INDIA.

MADRAS, Tuesday, January 28.

We arose to find ourselves at anchor in the open sea opposite

Madras. There is not a harbor upon the whole western coast of

Hindostan. Government is engaged in constructing one, but it is

slow work, as the immense blocks of concrete used can be handled

and laid only in smooth seas, which seldom occur. Sometimes the

mail steamers find it impossible to land passengers or cargo, and

are compelled to carry both to Calcutta. The surf often sweeps

over the top of the iron pier, which is certainly twenty feet

high. Passengers are taken ashore in native boats twenty feet long

and five feet deep. Across the boat, on small round poles, sit ten

rowers, five on each side; another man steers, and in the bow

stand two boys prepared to bail out the water which sweeps in as

we plunge through the surf. Fortunately the sea was unusually

calm, and we had no difficulty in reaching dry land. When the surf

is too strong for even these boats to encounter, natives

communicate with ships by tying together three small logs, upon

which they manage to sit and paddle about, carrying letters in

bags fastened upon their heads. As the solid logs cannot sink,

they are safe as long as they can cling to them, and an upset is

to them an occurrence of little consequence. We saw many of these

curious contrivances, but one must have a good deal of the

amphibious in his nature, or full faith that he was not born to be

drowned, to trust himself upon them through the Madras surf.

India at last! How strange everything looks! Brahmans, Cullrees

and Banians, devotees of the three different gods, with foreheads

marked to denote their status, the white sandal-wood paste upon

the Brahman's brow. Our first glimpse of caste, of which these are

the three main divisions, to one of which all persons must belong

or be of the lowest order, the residuum, who are coolies. There

are many subdivisions of these, and indeed every trade or calling

constitutes a different order, the members of which do not

intermarry, or associate, or even eat with one another.

Generations pursuing the same calling, and only marrying within

themselves, acquire a peculiar appearance, and this effectually

creates a caste. Carpenters, masons, merchants, each are distinct,

and the occupation of a man can readily be known by his dress or

manner.

Caste! what is caste? whence did it spring? and what are its

effects today in India? Whatever story I tell about its origin,

some great authority will flatly contradict it. The beginning of

caste, like that of most existing institutions, is lost in

obscurity; but the most likely guess to my mind is that which

founds caste upon this natural train of reasoning.

Before men travelled much, when the race were serfs and all their

needs were supplied by those immediately about them, it was almost

inevitable that the son should be put to his father's handicraft.

He could be of service there at a much earlier age than if he had

to go to a stranger. Besides, he had a chance from his infancy to

become familiar with the work, and again, his father's reputation

would serve a purpose. Therefore, successive generations remained

bakers, smiths, carpenters, agriculturists, laborers, and

eventually this developed special aptitudes under the law of

inherited tendencies and each occupation became a caste.

Those who were in the highest employments being the best educated,

they soon took measures to secure their privileges, and in the

past ages nothing could rivet the chains so effectually as the

sanction of the gods. Therefore, we need not be surprised that in

good time a revelation came to this effect: "When man was divided

how many did they make him? What was his mouth? What his arms?

What his legs and feet? Brahma was his mouth, Kshatriya his arms,

Vaisya his thighs, and Sudra his feet."

This gives four grand divisions for the race, and their duties

toward the State and to each other are clearly defined by the part

of the "Grand Man" or "God" from which they sprang. The following

are a few of the principal items of the code which regulates these

classes: To the first, or Brahman, belongs the religious

department--he studies and expounds the sacred books, officiates

at sacrifices, and is the recipient of the "presents" offered to

the gods. These are modern clergymen. To the second, or

Kshatriyas, are given the war department, force, and criminal

justice. These are our human butchers, the military class, who are

yet not ashamed of the "profession of arms." To the third, or

Vaisyas, belong commerce and agriculture, and to the poor fourth

estate, or Sudras, are left the mechanical arts and service to the

other castes. The first three alone wear the sacred thread.

The Brahman is entitled by primogeniture to the whole universe. He

may seize the goods of a Sudra, and whatever, beyond a certain

amount, the latter acquires by labor or succession. If he slanders

any of the other castes he pays only nominal fines graduated

according to classes. Whatever crime he may commit his personal

property cannot be injured, but whoever strikes a Brahman even

with a blade of grass becomes an inferior quadruped for twenty-one

generations. He is the physician for men's bodies as well as for

their souls.

The one duty of the Sudra is to serve all the three superior

castes "without depreciating their worth." In administering oaths,

a Brahman swears only by his veracity--"his honor as a gentleman."

A Kshatriya swears by his weapons, a Vaisya by his cattle, while

the poor Sudra has to swear by all the most frightful penalties of

perjury.

A curious survival of this same idea lingers in England, where the

theory is that all men are equal before the law. Nevertheless

members of the Royal Family are still released from the suspicion

that they would not tell the truth unless they took an oath to do

so. They are not required to take an oath before testifying in

court. But imagine Herbert Spencer and the average Prince giving

evidence; whose word would go the farther the wide world over? Yet

the former would be insulted by being compelled to swear, while

the latter would be allowed to testify upon the "honor of a

prince," a very scanty foundation as princes have ever been and

must ever be. History seems to teach us that it has been difficult

to get this class to keep the oaths they did take. If I were an M.

P., I would move that this be changed. The Brahman,

notwithstanding his superior station, is nevertheless held to be

much more liable to pollution than the lower orders, and is

therefore required to bathe more frequently, and to be much more

watchful against the tempter. Our Brahmans at home might take a

lesson from this. A high authority has told us that

"Life can be lived well,

Even in a palace."

But Burns has the truth:

"And certes in fair Virtue's heavenly road

The cottage leaves the palace far behind."

I have given you the ideal of caste and its laws. Their

administration is a far different matter. It is no longer possible

for Brahmans to enforce strictly their claims. Caste crumbles away

before the progress of the age. Your railway is a "sure destroyer"

of all branches of inequality among men. The Press a still

greater; but ages will pass ere we have among the two hundred and

fifty millions of Hindostan anything approaching that degree of

equality and intermarriage of classes which even England

possesses, to say nothing of America. The marvel is that caste

took such root throughout India apparently in opposition to the

teachings of Gautama Buddha. But it is scarcely less strange than

that the fighting Christian nations found their system upon the

teachings of the Prince of Peace.

Here is the true doctrine of the Eastern Christ: As the four

rivers which fall into the Ganges lose their names as soon as they

mingle their waters with the holy river, so all who believe in

Buddha cease to be Brahmans, Kshatriyas, Vaisyas, and Sudras. The

same doctrine is beautifully expressed in the "Light of Asia."

Buddha asks for a drink of milk from a shepherd.

"'Ah, my Lord,

I cannot give thee,' quoth the lad; 'thou seest

I am a Sudra, and my touch defiles!'

Then the world-honored spoke: 'Pity and need

Make all flesh kin. There is no caste in blood,

Which runneth of one hue, nor caste in tears,

Which trickle salt with all; neither comes man

To birth with tilka-mark stamped on the brow,

Nor sacred thread on neck. Who doeth right deeds

Is twice-born, and who doeth ill deeds vile.

Give me to drink, _my brother_. '"

Our friend in Madras gave us a rare treat by driving us out to see

the celebrated Madras tigers, for nowhere else in the world are

such tigers kept as here, and indeed I go so far as to declare

that until one has seen these grand animals he has no adequate

idea of what a tiger is. All that I have seen hitherto--and I do

not forget the "Zoo" in London--are but tame mockeries of the

genuine monster. I walked up to a large cage, but was startled by

such a fright. A tiger was in an instant flat against the cage,

and between me and it were only a few small iron rods which

rattled like reeds as he struck them. I thought the whole cage was

in pieces, and that beast upon me. Such glaring eyes, burning like

immense topazes in his head! and then when he found himself unable

to get at his prey, such a yell! but I was many feet from him ere

this came, I assure you. He had sprung from the back of his cage

against the bars, a distance of at least fifteen or eighteen feet,

the moment he saw me, and no doubt hurt himself as he dashed

against them. The keeper told us this one had only been caught a

few months ago. His stripes were glossy black, and his coat not

that sickly tawny color we are so familiar with, but a light fiery

brown. Compared with the tiger, it is impossible but that even the

noblest lion must seem tame and inert. We took no interest in the

lions, although there were some fine specimens. In the evening we

enjoyed hearing the Governor's band performing on the beach and

seeing Madras society congregated there, and for the first time

since we left America saw full-sized horses again. Several

gentlemen were riding animals that would pass muster in Central

Park. Thus far we have found only little ponies in use.

Our races have never been brought face to face with famine, but in

India the masses are always upon the brink of starvation; a little

too much, or too little, rain during the monsoon, and the lives of

millions are endangered. The miserable wretches--mere

skeletons--we saw to-day sitting on the dusty road sides

beseeching passers-by for a pittance, are traces which still

remain of the terrible famine of the years 1876 and 1877. Both the

monsoons of the former year failed, and the season of 1877 was

little better, although the government spent more than eleven

millions sterling ($55,000,000) in strenuous efforts to supply

enough food to render existence possible. More than five million

human beings, more than the entire population of the State of

Pennsylvania--far more than that of Scotland--were sacrificed from

want and disease resulting from the famine of these two years.

There is no doubt about the correctness of this startling

statement, for it is founded upon the increased death rate in the

afflicted districts.

It was while the shadow of this calamity, unparalleled since the

beginning of British rule in India, was over the land that the

most gorgeous "durbar" ever held in India was ordered for the

purpose of gratifying a whim of Queen Victoria, who had induced

Lord Beaconsfield to have her proclaimed Empress of India, or, as

is far more probable, which he had instigated her to accept. The

natives who spoke of this to us were outraged at the act, and

quoted it as proof that their lives and sufferings were held as

nothing by England. This does England gross injustice, for, as I

was able to tell them, English opinion was itself averse to giving

the Queen a title in India which they could not be induced to

tolerate at home, and only acquiesced because Victoria had really

done so much that was good during her long reign that they did not

wish to deny her what she had unfortunately set her heart upon;

and then after all the poor Queen probably did not know about the

famine. Her books show that her interest in life is confined

strictly to the petty details of her household and narrow circle

of satellites.

Today our Sunday-school recollections were again aroused by a

sight of the terrible car of Juggernaut. It is really an immense

affair, elaborately carved in bold relief, and on the top is a

platform for the priests. I should say the car is twenty-five feet

high and about eight by twelve at the base; it has six wheels,

four outside and two in the centre, the former nine feet in

diameter and the latter six, all of solid wood clamped together

with iron bands, and all at least two feet in width of tread. Such

a mass, drawn through the streets by elephants and accompanied by

excited devotees, its hundred bells jangling as it rolled along

where there was not another vehicle of any kind with which to

compare it, or a house more than one small story high, must have

appeared to the ignorant natives something akin to the

supernatural; and I can now well understand how wretches, working

themselves into a state of frenzy, should have felt impelled to

dash under its wheels. It is still paraded upon certain festival

days, invariably surrounded, however, by policemen, who keep the

natives clear of the wheels, for even to-day, if they were not

prevented, its victims would be as numerous as ever. Imagine, if

you can, with what feelings we stood and gazed upon this car,

which has crushed under its ponderous wheels religious enthusiasts

by the thousand, and which still retains its fascination over men

anxious to be allowed the glory of such self-immolation, at the

supposed call of God, who would be a fiend if he desired such

sacrifice.

We left Madras on Wednesday morning, and had a fine smooth sail

across the Bay of Bengal to Calcutta, the City of Palaces and

centre of the British power in India. Coming up the river we pass

the shipping in review, and never before have we seen so many

large, magnificent sailing ships in one port, not even in

Liverpool or London. The trade requires large clippers, and these

splendid vessels lie four and five deep for two miles along the

river, all in fine trim, flags flying, and looking their best. We

pass the palace of the old King of Oude, who was brought here when

deposed for his misdeeds. He is allowed a pension of $50,000 per

month, which seems a great waste of money, as it is mostly

squandered by the old reprobate. His collection of birds and

beasts is a wonderful one, for he pays any price for animals; last

month he paid $12,500 for two grand tigers, but they escaped a few

days afterward and swam across the river.

The first queer thing that strikes you at your hotel is that two

natives take you in custody without even saying "by your leave,"

and never while you are in Calcutta will you be able to get out of

sight of one or the other of these officers. One attends in person

to your room, brings you your tea and toast at six, prepares your

bath, takes your shoes to the proper "caste" man below (he

wouldn't black them for the world, bless you!), and plays the

valet while you dress. At night you find him stretched out across

your door, like a dog on the watch, and there he lies all night,

subject to master's call. I hurt my man's feelings one night by

gently stepping over his prostrate form and getting into my room

and going to bed without his aid. I turned the key when I got

inside, and not many moments after I heard him move. Missing the

key, he suspected something was wrong, and tried the door several

times; but as he met with no response he finally gave it over, and

lay down to sleep. The other attendant is our waiter at table and

out-door servant. You find these people curled up and lying at

every step through the halls, and are in constant danger of

stumbling over them. Every guest generally has two, although the

hotel professes to keep an efficient staff of its own. We hear

amusing stories told of servants in India, their duties being so

strictly defined by caste that one must be kept for every trifling

duty. Our friend the Major tells us, for instance, that upon a

recent occasion his wife wished to send a note to him at the Fort,

a very short distance from his residence. The proper messenger

happening to have been sent elsewhere, she asked the coachman to

please take it to master, but he explained how impossible it would

be for him to comply, much as he wished to do so. Persuasion was

useless; but madame thought of a remedy--order the carriage. The

grooms prepare and harness the horses, the coachman mounts the box

and appears at the door. "Now drive to master's, and, attendant,

deliver this note." All right. This brought it within the sphere

of his caste. He is bound to obey all orders connected with the

carriage. Incidents of this nature are too numerous to recount. It

is in India that political economists can best study the division

of labor in its most advanced stage of development. My friend Mrs.

K. kindly gave me her list of servants and their various duties,

They numbered twenty-two, although Mr. K.'s establishment is a

moderate one.

We find the Zoological Gardens very interesting. Here we saw for

the first time monkeys running about unfettered among the trees,

and a lion chained to a dog-kennel doing watch duty like a

mastiff. We also saw an entire house devoted to the display of

pheasants. These birds make a fine collection, for there are

numerous varieties, and some exceedingly beautiful. There are here

two full-grown orang-outangs and one child, the former even more

human than the pets we had recently been in charge of. The huge

crocodile in a large pond failed to make his appearance yesterday,

and while we were there five natives with long poles and two in a

small boat were detailed to stir him up and see what was the

matter. It was amusing to see these naked attendants as they waded

in a few feet and poked about, ready to jump back at every

movement of the water, and sometimes frightened at each other's

strokes; but all will agree with me that this business of stirring

up crocodiles at twenty cents per day yields no fair compensation

for the risks involved. There are good tigers here also, but

having seen the tiger of the world at Madras, all others are but

shadows. It is the same now with peacocks, which in these

latitudes are far superior to those with us, but the peacock is at

Saigon, in Cochin China, and we never see one without saying, one

to the other, "How poor!" We are in a few days to see the Taj, and

I suppose it will be the same as to buildings hereafter. Even

Walter Scott's monument at Edinburgh--my favorite piece of stone

and lime--must be surpassed by this marvel of perfection.

I have been considering whether it is more productive of pleasure

really to have seen or heard the admitted best of everything,

beyond which you can never expect to go, and as compared with

which you must actually hereafter be content invariably to meet

the inferior, or whether one had better, for the retention of

future interest in things, not see the very topmost and unrivalled

of each. I have met people whose ears, for instance, were so

cultivated as to render it painful for them to listen even to the

grandest music if indifferently performed; some who had

"atmosphere" and "chiaro-oscuro" so fully developed that copies of

even the "Madonna di San Sisto" were only daubs offensive to the

eye; others who, having seen Macready in Macbeth, find the tragedy

stale in others' hands. Now I don't believe this ensues where the

love of the art itself is genuine; and I rejoice to say that

having once listened to an oratorio at the Handel Festival with

four thousand selected performers, that oratorio becomes forever a

source of exquisite enjoyment, performed where or how it may be.

If poorly done, the mind floats up toward the region, if it does

not attain quite the same height, where it soared at the perfect

recital; the distinct images there seen, which Confucius justly

gives music the power of creating, come vividly again as the notes

swell forth. The priests who call are different, indeed, but the

gods who respond are one and the same. So having seen Janauschek

in Lady Macbeth, all other Lady Macbeths participate in her

quality. Having almost worshipped Raphael's Madonna, all other

Madonnas have a touch of her power. It is of the very essence of

genius that it educates one to find beauty and harmony where

before he would only have trodden over barren sands, and the

grand and poor performances of any masterpiece are not a contrast

to the truly receptive, but are as steps leading from the lowest

to the highest in the same temple. Because one has been

awe-stricken by Niagara's torrent, are the other waterfalls of the

world to be uninteresting? No; to the man whose soul has really

been impressed, every tiny stream that tumbles down in foam is

related to the greater wonder, partaking to some extent of its

beauty and grandeur. Having seen the Himalayas, are the more

modest but not less dear Alleghanies to lose their charm and

power? Never! Let me go forward, then, and revel without

misgivings in the highest of human and divine creations, as I may

be privileged to see or hear or know them. I do not fear that I

shall ever become a member of the extensive band we meet in our

travels who have become incapable of enjoying anything but the

best.

We paid a visit to the river one morning to see the Hindoos

performing the sacred rite of bathing, which their religion

commands. Crowds of men and women enter the water promiscuously

and pray together. What a mercy that Brahma thought of elevating,

personal cleanliness to the rank of the virtues! What thousands

are saved every year in consequence! What this crowded hive of

human beings in hot India would become without this custom it is

fearful to contemplate. I find our friends all regretting that

Mohammed was less imperative upon this point. His followers take

rather to sprinkling than immersion, for dipping hands and feet in

water is held by them as quite sufficient, and both are not

equally efficacious as purifiers in the tropics, however they may

be as religious ceremonies.

A Boston clipper ship was being unloaded of its cargo of Wenham

Ice as we strolled along the wharf in the warm early morning. The

great blocks were carried upon the heads of the naked Sudras, one

at a time, and even at this early hour the ice was melting fast,

the drops of cool water forming tiny rills on the soiled, dark

skins of the carriers, who no doubt enjoyed the rare luxury of

something really cold. The exportation of ice to the East was a

great Boston industry at that time; today it is wholly gone, the

artificial being now made and sold at every centre for one-third

the price commanded by the natural product. A slight improvement

in the mode of manufacture, and, presto! here at the Equator,

where the temperature is always at our summer heat, we make ice by

the ton and are able to sell it at prices which the poorest

population in the world can readily pay. Where are we going to

stop in the domain of invention?

One day we visited the temple sacred to the bloody goddess "Kali,"

from whom Calcutta derives its name. She took her rise, as many gods

have done, from her insatiable thirst for human blood. One powerful

giant alone was able for many years to withstand her arts, he being

secretly informed by a spirit that when she pursued he had only to

stand in water, and if one drop of his blood was spilled, other

giants would spring forth and devour "Kali" herself. This secret she

divined, however, and one day attacked him even in the water,

strangling him and sucking every drop of his blood without spilling

one. But her tongue grew so large and red that she was never

afterward able to get it back into her mouth, and now she stands

fixed in this temple, her big red tongue hanging out, a most

revolting sight. So powerful is she esteemed that pilgrims to her

shrine, who have spent months in coming hundreds of miles by

measuring their bodies upon the dusty ground, are sometimes seen

passing through the by-lanes of Calcutta. Lying flat, they mark

their length, rise, and lie down again at this mark, and go on this

way, never leaving the path day or night, and begging food and water

enough to sustain them as they proceed. I was told of one man who

travelled eight hundred miles in this manner. Imagine the strength

of the superstition which can so blind its dupes. But even this is

nothing compared with the self-inflicted torture practised by many

"who seek to merit heaven by making earth a hell." It is not rare

for fakirs to stand in postures that cripple them for life. One

elects to stand on one foot until it becomes impossible for him ever

to put the other to the ground. Another determines to raise his arms

to heaven, never taking them down. In a short time, after

excruciating pain, the joints stiffen so as to render any change

impossible, and the arms shrivel until little but bone is left. Some

let their nails grow into their flesh and through their hands. The

forms of these penances are innumerable, and those who undergo them

are regarded as holy men and are worshipped and supported by their

less religious fellows. Kali must still have her blood, and hundreds

of kids, goats, buffaloes, and other animals are sacrificed daily at

her shrine. We saw the bloody work going forward. Crowds of

pilgrims, numbering at least three hundred during our short stay,

came in bands from the country to propitiate the goddess. Each one

presents an offering as the idol is shown. It is the most disgusting

object I have ever seen, and a sight of it would, I am sure,

frighten children into crying. The business is skilfully managed. A

small dark hall, capable of holding about twenty-five worshippers,

occupies the space before the idol. This is filled with people and

the doors closed; then, amid the murmurs of priests and beating of

gongs, two sliding-doors are drawn aside, and the horrible

she-demon, with swollen blood-red tongue, comes into view for a

moment only, and the gifts are thrown at her. The crowd is excited

by fear and awe, but ere the figure can be closely scrutinized the

doors close, and the poor ignorant wretches seem stupefied with what

has been revealed. They pass slowly out, looking as if they had been

almost blinded with a glimpse of the forbidden mysteries, and

another batch crowds in to be similarly worked upon. We saw other

forms and figures of worship too gross to speak of. Nothing yet seen

can be called idolatry when compared with this, and I felt like

giving up all hope of improvement in these people; but then when one

sees the extent and character of the superstitions of the East he

cannot help having doubts of the advancement or elevation of the

species. There is, however, this consoling knowledge, that the

worshippers, such young girls and boys as we saw today excepted,

know that Kali is but the symbol of power, not the power itself.

Around this fact the forces able to overthrow superstition may be

evolved hereafter. The germ is there.

The hundreds of young, pretty, innocent children whom we saw

brought to-day to witness such rites by kind, dutiful, religious

parents--the most conscientious and most respectable of the native

race--were dressed with as much care and pride as a corresponding

number of young Christians would be when taken to the rite of

confirmation. How could I be otherwise than sad and murmur,

"Forgive them, for they know not what they do." Thus far is plain

sailing, for every one will agree with me; but when I denounced to

the priests the pools of clotted blood as offensive, even to

coarse men, and wholly unfit as a satisfactory offering to any

power to whom we can ascribe the name of God, they retorted by

saying this is also part of the Christian system: the God of

Abraham demands his sacrifice of blood also. It is in vain to

intimate that this day is past and that our Father in heaven no

longer takes delight in the blood of rams or of bullocks. I shall

never forget the malicious inquiry: "Does your God _change_,

then?" "No, certainly not; but our conceptions of him change year

by year as we gain knowledge." They smile, and I am troubled. Let

us pause and reflect before we rashly assail any form of religion

until we know that what we have to offer in its place is really

free from the errors we mourn over in others. In the progress of

the race such dreadful conceptions of God must apparently exist

for a time. Has not Herbert Spencer himself assured us that,

"Speaking generally, the religion current in each age and among

each people has been as near an approximation to the truth as

it was then and there possible for men to receive."

I needed all this from the philosopher to restrain my indignation

at first and afterward to mitigate my sorrow. Even this was not

quite sufficient, but how much an anecdote will sometimes do, and

this one the philosopher above quoted told me himself. At times,

when disposed to take gloomy views of man's advance, and sickened

by certain of his still barbarous beliefs and acts, he had found

relief in the story Emerson tells of himself when in similar

moods. After attending a meeting--perhaps the one where he was

hissed from the platform for denouncing human slavery--he walked

home burning with indignation; but entering his grounds, and

wandering among the green grass and the flowers, silently growing

in the cool moonlight, he looked up at the big trees and the big

trees looking down upon him seemed to say: "What! _so hot, my

little sir!_" Yes, we must upon our "distemper sprinkle cool

patience." If all is not well, yet all is coming well. In this

faith we find peace. The endless progress of the race is assured

now that evolution has come with its message and shed light where

before there was darkness, reassuring those who thought and who

therefore doubted most.

General Litchfield, United States Consul, fortunately accompanied

us upon this visit, and he knew two of the officiating priests,

who spoke English perfectly. These escorted us round and told us

about everything. The history of these two natives is most

suggestive. They were educated by the government in one of its

colleges, and very soon saw the falsity of their religious tenets,

but failing to get suitable employment, they had to return to

their families, who owned a share in the Kali Temple, which is

still profitable property, held like any other building. The

revenues are now divided among a hundred priests, and maintain

these and their families, all of whom are of the same family.

Should another son marry he becomes entitled to a certain share,

and so on. They carry this imposture on simply as a matter of

business, and laughed at us when we said they knew it was all

humbug. If it be true that no religion can long retain vital force

after its priests know it to be false, then there is hope for the

speedy fall of idolatry in India; but I fear there will be no lack

of men who will, like these hypocrites, continue to preach what

they know better than to believe, as long as rich livings are at

stake.

In one of our drives General Litchfield pointed out the house

where Macaulay wrote some of his essays while here laying the

foundations of the law code which has proved such a boon to India.

I see one great tribute paid to this monument of his genius: the

codification of the law in England is urged forward by pointing to

the indisputable success of the Indian code.

India has also great capabilities in regard to another article of

the largest consumption--tea. In this it is not improbable she

will some day rival even China.

We have been travelling for some days with a gentleman largely

interested in its cultivation in the Assam district, and learn

from him that the tea grown there commands a higher price than the

Chinese article. It also prospers in several other parts of India,

and the amount grown is increasing rapidly. The total export in

1878 was 34,000,000 pounds, while last year, 1883, it reached, it

is stated, 57,000,000 pounds, a large increase, while the tea

culture in China is about at a stand-still, the amount exported to

England in 1868, £11,000,000, exceeding that in any year since.

India, therefore gains rapidly upon China, and prophets are not

wanting who assert that as India was the original home of the

plant (as some authorities claim), so India is going to furnish

the world in future most of its tea. This may all be true and yet

the amount grown in India be a bagatelle to the product of China,

which consumes at home about nine times the amount exported.

Indian tea is pure, while that raised by both the Japanese and

Chinese is adulterated. It is also much stronger. I advise all to

give the Indian tea a fair trial.

India, you see, has great possibilities. She is distanced in

cotton, is a good second in wheat, and has a place in the race for

tea, with odds in her favor in the latter as far as export goes. I

think this describes her situation fairly.

There are very few really successful equestrian statues in the

world, but Calcutta boasts one of these--Noble's statue of

General Outram. The artist has taken a bold departure, and instead

of the traditional eagle glance of the hero, the general is

represented as just checking his impetuous speed and casting a

look behind; the body turned round, and one hand resting on the

horse's flank, while the other reins in the horse; his head bare,

as if in the attack he had outrun his troops, lost his helmet, and

was stopping a moment for them to overtake him. I liked this

statue much, and wished that some others of which I wot partook of

its merits.

We attended the Viceroy's ball on Wednesday evening, and enjoyed the

brilliant scene. The uniforms of British officers as well as those of

the Civil Service are gorgeous, and set off a ball-room effectively.

We saw more ladies here than upon all other occasions combined

during our travels, and their general appearance was certainly

better than elsewhere, showing the climate to be less severe upon

them. Lord Lytton is a small man of unimposing appearance, and

entirely destitute of style, but the Commander-in-Chief, General

Haines, seems every inch a soldier, as do many of his subordinate

officers. Native princes were formerly invited to these balls, and

their presence, attended by their suites in Oriental costumes, added

much to the brilliancy of the scene, but it was found desirable to

discontinue the practice; they could not partake of European

refreshments nor understand the appearance of women in public, and

especially their dancing, nor, I fancy, could they look with

becoming gravity upon dignitaries so engaged, as they employ people

to do their dancing. I confess it struck me as bordering upon the

farcical to see Lord Lytton, charged with the government of more

than two hundred millions, and General Haines, Commander-in-Chief,

with an active campaign on his hands, Sir Thomas Wade, Her Majesty's

Ambassador to China, and the Lieutenant-General, all in uniform, and

the two former in knee- breeches, "all of ye olden time," doing

"forward four and turn your partner" in the same quadrille. Imagine

President Lincoln, Secretaries Seward and Stanton, and General Grant

so engaged.

The Viceroy of India has certainly to do his part in the way of

ceremonial. Flaming handbills of an English circus announce that

the performances are under his direct patronage. "Victoria, the

Empress of the Arena," is to-night to perform her unparalleled

feats in the ring in the presence of His Excellency. This was the

only tribute we saw paid in India to Her Majesty's spick-and-span

brand-new title of Empress. We attended the performance, which was

really creditable, but the natives sat unmoved throughout every

scene; so different from the conduct of the Japanese, who scream

with delight like children under similar circumstances. The

Indians seem to take their pleasures sadly, like ourselves.

We did not fail to visit the famous banyan tree of Calcutta, by

far the largest in the world. Vandy and I started and paced it

around until we met, counting three hundred and thirteen steps,

or, say, three hundred yards; the main trunk is probably about

thirty feet in circumference, but from each main branch roots have

descended to the earth and become supporters of these branches,

allowing them to extend still farther. In this way a branch may

have in its course three or four supporters at intervals of twenty

or thirty feet; the leaves are thick, and much resemble those of

the rubber tree in size and character.

We see numerous native barbers engaged in shaving the people.

Victim and operator squat down in a corner on their "hunkers,"

facing each other, and the operation then begins, the utensils

being laid out upon a rag on the ground. It seems the most

unnatural posture in the world for shaving or hair-dressing, but

as it is the custom there must be some advantages in it which we

cannot even guess.

One morning we drove to the burning ghat, and from personal

examination of cremation, I am able to express my preference for

Christian burial. The business of burning the dead--for in India it

is a business like any other, and belongs to a low caste--is carried

on in the most heartless manner. A building is erected upon the

river-bank, about a hundred feet in length and twenty-five feet in

width, and open on the side toward the river. The dead are brought

there upon stretchers wrapped in a little cloth, and are first

shaved by the attendants, who open the mouth and pour down a vial of

the water of the sacred Ganges. The body is then bent into a sitting

posture, carried out to the middle of the building, and wood built

around it. We saw the embers of several piles which had just done

their work, and one pile blazing, through the interstices of which

parts of the body were plainly visible. It was all horrible to me as

conducted here, but I can conceive of the grand funeral piles of the

high priests being made most impressive; and so I am told they are,

but the cremation of the poor lacks every element of this nature. My

heart bled for a poor widow whose husband had just been taken to the

pile. She was of a very low caste, but her grief was heartrending;

not loud, but I thought I could taste the saltness of her tears,

they seemed so bitter; but she has this consolation to comfort her

after the outburst, that she insured the eternal happiness of her

mate by having his ashes mingled with the sacred river of God. No

one will touch or associate with the caste who dress and burn the

dead, nor could any one be induced, save one branch of this caste,

to furnish the fire which lights the funeral pile, for which

sometimes large sums are exacted, in case the relatives of the dead

are wealthy.

The absence of women, other than coolies, which has struck us

everywhere in the East, is if anything even more marked in India,

where, so far, we have scarcely seen one woman of high caste. The

Mohammedans do not permit their ladies ever to leave the house,

and upon rare occasions, when temples must be visited, they are

closely concealed from view and driven in a close carriage or

carried in a sedan chair. The Hindoos are not quite so strict, and

we have seen a few in secluded streets going a few steps, but

closely muffled up and with faces covered.

Do you remember with what laughter the sun-spot theory was

received? At least I know I laughed when I first heard of it--but

here in India, where the rainfall is the prime condition of

existence to millions and the sun is much more powerful than with

us, the Meteorological Department has just reported that there is

apparently a sure connection between the rainfall and its

distribution and the spots upon the sun. When these spots are at

the minimum there is a tendency to prolonged excessive pressure

over the land and an unusual amount and irregular distribution of

rain.

"There is blood upon the moon,"

still stands as a poetic expression; but "there are great spots

upon the sun" must pass as presaging famine. There seems to have

been an element of truth after all in "the signs of the heavens"

of the astrologer, only the great law which governs them was

unknown.

* * * * *

THURSDAY, February 6.

We left Calcutta for the Hindoo Mecca, Benares, tonight, and had

our first experience of Indian railway travel, which proved to be

very comfortable. We had all to ourselves a first-class carriage

compartment containing two sofas lengthwise of the car and one

across; above these were three upper berths, to be let down, if

necessary, and used as beds. A smaller compartment contained

dressing-room, etc., for all of which there is no extra charge.

Evidently there is no field here for my enterprising friend Mr.

Pullman. Our route lay through the opium-growing district, and the

white poppies were just beginning to bloom. I did not know before

that only the white variety is grown, but, curiously enough, the

red flower is not nearly so productive. This set us to thinking

that there may, after all, be something in the Chinaman's

preference for a black dog to one of another color. By all means

let us have the two kinds analyzed and see whether the blood be

just the same. The opium question has given rise to much angry

discussion upon which we do not propose to pass an opinion. My

readers may safely assume, I think, that the difficulties we

encounter in restraining or abolishing the use of liquor among

ourselves, also surround the opium question in the East. It is

their liquor. China grows most of what she consumes, and I believe

would grow it all if the Indian drug was not admitted. Its

exclusion by the Chinese would not therefore seriously lessen its

use. Still it places England in a false position before the world

to enforce its admission by treaty stipulations. The sum involved

to the Indian revenue exceeds seven millions sterling per annum

($35,000,000); that is the net yearly profit made out of the

growth of the poppy. It would not all be lost, and perhaps not be

seriously reduced, were China free to exclude it, for large

quantities would be smuggled in, and the people would have it. I

wish England's hands were entirely free from all stain in

connection with this business. China should not be compelled by

England to admit a drug which is considered pernicious.

The total exports this year were ninety-one thousand chests,

valued at thirteen millions sterling, most of it to China. The

growing of the poppy is a government monopoly in the Bengal

province (Calcutta). Each year government enters into contracts

with cultivators to devote so many acres to its cultivation--an

advance upon the expected crops is made and final settlements at

the end of the season according to amount and quality produced.

The drug is extracted at two government factories. In the other

district, the produce of which passes through the Bombay

presidency, the cultivation of the plant is free, but a duty is

collected upon the opium.

We are in the dry season, and where not irrigated the vast plains

of India are parched. The soil is a light brown clay, and turns

readily to fine dust, which seems to blow over everything and make

all of one hue. Even the scanty muslin clothing of the people

becomes of this dusty color. The houses are only mud huts one

story high and roofed with coarse straw; an opening in one side

serves as a door, but with this exception the hovel is closed;

neither window nor chimney appears, and when fires are made the

smoke escapes through all parts of the roof, and when the roof is

closer than usual, through the door. This dusty, dirty mud color

of soil, streets, houses, dress, and people gives one an

impression of a more squalid poverty even than that of the

overcrowded Chinese in Shanghai. These latter have more clothing

and no dust, and their dirtiness seems a less objectionable form

of dirt.

One remarkable difference between these people and the Chinese is

that we never see the former eating, while the latter eat

frequently. I am told that the Indians have but two meals a

day--at noon and at eight in the evening, with a bite early in the

morning. As is well known, the Hindoos are strict vegetarians,

neither meat, fish, poultry, nor even eggs being allowed. The

result of a vegetable diet, if they are to be taken as a fair

example, is not such as to favor its general adoption. The

Mohammedans, on the other hand, eat everything but pork; like the

Jews, they forbid this one article, and I am informed that the

Mohammedans are a far sturdier race than their neighbors the

Hindoos; but they should be superior, as the advance from

Hindooism, with its numerous gods and idolatrous worship, to

Mohammedanism with its one god is an immense one. The claims which

Mohammed has upon the gratitude of mankind rest upon a solid

basis, for he it was who proclaimed to the East that there is but

one God, and announced himself as his prophet only, instead of

demanding that he himself should be worshipped as divine; but he

performed another great service, for he abolished the abominable

system of caste, and thus it comes that the most popular religion

in existence hails all its disciples, from the peasant to the

Sultan, as of one brotherhood, as Christianity does with hers.

There are nearly fifty millions of Mohammedans among the two

hundred and fifty millions of India's population, and it is to

them we must chiefly look for the regeneration of the native

races.

As we pass through the country we are surprised at the crowds of

gayly-dressed natives waiting at the crossings to pass the line,

and at the stations to take the trains. All the colors of the

rainbow are to be seen in their wraps. It is the season of

idleness just now, their two months of rest in the country, and

the entire population seem to be running about in holiday attire,

forming a striking contrast to their fellows in the towns, who sit

in their hovels hard at work, one crowding another in his seat.

Before England established free dispensaries for these masses the

rate of mortality must have been something incredible; even now it

is very high, although last year in the two provinces alone no

fewer than eleven hundred thousand patients were treated or

prescribed for by these institutions, which we rejoice to see

scattered throughout the country wherever we go. Nor in all her

illustrious record do we know a brighter page than that which

chronicles the rise and progress of these truly English

organizations.

Manufactures in India are not profitable at present: during the

scarcity of cotton, owing to the American war, large quantities

were grown here and fortunes made in the business; eventually

cotton mills were built in Bombay and jute mills in Calcutta,

which prospered for a time, but now that America, under the system

of free labor, has demonstrated her ability to supply cheaper and

better cotton than India, these enterprises languish. I counted

thirty-eight spinning and weaving companies in Bombay, and twenty-

one cotton-press companies; the shares of which were quoted in the

market, and found that on an average these would not command to-day

one-half the actual capital paid in. It is much the same with the

seven Calcutta jute companies. Cotton, both as to growth and

manufacture, in India, I believe has no future, save one contingent

upon the interruption of the American supply, of which there does

not appear much danger. But it must be borne in mind that the fall

in the value of silver so far is a direct gain to native productions.

The planter and manufacturer alike pay in the debased currency and

sell the product as far as it is exported for gold, upon which they

realize a handsome premium. America needs a continuance of low rates

for transportation to counterbalance this advantage of her Indian

rival.

* * * * *

BENARES, Saturday, February 8.

We started from our hotel early this morning to see the Hindoos

bathing in the sacred waters of the Ganges. Benares is to the

pious Hindoo all that Mecca is to the good son of the Prophet, and

much more beside, and he esteems himself happy if it is vouchsafed

him to die in sight of this stream and this city. Pilgrims flock

here from all parts of India, and thousands are carried from long

distances, while dying, that their eyes may behold, ere they

close, the holy city of God. At the junction yesterday, six miles

out, we came upon our first band of pilgrims, for they now

patronize the rail freely, men and women, each with the inevitable

bundle of rags which serves as his bed _en route_ and as a

change of clothing, to be blessed by washing in the Ganges. It

requires about a month to worship at every temple and do all that

the priests persuade these pilgrims to be essential for their

salvation, every ceremony, of course, producing revenue for this

class. Each Rajah of India has his temple upon the bank of the

river, and it is these handsome structures, situated on the cliff

which overhangs the river, that give to Benares its unparalleled

beauty. In each temple a priest is maintained who prays constantly

and bathes every morning as a substitute for his master, the

Rajah, but the latter comes in person also for one month each year

to perform the sacred rites. We were fortunate this morning in

seeing the Rajah of Nepaul at his devotions. He has a small

covered boat of his own, and we found him on his knees, in front

of it, gazing upon the sun, as we pulled slowly past in our boat,

his staff standing behind him in reverential attitudes. For one

full month this intelligent ruler, who speaks English fluently and

is well informed of the views Europeans hold of his religious

ideas, will nevertheless work hard, visiting daily the temples,

going through various exercises, and bathing every morning in the

Ganges. One other Rajah is here, and others are shortly to come

and do likewise. It seems so strange that these men still remain

slaves to such superstitions; but how few among ourselves succeed

in rising beyond what we happen to have been taught in our

childhood! It is very different, I am told, with those who have

received English ideas in their youth at the government colleges.

They make quick work of the Hindoo idols; but so far every one

here agrees with the Rev. Dr. Field when he says: "It needs very

little learning to convince the Hindoo that his sacred books are a

mass of fable. But this does not make him a Christian. It only

lands him in infidelity, and leaves him there." The

_Encyclopedia Britannica_ says that "the progress of

Protestant missions amounts at present to almost nothing." In Dr.

Mullen's report, down to 1871, the "whole force of English

missionaries--579, and of native preachers, 1,993--had produced a

native Christian population of only 280,600. There was probably a

much larger number in the south of India about the middle of the

eighteenth century." I heard everywhere corroborations of this

statement.

The wife of the Rajah, we heard, had yesterday performed the most

sacred of all the ceremonies under conditions of considerable

popular excitement. The sacred well, the stairs leading from it to

the river, and the bathing place at the river, were all covered

in; the crowd could only see the sedan chair which carried the

queen to the well, but the spectacle attracted great numbers. This

well is simply a trench about twenty-five feet long and not more

than three feet wide, but it must be thirty feet below the

surface. Broad steps lead to it from all sides. In this well every

Hindoo of good caste is permitted to wash, and there are always

many in it. The water is foul and offensive, yet such is its

reputed sanctity that no sin can be committed so heinous that it

cannot be washed away by it. The ceremony, fortunately, is

incomplete until one, rising from its stench, walks to the pure

water of the Ganges and bathes there. I think the ceremony must

typify man before purification, foul with sin, and then cleansed

by bathing in the pure Jordan afterward; but no one could give me

any information upon this point. At all events it was into this

sink that the Rajah's wife bravely immersed herself yesterday, and

it is here, too, the Rajah himself must come before he

leaves--poor man!

The place where the dead are burned was pointed out as we drifted

past in our boat, but it was then unoccupied. As we returned,

however, one body was in the hands of the attendants, who had

taken it into the river and were just in the act of pouring the

sacred water down the throat preparatory to the final scene. One

woman alone sat on the shore weeping, and two small children at

her side seemed not to understand why. It was still early morning,

and all was quiet. Our guide pointed out some who were evidently

friends, in conversation with men on a parapet above. They were

bargaining for the sacred fire to light the funeral pile.

Government prohibits the burning of the forlorn widow with her

husband's body, as was formerly the custom, but it is said many

widows wish this privilege even yet, nor can I blame them much.

I'm sure I don't see why, beyond the mere instinct of self-

preservation, they should have a wish to live on. Those educated

people among us who commit suicide have prospects before them

which might be called blissful compared with what confronts poor

widows in India.

We visited the principal temples and shrines in succession, but I do

not propose to rehearse their names and special virtues. There is a

great sameness about them, but the Monkey Temple differs from the

others in having several hundred monkeys running over it in every

direction. Like the rest, this is owned by a number of people, and

its shares are marketable property. Dr. Lazarus, the chief of the

medical department, tells us that the "river people," a term

embracing those who own the temples on the stream--just as we would

say the "steel rail" or the "pig metal" people at home--are very

much depressed, complaining bitterly that the revenues have fallen

away. One owner in the Monkey Temple, probably the most prosperous

of all, had some time ago asked what this trouble meant. He was

advised to sell his monkey stock as soon as possible, but up to the

present day he has found no one willing to invest in the property.

One of the high priests of another sacred shrine said to my

informant that he had seen in his day three ages--one of gold, one

of silver, and now he had reached the age of copper, and was only

thankful when he saw a few pieces of that. "The people still come as

of old, to worship, which costs nothing," he said, "but they don't

pay the gods more than a pittance. I wonder what we are coming to?"

While great allowance has to be made for the changed condition of

affairs throughout the world, which has seriously affected the

revenues of religious establishments everywhere, and which India has

had to share, aggravated by the loss of her cotton industry, still

it can hardly be doubted that Hindooism as a vital force is

crumbling slowly to pieces, and that the priests are losing their

sway over the masses. Caste also goes slowly with the tide of

change, and Brahmans are now occasionally found taking employment

below that of their caste; and while a high-caste Hindoo some years

ago would have considered himself defiled if even the garments of a

low-caste person touched him, he now rushes into the same railway

compartment among the general crowd and struggles for a seat with

various castes, and says nothing about it. One stand the English

home Government took, in deference to English ideas as opposed to

those of the Anglo-Indian authorities, which alone dooms caste,

sooner or later, to extinction: it would not permit different

classes on the railways to be established for Hindoos or

Mohammedans, or for castes of the former. Many residents in India

feared that this would prevent the natives from using the lines, but

the result has wonderfully belied these fears and vindicated the

sagacity of those who ventured to inaugurate this system; and now

one sees Hindoos and Mohammedans, high caste and low caste, jostling

each other in their efforts to get desirable seats in the

third-class compartments, where, by the way, they travel for less

per mile than anywhere else in the world, third-class fares in India

being uniformly one-half of a cent per mile. First-class fares, with

such sleeping-car luxuries as I have before described included, are

just about our rates with sleeping-cars not included--viz., three

cents per mile.

While Hindooism is thus passing away, but little progress is made

with Islam. The fifty millions of Mohammedans stand to-day where

they have stood for ages, and cry from their mosques morning and

night, "There is but one God, and Mohammed is his prophet." No

idols, no drunkenness, no caste. The contrast between their faith

and that of Christians is therefore much less marked, and our

guide says to us, with evident pride, "Hindoos believe many gods,

worship idols. _I believe like you_, one God, no idols."

India is thus in a state of transition, her caste and religion

both passing away. The work before this generation and probably

the next is to pull down and destroy. It will remain for those who

come after to begin the more difficult labor of building up.

We met at Benares strings of water-carriers, carrying brass

vessels on each end of a pole borne over the shoulder. These come

here for hundreds of miles on foot, and take back to their

customers in the country the sacred water of the blessed river. It

is a regular business, and furnishes employment for thousands of

men. Upon no account must this water be carried by railway and

deprived of its healing powers by being handled by unbelievers. It

must be carried by Hindoos of the proper caste on foot, or it has

no virtue.

Science invades everything nowadays, and the officials have

recently had the water of one of the sacred wells analyzed by a

chemist--audacious dog of an infidel--and here he comes with his

CO2 and all the virtue of this water of life is gone. It is found

unfit for human use, and the well is ordered to be closed. The

chemist, in the eyes of the ignorant natives, has sacrificed

spiritual for physical health; preferred the welfare of their

bodies to that of their souls, as is the custom with these wicked

scientists.

We pass booths in which native jewellers sit hard at work

fashioning rings, brooches, and other articles of personal

adornment. Their dexterity is marvellous; without elaborate

appliances of any kind, with only a small blow pipe and a few rude

tools, they will take a gold coin from you and before your eyes

shape it into any form selected. But it is said they must have a

model to copy from; no original design emanates from them. The

booths, or little shops, are curious affairs. They are built of

mud, with neither window nor door, the floor on which the artisans

sit being about four feet above the narrow street level.

I never was more thoroughly impressed with the position of the

European of India than to-day when pushing through the crowded,

narrow lanes of Benares. Our native guide went before us carrying

a whip which he cracked and brandished among the crowd, calling

out "Sahib! Sahib!" and the people, casting one glance behind, at

once hurried out of our way, making a clear track for our august

person supposed to represent the conquering race. The respectful

salaams, as we caught the eye of one native after another, their

deferential, not to say obsequious, attitude as we passed--all

this tells its story. That "all men are born free and equal" will

not enter the Hindoo mind for centuries--not till England has

brought it up to the standard of self-government, which it is

gradually doing, however, by its schools and colleges.

Benares has been famous for centuries for its manufacture of gold

and silver embroideries. I remember that Macaulay speaks of them

in his essay on Warren Hastings as decorating alike the court of

Versailles and the halls of St. James. We went to the native

village and saw the work carried on. How such exquisite fabrics

come from the antiquated looms situated in mud hovels it is hard

to understand, but they do. We saw one man who had no less than

thirty-three different tiny spools to work from in a piece not

more than a yard wide. All of these he had in turn to introduce in

the web, and pass through a greater or lesser number of threads,

the one starting in where the other left the woof, before one

single thread was complete from end to end of the warp and could

be driven into the pattern. The people of Benares also excel as

workers in brass.

To-day we had a unique experience indeed, being carried through

the principal streets of Benares on State elephants, kindly

provided for us by the Rajah of Benares. Mr. H., of New York, whom

we have met on his way round the world, and Vandy and I were the

riders. We were driven to the palace, and found there two huge

animals, gayly caparisoned, awaiting our arrival, surrounded by

servants in resplendent liveries. The elephants very kindly got

upon their knees, which rendered a short ladder only necessary for

us to mount by. The motion is decidedly peculiar, and, until one

becomes used to it, I should think very fatiguing; but we enjoyed

our elephant ride greatly, and the Rajah has our hearty thanks.

We are in the land of the cheapest labor in the world. It is

doubtful if men can be found anywhere else to do a day's work for

as little as they are paid in India. Railway laborers and coolies

of all kinds receive only four rupees per month, and find

themselves; these are worth just now forty cents each, or, say,

$1.60 (6s. 6d.) in gold for a month's service. Upon

this a man has to exist. Is it any wonder that the masses are

constantly upon the verge of starvation? Women earn much less, and

of course every member of a family has to work and earn something.

The common food is a pulse called gran; the better class indulge

in a pea called daahl. Anything beyond a vegetable diet is not

dreamed of.

Before leaving Benares I must speak again of the scene at the

river, which far excels any representation I have seen of it or

any description I have read. Photographs cannot be made to convey

a just idea of its picturesque beauty, because the view is

enlivened by such masses and combinations of color as Turner alone

could do justice to. Indeed, my first thought as I saw the

thousands on the ascending banks--one tier of resting-places above

another, culminating in the grand temples' towering at the

tops--was that I had seen something akin to this in a dazzling

picture somewhere. Need I say that it is in the Turner Gallery

alone where such color can be seen? He should have painted the

"Hindoo Bathers at Benares," and given the world one more gem

revealing what he alone, in his generation, fully saw in the

mind's eye, "the light which never shone on sea or shore." We have

voted this scene at Benares the finest sight we have yet

witnessed.

* * * * *

LUCKNOW, Tuesday, February 11.

We reached Lucknow at night. The moon was not yet shining, but the

stars shed their peaceful halo around this spot, to which the eyes

of the civilized world were so long directed during the dark days

of the mutiny. At the hotel upon arrival a lady's voice was heard

singing the universal refrain which nearest touches all English

hearts in India and expresses the ever dominant longing, "Home,

Sweet, Sweet Home."

There is no trace here of the massacres which have made this

region memorable. But is the past to be repeated? Who can assure

us that these bronzed figures which surround us by millions may

not again in some mad moment catch the fever of revolt? This is

the anxious question which I find intruding itself upon me every

hour. Truly it is a dangerous game, this, to undertake the

permanent subjection of a conquered race; and I do not believe

that after General Grant sees India he will regret that the

foolish Santo Domingo craze passed away. If America can learn one

lesson from England, it is the folly of conquest, where conquest

involves the government of an alien race.

Our first visit was to the ruins of the Residency, where for six

long months Sir Henry Lawrence and his devoted band were shut up

and surrounded by fifty thousand armed rebels. The grounds, which

I should say are about thirty acres in extent, were fortunately

encompassed by an earthen rampart six feet in height. You need not

be told of the heroic resistance of the two regiments of British

soldiers and one of natives, nor of the famous rescue. Hour after

hour, day after day, week after week, and month after month, the

three hundred women and children, shut in a cellar under ground,

watched and prayed for the sound of Have-lock's bugles, but it

came not. Hope, wearied out at last, had almost given place to

despair. Through the day the attacks of the infuriated mob could

be seen and repelled, but who was to answer that when darkness

fell the wall was not to be pierced at some weak point of the

extended line? One officer in command of a critical point

failing--not to do his duty, there was never a fear of that--but

failing to judge correctly of what the occasion demanded, and the

struggle was over. Death was the last of the fears of these poor

women night after night as the days rolled slowly away. One night

there was graver silence than usual in the room; all were

despondent, and lay resigned to their seemingly impending fate. No

rescue came, nor any tidings of relief. In the darkness one

piercing scream was heard from the narrow window. A Highland nurse

had clambered up to gaze through the bars and strain her ears once

more. The cooling breeze of night blew in her face and wafted such

music as she could not stay to hear. One spring to the ground, a

clapping of hands above the head, and such a shriek as appalled

her sisters who clustered round; but all she could say between the

sobs was: "The slogan--the slogan!" But few knew what the slogan

was. "Didna ye hear--didna ye hear?" cried the demented girl, and

then listening one moment, that she might not be deceived, she

muttered, "It's the Macgregors gathering, the grandest o' them

a'," and fell senseless to the ground. Truly, my lassie, the

"grandest o' them a'," for never came such strains before to

mortal ears. And so Jessie of Lucknow takes her place in history

as one of the finest themes for painter, dramatist, poet or

historian henceforth and forever. I have been hesitating whether

the next paragraph in my note-book should go down here or be

omitted. Probably it would be in better taste if quietly ignored,

but then it would be so finely natural if put in. Well, I shall be

natural or nothing, and recount that I could not help rejoicing

that Jessie was Scotch, and that Scotchmen first broke the rebels'

lines and reached the fort, and that the bagpipes led the way.

That's all. I feel better now that this is also set down.

Lucknow, so rich in historical associations, is poverty itself in

genuine architectural attractions, magnificent as it appears at a

distance. It is a modern capital. About a century ago a king of

Oude, in a moment of caprice, I suppose, determined to remove his

capital from Fyzabad to Lucknow. Palaces on a great scale were

hastily erected of common bricks and covered with white plaster.

These look very fine at a distance, but closer inspection reveals

the sham, and one is provoked because his admiration has been

unworthily excited. Several other kings followed and carried on

this imposture, each building his palace and tomb in this

untruthful way. What could we expect from kings content to lie in

such tombs but lives of disgusting dissipation? A simple marble

slab were surely better than these pretentious lies: anything so

it be genuine. However, retribution came, and the dynasty is

extinct, the present king living as a prisoner in Calcutta.

The bazaars of Lucknow are well worth seeing, with their native

jewellers, brass-workers, and other artificers, working in spaces

not more than six feet square. We begin to see persons and modes

which remind us of scriptural expressions--the water-carrier with

the goat-skin filled, "the hewers of wood and drawers of water,"

the latter usually working in gangs of five. An earthen incline is

built, leading up to the top of the wall which surrounds the well;

the well-rope passes over the shoulders of the drawers, and in

marching down the incline they raise the bucket. We came to-day

upon a lot of women grinding the coarse daahl. Two work at each

mill, sitting opposite one another, pushing around the upper stone

by means of upright handles fastened into it.

"And two women shall be grinding at the mill, and one shall be

taken and the other left,"

saith the Scriptures of old, but our coming revised and corrected

edition, I could not help hoping to-day, as I saw this picture for

the first time, will note an error, or at least intimate a doubt

of the correct translation of this passage; or, if not, the age

may require some commentator "more powerful than the rest" to

console us with the hope that while at the first call one was

indeed left, there would be a second, yea, and a third, a seventh,

and a seventy times seventh call, in one of which even she would

participate.

We have been this afternoon among the tombs of heroes--Lawrence

and Havelock, Banks and McNeil, Hodson and Arthur--men who fell in

the days of the mutiny. Lawrence's tomb is most touching from its

simplicity--a short record, no eulogy, only

"Here lies Henry Lawrence,

Who tried to do his duty."

"I have tried to do my duty," he said, as he breathed his last,

and this is all his tomb has to say of him; but isn't it enough?

One day in our drive we came upon our first elephant and our first

camel camp, hundreds of the latter and nearly two hundred of the

former being attached to the transportation department of the

army. They are said to perform work which could never be done by

other animals in this climate. Bullocks are the third class used

as carriers; these are taught to trot, and do trot well. I

remember one day in Ceylon one of them in a hackery gave us in the

mail coach quite a spirited race for a short distance, but it was

only to-day that I learned that camels are also so trained and

used as mail or despatch bearers where speed is necessary, and the

gait of a really good trained camel is said to be quite easy. If

development goes forward in this line, our posterity may be using

the camel in trotting matches with the horse. He would possess the

advantage over that favorite animal which the Chinaman has over

the European; he could go longer between drinks, and that counts

for much.

The quarters for troops at Lucknow are models; the officers'

quarters are surrounded and in some cases almost embowered by

vines and flowers; lawn-tennis courts, cricket grounds, ball

courts, and a gymnasium are provided for the private soldiers, and

are finer than we have seen elsewhere, and serve to make Lucknow,

with its beautiful gardens and long shady avenues, the one really

pretty rural spot we have seen in India.

* * * * *

WEDNESDAY, February 12.

We are on our way to Agra by rail, and expect to arrive in time to

drive out and see the Taj by moonlight. I have been reading more

carefully than before some descriptions of it, and keep wondering

whether this gem of the world is to prove a disappointment or not.

Most things which have been heralded like the Taj fail to fulfil

expectations at first, and how can stone and lime be so formed as

to justify such fulsome praises as have been bestowed upon this

tomb? One writer, for instance, exclaims, "There is no mystery, no

sense of partial failure about the Taj. A thing of perfect beauty

and of absolute finish in every detail, it might pass for the work

of genii, who knew naught of the weakness and ills with which

mankind were afflicted." The exact and prosaic Bernier had to

express doubts whether "I may not be somewhat infected with

'Indianisme,' but I must needs say I believe it ought to be

reckoned amongst the wonders of the world." Bayard Taylor exhausts

eulogy upon the Pearl Mosque, calling it "a sanctuary so pure and

stainless, revealing so exalted a spirit of worship, that I felt

humbled as a Christian that our noble religion had never inspired

its architects to surpass this temple to God and Mohammed;" but

when he comes to the Taj itself he is lost in rapture. There is

nothing, however, which the critics--those men who have failed in

literature and art--will not venture to attack, and I thought it

advisable to tone down my expectations by taking a dose of carping

criticism. Unfortunately for me, however, when I had got fairly in

with a writer who assures me "the design is weak and feeble," the

"shadows are much too thin," this misleader left me in a worse

condition than ever, for succumbing at last to the sweet

overpowering charms of the structure as a whole, and apparently

ashamed of himself for ever having dared to say one word against

its perfections, he adds--just after he had bravely done the

"design" and the "shadows"--"but the Taj is like a lovely woman:

abuse her as you please, the moment you come into her presence you

submit to her fascinations." Pretty criticism this for one who

wishes the faults of this beauty clearly set forth! I put this

lover of the Taj aside at once and try another writer, who does

indeed give me a page of preventive, well suited to one in my

condition, but upon turning over the page he too falls sadly away,

for here is his last line:

"The rare genius of the calm building finds its way unchallenged

to the heart."

Well, then, gentlemen, if all this be so, what's the use of your

petty criticism? If this marvel, before whose spell all men, even

you yourselves, must bow, has a "rigidity of outline," an "air of

littleness and luxury," a "poverty of relief," and if "the inlaid

work has been vulgarly employed," and the patterns are "meagre in

the extreme," wasn't it the highest aim that its builder could

probably have had in view, to entrance the world and give to it a

thing of beauty which is indeed a joy forever? and doesn't the Taj

do this so far beyond all other human structures that no one

thinks of naming another in comparison? And should not this

incontrovertible fact teach you a lesson--just a little bit of

modesty? No, gentlemen; it isn't the Taj that must be changed,

either in its outline or shadows, to conform to your canons of

criticism, but your canons of art that must be changed to embrace

the Taj, or rather to set it apart, as a stroke of original

genius, and consequently above and beyond the domain of criticism;

for criticism, like science, works solidly only upon what is

absolutely known, formulating its fixed decrees upon the past. All

great geniuses have encountered the critics of their day. How

Shakespeare violated the unities! and didn't Napoleon win battles

which he should have lost? Let these people then be silent, and

know that when a transcendent exhibition of original genius wins

success beyond the reach of measurement by their plumb and line

and square and compass, the higher law governing the seeming

miracle will be duly revealed: and the Taj is just such a miracle,

from all I can learn of its power.

The evidences of the intense summer heat are seen everywhere. The

railway carriages have false tops, leaving an air space of a foot

between the roof and the cover. Awnings cover the windows outside,

and there are posted up directions for the use of the cooling

apparatus applied to each first-class compartment; the frames for

punkas are seen in the railway waiting-rooms, and we notice in the

army regulations that during the hot season soldiers are required

to stay in-doors between the hours of eleven and three. We are

told of revolving fans being used to cool rooms, and that it is

very common to fill doors and windows with thick mats of scented

grass, which are kept constantly wet; the wind, passing through

these, is cooled to about ninety degrees, and large banana leaves

furnish a cool bed in extreme cases, from all of which, "Good

Lord, deliver us!" We thank our stars every day that we are doing

India when the heat, though great at midday, is not unbearable. We

are five hundred and fifty miles north of Calcutta, and find the

temperature much cooler. The people look stronger, and necessarily

wear more clothing, which means that another piece of coarse

bagging is wrapped around their shoulders. We are at the best

hotel in Agra, and I notice as remarkable, in the printed list of

prices, that a man to pull the punka in one's bedroom

all night can be obtained for the sum of three annas, or six

cents in silver. Washing costs two cents per piece, but while

these strike us as cheap, the next item tells us that each guest

during the hot season is chargeable with twenty cents per day for

ice used at table etc. It is very sparingly used, but yet the

little bit of ice you see costs as much as the labor of three men

all night. All the employees of the railways in India are required

to join the volunteer forces, and to drill under the supervision

of regular army officers, appointed by the government for this

purpose. An excellent auxiliary force numbering many thousands is

thus secured at trifling expense. One significant announcement

posted at stations attracted my attention, and gave me an insight

into one department in which India is in advance of us. This

placard set forth that certain employees having been found under

the influence of liquor while on duty, the district court had

sentenced them to six months' imprisonment. This betokens a

decided step forward, I take it, and one which it would be

advisable for us to follow. A captain, pilot, engineer, railway

conductor, or any one directly charged with the care of human

lives convicted of being drunk while on duty should be held guilty

of a criminal offence and punished by the State.

I have been admiring all through India three magnificent vines,

now in full bloom. One, the Begonia, resembles our honeysuckle,

but the flower is larger and hangs in large clusters; the second,

called the Bouganviella, is purple in color and like our morning-

glory, and the two are often seen climbing together up tall trees

almost to their very tops, covering them with a mass of flowers.

The third favorite, Poinsetta, is a leaf of rich magenta color.

These three are the special glories of India. Some of our own

flowers do tolerably well in this region, and the inherent love of

the English for flowers and plants is seen in the numerous pretty

plots and gardens.

Life in India is only rendered tolerable by the opportunity people

have to enjoy things which would be beyond their reach at home

without fortunes. All residences have grounds connected with them,

more or less extensive, and laid out in fine gardens. Lawn-tennis

and croquet grounds are the rule. Horses and carriages, or at

least a vehicle of some kind, are indispensable, and no one who

strolls around the European quarters in early morning and sees the

large staff of servants lounging about the spacious verandas,

awaiting the call of "Sahib" or "Mem Sahiba," can be at a loss to

account for the disappointment often experienced by those who,

after years of longing, at last go home to enjoy themselves in

their fancied Elysium. Alas! ten times the sum that supports them

here in style would not suffice in England. Here Sahib awakes and

drawls out, "Qui hi" (you of my people who are in waiting). There

is a stir among several servants who have lain the whole night

long at his door, to be in readiness, and the moaning reply comes,

"S-a-h-i-b," and he is surrounded by those who minister to his

slightest wish all day, leaving him again at night only to repeat

the performance on the morrow. When he drives his gig to town one

servant stands at his back to wait upon him, and Madame appears in

the afternoon upon the Mall in her grand equipage, two on the box

and two standing behind, as if she were a duchess. As a European

walks the streets he is salaamed by every native he chances to

look at. He moves about, one of a superior race and rank. As he

approaches a crowd, to look at a passing sight, a clear lane is

made for him; and if he steps into the post-office to ask for

letters, the natives instinctively fall back until Sahib is

served. All this spoils a man for residence at home, where "one

man is as good as another and a good deal better," unless a

tremendous fortune is at one's back to purchase precedence, which

nowadays is scarcely obtainable at any price even in England where

traces of by-gone days linger longest: and so it falls out that

many who have prayed for long years for the day to come for their

return to England, find the coveted change but Dead Sea fruit when

it is gained at last. A few even return to the land they had so

long prayed to be allowed to leave, and take up their final abode

among the hills. For these people I cannot help feeling deeply

sorry. It is impossible that their lives can be full and rich to

overflowing here. A tone of sadness, of vain regret, must pervade

the mind. The prize so ardently struggled for has been found

unsatisfactory, and at best their lives must draw to a close

tinged by a sense of partial failure.

How many human beings can the land maintain to the square mile?

About three hundred and fifty in Europe say the authorities,

provided the soil is fertile and climate good. This is close upon

the English and Belgian standard; but some parts of India are

cursed with more than double this number; indeed one district has

nearly eight hundred to the square mile. This seems to be the

limit even for India, as population does not increase beyond it,

and female infanticide begins to protrude its monstrous form

whenever population becomes so dense. In the Punjaub, for

instance, the males exceed the females sixteen per cent.--a

fearful revelation; but it is just the same in many parts of

China. All authorities agree that male children are tenderly cared

for, and even desired. This is especially so in China, for no

greater evil can befall a Chinaman than the absence of sons to

keep unbroken the worship. of ancestors. Death is nothing if he

passes away with dutiful sons around his bedside ready to perform

the sacred rites. To die without these is to send his soul forth a

wanderer without claims upon his gods. The commercial aspect,

however, has mostly to do with the question in India. Where is

food for the little mouths, to come from, and how can a girl be

reared by a family who live from day to day upon the brink of

starvation, even when every member labors like a slave?

One morning we drove to the jail--one of the sights of India--and

were fortunate in meeting the Inspector-General, Mr. Walker, an

authority on all matters relating to prison discipline, and Dr.

Tyler, the Chief for Agra. These officials kindly conducted us

through the vast establishment. The prison labor is not, as

generally with us, contracted out--a vicious plan which

necessitates the intercourse of outsiders with the criminals and

invariably leads to bad results. Here the prisoners deal with none

but their keepers; but what pleased me most was the admirable

system of rewards and promotions for good conduct which has been

established. Marks are given and worn upon the clothes which

shorten one's sentence from one day up to several, and it is

possible for a prisoner in this way to acquire marks enough to

take as much as one tenth from his imprisonment. The best behaved

of all can rise to the position of wardens. Several hundreds have

reached this prize, and are distinguished by better clothing, and

also by ornamental badges. These wardens are placed over the other

malefactors, and there is no difficulty experienced in enforcing

the strictest discipline through them. Foremen of shops and of the

various departments are all appointed from among the prisoners

themselves, and, with the exception of the one in charge of the

complicated machinery, there are no others employed in such

capacities. The armed guards are, however, not of this class. In

ordinary years the cost of maintenance per person is one rupee a

month (40 cents gold); clothing 75 cents a year, including cost of

supervision and all expenses of the jail department; prisoners in

India thus cost only about $14 per year each. This prison

maintains itself by the labor of its inmates, and last year showed

an actual profit of about $40,000. Twenty-three hundred prisoners

were confined within its walls when we were there. The total

number of inmates of the jail in this and the Northwest Province

is just now 39,000; but last year, owing to the famine, the number

rose to 42,000. This seems a great number, but I am informed that,

taking the population into account, it is not quite up to the

average in England. We saw the prisoners working the celebrated

Agra jail carpets and rugs, for which there is such demand that

orders given to-day cannot be filled for many months. A new

building has just been erected and filled with looms to increase

the supply. Native dyes and materials alone are used, and one can

thus rest assured that a carpet obtained here is genuine

throughout. France takes the finest qualities, and we saw some so

fine that the day's task of men sitting as close as they could the

entire width of the web was only one inch per day. These carpets,

which are really works of art, cost here $10 gold per square yard,

and certainly not less than double that when retailed in Paris. Of

the inmates about one hundred were women, their special crime

being that of child-stealing, which is very common in India, the

ornaments worn by the little ones being a strong temptation. We

saw two young lads sentenced for life for this crime. They had

stolen and robbed a child, and afterward thrown the body into a

well. We left Messrs. Walker and Tyler strongly imbued with the

feeling that we had seen the model prison of the world in Agra

jail.

India gives us valuable hints upon the land question. There is no

private tenure; at least it is not general, for when one speaks of

a continent with two hundred and fifty millions of people

possessed of different customs it is unsafe to say that anything

does not exist. Speaking generally, the land of India belongs to

village communities in which every family has its right. The State

first taxes a certain portion of the produce. Akbar the first

Mogul fixed it at one-third of the gross amount, which the head

man of each village was required first to set apart for

government. The remainder was divided among the community. For

untold generations these village communities have preserved intact

their traditions, which neither anarchy nor conquest have

abolished. Unfortunately the English in the early days were

disposed to introduce their system of landlord and tenant, and in

the Bengal province this has led to infinite trouble. Men had

arisen there who undertook the collection of the land tax of a

district and paid the government an agreed-upon sum. They were in

fact contractors (Zemindars); this was certainly the easiest mode

for the British Government to obtain the revenue, but in

recognizing these contractors it raised them virtually to the

position of landlord. The poor cultivator could not reach the

government at all. He was in the power of the Zemindar, who alone

dealt with the authorities. As was to have been expected, the

result was just as it has been found in Ireland. The Zemindars

squeezed every penny out of the poor farmer which he could be made

to yield, until finally the government was compelled to embark

upon that perilous sea, land legislation, tenant rights, judicial

rents, and all the rest of it.

In the Bombay presidency, however, wiser councils have prevailed.

The cultivator deals directly with the government; has a lease as

it were subject to revaluation every thirty years. In time the

poor cultivator will no doubt rise to the advantages of this

system by a process of natural selection. It was certain that many

unfit occupiers would be found, and this has been the case so far.

The plan is bound, however, to develop and sustain the most

competent, and this means that it is the right plan. The land

yields the government twenty-two millions sterling per annum

($110,000,000). Had the land owners of England not released

themselves while acting as M. P.'s of the tax under which till

then land was held by them, England would be in position to-day to

remit many taxes which bear heavily upon the people.

We had a talk to-day with an officer of the forest department of

India, which vainly strives to save the forests from wandering

tribes who practice nomadic agriculture, reaping indeed where they

sow, but rarely sowing twice in the same place, which is the

difficulty. These tribes inhabit the hills of India, and depend

for food solely upon crops grown in the forests. They make a

clearing by burning the timber and scatter the seed, rarely taking

the trouble to turn up the soil, although some tribes scratch the

surface with sticks. The virgin soil yields forty and fifty fold of

rice as a first crop. This is gathered and off go the gypsies to

another locality for next season. The destruction of timber upon

these small clearings is nothing, as our friend explained, compared

to that caused by the spread of the fires. The government imposes

heavy penalties upon these nomads, if discovered, but vast, tracts

remain where no restraint is possible. He was on his way to solitude

among the hills, which he preferred to even the plains with their

crowds. But England, England some day! was his dream. Ah, poor

fellow! the chances are that he will fall and lie in his Indian

forest; or, sadder yet, should fortune reach him and he realize his

dream, that he would find life in England intolerable and return to

die here a disappointed man. We have met several such, and for no

class am I so profoundly sorry. Never to realize one's life dream is

bad enough, but to have it sent you and then find it naught--that

seems to me the keenest thrust which can enter the soul of man.

Among the attractions of Agra are the palaces and tombs of the

Great Moguls, and we have been busy visiting them day after day.

This was the capital during the most brilliant period of that

extraordinary family's reign. The founder, Baber, lies buried at

Cabool, which was the chief place before the invaders penetrated

farther south. Six of these Moguls reigned, and no dynasty in

history has six consecutive names of equal power to boast.

Hereditary genius has strong support in the careers of these

illustrious men; besides this, Baber was a lineal descendant of

Tamerlane himself, on his father's side, and of a scarcely less

able Tartar leader on his mother's side. So much for blood.

The greatest of the six was Akbar, who proved to be that rare

combination, soldier and statesman in one. He, Mohammedan by

birth, dared to marry a Hindoo princess as an example for his

people to follow, but which, unfortunately, they have failed to

do. It is strange to remember that the Moguls were seated on their

thrones only three hundred years ago, Akbar being contemporaneous

with Henry VIII., and ruling India when Shakespeare was still on

earth.

Six successive generations of great men, like the Great Moguls,

cannot be matched, I think, elsewhere; but it would not be fair to

attribute this unbroken line altogether to the doctrine of

hereditary genius. Much lies in the fact that upon each of these

rulers in turn, depended the maintenance and success of his

empire. The Moguls were real powers, indeed the only powers, and

not only reigned but governed. Had the doctrine of the divine

right of kings been overthrown in India during the reign of even

the ablest of the six, and the heir to the throne been debarred

the exercise of power; taught from his infancy that his role was

to be wholly ornamental, a sham king whose chief end and use was

the opening of fancy bazaars or the laying of foundation stones,

he too would have developed into something suited for the purpose

in view, just as heirs apparent have done elsewhere. It was the

continual exercise of high functions which made the race great and

kept it so. To _play_ the part of king when one knows himself

the political valet of his prime minister, would soon have taken

manhood out of Akbar himself, if we can imagine such a man willing

to play the part.

I am not going to give a catalogue of what is to be seen in Agra,

having no notion of writing a guide-book or of filling notes with

long passages from such sources, as I see many writers have done;

but I must speak of three or four structures which have pleased me

most.

The "Fort" is a most impressive pile of masonry, a Warwick Castle

upon a large scale, the ramparts being one and a quarter miles in

circumference. This was Akbar's principal palace, or rather series

of palaces, for it embraces the Pearl Mosque, Public Audience

Hall, and Jessamine Tower, all of which are within its walls.

The tomb of her father, built by that rare woman, Noor Mahal, she

who sleeps in the Taj, is a marble structure of exquisite

proportions, and quite unlike others because of the great number

and extent of the perforated screens of marble of which it is

principally composed. Up to the time we had seen this I think I

liked it the best of any; but then Noor Mahal had built it for her

father, and I was predisposed to like this proof of her filial

devotion.

There is one romantic and perfect love story concerning her in the

annals of the Moguls. Akbar's son, the future ruler, fell

desperately in love with a young lady, but for reasons of state

she was not eligible, and the emperor quietly provided a husband

for her in the person of one of his generals. The young heir only

knew that she was married and he condemned to take to wife the

woman provided for him. Two years after he had become emperor the

husband of his first love died, and although she was then a

middle-aged woman, he, the emperor, sought her out and not only

married her (she could have been his slave), but raised her to the

throne with himself, stamping her image with his own upon the coin

of the realm. Such an unbounded influence did this capable and

high-spirited woman acquire over not only her devoted husband but

the circle of the court, that she became the constant adviser in

all important affairs; and that she might not be less thoroughly

feminine, I am glad to see it recorded that she introduced

improved modes of dress and manners among her ladies. The emperor

told his priests one day that until he had married this paragon he

had not known what marriage meant. But her grandest achievement is

yet to be told. The emperor had previously been dissolute,

probably from his first pure dream of love having been so cruelly

dispelled--who knows?--but Noor Mahal lifted him into higher

regions, and made him a better man. She loved him fervently, and,

on more than one occasion, when the emperor was attacked, she

imperilled her own life to save his. As they grew old they became

more and more to each other, and at her death was it any wonder

the emperor ordered that a tomb should rise excelling all previous

tombs as much, if possible, as Noor Mahal excelled all other

women? This tomb, the Taj Mahal (Diadem Tomb), is said to have

cost more than two millions sterling, which is equal to an

expenditure of fifty millions of dollars with us to-day. Truly a

costly monument, you say. No doubt, but if it has given to mankind

one proof that the loftiest ideal can be wrought out and realized

in practice, the Taj would be cheap even if its erection had

emptied the Comstock lode; and there are men--wise men too--who

affirm that it performs this miracle and inspires them with the

pleasing hope that in the far ages yet to come the real and the

ideal may grow closer together. The emperor built no tomb for

himself, as was customary, but as the kind fates decreed, he was

placed side by side with her who had been to him so much, and they

rest together, under the noblest canopy ever made by human hands.

Taking into account the degraded position accorded to women, and

remembering to what Noor Mahal raised herself, I think she must be

allowed to rank as the greatest woman who ever reigned, and

perhaps the greatest who ever lived, for no one has climbed from

such a depth to such a height as she, as far as I know. Assuming

that Cleopatra was all that Shakespeare has made her for us, a

human being of whom it could be truly said

"Age cannot wither nor custom stale her infinite variety,"

yet the Egyptian was born to the purple, a queen recognized by her

nation, and entitled to rule from the first. What was this

general's daughter in India? A woman, to begin with, which in

India meant an inferior being, and yet she rose to equality with

the Mogul and was consulted upon affairs of state--not simply

because she was, in a bad sense, the ruler's favorite, but by the

inherent force of her own abilities.

Akbar's Tomb amazes one by its gigantic size, which dwarfs all

other tombs. The amount of inlaid work, composed of jasper,

carnelian, and other precious stones, seen at every step, inclines

one to believe that it cost the fabulous sum stated. It should be

remembered that it was the custom among these monarchs always to

erect during their lives a palace in which great ceremonies took

place while they lived, and which became their tomb at their

death. A similar custom prevailed in Egypt, where each ruler began

a pyramid when he began his reign. It was in this way that so many

splendid structures were built. Akbar did not live to see this

vast building completed, but his son carried on the work. The

stern simplicity of Akbar's tomb, which is in the centre of the

building and under ground, pleased me. It is a plain solid block

of marble, without one word upon it, or mark of any kind; as if it

would say to all time, What need to tell the world that the great

Akbar lies here?

Speaking generally, the palaces and tombs of Agra are far finer

than I had imagined them to be, and the relief experienced in

getting away from the plaster shams of Lucknow--cheap

magnificence, to genuine grandeur at Agra--can be easily imagined.

Our train having been delayed in reaching Agra, we had arrived too

late to visit the Taj by moonlight; and in deference to the strong

remonstrance of every one we have met here, we have not yet

attempted to see the wonder. "Oh! don't think, please don't think

of seeing the Taj until the very last, because, if you do, every

thing else will seem so coarse," has been in substance the

exclamation of every friend. But now we are through with all else,

and we start, two o'clock P.M., February 14th, 1879. Vandy has

just come to announce that our carriage is ready. Good-bye! Am I

to be disappointed? Of course I am. I have made up my mind to

that, and having just had tiffin, and drank a whole pint of bitter

beer, I feel myself quite competent to criticise the Taj with the

best of them, and especially well fitted just now to stand no

nonsense. We met an American who was travelling as a matter of

duty, and had found, as far as travel was concerned, I suspect,

that he belonged to the class represented by the grumbler in

paradise, whose "halo didn't fit his head exactly." He had found

nothing in India, he said, but a lot of rubbish, but checked

himself at once, "except the Taj. Now that building--that

is--perfectly satisfactory," as if he had ordered a suit of

clothes from his tailor and had nothing to find fault with. On the

other hand, I have just come across a statement "that stern men,

overpowered by the sight of it, have been known to burst into

tears." It is this miracle of inanimate matter we are now to see.

But here comes Vandy again. "Come on, Andrew; carriage waiting."

I'm off--particulars in our next.

* * * * *

FRIDAY NIGHT, February 14.

We have seen it, but I am without the slightest desire to burst

into rapturous adjectives. Do not expect me to attempt a

description of it, or to try to express my feelings. There are

some subjects too sacred for analysis, or even for words, and I

now know that there is a human structure so exquisitely fine, or

unearthly, as to lift it into this holy domain. Let me say little

about it; only tell you that, lingering until the sun went down,

we turned in the noble gateway which forms a frame through which

you see the Taj in the distance, with only the blue sky in the

background, around and above it, and there took our last fond sad

farewell, as the shades of night were wrapping the lovely jewel in

their embrace, as if it were a charge too sweetly precious not to

be safely enveloped in night's black mantle, till it could again

shine forth at the dawn in all its beauty to adorn the earth. Full

in its face we gazed. How kindly it seemed to look upon us! And as

one parts for the last time from one whose eye glistens at his

glance, we turned never to look upon the Taj again, hiding our

eyes as the carriage rolled away, lest by any mischance a partial

view should intrude to mar the perfect image our mind has grasped

to tarry with us forever. We had been so deliciously sad, and at

the same time so thrillingly but yet so solemnly happy for hours,

and now came pain alone, the inevitable finale to all our joys on

earth--the parting forever. But till the day I die, amid mountain

streams or moonlight strolls in the forest, wherever and whenever

the mood comes, when all that is most sacred, most elevated, and

most pure recur to shed their radiance upon the tranquil mind,

there will be found among my treasures the memory of that lovely

charm--the Taj.

We had engaged to meet some friends at the club as we drove

homeward, but was it any wonder that neither of us remembered this

until the stoppage of the carriage at our hotel awoke us from our

reveries! What was to be done? Vandy's reply expressed our

condition exactly: "Go out to enjoy myself when I feel that I want

to go and put on mourning! I couldn't do it." And we didn't. Our

friends will please accept this intimation.

In reading these pages at home so long after the visit one can

bring one's self to be a little prosaic in regard to this marvel,

and tell his readers just what the Taj is. As before stated, it is

the structure erected by the Emperor Jehanghir in memory of that

paragon Noor Mahal. That a tomb should be erected at all for a

woman in India is of itself significant, to begin with, and the

Roman Emperor who put his horse's head upon the coin and who is

supposed to have consulted him in political affairs did not take a

much wider departure from custom than did this true lover when he

put upon the coin a woman's image with his own.

The Taj is built of a light creamy marble, so that it does not

chill one as pure cold white marble does. It is warm and

sympathetic as a woman. One great critic has finely called the Taj

a feminine structure. There is nothing masculine about it, says

he; its charms are all feminine. This creamy marble is inlaid with

fine black marble lines, the entire Koran in Arabic letters, it is

said, being thus interwoven.

The following description is condensed from Fergusson: The

enclosure, which includes an inner and an outer court, the whole

about a fifth of a mile wide, extends along the banks of the Jumna

River one-third of a mile. The principal gateway, opening into the

inner court, is a hundred and forty feet high by a hundred and ten

feet wide. The mausoleum stands in the centre of a raised marble

platform, eighteen feet high, and exactly three hundred and

thirteen feet square. At each angle of this terrace rises a

minaret, a hundred and thirty-three feet high, and of exquisite

proportions, "more beautiful, perhaps," says Ferguson, "than any

other in India." The mausoleum itself is a square of one hundred

and eighty-six feet, with the corners cut off to the extent of

about thirty-four feet. In the centre is the principal dome,

fifty-eight feet in diameter, and eighty feet high, and at each

angle is a smaller dome surmounting a two-story apartment, about

twenty-seven feet in diameter.

The light to the central apartment is admitted through double

screens of white marble trellis-work of the most exquisite

designs. In any climate but that of India this would produce

darkness within, but here, in a building constructed wholly of

white marble, it serves to temper the glare of the blinding light.

No words can express the chastened beauty of that dim religious

light, the unearthly effect of the subdued sunshine, sparkling now

and then upon the brilliant stones of which the graceful mosaics,

vines and flowers are composed. Twenty thousand workmen are said

to have been employed upon this marvel for twenty-two years. I

would think the time and labor and money bestowed upon it well

spent had it been twenty times--aye, a hundred times--as great.

There is no price too dear to pay for perfection.

The mosaics of the interior are exquisitely graceful. Flowers and

fruits are represented by precious stones, formerly genuine

stones, but these having been stolen by the Jats and others, have

been replaced by glass, colored to represent the originals. In the

centre of the dome lie Noor Mahal and Jehanghir side by side, this

being, I believe, the only instance where any emperor of India has

condescended to be buried by the side of a woman. The sweetest

echo in the known world answers a call at the side of this tomb.

Of course the architect could not have had this attraction in view

when he planned the structure, and the natives who throng this

unique gem of architecture do well to ascribe this apparent voice

from heaven to the continual presence and approval of the good

gods who like to linger over the tomb of true lovers.

The guide steps forward without a word of warning and raises the

cry, "Great is God, and Mohammed is his prophet! Allah! Allah!" At

first three distinct musical notes are heard in the echo; I mean

different notes upon the musical scale, as distinct from each

other as "do, sol, do." These reverberate round the dome and

ascend until they reach the smaller dome, where they reunite and

escape from the temple as one tone. Some readers may recall the

echo in the baptistery at Pisa, as we did when we heard this new

delight in the Taj, but that echo compares with this, well, say as

the Taj compares to Milan Cathedral--and now I repent me for

comparing the Taj to any other material structure. It is not

proper to do so. We shall say as the piano compares with the

organ.

If I am ever sentenced to hard labor for life for some unlawful

outburst of my wild republicanism, I will make one request as I

throw myself upon the mercy of the court: Let me be transported to

India, and allowed to perform my daily task in beautifying and

preserving the Taj. This would be a labor of love, and I should

not be unhappy with my idol to worship, doing my part to hand it

down untarnished to future generations.

The Taj is really a very large temple, yet such is its grace, its

exquisite proportions, its unapproachable charm--it never occurs

to the beholder that it is of such great size. It is neither big

nor little, nor heavy nor light--it is simply perfect. You can't

tell why it is perfect, and you don't want to. You stand and look

at the gem through the great gateway which serves as a frame for

the picture, for the Taj is directly in front of the arch,

probably five hundred yards distant. A narrow walk, lined on both

sides with the choicest Indian plants, leads to it, but it is many

minutes before you can be induced to advance. Never before have

you gazed upon stone and lime which you deemed worthy of being

called beautiful. All you have seen becomes mean, coarse,

material; this alone is entirely worthy. There is grace and beauty

brought down to us from above, the realization of the ideal; it

really seems an inspiration. Vandy and I separated instinctively

without a word. You want to be with the Taj alone, for it leads

you captive and invites to secret communion. I wandered around

many hours, gazing at every turn, deliciously, not joyously happy;

there was no disposition to croon over a melody, nor any bracing

quality in my thoughts--not a trace of the heroic--but I was

filled with happiness which seemed to fall upon me gently as the

snow-flakes fall, as the zephyr comes when laden with sweet odors.

I sat down at length in the garden in full view of the Taj, but

had not rested long before an Englishman approached, and something

in our faces telling that we were both in the blissful state and

the worshipful mood, he came and sat down quietly, without

speaking a word, but with a slight and slow nod of recognition,

and broke out without one word of introduction--partly as if

talking to himself--as follows:

"I stayed away from this in England as long as I could. It is seven

years since I was here before. I have been here for two weeks

wandering about the grounds; I must tear myself away to-morrow and

my great grief is, that I know that I cannot take and carry with me

a perfect image--of _that_--and so I may have to return again." I

said that my feeling was the reverse, for I felt that its image

could never leave me. He envied me that, he said. I have often

regretted that I did not get the name and address of this worthy

devotee, but under the spell of the spirit neither he nor I cared

much for other companionship; but should this ever meet his eye

surely he will address me and perhaps we may shake hands in silence

over the memory of our idol.

It began to grow dark at length, and I thought of finding Vandy to

tell him--for no apology seemed necessary--that I could not

possibly resist the spell which had carried me away even from him

all the afternoon. I was at once relieved, for I found him in the

archway. He was first to speak. "A. C.," he said, "I'm very sorry.

I know I ought to have looked for you long ago, but really I could

not leave this spot. Look! there is no place like this." So it was

all right. When one is called upward by the spirit, even the

dearest of humanity must be left behind. But Vandy was in the

right place certainly for one to take his farewell. If ever an

inanimate object spoke to man, the Taj did to me when I said

farewell; the tear was not alone in the eye of the beholder as he

took his last fond look, for that spiritual face of the Taj seemed

to beam kindly in return. It said--yes, smile, reader, if you

will--I know it said, "This is not farewell, for we understand

each other." There never is a farewell between souls completely

sympathetic. They live forever in the bonds of a sacred friendship

which separation cannot break.

* * * * *

DELHI, Sunday, February 16.

Delhi at last--he Rome of Asia! Baber established his capital in

Agra, a hundred and forty miles south, and therefore farther into

India, but his son Humayun returned to Delhi because the summer

heats of Agra were found to be insupportable. But it had before

been the principal seat of the Pathans or Afghan kings, and, back

of them, of several Hindoo dynasties. There are ruins of palaces

and forts here dating to one hundred years before Christ, and for

eighteen hundred years we have the ruins of the structures of the

kings of Delhi and their most noted subordinates, comprising prime

ministers, favorite slaves, barbers, architects, etc. For eleven

miles along the Imperial Way, on both sides, these ruins stretch,

ending in the Kuttub Minar, the glory of Delhi, as the Taj is of

Agra. This is a tower standing alone, two hundred and forty feet

in height, fifty feet in diameter at the base, and tapering to

nine feet at the top. But pictures and photographs have made all

familiar with this superb monument. It and the tomb of Humayun,

father of the great Akbar, alone remain vividly impressed upon my

memory. A ruin now and then is acceptable, but eleven miles of

them in one or two days are rather embarrassing, and it is

impossible to examine them in detail and retain interest in the

work; besides this, a great similarity pervades the mass. It seems

to me the entire population must have been oppressed to the last

degree, and every surplus penny secured in some way to be expended

in the erection and maintenance of these palaces, and for the

support of the classes who occupied them.

One most important department of government in the management of a

conquered race is that of its police and intelligence bureau, and

this is admirably administered in India. A special department was

organized years ago, and specially gifted officers of the army

placed at its head. To the present chief, Major Henderson, whose

face we see in all the photographs of the Prince of Wales's party,

we are deeply indebted for Indian items. This department has

almost succeeded in stamping out the Thugs, and it is very seldom

that murders are now committed by these religious fanatics. Their

goddess Kali demanded blood, but she was fastidious; nothing but

human blood would meet her tastes, and so her devotees strangled

and waylaid and shot the victims marked out for sacrifice. Some

Thugs confessed to between seventy and eighty murders, and one to

the incredible number of one hundred and ninety-two (what saints

they would make!). The members of the sect-were classified into

spies, stranglers, and grave-diggers, the spies being in the first

stage and not ranking with the two more advanced degrees. Assuming

usually the garb of merchants or pilgrims, they often craved the

protection of their intended victims. Their favorite instrument

for strangulation was a handkerchief, in the use of which they

were most expert. The secret that these wretches were linked

together as a religious fraternity, bound by all the hopes of

future bliss and the terrors of eternal damnation as they

satisfied or failed to satisfy the craving of their horrible gods

for human blood, was not discovered until about a half century

ago. The government purchased the secret with the names and

address of every member and relative of a member of the sect,

arrested them all in 1837 and colonized them at Jubbulpore, where

they were taught trades. Their names and those of their

descendants remain on the list of persons suspect, and should

Thugism ever show its head again, the presence of any member near

the scene of the offence would be held almost conclusive evidence

against him.

The Major's department has on its records the names and

descriptions of more than four thousand of these people, and also

of nearly nine thousand professional gang robbers. Murder has been

done when the booty did not exceed six cents. But the systematic

hunting down of these dangerous classes is fast ridding India of

this curse. If a man will murder another for a sixpence he can be

induced to betray his fellow-murderers for a moderate sum. Is it

not a blessing for the race that evil disintegrates? Only for good

ends can men permanently combine; then no feared betrayal works

dismay. As great movements, whether for good or evil, require many

supporters, society has its safe-guard; nothing really good can be

destroyed by conspirators.

The fort at Delhi resembles in its general features that of Agra,

but is famous as having been the receptacle of the Peacock Throne,

which was valued by a French jeweller at not less than six

millions sterling, say thirty millions of dollars. On such a

precious pedestal as this the Moguls sat and ruled this land. The

throne was plundered of its jewels by the Persians, but its frame

is still shown in the local museum. The fort remains in an

unusually good state of preservation, making it by far the most

satisfactory specimen of the gorgeous residences of the Moguls

that we have seen. The walls are of marble, inlaid in the interior

with genuine precious stones of various colors worked into the

forms of vines and flowers for a height of about six feet. The

floors are similarly decorated. The upper portions of the walls

have the same patterns, but these are painted, not inlaid. Every

part is gilded in the most elaborate manner, and, in short, here

alone of all places that I have seen, one could fancy himself

wandering through the resplendent wonders of the Arabian Nights.

Of course we did not neglect the many places rendered historical

by the mutiny. These are seen upon every side in this district,

but none was more interesting to me than the Cashmere Gate. The

rebels held the fort, and it was determined to assault it. Here is

the record of the men who volunteered to lay the train to the

Gate:

"Salkfied laid his bags, but was shot through the arm and leg, and

fell back on the bridge, handing the portfire to Sergeant Burgess,

_bidding him light the fuse_. Burgess was instantly shot dead

in the attempt. Sergeant Carmichael then advanced, took up the

portfire, and succeeded in the attempt, but immediately fell

mortally wounded. Sergeant Smith, seeing him fall, advanced at a

run, but finding that the fuse was already burning, threw himself

into the ditch."

The age of miracles is admittedly past, but it is certain that the

age of heroes existed in 1857.