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lASd and Sea

Tne Companion Sef\ie5
«4»

PeRRY/AASON & CO.HPANY

THE LIBRARY

THE UNIVERSITY

OF CALIFORNIA

PRESENTED BY

PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND

MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID

Digitized by the Internet Archive

in 2008 with funding from

IVIicrosoft Corporation

http://www.archive.org/details/bylandseaOObostrich

The Companion Series

By Land and Sea

Crt^s e^c>mP^>rx\orx

cLkixns

1909

Perry Mason Company,
BOSTON, Mass.

BY PERRY MASON COMPANY

Boston, Mass.

CONTENTS.

GLIMPSES OF EUROPE.

LONDON ....

W. H. RIDEING

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY

ARCHDEACON FARRAR

SCENES IN HOLLAND .

ALEPH PAGE

WORK AND PLAY IN BELGIUM

E. H. TERRELL

BOYS AND GIRLS OF PARIS

M. E. BLAKE

TOLEDO AND CORDOVA

LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON

THE VENETIAN GONDOLA

HENRY BACON

A CLIMB UP MOUNT VESUVIUS

E. N. ROLFE

ALPINE VILLAGE LIFE .

. S. H. M. BYERS

DOWN THE MOSELLE -

. REV. MORTON DEXTER

SWEDEN . , . .

W. W. THOMAS, JR.

LIFE IN NORWAY

WILLIAM H. CORY

THE AMERICAN TROPICS.

AN ODD OLD CITY IN THE ANDES

CARNIVAL IN LIMA

A VENEZUELAN RAILWAY

THE LAND OF THE LLAMA .

AN EVENING IN A BRAZILIAN FOREST

SOUTH AMERICAN GAMES

A YOUNG AND GROWING MOUNTAIN

IN THE GRAND PLAZA OF MEXICO

THE BOYS OF MEXICO

THE SEA OF THE DISCOVERY

HOUSEKEEPING ON A DESERT ISLAND

A TRIP TO SANTO DOMINGO

W. E. CURTIS

MARIA LOUISE WETMORE

THOMAS L. STEDMAN

W. E. CURTIS

A. B. BUCKLEY

W. E. CURTIS

. JOAQUIN MILLER

102

T. S. VANDYKE

H. BUTTERWORTH

113

LADY BLAKE

118

JULIA WARD HOWE

124

M <-%«^r'tf^

SKETCHES OF THE ORIENT.

IN CHINESE STREETS .

DINING WITH A MANDARIN

COREA AND ITS ARMY

A JAPANESE GARDEN PARTY.

THE JINRIKISHA OF JAPAN .

A JAPANESE HOME

SIAM AND ITS ROYAL WHITE ELEPHANT

HOUSEKEEPING IN EAST INDIA

A MORNING IN BENARES

THE FIRE -WORSHIPPERS

SOME LITTLE EGYPTIANS

ORIENTAL SWEETMEATS

A. O. HUNTINGTON 131

ALETHE LOWBER CRAIG 135

. FRANK G. CARPENTER 141

JOSEPH KING GOODRICH 147

. MARTHA C. M. FISHER 153

E. O. MORSE 156

SARA LEE 161

SARA JEANNETTE DUNCAN 166

HUGH WILKINSON 173

S. G. W. BENJAMIN 178

EDITH R. CROSBY 183

ELEANOR HODGENS 189

OLD OCEAN.

ABOUT ICEBERGS

M. HARVEY

195

THE GULF STREAM

. J. E. PILLSBURY

201

THE KURO SIWO

C. A. STEPHENS

207

THE TRADE WINDS

E. B. UNDERWOOD

210

THE MARINERS' COMPASS

JAMES PARTON

214

MINOT'S LEDGE LIGHT

EMORY J. HAYNES

220

BUOYS

W. F. LOW

225

THE PILOT BOAT

W. EUSTIS BARKER

231

AN OCEAN GUIDE-POST

HARRY PLAIT

237

AN OCEAN OBSERVATORY

. H. F. GUNNISON

244

THE U. S. LIFE-SAVING SERVICE .

. WORTH G. ROSS

249

GLIMPSES OF EUROPE.

LONDON.

We travel from Liverpool to London in one of the saloon-
carriages which are attached to all important trains, and in
which all passengers holding first-class tickets are allowed to
ride without extra charge.

In the middle of the car is a large drawing-room, with
small reading tables between the softly upholstered seats, and
at each end there is a large compartment, one reserved exclu-
sively for gentlemen and the other for ladies. There are
separate dressing-rooms of a much larger size than those in
the Pullman cars, and the fittings are of the most ingenious
description. Wherever one may be in the car an electric bell
is within reach, and a touch brings to our side a civil attendant
politely asking what he can do for us.

If the passengers want luncheon, they are provided for
three shillings with a little basket containing a napkin, knife
and fork, condiments, bread and butter, a hot chop, or half a
cold chicken.

In this luxurious fashion, with an ever-changing landscape
framed in the window of the car, we rush along, at the rate of
fifty miles an hour, through the garden-like fields and past
the red-tiled villages, the ivy-mantled churches and the
ancestral parks; it is like Arcadia and everything seems to
breathe of contentment and prosperity.

Only two stops are made between Liverpool and London,
a distance of two hundred and one miles, and in four hours
and a half we are at the end of our journey and in London,
the most wonderful of cities, which becomes more and more
wonderful as one's knowledge of it increases.

The first thing we realize on reaching London is noise,
and the second thing is smoke. The houses and buildings
are as black as if they were draped in crape, and the air is full
of floating particles of soot. We see with dismay the new

summer hats that we have brought from America growing
dingy and brown an hour or two after our arrival, and at the
end of a daj^ or two .our new summer suits are spoiled.

Although it is July, and the weather is hot, all the men
are dressed in black, and the straw hat and light felt hat are
scarceh' ever worn. Black is, indeed, the only suitable color
for clothing, and if the skin were black also it would be more
appropriate than white.

We have to visit the wash-bowl once, at least, in every
three hours if we have been out-of-doors, and we stare aghast
at the water after we have used it; it is as inky as if a
chimney-sweep or a blacksmith had taken a bath in it. The
face collects specks of the soot, and unless the hands are
constantly gloved they, too, become Ethiopian.

At nearly every corner there is a crossing-.sweeper, some-
times a bo}^ or a girl, sometimes an old man or a woman, who
lives by the pennies and halfpennies which the pedestrians
drop as they pass. The sweeper touches his hat to every one
who hurries by, but it is seldom that he is rewarded by a coin.
One sweeper will occupy the same crossing from day to day,
year in and year out, and his claim to it is recognized by other
sweepers.

There are many street occupations which we never see in
America, and the aim of nearl}^ all of them is the much-needed
penny.

Ragged street-Arabs follow the omnibuses and cabs, and
turn running somersaults while beseeching the passengers to
give them a penny. When the tide is out, great banks of
black and oozy mud are exposed under the bridges which
cross the Thames, and half-naked boys wallow in the mire,
groping for the pennies which some silly people throw for the
amusement of seeing the little fellows begrime themselves.

The hansom cab is the most comfortable of vehicles, and it
is strange that it has not been adopted more widel}^ in the
United States; its motion is easy, and as the passenger sits
facing the horse, he has a complete view of everything passing.
It is driven at a high rate of speed, and in twenty minutes we

LONDON. 5

reach the old tavern at Charing Cross, at the door of which
Mr. Pickwick had his famous dispute with the cabman of old.

Other English hotels have been modernized and Ameri-
canized, but this is as old-fashioned as ever. We do not
"register," and we are not greeted by any bejewelled clerk.
When we enter the hall, we go up to a large window with
small panes, which screens a very cozy sitting-room, wherein
we find the landlady and her assistants, all of whom are
attractive-looking young women, and there a bedchamber is
assigned to us.

Such a bedchamber! The very room, perchance, in which
Mr. Pickwick found himself with his unwelcome companion;
for here is a four-post bed, with heavy curtains, and all the
furniture is so dingy that its proper place would be a curiosity-
shop, or a museum of antiquities,

W. H. RiDEING.

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In Westminster Abbey,

I fear that on entering the Abbey you will at first be
greatly disappointed. The grimy, dingy look of the place
will vex you, particularly if you choose for your visit a dull
day. I grieve to say that the dinginess is inevitable. The
Abbey rears its towers into an atmosphere thick with the
smoke of innumerable chimneys, and laden with acids which
eat away, with increasing rapidity, the surface of its stones.

And yet, as you enter the cathedral which enshrines
memorials of nine centuries of English history — as you pass
under the roof which covers more immortal dust than any
other in the whole world — you can hardly fail to feel some
sense of awe. And before you begin to study the cathedral
in detail, I should advise you to wander through the length
and breadth of it without paying any attention to minor
points but with the single object of recognizing its exquisite
beauty and magnificence.

You will best understand its magnificence as a place of
worship if you visit it on any Sunday afternoon, and see the
choir and transepts crowded from end to end by perhaps three
thousand people, among whom 5^ou will observ^e hundreds of
young men, contented to stand through the whole of a long
service and to listen with no sign of weariness to a sermon
which perhaps occupies an hour in the delivery.

Here the Puritan divines thundered against the errors of
Rome ; here the Romish preachers anathematized the apos-
tasies of lyUther. These walls have heard the voice of
Cranmer as he preached before the boy-king on whom he
rested the hopes of the Reformation, and the voice of Feckenham
as he preached before Philip of Spain and Mary Tudor. They
have heard South shooting the envenomed arrows of his wit
against the Independents, and Baxter pleading the cause of
toleration. They have heard Bishop Bonner chanting the

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 7

mass in his mitre and Stephen Marshall preaching at the
funeral of Pym.

Here, too, you may see at a glance the unity of our
national history. I use the expression, our national history,
designedly. The Abbey will remind us, as no other place
could remind us, that the histor>' of England is no less the
history of America, and the history of America the historj^ of
England. All that was bitter in the memories of the American
War of Independence has long been buried in the oblivion of
our common amity.

The actual traces which have been left by that struggle
upon the Abbey walls are few. Gen. Burgoyne, "whose
surrender at Saratoga lost America to England," lies buried,
not in the Abbe}-, but in the North Cloister without a monu-
ment. A small tablet in the southern aisle records the
shipwreck and death of William Wragg — who, as his epitaph
tells us, alone remained faithful to his country and loyal to
his king, and was consequently obliged to escape from Carolina.

The most marked trace of the war is to be seen in the
monument of Major Andre ; and the fact that in 1812 Andre's
body was sent back to England by the Americans, with every
mark of courtesy and respect, shows how rapidly all traces of
exasperation were obliterated between brother nations.

There are several other objects which will remind Americans
of their country. One is the beautiful window in honor of
Herbert and Cowper at the western end of the Nave, in the
old baptistery, which was the munificent gift of an American
citizen. The other is some faint adumbration of Boston
Harbor, which may be seen at the opposite end of the Abbe}^
the east end of Henry the Seventh's chapel, at the corner of
the memorial window raised by the late dean to the memor}-
of his wife. Lady Augusta Stanley. A third is the tomb in
the Nave which was raised to Viscount Howe by the Province
of Massachusetts. The genius of Massachusetts is represented
weeping over the monument. Ticonderoga appears on the
monument of Col. Townsend.

Even in walking through the Abbey to learn its general

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 9

aspect, you will be struck by the bewildering multiplicity of
tombs. There is not a Valhalla in the world in which repose
so many of the great and good. It is this which has made
the deepest impression on multitudes of visitors.

There, over the western door, with his arm outstretched
and his haughty head thrown back, as though in loud and
sonorous utterance he were still pouring forth to the Parlia-
ment of England the language of indomitable courage and
inflexible resolve, stands William Pitt. History is recording
his words of eloquence ; Anarchy sits like a chained giant, at
his feet. And within a few yards of this fine monument is
the no less interesting memorial of Charles James Fox ; of
Fox, who opposed Pitt's public funeral ; of Fox, whom he
once charged with using the language of a man ' ' mad with
desperation and disappointment."

The most noticeable tombs in the Nave (and to the Nave
alone we must at present confine our attention) may be classed
together under different heads.

There are the monuments to great statesmen ; to the naval
commanders ; to former Deans of Westminster, and to the
great Indian heroes. It is singular how exceedingly bad
many of the epitaphs are, and how as we approach the
eighteenth century they grow more and more verbose and
futile in exact proportion as the sentiments expressed by the
statuary grow more and more irreligious and fantastic.

The inscription on the grave of Clyde briefly records his
"fifty years of arduous servnce." On Outram's monume>nt is
a bas-relief of the memorable scene in which he met Havelock
at Delhi, and resigning to him the command, nobly served as
a volunteer beneath his military inferior. On Pollock's grave
is the appropriate text, " O God, Thou strength of my health.
Thou hast covered my head in the day of battle." Under the
bust of Lawrence are canned the striking words, " He feared
man so little, because he feared God so much."

There is, close by, the bust of Zachary Macaulay, the father
of Lord Macaulay and the great opponent of the slave-trade.
The inscription — written by Sir James Stephen — is well

lO IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

worth reading for the beautj^ and eloquence of the language.
There is the grave of John Hunter, the great anatomist.
Close by this is the simple rectangular slab under which Ben
Jonson was buried upright, having asked Charles I. for
eighteen square inches of ground in Westminster Abbey. On
this stone was carved the quaint and striking epitaph, "O
rare Ben Jonson," which, onlj^ the accidental expression of a
passer-by, was afterwards copied upon his bust in "Poet's
Corner."

Near the centre of the Nave a slab records that the grave
beneath was the resting-place, for some months, of the body
of George Peabody ; and on this slab are car\^ed the words of
his early prayer, that if God prospered him, He would enable
him to render some memorial service to his fellow-men.

A little farther on is the grave of lyivingstone, which records
the last pathetic words found in his diary : " All I can add in
my loneliness is, May Heaven's rich blessing come down on
every one, American, English or Turk, who will help to heal
this open sore of the world " — the slave-trade.

There are, however, two monuments to which I must lead
you before I conclude. One is the monument to Sir Isaac
Newton, close beside whose grave were laid the mortal
remains of Charles Darwin.

The tomb of Newton is well worth your notice from its
intrinsic beauty, as well as from the fact that it is placed
above the last resting-place of one of the greatest of English-
men* The monument is by Rysbraeck. Over it is a celestial
globe on which is marked the course of the comet of 1680.
Leaning on this is the figure of Astronomy, who has closed
her book as though, for the time, her labors were over.

The very ingenious bas-relief below expresses in allegory
the various spheres of Newton's labors. At the right three
lovely little genii are minting money, to indicate Newton's
services to the currency ; near them, a boy looking through a
prism symbolizes the discoveries of Newton respecting the
laws of light; a fifth — who (like other geniuses) has at
present unhappily lost his head — is weighing the sun on a

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. II

steelyard against Mercury, Mars, Venus, the Earth, Jupiter
and Saturn, which very strikingly shadows forth the discovery
of the laws of gravitation ; at the extreme left, two other genii
reverently tend an aloe, the emblem of immortal fame. Over
the bas-relief reclines the fine statue of the great discoverer,
whose elbow leans on four volumes of Divinity, Optics and
Astronomy and Mathematics.

There is one more monument in the Nave at which
Americans will look with special interest. It is the tomb of
the gallant and ill-fated Andre. Every American knows how
he was arrested in disguise wathin the American lines in 1780,
and for a moment lost his presence of mind and neglected to
produce the safe-conduct of the traitor Benedict Arnold. He
was sentenced to be hung as a spy, and in spite of the deep
sympathy which his fate excited, even among the Americans,
Washington did not think himself justified in relaxing the
sentence.

The touching bas-relief represents on one side a British
officer, who is carrying a flag of truce and a letter to the tent
of General Washington, wdth the entreaty of Andre that, as a
soldier, he might be shot and not hung. One of the American
officers is weeping.

The request was refused, but as it w^ould have been too
painful to represent Andre's death on the gibbet, the sculptor
has represented his youthful and handsome figure standing at
the right of the bas-relief before a platoon of soldiers, as
though his petition had in reality been granted. The sculptor
Van Gelder has been very successful, but the heads of
Washington and Andre have several times been knocked off
and stolen by base and sacrilegious hands.

The American visitor wall gaze on the tomb wntli still
deeper interest when he is told that the wreath of richly-
colored autumn leaves on the marble above w^as brought from
the site where Andre's gibbet stood, and placed where it now
is by the hands of Arthur Stanley, late Dean of Westminster.

Archdeacon Farrar.

Scenes in Holland.

A country protected by dikes from the placid-looking but
hungry sea, diversified with windmills, peopled by a thrifty
and well-contented race, and soaked, as it seems to the
observer, by an atmosphere bringing about such tones and

effects as artists love ;
this is Holland.

Perhaps among all
its attractions the
windmills are most va-
ried, and appeal most
strongl}' to the eye.
One never tires of
watching them ; there
are as many varieties
as there are of flies
in our own country,
though they never
make themselves too
prominent in the land-
scape, as flies so often
do. One, like that in
the sketch, which has
lost one of its sails,
always reminds me of
a goose with a broken
wing. Most of them
are painted with the brightest of known tints, which are
nevertheless toned into a delicious harmony by the blue-gray
of the atmosphere, and all seem to embody the very spirit of
thrift and industry, with their wildly whirling sails.

The traveller gifted with an artistic eye, in noting how
they fit the landscape, may not at first realize their vast utility.

SCENES IN HOLLAND.

but he soon learns that they are the gigantic servitors of the
country, and are used, not only in draining the land, but for
various lesser operations, such as crushing grain or sawing
logs. Their number on any farm accurately indicates the
owner's wealth, and the bride is well satisfied who goes to her
new home with a dowry of several windmills.

The head-gear of the women is
usually most elaborate and striking.
Almost all of them wear caps, some-
times plain, and often diversified like
that in the sketch, which is trimmed
with lace and ornamented by gold pins
at the sides. The quality of the lace
and the richness of the pins furnish

conclusive evidence of the class and wealth of the wearer. A
very effective head-dress is one common in Friesland, consisting
of a helmet of gold, silver, or some other burnished metal,
which is covered with lace, often of a very precious quality.

Secured to the sides of
the metal cap or "hoof-
dyzer " (head-iron),
on a line with the eyes,
are spiral ornaments
of gold, or pendants
set with jewels.

A lady thus be-
decked presents a gor-
geous appearance, not
even to be exceeded
by that of royalty, in
its every - day dress.
Still, the plain white
linen cap is most com-
mon among the peas-
antry and very becom-
ing to the broad, chub-
by faces of children.

SCENES IN HOLLAND.

The cleanliness of Holland deserves to pass into a score of
proverbs. In some of the larger towns, where the houses

front directly upon the
street, without a vestige
of 5 ard, the morning is
the time adopted for a
general scrubbing. The
earh riser is liable to
stumble over house-
maids on their knees,
or to be splashed by the
pails of water, which
the} are dashing against
walls and windows.

Often, too, girls may

be seen kneel-
ing, and loot-
ing out grass
from 1 he chinks
of a pavement,
where it has
tried to assert
its unwelcome
existence

There are
few hedges or

fences in Holland, but rush-bordered ditches separate different
plots of ground, and everywhere, in the frequent streamlets,

SCENES IN HOLLAND. 15

are reflected the windmills, in long, wavering lines, under the
wonderful sunset light.

A little earlier in the day may be seen the milkmaid going
home with two brass cans suspended on her shoulders, and
adding vastly to the diversified beauty of the landscape. The
farmer, also, takes his homeward way, smoking his pipe, held
sidewise or upside down, according to the queer Dutch fashion.

Storks are flying at all hours across the country, their long
wings loosely flapping, and their slender legs hanging down,
as if broken. They are very much like the decorative
Japanese stork, except that they are more liveh% and the
Dutch regard them with a consideration which amounts
almost to reverence. Often the birds build their nests on the
chimnej'S, but here and there are to be seen long poles stuck
into the ground, and bearing at the top a sort of basket, in
which the stork may rest in securit3^

These birds are of great benefit to the country for the
reason that, although they are eaters of fish, the}^ also devour
large numbers of reptiles and insects. When one settles upon
a house, it is regarded as such a good omen that the most
skeptical person would never dream of driving it away, and
there is still in existence a law imposing a fine upon any one
who shall kill a stork.

Aleph Page.

Work and Play in Belgium.

Belgium is a small, but a thrifty and beautiful country,
and the Belgians are very proud of it. Their interests are all
centered in it; and although many foreigners make their home
here, the Belgians proper keep more to themselves, and do
not make it easy for the foreigners to become acquainted
with them.

The Belgians proper are chiefly composed of two races,
the Flemish, who are originally of Germanic descent, and the
Walloons, descendants of the Gauls. They have each a
language of their own, in which they vSpeak to their family
and friends; but they also speak and understand French,
which is the language of the country. In almost everything
ofi&cial French only is used.

The public schools are free, and children are sent to them
very young. They have to obey strict rules, and are dutiful
to their teachers.

They learn first and foremost all about their own country,
drawing maps of great detail of the different parts of it so as
to get thoroughly familiar with its geography. They learn
the history' of Belgium thoroughly, and an interesting study it
is — not to them alone, but to everybody, because the Belgian
provinces have been the object of many wars, belonging at
different times to France, Holland, Spain and Austria.

Belgium's central position made it the theatre of war of
many nations; and stormy and full of changes has been its
fate. All that is interesting to the student; and the Belgian
children love to learn all about the past of their country.
Happy the people are that now they belong to themselves,
and have their own good, wise king !

Everything pertaining to their own country is carefully
taught, but what lies beyond does not interest them much.
The rest of the world is nothing to them, and they know

WORK AND PLAY IN BELGIUM. 1 7

little about it. Once a year prizes are distributed in schools
for the best worker — the one who has tried hardest to do well.
On that day you see the children dressed in their best on their
way to school. Many carry or wear flowers; all are eager to
obtain the prize.

The deserving ones return home, proudl}' carrying their
prizes, consisting mostly of choice books; they are decked
with flowers or gay ribbons given bj' their schoolmates, who
surround them admiringly, happy in their success.

Thursday afternoon is always a half-holiday, on which
comrades gather to spend a happj' time together in the woods
if it is summer, or skating or making snow-statuary in the
winter.

On a fine day j'^ou can see class after class of merry
children clattering along two by two in their "sabots"
(wooden shoes), led by a teacher to some park or playground
to play and romp for an hour or so. The teacher either joins
in the games, or at any rate stays to watch that no harm is
done, and on a signal the children obedientl}' gather together,
group themselves as they came and return to school.

lyittle girls have always to wear black pinafores at school
to keep their dresses from getting bespattered with ink, and
to make them, while at school, look all alike. It is a kind of
uniform that all wear, so that none shall outshine the others
by finer dresses, and also to prevent their thoughts from
wandering from their lessons to each other's clothes. For
the same reason, perhaps, the black dress is chosen for
universal wear ior young ladies in some boarding-schools.

On special fete days of a national character, as for instance
on the twenty-fifth anniversary of the accession of King
Leopold II. to the throne, one feature of the celebration is a
procession of school children, marching past the king and
queen.

Delegations of children are sent from schools all over the
country. They join the Brussels children, having drilled for
weeks beforehand, so that on the appointed day thousands
upon thousands of them march in beautiful order like soldiers,

WORK AND P1,AY IX BELGIUM.

singing beautiful songs, past the king and queen, who are
stationed on some balcony of their palace, and who smile and
nod to the children as they march past.

Sunday is the great day for amusement here as in all

European countries. The streets, parks and woods are
crowded on that day. All have been busy during the week ;
so on Sunday, after having attended church, which they do
regularly, the whole family turns out, often taking their food

WORK AND PLAY IN BELGIUM. I9

with them to the woods and spending the remainder of the
day in the open air.

The summer-time is perhaps the happiest time for children
as well as for the grown folks, because it brings the ' ' kermess, ' '
a kind of Flemish fair which is held at different times all over
the country.

On some open place in city or village quite a little town of
booths and tents is erected. There you find merry-go-rounds,
Russian slides, roller-coasts, menageries, wonderful exhi-
bitions of all sorts of curious things and animals ; fat people,
dwarfs and shooting-galleries. All have pitched their tents
in some convenient spot.

The crowd of eager people is immense every day ; and
many save up all their spare money for a whole year in order
to spend it at the kermess. They enjoy themselves far better
there than at a more costly entertainment ; in fact, the great
success of the fair is due to the low price asked for the different
shows. It is indeed a true people's festival, and it is pleasant
to see their thorough enjoyment.

The noise at the fair is terrible. Each merry-go-round
has its big hand-organ of the size of an upright piano, playing
as loud as a brass band. There may be six of these in a
comparatively small space.

The reports of the guns at the shooting-galleries ; the loud
voices of the owners of shows and museums inviting the
passer-by to see the contents of their booths ; the clowns in
front of the circus ; the laughing and shouting of the throng,
all that combined makes an ordinary tone of conversation
impossible.

Everybody has to scream to make himself understood ; and
when the throat gets too dry, why, there are innumerable
tents where refreshments pi all kinds are served. For the
children the stalls filled with candies of all colors of the
rainbow, and gingerbread are not the least attractive ones.

With such simple, childlike amusements young and old
are satisfied. The father goes with his family to join in the
pleasure. He may not have the restless activity of the

20 WORK AND PLAY IN BELGIUM.

American, but he will allow himself time to enjoy life with
his wife and children as he goes along, and rests contented
with a simple lot.

One thing that would strike strangers on coming here
would be to see the children beg in the streets. Some are
sent begging by parents who are too lazy to work, and in
such cases a regular business is made of it.

But there are others who beg even when they do not need
alms. They will run beside j'our carriage or trot along by
your side, asking in a woebegone voice for "charite ! un petit
sou" (charity! a little penny). If you pay no attention to
them they will, after awhile, stay behind, change manner and
tone completely, perhaps make a face at you, and go on
laughingly with their games.

If you let your heart be touched — which j^ou are sorely
tempted to do by their heartrending voice and entreaty, and
their dirty, ragged and hungry look — they will as likely as
not take the money you gave them to the nearest candy store
and spend it in sweets, or buy a cigarette and make themselves
sick with it.

Politeness is one of the pleasing features of children in
Belgium. They are taught from earliest childhood to be
polite, and they never forget it. Wherever you go, everj^body
is well-mannered and obliging. In stores one alwaj^s receives
most polite thanks and earnest entreaty to come again, even if
one has not bought a thing.

On the roads in the country the peasants alwaj's wish you
good day, and the men take off their hats. When a funeral
passes on the street, every man and boy takes off his hat ;
this is called " salut a la mort " (salute to the dead), and is a
beautiful custom. A troop of soldiers would always halt till
the funeral procession has passed, and never cross it, as indeed
no one would do.

Children have to make themselves useful, too. After
school hours they have to help in the business, or tend and
care for the younger children, or work in the fields. Fre-
quently you see them take the produce of the farm to the city

WORK AND PLAY IN BKLGIUM. 21

in little green carts drawn by dogs. Dog-carts are used a
great deal, but the dogs are splendid big creatures, and well
treated. In such carts the milk is brought mornings to the
house in shining brass cans set in straw in the little cart,
which is painted bright green and attended by a girl in a clean
dress, blue apron and wooden shoes, with nothing on her
head, winter or summer.

The dog is hitched to this cart like a horse, with a pretty
little harness studded with brass nails. In some cases the
dog is placed underneath the cart, and the girl pushes from
behind.

I should like to tell you a great deal more about this
country, but that would overstep the limits of my letter.
What I have told you will have given you some little idea of
the people and customs of Belgium, and of the children here.

E. H. TerreIvL.

Boys and Girls of Paris,

Although America is of all countries the one in which the
rights of childhood are most regarded, it is not by any means
the foremost in provision for its comfort or enjoyment.

In this respect we might well take a lesson from the city
of Paris. The w^onderful pleasure-grounds which are to be
met at every turn are open to the children unreserv^edly.

From the Bois de Boulogne, with its hundreds of acres of
hill and valley, and the gardens of the Tuileries, bright with
statues and flowers and fountains, to the small squares and
places, or even to the peaceful old churchyards with their
quiet paths and green arbors, there is no spot where the happy
little creatures do not find room for outdoor diversion.

You will find them making sand pies, — the streets of Paris
are too clean to provide mud, — whipping their gaily painted
tops, pegging away at marbles with shrill French enthusiasm,
playing soldier, or cache-cache or prisoner's base, or "I-spy,"
eager and almost as swift as birds, and to all appearance
much less given to quarrelling.

Perhaps the universal courtesy with which they are treated,
may be the cause of the courtesy they in turn show to their
companions and elders ; but whatever the reason, it is certainly
a most charming trait in their behavior.

To see a French boy, hat in hand, answering or asking a
question, or a French girl, standing with kindly deference
until her mother or her mother's friend is seated, is to see a
very pleasant sight indeed.

But it is not alone in playgrounds that the beautiful cit)^
takes care of its children. There are the ever fascinating
Gingerbread Fairs. You come suddenly, at some street corner
where there is an open space, upon a village of tents, with
merry-go-rounds, swings. Punch and Judy shows, and all
manner of devices pleasing to children. There are captive

BOYS AND GIRLS OF PARIS. 23

balloons in which you can soar above the house-tops, and
toboggan slides which dip frantically, as if into the bowels of
the earth ; and clowns, jugglers and acrobats, and streets
upon streets of toys, and candy and gingerbread!

Gingerbread everywhere ; walls of it, chunks of it, bricks
of it; in slices, in blocks, in shapes of men and elephants,
ships and houses ; ornamented with gold and silver, glistening
with frosting, covered with a mail of parti-colored comfits,

packed full of plums,
bristling with nuts spark-
ling with tinsel, fashioned
t^ 1'^^ into every device which

i \y^^^ "^ ceive.

^ ^ \K — __ And oh, so cheap !

S\ ~ The poorest small pocket

■~ holds sous enough for a

treat.
_ Then there is the

'^T^'^^ ^*'^"'' Garden of Plants, the

great botanical and zoo-
logical nursery of the
nation, with its long lanes flanked by pretty houses, some
large as barracks, for the monkeys or the gracefull}^ awkward
camelopards, some tiny enough for the smallest forms of
animal life.

There are conserv^atories filled with rarest butterfly-like
orchids, and tall tropical palms; whole buildings devoted to
aquariums, and rare, strange nooks, where the trees are cut
into grotesque forms, as if one had straj^ed into some goblin
country.

In the centre is a great oval ampitheatre without a roof
where, every fine day, a perpetual circus goes on ; and where,
for a sou or two, a good boy or girl may ride upon any
creature, from an elephant to a goat not much larger than a
good-sized cat.

There are brilliant houdahs, in which a dozen can sit at

24 BOYS AND GIRLS OF PARIS.

once, regally borne by some gigantic Jumbo; there are queer
little saddles fastened on the hump of a camel, or a dromedar}^
or an ostrich ; there are cushions across the back of a deer,
or a zebra, or a Shetland ponj^ or some strange creature that
looks as if it had wandered out of the Arabian Nights.

There are bands playing with fine flourish of drums and
cymbals; there are travelling musicians with every variety of
noise, from a hurdy-gurdy to a calliope whistle ; and the air
is full of flower fragrance and the joyous tumult of children's
voices. What could be more like Paradise ?

Here and there you will stumble, in some of the narrow
streets of the old city or the broad boulevards of the new,
upon a magic gateway, where 3'ou drop five cents into a lion's
mouth. He swallows it without winking. Then you knock
at a low door, and presto ! you are in Fairyland. Real
Fairyland this time, if there ever was such a thing !

There is the palace of the Sleeping Beauty, with her
scullions and courtiers and maids of honor dreaming away in
the gardens and halls, while she herself lies with sweet, closed
eyes on the silken coverlet of her pretty bower. Only you
are not allowed to kiss her awake.

There are talking birds and singing pigs, and strange
enchantments all about you. There is an elephant with a
staircase in his left hind-leg, and a suite of rooms in his
monstrous body, and a supper-hall in his big forehead, whence
you can look out on the world from his twinkling eyes.

If you turn to the right, you will meet little Red Riding
Hood with the Wolf talking to her in very good French, and the
old Grandmother being gobbled up before your very eyes, if
you wait long enough. If you turn to the left, there is Jack
the Giant Killer slaying his fearful Goliaths ; or Hop o' My
Thumb piloting his train of brothers through the woods ; or
the fatal castle of Blue Beard, with Sister Anna looking from
the battlements ; or some other dear old friend of childhood
the world over.

Then there are dwarfs and fairies running about every-
where with cakes, ices, and strawberries and cream. You

BOYS AND GIRLS OF PARIS.

have only to sit down at any one of the small tables amid the
flowers to be sure of that.

By and by, as you wander through the shady lanes, not

quite certain yet whether 3'ou are sleeping or waking, you see
a tempting small door leading into a magic tower, — and lo !
you are out in the work-a-day world again, with the portals

26 BOYS AND GIRLS OF PARIS.

of Fairyland closed behind you, and only a blank wall on a
busy street to show where it had been.

The simple way in which the children are dressed cannot
help being an attraction to other healthy little people. No
frills or furbelows, or stiff cuffs and collars, to make one afraid
of soiling or spoiling ; but the plainest short gowns and
trousers, with stout boots and thick stockings ; and almost
invariably a big, dark blue cotton or woollen blouse, belted at
the waist, with famous pockets which will bear any kind of
rough usage.

This is the way j'ou will see tall boys and girls returning
from school, little boys and girls at play with nurses and
mothers, even young men and women in the normal schools
and institutes. It is such an easy-going, comfortable, happy-
go-lucky sort of costume that it seems the finest thing
imaginable for comfort and for fun.

One example which the people of Paris set to the rest of
the world is the habit of enjoying everything together. Rich
or poor, you see the entire family in companj-. On Sundays
and holidays they go into the parks, the woods, the streets,
out upon the ga}' boulevards or the quiet country places, in
the myriad small steamboats that glide like water-flies up and
down the Seine, to the forests of Fontainebleau or the Gardens
of the IvUxembourg or Tuileries, but all together.

The big brothers and sisters, the little brothers and sisters,
the father and mother, the baby, even the old, old people,
smile and chat and sit in the grass, and eat their homely
lunch in such happy and hearty fashion that it is a joy to
watch them.

Perhaps of all the reasons which could be gathered together,
there is none stronger than this happy, healthy union of
family interests and amusements, to prove that Paris may
well be called the Paradise of Children.

M. E. Blake.

Toledo and Cordova.

Imperial Toledo — Toledo of the Romans, of the Goths, of
the Moors, of the Christians ! We were full of enthusiasm as
we started from Madrid in the early — too early — morning
to find it.

The train seemed nearly empty. We could almost fancy
it crawled on for our sakes only ; but crawl it did. I suppose
that even a snail gets somewhere at last, and at last we came
in sight of Toledo, towering up from the 3'ellow Tagus,
3'ellower even than the Tiber at Rome.

The Tagus girdles the town, leaving only one landward
approach, which is fortified by Moorish towers and walls.

Ivike Rome, Toledo stands upon seven hills, and like Rome,
everything about it is venerable. No mushroom place this,
built in hot haste, as solace for a monarch's gout. All here is
substantial and ancient.

For three hundred and fifty years the Moors held sway in
Toledo, and you see Moorish remains at every step. It was
the Moors who built the noble gates, of which the finest is
the Puerta del Sol, in the picture of which you will note
the horseshoe-shaped arches which distinguish Moorish
architecture.

Externally, nothing could be more imposing than Toledo,
but when fairly into it, one realizes that all is desolate, for-
saken, going to decay. It once had two hundred thousand
inhabitants ; it has twenty thousand now.

But how fascinating it is, even now ! The narrow, ill}--
paved streets wind up and down and in and out, and lead you
from wonder to wonder of interest and of beauty.

The car\'ing of the stalls in the cathedral choir is so
beautiful that I should like to stud}^ it every day for a year,
and the stained glass windows are among the finest in the
world. They sparkle as with jewels, and throw their parti-

TOI.EDO AND CORDOVA.

colored reflections on the eighty-eight columns which uplift
the gorgeous ceiling. There are noble pictures and glorious

••» V

tombs — a collection of works of art, in short, which might
be the sufficient goal of any pilgrimage.

The Church of St. John of the Kings must not be forgotten,
or its lovely cloister, with its richly clustered pillars on three
sides, and its perfect Gothic arches. This cloister is being
slowly restored, but meantime the undisciplined roses have

T0I.EDO AND CORDOVA. 29

their wa}- in it. We gathered great bunches of them. Out-
side this church hang chains, which were suspended there as
votive offerings by captives who liad been delivered from the
power of the Moorish infidel.

Two synagogues yet remain to attest the former importance
of the Jews in Toledo. The ceiling of one of these synagogues
was made of beams from the cedars of L,ebanon.

lyCgends say that Toledo was the place of refuge of the
Jews when Jerusalem was taken by Nebuchadnezzar. So
ancient is it that you can believe anything, from the tale that
ascribes its foundation to Hercules to that other solemnly
enforced and detailed account which asserts that Tubal began
to build it one hundred and fortj^-three years, to a day, after
the Deluge.

It looks old enough to have been begun even before the
Deluge, and it is certain that, when the Moors first took it, it
was largely populated by Hebrews.

You feel as if nothing there ever had been or ever could
be young, until you look up to some vine- wreathed balcony,
and meet the dark eyes of some Spanish beauty, smiling
coquettishly from under her lace mantilla ; and then, suddenly,
the old, old world seems eternally young, with love and hope
and smiles springing up like flowers in the sun of every summer.

When the Christians recovered Toledo from the Moors
they set a heavy tax upon every Jewish head ; but the Jews
were allowed to retain their synagogues, on the plea that they
had not consented to the death of the Saviour. When Christ
was brought to judgment, they said, the votes of the tribes
had been taken, and one tribe had voted for His acquittal, and
from this tribe were the Jews of Toledo descended !

Can you fancy, at all, this quaint old town, high, high
above its yellow river, with its substantial Moorish architecture,
its narrow streets which wind and climb through the desolate
city where two hundred thousand people used to make merry,
and where its poor twenty thousand live now as quietly as if
they were all holding their breath, in order not to wake the
echoes of some long-dead past ?

30 TOI.EDO AND CORDOVA.

Can you fancy in this solemn, silent place, possessed by
ghosts of Romans, Goths, Jews, Moors and Christians, red
roses flaunting their brightness in the warm south wind, and
3'oung cheeks glowing with new joys and hopes as if no one
had ever died ?

It seems to me that they need courage, this Spanish
handful, — to laugh and live thus among the shades of the
departed.

Did we find Cordova more lively? Somewhat so, perhaps;
and yet Cordova, like Toledo, is a city which has been, and is
not — which belongs more to the dead than to the living; for
the gay days are past when it used to be called ' ' The City of
the thirty suburbs and the three hundred mosques."

Here, as in Toledo, are "patios," and though I have heard
them called courtyards, a "patio" is not precisely a courtyard,
nor yet is it a garden or a room, but it is a delicious combi-
nation of all three.

A small vestibule is usually between it and the street. On
its four sides rise slender columns, which support a gallery.
It is paved with marble. In the centre there is often a
fountain. Palms grow in these patios — flowers blossom there,
ivy climbs round the graceful little pillars ; here are statues,
perhaps, or busts, or graceful urns.

The patio is the heart of the home — the place where 5'ou
go to sip after-dinner coffee, to chat, to lounge, to dream.

Cordova was of importance in Caesar's time ; he half
destroyed it because it sided with Ponipey. "The Great
Captain," who was born there, used to say that other towns
might be better to live in, but the place in w^iich one should
be born was certainly Cordova. Cordova was renowned, in
those farthest off days, for its men of letters, whose wisdom
astonished even the Romans.

Roman Cordova yielded to the Goths. But the Goths were
conquered in turn b}^ the Moors, and Cordova became the
capital of Moorish Spain. It saw, under the Moors, the days
of its greatest glory.

In the tenth century it contained nearly a million of

TOLEDO AND CORDOVA. 3I

inhabitants, three hundred mosques, nine hundred baths, and
six hundred inns. How is the mighty fallen ! It is said to
have some fift}^ thousand inhabitants, now ; but looking back
to a sojourn of some days there, I can scarcelj' remember to
have met any one in the streets, save tourists and beggars.

The place still has beautiful suburbs, and to drive out
among the orange orchards and the olive groves is a memorable
delight.

But to me Cordova means two things — and to find again
those two, gladly would I cross sea and land. I would give
you all else of Cordova willingly, if you left me the freedom
of the Mosque-Cathedral La Mezquita, and of the Sultana's
Garden.

How shall one picture in words the wonders of La Mezquita ?
Its exterior gives no hint of what awaits 3'ou, for it is sur-
rounded by walls from thirty to sixty feet in height ; but once
you have entered through the Gate of Pardon the Court of the
Orange-Trees, the enchantment begins.

It means so little to say, in set phrase, that there are a
thousand columns, surmounted by the Moorish horseshoe
arches ; and that some of these columns are of jasper, some
of porphj-ry, some of verd-antique, and no two alike. You do
not stop to think of these details ; you wander on and on, as
among the countless trees of a forest. You lose yourself in
this divine immensity. It is like nothing else on earth.

Look where you will, the interminable vista stretches out
beyond, and allures your tireless footsteps.

The stained glass of the windows, when the sun strikes it,
throws patches of vivid color against the marbles. The place
is so vast that you scarcely think about the Cathedral church,
which that royal vandal, Charles V., allowed to be engrafted
in its centre in 1523 — a piece of barbarity which even he had
the grace to regret when he came to see it later.

There is one tiny chapel, with a roof like a shell, which
is adorned with mosaics sent from Constantinople. These
mosaics are said to be the finest in the world. This is the
Ceca, or Mihrab, the Holy of Holies, where the Koran used to

32 TOLEDO AND CORDOVA.

be kept on a stand which cost a sum equal to five millions of
dollars, and around this spot the verj- marble was worn in a
circular hollow by the faithful Mussulmans who used to crawl
around it on their hands and knees.

I have passed long afternoons in I^a Mezquita — wandering
up and down among the aisles of this wonderful forest,
studying the exquisite tracery of the carvings, recalling the
old legends which cluster about the spot, kneeling with the
faithful at their prayers, or kneeling alone in some far-off
corner, and listening to the remote sound of the holy music,
half able to fancy that I was in some outer court of heaven.
It is after such an afternoon as this that I would gather roses
in the Sultana's Garden, that thus I might be brought back to
the simpler joys of our human life, and find rest for my soul
after the exaltation born of the Mezquita.

How long ago did the Sultan make this garden for his love ?
I do not remember how many hundred years have passed since
the dark-eyed beauty gathered its first roses, but still they
freight the soft wind with their breath, and still the fairy ferns
grow green, and the oranges ripen in the sun, and the solemn
old carp are happy in the fish-pool ; and I audaciously pluck
the roses that are the far-off descendants of those of that long-
past time, and the Sultana never heeds my trespass. She is
as dead as Cordova. ^^^^^^ Chandler Moulton.

The Venetian Gondola,

The gondola is the carriage of Venice, and a most delightful
one it is. The conductor is out of sight behind, like the driver
of the London hansom cab, and nothing obstructs the occu-
pant's view except the graceful steel prow, waving slightly to
and fro as if it were a living animal dragging the vehicle.

A finely outlined, handsomely ornamented fiat-bottomed
boat is the gondola. It rests lightly upon the water, and is
propelled and guided as easily as an Indian's birch-bark
canoe. It draws so little water that it can pass through the
shallowest canals at low tide.

When the Adriatic overflows the grand square of St.
Mark's, as it does sometimes during the spring tides, the
gondola glides up to the cafes and takes on board those who
object to wading home along the quays.

But the gondola belongs to the luxury of Venice, as the
private carriages and hacks do to our American cities. It is
for pleasure and accommodation, not for business. Even
when bringing strangers from the railroad stations and the
foreign steamers, the heavy luggage is left to be transported
by the ' ' barca " — a more common fiat-bottomed boat used
for merchandise.

Those who have never visited Venice have a vague idea
that to get from one end of the city to another one is always
obliged to go by boat. This is not so. Unless one wishes to
visit the neighboring islands, he can gain any part on foot,
although he may have to pass through many narrow streets
and climb up and down innumerable steps over bridges.

Comparatively few of the inhabitants ever go in boats.
Only people of the class who in our cities keep carriages
possess a gondola. The middle-class natives seldom hire a
gondola, and would as soon think of taking one to go a short
distance as, in a mainland city, a poor man would of taking

THE VENETIAN GONDOLA.

a cab. When a native must take a conve3'ance for the rail-
road station there are the omnibus boats, and lately the
steamboats, to supply the place of our horse-cars.

Here in Venice, where all freight traffic is done b}^ boats,
there are large barges instead of trucks, and numerous small

ones instead of hand-carts and wheelbarrows for the butcher,
baker and candlestick-maker. These small boats are of all
shapes and sizes, but the usual form is a large, light, graceful
skiff called a " sandolo," easily propelled by one oar.

I have heard a sandolo called ' ' the donkey-cart of Venice."
That well describes this small boat and its naany uses ; but

THE VENETIAN GONDOLA. 35

the sandolo or ' ' gondoleta ' ' often rises to the dignit}^ of a
pony-carriage when it is more carefully constructed of hand-
some wood. Then the single seat is cushioned comfortably,
and the vessel is propelled by an amateur boatman.

I use the word propelled, as I am undecided whether I
should say rowed, sculled or paddled; for the gondola and
the sandolo are alike propelled by a single oarsman with a
single oar. He does not paddle, for he uses a rowlock, and
he does not scull, for the oar is not placed in the stern, but
at one side.

The gondolier stands in the stern on a little raised platform,
and plys his oar on the right side. He uses a high rowlock
called " forchetta " (fork). It is not unlike a fork much
battered and twisted.

He faces the prow, gives a long, vigorous push, and
throws the force of not only his arms but his whole body into
the stroke. Then he drags the oar slightly in the water
before the next stroke, and by so doing, in some way all his
own, keeps the boat straight.

The peculiar stroke gives a slight sidewise movement to
the boat which is not unpleasant. As there is no thumping
of the rowlock, the slight swish of the oar, that seems to
whisper enjoyment, can be heard as it is dragged through
the water.

It is difficult to catch the trick of using an oar in the
Venetian fashion, and very easy for the novice to lose his
balance ; but a stranger is not recognized as a Venetian until
he has fallen overboard, and I am sure few have played at
being a gondolier without getting a complete ducking.

The gondolas and smaller boats are built in Venice. One
of the principal ' ' gondola yards " is on a canal near the
Church of San Trovaso. It has served as a subject for many
a picture, with its dark shed and church tower and acacia-
trees for a background.

Here also old gondolas are repaired. As they lie bottom
upward along the quay, they look much more like a lot of
small whales washed ashore than the graceful boat that rides

THE VENETIAN GONDOLA.

SO lighth^ on the waters. The cost of a gondola, entirely
finished, with its steel prow, brasses, cushions and numerous
trappings, is about one thousand lire, or two hundred dollars.

This is a large sum for a Venetian, who is often obliged to
discharge the debt in monthly and quarterly payments. The
debt frequently runs on for years. The gondolier, in the
season of travel, hires out himself and boat for five lire, one
dollar a day. There is a long winter in Venice with few
travellers, when the gondolier will tell you he has "much
want of money."

All along the quays opposite the Doge's palace and the
public gardens, and at interv^als on the Grand Canal, are
gondola stations, which are also ferries. Here the gondolas
that are for hire all cluster and do the ferrying across the
Grand Canal or to the adjacent islands.

For centuries the gondoliers were a power in Venice and a
close corporation, limited in number, into which it was not
easy to obtain admission. But the organization of a steam-
boat company broke their power.

Although they joined in a strike, they could not fight
against the modern invention. They still ply up and down
the Grand Canal and are boisterous around the ferries, but
their days are numbered ; for the modern dragon, the
steamboat, has come, and it will slowly but surely make the
gondolier a picturesque object of the past.

Henry Bacon.

*> Ompanilg a, Duwl Pdlci(,e

A Climb up Mount Vesuvius.

There are few things more interesting to most people than
a volcano — a "burning mountain." Even the dullest geo-
graphical lesson at school became interesting when the
wonders of Hecla or Etna, the eruptions of Vesuvius or
Stromboli, or the strange feats of the American geysers came
under notice — even when these were dilated upon in a prosy
way.

Of all the volcanoes in the world Vesuvius is perhaps the
most interesting. It is easy to climb, for it is only four
thousand feet high ; and if you do not wish to climb it on foot,
six dollars will take you up in a carriage to the foot of the
cone, where you will find a wire-rope railway which will carry
3^ou to the very top.

Therefore it is of all volcanoes probably the easiest of
access, and certainly of all it has the most continuous and
thrilling history.

The plain in which Vesuvius stands is, and always was,
one of the most fertile spots in Europe. It was called Campania
Felix — the fortunate or happy plain — in Roman times, and
this name, has lingered on throughout the Christian centuries,
as indeed so appropriate a name deserved to do.

In our days the district grows many crops of which the
ancients were ignorant. It is certain that in Roman times
Campania did not produce either oranges or lemons ; now
they are one of the principal sources of the wealth of Naples,
from whose port many fruit ships sail annually to the United
States.

It is certain also, that in Roman times tobacco, that plant
with which the New World endowed the Old two hundred
years ago, was not cultivated either. To-day, upon the plain
round Pompeii, are many acres of this crop.

To enumerate the products of the district would be a long

38 A CLIMB UP MOUNT VESITVIUS.

task. Suffice it to say that on the sunny slopes of the vast
plain we find indigo, liquorice, tobacco, rice, olives, lemons,
grape-vines, oranges, walnuts, chestnuts, corn of all sorts, figs

and peaches ; besides many of the fruits which belong to the
Torrid Zone, and nearly all those of the temperate regions.
Although the plain is too hot for some of the Northern fruits,
these grow luxuriantly on the hills which surround it. The

A CLIMB UP MOUNT VESUVIUS. 39

soil is deep and rich, the sun is bright and warm, and the
rain is abundant throughout the winter months.

In the midst of all this grand display of the prodigal
bounties of nature stands Vesuvius, a grand monument of the
hidden forces of destruction — dark, barren, uncultivated and
desolate.

When we cast our eyes up the slopes of the mountain, the
border-line of cultivation shines out with bright green radiance,
while abutting on it is the bleak barrenness of what we can
only compare to a huge cinder heap.

When an eruption occurs, a stream of red-hot slag flows
down like a river of molten iron ; sometimes rapidly, where
the declivity is steep, sometimes slowly, where its course is
impeded by a rock or a fissure. In any case it carries all
before it. If it is flowing slowly we can hardly see its progress.
It rolls up to a house, and the house falls before it — we
hardly know how. It approaches a tree, and wraps it in its
fiery mantle. The sap within the tree generates steam, and
the tree explodes with a sound like the discharge of a cannon.
As long as the supply continues from the mountain, so long
does the stream push on until it rolls into the sea, where
it casts up volumes of steam and hisses as if it were bent on
competing with the fiery vent-hole at the top of the mountain.

Interesting as these eruptions undoubtedly are, it is always
best to view them from a respectful distance, as the vapors
issuing from their vicinity are very likely to choke or scald
one who approaches too near them. This was the case in
1872, when a party of people were killed by a sudden jet of
steam which burst forth from a fissure close to them without a
moment's warning.

It is impossible to tell when or where such fissures will be
opened, for the whole subsoil is in a condition of explosion.
Earthquakes are almost incessant, and the shaking opens
fissures in many places.

I,et us ascend the mountain, winding in our spring wagon
over the steep road, watching the Bay of Naples sparkling in
the sunshine, and seeing the bright glow of evening casting

40 A CLIMB UP INIOUNT VEvSUVIUS.

its rosy light over the busy city at our feet. The pleasantest
way to see Vesuvius is to visit it on a summer night. As
the sun dips below the horizon and throws up the island of
Ischia, like a purple mist set in a gold frame, the first moon-
rays are already beginning to gleam behind the distant
Apennines ; and before we are half-way across the vast lava-
beds, we are in a fairy scene of silver brightness, checkered
with the dark shadows and rugged outlines of the lava streams
around us.

At midnight we reach the lower station of the rope railway
which is to draw us up the cone. Here man and horse must
have rest and supper. In an hour's time we are seated in a
car, and being hauled up the steep sides of the cone.

A short walk brings us to the eruptive centre, and what a
scene meets us there ! Steam is coming out in large puffs
from the eruptive cone, and now and then with a loud roar
the mountain casts large masses of red-hot stones higher and
higher into the air.

It is quite dark now, for the moon has set. We see the
red vapor rise fiercely as the hot stones Hy upward in grandeur.
The still night air is rent by the roar of the mountain, as it
discharges a fiery volley into space, presently to fall in a
shower on the rocks around us, spattering upon them with
a harsh clatter.

As dawn begins to break we see the shadow of the moun-
tain projected across the bay. The" peaks to the eastward are
warmed with a glow of sunlight, and the blue sea to the
westward is tinged with a golden halo. It is a scene of
mar\'ellous grandeur and beauty, and we should forget its
danger if the dead city of Pompeii did not lie at the foot of
the slope, four thousand feet beneath us, teaching us its dread
lesson.

Our experienced guide wakes us from this reverie, for it is
full daylight now, and we can approach nearer the crater
without great danger.

We follow him confidently, though we are half-stifled by
the fumes of the sulphur. As we approach we experience an

A CLIMB UP MOUNT VESUVIUS.

uncomfortable sensation, for the hot stones now and then fall
unpleasantly near us. Our guide puts the ladies in a place
of safety ; but we may go on, always watching his every
gesture and keeping an eye on the mountain.

The walking is rough and steep now ; the fumes are
almost stifling, and the cinders beneath us are so hot that we
feel our feet burning. The guide puts his handkerchief over
his mouth ; we follow his example.

He has reached the top, and we are close behind him.
We look over, and see a mass of red-hot cinders like a burning
cliff. As the wind clears away the steam we look down,
down, into a black gulf — a very Tartarus of immensity.

The mountain roars again ; the red-hot stones fl}' past us.
We are safe here because the wind is now quite strong and
carries the stones to leeward ; but it is not a place to linger in.
A sudden change of wind might mean death. The falling in
of the ridge on which we stand would mean death also.

The scene is inspiriting and exciting to the last degree,

and as we turn to descend, and see our friends looking at us

through their field-glasses, we feel that they, too, must have

held their breath when they saw us apparently shrouded in

steam and close to the vortex. ^, -^ _

E. N. ROLFE.

Alpine Village Life.

The mode of life of the peasants in the higher and more
remote regions of the Alps has remained unchanged for centu-
ries. Far away from cities, railroads and modern travellers, the
mountain peasant lives as his ancestors did many generations
ago, and one is likely to find him living in the house where
his great-grandfather was born.

The house is a large, unpainted, two-story structure, built
of square pine logs, with the ends projecting at the corners,
and sometimes canned into pretty shapes. The building is
full of little, long windows, filled with flowers, and the roof is
made of large clapboards fastened in place with poles and
stones.

I recall such a house, one of a hundred forming the little
village of Obstalden on the high bench of a mountain slope
above the Wallen See — the most enchanting little lake, I
think, in Switzerland. This body of water is seventeen miles
long, and two or three miles wide. It is clear as crystal, five
hundred feet deep, and closed in by a nearly perpendicular
wall of rocks two thousand feet high.

Back of the lake a little distance are ridges and peaks nine
thousand feet above sea-level, with white glaciers and beautiful
waterfalls.

I spent three summer vacations in Obstalden, and aside
from a few friends whom I took there, I never saw an English
or an American tourist in the place. Like many another
remote village of the Alps, the great outside world never heard
of Obstalden.

The first and pleasantest recollection one has of the village,
after the wonderful scenery, is the perfect simplicity of the
people, and the familiar greeting of the stranger that comes
from every lip. Every one seems to know him ; every one
speaks to him as to a friend. One seems to have been there a

AI.PINE VILLAGK I.IFE.

long time, and to have known the people well. It seems hard
to call the hundred houses scattered around on the green slope

a town. The grass grows everywhere, quite up to the door-
steps. There is no other street in the place, except the white,
well-paved post-road that goes by, not through, the village.

44 ALPINE VILLAGE LIFE.

lyittle stony goat-paths lead up to and around the houses, and
there is hardly a fence to be seen in the place.

But it is a town. There is the little stone church with the
white steeple and the big-faced clock outside, and the stone
floors and the plain wooden benches within. There, on the
south end of the church, is painted, in great letters and
figures, the big sun-dial, used long before the village had a
clock.

Behind the little stone church is the village burial-ground ;
and near b}' the old, old schoolhouse, and the happy children,
and the village pastor, also their teacher.

How old and long and thin the pastor looks ! It is little
to him that he is very poor ; most village pastors are. But
his religion is very rich, and his heart very great ; great
enough to contain the joys and the woes of every man, woman
and child in the village. Where lives the millionaire so great
or so rich as that ?

I have said that the big brown houses are scattered about
over the sloping meadow. Each is large enough for two or
three families ; and owing to the absolute want of dust and
dirt on this green slope, every house is as clean as fancy could
wish.

They are in a sense comfortable enough, but the}^ are
sparsely furnished. Rude benches often take the place of
chairs. There are no carpets on the floor, few pictures on the
wall, and little of the luxury known to the homes of many
American farmers.

In almost every peasant's house stands an old-fashioned
wooden silk loom. It occupies the best corner of the best
room. It is of more importance than the piano or organ of
the American home, for with it is earned a great part of the
living of the famil5^ Silk cloth is woven for the great
exporters at Zurich, and the women are satisfied to earn thirty
to forty cents a day, weaving from dawn till evening twilight.

While the women are weaving, the men cut grass and wood,
cultivate a few potatoes, look after their little dairies, and
prepare for the winter. Those of the women not engaged at

ALPINE VILLAGE LIFE. 45

the loom help the men out-of-doors. Goat cheese is made
here in abundance. It is an interesting sight to see the village
goat-herd, usually a 3'oung man, start off every morning,
driving all the goats of the village to the grass on higher
mountain slopes.

His is a strange existence ; he is alone all the long summer
da}^ with his goats, the sunshine and the mountains.

Evening twilight sees him at the head of his flock, winding
his way down to the village. A great wreath of pink
Alpine roses is twined about his hat ; sometimes another rose-
wreath is slung over his shoulders. He sings the Alpine
"Kuhreihen," a hundred times more melodious for being
echoed by its native Alps.

Sometimes with a rude flute he leads the herd, and like
another Orpheus, seems almost to charm the rocks and trees
with his music. The long line of goats follows him gladly
down to the group of stalls called " the village of the goats."

The goat village consists of scores of little low, covered
pens, lined with forest leaves, and as snug as can be. It is
noticeable how every goat knows its own stall among the
hundreds, and promptly enters it. ' ' It's a poor, foolish goat, ' '
says the herdsman, "that does not know its own milking-
place."

The cheese, like the woven silk, is all sent to the cities ;
and a large part of both are exported to the United States.

It is interesting to know that a large part of the raw silk
used by these Alpine peasants in their weaving comes from
far-off China, traversing our continent by the Pacific railways,
crossing the Atlantic to London or Havre, and at last finding
its way up into the Alps to be woven, and returned to us in
silk dresses.

It is little wonder that silk is too dear for these weavers in
the Alps to wear. Probably not one of them ever owned a
silk dress in her life ; but they are content without it, and
prefer, a hundred times over, the picturesque village costume
they wear on all festal occasions.

Aside from the flowers in the windows, the beautiful silk

ALPINE VILLAGE LIFE.

on the weaver's loom is likel}' to be the only attractive thing
in her room. One thing always to be found in a Swiss home,
and in almost every room, is a great cylinder-shaped column
of white porcelain. It is seven feet high, and cold as it looks
in its whiteness, it is the family stove.

In the Alps the form of the stove varies. The huge pile
of porcelain may be cube-shaped, painted green, and mounted
on feet.

Sometimes tiny steps lead to the top of this peculiar stove,
where a curtain is hung so as to form a little warm room,
perhaps six feet square. In this the children go to dress on
very cold mornings.

It has been said that the people of these Alpine villages
are very poor — too poor and ignorant to love and enjoy the
grand scenes about them. It is a mistake. Poor, in a sense,
they are ; but if, with their little herds, their green meadows
and their simple lives they are content, then are they also rich.

The Alpine Peasant loves the mountains about him, and
more than one lone wanderer from the Alps to foreign lands
has been known to die of heartache, longing for the scenes of
his childhood. g_ j^_ j^j_ -g^,^j^3_

:^^i^^-*-^-

Down the Moselle.

The River Moselle, often called "The Bride of the Rhine,"
is even more picturesque than the Rhine itself. It is more
winding, and also narrower, so that the voyager is nearer the
beauty and quaintness of its shores. Its bordering hills,
although no higher than those along the Rhine, are at least
equally impressive, while the valleys and ravines which wind
away between them are more irregular and inviting.

A rowing trip down the Moselle is safe, easy, and full of
pleasure. One may start at Metz, or even at Nancy, but the
best point is Treves, the German Trier. This ancient town,
itself so interesting by reason of its Roman ruins and its
mediaeval buildings, is reached directly from Cologne in less
than six hours by the Eifel railway, through a delightfully
picturesque country. From Brussels or Paris a longer journey
is necessary.

A boat can be obtained at Treves, near the bridge. The
ordinary Moselle rowboat is to be avoided, if possible, for it
is heavy and clumsy. The lighter the boat, consistent with
safety and roominess, the better, for along many a reach of
the river it must be rowed straight into the wind, which
meeting the adverse current, often stirs up quite a sea.

The writer and his friend were so fortunate as to find an
English-built lapstreak wherry, just large enough to accom-
modate them and their luggage comfortably, and it proved
exactly what they desired. They bought the boat outright,
with oars and rudder, for about thirt}' dollars. Probably this
was more than its real worth, but it was so much superior to
the common river craft that the bargain seemed wise. At
Coblenz it was sold for just a third of its cost.

The less luggage the better, and veiy little is needed.
Heavy articles may be forwarded by rail or steamer to Coblenz.
The summer suit which one ordinarily wears answers every-

48 DOWN THE MOSELLE.

where, if a pair of the trousers of the country — costing
eightj^-seven cents — be worn while rowing. Flannel shirts
are most suitable. A thin overcoat and an umbrella for each
traveller are desirable. A strong pair of gloves is important,
because the oars, being hung on pins, after the antiquated
Moselle custom, instead of resting in rowlocks, cannot be
feathered, and chafe the skin severely.

There need be no anxiety about quarters for the night, for
the villages seldom are more than a mile apart, and each has
its inn, where one finds a friendly welcome and endurable,
often very satisfactory, accommodations.

The trip should be made, if possible, as early as midsum-
mer, for later in the season the water often is low. There is,
however, neither danger nor much difficulty at anj^ time. It
may be completed enjoy ably in four or five days, but if time
be taken to go leisurely, to lie by during rainy days, and to
make excursions inland, the enjoyment will be increased.

The longer the trip, within reason, the more completely its
delights will be appreciated. The expense need not be great.
Hotel life in the larger towns, including little extras, costs
not more than three dollars a day, and on the river two dollars
and a half will cover everything. Indeed, one can be fairly
comfortable for something less.

But what is the trip like ? Imagine yourself at last gliding
down stream, with charming Treves fading into the distance
as the afternoon shadows lengthen. You are at the oars,
pulling with slow, even strokes. Your friend, in the stern,
holds the tiller. You are fairly under waj^ and already the
scenes on either hand begin to interest you.

Here, for instance, you pass a company of German infantry,
bathing. They keep their ranks, and at signals upon the
bugle, throw off their clothing, plunge, still in line, into the
stream, and a few moments later, emerge and dress. One
wonders if they do not eat, drink, and even sleep in company
formation and only at signal.

Now you pass a great foundry on the other bank. Vol-
umes of smoke pour from its tall chimney, the light of its

DOWN THE MOSELLE. 49

glowing furnaces illumines its dark interior, and its distant
workmen suggest to j^our fancy gnomes working in some
enchanted cavern.

Soon you round a bend and float for a mile or two between
green meadows, behind which lie villages embowered in trees.
A rude scow, laden with peasants returning from work and
singing some evening hymn, crosses your course. There a
group of merry girls and boys run along the nearest bank,
taking you for Englishmen, and shouting, " Englander !
Englander ! ' '

Now it grows dark, and at the next little village you land,
under the lee of a jetty, and moor your boat for the night.
Until 5'ou have almost reached the Rhine, you may safely
leave anything in the boat overnight. You quickly find your
way into the village, and soon are settled snugly at the inn.
Cold pork and ham, boiled eggs, rye and sweetened white
bread, cakes, with plenty of whatever fruit is in season, and
beer and wine, if you wish, form your evening meal. The
thick feather pillows upon your bed, one of which is intended
to serve as a blanket, are rather warm, and if your pitcher held
five times as much water you would be better pleased. But
you are so healthily tired that you sleep soundly until the bell
of the neighboring church rouses j^ou next morning.

After breakfast the maid-servant, acting as porter, carries
your luggage to the boat. Before long, perhaps, the shores
in front of you look surprisingly white, and, as you float down
between them, you find them covered with the linen of hundreds
of families which has been washed and spread out to dry and
bleach. Many lively groups of washerwomen are passed, who
keep up an incessant spat-spatting of their sheets and pillow-
cases while they chat and joke.

Presently a steamer, one of the regular line from Coblenz
up river, passes j^ou, and its passengers scrutinize you
smilingly.

Here you come to a chain ferry, a scow made fast by a
buoyed chain to an anchor far up in midstream. When the
scow is pushed off, the pressure of the current swings it over

Schloss Eltz.

DOWN THE MOSELTvE. 5 1

to the other shore. But as the weight straightens the chain,
bringing it sharply out of water between the six or eight
buoys, you must be careful not to be caught above it, or you
will be capsized instantly. Another sort of ferry is common.
A strong wire rope extends from a tower upon one bank to a
similar tower opposite. The scow, square-ended and flat-
bottomed, is fastened to this cable by another rope adjusted
to a pulley, and is drawn across cornerwise, so as to offer the
least possible resistance to the current.

Presently you land, stroll through a quiet village, buy
fruit, and sketch the picturesque outline of some old gabled
house. Perhaps you climb a neighboring hill, to gain the
lovely view from its summit. Later, in some secluded cove,
you linger and bathe. You explore the ruins of a castle upon
a bluff, or rest beneath some sheltering bridge while a sudden
shower passes over.

Sometimes for miles the hillsides rise almost from the
water's edge, and are covered with carefully cultivated vine-
yards. Now and then you pass a considerable town, and hear
a band playing in the garden of its chief hotel. Sometimes
the river is so winding that you row for two hours and a
dozen miles in order to reach a point only a single mile, easily
walked in fifteen minutes, from your starting-place. Such is
the case between Punderich and Alf. Charming views
succeed each other swiftly, and no one who is at all sensitive
to natural beauty can fail to be continually delighted.

The Moselle castles are less famous than those on the
Rhine, perhaps, but are quite as picturesque and equally
worth visiting. Usually they stand, protectingly, upon high
places above the villages. Above Bernkastel is Landshut, a
fine old ruin, and above Trarbach is Grafinburg, also in ruins.
Near Alf are the stately remains of the Marienburg. Above
Beilstein is the castle of the same name, looking almost
inhabitable. Cochem lies in the very shadow of the Friedburg,
which has been restored, and now is more grand without and
more elegant within than ever in the past.

But the most striking castle of all is Schloss Kltz, three

DOWN THE MOSELLE.

miles inland from Moselkern, rising upon its knoll above the
mass of foliage which fills the surrounding valley like some
great rock above the waves of the ocean. It is one of the
best preserved specimens of the mediaeval architecture in all
Germany, and many rooms still retain their historic furnish-
ings. It is not open to everybody, but the owner willingly
allows entrance to any who apply in due form for permission.
These are only suggestions of the many pleasures which
such a trip affords. On reaching the Rhine at Coblenz one
finds his face browned, his muscles hardened, his appetite be-
come enormous, and his appreciation of whatever is beautiful in
nature, quaint in architecture, or entertaining and instructive in
intercourse with a simple, kindly peasantry greatly intensified.

Rev. Morton Dexter.

SWEDEN.

If 5'ou were to go up in a balloon, and through some
misadventure be swept so far away over the globe that you
dropped down in Sweden, you would soon perceive that,
wherever else you might be, you could not possibly be any-
where in the United States.

If you were to ask the first boj^ you met to tell you where
you were, he would answer in a strange language. If you
gave him a penny to make him speak more plainly, he would
take off his cap and shake hands with you.

Suppose he takes you to his home, and you sit down to
breakfast with his father, mother, brothers and sisters ? A
little flaxen-haired girl, the youngest child of the household
that can talk, stands at her father's side and says a little verse
in Swedish, while all bow their heads around the board. I
will translate what she says. It is this :

In Jesus' name we sit at meat.

May good God bless the food we eat.

When the repast is finished, the same little one returns
thanks in another verse to the Giver of all good things.

Then every boy and girl shakes hands with mother and
father, and saj^s, " Tack for maten," "Thanks for the food,"
and you do the same as well as j'ou can.

We will suppose it is summer-time, and in the country,
and that after breakfast the boys take you out to the pasture.
Here the horses and colts come running to you, stretch their
necks over the fence, and rub their noses on your shoulder.
The sheep say, "Good morning!" by rubbing their thick,
woolly sides against you, and the great oxen lying in the
shade give you a friendly wink now and again with their big
brown eyes.

Ever3^ animal is tame and gentle ; and you do not have

SWEDB)N. 55

to wonder long why this is, for you find that in Sweden the
bo5^s never throw stones at beast or bird, and never scare or
torment them in any way. They feed and pat them, and
make much of them instead.

Animals, after all, have much the same feelings as we;
they know their friends, and love them.

After supper the sun is still high in the heavens, and at
nine o'clock, when you go to bed, it is still shining brightly as
it swings low along the horizon.

If you wake up at midnight and go to the window, you
behold the whole northern sky glowing with red and yellow
hues. Whether it is sunset or sunrise it is hard to say, for
the heavens shine all through the short summer nights.

Indeed, were you to travel to the north of Sweden, you
would behold the sun shining upon you directly over the
North Pole at midnight, and you might remain a month
without ever once seeing it set beneath the horizon. It would
take too long here to tell you the reason of this, but it is all
explained in your geograph}^

On Midsummer's eve, which in Sweden is the 23d of June,
the boys and girls all drive into the nearest village, and you
will surely go with them. You drive in a great, long hay-
cart thickly trimmed all round with the bright green boughs
of the birch. The horses are decked out with birch, too, and
the driver sits in a green birch bower. How jolly it is driving
along the pretty country lanes, — twenty or thirty of you
young folks on the hay, — peeping out through the boughs
and laughing and singing !

You drive up to the village green. Here are youths and
maidens in plenty. You wonder where they all could have
come from in such a sparsely settled country.

In the middle of the square you see a May-pole sixty
feet high. This is trimmed with verdant birch leaves, while
garlands and wreaths of flowers hang from its cross-trees.
The blue and yellow flag of Sweden is flying from the top.
At the foot of the pole is a fiddler, scraping away for dear
life, and at his side a fellow pulling away on an accordion.

56 SWEDEN.

The boys and girls are all dancing round the May-pole.
They are happy and thankful for the glorious summer-time,
the earth all green again, the long days and the bright nights
with no darkness anywhere. So they dance all through the
night, which is no night after all — only a beautiful, luminous
twilight that fills the short space between the rosy lips of
sunset and sunrise.

Thus have their fathers and mothers and grandfathers and
grandmothers danced before them on this same bright eve for
hundreds and hundreds of years — yes, so far back in time
that history does not know when the custom began.

If you like winter, you will surely be pleased with Sweden.
Here are cold, snow and ice enough to satisfy anybody. So
long the winter is, too ! Four or five months of it at least
you may be sure of. Here 3'ou can enjoy all your winter
sports to perfection ; build snow-forts and snow-men, snowball
your comrades, coast and skate, go on sleigh-rides, or skim
the frozen lakes on ice-yachts.

There are other winter sports peculiarly Scandinavian.
Here you can learn how to slip over the untrodden snow fields
and through the deep, dark northern forests on "skidor," or
skees as they are sometimes called. These skidor, or snow-
skates, are thin straps of wood six to nine feet long, about
four inches in width, and turned up on the front end like the
runners of a sled.

Your feet are bound to the middle of them in such a way
that while the toes and ball of the foot are fast, the heel is free
to move up and down. With a staff in your hand to help
you up the hills and aid you in steering down them j^ou may
glide over the open country at the rate of six or eight miles
an hour.

Then the " spark- stotting " or "kicker!" I know you
will like that. It is the lightest sort of a frame sled. Two
upright standards rise some three feet high from the back end
of the framework, and behind these the runners — nothing
else, mind, only the two runners — extend backward five or
six feet. You grasp the top of the standards, one with each

SWEDEN. 57

hand, stand on one foot on one of the runners, and with
your disengaged foot kick your kicker and yourself over the
hard-trodden snow highways as fast as an ordinary horse jogs
along.

The kicks should be long, strong, sweeping and regular.
They are always delivered between the runners, and when one
leg is tired you step over upon the other runner, and kick with
the other leg. You must have a steel plate strapped on to
the ball of each foot, and from this plate should project three
or four sharp calks, like those the blacksmith welds into
horseshoes in winter.

The only secret you have to learn in order to become an
accomplished rider on your kicker is to touch the snow first
with the heel of your boot as in walking, and then instantly
kick, a swinging backward stroke, not with your toes only,
but with the whole flat of your foot.

You will find the kicker a pleasant and useful "youth's
companion." Its lightness makes it the velocipede of sleds.
It costs but a trifle in comparison to a velocipede, and on it
you may transport without difficulty your travelling-bag and
knapsack, your skates and luncheon, and other packages
sufficient to make you comfortable for a week.

Another winter sport is sailing on skates. The Swedish
sail is in form like a capital letter A with the top cut off.
You place the cross-bar over your shoulder to windward, and
with a good breeze glide away over the ice at the rate of a
mile in two minutes.

You can not only sail before the wind, but you, may glide
to and fro across the lake with wind abeam, or drawing your
sail taut and leaning well against the breeze, tack to windward
as gallantly as the fleetest yacht.

A merry sight, I am sure you will find it, of a December
noon on the frozen fiord. The glittering ice rings with the
steel shoes of the skaters, gliding about like the many-colored
particles in a kaleidoscope. In and out among them skim
the white sails of the skate-sailors. Along the snowy high-
ways come the kickers, while down the white hillsides shoot

58 SWEDEN.

the skid-runens, swiftly as the swoop of the eagle. The low-
running sun with level rays brightly illumines the whole
wintry scene, and all the air is filled with the laughter and
happy voices of youth at play.

But short are the wintr>^ days. At Stockholm they are,
in December, only six hours long, or rather short ; and in the
far north it is night the whole twenty-four hours day after
(lay — if night can be called day — for over a month. Now
you have to pay for the long days and luminous nights of
summer.

But the very darkest of the year the Swedes make bright
with the festivities of merry Christmas. Christmas time in
Sweden means more than a day. The merrymaking is kept
up for a fortnight ; indeed, out in the country it is fully three
weeks before all the celebrations are over. Such visiting and
dancing and dining and present-making I really believe exist
nowhere in the world outside of Sweden.

First of all comes Christmas eve. There is a Christmas-
tree of course, and how brightly it gleams with myriad tapers !
But the presents are not hung on the tree. They are all too
many for that, and the ser\'ants have been bringing them in
for a long time by the basketful.

The family and guests sit round the big table in the parlor.
The father of the family takes up the presents one by one.
All are carefully wrapped up in many thicknesses of brown
paper, tied and sealed. The father reads the name of the
lucky recipient ; then some funny and pat verse of poetry
written on the wrapper, and then hands over the gift amid
much good-natured banter.

If you have been a polite, good-natured lad all summer
and fall, I will warrant you fifty Christmas presents at the
very least, and more likely you will get a hundred.

Now comes the "long dance," in which the young folks
all join hands, form a line, and go scampering through all the
rooms in the house, while grandma at the piano plays her
liveliest old-time music. Then all sit down to a bountiful
supper of rice porridge, ' ' lut-fisk " — a ling leached in ashes —

SWEDEN.

and roast goose. Then to bed and to dream it all over again.

Next day, when you are jerking along home on your
kicker from the skating pond, you will see a sheaf of grain on
top of a pole set up in the dooryard of every farmer's house
you pass.

" Well, what does this mean ? " you ask 3'our comrades.

"Oh, that is for the birds, the little wild birds. They
must have a merry Christmas, too, you know."

Yes, my boy, this is the way they treat even the little wild
birds in good old Sweden. You will scarcely find a farmer in
all the land who will sit down to a Christmas dinner with his
loved ones in the light and warmth within doors till he has
first raised aloft a Christmas dinner for the little feathered
wild guests in the cold and snow without.

W. W. Thomas, Jr.

Life in Norway.

It is a mistake to suppose that Norway is a country remote
from the world, whose chief claim to existence is that it is a
romantic pleasure-ground. Norway is in fact easily acces-
sible. Railways penetrate it from Sweden, extending to the
North Sea ; and steamboat lines ph' regularly between its
ports and those of Denmark, Great Britain and the United
States.

Christiania, its capital, nestling among pine-clad hills at
the head of a romantic fiord or inlet which is sixty miles long,
is a beautiful city of a hundred thousand people, well built,
with broad streets laid out at right angles, and with stores
and hotels which would do credit to any capital.

The people of Christiania are exceedingly well educated,
refined and hospitable, very fond of their city and country,
and much given to social pleasures and music.

The Christiania police seem to have very little to do except
to warn people politely not to violate the city ordinance for-
bidding people to stand and talk on the sidewalk, and to arrest
an occasional drunkard.

Railways are comparatively few in Norway, owing to the
cost of construction in a mountainous country, and to the
disinclination of the people to speculative enterprise. The
highways, however, are excellent, and one may " travel post "
almost anywhere in a public carriole or post-chaise. The
post stations are seven miles apart, and the traveller changes
horse and carriage at each one of these stations. In certain
remote country districts there are no inns ; and here the
traveller must lodge with the nearest farmer or priest. These
people are so hospitable that they occasionally refuse to take
pay, and invite the traveller to remain with them as long as he
will ; but the fare is often primitive. I have frequently found,
in summer, that a farmer's larder contained nothing but

LIFE IN NORWAY. 63

thick sour milk and rye bread, with sweet milk to drink.
The sour milk is kept in a large, shallow tub, which at meal
time is placed upon the table. Each member of the family
marks off with his spoon as much as he thinks he can eat.
Each covers his or her portion with sugar, and all fall to
eagerly, as if it were the daintiest dish in the world.

The people of the cities dress as do people in England or
America. In the country the women wear short, full woollen
skirts, with bright-colored bodices decked with bangles, while
the men look decidedly odd in extremely short cloth jackets
with bright buttons, and trousers which ascend nearly to the
armpits.

The Norwegian people are strongly inclined toward repub-
lican political principles, and greet the King of Sweden and
Norway somewhat coldly on his rare visits to their country.
The king is supposed to spend one-third of his time in
Norway, but he certainly does not do so. He has about ten
thousand dollars a year from the Norwegian revenues, and it
is not sui-prising that the great majority of the people of
Norway think they could get on just as well without him.

The people celebrate the 17th of May, the anniversary of
their separation from Denmark, much as we celebrate the 4th
of July — with cannon-firing, fireworks and processions, but
without the firecrackers.

The Christmas and New Year's observances are not unlike
those in other northern countries ; but the Norwegians have a
peculiar and beautiful Christmas custom, which is universal
among them, of hanging out small sheaves of corn for the
birds.

Skating, in the rinks and on the fiord, is a popular winter
amusement, though the ice of the fiord is sometimes dangerous
on account of the cuttings made by fishermen. Snow-shoeing,
upon shoes frequently ten feet in length, is also a favorite
diversion, and some wonderful tobogganing is done just out-
side the capital.

To the summit of a mountain close by the city great sleds
are drawn by horses. Then each sled, laden with a dozen

64 LIFE IN NORWAY.

people or more, comes coasting down the mountain with
terrific speed.

One Norwegian custom is very objectionable to foreigners —
the practice of maintaining a suffocating heat in the dwellings,
and excluding the fresh air as completely as possible.

In April the winter vanishes as if by magic. The snow
disappears, and vegetation springs up at a bound. The
people soon betake themselves to summer quarters in the
country, and the business streets of the city are almost
deserted. Another round of pleasure begins — with picnics,
fishing, boating, bathing, and out-of-door diversions of all
sorts. The Norwegian forests, which are chiefly of pine
brightened with birch, are full of the most beautiful of wild
flowers. Many varieties which with us grow only when cul-
tivated, such as the lily of the valley and sweet violets, grow
wild in these Norwegian woods. Later there is a profusion of
wild berries, and always a chorus of birds.

Bathing is a little dangerous in the fiords for any but good
swimmers. The depth of the waters is great, and the descent
of the shores abrupt. At times, too, there is in the water a
sort of jellyfish which impregnates it with a poison as stinging
to the skin as the nettle.

The summer residences are generally provided with bath-
houses which have cages to keep the swimmer in and the
jellyfish out. Boating, too, is somewhat perilous on account
of the frequency of squalls.

The summer lasts from May until October, and is a most
delightful season. From May to September lamps are dis-
pensed with, and in the last half of June one may read a
newspaper in Christiania at midnight by daylight. The birds
seem never to sleep at this period ; they are as lively at
midnight as at noon.

Great fortunes are unknown in Norway. The people do
not fully develop their mineral industries. The enterprising
Norwegian's chief desire seems to be to get to America.
Many intend to return to Norway when their fortunes are
improved, but few ever do .so. William H. Cory.

THE AMERICAN TROPICS.

cenes in Quito.

An odd old City in the Andes.

To reach Quito from the sea one must ride several days on
muleback. The highway to the capital is not yet completed
and only a bridle-path crosses the breast of Chimborazo at a
height of fourteen thousand feet, so that the journey is one of
great hardship and discomfort. Freight for the interior of
Ecuador is carried upon the backs of mules or men, who travel
twelve or fourteen hours a day, and take two or three weeks
for the journey.

There are no hotels, but only filthy lodging-houses, in
which a neat and ner\'ous traveller would, be very uncomfort-
able. There was no telegraph line until a few years ago, and
it was useless most of the time at first, for the people cut down
the poles for firewood, and stole the wire to repair their
harnesses and panniers with.

But having once reached the capital of the Incas, one finds
himself rewarded for his hardship and exposure, for the
scenery is grander than can be found elsewhere, and the
ancient city is so quaint and queer that it seems like entering
another world.

Quito is at least two hundred years behind the times in
almost every feature of civilization. There are no news-
papers, and only one printing-office, which is owned and
conducted by the government for the publication of official
documents. It is so far removed from the rest of the world
that the inhabitants seldom leave it, and people from the
outside do not often go there.

The city is without a decent hotel, although there are
forty or fifty thousand inhabitants, and strangers who want to
be comfortable are compelled to stop with merchants, officials,
or others to whom they have letters of introduction.

There is not a carriage or a wagon in the place, and only
a few carts of the most primitive pattern, which look like the

68 AN ODD OLD CITY IN THE ANDES.

pictures one sees in the illustrated Bibles of those used in the
time of Moses.

The history of Quito has never been written, but the
traditions make it as old as Jerusalem or Damascus. The
Incas have traditions of a mighty nation called the Quitos,
who lived there before their fathers came, but of whom the
world has no other knowledge. All we know is that Pizarro
found a magnificent capital of a mighty empire, extending
three thousand miles, and as thickly settled as China or the
interior of Europe, with beautiful palaces of stone, full of gold
and silver and gems ; but it was all destroyed.

The walls of the palace of Atahualpa, the last of the Incas,
whose pathetic story Prescott has told in "The Conquest of
Peru," now enclose a prison, and a gloomy convent stands
upon the site of the famous Temple of the Sun.

Decay and dilapidation, poverty and ignorance, filth and
depravity are the most conspicuous features of life in Quito,
but the people are as vain and proud as if they had all the
good things of the world, and think they have a grander city
than London or New York. They know no better, and
perhaps it is well that they do not. The only portion of the
population who seem to be prosperous consists of the buzzards,
the scavengers of the town, and as all the filth and refuse
from the houses is pitched into the streets, they have plenty
to do.

The men stand idly around the street corners, wrapped in
their ponchos, for it is cool in the shade, and repulsive-looking
beggars reach out their hands for alms to those who pass by.
The women are seldom seen in the streets except on feast-days
or early in the morning when they go to mass, and then they
keep their faces so covered that it is impossible to tell one
from another.

Soldiers are numerous, usually barefooted, and wearing
uniforms of ordinary white cotton sheeting. Peons half-
naked, and children entirely so, sleep or play in the sun, and
Indian women clad in sombre black glide to and fro with
their mantas drawn over their heads, or sit in the market-

AN ODD OLD CITY IN THE ANDES. 69

place selling fruits and vegetables. Peddlers are numerous,
and their shrill cries afford strangers amusement .

Water-carriers are always to be seen with great jars of
clay, holding half a barrel, on their backs, going to and from
the fountain in the plaza. There are no pipes or wells to
supply the houses, and all the water used by the families has
to be brought by the servants, or purchased from the public
carriers at so much a gallon.

The city is traversed by deep ravines that are arched over
with heavy masonry, on which the houses rest. All the
streets are narrow, and carriages could scarcely pass upon
them if there were any. The sidewalks are in proportion to
the streets, and one wonders what they were made for, as two
people could not possibly go abreast or pass each other upon
them.

It is even difficult for one man to keep both feet upon the
sidewalk without rubbing the whitewash off the walls of the
houses, and the inhabitants, who are never guilty of any
unnecessary exertion, have abandoned the effort, and walk in
the road. The roofs of the houses, which are made of curved
tiles, like sewer pipes cut lengthwise, reach over the pave-
ments two or three feet, and water-spouts project still farther..

Few of the houses have windows looking upon the street
on the ground floor, but are lighted from the inner courts.
The second-story windows open upon balconies, where the
ladies spend a good part of their time watching the passers-by
and chatting with their neighbors.

Many of the houses, particularly those in the centre of the
city, are large, and were once furnished with luxury and
elegance, but are no longer so. The walls are thick, and the
rooms are large. The lower floors are occupied by the
servants and as stables for the horses and cattle, while the
family live in the rooms above.

There is only one entrance, through which everybody and
everything that enters the house must go, and at night it is
closed with great oaken doors securely barred. There is no
gas, but a law requires each householder to hang a lantern

AN ODD OLD CITY IN THE ANDES.

over his door with a lighted candle in it. When the candles
burn out at ten or eleven o'clock the streets are totally dark.
The policemen carry lanterns and long pikes, and when the
clocks strike the hours they call out, " Sereno ! Sereno ! "
which means that "all is well." Therefore, the policemen
are called " Serenos."

There are no fixed prices for anything in the stores. If
you ask the cost of an article the merchant will reply, " How
much will you give for it ? " If you name a sum he will then
ask twice or three times as much as you offer, and ' ' negotio ' '
with you. The women in the market will sell nothing by
wholesale. If potatoes are a medio, six cents, a pound, every
pound will be weighed out separately, no matter whether you
buy two pounds or a bushel.

There is no money smaller than the quartillo, three cents,
so the change is made in loaves of bread. On his way to
market the buyer stops at the baker's and fills his basket with
bread to make change with, so many rolls to the penny.
Very few people have money, and those who have lack
confidence in their neighbors, so everything has to be paid for
in advance.

If you go to a market-woman and tell her you want such
and such vegetables, she asks for your money. When you
give it to her she hands you what you have bought. If you
order a coat at the tailor's or boots at the shoemaker's, you
have to pay for them in advance, for they may not have the
means to get the materials at the wholesale store, and have
no credit. The landlord at the hotel or at the boarding-
house where you are staying, comes around every morning
before he goes to market and asks you to pay your board for
the day. Otherwise he could not buy food.

At the entrances of most of the houses are effigies of saints
with candles burning before them, and all who enter must
take off their hats and cross themselves. Service is going on
in the churches almost continuously, and the air is filled with
the clangor of bells from morning till night. No lady of
quality goes to church without a ser^-ant following her, who

AN ODD OLD CITY IN THE ANDES. Jl

carries her prayer rug. There are no pews nor seats in the
churches, but the floors are marked off in squares, which are
rented like sittings. The servant laj-s the prayer rug down,
the lady kneels upon it during her devotions, and at the close
of the service the servant comes again to take it away.

Serv-ants always go in droves. When 5^ou hire a cook
you take her husband and the rest of her family to board, and
they bring their dogs and rabbits, their pigs, their chickens
and all their other property with them. The husband may
be a peddler or a blacksmith, or he may be a soldier, but he
continues to live with his wife when she goes out to servnce.
The children of the family may be used for light duties, such
as going on errands or watching the baby, and no extra pay
is expected ; but for every servant you hire you may depend
upon having a dozen or more extra mouths to feed.

Sometimes the cook's relatives come to visit her, often half
a dozen men, women and children, and stay a week or two.
They also must be fed and taken care of, but are not so much
trouble and expense as it might seem, for they are satisfied
with beans, corn bread and a little potato soup to eat, and
sleep on the floor of the kitchen, or on the straw in the stable.

There is not a stove or a chimney in all Quito. The
weather is seldom cold enough to require a fire for heating
purposes, and all the cooking is done with charcoal on a sort
of shelf like a blacksmith's forge. There must be a different
fire for every pot or kettle, and generally two persons to
attend them, one with a pair of bellows and the other to keep
the pots from tipping over, for they are made with rounded
bottoms like a ginger-beer bottle. No laundr}' work is ever
done in the house, but all the soiled clothes are taken to the
nearest brook, washed in the cold running water and spread
upon the stones to dry in the sun.

Very little water is used for drinking, for bathing, or for
laundr}^ purposes. There is a national prejudice against it.
The people have a notion that water is unwholesome ; that it
causes dyspepsia if too much is taken into the stomach, and
that a fever will result from too free use of it upon the skin.

72 AN ODD OLD CITY IN THE ANDES.

Women seldom wash their faces, but wipe them with
cloths, and then spread on a sort of plaster made of magnesia
and the whites of eggs. When a person arrives from a
journey, particularly if he has come from a lower to a higher
altitude, he will not wash his face for several days for fear
that the opening of the pores of his skin will result in cold and
fever.

There are many doctors in Quito, and some of them are
men of skill. There are drug stores, also, but when aou go
to one of them for medicine you are expected to take with j-ou
a bottle or a cup, or something else to bring it home in. The
druggist has no stock of bottles, and never furnishes them to
his customers. The reason for this is that all bottles have to
be brought up the mountains from two to three weeks'
journey on the backs of men, and are therefore very expen-
sive.

The Indians constitute the laboring population, and they
carry all their burdens on their backs. They do not seem to
have any strength in their arms. A broad strap is passed
around the forehead to sustain the load, and another around
the shoulders. They generally take a slow trot when on a
journey, which they can keep up for hours without tiring,
even with a hundred pounds on their backs.

They never laugh nor sing, have no sports, no songs, no
tales, but are sullen, morose, stupid, and submissive to all
sorts of cruelty and oppression. The Spaniards have been
hard masters, and three hundred and fifty 5^ears of cruel
persecution and oppression have crushed out the spirit of the
poor son of the Inca, so that he no longer smiles.

W. E. Curtis.

Carnival in Lima.

The merry season of Carnival is prepared for b}- all
Peruvians, several weeks in advance of the eventful period.
Numberless cascarones, which are hollow shells, generally
made of stearine or wax molded in forms of tiny cannon,
bunches of grapes, fish, and other articles, are filled with
diluted Florida water.

The cook saves all egg-shells whole, by blowing their
contents out for culinary purposes, and then fills them with
scented water.

In many families bushels of cascarones are laid away for
Carnival w^arfare, and a thriving trade is worked up each
year by manufacturers and venders of the missiles thrown in
the three days given over to the sports and license of the
season. The Sunday previous to Ash Wednesday opens
the Carnival, and the exercises begin on that day soon after
morning mass.

About noon every house seems converted into a fortress,
the inmates constituting the belligerents. Senoras, senoritas
and children hiding on balconies, peering out from behind
screens, darting suddenly from all manner of strange places
on the roofs, pelt cascarones at the passers-by, and the sticky
pieces of shell, fastening themselves upon the face, hair and
clothing of the victims, make them look like animated pieces
of papier-mache.

The sweetness of the accompanying showers of delicate
perfume hardly compensates for the rudeness. The cautious
pedestrian, during Carnival, takes the middle of the street,
and with an umbrella off the spring, ready to fly open in any
direction, thinks himself well protected.

But suddenh' some powerful sj-ringe throws out a stream
of water from an unsuspected source, and the sparkling
drops fall around him in showers. His scowls and other

Carnival Fun in Lima.

CARNIVAL IN LIMA. 75

demonstrations of displeasure avail nothing, and he has onl}-
to pass on to encounter, perhaps, a still more formidable
drenching.

This amusing sport forms itself into a kind of thermometer,
measuring the heat of temper in different individuals. The
natives enjo}^ the fun thoroughly, running the gauntlet with
unequalled skill, pelting back their tantalizing tormentors,
when they get a chance, and, with their spirits on the
crescendo, reach a height of enjoyment a less excitable
people can hardly understand.

We were sitting in our hall by an open door one evening
when the Carnival had just begun, as we felt the need of a
little fresh air after the heat of the da^s and were trusting
to luck for our protection, when several friends gathered
round us. I ought to explain that any gentleman, whether
acquaintance or stranger, is fair game for any lady during
this season. Almost before we were aware of it, we were
objectivel}^ engaged in the Carnival.

We were reluctant to defend ourselves, as it was the
Sabbath, and made a retreat as quickly as possible, thor-
oughly perfumed with Florida water administered by strangers
passing, as well as by friends standing near.

Very early next morning our j^oung people awoke in a
high state of excitement over the expected festivities.
Enough water lay secure in cascarones in our hou.se to cause
a deluge on a small scale.

I soon saw that a general demoralization of the family
had taken place, and that our patience would have to be
maintained through much tribulation. Before the hour for
breakfast the clothing of each child was thoroughly soaked,
and soon after breakfast they were saturated again.

At eleven o'clock this wild sport was, by an accident of
the play, shifted to a neighboring native house, all the
family taking an active part. The throwing of water was
not confined to the garden ; rooms handsomely furnished,
and halls richly carpeted, were thrown open regardless of the
damage that would result from the play.

76 CARNIVAI, IN LIMA.

The actors, dressed in bathing costumes, employed their
skill and inventive faculties for many an hour, and surprised
each other with all manner of curious ways of applying
the water. The Carnival had resolved itself into a mimic
battle.

According to the custom of the countr}', after the conflict
was over and the participants had changed their clothing, the
lady of the house sensed a lunch, over which a truce was
established for a few hours.

Tuesday night being the last of the Carnival proper, the
excitement reaches its greatest height. Foreigners as well
as natives, completely drawn under the influence of the
absurd custom, enter into the sport with energy.

Collected on the balconies and tops of the flat-roofed
houses, they not only drench each other, but throw buckets
full of water upon unfortunate persons passing by on the
pavement. Those who think themselves safe in passing at
a distance are reached by the aid of a hose. Bright-colored
paints are also brought into requisition.

Some idea of the utter abandon of everybody at this time
may be gained from the following incident : A day or two
before Carnival a young lady anticipated the occasion by
playing a little trick upon her dentist.

He was putting a neat filling of gold into a tooth — one of
those delicate and difficult pieces of work of which a dentist
is so proud — and was performing the most delicate part of his
task, when the young lady quietly passed her arm around
him, and bringing her hand up to his ear burst a cascarone
into it ! He said it sounded like a thunder-clap.

The water ran down his ear and neck ; his nerx^es received
a shock as from an electric battery. The job of dentistry
was spoiled, the work had to be done over again, and the
father had an increased bill to pa3^ But this was Carnival
fun and the parties were obliged to laugh and make the
best of it.

Maria Louise Wetmore.

A Venezuelan Railway.

There are few more interesting engineering achievements
than the little narrow-gage railroad running to Caracas, the
capital of Venezuela, from its seaport, ha. Guayra. The
distance between the two cities, as the crow flies, — supposing
for the moment that he could fly straight through the moun-
tain,— is only six miles ; but the railway connecting them is
twenty-three miles in length, and constantly twists and turns
on itself.

The road runs in zigzag fashion up the mountain to an
altitude of about fifty-one hundred feet above its starting point,
and then descends some fifteen hundred feet in the same
manner into the valley of Caracas.

Twenty-two thousand rails were used in laying the track,
and of these over eighteen thousand are bent. It is jestingly
said that the engineer almost died of a broken heart, because
he could invent no excuse for bending the remaining four
thousand. He did his best, however, and no one who has to
ride over the road, and finds himself shaken at every one of
the three hundred and forty-six sharp twists which the track
makes, will find it in his heart to condemn the poor man for
not making a perfect job.

Two passenger trains each way pass over the road daily,
leaving I,a Guayra at half-past eight in the morning, and at
half-past three in the afternoon, making the journey in two
hours and a half. This is a speed, exclusive of stops, of not
quite ten miles an hour.

Each train consists of a locomotive, a baggage-car, and two
or three passenger coaches about the size of a street-car in
Northern cities. The seats run lengthwise through the car —
an arrangement necessitated by the narrow gage of the road.

The fare for the twenty-three miles is two dollars and a
half first-class, and one dollar and sixty cents second. The

78 A VENEZUELAN RAILWAY.

accommodations are equally bad in the cars of the two classes ;
the only visible difference between the two is that the first-
class car is the less crowded.

The locomotive is a queer little machine, about the size of
a dirt-cart. It has no bell, but the obliging engineer atones
for this deficiency by keeping up an almost continuous
whistling.

As we leave the little station at La Guayra, we take a
serpentine course for about a mile through cocoanut groves
along the sea. Why the road does not take a straight course
through this first portion of the wa3^ the constructor only
knows, for the ground is perfectly level, and there are no
obstructions more serious than a cocoanut palm or a banana
plant.

After writhing along the beach for a short time, we sud-
denly make a sharp turn, and then begins the climb up the
face of the mountain.

Up, up, up we go, turning now to the right and again to
the left, then making what seems to be an almost complete
circle, now passing through a tunnel — where we are nearly
stifled by the hot air and gases from the engine, which sweep
through the open cars, carrjdng with them cinders that burn
holes in the clothes, or raise blisters where they touch the
unprotected skin. Then we emerge from the hole in the
mountain-side in a place where we appear to be on the point
of jumping over the precipice one or two thousand feet sheer
down into the water that laps its base.

But we forget for a moment the constructor's passion for
curves. We make two or three short turns, as if uncertain of
our course, and then hoist sharply round, and go back the
way we came. As we look down from the car window we see
the track over which we have just passed about fifty feet from
us, and directly beneath us.

Suddenly we stop. We wonder what has happened, for
there is no house in sight, and it would be difficult indeed for
any one to find a spot on which to perch a house, so steep is
the declivity. The only thing visible except trees and rocks

A VENEZUELAN RAILWAY

is a large iron pipe running over wooden supports through a
small ravine ; and now we see that it carries water for the

A Venezuelan Railway.

refreshment of our thirsty little engine. Six times we stop in
this way in our wild dance up the mountain-side, to take
breath and water our engine, until we cross the highest point

8o A VENEZUELAN RAILWAY.

and begin to slide down to Caracas. In going down the
mountain on either side gravity is the only propulsive force
employed, steam being kept up only to work the brakes and
prevent too rapid a descent.

There is but one station, apart from the watering places,
between L,a Guayra and Caracas, and this the railroad people
have most appropriately named Zigzag. Here the trains from
opposite directions meet and pass each other.

As soon as the engine has filled its boiler, it gives one
long shriek of warning, the passengers climb into the little
cars, and we follow once more the giddy wake.

The scenery, as viewed from the window of our car, is
grand ; but in order to enjoy it thoroughly one must possess
strong nerves. At our feet, a thousand metres below, we see
a faint streak, which is the narrow beach on which L,a Guayra
lies. The houses in the town look like dice, and the men and
donkeys in the streets have become invisible.

Beyond, stretching awa}^ to the horizon, now vastly ex-
tended by reason of our elevation, we see the sparkling blue
waters of the West Indian Ocean. A mere speck which we
can hardly discern on the surface of the sea is the ship which
brought us to this coast, and which left for the chilly north an
hour before we began our cloudward climb.

If we turn and look ahead, we see the mountain rising up
ever higher and higher until its peak is lost in the cloud that
always clings to it, as if fearful of tru.sting itself to fly alone
and without support over the distant ocean.

The air, which was so hot and sultry on the coast, is
growing more and more fresh as we ascend, and it becomes
almost chilly as the cloud hugging the mountain-top receives
us, and draws the curtain which hides from our view the
beauties of nature as well as the dangers which encompass us.

Dangerous as the ascent of the mountain appears to be,
and really is, accidents are fortunatel}^ rare, owing to the
constant vigilance exercised by the officials of the road over
every foot of the track. Landslides do occasionally take place,
nevertheless, and no amount of watchfulness can prevent them,

A VENEZUELAN RAILWAY. 8l

or even give warning of their occurrence. Fortunately they
have never yet happened to strike a train. The road-bed in
many places is a mere scratch in the side of the mountain,
barely wide enough to permit the passage of the narrow cars.
The outer rail is often laid within a few inches of the edge of
the precipice, so that in looking from the window one sees
nothing but the bottom of the ravine hundreds of feet below.

While the road was building, it was frequently found
necessary to lower men by long ropes from above until they
could make for themselves a foothold by means of pick and
shovel.

When one realizes how much labor and money have been
expended in forcing this way through almost inconceivable
natural obstacles, it seems indeed a pity that such a triumph
of engineering skill should be doomed to an ephemeral
existence ; but already the freight and passenger traffic taxes
the capacity of the road to its utmost, and if the present rate
of increase continues, it will be but a very few years before it
will be utterly unable to handle it.

Work is already being rapidly pushed forward by an
American company on a new route between La Guayra and
Caracas, which is to pass under the mountain through a
tunnel four miles in length. The cars on this new road will
be hauled by cable power up a ten per cent, gradient, and will
carry freight and passengers from one city to the other in less
than half an hour.

Thomas L. Stedman.

/ i(

The Land of the Llama.

If I should hear of an}- one intending to visit Bolivia for
pleasure, I should offer him the advice that Mr. Punch gave
to )'oung people about to marry — "Don't;" for the settled
portion of that republic is almost as inaccessible as the interior
of Africa, and there is but little to learn or see when it is
finally reached.

But to a traveller who is in search of experience I would
recommend the journey, for there is no other part of the world
where one can get so much experience or so great a variety in
so short a time, and for the same amount of money.

First there is the voyage from New York to Aspinwall,
which in the summer season is comfortable and pleasant ; next
the trip by rail over the famous Panama road across the
Isthmus, when one of the commodious vessels of the Pacific
Steam Navigation Company is taken, and the traveller lives
a sort of picnic life for the next three weeks, until the port of
Mollendo is reached.

The waters of the South Pacific are always smooth, the
weather is always fair during the dry season, the scenerj' is
sublime, the temperature is never too hot nor too cool, and as
long as you remain under the awnings or in the protection of
some other shade, the breezes from the ocean or the Andes
temper the tropic heat.

The ship stops at all the ports along the coast, often
dropping anchor two or three times a day, and giving the
passenger an opportunity to go a.shore and inspect all of the
quaint towns and villages, each one of which ordinarily offers
some new and novel adventure. I can suggest no more
agreeable or interesting voyage than that between Panama
and Valparaiso.

Mollendo is about two-thirds of the way. There passen-
gers for Bolivia leave the ship and take a railway, which was

THE LAND OF THE LLAMA. 83

built and is still managed by an enterprising Boston Yankee.
The conveniences of travel by this line have not reached so
high a state of perfection as are found upon those which run
between New York, Philadelphia and Boston, but it is a great
improvement upon muleback-riding over a thirsty desert and
through the dizzy passes of the Andes.

This railroad is remarkable for running nearer the stars
than almost any other railway, for where it passes over the
western range of the Andes, into the great basin of the
southern continent, the track is fourteen thousand seven
hundred and sixty-five feet above the sea, and the only higher
point at which a wheel was ever turned by steam is where
another Peruvian railway tunnels the Andes. No other long
road can show an equal amount of excavation, nor such
massive embankments, and the engineering difficulties over-
come in its construction were enormous.

Along the side of the track for a distance of eight3^-five
miles is an iron pipe, eight inches in diameter, which conducts
water from the springs in the mountains for the engines and
for the use of the people that dwell in the desert. On the
other side of this desert is the city of Arequipa, whose name
signifies the place of rest, although it is more subject to
earthquakes and political revolutions than any other place in
Peru, and human or natural agencies are raising a commotion
all the while.

The former terminus of the railway was at Puno, a little
town of five thousand inhabitants, at an elevation of twelve
thousand five hundred feet ; but it has been carried farther
up the great basin, and extended through a pass in the
eastern range of the Cordilleras, and down the slopes to the
headwaters of the Amazon.

To reach L,a Paz, the former seat of government and
capital of Bolivia, one must cross Lake Titicaca, that strange
and bottomless sheet of water, one of whose islands was the
legendary Eden of the Incas, and around whose shores clustered
the prehistoric cities which the brutal Spaniards destroyed.
Here one may take a steamer, at any rate that is what the

THE LAND OF THE LLAMA.

people call it, although it would amuse a North American
shipwright, and usually excites a nervous apprehension in the
minds of timid travellers.

If one does not care to board this unique craft, or if he
wishes to depart from the regular route of travel and make a
cruise among the ruined cities of the Incas, he can hire what
is called a balsa, a curious combination of raft, flatboat and
catamaran, which is propelled by a large sail made of skins
and by long poles.

Reaching the southern point of the lake, the rest of the
journej^ wherever one may be going, must be made on
muleback along the ancient highway of the Incas, which was
constructed centuries before the conquest, and is perhaps the
most remarkable of the many remains of that remarkable race.
The Spaniards have done little to improve it since thej^ have
had control of the country, more than three hundred and fifty
years, but it is still in a pretty good state of preservation, and
is continually trodden by parties of travellers, battalions of
troops and droves of llamas, often thousands in number,
laden with the products of the forests and mines of Bolivia.

As the camel is to the people of the deserts of Asia and
Africa, so is the llama to those who dwell in the Andes ; a
faithful, patient and enduring beast, without which the
inhabitants would be utterly helpless, for mules and horses
can neither survive the climate nor climb the mountain trails.

But the llamas one sees in Bolivia are as much unlike the
animals shown in the zoological gardens as the tiger in the
jungles of India is unlike his namesake that growls and
yawns in a circus cage.

Their bodies are covered with a soft, thick gray wool like
that of the merino sheep, their giraffe-like necks are proudly
and gracefully curved, their e^^es are large, lustrous, intelli-
gent, and have an expression of constant inquiry. Their ears
are shapely, and quiver continually, like those of a high-
mettled stallion, as if to catch the first sound of approaching
danger.

The llama to me is a most fascinating study. While he is

THE LAND OF THE LLAMA.

docile, obedient and enduring, there is always an air of

suspicion or distrust about
forbids an intimate ac-
quaintance. He carries
his load of one hundred
pounds of ore, or coca, or
cinchona, or other mer-
chandise, up and down
the precipitous pathways
where no other beast of
burden can go, and where
it is difficult for man to
follow. But when

him, and a silent dignity that

he is overloaded he resents it,
and lies down. No amount of
coaxing or bullying or beating
can get him to his feet until the
surplus is removed from his back,
when he rises solemnly and marches
off with his load. He will carry a
hundred pounds, but no more, and
his cargo is packed in sacks, or
panniers, one-half on either side.

86 THE LAND OF THE LLAMA.

Therefore all freight subject to this mode of transportation
must be packed accordingly, and limited to packages of fifty
pounds.

When frightened, llamas always cluster in groups, with
their tails together and their heads out to meet the enemy ;
and their only weapon of defence is their saliva, which, when
angry, they squirt through their teeth in showers, as a Chinese
laundryman sprinkles his clothes.

A drop of this saliva, falling in the ear or eye or mouth, or
on any part of the body where the skin is broken, will instantly
produce a most painful irritation, and often dangerous sores,
like the venom of a serpent. The llama-drivers keep away
from the heads of their animals as carefully as a colored man
from the heels of a mule.

When they lie down they fold their long, slender legs
under them in some mysterious manner, and chew their cud
with an air of abstract contemplation and absolute content.

The kids afford excellent food, but the bodies of the old
llamas are masses of muscle, tendon and gristle that are tough
and rank. They live to a great age, subsist upon almost
anything in the shape of food, and have as powerful a digestive
apparatus as a goat or an ostrich.

In these elevated regions, as I have said, it is difficult for
either horses or mules to exist, the air being too thin for them.
Horses are seldom seen, and mules are kept only for the
accommodation of travellers, and their nostrils are split so as
to make it easier for them to breathe.

When a horse is brought into the high altitudes of the
Andes the blood starts from his mouth, ears and nose, and
men are often affected in the same way. The disease is
known as "sirroche," and sometimes is fatal. The natives,
having been born and bred at this great elevation, are no more
affected by the rarity of the atmosphere than the negroes of
the Brazilian swamps are by the heat.

W. E. Curtis.

An Evening in a Brazilian Forest.

Let us wander in imagination through a Brazilian forest,
just as the burning heat of day is passing into the cool of
evening. As yet nature seems asleep, and a solemn silence
reigns under the shade of the colossal forest trees, some nearly
two hundred feet high ; the Brazil nut and monkey-cup trees,
the king-tree and the cow-tree, which spread their vast
cupolas of foliage over the smaller cecropias ; tree-ferns and
palms which, though smaller, are
some of them from fifty to a hundred
feet high.

By and by, as we look up into the
branches of a cecropia-tree, we see a
hairy mass resting in the fork between
a bough and the trunk, and barely
visible, so like is the tint of the hair
to the lichens and dead-brown mosses
which clothe the bark. This mass is
a sloth, grasping the bough firmly
with his clawed feet, as he sleeps
through the heat of the day. It is
only when the cool of evening sets in

that he will wake up to feed, and move quickly along from
tree to tree, grappling each branch as he goes with his twisted
feet, and using his long arms and supple wrists to reach to the
tips of the boughs for tender growing shoots, which he tears off
and stuffs into his mouth to chew them with his feeble back
teeth.

To see him on the ground when he has to cross an open
space, you would think him a poor creature at best, for his
ankles are so twisted that he can only tread on the side of his
feet. His toes are joined, and he has three on each foot, armed
with long claws very inconvenient to tread upon, and his arms

AN EVENING IN A BRAZILIAN FOREST.

are so much longer than his legs that he is obliged to drag
himself along on his elbows.

-«*i*^^^

A Brazilian Forest.

But when once he has hoisted himself aloft again, these
strange limbs serv^e him well. The twisted ankles enable
his long claws to take a firm hold of the branches, his long

AN EVENING IN A BRAZILIAN FOREST. 89

arms reach for his food, and his long, unwieldy neck, which
has more joints than in other mammals, allows him to throw
his head backward to seek for food. He has no front teeth,
but his sharp claws do the work instead; and his back teeth,
though they have neither enamel nor roots, continue to grow
up from below as they are worn away above.

In this way the sloth makes the most of the very primitive
body which he has inherited from his ancestors, which stood
very low in the scale of mammals, and if he could relate the
history of his forefathers it would be a very interesting one.

First he would tell us that he belongs to a feeble and
dying group of creatures who wander few and far between in
distant parts of the world ; and that while he has two very
distant relations — the ant-bear and the armadillo — roaming
about the forests near him, we must travel right across the
sea to South Africa to find the other two branches of the
family stem, the aardvarks and pangolins.

It is toward nightfall that we must look for his American
compatriots as, leaving the thicker parts of the forest, we
wander toward the banks of the River Amazon or some smaller
stream. There we may see creeping along in the dark a
large, gray, hairy animal about four feet and a half long, with
black-colored throat and shoulders and a line of thick hair
along his back, ending in a bushy tail three feet long, which
drags behind him on the ground.

His front feet are twisted so that he walks upon the edge
instead of the sole, and his thin, tube-like, toothless snout
almost touches the ground as he moves along, his thread-like
tongue protruded at interv^als, as though to test the objects he
passes.

This shambling, heavy-going creature is the great ant-
bear,* and he is in search of ant-hills and termite (or white
ant) mounds, for these animals are his chief food, as he
thrusts into their homes his long, flexible tongue, covered
with sticky moisture, bringing out thousands at each thrust.

His toothless mouth, his imperfect collar-bone and his

* Myrmeeopliaga jiibata.

90 AN EVENING IN A BRAZILIAN FOREST.

twisted, clawed feet with united toes, all show that he belongs
to the same low group as the sloth.

But our wonder ceases when we learn how strong the great
ant-bear is. The muscles of his arms and shoulders are so
powerful that he can hug his enemies to death, while his
strong claws once dug into the flesh never loose their hold.
Therefore, although he has no teeth, he can defend himself
even against the jaguar ; and he does not fear to wander freely
and rifle the ant-nests of the South American forests, just as
(his distant relation, the pangolin, with like twisted feet and
toothless mouth, feeds on termites in South Africa, protected
not by strength, but by scaly armor.

Then is the time that the howling monkeys make the forest
resound with their cries, and croaking frogs, chirping cicadas,
chattering parrots and yelping toucans raise a very Babel of
sounds, soon after sunset. It is at this hour, or perhaps
rather later, when the evening chatter has sunk to rest, that
the tatou, or great armadillo, about three feet long, begins to
wander, feeding upon fallen fruits, or digging deep burrows
with his long, powerful claws in search of roots and grubs.
He alone of the American "Edentata," or imperfect-toothed
animals, walks on the soles of all four feet, and in this, as in
man}' other ways, more resembles the aardvark, or ant-eater
of South Africa, than his companions in America.

But all this time our dreamy sloth is waiting to tell us the
history of the past, and how it happens that he and his com-
rades have distant connections so far awa}- as South Africa,
and yet none in other parts of the world. If he could speak,
he would boast with pride, as others have done before him,
that there was once a time when his family spread far over the
face of the earth ; when from India, Greece and France to the
Mississippi Valley, Nebraska and California, animals with
imperfect teeth and immense claws wandered not in trees, but
on the ground.

This was in hot Miocene times, when they were among the
highest animals living on the globe ; but as time went on, and
higher and stronger creatures — elephants and buffaloes, lions,

AN EVENING IN A BRAZII.IAN FOREST. 9I

tigers, leopards and others — killed fhem, or drove them out of
the great continent, the remainder found homes in South Africa
and South America. Then came the time when, cut off from
the world to the north, huge ground-sloths* as large as
elephants ruled supreme in South America, walking on their
twisted forefeet, and instead of climbing trees, tore them up
by the roots to feed on their foliage. And with these gigantic
animals were others, nine feet long,t the ancestors of the
armadillos, with armor-plates not movable, but formed into a
solid shield, while to complete the group an ancient form of
the ant-bear + bore them company.

For long ages these monsters flourished, and much later
on left their bones in the bone-caves of Brazil, where, mingled
with more modern bones of sloth, armadillo and ant-bear, they
tell the history of the past. And then they died out ; and as
the great Brazilian forests flourished and overspread the land,
the sloth and smaller ant-bears took refuge in an arboreal life,
while the great ant-bear trusted to his powerful limbs, and the
armadillo to his plated armor, for protection in their nightly
wanderings ; and thus they remained to tell of an ancient and
once powerful race, now leading a secluded life in South
American wilds.

Arabella B. Buckley.

• Megatherium, etc. t (ilyptoaou. { Glossotlierluiu.

South American Games.

The boys and girls of South America have many of the
same amusements that occupy the time of their cousins in the
northern half of the hemisphere. Displays of toys are seen
in the shop windows of Santiago and L,ima and Buenos A5'res
and Rio de Janeiro, that remind one of the attractions of the
New York stores at holiday- times, and the imported play-
things come from the same places where ours are made, — from
France, Switzerland and Germany.

The boys have rocking-horses, and tin locomotives, and
lead soldiers ; and the girls have dolls, and tiny sets of china,
exactly like those sold in Boston and Chicago, and they play
with them in the same wa3^ The Spanish- Americans are an
amusement-loving people, and gratify the wishes of their chil-
dren with quite as much liberality and extravagance as the
Yankees.

The South American children pla^^ " Hide and Seek," too,
but they call it " Juego de Escondite ; " they have picnics,
which they call " Meriendes ; " and " Gallinita Ciega," which
is a sort of " Blind Man's Buff," only it is usually played in
the patios or courtyards around which the houses are built,
and not within doors.

They play " Pussy-wants-a-corner," which is called "El
Juego de las Cuatro Esquinas ; ' ' tag and cross-tag ; the girls
have skipping ropes (Cuerda para saltar).

They also have a game called " Frio y Caliente," like our
" Cold and Hot." One member of the party is sent out of the
room. Those who remain select some object, a door-knob, or
a picture, or some article of furniture, which is to be detected
by the one who is " It, " as they say. As the " It " approaches
the article selected, the party cry "caliente," which signifies
that he is clo.se to it, and when he goes in the opposite
direction thev crv " frio," which means cold.

SOUTH AMERICAN GAMES. 93

Sometimes the piano is used, and the performer plays
louder as the " It " goes away from the article, and softer as
he approaches near, until finally when his hands touch it the
music ceases, and some one else takes his turn.

Dolls are called " Munecas " in Spanish, and their clothes
are "Vestidos." The boys have tops that are called
' ' Trompos ; ' ' pop-guns called ' ' Tiraballes ; ' ' and marbles
that are called " Metras " in the northern countries, and
" Bolletas " in Peru and Chile. They usually play marbles
in a ring, with a hole in the centre. If the player gets his
own alley into the hole he loses it, but if he knocks the alley
of some other boy into the hole it is his. They play with a
row of holes, too, placing a marble in each, and then try to
knock it out by dropping their own upon it.

There is a tree in the tropical countries that produces hard,
round nuts like marbles. They are called " Jaboncillos," and
the boys use them in preference to marbles made of clay.

The indoor games are comparatively few, as the weather
in most of the South American countries is so mild that the
children can spend most of their time out-of-doors.

They have bull-fights in imitation of those attended by
their fathers and mothers, one boy acting as the bull, and the
others teasing him as the "toreadors" and "matadors" tor-
ment the real animals, and when the time comes the bull is
killed and dragged out by a pair of boys harnessed up like
horses.

The military spirit is developed early, and the boys organize
companies with drums, and tin swords, and wooden guns, and
wear uniforms which their mothers make for them. Political
parties are found also among the boys as among their fathers,
and revolutions occur frequently, which are called "Pronun-
ciamentos."

Baseball is not played as it is in the United States, but
the European game of " handball," or " Peloto," as they call
it, is common. The ball is thrown against a wall and then
struck with the palm of the hand as it rebounds, the object
being to keep it from the ground as long as possible. The

SOUTH AMERICAN GAMES.

player who keeps the ball in the air, between his hand and the
wall, the longest time, wins. Grown men play hand-ball, and
have courts built for the purpose.

Tennis is as common as in this country. Once in Santiago,
Chile, I called at the house of a Presbyterian missionary, and

% '^: 0<

was told that he could be found in Cousino Park. I followed
him there, and discovered him engaged with the principal of
a mission school and a party of ladies playing tennis on the
lawn.

The South Americans do not play "tenpins" with ten
pins, but with three. The centre pin, or king, as they term
it, counts twelve if it is knocked down, and the others six
each. The game is called " Bollo." A game peculiar to
Central America is "Cereas." A bowl is made of beeswax
with a convex bottom, and balls of beeswax are thrown to
knock it down. Quoits are common, and "duck and drake,"

SOUTH AMERICAN GAMES

which is played with stones, as it is in this country. The kite
is a popular toy all over Central and South America, even
more popular than in the United States, and is called " El
Cometa," — the comet. Some of the kites are made as ours
are, but others are peculiar. The
shape is usually a hexagon, the sticks
are bamboo, and the covering tissue-
paper. When a boy wants to show
his artistic taste, he ornaments his
kite wnth a fringe of tissue-paper
around the bottom, as is shown in the
accompanying sketch ; and if he be
musical he extends the sticks above
the paper at the top and stretches
across them strips of hide, which in a
strong breeze give a beautiful sound
like an ^olian harp.

A musical chord can be made by
loosening or tightening the strings,
as shown in the illustration. The
surface of the kite is often painted to
represent the face of a man, when
the fringe around the sides has the
appearance of a beard, and is trimmed
accordingly.

Sometimes a tin knife cut in the
shape of a crescent, wnth the inner

edge sharpened, is attached to the tail, and the boy who is
flying it tries to cut the strings of other kites that happen to
be in the air around his. A good deal of skill is often shown
in attacking or in escaping from these " pirates," as the knife-
tail kites are called.

A popular game that is played both indoors and out is
called "Tanganillo y Chito," the prop and the money. A
ring is drawn upon the floor or upon the ground, about a 5'ard
in diameter, and a section of a broomstick or bamboo, twelve
or eighteen inches long, is set up in the centre, with a penny

96 SOUTH AMERICAN GAMES.

or any other coin on the top. The players stand off a certain
distance, and by throwing pennies endeavor to knock the coin
from the top of the stick. If it falls within the ring the player
loses and forfeits a penny. If it falls without the ring it is his.

" lya Tira, la Eloja," can only be translated, "to jerk, to
slacken." It is played with a large napkin, or a small sheet,
or a table-cloth. Four persons hold the corners tightly in
their fingers, and a fifth, who is called "the director," stands
by. He gives orders in rapid succession, but the players are
expected to do exactly contrary to his commands. For
example, when he shouts, "Jerk ! " they are to slacken and
let the sheet hang loosely between them. When he shouts,
"Slacken!" they are to jerk and hold the sheet taut until
the next order is heard. When a player obeys orders instead
of violating them he is required to pay a forfeit, and some
other member of the party steps up to take his place.

It will be discovered that the natural inclination of the
human will is to submit ; and only one who has great self-
control can remain long at the sheet.

The last one acts as judge, and like the goddess of justice
is blindfolded. Then the fun is renewed, for as the forfeits
are held up one by one before him, he is to pronounce the
penalty without knowing whether the owner is young or old,
male or female. He maj' require some venerable patriarch to
squeal like a pig or go around the room on his hands and
knees, or some child of six to deliver an oration.

W. E. Curtis.

A Young and Growing Mountain.

Down on the coast of Central America, in the little
Republic of Salvador, so near the ocean that it may be seen
from the decks of passing ships, is a mountain that grows.

There is another remarkable fact about Izalco, as the
mountain is called, for it is not only increasing in height all
the time, but it is the most violent and constant of all
volcanoes. Every little while, from one year's end to the
other, it spouts vast quantities of fire, lava and ashes, which
fall in a shower, and wrap its sides for a thousand feet below
the summit with a blanket of living coals.

It is impossible to conceive a grander spectacle than is
presented at night to the passengers upon ships that go that
way. No one goes to bed on the steamer till the mountain is
out of sight. Travellers go a long distance to see it, and are
always willing to admit that the journey repaid them.

The mountain rises nearly seven thousand feet, and as its
base is almost in the sea it looks much higher. An immense
plume of smoke ascends from the crater. The incessant
bursts of flame, mounting five hundred feet every little while,
can be seen for more than a hundred miles in clear weather.
The mountain has been called " the lighthouse of Salvador,"
and the shipping on the coast needs no other beacon so far as
the mountain can be seen.

Around the base of the volcano are productive sugar
plantations, with a railway running through them. Then
comes a wide strip of timber — an almost impenetrable forest,
whose foliage is perpetual and of the darkest green. Beyond
the forest, and between the timber line and the summit, is a
belt of ashes and lava which is constantly receiving accessions
from the crater, and every few minutes changes from a livid
yellow, when the ashes are hot, to a silver-gray, as they begin
to cool.

98 A YOUNG AND GROWING MOUNTAIN.

At night the effect is very fine. At each eruption there is
a violent explosion, like the discharge of a thousand cannon,
and afterward a terrible rumbling is heard beneath the surface
of the earth.

Izalco arose suddenly from a plain in the spring of 1770, in
the midst of what had been for nearly a hundred years a
profitable sugar plantation. The owner, Don Balthazar Erazo,
was absent on a visit to Spain at the time, and was greatly
amazed on his return to discover that his farm had been
exchang'id, without his knowledge or consent, for a first-class
volcano.

It was in December, 1769, that the peons on the plantation
first noticed that something was wrong underneath. Although
they were accustomed to "tremblors," as slight earthquakes
are called, they became frightened at the unusual rumblings
and growlings in the bowels of the earth. They decided to
leave the place, and got away not a moment too soon. A few
days later, when some of the mo.st venturesome went back to
see how the animals were getting on, they discovered that all
the buildings had been destroyed, that great trees had been
uprooted and large craters had opened in the fields, from
which came smoke and flames, but apparently there had been
no great eruption as yet.

A party of shepherds, braver than the rest, decided to
remain in the neighborhood and await developments ; and on
the 23d of February, 1770, they were entertained by a
spectacle that perhaps no other men were ever permitted to
witness — the birth of a mountain. It was about ten o'clock
in the morning, as they afterward said, when the grand
upheaval took place.

First came a series of terrific explosions which lifted the
crust of the earth in a pile several hundred feet high, and
from the opening issued flames and lava, with masses of
smoke.

An hour or two after there was another and a grander
convulsion, which shook the country for hundreds of miles
around, and did great damage in the neighboring towns.

A YOUNG AND GROWING MOUNTAIN. 99

Rocks weighing thousands of tons were lifted high in the
air, and fell several miles distant. The surface of the earth
bulged up nearly three thousand feet, and vast masses of
rocks were piled up around the crater from which they issued.

These terrible earthquakes continued for several days,
and great damage was done in the neighboring States of
Nicaragua and Honduras, as well as in San Salvador.

The volcano was a healthy and vigorous child. In less
than two months, from a level field arose a mountain more
than four thousand feet high. The discharges from the
crater from that time to this have accumulated around the
edges until the pile has reached nearly seven thousand feet,
and it is still growing. Unfortunately the growth of the
monster has not been scientifically observed or accurately
measured. It would be difficult to measure it, for the surface
of the cone, down to two thousand feet from the summit, is
always covered with hot lava over which no man could climb,
and the fumes of sulphur would suffocate one if the heat could
be endured.

Within view of the city of San Salvador are eleven great
volcanoes, one other beside Izalco being constantly active,
while the others are subject to occasional eruptions.

The nearest peak is the Mountain of San Salvador, which
is about eight thousand feet high and shows to great advantage
as it rises abruptly from the plain. It is only three miles
from the city to the base of the mountain, but the sides are so
broken by monstrous gorges and projecting cliffs that it is
almost impossible to climb it.

The summit is crowned by a cone of ashes and lava that
fell there centuries ago ; but since the spring of 1854, when
the most serious earthquake the country has known took
place, the crater has been extinct, and is now filled with a
lake of clear, cold water.

Lying to the seaward of the volcanoes, and not far from
the city of San Salvador, is a forest of balsam-trees about six
hundred square miles in extent, which is inhabited by a
curious race of Indians. These people are little altered from

lOO A YOUNG AND GROWING MOUNTAIN.

their primitive condition, and are permitted to remain there
undisturbed and enjo}^ the profits derived from the sale of
balsam.

The forest is full of foot-paths which are so intricate as to
baffle strangers who try to enter, and it is not safe to make the

The Volcano of Izalco.

attempt, as the Indians, peaceable enough when they come
out to mingle with the other inhabitants of the country,
violently resent any intrusion into their stronghold. They
keep their common earnings in a treasure-box, to be distributed
by the old men among the families as their necessities require.
There is a prevailing impression that the tribe has an

A YOUNG AND GROWING MOUNTAIN. lOI

enormous sum of money in its possession, since its earnings
are large and the wants of the people are few. The surplus
existing at the end of each year is supposed to be buried in a
sacred spot with religious ceremonies. These Indians, who
are temperate and industrious, are known to history as the
Nahuatls, but are commonly spoken of as " Balsimos."

Although San Salvador is the smallest in area of the group
of Central American Republics, and smaller than Massachu-
setts, it is the most prosperous, the most enterprising and the
most densely populated, having about as many inhabitants as
Connecticut. The natives are engaged not only in agriculture,
but quite extensively in manufactures.

They are more energetic and industrious than the people
in other parts of Central America, and gain wealth rapidly ;
but the constantly recurring earthquakes and political disturb-
ances keep the country poor.

San Salvador has always taken the lead in the political
affairs of Central America. It was the first to throw off the
yoke of Spain. After several ineffectual attempts to gain
independence, the Salvadorian Congress, by an act passed on
the 2d of December, 1822, resolved to annex the little province
to the United States, and provided for the appointment of
commissioners to proceed to Washington and ask its incorpo-
ration in the great republic.

Before the commissioners could leave the country the
revolutions in the other Central American States had become
too formidable to suppress. The five states joined in a
confederacy one year after the act of annexation to the United
States was passed, and the resolution was never officially
submitted to our government.

W. E. Curtis.

In the Grand Plaza of Mexico,

Here stood Montezuma's mighty temple to the Sun. Much
allowance must be made, of course, for the vivid imaginations
of the Spanish historians in the romantic days of the discovery
and conquest of the New World ; but even to this day, and
right here on and about the great plaza you see unim-
peachable testimony to this heathen temple's storied splendor.

This grand plaza is still, as it was when Cortez first entered
it as the invited guest of the great Indian city, the heart of
Mexico. The palace built, or rather begun, bj^ Cortez, stands
on the eastern side of the great square. This palace is the
largest in the world. It is not the finest palace in the world,
but it is the broadest ; covering more acres of ground than any
other palace or public building of an}- sort that I have seen in
all my travels. It is a low and ugly edifice, and is built for
the most part out of the stones of the overthrown temple to
the Sun.

Every Monday morning all Mexico, or at least all the idle
and curious and pleasure-seeking portion of Mexico, and that
is a large portion of the citizens, comes to this plaza to hear
the band play and see the troops deploy before the palace.
The president and his officers, all in brilliant uniforms, sit or
stand on the upper balcon}^ of the palace, and review the
troops. There are always many ladies with the president and
his officers, — many of them American ladies, — and there is
often much cheering and patriotic enthusiasm. The music is
very good, as in all Latin lands.

The Mexican soldier, as seen here at these costume parades,
is a queer, pitiful little fellow, and he is still more queer and
pitiful as you see him out of the city marching up and down
the country- .

It is the policy of Mexico to keep her soldiers constantly
moving about. And as the Mexican .soldier nearly always has

IN THE GRAND PLAZA OF MEXICO.

103

his wife and children with him, he cuts a queer figure when
marching up and down the country from town to town. At
such times he is always barefooted ; and at best, he has, as a
rule, only wooden sandals to wear. When marching in the

country he gener-
ally has his pan-
taloons and coat
rolled up and tied
in a bundle along
with his blanket
and provisions.
His bundle the
wife generally has
on her head as
she trots along at
his side.

The poor little
brown soldier, his
naked skin glis-
tening like pol-
ished copper in
the sun, nearly
always has a child
in his arms. Their
affection for their
little brown children is beautiful, indeed. I have often seen a
barefooted soldier struggling along with a whole little family —
except the wife — in his arms or on his back. As night
approaches and the troops are nearing the place to camp, the
women go on before with their burdens on their heads and
their babies on their backs, and make fires and prepare the
scanty meal ; while the poor little brown soldiers trim up their
irregular lines a bit, and enter camp with a show of discipline
under the sharp orders of the handsome officers.

When the bands play in the grand plaza and the troops
deploy, and the glistening brass cannon rumble and trundle
over the big cobblestones, you see thousands of women and

AriUr "

The Cathedral of Mexico.

IN THE GRAND PLAZA OF MEXICO. I05

children on the edge of the square watching it all with intense
delight. For to many of them this is their first glimpse of the
great palace, and the president of Mexico.

After an hour of rather awkward parade over the ugly
cobblestones and under the eye of the president, one regiment
after another is permitted to melt away, and drop out in a
"go as you please " march again for the country.

Ah, then you should see the wives, the babies who have
been noting the brave soldiers all this time ! They struggle
forward, they clasp husband, father by the neck, hand, any-
where that they can get hold of him. They praise his beauty
and his soldierly bearing, they insist on carrying his gun,
they kiss him over and over again ; and he is glad ; he is very
glad. He sheds tears of joy as he trudges on toward one of
the seven gates of the city.

Now and then he stops, catches up a half-naked child,
presses it to his heart, kisses it over and over again ; and only
sets its little naked brown feet again on the ground in order
to take up another one of his miserable little children, and
embrace it also.

All these soldiers are very, very small men. I have often
seen them fairly stagger under the weight of their big, ugly
muskets as they panted and perspired under a hot day's march
in the country. At such times the little children lie thick
along the line of march under cactus plants and in the shadow
of stone walls, nearly dead from exhaustion, waiting for the
poor, tired father to come back from the end of the day's
march and take the little starved things to his heart.

The one special object of interest here by this storied plaza
of Mexico City, after the palace, is the cathedral. It stands
on the north side of the square facing the sun, as did the great
heathen temple from the ruins of which it was built. This is
the richest place of worship in the world, that is to say, it has
more gold and silver in and about its altars and sacred places
than any other like place now to be found on earth, if we are
to believe our eyes.

And yet you hear it whispered that the great silver rails

IN THE GRAND PLAZA OF MEXICO. lO?

around the altars here, as well as at the other rich church a
league distant, are no longer solid silver ; that the lofty golden
candlesticks are no longer solid gold. But of this no one can
sa}' certainly except, perhaps, the few great dignitaries at the
head of the Catholic Church in Mexico.

The music is fine here, certainly the finest of its kind in
America. But the place is dirty and damp and gloomy from
one end of the year to the other. A dozen or more deformed
and repulsive creatures creep about the doors over the dirty
stones, and implore you as you pass in to buy lottery tickets
which they crumple in their dirty hands. You are not asked
for any money, but there are plenty of little boxes tacked up
here and there for the reception of whatever you may please
to bestow.

There are many rare and costly pictures here in this
glorious old cathedral ; and yet the real pictures of Mexico,
the pretty ones, the pathetic ones, the pictures that make j^ou
put your handkerchief to your eyes a dozen times a day are
people themselves. How loving they are ! How true they
are to one another in all their misery, all their abject ignorance
and most piteous poverty !

There is a little flower-garden and some great trees in the
centre of the grand plaza, and here late in the afternoon the
band plays, and the fashionable people congregate.

You should see the little brown gardener in broad hat
and narrow white breechcloth at work in the flower-garden
here in the grand plaza of Mexico City ! You should see him
mow the lawn. And how does he do it? Why, in the first
place he squats flat down on his naked heels, and then he
hitches himself along as fast as he cuts away the grass, without
rising up or even lifting his head from his work. And what
does he mow with ? Why, a little piece of glass or rather of
obsidian, the same as he used when Cortez came.

In digging up the stump of a eucalyptus-tree here last
winter the gardener came to a stone which proved to be a
huge and hideous idol. The government claims all such
discoveries, and in excavating this idol for the fine museum in

Io8 IN THE GRAND PLAZA OF MEXICO.

the palace, two others were found. They weigh perhaps a
ton each, and had long ago been tumbled down here, no doubt,
by the Spaniards when they destroyed the temple to the Sun.
It is said that many rare and curious things, as well as much
gold and silver, are still buried here on the site of the pagan
temple, but only the impoverished government can make
excavations.

I have now described the eastern and the northern sides
of the great square, the palace and the cathedral. The other
two sides are made up entirely of broad porches. These
porches reach out from fashionable stores and fine shops of all
sorts, and are turned into little booths or bazaars by day and
on till midnight. But, curious to tell, at and from the moment
of midnight the porches belong to the people till sunrise !

A little before midnight those pretty little shops that blaze
and brighten all day and till late at night begin to melt away.
The Arab, the Turk, the Frenchman, the German, all sorts of
storekeepers fold up their tents, and suddenly start out, as
the little half-nude and helpless children of the sun steal in
and lie down to rest on the hard stones of this half-mile of
porches.

Till three in the morning when the sudden sun comes
pouring over the low palace like a silver sea, and flooding
their faces ! They spring to their feet on the instant ; they
pour forth into the plaza in torrents ; one, two, ten thousand
people with their kindly copper faces lifted to the sun ! They
gather about the laughing fountains in the broad plaza, they
laugh with the laughing water as they plunge their arms or
their heads into flowing pools.

All the street-cars, more than a dozen lines of them, start
from the grand plaza here, and never stop their gallop till they
come to a station.

There is one very new and yet very solemn-looking and
curious street-car starts here. It has a huge, black cross over
its one broad, black platform, and is called "the car of the
dead." The once long and dreary processions of priests for
the dead are allowed no longer here. You go to your grave

IN THE GRAND PLAZA OP MEXICO. I09

by Street-car in Mexico Citj' now. This car starts every hour,
and from the number of those who go out, but come not back,
by this car, you would say that Mexico is a sickl}' city. But
it is not so sickly as it seems. For in the first place all the
dead, as a rule, are buried from this presence of the cathedral ;
and in the second place there are almost always two coffins to
one corpse. One of these coffins holds the dead, the other
holds flowers which are to be emptied upon the dead when in
the grave.

How this seems to soften the whole hard fact of the funeral !
One coffin holds beautiful sweet flowers ; one — and you can't
guess which one — holds the dead.

The poor people here — and they are, at least, nine to
one — take all their dead to the grave on their backs. But
they also always have the two coffins, and they also always
come by way of the cathedral when on their way to the grave.
There is a whole street close by the cathedral with nothing but
coffins in it ; but they are not all of them black and sombre.
Some are a bright red, some are brilliant with painted roses,
some are curiously marked by queer figure-paintings, and
look like Egyptian work.

The poor never bury the coffin with the dead, it is always
brought back, along with the narrow little box that was filled
with roses. There are professional carriers for these occasions
called " cargadaro." They sit around the grand plaza in
dozens with little ropes in a girdle at the side. They always
go in a trot, as if the dead had whispered, "Hurry up! I
want to get out of this and rest in my bed of roses ! ' '

Joaquin Miller.

The Boys of Mexico.

The Mexican boy has plenty of play, though he cares little
for hoops or balls, tops, kites or marbles. Unless he is
unusually poor he has a horse and saddle of his own,
especially if he lives in the country ; and no matter how poor
he may be, he either has a donkey or can borrow one in five
minutes.

He often learns to ride when he is so small that he has to
climb up the fore leg of the horse, pull himself up bj^ his mane,
swing one leg over the neck of the horse and then slide down
on its back. He soon learns to reach down from the saddle
and pick up things from the ground while the horse is in
motion.

One day, starting out to shoot ducks in the State of
Durango, I was followed by a native boy about seven years
old on horseback, who went to pick up the game.

It was almost as much sport to see him get the ducks as it
was to shoot them. Through mud, water, brush, and among
rocks, he rode at a gallop with about equal ease, always
reaching down from the saddle to pick up a duck, and coming
back with it like the wind.

Sometimes when the water was very deep he made his
horse swim out to the duck ; and if the mud were too deep
along the edge of the pond he threw his lasso over the duck
out in the water, and pulled it in to where he could reach it
without getting his horse fast in the mud.

IvCarning to ride so early, and spending much of his time
on the horse, the Mexican boy becomes a wonderful rider.
He would not make a very graceful appearance in Central
Park in New York, but there is no monkey in the museum
there that can cling to a prancing horse more firmly than he
can. And yet generally he rides without clinging at all. He
does not press the horse with his knees or legs, but maintains

THE BOYS OF MEXICO. Ill

his position simply by keeping his balance. The most
common plaything of the boy of Mexico, and the one he
enjoys above all else, is the lasso, or riata. It takes the place
of pea-shooters, popguns, slings, bows and arrows, and nearl}'
all else but the horse, and is a plaything of which he seldom
tires.

He begins to throw his mother's clothes-line as soon as he
is able to make a noose in the end of it and coil it. With this
he practises until he can throw it quite easil}^ over a post, or
the head of his younger brother. As soon as he begins to tire
of this, for the reason that it does not show enough skill, he
tries to catch the domestic animals as they run. To do this
well requires a great deal of practice ; but at last he becomes
so skilful that he can cast the noose over any foot of an animal
in full run, and soon afterward learns to do the same from the
back of a horse while in full gallop.

Most of his early practice is upon the dog or cat, or some
member of the family, or upon the goat or pig in the yard.
Very soon the dogs and donkeys in the street begin to suffer ;
but when donkeys are scarce, and the dogs have all taken to
their holes, the boys practise upon one another, taking turns
in running past their comrades, and trying in all possible
ways to avoid the noose with their feet.

Many of the dogs in Mexico have been lassoed so often
that they will run for cover at the sight of a rope in a boy's
hands ; while others have become so hardened that they will
stand and watch the rope with cool indifference, and spoil the
boy's fun b}^ not running at all.

This is a harmless amusement, for the rope is so light that
it does not hurt, and animals learn to stop the moment the
rope is fast around them. It is an amusement that might well
be practised, under proper guidance, by boys in our own
country ; for the ability to coil a rope, and cast a noose over
an object forty feet away in less than half a minute, is an
accomplishment that may be useful in many ways before one is
done with this world.

Mexican children are very seldom rude or saucy. They

112 THE BOYS OF MEXICO.

are taught to be polite under all circumstances and to all
people. Some parents would rather have their boy be almost
anything else than a "grosero," or rude person. For this
reason one hears little quarrelling or rough talk among children
playing, and sees hardly any fighting or bullying of little boys
by larger ones.

For the same reason Mexican boys are not as mischievous
in many ways as the children of some other countries. The
glass would stay for years in the wnndows of an empty house in
Mexico, and one is never in danger of being tripped by a
string stretched across the pavement.

Many of the children brought up away from the cities in
Mexico never go to school, and never learn to read or write.
On the great farms, or "haciendas," thousands of children
are born, grow old and die without seeing or knowing
anything of the great outside world. Some of these farms are
larger than certain whole counties in the United States, and
some of them have hundreds of laborers, all of whom, from
father to son, are born, live and die on the same farm.

T. S. VanDyke.

^ St

The Sea of the Discovery.

The Bahama Sea is perhaps the most beautiful of all
waters. Columbus beheld it and its islands with a poet's eye.

" It only needed the singing of the nightingale," said the
joyful mariner, " to make it like Andalusia in April ; " and to
his mind Andalusia was the loveliest place on earth. In
sailing among, these gardens of the seas in the serene and
transparent autunin days after the great discovery, the soul of
Columbus was at times overwhelmed and entranced by a
sense of the beauty of everything in it and about it. Life
seemed, as it w^ere, a spiritual vision.

"I know not," said the discoverer, "where first to go;
nor are my eyes ever wearj^ of gazing on the beautiful verdure.
The singing of the birds is such that it seems as if one would
never desire to depart hence."

He speaks in a poet's phrases of the odorous trees, and of
the clouds of parrots whose bright wings obscured the sun.
His descriptions of the sea and its gardens are full of glowing
and sympathetic colorings, and all things to him had a
spiritual meaning.

" God," he said, on reviewing his first voj^age over these
Western waters, "God made me the messenger of the new
heavens and earth, and told me where to find them. Charts,
maps and mathematical knowledge had nothing to do with
the case."

On announcing his discover}- on his return, he breaks
forth into the following highly poetic exhortation : ' ' I^et
processions be formed, let festivals be held, let lauds be sung.
Let Christ rejoice on earth ! "

Columbus was a student of the Greek and Latin poets, and
of the poetry of the Hebrew Scriptures. The visions of Isaiah
were familiar to him, and he thought that Isaiah himself at
one time appeared to him in a vision. He loved nature. To

THE SEA OF THE DISCOVERY

him the outer world was a garment of the Invisible ; and it
was before his great soul had suffered disappointment that he
saw the sun-flooded waters of the Bahama Sea and the purple

^ ^..

splendors of the Antilles. There is scarcely an adjective in
the picturesque report of Columbus in regard to this sea and
these islands that is not now as appropriate and fitting as in the
days when its glowing words delighted Isabella four hundred
years ago.

I recently passed from the sea of Watling's Island, the

THE SEA OF THE DISCOVERY. II5

probable " San Salvador," to the point of Cuba discovered on
the 28th of October, 1492, and to the coast of Haiti, the
Hispaniola of Columbus, and the scene of the first settlement
in the New World. I had studied the descriptions of
Columbus, and almost every hour of the voyage brought them
to mind like so many pictures.

Watling's Island was probably the first landfall of
Columbus, and the scene of the dramatic events of the
elevation of the cross, the singing of the Te Deum, and the
unfurling of the banner of the double crowns of Leon and
Castile on the red morning of October 12, 1492.

The San Salvador of the old maps, or Cat Island, a place
now of some four thousand inhabitants, was not really the
scene of Columbus's landing.

Watling's Island lies far out in the sea. It is cooled by
waving palms, and is full of singing birds. It has a tall
lighthouse tower painted white, which rises nobly over the
water. Its light can be seen nearly twenty miles. As one
sees it one recalls the fact that no friendly light except the
night fagots of the Indians guided the eye of Columbus,

Watling's Island has a population of less than seven
hundred souls, and is not often visited by large steamers. I
secured some fine specimens of "sargasso," or gulfweed, in
passing through this sea.

Over these waters continually drift fields of this peculiar
seaweed. It is of a bright yellow color ; it shines brilliantly
in the sun, and at a distance presents a scene of dazzling
splendor. The "berries," which sailors say are poisonous to
certain kinds of fish, are very salt. The weed seems always
'to move west before the trade- winds.

Over these fields of shining drift, land birds came singing
to the ships of the adventurers ; and on one of the matted beds
a land crab appeared — a sure indication of a near shore.

The crews of Columbus feared to enter the Sargasso Sea.
They had been told that in sailing west they would come to a
sea of monsters, and they feared that these ocean meadows
might cover hidden foes and perils. The peculiar beauty of

Il6 THE SEA OF THE DISCOVERY.

the Bahama Sea is its clearness and deep purple color. This
dark purple color is said to be the result of the ' ' shadow of
deep waters," though whether this is a scientific view I do not
know. Under a cloudless sky the sea is luminous purple.

A cloud shadow changes this royal hue into emerald.
One gazes down into deeps unknown, and sees the pairs of
dolphins as clearly as the white- winged birds overhead.
One's eye follows the flying-fishes as clearly when they go
down as when they dart into the open air. One here dreams
of coral gardens, of sea-nymphs, and recalls the ancient poets'
conceptions of Oceanus and Neptune. All fancies seem
possible to the creative imagination here.

On the islands of the Greater and I^esser Antilles, or the
Columbian Seas, grow the most abundant cocoanut groves in
the world. The trees are graceful and lofty, and as a rule are
slanted by the winds. They bear a solid burden of fruit.

"I have counted from forty to fifty cocoanuts on a single
tree ! " I said to an officer of my steamer, in surprise.

" I have counted a hundred," was his answer.

It seems unaccountable that so slender a trunk can hold
aloft in the air such a weight of fruit.

The nuts are not only numerous on a single palm, but of
great size. A single nut often yields a pitcher of cocoanut
water, or two goblets, as we might say. The palms of all the
islands must be as fruitful to-day as when the first voyagers
saw them.

Columbus speaks of flocks of parrots that ' ' darkened the
sun." Such flocks do not appear now, but in every port of
the Antilles there is a parrot market. The natives love their
parrots, and the cool trees and drinking-stands of the parrot
market make a popular place of resort.

As a rule, the birds are not confined in cages. They are
left to climb about on the booths in which cocoanut water and
cool drinks are sold. The people extend their hands to them,
and the birds walk into them for the sake of gifts, caresses and
admiration.

Women kiss these parrots, and hold their heads close to

THE SEA OF THE DISCOVERY. II7

their lips when talking to them. The birds are usually jealous
and ungrateful, and have but little to commend them but their
art of begging and their beauty.

Nearly all cities in Latin America have statues to Colon,
or Columbus. One of the most beautiful of these is in the
Paseo of the City of Mexico. These statues usually represent
the great mariner as of most distinguished appearance ; lofty,
chivalrous, poetic.

The statue to Columbus in Nassau in the Bahamas is quite
a different conception. We find in it the sturdy and traditional
English tar. It is what Columbus might have been had he
been born an Englishman. As England herself has been in
effect transported to Nassau, New Providence, so has art here
been made to take on her type and expression.

The glory of the Bahama Sea is the night. A sudden hush
falls upon the purple serenity ; the sunset flames, and the day
is done. The roof of heaven seems low, and the stars come
out like silver suns.

One does not need to look upward to see the stars, but
down. The heavens are below as well as above ; the sky is
in the sea.

The shadowy forms of pairs of dolphins pass under the
transparent waters almost as distinctly as by day. The at-
mosphere, sky and sea all blend as one world.

Amid such unimagined brilliancy and splendor the soul
becomes a revelation to herself in the consciousness of beauty-
worship, and thought takes wings.

One recalls the pictures that Columbus gives of the ex-
pansion of his own soul. One here feels a longing to attain
larger knowledge and all that is best in life, and wonders
what new discoveries may await the spiritual faculties in wider
horizons than these. Wherever he may go, the tourist will
ever return in memory to the Sea of the Great Discovery. It
is the paradise of the ocean world ; the temple gate of the West.

H. Butter WORTH.

Housekeeping on a Desert Island.

It was once my lot to keep house for a fortnight or so on a
desert island among the Bahamas ; a gentleman having been
good enough to place his vacant house on one of the "out
islands " at our disposal.

The island was some six miles long, with several sur-
rounding " cays," as islets are termed in those regions, which
belonged to the same proprietor. This property lay some
thirty miles south of Nassau, the capital of the Bahamas, and
as no ships ever went there we hired a steamer to take us and
our belongings to our new abode.

The belongings were considerable on the occasion, for the
house was unfurnished, and there was no shop or store within
thirty miles of it. So we had to take bedding, tables and
chairs, pots and pans, eatables and drinkables, household
necessaries of all sorts, as well as three children, a governess,
three servants, a goat to give us milk, a monkey, a parrot and
two little ground doves.

We anchored in a little harbor formed by some sheltering
rocks ; our luggage and furniture were lowered into a boat and
landed in a heap on the sandy beach. There every one
shouldered whatever he could, and under a burning sun we
toiled up to the house, which stood on the top of a hill and
was about a quarter of a mile off.

I was laden with part of a paraffin stove. The children
insisted on dragging along the largest boxes and bundles they
could find. The servants and sailors brought up the rear with
the remainder of our possessions.

We found a negro and his family in charge of the house.
On our arrival they moved into a hut close by, and we pro-
ceeded to settle down for the night as best we could.

The house was of good size, and divided into rooms by
partitions that only went half-way up to the roof, so as to give

HOUvSEKEEPING ON A DESERT ISLAND.

119

free circulation. It was thatched with pahii-leaves, and had
a wide veranda running all around it. Furniture there was
none except two tables and a bench or two.

While supper was preparing we spread out our mattresses
and made arrangements for the night. It was not possible to
hang up mosquito curtains for the first night, and indeed we

'^^'ip.^i'.^'ii

On the Beach.

did not particularly care to do so, for we had been told that
sand-flies and mosquitoes were unknown on Highbourne Cay.
We were speedily undeceived. Our first night there was
an awful experience. Millions of sand-flies and swarms of
mosquitoes made life unbearable and night hideous. We were
all very tired, but no one slept at all. As everything was
open our moans and revilings were audible to all, and we
compared our miseries.

I20 HOUSEKEEPING ON A DESERT ISLAND.

Finally I got up and, wearied and woebegone, wandered
up and down the veranda, longing for day and wondering if
life on a desert island were worth living. At last the welcome
dawn restored us to cheerfulness.

Instead of the ordinary tub in one's bedroom, a dip in the
warm, clear, blue sea was delicious of a morning. As. we had
the island to ourselves, we donned our bathing-dresses in the
house and walked down in them to the shore, a large palm-
leaf doing duty as a sunshade.

The path to the beach lay through the bush. Most of
the shrubs were in flower, and wax3'-white blossoms of an
unknown species filled the air with a delicious scent. Near to
the strand great trails of snow-white passion-flowers stretched
out their graceful length, and masses of orchids with sprays
four or five feet high, of old-gold, purple and brown flowers
swung gently to and fro in the breeze.

When we lay down on the coral sand, soft as satin, the
tiny waves rippling gently over us, while little silvery fishes
swam lazily around, the miseries of the past night were for-
gotten, and it seemed as though the world could offer nothing
more delightful than existence on a desert island.

Our breakfast, if in the orthodox style in such places,
ought to have consisted of turtles' eggs, breadfruit and
cocoanut milk ; but the island afforded none of those dainties,
and we had to content ourselves with eggs supplied by the
caretaker's hens and the contents of mundane tins from
cooperative stores.

The only incident of an unusual nature connected with the
meal was that my little girl, while milking the goat, was
observed to have a large centipede taking its morning stroll
over her hair. The creature was knocked off and killed by
the trusty negro caretaker before it did any mischief.

We had sent down a small sailing-boat from Nassau, so as
to be able to communicate with civilization if necessary. The
sailor belonging to it acted as our cook.

After the experience of our first night we took precautions
against our tormentors, and afterward slept in comparative

HOUSEKEEPING ON A DESERT ISLAND.

peace. I^arge fires were lighted around the house. All doors
and windows were tightly closed before sunset, and not opened
till the moon was well up, when we crept under the mosquito
nets and set our winged foes at defiance.

We still had midnight visitors, but of a more agreeable
kind. Large fire-beetles flew in at the unglazed windows,
lighting up the rooms with living fairy-lights. Small birds

twittered on the
rafters ; little crabs
rattled gaih- over
the floor ; friendly
geckoes croaked
from the roof, or
busied themselves
with an attack on
the winged pests.

Geckoes are liz-
ards six or seven
inches long, of a
pale yellowish col-
or, mottled with
brown, with rings
of brown on the
tail. They are gen-
houses. They are
becoming full of

V/\-^

erally found in sheds and the roofs of
harmless, useful, and are easily tamed
confidence when unmolested.

After some daj^s our meals of poultry and tinned meats
became monotonous ; and hearing that iguanas were found on
a neighboring cay, my husband sailed over to procure some.
The iguana is a lizard which feeds on fruits and vegetables.
It grows to three or four feet in length, and its flesh is con-
sidered delicate eating.

The cay where creatures of this sort were found was flat
and rocky, and the iguanas had their strongholds in the
numerous fissures and cracks. Long search had not been
made before an iguana was seen to retreat into a cavity. A

122 HOUSEKEEPING ON A DESERT ISLAND.

fire was lighted at the entrance to smoke him out. When the
poor animal could stand the smoke no longer, a scurry was
heard and out he rushed through the smoldering embers, only
to be shot.

As soon as a sufficient number had been taken to supply
our present needs, one was secured alive and brought back to
me. It was about two feet long — a thick, heavy, blackish
lizard with a crest down the back of his neck. We put a cord
round his body and tied him to a tree near the veranda. If
one went near him he snapped viciously and sometimes ran at
one and seized anything on which he could lay hold in his
mouth, just like a wicked dog.

His companions, whom we tried in the form of a pie, had
delicate white flesh resembling chicken or veal.

When the stock of vegetables which we brought with us
was exhausted, the caretaker produced another edible novelty
in the shape of a head of "mountain cabbage." This is
supplied by a palm-tree, a portion of the trunk of which is
edible. These palms grow abundantly on Highbourne and the
neighboring cays. Wild hogs, numerous on some of the
latter, lived almost solely on these palms, tearing down the
smaller trees and ripping them open with their tusks to get at
the succulent heart.

The cabbage palm brought on this occasion to us was not
a good specimen. When cooked it looked like huge and very
stringy sugar-cane, and tasted like succulent wood.

I have often since eaten mountain cabbage. When of the
proper kind it is extremely good. Eaten raw it has a nutty
flavor, and makes an excellent salad. When cooked it looks
rather like very white cabbage, but the flavor is much finer
and more delicate.

Sometimes we went out fishing for our dinner, or collected
great pink conch-.shells in the shallow water by the shore.
The fish in them made a capital soup.

Our days glided by in delightful monotony. All our meals
were ser^^ed on the veranda, and there we spent the heat of
the day, busy at our various occupations.

HOUSEKEEPING ON A DESERT ISLAND. 1 23

To the full we tasted on our desert island that pleasure
unknown to dwellers in cities, and rarely experienced in
northern climes — the pleasure of mere existence.

Hammocks hung from the beams, and a swing in one was
very agreeable. The view all around was charming. An
undulating foreground of thick bush, composed of silver
palmettos ; lignum vitse covered with bunches of azure flowers ;
seven-year apples with star-like white blossoms having a
delicious fragrance, and trees and shrubs innumerable, of
unknown names and beautiful foliage — sloped down to a
turquoise sea stretching far as the eye could reach, and dotted
with little gray and green islands.

Between the bush and the sea lay a band of coral beach,
shimmering in the sunshine like a broad silken ribbon ; in the
foreground grew some fine "wild rose apples," as they are
locally termed ; their botanical name I have forgotten. The
foliage is very dark green, and the branches bear clusters of
brilliant scarlet flowers. On the backs of the large, leathery
leaves beautiful little iridescent green and blue beetles make
their home.

The wing-cases of these beetles are clear and like glass,
the beautiful colors showing through the glassy substance,
but disappearing on the death of the insect.

The air was full of perfume, the eye feasted with har-
monious forms and glowing colors, the body refreshed by cool
yet balmy breezes ; and we drank in health and strength from
an open-air life, unhampered by conventionalities and unem-
bittered by the struggle for existence.

lyADY Bl^AKE.

A Trip to Santo Domingo.

Would you like to get on board a steamship for a voyage
to the island of Santo Domingo ? It may be only a dream
steamship to you, but it is the image of one in which I did
make that voyage, some time ago.

I,et us suppose that I have you all on board, the anchor
weighed, and the harbor of New York fading in the distance.

Your first hour on board will probably be passed in putting
your books and clothes into something like order. While you
are about this, dinner will be announced, but if the wind
happens to be ahead, the rolling and pitching of the vessel
may make you think of something very different, viz., your
bed, and how to get into it. You try to do this, and every-
thing seems to be against you.

Your books come tumbling down from the upper berth,
in which you had laid them. Your travelling bag rolls over
upon your feet and hurts them. Your portable inkstand,
which you imprudently got out in order to write down your
last impressions of New York, falls out of the rack into the
wash-basin, and sprinkles the premises with ink.

You feel very ill, and it makes )^ou worse to hear the vessel
strain in the sea, with doleful noises, as if her wooden sides
were in pain.

At last, with the help of steward or stewardess, you are
properly undressed, and your dizzy head is glad to rest upon
a hard, rather damp pillow.

Rock, rock, rock. If you are not very ill, the motion soon
lulls you to sleep, and in the darkness of the night you only
hear the boatswain's whistle, piping, shrill and sweet, and
the heavy steps of the sailors who come up on deck and go
below when the watch is changed.

But we will suppose that these rough days are past, and
that our ship is now carried smoothly over the tropical sea by

A TRIP TO SANTO DOMINGO. 1 25

a favorable wind. The seasick folk are all up and dressed,
though not in their best clothes. They begin to laugh at their
late misfortunes.

How bright the sky is, and how warm is the sunshine !
The thought of dinner becomes a pleasant one, as the sea air
gives the recovered patients a keen appetite.

If you look over the side of the vessel, you will see
quantities of gulfweed, yellow sprays that look almost golden
in the blue water. You may fish for this, if 3'ou will, with a
long string and a large pin bent to serve as a hook.

When you have caught a bit of it, and have drawn it on
board, you will find it a coarse, common seaweed, not worth
preserving.

You will see here and there, too, the Portuguese man-of-
war. This is a shell-fish called a nautilus, which looks as
if it carried a tiny sail on the surface of the water.

Shoals of flying-fish dart out of the sea, and fall back into
it. If a few should be caught on deck, they will be found
very nice when fried.

Meantime the weather grows very warm. It is perhaps
only four days since you came on board wrapped in your
winter furs and wadded coat. Now you find summer clothing
very comfortable, and a broad shade hat indispensable, for
the glare of the light upon the water is very trying to the eyes.

At sunset you see such wonderful clouds of every shape !
There is one which looks like a party of ladies with queer
bonnets, which melt and change as fashions really do. There
is a lion galloping after a dog. Now the dog changes to a
lizard, and the lion to a whale. There is a group of fiery,
untamed horses, which presently take the shape of a monstrous
giant, who loses his head, and in turn melts into something
else equally strange and unsubstantial.

As night comes on, the sky seems to turn into black velvet,
studded with diamond stars. You can stay on deck until
bedtime without danger, and when you bid your friends
good-night, even the voices of dear ones sound sweeter in the
soft, tropical air than elsewhere.

126

A TRIP TO SANTO DOMINGO.

On one of these nights you pass a distant light which looks
almost like a star very near its setting. They tell 3^ou that
this is Turk's Island light, and your heart is cheered by the
sight of something that is really on land.

After this you have still a good
many miles to sail, but before long
there comes a morning in which
vou become aware that some-

thing has caused new excitement and activity on board the
steamer. Then comes a knock at your door, and the cry : —

' ' Porto Plata is in sight ! Come out and have a look at
Mount Isabel ! ' '

A TRIP TO SANTO DOMINGO. 1 27

You run out, wondering if this can be true, and are
astonished to see the lofty mountain, rising sharp and sheer
against the cloudless sky. At its base lies the pretty, thriving
little town whose name you have just heard.

The ship is just steaming into the harbor. Presently she
comes to anchor in the roadstead. Boats rowed by negroes
come alongside, and the health and customs officers come on
board.

There is much shaking of hands and chattering in Spanish
and in English. You walk carefully down the companion-
way, and the boats soon land you at the long wooden
causeway, which in turn soon brings you to "terra firma."
No matter how well you may like the sea, it is a great pleasure
to find yourself on land again.

The steamer stays but one day at Porto Plata, but this
gives you time to see much that is new and amusing. In the
first place, you will look at the little carts, drawn each by one
bullock, which are driven down into the shallow water to
receive the goods brought from the steamer in large boats
called lighters.

Then you will like to walk through the streets and to look
at the shops, which display many curious things.

Among other commodities, the fruits of the country will
interest you. Passing by the market, you will see heaps of
golden oranges, which are offered you by the thousand.
Bananas are sold in huge bunches. You can buy one of
these bunches for twenty-five cents. It would cost you five
dollars in New York or Boston. Then there are sapodillas,
with russet skin and orange pulp surrounding a large polished
stone ; and arimoyas, purple in color and full of milky juice ;
and sour-sop, or guanabana, of which the juice only is used.
This latter fruit looks like a soft, green pine-apple. Its flavor
resembles a combination of pine-apple and strawberry. You
can squeeze it to obtain juice, but if you attempt to bite into
it, you will find nothing but a tough fibre, which is quite
uneatable.

In these warm climates, people usually rise very early and

128 A TRIP TO SANTO DOMINGO.

take a long nap in the middle of the day. So you will find
that the little town seems to go to sleep between twelve and
one o'clock and to remain very quiet for about three hours.
You will feel drowsiness stealing over you, and will do well
to follow the general custom and to take what is called a
" siesta." You can do this best at the hotel, a bare and barn-
like building, in whose upper story you will easily find a
cot-bed with a mosquito-netting hung over it. There are no
glass windows here, or anywhere else in the tropics, but the
stout wooden shutters will make the room dark enough.

It may be nearly four o'clock when 3'ou wake from 3'our
slumber, and find the town waking up, too. A fresh breeze
now blows from the sea, and the atmosphere is comfortably
cool. The horses' hoofs rattle on the pavement, and if you
look out you will see the pretty little animals going along very
swiftl}^ and so smoothly that their riders are scarcely stirred
in the saddle.

If you walk a little out of the town, you will find plenty of
ferns and wild flowers, and you will see numbers of curious
yellow land-crabs crawling about on the road.

But at nightfall you will be warned to go on board your
steamer. Returning, and clambering up the sides, you may
find the sailors amusing themselves by throwing bits of pork
to the sharks, whose ugly pinkish heads are every now and
then thrust up out of the water, expecting a .choice morsel.
You now understand why it is better to be on board before
dark, as the boat which brings you might upset, in which
case these sea-monsters would be very read}' to make a hastj^
meal, without distinction of persons.

In the early, early morning, while you are still sleeping
soundly, the anchor is weighed and the steamer starts for
vSamana, which will be our next stopping-place.

Julia Ward Howe.

SKETCHES OF THE ORIENT.

^^,gJSis-^|

In Chinese Streets.

Although the streets of Chinese cities are narrow and
crowded, yet traders of almost every kind gather on each side
and narrow the way still more with articles spread out for sale.
Barbers, fortune-tellers, public scribes and physicians are also
there, for the Chinese think nothing of sitting down in the
street and having their heads shaved, or any other private
matter attended to.

Then, too, in China the best men in a trade are as likely
to travel from place to place as to keep shop in one town.
Their apparatus is easily moved, and after a travelling
barber, fortune-teller or physician has exhausted the cash and
patronage of the dwellers in one street, he packs his things
on his back, to another part of the town.

The fortune-teller gets money, perhaps, more easily than
any of his fellow rice-winners, for while they really exert
themselves by shouting their wares, he quietly sits behind his
table with his ink, paper and instruments spread before him,
and the people come to him one by one. The Chinese all
believe in this crafty old rogue, and listen to his wonderful
tales of the future with the greatest interest.

They always consult him before a wedding or any great
event, letting him select the lucky day. He is also a public
scribe, and foretells the effect of his customer's letter, whether
it concerns love, law or commerce. He claims skill as an
oculist, too. The wise and learned man! — how bright and
watchful are his own black eyes behind his large, round
spectacles !

The barber must be a man who is skilful with his fingers,
and has a firm, steady hand, for his business is not only to
shave the head and chin, but to trim the eyebrows and eye-
lashes, to clean and dress the eyelids and to manipulate a few
other organs, in a way that causes one's blood to run cold.

132

IN CHINESE STREETS.

The Chinese are fond of eating, and the makers of sweet-
meats, cakes, tea and soup are kept busy most of the time.
Their prices are very low. A cup of tea and a sweet rice-cake
cost about ten cash — one cent — and a bowlful of hot soup
only five cash. Some of the cakes they have for sale are far
from tempting to a foreigner — their colors are so very brilliant.

^ f^-^i^-Ts'Tf gWm^,

f^^ y

General View of Pekin.

The seller of hot shell-fish, by calling Fortune to his aid,
induces people to buy. He shakes a jar full of sticks and in
high, metallic tones calls out, " Come try your luck ! only five
cash, and who knows what may happen?" Then some
innocent Chinaman draws near, and full of excitement pulls
out one of the sticks.

" Not much luck this time," says the seller, as he examines
the number of the stick. "Never mind; the fish are good,
and fresh from the rocks this morning." Then he ladles eight
revolting-looking objects into a bowl, from a mess of steaming
soup by his side.

IN CHINESE STREETS.

133

The peep and puppet shows are very cleverly managed.
The peep show is a large box with a series of lenses at one
end, through which the curious individual looks, as the
showman causes the pictures to come and go at the other end
b}^ pulling a number of cords. These pictures have movable

Chinese Banknotes.

figures, and some of them are of foreign places. The show-
man delivers a running commentary on each as it passes the
spectator's vision.

The puppet show is very much like our Punch and Judy
show, only the puppets are worked by the man's fingers. He
uses his forefinger with a clay head on it, and his thumb and
second finger for arms, to make an animated succession of
characters, for he quickly changes the heads and gowns of
his actors and as quickly changes his voice to suit their sex.

134 IN CHINESE STREETS.

Chinese girls patronize the flower-venders, buying sweet-
scented flowers to put in their hair ; old women patronize the
seller of herbs, for medicine to cure their ailments ; and
everybody patronizes the fruit-seller for his cooling fruits.
Oranges, bananas, grape-fruit, mangos, lychees, mangostines,
custard apples, persimmons, plums and figs, each in its season,
are temptingly spread out in a way which parched throats
cannot resist.

Indulgent papas and mammas will let their children hear
the blind funny man who imitates the cries of animals so well.
They will also give them a few cash, for which the clever man
with the colored paste and bamboo sticks will make anything
they ask him to model, from a monkey to a " foreign devil."

Beside these are dentists with strings of extracted teeth for
advertisements ; money-changers with piles of cash and scales
to weigh the silver pieces ; menders of umbrellas, broken
china and locks ; knife and razor sharpeners ; basket- weavers,
bronze merchants, public readers of the drama, story-tellers
and ballad-singers, jewellers, bird-sellers, book-sellers and
man}' others.

All are interesting, all are amusing in these queer streets
except the beggars. They, with their dirty, ragged garments,
force upon you the fact that they have lost a hand, a foot, an
ear, or even a nose. They hold j^ou responsible for part
payment of the damages. Try to forget them if you can as
you saunter along the street, — they will not forget 3'ou, — for
beside their constant pleading they will occasionally remind
you of their presence by a pull at your sleeve.

But beware of throwing them some cash, for then they will
never leave you. If 3'ou go into a shop they will patiently
wait for your reappearance, and then, having summoned all
their family and friends, will escort you in a vast body to your
home.

A. O. Huntington.

Dining with a Mandarin.

Dorothy and I, after cruising along the shores of the
" Morning lyands," found ourselves in Tientsin for the winter
months, and there Dorothy had her first Chinese dinner. It
was given in her father's honor by a mandarin in the "Old
City," which is two miles or more from the large, handsome
European settlement known to foreigners as Tientsin.

This "Old City" is surrounded by an ancient wall so
thick that daylight is dim and dusky under the quaint arched
gateways, though an intense yellow sunlight shines alwa^^s
over that part of China. With its throngs of dark, suffering,
ignorant faces, its booths, its curio shops, old Tientsin is well
worth seeing, though not a pleasant spectacle in every respect.
But our evening with the mandarin was gorgeous with wealth
and Eastern hospitality.

Our invitation was written, I might say "brushed," on a
big card of bright red paper, such as the Chinese and Koreans
use for visiting-cards. The invitation was of the most cere-
monious ; it was in the manner considered most elegant, in
the form used in addressing persons of the highest official
rank. I will give the translation :

" On the loth instant I will wash my cups and await 3'our
coming to dinner at seven o'clock. My card is enclosed."

The huge red invitation and the huge red card were
enclosed in a huge red envelope addressed to " Great Man."
An assurance that the cups will be washed has its attractions,
coming from a Chinese host.

Dorothy flew into a dancing delight when she found that
the "Great Man's" daughter was included in this glowing
invitation from the mandarin. Still she limited her an-
ticipations to looking on at the queer feast. She declared
positively that she would not be induced to taste any of ' ' the
heathenish food."

136

DINING WITH A MANDARIN.

Our mandarin kindly sent his own sedan chairs for us.
They were lined throughout with the daintiest white fur, and
liberally supplied with fluffy white fur rugs. In each was a

Chinese Salutations.

comforting little foot-stove of carved brass. It was an ex-
quisite way to travel. We set out on a bright moonlight
night. Our party was large, and our chair-bearers were
constantly calling and yelling to clear the narrow streets for
our procession. Thej^ were the more crowded because it was
the night of the " Feast of L,anterns."

DINING WITH A MANDARIN. I37

All was bustle and hubbub around us, and Dorothy had
her nose flattened against the windows of her palanquin most
of the way, trying to see everything that passed.

The lanterns were very beautiful, and in every form that the
most fantastic imagination could devise — temples, pagodas,
roosters, birds, fishes, frogs, and curiously cut imitations of
blocks of ice. The shops and houses were illuminated with
them, and children and grown people were carrying them
through the streets.

At the end of an hour our sedan chairs were set down
before the high, blank, gray wall surrounding the mandarin's
house. A double row of serv^ants awaited us at the entrance.
They held silk lanterns which seemed colossal soap-bubbles.

Between the two rows of ser\^ants we passed into a large
courtyard, brilliantly illuminated with lanterns of a size and
beauty which I have never seen equalled out of China.

Here we were received and welcomed by our host, who
was magnificent in a satin fur-lined gown of rich color, and a
cap tipped with the button of his rank.

We were then ushered into a room near the entrance, to
remove our wraps. Around the walls were fur-covered divans,
and several painted folding screens. In the middle of the
room was a table, spread with caviare, anchovies, buttered
bread and sherry, of which we were asked to partake.

After a little nibbling and sipping we crossed the courtyard,
and entered a long, large room with small tables laid for
dinner. At each table were seats for seven persons.

Across the end of the room was a platform, slightly raised
from the floor, on which were lamps upheld by substantial
tables of richly carved black wood. On the platform and at
intervals down one side of the room were big, carved, high-
seated, low-armed black chairs, divans, rugs and long mirrors.
Few Chinese houses contain so handsomely furnished an
apartment. The palace of the viceroy has none better in
ordinary use, for his rare carvings, embroideries and paintings
are packed away except when displayed on festival occasions.
The three tables were pretty, with small glass dishes piled

138

DINING WITH A MANDARIN.

with sugared fruits, delicious compotes, and nuts glace. The
Chinese are fond of sweets, excel in making them and eat
them before and throughout the dinner at pleasure. Dorothy's
appetite came back when she saw the attractive tables, and

'^%g^^^. k*«s^

Receiving the Guests.

she resolved to taste even the
most remarkable dishes. But
she did not expect to do more
than taste, for she did not sup-
pose she could nen^e herself
to swallow even one mouthful.

We had a "menu," but as it was in Chinese we were no

wiser for it. For this ignorance we were thankful afterward,

when the bill was translated for our benefit.

Our implements were ivory chopsticks ; large silver spoons

with a round bowl ; and long, thin, two-pronged silver forks

that resembled a hairpin too closely to be quite agreeable.

For plates, we had small, deep saucers, each standing on a

sort of little pedestal.

DINING WITH A MANDARIN. 1 39

Each course was served in a bowl, and placed in the
middle of the table that every guest might help himself with
his own spoon or chopsticks. With the soups and spoons we
were tolerably tidy ; but our efforts to get the solids to our lips
with chopsticks sometimes made sad work with the tablecloth.

Our first attack was upon preserv^ed eggs, the greatest of
delicacies to a Chinese epicure. These are boiled, and kept
underground for months and j'ears, before being brought to
table in a sort of sweet pickle, as a luxury. They are as black
as mud, and it required all our ner\^e to undertake them.

Dorothy summoned the bravery that she calls up for the
photographer and dentist, closed her eyes, held her breath,
and nobly made her bite. To my astonishment and relief, she
kept it in her mouth. I cannot say that any of our party liked
the preser\^ed eggs, but their flavor was not so disagreeable as
their appearance.

After that Dorothy hesitated at nothing. Shark's fins,
sheep's eyes, antique eggs — she devoured all. Fortunately
for her enjoyment she did not know what she was eating,
lyong afterward she learned just how heroic she had been.

There was one notable exception to the array of unknown
dishes. We all recognized the edible bird's nests ; if we had
not known what they were, we should have believed we were
eating a very delicious vermicelli soup.

Silverfish were good little things, fried whole, like white-
bait ; pigeons' eggs were beauties, gleaming through a smooth
coat of pink jelly ; the lotus seeds looked like boiled chestnuts
stewed in sugar, and tasted as chestnuts might taste under
such insipid circumstances. As for the " fowl," "undercut "
and "tame duck," they were disguised bej^ond recognition.

The viands, take them for all in all, were not suited to our
palates. In our hungriest moments we shall never think
longingly of our Chinese dinner.

After the feast we were invited into the opium smoking-
room — not to smoke, but to look on. Evidently it was the
pet room of the mandarin's friends. It was luxurious in
hangings, low couches, tables and smoking utensils.

140 DINING WITH A MANDARIN.

Jugglers were brought in to entertain us when we returned
to the dining-room. They produced immense bowls of water
as if from vacant air ; flowers grew up and blossomed before
our bewildered eyes, and there were marvellous acrobatic feats
by very small boys. Poor little creatures ! They worked
desperately hard and made painful contortions.

Soon a wizard-looking Chinaman informed us in a jovial
manner that his head was full of wooden toothpicks. Taking
it for granted that we doubted his statement, he proceeded to
convince us. He winked vigorously, and toothpicks seemed
to stick out from the corners of his eyes. He pushed them
back again with his thumb, sneezed one partly out of his nose,
and then sniffed it back again.

This was a mere preliminary. Presently he sneezed at
frequent interv^als, and each sneeze sent from his nostrils, first
from one side, then from the other, the half-length of a tooth-
pick. Drawing it out with his long-nailed fingers, he would
exhibit it triumphantly. In this deliberate manner he sneezed
and pulled out ten or twelve toothpicks from each nostril !

Pitiable Dorothy ! She had gone through the dinner with
fortitude, but the toothpicks were too much ! She said that
never, never could she use a wooden toothpick again.

The juggling was followed by a grand display of fireworks
in the courtyard, and in this blaze of glory we departed. On
reaching our house in the settlement, we sat down with relish
to a banquet of cold roast beef and bread and butter.

Alethe lyOWBER Craig.

Corea and its Army.

The newest country, to us, of the far East is Corea. Not
man)^ years ago it was practically unknown to the civilized
world, and it was as late as 1882 that Admiral Shufeldt, of
the United States Navy, acting as ambassador, made our first
treaty with its king. It was through this treaty that Western
civilization was first introduced into the Hermit Kingdom.

Since then embassies have
been sent from the Corean
court to some of the greater
powers of the world , and a few
years ago their strange-look-
ing representatives, clad in
bright-colored silk gowns and
wearing great horsehair hats
on the crowns of their heads,
surprised Washington.

Before this a party of the
Corean nobility had travelled
throughout this country and
Europe, and since then many
noble Coreans have gone
abroad and brought back new
ideas to the king and his people. Not long ago the king
bought a steam-launch, and he can now sail from his capital
to his seaport in a few hours on the great river Han. He has
introduced electric lights into his royal palace, and the
business of the court, which always takes place at night, is
done under the rays furnished by the inventive genius of Mr.
Edison.

The king is doing all he can to advance his people in the
new civilization, and in order that he may understand what is
going on in this new world, he takes American and English

142 COREA AND ITS ARMY.

newspapers, and has them translated for him. During my
visit to his capital he was having a volume of international
law translated into the Corean.

A few years ago the King of Corea resolved to reorganize
his army. Being very friendly with the United States, and
admiring the Americans greatly, he sent ambassadors to
Washington to select four army officers, and promised them
large salaries if thej' would come to his capital, start a military
school, and make American soldiers out of the Coreans.

The chief of the oflficers engaged was General William
McE. Dye, who had served with honor in the late Civil War,
and who had been employed by the Khedive of Egypt in the
organization of the Eg^'ptian forces.

The Corean army, prior to this time, had been drilled after
the Chinese plan. The only arms used were old matchlocks.
There were very few cannon, and the matchlocks and bows
and arrows were the principal weapons. The army consisted
of about eight thousand men, about four thousand of whom
were at the capital, Seoul. Picked troops were kept about
the royal palace, and were used to guard the body of the king.

The uniform of these soldiers consisted of long gowns, and
the officers were gorgeously apparelled in gowns of silk, the
sleeves of which were blood-red, this color being emblematic
of the old fashion of wiping bloody swords upon sleeves.
Each arm}' officer of note wore a great embroidered square on
his back and breast containing the picture of a tiger, whose
wide-open jaws glared at the enemj-.

General Dye first attempted to remodel the dress of the
common soldier. There is a strong anti-foreign faction in
Corea, and he had to work very slowly, as this faction was
opposed to any change in army matters. He at last got the
sleeves cut down from their bag-like shape to the width of a
rather full party-dress sleeve of an American lady, cut off the
skirt so that it was made into a kind of blouse, and took out
four-fifths of the cloth which the Corean soldiers had formerly
worn in their pantaloons. He did not attempt to make them
change their hats, but armed them-with good guns.

COREA AND ITS ARMY.

143

He organized a royal military school, but had as much
trouble to induce the young nobles to adopt a soldier-like
dress as Professor Bunker has to get them to study without
the assistance of their servants. The young noblemen thought
they would lose caste in changing their costume. As they
were so high in rank, it was almost impossible to punish
them, and. the American officers have had hard work to make

^^j4^

The Corean Ar

progress. The colors used in the new Corean uniform are
different from those of any of the armies of Christendom.
The shirt-like waists are of purple cotton, faced with red ; the
hats are black, and there is a bright red band about them.
The pantaloons are purple, and the feet are swathed in great
white boots of padded cotton.

During my stay at the Corean capital the native General-
in-Chief invited me to attend a review of the troops. I rode
in a chair borne by four big-hatted Coreans to the drill

144 CORE A AND ITS ARMY.

grounds at the edge of the palace, and saw four hundred
soldiers go through all sorts of evolutions, most of which
seemed to be those of the gymnasium rather than those set
down in militar}^ tactics.

The General would give a command, and every soldier
would lift his leg and hold it at right angles to his bod}^ until
another word brought it to the ground again. There w^as the
raising of the arm, the throwing out of the fists, and other
exercises w^hich many school children of the United States
practise daily.

There was also some very prett}' marching, and the men
handled their guns with no little skill.

After the review was over, I accompanied the General-in-
Chief to an audience with the king, and was much amused at
the state of this militarj- man. Two servants walked with
him, one on each side, holding up his arms, and a whole
retinue went in front with a band of music, shouting to the
people to clear the road, for the great general and the foreign
dignitaries were coming.

In battle Corean generals are always accompanied b}^ their
servants. When he rides on horseback, a general has a
servant on each side of his war-horse to hold him in position,
and a third stands at the horse's head to hold the animal
during the fight, or to lead it to the advance or retreat.

These ser\^ants accompanied General Han to the gate of
the king's audience hall. They left him there, and he walked
alone across the yard, with his head bent and his sword-hilt
toward the ground. He walked softly up the steps at the left
leading into the room in which his majesty stood, bent down
on all fours, and bumped his head before him as a sign of
the reverence he felt for his king.

Then, rising, he stood with his sword uplifted, at the right
of the king, while my audience took place. At the close of it
he backed out from the king's presence with bended head,
and so continued till outside the gate, where he again sprang
into greatness, and had a whole host of servants to do him
homage.

COREA AND ITS ARMY. I45

This Oriental formality runs through all ranks of the
Corean army. It is, says General Dye, the ruin of the service.
He thinks that Corea will never have good soldiers until the
officers learn military tactics by the same hard knocks that
our officers do, and until they put themselves more on a level
with their troops, and work with them.

The soldiers of Corea act as the police of the capital. The
cit}^ of Seoul contains about two hundred and fifty thousand
people, most of whom live in one-stor}^ thatched huts. A
great wall runs around the city, climbing the mountains and
crossing the valleys which surround it ; and this wall has
a number of gates.

At sundown a band of soldiers, with music much like that
of the Scotch bagpipe, marches out of the palace and closes
the gates of the city, which, after this, cannot be opened until
the morning. At this time the king's militar}^ signal corps
springs into life on the mountain-tops about the cit}'. Watch-
fires built upon them tell him, by means of an elaborate code,
whether there is trouble or peace in the different parts of his
realm.

This sj'Stem of watch-fires acts as a sort of telegraph line,
reaching from the capital to the remotest districts, and at this
hour every night fire after fire appears on the hilltops
throughout Corea.

Frank G. Carpenter.

A Japanese Garden Party.

"Will you come to my father-in-law's place to-morrow
afternoon to see the cherry blossoms and some old-fashioned
Japanese riding ? It is an informal affair, so do not trouble
yourself to reply to this, and do not bother with your ' frock
coat ' or ' high hat.' — Yours sincerely, X."

The garden is in the Shinagawa suburb of Tokyo, on high
land which overlooks, toward the northeast, the harbor, and
is separated toward the west from what we should call
suburban villa residences by a railway cutting. The sloping
hillsides across the railway were one mass of cherry blossoms,
save for the breaks made by clusters of feathery bamboos, or
by patches of cultivated ground, which increased the loveliness
of the whole scene.

Modern things rarely come into that lovely garden. It
contains about ten acres, and belongs to a wealthy man, who
keeps it solely for the recreation of himself and his friends.

There is nothing stiff or formal about the place. The
house, almost hidden behind a hedge as one comes up from
the main gate, is a fair-sized building of one story. But a
Japanese house, with its open sides and absence of furniture,
seems to be cold and empty, — although it is not so, in fact, —
and we did not go inside.

The owner does not live here. Indeed, he does not often
spend the night in this house. The caretaker had been per-
mitted to raise a few vegetables in some of the out-of-the-way
corners, where they were not at all obtrusive.

There were tea shrubs, but they did not look as if they
were very carefully cultivated. Certainly no preparations had
been made to pick the fresh, new leaves, just in their prime,
and there were no " pans " or appliances for dr^'ing the leaves,
as must be done before they can be used to make merchantable
tea. The true use which my friend's garden serves is to give

148 A JAPANESE GARDEN PARTY.

him and his friends good health ; and the excellent effect of
exercise and recreation is shown in the owner of the garden —
a hale, hearty old gentleman, seventy-six years of age.

He accepts the changed conditions of affairs in his country
as something inevitable ; but I am sure he sometimes looks
back longingly to the quiet days of Old Japan.

Much has been written about the cherry blossoms of this
country, and the great fondness of the people for making up
picnic parties in the spring to spend the whole day in one of
the many places that are famous for " Sakura-no-hana."
There is probably not another country in the world whose
inhabitants will travel hundreds of miles to spend a day or
two under blossoming fruit trees, and where so much poetry
is written in praise of the beauty of the flowers and about the
lofty sentiment which they inspire.

There are many cherry-trees in my friend's garden. Some
are set in rows, and others are planted alone. All are so
carefully trained and so skilfully trimmed that, instead of
growing upward to a great height, they spread out like um-
brellas. Thus the eye readily takes in all their glorious beauty.

When covered with their double flowers, and before the
new leaves have burst their buds, they make one think of
snowbanks just tinged a faint pink by the feeble rays of the
setting sun.

Usually, in Japan, when one goes to entertainments given
by a native gentleman, the host, or his representative, meets
the guests at the gate. But on this occasion there was no
such ceremony.

The "mom-ban" (gatekeeper) opened the gate for us and
asked our names. Then, apparently satisfied that we were
the guests of whom his master had spoken, he waved his hand
over the whole garden and said, "Go where you like, the
place is yours ; my master is riding his horses up yonder ! ' '

He pointed along the principal drive. So we went in that
direction, stopping often to admire some particularly handsome
tree, or to take in the whole effect of the many and different
features of the landscape. By and by we came to the place

A JAPANESE GARDEN PARTY. 1 49

where the old-fashioned riding was going on. Here we found
several Japanese gentlemen, dressed, excepting for their hats
and style of wearing their hair, in strictly native costume.
They wore the curious ' ' hakama " — a lower garment which
is divided like a pair of very flowing Turkish trousers and
which is worn over the ordinary long gown. It used to be
the badge of the Samurai — the old-time soldiers — and of
higher classes, and was designed originally to permit mounting
a horse without uncovering the legs.

The course where they rode was a straight one, about two
hundred yards long. The ground was soft, and it did not
ajjpear that great speed was desired. On the contrary, it was
evident that a high trotting action was what the riders sought
to show in their steeds.

The trappings were all of the old style. The cheek-straps
were either broad pieces of brocaded silk material, or narrow
strips of leather ornamented with silk embroidery. The throat
latchets were of brocade, and had pretty pendant tassels on
each side.

The bits were like an ordinary snaffle, except that the rings
to which the reins were fastened were much larger than those
we use. The reins were made of silk cloth, and very short,
so that the rider's hands extended well forward on each side
of the horse's neck.

The saddles were very large, and to us clumsy, for they
stood up very high, and were so thickl}^ padded that it must
have been almost impossible for the rider to get anything like
a firm grip with his knees. To do so was made still more
difficult by the large, heavy housings required to protect the
flowing garments of the rider.

The wooden stirrups were broad and turned up to catch
the toes after the form of a Turkish shoe, while the leathers
were drawn up quite short.

Altogether it seemed as if it must be a difficult matter for
the rider to keep his seat on anything like a frisky horse.
That this was indeed the fact was shown by the narrow escape
of several horsemen from going over the head of their mounts

I50

A JAPANESE GARDEN PARTY.

when the pony stopped abruptly at the end of the course.
But in olden times the Japanese horse was seldom ridden at a
faster pace than a walk, and there was always a " betto "
(horse-boy) at his head.
I have seen pictures of
ancient Japanese cavalry

charging in
battle, or two sol-
diers on horseback
engaged in a fierce
fight ; but I am told
that in reality there
was very little fight-
ing done by mounted
troops. In an actual
encounter, they usually dismounted in order to have both
hands free. My friends say that it used to be considered very
undignified for a person on horseback to go faster than a walk.
Catching sight of us, our host came to bid us welcome,

The Flowers of Japan.

A JAPANESE GARDEN PARTY,

151

and showed us to seats in a small pavilion by the side of the
riding-track. Sweetmeats and Japanese tea in tiny cups were
served, and small braziers of lighted charcoal were brought
with which to light our tobacco, in whatever form we might
prefer to smoke it.

Presently the owner of the garden came to greet us. When
his son-in-law introduced us, he seemed somewhat surprised to
find that some of us could speak with him in polite Japanese.

Japanese Kite -Makers.

I told him that we hoped to have the pleasure of seeing
him ride. This appeared to flatter him, and being an en-
thusiastic old horseman, he mounted the prettiest, gentlest
beast of the lot, and ambled up and down a few times, attended
by two grooms.

The pony lifted his feet very high, and put them down as
carefully as if he knew who was on his back, while the old
gentleman was evidently much pleased with himself, and with
the opportunity to show the foreigners what the old men of
Japan can do.

152 A JAPANESE GARDEN PARTY.

After we had watched the riding for some time, our host
invited us to stroll about the garden for a while, most con-
siderately giving up the riding, which he enjoj^ed greatly, to
attend the pleasure of his foreign guests.

At a short distance to the rear of the riding-place we came
to a good-sized playground, where boys were plajdng at base-
ball, cricket and tennis, and some girls at " tag " or battledore
and shuttlecock. These boys were nearly all dressed in
Western fashion, unlike the ladies and girls whom we met,
all of whom were dressed in their own beautiful costume.

Without seeming to guide us in any particular direction,
our host brought us to a narrow pathway leading through a
grove of azalea and japonica bushes, where we found ourselves
in front of a lovely little summer-house. On the clean, white
mats was seated a very handsome Japanese lady, whom our
host introduced as " my wife."

She presided over trays of sandwiches and cakes, and at
her bidding two or three maid-.ser\'ants serv^ed us with Chinese
tea or coffee or chocolate. The pleasure of our little feast was
much increased by the fact that from where we were seated
we looked over the suburb of Shinagawa, across the bay
toward the heart of the city of Tokyo, and our host told us
of some of his experiences in the War of the Restoration, in
1867 and 1868.

Some of the boys, finding that, as a good American, I
understood the game of baseball, appealed to me to teach
them something more than they knew of the rules ; but by the
time we had finished our " go-chiss " — honorable feast — it
was time to make our way homeward. We could not think of
hurrying through all the loveliness of the spring evening, and
from Shinagawa to Akasaka, in the centre of Tok^'o, is quite
a long Sjibbath day's journey.

Joseph King Goodrich.

The Jinrikisha of Japan.

The curious little jinrikisha — "man-drawn carriage" is
the literal translation of the term — is now a very common
conveyance in Japan ; but it is quite a modern invention, and

did not come into
general use for sev-
eral years after its
first construction.

When the govern-
ment of the United
States began sending
ministers and consuls
to Japan, no one in
that country had ever

used a wheeled vehicle as a mode of travel except the adored
Mikado. When this great personage, half-potentate, half-
pontiff, visited his temple as high priest to offer prayers for all
his people, he rode in a two-wheeled cart, closely screened by
a rich silken canopy and drawn by a sacred white ox.

e Jinrikisha.

154 THE JINRIKISHA OF JAPAN.

The wheeled carriage was considered, throughout the
whole empire, sacred to the person of the " god Mikado," and
none of his subjects would ever have presumed to move about
in such a manner. Even the grandest Daimios, or noblemen
of the realm, always used the " norimon " — a sort of sedan
chair, lined, cushioned and curtained with rich silk, and
carried on poles upon the shoulders of bearers. The common
people used in the same way the plain ' ' kangos ' ' and open
bamboo chairs.

At about the period of the beginning of the revolution in
Japan which changed the system of government, a new
member was added to the family of a United States consul at
Kanagawa in the person of a little fair-haired daughter. For
this child the need of a baby-carriage was felt, but such a
thing was then an unattainable object in that far-off land. If
the baby was to have a carriage, something must be invented.

The consul looked about, and was so fortunate as to find a
pair of light iron wheels in the shop of a blacksmith in
Yokohama, to whom they had been given by the captain of a
trading vessel, who had noticed the smith's eager curiosity
concerning them. A carpenter was next commissioned to
make a carriage body — after a pattern given him — to set
upon the wheels.

At the time, the United States ship "Wyoming" was
stationed in the port of Kanagawa. Commander McDougall,
of this ship, took an interest in the construction of the baby-
carriage ; and when the carpenter had satisfactorily completed
his work he caused the vehicle to be taken on board the
"Wyoming," where it was prettily painted and decorated.
On the dashboard was a representation of the American
shield, with the eagle holding the darts in his claws, and on
each side and at the back was a.pretty sea view.

Then the cart was brought on shore and put to its intended
use. The little American lady took delighted daily airings in
it, and it proved more than a nine days' wonder to the curious
native eyes that had never before seen any one so conveyed.

When the little one for whom it had been constructed left

the; JINRlKISHA OF JAPAN. I55

Japan to accompanj^ her parents to their native land, the
curious little man-power carriage was given to the carpenter
who had so ingeniously done his part in its construction.

About this time the hitherto unseen Mikado came forth
from his sacred seclusion and isolation. No longer assuming
divine attributes, he appeared as a man before his people, to
rule as emperor, seeing and understanding his people and
their needs. The sacred white ox was no more harnessed to
the two-wheeled sacred car, to be sacredly used by the
Mikado, but both at once fell into disuse.

The carpenter perceived that it would no longer be deemed
a profanation to set up in the business of jinrikisha-making.
Taking as a model the vehicle which had been so cleverly
invented for the pretty American baby, the man set at work
making "man-drawn carriages." But he made the seat of
each vehicle wide enough for two grown people to sit upon,
and lowered the high front so that it would be easy to step in
and out.

The new mode of riding became very popular. The little
low, open carriage had a great advantage over the old-
fashioned Japanese sedan chairs in point of comfort to the
occupant and of ease to the runner. This was quickly
perceived by the carried and the carriers, and in a short time
the demand for the new vehicles was so great that the business
of their manufacture became an important industrj-, and is
now extending rapidly throughout the empire.

The clever Japanese carpenter who made the first babj-
carriage jinrikisha ever used in Japan has become possessed
of a comfortable fortune, which enables him to enjoy his old
age in peace and competence.

Martha C. M. Fisher.

A Japanese Home.

One da}^ Mrs. Takamino, who had been calling at our

house, asked me if I would not spend the next day with her.

I accepted her invitation at once, as there was nothing I

enjoyed so much as spending a day or taking any meal at a

real Japanese home. Mrs. Takamino

was an intimate friend of ours, so I told

her I should go early and help her with

her housework.

I started the next morning directly
after breakfast, going in a quaint little
carriage called a jinriki.sha.

This carriage is something like an
old-fashioned baby-carriage, having only
two wheels, but is much larger; the
jinrikisha man jumped in between the
shafts, and away we went at a livelj^ rate.
It was a pretty drive to Mrs.
Takamino's, for after going through
one or two bus}' streets, we turned off
on a road leading to the country, where
everything was quiet and peaceful.
We met little children on their way to school, with their books
done up in a big cotton handkerchief and hung over their
backs. Some of the farmers were bringing in their vegetables
to the markets, others going to work in the rice-fields. Here
and there you would see a woman, with her baby strapped on
her back, opening her little shop ; for while the men are
away the women are also earning a little at home bj^ having a
few trifles for sale : some kind of candy or cake, a few toys,
bright-colored hairpins ; such little objects, indeed, as would
attract people's eyes as they were passing b3\

I reached Mrs. Takamino's at last. She heard me coming.

A JAPANESE HOME.

157

and was at the door all ready to receive me. After I said
good morning, I sat down on the steps to take off my boots,
for in Japan no one ever enters a house with his shoes on.

The house is not large, only five or six rooms, these
opening into each other ; for you never see shut-up rooms in
Japan, as you do in our country, but one can look right
through the house. The front of this house opened into a
pretty little garden, while from the
back you looked far away over the
rice-fields, with here and there a
picturesque farmhouse.

Mrs. Taka-
mino could not
speak a word
of English, so
with what lit-
tle Japanese I
knew, we had
a funny time
getting along.
I watched her
do her house-
work, which
consisted of
sweeping the

rooms, dusting a little, and one thing in particular that I
remember well, was a dress she washed. This was ripped to
pieces, and after being washed was stretched on a board and
put in the sun to dry. This is not the way they wash all their
dresses, only the nicer ones ; those of cotton are washed as
we wash ours.

About one o'clock the son and daughter came home from
school ; they both spoke English very well, so it made it much
pleasanter for me. We had a very merry dinner, all sitting
on the floor, with our trays in front of us. On each one of the
trays were four little dishes, having in them rice, fish, soup
and vegetables. I had learned how to use chopsticks, and so

t5S A JAPANESE HOME.

got on very nicely and enjoyed my dinner very much. After
dinner the daughter played for me on her samisen, an
instrument something like a guitar. I asked her if she
would not teach me some little tune, but I made such poor
work of it that I soon gave up
the attempt. After putting her
samisen away she brought out her
fancy work, which interested me
very much. She was making
raised figures out of crape. She
let me try it, but it was slow work
for me, though I made one very
pretty flower and had it all done
by supper- time.

After supper we played some
Japanese games; two of them I
The samisen. reniembcr well, one being battle-

dore and shuttlecock, which is very much like our game, and
the other like our jackstones, only in Japan they play with
little crape bags filled with rice. This game is much more
elaborate than ours, having much more to go through with
before the game is finished.

My jinrikisha man came for me only too early, I thought,
but as it was growing dark I had to say good-by to my
kind friends who had made the day so pleasant for me,
and with promises that I would come again very soon, I
started off.

My ride home was very different from the one in the
morning, for then everything was bright and cheerful, and
now it was dark, so dark we could hardly see our way along,
and so quiet were the streets there seemed to be a hush over
everything.

Here and there you could see into a house, where a dim
light was burning, with one or two people sitting round it;
but most all the houses were dark. It being a hot night,
every one was out-of doors, sitting in front of their houses,
some asleep, tired out with their day's labor, while others

A JAPANESE HOME.

159

were talking ; once in a while the stillness would be broken
by the sound of some one playing on a musical instrument.

I soon reached the busy streets, where things looked much
more lively. All the shops were lighted, and all along the
way were hucksters, sitting on the ground with their wares
displayed before them. Some had little shows and games,
and a crowd of little eager faces gathered around them;
others had fruit, flowers, shoes, hardware, old pottery, and all
sorts of things. And yet among this large crowd there was

no loud talking and laughing, no pushing and shoving to be
the first to see this or that. Everything was quiet and
peaceful, and I, a foreigner, riding among them, was treated
in the most courteous way. No one laughed at me or called
me names. Many of them turned to look at me, some of the
girls smiling so pleasantly.

No one need ever be afraid to go through the streets of
that great city of Tokyo at any time, night or day.

E. O. Morse.

A White Elephant.

Siam and its Royal White Elephant.

Fifty years ago little more was known in America of the
Kingdom of Siam beyond the fact that it was the native land
of the Siamese twins, and in a vague way we ha.d heard that
the people of Siam worshipped white elephants.

But after the Sepoy Rebellion in India, English civilization
made its way through India, on to Burmah, and opened the
closely sealed ports of Siam and Cochin China. We then
began to learn something of the "Heart of Farther India."
Now the flood of Europeans pouring into the South Pacific
Islands is day by day carrying Western manners and ideas
into the shut-in kingdom, and the wise policy of the young
king, Chulalongkorn, — Royal Hair Pin, as the name means
in Siamese, — is encouraging the inundation.

The late king, Maha Mongkut, having learned of England's
power and greatness from his neighbor, Hindostan, chose an
Englishman for one of his counsellors, and imported an
Englishwoman as governess in his harem. It is owing
doubtless to the influence of these officials that the new king,
though refusing to change the State religion, has not only
opened the door of the kingdom for English education, but is
encouraging the schools by royal gifts and patronage.

Siam has an exquisite flora. There the citron and cocoa-
nut are fairest of fruit. Yet with all its wondrous vegetation
it has not the tropical heat that annuls the beauty of India.
The climate is delicious. The Bay of Bengal on the one side
and the Gulf of Siam on the other keep this kingdom refreshed
with sea-breezes.

Bangkok, the capital, built out into the river Menam,
which is the great artery of the country, is called the Venice
of the East. Indeed, it is even more of a water city than the
Queen of the Adriatic, for while Venice has its foundations
on solid ground, Bangkok actually floats on the water. Huge

1 62 SI AM AND ITS ROYAL WHITE ELEPHANT.

bamboo rafts are constructed, and lashed together with
enormous chains, and on these the houses, shops, and even
the gardens are built.

We chanced to arrive at Bangkok on a feast-da3^ The
river up which we sailed to reach the cit}' makes so many
sharp turns that, although the distance was not far, the time
that we occupied in sailing it was long, and it was night when,
in making a long tack that carried us past a point, the glories
of the floating city burst upon us.

A mar\^ellous panorama, an illuminated world, seemed
spread out before us. Thousands of fire globes shed their
brilliant light over the broad bosom of the water ; and on
either side, as far as the eye could reach, there was an endless
succession of lights, of every imaginable color, shade and
shape, forming an illumination such as only Eastern ingenuity
can devise.

Every floating house was decorated with the twinkling
eyes ; the yards and masts of every ship and even the tiniest
boat sparkled with the brilliant, colored fire, while the more
distant pagodas, palaces and minarets were a blaze of glory.
It was the great annual festival of Siam — the Feast of
Lanterns — and had we arrived one day later we should have
missed this fairy-land spectacle.

The batis, or temples, of which there are one hundred in
the city, are built on the river-bank. Here also stand the
king's palaces, the houses of the foreign consuls, and the
residences of the nobility of the kingdom. During the last
century the capital of Siam stood on the river-bank above the
position of the present capital ; but the annual overflow of the
river caused such a deposit of mud that the miasma from it at
low tide made terrible havoc among the dense population, and
frightful epidemics of cholera occurred every year.

So the present city was built lower down the river on rafts
bound together. These rafts are arranged in groups, each
containing five or six rafts, and are moored to great poles
driven in the bed of the river. The change of location has
effectually relieved the people of Bangkok of the presence of

SIAM AND ITS ROYAL WHITE EI.EPHANT. 163

the cholera, but they have only exchanged one disease for
another, for the dampness of the city creates rheumatic fever.
Of any appliances for curing disease the inhabitants are
pitifully ignorant, and our medical missionaries are doing a
great work for them, in that respect, especially, of course,
among the poorer class.

The houses, even the few that are on the bank, and of course
the floating ones, have no communication with each other by
land, not even by a footway, as in Venice, so all the travelling
about the city is done by boat. The thousands of little canoes
used for carrying people about are each managed by one person,
generally a young girl, for the Siamese, unlike other Eastern
nations, do not shut up their women, and they present an
interesting sight.

Almost every conceivable commodity is borne in these
little boats — rice, fish, fruit, flowers — and every sort of
handicraft is carried on in them. Here you may see a Chinese
manufacturing rich soup over a hissing kettle and delivering
it to his customers ; another person is baking bread ; another,
under his gaily striped awning, i.s- weaving gold thread into
embroidery, while a mite of a child manages the little boat.
The scenes in the water streets are always new and interesting.

There is a queer sense of insecurity in "shopping" in
these floating bazaars which gives an added zest to the picking
up of " antikas," as the natives call curios of all sorts.

Yet, though Western ideas are flooding the country, and
Christian missionaries there come and go freely, except among
the lower classes these agents of enlightenment have had no
effect upon the established religion of Siam, which religion is
a kind of Buddhism — or rather Pantheism, for it is Buddhism
without a god. The last incarnation of Buddha, Gautama,
was, they say, absorbed into the bosom of nature more than
five hundred years before Christ.

Sir Edwin Arnold has told us of the " Light of Asia," and
in pleased recognition of what the English poet has done to
make known to the world the god of Siam, the king has
conferred on him the distinction known as the Order of the

l64 SIAM AND ITS ROYAL WHITE ELEPHANT.

White Elephant. The sanctity which the Siamese attach to
the white elephant is not difficult to understand, when we
remember that the doctrine of the transmigration of souls is
one of the most vital points in the Buddhistic religion, and
that the white elephants are supposed to be tenanted by the
souls of their dead kings. The king may well pay great
attention to any white elephant that he is fortunate enough to
secure — the animal is very rare — for he thinks that he is
taking care of his future home.

We read in ancient history of how eagerly the white bull
Apis was sought by the Egyptians, and what feasting and
rejoicing they made when he was found. There are much the
same demonstrations of joy in Siam when a white elephant is
captured.

One of the most splendid temples near the city is set apart
for his highness, the Royal White Elephant. It stands in a
garden of palms, in which grow thickly the tuberose, honey-
suckle, passion-flower, and the chempa, the national flower of
Siam. In this garden, at the time of my visit to it, a dozen
priests, dressed in gamboge-dyed robes, were weaving wreaths
and chanting praises to the great white beast, which stood
lazily waving his trunk, and helping himself to leaves and
branches from the giant heaps placed before him, but paying
no attention to the homage heaped upon him.

He seemed to me to be second in size only to Barnum's
mammoth Jumbo, and his skin was white, smooth and spotless,
wnth a large scarlet rim around each of his e3'es.

His stall was a large, high room, with windows around the
top ; the floor was covered with a mat-work wrought of pure
chased gold, each interwoven plait being about half an inch
broad and as thick as a five-dollar gold-piece. On this costly
carpet the unwieldy animal stood and stamped his great feet,
with no more care for its magnificence than if it had been his
native green turf, "wearing out," as some one said, " as much
gold in a year as many hard-working people gain in ten."

Several priests were constantly engaged in cleaning the
floor, in piling up fresh herbage for his majesty to feast on,

SIAM AND iTvS ROYAL WHITE ELEPHANT. 165

and in polishing the tarnished spots. Other persons, pro-
fessional goldsmiths, were taking the worn strips out of the
golden carpet, and replacing them with new, shining ones.

"Oh," said one of the party, "if we only had that gold
for our mission work ! ' '

The man who was so fortunate as to entrap this sacred
animal was rewarded with a hereditary pension of one thousand
ticals, and was raised to a very high office in the kingdom —
that of water-carrier to the elephant. The jars in which the
water is transported, and the troughs from which the sacred
animal drinks, are of pure gold, covered with filigree work.

As a god, the white elephant is horrible, but regarded
merely as a royal toy, each monarch to his taste. The
sovereigns of the civilized world spend vast sums of money
in pomps and vanities, and in the gratification of sensual
appetites. Tiberius had his Capri, Napoleon his ambition, to
which he sacrificed millions of treasure and uncounted human
lives, and why should not the King of Siam as well have his
elephant ?

Sara Lee.

i-N

Housekeeping in East India.

There are so many points of difference between a house
in Peepulpore, Bengal Presidency, and a house in — Boston,
Massachusetts, for example, that I quite expect to have some
trouble in making you feel at home in this article. Neither
up-stairs nor down-stairs nor in my lady's chamber is
there any familiar corner where I might install the reader

while I explain the rest to him. Yet certainly there are chairs
in the drawing-room, wicker chairs — we have not acquired
the Oriental habit of sitting on the floor. I can ask you to
take one.

There is even a rocking-chair, said to be American ; but it
has a straight back and a narrow seat, and only about six
inches of ' ' rock ' ' altogether ; and the 3'ellow bow on the upper
left hand corner does not make up for these things. It never
saw America ; it was made in England, where they understand
umbrellas better, perhaps.

The others have all come from the China bazaar. They

HOUSEKEEPING IN EAST INDIA.

167

are coarsely woven of cane, and the Chinaman who obtained
a dollar apiece for them to begin with, cheated me. Any one
of them will bear you if you are not too heavy, but I do not
like to see the commissioner, who weighs one hundred and
eight}^ pounds, imperil the dignity of the government of India
upon them.

Under one or two I observe from where I sit little piles of
sawdust dropped on the floor. That is the work of the beetles.
And the white ants are reported from behind the bookcase
and the red ants have been clearing out the sideboard, and

last night a cockroach
of refined tastes ate
three fingers of my last
and longest pair of
evening gloves.

These things would
worry one in America ;
one would arrive, per-
haps, at the heroic
remedy of kerosene.
Here it is not the cus-
tom to worry — besides,
nobody has the ener-
gy. It is the custom to
call the house-bearer,
who has charge of
the bookcase, and the
khansamah, who has
charge of the side-
board, and the ayah,
who has charge of the gloves, and say to them in the
vernacular, "What kind of work is this, O poor-sort-of-
person ?"

If after that the ants and the cockroaches continued, it
would be proper to address the bearer as a man without
shame, and the khansamah as the son of an owl, and the ayah
as a thriftless one, and to fine them all three cents of their

l68 HOUSEKEEPING IN EAST INDIA.

wages, which would linger longer in their memories than any
form of vituperation. If thereafter they did not mend their
ways, the bearer and the khansamah and the ayah would all
get "chute," which is permission to depart; and before the
sun went down behind the banians their places would be
taken by others worthier than they.

The doors stand open all day long when it is not too hot,
from room to room, from house to garden.

For privacy they are hung with what we call portieres in
civilization, and "purdahs" in India, of such stuff as one can
afford. Some people, who believe in encouraging native
industries, have green and purple stripes ; but I think that is
being rather unnecessarily public-spirited. I have Japanese
bamboo and bead screens in the drawing-room instead ; but
then I, being guided and governed by a pink wall cut in two
by a green grape-vine, am not fairly typical.

There is matting on the floor, greenj^-brown matting
woven in great stripes by cross-legged Bengalis in a hut in
the bazaar ; and there are palms in the corner and orchids
in the windows and photographs of home upon the wall.

A long, narrow board, with a broad flounce to it like a
lady's petticoat, hangs from the roof across the middle beams.
That is the punkah, put up last week, for it is almost the first
of April and the "ghurrumka-din" ("days of heat") are
upon us. The punkah-wallah — the native who operates this
great fan^ — -sits in the veranda and pulls the rope, which goes
through a hole in the wall.

The dining-room is matted and holds six chairs, a table, a
Burmese carved sideboard and another punkah. It is a large
and lofty room, and .sometimes it seems, figuratively speaking,
to yawn for want of furniture.

But it is a housekeeping ideal in India to possess- as little
furniture as possible. Dust hides in the hangings, spiders as
big as an American dollar live in the cornices, the moth enters
into the sofas, and the rust corrupts everything that is cor-
ruptible.

The " memsahib " (mistress) is a person from whom orders

housp:keeping in east india.

169

proceed. Her business in life is to know what pleases her, to
praise or to rebuke. She is not at all necessary to the domestic
machine ; it may run a little more or less smoothly for her
presence, but it is self-running.

Her servants understand their business much better than
she does. She may dismiss, but she is not qualified to interfere.

What could you
do, pray, with a
live fowl and some
tropical vegetables
and a handful of
charcoal embers
and an order for
breakfast in half
an hour, with the
temperature at one
hundred and six
degrees in the cook-
room ? The real
government is the
sahib. The mem-
sahib is his secretary and representative ; and there are two
departments, each with its head. Even domestic affairs in
India are arranged on an official basis.

The department of the table, with all that appertains to it,
is under the khansamah. The department of the house is
directed by the bearer.

The khansamah, always a Mussulman, is official chief to
the kitmutgars, the mussalchi, and the cook. He is head
butler ; the kitmutgars are waiters — one to each member of
the family. His subordinates find it well to be on good terms
with the khansamah, and a person with whom it is well to be
on good terms soon grows rich in India.

Besides, he generally does the "bazaar," the memsahib's
marketing, bringing in a daily account ; and the result of that
is that he sometimes invests his little savings in house property
in Calcutta, bringing in four hundred rupees a month. This

I70

HOUSEKEEPING IN EAST INDIA.

is an anomaly, in view of the fact that his own pay is about
twelve, until one comes to India and studies it in the light of
dusturi.

Dusturi means commission, and the commission you are
expected to pay varies with your income. I grieve to think
of the price extorted
from the wife of the
commissioner for a sad-
dle of mutton. The
commissioner is the
" burra sahib" (chief
sahib), and the burra
sahib should pay more
for his saddles of mut-
ton than anybody else
in the station, not be-
cause he gets better
ones, but because he
is the burra sahib and
it is suitable.

The bearer is an
influential person too.
He dusts and trims
the lamps, and cleans
the shoes, and is respon-
sible for the general
well-being of the house-
hold. He would be
outraged if you asked
him to sweep. His

servant, the mater, does that, and all the other menial work.
The memsahib is not supposed to know of the existence of the
mater, and if she values the respect of her establishment she
must never speak to him or take anything from his hand.
And strange as it may seem to any one who does not know
the far-reaching operation of caste, we in India find it wiser
to submit to this custom, as to many others.

HOUSEKEEPING IN EAST INDIA.

171

The bearer calls his duster a jharrun, and a large part of
the amount every memsahib intends to save at the end of the
month disappears in jharruns. What becomes of the jharruns
is an Aryan problem yet unsolved.

The bearer can account for the using up of at least a dozen
a month without casting any light on it. He says they all go
for daily use and that he has given three to the groom. The
memsahib's imagination is supposed to explain the rest ; and
while it is at work, the bearer would like one rupee and six
annas to pay for some new^ jharruns.

When I have watched the operation of the mater's brush,
which is only a bunch of split cane, and of the bearer's jharrun,
I sometimes feel an acute
longing for a stout Ameri-
can broom and a large-
minded duster, and the
opportunity of turning
both of these unoffending
domestics out. For the
mater'sduty is done when
he has raised as much
dust from under the mat-
ting as possible, and
picked up a torn envelope
from the floor. The
bearer has accomplished
his when he has flicked
ever^^ article in the room
once or twice with his
jharrun ; and it is not of
particular consequence to

either of them which does his work first ! But you know the
uncompromising character of the American broom. What an
awkward piece of luggage it would be, and how unlikely it
would seem to be fundamentally connected with one's hap-
piness in Peepulpore ! So when I went to India I didn't take
one.

172

HOUSEKEEPING IN EAST INDIA.

Ver}^ seldom does the memsahib make or mend. There is
a useful functionary, called a durzie, who relieves her of that.
The durzie is usually a lean and venerable little Moham-
medan, wearing a long white coat, a small round white cap,

and a pair of spec-
tacles. Invariably
the durzie carries
an umbrella — an
old brown umbrel-
la, with its fullness
tied in with a shoe-
lace.

I have never
seen a durzie with
his umbrella up in
the daytime ; but
at night, especially
on a bright, fine
moonlight night,
he opens it to keep
off fever and the
dew. A procession of durzies going home from their work on
such a night as this is one of the queer things of Peepulpore.

The durzie's pay is from three to four dollars a month, and
like all the other servants, he feeds himself. His whole
services are at your disposal for this sum ; his personal
attendance from ten to five, and his great toe, which is of
no insignificant a.ssistance in long seams. All he asks is a
yard of matting to sit on in the veranda, something to mend
or something to copy.

A pair of trousers for the sahib, a tennis-blouse for the
memsahib, a night-dress for the baby — nothing is beyond his
imitation, provided he has an original ; but it would be a
daring person who would appear in garments which the durzie
had been allowed to evolve out of his own imagination.

Sara Jeannette Duncan.

A Morning in Benares.

Benares, on the Ganges, India, is said to be the oldest
known habitation of man in the world, and time and tradition
have sanctified the city in the Hindoo mind down even to its
very dust. It has ever been the headquarters of religion,
even before the great reformer, Buddha, preached to the
Hindoos, hundreds of years before our era.

There existed at that time a form of worship, combined with
caste, — a monstrous superstition and idolatry, — ^a religion
evolved out of the cries of early humanity to something
external to itself. Buddha broke down all this. He destroyed
caste, set aside the priesthood, abolished sacrifice and empty
forms, and, appealing only to man's intellect and conscience,
set up his great principle of absorption into the Deity, instead
of promising a heaven of conscious souls.

Buddhism once numbered more followers than any other
religion in the world ; but though Benares was the cradle into
which it was born, and from which it spread all over India,
and thence eastward even to Japan, it has been expelled from
the land which gave it birth, and Brahminism, with all its dis-
gusting practices, has resumed its ancient place and authority.

When one probes beneath the surface of this mystic religion,
one finds a reality rotten to the core. The glowing poetry
and sublime imagery of the Vedas, and the prehistoric sacred
works of India, should be sources of the highest aspirations
and a deeply religious life. But of the millions of natives
who profess to follow those teachings, and of the millions of
pilgrims who journey to Benares, hardly one seems to have a
true conception of what was ideal, spiritual, or religious in
the ancient belief. lyittle is left of this ennobling creed but
the ignoble ruins of a ceremonial, a superstition, and an
idolatry, confined, rigorous, and hopeless as the tomb.

One day — it was a great festival — we went at sunrise to

174 A MORNING IN BENARES.

the Ganges to see the pilgrims bathe in its holy waters. This
surely is one of the most startling and wondrous sights in the
world ! The city as we entered was illumined with a soft,
rosy light, the streets were thronged with natives streaming
down to the river in thousands through the dust}' streets and
under dust-laden trees. The dress of the pilgrims consisted
of the lightest drapery, of most beautiful colors, loosel}- worn.

Many of the pilgrims, no doubt, came from homes far away
in the remote parts of India. What a strength of faith —
irrational faith to be sure — was there ! How wildl}^ their
hearts were throbbing ! for they had been waiting and longing
for this day for a long time, perhaps for all their lives.

Every day came the pilgrims in crowds to this sacred cit}^
to become purified by bathing in the sacred waters of the
Ganges. Out of a population of three hundred thousand, half
of them are pilgrims, ever shifting.

We leave our carriage as we near the river and make our
way through the dense crowds of pilgrims, not one of whom
evinces the slightest interest in our presence. Here and there
some fine-featured girl who stays our admiration maj-, perhaps,
look a second time, but all interest quickly fades from her
eye.

Reaching the river, we take a boat and are rowed up the
stream. We see the city stretching along its banks for miles.
Flights of high steps line the river, and at their top rise
temples, palaces and towers, and in the midst of them the
superb mosque, with its two towering minarets, erected by the
Emperor Aurungzebe, in the seventeenth century.

The steps are like a grand stand on a race-course, thronged
with natives of all ages, down to even little children, pressing
into the waters as far as they can get. Rich and poor, well,
ill, and dying, are either in the water or waiting their turn to
enter it, to wash away their sins, to pray, and to throw into it
innumerable garlands of little yellow flowers. Every con-
ceivable kind of colored drapery is here, and in folds as
beautiful as if nature had arranged it.

The morning sun is now well up and brilliantly shining

A MORNING IN BENARES.

175

over the river, which is here about a third of a mile across,
and flooding all the animated scene in a rich and mellow
golden light. Floating down this great river, we gaze be-
wildered at these multitudes at their devotions, washing,
drinking, and throwing in their flowers as offerings to the

Pilgrims bathing in the Ganges.

goddess whose water it is supposed to be. The drapery of
the women is of beautifully toned colors, dyed in simple but
lovely hues, and all different.

All are bathing and washing. Some remain in the water
for hours together, wrapped in the deepest thought and
religious contemplation, all seeming most earnest in their
devotions. Even the sparkling-eyed little children, like black
cupids, wade into the water and mutter their little prayers
with all the solemnity of their elders.

We float down almost amongst them. We might as well

1^6 A MORNING IN BENARES.

be invisible, for we attract no notice. Here and there dotted
about amongst the crowd on the steps are immense umbrellas
made of matting and nearly flat ; under these are the priests.
They look for all the world like fat betting-men under their
umbrellas at a race-course, and they must be gathering in the
money fast, for they seem very busy. When the bathers have
finished their devotions in the river, they go to these priests
to have painted on their foreheads a small spot of a sticky-
looking substance, for which the priests exact a high price.

The British Government has put a stop to practices which
used formerly to be common here, practices which were not
discouraged by the priests, and which were done in the name
of religion. From all parts of India pilgrims would come here
to drown themselves in the river. They would be tied between
two large earthenware pots, and would then wade out into
deep water, being kept afloat by the empty jars. These they
gradually filled with water, till they sank with them from the
gaze of the approving multitude on the banks.

Other practices, which have been also stopped, were the
burying alive of lepers, and the burning of widows with their
dead husbands, unless they preferred to be buried alive.

Cases occasionally occur even now of fanatics burying
themselves alive.

In Benares there are said to be five thousand temples, and
in all of them are repulsive-looking idols covered with rice
and flowers, and dripping with the sacred w^ater thrown upon
them by persons coming from the river.

The temples are crowded with worshippers, and the floors
are covered, considerably over the soles of one's boots, with
slush of water, rice, and trampled flowers, the heat and smell
being nearly overpowering. Little niches in the walls of the
streets have each their hideous idols, and they too are deluged
with water, rice and flowers.

Everything in Benares is worshipped, even pebbles from
the river and dust from the streets. One temple we visited is
sacred to the Brahmin bulls. There were many bulls there of
huge size, fat, content, and garlanded with flowers.

A MORNING IN BENARES.

177

There are also many wells, all most sacred. One to which
we went, the well of knowledge, the water of which the
pilgrims drink, is nearly filled up with the flowers which the
worshippers have thrown in as offerings. The smell from
these wells is absolutely choking in its offensiveness, and the
slush about them nearly ankle-deep.

All we saw, excepting from a picturesque point of view,
was painful in the extreme. It must be almost impossible to
eradicate superstitions so inrooted as are those of the Brahmins.
True religion, science and education alone can reach and
cleanse these morall}' pestilent spots.

Hugh Wilkinson.

An Indian Juggler.

The Fire -Worshippers.

Many persons are familiar with the fervid lines of Moore's
splendid poem called the " Fire- Worshippers." The farewell
scene between Hafed and Hinda is one of the most affecting
passages in the early poetry of this century. It has been so
widely read and has produced so deep an impression that there
are many whose only idea of the prevalent religion of Persia
is derived from a perusal of that poem ; and often has the
question been asked me whether there is any other religion
practised in that country beside that of the worship of fire.

The facts are that out of a population of nine millions, that
empire now numbers only a few thousand genuine worshippers
of fire. With the exception of about eighty-six thousand
Armenians, Jews, and Nestorians, the remainder of the Persian
people are Mohammedans.

It was soon after the rise of Mohammed that his fanatical
hosts assailed the frontiers of Persia. Yezdejird III., who
proved to be the last of his line, was at that time sovereign
of Iran. His army was defeated in the decisive battle of
Kadisiya, he himself was slain two years later, and the Persians
were forced to accept Mohammedanism or the sword.

Those who refused to abandon the old faith of Zoroaster
for that of Mohammed were persecuted, and mostly slain or
driven from the country. Those who fled from Persia sought
refuge in India, where they form, in our time, an intelligent
and flourishing community, known by the name of Parsees,
or Persians. It is amid these struggles of an ancient race
against the domination of a new religion and dynasty that
Moore has laid the scene of his " Fire- Worshippers."

Notwithstanding these long persecutions, which have con-
tinued over one thousand years, and only now are beginning
to relax, and permit the Fire- Worshippers of Persia to live
there unmolested, yet a small, steadfast band has always

THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 179

remained in that land, presendng the faith of their fathers
and their rites and ceremonials unchanged. In Persia they
are called Guebres. This is simply a corruption of the Arabic
term Kafir, which means a heretic, an unbeliever. In time it
has become a word of contumely and scorn.

Although so few in numbers, yet the Guebres are a most
interesting community, for in them we see the old Persian
stock of the days of Cyrus and Xerxes unmixed with any
other race ; while the religion they practise is that which was
introduced into Persia or perfected by the famous Zoroaster,
or Zerdusiht, who lived at least twenty-five centuries ago.

Zoroaster was born in the northern province called both
then and now Adarbaijan ; this name means the region of fire,
and it may have been so called because the religion whose
distinctive doctrine is supposed to be the worship of fire had
its origin there. It is only just to state that intelligent Guebres
repudiate this doctrine. They assert that it is a mistake to
call them Fire- Worshippers. They say that fire is to them
not an object of worship, but only a symbol of the beneficent
Ormuzd, or good God, who is clear and radiant and pure, like
the glow of the rising sun or the flames of fire, and that it is
through the symbol that they adore the good Spirit.

This may be true of the more intelligent followers of the
doctrines of Zoroaster, but there is no doubt that the ignorant
classes believe that light and fire are real emanations of God,
and worship them as such. Fire is by them held so sacred
that they never smoke tobacco, and for that reason it is not
by them considered courteous to use the weed in the presence
of a host or guest who is a Guebre.

In every household of the Guebres fire kindled from the
sacred flame at the new year is kept burning the entire year.
That is the purpose the}^ follow, but whether they alwaj^s
succeed in preventing the fire from being extinguished is
doubtful .

The Guebres have many peculiar doctrines and customs.
One of these is the use of yellow in their garb ; another
concerns the theory of immortality. They maintain that there

i8o

THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.

are two principles, the good and the evil, which they call
Ormuszdao and Ahrimasdao. The ancient Greeks corrupted
these names to Ormusd and Ahriman. These two principles,

or influences, fight for the
mastery through the ages,
seeking to win possession of
the soul of man.

When a Guebre dies at
Teheran, his corpse is taken
to the lonely cemetery five
miles south of the city, sit-
uated on a lone rocky eminence

that overlooks the vast plains quivering with mirage. It
resembles a white watch-tower, being built in the shape of a
round hill-fort. It is white, and has no apparent way of
entrance.

The walls are built of cargel, or mud smeared with plaster

THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. l8l

that presences it from the weather. Winding slowly over the
plain and up the barren height, the procession of mourners,
outcasts in a land they once ruled, bear the dead to his last
resting-place. A hole is made in the wall of the cemetery,
through which the corpse is taken to its grave.

Strange to say, the grave is not dug in the earth. The
surface of the ground within this unroofed enclosure is divided
by raised lines of brick into numerous oblong cells of uniform
size, much like the parterres of a garden. The corpse is laid
in one of these, dressed, and left there exposed to the elements.
Vultures and buzzards hover over the cemetery in flocks;
they know full well what is taking place in the desolate spot.
Then the mourners retire to a little distance up the hillside,
to watch the birds of prey swoop down to devour the dead.

They have a reason for thus keenly observing, for they
believe that the destiny of the departed soul is revealed by
the acts of the birds. If they devour the right eye first, the
soul is in heaven ; but if the left eye is first attacked, then the
mourners go away sorrowful, for sad is the doom of their
departed friends.

But the Guebres have other and more cheerful customs
than this. Their new year is called the No Rooz, or New
Day. It comes at the time when the sun crosses the line in
March. Their traditions state that this festival was ordained
by their great legendary king. Shah Jemschid. Although
most of the Persians are now Mohammedans, j-et they all
accept the period for the commencement of the new year
established in their country long ages before the camel-driver
of the desert sent his armies to force them to his creed ; and
thus, at the No Rooz, Guebres and Mussulmans alike rejoice.
The latter pretend that they celebrate the occasion because
it is the birth anniversary of their Prophet, but this is a mere
flimsy excuse, concocted in order to show their disdain for
the Guebres. But in a hundred ways the Persians show that
in their celebration of this annual festival they are following
the traditions of their fire-worshipping ancestors.

Nowhere is the new year celebrated with more mysticism

l82 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.

and pomp and universal rejoicing than in Persia. For
weeks before it arrives the people begin their preparations for
the occasion. Every one seeks to raise money to purchase
the new suit of clothes he is expected to wear at the time,
and the confectionery and provisions for the ten days of
feasting, as, during that period, the shops are mostly closed.
So important is it to be properly prepared for the No Rooz,
that articles of price that are family heirlooms are often
sacrificed in order to provide the needed money.

When the new moon of that month appears, devout Persians
look to the east, then covering the face with their hands,
they are slowly turned until, on withdrawing the hands, the
gleaming sickle of the new moon is seen directly in front.
Perhaps our superstition about discovering the new moon over
the right shoulder is suggested by this Persian custom.

The eve before No Rooz is also the occasion for a curious
ceremony, evidently suggested by the mystical meaning the
Guebres attach to fire and light. The common people leap
over heaps of burning brushwood laid in rows. It is possible
the heathenish custom alluded to in Scripture of ' ' passing
children through the fire " may be a form of this ceremony.

As the hour approaches for the sun to cross the line, the
Shah assembles in the great audience-chamber of the palace,
with the high spiritual and temporal dignitaries of the king-
dom. Money is distributed to all for good luck on the
commencement of the New Year. At the moment the
astrologers announce the No Rooz, the Shah gravely exclaims,
" Mambarek bashed!" (May it be propitious to you.) A
sacred song of rejoicing is then sung by a mollah, or priest ;
after this each courtier, according to his rank, offers his
obeisance to the Shah, and receives from the royal hand a
present.

S. G. W. Benjamin.

Some Little Egyptians.

When I sailed up the Nile from Cairo to the First Cataract,
I saw little Egyptians of many different types among the
youngsters who crowded about the boat at a landing-place,
or ran after one's donke^^ Some had skins hardly darker

than an Italian's, and straight noses ; others beautiful bronze-
colored skins, and softly-outlined, handsome features ; others
again were black as a coal, with funny flat noses, thick lips,
and dazzling white teeth.

The donkey-boys were my especial favorites. Everybody
rides on donkeys in Egypt, and every donkey has a donkey-
bo}^ to run after him and poke him with a stick, and shout,
' ' Ha-a-a-a ! Ha-a-a-a ! ' ' The}' are the jolliest, most impudent
set of little rascals I ever saw, quick at learning English, and
ready at all sorts of pranks.

They can run for miles behind their galloping donkeys
carrying the wraps, sketch-books, or camera of the rider,
never getting out of breath, giving a bright smile every time
one looks at them, and keeping up a continual chatter, trying

SOME LITTLE EGYPTIANS.

185

to learn new English sentences and teaching Arabic ones in
exchange. The donkeys are clipped in fancy patterns about
the legs and neck, and have bright red saddle-cloths, and
beautiful bead necklaces ornamented with little gilt coins
which jingle merrily as they go. The donkey-boys generallj^
wear blue gowns, and have bright-colored handkerchiefs
wound round their heads by way of turbans, but sometimes
they are all in white, which is very becoming to their dark skins.

They name their donkeys to suit the occasion. If they
suppose you an American they will tell you, " Donkey name,
Yankee Doodle — very good donkey;" or, " Dis donkey
California Jack; gallop all time." But if they think you
English, the same donkey is "John Bull," or the " Prince of
Wales," and so on through all the nations.

Several times my donkey-boy asked me,
after I had been riding awhile, " Very good
donkey ? " If I answered ' ' Yes, ' ' he would
go on :

' ' Very good donkey-boy ? ' '

"Yes."

' ' Very good saddle ? ' '

"Yes."

" Then very good 'bakshish !' " which
meant that I should pay him handsomely
at the end of the ride.

Up at the Tombs of the Kings, among
the great Sand Mountains and dark caves
where the royal mummies had been buried,
I made a great friend of a little water-
carrier, ten or eleven years old. She wore
a long blue cotton gown, open at the throat and hanging down
loose to her brown ankles. Over her head hung a soft,
clinging black veil.

Around her neck were two necklaces of shells and beads,
yellow and red and green. In one ear was a large gold hoop.
Silver bangles jingled on her arms and legs. She carried her
water jug, or " goolah," poised gracefully on her small head.

SOME LITTLE EGYPTIANS.

without the help of her hands, and ran alongside of my donkey
for miles, ready to offer me a drink whenever the hot sun and
the dusty ride made me thirsty.

As she trotted along she kept up chattering in her bird-like
voice, her face lit up with the most bewitching smiles.

Instead of holding babies in their arms, as American babies
are carried, Egyptian women set them up astride one shoulder,
even when they are only a month or two
old. The tiny things soon learn to hang
on by clutching their mothers' necks,
or the tops of their head-dresses. Thus
the women can carry bundles in their
hands or busy themselves about domestic
affairs, while the babies " sit up aloft,"
looking on gravely, and rarely crying.
One never goes out to walk in Egypt
without meeting a number of babies
riding on their mothers' shoulders in
this way.

Whenever we anchored for the night
along the Nile, all the children of the
neighborhood would crowd around the
boat, in their blue or white gowns and
shirts, crying to us for "bakshish,"
which they had done nothing to earn. Dozens of half-naked
boys would plunge into the river for the oranges and copper
coins flung in to induce them to dive. Such crowding,
pushing, dancing, singing, yelling, laughing, rolling down
embankments and climbing up again, we never had seen before.
When we rode out to see ruins a swarm of children
surrounded us, and they usually seemed happy, although
sometimes they would hop along on one foot, as if lame, or
twist their perfectly well-formed little fingers over on the backs
of their hands, and hold up these imitation deformities, as
they cried out piteously :

" Mesquine ! Mesquine ! " (Miserable.)

But if I laughed at their pretence they joined in heartily.

SOME LITTLE EGYPTIANS. 1 87

Once a large number of boys and girls came toward us,
leaping and dancing, and playing on rude musical instruments
of reeds bound together, with strings drawn across them,
over which they scraped a bow or stick. The music was
wild, queer and pretty. But the song was the everlasting
" bakshish."

Few go to school, except in Cairo and Alexandria, and in
some of the American mission schools up the Nile. As I was
riding through the palm-shaded streets of Edfou a big fellow
of eighteen or twenty came out of the dark doorwaj- of a
whitewashed house with a copybook in his hand, and said,
proudly and distinctly :

" I am a scholar of the American Mission."

Then he thrust his copybook between my donkey's ears
and my nose, and I read :

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are !

In the few native schools the children are taught little but
verses from the Koran, their sacred book. They sit in circles
on the stone or marble floor of some mosque, with the teacher
in the centre, all rocking backward and forward like so many
pendulums, and buzzing away in a monotonous low singsong.

But I think my dear little Egyptians learn more by driving
donkeys, talking to travellers, picking up crumbs of wisdom
from everything and everybody, and stocking their quick
brains with lessons of common sense and experience, than
they ever learn in the mosques.

There was a funny little boy who followed me about at
Philse, waving a palm-leaf switch and repeating, " I you boy.
I boy for you. Keep flies off you."

Edith R. Crosby.

%/f

[1W

m-^

Makers and Sellers of Sweetmeats.

Oriental Sweetmeats,

The food of the people is always an interesting study in
foreign lands, especially in the cities of the far East, where
every teeming, narrow street displays the queer things that
are eaten by the dark-skinned people who live behind its
windowless walls and mysterious courts.

There is evidence everywhere that in Oriental mouths the
"sweet tooth" is highly developed, for of the heaps of
eatables piled in open booths, in street stalls, in bazaars, and
wheeled on salvers through the streets, nine-tenths are, to our
palates, sickeningly sweet.

Curious the}^ are, and usually quite different from our
sweets. To inspect, buy and taste these strange concoctions
was one of my amusements. The result in many cases was
agreeable, but upon the whole the bonbons of France and the
' ' candies ' ' of America are far superior to the sugared
mixtures of the Orient.

Sweetened arrowroot, pistachio-nut and the paste known
as "Turkish delight," with quarts of rose-water flavor, are
the elements of hundreds of other sweetmeats, the foundation
from which nearly all are made.

' ' Turkish delight ' ' should come first in a description of
Eastern dainties, for it is everywhere in the Orient the most
frequently seen and largely consumed. When fresh and well
made it is the most palatable of Eastern sweetmeats.
" Rakat-Sakoume " it is called by the Turks and Arabs.

It is made of arrowroot flour, boiled with sugar and water
into a thick but flexible paste, and highly flavored with
rose-water. It is then turned into buttered dishes to cool,
dusted with finely powdered sugar, and cut into long strips.
Chopped nuts of almond or pistachio are often added, and it is
variously colored, red, white and j^ellow.

The making of Oriental sweetmeats is not a secret. Much

igo ORIENTAI. SWEETMEATS.

of it is done in the public streets for all to see. In cities like
Damascus one fairly stumbles over great bowls of sugar,
beaten eggs, cooling arrowroot and the chopped nuts and
seeds used in their construction.

On every side one is greeted by the odor of boiling honey
and sugar, and by the sound of the sizzling fat, into which are
dropped the sweet fritters so commonly eaten.

These fritters of puff paste, usually very greasy, are in
every Oriental sweetmeat bazaar. They are made in small
shapes with sweet pastes of different colors and kinds
sandwiched between them. Most often the sandwiched stuff
consists of pounded pistachio-nuts made very sweet. Over
the top are strewn layers of mashed pomegranate seeds and
sugar.

No more brilliant pictures can be seen than in the lanes
where these comfits are made. Swarthy men and boys, clad
in flowing robes, with gay sashes and turbans, are framed in
the open booths, their brown arms deeply buried in great
bowls of the whites of eggs which they churn to foaming
masses with their hands. Dishes of semi-liquid sugar stand
near, and beside them various receptacles containing the
arrowroot, pastes, honey, fruits and colors ready to be mixed
for use.

Charcoal fires, over which the sweets are boiling and
bubbling, light up the interior ; and on tables in front are
trays, bowls, slabs and jars filled with the countless jumbles
of brilliantly colored goodies.

There are lumps formed of cocoanut and honey ; sugared
peas, balls of pink sugar on sticks, or festooned on strings ;
flat red wheels with nuts ; triangles of white semi-transparent
paste with layers of pistachio between ; balls of dark fruit
paste stuck full of blanched nuts ; sections of melon or citron
boiled in sugar and dried. This last is one of the best of
the Oriental sweets.

There are great lumps looking like broken greenish
sandstone, which prove to be made of the ever present
sweetened pistachio pounded into a compact mass and allowed

ORIENTAL SWEETMEATS.

191

to harden. There are candied apricots, dates and figs into
which hazelnuts and ahiionds have been thrust. There are
round pieces of sweet gum, of rose and yellow, as long as
one's arm and nearly as thick, in the centre of which is a pith
of blanched nuts. This is cut into slices, and forms pretty
rings.

There are rows of small white bowls set along the stalls to
cool, containing what looks like our blanc-mange. It is made
of sweetened rice flour, or arrowroot, scented with rose-water,
sprinkled over the top with chopped pistachio-nuts. Over this
is poured cream of goat's or ewe's milk.

This dish is often iced or cooled with snow, and is very
popular, the little bowls being quickly emptied by the
passers-by. For a few piastres you can have one of the bowls
placed before you ; but though the dish looked inviting on
those hot Syrian days, suggesting our ice-cream, I was unable
to eat mine, owing to the intense cloying sweetness and strong
flavor of rose.

This scent, so much liked in the East, pervades everything.
Even the hotels for strangers use it for cakes and puddings.
In Jerusalem we ate quince jelly flavored with it, and found it
rather a pleasing admixture.

Swinging above every stall and bazaar of eatables are
long, brown, glossy ribbons, or bands, which puzzled us not a
little. The frequency of these in every Oriental city led me to
test this dainty, which seemed of such importance. It is
composed of ripe apricots mashed and rolled into thin sheets.
Dried in long bands it keeps a long time, and is one of the
staple commodities of Eastern shops. The natives eat it after
moistening it, or they boil it with water and dip their bread
into it.

Amid the confusion of unknown goodies heaped every-
where, there are two articles which seem familiar. One is our
" rock candy " dangling upon long strings before the bazaars.
Another is the " sugar-plum " of our childhood ; but when we
bite into it we find it more often made of the pistachio-nut
than of the familiar old almond. On the same counters with

192 ORIENTAL SWEETMEATS.

the sweetmeats are always dishes filled with dried pumpkin
seeds, salted nuts, and bowls full of round seeds resembling
our dried peas, all of which are eaten in large quantities.

In the spring and early summer dishes of green almonds
are also displayed on the stalls, appearing to our eyes like
huge platters of green peaches and resembling them in taste.

The Arabs consider them a great dainty, eaten with salt.
My inability to eat the double handful which my Arab groom,
thinking to please and surprise me, had stolen from an almond
orchard through which we passed, almost gained me his
permanent ill will.

Important articles are the fiat cakes of various kinds.
Piles of them lie like great white wheels, made into thin, flat
sheets, and smeared with funny little tracks of boiled honey
or fruit syrup.

Often they are round cakes slightly sweetened with honey,
and plentifully strewn with sesame seeds, resembling our
canary seeds. This is the sesame and honej^ cake of the
Arabian Nights' tales.

There are huge piles of large, crisp hoops of unsweetened
dough, baked very brown and sprinkled with these same
seeds. They somewhat resemble German pretzels, and are
called "simites." In Constantinople there are stalls devoted
entirely to the sale of them. The piles of crisp, round rings,
with the picturesque simite merchants behind them, form one
of the most curious and frequent sights of that city.

During the Fast of Ramadan, corresponding somewhat to
our Christian Lent, the Moslems fast from sunrise to sunset,
after which they spend the night in eating. It is at this
season that the sweetmeats are devoured in largest quantities.

Eleanor Hodgens.

OLD OCEAN.

Under the Shadow ot the Berg.

About Icebergs.

The birthplace of icebergs is on the coasts of Greenland.
This great land-mass stretches away twelve hundred miles
toward the Pole. It might be named a continent, since it has
an estimated area of five hundred and twelve thousand square
miles, and thirty-four hundred miles of coast line.

The whole interior of Greenland is covered by an immense
ice-cap, many hundred feet in thickness. The sun's rays,
falling on the snow at the summits of the mountains, partially
melt it into a granular mass. The valleys receive the drainage
from these granular snow-fields, and the cold converts it into
a solid mass of ice — a glacier.

The great weight of snow acts as a propelling power from
behind, and forces the icy stream constantly onward toward
the coast, which it lines wnth an enormous crystal precipice.

At last the front of the glacier is forced by the propelling
power behind it into the sea, and into deeper and still deeper
water. It begins to feel the action- of the waves and tides
which wear away its base ; and great cliffs of ice overhang
the ocean.

Now let us witness the birth of an iceberg. A lofty cliff
of ice, thus overhanging the water, has been for some time
showing signs of insecurity. Great caverns have been ex-
cavated in its base ; deep fissures are discernible in its face.
Suddenly, with a roar far louder than thunder, the ice-mountain
snaps asunder, and the detached mass comes grinding, crashing
down.

A cloud of spray dashes high into the air, and the young
iceberg is born.

It dives as it touches the waves, rises slowly, sways and
tumbles to and fro, but at last secures its balance. Its front
is one hundred and fifty feet above the waves, but there is
eight times as much bulk beneath as above the surface ; so

The Birth of an Iceberg.

ABOUT ICEBERGS. 1 97

that its weight may be millions of tons. The berg is scarcely
launched into life before it begins to feel the influence of the
great Arctic current that is rushing southward through Baffin's
Bay and Davis Strait. Borne on the bo.som of this stream, it
starts on its long voyage of six or possibly twelve months.

At last our berg reaches southern latitudes and a warmer
clime. What the fury of tempests and the blows of the billows
could not accomplish, the silent rays of the sun and the action
of the warmer air begin slowly to effect.

The iceberg becomes relaxed in the joints. Streamlets are
trickling down its sides. Its constitution is shaken. Great
crags ever and anon fall from it, with a sullen plunge into the
ocean.

Now it becomes top-heavy, reels and turns over. Woe to
the vessel that is near when this takes place ! Rocky fragments
embedded in its now upturned base are exposed to the light.
The berg presents a completely new front and summit, which
have been sculptured by the waves, and is no longer recog-
nizable as the same towering monster that left the portals of
the north months before.

It is now in a state of unstable equilibrium, and frequently
turns over with a hoarse roar. All sailors know the dangers
of icebergs in this condition. They call them "growlers,"
and give them a wide berth.

Shorn of its glories, and greatly reduced in size, the berg
still holds on its course and approaches the Banks of New-
foundland. Now it enters the warm water of the Gulf Stream,
and its dissolution is at hand. Cascades are streaming down
its sides. Caverns are worn right through its centre. Small
lakes are formed on its summit. Rents and fissures are
constantly widening.

Finally it bursts, with an explosion like thunder. Its
shattered remains are scattered far and wide, and speedily
melt in the warm waters. The berg is no more.

Such is the life-history of an iceberg. When it reaches a
certain stage, and its cohesive powers are relaxed, — when
it becomes "rotten," as the sailors say, — it is especially

198

ABOUT ICEBERGS.

dangerous. Then a slight cause will make it explode, and it
bursts into ten thousand fragments, raising huge billows
which might swamp a vessel.

The concussion of the air from the firing of a gun, or even
the noise made by a steamer, has been known to cause such
an explosion.

Sometimes a berg has projections, or spurs, underneath the
water, stretching far out from its base. A vessel that ventures
too near may strike on one of these unseen ice-reefs.

Such an event happened in July, 1890. A steamer with
tourists on board, who were anxious to have a near view of a
large berg, approached so close that she struck on one of its

An Iceberg at Sea.

jutting spurs. The shock and the weight of the heavily-laden
vessel broke off the spur, and at the same time a huge cliff of
the berg, many hundreds of tons in weight, fell into the water
with a fearful roar, behind the steamer.

A great wave lifted her stern, and with a violent plunge
she seemed to be going down to the bottom. It was a trying
moment for those on board, but the good ship slowly came up,
her deck covered with ice-fragments, and cataracts of water
streaming from her on all sides. After a few convulsive
tossings on the disturbed waters she righted, and managed to
get out of that dangerous neighborhood. It was an extremely
narrow escape.

There are many berg-producing glaciers on the Greenland
coast. The largest known, — the Humboldt, — was reported

ABOUT ICEBERGS.

199

by Doctor Kane as extending forty miles along the coast, and
presenting a perpendicular front three hundred feet high.
The glacier, which has been measured most carefull}', is
eighteen hundred feet wide and nine hundred feet thick, and
it advances at a rate of forty-seven feet a da}'.

Sir John Ross once saw a berg two and one-fifth miles
broad, two and one-half miles long, and one hundred and
fift^'-three feet high. He calculated that the entire mass
weighed fifteen hundred million tons. In the Southern
Hemisphere much larger bergs have been seen, towering
seven hundred to eight hundred feet above the waves. It
must not be forgotten that in estimating the size of an
iceberg the visible portion is only one-ninth part of the real
bulk of the whole mass. Off the Newfoundland coast it is
quite common to meet bergs one hundred feet high ; so that
the lowest peak of one of these may be eight hundred feet
below the waves.

M. Harvey.

An Ice Jam.

=5. wfS^F-..^^ _.._=_«r2.^T"l

The Gulf Stream.

What is the Gulf Stream ? Whence does it come ? Where
does it cease to flow ? To what cause is it due ? These questions
have been asked from the time when Columbus made his great
voyage of discovery four hundred years ago, down to the
present day, and even now some of them have not been
satisfactorily answered.

Lieutenant Maury began his description of this wonderful
phenomenon with the expression, "There is a river in the
ocean." The phrase explains in few words exactly what the
Gulf Stream is. It flows along the coast of North America
from the lower extremity of Florida to Cape Hatteras, and
thence crosses the Atlantic toward the shores of Europe.
Like land rivers, it has its source, the Gulf of Mexico, which
is fed from the Caribbean Sea. This in turn receives its water
from the eastern Atlantic Ocean, into which the Gulf Stream
itself pours its own supply, so that there is, in reality, a grand
circular movement of the whole ocean, of which the Gulf
Stream is a portion.

Our ocean river does not run dry, like those on land, nor
does it do much harm when, like the Mississippi, it overflows its
banks, because its banks are water, and can easily be pressed
aside. It always flows in about the same place over the
bottom, too, and when it does change its position it is only in
accordance with a law, which makes it return to its original
position after a regular time as certain as that spring follows
winter. It does not always flow on the surface of the sea, for
occasionally it dashes along below the waves ; but the same
law guides it, and after awhile it is sure to rise again to the
light of day.

This river is very warm, because it comes from the Gulf of
Mexico and the Caribbean Sea, where the sun has been
heating it for a long time. Of course, after it has left its

202 THE GULF STREAM.

southern home, and is making its journey across the Atlantic,
it is gradually becoming cooler ; but, nevertheless, it maintains
to the shores of Europe, even well up toward the Arctic
regions, a much higher temperature than that of the sur-
rounding air or water.

It has its own finny inhabitants and other animal life ;
curious little fish and crabs that make nests in the floating
sea-weed ; beautiful little jelly-fish called thimble-fish, floating

Beneath the Surface.

or swimming near its surface in such countless numbers that
at times the waters are brown with them ; and the graceful
flying-fish, which dart out of the water in schools; and
countless myriads of minute animal life floating about, so that,
when the sun is shining high in the heavens, the water seems

THE GULF STREAM. 203

to be filled with motes. These little things, dying, sink to
the bottom, and their diminutive skeletons or shells go to
form an ooze, which if exposed to the air and to pressure,
resembles chalk.

This ocean river is quite unlike the rivers of the land in
point of size. The Mississippi, at a point below its lowest
tributary, is about two thousand feet wide and one hundred
feet deep. At places it is wider than this, but there it is
shallower. The Gulf Stream, at its narrowest point in the
Strait of Florida, is more than two thousand feet deep, and
over forty miles wide.

In point of speed, but few navigable rivers in the world
equal the Gulf Stream. It hurries along three, four, five, and
sometimes over six miles an hour. Even three miles is fast
enough to dela}- or assist in a great degree, in the course of
twenty-four hours, an}- vessel which happens to be in its
influence.

The water is a beautiful deep blue, and so clear that one
may look far into its depths. On the edge nearest the coast,
where it presses against the colder shore w^ater, its line of
meeting with the shore water is frequently so sharply defined
that at one end of the vessel you may have the clear warm
water from the south, while at the other end is the cold murk}-
water from the north.

Nature is always wonderful, and one can hardl}' fail to be
impressed by the grandeur of high mountains, lofty precipices,
immense forests, glaciers and waterfalls, but the Gulf Stream
is the greatest of all of nature's wonders on this earth. It is
impossible to realize the immensit}' of it, because it does not
appeal to the eye, and the mind can hardly grasp its magnitude
by the aid of an array of figures.

We all know that the sea water is salt. Contained in every
thousand pounds of water there are thirty-five pounds of saline
matter. Now if 3'ou could stand on the shore of Florida, and
could take all of this saline matter out of the water of the
Gulf Stream as it flowed past, during only one minute of
time, all the vessels in the world at the present time would

204 THE GULF STREAM.

not be enough to carry the load. When Cohimbus crossed
the ocean to America for the first time in 1492, he discovered
the existence of the current which enters the Caribbean Sea,
and helps to form our Gulf Stream. All the old Spanish
navigators noticed this current, and wondered what could be
its cause.

Columbus gave a reason which was generally accepted as
correct for many years. He saw that the heavenly bodies
appeared to rise in the east, and go down in the west ; that
the winds in the tropics always blow from the east, and the
currents of the ocean move in the same direction. So he
concluded that the fluid and gaseous elements on the earth's
surface, the air and the water, simply partook of the motion
of the sky, and all went around the earth together.

The Gulf Stream itself was not discovered until the famous
Ponce de I^eon went to search for the Fountain of Youth.
The natives told of a wonderful well or spring on the Island
of Bimini, and the Spaniards, who were always on the lookout
for remarkable or valuable objects, fitted out this expedition
of discovery.

They did not know where Bimini was, except that it was
somewhere northwest of Porto Rico ; but they set out, hoping
to find the means of cheating time, and making the old young
again. They sailed along the eastern side of the Bahama
Islands, and finally reached the coast of Florida. Then they
turned south, and sailed against the current for several hundred
miles, all the time wondering where the water came from
without exhausting the supply, and where it went to without
filling up some other place.

After several years it was concluded by many persons that
all the water of the sea was moving ; that it reached a hole in
the earth and went down, and at some other point, a great
distance away, returned again to the surface at the .starting-
point of that or some other current.

In quite recent years the government has .started out to
ascertain the laws of this river. A steamer is anchored in the
ocean, and from it the speed and direction of the water, as it

THE GULF STREAM. 205

flows past, is measured directly, not only on the surface, but
hundreds of feet below. Steamers have alread}' anchored in
water nearly two miles and a half deep, and probably there is
no spot in the ocean at which we shall not be able, before long,
to observe the currents.

Instead of employing a chain, as vessels ordinarily do
when anchoring in harbors, these steamers use a long, steel
wire rope, which is lowered, pulled in, and wound up on a
large iron spool, by steam-engines.

In this way we have learned that this great river is
governed by laws such as those which govern the tides. You
will remember that the tides rise and fall generallj^ twice each
day, the greatest rise and fall during the month coming about
the time of the new and full moon.

In the same way the Gulf Stream's current varies in
strength every day, and at different times in the month,
depending upon the position of the moon in the heavens. It
varies in temperature according to the season, and in position,
too, a little ; but the grand stream is not erratic. All its
movements are fixed b)- laws that do not change.

It is maintained by some, that the current moved so far to
the northward a few^ 3'ears ago that it bathed the shores of
Nantucket and Long Island, causing the weather in New
England to be warmer than usual. This conclusion was based
upon the fact that sea-captains found the warm water farther
north than usual, and on the finding of a floating sea-weed,
peculiar to warm waters, much nearer the shore than cus-
toraar}^ But as we have seen, the temperature is a poor guide
as to the limits of the current ; and the same wind and waves
that can carry the water can also carrj- the small fragments of
floating weed.

Then, too, if the current did reach the shores, it could
hardly temper the climate far inland unless the wind carried
the heated air ; and this the wind can do about as well from
the regular position of the current as from any position to
which it may have moved.

The month of December, 1889, was very warm for the

2o6 THE GULF STREAM.

season of the year, and the cause was assigned by many to the
erratic movement of the Gulf Stream. East of the Rocky
Mountains the United States Signal Service had eighty-six
signal stations, and at sixty-five of these stations, many of
them over a thousand miles from the sea, the temperature for
the month was many degrees above normal.

At Cape Hatteras the stream is always, winter and summer,
very near, — indeed, it is just outside the shoals,— and yet
here the temperature was more than six degrees warmer than
the normal.

For the cause of this we must look to the air, and not the
water. As it happened during December, the air pressure as
shown by the barometer was higher than usual in the vicinity
of the Gulf of Mexico and the Southern States, and much
lower toward Canada, so that the general movement of air was
from the warmer toward the colder parts of the continent.
The Gulf of Mexico and the Gulf Stream are warm, and the
heated air, rising from them, was carried north, and so
tempered the weather for the month.

Now what is the cause of the Gulf Stream ? Some say
that the water in the tropics, being heated, and consequently
lighter than the cold, heavy polar water, flows northward on
the surface, and the other water southward, underneath.
Others say that the Trade Winds, always blowing in one
direction toward the west, blow the water along, too, and so
begin and afterward keep up the movement. Both are, perhaps,
right to a certain extent, as to currents in general, but the
Gulf Stream is probably almost wholly due to the wind and
the waves alone. The water is pushed by the wind, and
thrown by the waves into the Caribbean Sea, from the western
end of which the accumulation of water runs into the Gulf of
Mexico, and from there it escapes through the Strait of
Florida into the Atlantic Ocean.

J. E. PiLLSBURY.

The Kuro Siwo.

Those of our readers who study geography, and especially
physical geography, will hardly have failed to notice the
remarkable difference between the climate of the eastern, or
Atlantic coast of North America and that of the western, or
Pacific coast in the same latitude.

Take, for example, the shores of Newfoundland, Labrador
and Greenland, as compared with those of Vancouver's Island,
Queen Charlotte Islands and Alaska. On the Atlantic coast
are found icebergs, icefields, frozen bays, stunted shrubs, and
only the most hardy of plants and grasses, while on the Pacific
coast are noble forests, luxuriant grasses, and a generally
equable climate throughout the year.

Juneau and Sitka in Alaska are but three degrees farther
south than Cape Farewell, the southern point of Greenland,
and they are ten degrees farther north than the southern part
of Newfoundland. But at Juneau herd's-grass may be seen
growing seven feet in height, and the flourishing kitchen
gardens are untouched by frost till late in September.

About Sitka are grand old woods, where firs and hemlocks
grow to a great size. The cedars of the Queen Charlotte
Islands also attain an enormous size, larger even than the
famous cedars of scripturally classic Lebanon. From these
great cedar trunks the Haida Indians excavate immense
canoes, often sixty feet in length by six or eight in breadth, —
which are capable of carrying a party of forty or fifty warriors.

We are so accustomed to regard climate as regulated by
the distance from the equator, that these facts seem strange,
and we are led to inquire the cause. Why does the west coast
have so much the milder and better climate ? The answer is
in two words :

" Kuro Siwo."

These two words are from the Japanese language and

208

THE KURO SIWO.

signify "Black Stream." The Kuro Si wo — so called from
the tint of the water within its limits — is a northeasterly
deflection of the great ocean current which flows north from
the equatorial seas and renders the climate of the Japan
Islands so equable and fruitful. A part of this warm stream
in the ocean crosses the Pacific from the coasts of Asia, and,

Drifted by the Kuro Siwo.

caught in the

great bight of the

Alaska peninsula

and the Aleutian

islets, flows in and

out among all those

hundreds of islands, from Sitka southward to Vancouver, and

gives to this whole coast its moist, mild winter.

But not alone has the Kuro Siw^o brought warmth and
moisture to the northwest coast ; it is now^ credited, by some
scientific men, with having borne the first human inhabitants
to America.

Eighty-five years ago, while the Russians were still in
possession of Alaska, — or Russian America, as it was then
called, — the attention of the good people of Sitka was attracted

THE KURO SIWO. 209

one morning to a strange-looking craft, which had apparently
come ashore during the night on one of the hundred little,
rocky, wooded islands that lie about the harbor — the islet
which to-day bears the name of Japonskoi.

Boats were manned, and those who approached the stranger
found it to be the dismasted, half water-logged and unman-
ageable hull of a Japanese junk. Strange to say, there were
ten or twelve Japanese on board, nearly dead from exposure,
disease and famine.

The junk had been dismasted in a tempest, while on a
voyage from one Japanese port to another, and, beyond the
power of the hapless crew to prevent it, had drifted steadily
northeastward in the Kuro Siwo, which sets constantly and
quite strongly from the coasts of China and Japan across the
Pacific toward America.

Thus we have it demonstrated that even within the present
century the Kuro Siwo has borne human beings from Asia,
the "great mother of the human race," to America. There
are also traditions that, on two former occasions, Japanese or
Chinese junks have drifted to the coast of America farther
southward. How many times these significant accidents may
have occurred in the great unwritten past of our continent no
one knows, and who shall attempt to say ?

Many ethnologists believe that the aboriginal Indian tribes
of America are of the same race and origin as the early people
of Siberia and Japan. Did the Kuro Siwo bring them ?

There have been many theories as to how America was
first peopled : one, that the earliest inhabitants came hither
from the mythic sunken continent of Atlantis ; another, that
they were the far-wandering " lost tribes" of Israel, and still
another that they crossed Bering's Straits on the ice from Asia.

This last theory, suggested by the Japanese junk borne to
Sitka by the Kuro Siwo, may bear examination, but, like
other .speculations of the class, it is incapable of proof — and
not of other than strictly scientific value, even if it could be
proved true.

C. A. Stephens.

The Trade Winds.

Most people have heard or read of the Trade Winds — or
simply "The Trades," as they are called by sailors — but
probably it is not generally known what causes these winds
and where they are found.

It is easy to understand that a wind which is steady in
force and constant in direction is of great benefit to sailing

vessels, and it is from
this advantage to navi-
gators — and hence to
trade — that the Trade
Winds take their name.
These winds are per-
manent over both the
land and water, prevail-
ing in, and often beyond,
the torrid zone. As the
air within this zone re-
ceives a greater amount
of heat than the air
outside, it rises, and its
place is supplied by the
colder air which rushes in from beyond the tropics.

If the earth were at rest, it is evident that a north wind
would blow in the northern half of the torrid zone, and a
south wind in the southern half. But the earth, instead of
being at rest, revolves on its axis from west to east. A little
reflection will enable any one to understand that the greatest
velocity resulting from this rotation must be found at the
Equator, and that as one recedes from the Equator, the velocity
diminishes until the pole is reached, where it is nothing.

The wind which is rushing toward the Equator has con-
tinually a less velocity than that of the surface over which it

A Fair Wind.

THE TRADE WINDS. 211

passes, and so falls behind more and more as the Equator is
approached. This gives it a direction opposite to the earth's
rotation, in other words, a direction from the east to the west,
which, combined with the motion from the north and south,
before mentioned, gives as a result the northeast Trades in
the Northern Hemisphere, and the southeast Trades in the
Southern Hemisphere.

Speaking roughly, the limits of the Trades are thirty
degrees north latitude and thirty degrees south latitude,
between the two being a band of calms and light, variable
airs. This belt is called "The Doldrums," perhaps from
the old Spanish word "dolorosa," — signifying tormenting,
which a region of calms and variables undoubtedly is to a
sailing vessel. The Doldrums are the meeting ground of the
northeast and the southeast Trades, and at this meeting point
they have a neutralizing effect on each other. Here rains are
heavy and frequent.

The limits of the Trades are constantly changing, varying
with the season of the year. Following the motion of the sun
in the heavens, in the summer they extend perhaps two or
three hundred miles farther toward the north, and in winter
they recede toward the south. It will be understood from
this that the belt of Equatorial calms is variable in position as
it also is in width. In spring its centre is found about one
hundred miles north of the Equator, while in summer it
extends five hundred miles higher in latitude. Its width is
ordinarily three hundred miles, but sometimes it is thrice as
wide, and then again there is occasionally no dividing line
between the Trades, and vessels are fortunate enough to run
directly from one into the other.

To come now from the Trades in general to the Trades of the
Atlantic. These have been known for centuries. Columbus
probably noted the northeast Trades on his first voyage of
discovery. When not interrupted by hurricanes, which are
uncommon, except in August, September and October, this
northeast Trade Wind region is a veritable summer sea, so
much so, indeed, that it was called "The Lady's Gulf" by

212 THE TRADE WINDS.

the old Spanish navigators. It extends from the Doldrums to
the Horse Latitudes, which is a belt of calms and variable
winds found between thirty degrees and thirty-five degrees
north latitude, according to the season of the year, and takes
its peculiar name from the fact that in early days, ships

in carrying cargoes of horses from Europe to the
West Indies frequently found it necessary to throw them
overboard, owing to the frequent changes — rains, thunder,
lightning, puffs, and calms following each other in rapid
succession in this perplexing region.

Both the northeast and southeast Trades of the Atlantic
blow over a wider extent on the African than on the American
side, but, on the other hand, the Doldrums are much broader
on the eastern side, making it a part of the ocean to be avoided,
if possible. The southeast Trades are much stronger and
constant than the northeast, which are, in fact, somewhat
capricious, frequently showing breaks in their regularity

THE TRADE WINDS.

213

which it is hard to account for. I have, after experiencing
very fair southeast Trades, steamed entirely across the
northeast Trade Wind region, in the month of May, without
finding any wind at all to speak of.

It is hard to explain why, on a given day, a vessel in
this region should find good, steady Trades, while on the*

same day, another vessel, a few miles east or west of the first,
should encounter nothing but calms.

The Trade Wind regions are a delight to the mariner:
Fogs are seldom experienced, and gales rarely occur. The
weather is pleasant and the air dry. The wind being constant,
the captain and officers have very little anxiety, and the
sailors still less, of the usual and monotonous work of setting
and taking in sail, reefing, and bracing yards. In fact, vessels
sometimes "run down the Trades" under all sail, and for
days together there is no necessity of touching a rope.

E. B. Underwood.

The Mariners' Compass.

' ' Do not speak to the man at the wheel ' ' is printed on the
vvheelhouse of many sea-going steamers. Why must the man
at the wheel not be spoken to ?

Because, during his two hours' turn, his attention ought
to be fixed upon his compass. Let him turn to a passenger
to answer a question, and the vessel will depart slightly from
her course. Time will be lost, force will be wasted, and the
steersman will hear a short, sharp word from the officer of the
deck, calling him back to his duty.

The compass is the very eye of the ship. A skilful seaman,
using the knowledge which the compass has already given
him, could navigate a vessel across the Atlantic — in time.
It is the compass that enables the captain to shoot his arrowy
steamer over the trackless sea in less than a week, through
fog, darkness and storm, without swerving from his course.

Man possesses few instruments more valuable than this,
and yet no one knows who invented it. If we ask the Chinese,
the people who invented so many useful things, they point to
some obscure passages in their ancient books, which do not
prove their claim. If the Chinese had the compass, why did
they not use it ? From time immemorial their lumbering
junks hugged the shore, and rarely ventured farther out to
sea than to Japan, which is only a few miles from the coast of
A.sia.

If we ask the Greeks, we begin to get a little light on
the subject, for the Greeks at least knew something of the
attractive power of the magnet.

They tell us, in their mythological way, that a shepherd
named Magnes, while pasturing his flock upon Mount Ida,
found one day that the iron at the end of his staff adhered to
the ground, and to the nails upon his shoes. He picked up
some of the dark-colored stones under his feet, brought them

THE mariners' COMPASS.

215

home with him, and thus gave to mankind a knowledge of the
magnet, which was named after him. The Greeks w^ere great
story-tellers. They had their legends about everything, and
this about Magnes is one of them, from which we can at least
learn that they were acquainted with the magnet's power of
attraction ; but they knew nothing of that valuable quality'
which it imparts to the needle of the compass. The}^ knew

^.Uai,(

A Chinese Junk.

no method of steering vessels in the open sea except by the
stars, the flight of birds, and glimpses of the distant headlands.

Nor did the Romans. The Roman writers were lost in
wonder at the magnet's attractive power, but there their
knowledge of it ended. The elder Pliny speaks of it with the
simple amusement of a little child.

" What is there in existence," he asks, "more inert than

2l6 THE mariners' COMPASS.

a piece of rigid stone ? And yet, behold ! Nature has here
endowed stone with both sense and hands. What is there
more stubborn than hard iron ? Nature has in this instance
bestowed upon it both feet and intelligence. It allows itself,
in fact, to be attracted by the magnet. . . . The moment
the metal comes near it, it springs toward the magnet, and, as
it clasps it, is held fast in the magnet's embraces."

This was written about the year seventy of our era, and
there is no proof that any one in the world had yet detected
the marvellous power of the magnet to impart to a piece of
iron the propensity to point to the north. The passage in the
New Testament which describes the eventful voyage and
shipwreck of St. Paul speaks (Acts 28 : 13) of "fetching a
compass," but the new version gives a better translation, " we
made a circuit, and came to Rhegium." No Mediterranean
pilot in the time of St. Paul steered his bark by the aid of the
magnetic needle.

It was at some time near the end of the twelfth century of
the Christian era that the mysterious power of the magnet
upon the needle became known to a few of the learned men of
Europe. Probably the knowledge of it was brought to them
by the Crusaders returning from the Holy Land, and there is
much reason to believe that this power of the magnet was first
observ^ed by the Arabs, an ingenious race, and the most skilful
travellers in the Middle Ages, whether on land or sea. The
Crusaders began to return home in numbers about A. D. 1 100,
and the knowledge of the magnetic needle gradually spread
over the north of Europe. The bold Norwegians seem to
have been the first to use the needle in navigating the sea.

In the year 1258, a learned Italian, named Brunetto Eatini,
who was afterwards tutor to the poet Dante, travelled in
England, and visited at Oxford Friar Roger Bacon, a man
devoted to the pursuit of science.

Eatini wrote letters home to his friends, in one of which he
says that Friar Bacon showed him, among other things, "a
black, ugly stone called a magnet, which has the surprising
property of drawing iron to it, and upon which, if a needle be

On the Bridge of an Ocean Steamship.

2l8 THE mariners' COMPASS.

rubbed and afterwards fastened to a straw, so that it shall
swim upon water, the needle will instantly turn toward the
Pole Star; so that, be the night ever so dark, neither moon
nor star visible, yet shall the mariner be able, by the help of
this needle, to steer his vessel aright."

Here we have the fact plainly stated, as it had been known
to a few persons in England and France for many years.
Friar Bacon imparted this knowledge to the Italian traveller
as a dreadful secret, perilous to disclose to the common people,
and still more perilous to make known to the ordinary priests
of the age. Latini explains the reason, and in truth, Roger
Bacon passed ten years of his life a prisoner, partly because
he knew a little too much of the secrets of nature, and partly
because he advocated the reform of the church.

" This discovery," continues Latini, " which appears useful
in so great a degree to all who travel by sea, must remain
concealed until other times ; because no master-mariner dares
to use it, lest he should fall under the supposition of being a
magician ; nor would even the sailors venture themselves out
to sea under his command, if he took with him an instrument
which carries so great an appearance of being constructed
under the influence of some infernal spirit."

These two learned men conversed upon this wondrous
quality of the magnet, and they looked forward to some
happier time, when men should be more enlightened, and not
afraid to make researches in natural science. Then, said
lyatini, mankind will reap the benefit of the labors of such
men as Friar Bacon, and bestow honor upon them " instead of
obloquy and reproach."

Neither Bacon nor Latini lived to see that better time for
which they hoped. When they had been dead a hundred and
fifty years, the Portuguese, under Prince Henry, the Navigator,
were using the compass in their voyages down the African
coast. In a few years the Madeiras and the other Atlantic
groups were discovered by its assistance.

The Cape of Good Hope was turned, and India reached by
sea. One of the mariners formed in the school of Prince

THE mariners' COMPASS. 219

Henry was a man destined to put the compass to the sublime
use of discovering a new world.

Seamen did not long employ so awkward an instrument as
a needle floating in a straw on a basin of water. About the
year 1300 an Italian navigator, named Flavio Gioja, there is
good reason to believe, constructed the compass such as we
now commonly have, a needle mounted upon a pivot, and
enclosed in a box.

The Italian word for compass is bossola, which signifies
box ; and from this the French word for compass is derived,
boussole, which also means box.

These were admirable improvements, and made such an
impression that the improver is frequently spoken of as the
inventor of the compass. The true inventor was the unknown
man — when did he live, and where did he live? no one can
tell — who first observed that a needle, rubbed by the magnet,
has an inclination to point to the north.

One curious fact remains to be mentioned. The modern
compasses, those used in the naval services of Europe and
America, as well as by the Atlantic steamships, resemble in
principle the needle and floating straw mentioned by Roger
Bacon.

Ritchie's "liquid compass" has the needle enclosed in a
thin, round metal case, air-tight, which floats upon liquid,
and has also the support of a pivot. The needle, being thus
upheld by the liquid, can be heavier, and thus have a more
powerful directing force.

This we may call a return to first principles. So much for
the history of the compass, which has doubled the area of
civilization, and brought the two great continents within easy
visiting distance of one another. A needle in a straw, afloat
in a basin of water ! A charm hanging at a lady's watch !
A box with a card in it, suspended upon a pivot ! What a
little thing to be of such immeasurable value !

James Parton.

Minot's Ledge Light.

' ' There she towers ! Spray clean over ! ' '

Our party stood on the rough bit of New England shore
which belongs to the government, and senses for ' ' the base of
supplies " to this, the most noted of American lights.

Minot's Ledge Light indeed deserves to rank with the first
three or four in the world. Perhaps in point of peril in building,
difficulty of construction, tragic history, cost, usefulness,
picturesque beauty as a feature of the landscape, or the silent
heroism of its attending, no light is its superior, not even the
far-famed Eddystone, so inseparably connected with the name
of its ingenious and daring builder, John Smeaton.

It was a dull-clouded, harsh midwinter's day. The mer-
ciless winds came in from the full Atlantic. The sea ran high
in the protected bay hard by where we stood. Far out where
the bluestone light was breasting the waves, the rush of the
sea must have been tremendous against that moveless citadel
of a beneficent government's watch and care for the sailor.

Behind us were the cottages where reside the families of
the keeper and his two assistants. The children of the hardy
men came timidly about us, bright and pretty. Plainly, though
neatly, clad women showed faces at the cottage doors, and
courteously directed us "up on the lookout hill " or " Beacon
Hill," as another called it, whence the best possible shore
view of the light could be obtained. As we clambered up the
stones we asked all sorts of questions.

" You can signal from here out to your father on the light ? "

"Yes."

"You often pass back and forth your signs, when the .sea
is heavy ? ' '

" Yes. When any one is sick on shore father is informed
of hopes or fears, how fares the sick one, by the dip of a
lantern or the motions of a flag." Sometimes the father was

MINOT'S LEDGE LIGHT.

The Lantern.

not well when it came his turn to go back to dutj', and then
the oldest boy would climb up every morning to Beacon Hill,
to catch, with his strong young eyes and a glass, the faint, far
signal from the light ; " just to quiet mother," as he explained.

The lusty little chap seemed to think it was quite absurd
to suppose such a father as his could
be very sick out there, or die in his
little round tower in full sight of
home, though inaccessible to men at
times, still more so to wife or child.

The light stands upon a mere
thumb of rock, which was hardly
exposed even at low tide and smooth
water, yet it was a couchant lion in
the way of vessels entering or de-
parting from Boston harbor.

Eighty-eight feet high the tower
now springs up from the very midst
of the waters. To debark from the
boat on the light is never a simple task, generally perilous,
and many days wholly impossible. The task of provisioning,
in pleasantest summer weather, is one of great skill ; of course
everything, from a drop of water to a lump of coal or bottle of
medicine, must be stored in the summer-time for the long,
stormy New England winter.

In the centre of the tower is a well filled with fresh water,
a gigantic cooler which, in the warmest weather, is delightfully
efficient.

Not unfrequently the most skilful handling of a boat
cannot prevent spilling provisions, and even the men, into this
rushing, turbulent sea. A rope's end saves the bold keeper,
and they pull him in and high up to the door, but the pro-
visions must be replaced.

Two of the keepers, at least, are always on dut3^ while one
is ashore taking a respite.

The men stay three weeks on the light out of every month ;
this gives each man one week with his family out of every

ivimot's Ledge Lighthouse.

MINOT S LEDGE LIGHT. 223

four, provided the weather is such as to admit transfers to
be made. On the light one man is always awake and watching
the great lantern.

A perfect meteorological and hydrographic record is kept ;
the wind, temperature, passing sails and their direction,
floating wreckage, or any marine incident whatsoever. The
writing of this " log," with necessary observ^ation, is a welcome
occupation to the lonely prisoners of duty.

Comfortable circular rooms occur in succession, one beneath
another, from the lantern down to the solid base courses of
stone. A fifth of the tower, from the rock, is dovetailed
blocks of blue granite. Rooms are especially set apart for
provisions, sleeping, cooking, charts and the like. Of course
no exercise, except in a very limited degree, is possible in
such narrow quarters.

The pay is not large. It varies somewhat under different
administrations. The head keeper has never received over
twelve hundred dollars per year ; often he has less. Yet
faithful men are never lacking who wish the situation —
generally retired shipmasters who are able thus to eke out
" the salt money " by such added earnings.

The assistants each receive much less than the head keeper.
I asked a brother of a former keeper about life on the light.
He said that a heavy sea was most trying at half-tide.

As the gigantic mid-ocean breakers strike downward on
the ledge at the base of the tower, the shock is often tre-
mendous. It may cause the stove-lid to rattle out of place,
for instance, and makes the entire structure shudder.

The trembling gives a sickening sensation to one who is
not accustomed to it, and is quite capable of taxing the
strongest nerves. The recollection of the two brave keepers
who perished when the previous light was swept out to sea
must come to their adventurous successors.

My informant thought, however, that only two possible
causes could occasion an overthrow of the lighthouse. Earth-
quake, or an}^ disturbance of the foundation rock, would
cause speedy ruin ; so also, possibly, might a wreck coming

224

MINOT'S LEDGE LIGHT.

from the northeast at half-tide in a gale, the vessel being a
gigantic battering-ram.

No rush of the sea, no storm of wind, no cloud of spray,
often practically covering the entire structure for a moment —
none of these poetic terrors of the ocean had any menace for
the intelligent keeper.

There is a huge bell for fogs set in horizontally, in whose
throat and across whose brazen lips a most curious and
melancholy music is made by a gale of wind. The effect of
the continual groaning and moaning of this unearthly voice,
in deepest diapason, my informant mentioned as exasper-
atingly trying to the nerves at times.

He told me that the keepers are lovers of the sea, and
always interested in the sublimity of that never dull point of
prospect. Hours together they sit dreaming on old ocean,
and communing with that great nature whom we all regard
with wonder, but few of us see in such wonderful moods.

Emory J. Haynes.

^-^ ^^5^-^.

..T=. i.

Buoys.

All who have visited the approaches to a seaport town
have noticed the numerous buoys and marks which are placed
there as aids to navigation.

Tugging and jerking at their chains as the tide sucks in
around them, or lying quietly upon the placid waters of some
sheltered bay, are black buoys and red buoys, buoys with
horizontal black and red stripes, buoys with black and white
vertical stripes, and ding-donging bell- and whistling-buoys.
Well out to sea lie much larger buoys, called mammoth buoys,
gripping the sand with their iron claws.

Though these marks and buoys may seem to have been
put haphazard here and there, each has a meaning. The
place that each shall occupy is carefully chosen for it, and its
arrangement is governed by a careful system.

These aids to navigation, which are called "day marks"
in contradistinction to the lights and beacons, fall under the
jurisdiction of the lyighthouse Board.

The coast of the United States, including the lakes and
navigable rivers, is divided into sixteen districts. A naval
officer is in charge of each. Under his direction all the buoys
in his district are placed.

In all the districts similar buoys mean the same thing, and
a buoy that has a particular distinguishing color on the coast
of Maine has the same significance if in the Bay of Mobile or
off the coast of Oregon. So the mariner who sails into Boston
Harbor is guided and directed exactly in the same way as he
who enters the Golden Gate.

Not only are the colors and positions of the buoys given
on the Coast Survey Charts, but the Lighthouse Board
publishes a yearly list, which is distributed gratuitously for
the benefit of commerce, in which each of its about five
thousand buoys is located and described.

226

Coming into port from sea, the first buoy that we pass
may be a mammoth buoy. I say "may be," because these
buoys are only used in special cases, such as to mark the
approaches to channels over bars or shoals that lie at a
considerable distance from the coast. The entrances to most
harbors do not require any such special marks.

The buoys that designate the channel, and which lie on
either side of it, are red and black. The red buoys, which all
have even numbers, must be left on the starboard or right
hand in passing in from sea, while the black buoys, alwa^'S
with odd numbers, must be left on the port hand.

In case there are two or more channels, they are distin-
guished by a difference either in the size or shape of the
buoys.

If there should chance to be an isolated rock, wreck or any
obstruction which has a channel on either side of it, it is
shown b}^ a buoy painted with red
and black horizontal stripes.

Buoys with white and black per-
pendicular stripes lie in mid channel,
and indicate that they must be
passed close to avoid danger.

Finally, buoys surmounted by
triangles, cages, and so forth, are
an indication that there is a turning-
point in the channel.

There are, in addition to the
buoys already mentioned, two other
kinds which are also fog signals,
namely, the whistling buoy and the
bell buoy.

Whistling buoys are more com-
The Whistling Buoy. pHcatcd affairs. They are only seen

at harbor entrances, or off some prominent point. What one
sees in coming upon a whistling buoy is an object that looks
much like a big red pear, afloat upon the waves. But a closer
view shows that the pear is of the size of a hogshead, and that

227

at its upper end is fixed a whistle, connected with the pear
bulb by a tube. Now if one could see down into this painted
bulb, the big stem which runs through it and down into the
sea for about thirty feet would be found to be nearly a foot in
diameter.

^4)jm^ ^y ^'^ ■ ^ ^^^^mH'^-

»^

-^^

This long pipe is open at the bottom and closed at the top.
As it sits in the water, therefore, there is a water-line inside
the pipe, just as there is outside. The buoy may dance up
and down as much as it pleases, but the big column of water
inside the pipe does not dance, but remains perfectly still,
because there are no waves down below% where it enters, to
affect it. As the buoy goes up on a wave, pulling the pipe
up with it, it leaves, of course, a longer space of pipe above
the water-column, and a consequent partial vacuum. When
the buoy falls, the air above the water is compressed again.

Perhaps the simplest explanation of this movement is to

say that the water-column and the rising and falling pipe

round it are piston-rod and cylinder, and their motive power

228 BUOYS.

is the restless Atlantic swell. There is an air-tube connecting
above with the pipe, and when the rise on a wave makes the
vacuum within, the outer air hastens to fill it. Then, as the
pipe goes down, making the air press down on the resisting
water, an outlet is provided for it in a small middle tube,
which runs up from the pipe directly into the whistle fastened
atop, high and dry above the waves. The rushing upward
air that follows every plunge of the buoy is like the breath
from the lips of some great strong sea-giant blown into the
whistle.

The blasts, of course, vary greatl}^ with the kind of sea.
After a storm that creates a heavy swell, the buoy rises and
falls very slowly, and the whistle sounds with a long and
mournful wail. But in a brisk breeze, the buoy bobs merrily
up and down on the quick, choppy waves, and the whistle
goes with a cheery " Toot ! toot ! toot ! " not at all suggestive
of shipwreck and disaster.

They are not pleasant neighbors. Their sound is frequently
heard at a distance of ten miles, and under very favorable
circumstances it has been heard fifteen miles.

The bell buoy consists of the bottom section of a buoy
floating in the water, on which is mounted a framework
bearing a bell which, instead of the ordinary tongue and
clapper, has a small cannon-ball supported on a platform just
underneath the bell's mouth. This ball rolls to and fro with
every motion of the sea.

These buoys are used in harbors and rivers where the
water is smoother than in the roadsteads, and where it is not
necessary that their sound shall be heard a great distance.
Ordinary buoys, not of the whistling or bell variety, are made
of either iron or wood. Those of iron are hollow, with
air-tight compartments, and are of three shapes, called
respectively nun, can and ice buoys.

The nun buoy is almo.st conical in shape ; the can buoy
approaches the cylindrical form, and the ice buoy is very long
and narrow, and resembles the spar buoy in form.

The wooden, or .spar buoys, are sticks ranging in length

BUOYS. 229

from twelve to sixty feet, and painted according to the uses to
which they are to be put. The low^er end is fitted for a
mooring chain.

A buoy has many vicissitudes, and is exposed to many
dangers. Passing steamers run down the iron buoys and rip
them open, or cut off big pieces of spar buoys with their sharp
propeller blades.

As the iron buoys are made in compartments, they are
seldom sunk by such collisions, but their line of flotation is
often so lowered that they have to be replaced.

Again, despite the fact that the United States laws punish
by a fine of one thousand dollars any one who is convicted of
unlawfully injuring any work for the improvement of naviga-
tion,— and this in addition to other penalties provided for by
the different states, — the very people for whose benefit these
buoys are laid often unlawfully make fast their vessels to
them, and drag them out of position.

Again, the ice, floating down in masses, parts the mooring
chain, or tears the mooring anchor from its hold and carries
the buoy far out to sea, to break upon the horizon of some
astonished mariner there.

There is now, or was until recently, a buoy anchored off
the coast of Ireland which made the journey there from New
York harbor in six weeks. When it was picked up off the
Irish coast, the Irish Lighthouse Establishment reported the
fact to our Lighthouse Board. Then it was presented to the
Irish Board, who thereupon added their characteristic marks
to those already upon it, and moored it near the spot where it
was found. Few persons realize the enormous extent of our
coast-line along which lighthouses and buoys have to be
placed for the benefit of commerce. Under the head of the
"General Seacoast of the United States" there are, on the
Atlantic Ocean, more than two thousand statute miles ; on the
Gulf of Mexico more than eighteen hundred, and on the
Pacific Ocean an almost similar extent ; w^hile Alaska has
nearly forty-eight hundred miles of seacoast.

Including the islands, bays, rivers, etc., to the head of

230

BUOYS,

tide-water, there are on the coasts of the Atlantic Ocean nearly
thirty-seven thousand statute miles ; on the Gulf of Mexico
nineteen thousand ; on the Pacific Ocean nine thousand, and
in Alaska twenty-seven thousand.

Add to this three thousand miles of lake coast and five
thousand miles of navigable rivers, and we have a grand total
of nearly one hundred and ten thousand miles of coast which
has to be looked out for, and guarded in some degree.

W. F. Low.

The Pilot -Boat.

Most people who have traversed Massachusetts Ba}- in
summer recognize as pilot-boats the jaunt}' craft distinguished
by a black number painted in bold relief against their sails ;
but few have a correct idea of the duties of these boats, or how
they are performed.

Boston Harbor, a portion of Massachusetts Bay, has, strictly
speaking, a mouth about three and three-fourths miles in
width, extending from Deer Island to Point Allerton. But
the true approaches to this harbor are five channels, one of
which, the main ship channel, is used by almost all incoming
vessels. It has its least width at a point called the Narrows,
situated not far from the mouth, and marked by a lighthouse.

Though this passage is well marked with lights by night
and buoys by day, the captain of a vessel with a precious
cargo of freight and passengers is seldom willing to take the
chances of running his craft upon some hidden ledge or bar.
He generally prefers that a regularly licensed pilot shall take
charge, and bring his vessel safely into port.

The United Colonies early recognized the need for pilots,
and passed stringent laws for their support and regulations
for their guidance. The earliest pilots put out in small
rowboats from Pollock's and Brewster's Islands, boarding the
small vessels of early days with comparative ease and safety ;
but as steam supplanted sail, the rowboat developed into the
swift and stanch schooners of to-day, which often go two
hundred or three hundred miles out, and even to Halifax.

Before the pilot of the present day can be entrusted with
his warrant to perform the duties incumbent upon him, he
must serv^e a long period in the pilot-boats as a sailor, or
"boat-keeper." After he has served this apprenticeship for
a sufficient term, he applies for a commission.

If his employers, the pilots, recommend him, and he can

232

THE PILOT-BOAT.

pass an examination before the Pilot Commissioners appointed
by the government, a warrant is given to him which entitles
him to take into port vessels which draw a limited number of
feet aft. L,ater, if he has performed his duties satisfactorily,
he receives his full commission to act as pilot upon vessels of
au}^ size.

The pilot is paid b}- the owners of the vessel at a fixed rate
of so much a foot for every foot the vessel sinks into the water

Outward Bound.

at the stern. He does not pocket the amount, but puts it into
the common fund of the earnings of all the pilots attached to
the boat to which he belongs. This fund is used, first, to pay
the expenses of running the boat, and all that remains is
divided equally. The boat may be owned by the pilots or by
outside parties.

Vessels take a pilot out as well as in, usually from the
same boat from which the inward pilot was taken. To take

THE PILOT-BOAT.

233

the outgoing pilot off the vessel, a boat is always on duty at
what is called the Inner or Hull Station, which is within
certain defined lines outside of Boston and inside of Minot's
Ivight.

The boats perform this duty in regular order, according to
their numbers, and remain on duty here one week at a time,
from Monday noon until Monday noon.

The boat on station flies a flag at the masthead by day,
and at night carries a white light and no side lights. The
station boat cannot board vessels outside of station limits, and
is obliged to take pilots out of all outgoing vessels.

The number so conspicuously displaj'ed on a pilot-boat's
mainsail is worn in obedience to law. Its purpose is to inform
captains that the boat is a licensed pilot-boat.

Besides the Hull station, there is another at Cape Cod, to
which each boat goes from the Hull station after coming to
the city to refit.

When not upon station duty the boats are free to go where
they will, and the pilots show rare judgment in selecting a
spot where ocean travellers are likely to come into view. Their
sight is trained to wonderful keenness.

Coastwise vessels, both sail and steam, are not required to
take a pilot, but all vessels from foreign parts must pay
pilotage dues, whether they take on a pilot or not. Incoming
steamships are watched for eagerly in all weathers, and often
boarded far out at sea. The first sign of smoke is noted, and
while the landsman is trying to steadj^ the glass so that it will
not hit the zenith or the sea, as the boat jumps, the pilot is
often telling the name of the coming ship. Then the horizon
is swept for rival pilot-boats. Every tiny speck of white is
scanned and noted, for although the pilots of each boat act in
accord, the boats compete with one another, and have many
exciting races for ships.

The crew of a pilot-boat, when she leaves Boston on a
cruise, consists of her pilots, four boat-keepers and a steward.
The pilots occupy the cabin, and the one whom the rotation
has designated to be the first one to board a ship takes

The Pilot -Boat.

THE PILOT-BOAT. 235

command. As soon as the boat passes Boston Light he sets a
constant watch, which is kept day and night. The other
pilots read, play cards and sleep ; but this one whose turn it
is to go may be required on deck day and night.

The four boat-keepers stand regular watches and perform
the duties of a sailor, handing, reefing and steering.

The boat is sailed to what is thought to be the spot where
an incoming steamer is most likely to be met ; and if no other
boat is in sight, she is hove to — that is, kept swinging as on
a pivot, her head sails aback, and the rudder turned against
them. If nothing comes in sight another place is sought ; and
the vigil is not relaxed by day or night. Meanwhile, the
watch is busy at the many bits of work always needed.

Perhaps after a long, monotonous wait the cry is raised,
"Smoke to east'ard ! " Then all is excitement. Pilots and
crew are alike astir. The flag is set, and if another boat is
near, a race as exciting to its participants as an international
regatta ensues — a race for money and for home.

Perhaps the pilot in charge exclaims in a disappointed
tone, " Haul down your flag ! " What does it mean ? Simpl}'
that he has discovered a flag aft on the steamer, and knows
that she has been boarded by a pilot. But if this does not
occur, and his boat wins the race, he keeps on until close to
the great steamer. Then the command is given, "Get your
canoe ready ! " On each side of the pilot-boat's fore hatch is
kept a rowboat, which is called in Boston a "canoe," and in
New York a "yawl."

The lee canoe is righted and shoved over the low rail.
Two boat-keepers and the pilot get in ; and as the pilot-boat,
which is now in charge of the second man to go out, passes
the steamer, the canoe is let go and speeds away.

The pilot climbs up the steamer's towering side by a
spider-like ladder, the canoe drops astern, and the pilot-boat
is rounded to and picks it up.

The process of seeking vessels and putting pilots aboard
them is repeated until every pilot has gone. When the last
pilot has departed, the boat is perhaps one hundred and fifty

236 the: pilot-boat.

miles at sea, but at all times its position, the distance to
Boston lyight and its direction are known. The position is
kept by ' ' dead reckoning ' ' when the weather prevents daily
observations from being made.

When the last pilot is out, the first boat-keeper takes
command, and brings the boat back to Boston as speedily as
he may, to take its own pilots on board again and begin
another cruise.

As the first boat-keeper has command in all weathers, and
as his boat draws from twelve to fifteen feet, he soon learns to
be both a good sailor and an experienced pilot. When a pilot
boards a ship the master of the vessel yields all responsibility
to him, and follows his instructions.

This is the pilot's life. Like all others, it has its bright
and dark side. He is away upon the ocean, he enjo^'S re-
freshing breezes in hot weather, and on the whole lives a
healthful life, which, in the summer, may be delightful.

But he is exposed to many dangers, to fatigue, to cold and
terrible winter storms. He has long and tedious waits both
on shore and at sea, and many disappointments. In thick
weather he is in the track of steamers, and in danger of being
run down ; in winter his boat is covered with ice, and he has
to trust himself to a cockle-shell, and perform perhaps an
extremely dangerous task in boarding a vessel.

Some of the pilot-boats have been dismasted. All have
lost booms and split sails. Sometimes they are crippled, and
drift for days covered with ice, until they resemble small
icebergs ; but they are stanch boats, and seldom go down.

In winter, when the howling northwest gale or driving
snow-.storm roars in our ears, and we incline to grumble at
our lot, it may be well to remember that out upon the angry
ocean many a little pilot-boat may be tossing and plunging,
braving all danger in the duty of aiding fellow-mariners to
avoid the perils of our coasts.

W. EusTis Barker.

An Ocean Guide -Post.

The island of Nantucket, twenty-five miles south of the
southeastern corner of Cape Cod, is surrounded by shoals, the
most extensive and among the most dangerous along the
Atlantic coast of the United States. These shoals extend
from the east and south sides of the island for a distance
varying from ten to twenty miles. At some places they rise
almost to the surface of the sea, but in most instances they
are far enough under water to allow a vessel of ordinary size
to run some little distance upon them before striking.

Formerly vessels were pounded to pieces on these shoals
ever}^ year. Now vessels are seldom wrecked there, partly
for the reason that light-ships have been stationed at the most
dangerous points in the ordinary tracks of shipping, and
partly because the shoals are more accurately laid down on
the later charts.

The most southeasterly of these shoals lies in the track of
the great transatlantic steamers plying between New York
and the ports of Great Britain, Germany and France. Part of
this group is known as Davis's New South Shoals. Just at
the outer edge of them — twenty-four miles from Siasconset,
the nearest point of Nantucket, and something over fifty miles
in a straight line from the mainland — is anchored the South
Shoal light-ship.

This ship heads for no port, makes no harbor, nor seeks
the protection of a lee shore, no matter how hard the storm,
how fierce the gale. It is perhaps the loneliest habitation in
the world, and the crew are more isolated than any body of
men on all the wide ocean.

Year after year they are tossed and beaten by immense
ocean waves, a living guide-post on the trackless sea. All
day and all night, day after day, year after year, this little
body of nine hardy seamen keep watch, lest some ship come

238

AN OCEAN GUIDE-POST.

too near them and meet its doom. Often the^^ are forced to
warn others to keep away, when their own hearts are yearning
for news of the world and their homes.

During the summer the government lighthouse tender
visits the ship occasionally to carry supplies. When she
steams into the harbor of Nantucket and announces that she

Signalling the Liyht bhip

is going to the vSouth Shoal, the news spreads rapidly over the
little town. Many letters and greetings are hurried to the
steamer that will carry them to the anxious husbands and
fathers on the light-ship. At that season the weather is
nearly always calm, and passing vessels are often spoken by
the crew of the light-.ship, who sometimes send out a boat
with letters for their friends ashore.

These letters may be carried from almost within sight of

AN OCEAN GUIDE-POST. 239

their destination to some port hundreds of miles away, and
thence returned by the regular mail to Nantucket. In some
instances they have been carried as far as Baltimore.

Another remarkable fact is that none but foreigners ever
speak the light-ship. American vessels pass by unheeding.
Perhaps the captain never reflects that some cheering attention
is fairly due to the men who may at some time save his vessel
from destruction and himself from a watery grave.

Foreign ships if hailed always lie to, and give what news
they can to the crew. About the first of December the last
trip for the winter is made by the tender. Then begins for
the light-ship's crew a dreary, long period, varied only by the
sea washing over the ship more to-day than yesterday, or the
compass shifting more speedih^ as the ship heaves and tugs at
the great chain cable, and circles around her monstrous
anchor of three and a half tons' weight.

When the long winter, with its snow and ice and storm,
passes and the sun of spring once more warms the air, the
tender again starts out to visit the vessel, and carry to the
crew the first news which they have had from the rest of the
world for months.

The South Shoal light-ship is not a large vessel. She is
only one hundred and five feet long over all, and twenty-four
feet across the widest part amidships. Her depth is but
twelve feet. The distance between decks, which is the living
space for the crew, is much less.

She is rigged with two short masts. Near the top of each
is a circular beacon to mark her as a light-ship by day ; at
night a large octagonal lantern is hoisted up on each mast.

These lanterns hold eight powerful lamps each, with
reflectors so placed that they completely encircle the mast,
which passes through the centre of the lantern. So strong is
this light that it can be seen eleven miles away in clear
weather. The duty of the crew is to clean, trim and fill these
lamps every day, and to keep them burning at night.

From a little house on deck called the lantern-house those
of the crew who are on duty watch the lamps all night. In

240 AN OCEAN GUIDE-POST.

the storms of winter they are obliged to keep brushing the
snow from the glass fronts of the lanterns, which in very cold
weather must be lowered at short intervals that the ice may be
broken off in order that the lights may not become obscured
or the lanterns frozen to the mast.

The hull of the light-ship is built double for extra
strength, and is constructed on principles best calculated to
resist the eternal beating of the waves. A ship which sails
the sea gives way in some degree to the force of the swell, as
it rises and falls with the motion of the water ; but the
anchored light-ship must meet unyieldingly the pressure of
every wave. As each roller strikes and the anchor chain
tightens with a jerk, the shock is terrible. The pitching is so
great all the time that the bunks in which the men sleep are
deep canvas bags slung between two high wooden s-ides, in
order that the sleeper shall not be thrown out.

Everything has to be fastened securely in its place.
Cooking utensils are chained on the stove. Plates and dishes
are confined to the table by pegs,
which are driven around them, and
even the men's shoes, when taken
off at night, must be tied to some-
thing or they will be hurled all over
the cabin.

Sometimes the vessel rolls so
much that the boats, which hang on davits over the sides
higher than a man's head above the deck, are submerged,
and come up full of water.

There are nine men in the crew, including the captain,
mate and cook. The captain and mate are known as the
keeper and assistant keeper.

In summer, when half the crew by turns come ashore for a
rest, a tenth man is added, so that there are always four men
and one officer aboard. This force is not enough to handle the
ship in times of danger. Five men can barely handle the
great anchor chain, which is a little over six hundred feet
long, each link weighing twenty-five pounds.

AN OCEAN GUIDE-POST.

241

The cheerless life of these stationary mariners is seldom
given a thought by those who are returning from abroad in
the great ocean palaces ; and yet perhaps they owe their ver}^
lives to these men at the South Shoal. Often in the darkness
of a stormy night a big steamer, with hundreds of passengers
aboard, plows her way through the trackless deep when all

':^:^?>^^.

In Storm, and Winter.

the fury of the ocean seems directed toward her destruction,
and a single touch upon these hidden shoals would seal the
fate of every soul she carries.

But as she approaches the danger two twinkling lights
warn her off, and she is guided safeh' past. Not always,
however, do ships pass the shoals in safety. Sometimes the
fog is so thick that the lights cannot be seen nor the fog bell
heard. At other times, for one reason or another, a vessel
cannot be controlled.

Often the only tidings of the disaster which the world
receives are pieces of wreckage seen afterward by other

242 AN OCEAN GUIDE-POST.

vessels, or picked up at Nantucket. Others, though wrecked,
are more fortunate. Many rescues have been made by the
light-ship men from vessels which went down within their
view.

Sometimes the storms are so severe that even the light-ship
parts her cable of two-inch iron, and drifts away. This is the
time of the crew's greatest danger. Such sail as circum-
stances will permit must be set, and the strictest watch kept
until some haven is reached. The vessel is not built for
sailing, and can do little better than run before the wind, in
the effort to reach some port.

Eight times within the twenty years during which the
present captain has been aboard, she has been adrift. Fortu-
nately the gale was every time from such a direction that the
crew were able to run for Martha's Vineyard, and get under
the protection of Gay Head. When the storm is over the
tender takes her back to the great can buoy which marks her
station.

Should the light-ship break away under the force of a wind
which will drive her upon the shoals, the wreckage on
Nantucket's shore will tell the news that she has gone down
with all her men, how or when, no living soul would ever
know.

For a quarter of a century the crew of the South Shoal
light-ship have employed their leisure moments in making a
peculiar kind of basket, known to those who visit Nantucket
as light-ship baskets. Some are made on shore by men who
have serv^ed aboard the ship, but these are few compared with
those made on the ship.

The baskets originated many years ago when Nantucket
was full of busy ropewalks. These establishments used great
quantities of manilla, which came in bundles tied with strips
of rattan. Some one began to use the strips to make baskets
in imitation of those which returning whalers often brought
from .some of the islands of the Pacific Ocean.

They were probably the first rattan baskets ever made in
America, and being, perhaps, the only kind made at Nantucket,

AN OCEAN GUIDE-POST.

243

were naturally the kind worked at by the light-ship men when
they began to divert themselves with basket-making. At first
but one or two of the crew worked at them, and their products
were very rough when compared with the neat baskets made
to-day. Now every man aboard is an expert basket-maker,
and about five hundred are sold by the stores in Nantucket
each summer for the crew.

Although the proximity of the Gulf Stream equalizes the
temperature so that it is several degrees cooler in summer and

warmer in winter at the
^ South Shoal than at Nan-

tucket town, on the north
side of the island, there are
times when nothing is visible
around the vessel but a
continuous field of drifting
ice. On this ice multitudes
of seals are sometimes seen,
but they perceive danger
quickly and disappear before
coming too near the crew.

A few winters ago, no
water was seen for more
than a month — nothing but
a solid pack of great white
cakes of ice, which rose and
fell with the swell of the ocean, as they slowl)^ drifted past,
day after day. As if to compensate for such utter loneliness,
there are occasional days when a mirage forms, and the crew
can see the shores of Nantucket as plainly as if they were only
a few miles away. Sometimes they can make out clearl}' the
little village of Siasconset, the headlands and gullies, and
even the dories on the beach. There is great joy among the
crew when this occurs, for it is almost like good news from
home.

Harry Platt.

Making Baskets.

An Ocean Observatory.

There is no sight more common in New York harbor,
unless it is the ordinary passage of a Brooklyn or Jersey
ferryboat, than that of puffing tugs or large-decked excursion
steamers, carrying noisy and expectant crowds to meet an
incoming ocean steamer. Every day, dinners of welcome are
prepared, or carriages ordered at the dock, in readiness for
the arrival of friends or distinguished guests from across the
Atlantic.

How is the near approach of the steamer made known to
those ashore ? How is it that New York is aware, seven hours
before she gets in, of the coming of an Atlantic liner, no matter
whether her passage has been a quick one or a slow one ? One
would think that owing to the uncertainties of tide and winds,
the arrival of the vessel could not be computed within two or
three days ; and yet persons as far distant from New York as
Philadelphia or Albany are apprised of the near approach of a
certain ocean steamer, and may arrive in season to welcome
incoming friends.

The matter is easily explained. The first strip of American
coast sighted by the majority of incoming steamers is Fire
Island, which is about forty miles from New York City. It is
not, in spite of its name, an island ; but it is the end of a long
and narrow strip of land which lies between the ocean and the
great south bay, on the southern coast of Long Island. The
beauty of its scenery and the attractions of the shore have
made Fire Island a popular seaside resort.

For nearly ten years it has served as a place for marine
observations. From the top of the large Surf Hotel a mag-
nificent and far-reaching view of the ocean is obtained.

Such good results were obtained from this point of vantage,
in the sighting of distant vessels, that a more extensive and
systematic use of the ground was suggested. There was

AN OCEAN OBSERVATORY. 245

ultimately erected near the beach, by the Western Union
Telegraph Company, a high wooden tower, from whose top
observations can be made to a distance of more than twenty-
five miles from shore. The structure was suitably arranged
as a dwelling-place for the observ^er, and instruments and the
latest modern facilities for watching and reporting of vessels
were brought into use. Telegraphic and telephonic com-
munication was also employed.

The observatory is a wooden building about forty feet
high. It lies back from the beach about two hundred feet,
and all about it is a waste of sand. The tower is pyramidal,
and has a row of windows on each face. The lower floors are
used for dwelling purposes, while the topmost room serves as
the observatory proper.

Windows open on all four sides of this small room, and
lookout apertures face oceanward. A telegraph instrument
stands in this apartment, and is connected by wire direct with
the principal office of the Telegraph Company in New York
City.

Upon the walls of the room are pictures of all the best
known ocean steamers. These pictures, it might be supposed,
would assist the observ^er in making out the vessels which
come in sight. It is a remarkable fact, however, that the
observ-er in charge has never been on board any of these
steamers, and can distinguish them only at long range.

From his knowledge of a steamer's average rate of speed
the watcher approximates her hour of arrival, and thus fixes
the time when he should be on the lookout. He has special
means of distinguishing them at night. Upon arriving opposite
Fire Island, each steamer sends up a rocket as a signal. Each
line of steamers has its peculiar system of signalling. The
Cunard steamers, for instance, burn two Roman candles,
showing six blue balls. The Inman line signals with two blue
and red lights, followed by a rocket showing blue and red stars.

Of course these signals indicate only to what line the
steamer belongs. To distinguish a particular vessel, it is
necessary to observe carefully the side and stern light. As

246

AN OCEAN OBSERVATORY,

soon as the steamer comes in sight, the observer must fix his

gaze steadily on the lights until the signals are sent up ; and

he must know these verj^ well.

The work of observing passing steamers, and telegraphing

the name of each to New York, may seem quite easy ; but

when one considers the
fact that the majority of
the vessels are from fif-
teen to eighteen miles
from shore, and that
many pass by at night,
and during fogs and
cloudy weather, the skill
and training necessary
for the work become

more appar-
ent. Rocket-
signalling is, of
course, effectu-
al only at night.
When a vessel
happens to sail
past Fire Island
during the day,
another meth-
od of signalling
is employed.
Combinations

of colored flags An ocean Observatory.

are hoisted b}^

different lines of steamships. But, as color is distinguishable
only at a comparativel}^ short distance, this method fails at
times ; and then the observ^er must fall back upon his trained

AN OCEAN OBSERVATORY. 247

sharpness of sight, and his knowledge of the peculiarities of
different steamers. Thus the general outlines of the vessel,
the position of its smoke-stack, the number and positions of
its life-boats, the shape and number of the sails, and many
other individual marks are depended upon for a correct
determination of the name of the vessel.

Upon the smoke-stack of the steamer " Servda," for
instance, is painted a square white mark, while on a certain
other vessel of the Cunard fleet, the corresponding mark is
oblong. Certain vessels are recognized by their peculiar
fashion of carrying their sails.

Sometimes the watcher distinguishes a vessel by the color
of the smoke arising from her stack. One line of steamers
burns a certain kind of soft coal, the smoke from which is
unlike that made by any other coal. In such a case, the
approach of the steamer is known before any portion of the
vessel itself is above the horizon. Indeed, the sharp-eyed
observer often astonishes his visitors by informing them that
he has already seen and telegraphed to New York the near
arrival of the vessel, when no trace of the approach of the
steamer has been perceived by them.

Each line of steamers has its own course. Thus the angle
of observation used by the obser^^er, in watching from the
port-hole of the tower, often tells him to which line an incoming
steamer belongs. From one port-hole in the lookout room
the observer catches his first sight of a steamer of the Guion
line ; from another, a vessel of the White Star line, and so on.

Ivife at Fire Island during the long winter months is
exceedingly lonely. Communication with Bay Shore, about
ten miles distant, the nearest point on the main land, is had
only a few times a week. The keeper of the neighboring
lighthouse, with his family, and the life-saving crew, are the
only neighbors the observ^er has.

This isolation is compensated for by an abundance of
company during the summer months, when the observ^atory is
one of the chief attractions at Fire Island. The visitors at the
hotel flock to this snug lookout retreat, and avail themselves

248

AN OCEAN OBSERVATORY

of the opportunity to look far out to sea. When the obsen^er
takes a leave of absence, which is very seldom, the observatory
is closed. There is no one else who possesses the special
training necessary to make the reports accurately. Serious
complications might result from the wrong reporting of a vessel.
The present observer has made but one error, and that was
when a new steamer on a German line had been despatched
to take the place of another, without the watcher's knowledge.
He reported the new vessel under the name of the old one.

The desire of the captains of the fast lines to make as quick
a passage as possible leads them to sail the straightest course
for New York. This takes them farther away from Fire
Island, and increases the difficulty of observing them.

From the Fire Island tower came the first report of the
"Oregon" disaster, which occurred in March, 1886. The
ill-fated vessel was observed about nineteen miles from shore,
behaving strangely. The observer, supposing that something
was wrong, telegraphed his conjectures to New York at six
o'clock in the morning. - Soon thereafter the steamship
" Fulda " signalled him, by means of flags, this message:
"Steamer 'Oregon' sunk. Passengers all on board the
'Fulda.' All well." This was the first definite information
to reach New York.

H. F. Gunnison.

Anchor Line Steamship "City of Ronne.

The U. S. Life-Saving Service.

Ever since the times of antiquity, more or less attention
has been given to the saving of life from the perils of the sea.
The Chinese, centuries ago, formed the first humane society
for this purpose, and to-day these institutions can be found
throughout the whole of civilized Europe.

In our own country as early as 1785 steps for the preser-
vation of the shipwrecked were taken by a number of benevolent
gentlemen in Boston, who formed the Massachusetts Humane
Society, and built huts of refuge and several stations equipped
with life-boats on the desolate portions of the coast of that
State.

The development of the United States lyife-Saving Service
covers about forty years. Beginning in 1848, the government
erected some twenty or more houses, furnished with appliances
for rescuing life, on the exposed shores of New Jersey and
Rhode Island, though it was not until 1871 that the present
elaborate system of relief, which has grown to be the most
perfect of its kind in the world, was introduced.

There are now upon the ocean and lake coasts of the
United States about two hundred and forty-four life-saving
stations. They are picturesque, two-story pine houses with
gable roofs, and are fitted for the comfortable accommodation
of the crews, and the reception of the life-saving apparatus.
On many portions of the Atlantic coast they are not more than
five miles apart, and are located at dangerous and exposed
points. These are manned from September ist to April 30th,
the season of most inclement weather ; in the lake region the
stations are kept open during the continuance of navigation.

The keeper captains a crew of from six to eight surf men.
His position is one of grave responsibility, requiring sound
judgment, a cool head, and unflinching courage. He must
be a man well-trained in his vocation, of correct habits, and

THE U. S. tIFE-SAViNG SERVICE. 25 1

able at all times to command the utmost respect and obedience
of his men.

Both keeper and crew are chosen from among the sturdy
fishermen that dwell on the shores in the vicinit}^ of the station,
and who have lived from childhood within sound of the surf.
A lifetime experience on the beaches and adjacent waters
inures them to the perils and hardships which obtain along
the coast, and makes them thoroughly familiar with the
bordering currents, tides and places of danger. From occu-
pation they are necessarily skilled and fearless surf-boatmen,
and all possess an excellent knowledge of every part of a ship,
largely acquired through wreck operations.

In the day a strict lookout is kept seaward for distressed
craft, and during the inter^-al of night between sunset and
dawn, the patrolman maintains a steady vigil along the beach.
At the beginning of their watch two surfmen go forth in either
direction, and follow the shore until they meet the patrolmen
from the adjacent stations. Of course, when the latter are
remote from each other this scheme is not practicable, and
the limit of the beat is then otherwise regulated. Thus it will
be seen that along almost the entire stretch of seacoast, a
faithful line of sentinels is strung out steadily tramping the
surf-washed sands on the watch for imperilled vessels.

Each man carries a Coston signal which, when exploded
by percussion, emits a red flame that flashes far out over the
water and warns the unwary ship, approaching too near the
breakers and outlying shoals, of impending danger, and to
stand off, or assures the shipwrecked that help is close at hand.

The duty of the beach patrolman is always arduous and
often terrible. A solitary tramp on the drear}' beaches is a
task at any time. What is it then in the worst conditions of
wind and weather, against cutting sand-blasts, in drenching
rain and flooding tides, surrounded by darkness, and deafened
b}^ the roar of the storm, with quicksands and pitfalls along
the path ?

Not unfrequently the weary marcher becomes exhausted
and bewildered in his journey, and many times cannot stand

252

THE V. S. LIFE-SAVING SERVICE.

up at all against the fury of the tempest. Yet it is wonderful
how these undaunted men plod and struggle on from a sense
of duty, seldom faltering, and never once giving up unless
from sheer lack of vital energy.

The beach patrol system by which stranded vessels are so
promptly discovered is a feature that distinguishes the United
States ser\nce from all
others in the world, and
accounts largely for its
unparalleled success in
rescuing life from ship-

The Lyie Gun and Breeches- Buoy.

wreck. At certain stations where the shores are of such a
nature that operations can be facilitated by the use of horses
these animals are supplied, and the patrolmen on extended
beats often go mounted.

There are five principal appliances that are used for saving
life from shipwreck. The first of these is the cedar six-oared
surf-boat, which is the only boat that has yet been found
suitable to launch from flat beaches through the shoaling
waters of the Atlantic and Gulf coasts. It is provided with
air-cases which make it insubmergible. This boat being
comparativel}' light can be hauled long distances on its carriage
abreast of wrecks. Its action in the hands of expert oarsmen

THE U. S. LIFE-SAVING SERVICE. 253

is often marvellous, and although easily capsized there are not
many instances on record in the service where it has been
upset with fatal results while passing through the surf.

Another contrivance is the self-righting and self-bailing
English life-boat, which embodies the best elements of the
boatmaker's skill. It is of great strength and stability, though
heavy and cumbersome, and is only adapted to use along steep
shores, or where it can be launched directly into deep water.

When boat service is impracticable, resort is had to wreck
ordnance. A small bronze smooth-bore gun, named for the
inventor. Captain Lyle of the army, is the appliance now in
general use. By means of this piece a line is fired over the
vessel, and the proper gear hauled off. Communication is
then effected either by the life-car or breeches-buoy.

The life-car is made of galvanized sheet iron, and is shaped
like a covered boat. It is capable of carrying five or six
adults at a time, and is used when a large number of people
are to be saved. It has frequently been employed with
marked success, and at its first trial two hundred and one
persons were rescued from the wreck of the " A3ashire," on
the New Jersey coast, when no other means could have
possibly availed.

The breeches-buoy, on account of its being much lighter
and easier to transport and handle is, however, more commonly
used, as the greater number of vessels now stranding on our
coast are manned by crews of from six to ten men.

This contrivance is nothing more than a circular life-
preserver of cork to which short, canvas breeches are attached ;
it is large enough to hold two persons, and is operated
similarly to the life-car by being suspended from a hawser,
and drawn back and forth with lines.

When the beach patrol at night or station lookout in the
day discovers a vessel ashore, he takes instant measures to
alarm the crew. The condition of the weather and surf will
always indicate to the keeper whether a rescue should be
attempted by the use of a boat, the life-car or breeches-buoy.

Perhaps the boat must be hauled by the men on its carriage

254

THE U. S. LIFE-SAVING SERVICE.

through the soft, yielding sand many miles, a task that
frequently requires the most arduous and persevering toil.
There is always the difficulty and danger of making a launch
through the treacherous seas that tumble and burst along the
beach with such resistless force.

This struggle over, the height of human skill and courage
is required to guide the buoyant craft on its errand of mercy

Saved by the Breeches- Buoy.

through the running breakers.
Each man with determined visage
watches the keeper standing at the steering oar, and is
responsive to his every movement and gesture. Many trials
may have to be made before the vessel is finally reached, and
then comes the adroit manoeuvre to prevent collision with
the hull or injury from floating w^reckage and falling spars.
The imperilled people, often driven by the raging seas to the

THE U. S. LIFE-SAVING SERVICE. 255

refuge of the rigging, clinging there, perhaps, benumbed and
exhausted, are taken off as chance offers, and with a heavily
laden boat, the run is made for the shore on the top of swift-
rolling combers.

In case the seas are such that the ill-fated craft cannot be
reached with a boat, the mortar cart is ordered out. The
surf men must either trudge with it over the flooded beaches,
or else pick out a road back of the sand-hills, not unfrequently
having to hew their way through brushwood and tangled
thickets to the scene of the wreck.

Arrived on the spot the gear is quickly got in readiness
for action, each man promptly performing the duty assigned
him. The line is then fired to the vessel, and soon, if nothing
hinders the operations, the breeches-buoy or life-car is trav-
elling with its passengers to and fro between ship and shore.

At another time countless obstacles may have to be
overcome. The ropes, as they are sent out, may snarl or
tangle in the surf or current, or the roll of the vessel snap
them asunder ; the imperilled crew may bunglingly do their
share of the work, or something else ma^^ unexpectedly happen
to tax the resources at hand, and put the patience and courage
of the surf men to the severest test.

The annals of the Life-Saving Servnce are replete with
splendid deeds of fearless daring. Each day's record adds
to the roll of honor. When the life-savers went off through
a violent sea to rescue the people of the German ship
" Elizabeth," which stranded on the Virginia coast in January,
1887, all but two of the boat's crew perished, together with
the entire ship's company', numbering twenty-two ofiicers and
men.

The Emperor of Germany ordered a generous gift of monej^
to be equally divided among the families of the five surfmen
who were drowned, and a gold watch, embellished with his
likeness and monogram, to be presented to each of the sur\nvors.

A notable rescue was recently achieved by the crew of the
Ship-Canal Station, I^ake Superior. Two vessels, a steamer
and her consort, ran ashore six miles east of Marquette,

256 THE U. S. I.IFE-SAVING SERVICE.

Michigan, during the prevalence of a stormy northeast blow
and thick weather which developed into the severest gale
known in that vicinity for years. The sea raged with such
fury that an ordinary boat could not live in it.

The life-savers were telegraphed for, and, putting their
apparatus on a special train, rode over the rails a winning
race of more than a hundred miles, and after almost super-
human efforts, launching and pulling their ice-sheathed boat
through prodigious breakers, rescued in a blinding snow-
storm both crews, numbering twenty-four men, when had
relief been delayed an hour longer all might have perished.

The Life-Saving Service of the United States is the only
governmental establishment of its kind in the world, all other
life-saving institutions being maintained wholly or in part by
voluntary contribution. Since the introduction of the present
system in 1871 to June 30, 1893, — a period of twenty-two
years, — property to the value of nearly one hundred and
thirteen millions of dollars has been saved within the scope of
station operations. The total number of persons saved is fifty-
six thousand one hundred and sixty-two, or an average of
two thousand five hundred and fifty-two a year, while ten
thousand five hundred and sixty-three distressed people have
been succored at various times at the stations.

Where can be found a more brilliant record in the cause of
humanity ? Yet it must not be forgotten that these results
have only been attained after years of active work and intel-
ligent organization.

Worth G. Ross.

The Youth's Companion.

The Youth's Companion is an illustrated Family Paper. It is
published weekly. Its illustrations are by the best artists.

Its stories represent real life, and aim to interest readers of all ages.
They are stimulating, healthful and helpful, but never sensational. Their
great number and variety, together with their marked excellence, give The
Companion acknowledged pre-eminence among literary publications.

Its miscellaneous articles are read by young and old with equal
eagerness. Its letters of travel present the picturesque features of foreign life.
Its articles on health and etiquette are of real practical value in life.

No man or woman, however intelligent, can fail to find in its editorials
upon current topics facts that are not ordinarily found in other papers, and
that it is a pleasure and a benefit to know. Young people especially should
possess the information they give.

Its biographical and historical articles are very valuable to those
who appreciate the elements of progress. Successful men and women in
many branches of business and professional life give their experiences to the
readers of The Companion.

The paper aims both to entertain and to instruct. Not a sentence to
which the most careful parent would object is allowed to appear in its
columns. It seeks to become a family friend, bringing help and cheer to
every member of the household, and to influence directly the conduct and
issues of daily life.

It gives about twice the amount of reading in a year that is given in the
best monthly magazines. The amount would fill twenty-four books of the
ordinary 12mo size. The subscription price is $1.75 a year. Sample
copies will be sent free to all who apply.

PERRY MASON COMPANY. Publishers,
201 Columbus Avenue. Boston, Mass.

The Youth's Companion
in Education.

The special character of The Youth's Companion admirably adapts
it for use in Schools and Academies, as a Supplementary Reader and as the
instructors' Help in furnishing the latest information in Science, Art and the
Current History of the World. There is something worth remembering in
every weekly issue of The Companion.

In every department of education, from the Kindergarten to the
College, the wise instructor is constantly seeking illustrations to brighten and
vivify the topics he is teaching. By its great variety of short articles, all
carefully verified, The Companion peculiarly serves the educator. It furnishes
the happy picture by which the teacher may impress truth upon the mind of
the pupil.

It gives practical aid in ethics and social customs concerning the
happiness of the home, and acquaints its readers with the best living writers.
It supplies fresh reading- matter every week, and awakens ambition by pre-
senting high and healthy ideals. It creates a taste for good reading which
will be an unerring guide in future years.

Its use in schools has been so extensive that the publishers make a
Special School Rate of three cents a copy for any number of papers sent to
one address for any length of time. The average amount of reading thus
given each week for three cents equals the contents of an ordinary book of
175 pages.

Educators who wish choice Selections from The Companion, bound
in convenient and permanent form, will be pleased with the books named on
the following pages. The same reading is in strong bound volumes and in
light, low-priced parts.

The Companion Library.

Selections from The Youth's Companion, 64 pages each, mith many pictures, bound
in stiff paper covers.

No. 1 . Stories of Purpose — Bravery, Tact and Fidelity.

No. 2. Glimpses of Europe — Travel and Description
No. 3. The American Tropics — Mexico to the Equator.

No. 4. Sketches of the Orient — Scenes in Asia.
No. 5. Old Ocean— Winds, Currents and Perils.

No. 6. Life in the Sea — Fish and Fishing.
No. 7. Bits of Bird Life— Habits, Nests and Eggs.

No. 8. Our Little Neighbors— Insects, Small Animals.
No. 9. At Home in the Forest— Wild Animals.

No. 10. In Alaska — Animals and Resources.
No. 11. Among the Rockies— Scenery and Travel.

No. 12. In the Southwest — Senii-Troplcal Regions.
No. 13. On the Plains — Pioneers and Ranchmen.

No. 14. The Great Lake Country — A Land of Progress.
No. 15. On the Gulf— The States, Florida to Texas.

No. 16. Along the Atlantic— New York to Georgia.
No. 17. In New England— The Home of the Puritans.

No. 18. Stories of Success — Skill, Courage, Perseverance.
No. 19. Stories of Kindness — Examples for Rich and Poor.

No. 20. Student Stories — Life in School and College.
No. 21. In Porto Rico — The People, Customs, Progress.

No. 22. In the Philippines — Possession and Experiences.
No. 23. Mid-Ocean America — Hawaii, Samoa, Pacific Islands.

No. 24. Bravest Deeds — Stories of Heroism.
No. 25. Sheer Pluck— Facing Danger with a Purpose.

No. 26. Fearless in Duty — Acts of Courage.
No. 27. Our President— Executive Life and Duties.

No. 28. Our National Senate — Routine of Legislation.
No. 29. Our Congressmen — Responsibilities of Lawmakers.

No. 30. Heroes of History — True Stories of Bravery.
No. 31. Saved by Stratagem — Stories of Adroit Manoeuver.

No. 32. The Brink of Peril — Heroic Escapes from Danger.
No. 33. Children's Festivals— What Little Folks Can Do.

No. 34. The First Comers — Early American History.
No. 35. In Colonial Days — Struggles of Early Settlers.

No. 36. The Colonies Alert — Gaining Confidence.
Price 10 Cents each. Post-paid.

PERRY MASON COMPANY. Publishers,
201 Columbus Avenue. Boston, Mass.

The Companion Series.

UNDER THE CROWN.

Stories and Articles descriptive of Early American History ; comprising
selections 34, 35, 36.

OUR NATIONAL GOVERNMENT.

The Executive, Legislative and Judicial Divisions, the Officials and their
Duties ; comprising selections 27, 28, 29.

OUR COUNTRY EAST.

The Civilization, Industries and Progress of the earliest settled sections of the
United States; comprising selections 14, 15, 16, 17.

OUR COUNTRY WEST.

Characteristic features of America west of the Mississippi River, including
Alaska; comprising selections 10, II, 12, 13.

GREATER AMERICA.

Descriptive and historical accounts of Porto Rico, the Philippines, Hawaii,
Samoa and Guam ; comprising selections 21, 22, 23.

BY LAND AND SEA.

A book of travel in Europe, Asia and the Tropics of America, and over the
ocean ; comprising selections 2, 3, 4, 5.

TALKS ABOUT ANIMALS.

Descriptions of Birds, Insects, Wild Animals and Fishes, and man's power
over them ; comprising selections 6, 7, 8, 9.

PURPOSE AND SUCCESS.

Stories of Bright Achievement, inspiring, uplifting and practicable; com-
prising selections 1 , 18, 19, 20.

DARING DEEDS.

Stories of Courage, Heroism and Faithfulness, arousing the ambition for
noble action ; comprising selections 24, 25, 26.

HEROIC ADVENTURES.

Stories of Brave Deeds in Perilous Places and Heroic Escapes from Danger ;

comprising selections 30, 3 1 , 32.

Bound in Strong Linen. Illustrated. Price 50 cents each.

The Companion Classics:

Arthur Henry Hallam, by Hon. William Ewarl Gladstone.
A Boy Sixty Years Ago, by Hon. George F. Hoar.
Famous Americans, by Hon. Justin McCarthy.
Recollections of Gladstone, by Rt. Hon. James Bryce.

Paper Covers. Price 10 cents each.

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