were amusing. As we walked around through the motley crowd, powerless to express ourselves except in the universal language of pantomime, with mountains all around us and the Kanchanjanga still in view, we felt as though we were a part of a play, it seemed so unreal. Later we visited the street bazars, all of them furnished with articles claimed to be antique. In the evening the proprietor of the hotel gave us an interesting description of scenes in Tibet, illustrated with lantern views.

The cold of late December now became intense, and it required some courage to be called at three o'clock in the morning for an expedition to Tiger Hill to see the sun rise. A half-hour after, nevertheless, saw our departure, and you would have smiled at the spectacle I presented, seated in a chair with six bearers (two for a relay), rugs and cushions piled around me, the crowning feature being a red blanket which, at the last moment, one of the bearers draped around my shoulders. It was moonlight when we left the valley. The view of each mountain and gorge was marvellous, so unlike daylight, as the moon ever throws elusive shadows about all things it touches. Before we reached our destination, the first streak of dawn was faintly outlined against the horizon, as if heralding the approach of some great spectacle, which soon came in shades of gold and pink; then bursting forth like a great ball of fire which illuminated the whole scene, even the distant Kanchanjanga range being suffused with a pinkish glow. We held our breath and were thankful, for the guide had told us that a perfect sunrise was a rare occurrence. Mount Everest, 29,002 feet high, eighty miles distant, and the highest peak in the world, as usual was but dimly seen. After the excitement of the morning, the hot coffee and rolls which were provided for us proved most acceptable. We lingered on for a half-hour, amused that even above the clouds human nature is the same, as every bearer produced rings or other trinkets for our inspection and possible purchase. The descent was made in the blinding sunlight, and indeed it was so warm that we laid aside our blankets, and we noted the different aspects which all Nature wore.

A nine-o'clock breakfast followed, and we were ready for other experiences. The descent to Siliguri was not unlike the ascent, with the view reversed. A night train conveyed us to Sara Ghat, where we arrived early in the morning and were taken across the river Ganges to Dumonkdeah, where we took a train for Calcutta, one hundred and sixteen miles distant.

* * * * *

CALCUTTA, December 31st: There is, in a certain sense, a link between Benares and Calcutta; the latter is situated on the Hooghly River, which is an outlet of the river Ganges, but no resemblance exists between India's modern winter capital and the city of superstition. We arrived in Calcutta on December 31st, and repaired to the Strand Hotel. An afternoon drive to Eden Park proved delightful, and on every side we saw attractive surroundings.

January 1st dawned brightly, and found us at 7 A.M. driving to the fine esplanade, called "The Maidan," and extending two miles. We were on our way to witness the great annual military review by the Viceroy, now Lord Minto. Presentation Day is the term here applied to New Year's Day. It was a gala occasion indeed, and the equipages of the rich, and the smaller vehicles of all descriptions, encircled the barrier that intervened between the spectators and those who were to furnish the display. There were also hundreds on foot, some of them in the brilliant native dress of various colors, with their many-hued turbans. This was specially noticeable in the livery of many of the native carriages, where gold trimmings were profuse, and the same scheme was carried out in the dress of the two coachmen and two footmen, the latter being called syces. The militia presented a splendid appearance, and the infantry marched with the greatest precision, but the cavalry, as usual, carried off the honors as regards spectacular display, particularly the native cavalry with their picturesque dress. Lord Minto and his aides were elegantly decked in their accoutrements and elicited much cheering.

We returned for a nine-thirty breakfast, and left afterwards for a sight-seeing expedition, having been warned not to expect much in this line at Calcutta. St. Paul's Cathedral—English—was interesting on account of the many memorials and statues, one of Bishop Heber having much merit. Fort William and the grounds of the Government House, the Dalhousie Club, the Black Hole, and other points were also visited.



The Black Hole is so often mentioned in connection with Calcutta that a few words of explanation seem necessary. It was at the time of the siege of Calcutta in 1756 a small room in the barracks, twenty-two by fourteen feet in size, and sixteen feet in height. One hundred human beings were crowded into it on the night of June 20th, and there were only twenty-three survivors in the morning. A memorial obelisk was erected by one of these survivors, and this was restored by order of Lord Curzon.

The Imperial Museum is a very large building and has extensive geological and archaeological departments. It also possesses a fine library.

We omitted the burning ghat, remembering the one at Benares, but a Hindu temple revealed another repulsive goddess, Kali, and the sacrifice of the goat had just occurred. The river front has a ghat for bathing.

A drive to the distant Botanical Gardens proved of much interest, and the largest banyan tree in the world was there displayed, having four hundred and sixty-four aerial branches and covering over an acre in extent; there were also long avenues of palms.

Lacking the fine harbor of Bombay, Calcutta is still a city of great commercial importance and of many natural attractions and fine public buildings. It is, however, a place of decided contrasts, imposing streets of residences being not far distant from as wretched a native quarter as may be seen in any other Indian city. To the casual tourist Calcutta seems a large English city (eight hundred thousand inhabitants), especially so in the life on the Maidan, the centre of attraction and fashion. Eden Park is also greatly frequented, and the race-course is the finest in India; but, notwithstanding, Calcutta has not the charm of Bombay. The Strand Hotel gave us an elaborate menu for our New Year's dinner, which was supplemented by flowers and bonbons, and we all voted the occasion, even if in a foreign land, a success. And so I link Lucknow and Calcutta together in the holiday column of my memory.

I have before alluded to the sad, dejected faces of the natives of North India; the Bengali seemed a trifle more melancholy, as is their reputation. We did not regret our departure, although it meant the loss of our faithful Indian guide, Dalle, and our travelling servant, Jusef, both with their long India bordered shawls artistically thrown over one shoulder, and their high white turbans rolled round and round the head, the finishing touch being a tall conical ornament that stood up in the centre. This is significant of their territorial province, styles of turbans varying with the locality. The early hour of 6 A.M. found us departing on the British and India line for a steamer trip of three days, Rangoon being our destination.



The trip was restful, but afforded little variety, and we hailed our arrival at Rangoon with delight early on the morning of January 6th. By a late decision we concluded to go on at once to Mandalay and leave Rangoon to be visited on our return. Taking a train at noon, we were favored by journeying in de luxe cars, sacred to the use of high officials, and so complete in equipment as to include bathroom, shower-bath, and other conveniences. The afternoon ride was through a fertile country, rice and bananas being the principal products. The rice crop had been garnered, and piles of bags were ready at every station for shipment to Rangoon (the amount shipped is two hundred thousand tons annually). Later we visited a field where rice was being harvested. It is not unlike wheat in the sheaf, but smaller. The country process after cutting is first to pound the rice, and then winnow it so as to remove the hull; this is done by throwing it in the air, by means of a round flat plate with a handle. Machinery is used in the cities.

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BURMA: We were now far from the centre of things, in a remote corner of Southeastern Asia, hidden in the midst of mountains, which were for ages the safeguard against Indian invaders and the aggression of China. Proselyting Buddhists, however, found their way from India and brought civilization with them.

There is a great diversity of races in Burma, various foreign tribes having come there and remained, making a mixed population. There are now about sixty thousand Palaings wearing the Chin dress. The Kachins, a warlike people, formerly made raids on the Burmans who lived on the border of China, the Chins dwelling among the hills. The Karens are numerically the strongest and live in the delta of the Irrawaddy. They had been an oppressed people, but achieved their liberty under British rule, and it is estimated that one hundred thousand abjured Buddhism and became Christians. The Chins are the oldest, having come from China two thousand years ago.

Southern Burma was under British rule before the middle of the nineteenth century, but it is only since January, 1886, that England has controlled Northern Burma. King Thebaw's downfall was caused by his numerous cruel acts to foreigners, which compelled the British to take steps to check him. His headquarters were at Mandalay, and his deserted palace is the centre of attraction to-day. The most prominent feature is the fort, in and about which are grouped the palace of the King, the houses of Government officials and residents of the military quarter.



The palace was erected by Mindon Min, King Thebaw's father. It covers an immense area and is encompassed by a high wall of red brick, in which are twelve gates, each one surrounded by a conical cupola, with layers of upturned eaves after the peculiar fashion of the country; the same thing is characteristic of China.

The fort is entirely surrounded by a moat, one hundred feet wide and twelve feet deep. Five bridges also lead from five of the gateways. The moat supplies drinking water for the city and is covered with the purple lotus blossom. Its width and extent make it a characteristic feature of Mandalay. Roads run parallel with the walls and lead to the entrance of the palace gardens, once very beautiful.

The palace is a square of twenty or more buildings, built of teak, painted red, and covered originally with gold leaf. The roofs have layers of upturned eaves, and the buildings are richly decorated with colored ornamentation, while the worn gilding and faded reds are blended in the peculiar shading which time alone can give. There are many audience rooms, these usually furnished with elaborately decorated thrones, as is also the audience room in the beautiful adjacent palace of the Queen; her throne and the King's great throne in the principal audience room under the lofty cupola (called pyathat, and termed by the people the "Centre of the Universe") are especially imposing and rich in decoration. On either side of this audience chamber are large audience rooms; these were used for some time after the British occupation as a church for the soldiers, and the Queen's palace was turned into a resting place for the Upper Burma Club; now both the church and the club have appropriate edifices of their own. Between two of the principal rooms is a screen, utilized as a wall and panelled in glass, mosaic, and mirrors, which is very effective and reminds one of the glass room in the palace at Amber.

From the high hill at Mandalay, one may gain an excellent general view of the many pagodas and monasteries in which the city abounds; for this is verily the land of the pagoda. The most beautiful of all, called the Incomparable, was destroyed by fire. One of great interest was built by Mindon Min, and called the Kuthodau, or, more generally, the 450 Pagodas, but there are said to be seven hundred and twenty-nine cupolas surrounding the great central pagoda, each containing an alabaster slab upon which are engraved some texts of Buddha taken from the Pali Bible, the King thinking thus to perpetuate them,—the whole surrounded by a wall, in which are built two richly decorated gates.



Situated very near the so-termed 450 Pagodas is a group of attractive pagodas in carved wood and plaster of different designs. In the centre is an unfinished marble pagoda, called Kyauk Taw Gyi, which contains a huge attractive figure of Buddha, twenty-five feet high.

On the same morning we visited the glass monastery which once on a time had been very imposing. Here we saw the Bishop and a number of novice priests receiving instruction, taking, I imagine, a kind of postgraduate course. All were most affable and seemed happy, as does every one in Burma. At this monastery two of our party were given copies of a portion of the Burmese Bible.

Monasteries are also very prominent in Burma, and they are usually boys' schools, both for young and adult people.

In the afternoon we visited the great Arakan Pagoda, a shrine which pilgrims of the Buddhist faith frequent from all over the world. It is built in the form of a square tower, rising in a series of terraces, growing smaller and ending in a finial at the summit. There are also battlements with finials capping the top. The whole is gilded and is very magnificent in appearance, even to the gilded figure of Buddha, which occupies the principal throne. The day we were there, the throne was surrounded by worshippers, and the long passages leading from the pagoda to it were densely thronged. There are four smaller passages, each being filled with stalls where is displayed almost every conceivable article, even to fruit and flowers. Near one of the passages are two large tanks filled with grayish water where are kept the sacred turtles. The turtles were fed while we were present and seemed very tame. In the adjacent enclosure we saw many large bells of graduated size, for which Burma is famous. In an enclosure young men were playing the game of football, called "Chinlon," in that country, which means "round basket," the ball being about six inches in diameter. The players stand in a circle a few feet apart. The ball is thrown by one, and the player nearest to whom it falls kicks it in the air, and attempts to repeat this feat several times in order to keep the ball up, but failing to do so, the next player gains possession and throws it, and so on.

The visit to the Queen's Golden Monastery was peculiarly interesting. It is a fine specimen of native architecture, made of elaborately carved teakwood, finely gilded, but showing the marks of age. In the large central room, from which leads a smaller room separated only by columns, the so-called golden image of Buddha (also bejewelled) rests on a raised dais, and in front is a long table containing a great variety of votive offerings to the deity from a widely scattered circle of believers. The columns surrounding these rooms were profusely decorated with glass ornamentation, and the effect was startling. The Bishop in his robe of yellow silk—the color of the Buddhist priesthood—was gracious, and the young priests very jolly. We received several presents of long narrow books written on palm-leaf, the text being a translation in modern Burmese from the old Pali Bible. It is unnecessary to add that we left compensation, the sale of said books being forbidden; hence such is the way of evading the law!



This monastery contained, like the Silver Monastery, a school for children. On our departure, an interesting little episode occurred. A young priest draped his long yellow robe around one of the gentlemen, in veritable Roman toga style, the right arm and shoulder being exposed. Then one of the party took a photograph, promising to send a copy to the monastery.

The support of the Buddhist monasteries depends on charity, and a procession of priests from each monastery goes about with mendicant bowls or baskets, each morning soliciting food and fruit, everything being placed in one receptacle. Rice, however, is the principal contribution.

We also visited the Aindaw-Yah Pagoda, the oldest in Mandalay. This is entirely gilt, from base to spire, and presents an imposing appearance. It is surrounded by a large square or platform on which are placed various other shrines containing small images of Buddha.

The cause of there being so many pagodas in Burma is that thereby the builder gains renown and paves the way for greater happiness in a future state. For the above reason the pagoda is seldom repaired. The builder desires to be approached as "the builder of a pagoda," and invariably addresses his wife as "O wife of a pagoda builder." Architecturally the pagoda, in general, may be described as having a spire, massive throughout, rising from a circular, square, or octagonal base, in a succession of tiers or circles, of which the upper is always narrower than the one beneath it.

The principal industry of Mandalay is the weaving of silk, for which it is very celebrated, and a visit to the bazar was most interesting. Unlike the bazars previously described, this was a large, high building, filled with aisles and furnished with long tables, at the back of which sat the saleswomen; all the business of the bazar is carried on by women. There was a great variety of silk weaving of every conceivable shape and style, the sarong being prominent. This is a long colored garment which the women of Burma wear pinned tightly around them below the waist, unlike the fuller skirt we had seen in India, the dress being completed by a short, loose jacket which shows a white under-vest and a long, wide sash. The market was also very interesting, in a small building next or adjoining the silk bazar.



It may be well to speak here of the happy, contented, pleasure-loving Burmese women. Indeed, their condition could have been envied a few years ago, even in a portion of our own United States, as they can hold property in their own right and are entitled to their earnings. This causes them to be very industrious as well as executive. It is possible that the sunny aspect of Nature may partly be responsible for their joyous appearance, as it certainly causes the men to be very indolent and quite willing that their wives should carry on their business, provided they are left undisturbed to enjoy life in their own way.

The women are very fond of dress, and, unlike the women of India, wear only real jewelry; travellers see a profusion of solitaire diamond rings, every one of which is said to be genuine.

There is no caste in Burma and no division of class; in the olden time any one might become a prince or a prime minister if he had the ability to rise. There is little expression of art or literature, the life being very simple. The people are indeed children of Nature, and the only expression of taste is to be found in their pagodas and monasteries. Their silver work and wood carving are fine. The houses in the country are usually built of bamboo, raised from the ground on poles, four to six feet, as protection against floods, reptiles, and other mishaps. The floor usually consists of split bamboo, the thatched roof of elephant grass. The sides of the house are of bamboo, opening to the street on verandas. Some have second stories. Around these homes birds and animals and naked children are everywhere to be seen.

Among the incidents of our stay at Mandalay I remember a native dance, called "Pwe," given one evening in front of the hotel. This was a little on the order of a vaudeville, consisting of a mixture of talk, song, and dance. The performers were arranged on a high platform. The women were dressed in the extreme of Burmese fashion, having long pink silk sarongs tightly drawn around them, jackets and long sashes, and with flowers in the hair. They appeared in the dancing and the singing, while the two men furnished the dialogue. The music was anything but melodious, and the talking we could not understand; but from the applause of the large number of spectators gathered around, we assumed, however, that it was funny. The movement of the dance was very slow and measured, as had been all the dancing we had witnessed in the Orient. The effect was rather spectacular, seen in a dim light, with trees for a background. Whenever a dance of this kind occurs, it soon gets noised about, and large gatherings of people arrive, and they group themselves around, sitting always on the ground and observing a profound silence except when they applaud.



Near our hotel was an English Wesleyan mission, directed by the Rev. Mr. Bestol. A friend and I visited it, and found it very interesting and cheerful,—the home of the missionaries, and the assistant teachers who supervised the boys' and girls' school, and the dormitories. They seemed to be doing a very good work. On the occasion of our first call, they had all gone on a picnic, quite after our usual Sunday-school fashion. We also heard of other missions of merit.

At 5 P.M. we left our hotel for the landing of the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company to pass the night on the steamer Siam. We were now on a model river vessel for three days. The scenery was varied and picturesque. At points from the water's edge there were terraced slopes of vegetation, trees of many kinds and hues, the dark green foliage alternating with the light green of the graceful bamboo, while creepers and flowers peeped out here and there, also clumps of toddy palms rearing their lofty heads, while the ever-prevalent pagoda glistened white or golden through the branches. As the steamer carried freight, occasional stops were made, and this gave variety to the scene.

We arrived at Pakoku about 4 P.M. and anchored for the night. The shore was lined with piles of bags, boxes, and other usual accessories. Natives were seen in all directions with a new array of articles, some bearing baskets suspended from bamboo poles across the shoulders, while bullock carts and other primitive vehicles, together with the variety of style and color of the attire worn by the natives, made a scene truly picturesque. We also stopped at Mirout. Here were mud volcanoes, which some of the party visited, being carried there in bullock carts, and found them rather interesting, the volcanoes emitting mud instead of lava.

We arrived at a place near old Pagan at four in the morning, and never can I forget the spectacle presented from my stateroom window. There was total darkness, save where long lines of natives with lanterns, coming from the woods in every direction, were seen carrying boxes, bales, and baskets of freight to the shore. Once at the landing, the rush and commotion and waving of lanterns were truly Burmese. The next point in our progress was old Pagan, where we saw many pagodas, but we were told that there were as many as a thousand in the days of her prosperity.

On the river we constantly passed shipping of various kinds, sometimes huge rafts of teakwood propelled by natives, mostly devoid of attire; the peculiar Burman paddy boats of old Egyptian style are used for transporting unhulled rice. A more peaceful trip cannot be imagined, and it has been compared to a passage up the Nile.



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PROME: We arrived at Prome the evening of January 12th, but owing to some hours' delay we were disappointed in not having the expected drive or visiting the celebrated pagoda. We took the night train for Rangoon and were so fortunate as to have the de luxe cars again.

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RANGOON: We reached the city early the following morning. Rangoon is located on the ocean and is furthermore aided by the Irrawaddy River, which is navigable for over nine hundred miles. It has an unrivalled location for future growth and permanence. Rangoon's increase has been phenomenal for this latitude; in 1852 it was a small fishing village; in 1904 the inhabitants numbered two hundred and fifty thousand, and there has since been a marked increase. The population is divided into Burmese, Hindus, Mohammedans, and Christians, with a sprinkling of other nationalities,—a variety which is distinctly recognized in the life of the city. It has a large export trade in rice, lumber, and oil, and a visit to one of the factories is almost always included by tourists.

The shipping at Rangoon presents a picturesque variety, as ocean steamers, river steamers, paddy boats, and quaint smaller vessels are always in evidence. The civil and municipal buildings do not, however, compare with those of such rival cities in India as Bombay, Calcutta, and Madras. The bazars in the European quarter are unusually fine, and it was a pleasure to visit them, silks, curios, and silver work being well displayed. In the native quarter those of the inhabitants to be seen on the street (previously described) had no distinctive character, but the native silk bazars were mostly in a large, low, poorly lighted building, divided into aisles. A visit to this neighborhood showed the happy-go-lucky features noticed in Mandalay.

Indeed, life in Burma is like a comic opera. I realized this one morning when going about simply to be amused. The market and pavements were crowded with persons of different nationalities,—the pineapple man with his tray of fruit, the Burmese girl with her pretty stall of cigars, the Hindu seller of betel, the Chinaman under his swaying burden of cooked meats and strange luxuries, the vermicelli man, the Indian confectioner with his silver-coated pyramids of sago and cream. It is of all crowds the most cosmopolitan. Here is the long-coated Persian with his air of breeding and dignity, jostled by the naked coolie with rings in his nose. The lady beauty of Japan dashes by in her jinrikisha drawn by a Chinese coolie, and the exclusive Brahman finds himself shoulder to shoulder with the laughing daughter of the soil who has never heard of caste.



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SHWE DAGON: The centre of attraction in Rangoon, however, is the Shwe Dagon Pagoda, which is famous wherever the Buddhist religion prevails; it is situated on an eminence, one hundred and sixty-six feet above the sea-level and towering up three hundred and sixty-eight feet. It is a very imposing structure, exceeding in height even St. Paul's Cathedral in London. This proportion gives it an air of dignity and repose, while its gilded surface from base to finial causes it to be truly magnificent.

The structure has no interior, being built solidly of brick over a relic chamber; hence its platform with a circumference of about fourteen hundred feet is the place for worship and also for many small pagodas. The great pagoda is of conical shape and is divided into twelve parts, and of these the ti, or umbrella, valued at L60,000, is the most costly and remarkable, and was the gift of King Mindon, the next to the last king of Burma. While from its great height it is scarcely visible, it is really thirteen and one-half feet high and is hung with about fifteen hundred bells, many of them gold. When heard at night, the effect is magical.

The southern entrance has a pair of gryphons, and beyond them is the entrance arch, which is inferior to the rest of the edifice. Here may be seen venders of many kinds, selling gold leaf (which is used by pilgrims on the surface of the pagoda), books, papers, toys, and offerings to place on the altar; and the scene around the stalls is instinct with life and gayety. Brightly dressed women and children, coquettish girls, nuns, and beggars all assemble here.

There are four flights of stairs, east, west, north, and south, leading up to the platform; the southern one being mostly used, as it looks down upon the thoroughfare. The western stairs have been closed to worshippers, as the place is now a British fortress.

It is impossible to describe the many objects of interest on this immense platform. Four chapels at the foot of the pagoda are guarded by colossal figures of the sitting Buddha, and in the farthest recess, in a niche, is a small Buddha, the gilding of which is discolored by the smoke from many thousands of tapers and candles.

On each side of the pagoda are chapels with tapering roofs and upturned eaves, and within them are seated images of the Buddha covered with gold. These attract large numbers of worshippers, and with the myriad waxen tapers produce an impressive effect.



The chapels are decorated with screens of fine wood carving. The coloring is also very striking, the outside being of vermilion and gold, the inside of green, gold, and purple.

Hundreds of Buddhas of various sizes are seen in all directions, sitting, standing, and reclining; and on the outer edge of the platform are small pagodas, each with its ti, or umbrella, and also holding its usual offerings of fruit, flowers, or small gifts. Seen at twilight and as the candles are being lighted, it is almost bewildering, even uncanny, as I found one evening when there alone with my guide, the renowned Abraham, who, even though a rigid Mohammedan, assumed a devout attitude.

Another prominent pagoda is the gilded Sule. This is situated quite in the heart of things, near the Strand, and is graceful in proportions. The platform also contains many interesting shrines. A fine distant view of the Sule is obtained from Hytche Square.

There are many monasteries (virtually schools for boys), the finest being at a suburb called Kemmendine, which is also a centre for the manufacture of kalagas, or blankets, usually red with figures in applique. We enjoyed several pleasant drives while in Rangoon, the favorite one being to Royal Lake and through Dalhousie Park; if taken in the late afternoon, one will see a gayly dressed, fashionable throng, either driving or walking. I had met Mr. and Mrs. W.T. Graham of the Burma Civil Service on the steamer from Port Said to Bombay, and I was indebted to them for two drives,—one to their country home, which was an attractive two-storied bungalow with galleries and low windows above and below, quite unlike the thatched houses seen in Upper Burma. There were contrasts in the general dress and appearance of the natives; pink was, however, still the prevailing color in the sarongs, sashes, and jackets of the women, and the long hair of the men was the custom. The intermarriage between Burmese women and Chinamen was said to be very frequent, some of the women preferring the hard-working executive Chinamen to the indolent Burmese. And, according to the opinion of a gentleman I met later, who had made a study of the subject, the intermarriage of the ever-prevalent Chinamen with races of the Orient, where caste does not prevent, is in time going to work a great racial revolution.

One morning we rose at 5 A.M. for an early excursion to see elephants haul teak from the river-bank to higher ground, where the logs would dry before transference to the sawmills. We went at this time so as to avoid the heat, and also because the elephants rest after 11 A.M. The illustration will show the process, but it was an amusing sight to see five ponderous animals moving slowly along, propelling the logs with their trunks, and ever and anon trumpeting; not being versed in elephant expression, I was left in doubt as to whether the sound meant joy or sorrow. We visited another similar scene near a large sawmill which we explored under the leadership of the manager.



A trip to a rice-mill had been spoken of, but, not having breakfasted, we preferred to return to the hotel. Tea and toast were served at rising, if one desired it, during our entire "Tour." Another novel excursion was a long drive to some half-ruined Buddhist temples, a monastery, and buildings assigned to the peculiar rites which precede the cremation of a Buddhist priest; two bodies were seen in curious-looking receptacles, awaiting the culmination of events.

We were disappointed in not seeing a "ceremony," but were told to come in the evening and witness a temple dance, and, I believe, also a semi-dramatic ceremony. Some of the party did so, but I remained in the hotel to write letters, as we were to leave the following morning.

I have alluded to Abraham, our guide in Burma, as a devout Mohammedan, but he had numerous characteristics which rather caused distrust, one of them being his extreme deference to the ladies of the party, when according to the tenets of his religion we were all "fiends incarnate"; the other was his apparent abject acceptance of all Buddhist ceremonies, which we knew at heart he detested. However, "guides" became a prolific study, as time went on.

The weather had been hot in Rangoon; so, in spite of our pleasant Burman experiences and the joyousness of things in general, we hailed the steamer voyage as affording some measure of relief. We sailed at 7 A.M. on January 17th, on the steamer Palmicotta, for a voyage of four days to Madras. As usual, nothing occurred to mar the even tenor of our way; the ship was comfortable, the passengers affable, and the sea on good behavior.

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MADRAS, January 21st: We arrived at Madras early on the morning of January 21st. The view of the city from the pier was disappointing, but the drive of about two miles to the Hotel Connemara showed much natural beauty, the trees in particular being very fine. Hot weather met us at Madras, but as it is a city of magnificent distances, driving was a necessity, and hence less exertion was required. In the park and at the Botanical Gardens we saw more natural beauty and took the long drive to the sea front, where the fashionable people of the city of Marina go in large numbers, and which leads past fine municipal buildings, the college, and other places of importance. St. George's Church is pleasing, with its quota of memorial statues, and the close is very attractive, reminding one of England. The drive through the native quarter, called Black Town, presented unusual features. The fort and parks were visited, as were also some rather attractive bazars. The museum is interesting from an historical standpoint and has many statues and bas-reliefs, some relating to Prince Gautama and some to Hindu gods; there are also relics of saints. It is particularly rich in specimens of armor and jewelled swords.



Madras seems quite as unlike the cities of Northern India as does Rangoon, and comparatively few of the thousands of tourists who frequent Northern India ever visit Southern India, a great distinction between the two being made. It is, however, conveniently near the great Seven Pagodas, which we did not visit, and is the gateway to the famous Dravidian temples which presented much interest.

We left early in the afternoon in order to visit Tanjore, Trichinopoly, and Madura, and for two days sleeping-cars were to be our home. There are no hotels in these cities, the wonderful temples serving as a substitute, while the English railway restaurant afforded us a certain amount of sustenance. The ride to Tanjore was through a lovely country with beautiful palms, groves of vari-hued trees, and occasionally a tangle of vines.

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TANJORE: On our arrival at Tanjore in the afternoon we went directly to the forts which enclose the temple, palace, and gopuras. The temple is in the little fort. The gopuras claim first attention. They are really gateways, a feature peculiar to Southern India. They were intended as a fortification to protect the temples from foreign invaders, and are imposing in size and structure—towering up (some nine stories high) course after course, and literally covered with carvings of animals and gods, all colored in red and gold. We passed through a gopura ninety feet high, next through a passage one hundred and seventy feet long, then through a small gopura, when we arrived at the large outer enclosure of the temple, four hundred and fifty by eight hundred feet. This is further surrounded by cloisters and open to outsiders, who are not, however, permitted to enter the great temple of the adjacent halls. But even at a distance we could admire their barbaric splendor.

We were also entertained by the gorgeous temple peacock (considered sacred), of enormous size, which, with outstretched tail, posed for us with as much evident vanity as a coquettish girl. There are smaller shrines and temples distributed about the great enclosure, and in one temple is an immense bronze bull. The tower of the great temple is only thirty-eight feet lower than the Kutub Minar described in "Old Delhi." In the northwest corner of the enclosure is an exquisite small temple called Siva Manya and dedicated to the son of Siva. It has a tower fifty feet high and a base forty feet square, adorned with pillars, and these are continued along another cloister, fifty feet long. Mr. Ferguson writes: "It is as exquisite a piece of decorative architecture as is to be found in Southern India." The great fort seems like a continuation of the small one, and in it are situated the palace and Schwartz Church.



The palace of the Princess of Tanjore is an immense structure and was built about 1550 A.D. It has no merit architecturally, but possesses certain features of interest; one of these is a large Durbar room which contains bas-reliefs on the wall, and a platform of black granite, on which stands a white marble statue by Flaxman of Raja Shah Foji, who was a pupil of Flaxman and who was next to the last Raja. There are also to be found here portraits of the various members of the royal family and a bust of Lord Nelson. In addition, we came across an unusual library for India, dating from the end of the sixteenth century, and containing eighteen thousand Sanskrit manuscripts, one half of them written on palm leaves. Our English guide showed us a portion of the palace occupied by two ladies, relatives of the last Raja, this being a courtesy extended to them by the English Government and which ceases with their death. The Schwartz Church dates from 1770 A.D., and the aged missionary is immortalized in a monument designed by Flaxman, which contains eight figures beside the reclining one.

The Tanjore and Trichinopoly districts were the scene of the earliest work of the Protestant missionaries in India, and the Roman Catholic missionaries antedated them by half a century. Churches of these faiths are scattered through this and the adjoining districts. We had a late luncheon in the restaurant of the railway station and then repaired to the train. I have great dislike for a sleeping-car, so it can be imagined that the visit to the Dravidian temples was made under difficulties. We proceeded to Trichinopoly, arriving there early and having a long day before us.

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TRICHINOPOLY: Trichinopoly, like Tanjore, has a history full of vicissitudes, in which the French and that picturesque figure, Lord Clive, appear. The temple of Sri Ranngam is situated a mile from the bridge and three miles from the fort, the entrance being through a gopura forty-eight feet high; the sides of this passage, one hundred feet long and forty-three feet high, are richly ornamented. The monoliths which serve as pillars are forty feet high, and every detail is on a gigantic scale; this is the largest Hindu temple in India. The outer enclosure alone is twenty-four hundred and seventy-five by twenty-eight hundred and eighty feet, and has its elephant, but it wears a commercial aspect (being filled with bazars) which detracts from the dignity of the scene. As we penetrated to the interior temple, the buildings diminished in size and importance; the gopuras, however, are imposing (there are nine in all), with their profuse decoration, all being painted and all varying in size.



In the court around the central enclosure is a hall of about one thousand pillars; these are of granite, eighteen feet in height. On one side the pillars represent men astride rearing horses, the horses' feet being supported by the shields of men on foot beside them. This temple was built about 700 B.C. The tanks are of interest in Trichinopoly, but less so than in Madura.

The great rock is the most noticeable feature, tunnelled out of which is a circular staircase with a gateway leading to interior temples, and on the sides of this passage are pillars with peculiar capitals which seem to indicate Jain origin. The way upward was dimly lighted, and all manner of accidents seemed possible. In fact, there was a very serious accident in 1849, when five hundred persons were killed. At one landing there was a school of small boys; at another, there were groups of worshippers making their descent; turning to the left, we saw a small temple of Siva. In the dim light everything seemed weird and unreal. The view from the top of the rock was far-reaching, gopuras and temples gleaming through the green foliage. There were sacred elephants here, as at Tanjore, standing in the usual receptive attitude; for them small coins were more acceptable than food, showing how adroitly they had been trained.

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MADURA: Another very early arrival at Madura, and the programme of the day before was repeated. Although Madura is a large place, the temples, gopuras, and palaces are the chief attraction. The famous Palace of Tirumala Nayak is splendid in its appointments, having large, airy halls and audience rooms (similar to the Diwan-i-Khas of Delhi and Agra) with richly decorated ceilings, and the bedchamber is resplendent with carving and gilding. There is a fine view from the roof of the great temple. The nine gopuras are tall, massive, and barbaric in their decorations, which consist of horses, lions, elephants, gods and goddesses. The great shrines of Siva and his consort are almost interminable in their extent, and there is a long vestibule or hall divided into aisles by carved columns. This formed a reception room for the King in early times, a great contrast to the present scene of tumultuous venders with almost every variety of goods, who are more noisy than their brothers of North India.



Within the temple there are many shrines and many Tamil worshippers; high-caste Brahmans are also there to minister to the supposed wants of the higher gods. Galleries led us out to still other shrines, where are installed additional images of gods, who on fete days are carried about in gold and silver chariots of untold value. All the most beautiful portions of the temple as it now stands were built by Tirumala Nayak, the great Madura ruler of modern times, who ascended the throne in 1623 and reigned thirty-six years.

One of the quadrangles opens out on a tank. An arcade runs around the tank, and the walls are painted with representations of the most famous pagodas in India. On the north side is the belfry—strange to relate, an American bell hangs therein. Here too is the Hall of a Thousand Pillars, and this is even more remarkable than the same-named hall at Trichinopoly, on account of the marvellous beauty of the construction. Near the hall is the great gopura, and opposite this is the new gallery, of a magnificent plan but unfinished, known as Tirumala's Choultrie. There is so much of interest and detail connected with all of these Dravidian temples that one should plan to have more time to devote to them. The cursory examination we were afforded measures the disadvantage of an itinerary. We left after luncheon for Tuticorin, and arrived there at 5 P.M.

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TUTICORIN: Tuticorin, on the Gulf of Manaar, is the port of departure for Colombo, Ceylon. We had only a hurried glimpse of the city, showing white buildings, white sand, and the blackest natives we had yet seen. We inferred they were Tamils. A pleasant night on the steamer followed.

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COLOMBO, January 25th: The morning of January 25th saw our approach to the fine harbor of Colombo, and we felt that at last our dream of viewing the beautiful island of Ceylon was to be realized. Our first impression was received at the landing jetty, where it seemed as if every nationality had its representative, so varied was the appearance of the natives,—the Laskas from the Malay Peninsula, the Hindus from India, as well as Tamil coolies, Arabs from Aden, Buddhist priests, and Mohammedans. We found excitement on our arrival at the hotel, owing to the expected appearance of the ex-Empress Eugenie and her suite, as well as Sir Thomas Lipton and numerous other notable guests.



The ride to the hotel, located on the sea, had shown us unusual luxuriance of vegetation and wonderful trees both in fruit and in blossom. This fact was emphasized by a long afternoon drive, beginning in the native quarter with its attendant bazars and ending with a long country tour for at least an hour through a forest of palms of many varieties, the tall talipot towering high—higher even than the fruit-laden cocoanut palm,—while bread-fruit trees, jack-fruit trees, and bananas made a pleasing variety. A little diversion occurred when a boy climbed a tall cocoanut palm, procuring a fine specimen, and opened it for us to try. We passed the Victoria Bridge, which took the place of the bridge of boats, returning to our hotel by a way that revealed still more tropical wonders. The fine Galle Face Hotel, with its sense of spaciousness and restful ease, the illuminated grounds, the band, and the dash of the waves caused that first Saturday evening to seem almost perfection; one and all felt willing to linger on indefinitely, but, alas, the iron-clad itinerary must be met, and a week in the mountains was to follow!

Colombo is a fine place in which to study types, and nothing is more peculiar than the Cingalese man, with his long hair braided in a knot at his neck, with the broad shell comb resting on his crown; on State occasions the chief waiters at the hotel appear in an exceedingly high head piece perched above their customary shell ornament, which they told us was the style of a hundred years ago.

The jinrikisha man here is the first person to gain your attention; so winning are his ways and so rapid his pace that he is justly popular for a short spin to the very interesting shopping district, where almost everything may be found, the jewels holding the interest of the stranger above all else. But, alas, the pearl, Ceylon's home product, is to be had only at fabulous prices and not then in its perfection. We had heard of the lure of the pearl in the Gulf of Manaar (separating Ceylon from India), and of all the fairy-tale adventures involved in the search for it, and so we were disappointed in our failure to see perfect specimens.

The heat in Colombo was not oppressive, but, as in other places, there are flying punkahs and electric appliances for cooling the air; then there are fans in one's room to use at will, for these Easterners like comfort and secure it at whatever cost, and the denizens of the West soon fall into their ways, even adopting the English custom of four o'clock tea. The spacious entrance hall at the Galle Face Hotel presented an animated appearance, with beautifully gowned ladies, and their attendants, seated around little tables sipping tea and consuming fruit-cake and sandwiches.

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NUWARA ELIYA: On Tuesday morning, January 28th, we left Colombo for the north. The mountain resort of Nuwara Eliya is a great boon even to the inhabitants of sea-swept Colombo; and it is also appreciated to its full by the tourist who has been surfeited with the close atmosphere of cities or grown tired of sea voyages. We had been told that the scenery combined the wildness of Switzerland with the peculiar charm of the Welsh mountains; hence we felt that a new experience awaited us. The railway ride there confirmed our first impression of Ceylon's fine growth of trees and shrubs, the road leading first through lowlands with endless cocoanut and other palms; while of all the blossom-laden trees the gold mohr, with its wealth of scarlet blossoms, surpasses every other. Later, rice-fields and tea plantations alternated, the latter even covering the sides of mountains. The scenery grew bolder as we went along, and at the Junction we took the narrow gauge for our mountain climb. This ascent was another triumph of engineering skill, winding around long and bold curves.

Nuwara Eliya is located sixty-two hundred feet above the sea, but, surrounded by mountains, the country has the appearance of being a valley. The Grand Hotel, in bungalow style, is prettily located in well laid-out grounds, with a fine view. In the morning we drove to Hakgalla Botanical Garden, and on our way there we saw a striking feature in great masses of rhododendrons. The road to the gardens through an avenue of trees was inviting, and as we turned to the right we had a fine view of the west peak of the Hakgalla rock; passing on up the drive, we saw a large lake, the banks of which were lined with ornamental trees. There is here a pleasing vista of flowering plants, tall palms, and varied trees; we examined an immense tea plant twelve feet in diameter, a fine clump of tree ferns, and a peculiar silver fern from New Zealand,—also a wax palm from New Granada, the leaves of which are covered with a wax substance from which good candles can be made; and a fernery with twenty-six thousand plants. There is also a flower garden, a house for the propagation of plants, and a laboratory for scientific research, besides many other interesting features in this truly complete garden.

We visited a tea factory, and an attendant showed us the entire process of preparation, even to the wrapping of the tea in packages. During the afternoon we drove to Ramboda Pass, six miles distant. From the top of the pass, six thousand feet high, there was a panoramic view of mountain scenery with the Katinale valley below and the gray-crested Peacock Mountain as a centrepiece. Nuwara Eliya is a famed summer resort, with beautiful walks, tennis, cricket, and social clubs; the English Church is finely located, with the usual well-kept close.