INDIA.

India, in 1892, had a population of 300,000,000. The area of the land on

which they live is equal to the United States, east of the Rocky

Mountains of Colorado. Much of it is uncultivated; other lands yield

crops under irrigation. The soil in places has become exhausted by use

without manure. Between monsoons (that is, periods of no rainfall),

these regions cease to produce and there is a scarcity.

Regions cultivated by irrigation are enhanced in value, for the products

bring better prices, but when rivers and tanks dry up from which water

for irrigation is drawn, then scarcity becomes a famine, where the rain

has failed. There are two annual crops in India; the former inferior

grade is used for home consumption, the other for export. Of the army,

seventy thousand strong, forty per cent are incapacitated by diseases.

Civil servants are superannuated at fifty-five years of age and are sent

home on a pension, seldom enjoying life longer than two years afterward.

Seven per cent native males read and write; only one per cent native

females can read or write. The different castes will not intermarry and

will not touch each other's food.

Calcutta is a city of 500,000 inhabitants, of these, 14,000 are

Europeans.

The streets of the English concession are broad and well laid out. Fine

hotel buildings, banks and storehouses line the main thoroughfare. The

hotels have broad verandas extending from the second floor, over the

sidewalk, affording a cool resting place for the guests, and would be

most acceptable were it not for the myriads of insects that cover you.

The protection these porches afford at night to the natives who, wrapped

in their cotton blankets, lie closely huddled together along the

sidewalk, while scarcely leaving room enough for a pathway for the

pedestrian serve to exempt them (the natives) from the dews of the

night. The palace of the viceroy, centrally located, is surrounded by

beautiful grounds, with magnificent shade trees. It is built upon the

grand esplanade, three miles in length, and skirts the water's edge.

From the hours of 5:00 till 8:00 p. m. this grand avenue presents a

lively appearance, for all the elite of Calcutta seems gathered there.

Handsome victorias drawn by beautiful horses, coachmen and footmen, with

their bright turbans and oriental dress, lends enchantment to the view

and reminded one of the display Aladdin made when he went to claim his

bride. In the Garden of Eden, near by, a band of forty native musicians,

well trained, discourse sweet music--the latest European airs. During

the performances all vehicles must remain in one position, thus

affording the scores of flower venders opportunity to move noiselessly

roundabout the carriages, offering the beautiful orchids, camellias and

roses, for a small pittance, to the occupants. To say nothing of toy

monkeys, which one cannot resist buying. The European residence quarters

lie along this beautiful, sun-baked road. The houses are large and well

built, with the luxuriant surroundings of tropical growth that almost

hide the homes from view. On every veranda is the tea table, with its

urn or samovar; all English observe the hour of 4:00 o'clock to serve

the necessary stimulant at home and abroad. The city is supplied with

water from the Hoogly River, gathered into large reservoirs, and

filtered. The Esplanade is sprinkled by the native coolie, who, from his

well-filled goatskin, moves gracefully in a surpentine fashion over its

well rolled surface; while the streets in the business portion are

watered from carts managed by women. A visit to the crematory at the

early dawn--the hour set apart for burning their dead--is interesting,

but horrible, to witness. A building of 100 feet is located upon the

bank of the river. At intervals of ten feet on its earthen floor are

trenches, dug the length of a body; they do not exceed two feet in

depth, if that. In this excavation is placed some clean straw and sandal

wood with myrrh and sweet perfumes. Upon this is laid, first crosswise

and then lengthwise, sticks of cordwood, and a fresh bed of straw, upon

which the body is laid. The body of an aged woman was brought in for

cremation while we stood there. It was wrapped in white cheese cloth and

rested on the bed upon which she died, which is their custom to burn. It

is the length of the body, made of rope interlaced; at each end are two

small wooden legs which support the wooden sides and are, in height,

like the old-fashioned trundle bed. The winding sheet was removed, the

body anointed with oil and rubbed with saffron powder. The face, which

was most emaciated and betrayed great suffering, was completely

besmeared with this mixture. The body was then placed face downwards on

the pile. Being somewhat longer than the bed prepared for it, the limb

from the knee was bent towards the body. The cracking of the dry bones

was most grewsome. The body had a fresh wrap of cheese cloth thrown over

it, the face having her caste designated by lines of ashes on her

forehead, made by a priest, and sticks of cordwood were placed crosswise

and then lengthwise so close together that the entire body was

concealed. A pitcher of water from the sacred Hoogly River, nearby, was

brought and thrown over the pile. Then the nearest relative of the

deceased ran violently around the body seven times, crying in a loud

voice to the gods that another soul was awaiting reincarnation, while a

wild-eyed, maniacal-looking priest took up a huge bunch of straw and

made the circuit seven times, giving vent to the most uncanny wail, when

the son or husband of the dead touched the burning torch to the straw

underneath; soon all was ablaze. The mourners, a few women, withdrew,

and a man, whose office it is, stood near by, and as the arms or legs or

pieces of burning wood fell, would replace them with a pitch fork.

Scores of bodies were brought in that morning, but seeing two cremations

was all we needed to make an indelible impression not easily eradicated.

It requires about two hours to reduce the body to ashes, or a granulated

substance, when it is gathered and thrown into the holy river, and the

excavation is made clean for another body.

The Ghats or sacred steps leading down to the waters of the Hoogly are

in the same vicinity. Throngs of bathing pilgrims, of both sexes, were

gathered for their morning ablutions. After wading out nearly waist

deep, they would place their hands reverently together, and apparently

after a prayer with great earnestness, dip themselves three times into

the water, and those who had flowers (the marigold seemed the favorite),

as they prayed would cast them upon the waters one by one, then scour

their feet, rinse their mouth and wash their garment, filling a brass

vessel which hung to their side with the holy water, and proceed to the

well situated under a Boho tree at the head of a Ghat, when they would

sprinkle the diminutive gods that were placed there. Priests stood in

readiness with paint and ashes and made upon their foreheads the mark of

their caste, for which they received a compensation. At a time during

the eclipse of the moon, 100,000 pilgrims often find their way to this

holy water. It seems as if half their lives are spent in making these

pilgrimages in these eastern countries, and if they die far from the

holy stream, they are cremated and their ashes sent to some priest,

whose office is to make the consecration before sprinkling them on the

sacred rivers.

We turn from this scene, not wishing to obliterate the memory, but to

forget for awhile in other and perhaps no less disgusting scenes in the

native quarters. We are warned to make our visits few, for contagious

diseases lurk in these narrow streets and among these filthy people.

We enter narrow lanes, in these quarters, flanked on either side by

tumbled-down houses. We are in pursuit of pearls. Strange surroundings

for such beautiful gems. We are led into a narrow hall and up a long

flight of steps of stone, so worn by the tread of time that we could

scarcely keep our foothold. We reach a chamber fronting on a court. The

floors are covered with padded matting over which were sheets spread.

Kneeling, or rather squatting on these were natives busily employed

sorting pearls. Before each were piles of different sizes. The wonderful

dexterity displayed by these coolies in separating the large, medium and

smaller seed pearls from each other in parcels, by or through the sense

of touch of the index finger, seemed to convey to their minds weight and

size.

A table or counter was in one end of this room, behind which were seated

dignified patriarchal looking dealers, and evidently owners of the

establishment. We were shown diamonds of such weight and brilliancy that

fairly bewildered us and dazzled our eyes. Emeralds, sapphires, and

pearls of different colors (black, pink and white), the former of such

size that we almost doubted their genuineness. Evidently we were in a

wholesale department, for while there, there came in foreign buyers

collecting many of these precious stones. Prices were fixed. The dealers

were in touch with the world's market, and values ruled accordingly;

there seemed no chance to barter. Our address is taken when we decline

to purchase, which means that we will be followed to the hotel by a

native who will there unfold the wonders of India's product again to

us--specimens even more tempting than those shown in the shops. Our lack

of confidence in ourselves as experts and a growing distrust of the

dealer makes a breach between buyer and seller. In these places where

gems are kept the stock ofttimes seems meager, and we manifest our

disappointment, but are at once assured that their supply is large, but

at the present time the rarest and most costly have been sent to some

Maha Rajah who makes regal purchases, and those he declines, perhaps

from his sufficiency, are returned for sale to those whose love for gems

is weighed in a balance with their purse.

An English lady artist who was solicited to paint the portrait of one of

these Rajahs in his own palace, and to abide in the premises during her

time of labor, told me her powers of description failed her in the

attempt to portray to others what the coffers of these rulers of

provinces contained, and with which they adorned themselves on state

occasions, and to convey to canvas their beauties, would have been the

work of the Hand that created them.

Calcutta, city of palaces, has a number of theaters, one of which we

attended. The evening was warm; the audience quite large. In the gallery

sat parties in groups; over each stood stalwart coolies, in whose hands

were held a long-handled palm-leaf fan. Not for one moment did they

falter, but with an unerring movement, gracefully and uninterruptedly

handled this cumbersome article, which must have had a soothing effect.

The play was not well supported; now and then was pleasure or

displeasure manifested by the audience in a loud voice speaking, we were

told, direct to the actors. After the play was over (by the way, it was

long drawn out) the foyer rapidly filled and great hilarity prevailed.

Full dress, now in evidence among the ladies, and gentlemen with their

tall silk hats and boutonierres looked most like English swells, while

those in Oriental dress were not eclipsed in brilliant coloring.

The insect life in Calcutta was most annoying. Before going to the

theatre I had left a small flicker from the gas jet in my room and the

windows open. What was my dismay on returning to find the originally

whitewashed walls of my apartment of a dull grey appearance. I doubted

if my steamer trunk had not been transferred in my absence to a more

sombre looking chamber, but on my appeal to Brahma, my servant, who lay

at my door, he assured me that it was innumerable shad flies (as we

would call them) which had been caught by the glare and had lined walls

and ceilings and covered my bed spread. Dust pans and brushes were in

requisition, counterpane shaken, and lace mosquito netting drawn down

and tucked in before I felt like retiring for the night. To attempt to

read by an overhanging light was simply impossible, for the print of

paper or book would be completely obscured by these pestiferous

creatures, and when we sought an outside veranda that we might, in the

darkness, at least, carry on a conversation, they would fly down one's

throat, when we opened our mouths. Imagine what a sacrifice this was to

be compelled to be dumb, when we had so much to say.

In traveling through India a body servant is indispensable. He lies at

the door of your sleeping apartment, waits upon you at the table, buys

your ticket, cares for your baggage and divers other attentions are

rendered by the patient but most indolent Mohammedan. We are advised not

to employ a Hindoo servant, as they refuse to serve flesh or fowl to you

at the table; according to their religious belief, it would be

pollution.

At 9:15 p. m., Nov. 18, 1895, we find ourselves in a most comfortable

compartment car, with shower bath and other conveniences. Alongside, but

not connected in a way that we could speak to them only by calling from

the car window or door, was the apartment designated for servants. They

lie down at night on the floor with an extra cotton wrap, which is used

for the purpose, and I fancy they use their turban for their pillow. To

our party of four we were entitled to an entire compartment, and no

intrusion can be made en route, on our privacy. On either side of the

car are long, cushioned seats, well upholstered and covered with dark

green leather; over these are suspended corresponding ones which, if not

in use, are thrown to the ceiling, where they are made secure. At the

one end is a shorter seat (width of the car) and at the opposite side a

door leads into a toilet room. The traveler provides his own bedding,

which consists of pillows or cushions, and steamer blankets or shawls.

The nights are cold, but the heat through the day, were we not in

motion, would be insupportable, together with the dust that arises along

the road, for lack of rain, adds nothing to our comfort. Our coolies, if

called upon to roll up our bedding, whether from lack of inclination or

from physical weakness we know not, would look morose, or call in, if at

a station, additional help to share in the labor, and never fail at the

end of the day to ask for compensation for the annas expended on their

co-workers.

I could better appreciate the statement made by an English missionary

from the Isle of Wight that he kept sixteen servants in his own

household (and he was a bachelor); that no one coolie would perform what

he himself considered to be the work of two men. I must confess to their

indolence, but it appeared to me a trifle extravagant for a dependant

upon the missionary board. He was a most agreeable gentleman, however,

and I am under many obligations for a prescription which enabled me,

when I had it filled, to accomplish my sight seeing, and travel in

India, our own remedies having no effect in that country or climate. In

returning to the question of manual labor: the working of the "punkas,"

or swinging fans, alone required many men, to keep the air in motion

for the comfort of people. In the hotel dining room these fans were hung

on wires, stretched at intervals the entire length and breadth of the

salon, say five feet apart. The material used was a white or drab

drilling (cotton cloth) made into huge box plaits; wire or rope was

attached to and drawn above these punkas to holes in the wall, which

separated the dining room from a corridor. There sat, or rather

squatted, a dozen, more or less, coolies with these wires either in

their hands or fastened to their feet, and would sway to and fro,

causing a vibration in the air that was most acceptable in these warm

climates, while eating.

The native coolies are neither scrupulously truthful nor honest,

indolent to a degree, rather sullen, but to all appearances submissive.

They are fond of stimulants, more especially opium and tobacco. In

traveling you are under the surveillance of your servants, fearing you

may make some purchase without their knowledge, causing them to lose a

commission to which they feel themselves entitled for having directed

your steps or attention to the shop of the dealer.

They receive their stipulated wages, traveling expenses defrayed by the

employer, but added to this is a constant appeal to your sympathies; for

instance: "I am just in receipt of news from home. My son is lying

(great stress on son) very ill. My mother has no money to employ a

doctor. What am I to do if the good lady will not assist me to send

some help to her?" It has been proven that these same applicants have no

family and have recklessly spent their allowance in riotous living on

their journey. We have to provide a winter outfit if it is cold, such as

a night blanket of cotton cloth, and some clothing--for during the

heated term clothing is unnecessary--and pay for the return trip to

their home, without we find travelers going the same route we have just

taken, and if the servants have merited a recommendation we give it to

them and are thus relieved ourselves. We found one of the tricks of the

trade was for the coolie to secure a returning party--we will say, to

make ourselves lucid, from Bombay to Calcutta--but to keep the matter

secret from us so that we might give them a return ticket, which they

could easily sell. In spite of our experience there must be some good

and true natives, for her majesty, Queen Victoria, has for her closest

body-servant the Indian, chosen for his submission and faithfulness.

Our journey to Benares was at night, because of the freedom from dust

and heat. The early dawn found us awake and peeping out of shutters for

a sight of the country through which we were passing. The stations are

well built, and crowds of natives, men and women, flock there on arrival

of trains, offering for sale flowers, sweets, fruits, the cocoanut,

lemons and a sort of banana. At your desire the cocoanut, nicely scraped

and clean, will be broken so that you may quaff at your leisure what

must be to them a delicious cool drink--a little goes a good way with

me. It is well to be supplied with plenty of their small coin, for they

are so slow in making the necessary change that the car has proceeded on

its way before they have accomplished the task.

The experience of one of our party was a lesson to us. A gentleman from

California, desiring some nuts or fruit, gave in exchange a pound in

gold--all he had at hand. The train started, but all in vain were his

protestations; the speed increased, and what was most provoking, was to

see at a safe distance the naked boy running, apparently, trying to

overtake us, but laughing immoderately at the joke--he will get his

reward. This reminds me of a story to the point. On one occasion in my

own native land I had an appeal made for help for a poor family. Having

often allowed my heart to run away with my head, I determined this time

to be forearmed. So I visited the house of distress, found things clean

and tidy, but cupboards empty and a man in bed, supposed to be the

husband of the woman who had sought my aid. It was with apparent

difficulty he spoke to me. I hurried to order from the adjacent market a

full supply for several days. After exhausting my strength I felt myself

unable to go farther into the city where I could replace an undershirt

his loving spouse said had been stolen from the clothes line, and his

need of a change was most pressing. On my way home, tired and footsore,

I resolved to call on a neighboring friend where gentlemen were more

plentiful than with me, and ask for cast-off underwear. On interrogating

me, my friend laughed to see my distress, and informed me it was an old

trick of the woman. The sick man was a perfectly strong, well man--and

rarely was the same man on exhibition. Alack, for me! I had, during the

day, met our pastor, Mr. Monroe Gibson, and begged that he might call at

his earliest convenience, lest the dying man might go out of the world

without a prayer, for his soul's salvation. In the twilight I retraced

my steps to tell Mr. Gibson how, in common parlance, "I had been sold."

After a sympathetic look, he in his Scotch brogue said: "Well, never

mind; you remember the man who put a crown in the contribution box where

he intended to put a penny and, on retiring from the church, went to the

man who had charge of the alms box and told him that he had made a

mistake. The pastor did not offer to refund it, but simply said:

'Brother, you will have your reward in heaven'" (for a good intention,

not for the amount given).

Low mud houses, hid among the palms, afforded shelter from the sun

during the noonday hours. Men, women and children, the former and latter

nude or scantily clad, grouped together along the road; the faces of the

women were partially veiled. The scene is rather picturesque, with the

chatter of the monkeys and the singing of bright plumaged birds. They

lend some animation to the otherwise barren prospects. We learn there

are common schools throughout the country for the male population, but

women are uneducated except in religious art and duties. Government no

longer tolerates the wife sacrificing her body on the pyre of her dead

husband; but death is preferable to a life of widowhood, owing to the

self-denial forced upon her by his family.

The climate of India is conducive to economy in clothing, as little, if

any, is needed. The diet of the native would be starvation in a cooler

clime. A mud hut gives the needed shelter, and the offal of the animals,

dried in cakes on the sides of their hovels, give them sufficient fuel

to boil their rice and other vegetables. The masses have never known

anything but oppression; they are apparently kind to man and beast. We

never heard any wrangling, nor witnessed any street brawls. A native

will step aside, rather than tread upon an ant, which is the pest of the

country.

Benares is sixteen hours' ride from Calcutta, a distance of 450 miles.

We find there Clark's Hotel patronized by tourists, on the outskirts of

the city, a refreshing looking spot and most restful bungalow. We rested

under the cool shades of the palm trees until a favorable hour, and then

drove to the "Holiest of Holy Cities," situated on the Ganges river,

once alike holy to the Buddhist as it is now to the Hindoo. The sacred,

the three-fold divine river, runs, according to their religion, through

Heaven, Hell and Earth. To die on its banks, and to have one's ashes

thrown upon its bosom, is a through ticket to Paradise. Troops of men,

women and children, tired and footsore, are met wending their way to the

shrines. To bathe in the Ganges is to wash away all sins.

Crowds throng the narrow, dusty streets; the women rather gracefully

attired, with a profusion of silver ornaments, ear-rings, nose-rings,

bracelets and bangles; the men nude or with a scant loin cloth. The

houses are built of clay, sun baked, some of brick, stuccoed, ancient as

time in appearance, unfit for habitation, but are grouped among the

shops and temples in close proximity. The monkey temple is especially

interesting, surrounded by well wooded grounds where the monkeys frisk

and frolic all day long and are fed by an admiring crowd, who regard

them as sacred animals. These temples are reached by a long flight of

stone steps, which I found myself slowly climbing, when, without

warning, I was rudely pushed to one side. On looking around, I saw a

diminutive grey cow ascending the steps with great dignity, and it was

the contact with this animal that had so shocked me. I quickened my

gait, and in my attempt to get out of the way. I rushed into the first

opening that met my view, which proved to be the entrance to the temple

grounds, set apart for these sacred cows. The animal was close beside me

and I vaulted like a school boy to a neighboring ledge of rock. I became

agile from fear, but the fright occasioned by the cow's triumphant entry

was nothing to the brandishing of arms of the natives in charge. I was

brushed aside like a fly in the sacred enclosure, where no heretic was

allowed to enter. Truly, I felt far from home! Garlands of marigolds,

kept fresh at wells of water, are sold to devotees to lay at the feet or

to encircle the gods of brass and stone that are seen in every

direction. We are not permitted to enter a Hindoo temple, but get a

glimpse in passing of their tinselled gaudiness. This seething caldron,

where beasts usurp the rights of men, women and children, who are all

bowing down to objects of wood and stone, is a sight one may long

for--but once in a lifetime is quite satisfactory, and we gladly

withdraw.

The early dawn of day finds us driving through the already crowded

streets on our way to the "Ghats." Boats lie in readiness to convey us

along the sacred shore of the Ganges, for but one bank is consecrated;

the opposite shore seems a dreary waste. For miles homes and sacred

structures are reared; here and there massive ruins attest the powers of

the Ganges' floods on solid masonry. From a distance it is picturesque,

but on close inspection has a most dilapidated appearance. The

well-built stone steps, or Ghats, are crowded at this early hour with

pilgrims and devotees wrapped in their white robes. They wade out into

the holy stream, bowing and drinking double hands full of water, so

nauseous in appearance, and taking off from themselves garlands of

marigolds, throw them on the surface of the water, then wash their

mouths, and return on shore for certain ministrations that the priests

stood in readiness to perform for them, which seemed to complete the

purification. Their caste was manifested by certain marks made with

ashes or paint on their foreheads.

From the upper deck of our small steamer we overlook the ceremony of

cremation, not unlike that we had seen in Calcutta. The bodies were

wrapped in crimson-colored cheese cloth and laid upon a rude bier

composed of two poles, laced together with rope; so near the water were

these bodies placed that the feet were completely covered. We were told

that very sick persons were brought when dying, and the immersion in the

holy water would bring about a reaction, and restoration to health would

ensue. No mourners were around the body, and those who ministered at the

cremation were ostracized socially, being considered unclean for a

certain length of time, and are of the lowest caste. The sheik who has

charge of the burning has the ashes thoroughly sifted to secure any

jewelry that may have been on the body, and as theft is often committed

by the men employed to rake up the ashes, great disputes arise in

consequence.

The colossal form in stone of the "God Beem" lies prostrate on the

ground, and women in peril of childbirth come in throngs on moonlight

nights to pray for the safe deliverance of a son; girls are at a

discount in the Orient. We saw a man stretched upon a bed of spikes,

paying penance for some sin committed, or to find favor by

self-abnegation with his god. When we appeared, incredulous as to the

actual facts, the man arose to show the pierced flesh and the sharp

points of which his bed was composed. The upholding of an arm until the

flesh withers, and the limb stiffens, is most revolting. These devotees

allow their finger nails to become, so extended that they look like

claws, or more like the roots of a tree seen in Ceylon, which lie on top

of the ground. We are privileged to visit the palace of the Maha Rajah,

which is quite a distance from Benares and on the unconsecrated shore of

the Ganges. Numbers of naked coolies run along the shore, pulling with

all their strength on the ropes attached to the boat. When we arrive

opposite the palace we are transferred to a raft, which is rowed and

pushed to the landing. The gloomy structure rises before us, and the

approach to it is rather intricate, through courtyards much littered up

with debris. As we enter with our guide, we are informed of the Rajah's

absence from home, but we are permitted to wander through rooms most

inhospitable in appearance. A few pictures adorn the walls and some

handsome bric-a-brac is scattered here and there. We are told that the

Rajah himself is most hospitable, and much more would have been shown us

had he been at home. The great attraction in making this visit is to see

the hundreds of elephants and tigers he has in his possession, but "the

shades of night were falling fast" and we declined any further delay.

Our trip to Benares was much more rapid on returning. We floated down

the Ganges by moonlight; it was a grewsome scene. We were gathered

together on the deck of our steamer, while our guide, at our feet, was

beguiling the weary hours by his weird tales. Visions of crocodiles,

awaiting their prey, float before our eyes; lights from the shore grew

indistinct, and our little group most abject; but the landing place at

length was in sight, and we had kept our carriage awaiting our return.

We were driven through dark, narrow streets to the garden of a temple,

where lived the holy man of Benares. We remained in our vehicle until

our guide ascertained whether we could have an interview. It was 9:00

p. m., but being American tourists, we were admitted. He was a man

apparently sanctified by his mode of living, not unlike that of Buddha.

He was emaciated, and as we approached him, he arose from his cot not

entirely nude, but a simple loin cloth was his only clothing. A canopy

was above his bed, and that was his home, day and night. He is a

profound Hindoo scholar, and without doubt will be canonized after

death. His manner toward us was most cordial and especially towards the

one of our group who hailed from Chicago. He spoke through an

interpreter, saying that the governor of Chicago had called on him

before the World's Fair, urging the holy man to visit him at the time of

the exhibition, but he could not think of ever leaving India. He then

sent for his book of registration and showed us the name registered as

Carter H. Harrison. We were asked to write our names, which we did, and

were then offered by an attendant fruits and given a book containing his

own life to date. He was born in 1833, married at twelve years of age,

and was a father at eighteen. Like Buddha, he withdrew from all natural

ties and set himself apart for a religious life. When asked if he did

not feel the cold night air to be injurious, his reply was in his

graceful gesture pointing heavenward, and in his signal language made us

understand that under a watchful eye no harm could befall him.

The country from Benares to Lucknow is but little different from what we

have already passed, though the distance is 190 miles. Population,

250,000. Manufacturers of carpets, rugs, gold lace and embroideries are

found here, and seemingly the natives are interested in their

employment, but are poor and oppressed. The remains of mausoleums and

palaces attest former grandeur before its ownership was absolutely in

the hands of its conquerors. Hotel accommodations are poor. We drove to

the park to "Leeundea Bagh," where during the mutiny of 1857 two

thousand mutineers were killed within two hours--Sir Colin Campbell

under command. The residency was built in 1800 by Sahondah Ally Kahn.

During the mutiny it contained only 927 Europeans, who were besieged by

the rebels. Shot and shell marks are to be seen in the walls. The Fort

Mueks' Bhawan, built during the famine as relief work at great cost, is

of much interest; also a museum filled with objects of curiosity.

Lucknow, famous in song, ran through my mind as we looked in vain for a

Lalla Rookh, the imaginary character of the poet Moore.

Cawnpoor, thirty miles further on, with 130,000 inhabitants, presents

large industries of leather work, rice mills and jute manufactories. The

drive to the beautiful park, which now crosses the battlefield, is most

interesting. The stately monument of pure white marble, surmounted by a

female figure, with widespread wings, and in each hand a palm of most

exquisite workmanship, combined with gracefulness. An English officer

stands near by ready to give you a brief but graphic account of the

mutiny. The monument stands on the spot over the great well, into which

were thrown alive 700 men, women and children, who were hurled into it

in one day by the order of Nana Sahib. A beautiful memorial church not

far away has been erected in memory of the loved and lost. We enter

during vesper hours; such perfect peace and quiet reigns in and around

this sacred spot, where many English men and women were gathered at the

service. It seemed so isolated to me so far from home. The drives in the

vicinity are fascinating, yet the rice fields were beginning to grow

scarce and less grass was seen. We journey on. Wheat fields appear more

frequently; apparently no demarcation between land of different owners.

Trees are scarce, but the excrement of cattle is sun baked and used for

fuel. The homes of the people are mud-walled pens, huddled together,

surrounded by walls of the same material. This grouping of homes, such

as they were, attracted our attention all along our journey. This is

evidently for protection. No isolated farm houses, with the comforts of

life, were in evidence.

The pay of the laborers who construct the railroad is three annas a day

(2-1/4 cents); an English-speaking servant will get 34 cents a day (one

rupee and four annas) for food. We do not realize how thickly settled

the country is in traveling on the railroad, but by and by we see the

mud-walled village again with its hundreds of inhabitants, who rush out

on the approach of the train, the women and children crying piteously

for backsheesh. The wealth and strength of the past ages is now seen in

their morgues, mausoleums and palaces, many of them wrecks of their

former beauty, but patience and long years of toil are evident in their

crumbling walls.

The Punjab country lies between the five great branches of the Indus

River. The men here are magnificent specimens of physical development.

The Sikh soldiers are the handsomest known. We see them acting as

policemen at Hongkong, and we stop to admire their erect carriage and

military tread. There is one defect, however, in the anatomy of the men

of India; they have no calves to their legs. The Sikh is less servile

than any other tribe, hard fighters, but attain to more or less civility

in their contact with Europeans.

Our next stopping place to Benares was Aigra, so full of interest;

namely, the Fort; the Pearl Mosque, the imperial palace, built by Abkur,

the grandfather of Shah Jehan; the palace of wonders; its walls inlaid

with agates, topaz, tagula and other more precious stones. The rooms set

apart for the harem women are exquisitely beautiful. The oriental

imagination must have lost itself in the construction and adornment of

this palace. The apartments built for his favorite wife, with a boudoir

and marble baths--the water furnished for the latter was delicately

perfumed--and walls, mirrored with small pieces of glass, looked like

the firmament in its brightness, but it remained for Shah Jehan to

astonish the world with the mausoleum built for his (not the most

correct) wife. The Tag Mahal, the tomb of his sultana, Montag Mahal, is

the most beautiful creation in marble in existence. We are told she was

beautiful; her devotion to Shah Jehan was proverbial, and his for her

idolatrous. Her dying request was that her husband should never take for

himself another wife, and in her memory should build a tomb that could

have no rival, and one that all the world would admire. "Tag" is a pet

name of endearment; "Mahal" means great or beautiful; "Montag Mahal,"

the chosen of the palace. In the words of another I will describe the

Tag Mahal, as I know no more fitting words to use. "Passing through a

majestic Saracenic arch, eighty feet in height, supported by two

abutments of sand stone, on the panels of which are carved passages from

the Koran, is a long vista of cypress trees, shading a marble paved

canal, on either side of which are beds of flowers and crystal

fountains. At the end of this magic avenue stands the "Tag" on a

terrace; at either corner of this square is an edifice of sandstone,

with a dome of the same material. The "Tag" is built of polished white

marble, its oriental dome shaped like a globe, tapering up into a spire

surmounted by a golden crescent. The platform upon which the "Tag" is

placed is a square of 313 feet each side and eighteen feet in height.

From each of the corners rise four lesser domes of the same matchless

marble, forming graceful minarets." By moonlight and by sunset we gaze

upon this Arabian night or day dream. "A thing of beauty is a joy

forever." Italian, Sarascenic and Persian are all suggested in its

architecture, and we are told that Shah Jehan expected to build for

himself a tomb of black polished marble within sight, but on the other

side of the River Jumna, but the depleted state of the treasury caused

alarm in the mind of his son; fearing he would be impoverished, he made

his father a prisoner in the imperial palace. We stood in the room

wherein he had lain in his dying hours, and gazed out of the windows, as

he did, upon the beautiful vision which was within his sight, his last

wish was gratified, and his earthly vision failed in the view he had of

Montag's tomb. He looked out beyond the Jumna, as the western sun's rays

kissed the pure white marble, reflecting on its polished surface--the

reflex it may have been of a heavenly vision, vouchsafed only to those

who pass the portals.

Delhi, the next station en route, notwithstanding the dust and heat, has

its attractions. The Bungalow Hotel is kept by an Englishwoman who, with

her sons, had a number of hostelries in India and along the tourist line

of travel. This one offered but few comforts. The proprietress assured

me that they would soon build a good hotel, as travel demanded it. She

evidently had received a telegram that we were on our way from her son's

place, at whose table we had sat at Aigra. She sent her private

conveyance for us to the depot, and received us herself with some

cordiality, and was much gratified to learn of our pleasant memories of

Aigra, with its tombs, temples, and its exquisite embroideries--the best

we saw in India--woven of the finest texture and wrought upon with such

delicacy that we could scarce realize that the dark, swarthy fingers of

those poor native Indians could work out such marvels. We bought

handsome table decorations in embroidered satin and bemoaned that we did

not get more, after we were too far away to retrace our steps.

One of the attractions of Delhi is the tower of Kutah Mina, rising to a

height of 240 feet, divided into five stories, built of red, buff and

pink sandstone. The column, or tower, is of fluted architecture for most

of the height, and decorated at intervals with layers of white marble

slabs. We were told it was built for a favorite daughter of the ruling

monarch, that she might, from its height, view the Holy River Jumna,

which was at a great distance from her home. According to the tale told

us, this tower must be ascended before she broke her morning fast. Near

by stands the iron pillar, nearly a foot and a half in diameter and over

forty feet high above the ground. It is a solid shaft of malleable iron,

the natives claim its foundation is laid in the center of the earth. To

see the tower and iron pillar necessitates a ride of eleven miles

through dust and dirt and but little of any interest along the wayside.

We visited the tomb of Johanara, the daughter of Shah Jehan, who shared

her father's captivity. Pure in spirit and humble she chose a plain

block of marble or alabaster, to cover her grave, screened by a

delicately wrought white marble. The epitaph inscribed on her tomb

reads:

"Place naught but one green herb above my head;

This alone befits the poor and lonely dead."

Pious monks keep fresh grass on her tomb; a slab at the head of the

grave bears this inscription in Arabic: "God is life and the

resurrection." The shops are attractive and we find and purchase some

ivories and, if one cares for the likeness of Shah Jehan, they will be

able to purchase paintings in miniature of him and his wife, done on

porcelain. Whether or not true to nature, we are unable to judge.

Beautiful pink pearls are shown us. How often I have regretted not

buying some of them; we never found them so perfect after leaving Delhi.

The enameled bracelets are shown in great variety, and yet we pass them

by.

Jeypore is a typical Indian city, twelve hours by rail from Delhi. The

streets are wide and well watered, the houses of stucco, gaudily painted

in hieroglyphic designs, are two and three stories high. In the middle

of the streets, at intervals of two or three squares, are stone wells,

around which rested diminutive gods of wood and stone. In the early

morning hours the natives lay an offering of flowers before these idols

and wash their hands or faces in the water and go on their way

rejoicing. Innumerable pigeons, regarded as sacred, swarm in the

streets, where they are fed.

We spend Thanksgiving day (November, 1895) in Jeypore, sight-seeing, our

hearts longing for the dear ones at home. In our wanderings we met a

wedding party. The bride, we are told, was twelve years old, the groom

twenty-one. They were seated in a gaudily decorated car, drawn by oxen.

A scarlet canopy, with India shawl draperies, hung gracefully down and

almost concealed the little veiled lady; she wore a scarlet wrap. The

groom elect, sat Turkish fashion, wore a tall hat and looked most

solemn. We entered a bazaar, where bronze and lacquer were for sale,

together with ancient armor, kept by one Mr. Zoroaster, a man of

distinction. While on the second floor of the building, overlooking a

court-yard, some gaily dressed veiled women came in and began to beat

their tomtoms. Mr. Zoroaster remarked: "It is only on great occasions

that my sister ever leaves her home. It is she who is below, accompanied

by her women in waiting, and have come to bid my family to the wedding

of her daughter." He told us the bride and groom were wealthy, and that

her father was to give a feast to five thousand people on this, their

wedding day. He, Mr. Zoroaster, told us the dress of his sister for the

occasion cost 2,000 rupees. It was crimson, embroidered in gold, a

fluted skirt; many yards in width. Her bracelets and bangles were

studded with jewels. The band played as the procession moved slowly

through the streets.

The palace of the Maha Rajah was opened for inspection; the rugs were

rolled; the furniture covered and, as the Rajah was away from home,

things seemed neglected. Pigeons were stalking around and in the palace,

and rare birds of bright plumage seemed to the manor born as they stood

or flew in and out at their own sweet will. Hundreds of elephants were

kept on these grounds and owned by the Maha Rajah. It was an imposing

sight to see these clumsy but dignified animals with their oriental

trappings and painted ear flaps. The coloring was most harmonious.

Horses innumerable were in the stables and were with their care keepers,

making ready for their daily outing. It is a scene, when elephants,

horses and tigers are led through the streets and, perhaps, witnessed

nowhere else in such regal splendor. Camels stalked through the highways

with their burdens; panther dogs, led by their masters, strolled

leisurely along; in fact, one might feel it was a gala day and a

menagerie on exhibition. There are public cages here; lions and tigers

can be seen within the city's limit. Around these cages, where the

crowds gather, come the poor, wretched, deformed beggars, heart-rending

to gaze upon--to say nothing of the loathsome lepers, which were more

hideous than the wild beasts.

A school of fine arts, sustained by the rulers of Jeypore, was well

equipped with men and boys, who were industriously and skillfully

beating and moulding brass into useful and decorative articles. Pottery,

and especially lacquer work is carried on, we were told, to a greater

degree of perfection than elsewhere in the world.

It was at Jeypore we saw the Nautch girls, kept by the Maha Rajah for

his own amusement. Our guide would have us believe that we were greatly

favored in this, our opportunity. One hour spent with them was quite

enough, and cost us six dollars, a ridiculous expenditure. However, we

have started out to see the sights; this is one of them. We were taken

to a house and led up to the second story back porch, we might call it,

overlooking a gloomy courtyard. A white quilted rug was thrown upon the

floor. Three native girls appeared, dressed gorgeously in knife-pleated

skirts to the knees, embroidered in gold. On their heads were thrown

beautiful grenadine scarfs, drawn gracefully over their shoulders.

Coronets studded with jewels, with ear-rings, bracelets and bangles

resplendent with dazzling gems. Three women stood behind these girls,

advancing and retreating, keeping time with their rude musical

instruments. They move their bodies in a most disgusting manner from the

hip down, while they attempt to portray great intensity of feeling. In a

short time they became very familiar, and disposed to be very

flirtatious with the gentlemen of our party, taking off their bracelets,

ear-rings and other ornaments and attempted to place them on their

wrists or hang them on their ears. They, in return are anxious to secure

a ring or any ornament we wear. They are repulsive and full of evil,

judging from their looks and actions. They were roughly spoken to by an

old, grey-headed woman, who evidently had them in charge, and, we

thought, was urging them to offer us wine or refreshment, from which we

could not escape before paying, but we had been forewarned and hastily

withdrew, our guide settling our bill, while we hurried into our

carriage. In their gyrations they would represent snake charmers,

kite-flyers and divers and other mysterious movements that were anything

but graceful.

Our visit to Amber, a city of ruins adjacent to Jeypore, was made partly

by carriage and the ascent of the mountain by elephant to the winter

palace of the Rajah. A small ladder was attached to the howdah on the

back of the animal, and one by one we climbed and took our seat, two on

one side and two on the other--back to back. While making this climb

the huge elephant knelt, all four feet doubled under him. When we were

seated he arose. The motion was not pleasant, but all fear was dispelled

by the two faithful coolies who walked on either side of Jumbo and

directed his footsteps with an iron probe. We reach the palace, after a

tedious ride, and to alight was a feat, but we were quite repaid by the

interior views. We were too late for a sacrifice that had just been made

of a sheep or lamb; saw nothing but a sprinkling of blood and the dying

embers, or ashes, upon which a portion of the animal sacrificed is

cooked for the priests in attendance. The walls of the palace were most

unique. Doubtless, while the plaster was still wet, pieces of mirror,

the size of a 25-cent piece were imbedded in it, and so thickly studded

were these walls and ceilings that the effect was brilliant. The rooms

were large and orange trees grew apace where a spot of ground appeared.

The ruins of Amber, which we overlook, seemed the haunts of fakirs,

naked and covered with dirt; with their thin, long hair matted, hanging

over their shoulders or on their faces. These fanatics, in their self

abnegation, are looking for their reward in Nirvanna, where they think

only those enter who from self-denial purify themselves. Our return down

the mountain seemed perilous, but our sure-footed Jumbo forbids fears

and where his instincts failed the goad of the native caretakers seemed

effective. We found it a slow mode of traveling, but sure. We could but

admire the oriental coloring of Jumbo's ear flaps; they were those of a

superb India shawl. On the wayside we saw altars for sacrifice and to

imitate blood was rude bespatterment of red paint or a like mixture. I

wondered if their religion taught them that this is emblematic of the

blood that cleanseth from all sin. I could not learn from inquiries made

of my guide.