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Pictures and Illustrations

Melanesian and Micronesian Weapons and Implements.

First Iceland Colonists.

Statue of Lief Erikson at Milwaukee.


A Gypsy Chief.

A Spanish Girl.

Gate of The Alhambra.

Peasant of Eastern Spain.

Spanish Harmony.

Scene in Salamanca.

Spanish Water Carrier.

Bull Fighters.

Tomb of Columbus at Havana.

Street Scene in Rome.

"The Fates," By Michael Angelo.

Design For an Ornament.

Placque For Cellini.

Bronze Helmet Ornament.

Wall Painting, Pompeii.

Tombs of Pompeii.

Garden at Pompeii.

Marble Table Found at Pompeii.

A Farmer of Brittany.

A Beggar of Brittany.

In the Fields of France.

French Villagers.

Renaissance Window, Rouen.

A Modern French Painter.

St. Vincent De Paul.

Bust of Victor Hugo.

An English Country Crossing.

Noted Pictures of Lot's Wife.

Piece of Statuary.

Waterloo Bridge.

St. Andrew's Church, Holborn.

An English Home Scene.

Fish Sale in Cornwall.

Old English Doorway.

An Old English Lady.

A Derbyshire Inn.

Old English Gateway.

English Pottery.

In the Emerald Isle.


An Old University Town.

A Village Group.

Watching the Rhine.

Scene on The Rhine.


Old German Gateway.

Cologne Cathedral.

A German Fraulein.

Museum at Berlin.

An Egyptian Temple.

A Copt.

Egyptian ornaments.

a Jew of Cairo.

A Bedouin Chief.

Ruins on The Nile.

Egyptian Vase.

Reading From the Koran.

An Egyptian Chair.

A Youth of Upper Egypt.

A Syrian.

Village of Syria.

A Druse Lady.

An Old Turk.

A Man of Jerusalem.

At Jerusalem's Wall.

A Woman of Syria.

In the Harem.

Burghers of Ceylon.

Water Carrier.

Indian Tree Huts.

A Brahman at Prayer.

Chief of a Village.

A Tiger Hunt.

Women of Ceylon.

House in Ceylon.

Products of Hindu Skill.

Hindu Gypsies.

A Baggage Animal.

Within an Indian Temple.

Bas Relief From an Indian Temple.

The Blessing of Buddha.

Royal Palace at Agra.

Cloth Venders.

Scene at Benares.

A Japanese.

A Noble Lady.

Selling Marine Animals.

A Japanese Girl.

Former Nobleman and Servant.

Riding in a Palanquin.

Interior of a Tea House.

Temple Garden in Tokio.

A Japanese Bedroom.

Singers and Musicians.

Sebastian Cabot.

Columbus Approaches San Salvador.


House Where Columbus Died.

Balboa Takes Possession of the Pacific.

Houses Where Pizarro was Assassinated, in Lima, Peru.

Sir Francis Drake.

Captain Cook.

Voyaging on the Columbia.

Crystal Palace, London, 1851.

Indian Cards, Card Case and Fish Hook, Chilcat, Alaska.

Totem Poles and Indian Huts, Fort Mangell, Alaska.

A Sioux Warrior.

Sioux War-Dance.

Indian Grave Near Fort Mangell, Alaska.

World's Fair, Vienna, 1873.

Monument at Plymouth. Over The Rock Upon which the Pilgrims Landed.

Main Building, Philadelphia, 1876.

Art Gallery, Philadelphia, 1876.

Agricultural Hall, Philadelphia, 1876.

Horticulture Hall, Philadelphia, 1876.

Eiffel Tower and Bird's-Eye View, Paris, 1889.

Grand Entrance, Paris, 1889.

Lyman J. Gage. First President World's Fair Directors

Hon. Thomas W. Palmer. President World's Fair Commission.

Hon. Thos. B. Bryan.First Vice-President World's Fair Directors.

Col. George R. Davis, Director General.

William T. Baker. Second President of World's Fair Directors.

Harlow N. Higinbotham. Third President World's Fair Directors.

Moses P. Handy.Head of Bureau of Publicity and Promotion

Hon. Benjamin Butterworth. Secretary of World's Fair Directors, and Solicitor General.

The Chicago Columbus Tower.1,500 Feet High.

The Columbian Triumphal Arch .Two-thirds of a mile High.

View of the "Drop." The Falling Car.

Interior of the Falling Car.

The Columbus Dome — Exterior View.

The Columbus Dome — Interior View.

Palacio's Columbian Globe.1,400 feet High.

Chicago Public Library.

The Moving Sidewalk.

The Cantilever, or Leaning Tower.

The Columbian Tower.

The Auditorium.

First Residence in Chicago.

Fort Dearborn, In 1857.

Wolf Point, or Infant Chicago.

Masonic Temple.

New Art Institute.Where World's Fair Congresses are Held.

Pontiac Building.

First City Hall.

Chamber of Commerce.

The Tacoma.


Court-House and City Hall.

Grand Central Depot.

Leiter Building.

The Rookery.

Ashland Block.

Unity Block.

Boyce Building.

Great Northern Hotel.some of Chicago Skyscrapers.

The Temple. Erected by Woman's Christian Temperance Union.

A Section of the Business District After the Fire.

First House Erected After the Fire.

Scene in Lincoln Park.

Garfield Park.

Bird's-Eye View of South Division, Chicago — Showing Word's Fair Site.Scale one mile to an inch. Washington Park, 371 acres, Midway Plaisance, 80 acres, Jackson Park, 586 acres.

Chicago Board of Trade.

Chicago's Dream of the Fair.

A Section of Stock Yards.

Bird's-Eye View of the World's Columbian Exposition.

Jackson Park.

Administration Building.200 feet high, cost $650,000.

An Exposition Letter-Box.

United States Government Building.

Man-of-War "Chicago."U.S. Naval Exhibit.

U.S. Life-Saving Apparatus.

Manufactures and Liberal Arts.1,688x788, covering thirty-three acres, cost $1,500,000.

Smithsonian Institution — North Front.

Arab Workmen at the Fair.

In the Zoological Department.

South American Types.

Entrance to the Egyptian at the Fair.

Algerian Barber Shop and Stable.

An Oriental Turner.

In the Silk Exhibit.

Antique Padlock.

Ancient American Earthenware.

A Sclavic Home in Chicago.

Scandinavian Costumes.

The Revolving Prison.

The Nuremburg Collection.

Chinese Devices for Inflicting Punishment.

Relics of George Washington.

Agricultural Building and Main Lagoon.500x800 feet; covers nine acres. Cost, $500,000.

Among the Stock.

William I. Buchanan.Chief of Agriculture Bureau.

Horticultural Hall.1,000x250 feet; covers nearly six acres. Cost, $300,000.

Candidates for Prizes.

Envelope Making Machine.

Machinery Hall.500x850 feet, covering nearly ten acres, besides an annex covering several acres. Cost, $1,000,000.

Transportation Building.1,020x260 feet, covering nearly ten acres. Cost $370,000.

An Aisle in Machinery Hall.

Sandwich Island Boat.

One of The Groups.

Electrical Building.350x700 feet, covers five and a half acres. Cost, $400,000.

Another Group.

Electric Fountain.

Mining Building.350x700 feet, covering five and a half acres. Cost, $350,000.

Fisheries Building.200x1,000 feet. Cost $400,000.

Norwegian and American Fishing Boats as seen at the Fair.

Whaling Implements and Spoils.

Art palace.320x500 feet. Cost $670,000.

Mrs. Potter Palmer.President of Board of Lady Managers.

Mrs. Susan Gale Cooke.Secretary of board of Lady Mangers.

Woman's Building.200x400 feet, cost 150,000.

Illinois State building.

A Glimpse at California's Exhibit.





New York.




Aztec and Indian Home in Chicago.

A Fair Turk.


Let Us Warm the World.


ANY of our elders across the water, while they admit that Americans may be quite strong upon their legs, still think in their souls that they are scarcely out of swaddling clothes — at most, are but green youth, who have yet to bear ripe fruit. Our own city is such a bounding type of life that some good people even in the United States, who are stiff-jointed, tire of the buzz, the bustle and the rush, and call the atmosphere simply wind.

Now, what the Government proposes to do, and what Chicago has set out to accomplish, is to warm the world up to the blood-heat of youth — to prove that there is bottom to American speed, that we are grateful to those who gave us birth and strength, and that we are not ashamed of our record, but expose it and invite honest criticism. The Western Hemisphere is to be weighed by the Eastern. Particularly are our elders to say whether those lives have been worth the living, which had their second birth when they cut clear of all entangling European alliances. The Great Republic and Republican America are on trial.

Although the national act creating the Columbian Exposition provides for an exhibition of arts, industries, manufactures, and products of the soil, mine and sea, the event looms into vaster proportions the nearer we approach it. World's congresses of art, of science, of politics, of philosophy, and of religion, will meet in the throbbing heart of this young nation, and — we will warm them. America shall stretch forth her hand in such a way that the world must grasp it. What is best in the West is to be allied with what is noblest in the East. That is the kind of entangling alliance which is to cap the nineteenth century.



It may be, then, that the unofficial, but homely title — the World's Fair — best expresses this idea of national heartiness and warmth. Despite every form of legislation which may tend to separate nation from nation; despite wars and rumors of wars, despite famine and pestilence, the European fathers of the Columbian era shall be drawn to the city which the Government has chosen as their host. They shall be overcome by a storm of kindnesses. As they are, therefore, destined to visit us, it is a pleasure to pave the way to a sociable and profitable season by throwing out some information about the characters, the connections and the homes of our coming guests. In the twinkling of an eye, after April 30, 1893, they will be in Chicago. The world will be here. No time then to pick up convenient information about our visitors from Spain, Italy, Portugal, France, Great Britain, Scandinavia, Germany, Holland, or Russia. So that now — or rather in this book — the past and present of these people will be pictured. When we meet them at the Exposition they will not then be a mass of strangers to be hurriedly assorted, but so many select companies of friends.

As the prime object of the Columbian Exposition, also, is to celebrate the four hundredth anniversary of the Discovery of America, we have organized our tiny World's Fair upon the historic basis. Spain was the father of the New World; Italy its mother. Italy gave birth to Columbus, Vespucius, John Cabot and other discoverers of minor fame; Spain sent forth Columbus and Vespucius, and also Sebastian Cabot, after England had withdrawn from the field of Western discoveries. Portugal shares with Spain the honor of revealing to the world the southern portion of the Western Hemisphere. The discoverer of Brazil was a Portuguese, and Vespucius made two voyages in the employ of the Portuguese, during one of which he planted the first colony of America, on the southeastern coast of that country. There were French fishermen in the Gulf of St. Lawrence before the Cabots sighted any portion of her shores; and four years after the Cabots announced their discoveries of northern lands, a ship loaded with Portuguese adventurers went down in the icy waters of Hudson Bay. After the early Spanish and Portuguese discoveries, the next great advance was made by France, who, through an Italian navigator, gave us the Atlantic coast line of the United States. England was still in the background as a discoverer, and so she continued for many years. Take note, therefore, that we


introduce the European nations in the general order of their introduction to us, viz.: (1) the great discoverers — the Spaniards, Italians, Portuguese and Frenchmen; (2) the great colonizers — the Englishmen, Scandinavians, Germans and Dutch, with the Russians thrown in as representatives of an empire which stretches from Germany almost to our own, and which claims those savages of Siberia who are so closely connected with the natives of Northwestern America. Furthermore, the Russians first showed us Alaska, and then sold it to us. We surely do not need to strain a point in order to pass the Russian into the European department of the World's Fair.


"But what of the Vikings, or Scandinavian sea-kings? Did they not sight the shores of Northeastern America, plant their feet there, and even establish a colony, five centuries before Columbus saw land?"

The above queries are indignantly put by scholars and lovers of justice throughout the country.

Granted that they did, and that Columbus during his visit to Iceland, in 1477, carefully examined the documents relating to those discoveries stored in the monastery of Helgafell. For a century and a half before he came, no Norse ship had sailed between Iceland and America, but since his coming, communication between the Old World and the New has never ceased; the Columbian era, which we celebrate, has been one of uninterrupted discovery and growth.

From the Icelandic port which Columbus visited had gone forth, to Greenland and stranger lands, some of the most famous of Scandinavian explorers. The social, pleasure-loving Icelanders still repeated the old sagas, which detailed these voyages and told of the exile to Greenland of the murderous leader, Erik the Red; the going with him of his Norwegian companion, Herjulf; and the search of Bjarni for his father Herjulf. Bjarni was in Norway at the time his father left his home in Iceland and cast his fortunes with Erik the Red. In the days of Columbus, the people still told of the wild lands of ice and wood, the beautiful shores and pitiless seas which Bjarni had seen to the South, to which he had been driven and over which he had scudded before the contrary winds. Their blue eyes lighted with national pride and their gigantic forms grew firmer as they heard from the story singers how Leif, the son of Erik, was most scornful when Bjarni returned to his father without having had the hardihood to set foot upon the soil of


these unknown lands; and how the fearless Leif sailed where Bjarni had been driven, and placed his foot and his men upon shores which he called Helluland (flat-land), Markland (wood-land) and Vinland (vine-land).

There is nothing in any of Columbus' biographies to prove that he knew of the Scandinavian discoveries, or of previous voyages, alleged to have been made by Irishmen and Welshmen, to a country further south, which was called Great Ireland. But it is most natural that he should have heard of tales which formed so large a part of the national literature of Iceland. It is probable, however, that they made little impression upon his mind. Columbus was looking for the golden East, the land of spices — not a land of mingled ice and wood. In all likelihood, he reasoned that in order to reach the western passage he would have to sail to the south of Great Ireland. It is evident, when, through his brother, he applied to Henry VII. of England for assistance, that he contemplated sailing in a westerly direction from Great Britain, and possibly coasting down the shores of Vinland and Great Ireland in his search for the passage to the Indies. The man who had made the discovery of new lands the study of his life, and had read widely, corresponded widely, and traveled widely, undoubtedly knew of these western


discoveries; for the romances relating to many of them had been in native manuscript since the twelfth century, and even before then Adam of Bremen the German priest and historian, in his account of the spread of the Catholic religion over the countries of the North, had mentioned Vinland as a country to the west which (upon the authority of a Danish king) the Icelanders had discovered. It is also in evidence that during the first portion of the twelfth century a Roman Catholic bishop was appointed to preside over the western country. The information that something had been discovered to the west of Europe had been the common property of the well informed for several centuries before Columbus' time, but whatever it was, no one believed that it could cut any figure in the world, and during the latter part of the fifteenth century neither Italian nor German geographers dreamed that the Scandinavian discoveries were to be connected in any way with the Indian problem.

Even after the oldest Sagas, or national songs of Iceland, have been translated and studied for two centuries by some of the keenest scholars in the world, there are comparatively few who are bold enough to locate the place where Leif Erikson landed (1000 A.D.), where Thorfinn and his three ship loads of emigrants planted a colony of lumbermen, hunters and farmers, in 1007, and which for two hundred and forty years was the seaport of these Northmen, from which they shipped lumber, fish and furs. The region around Narragansett Bay, Rhode Island, was for years specially favored by earnest Scandinavian scholars; but consternation was carried into their ranks when a well-known professor, E.N. Horsford, set out to prove from the ancient Sagas that the site of the city of Norumbega, where all these industries


were located, with their dams, and docks, and wharves, could be no other than the city of Watertown, at the head of tide water, on the Charles river, Massachusetts.

Undoubtedly, the Northmen of Iceland visited the shores of America, but their romantic Sagas are dangerous geographical guides. Even should no other regions than those around Narragansett, or Boston Bay, answer the descriptions of Thorfinn's settlement, the ravages of the Black Plague placed an embargo upon the ships of the Vikings, which was never broken. Denmark also absorbed Norway, and Iceland with it. Plagues raged, volcanoes spouted, and the royal masters forbade the Norsemen of Iceland to have commerce with any foreign country. Had it not been for pestilence, volcano and royal command, by which a misty bond of union between Iceland and America was snapped, we might now be celebrating the Eriksonian instead of the Columbian era.

Some, however, who are not satisfied with commencing the era of our civilization with poor, abused, deluded, brave Columbus, point to the very name Norumbega, which so long adorned the maps, as a proof that we should consider ourselves the children of Norway and of Iceland. Various localities in Rhode Island indicate a Norse origin — so they say. Norbega is the ancient name of Norway; but the Algonquin Indians, owing to a radical defect in their speech, were obliged to pronounce the country of the Norsemen, Nor'mbega, or Norumbega. But the advocates of a previous Celtic discovery of both Iceland and America find traces of the old British tongue and of the old British blood among the Indians of North America, Mexico and Central America. Our friends sometimes do allow that when they run down a Celtic word, or a blue eye, in an Indian wigwam, that it may be accounted for by the voyages of Prince Madoc and his followers, of Wales, who, according to the native bards, did not reach the far West until the twelfth century. As to the simple priority of discovering something, somewhere on the eastern coasts of North America, previous to the Columbian era, the fight seems to be between the Norse and the Irish champions.


But was America first approached from the east? It is the most improbable theory that could be advanced; for, during the earliest historic ages of the world, the wealth and commerce of the universe were Asiatic and African. The geographical, the commercial and the enterprising families were the Egyptians, the Phoenicians, the Indians and the


Chinese. For centuries the Phoenicians were the carriers of the ancient world, bringing gold and spices from Eastern Africa and Asia.

The Egyptians were the mathematicians, the astronomers, the geographers who recorded all the discoveries and, like other journalists, they were subject to fits of romancing, when, in spite of all their travels and their pains, they could not obtain reliable information. Like the Chinese and the Japanese, they knew they were very ancient and were so proud of it that they sometimes invented history in order to put flesh upon their vast genealogical skeleton. When compared to the Egyptians, the Greeks were the veriest infants. This truth was forcibly impressed in the tales told by the solemn old priests of Egypt to such striplings as Solon and Herodotus, who came to the hoary land filled with the importance of their own country. When Egypt told of one of her dynasties which covered a period of more than 10,000 years, the Greeks doubtless paused for breath. When she coolly set out to prove that her first great ruler commenced his sway fully 249,000 years before their time, the Greek representatives doubtless had some of the conceit taken out of them. And before that calm, wise, solemn, bushy-browed old Egyptian priest narrated the story of Atlantis to Solon, the Athenian law-giver, he exclaimed: "Solon, Solon, you Greeks are but children, and an aged Greek there is none!" The tale was that 9,000 years previous there was a pathway of islands between Gibraltar and a vast Western Continent. One of these islands was held by so powerful a nation of warriors that they were about to invade Western Europe, when their land was plunged beneath the sea. The great Atlantis was lost, but it dissolved into such a body of mud as to forever make the ocean impassable and prevent one from reaching the Western Continent.

Thus the story of Atlantis got into circulation and a Western Continent came first to be mentioned to Europeans; and the tale had much to do with keeping before their eyes the picture of a vast, dark, haunted impassable Western Sea, which was their nightmare until Columbus opened their eyes. But the Eastern Seas had been sailed by Phoenicians and Egyptians centuries before the tale of Atlantis was ever breathed into the startled ear of a European; and there are leaders of cliques who find in the antiquities of Mexico, Central and South America, Phoenician letters, Egyptian hieroglyphics and Indian elephant heads; who are convinced, especially that the Montezumas whom Cortes conquered had Egyptian faces, as well as the Incas, whom Pizarro subdued. They find evidences, also, on monuments and elsewhere, that these mysterious Americans held Ethiopians as slaves. Very well, for the sake of peace


at the Columbian Exposition, let it be granted that the ruling classes in the empires of Mexico and Peru were descendants of Phoenician and Egyptian colonists. Those who refuse to believe in such a possibility, who even reject Atlantis and yet are lovers of old age, may fall in with that other class, who turn upon all these special pleaders and shout: "You know nothing about your Indians, your mound builders, your Mexicans or your Peruvians. They are products of American soil and have nothing to do with Africa, Asia or Atlantis. Like Topsy, they just grew. America is the Old World. Geology proves it. Asia was peopled by America."

The Malays, too, have their patrons. In the early times, the brown-skinned sailors were bolder than they are now. Their boats were vessels in size and general appearance, venturing hundreds of miles from land. It is said "they used to construct decked vessels capable of carrying one or two hundred persons, with water and stores sufficient for a voyage of some weeks' duration. These vessels were made of planks well fitted and sewn together, the joints being calked and pitched. It is only in recent times that the construction of such vessels has ceased. The people had a knowledge of the stars, of the rising and setting of the constellations at different seasons of the year. By this means they determined the favorable season for making a voyage and directed their course." These facts and many others relating to the forefathers of the Malays are derived from a mass of historic legends which are still current among the people.

The remains of massive structures of uncemented stone, found in the islands of the Pacific archipelagos, even Malayan tradition does not attempt to explain. From near Japan to the Easter Island — to within two thousand miles of the western shores of America, some mighty people has placed its monuments, colossal stone platforms, and gigantic statues, as marks of its advance eastward. These may be evidences that the modern natives are the degenerate race of these ancient builders. At all events it is natural that the nautical Malays, after they had reached the easternmost islands, should have ventured beyond them, or been driven to the shores of America. For centuries, Japanese barks have been thrown upon the Northern American coasts, and the geographical conditions are all favorable for a constant interchange of people between Northeastern Siberia and Northwestern America.

All of which is sufficient excuse, if there were no other, for the introduction of the Egyptians, the Syrians (who occupy ancient Phoenicia), the Malays, the Japanese and the Siberians. Further, of all


the empires of the far East, Japan is the most worthy of being closely bound to America. She is of to-day as well as of yesterday. She will be seen at the Fair in all her wealth of decorative art. Egypt and China shall stand forth as an impressive contrast to modern civilization. In Australia an Anglo-Saxon state is crowding the remnants of barbarism into the desert and out of existence. India, on the other hand, is being breathed upon by the Anglo-Saxon, and is giving back to Europe and America various philosophies which were musty to her before he was born. And that is not all the excuse we have for acquainting the friends of the Exposition with the natives of India. Buddhism was born in India, and after being killed there by Brahmanism spread to Ceylon, Farther India, China, Central Asia, Northern Asia and America.

Still preserved in the imperial archives of China is an account of a Buddhist priest, Hwui Shan, who, upon returning to China from the distant eastern country of Fusang, in 499 A.D., related to the emperor what he had seen on the way to that strange land and in the country itself, as well as the distance and the route thither. Other historians take up the matter, becoming more and more definite as the centuries pass, a certain writer of the seventh century being so precise as to put all the Scandinavian romances to the blush. The Chinese distances are computed in li, which widely vary during different dynasties, but patient investigators have taken the trouble to ascertain the equivalent of the measurement at the time the various accounts were written, and unhesitatingly say that about the middle of the fifth century a party of Buddhist monks, of which Hwui Shan was one, sailed from China along its eastern coast, rounded Corea, took a northeasterly direction toward the southern point of Kamtchatka and the lower waters of Behring Sea to Alaska, and skirted the western shores of North America to Mexico.


Having introduced in the World's Fair those people who are connected by tradition, by historic evidence, or by both, with the discovery of America, or who will be with us, as friends and co-workers, in 1893, we next present (in the printed page) the native races of the Western Hemisphere. The engrafted European civilization is here kept in the background. The glorious Columbian era is brought out in the picture of the Exposition; now, also, the United States, the grandest product of the Discovery, comes from its chrysalis. In the superb features of the Columbian Exposition, may be read the history of the great republic, and a simple hint be gained of its unutterable possibilities.



Never before since Columbus was in chains and died in misery has the world been provided with such an occasion to right his wrongs. Every intelligent person sees that there must have been many — very many — pre-Columbian discoveries. Hwui Shan and Leif Erikson may have wrongs which should be righted. But we do not celebrate their discoveries, because nothing came of them. America was born the moment Columbus set foot upon an isle in the West Indies. The child did not die an infant, but the world has seen it continuously grow to gigantic youthhood.

All honor and glory to the Columbian Exposition. Show to the world what Americans think of Columbus and his work. Vindicate him before the universe. Let everything for the moment revolve around that care-worn central figure. Crown him! Shout his praises! Let us warm the world, not only toward America, but toward the father of America.


The Spaniards.


THERE are many speculations afloat regarding the Basques, who principally inhabit the three provinces which form a triangle in Northwestern Spain, its base being the Bay of Biscay on the north. At least several groups of scholars have settled upon a common theory that the gypsies originally came from Northern India, but although the Basques have never been really dislodged from their mountain homes and have seen the barbarians of Europe moulded into such peoples as the German, English and French, and have withstood tides of conquest which have swept over their country from the three continents, the knotty point as to their origin is so far from being settled that scarcely half a dozen philologists and historians have reached the same conclusion. The provinces which they now occupy in Spain constitute the ancient Cantabria, which native historians claim had as its pioneers Tubal, the son of Japhet, and his family. From this point spread the aboriginal population of Europe. They furthermore claim that they speak the very language which Noah received from Adam. Certain it is that their language is peculiarly their own. They call themselves "Euscaldunac," their country "Euscaleria" and their language "Euscara."

The Basques have been named as remnants of the people of the Lost Atlantis, as Tartars, Huns, Finns, Phoenicians, Berbers, Latins, and Iberians, who occupied the peninsula of France and Spain when the Celts invaded the country. From the subsequent fusion of Iberians (whoever they were) with the Celts arose the Celtiberians, who often were the enemies and sometimes the friends of ancient Rome. With them the mountaineers, or Basques, found it convenient to league themselves. Augustus Caesar directed his troops against the Cantabrians. One of his armies was nearly starved, and a second narrowly escaped an ambuscade among the mountains. He was harassed on all sides by the hardy aborigines, and at one time retired in disgust. But Rome


was stubborn as well as great. The towns of the Basques were burned and they retreated to the mountains to watch the conflagrations and wait for the Romans to attack them there. They fought like wild cats in the mountains, those who were captured submitting with grim determination to the most fearful tortures. The Romans built their forts among the mountains and the Basques attacked them from their natural fortifications. No Roman force could sally forth without being surprised by its unconquerable enemies. New confederations of the native warriors were formed. A whole Roman army was destroyed. The confederation was crushed for the time being, and thousands of prisoners marched in chains to Rome. Many of them escaped, returned to the Pyrenees and formed a new league. This was dispersed by Agrippa. At length the Celtiberians became subjects of Rome, leaving the Cantabrians still intrenched in the Western Pyrenees. They assisted the Romans against the Gallic tribes and were defeated by the Goths on the plains of Navarre. But neither Goth, Vandal nor Moor dare pursue them to the mountains as did the Roman. They cut the Saracens to pieces and when Charlemagne's victorious army retired from the Ebro, his rear guard was attacked in a rocky valley and many of his bravest noblemen killed by the Basques. This brought upon them a series of conflicts, but the great King of the Franks could not crush them.

The Basque provinces became allies of Castile and Aragon, and were incorporated into the kingdom, but they formed a confederation of small republics and with Navarre insisted for eight centuries upon retaining their fueros, or charters, from the imperial government, by which they were guaranteed home rule and exempted from duties on imported merchandise and all royal monopolies. They were not subject to conscription for the royal army and no royal troops entered their land without the permission of the home authorities. Even during the reigns of Charles V. and Philip II. these provinces, in spite of imperial encroachments upon popular government in other provinces, stood forth as a brave democracy within a kingdom. Until they organized the Don Carlos rebellion against the reigning house, the Basques continued to enjoy their bill of rights, but this act resulted, by the war which closed in 1876, in its final abolition.

When these distinguished sons of the Pyrenees (for each Basque is a noble) are not proudly and unflinchingly defending their homes and their rights, a variety of occupations are open to them. They are said to be the first of the Europeans who went fishing for whales, and even now their fisheries upon the coast employ many people. It was from this coast that


the fishermen and explorers went forth (so claim their descendants) to discover Newfoundland. The assumption of the Venetian Cabots, father and son, whom history has credited with the discovery, is boldly scouted by the proud Cantabrians.

Metals and marbles of various kinds vein their hills, and they are miners. A simple spade or fork is about the only agricultural implement with which they cultivate their small farms of four or five acres. Wheat, barley and maize are harvested. Although the soil of the valleys even is not very rich, the Basque peasant is industrious and his lands will compare favorably with those in other portions of the kingdom. His hills are covered with oak, beech and chestnut, generally to the very summit. The climate is mild and salubrious, and the country is picturesque.

Besides being unlike any of the dialects of Southern Europe, the Basque language is so difficult to learn that there is a popular legend to the effect that Satan spent seven years in studying it and thoroughly mastered but three words. One might believe the story and admire his ability after being confronted with such native monstrosities as these: Izarysaroyarenlurrearenbarena, or "the center of the mountain road," and Azpilcuetagaraycosaroyarenberecolarrea, or "the lower ground of the high hill of Azpilcueta." The Basques are of a poetic turn. Their bards attend the huskings and salute the washerwomen on the banks of the streams and the peasants at their plows, improvising pastorals and telling stories and legends. Their theatres are built out from the mountains, and native tragedies and comedies are acted, which are pronounced remarkably vigorous and fresh. The poets also are honored with festivals, in which they are escorted by a procession of horsemen in rich uniforms and great bear-skin caps, by musicians and dancers, to a platform or theatre, where they are happy to show their powers. Their amusements, such as their pastoral dramas, are of a national character, the subjects being taken from the Bible, from Grecian mythology and even from Ottoman sources. Their dances, also, are institutions of the country such as the Olympian games in Greece. Formerly the priests took Part in the excitements of the dance and the women were excluded; now their positions are reversed.

Such gatherings as these draw the Basques from plain, valley and mountain — the women with their superb masses of brown hair, their small hands and feet, and the men with their massive features, firm mouths, black eyes and dignified bearing. The peasant appears in his gala dress — a blue cap, dark velvet breeches, a red scarf around his loins and a gorgeous vest, while his pear tree-stick, pointed with iron, is slung by a cord to his wrist.


The most favorite manly sport is hunting the wild pigeon. "High up in the tallest trees of the forest, huts of branches are constructed. These huts, around which are arranged decoys, which are made to flutter whenever a flock of pigeons is signaled, accommodate from four to six huntsmen, each one stationed in front of a loop-hole made so as to afford an enfilading shot, which will kill a number of birds at once. At the sound of the chief's whistle, there is a simultaneous fire and great is the carnage. In some quarters great nets are stretched among the trees, and the birds, scared by the rattles and by the decoy hawks of wood and feathers which are thrown at them, quicken their flight and rush helplessly into the snares."


It is in the land of the Basques that Ignatius Loyola, the ardent, brave and worldly soldier, first saw this strange world so filled with transforming influences; for the young soldier, fighting against the French, was wounded in both legs and was borne to his ancestral castle near the modern town of Azpeitia. Having exhausted his large supply of romances, the incapacitated soldier, in sheer desperation, fell back upon the "Lives of the Saints." But his active soul was fired, and from that time on, by a thorough course of study, by a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, traveling generally on foot as a mendicant monk, by every possible course of thought, self-denial and industry he prepared himself to become the founder of that military order of Jesuits whose motto, P. A. C., indicates the complete submersion of the individual into the body; for P. A. C. (Perinde ac Cadaver) is "just like a corpse" and every Jesuit is sworn to obey the orders of his superior, as though he were clay in the potter's hands.

The scene of Loyola's conversion is now a vast monastery, whose great dome is brought out with severe distinctness against a rocky mount, a short distance beyond. The unfinished wings of the mass of buildings give the imaginative, from a distance, the impression of a huge, imperfect eagle. Entering the vestibule from the peristyle, which has a semi-circular front of black marble, plaster statues of Loyola, Xavier and other prominent Jesuits are observed. Passing into the church beneath figures of the Virgin and cherubs, one finds himself in a square, cold marble hall. "From the vestibule a door on one side opens into an arched passage, one side of which is formed by the house of Loyola, built of rough brick, and bearing over the door the inscription in gold letters on a black marble slab: ‘Family house of Loyola.’ Here St. Ignacio was born in 1491. Here, having been visited by St. Peter and by the most Holy Virgin,


he gave himself to God in 1521." The apartment in which they are said to have appeared to Loyola forms an inner chapel of the church and is a shrine to which thousands of the devout repair. Besides the inscription which has been noticed, the escutcheon of the Loyola family appears upon another marble slab, it being two wolves disputing over a cauldron suspended by a chain. The unfinished portion of the left wing of the monastery consists of a simple wall, which is built in front of the castle or house of the Saint.


From the Pyrenees to Granada the Spanish gypsy is on his travels camping by Phoenician, Carthaginian, Iberian, Roman, Gothic and Moorish fortresses; penetrating to Madrid with smugglers and horse-thieves, but not of them; wandering from Madrid to pick up the great mules of Western Spain and selling and trading them over again, curing men and horses of various distempers; dancing, singing in Seville; camping in the rocky caves within a stone's throw of historic Granada; tinkering, pilfering, fortune-telling — the Spanish gypsy is the gypsy of the world, the professional tramp who is not a vagrant, for he always has some ostensible means of support.

Seville, the birthplace of Murillo, the greatest of Spanish painters, whose masterpieces adorn the walls of its grand churches, is also the headquarters of the gypsy musicians and dancers. Here will be found many settled people of their race, as in other towns of Spain. But the gypsy dancing girl is the interesting member of their community — she who exhibits to the eyes of Spain the harmony of the Hindu maiden and the Egyptian guitar, and glides about to the strains of old Grecian and Phoenician melodies. Little children are brought up to the same


perfection by ambitious elders, sometimes venerable grandmothers, who encourage their tiny bare feet with the guitar or castanets.

It is not always for show and gain that the gypsies exhibit their accomplishments. Their marriage festivals are particularly boisterous and devoted to merry-making — music, song and dance. They have, also, their rude poets, whose themes are not always such as would commend themselves to classical tastes. Cattle-stealings, prison adventures and other incidents of wandering gypsy life, with tender bits of love ditties and pastoral scenes, quaint scraps and catches, are various themes and elements of their verse-making.

On account of the disorganized condition of society in Spain, much of the time, her gypsies, when they permanently take to travel, are among the most reckless and unprincipled of their race. They frequently encamp near remote villages, and when they have consumed and stolen everything they can, pass on to the next. Frequently they are driven away by the authorities. Then the women and children mount the lean asses of the band, ragged and long-haired men goading and beating the poor animals to increase their speed, the rear of the uncouth cavalcade being guarded by a small party on strong horses, armed with guns and sabres, and now and then defiantly blowing a hoarse blast upon their horns.


From the Basque provinces to Cadiz, on the Southwestern Spanish coast, is from ancient land to ancient city; but as Cadiz is the great starting point of foreign colonization and foreign conquest, and as here was taken the next chronological step in the settlement of Spain, it is well to rest awhile at the little city by the ocean, standing there square, trim and clean. It is surrounded by a wall, its houses are built of white stone, and from the water sides, for it is upon a long narrow isthmus of an island, nothing can be more fresh in the shape of a city. Cadiz has strong sea and land fortifications, and its fine harbor has been the scene of conflicts between the Spaniards, English and French, between the Spaniards, Moors, Goths, Romans, Carthaginians and Phoenicians. The Phoenicians founded it over three centuries before the founding of Rome and the ruins of one of their temples is there. From Phoenician to Carthaginian, from Carthaginian to Roman, from Roman to Vandal, from Vandal to Goth, from Goth to Moor, before they all were merged into the Spaniard, is the usual order of ownership for the sea-ports of Spain and for most of the country, varied somewhat by the position of the district.



Across Southern Spain, on the Mediterranean is another fortified town built on a plain surrounded by hills, the city stretching down to the sea. The entrance to its spacious harbor is narrow and is commanded by the fortifications on an island to the south. Its old streets, its old cathedral and its ruined castle on the hill are Moorish in the extreme, but the Moors only restored that city to something of its former magnificence, which was the stronghold of the Carthaginians on the northern coast of the Mediterranean, and which was stormed and captured by the Romans 210 B.C. Thirty years previous it had been named New Carthage, and was designed as the Carthaginians' base of operations in Europe against the Romans. Before that time Phoenicians had planted a fortress and a lighthouse upon a rock overhanging the city, in whose sides these bold colonists had found numerous caves in which lived the savage aborigines. Under Rome it was a city of wealth and importance, 40,000 men being employed in the neighboring mines of Tharsis, which formed the attraction of the Phoenicians. The Goths sacked the city, and even under Spanish rule it was the largest naval arsenal in Europe. But now the place is dilapidated, its dockyards and arsenal are deserted, and only a few walls remain of the Carthaginian fortress held by the family of Hannibal, or of the lighthouse which guided the ships to the Tarshish of Scripture, lying at the mouth of the Guadalquivir River.

"Local tradition declares that a superb piece of tapestry in the old dismantled cathedral was brought back from the Indies by Christopher Columbus on his first voyage, and was suspended there by him as a grateful recognition of God's mercy, in the presence of Ferdinand and Isabella. This is not quite exact. The truth seems to be that the tapestry was paid for by the gold which Columbus brought back with him, and that it represents the birds and beasts, the fruits and flowers of the New World, as far as he could describe them. That it was suspended by Columbus seems certain, attested as it is by the familiar escutcheon and legend which are placed over it. It will scarcely be credited that the cathedral is rapidly falling into ruins, and that the tapestry is rotting from the walls."


The territory lying between these ancient towns and between the Guadalquivir River and the Mediterranean Sea is what may be called the Morocco of Spain. In Granada (which was the last of the Moslem


kingdoms to fall) and Castile are, in fact, to be found about 60,000 people who have kept their Moorish blood singularly pure, being known as Modejars. Despite the Inquisition, the banishments and burnings, the Moors not only remain, but they have impressed many of their customs upon the country.

"In Toledo, in Cordova, in Granada, or in the older parts of Seville, it would be easy to believe oneself in a Moorish or Egyptian town. The narrow streets are inclosed by high walls, almost windowless, and perforated by only a single low door. Everything looks gloomy and sombre. But peep through the iron grating which protects the doorway, and you will see a patio bright with flowers and fountains and greenery. The windows of the chambers open into this quadrangle, and the inmates can enjoy light and air, bright sunshine and cool shade, without leaving the seclusion of their houses or being exposed to the gaze of any not belonging to the family. This style of architecture has been handed down directly from the Moors. And in numberless details of dress and daily life the same influence may be traced. The mantilla which forms the head-dress of almost every woman in Spain, is simply a relic of the veil universally worn by the wives and daughters of the Moslem. Wander into the outskirts of any town in Spain, and you will hardly fail to stumble upon groups of ragged, picturesque varlets, lying at full length upon some sunny bank, sunning themselves just as a group of Bedouins would do. Go out into the country, and you will hear the creaking of the waterwheel and see the patient oxen treading their ceaseless round, turning the ponderous machine, which has come down unchanged from the days of the Moors. The peasants of Andalusia, Murcia and Granada are seldom to be seen without a long staff, which they grasp and carry exactly as an Arab does his spear. The velvet hat of the Spanish majo is clearly a reminiscence of the turban. In private houses, hotels and cafιs servants are summoned by clapping the hands as in the Arabian Nights."

In the mettle, grace and docility of the horses of Andalusia, also, are seen the strong points of the Arabian steeds. Since the country was stocked by the Moors with their finest breeds they have somewhat degenerated; still enough specimens of the famous stock remain to remind one of the Moorish rule. Since the decline in wealth and magnificence of the Spanish nobility, the demand for blooded horses has decreased. The celebrated breed of the sovereigns of Spain at Cordova is nearly extinct, and the wealthiest Andalusian nobles have only a few saddle horses. The noble Arabian steed, the pride of the Moor and the native sheik, is disappearing before the mules and asses which are used for


domestic, agricultural and transportation purposes. Immense droves of these animals are continually passing from Old Castile, where they are bred, to the rich pastures of Estremadura, where they are reared, and supplied to the rest of Spain, principally for transportation purposes. The asses even rival those of Egypt, being sure-footed, strong and docile, and nearly equal in size to the mules.


In fact, from Seville and the banks of the Guadalquivir to the Mediterranean Sea, the Arabs of Morocco have buried Phoenician, Roman and Gothic civilizations. Although the native place of the Roman Emperors Trajan, Adrian and Theodosius, called by Caesar Little Rome, and adorned by great edifices worthy of a favorite child of the empire, Seville is a purely Moorish city. The capital of Southern Spain during the ascendency of the Vandals and the Goths, it is still distinctively Moorish. A few miles away are the ruins of a magnificent Roman amphitheatre — all that remains of the palaces and ambitious structures of half a dozen Roman emperors and conquerors.

Time has not buried Rome completely out of sight, here in Moorland. Massive stones of the amphitheatre now confine the waters of the Guadalquivir and appear in the walls of a neighboring convent, while during the five centuries that the Moors held Seville the city was rebuilt from the materials of former Roman edifices. Certain quarters of the city have not been changed, and one may there find cool shadows cast across the narrow, crooked streets, from spacious mansions, with ample courts and gardens. Attached to the mighty Spanish cathedral of Seville is a remarkable Moorish tower, to which a lofty pinnacle has been added since the city came under the Spanish rule. The tower formerly was part of a great Mohammedan mosque. It is now a portion of the Catholic church, within which are paintings by Murillo, whose house may be seen from it. Surmounting the pinnacle, 350 feet from the ground, is a female figure in bronze, fourteen feet high, which serves as a weather-vane and which is so nicely poised that it is swerved by the slightest breeze.

The Alcazar, originally a Moorish palace, has been remodeled until it is a rival of the Alhambra in delicate ornamentation. It is the royal residence, and a royal one, truly. At a little distance from the palace is an octagonal tower, partly Moorish and partly Roman in its architecture; it is called the Tower of Gold. One story is that Columbus stored therein the first American gold; on the other hand, it is alleged that the name was given to it long before Columbus ever set sail from Palos.


But the Seville of to-day is not the capital of a Moorish kingdom with half a million people. Although when Ferdinand of Castile passed in as a conqueror, 300,000 Moors passed out, bound for Granada and Africa, it continued a great city until the discovery of America, when it almost reached its former plane of prosperity. Cadiz afterwards seized its trade, and with the decline of Spain as a commercial power Seville fell with it. It is still a beautiful city, surrounded by Moorish walls and Moorish towers.

Seville was, furthermore, the headquarters of the Inquisition in Spain, but it was not until the Reformation, from Germany, commenced to send its New Testaments into Spain and make converts that it was brought to bear with such shocking cruelty upon the people. Single executions were thought inadequate to suppress the heresy, and the autos da fι, or public burnings, were inaugurated at Valladolid and Seville, and spread over the land. Barcelona, Cordova, and others had, also, their gloomy prisons of the Inquisition filled with heretics until emptied by the autos da fι. Ten years of such vigorous war stamped out Protestantism.


Ascending the river from Seville, a mass of sad-looking buildings is occasionally seen through the intervening groves of palm and olive trees. The road to the city is through gardens of roses, oranges, oleanders, with all the foliage of the Orient to give them a rich shading. As Cordova is approached — so long the capital and center of the great Moorish empire — its wall even has a patched and dejected air, traces of Roman, Gothic and Moorish workmanship being found in it. Cordova was for three centuries one of the grandest centers of commerce and of a civilization far in advance of the rest of Europe; a sublime city of mosques, hospitals, schools and palaces, the banks of the Guadalquivir being lined with extensive gardens in which were innumerable fountains, palm trees, and Oriental pavilions. Cordova was the metropolis of the industrious race which made Southern Spain bloom like a garden; which laid out her rich plains into sugar, rice and cotton plantations; which brought in chemistry, paper, elegant manufactures, and the numerical system which we use to-day. Each garden whose orange and citron groves were reflected in the clear waters of the Guadalquivir was the haunt of the botanist Like the Jews, the Moors were famous physicians. They taught medicine, astronomy, mathematics and philosophy when the rest of Europe was just emerging from primitive ignorance, so that the schools of Cordova educated the Christians of all nations, who sought the


learning of the East which the Arabs had brought from Egypt, India, Persia and Asia Minor, via Morocco. The expulsion of the Moors and the Jews was a blow to Spain whose effects can never be entirely counteracted.

The only striking architectural monument of this great empire which remains in its now lifeless capital is a superb mosque, which was built by the first caliph of the Spanish Moors after they rebelled against the rule of the Damascus princes. This able and amiable monarch, sheltered by the Bedouins of Arabia and Africa from his Damascus enemies, was chosen by the sheiks as the leader of the Moors in Spain. It was in the middle of the eighth century that he landed on the coast of Andalusia, and commenced his triumphal march to Seville and Cordova. In his person were united the performances of the future. He it was who transplanted the palm into Spain. His mosque absorbed the talent and skill of the most expert architects, masons and workmen among the Arabs and Jews — in fact, the genius of the age was lavished upon its interior. To inspire enthusiasm, as well as to instill a spirit of humility and piety into the work, its princely founder is said to have daily labored with hod and trowel. Marbles came to form its beauties from the ancient temples of Europe, Asia and Africa, and when all was ready the Islam monarch looked upon what might be a stately grove of palm trees, their trunks taking every hue of the rainbow and their branches and leaves lost in the profusion of the Arabesque decorations and vaulted roofs. From the center of the building naves run in all directions. The Holy of Holies, where the Koran was deposited, was a recess roofed with a carved block of marble, lined with rich mosaics, and the cornices inscribed with Moslem texts in letters of gold. This indescribable sanctuary has not suffered at the hands of later architects, and is all the more impressive standing out in its ancient perfection from the


Catholic cathedral whose founders have generally covered the ornamentations and inscriptions of Islam with thick paint and whitewash. Other appropriate alterations have been made, which, however, greatly mar this grandest of the monuments of Moorish Mohammedanism.


Not only did the Moors bring the palm tree into Spain; but soon rice and sugarcane were products of the country; groves of mulberry and banana trees were waving; and the almond, fig, orange, citron, pomegranate and pineapple were flourishing like native growths. The cactus also was given root, and not only run riot in the south, but became a striking garden ornament. It is in the gardens of Spain, in fact, as much as in the architecture, that the Moors have left their impress. Even without the flat-roofed buildings, the fountains and the arabesque work, when one wanders in these gardens which are in and around nearly every old town of Central and Southern Spain, and which are profusions of tropical foliage and fruit, the air laden with fragrance, dates overhead, oranges and lemons within reach, he can scarcely believe himself in Europe.

In some cities which are but ghosts of their former greatness, broad tracts which have been deserted and which once supported palaces, mosques or manufactories, are now planted, not only to tropical fruits, but to the apple, peach, plum and pear. But they flourish equally well as do wheat, maize and barley, with the grains of the tropics.

In fact, nature has made Spain one of the most productive of countries, but the Spaniard, since the exit of the Moor, has not improved his opportunities. His neglect is partly owing to the fact that the Spanish nobility own immense tracts of land, which they are unable to cultivate, but hold from generation to generation. The farmers themselves are generally so poor that even the smaller holdings are covered with mortgages. As an instance of the disregard in which their rights are held by the government, it is said that the proprietors of large flocks of Merino sheep, passing through the country, are privileged to drive their animals not only over village pastures but over private lands. The farmers are obliged to provide a broad passage way for these lordly sheep owners, "and no new enclosure can be made in the line of their migrations; nor can any land which has once been in pasture be again cultivated until it has been offered to them at a certain rate." Improved methods of agriculture, however, are being introduced by foreign capital, and the fertile plains of Granada, Murcia and Valencia, in some


places still irrigated through the old Moorish water works, are being carefully and intelligently cultivated.

Another branch of husbandry in which the Spaniards engage, but with their usual carelessness, is the cultivation of the vine. Yet, to great extent, the natural advantages of the regions adjacent to the ocean and sea coasts of Southern and Southeastern Spain have counteracted Spanish laxity. The most famous wine is the sherry, which comes from the district around Cadiz. Nearly all the brands which leave that port for Great Britain and this country are light, dry, table wines, containing naturally considerable alcohol and made more spirituous by additions from other fermented vintages, pure spirits, and decoctions and preparations drawn from over-ripe grapes. The choicest wines of the Cadiz district never reach the palates of foreign consumers, but are generally mixed with poorer sorts, which are thus mellowed and colored into all the outward appearance of the finest grades. There is a "mother of wine" as there is "a mother of vinegar," which is used to impart bouquet and color to cheap liquors, and although when it has been years in preparation, the stock being always kept up, it is absolutely disgusting to the taste, it becomes so potent in imparting the best qualities of "the true sherry" that a butt of it commands from £800 to £1,000.

The country between Malaga and Granada, in Andalusia, is the home of the Malaga raisins and the Malaga wines. Three crops of grapes come annually from the vineyards of the Sierra Nevada mountains, the first being worked up into raisins and the other two into dry and sweet wines. Strong, dark wines are made from the grapes of Murcia and Valencia, the latter province having the best reputation. Of the Valencia wines, the Alicante stand at the head, being sometimes almost as thick and rich as syrup. Northern Spain is a wine-raising territory, but has no more than a local reputation.

No, the wines of Spain can not be attributed to the Arabs; for the Koran prohibits wine. The Goths, however, were drinkers of wine, and into the land of the Goths we now go.


The Moors drove the Goths far beyond Cordova, far beyond the great chain of Sierra Morena mountains, which stretch a mighty barrier across the whole of Southern Spain. This they surmounted, and through the rocky passes of the Sierra Toledo they also swept, besieging mighty Toledo itself, the capital of the kingdom of the Goths. Their victorious course lay from the battle-fields northeast of Cadiz over half a dozen


stupendous mountain chains to the plain of Tours, where the Franks turned them back into Spain. For three centuries the Moors flourished, except in extreme Northern Spain, the Guadalquivir River, however, marking the center of their greatest glory; but the rival Mohammedan factions in Morocco continually carried their wars into Spain, and by the early part of the eleventh century they broke the caliphate of Cordova into pieces, the fragments reappearing as small kingdoms. Although driven north the Christian princes were left to fight among themselves, the Moslems giving their strength to the country of the Franks and the islands of the Mediterranean to the east of Spain; it was, without doubt, the dream of the Mohammedans of the West to join hands with the Mohammedans of the East and establish a mighty kingdom around the shores of the Mediterranean. But while the Mohammedans of Spain were a prey to internal dissensions the Gothic-Roman princes of the North buried their differences under the cover of a common cause. In the latter half of the eleventh century the King of Castile (now known as Old Castile) recovered Toledo, making it his residence and naming his territory New Castile. The capital of New Castile then became the base of operations for the Christian princes of the North against the Mohammedan states of the South, and afterward was the capital of Spain.


Between high and rocky banks the Tagus rushes around the rugged hills upon which the city stands, leaving only one approach by land. When Alfonso took the city he found this closed by a sturdy wall repaired four centuries before his time by the Gothic King, Wamba, the original structure being Roman. Beyond this he placed another wall, both of which stand with the ruined fortress of Alcazar — haunted by the ghosts of Roman, Moorish and Spanish architects — to tell of the rise and fall, the retreat and advance, of the races of men. From the center of the silent, gloomy city, rises the massive cathedral, surrounded by churches and convents, nearly all of which occupy the sites of old Mosques or Jewish synagogues. Many historians, in short, claim that Toledo was founded by Jewish colonists six centuries B.C., and at the time of the invasion of Spain by the Moslems, it is said that in the neighborhood of the city an Arab general found the original table of shewbread, adorned with hyacinths and emeralds, made by Solomon and secreted by the Jews when the treasures of the temple were carried by Nebuchadnezzar to Babylon. The oldest of the synagogues now standing was built in the ninth century under the tolerant rule of the Moors;


other synagogues have been transformed into churches, but this one, whose ceiling is believed to have been constructed of the cedars of Lebanon, was used as a cavalry stable during the French occupancy and is now quite deserted.

Two miles from the city walls, with their remarkable towers and gates, stands a great building, the royal sword manufactory, a remembrance only of the days when the Toledo blades were so famous as to be thought worthy of the pen of Livy.

About a century after Toledo became the capital of Castile, another Alfonso, joined by the Kings of Aragon, Navarre, Leon and Portugal, inarched southward across La Mancha, which Cervantes was to make famous, and met on the plains of Tolosa, in the Sierra Morena, one of the greatest armies which the Moslems had ever sent against the Christians. The Mohammedan dynasty which had built its power upon the dismembered caliphate of Cordova was crushed, and from its death sprung into life the last of the noted Moorish kingdoms — that of Granada.


The succeeding history, before the country was united, consists of a gradual absorption by Castile and Aragon of the Moorish and Christian states, a healing of their jealousies by the marriage of Ferdinand and Isabella and the final conquest of Granada, which had sustained the assaults of Christian foes for two hundred years. The gateway into the fertile kingdom is from the west across the broad plain of Vega, bordered on the south by the snow-capped Sierra Nevadas, which cool the hot breezes from the south into delightful freshness. One of the mountain spurs stretches out into the plain, at the foot of which, upon two hills, rests the last stronghold of the Moors, the center of that last grand civilization from which even the opulent cities of Italy drew much of their prosperity. Upon one of the hills which formed the city's site rose the royal palace and fortress of the Alhambra, surrounded by gardens,


and containing everything which might enable the monarchs of Granada to enjoy themselves in fancied security. Although since the year's siege by the King and Queen of Spain, which resulted in the fall of Granada, the Alhambra has been disfigured and pillaged, remodelled, many of its ancient towers blown up, etc., etc., in ruins it has aroused the enthusiasm of the lovers of the beautiful from every land. Without, a city of towers and massive walls; within, still a succession of marble, alabaster and cedar halls, ornamented with arabesques and stucco-work of mother-of-pearl, ivory and silver, beautiful fountains within playing musically to the soft breezes without — the Alhambra is all that the fair pens of a score of Washington Irving's could picture it.

The Alhambra is divided by a narrow glen from the Generalife, another Moorish palace surrounded with gardens and fountains. Its towers are taller and lighter than those of the Alhambra and it stands upon a loftier height; for it was the summer palace of the Granada Kings.

From the Alhambra and the Generalife the grand panorama of Granada is spread in all its variety; the broad plain formerly teeming with the riches of the temperate zone and the tropics; the mountains with the ruins of fortified towns and solitary castles stretching toward the west; the Xenil winding through orchard, garden and grove, and from the south bright streams coming down the Sierra Nevada. It is the Granada of old with the life of man gone out of it.


Skirting the coast of Spain from Cadiz, the first port of interest going east is Palos, a sleepy enough little town, but in 1491, when Columbus stopped at the convent of La Rabida, near that port, it boasted the most enterprising mariners in all Spain. The great discoverer had determined to start for Cordova, on his way to France, being weary of the delays with which he met in Spain, but stopping at the gate of the convent to ask for some bread and water for his boy, the prior became interested in him and his dazzling enterprise, obtained for him a personal interview with Ferdinand and Isabella, and the Spaniards, instead of the French, were enabled to claim the discovery of America as their honor. Columbus sailed from Palos. The dilapidated town is still there, and between it and the sea shore is the old convent whose prior played so important a part in the discovery of America.

With its galleries tunneled through the rock on the north front, through which hundreds of huge guns frown at the bay and command the


sandy isthmus which connects English with Spanish soil, looms the huge promontory of Gibraltar. Barracks, fortresses and batteries on the summit and west side, on which are the bay and town, the descent being precipitous on the remaining sides, is a matter-of-fact, dry description of a very matter-of-fact sort of an institution. It would be useless to describe more fully that great fortress which stands as an index of the English character, and upon which thousands of English writers have cast their artillery of adjectives.

During the prevalence of the southwest winds vessels compelled to leave Gibraltar often sail to the fine port of Malaga, a dazzling city of white houses, commanded by one of those massive Moorish castles which become tiresome in the mere telling but are ever fascinating in the seeing. Some say Malaga was founded by the Iberians. Others suppose the name to be the Phoenician for salt fish, which was one of its most famous exports. Malaga is now best known as the city from which go out the muscatel raisins, as fine as any the world knows about. Olive oil and sugar are also largely exported. Malaga, in fact, despite her Moorish air and ancient castle, is in the active current of to-day.

Coasting along the shores of Granada, with the Sierra Nevadas in the distance, and passing numbers of villages which formerly saw the vessels of many nations bound for their prosperous capital, Cartagena is reached, and, if the traveler desires, on this former borderland of Moorish territory he may take a trip inland by railway to Murcia, the capital of the province. "Lying out of the route of travelers it is almost unvisited, and having little commerce except with the peasantry of its fertile huerta, it retains its old costumes, manners and customs with even more than Spanish tenacity. The men wear a tartan plaid, like that of a Scotch shepherd, only more brilliant in color. The women greatly affect bright yellow and scarlet, and even the poorest contrive to interweave a few flowers into their hair. The costumes through the whole of the eastern


provinces are very strange and very Moorish. Hempen sandals take the place of shoes; the legs are either bare or covered by a footless cotton stocking. In many districts the peasantry wear very wide calico drawers, reaching down to the knees and looking like a short petticoat, and a close-fitting jacket covered with spangles and embroidery. The plaid is commonly substituted along this coast for the mantle patronized by the Castilians."


Northward from Murcia to the river Ebro and clear across Spain to Portugal is the broad scene of action of Spain's greatest national hero, the Cid Campeador, or Lord Champion. The title "Cid" came from the Moors and the "Campeador" from his own countrymen; for in the course of his romantic life he fought with and against the Moorish kings. But with whomsoever he cast the weight of his mighty arms that monarch triumphed. At length, banished by a Christian king, he joined the Moorish kings of Saragossa, in whose service he fought against both Moslems and Christians. Though his fame spread over Europe and the brilliancy of his exploits was such that he became in imagination a modern Hercules with an invincible sword, in order to maintain his family and his followers he was forced to turn against his former allies, and, after a stubbornly contested siege of ten months, he wrested Valencia from the Moors. The Cid was promptly besieged, in turn, by a great army of Moors. As they lay encamped beneath the walls of Valencia, tradition represents him as coolly leading his terrified wife and daughters to one of the towers, where they could see the Moslem host below, and all around them a mighty grove or garden of citrons, oranges, and palms. Assuring his family of victory he collected his handful of followers and giving battle to the Moorish troops defeated them and drove them from the city. The tower of Miguelete is pointed out as the point from which he looked over his fair and newly-acquired province, covered with grain and rice fields and thick with palm and mulberry trees, and so confidently predicted his usual victory.

The city is still the center of a fertile region, ingeniously watered by a system of pipes and rivulets, perfected by the Moors eight centuries ago. It is a pleasant walled city with macadamized streets, with old gloomy houses and new bright ones painted blue, rose and cream color, with picture galleries illustrative of the famous Valencian school, and, all in all, one of the several Spanish cities which is wide awake. Both the Cid and his wife ruled over ancient Valencia, which was an old city before Pompey took and destroyed it and it was rebuilt by the


Romans. Alicante, although an important and picturesque port of the province of Valencia, is not of interest, historically.

For some distance above Valencia, along the coast, Roman settlements are constantly obtruding themselves. A short ride from the city is a modest enough looking town, standing upon a hill near the mouth of a small river. Its site was the ancient, opulent Saguntum, whose heroic citizens, having beaten off, for many long months, Hannibal's great army of 150,000 men, at length in despair placed the women and children around a vast heap of valuables. When, from their elevated post the wives, sisters and daughters saw their famished protectors being cut to pieces by the fierce, well-fed Carthaginians they set fire to the pile, and, with their children, cast themselves into the welcome embrace of the flames. The siege and destruction of Saguntum brought upon the Carthaginians the Second Punic war. Few traces of its former greatness remain, the Temple of Diana (relic of its Grecian founders) and the Roman amphitheatre having been used for fortifications during the Peninsula war.


All along to Barcelona are scattered fragments of Roman works, indicating where were once imperial cities, overrun by Vandals, Goths and Moors, and used by Spaniards for the building material of modern towns and farm houses. Next to Cadiz, Barcelona is the most important sea port in Spain, and during the middle ages, except by Genoa, it stood unrivaled on the Mediterranean. Barcelona has also been called the "Athens of the Troubadours," as an evidence that it was a favorite resort of the courtly poets and scholars of the middle ages, as well as the princely mercantile classes. It was a favorite resort of Ferdinand and Isabella, and here they received Columbus after his discovery of America. The most important manufacturing city in Spain, Barcelona is also a beautiful place, the old and new districts being separated by the Rambla, a dry river bed, which has been planted with flowering shrubs and made into an attractive promenade.


From Barcelona west, through Northern Spain, is traversed the stronghold of the old Gothic power, which, at last, became the basis of the Spanish state. We are now within sight of the Pyrenees, spurs from the main body running down into the provinces of Catalonia and Aragon to form green, pleasant valleys. In the western part of Catalonia is a military stronghold, Lerida, which guards the approach from


the north to the districts of Eastern Spain, and from the south to some of the most convenient passes into France. It is a gloomy-looking town, with the usual accompaniments of a fortified place, but even before the time that Scipio Africanus defeated Caesar in the neighboring plain, it was considered by the Romans an important strategic point in the possession of their Spanish conquests. Before the Romans came the Celtiberians had discovered the advantages of the position, and it was undoubtedly the site of one of their primitive towns.

Lerida is on a branch of the Ebro, and further west, in the center of old Aragon, and upon the muddy river itself, is Saragossa, the Celtiberian Salduba and the Roman Caesarea Augusta. The Moors took it from the Goths, and although they held it for three centuries they retained it during a continuous siege of five more years, during which famine nearly depopulated the city. Seven centuries afterwards Saragossa, defended by the heroic Duke Palafox, sustained for eight months one of the most bravely and brilliantly contested sieges of modern times, the French being the investing parties. It has been a city of sieges, and seems to have exhausted its strength in sustaining them so stubbornly. Its palaces are ever crumbling away, having been partially destroyed or weakened by the heavy ordnance of modern guns, and those which show evidences that they are substantial have been deserted by the nobility. "These buildings, rich in finely carved decorations and magnificent cornices, are now mostly inhabited by agriculturists of a rude class, their spacious courts converted into farm yards and filled with manure." Massive and elegant churches and convents are yet standing, however, to give the city an imposing appearance from the distance, which impression is not borne out by a nearer inspection.

One of its cathedrals — the Church of Our Lady of the Pillar — commemorates the pretended miracle by which the Virgin Mary was brought from Heaven upon a pillar of jasper that she might encourage St. James, whom she had sent to Spain to preach the Gospel. The pillar and her heavenly image are still shown to the crowds of pilgrims who press from all parts of Spain toward the jeweled church and the sacred relics which it incloses.

When we cross the bounds of Aragon into Old Castile we enter a district made memorable by the stubborn stand which the Celtiberians made against the armies of Rome sent to subdue the troublesome aborigines. Near the site of the present town of Soria the Roman legions under Scipio assaulted and besieged their chief town. This was but the last scene in a series of bloody conflicts which its citizens had sustained for twenty years. For fifteen months 60,000 disciplined


soldiers stormed, besieged and starved these ancient heroes, who from 8,000 slowly melted into a pitiful band, before the town was taken and destroyed.

The traveler has also set foot upon the native land of the Cid and begins to enter the territory wherein, after Napoleon's disastrous campaign in Russia, were enacted the closing scenes of the Peninsula War between his lieutenants and the Duke of Wellington. The birthplace of the Spanish hero was Burgos, the capital of Old Castile, where his remains, with those of his heroic wife, are laid. Their sculptured figures lie together upon a square sarcophagus at San Pedro de Cardena, while, for a small fee a wooden box and a bottle will be exhibited at Burgos, in which are kept the bones of the Cid and the ashes of his wife. This city, which was so long the center of the shifting league against the Moors, which, with the Cantabrians to the north, held Northwestern Spain against their Moslem foes, is now a dull and gloomy city, with a noble Gothic cathedral, picturesque and stately beggars, and various chapels rich in fine sculpture and tombs.

Across Old Castile and Galicia to the northwest of Spain is a long run, and only to reach a bustling, fortified seaport on the Atlantic coast; but it has a monument to Sir John Moore, who fell while fighting the French on the heights behind the town, being buried on the ramparts in his military cloak. First Philip sailed from Coruna, this seaport town, on his way to marry Mary of England, and over thirty years thereafter he embarked with the great Armada to conquer the country which he could not obtain by marriage.


A short distance from Coruna was a cathedral which was, for centuries, an even greater shrine than the Church of Our Lady of the Pillar at Saragossa. It is declared that after St. James was beheaded he set sail from Joppa, the seaport of Jerusalem, either in a boat or his stone coffin, and landing on this coast his body was mysteriously deposited in a cave, where, after remaining for half a dozen centuries or more, it was drawn to the city of Santiago, where the cathedral was built and pilgrimages were instituted. He therefore often came to the assistance of the Spaniards in their wars against the infidels, and to the battle-cry of St. James was added "Santiago." The archbishop's palace, cloister and cathedral form the most imposing of Santiago's structures. They cover nearly four acres of ground, and into the foundations of the cathedral are believed to be built the bones of St. James. Besides those occupied the town contains numbers of convents and nunneries in ruins.



Had it not been for this side trip to the Mecca of Spain, after leaving Coruna our way would have laid toward Valladolid, Philip's birth place, and, strangely enough, the scene of the first auto da fι, which the cruel monarch witnessed from a balcony overlooking the Plaza de Campo. This famous square was devoted to tournaments, bull fights and such other exhibitions as the Inquisition brought forth. Here also Napoleon reviewed his 35,000 troops who had succeeded in seriously damaging the interior of the Convent San Pablo and the Colegio de San Uregorio, which stood near the royal palace, and whose ruins are among the grandest of Gothic ecclesiastical edifices in the world. But greater than her ruins, her galleries of statues and pictures, her deserted palaces of royalty and the Inquisition, and even her extensive university, are the houses of Columbus and Cervantes — the scenes of death and of the final revision of "Don Quixote." The house where Columbus died was, at last accounts, a small shop for the sale of woolen goods.


Salamanca is the next famous town as we near Madrid, as being for so many centuries the university center of the Catholic faith, having from an early period contained a college for the special education of Irish students. It is still in existence. It is said that "one of the most highly-prized works in Roman Catholic divinity is the great collection of Controversia and moral theology by the members of the college of Carmelite friars." The Plaza Mayor is the largest square in Spain, and will, upon occasion, accommodate the 16,000 or 20,000 who pour toward it from a radius of a score of miles when a great bull fight is announced; for such are the contrasts of Spanish life! Salamanca was almost destroyed by the French in 1812, and most of its splendid ancient edifices are in ruins or worked


into the fortifications which the invaders, when they possessed the city, threw up against the British. Twenty colleges and as many convents thus fell victims to the stern necessities of war.

Avila, another step nearer Madrid, is a small town about fifty miles northwest of the capital, and although one of the many places which the wonder-loving Spaniards ascribe to Hercules, it is now chiefly noted as being the birthplace of the country's lady patroness, "Our Seraphic Mother, the Holy Theresa, Spouse of Jesus," born March 28, 1515. It was at one time one of the richest cities of Spain.

About the same distance from Madrid is Segovia, frequently the residence of the kings of Castile and Leon, where they laid their schemes to lower the pride of the Moorish monarchs. It is perched upon a rocky knoll, high above the sea level, surrounded by picturesque walls and round towers. Segovia's importance as a Roman city is indicated by the most stupendous Roman structure left standing in Spain — an aqueduct half a mile long and one hundred and two feet high. Under the Moors it was the seat of immense cloth manufactures, and the modern town reflects its old prosperity in the shape of a few small establishments which scour wool and manufacture woolen cloths. On a rocky promontory is one of those fortress palaces — the Alcazar — which the Moors seem to have planted upon every bold height of the districts in which they lived. The Alcazar of Segovia, long after the Moslems were driven out of Castile, was used by the kings of Spain as a prison, both for state offenders and the pirates of the Barbary states, who retained few of those qualities of intelligent industry which made the Moorish dominion in Spain one which was not devoid of great blessings.


Looking toward Madrid from the barren and elevated sand plateau which surrounds it, it is seen that the capital lies in a basin, encircled by plantations, gardens and boulevards. Within this band of green, almost startling from its contrast with the arid plains of Castile, rises the city of palaces, spires and domes. If you come up from the south, this picture, set in a frame-work of green, has a background of snow-capped mountains; if you come down from the north by way of Segovia, you can not miss that gigantic gridiron, the Escurial, which lays with upturned feet upon the southeastern slope of the Sierra Guadarama. St. Lawrence was broiled on a gridiron, and in accordance with a vow that he would build a monastery to his memory if he gained the battle of St. Quentin, Philip built the Escurial in its present form. Many ranges of buildings represent its body, crossing each other at right angles, forming


numerous courts with a tower 200 feet in height at each corner of the immense parallelogram. The towers are the upturned feet, and the handle is a wing nearly 500 feet long, containing the royal apartments, picture galleries and a library. The mausoleum of the kings of Spain fronts one side of a court, in the form of a massive church built like St. Peter's, its grand dome rising above the mighty altar over 300 feet. Under the altar is the tomb of the kings of Spain, built of jasper and black marble, in which their precious remains are packed away like so much treasure. Two-score marble chapels, marble and porphyry pillars on all sides — red, green, white and black — the walls incrusted with marble, the floors paved with it, give a rich and solemn effect to the interior; while without are the massive dome and towers, the six granite and marble statues, called the kings of Judea, sitting in royal state upon the broad staircase, and the sculptured portal through which the bodies of the kings of Spain are borne for baptism, and never again except as corpses.


There is nothing now to prevent our passing through the triumphal gate of the Puerta de Alcala, seventy-two feet in height, into the city of which the Spaniard says "See Madrid and live," but whose three months of winter and nine months of blasting heat have prompted foreigners to hold out no inducement but speedy death to a resident. Four streets traverse Madrid from northeast to southwest, and one of them, Alcala, is pronounced the handsomest in Spain and one of the widest and finest in the world. The principal commercial thoroughfares radiate from one street, and they are more European than Spanish. But in the southwest district, particularly in the streets south of the Plaza Mayor, the wide and regular thoroughfares of modern Madrid give place to the crooked, dirty lanes of the ancient city. Open shops or bazaars, like those of Morocco, Egypt, or Turkey, line them and they are crowded with beggars, smugglers and gypsies. Within the square were many fine buildings which were repeatedly destroyed by the flames of the autos da fι, although the victims were led to the stake outside the gate. But the danger in which the surrounding buildings stood could not have been small, for the water supply of the city was formerly almost confined to drinking purposes, and the portentous flames were continually ascending to heaven. In opening new streets from the Plaza Mayor, especially one in 1869, terrible evidences of the magnitude of these human bonfires were discovered. A number of strata of charcoal and cinders were upturned, mingled with bones and entire portions of the human


body, and, for a time, while the excitement of the large foreign element of Madrid ran high over the disclosure, the beggars and gypsies and street arabs of the district south of the square reaped a welcome harvest of small coins by delving in the refuse and selling the relics of martyrdom to curiosity seekers. There are other smaller squares in which criminals and heretics were executed and in the center of one of the most diminutive is a cross which marks the spot where the last heretic was burned in Madrid.

The center of the modern capital is the Puerta del Sol, as we have intimated. Not only do the principal business streets run from this square, but magnificent hotels and cafιs, cosy club and reading rooms, are centered around it, so that it is the natural point toward which resort the French, English and German business men and the Spanish pleasure seekers. Newsboys, water-carriers, honey-sellers, musicians with their bagpipes and guitars, and at night the private watchmen who lustily cry out the time and the state of the weather, make this vicinity a second Naples for din and good-natured bustle. Of the great palaces of Madrid the residence of the royal family is the most imposing. It is 470 feet square, 100 feet high, built of granite and white marble, incloses


a great square, is between beautiful gardens and a magnificent plaza decorated with statues of kings and queens, and contains extensive libraries, and a royal armory wherein are the armors of Cortes, Columbus and Don John of Austria, with the crowns of Gothic kings brought from Toledo.

The whole of this magnificent pile was occupied during the reign of the Bourbons. Queen Isabella, the mother of a subsequent king, lived there in especial state. She flaunted rich robes of state on which were the arms of Castile, her jewels were royal and her entertainments. The princess had palatial apartments and her husband and sister's family also quartered themselves in this splendid home. Their retinues, receptions and all, despite the family jars, were on a par with the munificence of the ancient sovereigns. Her successor, King Amadeus, and his modest wife followed after Carlist insurrections and scandalous events. He seemed worthy of the position. The palatial pile was almost deserted. The royal pair lived in three rooms, with the children, like a sensible, simple couple — Queen Isabella had occupied those very apartments alone. The king went out like a private gentlemen, sometimes accompanied by his wife or a servant. Having dined with his wife, smoked a cigar and tended to his affairs of state, he went into the Alcala to see the sights and talk to his subjects. "The ministers cried out against it; the Bourbon party who were accustomed to the imposing cortege of Isabella said that he dragged the majesty of the throne of San Fernando through the streets." At the court dinner on Sunday, to which government officials and scientists were invited, the queen appeared with the king, simply dressed, having spent much of the week at hospitals and at such institutions as the one she established where children were sent for safe-keeping whose mothers were out at work. She spoke Spanish well, although it was not her native tongue. She was a kind-hearted, sensible woman, and her husband was like his father, Victor Emanuel. But though as approachable as the most democratic might desire, they were not Spanish, and so they gave place to Isabella's son, the mother having fled in disgrace, and the young prince of Asturias, Alfonso, became the master of the royal palace. He died in 1885, and during the next year his queen, Christina, gave birth to a son, who, if he lives, may be lord of this palace.

South from the magnificent Alcala is the first of Madrid's numerous promenades, the Prado. For several miles it stretches along, between stately houses from whose balconies, protected by screens or curtains, the famous Spanish beauties smile upon the gay throng of carriages, horsemen and pedestrians. Here are seen the graceful Spanish cloak and the


national veil and mantilla, although French styles are getting to be prevalent among the higher classes. The northern limits of the Prado proper are fixed by the fountain of Cybele, the proud mother of the gods being seated in a triumphal car drawn by two great marble lions. In the center of the boulevard is another beautiful fountain dedicated to Apollo, and Neptune is honored in the south. Minor fountains, gardens and pieces of statuary are scattered along the way, and the beauties of this enticing drive and walk are prolonged, both north and south, into the charming suburbs of the city.

It is in the way of this constant stream of beauty, fashion and culture that the royal museum lays, in which is treasured, according to artistic authorities, a collection of paintings "not only the greatest in the world, but the greatest that can ever be made until this is broken up."

The gallery comprises works of Murillo, Velasquez, Raphael, Rubens, Teniers and Titian. Murillo's "Martyrdom of St. Andrew," the instrument of whose death shaped the great Escurial, is here, and the most wonderful works of Velasquez enable the artist to study the master here as nowhere else. Madrid was the scene of his greatest triumphs. Here the king himself so appreciated his genius as to become his intimate and to confer upon him the Cross of Santiago, an honor never before accorded to any but the highest of the nobility.


Just outside the Alcala is the bull ring, built upon the site of an ancient one. No great Spanish town would be complete without it. The bull ring is a great open amphitheatre, which was inherited from the Romans. The huge animals which furnish the blood and the sport of the occasion, mostly come from the Sierra Morena mountains of Andalusia; the very name, "Andalusian bull," sounds like a great body propelling itself forward with mighty force. The participants in the fight at first are usually unmounted, and show proverbial agility in avoiding the rushes of the infuriated monster. But this sport is merely to whet the appetite of the gay crowd for the more exciting contest, in which the mounted picadors also participate. Having partially exhausted his strength in vain charges at his glittering, nimble foes, the bull is now confronted with mounted spearmen as well. As his strength fails, more and more, if he has not yet maimed a man or disemboweled a horse, it is needful to import a new company of tormenters to thrust him with darts. When the beast refuses the contest the matador gives him the death-blow with his short sword. Trumpets sound, flowers are showered


into the arena by excited ladies, and the matter-of-fact, unromantic mules are driven in to drag away the dead bodies of bull and horses.

The king had his private box, as of old. Even Amadeus, his predecessor, of the simple, homely manners, patronized the exhibition, although his tender-hearted queen, not hardened yet to the sights, stayed away. If the "torero" is fortunate enough to have given the bull his death wound in a skillful manner, the thousands of spectators, as he makes the round of the arena, almost bury him beneath piles of cigars, purses, hats, canes — anything which comes to hand — while the ladies shower him with praises, not to say loving words. The king himself rewards the bloody hero with a purse of money, and the same performance is repeated as long as the festival of the bull fights lasts.

Cock-fights are less popular, because fewer grades of society patronize them; but there are regular theatres where the cruel sport may be witnessed, and the excitement there evinced, if not so grand in its quality and quantity as shown at the bull amphitheatre, is fully as intense. The conflict of the birds usually takes place in the daytime, so that among the various spectators the principal actors in the bull arena often appear dressed in their red sashes and gaudy clothes. The theatre itself is bright with color — the circular tiers of chairs are often red and flowers are painted on the walls. The pit is a circular box in the centre of the hall, surrounded by a high wire screen. But why describe a cock-fight! It is more brutal, if anything, though not so destructive of life as the other


sport; for a true Spanish fight must end in the death of one or the other of the combatants, and if the birds are game the conclusion of the conflict sees one or both of them simply bunches of feathers, blood and bones, with the flesh stripped from the skeleton and the eyes out. Ladies and the higher classes, who would eagerly grace a bull fight, do not attend such small exhibitions of bloodshed. It is only where horses, bulls and men shed their blood that they care to go.

Madrid contains nearly a hundred public squares, large and small, and a vast number of churches, but having no cathedral, strictly speaking, it ranks in Spain merely as a town within the bishopric of Toledo. Under the Moors it was a mere fortified outpost of Toledo, and the Royal Palace stands upon the site of the ancient Alcazar, or fortress. When it was stormed and captured by Alfonso of Castile, the castle and town were called Majerit. As we have stated he made Toledo his capital and Madrid did not come into real prominence until Philip II. declared it to be "the only court," the royal residence having been shifting around from place to place ever since Ferdinand's time. So that the founding of Madrid dates from about the middle of the sixteenth century. It has been a city of memorable treaties and insurrections, the most serious uprising being that against Murat and the French in 1808. An imposing group of edifices now occupies the site of an old church, which stood east of the great square of Puerta del Sol, the scene of the bloodiest conflict between the French and the citizens, while in a park of the Prado called "the field of loyalty" is a memorial shaft, surrounded by mourning cypresses.


Spain still retains the Cuba that Columbus discovered, and it is the most important of her colonial possessions. The population which the Spaniards found has disappeared, with the exception of a few families around Santiago, and the people are now a conglomeration of blacks, Creoles and "peninsulares," or natives of Spain. Most of the latter class, or Cuban Spaniards, originally came from Aragon, Catalonia, Navarre, Castile and other districts of Northern and Northeastern Spain, being traders and mechanics, and so sturdy and energetic that they not only obtained control of the wealth, but the government of the island. "For a time after the conquest in 1511 none but Castilians were allowed to settle in Cuba; but after the prohibition was removed, colonists from all the provinces, and even from the Canary Islands, came thither. The Biscayans hire out as mechanics; the Catalans, who are numerous,


devote themselves to hard labor; the Asturians, Castilians and Andalusians occupy clerkships and the learned professions." The aborigines of the West Indies have disappeared, or been driven along the pathway of the Antilles to South America, leaving many strange relics behind them which will be properly placed at the Columbian Exposition.

The metropolitan center of Cuba's best life is Havana, through which flows so large a revenue to needy Spain. The city is almost as well known as New York, having about half the population of Madrid, and presenting, besides its immense commercial activity, one of the finest opera houses in existence.

The most noteworthy church is the large Jesuit Cathedral, plain without but richly frescoed within, its floor and portions of its altars being constructed of beautiful variegated marble. In the wall of the chancel an inscribed medallion indicates that below is the tomb of Columbus.

Until 1877 it was supposed that the remains of Columbus undoubtedly rested beneath the rich marble floor of the Havana Cathedral. From Spain they were carried to San Domingo, and when, in 1795, Hispaniola was transferred to France, the supposed dust of the illustrious man was borne to Havana. Washington Irving thus describes the impressive ceremonies attending the historic event:

"On the 20th of December, 1795, the most distinguished persons of the place (San Domingo), the dignitaries of the church, the civil and military officers, assembled in the metropolitan cathedral. In the presence of this august assemblage, a small vault was opened above the chancel, in the principal


wall on the right side of the high altar. Within were found the fragments of a leaden coffin, a number of bones, and a quantity of mould, evidently the remains of a human body. These were carefully collected and put into a case of gilded lead, about half an ell in length and breadth, and a third in height, secured by an iron lock, the key of which was delivered to the archbishop. The case was inclosed in a coffin covered with black velvet, and ornamented with lace and fringe of gold. The whole was then placed in a temporary tomb or mausoleum.

"On the following day there was another grand convocation at the cathedral, when the vigils and masses for the dead were solemnly chanted by the archbishop, accompanied by the commandant-general of the Armada, the Dominican and Franciscan friars of the Order of Mercy, together with the rest of the distinguished assemblage. After this a funeral sermon was preached by the archbishop.

"On the same day, at four o'clock in the afternoon, the coffin was transported to the ship with the utmost state and ceremony, with a civil, religious and military procession, banners wrapped in mourning, chants, and responses, and discharges of artillery. The most distinguished persons of the several orders took turn to support the coffin. The key was taken with great formality from the hands of the archbishop by the governor, and given into the hands of the commander of the Armada, to be delivered by him to the governor of Havana, to be held in deposit until the pleasure of the king should be known. The coffin was received on board of a brigantine called the Discoverer, which, with all the other shipping, displayed mourning signals, and saluted the remains with the honors paid to an admiral.

"From the port of St. Domingo the coffin was conveyed to the bay of Ocoa, and there transferred to the ship San Lorenzo. It was accompanied by a portrait of Columbus, sent from Spain by the Duke of Veraguas, to be suspended close by the place where the remains of his illustrious ancestor should be deposited."

Upon the arrival of the ship at Havana, the ceremonies of receiving the remains were alike impressive, and the leaden coffin was deposited, with great reverence, in the wall on the right side of the grand altar. It was thus intended that the tomb of Columbus should have the place of honor in the cathedral of Havana, as in the cathedral of San Domingo.

Now comes the sequel, and the uncertainty as to whether the remains which were brought to Havana, with all this pomp and ceremony, were really those of Columbus. In 1877, while making some changes about the chancel of the San Domingo cathedral, the authorities


discovered an occupied vault on either side of it, as well as one which was empty. An inscription upon one of the leaden coffins indicated that the bones within were those of Luis, the grandson of Columbus. Various letters and inscriptions were found upon the other, which have been thus deciphered: "Discoverer of America, First Admiral;" "Illustrious and Renowned Man, Christopher Columbus;" "A part of the remains of the First Admiral, Don Christopher Columbus, Discoverer."

Since the alleged discovery of the remains of Columbus in San Domingo, high authorities have charged that the word America could not have been used at the time of the Admiral's burial; that the inscriptions have been tampered with; that the casket at San Domingo contains the remains of Christopher Columbus, the grandson of the famous man, and that the whole affair is an attempt to impose a fraud upon the world. But wherever the dust of Christopher Columbus rests, his fame is secure.


First, now, as to the people. The Portuguese, as a race, rest more upon their language than their personal appearance. In the south they are dark, tall and lithe, almost Arabs in their general features, while in the north they greatly resemble the natives of extreme Northwestern Spain, who have a greater proportion of primitive blood than those of the south. The Portuguese tongue, on the other hand, has found eulogists among all nationalities, having been variously described as a language of flowers, the eldest daughter of the Latin, and the soft and voluptuous dialect. What few harsh and guttural sounds are heard, it inherits from the Arabic which, while the Moors were in power, was spoken throughout the country. The Portuguese language is a most admirable aid to the courteous and insinuative manners of the higher classes of the country. These, in fact, are more pleasing in their address than those in the same plane of Spanish society, while the lower classes are more ignorant and degraded. But whatever else may be said of him, the Portuguese is brave, patriotic, hospitable and cheerful, and hates the Spaniard, and especially the Castilian, for his attempt to subjugate him completely; and yet, speaking in general terms, the Portuguese is but a Spaniard with a softer tongue and a harder body.

The Portuguese, of Portugal, either as an agricultural or a commercial race, show little of that spirit of revival which is seen in so


many parts of Spain. Since the French threatened to swallow them during the Peninsular War they have transferred their best energies to Brazil.

Before the birth of Columbus, Prince Henry of Portugal was one of the grandest soldiers of Europe. He particularly distinguished himself in the wars against the African Moors, and was offered the command of armies, not only by home rulers, but by foreign monarchs. Prince Henry was of superb physique, and first in the kingdom in all manly exercises; and he was a scholar — a deep mathematician, an astronomer and a geographer. In fact, his intense love of science and discovery overcame all his other ambitions. By his campaigns in Africa he had acquired some knowledge of the western coast of that continent, learning also of its extension far southward. Withdrawing from court, and resolutely refusing all offers of military advancement, he established himself upon the rocky promontory which juts out from Southwestern Portugal, at Sagres, near Cape St. Vincent. Here he built the first observatory in Portugal, drew around him some of the most noted cosmographers of Europe, and putting his bold heart into the timid breasts of the Portuguese, made them the most distinguished navigators in the world. Expedition after expedition was dispatched by him in this search for the southern passage to the Indies, so that before he died, in 1463, every cape of the coast beyond which the seamen of his day insisted that no ship could pass had been rounded, and that zone of fire had been entered nearly to the equator which the authorities of that time averred was the zone of death.

Prince Henry gave the impetus to Portuguese discovery, which, twenty-four years after his death, brought the first known European ship around the Cape of Good Hope. The Portuguese were now upon every sea, and Lisbon was the center of nearly every grand enterprise. It was therefore quite fortunate that a few years after the noble prince's death, the ship-wrecked sailor, Columbus, should be cast upon the shores of Portugal near the famous observatory, in the vicinity of Cape St. Vincent, and that he should wander to the stirring city of Lisbon. The sturdy, inquiring mariner married a daughter of one of Prince Henry's most trustworthy captains.

Prince Henry was a worthy predecessor and inspirer of Columbus, and among the works of art which Americans should honor are the statue of the lofty-souled Portuguese, which may be seen over a gate of the Church of Belem, Lisbon, and the monument to his memory, which stands in the town of Sagres.


The Italians.

THIS people is a family of the great Graeco-Roman group, which comprises the natives of Greece, Italy, France and Spain. The Latin branch, or tribe of the Italian race, early attained the sovereignty over its own kindred, over the Gauls in the north, the Greeks in the south and the aborigines (Etruscans and Iapygians) in the east and extreme southeast. On the Palatine Hill, probably as a frontier defense against the Etruscans, commenced to rise the first crude buildings which were to form the nucleus of the great City of the Seven Hills and the mightiest empire of the ancient times. When this infant Rome was finished, it is said to have consisted of about a thousand dwellings, irregularly arranged. Strangers were invited to the new settlement, and the next we hear of it, it is the city of the Latin confederacy, or of Latium, where the Senate meets and metropolitan life is at its best.


After some twenty-six hundred years we find a city inclosed by some twelve miles of walls, one-third of which area only is inhabited. One-half is strewn with ancient ruins, and the balance is laid out in gardens or vineyards. The city occupies a marsh on each side of the Tiber and the slopes of the seven hills, the greater portion of Rome being on the left bank.


The center of interest is the Capitoline Hill, the smallest but most famous of the group. On the summit of this rocky mountain were built three magnificent capitols, which were destroyed by fire, the modern structure being erected partly on the foundation of the ancient temple. From the Capitoline Hill, or that portion of it called the Tarpeian Rock, state criminals were thrown. The remains of the ancient capitol, in whose spacious portico the people feasted when their Emperor returned to celebrate a triumph, are confined to a small section of the superstructure


and wall, and a portion of the great flight of steps leading to the temple. Besides the capitol, or the great Temple of Jupiter, were the Temple of Jupiter Tonans and the magnificent Tabularium, wherein were stored the public records of the empire, which contained its treasury and served as a library and lecture building. The remains of the latter structure still have an imposing appearance.

From the south of the capitol to the city walls are cultivated land, beautiful gardens and vineyards. From the great northern entrance of Rome to the foot of the hill runs the Corso, a street about a mile long, passing through the site of the ancient Campus Martius, an open space of many acres, where the ancient Romans were wont to assemble and indulge in games and other amusements; this is now the most densely populated portion of Rome and given up to trade. On each side of the Corso are palaces and churches, while to the right, about half way up, branches off a noble street leading to the immense Jesuit convent and church.


The strip between the Corso and the Tiber, is densely populated by the smaller classes of traders, the poor and the beggars of Rome; market places and shops are there galore. In this quarter, however, stands the Pantheon, one of the grandest remains of all Rome's greatness. It is also the best preserved. Standing near the center of the ancient Campus, and erected nineteen centuries ago as a temple to all the heathen gods, it was consecrated twelve centuries ago as a Christian church, under the name of Sancta Maria ad Martyres. But the name of Pantheon yet clings to it, and the huge rotunda with its lofty dome rises above the surrounding squalor in all the impressiveness of Roman architecture. Its portico, over a hundred feet in length, with triple rows of mighty granite columns, the capitals and bases of which are marble, is one of the most remarkable productions of artistic genius to be seen in Rome. Much of the bronze roof, which these pillars support, has been removed by various Popes to be used in the interior decoration of the Vatican, as have also many fine marbles from the body of the Pantheon. But the monument stands in its general features of grandeur. Once within, you seem to stand beneath a miniature heavenly vault, your illusion being only dispelled when, upon glancing upward, you see the floods of light pouring through a large opening in the dome and scattering itself, as if by magic, to every altar and niche of the interior. Originally, the exterior of the dome was covered with plates of silver, but these were removed and bronze ones substituted. A modern copy


of the Pantheon is the world-famed St. Peter's, and thus there is a double bond of union between the ancient and modern religion of Rome.


The Upper Town, so called, lies on the slope of the Pincian and Quirinal Hills, consisting of palaces, villas, churches and convents, gardens and beautiful walks. In this locality were the favorite promenades of the Romans. On the summit of the Quirinal is the famous pontifical palace and garden. From it is obtained a striking view of the castle of St. Angelo, with its great circular tower, mounted with cannon and protected with ramparts and ditches. It commands the bridge which forms the principal means of communication between the two portions of the city. St. Angelo looms up like a ponderous warrior guarding the approach to the Vatican, consisting of the palace and the basilica of St. Peter's. This wonderful creation of architectural genius and religious fervor can not be described in a few, or many, words. St. Peter's must be seen and felt — the approach through the great circular court, its palatial front and mighty dome, the grand central nave, with its gorgeous ornaments and many statues, and its chapels, tombs and altars! Then passing from the right to the Piazza, of St. Peter's, up the wonderful staircase called Scala Regia we turn to the left and enter the Sistine chapel of Michael Angelo, for it is next to impossible not to associate him with it in the sense of ownership. His genius looks down from the ceiling in The Creation, The Fall of Man and The Deluge, while The Last Judgment, pronounced by some the greatest of all paintings, has drawn the eyes of the world to the end wall, which is a little more than forty feet across. "Upon this work Michael Angelo spent seven years of almost incessant labor and study. To animate him in the task Pope Paul III., attended by ten cardinals, waited upon the artist at his house, an honor," says Lanzi, who records the fact, "unparalleled in the history of art."


The old Mamertine prison, whose walls are built of such enormous stones as to prove the structure a relic of Rome's ancient monarchs, is supposed to be the gloomy work of Martius, or Mamertius, the fourth king of the city who flourished 600 B.C. There is a Catholic legend to the effect that St. Peter or St. Paul was confined in one of its damp cells, and, having converted the jailer, a spring of water bubbled from the stone floor to enable him to baptize him. Beneath the floor is a dungeon


which has been found to be of great size and in which the conspirators of Cataline were strangled to death.


The Vatican is divided from the Trastevere, or the portion of the city on this side of the Tiber which is not within the province of the Church, by an inner wall. This district is bounded by the river and a ridge which rises 300 feet above it. Along the northern half of the heights is carried a broad street which is a favorite promenade of the Roman youth; and the largest fountain of Rome graces a commanding site, its torrents of water seeming, from a distance, to rush through three mighty arches. Many other fountains beautify the modern city. Collected in these refreshing localities may occasionally be seen the beautiful


Roman maidens of the artist, dancing and singing "for a bit," or seated about in careless grace. In the squares also where the fountains play and to which the tired curiosity seeker instinctively repairs to bring before his eyes something besides ruins, the Roman beggar is at his best — there and at the doors of the great churches. But even the plague of mendicancy is being somewhat alleviated through government efforts, and it may be that these characters which have made Rome noted will disappear as effectually as the old-fashioned, mild and romantic Roman peasant.

Something, or somebody, to satisfy artistic cravings, however, may be found in the dreary Campagna, that great pestilential tract which surrounds the city and includes the greater portion of ancient Latium. The ground is low and often flooded from the Tiber. The small lakes are formed by craters of extinct volcanoes. Wars, pestilences (especially the Black Death in the fourteenth century) and the overflow of the Tiber may account for the present unhealthfulness of the Campagna, which according to Livy always had that reputation in some degree, although it once was well cultivated and adorned with such villas as those of Domitian and Hadrian.

The Campagna is deserted except by the poorer classes of peasants and shepherds, and in summer, when the most dangerous vapors arise, they, too, flee to Rome or neighboring localities. But in autumn the pasturage is in many places rich and abundant, and then the herdsmen and shepherds descend from the Apennine mountains with their cattle, goats and sheep. They are the figures for the artist's pencil — shepherds with broad-brimmed hats, great cloaks, their feet swathed in rags, their hair and beard long and profuse.


As the shepherd of the Campagna pipes along over the morasses and fields of sward to his pasture grounds, with his dogs and flocks, he is quite likely to be walking over whole streets of the dead. The catacombs of Rome, those subterranean vaults which line the dark passageways for many dreary miles, are outside the city walls and approached by stone steps, which descend to openings in the rock from the famous Appian Way. Within these labyrinths, whose rocky walls are so many sealed tombs and which occasionally expand into wide and lofty chambers, are deposited the bodies of countless Christians of the primitive church — bishops and laymen, but martyrs almost invariably, as the inscriptions upon the tombs eloquently and pathetically testify. These imposing chambers were, no doubt, churches. In the repeated wars which


Rome suffered many of the catacombs were destroyed, and to circumvent future ravages the Popes caused thousands of bodies of the illustrious dead to be removed to places of safety. It is possible that from this city of the dead, whose inhabitants have been reckoned by the millions and the length of whose streets is hundreds of miles, although its pollution has been sealed from those who pass along its rocky ways, may still arise influences which have their effect upon the marshy, steaming Campagna above.


But we now return to the Capitoline Hill, having crossed the river to explore the Vatican and the freshest district of modern Rome. By a steep descent from the hill we reach the Colosseum in what is now known as the Campo Vaccino, or cattle market, thus indicating the purpose to which the great Roman Forum has for centuries been devoted. In ancient times, also, the markets formed an important feature of the Forum, a great portion of which was devoted to the assemblies of the people. Here were hung up for the benefit of the public the laws of the Twelve Tables, and afterward the calendars of the courts, written upon white tables, that the citizens might be informed as to legal proceedings. One portion of the Forum was, in fact, devoted to trade and the other a public assembly ground and the scene of banquets and gladiatorial sports, the two being divided by the platforms from which the Roman orators addressed the citizens. After Caesar's time the Roman Forum lost its political and popular character, and with the erection of the Colosseum it became almost entirely the center of those cruelties called sports. Triumphal arches were also erected by the Emperors, such as those of Constantine and Titus, and splendid monuments and temples, some of which still stand. On the east and south the Forum was bounded by the Sacra Via, upon the highest point of which stood Titus' arch, and which connected the Colosseum with the other wonders of the Forum.

It was the original intention of Augustus to build a great amphitheatre in the center of Rome, and Vespasian and his son Titus realized the former's bright hopes with the help of the vast number of Jewish workmen which he brought as captives from Jerusalem. The site selected was in a hollow between two hills which Nero had caused to be made for an artificial lake. The great structure, which was 615 x 510 feet, was in four stories and in three different styles of architecture. It was dedicated by Titus 80 A. D., with a brilliant programme of games and gladiatorial shows, numbers of men and thousands of wild beasts being killed to satisfy the 80,000 spectators who are supposed to have been present. Later this was the arena where many of the early Christians suffered


martyrdom. Otherwise the Colosseum has few historical associations. It is supposed to have remained entire until the eleventh century, when Rome was sacked by the Normans and the Colosseum partially demolished to destroy its utility as a fortress. In the fourteenth century it was a favorite arena for bull-fights and it afterward became a hospital. Its walls were used as building material for Roman palaces and attempts were made to transform it into a bazaar and a saltpetre factory. Then a cross was planted in the center of the still grand ruin, with small chapels around the walls, and once every week it was customary to hold exercises in memory of the saints and unknown martyrs who suffered for their faith. Subsequently these were removed and the excavations which followed revealed a multitude of chambers and passages whose uses are unknown.

From a point beyond the Colosseum, the Palatine Hill and the ruined Palace of the Caesars, and beyond the present city walls, but which was once not far removed from the very center of Rome, stands a long procession of fragmentary aqueducts. The most noted of these are the aqueducts of Marcia and Claudia. The water supply of modern Rome is along much the same course; in fact, the works of Marcia and Claudia have been partially utilized.


The Italian is not a peasant from choice and no Italian who is wealthy enough to own a farm would think of occupying it. The owner graces his property long enough to collect his crop moneys, leaving it the rest of the year in charge of hired laborers, who are crowded together in little villages. Here and there throughout the country are great tracts of land, upon which are masses of buildings, surrounded by high walls and deep moats, mementos of the days when hordes of barbarians might sweep down from the North at any moment, burn the vineyards and destroy the grain; the bandits came later to terrify the life of the prosperous farmer and make it more agreeable for him to live in town with his wife and family.

Much in the same way the country population have got into the habit of emigrating to the cities and towns. They usually have acquired trades such as those of masons, carpenters or house painters, and from their busy hands came many of the superb structures which grace both the ancient and modern cities of Italy. Many of them gather not only competencies, but fortunes. Yearly they return to their beloved fields and valleys to spend their idle months, and finally, perhaps, to live. A case in point is that of a gentleman of Piedmont who became chief


director of the great tunnel, on the Apennines, above Genoa, at the time of the construction of the railway there. At length he retired to his country home, and employed several hundred villagers to transform his hut into a palace and his bare rocks into a park. Other young men, especially of the Northern districts, turned up their noses at the plow and sought their fortunes in Austria and Germany; so that, as an observer of this feature of peasant life once remarked, "in Italy are to be found boors who for half the year are, at Vienna, bankers, barons and even counts, of the Holy Roman Empire."

Those whom circumstances force to stay at home and till the soil are apt to ape metropolitan ways. They are social by nature, and would rather live huddled in a squalid hamlet than out in the country where each man may have his own vineyard and plenty of pure air and fresh water. "In their dingy provincial towns they huddle together, land owners, farmers and most of the laborers; and every town gives itself the airs and revels in the light gossip of the capital; every town has a cafe, or a score of cafιs in which to idle away time, all with their tawdry, smoky, gilt and mirrored rooms."

It is a common plan in Italy for the land owner and his laborers to share the profits in kind, the proportion varying with the fertility of the land. The peasant furnishes the implements of husbandry and half of the laboring cattle. If he is so poor that the land owner must support him while he tills, his position becomes most unenviable.


The most perfect picture of the City of Flowers is obtained from Fiesole, the site of the ancient market-place or town which was the parent of the stately Florence. Upon these heights, overlooking the city, the elder Cosmo built him a villa and laid out beautiful gardens, to which resorted the stately and royal Lorenzo to muse, to plan, to plot, to suffer and to repent. From this point Florence, her populous suburbs and outlying villas, vineyards and gardens, appear to be one vast city, her majestic form, garlanded with flowers and wreaths of green, lying prone upon the ground and shaded by a circle of gently sloping hills. The Arno is her yellow girdle. It was in Lorenzo's neighboring villa at Careggi that the interview with Savonarola is said to have taken place.

And now we turn from one of the world's most magnificent princes and priests to one of her most magnificent geniuses.

The villas in which Galileo resided are more famous, in this age of the world, than any which were glorified by the magnificence of Lorenzo.


His own villa, the one to which he repaired to pass the last dark years of his harassed life, is situated beyond the hill Arcetri. "It is an ivy-draped, gloomy, desolate-looking abode." His observatory, a rude tower, is not far away. The father of astronomy passed his younger, hopeful days at the villa of the historian, Guicardini, perched upon a beautiful height called Bellosquardo. Near the northern entrance of the quaint old building is a bust of Galileo with a tablet chronicling his residence of fourteen years within its walls. The grounds are laid out in pretty gardens, the present owner retaining a remembrance, no doubt, of the fact that its former illustrious guest was a passionate lover of flowers. From the roof of the villa, the center of which is railed off and furnished with sofas, tables, chairs, etc., may be obtained another glorious panorama of Florence and its historical buildings and spots, and the beauties of the surrounding country.

"There is the vine and olive-clad valley of the Arno; the Cascine, the favorite promenade or drive, the Hyde Park of Florence; the Poggio Imperiale, and, leading to it, that

"‘ — abrupt, black line of cypresses
Which signs the way to Florence.’"

There is no other city in Italy whose architecture is of so gloomy and massive a nature; and to the solidity of her structures is due the fact that they are now in such an interesting state of preservation, having withstood the sieges and attacks of contending parties for centuries.

First among the glorious monuments to Florentine genius is the Cathedral, the greatest wonder of which is its grand cupola, planned and erected by Brunelleschi. This was taken by Michael Angelo as his model for St. Peters, the two, with the campanile near the cathedral of Florence, forming perhaps the most wonderful combinations of grandeur and grace among all the noted structures of ecclesiastical architecture. The cathedral, baptistry and bell tower are covered with a mosaic of black and white marble. The baptistry is an octagon in form, supporting a cupola and lantern and guarded by three great gates of bronze, the two by Ghiberti being called by Michael Angelo the Gates of Paradise.

The cathedral, campanile and baptistry look upon the Piazza del Duomo and on one of the stone benches which faces their magnificence was wont to sit a man of classic features, large-eyed and majestic — Dante, the poet, reformer, afterward the exile, and, with Michael Angelo, the most revered of the many geniuses of Florence and Italy.

Dante died at Ravenna, just beyond the Maritime Alps and the boundaries of the republic which exiled him. His bones have been


stolen several times, once to keep them from a cardinal of the Church, who wished to burn them as those of a heretic, and again by certain ones who would not have the precious remains removed to Florence, which has made repeated efforts to honor the poet in death. Finally, 500 years after his decease, a great cenotaph was built in Santa Croce, but the little dome-like shrine in the Ravenna chapel still treasures the remains. From 1677 to 1865 Dante's bones remained hidden in a rough wooden box which was found deposited in the walls of the chapel while the building was being repaired in anticipation of the celebration of the 6000th anniversary of his birth. The day was observed with great magnificence in Florence, a statue of Dante being unveiled in the Piazza Santa Croce. Among modern Italians of note there assembled were Ristori, Salvini and Rossi.

Grouped around the cathedral are other religious edifices which elsewhere would appear of almost unrivaled grandeur, that of Santa Croce, being known as the Pantheon of Florence, containing monuments to Galileo, Dante, Machiavelli, Michael Angelo and Alfieri. The Church of San Lorenzo was rebuilt from an ancient one consecrated by St. Ambrose. The architect was Brunelleschi. Within this grand casing is a memorial monument to Cosmo, with the popular title inscribed upon it of Pater Patriae. Lorenzo de Medici is honored, monumentally, in the New Sacristry, his statue being a model of manly beauty. The Medicean chapel, gorgeous with the rarest marbles and most costly stones, stands behind the choir and contains the tombs of the Medici and those of the grand dukes, their successors. The Laurentian library, founded by a Medici, adjoins the church.


The Palazzo Vecchio, so long the seat of the Republican government, is an imposing pile, surmounted by a tower 260 feet high, whose great bell used to warn the citizens of danger and call them to arms. The adjoining square contains magnificent groups of statuary. Michael Angelo's great fame rests in St. Peter's and the Sistine Chapel, but in the judgment of some his statue of David Confronting the Philistine, standing in the square which fronts the Palazzo Vecchio, is his greatest work as a sculptor.

In this square, also — the Piazza della Signoria — were laid the scenes of Savonarola's triumph and death. As an offset to the scandalous public amusements which were encouraged by the Medici and their party, under his direction a pyramid of carnival dresses, obscene pictures and


portraits, cards, dice, gaming boards, etc., was formed in the square. The interior of the pyramid was filled with combustible materials and on the top was a monstrous image representing the carnival. A great procession of citizens, monks and children, bearing red crosses and olive branches, marched to the "pile of vanities," the little ones sung, the great bell of the Palazzo tolled, the multitude shouted and the pyramid went up in great clouds of smoke and sheets of flame. The same square


witnessed his martyrdom, with two of his fellow monks, and there also his enemies saw him narrowly escape the "ordeal by fire" which was to prove him a child of God or of Satan.

"The convent of San Marco, in which Savonarola lived during his protracted conflict with Rome, stands almost unchanged from his day. The walls are covered with exquisite frescoes by Fra Angelica, an artist of so devout a spirit that he is said always to have painted on his knees. In the cell occupied by Savonarola are shown his Bible, the margin filled with annotations in his own hand, and a volume of his sermons."


Next to the Palazzo Vecchio is a great palace founded by Cosmo I., in the first floor of which are deposited the public archives and a library of 150,000 volumes and 12,000 MSS. The famous Florentine gallery of paintings, engravings, sculptures, mosaics, etc., occupies the second floor. The Pitti Palace, fronting upon a charming park containing marble fountains, green gardens and stately drives, is the modern residence of the Grand Duke, and, while Florence was the capital of Italy, the home of the King. This is the unfinished monument commenced by Brunelleschi to perpetuate the greatness of the family which fell before the power of the Medici.

Behind the palace are the Boboli gardens, with their solid avenues of trees and hedges, waterfalls, grottos, flowers and statues. "The city is seen through a line of solemn cypresses which stand out against the dazzling walls and towers beyond."

The Strozzi palace is a noteworthy type of Tuscan architecture — but the list is too great to exhaust in detail. Besides famous palaces, villas and churches, Florence reveals the fact that she lives in the active present; for hospitals, lunatic asylums, theatres, academies, museums, colleges of medicine and agriculture,


etc., etc., are not only flourishing but growing in number. The Florentines are to-day witty and eloquent, shrewd and industrious, educated, and stable lovers of good government and inclined to reform.

Among the geniuses of Florence must be placed Benvenuto Cellini, who was intended for a musician, but chose himself to become one of the most eminent engravers of his day, if not of any age. He was stamped both as a genius and an incorrigible youth before he was sixteen years of age, and was banished from his native town for having taken part in a duel. He entered the service of the Pope, having pleased him with the die which he made, from which that magnate's gold medal was struck, and helped defend the castle of San Angelo against the imperial troops. Having become noted both as a soldier and an engraver, he was received back into the good graces of the Florentines, continued to increase his reputation as an artist and a quarrelsome fellow, fled from the city, returned to Rome, got into more trouble, went


to France, appeared again in his native town, secured as a patron Cosmo de Medici, executed his "Perseus with the head of Medusa," and his "Christ," and established his fame for all time. The best part of his smaller artistic works are his productions in metals, the embossed decorations of shields, cups, salvers, ornamented sword and dagger hilts, clasps, medals and coins.


The bridges which span the Arno are picturesque and historical. Farthest to the east is the Ponte alle Grazie, there being a chapel at its foot dedicated to Santa Maria delle Grazie. It was here that Pope Gregory X., from his temporary wooden throne, with the dignitaries of the city around him, addressed the multitude who were assembled below in the dry bed of the Arno, and decreed that the Guelphs and Ghibellines should become friends. But though the leaders of the rival factions kissed one another, they were not so ready to "make up," and, beginning to quarrel again in less than a week, brought the ban of excommunication upon Florence as a city.

The Ponte Vecchio is called the Jeweler's Bridge, because it is lined with shops representing that craft.

From the Ponte Vecchio the ashes of Savonarola and his brother martyrs were cast into the Arno by order of the Signoria, that they might work no miracle detrimental to the city's interests. The Ponte ΰ Santa Trinita is the most artistic of the bridges, its angles being adorned with gems of art. A shocking and sad interest attaches to the Ponte alla Carraja. In 1304, a great May day fκte was given in honor of a cardinal, and among other pageants, one been prepared for him by which the horrors of hell were depicted by men, women and children, representing demons, who rushed about in flames of artificial fire, writhing and yelling, and punishing the


wicked, the scene of the terrible picture being laid upon a fleet of rafts and barges which covered the river below the bridge. The wooden structure gave way under its human load, and the spectators were precipitated upon the performers, the resulting casualty snatching away some member of nearly every family in Florence. Dante, it is related, upon this occasion, conceived his idea of the Inferno. Not far from this bridge stands a house bearing an inscription to the effect that it was once the dwelling of Amerigo Vespucci.


The ancient inhabitants of Genoa, long before they were incorporated with the Roman Empire, were Celts or Greeks; this is as near as historians can get at their origin. In really historical times the Genoese were noted as brave and vigorous soldiers in the Roman legions and as untiring and enterprising merchants. When Genoa became a separate Italian state, she combined her military with her commercial strength, sturdily defending her galleys laden with rich merchandise, which covered the Mediterranean Sea, and carrying on wars with Pisa and Venice, which were her greatest rivals in trade. Pisa she crushed, while she was discomfited by Venice. In alliance with Pisa she drove the Saracens from Corsica and Sardinia and vigorously sustained the Crusades. She was torn with civil dissensions between Guelph and Ghibelline factions, democratic and patrician leaders, but in the sixteenth century the republic was restored by her great citizen, Andrea Doria. Her foreign rulers were expelled, German and Austrian influence was broken, and she, with other cities of Sardinia, became finally a portion of the kingdom of Italy.

But whether ruled by Lombards, Turks, Germans, native citizens and princes, or the French, whatever her fortunes, she has wonderfully maintained her commercial standing. The city, which is so picturesquely situated on the Mediterranean Sea, reveals its ancient warlike and commercial character. Palaces, churches, hotels and private dwellings, terraced gardens and groves of orange and pomegranate trees, cover the slopes of the hills down to the shore, "while the bleak summits of the loftier ranges are capped with forts, batteries and outworks which constitute a line of fortifications of great strength and extensive circuit." But incorporated into the body of United Italy, the Genoese no longer display their former bitterness toward sister cities. A few years ago, a portion of the huge chain which was drawn across the port of Pisa by its citizens to keep out the invading fleet, and which had been carried off by the Genoese when they blocked up the harbor and destroyed the commerce of their rivals, was returned to the Tuscan port as an evidence of


good-will. But the sting of those bitter contests still rankles in the memories of the states of Northern Italy, especially of Tuscany, where a proverb still crouches under the tongue of every citizen to the effect that Genoa has "a sea without fish, mountains without stones, men without honor and women without modesty." If the proverb had omitted most of its irony and had continued, "buildings without streets," the assertions would have contained more truth.

From the sea and the splendid harbor, with its lighthouse 300 feet in height, the city and shores of the gulf form a grand panorama, but entering the port, it is seen that the streets are so narrow that foot passengers and mules, loaded with merchandise, pack them from side to side. They are dark, gloomy labyrinths, lined with tall marble buildings, many of them having been the elegant, spacious palaces of merchant princes, doges, and powerful families who ruled the state. The two most famous are the Palazzo Ducale, formerly inhabited by the doges (those supreme magistrates of the city for two centuries), and in which the senate now meets; and the Palazzo Doria, presented in the sixteenth century to the great citizen who threw off the French and foreign yoke, and became President of the new republic. Other palaces contain large galleries of paintings, which are shown for a fee, but most of them are occupied as public buildings. Few persons, even of distinction, in modern Genoa, can afford to occupy these stately marble piles. They have, therefore, been transformed into hotels or business establishments; and it is a forcible reminder of the instability of worldly affairs to enter one of these imposing palaces, and find its noble porticos or lobbies supported by marble columns and occupied by hucksters and petty traders.

Genoa has one of the most elegant theatres in Italy, and a statue of Columbus which is well worthy of notice. The Cathedral of St. Lorenzo, among her noticeable churches, is a grand old pile in the Italian Gothic style. And there is one line of streets — the Strade Balbi, Nuovissima and Nuova — which would be a credit to any European city; but the same decay of the nobility is here as in the lanes of Genoa. The stately palaces rise magnificently on either hand "built with a central quadrangle, bright with fountains, flowers and orange groves and open to the public view through a wide and lofty gateway," but the lower stories have, many of them, been transformed into mercantile establishments.


Naples is famed for its beautiful bay, its noisy people, its historical associations, its ancient and excavated environs and the castles of Norman,


Bourbon and Saracenic origin scattered in and around it. The city is divided into two portions by a range of hills, the eastern division being the oldest and most thickly populated. It contains the chief public structures, but many of the streets are very narrow and paved with lava, the houses being of such great height that they appear to overhang the pathways. The western or modern section is intersected by broad and splendid thoroughfares, among the most famous being the Quay, which curves around the bay for three miles, on one side being a row of palaces and on the other a strip of beautiful parks, adorned with temples and fountains, groves of acacias and oranges.

The architecture of Naples is brilliant rather than impressive. Of its 300 churches the Cathedral of St. Gennaro is interesting as containing the tombs of Pope Innocent IV. and Charles of Anjou. Next to its museum, and coming before it in the minds of the populace, are the Opera House of San Carlo, one of the largest and most fashionable in Italy, and the "Teatro di San Carlina," where all classes flock to witness the performances of Pulcinella, the Italian "Punch."

The fashionable promenade of Naples is the Villa Nazionale, being nearly a mile long and two hundred feet wide, planted with evergreens and oaks, and containing temples dedicated to Virgil and Tasso, winding paths, grottos and a terrace extending into the sea. Of the most famous castles, Nuova, is near the port and consists of massive towers and fosses. Between two of the towers is the triumphal arch erected in honor of the entry of Alfonso of Aragon into the city. Within the castle are the barracks and armory, and the whole structure is connected with


the royal palace by a gallery. The arsenal and dockyard, at which frequently lie the great iron-clads of the Italian navy, adjoin the castle and the palace. In the southern portion of the city is the Castle dell' Ova (of oval form), now used as a prison, and the castle of St. Elmo, situated on a bold point and said to be honey-combed under ground with mines and passages. The castle has been dismantled, however, and is now a military prison. Other castles, once occupied by the Swabian, Anjou and other reigning dynasties, have been transformed into prisons and courts of law. The municipal palace is a great structure, covering 200,000 square feet of ground, in which all the city business is transacted.

Several of the most noteworthy of the churches of Naples stand upon the sites of ancient temples, erected by the Greeks in the days of their prosperity in Sicily and Southern Italy. The Cathedral is said to stand, on the foundations of a Temple of Apollo; and others on the ruins of Temples of Mercury and Diana. In fact, the pillars and marbles of the heathen structures have oftentimes been built into the later churches. The Cathedral itself is supported by more than a hundred columns of granite, which belonged to the edifice over which it was erected. In a subterranean chapel under the choir is deposited the body of St. Januarius, the patron saint of Naples. Two phials, said to contain his blood, are kept in the treasury of the cathedral. Upon occasions of public calamity and certain festivals devoted to him, the phials are brought forth and when, amidst the most solemn ceremonials, they are borne near the head of the saint (for he was beheaded) the body having been laid in the


shrine beneath the high altar, the coagulated substance is said to liquefy, bubble, rise and fall, the miracle lasting several days and being the means of averting plagues and the eruptions of Vesuvius.


Naples is a contraction of Neapolis, the Greek for "new city." The original city is supposed to have been located on a ridge called Posilipo, in which were the residence and tomb of Virgil, the latter being at the entrance to a dark, romantic grotto. This ridge separates the Bay of Naples from the Bay of Pozzuoli, or Baiae. Around the shores of the latter beautiful sheet of water were the villas of the wealthiest of the Romans, and in its depths a corn-laden ship, which had barely escaped wreck, cast anchor and at the massive pier, which then stretched into the sea, discharged its grain and human freight. Its most precious human burden, in view of subsequent events, was the rugged, manly, eloquent Paul, who was on his way to preach the gospel at Rome. On the eastern shore of the bay fickle and fierce Mount Vesuvius towers over little towns and villages, which seem drawn to its fertile slopes by some unaccountable fascination. Its ancient crater, at one time partly filled with water, was the fortress of the rebel chief, Spartacus; that was before it had buried Herculaneum and Pompeii, the former in mud, the latter in ashes. After eighteen hundred years of darkness, Pompeii is being brought to light, while a modern village stands over the mountain of mud which covers Herculaneum.

The site of Pompeii remained long unknown, for the fearful convulsion which destroyed it raised the sea beach to a considerable height and diverted the stream which formerly skirted its walls far from its ancient course. Finally, however, about the middle of the eighteenth century, operations were begun in earnest by the Neapolitan government, and owing to the fact that in many places sand, ashes and cinders had been


mixed with the immense volumes of water which poured from the crater and formed a light covering of mud, the theatres, palaces, baths, houses, temples, with their statues and mosaics, were found in a remarkable state of preservation. Few skeletons were found, this circumstance going to show that most of the inhabitants were able to escape the general destruction of the city. One remarkable exception to the comparatively small number of skeletons or casts, which have been excavated from the superb town or suburb, is the discovery made in excavating a Temple of Juno. From the position of the bodies it is evident that the deluded devotees had fled to their goddess for protection, and two hundred of her children there offered their last prayer to their divinity. The minutest details of daily life and the most touching acts of heroism are revealed in the progress of these excavations. Taverns and bake-houses are entered, and the fruits and fish of the season are revealed, while loaves of bread which were never baked by artificial heat are taken from ancient ovens. A sentinel at the city gate, young men and women clasping each other's hands, women with their children, all escaping from the streets of the city to the life beyond — some courting death and others fleeing from it —such are faint gleams of the hundred tragedies which are drawn from buried Pompeii.


Within the Museum of Naples are the majority of all the curiosities and treasures which have been brought from Pompeii and Herculaneum; and in many cases the similarity of the domestic life of those days and the present is most striking — even the shape of the Pompeiian loaves is the same as the Neapolitan. Pompeii, however, was the elegant suburb of Naples, the resort of the wealthy Romans who had villas in the suburbs, and whose palaces and gardens stretched from it for miles around the bay. So that we must not imagine that the streets of Pompeii ever resounded with the noise and bustle of Naples.

The Neapolitans live in the streets, and of all the thoroughfares in


the world for shouting, jamming, screaming, singing, cursing; for idlers intermingled with asses, mules, hand-carts and tradesmen working at their benches — for gesticulating, quibbing and throwing society into endless forms of confusion, the Street di Toledo, which intersects old Naples, stands without a rival in the world. Of late years, however, the mendicant classes have been decreasing and monks are not allowed to beg in public.


If Venus rising from the sea was a subject over which ancient poets lavished their choicest colors, "Venice rising from the sea" has been an equally favorite theme with more modern writers. Though threadbare, it is an ever fresh and romantic topic — this rude tribe of Venetis fleeing from the Goths to the marshes and islands of the Adriatic and in two centuries building a large city, and in three a magnificent one, which covered eighty of those islands with arsenals, ship-yards, palaces, churches and great mercantile buildings. At first the people made salt and fished, then they traded in all parts of the world and established their commercial houses and factories in Rome and Constantinople. With the increase of their wealth their political power extended, and the Crusades made Venice the most powerful city in Lombardy, where almost all the riches of the East were concentrated. In the eighth century she became a republic, governed by a doge (duke). She was the acknowledged mistress of the Adriatic Sea, which for six centuries she annually "wedded" by casting a ring into its blue depths. "It is the only capital city of Europe that was not entered by an enemy from the downfall of the Roman Empire to the period of the French revolution." From its origin to that time it bore the name of a republic; when the government was overthrown in 1797, it was the most ancient republic, even in name, which history records. With the discovery of the passage to India by way of the Cape of Good Hope, Portugal snatched from Venice the commerce of the East. The Turks took away Cyprus, Candia and her possessions in the Archipelago and Greece. Thus Venice was clipped so that she no longer soared, but was limited to her Italian possessions and European trade. These, in turn, contracted more and more, so that now, unlike Genoa, she is little else than a beautiful marble-like corpse.

The Grand Canal divides Venice into two unequal parts, its tortuous course being intersected by 146 smaller channels. Over 300 bridges are thrown across these waterways, the most famous being the Rialto, a stone structure which spans the Grand Canal. Marble palaces, mighty church domes and public structures rise from the borders of the canals,


both great and small, but in summer and autumn, when the tides are highest and their green waters so distinctly reflect these architectural charms, Venice is a double vision of wonder and beauty.

The center of attraction is the shrine of her patron saint, the Square of St. Mark. It is said that during the first part of the ninth century a fleet of Venetian merchantmen was driven by a storm into the Egyptian port of Alexandria. In gratitude to Heaven for their deliverance the crews obtained the supposed body of St. Mark and transported it to their city. This apostle thus became the tutelary saint of Venice.


Upon the east side of the great square is the Church of St, Mark, built in the form of a Greek cross. Above the doorway are four famous bronze horses, brought from Constantinople, and great domes tower above the cathedral spire and minarets. The most stately of them all is the campanile, or bell tower, which rises over the cathedral "like a huge giant guarding the fairy creation at its foot." The tower is surmounted by the figure of an angel, which is thirty feet in height. St. Mark's cathedral is constructed of brick, incrusted with richly colored marbles; the statues and profuse carvings are exquisite. Buildings for the accommodation of the Patriarch, trustees of the church property, etc., etc., stand in stately array around the square.

Ruskin gives this rich coloring to the interior of St. Mark: "The church is lost in a deep twilight, to which the eye must be accustomed for some moments before the form of the building can be traced; and then there opens before us a vast cave hewn out into the form of a cross and divided into shadowy aisles by many pillars. Round the dome of its roof the light enters only through narrow apertures like large stars; and here and there a ray or two from some far-away casement wanders into the darkness and casts a narrow phosphoric stream upon the waves of marble that heave and fall in a thousand colors along the floor. What else there is of light is from torches, or silver lamps, burning ceaselessly in the recesses of the chapels; the roof sheeted with gold, and the polished walls covered with alabaster, give back at every curve and angle some feeble gleaming to the flames; and the glories round the heads of the sculptured saints flash upon us as we pass them, and sink again into the gloom."


The French.

WITHIN the veins of the French run streams of blood from Gallic (or Celtic), Frankish (Teutonic) and Roman sources. The aboriginal inhabitants were the Gauls who were conquered by the Romans, and the Gallo-Romans were, in turn, subdued by the Franks, a confederation of the German tribes whose country was in the vicinity of the Lower Rhine. It was not until the eighth century that the Frankish monarchs were able to bring beneath their sceptre the Britons, the Burgundians and the Visigoths of Spain, and thus unite all of modern France in one empire. Their rule was afterwards extended so as to include not only France, but Northeast Spain, a large part of Italy, and Germany to the Elbe. In fact, as is well known, the ambition of Charlemagne was to re-establish the Roman Empire, with France instead of Italy as the center of power. His successors were unable, however, to keep the empire intact, and from it were formed France, Germany and Italy. Thus the Germans and the Italians retained their national characteristics, and a new people and a new language were permanently formed, a union of Gallic, Teutonic and Italian elements.


It matters not in France if a man is old enough to be a grandfather, should he desire to marry he must either obtain parental consent, prove the opposition is irrational or that he is an orphan. The object of this outside supervision is to prevent hasty marriages; to put a balance-wheel upon love's reeling brain. These marital regulations are really based upon the laws of the nation, and the process by which couples who think they are old enough and of sound enough judgment to know their own minds, call upon parents or guardians to show cause why the marriage should not proceed is legally known as "a respectful summons to consent." With all these legal and private precautions in the matter of marriages, the matrimonial alliances of the French are not productive of greater happiness or worldly comfort than those of other countries, where


more is left to the heart and the instincts of men and women than to personal worth. And it is undoubtedly the many formalities required in the various stages of introduction, acquaintanceship, courtship and betrothal which has so decreased the number of marriages of late years. The birth-rate of France is also not only the lowest in Europe but in the world.


The extreme northwestern departments of France form a bold peninsula, which extends into the Atlantic Ocean. A foggy, windy country covered with stretches of moorland, cut up by well-watered and fertile valleys, with masses of granite rising from the northern and southern districts and stretching into the sea — this, in brief, is Brittany. Peasants and fishermen, dressing and living as did their forefathers three centuries ago, many of the people still speaking the ancient Cimbric, or Welsh, language, as they did when their brethren left them, in pre-historic times, and emigrated across the English channel — these are the Bretons of Brittany. So slow are they to change that some of them even hold to the superstitions of the Druids, those savage and mysterious priests who, when the Romans landed upon the coasts of Great Britain, had obtained so tyrannical a sway over the Bretons and the Welsh, and who were offering up human sacrifices in their sacred and gloomy groves. Remains of the Druidical monuments, altars, and sepulchres, are still found in Brittany, which was once subject to the same


dominion. They are chiefly located in Southern Brittany, and are intermixed with Roman antiquities, mementos of Caesar's conquest preparatory to his invasion of Great Brittany, or Britain.

The most remarkable of these remains is at Carnac, near Vannes, and consists of three groups of upright blocks, each separated from the next by the distance of about half a mile, yet with isolated blocks between showing that the series was once continuous. "In fact, the destructiveness that has for centuries been at work on these monuments makes it difficult to reconstruct the series, even in imagination. The inhabitants of the district have regarded them as a standing quarry of building materials, available without the trouble of excavation, and villages, churches, farmhouses, all around, are massively constructed of the Celtic spoils. At length, however, the spoliation has ceased, the remains are classed among ‘historical monuments’ and are henceforth comparatively safe. What they meant, what they were, no man can tell. The tradition is hardly surprising that represents them as an army of heathen warriors, stiffened into stone at the adjuration of the patron saint of the sea. Some have seen in them the long drawn aisles of Druidical worship; but most modern investigators think that they were ranges of sepulchral monuments; and the disinterred relics from beneath seem to confirm the supposition." In this same department of Morbihan may be seen remains of Roman villas and bathhouses, great broken pillars, and in an island near the coast, is a wonderful cave containing a stone gallery of fifty feet in length, whose roof and sides are covered with engravings and inscriptions which antiquarians have, so far, been unable to decipher. Cromlechs and avenues of upright stones, likewise mysteriously sculptured, and attributed to Phoenicians, Egyptians, Carthaginians and Celts are found on the sea coast; and at Vannes, the principal town of the department, is a museum of antiquities which, although of great variety, throw no light upon the mysteries.


Brittany seems to be the hermitage of France. Except that past ages are there petrified it furnishes few connecting strands with the


present. It has little historic ground. The land generally is so destitute of everything but rugged strength — which does not invite invasion, generally — that it has not been stained with any great battles, and the conflicts upon its soil are almost confined to those with Norman dukes, who had been given Brittany by the kings of France, and took a pride in actually possessing it. But down the coast to Nantes and La Rochelle, and along the banks of the stately Loire we commence to glide into territory fertilized with the blood of Catholics and Huguenots. The home of the Edict which so raised the hopes of the Protestants and the center of that disastrous emigration of skilled labor from France after its revocation, is an elegant city beautifully situated on the Loire, some of its modern districts being Parisian in their finish and brilliancy. For nearly a century the royal assurance that Protestants might worship and spread their faith, except in Paris, was a shining light to their souls; although they could not print religious books in cities where their tenets were not held and were obliged to observe the festivals of the state religion and furnish their share toward its support. Nantes was the Vatican of their faith, but La Rochelle was its Castle of San Angelo.

Rochelle was truly the Little Rock of the Protestant cause, but under the blows of Richelieu's genius and the royal troops it was split in twain, and the French Reformation was temporarily crushed. Its old fortifications were destroyed and the present ones subsequently erected. The principal streets and squares of Rochelle are adjacent to its great harbor. Of the scores of boats which are annually launched from its ship yards the majority of them are built for the Newfoundland fishing trade.

Continuing the route by the Loire, one finds on either hand restful hills of verdure, ruined castles, vineyards and villages. This is the route by rail to Tours, near which Asiatic civilization was effectually expelled from Western Europe. Tours happens also to be on the direct southern route from Paris toward Bordeaux and Spain, so that when the Saracens were defeated the capital escaped an invasion of the warlike Mohammedans. Upon the plain of Tours is said to have fought the soul of brave St. Martin, within the texture of his holy cape, which, in its shrine, was borne to the battle-field. Four centuries previous, having converted the idolaters of Gaul, he now drove back the hosts of southern infidels from the soil of France. At Tours the warrior bishop had founded a Christian cathedral, which the Saracens left to be pillaged by the Huguenots and to be totally destroyed, with the exception of two towers which now stand — the towers of St. Martin and of Charlemagne. "The former of these stood at the western entrance of the


church, the latter at the end of the northern transept; and their distance apart shows what must have been the size of that building to which, for centuries, the people of France resorted as to a Delphic shrine."

Other triumphs than those recorded on the field of battle are found in a small square village, of small square houses, surrounding a small square or park which is fronted by a small, neat church, and all hemmed about by shade and fruit trees and cultivated land. This is the colony, or reformatory of Mettray, about five miles from Tours on the opposite bank of the Loire, and founded by a Parisian lawyer and a viscount, for the purpose of training, educating, reforming and "keeping reformed" indigents and delinquents of irresponsible age, who were formerly committed by the courts to the prisons of the state. Sevenpence a day is paid by the government for the support of the children whom it sentences to the strict but fatherly care of these philanthropists, the additional expenditures found necessary being met by the members of the "Paternal Society of Mettray." We do not mention the names of these faithful friends to each other and to the youth of the world; for if one has not heard of Mettray and its founders he will assuredly become familiar with them when told that this movement is "the true parent of all institutions intended to reform and restore to society, and not merely to punish, juvenile delinquents."

Between Tours and Orleans is the town of Blois, whose streets are flushed with water from public fountains which are supplied by a splendid Roman aqueduct. But that is not enough to waste words upon, in this land of Roman aqueducts. There is a palatial castle, however, standing upon a hill and looking down in royal magnificence upon the little houses and crooked streets of the town. Within its walls was born Louis XII., and here Henry of Navarre was married. Four kings held their courts at the Castle of Blois, which witnessed, also, the murder of the duke of Guise, who held the reins of government with Catherine de Medici, mother of the young Charles. It was the scene of that same Catherine's death.

As the dense and mighty oak forest of Orleans comes into view and the magnificent plain sloping toward the Loire, upon whose verge it stands, and then its walls and dry ditches, now softened by pleasant, shaded boulevards, the Maid appears in imagination, her slight form clad in armor leading the royal troops on to victory, inspired as they were by some mysterious electric current which went out from her young soul. Orleans has its commercial advantages and fine Gothic churches, but to the world Joan of Arc is all there is of it. The town contains three statues erected to her memory, one of them being of the equestrian order.



Having thus taken a quick journey through the western districts of France we have a little to say about the people of the Pyrenees, the shepherds and mountaineers and those residing in some of the neighboring villages. More particularly those aborigines, the Basques, merit attention. The general gate to the Pyrenees district, especially to the Basque country of both France and Spain, is the city of Bayonne, in the extreme southwest of the former country.

In Bayonne French, Spanish and Basque mingle their distinctive tongues — the latter being as much distinguished by his harsh accents as by his national costume, his colored sash and his drooping cap. The city has, furthermore, a Jews' quarter (Saint ιsprit) whose first citizens were the exiles from Spain, sent away by Ferdinand and Isabella, soon after the discovery of America. In the year of American independence they became citizens of France.

Bayonne is strongly fortified, and, though besieged many times, it has never been captured; hence its people fondly speak of it as the "virgin city." It was here, eighteen miles from the Spanish border, that Napoleon made the arrangement with Ferdinand VII. by which the crown of Spain was placed upon the head of his brother Joseph. And at the corner of the city wall stands a little stone structure, surmounted with a cupola, under which plays the fountain of St. Leon. The water first sprung from the ground under the stimulus of the precious drops of blood which fell upon it from the head of the decapitated saint, which he bore in his own hands to that spot. Bayonne has now one of the finest arsenals in France; as is fitting, some may say, for the city which gave the name to the bayonet. But like many popular tales this one has wagged for long years, only to be at last arrested if not stayed completely. "The French cross-bowmen were anciently called boionniers and bayna is Spanish for the sheath of a small sword. The sheath may have given name to its contents; a supposition which seems to be confirmed by several facts. The earliest bayonet sheaths were very elaborately ornamented, and the rules relating to military costume have a great deal to say about the position of the sheath."

A short ride by rail from Bayonne is Biarritz, on the shores of the Bay of Biscay. In the month of August, before most of the tourists have arrived, the Basques of Basse Pyrenees assemble in its streets, crowned with flowers and ribbons, bearing with them the violin, tambourine, flageolet and drum, and busily preparing to perform their national dance, the "mouchico." This ended, they march to the shore of


the bay, and men and women, joining hands, rush out to meet the mighty surf, with songs and wild native cries.

From Biarritz a few miles is a little village which is near the boundary of the two countries and at the angle of the eastern point of the bay. It was once quite a commercial port, but the waves of the Atlantic raged across Biscay for a week and destroyed its harbor and its prospects. Within sight are wooded and vine-clad slopes, the advance guards of the dignified Pyrenees. The red and white houses of the Basque peasants dash the quiet color here and there with cheerful contrasts, and from hill and valley they swarm to the small Catholic church in the little village. The church is devoid of ornament, but once within, the worshipers arrange themselves in so quaint, not to say primitive, a fashion that no decorations are required by which to rivet the stranger's attention. The two ranges of galleries which run around three sides of the room are furnished with comfortable seats, all occupied by men. The women sit upon the floor of the nave, being accommodated with simple cushions of black cloth embroidered with crosses.

In a way, this church is historical, for in it occurred the marriage of Louis XIV. and the Infanta, Maria Theresa, daughter of Philip IV. of Spain. The door by which the royal couple entered is now walled up. This marriage was in fulfillment of treaty between the two monarchs, concluded the previous year, the conference taking place on a little island in Bidassoa river, which marks the boundary line between France and Spain. This bank of mud has been the scene of several royal conferences and treaties.

A panoramic view of the French and the Spanish sides of the Pyrenees would make one imagine that the scenes were laid in lands which were thousands of miles apart. The northern slopes of the mountains are divided into charming valleys. Beautiful lakes and fine pasture lands lie below, while orchards and forests stretch far up the slopes. The Spanish side presents a series of abrupt, rugged terraces with scanty vegetation.

The valleys of the Pyrenees cross them almost invariably, forming numerous passes, which are historically famous and from whose great heights the remarkable contrast which has been noticed above can be enjoyed in reality. The inhabitants of the mountains are, as might be expected, rugged, cheerful and independent. In many pleasant vales nestle pretty villages. The only disagreeable feature of the whole landscape, in fact, are the large and fierce shepherd dogs, who consider every object not entirely familiar a deadly enemy to their herds and flocks. The cattle and sheep often have no other guardians than these faithful


brutes except children, who will often be met far from any habitation, knitting contentedly, or engaged on some lace work. Near the summits of these lofty passes, sometimes all but buried in the shade of the upper valleys, are famous mineral springs to which the fair-faced ladies of France and gouty noblemen resort by the hundreds. The traveler thus meets modern styles as an offset to the brightly-clad peasants, the rough goat-herds and the Spanish muleteers.


There are many interesting and picturesque little villages scattered along the line of the Pyrenees, but the beauties of the mountains completely absorb them until one commences to investigate their historical attractions. Pau, for instance, in the Basque province of Basses Pyrenees is pretty enough, but the eyes are drawn from it to the soft distant mountains and a sharp blue cone which pierces the sky, called the Pic du Midi d' Ossau, or the Bear; but the village contains the chateau of Henry of Navarre, and the chateau the chamber where Henry IV. was born "and where hangs the royal cradle under a canopy — a single tortoise shell suspended from a tripod."

Within sight of the peak is Lourdes, a shabby town among the mountains. Overhanging it is a great rock upon which stands a ruined castle said to have been built by Julius Caesar. But that never could have attracted hundreds of thousands of people to it. The town is built upon a plateau and contains convents and churches. Near the center of the plain is a great statue, representing a white-robed girl, standing in an attitude of religious ecstasy, her feet resting upon a rock wreathed with vines. Extending along the bank of the river Gave, and at the foot of the plateau upon which Pau is built, is a park, and within this, near the river, is a mass of rock containing a grotto crowned with a beautiful church. Above the rocky mound and the church is a higher ridge bearing a great crucifix upon its crest. The statue in the plain is that of "Our Lady of Lourdes," and the grotto is where the sickly child of the poor peasant, according to her declaration, repeatedly was visited by the Holy Virgin, who caused a stream to gush forth from the cave. The bishop declared the miracle authentic, and hundreds of thousands of pilgrims have since repaired to the shrine, to have their bodies healed and their souls cleansed. The sacred spring is covered with a wire netting. In front of the grotto is a paved court extending toward the river which is covered with pilgrims seated upon wooden benches, standing or kneeling upon the stones. Near by is a stone tank, from which a priest draws the healing waters, which are brought from the grotto in pipes, and


close to the cave is a ragged niche filled with crutches, canes and other proofs of its miraculous powers. The town has the appearance of a commercial mart, for no one of the thousands of devotees who journey to Lourdes neglects to carry away with him a photograph or image of the Lady, a water can, cross or rosary, and the winding street is filled with shops piled to the roof with these souvenirs.


In direct contrast to the attractions of Lourdes are those of Carcassonne, an important manufacturing and commercial center of Southeastern France. The river Aude divides the place into the new city and the old, and although the brilliant cloths of Carcassonne go even to Africa and South America, it is to the mass of fortifications in the ancient section that most steps are directed. Briefly stated it occupies the site of an ancient city of Gaul belonging to a Celtic tribe of Asia Minor, and in the fifth century A.D., the Visigoths took it from the Romans and held it. It commanded the most convenient routes into Spain over the Eastern Pyrenees and the fortifying of Carcassonne really commences from this period. During the thirteenth century the French kings added the style of fortifications prevalent in the middle ages to the rugged defences which the Visigoths had erected during their three centuries of occupancy. So that by the towers, portcullis, ditches, loopholes, openings in the walls through which stone and hot oil were poured upon besiegers, battlements etc., one is able to trace the style and development of the science of fortification for many centuries. The walls of the Visigoth, the Moorish and the French periods show the effects of mighty sieges, their huge foundations being in places battered as if by the shells of modern mortars. Above the principal gate of the fortress in a niche is the "defaced figure of Carcas, a Saracen woman who, according to the legend, alone remained in the city after a siege of five years by Charlemagne. The versions of the legend differ. One is to the effect that she capitulated and presented the keys of the city to Charlemagne; another that Charlemagne was about to raise the siege in despair, when a tower gave way and opened a breach for his troops."

Northwest of Carcassonne, fifty miles, is Toulouse, in reaching which one at length departs from the wedge-shaped district whose base is the Pyrenees and Spain. By the careless brushing up of his history any one will remember the massacres and persecutions which its citizens have suffered, and how, long ages previous to that, it was the capital of the Visigoths. Its principal church is said to contain the skulls of


Thomas Aquinas and St. Barnabas, and relics of St. Bartholomew, the two Jameses and Philip of Spain, a thorn from the sacred crown, pieces of the true cross, the robe of the Virgin and a stone on which she laid the infant when he was born. The first bishop of Toulouse is, furthermore, reported to have been born in Greece, to have journeyed to Palestine, to have sat at the feet of John the Baptist and of Jesus, to have followed Peter to Rome and to have been dispatched by him to his charge.


Leaving behind us the country of the Basques, descendants of the most ancient race of France, we strike across country from Toulouse, and traversing a dreary waste of sand, fir trees and thistles, we suddenly approach one of the most prolific vine-bearing districts of the world. Its border lies upon the western banks of the river Gironde, and in naming Bordeaux as its center the story is partly told. From near the city to the sea stretches a long, narrow plain, thickly covered with vineyards. This strip, which is as famous as any in "the Vineyard of the Earth," supplies a strong, red wine which is the favorite article for export, sea voyages even seeming to improve its flavor. Many people imagine that when they drink "claret" it comes direct from this strip of country known as Medoc, but the truth is that the French do not recognize any such variety, and the claret, or clarified wine, is a mixture of several kinds "the strong-bodied varieties of Spain and Southern and Southeastern France being mingled (at Bordeaux) with the ordinary growths of Gironde to suit the English and American palate." Many of the wines receive their names both from the commune in which they are produced and the particular estate from whose great vineyards they come.

The warm slopes of the Pyrenees, in the extreme southern part of France are covered with vineyards from which are obtained such famous wines as the Muscat. North of this section is the historic region from which we have lately traveled, forming a portion of an ancient province with Toulouse as its capital. The wines drained from the luscious grapes which grow from the 650,000 acres of vineyards are rich, but not as delicate as those of the Gironde. One single department of this section is said to yield more wine than the entire kingdom of Portugal.

The Valley of the Rhone also appears as a rich section of the earth's vineyard. In the old province of Dauphiny, now Drome, is a lofty hill which rises from the river's edge like a great dome. Bacchus, could he have viewed its terraced sides, upon which the bright, warm sun is ever


playing, would never have left its great vineyards, which seem to lie over it in a lazy, not to say mellow attitude of enjoyment. The wines are called the Hermitage, from the fact that the richly-laden hill was formerly surmounted by a structure which served as the retreat of a Castilian courtier.

Throughout the length of the sunny valleys of the Rhone and Saone, clear into the districts of old Burgundy, the hillsides are simply matted with vineyards. The true Burgundy wines are raised in the department of Cote d' Or, which is situated in the upper valley of the Saone, where it turns toward the German boundary. Through this department runs a range of hills, on whose southeastern slopes and spreading far over the plain below are the vineyards and rich estates which produce the wines of Burgundy. There are few more cheerful sights in the world than these hills of sunny France when their thousands of tons of grapes are ripe for the harvest. The sun floods them with so golden a light that the department itself has perpetuated the glorious sight in its very name — the "golden side." The methods of the manufacture of Burgundy wines are, however, rude and often filthy, and it is rightly said that the "golden side" produces some of the best as well as some of the worst varieties in the world.

One department intervenes between the Burgundy and the Champagne district, which lies among the headwaters of the river Seine, in Northeastern France. The ancient province of Champagne adjoined Burgundy on the north. Of the modern department, which is the particular center of champagne manufacturing, the arrondissements of Rheims and Epernay produce the best article. Upon the slopes of a wooded mountain in Rheims and over an undulating plain on the Marne river, in Epernay, the champagne vineyards sun themselves. In September and October the grapes are collected and selected. The first three pressings are placed in vats, and after the froth and fine, pulpy matter have separated, the juice is run into barrels and left to ferment. Within two months the clear wine is drawn from the dregs, and being skillfully mixed with the vintages of previous years, is allowed to rest until spring. The "sparkle" comes from a second fermentation, which occurs after the liquor has been bottled, and to obtain which it is sometimes found necessary to add sugar or brandy. Champagne is rarely exported until it is two years old, having to undergo other minor processes.


We have a plan now to retrace our steps southward, down the valleys of the Saone and Rhone to the sea and then journey north from Nice to Calais, taking a wide sweep of country as we go.


The first point on the Mediterranean coast going west towards Marseilles, which receives the attention of travelers (and it is often the last) is a dense group of buildings upon a bold promontory which extends defiantly out into the sea. It is the town of Monaco, a portion really of a small Italian principality governed by a prince who established an abbey in his province, abolished all taxes, and, as an offset to this generosity extended the operations of his gambling establishments from which he derived a truly, princely revenue. As a watering place Monaco is almost a rival to Nice. Nice lies upon the shores of the Mediterranean, quietly sunning herself, her ladylike moods, being thoroughly enjoyed by the invalids who resort to her for consolation and strength. Her surroundings are as pretty as herself. She is the petted French child of England.

A sister to Nice is Cannes, a little to the west. Lord Brougham made it fashionable to Englishmen by living there and dying there. The grave is in the town's cemetery, marked by a large granite cross. The citadel of the "man in the iron mask" stands upon the Island of Ste. Marguerite, opposite Cannes.

And Toulon, still west, is the great military stronghold of the republic, with vast floating docks and arsenals. The fortifications were originally constructed for the benefit of the pirates of the Mediterranean. The English forces once held Toulon, but were driven out by Napoleon.


As the tourist will have guessed, we touch at these minor ports merely to prepare him for Marseilles, the ancient Massilia founded by Ionian colonists from Asia Minor, 600 B.C. Whenever history has recorded her acts they have been opposed to despotism. She declared for Pompey against Caesar, and when annexed to the Roman republic became noteworthy as a champion of popular rights, as she had become famous as a commercial and colonizing city and a seat of learning. The old motto of the city was "Liberty under any government." This was engraved in golden letters over her city gate. Louis XIV. had it removed. "Under previous kings that may have been possible, but not under me," he said; and the motto was removed from the gate, but not from the popular heart. Marseilles, of all the cities in France, seemed authorized to baptize her grand national hymn, which has worked so much good and so much ill. It was born in the brain of a young officer of Strasburg, it was sung by the author to the mayor's family, it flew from town to town without a name, it entered Marseilles,


whose Girondists seized upon it and bore it with them to Paris, scattering its trumpet-like notes throughout France. Thus it was named after the natives of the republican city, "The Marseillaise." Even the Terrorists, who guillotined the Girondists, shouted it as their bloody cry.

To the north of the modern city lies ancient Marseilles, with crooked and dirty streets and lanes, several squares, a singular public hall and the ruins of Roman ramparts. It is separated from the great commercial port by a broad avenue which bounds the city on that side and leads to a delightful promenade on the sea shore.


Above Marseilles to the Rhone is a desert of small stones, and beyond the river for some distance west is a plain of salt. This strange tract of Southern France, extending nearly to the Cevennes mountains, has been pithily called "Africa in Europe," and it lacks neither the mirage nor the fowl of lower Egypt to carry out the delusion. Aries, once a Roman city of importance, may stand as a Cairo in ruins, being at the apex of the Rhone delta and containing an obelisk of gray granite fifty feet in height, which was taken from the bed of the river in the seventeenth century. Aries boasted one of those immense amphitheatres whose ruins are scattered so thickly over the Roman dominions. Remains of temples, a triumphal arch and an aqueduct, the Byzantine cathedral dedicated to Paul's companion, St. Trophinus, the town hall designed by Mansard and the great pagan burying ground (the "Elysian Fields") make it worth one's time to loiter at Aries. When these attractions, and others, are exhausted it may be noted that its sausage factories are famous throughout France for the excellence of their products.

A few miles inland from the left bank of the river, on the borders of that salt plain to which reference has been made, is the city of Nimes. The city is unattractive except for its Roman ruins, which surpass in grandeur and preservation those of any other locality outside of Italy. Its stupendous amphitheatre in which 2,000 people were living previous to its restoration, and which has been used as a fortress by Visigoths, Saracens and Franks; the museum of paintings and antiquities occupying a beautiful and ancient Corinthian temple; the remnants of Roman towers, gates and baths, not to mention the graceful three-storied aqueduct near the city, the fountain within the public garden which supplied the baths with water, and modern cathedrals and edifices — these studies in ancient and modern architecture make Nimes one of the most attractive places in Southern France.

Returning to the river, the walled city of Avignon, over which looms


the vast palace of the popes is seen; the scene of twenty-one great councils of the church, the undisputed papal residence for seventy years and the home of the rival popes of Rome for fifty more. This sombre Gothic structure is no longer sacred to ecclesiastical purposes, it being devoted to the uses of a prison and barracks; a sequence to the confinement therein of the ambitious and unfortunate Rienzi, the last of the Roman tribunes, who had laid the astounding scheme before the King of Spain for the conquest of Italy. It was at the Church of Ste. Clara that Petrarch met his Laura.

On the way from Avignon to Lyons, which lies through the "Hermitage" wine district, are Orange and Vienna. The former exhibits an out-of-doors Roman theatre, a hill-side cut into many tiers of seats, and opposite a lofty wall which served as the background for the stage scenery. The bright little town has also the remains of a triumphal arch to show, and is celebrated in history as the center of the principality of Orange, founded by Charlemagne and passing into the hands of noble houses, the last one being that which became extinct with William III. Frederick I. of Prussia and a prince of Holland laid claim to the principality, but by treaty it was ceded to France although the princes of Nassau-Dietz are allowed to assume the title of "Princes of Orange."

The approach to Lyons is through Vienne, the country from Orange being a succession of rugged landscapes in the valley of the Rhone, bordered by mountains and limestone cliffs in the distance. Vienne was the capital of Burgundy, and has the inevitable amphitheatre and aqueduct which accompany all ancient cities of importance. But when Pontius Pilate was exiled to this city from Rome, whither he had been sent in disgrace because he had ordered an unjust massacre of the Samaritans, Vienne was an obscure town of Gaul; here he committed suicide, six or seven years after the crucifixion of Jesus; and a century after Pilate's death the Christian churches of Vienne suffered the most shocking persecutions.


As the Gulf of Lyons is said to have been so named from the fury of its gales, which frequently rage and roar across it like wild beasts, so the city of Lyons might justly have been christened with reference to the turbulent character of its people. Notwithstanding the blood and floods of water which have flowed through its streets, the serene Virgin, from the lofty dome of Notre Dame, which crowns the hill upon which the ancient city stood, appears to be dispensing her blessings over the great city stretching from the opposite river bank over an undulating


peninsula, its outlying suburbs and villas being lost in the foot-hills of the Cevennes Mountains, while far to the east are seen the outlines of the mighty Alps. When the air is clearest Mount Blanc even rises in a mightier serenity and spirit of benediction.

The city which stood upon this hill dates from before Christ's time, and became the center of the four great Roman roads which traversed Gaul. It was pampered by the emperors, destroyed by fire and by one of the Roman monarchs because it declared for his rival, was the scene of Christian persecutions and the martyrdom of St. Irenaeus, and was razed by Attila and most of its Roman monuments destroyed. But from the time the four Roman roads were made to center at Lugdunum the locality was marked by nature as the center of a world-famed trade and commerce; and its modern sieges and insurrections have resulted from the radical character of its manufacturing laborers.

A line of fortifications and forts is drawn around the city and carried over the hills which command its suburbs. To the north of the fortifications are two villages in the commune of La Croix Rousse, which were the centers of the labor uprisings of the past fifty years and which caused the authorities to protect the city with strong walls and cannon. They are principally inhabited by silk weavers, who also are scattered in other suburbs and throughout the city. This class of the population would probably number 150,000 hands, but they are not crowded into smoky, greasy factories whose tall chimneys disfigure the city. The dwelling of the master weaver is his factory, and here, with a few looms, himself, family and such hired operatives as he needs conduct the business. Raw silk and patterns are supplied him by the silk merchant, who really rents the looms and pays the wages of the hands. The Palais des Beaux Arts, formerly an ancient convent, is devoted to museums of art and science, chambers of commerce, schools of agriculture and pattern designing for silks. It also contains an establishment where the unwrought silk from thousands of looms is brought to be reduced, by heat, to an equable weight and dryness. This system of silk manufacturing is cumbersome in the extreme, although the beauty and cleanliness of the city are enhanced, but it is forced upon the merchants of Lyons by scarcity of coal.

The beauties of this principal manufacturing city of France, with her stupendous quays, her great bridges, churches, commercial societies and labor tribunals, her squares which witnessed the dark shadows of the guillotine, her gardens, villas, majestic river and distant wonders of sky and mountain — upon these we need not dwell; for our interest in Lyons is founded upon her silk, her silk weavers and the gigantic efforts


which are being made by arbitration, under the shadows of great ramparts and a score of substantial forts, to quiet the waves of discontent which are continually arising from the confined and generally deformed body of the people.


The distant view of the Alps obtained from the Church of Notre Dame, at Lyons, reminds one that from that commercial center went forth an influence which pervaded its valleys and was felt all along the banks of the river which rises in those heights and flows toward the Rhone. Peter Waldo, one of Lyons most wealthy citizens, sold all his goods and gave them to the poor. To the poverty-stricken of the city he then commenced to preach, for which he and his followers were excommunicated by the Pope. France, Italy and Bohemia took up his cause, and the sufferings of the Waldenses or Vaudois, in the valleys and mountains of Southeastern France, were but just begun when they were slaughtered by combined French and Italian armies and their children distributed in the villages of their foes. During the first portion of the present century Turin, and later Florence, became the center of their religious activities, which are now unshackled.

The river Isere and the equally furious Durance river cut through the land of this hunted people, who, in France were driven to take refuge among the rocks and caves of half a dozen valleys. Even there they had no time to build fortresses, like that of Briancon which surrounds the village. The town itself stands on a rock which descends abruptly, on one side, to the river below, and is protected by a mountain from enemies in the rear. A sight of this rugged little town, with its rugged surroundings, is sufficient evidence of the truth of the statement that the stronghold has been besieged but never capitulated. West of Briancon is a grand mountain whose peaks and glaciers have witnessed amid their glooms and glistenings, thousands of refugees for conscience' sake. Briancon is the principal arsenal of the French Alps, commanding the route to Piedmont, but Mount Pelvoux, to which the hunted Vaudois fled is mightier than it.

North of the Isere river, in almost a direct line across the province of Isere from Vienne, in a wild and romantic valley, surrounded by mountain forests and rocks is an ungainly collection of sharp-roofed buildings which compose the monastery of La Grande Chartreuse. This is the headquarters of the celebrated order of monks which has remained unmolested since the eleventh century, when it was founded by St. Juno, not the patron saint of Prussia, but another St. Juno, born,


however, in Germany. Amid these solitudes the fathers and brothers labor, watch and pray, living a life of self-denial. Tea, coffee and meat are even excluded from the monastery. Opposite the monastery building is a rude structure in charge of some sisters of charity, used as a house of entertainment for lady visitors. But, whether to the male or female sex, hospitality is not distributed gratis, regular charges being made for meals and lodging. The Grand Chartreuse is about thirteen miles northeast of Grenoble, a charming town smiling on the river banks at the glaciers in the distance, and hemmed in by natural and artificial fortresses.

Every mile of country from Lyons to Calais, along the Jura Mountains, the tributaries of the Saone river and the Meuse, has some natural beauty or historic significance. The Moselle from Germany dips gently into French territory and Vassy, Chalons, Metz and Sedan tell of fierce fields of contention and disputed territory. Strasburg, on the Rhine, and the province of Vosges, a little to the west but a portion of France, teach the lesson that, though national boundaries may divide, the work of philanthropists is a common heritage. The labors of John Oberlin among the peasants and mountaineers of Alsace, by which he not only touched their consciences but taught them how to plow, plant and reap, have not only made whole communities and villages prosperous, but spread his name over Europe and America. In this region of war and philanthropy, where the Meuse has become almost a rivulet, is a little village in which stands a rude stone cottage which is treasured by France, for it was the birthplace and home of Joan of Arc, religious enthusiast and inspired warrior. "With touching characteristic sentiment she had asked as her only reward that her native village should be released from taxation, and the boon was freely accorded for many generations, the entry in the tax-register opposite Domremy being, ‘cancelled on account of La Pucelle.’"

An excursion through the picturesque country of the Meuse, with a divergence to the west, will bring one to Rheims, where the modest Maid saw Charles the Victorious receive the holy unction from the sacred "ampulla," or flask. It is said to have been brought down from heaven by a dove, that Clovis might be anointed, in the fifth century. For many centuries the kings of France were thus honored by the archbishop of Rheims. The beautiful Gothic edifice and famous cathedral of Notre Dame was built during the early part of the thirteenth century; in it the kings of France were crowned for nearly six centuries. Charles, the last of the Bourbons, was anointed, and the oil then failed; although there is some doubt as to the genuineness of the article since the revolution,


when the ampulla was broken and thrown away. A pious individual, however, is reported to have recovered a fragment, with a small quantity of the Clovis oil, which he presented to the archbishop.

Amiens, in the department of Somme, is on the borders of old Normandy. It is an ancient Roman city, containing the ruins of a former citadel, but it is chiefly noted for its gorgeous cathedral and as being the birthplace of Peter the Hermit, who led so many knights of Normandy on disastrous crusades.


Perhaps the reader will already have penetrated our design, which has been to rapidly encompass France and approach its superb capital by way of Normandy, which embraced the Seine and held the key to Paris. The Northmen, or Normans, during the ninth century, repeatedly ascended the river with their great fleets to carry consternation to the city. One of their greatest chiefs finally married the king's daughter, and received a tract of land north of the river to the sea, which was the foundation of Normandy. The chief Rollo became first duke of Normandy and the ancestor six generations away, of William the Conqueror. Other accessions followed, until the dukedom included that part of Northwestern France embraced in the present department of Seine-Inferieure, Eure, Calvados, Orne and Manche. Normandy was joined by Brittany on the southwest, and two more dissimilar districts of people seldom came together.

Rouen and Caen were the chief cities of Normandy, the former being its capital; and the most satisfactory and cheery approach to Paris and to France is by way of the coast of Normandy, with its sunny


watering places and fresh, quaint looking people. Rouen, even to its churches, is bright with sunshine and the cheerfulness of its citizens. There are no gloomy cathedrals in Rouen. Notre Dame, profusely ornamented and surmounted by a dome 470 feet high, still has its interior flooded with sunlight from 130 windows. And yet it contains tombs, including that of Richard Coeur de Lion; the dust into which the "iron heart" has mouldered is now in the Rouen museum. Near the cathedral is the Abbey Church of St. Ouen, its light, lofty tower terminating in a crown of fleurs de lis, and its bright aspect being charmingly softened and mellowed by its two great rose-windows. Public squares are not the boast of Rouen, but it contains one which attracts thousands of travelers. It is the scene of the burning of Joan of Arc, and where her body was given to the elements is a drinking fountain without water and an unworthy statue of La Pucelle.


Before finally starting Paris-ward it would be a sad neglect of duty not to take a run into the native land of William the Conqueror. Caen is ten miles from the English Channel and about twice as far west of the Seine's mouth. A quaint combination it is of modern life surrounded by an ancient atmosphere. It has fine promenades, broad streets, large buildings and beautiful churches. At one extremity of the town is a massive, severe, but noble looking structure, the Church of St. Ιtienne, built by William and in which he was buried. Saint Trinite, an elegant, light and restful church, stands at the other end of Caen. This was either founded by Queen Matilda, or erected for her, according to her plans, by William the Conqueror. What a gulf between the mighty William and Beau Brummel, the leader of the London fashions! Yet, in death, they were joined at Caen, although separated by centuries of time.

Twenty miles or more inland from Caen is a picturesque country of river and wooded cliffs. Built upon such cliffs is a quiet manufacturing village, over which, on a bold ascent, towers the old Norman castle of Falaise. From its tower a sweeping view of Normandy may be obtained, but no one mounts into the gloomy castle chambers for landscape seeing — rather to view the room in which William the Conqueror is said to have been born. The castle consists of two portions, the large, square Norman keep, standing at the highest part of the rocky eminence, and a circular tower, of later construction, connected with the former by a passage. Around all is a line of fortifications following the irregular out-lines


of the hill. In the keep, so it is said, the Conqueror was born, and the guides pretend to show the very room where the event took place and the identical window from which his father, Duke Robert the Magnificent, first saw Arlette, the daughter of the Falaise tanner. The older portions of the castle show marks of the sieges which it has withstood, a breach being still pointed out which was the result of seven days' cannonade by Henry IV.

Nearer the channel than Caen and west of it is the town of Bayeux, which has been made historically famous by the most elaborate and gigantic piece of needlework in the world. In a large room adjoining the public library, preserved under glass, is displayed "a piece of pictorial needlework supposed to have been done by Queen Matilda and the ladies of her court, representing the events connected with the conquest of England. It is worked, like a sampler, in woolen thread of different colors, is 20 inches wide and 214 feet long and has 72 divisions, each with a Latin inscription designating its subject. It is of great historical value, since it not only exhibits with minuteness Norman customs and manners at the time of the Conquest, but pictures events of which no other record exists — among others the siege of Dinan and the war between the duke of Normandy and Conan, earl of Brittany."

The remarkable thing about this remarkable piece of tapestry is its fresh, bright appearance, notwithstanding that it has been exhibited in Paris and nearly every town of France. The cathedral which it was originally intended to adorn has been leveled with the ground. Of the historical events which it portrays the most important is the invasion of England, by which it can be learned better, than from any description in words, how William's cavalry was transported and the very construction of the Norman weapons and their spades for use in earthworks and fortifications. The horses are being swung out of the ships in cranes and pulleys, and the spades, on account of the scarcity of iron in those days, are only tipped with that metal. A great banquet precedes the battle of Hastings, which is depicted with spirit and vigor, considering that most of the figures are coarsely worked in green and yellow colors; but the whole story is told — the great cavalry charge, the Conqueror in the lead, sitting like a rock on a gigantic black horse, the consternation of his followers at his reported death, the rout of the enemy and Harold's death and the stripping of the wounded after the fray. The figures in the tapestry often suggest an entire ignorance of anatomy, and the perspective is Chinese in its character, but the attitudes and facial lines are frequently worthy of a Nast. As with everything of interest which originated long ago, doubt has been thrown upon the authenticity of the


tapestry, but whether Matilda and her ladies did work it or not is of secondary importance to the fact, which is firmly established, that it was made soon after the Conquest by somebody who was directed by an intimate, at least, of the royal couple, and the artist was a close observer, if not a genius. There is evidence that the date of its construction was near that of the Conquest, and also that Odo, bishop of Bayeux, the Conqueror's half-brother, ordered and arranged the work to the exact length of the walls of the church round which it was to have been placed.

Still another delay is in order before starting toward Paris — caused by a desire to visit Mont St. Michael, which is a singular cone of granite rising from the English Channel at the angle where Brittany and Normandy come together. The mount, which shoots from a level expanse of shifting sands, is surmounted by a castle and a church; and lower down clusters of houses hang to it, occupied by fishermen. The castle was a great Norman stronghold during the middle ages, and for three hundred years the magnificent spire of the church, surmounted by the image of St. Michael, the patron saint of the coast, has been a beacon to mariners approaching the shores of France. Monks and dukes have made their pilgrimages to this stronghold of arms and religion. It is from St. Michael that William the Conqueror and Harold marched on Dinan, the strongest fortified town of Brittany; and the treacherous white sands around the mount which the warriors skirted on their way to Brittany are faithfully depicted in the Bayeux tapestry. Within the great castle is the spacious Gothic hall of the Knights of Mont St. Michael, "with its carved stone-work and lofty roof, supported by three rows of pillars, beautiful in proportion and grand in effect, although the Revolution, as usual, has left us little but the bare walls; but as we look down upon it from a gallery it is easy to picture the splendor, of a banquet of knights in the twelfth century, with the banners and insignia of chivalry ranged upon the walls."


Again, before returning to Rouen, the tourist must not fail to visit a few of the quaint Norman villages, with their tall, peaked-roofed houses and neat women, wearing their lace caps, chatting and eating in the market-place. The caps bloom, like flowers, into every conceivable form, from that of a helmet to that of a Turk's military cap, a starched funnel or a modern bonnet. Wandering from the market again, we find "houses built out over rivers, looking like pieces of old furniture, ranged side by side, rich in color and wonderfully preserved, with their


wooden gables, carved in oak of the fifteenth century, supported by massive timbers, sound and strong, of even older date; many of these houses, with windows full of flowers, and creepers twining around the old eaves, and long drying poles stretched out horizontally, with gay-colored clothes upon them flapping in the wind — all contrasting curiously with the dark buildings."

But the little villages, like the larger towns, are attractive as much for the many delicate threads which connect them with Paris and modern life as for the unaffected air of their people and their historical glamour. Nearly every house is a manufactory; and though its inmates keep their hearts with the days of simple, merry Normandy, their eyes look toward modern Paris and their fingers clasp considerable of her money. From Cherbourg often wander wide-awake, finely-mustached, loosely-dressed French marines, who leave their gloomy iron clads at anchor in the great harbor to gossip with the pretty maidens of Normandy in the market places. The girls may have walked in from the country with their baskets of vegetables, or from the sea shore with their shining captives. Their eyes are brighter than their fish and their cheeks fresher than their vegetables, and yet they will tell you that though many of their products of sea and land reach Paris, they never have been there, but some day, hope to reach the beautiful city; and their hope is not unreasonable, as one will see by glancing at any good map of France, for no matter how small the town there is the railroad which runs to Paris.


Having encompassed Paris we are now at liberty to approach it from any direction. If we come from the southeast we must stop at the town of Fontainebleau, with its royal pleasure palace and gardens embedded in its solid square miles of forest. The artificial and natural charms of this royal retreat date from the tenth century, when the chateau was founded. Two centuries later it was rebuilt, subsequently enlarged, fell into decay, repaired and embellished and from the sixteenth century all the monarchs of France added something to it. Historically it is famous for scenes which are guide posts to the domestic happiness, the miseries, the supposed necessities of state in the life of Napoleon, and it was from Fontainebleau that he signed the act of abdication. Here also the emperor had detained Pope Pius as a prisoner for nearly two years. Treaties and important state transactions and magnificent fκtes under the Louises and Napoleons have, after Versailles, made Fontainebleau the most fitting approach to that great city which so fascinatingly combines stupendous historical events with irrepressible gayety.


"The gardens of Fontainebleau," it is pithily said, "will fascinate the lovers of elaborate arrangement and orderly primness, but are not otherwise remarkable except for their great fish ponds. On the whole, they scarcely repay a walk round, especially when outside them stretches the magnificent forest, with its heathery slopes, dark fir woods, vast expanses of green sward, planted with beech and oak, and a surface broken into wild picturesque gorges by the scars and rocky projections of the sandstone."

A score of miles nearer Paris, going in the same general direction, is Vincennes, a fortress where are trained the best marksmen of the French army, and which has likewise a chateau and park. The castle, a representative of the middle ages, is rectangular in shape, and was once surrounded by nine great towers. Only one now remains, 170 feet high, with walls seventeen feet thick. From the time of Phillippe de Valois until the days of Louis XV. the chateau was a royal residence. It then became a prison for such personages as Henry IV., the Prince of Conde, Cardinal de Retz, Mirabeau and the Duc d' Enghien who was shot in the moat of the castle.

We may still verge to the west and enter the city by the Orleans railway or still further west by way of Versailles. Without another delay, except to dwell for a moment upon the attractions of Versailles and its kingly palace, we shall approach the environs of Paris from the southwest. The road from the capital, ten miles distant, becomes an avenue in Versailles, dividing the miniature Paris into two parts. The palace, formerly priory and castle, under the princely treatment of three Louises, reached its present state of magnificence and down to the time of the Revolution was one of the residences of the court. The Revolution was born in the palace of Versailles by the meeting of the states —general therein. With the passing over of the blackest clouds of that storm the palace became a museum, filled with pictures of French heroes and monarchs and scenes in their careers. The gardens, terraces, avenues, squares and public fountains of Versailles are stately rather than picturesque. In Versailles King William was proclaimed Emperor of Germany and the capitulation of Paris signed. On May 5, 1889, the brilliant ceremonies were conducted, at Versailles, which inaugurated the great World's Fair — a gigantic celebration of the centennial anniversary of the French Revolution.


It is from the direction of Versailles that one obtains the best bird's-eye view of Paris. The city lies in a hollow, encircled by two ranges of hills, the inner ones being the lowest and occasionally falling within the


municipal limits. The outlying heights are from two to four miles from the city walls and upon them are posted the forts, or their ruins, which command every approach to Paris. Mount Valerien to the west, overlooking one of the railroads to Versailles, is the highest point from which Paris may be viewed. The Seine is seen entering from the southeast, winding among its great buildings, boulevards and parks, and dividing its bewildering magnificence into two unequal parts, the northern being much larger, and then sweeping boldly, so as almost to wash the heights of St. Cloud, it flows northeast past scores of pretty suburbs and villages. Just as it seems destined to pursue an unvarying course toward Calais it bends like the neck of a stately swan toward the green fields and kind people of Normandy.


In his Commentaries, Julius Caesar is the first historian to notice a collection of mud huts built mostly upon two islands in the river which we now call the Seine. This was the chief settlement of the Parisii, a Gallic tribe, which he conquered. Those islands are still where Caesar saw them, but their mud huts have given place to the Cathedral of Notre Dβme, the Palais de Justice, a grand hotel and other beautiful religious and secular edifices. An elegant bridge connects the two islands, from which may be seen that Notre Dβme, the most impressive of Parisian churches, with its ancient rose-windows and massive towers. Near by rises the arrowy spire of Saint Chapelle, a blazing and glittering pile, built by St. Louis to contain the relics which he had brought from the Holy Land, but which was chiefly devoted to royal marriages, christenings and coronations. This church is within the precincts of the Palace of Justice, an immense structure containing various courts of law, and upon this ancient ground of mud huts, within hailing distance of the Palace, is the prison of the Conciergerie, scene of the sorrow and rage of Marie Antoinette, Danton and Robespierre, and of the heart-rending suspense which racked the bodies and souls of the prisoners during the Reign of Terror. Here prisoners are still confined, pending their trial, and La Force is yet the greatest of the prisons of Paris.


It is but a short walk from the nucleus of ancient Paris to the center of the modern city. On the opposite or northern bank of the river, where Caesar found scarcely a hut of mud, are the ruins of the Tuileries and palace of the Louvre, in the famous gardens of the Tuileries, with


the restored Hτtel de Ville which is directly across from the upper end of the Island of La Citι. In the vicinity of the Tuileries is the Palais Royale, the extensive court which it surrounds having echoed to the trumpet tones of Desmoulins, who cast that vast wave of fury against the Bastile, whose former gloomy walls are now remembered by the handsome public square which is opposite the Place Royale. It is known as the Place de la Bastile, and is a short distance directly east of the Place de l' Hτtel de Ville, for many ages the scene of public executions and the spot at which some of the bloodiest deeds of the Revolution were perpetrated.

The Place de la Concorde connects the gardens of the Tuileries and the thousand feet of ruins composing the old palace with the Champs Elysιes, that grand popular avenue, at the western extremity of which is Napoleon's Arch of Triumph, the largest and grandest of its kind in the world. It is also the boundary of the magnificent district of Paris in that direction.

The Place de la Concorde is worthy of facing this arch of architectural triumph, but like all the other ambitious and successful works of beauty which grace the city, the Revolution has cast its shadow and dashed the blood of Paris over its marble monuments and into the waters of its fountains. In the center of the square is an obelisk covered with hieroglyphics which stood, over thirty-three centuries ago, in front of a great temple of Thebes. It was placed there by Rameses II., one of those hoary monarchs whose greatness we only feel through all the mists of ages, and may have been brought almost face to face with the monument to Bonaparte's fame in order to teach the lesson of the weakness of human achievement. The shaft of the Egyptian king marks the site of the guillotine which cut short the lives of Louis XVI., Marie Antoinette, Philippe Egalitι, Danton, Robespierre and a host of others.

On the Champs Elysιes, within sight of the Place de la Concorde is the Palace of Industry, or the Paris Exposition, constructed originally for the world's fair of 1855 and now a permanent exhibition. The exposition of 1867 was held on the Champ de Mars, the military parade ground on the opposite side of the river, just around a bend.

The city residence of the President of the Republic, the Elysιe Palace overlooks the avenue, while further away from the river than we have been, north of the Tuileries and Louvre, are the most convenient, tasteful and magnificent theatres of Europe, and just on the outskirts of this center of comedy and tragedy, tears and laughter, music, song and dance, is the center of no insignificant section of the financial activity of Europe, the Bourse and Tribunal of Commerce — a square, Roman-like


structure, supported by a stately array of pillars and approached by a grand stairway.

In the theatre district between the Palais Royale and the Grand Opera House is the Place Vendτme, with a second column of Trajan in its center, commemorative, however, of Napoleon's campaign of 1805; the before-mentioned place of amusement also fronts upon a square which would seem more magnificent, if admiration were not drawn from it to the structure which outshines it as the sun does the moon.

Not far north of the Champs Elysιes is an imposing structure raised upon an ponderous platform, surrounded by a colonnade of pillars, carved, frescoed and gilded. If it was not built by some of the old masters of Greece, it is a wonderful and modern imitation of their best work. The Madeline is a Christianized Grecian temple, one of the triumphs of modern architecture, although not original in its character.


The district which lies on the southern bank of the Seine opposite the islands which were the nucleus of old Paris, and which corresponds to the modern city from the Place de la Bastille, or Quartier St. Antoine, to the Arch of Triumph, is covered with gardens, military grounds, scientific institutions and churches. The immense wine market is near the river on the opposite shore from the arsenal. A short distance from the Seine but directly south of the great church of Notre Dame, on the Island of La Citι, is the College of France, one of whose objects is to apply science to industry, and for that purpose furnishes the public with


gratuitous lectures. Another stratum is also reached by its free lectures in the departments of philosophy and letters.

The Institute of France, across the river from the Tuileries, is the result of two centuries and a half of the country's best thought, being a combination of five academies, whose specialties are the maintenance of the native tongue in its purity; the study of universal history and comparative philology, of the sciences, of the arts and of moral philosophy and affairs of state. The parent of the Institute was the French Academy founded by Richelieu. This, and the other academies which were merged into the Institute, continued until abolished by the republican convention of 1793, but were consolidated under the different names, National, Imperial, and France, by the Directory, Napoleon and Louis XVIII. respectively.

The Pantheon, or Church of Ste. Genevieve (Paris' patron saint) looms up from beyond the College de France and the other educational institutes and edifices in this vicinity. It is in the form of a mighty Greek cross, united under the dome which rises nearly 200 feet. The Pantheon was originally built as a monument to celebrated Frenchmen, and still contains the tombs of Rousseau, Lagrange, Lannes and Voltaire, with many others.


Among the scores of other churches which it has been impossible to describe is that of St. Vincent de Paul. To worthily commemorate the grand character of Vincent de Paul it could not be too stately or too beautiful. Although patronized by cardinals and royal families, he chose to labor among peasants, convicts and beggars, endeavoring to relieve them bodily, mentally and spiritually. In this field, also, so disinterested, able and tender were all his ministrations that he received the assistance of counts and nobles in establishing missions among the poor and hospitals for the sick. In much of his ecclesiastical work he was the adviser of Cardinal Richelieu; but the proximity of such a luminary did not dim him. He continued to be the apostle of thieves and sinners. Wherever sin, famine and suffering were creating the greatest havoc, there was Vincent de Paul. The crowning work of his life was the founding of the order of Sisters of Charity and a hospital for the poor of Paris. A royal edict obliged every beggar to enter this institution or to work for a living. This great and good man was canonized seventy years after his death.



There was another mighty man of Paris and of France, whom the world claims as one of her geniuses, and who was as different from St. Vincent de Paul as the rushing whirlwind is from the broad, steady-flowing river. Victor Hugo was precocious, and not the only exception to the saying (which no doubt issued from the jealous soul of some average, disappointed mortal) that he who is early ripe is early rotten. Before he was thirty years old he was famous, and continued to add to his


fame for over half a century. His mother was a native of La Vendιe; his father was high in the good graces of Napoleon. He lived a portion of his time with his mother in Paris, the balance with his father in Italy and Spain, or followed his own inclinations; that is, he was his own master until, as an outspoken member of the Assembly, he offended Napoleon and was banished from France for life. He took up his residence in the Isle of Jersey, and although he did not return to his native land for twenty years, he flooded Europe with political pamphlets, philosophical dissertations, poems, novels and dramas, which, in turn, enraged, bewildered and charmed the world. Whatever he did created a sensation, and, genius though he was, he perhaps strove too often after the sensational at the expense of leaving a less enduring mark than if he had been less conscious of himself. As a lyric poet and a novelist, he has been crowned as king by the French people. His death, in May, 1885, extinguished a living light, both bright and warm, whose influence will be felt for generations to come.


The western portion of this district of churches and colleges (where also are the magnificent Luxembourg gardens and palace, with the Archiepiscopal palace) is the military quarter of Paris. Next to the Archiepiscopal palace near the Seine is the soldiers' asylum, with its spacious courts, the Hτtel des Invalides. Within the limits of the Invalides is the great porphyry sarcophagus of Napoleon Bonaparte, standing directly under the masterly dome of the Church of St. Louis. To the south of the asylum is the military school, and adjoining its grounds and fronting on the river, is the famous Champ de Mars, scene of historical events and grand military reviews. For one week after July 7, 1790, an army of men and women was seen day and night, upon the grounds, working like maniacs in their eagerness to get all in readiness for the grand festival in honor of the king who was to bow to the constitution of the people.


The Paris Observatory is the rear guard of this vast district, which is a union of church, school and arms. With even this imperfect sketch of the wonders of Parisian glory in all the departments of modern civilization — not even mentioning her scores of great hospitals, hotels, manufactories, libraries and museums — we must say a word about her boulevards, parks and theatres.


The most famous of the boulevards are within the limits of the old city walls and cover the district already described from the Church of the Madeline to the Place de Bastile. Here are the most beautiful Parisian stores, the banking houses, theatres, centres of gossip and of trade.

We have already noticed the avenue of the Champs Elysιes and the triumphal arch standing in it, or rather in the Place de l' Ιtoile, into which the stately thoroughfare expands. From this square radiate ten broad avenues, the most magnificent of which is the avenue Bois de Boulogne, divided into road ways, bridle paths, footwalks, bordered with bright and ingenious gardens and fringed with villas and private grounds. The avenue leads to a park of the same name, in which art and nature seem to strive for the prize of beauty and which is one of the most favorite resorts of all classes. It is outside of the fortifications.

Other popular places of resort are the zoφlogical gardens, near the wine market, with their wonderfully perfect menagerie, which are on the direct route from the Place de Bastile on the other side of the river, and the park of Vincennes, east of the city. This is in line with the greatest attractions of the city, and is not an ignoble conclusion of the pleasure seeking. Besides its historic and military attractions it contains a race course, a large artificial lake and numerous other means of recreation.

For miles along the Seine on either side the quays are paved and beautified, and afford noble promenades. Even the sewers of Paris have within the last thirty years been transformed into things of wonder, not to say magnificence, as the mains generally follow the chief thoroughfares of the city and the connections correspond to the minor streets.


We already know where the theatres of Paris are. The Thιβtre Francaise leads all the rest, not only in the magnificence of its appointments but the brilliancy of its companies. Moliιre, or the company which he directed, founded it two centuries ago. The Opera House stands close behind it, the two being under the direct patronage of the government; other places of amusement are also assisted from the national treasury, the government, on its part, levying a generous tax upon all the receipts for the benefit of the public charities. So that if Paris is gay and spends her millions in amusing herself, her gayety becomes a continual blessing to the poor, which can be said of few great cities.

Another peculiarity has been noticed of the Parisian. Although he is fond of good clothes and dies upon "all work and no play," he has


studied the science of economy in every phase. There is perhaps no one in the world who looks better and appears to live better on a smaller sum than the Parisian. Nothing goes to waste, and yet though he may have to count the cost of every cent there is little of that heart-rending "pinching" to be observed among the proud poor which is seen in other cities. Just so many vegetables served up in their dainty dishes, nicely seasoned and cooked, so much meat and so much wine. A great deal of chatting and laughter makes the meals go further and accomplishes more than if rushed down with the rapacity of the Englishman or the speed of the American. As proficients in the art of practicing a delicate economy the French, and the Parisian in particular, are unapproachable. The assertion has been made by some that the French are not hearty enough to fight the battle of civilization against Englishmen, Germans, Russians and Americans, but the monuments of greatness which they have reared in Paris alone would seem to indicate that so far they have possessed considerable stamina.

It may be that their lightness of spirit and the peculiar faculty they have of making everything so appetizing, turn the smaller quantities of food which they consume into more than the average amount of blood and brain. The Parisian bread carrier is ofttimes enough to make one long for one of her tremendous loaves — not an uncouth, dirty man, with black hands, is the bread carrier, but a dainty girl in a frilled cap, a neat bodice and a pretty, clean apron, the latter being filled with the fresh loaves, which are also loaded into a basket strapped to her shoulders, like so many sticks of cordwood.

Next in demand to the bread carriers are the wine merchants. They are of all grades, although since the Bastile is gone, St. Antoine is no more, and the other squalid and criminal quarters have been cut up into great streets and squares, and connected with aristocratic Paris, there are few Defarges such as Dickens described in his Tale of Two Cities. The trade is getting into more respectable hands; the Defarges are growing less in number, while the mirrored restaurants and cafιs on the streets off from the central boulevards of Paris, and frequented by the fashionables, artists, scientists, students and business men of the city, are becoming more and more the mainstays of the wine merchants. The great center of the wine trade is the market, which we have already noticed and in which 500,000 casks of wine can be stowed. It is one of the most bustling places in all this bustling city.

Across the river, perhaps half a mile from it, forming a triangle with the Hτtel de Ville and the Tuileries as the base, is the Central Market. It covers twenty acres of ground and consists of a dozen immense pavilions,


connected by covered streets. Underneath the pavilions are great tanks for live fish and cool vaults for the storage of vegetables and fruits. Underground railways connect them with railroad termini, so that the produce can be conveniently delivered and the garbage removed.

The business man of Paris is usually circulating somewhere in the vicinity of the Bourse or the Bank of France. Here are found the other financial institutions and the railway offices of the great trunk lines; the headquarters of national financiers, the bondholders, the capitalists, the schemers, where such enterprises as the Suez and the Panama Canals are launched upon the money market of France and the world. The Bank of France has branches in all the departments of the republic and in, Algiers, and from it issue all the government notes.

The Bourse and Chamber or Tribunal of Commerce are also so closely connected with the government that they are considered national institutions. Members of the latter body are elected by the chief merchants of the city or town who are named by the mayor or perfect. There is a chamber of commerce in every city and considerable town in France, which is consulted by the government on all matters of public interest, such as taxation and the improvement of land and water ways. When not volunteered such advice can be demanded, so that a member of the Tribunal of Commerce becomes, in a certain sense, an integral part of the government, bound to further its aims toward public prosperity.


The predominating trait of the French is suppleness — which never excludes strength. The Italian and Celtic elements predominate in their character, their language being the most important of the Romanic tongues. The Celtic elements were lost, however, in the flood of Frankish words which poured from the north and those of Latin origin which came from the south. It is the unison of the Teutonic muscularity with the Italian suppleness which has made French people and the French language what they are. The rise of the troubadours, who sung their songs of chivalry in the southern, or Provencal dialect, had much effect in moulding the tongue into graceful lines. The crusades introduced some Arabic terms and when Frenchmen began to cultivate the natural sciences Greek and Latin terms crept in. But it was not until the middle ages that the Franco-Romanic dialect of the north and the Provencal tongue were welded into one harmonious language, which has no superior as a medium for communicating the most diverse of ideas and covering the greatest range of sentiment. In the province of light literature


French writers are unrivalled; and yet Calvin is not the only divine of France who has illustrated the weight of his native language as a judgment trumpet and inspirer of awe. Balzac and Descartes show the French as careful and profound philosophers, Voltaire and Rousseau as versatile geniuses capable, with their supple language, of touching every phase of human life except that in which reverence is crowned as king. Montesquieu was broad, masculine and keen. After placing the Dumas, Hugos, Sues, Vernes, Corneilles, Racines and Moliιres in a group, imagine opposite them Lamartine, Guizot, Thiers and Taine, as historians, Comte, the Positive philosopher, Cuvier, Laplace, Lagrange, Bastiat, De Tocqueville and a host of others, eminent in scientific and social questions; and then answer the question whether the French are not intellectually muscular as well as versatile.

One of the most conclusive evidences of their healthful elasticity as a nation is the wonderful vigor with which they rebounded from the crushing defeat of the Franco-Prussian war; not only evincing no depression of spirits but, while repairing their losses at home, lifting a great debt from their shoulders and continuing to increase in national wealth in a ratio which excited the admiration of the world.


The Anglo-Saxons.

COMMENCING with Herodotus, down a long line of ancient historians, modern English writers have industriously collected the evidence which goes to prove that the Kimmerians, or Kelts, from whom the ancient Britons were descended, about the seventeenth century before Christ, were driven out of Asia into Europe by vast hordes of Scythians, from whom in turn have been traced, the Goths, the Germans and the ancient Saxons. The Kelts, once in Europe, dashed again and again against Greece and Rome. Shadowy records of these mighty conflicts are found in the ancient traditions of Wales and in the songs of her bards which have come down to us. In Caesar's time they had almost ceased to exist on the continent, but had crossed from France into England and had obtained much power. Their old enemies, the Scythians, or (as they became generally known in Europe) the Goths, came pouring after them, and followed in their footsteps of warring against Rome.


One of the tribes farthest removed from the scene of bloodshed were the Saxons. They dwelt on the sea coast from the mouths of the Rhine to the Baltic Sea, and soon became a terror to all the maritime tribes and colonies. The Saxons were at the head of a confederation which was finally formed for protection against Rome, and the brave Jutes and Angles were their neighbors. The Jutes were those who were first called to England by the Britons to drive back the wild tribes who were threatening them from the north. One race of Kelts, the Highland Scotchmen, were about to pour down upon the southern tribes, the Britons, and now came over a tribe of their ancient enemies, the descendants of those Scythians who had driven them out of Asia, to save Kelt from Kelt. Thus prodigious are the cycles of history.

Angles and Saxons followed, and Danes also. These are the tribes which are the foundation of the great island kingdom. Every schoolboy knows it. But what manner of people were these who came to the


island, partly by invitation and partly by invasion? Taine, the English historian, thus tells us:

"As you coast the North Sea from the Scheldt to Jutland, you will mark in the first place that the characteristic feature is the want of slope, marsh, waste, shoal; the rivers hardly drag themselves along, swollen and sluggish, with long black-looking waves; the flooding stream oozes over the banks and appears further on in stagnant pools. In Holland the soil is but a sediment of mud; here and there only does the earth cover it with a crust, shallow and brittle, the mere alluvium of the river, which the river seems ever about to destroy. Thick clouds hover above, being fed by ceaseless exhalations. They lazily turn their violet flanks, grow black, suddenly descend in heavy showers; the vapor, like a furnace smoke, crawls forever on the horizon. Thus watered, plants multiply; in the angle between Jutland and the Continent, in a fat, muddy soil, the verdure is as fresh as that of England. Immense forests covered the land even after the eleventh century. The sap of this humid country, thick and potent, circulates in man as in the plants. Man's respiration, nutrition, sensation and habits affect also his faculties and his frame.

"Over the sea, flat on his face, lies the monstrous, terrible north wind, sighing and sinking his voice as in secret, like an old grumbler. Rain, wind and surge leave room for naught but gloomy and melancholy thoughts. The very joy of the billows has in it an inexplicable restlessness and harshness. From Holland to Jutland, a string of small, deluged islands bears witness to their ravages. In winter a breastplate of ice covers the streams; the sea drives back the frozen masses as they descend; they pile themselves with a crash upon the sand banks and sway to and fro; now and then you may see a vessel, seized as in a vise, split in two beneath their violence. Picture in this foggy clime, amid hoarfrost and storm, in these marshes and forests, half naked savages, a kind of wild beasts, fishers and hunters, but especially hunters of men; these are they, Saxons, Angles, Jutes, Frisians; later on, Danes, who during the fifth and ninth centuries, with their swords and battle-axes took and kept the island of Britain. A rude and foggy land like their own, except in the depth of its sea and the safety of its coasts, which one day will call up real fleets and mighty vessels; green England — the word rises to the lips and expresses all."

When the Norman brought his softer ways to Great Britain he found the Anglo-Saxon "a magnificent animal," broad-shouldered, deep-chested, a tremendous eater; hardy, independent, even stubborn: a native with a splendid physique and a hard head; a lover of his snug kingdom and his adopted home. The Anglo-Saxon was broadened in


his ideas by the new comer, without being alienated from his country. He commenced to look beyond Great Britain, and the spirit of adventure and conquest which he had as an Angle, as a Saxon and as a Dane, took possession of him and has never left him. A healthy brain in a healthy body has pushed his name and power around the globe.


Great Britain presents one of the most remarkable instances of intellectual achievement, in the matter of conquest, which the world has ever known. The Russian Empire is great, but the Russians are in the majority, at least three to one. The Empire of Great Britain is greater in square miles, its population is nearly three times as great, and yet the people of the dependencies outnumber the inhabitants of the parent country at least in the ratio of five to one.

Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia and America have seen the fleets of England, and been colonized or conquered by people from her shores. The Englishman is the universal traveler, and there is not a desert in Africa or a forest in Australia, or a field of ice in the Arctics, where man has gone, that his feet have not trod; and in this connection we mean not only the Englishman of Great Britain, but that other great representative of the race, the American of the United States. The telegraph and the railroad have done for Great Britain what could not otherwise have been accomplished if every Englishman had been a walking arsenal. Submarine cables and trans-continental telegraphs and railroads not only bind her distant dominions to herself, but make each a unit in itself.


Englishmen are the greatest though not the most unbiased travelers in the world. They will penetrate Africa and Australia, but one of their number makes the confession that few have ever attempted to explore the Thames to its source. Those who have are almost as much in doubt whether they have found it as the African explorers were regarding the source of the Nile. Two streams rise in the Cotswold Hills, in Gloucester, and the one which has been called the Thames runs more in the general direction of the river, but its source is not as distant from the mouth as the rivulet which is called the Churn. But they forget their differences, like sensible streams, and join for the good of the common river. A few miles further on two other tributaries are received and the Severn's waters also flow into the Thames through a wonderful little canal which pierces the Cotswold Hills by means of a tunnel. The


river here commences to earn its title of the Broad Water, running through a pleasant, hilly country, with the dignity of a young man who has cast his first vote. Its course is toward Oxford by way of the village of Shifford, where King Alfred once held his parliament. Near by is a substantial bridge thrown across the Thames six hundred years ago. It is named the New Bridge and is the oldest one on the river. Numerous locks and weirs, with a tow path on either side, show the former importance of the river as a navigable stream, but the line of smoke and steam which is frequently drawn across the neighboring landscape and the triumphant whiz of a train of cars are sufficient explanations of the almost deserted appearance of the river.

It is peculiarly appropriate to approach the calm, stately and venerable Oxford, by way of the slowly-moving Thames. The spires of its churches and the great university buildings give the impression, from a distance, that one is approaching a large city. But the university is all. The streets are narrow and crooked, but the noble colleges and churches which go to make up the university, and the quaint old houses form a striking scene. The distracting hum of machinery and the vexatious smoke of manufactories do not disturb its serenity; but against the coming of the railroad, and its necessary stir, the authorities of the university could not plant their English feet and set their square English chins firmly enough.


Before there was any England there was an Oxford. When the kings of the Heptarchy were fighting like crows, the university of Oxford was a collection of monasteries, religious and secular schools. The teachers formed an association that might settle questions of general interest, and the university was conceived. Alfred the Great liked to reside in Oxford and visit her schools, and by the ninth century the Church itself recognized it as a seat of learning. Bloody Queen Mary acknowledged its importance, also, in the persecutions which she waged against the Protestant lights of both Cambridge and Oxford universities. Cranmer, Ridley and Latimer, all fellows of Cambridge University and high in favor with Henry VIII., were brought to trial by the Catholic Queen and burned, opposite Baliol College. As long as the Church of England stands, to say the least, the message of brave old Latimer, Bishop of Worcester, will be quoted to posterity. Turning to Ridley, his fellow martyr, he exclaimed in homely style: "Be of good comfort, Master Ridley, and play the man, we shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out." Master Ridley,


the Bishop of Rochester, was as brave as he, and Archbishop Cranmer of Canterbury died a penitent that his mortal fears had swerved him from the faith he professed. The Martyrs' Memorial, which marks the place of execution, is a monument both to personal bravery and the Church of England.

Of the twenty colleges which compose the university of Oxford, Baliol is the most democratic, refusing to admit anyone who claims any privilege on account of rank or wealth. Christ Church is the most magnificent and supports the greatest number of students; it is a cathedral as well as a college, and was founded by Henry VIII. The oldest institution is University College, founded in the thirteenth century upon a school which is said to have been established by Alfred the Great.

The governing bodies of the University are the House of Congregation, consisting of heads of colleges and halls, masters of schools, professors, deans, etc., etc., which grants the ordinary degrees; the House of Convocation, composed of regents, which confers honorary degrees and fills the university offices; the Congregation of the University, including the chancellor, heads of colleges and halls, the canons of Christ Church College, a portion of the members of the Convocation, etc., etc., which body acts as a sort of Upper House to discuss and amend the statutes proposed by the Hebdomadal Council; the Hebdomadal Council has as its members the chancellor, vice-chancellor, proctors, and a certain number elected from the heads of colleges and halls and from the House of Convocation. The chancellor, who is the head of the corporate body of the University, is elected for life by the House of Convocation, the honor being conferred upon noblemen. All matters of legislation originate in the Hebdomadal Council, pass to the Congregation of the University, and are adopted or rejected by the House of Convocation.


Between the counties of Oxford and Berks the river makes a bend and at the southern point of the loop meets the Cherwell, a stream from the west. In controlling the course of the Thames this was considered quite a strategic point by the old warriors of England, and consequently they erected earthworks at this point which are still visible. This is the neighborhood, also, of Roman camps, the head-waters of the river flowing from the region of quite a system of Roman roads; but south of Oxford the spots of history commence to touch more closely the modern times. Among the most interesting localities is Chalgrove


Field, where Hampden was slain. Soon, however, the beauties of the landscape draw one's mind from brave men and their brave ends. The little islands covered with trees or reeds, the wooded or grassy banks, with picturesque cottages and inns creeping down to the very edge of the sunny waters; the mill-dams over which the bright waters foam, the horses and plowmen in the fields, and the absorbed angler on the shore, make the English landscape the restful and yet animating influence which it is.

It was in this school that many of the English poets were educated, and even so bad-humored a wit and man as Pope could not resist the temptation to retire to the lovely banks of the Upper Thames, hide himself in a mellow old castle, forget his deformities and write translations and pretty verses. Before your boat reaches Reading you will also pass a pleasant village to which Warren Hastings retired while Burke was thundering at him for his doings in the East. At Reading the Kennet flows in from the south, and upon its banks the courtly, scholarly and earnest Falkland fell in battle, fighting for his King against the people. His home was a few miles from Oxford and he died not far from it.

The waters above Reading in the estimation of Young England are as historical as any in the world, for here were rowed many of those famous university matches, the results of which are flashed over the Western world. It is unaccountable how those university students for so many years could have shot by the beauties lying along Henley Reach, looking only straight ahead to the stake boat. Above the old university course for a dozen miles the scenery is even more lovely, the chalky cliffs bearing upon their seamed sides thick groves of beech trees, the swelling hills clothed in rich verdure meeting them half way; or from the low banks of either shore great trees, tangled shrubbery and matted reeds all bend gracefully forward in continual salutation.


As the cliffs and hills and cool shadows of this charmed stretch of the Thames are left behind, the towers of Windsor Castle appear over the trees. The castle, forest and grounds form one of the most magnificent royal domains in the world. The buildings, which cover twelve acres, overlook the Thames, and from the tower twelve counties pass under the eye. The great park is nearly three square miles in area and the forest west of it is fifty-six miles in circuit. The Saxon kings loved the beauties of this locality. William the Conqueror built the castle, which has been repeatedly enlarged and several times almost rebuilt. King John dwelt at


Windsor while the barons were preparing Magna Charta at Runnymede, and James of Scotland was a prisoner here. In the vaults of St. George's chapel lie the bodies of kings, queens and dukes. Prince Albert is buried in the beautiful park of Windsor where Queen Victoria passed many hours with him during their wedded life.

On the other side of the river, standing somewhat back from its borders, is Eton College, a substantial-looking building which from a distance resembles a combined fortress, monastery and church. It was founded by Henry VI. four centuries and a half ago, who established King's College, Cambridge, at the same time. The royal plan of making Eton a preparatory school to King's has been followed to this day and provision is also made at Oxford for two of the graduates who are not elected for admission to Cambridge.

A little nearer London and the Council Meadow, Runnymede is reached. Opposite is Magna Charta Island, where King John signed the instrument which was the basis of the English constitution. The barons and their followers camped upon the meadow within plain sight of the King, and a delegation carried the paper for him to sign. King John was aware that this meant sign or resign, and when the charter was laid upon a stone for his action he did not long hesitate. A rock, which is said to be the historic one, is preserved in the little cottage to which many curiosity seekers repair.

A bend in the river between Middlesex and Surrey, as one descends the stream toward Kingston, is called Coway Stakes. On arriving at the south bank, Julius Caesar found that the Britons were drawn up on the opposite shore, which they had fortified by a palisade of sharpened stakes. There was a similar fortification in the bed of the river. But Caesar's legions dashed into the water, which was up to their necks, and surmounting all obstacles, put the enemy to flight. The Roman was invading the territory of the British general, Cassivelaunus, and this was the only point where the Thames could be crossed on foot. Past the house in which Garrick once resided, the palace and gardens of Hampton Court, past villas and villages, the river sweeps which was never destined to be the pride of a Southern race; past Kingston, where the Saxon monarchs were crowned, the Thames washes the estate which Pope adorned with temple and grotto and made so famous that kings, statesmen and noble ladies sought him there. The villa is gone. A few fragments of the grotto remain. The sensitive, diseased poet and wit is gone, and the mother whom he cherished as the only one on earth he could love without reserve. The Thames flows by them all, and the church at Twickenham, which contains


his tomb, may cast a shadow over its margin. The inscription on his monument proclaims that he "would not be buried in Westminster Abbey."

At this point the Thames brings us near the suburban parks of London and the outlying villages. Having left the gracious parks around the pretty suburbs of Richmond and Brentford, the distant stir of the mighty city is almost felt in the air.


By entering London from the west the mighty metropolis is approached from its most favorable direction; few Londoners would agree, however, as to the limits of their city, for the post office, the parliamentary, the police and the Metropolitan Board of Works districts are all different. London City, officially, lies partly within the limits of the old Roman walls, which have disappeared. Gates were subsequently added to the walls, and, for many years, Temple Bar was regarded as the site of the ancient town's western gate, being the official boundary between the fashionable and magnificent West End and the city. This supposition has been dispelled, but the boundary remains. Memories of the old times are kept green by retaining such names as Newgate for the oldest London prison, and London Wall for a street in the northern part of the city. From the east the walls commenced at the Tower of London, which has the credit, with some, of being built by Julius Caesar, and they were afterwards extended along the Thames, the western point being Ludgate, which has long since disappeared, but Ludgate Hill still stands. There were seven gates when the wall was carried around the northern districts of the city, as is supposed, by Constantine the Great.

London City is governed by the Lord Mayor and the Corporation, its extreme eastern and western limits being the Tower and the City of Westminster, with the River Thames as its southern base. Its area is less than a square mile, of which 370 acres are "within the walls." Within this area the metropolitan police and commissioners of public works have no control, the city sustaining its own departments and being accountable to Parliament. This independent corporation, the wealthiest in the world, has authority for its existence in charters which were granted by William the Conqueror after the battle of Hastings and by Henry I. in 1100. The chief magistrate received the official title of Lord Mayor in 1191.

But when the registrar obtains his figures for the population of


London he does not rest satisfied with the city and its 80,000 people, but, as stated, includes the territory subject to the Board of Works. This comprises the city of Westminster and Southwark, a borough south of the River Thames; the Tower Hamlets and Greenwich, to the east; and a dozen northern and western suburbs, among which may be mentioned Marylebone, Kensington and Chelsea. There are many populous parishes in the center of London but west of the City. This is the London which contains 4,500,000 people and is the largest and most opulent city in the world.


In the West End are the fine squares and club-houses for which London is noted, and here also is the brilliant Piccadilly street in which so much of the wealth and fashion of England is congregated. Regent street, the handsomest perhaps in London, where the ladies shop and which promenaders of both sexes greatly frequent, crosses Piccadilly. Belgravia, the southern portion of the West End, is a mass of great squares, in which grow beautiful trees, and which are surrounded by mansions of nobles and merchant princes. The northern division of the West End is known as Tyburnia, professional men, artists, and the less wealthy class of merchants having their residences here.

The outer districts of the West End are beautified, also, by the grandest of London's royal parks, and in pleasant weather Regent's and Hyde Parks, and Kensington Gardens, with their museums, palaces, lakes and wide drives, collect more high breeding, princely men and women, gorgeous and elegant equipages and costumes than can be shown elsewhere in the world within a like space. On the site of the Crystal Palace, in Hyde Park, is the splendid memorial to Prince Albert. He is represented as seated under a canopy, the richly-carved and minaret-like roof terminating in a cross. The main exposures of the monument present a multitude of marble portraits of illustrious Englishmen, while at the four corners of the inclosure Europe, Asia, Africa and America are symbolized in stone. The Albert Hall is opposite the Memorial, and the Kensington Museum buildings near by. In Regent's Park are the large botanical and zoφlogical gardens. East of Kensington Palace, one of the Queen's town residences and where she was born, are the unrivalled gardens. A bridge over a charming artificial body of water, called the Serpentine, connects Kensington Gardens with those other royal grounds, Hyde Park. East of Hyde Park is Green Park, entered beneath a triumphal arch surmounted by an equestrian


statue of Wellington. Upon the road connecting Hyde Park with St. James Park is Buckingham Palace, with a magnificent ball-room and throne-room, but an architectural eye-sore to most of the English monarchs. The Queen seldom visits it. The royal receptions are usually held in St. James Palace, fronting the park by that name. The palace is at the end of Pall Mall, in which club-house thoroughfare is Marlborough House, the residence of the Prince of Wales.


Trafalgar Square, within easy walking distance of Charing Cross (the official headquarters of the cab service) the Houses of Parliament, art galleries, club rooms, etc., besides the imposing statue to Nelson and other works of art, is a favorite resort for pleasure seekers, politicians and merchants passing back and forth between the West End and the City. The Houses of Parliament consist of a vast structure lying between the Thames and Westminster Abbey and having a river front of 900 feet. Its central spire and its belfry are each 300 feet in height. Westminster hall, over 100 feet in height, with an area in proportion, occupies the hall of the old royal palace where some of the first parliaments were held. The House of Lords is finely proportioned and gorgeously finished, containing the Queen's throne, the Prince's chair, the Lord Chancellor's wool-sack (a chair cushioned with wool), and statues of the barons who brought the charter to King John at Runnymede and compelled him to sign it. If the Queen is to arrive, two hours before her coming the cellars underneath the House are carefully


examined in fear of another gunpowder plot. The House of Commons is comparatively plain. Of the other vast government buildings, Somerset House is perhaps the most noticeable, it being a quadrangular structure with a river frontage of 600 feet.

Soon after leaving Parliament street Westminster Abbey comes into view, with its square towers and majestic stretch of buttresses and pinnacles. Here the monarchs of England were crowned for centuries, and many of them buried. Clustered around the east end of the Abbey are several chapels, those of Henry VII. and Edward the Confessor being the most noticeable. Edward was the first monarch crowned in Westminster, and his shrine appears in the middle of his chapel. Queen Elizabeth and Mary Stuart have their monuments in Henry's chapel,


while within calling distance are the mortal parts of those souls whom England delights to honor.

St. Paul's Cathedral stands upon the highest ground in the city, on Ludgate Hill. The old church was burned in the great London fire, the present cathedral being built in 1675-1710 by Sir Christopher Wren one of the world's great architects. It would not, in fact, be honoring him too much to call him the builder of modern London, for no one else accomplished so much to restore it after the disastrous conflagration of 1666; not only was he the architect of St. Paul's, where he is buried, but of fifty other churches, of the Royal Exchange, the Custom House, the monument near the foot of London bridge commemorative of the fire, the Greenwich Observatory, and hospitals, colleges and palaces, which make a list fit for a directory. St. Paul's is built after St. Peter's, and besides being a monument to genius itself, contains memorials of Nelson, Dr. Johnson, Wellington, Napier and John Howard, and the tombs of such illustrious persons as the artists Turner and Reynolds.

At the foot of Ludgate Hill is Fleet street, which is the Newspaper Row of London, and the London Times, with its foundries and telegraph system, its army of employιs and military precision, is printed not far away in Water lane. The western bounds of the Hill are at Temple Bar, and beyond is Lincoln's Inn Fields, a great square and resort for the legal profession.

The British Museum dates from the latter part of the eighteenth century and the great solid building, with its columned porticoes, from the commencement of the nineteenth. The noble dome, which covers the reading room of the library is larger than St. Peter's and only a few feet smaller than the Pantheon. Among the other features of the library which have made it almost unrivalled — the national library at Paris being its competitor — are the collection of manuscripts and the department of Hebrew literature. Of greatest value in the department of antiquities of the Museum are, perhaps, the Egyptian and Assyrian collections. The collection of natural history is remarkably complete, having an only rival in that of the Museum of Paris, which institution, as a whole, is the only one in the world which compares with the British Museum.

The centers of the city's vast political, commercial and financial activity are around the Bank of England, Threadneedle street, the Royal Exchange, the Mansion House and the Custom House. Thames, Cornhill, Cheapside, Fenchurch, Leadenhall and Victoria streets are solidly packed with pedestrians and vehicles for nine hours of the day. The Mansion House, the residence of the Lord Mayor, is connected with Blackfriars Bridge by Victoria street. Perhaps the most continuous,


the densest traffic, is between the Bank of England and the Mansion House. It is said to average 60,000 persons in a day of nine hours. A street from Cheapside, in the heart of the city, leads to the Guildhall, where many of the societies of tradesmen meet. They are the organized voters of London, and as such are intimately connected with the Corporation. The organization of some of the guilds dates back a thousand years, many of them being very wealthy and owning beautiful halls, where they give lavish entertainments. The Guildhall is used by those who have not their own place of assembly, and is the center of as much political life as the Mansion House of the Lord Mayor.

The traffic over the bridges of the Thames, particularly over London Bridge, is tremendous. The river is tunneled, but the pressure of travel is so great that it is hardly relieved. The south side of the Thames is bordered by a magnificent embankment called the Albert; across the river is the Victoria. The Albert embankment is lined with stately residences and other buildings, but terminates among the manufactories of Lambeth.

The great streets of London generally follow the Thames, and the embankments, of comparatively recent construction, are broad quays along the river banks similar to those of Paris. The Victoria embankment runs from Westminster to Blackfriars Bridge, with Waterloo between. The latter is over 1,200 feet in length, one of the finest structures of the kind in existence, and was opened to the public upon the second anniversary of the battle of Waterloo.



One of the most interesting of the many excursions which may be taken from London City in all directions, is that which terminates at the London and India docks by way of Tower Hill. The Tower Hamlets, east of London, and other suburbs in the vicinity, are to the poorer classes what the West End is to the aristocracy; the two extremes of London life may be studied in the two extremes of London. Within sight of much of the poverty of London are the forests of masts and the huge bodies of steamers, representing her ceaseless trade with every quarter of the globe. Between the great bridges are a score of steamboat piers for the accommodation of river passengers. Just below London Bridge is the Pool where the coal ships or colliers most congregate. Between the Pool and Blackwell is the Port of London, occupied by ships of greater burden, and for the convenience of these


giants have been constructed extensive docks and massive warehouses. Extensions are constantly progressing and tunnels being built to connect the docks on the northern bank of the Thames with those on the southern, so that eventually they will form one vast system. Below the Tower are St. Katharine's docks, and also on the northern shore, the London docks, with their extensive wine vaults, the Limestone docks, the West India docks, the East India docks, and the Victoria docks; on the southern shore the grand Surrey and Commercial docks are devoted to the timber and corn trades. The East India docks are at Blackwell, and as the shores are flat on either side of the river the greatest of English merchant ships which lie there appear more gigantic than they are.

London Tower overlooks the most cosmopolitan, if not the busiest section of the River Thames. This historical fortress and prison is an inharmonious mass of towers, forts, ramparts, batteries, barracks, armories and other structures, covering an area of nearly 900 feet square. Northwest of the Tower is the hill upon which the scaffold stood. Each of the towers included in the Tower has its particular recollections. Lady Jane Grey, Raleigh, Sidney, Russell, the young sons of Edward IV., and other ghosts, haunt them. One tower was built by William the Conqueror, and on one side of it is a large structure occupied as barracks and erected by the Duke of Wellington, who was once Constable of the Tower.

Of late years the authorities have made strenuous efforts to provide parks, or "lungs," for the working people of the east and northeast of London. Victoria Park, 300 acres in extent, is one of the greatest of these blessings.

We have hardly touched upon the attractions of London. If one should say but a dozen words about each of the 2,000 churches he would have written a chapter. He would commence by saying: Opposite St. Bartholomew's, bloody Queen Mary burned her victims at the stake; in St. Saviour's, Southwark, are buried Gower, Beaumont, Fletcher and Massinger; Temple Church, near the Bar, contains the body of poor Oliver Goldsmith; the Duke of Wellington attended the fashionable St. George's Church, Hanover Square; Whitfield's Chapel is where he first preached to a large indoor congregation; Spurgeon's Tabernacle, Christ's Church (Rev. Newman Hall), and the picturesque St. Andrew's, must be lightly passed; the ancient St. Giles, Cripplegate, is where the majestic Milton is buried, etc., etc.

This also would be the very unsatisfactory way in which one would be obliged to treat the great charities and benefactors, past and present; the hospitals for men, women and children, for the insane, the lame, the


epileptic and confirmed invalids; the universities, colleges, ragged schools and select schools, medical and surgical schools, libraries, museums, fine art galleries and underground railways. In one word, and finally, there is no civilization in any part of the world of which a trace can not be found in London.


On the south side of the river, opposite the dock district, are Deptford, Greenwich and Woolwich. At Deptford was formerly the great royal ship-yard, in which Peter the Great worked at his trade. This is now removed to Chatham, thirty miles southeast of London. Adjoining the deserted yard at Deptford are the victualing establishments of the royal navy, consisting of cattle pens, slaughter houses, bakeries, a brewery, etc., etc., and which partially cover the former grounds of the mansion in which Peter resided while working for his empire.


Woolwich really lies on both sides of the River Thames, but the arsenal and grounds where the ordnance of the army and navy is proved are on the south side. Until twenty years ago the royal dock-yard was located here, where it had been established for three centuries. The foundries and magazines, with other buildings connected with the arsenal, cover over one hundred acres of ground, and the famous range where ordnance and new guns are tried is three miles in length. Conveniently situated to get the advantage of every experiment and a thorough, practical education is the military academy for artillery officers and engineers. At North Woolwich are turned out hundreds of miles of telegraph cables.

Greenwich is five miles from St. Paul's, and three from London bridge. Since the seventeenth century the Greenwich observatory has been fixing the longitude for a great portion of the world. Greenwich time is also standard throughout England. It is a manufacturing town, having large yards for the building of iron steamboats, but Greenwich has another attraction besides its observatory, of which there is no prototype in Great Britain. The hospital for seamen is a large, quadrangular building, containing libraries and a hall adorned with portraits of naval heroes and representations of naval victories, besides the regular offices and apartments. This institution supports thousands of British seamen, many of those who were formerly inmates, but not seriously


incapacitated being now allowed a choice of residence. At present it contains a few hundred bed-ridden pensioners, but the bulk of the hospital is reserved for use in case of war. The site of the building was at one time occupied by the royal palace in which Queen Elizabeth, Queen Mary and Henry VIII. were born.

Gravesend is the limit of the port of London. It has ship-yards and a church where Pocahontas is buried. Ships leaving port get their outfits, provisions and clothing at Gravesend, and the Custom House officers examine vessels when they are about to enter.

Chatham, where the royal ship-yards are, is beyond Gravesend, toward the sea, and Canterbury is still east of Chatham. It is a good point from which to sweep the whole of England, south of the Thames.


From the time of St. Augustine, who received Ethelbert and his whole kingdom of Kent into the Church, Canterbury has been the seat of the highest ecclesiastic of England. From the rising to the setting of a single sun, ten thousand Saxons were baptized in the river Stour, which flows through Canterbury. This was the first formal acknowledgment of the power of the Christian religion in Great Britain, and it was upon this occasion that the old Saxon priest smote the images of his gods to see if there was really any virtue in them. He had served them long, he said; they had brought nothing but misery to him, and he was a willing convert to the new faith. Though the great cathedral at Canterbury has suffered several times by fire, and has been beautified during the present century, it is in substantially the same condition as it was when completed in the twelfth century. Henry IV. and the Black Prince have monuments in the cathedral. The city contains other interesting memorials of the introduction of Christianity into England. The immense Augustinian monastery, so long used as a brewery, is now a missionary college, having been restored to something of its former appearance.

It was before the high altar of the magnificent cathedral at Canterbury, that Thomas ΰ Becket, the Primate of England, was murdered because he pronounced the Church greater than the King; for which deed King Henry II. did penance by allowing the monks to lay the lashes upon his own bare back, besides erecting several castles throughout the kingdom and doing other useless things. Now, beyond Dover, near the coast, is a little old town, with middle-century churches and houses. Once it was an important seaport and furnished the king with many a vessel for defense of England. There is now quite a tract of land between it and


the sea. Hythe was, furthermore, a smugglers' port, and one of their picturesque lighthouses, with a blunt, square tower, rises innocently from the middle of the town, a legitimate store underneath, and an honest family of Kent for inmates. It was about a mile from this town that the Knights met who stabbed Thomas ΰ Becket before the high altar of Canterbury. Saltwood Castle, where the conspirators agreed upon their villainy, was claimed as Church property by Thomas ΰ Becket. Only a portion of the structure, looking from such a romantic situation upon the Channel and the coast of France, is left to tell of its former strength and magnificence. Its deep windows, groined roofs and rich carvings are built into a farm house, some of its large upper rooms being occupied by laborers.


The road from Chatham to Canterbury is delightful, and passes on to a pleasant little town, which once had a good harbor, and was, with Hythe, one of the powerful so called "Cinque Ports," or those lying opposite France which were accorded particular privileges in return for which they furnished whole fleets of ships to humble the people just across the way. Sandwich's harbor, however, commenced to fill up with sand and in an unlucky day a vessel sunk at its entrance and completed the blockade.

Dover is the next Cinque Port, going down the coast, and it still enjoys that distinction, it being only twenty miles from France and the most convenient port of landing from the continent. Both Normans and French have laid violent hands upon it, and Caesar would have landed his invaders there, but the shore was too abrupt, and he entered England from a point a little further west. The Saxons looked upon it as the key to Kent and the Englishmen as the key to the kingdom. The Castle of Dover, posted upon a great chalk cliff guarding the town, contains a Roman watchtower, which is one of the most ancient pieces of military work in Great Britain, and exhibits also both Saxon and Norman styles of architecture.

Upon the borders of what was then a forest, not far from Dover, another adventurer in arms landed from the French coast, nearly a thousand years from Caesar's time. The battle which gave England to the Normans, however, was not fought at Hastings, but six miles west of the port. Two years afterwards William the Conqueror founded Battle Abbey, which yet stands, a rugged stone structure with four central towers and two unequal wings.



The physical peculiarity of these extreme southeastern districts of the country is the chalky formation of the land, which throws it into two pleasing series of undulations called the North and the South Downs, which extend to the coast, the former beyond Canterbury to North Foreland (the extremity of Southeastern England) and the latter to Beachy Head, the grandest of the southern chalk cliffs. The Downs inclose the Weald, a rough plain from which geologists have drawn valuable specimens of sea monsters, amphibians and ferns. Ironstone was also found, and Briton, Roman and Saxon are believed to have worked in it. In the middle ages iron manufacturing prospered in the Weald, or forest, and the Sussex iron works were called upon not only by neighboring hamlets and villas, but by London itself. Cinder Hill, Furnace Place, Hammer Ponds, with the forest gone and the manufactories transferred to such coal districts as Birmingham, tell of past industry and the cause of its decadence. A ridge runs through the center of the Weald, from which its fertile and flowery surface, roughly broken and with a fir tree left here and there, may be viewed as far as the Downs on either side. In a little town on the northern edge of the Weald, Richard Cobden, the free-trader, was born, and Sir Charles Lyell, the geologist, passed his early days there. Farther west is Leith Hill, the highest point of land in Southeastern England, from whose summit can be indistinctly traced a varied and charming landscape 200 miles in extent. A ramble through the Surrey hills would be well repaid by the charming country residences which peep out so unexpectedly from groves of beech and oak trees. Then there are cool dales, bright hills, and pleasant lanes and villages to enjoy. If a ridge or an elevation has such a queer name as the Hog's Back it must be walked, for such brands were placed there by the early Saxons, and their homely words are stamped upon many hills and vales of this region.


The Weald and Surrey hills also bring one within about twenty miles of London, and upon the northern edge of this varied landscape is a representative town of England — old and yet new; for although the Epsom salts were known two centuries ago, the race-course is less than half of that age. Epsom is on the edge of the North Downs and it is on the Downs themselves that the great race-course is located. The races for the Derby stakes are the most exciting which take place in England. Epsom seemed once destined to become a famous health,


resort, the salts which were obtained from evaporating the waters of her mineral springs becoming so famous that the name Epsom salt is now applied to a like mineral obtained from the sea, from quarries in France, the Mammoth Cave in this country, and many other localities. But the races overshadowed the salts and during the week succeeding Whitsuntide a hundred thousand people pour out of London and gather from the surrounding country to see the famous English runners.


Just beyond the South Downs is the New Forest, in whose dense shades a few timid deer still wander, and wild ponies and swine find their homes there. It is the largest and most picturesque tract of wooded land in England, the noblest vantage ground being a knoll upon which is a country house marking the site of the keep from which the Red King went forth to hunt for the last time; from this point cool avenues stretch over vast reaches of the forest, and open to view the refreshing waters of the Channel and the distant Isle of Wight. The spot where Rufus was found pierced with arrows is marked by a stone appropriately inscribed and protected by an iron casing. Beeches and oak predominate among the monarchs of the forest, and in the oldest portion of it two of the "twelve apostles" — gigantic trees — still stand. In the very center of this primeval scene is a little town, from which many excursions are made. Groves whose gnarled sentries and massive groups make one dream of the Druids and their sacrifices are separated by fertile strips and great farms. Elegant mansions and pretty villages are both scattered through the Forest and stand around its edges as if enjoying its great repose and varied aspects.

The New Forest was one of the sixty-eight royal domains enjoyed by William the Conqueror and his court, and when he burned the people's churches and drove the worshipers away, the country was well settled. The persecuted peasants and foresters looked grimly on while one son was gored to death by a royal stag; another son, the Red King, mysteriously met his fate, and a grandson was accidentally shot to death by an arrow


The tourist can not do better, if he comes to England to see inspiring sights and breathe invigorating air, than to follow one of those avenues through the New Forest which lead toward Southampton Water and the English Channel. It is a short sail to the shores of the Isle of Wight, with its bold cliffs of chalk, its dark sea caves, its beautiful


waves of land, its sheltered vales and soft inland breezes, and the resort of literary men with temperaments ranging from Tennyson to Hugo. The yachts are more apt to frequent the Solent, the strait between the forest and the island. The Palace of Osborne rises serenely from a gradual elevation, a graceful stretch of wooded land coming down to the water's edge, like the royal deer themselves whose sleek forms adorn the grassy slopes. Thousands of British subjects hover around the beautiful place as around the memory of Prince Albert. In the vicinity of Osborne House, at East Cowles, Dr. Arnold of Rugby was born, and this might be a question hard to answer: Do more Englishmen worship at the shrine of the late Prince Consort than at the shrine of Dr. Arnold of Rugby?

A stroll through the interior of the island develops many localities of interest. In the downs have been found subterranean burial passages and regular Saxon grounds. Near Newport is a ruined fortress called Carisbrooke castle, where Charles I. was imprisoned after his flight from Hampton Court, and near the castle is a Roman villa and the remains of a costly pavement. The children of the king were also imprisoned there, the Princess Elizabeth dying in the castle and being buried at Newport church.

The chalk downs which make the backbone of the Isle of Wight extend from Culver Cliffs in the east to the Needles in the west. Culver Cliffs terminate in a stupendous headland of chalk called the White Dove, while the Needles might have once been as massive, but are now worn away, so that they appear as pillars of chalk. A second and a higher range of chalk hills is formed in the southern part of the island and expands into a broad promontory, whose scarred, furrowed and stern face is the Undercliff. For several miles it is evident that immense slides of land once fell at the base of the exposed cliff, having been loosened by the many springs; these gradually subsided into a series of terraces, which now appear as a long rock garden, in which grow clumps of trees and a profusion of wild flowers, and whose coast line is sometimes broken by sunny bays and valleys. This district of the island is a favorite resort for invalids, and notwithstanding that many go there in the last stages of consumption the figures of the registrar-general prove that its death rate is actually the lowest in the kingdom. Railway communication has been opened between the various health resorts, Newton, the capital, and other towns.


In skirting along the sea shore, from opposite the Isle of Wight the first point of interest is old Portsmouth, with a great royal dock-yard


and fortifications. Even as early as Alfred's time vessels sailed from this port to defeat the Sea Kings. Then we visit Exeter, the ancient capital of the West Saxons, and once strongly fortified, but taken by Dane and Norman. Before the Saxons came it is believed to have been a Briton town. Northeast of the city, on a hill, is the castle in which the West Saxon kings resided, and within it are large squares, a Norman cathedral of rich and massive appearance, and numerous educational institutes. The city is on the River Exe, a few miles from the Channel. And beyond is Plymouth, thriving and handsome, with a naval dockyard, arsenal and productive fisheries, receiving its water supply from the moor of the River Dart, thirty miles distant. That dreary tract of swamps and rocks, and granite hills, and Druidical altars, should be approached from the north in order to thoroughly saturate the traveler with gloom, and a detour will therefore be made from the Channel by way of Bristol.

A few miles south of the entrance to Plymouth Sound is the Eddystone lighthouse, on a reef, which has been photographed and described more often than any other similar structure in the world; but that we may entertain, like the father who tells the same story time and time again to an ever-attentive audience, we will remark that the building of the last Eddystone lighthouse might form material for a romance, and that the waves of the channel have several times broken the thick plate-glass in its lantern, nearly seventy feet above the average sea level.


One of the most remarkable remains of antiquity in the world are those imperfect circles of huge monoliths, but still traceable, which for many years have drawn thousands of antiquarians to Stonehenge, in Salisbury Plain, Southern Wiltshire, north of the New Forest. Even though the temple has been restored beyond reasonable doubt, it is still uncertain whether it was erected by the Druids, was a Temple of the Sun or a monument in honor of the dead. One legend ascribes it to the last of the British kings, who, with the assistance of the magician Merlin, built it in memory of 460 Britons who were murdered by Hengist the Saxon.

Northwest of the New Forest, in the same county of Wilts, is Savernake Forest, said to be the only one in England belonging to a subject. "It is especially remarkable for its avenues of trees. One, of magnificent beeches, is nearly four miles in length, and is intersected at one point of its course by three separate walks, or forest vistas, placed


at such angles as, with the avenue itself, to command eight points of the compass. The effect is unique and beautiful, the artificial character of the arrangement being amply compensated by the exceeding luxuriance of thickset trees and the soft loveliness of the verdant flowery glades which they inclose. The smooth, bright foliage of the beech is interspersed with the darker shade of the fir, while towering elms and wide-spreading oaks diversify the line of view in endless, beautiful variety. At one point a clump of trees will be reached — the veterans of the forest, with moss-clad trunks and gnarled, half-leafless branches — the chief being known as the King Oak, but sometimes called the Duke's, from the Lord Protector Somerset, with whom this tree was a favorite."


Bath and Bristol are in our way beyond the forests of Wiltshire, but it is the orderly way to first visit the picturesque spots in Somersetshire, which command Bristol Channel and the south of Wales, and which gradually merge into the vast moors of Devonshire, the wilds of Cornwall, the adamant cliffs of Land's End, and finally the very promontory itself, which lies prone at their feet, defying the incessant shock of two seas. The little village of Cheddar is not far from Bristol, and in its neighborhood is much of the most striking of that transition scenery which connects the southern and the southwestern sections of England. The Mendips is a fantastic ridge of rocks, massive at the base and broken into graceful shapes above, the scant soil which it bears giving life to every creeping thing (in the vegetable world), and to radiant wild roses and other flowers. The caves are numerous and mysterious, some of the passages extending for long distances underground. We are now in the region of John Locke's birthplace and of the philanthropic labors of Mrs. Hannah More, while farther to the southwest is the marshy, woody country where King Alfred bided his time to drive the Danes from the land. The site of the neatherd's cottage, where the King let the cakes burn, while sorrowing and scheming, is approximated by a small stone pillar.


On the shores of Cornwall and from Channel to Channel the legends of good King Arthur are thick as the great rocks which stand out to sea. The slaty and granite cliffs oppose themselves to the growing fury of the sea and form a fitting bulwark to the country which constituted the last stronghold of the Celts of England. In Cornwall, tradition places the


last great battle in which he fought, which also represents him as being borne from the battle-field mortally wounded and being buried at Glastonbury. It is further reported that by order of Henry II. his tomb was opened and the bones and good sword of the monarch were found. Arthur's Court is placed on the River Usk, in Southern Wales, where he lived with his beautiful wife. The scenes of his doubtful conflicts cover England from Lancaster, Bath and Portsmouth almost to Land's End.

South of the Mendip Hills, on the River Brue, is Glastonbury Abbey reputed to have been founded by Joseph of Arimathaea, and the scene of the labors of St. Patrick and St. Augustine. Of the great church and its five chapels there yet remain three large crypts where Arthur, the early kings of England and founders of the English Church, were buried. A little westward from the ruin stands the beautiful chapel of St. Joseph of Arimathaea. Glastonbury was the reputed scene of St. Dunstan's conflict with the Devil, in which the Evil One, who came to tempt him from his forge and his cell, was seized by the nose with a pair of red-hot pincers.


In the charming Quantock Hills, not far away, are treasured memories of the home life of Sidney Smith, Coleridge and Wordsworth. Toward the west and Bristol Channel, stretch a greater range than the Quantocks, and if one ascends their heights the Welsh mountains may be dimly seen across the waters, while the land view is as majestic as any in the west of England. Famous watering places along this coast are a continual invitation to rest and not to make sight-seeing so tiresome a business. There are also many modest ones, not the less charming for being so. "Westward Ho!" is one of the bold kind, receiving its name from one of Charles Kingsley's novels — the one which Humboldt admired for its sublime description of South American forests which he had seen but Kingsley had not. A few miles of an appetizing walk finds one before a quaint village, buried in a wooded hillside — just throwing out a hesitating stone pier into a small bay, to let the world know that it is there. This is Clovelly, Kingsley's early home, and his first and last love. A little farther on is Hartland Point, a small grassy head of land, a few feet across, which is said to have an exact counterpart on the Welsh coast directly opposite.


A direct and depressing contrast to the hills and downs of Southern England and the Isle of Wight, to diversified wealds and forests, are


the dreary, grim moors of Southern Devonshire. The mossy, soggy moors are broken into many jagged outlines by great masses of granite, and numerous streams descend from the heights to the River Dart, which flows into the Channel. In its upper regions Dartmoor is so desolate that when one first enters its solitudes his imagination might well delude him into the belief that some unfriendly power had placed him in some of the rocky deserts of Southwestern Africa, hundreds of miles from the coasts; but as he follows a stream through the moor, and down its sloping borders toward the lowlands and the valley of the Dart, the sweet woods and dales and sunlit villages which greet his tired eyes, refresh his nature and bring back the bright side of life.


The change from Devon to Cornwall may be over a great railway viaduct which spans the River Tamar. A more impressive approach is from the sea by way of Plymouth Sound. Here the Tamar presents a majestic appearance, and it is difficult to believe that it has its rise only sixty miles away. But whether you enter Cornwall by rail, on foot or by water, a great difference is at once noticed in the character of the country from that of Devon. With the exception of the moor country Devonshire is a softly outlined, fertile region, but suddenly as England gets ready for a final contest with the Western seas, she throws off her pleasing drapery and opposes to the elements a stern front — mostly ponderous granite and steely slate. The trees so nearly disappear that the natives of Devon say that the Cornish people have not enough timber to make a coffin. On some of the steep hills are a few stunted oaks, but, to draw a parallel in order to save a geological explanation, Cornwall is where England's backbone of hills runs down into the tail and therefore the appendage was not clad in rich mouldy soil, or the flesh of the land. The valleys which lie between the black heights of Cornwall are, however, clothed with as green a verdure as can be found in England, and the orchards, gardens and farms thus sheltered seem, from their surroundings, more beautiful and more fruitful than they really are. "In various parts of the country, but always near the sea shore, we are astonished at finding in the front gardens of the houses ornamental plants, which remain out of doors all the year and do not belong at all to the general flora of England. Myrtles, laurels, fuchsias and pomegranates attain a remarkable size, flourish bravely in the open air and form hedges, clumps and fragrant screens which elegantly adorn the windows and walls."


The effect of the Gulf Stream upon the western coasts of Cornwall is to make the seasons in this extremity of the island more forward than in any other locality. So that while frost is king in other parts of England, at the holiday season, the warmed and sheltered spots of Cornwall are bringing forth flowers, vegetables, bees and birds. Vegetation has been found more advanced in Southwestern Cornwall than in Northern Italy, so that this locality has been called the winter kitchen garden of London. Many of the early vegetables which reach the markets of the Metropolis come from Cornwall, and in nearly every town there is a cottage gardening society for the encouragement of this branch of agriculture.


Returning again to the stern side of Cornwall (and that, after all, is the one which is forced upon the world — it has to look for the flowers) the architecture of the old towns is massive and rugged. Cottages and even pig pens are built of blocks of granite, of which a castle might be proud. Often the stone is left in the rough, so that the beautiful colors and sparkling crystals make a diversified and striking picture. Frequently, however, their picturesqueness is spoiled by common coats of whitewash. The interior of one of these cottages is described thus: "A single ground-floor room serves at once as kitchen, dining and drawing-room. A wide open chimney, without a grate, proves that it was not originally intended to burn coals. Combustibles formerly in use were roots, prickly furze and dried turf, which when raised in slabs forms a species of peat. A wooden or stone bench placed in the interior of the chimney serves as the family seat during the cold winter evenings. The laborers frequently obtain from the farmer their supply of gorse and dry grass, on condition of returning him the ashes. A deal table without a cloth, but carefully scrubbed, receives the coarse and substantial dishes which have been cooked in front of the fire on a hot plate of iron. The whole family sit around this table on massive benches generally fastened to the wall." Other cottages are more comfortably furnished and, even in secluded places near the tin and copper mines, will sometimes be seen quite elaborate stone structures, or houses of modest proportions, supplied with all the interior decorations which prosperous proprietors could wish to enjoy.

The mines are not radically different from those worked in this country, except that the machinery is often more crude and there are many chambers which run under the sea. The most famous subterranean mine is the Botallack, some of its galleries running more than half a


mile under the stormy waves and at places approaching so near the bed of the sea that the heavy rocks can be heard rolling and grinding above. Near Penzance a mine was worked for many years whose mouth was not in the dark cliffs or moors of the coast, but in a deep ocean bay. The upper part of the shaft was a caisson, which rose a dozen feet above the level of the sea, and the water which trickled from the ocean into the mine was pumped out by an engine which stood on the shore over 700 feet away. Pipes which were carried along a platform connected the mine with the engine, but the connection was severed by a storm-driven vessel, and, on account of the heavy expense already incurred, the bold enterprise was abandoned.

The mines of Cornwall are, some of them, located amid green valleys and farms; others have bare hills and moors for their surroundings, and great rocks, in mysterious forms, lie near them. If there is any specially remarkable or weird formation, there are two explanations open — the wonder may be attributed to the Druids, to the Devil, or to the Archangel Michael, who (the last) is the patron of the coast. The headquarters of the Archangel is supposed to be the rocky St. Michael's Mount, which lies adjacent to the Land's End district, and, like its mate off the coast of Normandy, is peninsula or island, according to the tide. It is well worth climbing for the magnificent view of sea and land obtained from its summit. Historically, it is supposed to be one of the islands to which the ancient Britons bore the tin in their boats, at high water, and in their chariots, at low water, the Phoenician ships carrying the precious metal to Tyre and Sidon, from whence it may have gone into the bronzes of Assyria and Egypt. On the mainland tin mines have been discovered, which are little more than burrows — those presumably worked by the Britons.

Nearly midway between the eastern bounds of Cornwall and Land's End is one of the most remarkable districts of England for the quarrying of the kaolin, or fine clay, from which the wonderful porcelain ware of the country is made. The deposits result from the decomposition of feldspar, thus giving the clay a peculiarly pure and white appearance. In some cases the substance has to be dug out and disintegrated by the action of running water. Then by being received into a series of tanks the finer particles are at length deposited. After the water has evaporated or been drawn off, the pure white deposit soon hardens so that it can be cut with a spade into cakes and carried off to sheds, or the surrounding hills to further harden. This is often the work of women who appear in white costumes, bonnets, wide sleeves and aprons, and bear away the gleaming porcelain substance which is white as snow. There


are harder deposits of kaolin which are blasted like stone, the bulk of the product being conveyed in carts to the nearest port and shipped to Staffordshire, which is in Central England and also the center of the pottery manufacturers.


A miner seldom appears to notice either the beauty or the barrenness of his surroundings. The life is essentially a sad and an anxious one, the world over, and the Cornish native seems naturally of a more sombre, but not desponding disposition, than any other nationality; the Cornish giant who works in the mines is intelligent and proud, but not boorish. When at home he cultivates his flowers and vegetables in summer and, if he lives on the coast, ventures out upon the sea to catch his winter supply of fish with as much confidence as though the water, not the land, were his element.

Although girls and women are not employed in the mines as frequently as in former years the practice is still common in Cornwall. Their work is to break and prepare the mineral, and although their labors have a tendency to make them far too masculine, their figures are often perfectly developed and they are noble specimens of womanhood


and girlhood. Both they and the daughters of the sea are fond of ribbons, pretty veils and lockets, and although the granite Cornish men protest, they know in their rough hearts that they love to see the bright flowers among the rocks. On Sunday the flowers appear particularly fresh.

Yet Sunday in Cornwall is as John Wesley would wish it to be. Old and young are dressed in their cleanest, and their best includes silks and laces. But whether by miners or fishermen, Sunday is observed as a holy day, and some of them will exhibit, as an evidence that they had need to reform, various circles and groups of stones which were once ball-playing men and dancing girls. Traces of the first Methodist revival which Wesley led among the manufacturing and mining districts of England are yet observed in Cornwall, where he met with the greatest success. Thousands of the Cornish miners were both converted and reformed. The work did not end there, but to this day, the Wesleyans and the Methodists are the strong sects of the country.

The actual toilers of the sea are seen in their most characteristic attires when the boats have returned to port laden with their precious freights. The wives are there to meet their husbands and usually several hawkers are on hand, as soon as anybody, to purchase for the markets. One of their most common vehicles is a truck, to which is fastened an immense basket. If the place is a considerable village there is a long line of trucks along the beach, and the buyers stand on rocks or jetties, with whips in hand, examine the contents of the boats, which are drawn up along the pier, and, in a stentorian voice, shout out their "highest figure." "Women with bent backs loaded with a dorser called a cowl, doubtless because some resemblance was found between it and a monk's cowl, bear the enormous loads of fish from the boats to the beach. All the people push and elbow each other, with an immense quantity of talking, performed in that singing voice peculiar to Cornwall."


The voice is peculiar, and some of the long faces, black hair and large noses and mouths are not English; the language, however, is getting to be almost identical with the English, although the majority of the Cornish people were once Celts. Until the close of the seventeenth century they spoke their primitive language, those who lived nearest Land's End clinging to the dear old dialect with the grimmest determination. There is something almost as pathetic in the struggle of a people to keep their native language in the world as of a dying race to struggle


against extermination. A Cornish clergyman who taught the Word not more than fifty miles from Land's End preached the last sermon in Celtic in about 1687. As a spoken language the Cornish may be considered devoured by the English. Many rocks and promontories retain their ancient names, and a phrase or a few words will occasionally crop out in familiar discourse between Cornish miners and fishermen; but as the English have so crowded their way into Cornwall that there is little pure Celtic blood, so it is likely that the Celtic dialect of Cornwall is dead beyond resurrection. The most important written remains of the tongue are deposited in the Cottonian library of the British Museum. Sir Robert Cotton, an English antiquarian, made a valuable collection of ancient manuscripts during the early portion of the seventeenth century, obtaining among other curiosities a vocabulary of the Cornish-Celtic which is still preserved.

Returning toward Bristol and Bath by way of the northern coast of Southwestern England, the formations of the cliffs are generally of a slaty texture. After leaving these two cities, up the River Severn we pass into an imaginary division of the empire called Educational and Ecclesiastical England. The Thames bounds it on the south and Shakespeare's Avon, extended to the North Sea, is its northern boundary.


These were Roman stations on the great military road from London to Wales. Both cities were towns of the Britons before the Romans invaded the island. At Bath coins, vases and baths, and remains of a temple have been found, but within modern times the hot springs have made it famous. Bristol, on the contrary, at the head of the Channel by that name, stood next to London for many years. But the metropolis built the West India docks, and drew the monoply of the trade from Bristol, and Liverpool, from its position nearer the best coal and iron fields, usurped her supremacy as one of the most important manufacturing centers of England. Yet Bristol remains a great city.


Bristol and Bath are on the Avon, but it is not Shakespeare's stream. That river branches off at Tewkesbury, where the party of the Red Roses triumphed over the White, and flows gently toward the castle of the gigantic Earl of Warwick, who fell in battle a few weeks previous to the final defeat of his army.

The River Avon is a branch of the Severn, and where it first enters


Warwickshire, the quiet country town of Stratford rests upon its banks. The house where Shakespeare was born is a two-story stone building, with antique-looking gables fronting the street. In the room where he is said to have been born is one of the many portraits of the poet, and the walls and window panes bear traces of Scott's and Wordsworth's admiration, while the visitors' book, which has been removed from the house, is filled with sentiments and autographs of statesmen, poets and novelists. Back of the house is a garden once crowded with old English flowers. About a mile away is the cottage of Anne Hathaway; a long, straggling, simple cottage, with an irregular roof and rough doors and windows. Man and wife, genius and common clay, are buried in the Gothic church approached through such a majestic avenue of limes. The Avon runs but a short distance from the walls. Up the river a few miles are Kenilworth and Warwick castles. Kenilworth Castle is a grand ruin, covered with ivy and banked in foliage. Tradition connects it with the romances of King Arthur, and history with the gallantries of the Earl of Leicester to Queen Elizabeth, his sovereign having presented the castle to him. For seventeen days tilts and tournaments, dramatic representations, banquets, songs and dances succeeded each other, during the most famous of his entertainments in honor of the Queen. But now the walls are broken and little birds flit and chirp among the weeds, vines and rocks within the grand banqueting hall.

Warwick Castle, on the contrary, is well preserved for an old country seat. It is the principal residence of the Earls of Warwick, situated on the banks of the Avon. The approach is a winding road cut through the solid rock, and the castle itself is on a rocky elevation forty feet high. The pictures, specimens of armor, tapestries, inlaid furniture, and interior decorations are interesting and elegant, and the gardens without are magnificent. The trees are of most stately proportions, some of them being from Lebanon. The visitor who comes to the castle will be expected to receive — at least with an open mind — all the stories about the mighty Guy, Earl of Warwick, who slew so many people that he retired with the blues to a dismal cave. There he lived for thirty years, and Guy's Cliff can be shown to prove it! The giant's porridge pot, which holds 120 gallons, is on exhibition at the castle, as well as the rib of a mighty cow which the Earl killed on Dunsmore Heath.

While speaking of celebrated localities, it should be remembered that Rugby Grammar School is fifteen miles above Warwick Castle, on the Avon. Football and cricket are still being played, and the same manly discipline is maintained as when thousands of American youth were devouring "School Days at Rugby." The chapel of the school contains


a monument to Dr. Arnold, the revered head-master. But we must hurry eastward, beyond the Avon.


Much of the country which lies between Cambridge and the Wash — the arm of the North Sea which comes over the great hump of Southeastern England — was once a land of swamps. Most of the land has been reclaimed and drained, but it is still a dreary region covered with rank grass and reeds, intersected with ditches, canals and streams, and boasting, in places, a farm house or struggling village. Game is still abundant, despite the disappearance of so much favorite water, and between sportsmen in summer and merry skaters in winter the land is the most dreary looking of the two elements. In the days when the flat grass and reed lands were the bottoms of lakes and marshes and the elevated points, the islands, great abbeys were built upon these beautiful, secluded spots. Their ruins of walls, towers and gigantic arches are the most interesting features of the country. Some of them go back to early Saxon times, the Crowland Abbey having been devastated by the Danes and nearly all the inmates massacred.

"All the islands in the great inland sea appear to have been settled by recluses. They had nothing to look out upon but ‘a sea in winter without waves, and in summer a dreary mud swamp.’ Each island had its duck decoys and the wild fowl abounded to such an extent that 3,000 ducks have been taken by one of these in a day. [An English duck story.] Stilts were used by the inhabitants of the Fens, as they are now in the low lands of Brittany and Normandy, to spy out game; and the Fenlanders were, as might be expected, subject to all kinds of low fevers and ague. Chatteris, Soham, St. Ives and other places that are now considerable country towns, appear as little islands in the sea where all now is rich farming land."

The former extent of this old inland sea, or marsh, was about two thousand square miles. The Romans had attempted to save the country, and their dikes along the sea coast, or the Wash, are traceable in some sections. The early English tried to drain the country and finally called in the aid of the Dutch. James I. employed Sir Cornelius Vermuyden, who brought Dutch workmen with him, and his countrymen did most of the work. The channels of the rivers which flowed through the country were deepened and their mouths cleared so that there would be a free passage and a good current to the sea. When the English Admiral Blake defeated the Dutch, some of the prisoners were


set to work draining the fens. Other Hollanders continued in the same course, and some of them became settlers. The result is that many words and faces which are found in the Fen country are unmistakably Dutch.


The old religious edifices are not all in ruins, however. On the reclaimed sea, called Bedford Level, is the old city of Ely with a very ancient cathedral. The cathedral at Peterborough was founded by the King of Mercia in the seventh century and grandly combines the Norman and the early English in its architecture; for the first church was destroyed by the Danes. Catharine of Aragon, wife of Henry VIII., is buried here; and so once was Mary, Queen of Scots, but her bones were removed to Westminster Abbey. Lincoln is also a town hoary with age but alive with manufactories and contains one of the finest cathedrals in the kingdom, with three towers and that hearty old bell, the Great Tom of Lincoln. There is furthermore the splendid structure at Norwich which was founded in the eleventh century. The town flourished in the time of Edward the Confessor. Fragments of its ancient wall still surround it. Norwich gave the language also a common noun. The Flemings who early settled in it used to send to the village of Worsted, a few miles distant, for a kind of yarn spun from long wool. These manufacturers of Norwich called it worsted. Harriet Martineau was born in Norwich, her parents being French refugees.


Cambridge is also in the reclaimed country of Southeastern England. It was a famous seat of learning as early as Oxford, but, if anything, has shown a greater leaning towards aristocracy. The students are at the present time divided into classes according to their social rank and the amount of tuition they pay. The noblemen pay £50 caution money, and are the highest, while the poorest class of students, the sizars, contribute but £10. Formerly the position of the sizars was humiliating, but of late years there has been a great reform in this particular. No one who is not a member of the Church of England can take the degree of B.A. The most famous of the colleges which form the university is Trinity, with which the names of Newton and Milton are intimately associated. The library contains manuscripts in both the handwritings of these diverse geniuses. Connected with the university are botanical gardens and museums, and a fine observatory. Every institution has a superb building, the appliances being on a scale which could direct the


minds of such scholars as Chaucer, Bacon, Harvey, Spenser, Milton, Dryden, Newton and Pitt. Of the architectural poems the Gothic chapel of King's College is the grandest and most beautiful. Of the buildings Queen's College is the most venerable in appearance, as it has not been rebuilt within modern times. In its principal court may still be seen the sun-dial made by Isaac Newton.

The town has a much more ancient appearance than Oxford, the houses having queer gables and antiquated chimneys, while the very wagons and farmers, appearing on market day, seem to belong to the middle ages. The Cam, a stream which passes through the college grounds, often bears along, almost under the windows of some of the university buildings, the coal, wood and grain destined for neighboring towns. It carries one through the fenny district to Ely, to which point many of the nobles fled to escape the cruelty of William the Conqueror after the battle of Hastings. An authentic picture has been drawn of earls and knights capturing wild duck, eels and pike, and feasting with the monks of Ely, their lances standing against the wall ready for use should the Normans seek and find them in their marshy stronghold. William finally found these flowers of Saxon knighthood, and, to crush them, built a road twelve miles over the marsh to Ely. But the road was poorly constructed and sunk many ambitious Normans to their slimy


graves. The next attempt made would have been successful, had not the leader of the Saxon force disguised himself as one of the army of laborers which was collecting brushwood for a solid roadway and set fire to the enormous pile before it could be used. But the King confiscated the lands of the abbey, and one day, when the Saxons were away looking for provisions, the monks paid the Norman King a certain sum to get back their property besides giving the foreign soldiers entrance to the stronghold. Both Danes and Normans ravaged the Fen country.


Before leaving this portion of the kingdom for the country north of the Avon, there are two shires above Middlesex, in which London is situated, which deserve more than a brief notice. The Ouse, a stream which meanders through them, waters the home ground of Cowper and Bunyan. The author of Pilgrim's Progress was born near the town of Bedford and was wont to visit the locality where, in prison, he spent twelve years of his life. The monument to the great and conscientious man which is erected in Bedford represents him as a preacher.

In Hertfordshire was born the insanely sensitive poet. The rectory of Great Berkhamstead where he first saw the uncertain light still stands, and the house at Olney where he enjoyed, so many years, the friendship of Mrs. Unwin. Although Cowper's father was a royal chaplain, the son is buried in a church in Dereham, Norfolk, while the son of the tinker died and was buried in London. Due east of Cowper's birthplace is St. Albans, that famous borough near which two great battles were fought in the War of the Roses. It is near the site of an ancient town called Verulam. From this circumstance Lord Bacon's royal title was of a double nature — Baron Verulam and Viscount of St. Albans — and there is a monument to the great thinker in the borough.


Any admirer of England's most genial, if not her greatest novelist will not fail to travel a little nearer the North Sea — in fact, to reach its very coasts and stroll around the quaint, flat Yarmouth, with its shipyards and great quays and smell of herrings. It is in just such a place as one would expect to find Peggotty, and Em'ly, and Uncle Dan, and Mrs. Gummidge, and all the others. Yarmouth was not reclaimed from the river until the eleventh century, and although its mouth has been diverted several miles to the south, the Flats still seem a fair invitation to the sea to come in and cover them, as of old.

And although we have left London, the mind can not but revert to


the old-fashioned, comfortable home of the handsome, impulsive, impressible and not altogether unlovable Steerforth, in Highgate, within sight of the city. The few glimpses which Dickens has given of the stately Mrs. Steerforth are indescribably tender. The picture of her dignified figure bending and her hair whitening under the weight of her son's disgrace, and that other scene of stony and passionate grief after the body of Em'ly's unprincipled lover had been cast by that fearful sea upon Yarmouth flats, are both associated with this portion of the English coast. In years to come we imagine some such face as that above.


Leicester, Nottingham, Derby, Lincoln and York form a compact group of shires, in which may be found matters of absorbing interest,


especially to Americans; but, boy-like, we reserve the best for the last. Leicestershire is famous in English history as the scene of the final battle between the Red and White Roses, where Richard III. was slain and the line of the Plantagenets disappeared from history. Henry, Earl of Richmond, came from France to try conclusions with him, only a few weeks previous, collecting an army as he advanced from Wales straight across country to Leicester. Among other places he stopped over night at Shrewsbury — separated by one shire from Bosworth Field — and the house at which he slept is still perfect, being at the present time occupied by two shops. Another one of the Earl's sleeping places, after he had heard that Richard was at Leicester, was the inn of the Three Tuns, at which man and beast may still be entertained. In the meantime Richard III. had been advancing from Nottingham. This was one of his favorite court residences, the view from his castle being grand indeed. He marshaled his forces in the market-place and led them toward Leicester, following the first column of his troops on a white horse and wearing the imperial crown. The King rested at the "Blue Boar Inn," which has been pulled down, and on the fourth day thereafter the armies came in sight of each other on an uneven marshy field, in the western part of Leicestershire. The immortal Bard of Avon is considered the most precise historian of the battle which rung out the Plantagenets and rung in the Tudors. Richard's crown, which was found near a hawthorn bush, after the fight, was placed upon the Earl's head, and therefore upon King Henry's monument at Westminster Abbey there appears a crown in a bush. The center of Bosworth Field is marked by a spring, over which is a small stone structure of pyramidal shape. Even the well shares the ignominy of the fallen king; it has never been called King Richard's well, but King Dick's well. From the field have been dug artistic crossbows, and spurs of steel, and gigantic spear heads, some of which are deposited in the Bosworth church and in the Liverpool Museum; that bloody ground placed a red seal upon a thirty years' civil war and the slaughter of one hundred thousand Englishmen.


From Bosworth Field to Nottingham, with quaint country inns all along the way, is suggestive of Richard's triumphal march in the other direction. Though these interior hostelries retain their picturesque and antiquated appearance and their homely names, as a rule they furnish good fare and comfortable beds and keep pace with the times. In England, as in this country, however, the tourist or summer guest has a


few complaints to make about that magician, the commercial traveler, who always gets the very best the inns afford. A stop at Leicester should not be neglected, for its castle, of which a few traces only remain, was once a royal residence, and in the Abbey of St. Mary Prι, also in ruins, died the princely and too ambitious Cardinal Wolsey.

Nottingham is getting to be quite a modern town, with a great market-place surrounded by lofty buildings, and numerous manufactories are in brisk operation. Richard's old castle has long ago given place to the present structure — but perhaps young and old would like to be acquainted with the fact that Nottingham is noted for being near Gotham, where originated the story of the Seven Wise Men who went to sea in a bowl.

The inhabitants were Saxons, and so hated King John that they felled trees across the road which he was to take, to make a visit of state to the town. This so enraged him that he sent a sheriff to cut off their noses. But the citizens had deliberated, and when the officer returned he bore word to the King that they were all a set of fools and not accountable for their actions. From that day until the true story came out, the Wise Men of Gotham was said in derision.


It is a short ride by rail to Mansfield, and a walk from that venerable town leads one to Newstead Abbey, a most picturesque ruin founded by the Henry through whose thoughtlessness, at least, Thomas ΰ Becket was murdered. It was built as a propitiatory offering and became the home of Lord Byron. The rooms of the poet, it is said, remain as he left them; his bedstead, with gilded coronets, his pictures, portraits of friends, writing table and all. The abbey forms a portion of the old forest of Sherwood, the haunt of Robin Hood and his band. The new growth of the forest is fine and the ferns are seemingly exhaustless; but the old oaks are the most interesting. Parliament oak boasts of a green old age, for, although it still bears leaves, one of the kings held his parliament under it in the thirteenth century. Another veteran is pointed out which is supposed to be seven hundred years old. These pioneers of the forest are twisted, and gnarled, and rifted, and most of them have local tales attached to them as well as timber braces and crutches, to keep them from caving in or falling to the ground. There is the same pride shown in keeping them above ground as if they were very aged people who had passed through many memorable scenes.



The still noble ruins of Ashby Castle are reached by taking a short trip from Leicester northwest to near the border line of Derbyshire. This was in Richard's time upon the grand estate of the unfortunate Lord Hastings, murdered by that king through the executioner. Around the castle, which was one of the grandest in England, was a stately park five square miles in extent. Oliver Cromwell besieged it, reduced it and imprisoned several noble dukes and earls in it, who supported the royal cause. Afterwards, when the army of the Lord Protector triumphed throughout England, a committee of Parliament determined what castles should stand and which be destroyed. Ashby was too dangerous to be passed over and it was accordingly undermined and brought to its present condition.

In the town of Ashby the same quaint old inns appear — the Queen's Head, the Bull's Head, etc., etc. These inns exhibit their noble proclivities in various ways, the latter flying the Hastings coat of arms as a sign and symbol. Throughout Derby, also, it is inn upon inn, and every one is an added charm to the beautiful country.


East of Nottinghamshire, beyond the River Trent, there is a continuation of the Fen country, whose general features have been already described. In its midst, near the sea, at the mouth of a river, is Boston, England, the parent of Boston, U.S.A. Rev. John Cotton, one of our Boston's first clergymen, preached there for many years. From him have descended such families as Everett, Grant, Hale, Jackson, Frothingham, Lee, Mather, Thayer, Tracy, Whiting, etc. Residents of the United States have erected a chapel to his memory near St. Botolph's church, in which he preached for twenty years, the Latin inscription being by the Hon. Edward Everett. This beautiful church, with its tower nearly 300 feet in height, is 580 years old, and retains the original name from which Boston was corrupted. "St. Botolph was a Saxon saint who lived in the seventh century, and was almost contemporaneous


with the more celebrated St. Cuthbert. The common pronunciation in the eastern countries is St. Bottle; so the transition from Bottlestown to Boston is comprehensible." Boston is like a Dutch town — her warehouses, wharfs, vessels and buildings remind one of Holland — and in the matter of contests with the sea she had the experience of her neighbors on the other shore of the North Sea. In the days of King John, Boston merchants were taxed according to their wealth. London yielded £836 to the King and Boston was second with £780. Her population may now be 20,000. At about the time her great church was built she was of such power and wealth that her vessels comprised the bulk of the navy which carried the troops of Edward to the battle of Crιcy, France. Cromwell made Boston his headquarters for a time.

Improvements in the channel of the river are restoring its trade to some extent, but the chief interest attaching to it is its connection with American history; for Cotton's friends named new Boston. From Hartford another English clergyman went to America to found a church, and gave the American city a name. In fact, the Fen country of Eastern and Southeastern England became the stronghold of the English Puritans as it was that of the Saxons against the Normans, and much of the best blood of New England flowed from that marshy, foggy, plague-stricken and unattractive country. The county of Lincoln, in which is Boston, was the native place of John Wesley, founder of Methodism.

Yorkshire adjoins Lincolnshire on the north and from this land of moors and wolds came forth such families as Washington, Penn and Winthrop. The Washington family fled from Cromwell because it was a champion of Charles II. and the Stuart dynasty. John Washington and his brother Lawrence escaped to America.

A few miles from the railway which runs between Hull and York is a massive structure, surrounded by a pleasant park in which elms predominate. In a corner of the park is a venerable little church. "Of course, a private path leads into the chancel where the family pews are. There is a fine collection of paintings here, one of President Washington, on which a great value is set. The little church has the dignity of being a parish one, and possessing a rector, and here the parish records are kept. Unhappily, they are very imperfect; those relating to Washington's great-grandfather, John Washington, are not to be found and there are others of later dates which are very puzzling."


Both the city of York and the county of York are among the most interesting and picturesque districts of England. The capital is near


the center of Great Britain, and by Britons, Romans, Saxons, Danes and Normans was considered the key to a successful invasion from the north. From the earliest times it was a chief town of the Northern Britons. Then it was a Roman station and the chief city of the imperial power in the north. Fortresses, temples and palaces arose, ruins of which exist, and late excavations, which have been made near the railway station, have unearthed rich jewels of silver and gold, delicate jars and lamps of glass, cameos and statuettes of bronze and ivory, great squares of intricate pavements of Mosaic work and other evidences of the magnificence which reigned when the Emperors Hadrian and Severus lived in York. Here Severus died, as well as the father of Constantine the Great, and many believe that Constantine himself was born in York. At the time of his father's death Constantine was in the city, and in York the Sixth Legion proclaimed him Emperor.

Britons and Picts fought for the possession of the great northern capital, and the savage tribes from beyond Hadrian's wall overran and destroyed it. The Saxons re-established its importance and it became the capital of the powerful kingdom of Northumbria, out of which York was finally carved. The first King of all England held his Witenagemot, or popular parliament, in York; and three weeks before the battle of Hastings, Harold, the last of the Saxon monarchs, defeated a united force of Danes and Norwegians only a few miles from the capital. The Danes captured the city, after it had fallen into the hands of the Normans, and put the garrison to the sword, and then the Normans laid waste the country for miles around and butchered one hundred thousand people.

The first English parliament was held at York, and for five centuries thereafter it met there, occasionally. The highest courts of the kingdom even had their seasons of sitting at York. But when Plantagenet went down at Bosworth Field, York declined and fell. It became one of the greatest ecclesiastical centers of England. The first metropolitan church was built there. In the eighth century the magnificent Anglo-Saxon church was built which was enlarged into York Minster. This ranks as one of the largest and finest specimens of Gothic architecture in the world, being longer than St. Paul's Cathedral. Some portions of St. Mary's Abbey, completed in the Conqueror's time for the Benedictine monks, stand in the midst of stately gardens shaded by a belt of elms, wonderfully graceful in their old age.

Within these gardens is also the "King's Manor House," built from the walls of St. Mary's Abbey and the residence of the Stuarts. It is a rough stone building, two stories in height, with many gables and chimneys


and covered with vines from its foundation to the peaks of its dormer windows. The arms of the Earl of Strafford are emblazoned over the door, for when he was made Lord President of the North he took up his residence in King's Manor. The building is now occupied by the Yorkshire School for the Blind, dedicated to William Wilberforce.

But York lies mostly in the past. It is the most ancient-looking city in England. The streets are narrow, the houses are high, with very pointed roofs, and on market day when the farmers appear with their broad-wheeled carts, their gaily-decorated blouses and their broad Yorkshire dialect, modern times are forgotten. Some of the houses are massive piles, with only a few windows in front, the upper two stories not only bulging out over the lower, but the third being higher than the second and projecting farther over the street. In one of the most ancient streets are the remains of the parliament house, and near by the coach-house, which is at least four hundred years old.

The many Jewish faces seen in York remind one of poor Isaac and his Rebecca, in Ivanhoe. Until comparatively of recent date the principal quarters of that people were called Jubbargate and Jewbury. When York was great, they were as powerful as Scott represented them, and in the royal city they were often attacked by armed mobs and sometimes murdered. It was their custom, at one time, to keep a


record of their loans in the York Minster, but they discontinued the practice after the populace had broken into the cathedral and burned the documents.


It is the county of Lancaster, York's old rival, which is now at the height of prosperity; and we need merely mention Manchester and Liverpool to make the contrast forcible. Manchester is only about twenty miles west of the romantic Peak District, which will be hereafter noticed. It is the most important manufacturing city of Great Britain, its cotton works leading the world. The city has been noted for the excellence of this line for centuries. It is the center of a great canal system, and many canals intersect its streets. It was the home of many famous inventors, but has acquired the most prominence, perhaps, as being the rallying point of the free-traders of England. Cobden and Bright and the "Manchester School" are known wherever industrial questions are discussed. Statues of these leaders, with their convert Sir Robert Peel, and the inventor Watt, adorn the public parks. The present free-trade hall, erected on the site of the old one, is unattractive but holds five thousand people, and is already marked as an historical building.


Liverpool from its long dealings with this country, as the greatest cotton market of the world and one of the largest grain centers, has imbibed the true American spirit of pluck, perseverance and push. Nearly all the emigrants who leave Great Britain and one-half her exports pass through Liverpool. She is rapidly capturing the wool trade of Australia, and with all her strides in cosmopolitan trade the city has found time to improve her appearance and consider the health of her citizens. The sewerage system is being extended and improved, and the water supply perfected, so that, although the most densely populated city in England, she is rapidly leaving behind her former record of being one of the most unhealthy. Liverpool has thirty miles of dockage, the yards within the city and the ones which the Corporation owns in Birkenhead having a world-wide fame for their massive character. The shipping in the docks is protected by a sea wall five miles in length, and forty feet in height, entrance being effected through numerous gates, some of which open a passage 100 feet wide. Liverpool is almost as great a railway center as London. The first line in England run from Liverpool to Manchester and was opened eight years before the London railway.


The center of commercial activity in Liverpool is the town square, the hall being upon one side, and the American and Liverpool chambers of commerce, cotton sales rooms, and mercantile offices upon the remaining three sides.


It is appropriate that Gladstone should have been born in Liverpool, not far from free-trade Manchester. His father was first a wealthy merchant in the West India trade and afterwards a baronet. Gladstone is manly Manchester and liberal Liverpool in himself, just as the more meteoric Disraeli was, in one, radical and conservative London, where he enjoyed his triumphs of literature and politics.

The peninsula upon which Birkenhead is situated divides the Mersey from the River Dee. On the left bank of the latter stream runs a good highway overlooking a beautiful country and the estuaries of both the rivers. A few minutes' walk from the main road brings one to the country town of Hawarden, and fronting on the main street are the gates of the castle which lie in the broad Gladstone estate. The village also runs along the walls of the park for a long distance, so that when the Prime Minister retires to his estate to chop trees and superintend improvements — to rest by plunging into another grade of work — he may be in the world and yet not of it. The estate has descended to Mr. Gladstone's wife from William I., through a long line of nobles and Sergeant Glynne of Cromwell's army. Mrs. Gladstone's maiden name was Glynne. Before reaching her from William it twice reverted to the Crown. The original castle in bare outline has been retained, and from its lofty tower the beautiful Hawarden park and the rich features of the surrounding country, which are spread out like a feast, cause the wonder to increase more and more that the venerable statesman can ever tear himself away and return to the turmoil of public life.


From the Cheshire hills, which are further inland than Hawarden, the view of rivers, villages, castles, parks and gladsome stretches of landscape can not be surpassed. There are scores of old towns in this region worth visiting, but in the midst of everything romantic, historical, picturesque and charming, figuratively speaking, one stumbles into the greatest salt mines of England. The center of the district is the old town of Northwich on the River Weaver, which comes from the Mersey. Along the entire valley of the stream, huge deposits of rock salt


are found and quarried, and such is the recklessness of the money-makers in the old town itself that its foundations are being carried away, and its buildings are sinking so that they incline to every degree of the circle. And thus it is from Central to Northern England — from Birmingham to Newcastle-on-Tyne — the English delve and reap, with history and poetry scattered in the hills around them and worked into nearly every village and hamlet throughout the length and breadth of the land. Verily the Englishman is insular, and well he may be with so much to bind him to the soil.

The manufacturing towns of Central and Northern England, the iron and coal districts naturally are where the inventors flourished. There was Watt, a Scotchman, but he manufactured his improved steam engines near Birmingham. He also first invented steam apparatus for heating houses.

Then, later, came George Stephenson, the Northumberland collier, who became engineer of a mine, and made such ingenious inventions as constructing inclines by which loaded wagons descending to the vessels drew up the empty ones. When he was thirty-three he constructed the first smooth-wheeled locomotive ever built, and the next year invented a miner's lamp which is still used in the collieries. Ten years afterwards he established a manufactory for locomotives at Newcastle-on-Tyne and was appointed the engineer of the Liverpool & Manchester Railway. Upon this line he placed the Rocket and seven other locomotives, notwithstanding that wise engineers recommended the use of stationary engines which should drag the trains by ropes. It is from Birmingham to Newcastle, principally on either side of the Pennine chain of hills and mountains, which runs down into Cornwall as the backbone of England, that the mineral and manufacturing districts lie.


Between Sheffield and Birmingham is the Peak District of Derbyshire and Staffordshire, a tract of country made up of sandstone and limestone hills, glens, waterfalls, and streams, where Walton and Cotton often fished together. Impartially distributed through such a romantic region, which Sir Walter Scott has especially favored in the "Peveril of the Peak," are the great manufacturing centers of Leeds, Sheffield and Birmingham. You should buy your clothing at Leeds, your cutlery at Sheffield, and anything in the world which comes in metal at Birmingham. Manufacturing cities are of a stamp, everywhere, the peculiarity of those of Great Britain being that the surrounding country is incomparable.


Near Castleton in the upper portion of the Peak Region is Peveril's Castle and The Peak. The former is, of course, a sombre ruin. But Chatsworth, or the Palace of the Peak, arises, stately and beautiful, with a solid background of rocks and dense foliage. The grand conservatory, three hundredfeet in length, and extensive gardens are among the most famous in England. The estate has descended from William the Conqueror, who gave it to William Peveril, his natural son. The principal building was nearly completed in the seventeenth century, being nearly 180 feet square. Drawings and paintings by Titian, Rembrandt, Murillo and Landseer and pieces of sculpture by Thorwaldsen, Canova and other masters make the rooms of state valuable storehouses of art as well as intrinsically beautiful. Mary Stuart was a prisoner at Chatsworth for thirteen years.


Litchfield is a few miles east of the southern portion of the district, in the county of Stafford. It is an old manufacturing town, with a cathedral which sends up three great spires, whose foundations were laid seven centuries ago. Litchfield was made an Episcopal see in the seventh century, but visitors go to the handsome old town to see the


house where gruff, practical, uncouth Dr. Johnson was born; that rugged thinker who went to one root of things and could not understand how idealists even could find any other. The house is there on one side of the market square, and not far away are statues erected to his memory and that of Garrick and Lady Montagu.

The pottery manufactories which have made Staffordshire the center of the industry in England lie in this region, along the River Trent. The manufacture was brought from Delft, Holland, which had been supplying Northern Europe for many years with its famous household ware. Two centuries ago several brothers came from the Netherlands and established a pottery in Staffordshire, but it was not until seventy years thereafter that the Wedgwood family introduced not only new and superb decorations for old pottery, but several new kinds of ware, the best known being, perhaps, Queen's ware. "Wedgewood was imitated and copied throughout Europe. He employed good artists to make designs and moulds for his works, among whom Flaxman was conspicuous; he borrowed antique gems in immense number for facsimile reproduction, and his taste and skill were exercised in supplying thousands of varieties of artistic productions. The art advanced rapidly in England and numerous potteries became famous. One immediate result of Wedgwood's discoveries was the introduction of new pastes, called stonewares, which occupy a position between pottery and porcelain, and for which English potteries have become especially known. The division of porcelain into two classes, soft and hard paste, becomes, in examining English wares, impracticable, since the pastes are but different classes of pottery, running up from soft pottery to hard porcelain in one direction and to opaque glass in another. The most important modern addition to these pastes is one the invention of which is claimed by two great houses, Minton and Copeland, known as Parian biscuit."


Above Lancashire, pressed in between the Pennine chain and the Irish Sea and extending to Solway Firth, is the Lake Region of England, and there are few more restful, serene and inspiring havens on earth. It is not Switzerland. It is not the poetry of Byron, but of Wordsworth. He was the foremost of the school of "lake poets." Both Southey and Wordsworth lived by the lakes and were buried there. Scott, also, was drawn to the beautiful region, and with Wordsworth ascended many a peak and breathed in the beauties of sky, lake, mountain, valley, sunrise and sunset.


It is here that we approach the borderland of Scotland, where the conflict between Northern and Southern Celt raged with such stubbornness. The course of Hadrian's wall, built by Rome to keep back the Celts of the north, is from Carlisle to near Newcastle-on-Tyne, on the opposite coast. The scenery along the line is magnificent, but the north and northwest of England so teem with picturesqueness that the chief interest should be centered in the still perfect nature of these military remains. There is the wall proper, consisting of a ditch, a stone rampart, a space between this and the earthworks for the military road, and three earthen ramparts. Every few miles there are fortified encampments, and, nearer still, castles and watch-towers. "Moreover there are roads and bridges, traces of villas, gardens and burial places, making almost every inch from sea to sea classic ground. A stranger might suppose that after the lapse of long centuries, all these works, granting their existence once, must have disappeared. It is not so; save in the western portion there is scarely an acre without distinct traces; in many places all the lines sweep on together, parts in wondrous preservation, while many of the recent excavations present structures several feet high, giving one the idea of works in progress, so fresh that we are tempted to think of the builders as away for an hour, perhaps to the noonday meal."

Carlisle had a part in all the wars between the Romans and Britons and the Saxons, Picts and Scots. It was a Roman station in the early days of Christianity, being the more ancient seat of the kings of Cambria. Around Carlisle lie both Druidical and Roman remains. At Penrith the Druid temple, formed of sixty-seven immense stones, is known as Long Meg and her Daughters. The Druids early established their altars in this region, and after the Romans defeated the Britons multitudes of the priests and priestesses gathered on the Isle of Man. The Romans followed them, and put to the sword, without mercy, the long-haired priests and the torch-bearing priestesses.

Newcastle-on-Tyne is yet a thriving city which contains car and locomotive works; a great establishment for the manufacture of the Armstrong gun, iron bridges and ship armor, as well as other important manufactories. The bridge across the river, built by Stephenson, has both a carriageway and a railway viaduct, the latter being 118 feet from the water.

The Cheviot hills mark the boundary between England and Scotland, being the natural wall between the two countries. Upon Flodden, the last of the hills in Northumberland, England, the great battle was fought between James, the Scottish King, and the Earl of Surrey, in which the Scotch were slain to a man, the royal leader falling within a


few feet of the noble. The flower of Scotland, nobility, gentry and clergy, was crushed on Flodden Field, and to this day it is her greatest national grief. It was well that her greatest romancist and heroic poets, should immortalize it. The battle was fought but a few miles from the Tweed, which is so associated with Scott and his beloved Abbotsford.


The Highland Scotch, those who live in the mountainous regions of the north, are of the same Celtic stock as the Irish. Their language is nearly identical, although the Lowland Scotch could no more make themselves understood by the primitive native of the Isle than the typical Londoner could enter into conversation with the Irish farmer. The division between the Highland and the Lowland Scotch is becoming less distinct, however, year by year, and the former are discarding to some extent their plaids and petticoats for the dress of the Lowlanders, or the English. Their clans and chiefs have disappeared, except in the records of the family Bibles, but their former prowess is still upheld by the record which their regiments have made in the history of the English army. The Lowlanders were as brave, but more intellectual, and defended their liberty with all the military ardor of the Highlanders and the firmness of the Anglo-Saxons.

The Picts were both Lowland and Highland Scotchmen. It was against the Picts that the Romans erected the wall in England and also one in Southern Scotland between the friths of Forth and Clyde. After they left the country to attend to troubles at home a strong Pictish kingdom was formed between the two walls, by the consolidation of a number of tribes. The Scots, a Celtic tribe from Ireland, invaded and held the western coasts during the early part of the sixth century, the Saxons having preceded them about fifty years on the eastern coasts, where they had seized the lowlands from the Picts and founded Edinburgh. The Pictish kingdom had a shadowy existence for nearly four centuries, but it was gradually absorbed by the stronger Scots as well as the Saxon tribes of the east. The whole country at length took the name of the dominant race. The Danes could make no headway against them, and the Scottish kingdom grew in territory and power, even snatching away some of England's northern districts.

The Malcolms and the Alexanders are specially noted among the early kings of Scotland, but the difficulties, with England commenced seriously when a Malcolm, who had married the sister of the legitimate Saxon King, ravaged the north of the country in retaliation for the battle of Hastings. The kings of England interfered in the disputes


between claimants to the Scottish throne. Wallace and Bruce arose, and the battle of Bannockburn established the independence of Scotland notwithstanding Flodden Field, long afterwards. During the same century the first of the House of Stuart sat upon the throne, he being the son of the royal steward. For a century the great earls of Douglas defied the kings, though one was stabbed by the royal hand and the whole house was finally driven into exile. After the death of Queen Elizabeth, James VI., of Scotland whose great-grandmother was Margaret Tudor, the daughter of Henry VII., ascended the throne of England, thus uniting the two kingdoms. This fortunate circumstance, in connection with their stubborn resistance to English oppression, raised the Scotch to an equality with their more numerous and opulent neighbors and assured them political independence.

When James became King of England he attempted to force the Established Church upon Scotland, but the Covenanters bound themselves to uphold Presbyterianism, and even hoped to extend their religious discipline over England and Ireland. They united with the English Puritans, and the result was that Cromwell bound them in chains, and the Presbyterian Church did not become established as a State institution until during Queen Anne's reign, when England and Scotland were formally united into one kingdom. The name most prominent in the incipient stages of these fierce religious conflicts, is that of John Knox, who imbibed the spirit of the Reformation at Geneva, and his History of the Scottish Reformation is, perhaps, the first great prose work which the country produced. It is an earnest, rugged piece of English, and speaks forth the national character. His native town was Edinburgh, and in that kingly city, "throned on crags," his house stands, a grotesque building with a gallery reached by a flight of stairs, and having two small, gabled chambers on its roof.


The city, which was formerly a single parish under the pastorate of Knox, is principally built on three parallel ridges, the old town running along the central one and terminating on the west in the great rock or hill upon which is Edinburgh Castle. At the eastern extremity is Holyrood, the palace of Mary Queen of Scots. Upon the sides of this ridge are the most ancient houses many stories in height. The different parts of the city are connected by bridges, hundreds of paths winding through the valleys and over the ridges. Parks and gardens, monuments and great public structures are pitched upon the rocks or almost buried in deep ravines. The architecture of the city is noble in the extreme.


The great castle, which stands upon a rock three hundred feet high, approachable from the city from only one side, is Scotland symbolized. In it is a small room, once a portion of the apartments of Mary Queen of Scots, where James was born. Scotland's national regalia — the crown, sceptre, sword of state and lord treasurer's rod — is in the crown-room of the castle. Within its walls Robert Bruce held the parliament which ratified the treaty acknowledging the independence of Scotland, and James made his preparations here for the disastrous field of Flodden. Along High street, which leads through the most interesting parts of this ancient Saxon city, also marched Cromwell's invincible Ironsides. Descending from Castle Hill one passes into Grassmarket where many of the Covenanters became martyrs, and in an old churchyard, near by, they have a monument erected to them.

Queen Mary's palace is a short distance from Calton Hill, from which the most imposing view of Edinburgh and the country around is obtained. Part of the palace was burned down in Cromwell's time, and what remains is a plain, sombre structure of stone, flanked by towers. The room is shown in which Rizzio, Mary's Italian favorite, was stabbed to death by Douglas, and the very stain of his life blood is pointed out upon the floor. The palace contains a picture gallery of legendary and historical kings, and back of it are the ruins of an abbey in which are the tombs of several Scottish monarchs.

The University of Edinburgh is a stately building of modern construction, and a renowned institution of learning, especially as to its medical departments. Crossing a bridge from the University, one finds himself in a metropolitan street, with great buildings and Scott's magnificent monument on one side and beautiful gardens spread over a deep ravine on the other. Across the ravine is the massive Bank of England. And so the bewildering contrast goes on, man weakly struggling to overtake the sublimity of nature. It is strange not that so many of the great men of Scotland have been drawn to Edinburgh, but that so many have escaped her. To this day the literary activity and vigor of the Scotch find their only effective outlet in Edinburgh, her periodicals taking rank with the best English journals.

On High street, one of the noble thoroughfares of the old city, is Parliament Square, in one angle of which is the House with its magnificent hall arched with dark oak. The gloomy jail, known as the "Heart of Midlothian," stood in one corner of the square, but was taken down the year previous to the publication of Scott's novel. "The only memorial of its position is a figure of a heart let into the pavement; but its massive door and huge padlock are preserved, with many other relics of old days, at Abbotsford."



Beyond the Cheviot hills, from England, is Roxburghshire. A fair chain of hills passes through the county, and between them and the Tweed are Melrose and the ruins of its abbey. There are only a few fragments of the cloister, but the carved, sculptured and lavishly decorated church is almost entire; the figures of which, from the hardness of the stone, are remarkably clear in outline. But Scottish poets have laid their choicest colors upon Melrose Abbey, both without and within; told also of the kingly tombs therein, and of Bruce's heart which is supposed to be mouldering in some secret place within its walls. The Tweed runs musically through a meadow and wooded country to Abbotsford, and a few miles away is Yarrow Water, upon whose banks Wordsworth and Scott walked together a few days before the mighty Scotchman sought the gentle climes of Italy as a shield against death. But he returned to Abbotsford, for which he had worn out his life, and after being wheeled about his beautiful garden he was taken to his library, being placed where he could look upon the Tweed. He died, a few days thereafter, with his children around him, that gentle stream murmuring in his ears which flows past his tomb at Dryburgh Abbey.


The ancient town of Ayr, near the sea, is across Scotland from Abbotsford. It is a bright place, the capital of the county, and is on the peninsula between the Rivers Ayr and Doon. There are castles near by and rocky precipices, but the poet found his muse with the birds, among the trees and fields, along the pretty banks and "among the braes o' Ballochmyle." Ballochmyle is one of the most beautiful portions of the river, and Burns has not lavished his fragrant genius upon an unworthy subject. In the village are the "Twa Brigs"; the old one is said to have been built six centuries ago by two maiden ladies, whose effigies were carved on one of the parapets. It is but a step from the modest country of the Ayr to the literary Edinburgh, which then, as now, was the center of Scotland's best thought. From gloom and despair the rustic passed to fame. Scott himself, then an Edinburgh boy, looked upon the lion and trembled. There is a monument erected to Burns' memory at Dumfries, the shire town of the first county over the English border. Here he died and, long after, Jean Armour, his wife, breathed her last under the same roof. The house was purchased by one of his sons, a colonel in the English army, and with the garden was


deeded to the local educational society, for school purposes, the agreement being that the premises should be always kept in repair.

In the most dreary spot of this most dreary shire of bleak hills and black morasses Thomas Carlyle welded and polished those splendid specimens of thought and rhetoric which made him the foremost essayist of Great Britain.


The Clyde rises in the same chain of uplands from which the Ayr flows, but further southeast. "Gathering strength from romantic burns and musical rivulets, the river flows in long curves, splashing over boulders, singing merrily to quiet hamlets, lending genial influence to meadows and cornfields, and taking into its clear waters many a picture of bosky hill and hazel-clad bank. Augmented in bulk by the Douglas, it sweeps onward to the cliffs and ledges which break it into a rapid, foaming torrent." During the upper portion of its course it rushes through chasms and between rocky precipices and breaks into thundering cascades. Falls and bridges there are, closely associated with the struggles of the Scotch for political and civil liberty. A tower rises near the Falls of Clyde, dedicated to Wallace. Below is a castle, without a roof, overlooking the river from a steep bank. It is Both well Castle, one of the strongholds of the Earl of Bothwell, in Queen Mary's time the most powerful noble of Southern Scotland and (by the historic murder of Lord Darnley and the divorce from his own wife) the husband of the Scottish monarch. Near by is Bothwell bridge, where, a century after the disgraced Earl's estates had been confiscated to the crown, a bloody battle was fought between the Scotch Covenanters and the English, in which the former met with a crushing defeat. On the opposite bank of the river, upon a rock nearly hidden by trees, stand the ruins of a priory which overlooked David Livingstone's native village.

As it approaches Glasgow the river becomes dark and turbid and the great ship-yards of the city give forth their unpoetic din; yet this is the native soil of Thomas Campbell, his home being upon the banks of the Cart, a small stream which falls into the Clyde.


Glasgow is the metropolis of Scotland, and second to London in wealth and population. It presents a strong contrast to Edinburgh, for its site is level, lying on both sides of the river, and its streets are broad and regular. Finely ornamented parks, with imposing statues, theatres,


museums and libraries, with immense manufacturing establishments of different cloths, iron and chemical works, tell the story of present prosperity and future greatness. The cathedral of the Scotch Church is the finest Gothic edifice in the country, and overlooks the city from the northeast. For more than four centuries and a half the University of Glasgow has had an existence, and is among the leading colleges in Great Britain. The city's wonderful growth, however, comes from her commerce and manufactures, which had their origin in natural surroundings, Glasgow lying in the midst of a rich coal and iron country. Her yards for the building of iron ships are famous the world over. Her chemical works (the St. Rollox) are the most extensive in the world, covering over sixteen acres, and having a chimney more than 450 feet in height.

The magnificent city grew around the church founded by St. Mungo, or St. Kentigern, in the sixth century. It is said he was born of royal blood on the Firth of Forth, but removed to Western Scotland and established a monastery on a hill sloping toward the River Clyde. He was driven into Wales by a hostile Scottish king, but was recalled and renewed his Christian labors. St. Kentigern was visited in his beautiful resort by St. Columba, another noted Christian missionary who was laboring among the savages of the north and west. The ravages of the Danes swept away the church, but the old bishopric reappeared after five centuries, a chaplain to one of the Scottish kings was installed in it, and the ruined Cathedral was repaired and beautified. Many other changes followed. The see became an archbishopric. Scottish reformers were burned near the grand cathedral. The blood of the Reformation was kindled, the Papal Archbishop fled to France and the Presbyterians are in possession of the stately Gothic edifice, whose combined tower and spire rises from the center of a lofty roof.

To reach the University one traverses streets, lined with royal buildings, and passes through squares adorned with statues and monuments of great beauty. Walter Scott, Robert Burns, Lord Clyde and Sir John Moore (whose memorial we have noticed at Coruρa, Spain), all have monuments in George's Square. Sir John was a native of Glasgow. John Knox, Nelson, William of Orange and the Duke of Wellington appear in stone and indicate the breadth of the Scotch admiration. To the western suburb of the city the walk is charming, the street being adorned with stately terraces and residences, green lawns and bright gardens and parks. Beyond the last park, over a pleasant stream, is Gilmore Hill, from which rises the University.

Returning to the Clyde, from the university, we still pursue a northward course toward the Firth, passing churches, villages and picturesque


stretches of lawn and meadow, and a striking range of hills — the Kilpatrick. They mark the western extremity of the Roman wall, built across Scotland, and a little village at their base is pointed out as the birthplace of St. Patrick.

Nearer the North Channel and the sea, as we move toward the more open water of the Firth of Clyde, is the old Castle of Dumbarton — the prison of the fated Wallace, the point where Mary Stuart embarked for France, and the fortress of both the soldiers of Bruce and Cromwell. As one gets more and more into the open sea the rugged highlands of Argyle and the gentler lines of the Isle of Bute — the original home of the Stuart family — merge into a single tract of land which combines them both — the island of Arran. Rugged mountain peaks and shadowy glens strike the pilgrim with profoundest awe in one direction, while in another sunny bays and gentle beaches, fertile slopes of green and quiet, level moors produce a pleasant and soothing influence on the spirit. Within the compass of a few hours' walk the wanderer may see, in swift succession, the "hoar and dizzy cliff, and the fiercely-dashing cataract, the wave-lashed headland and the far-sounding shore, the dark mountain tarn, which ever seems to frown, and the merry, winding streamlet that ceaseth not to play." From the highest mountain of the island, which terminates in a granite pyramid, this diversity of beauty is spread out as in a romantic picture, with cattle and sheep, neat cottages and hamlets scattered over the face of nature; far beyond stretch the rugged coasts of Argyle, with their rocky islands, while in the other direction, if the weather is friendly, the coasts of the Emerald Isle struggle dimly into view.


The strip of country between Edinburgh and Glasgow, or, more strictly speaking, between the Firths of Forth and Clyde is the border land between the Scottish highlands and lowlands. From the Firth of Forth to Moray Firth, far to the north, there are many level tracts, so that many Scotchmen prefer to draw a more careful line from Moray Firth, through the central part of Northern Scotland to Dumbarton, on the Clyde, and call the country west of it, including the Hebrides Islands, the Highlands. A few words, now, regarding the debatable land east of this imaginary line beyond which, until within a comparatively recent day, were buttressed the purest specimens of the Celtic race in Scotland.

Within this strip of country between the eastern and the western Firths, through which the first of the old Roman walls was built, there are


two specially interesting localities. Sixteen miles west of Edinburgh is an old town down in a hollow, which contains among its other buildings a beautiful Gothic church and the magnificent remains of a palace. In the church it is said that James IV. was warned by an apparition not to march to Flodden Field, and in one of the royal apartments, whose ruins are grand indeed, was born Mary Stuart. Sterling Castle, rising from a majestic rock is further west, including another kingly palace, from which, within the glorious range of scenery there obtained, the Gillies Hills are seen which shut out a sight of the battle-field of Bannockburn. On the south are steep, wooded hills; on the east, beyond the town and several abbey ruins, the Forth wanders and curves through a glorious country of verdure to romantic Edinburgh. On the northeast are grand hills again. "But on the north, northwest and west who shall describe what lies unfolded to the eye; the vales of the Allan, the Teath and the Upper Forth leading away through expanses of the most ornate loveliness to such scenery as that of the Trosachs and to the combinedly grandest and most graceful forms of highland landscape? All the foreground and the middle view are of surpassing loveliness; and all the background towers aloft at a great distance in peaks which are clad in snow or wreathed in clouds and which rest like a vast blue rampart against the sky." There is not a square mile of land between Stirling Castle and Moray Firth in which the traveler would not grow subdued at the view and enthusiastic in the description. There is a mass of shattered towers and walls, near the entrance to the Firth of Forth, which for centuries was held against the King and the people by the proud house of Douglas. In "Marmion" is a powerful description of it — Tantallon Castle, hanging over the margin of the deep. In front of it is a gigantic boulder, rising from the water. It is a mile in circumference, and is believed to have once been the dwelling place of a disciple of St. Kentigern who watched and waited for a favorable opportunity to reach the mainland and preach the gospel.

The promontories which here jut out into the ocean before you come to Edinburgh have more than one ruined castle to make them the more portentous, and more than one rugged spot where the English troops spilled good Scotch blood upon the rocks. Across the Firth are enticing scenes of highland and lowland character, and in a beautiful inland sheet of water, diversified with mysterious islands, there is found a fair reason for loitering. On one of the islands is a castle in which Mary was imprisoned by her lords, the same piece of land, not more than two acres in extent, having once been a military station of an early Pictish king. Nearer the coast again is St. Andrew's, a town placed


upon a rocky shelf which hangs above a wide bay, but whose history goes back into tradition. Perhaps St. Andrew's bones are here, as the people say, and that a pious monk brought them from Greece, converted the Pictish king who held the land and built a stone chapel and tower, which are still solidly upon their foundations. The town is the seat of a university in which Thomas Chalmers was educated, and after he had made a name he returned to it as a professor.

The scenery toward Perth and far into the country is among the most beautiful in Scotland. From Loch Katrine in the south, whose waters are beautified, if possible, by the "Lady of the Lake," to the masses of the Grampian hills all is romance; with dark mountains towering around bright lakes and streams and waterfalls dashing down gorges, whose rocks and trees strive for the mastery. Then upon the plain of the Tay is Perth, a fair city founded by the Romans, after they had returned from the Grampian hills and their victorious campaign against the savage tribes of Caledonia. When they retired from the island, Perth became the principal capital of the Pictish kings, and, under Bruce was the center of the Scottish Government.

But we must pass the highlands of Perthshire, with their lordly castles and dark passes in which Highlanders and Lowlanders met in battle; just nod to busy Dundee, once the residence of some of Scotland's noblest families; leave the bold masses of the Grampian hills behind and approach the wild coast of the German Ocean which lies below Aberdeen. The immense mountain of ruins upon a precipitous rock which stands so boldly out to sea is the remains of a castle where nearly two hundred Covenanters were imprisoned in a muddy vault, some of them tortured and most of them abused. The granite city of Aberdeen is a fitting incident of the country, and a road toward splendid views of the Grampians, along the banks of the River Dee, leads to the magnificent seclusion of Balmoral Castle. Byron's bold genius has soared over the wild and majestic mountains and crags of this region, Aberdeen being his early home.


Much of the country between Aberdeen and Moray Firth is hilly and bleak — a corn, grass and cattle district — it being a prelude to the actual highlands of Northern and Western Scotland. Inverness is the very gate to the highlands, it being encompassed by gardens, woods and hills, while in the distance are their large brothers, gigantic mountains. Six miles away, upon a desolate moor, are several green mounds and a rude stone monument. They mark the battle-field of Culloden, where


the royal troops crushed the Highland army and buried the hopes of the Stuart family.

Inverness is not only the gateway to the highlands, but is the northern extremity of the Caledonian Canal, which is a number of lochs artificially connected, stretching from Moray Firth, southwest, to the opposite coast of Scotland. "It may be generally described as along, narrow gallery, having the water for its floor, the mountain for its walls and the sky for its roof." The western entrance to the canal is guarded by a fort built in Cromwell's time, and over fort, valley, loch and hill towers Ben Nevis, Britain's highest mountain. In fact, the glories of highland and lowland, from ocean to ocean, lie before one from the summit of His Majesty. The route along the Caledonian Canal is furthermore blessed by the Fall of Foyers, on Loch Ness, which lies near Inverness. It is shut in by savage cliffs and precipices and pronounced by many the most magnificent cataract in Britain.

From Inverness around the opposite shore of the Firth an unbroken line of precipices runs to a narrow bay which stretches quite a distance toward the seemingly endless chains and masses of hills and mountains. At the bay the solid rampart is broken. A tongue of land projects into it, and on the other side the promontories continue their stately course as far as the eye can trace it. The town of Cromarty is built upon this peninsula — Hugh Miller's native place. A noble river which flows through the mountainous region, through gorges and over ledges of rocks, entering gloomy lochs and receiving tributaries on its way, also passes the scene of Miller's labors as a stone mason. Within walking distance for one as vigorous as he, were also interesting forts and castles, as well as mystic mounds and circles of stones whose construction is attributed to the Druids.

The shires of Sutherland and Caithness, with their dark forests and hills, lead toward the Orkney and Shetland islands. Those wild, rocky, mountainous remains of the ocean's fury are, many of them, uninhabitable. What few people subsist from the stormy sea, and their scant patches of land, on which they raise cattle and ponies, are of the old Scandinavian stock. This country of the vikings is not included among the highlands of Scotland, as the people are not of the Celtic race.

The Hebrides Islands, on the contrary, which is the name given to the various groups lying along the entire western coast of Scotland, were originally settled by Norwegians, and held by them until the middle of the fourteenth century, when the chief of the Macdonalds conquered them, becoming the first Lord of the Isles. The Scandinavian element has almost disappeared, Gaelic being the language generally


spoken. As a rule, the condition of the people is miserable, agriculture being followed with some success, however, in the islands of the Firth of Clyde. The raising of Kyloes, or black cattle, is followed to some extent; but cattle, horses and sheep are small, almost diminutive, the latter not weighing more than twenty pounds. The scenery of the Hebrides is of a most unusual character. Off the coast of Mull, an island forming a portion of the shire of Argyle, is the smallest of the Hebrides. It is merely a dot on the map. But Fingal's Cave, Nature's wonderful marine temple, is one of the most picturesque works in the world and a portion of that island.

The next isle south of Staffa is almost as small, but is one of the hallowed spots of the world. On it landed St. Columba, the missionary descended from an Irish king and a Scottish princess, having, with twelve disciples come over from the Emerald Isle in a wicker boat. The island had been presented to him by a British king, but, as it was the chief seat of the Druidical worship, his landing was opposed by the priests, who pretended to be Christian monks in rightful possession of the land. But a foothold was obtained, a monastery founded, and Christianity introduced to the savage Picts and Scots. In the thirteenth century Rome drove out the primitive forms of worship, the islands having previously suffered from the piratical Danes. From the earliest days Iona was considered a sacred isle, and in an old cemetery, near a Norwegian chapel, are the tombs of Scandinavian, Irish and Scotch kings; the last of the royal bodies deposited is said to have been that of the historic Macbeth.

The islands and mainland of Argyleshire present some of the most impressive of the highland scenery, and it is hard to realize that the dark, columned caves, the granite mountains, the cool, bright lochs, the deep, green valleys, and the broad moors are the property of half a dozen great nobles of Scotland. One of the largest of the land owners, who are removing their tenants that their sheep may have more room, is the Duke of Argyle, whose eldest son is the Marquis of Lorne, Queen Victoria's son-in-law.


The natives of Wales do not accept the term Welsh as applied to themselves. They speak of themselves as the Cymri and their language as Cymraeg. The Cymri separate it, with great positiveness, from the branch of the Celtic tongue spoken in Ireland, the Isle of Man and the Scottish highlands.

This brave and hardy people who take such pride in the antiquity


of their race are undoubtedly the purest of the Celts. The original three tribes, which also occupied the Isles of Man and Anglesea, received the Britons in their mountain homes, as they were driven from the wooded and fertile tracts of England by both Romans and Saxons. They are not given to emigration, and even when they settle in democratic America prefer to intermarry among themselves. The Welsh possess one of the most copious languages in the world. It contains at least eighty thousand words, among which are many derived from the Sanskrit. By means of comparative philology some of their scholars have traced the home of the Cymri — at least to their own satisfaction — to Southern Hindustan. At all events, the Welsh are as jealous of the purity of their blood as the proudest royal family, and their clannishness is an excusable weakness.

Their earliest literature goes back to the first years of the Christian era and arose from the bards of the Druids. Three was a mystic number with this religious sect whose human sacrifices, fire worship, knowledge of the heavenly bodies, astrology, and divination from the flight of birds and the entrails of animals, bespeak for them an Eastern origin. They are said to have come into Europe with the Cimmerians, or Celts, and their bards, who composed one of the three classes into which they were divided, pretended to pass down from one generation to another songs commemorative of their struggles with Rome. From Gaul they probably passed with the Celts to England, Wales, the Isle of Man, Scotland and Ireland. Their religion was conveyed to the people orally, and to the depths of the great oak forests of England and the solitudes of the Welsh mountains the youth resorted to the priests to be instructed in their lore. The most that we know of their dark rites and the principles of their religion and morality, which were often of the most elevated stamp, is gleaned from the Welsh triads, a species of verse, in three limbs, dwelling upon some historical or spiritual fact, and sung by native bards until the printing press snatched the verses from their lips. The best historical account which we have of them is from the pen of Julius Caesar. He and his successors saw that the Druids had bound the Celts in chains of steel; for the priests were not only their religious teachers, but were their judges. The Romans, therefore, as a long step toward conquering Britain, entered into a campaign of extermination against the Druids. The last stronghold of the ancient worship was the island of Anglesea, on the northwest coast of Wales, in the Irish Sea. The strait which separates it from the mainland is spanned by two fine bridges, a suspension and a railway tubular bridge. Over these triumphs of modern science the traveler passes to the island


which contains the, remains of an arch-druid's palace, surrounded by the college buildings of his subordinates.

The Romans drove out the Druid priests and overran Wales, but did not conquer the people. Neither did they devote themselves entirely to war; for both in the northwestern and the southeastern districts of the country are galleries running into the mountains and remains of aqueducts, employed in the digging and washing of gold. Beautiful ornaments fashioned from the precious metal have also been found.

Wales is rich in nearly all of the minerals. The immense coal fields are in the south, some of the measures being estimated to be two miles thick. There are copper, lead, iron, zinc and silver in the north; also immense quarries of slate and limestone. Welshmen are miners, colliers, quarrymen and iron workers, almost to a man. Snowdon, the grandest and loftiest mass in Southern Britain, is being yearly undermined for roofing slates.

Snowdon is a mountainous region, the highest point of which, Y Wyddfa, is 4,000 feet above the sea. The English called the district Snowdon from its appearance in winter, but the Britons spoke of it as Eryri because it was a great eyrie, or breeding place for eagles. Its lakes, groves and cataracts have witnessed English armies marching against the irregular bands of Wales and marching away again before Welsh arrows, cold, rain, sleet and starvation. Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, Merlin and other legendary characters are associated with Snowdon; and it was the stronghold of the patriotic Llewellyn, the last native Prince of Wales who stood bravely for his country's independence. The son of the Edward to whom he owed his death was born in Carnarvon Castle, a grand old structure which fronts the Isle of Anglesea. When an infant, it is said, the King "induced the Welsh chieftains to accept him as their prince without seeing, by saying that the person whom he proposed to be their sovereign was one who was not only born in Wales but could not speak a word of the English language."

The Wyddfa, the pinnacle of Snowdon, is the embodiment of Wales, as Ben Nevis is of Scotland. It is about thirty feet in diameter and surrounded on three sides by a low wall. On three sides are dizzy precipices. In the hottest of weather the atmosphere is cold and bracing and the spirits are joyously carried over much of the mountainous land of Cambria, across an arm of the Irish Sea to the Lake Region of Northwestern England and in the opposite direction to faint outlines on the horizon — the hills of Ireland.



The Irish, notwithstanding their misfortunes and oppressions, are among the greatest races of antiquity. Since Cromwell's time, when the English first really established their supremacy in arms over them, they have fought for the establishment of their independence bravely, though not always cautiously and wisely. Their line of kings goes back into the dim ages when many of the Celtic tribes were being driven out of Asia by the Scythians — the future Goths and Englishmen. The residence of these almost mythological monarchs was a spot called the Hall of Tara, at Teamor, County Meath, in the eastern part of the island. Here the chief priests and bards met triennially to form the laws which were to govern the five principalities, afterwards consolidated into one kingdom. The kings of Ireland married into the royal families of their race in Gaul, and were connected by ties of blood with the great chiefs of the Picts across the water. Schools of astronomy, philosophy, poetry and history were founded by the Druids and protected by the kings. Tara continued the center of the educational and military life of the island, and from the four districts into which the kingdom was divided a province was formed, which surrounded the national capital. Later the warlike monarchs of Ireland not only joined the Picts in their wars against the Romans, but penetrated into Gaul, one of their kings being killed on the banks of the Loire and another, the last of the pagan rulers, at the foot of the Alps.


Dublin, the successor of Tara, as the capital of the country, is somewhat shorn of its importance since the Bank of Ireland has occupied the former House of Parliament. But its public buildings are grand, its streets wide and its squares very imposing. The city is surrounded by a delightful boulevard, nine miles in length. Within these bounds, perhaps the most imposing locality is Trinity College, standing in the midst of an elegant park and several squares, which cover forty acres of ground. Clinging to this stately seat of learning is so much of the irresistible eloquence, delicious humor, keen wit and searching sarcasm, in which the Irish nature glories, that Trinity College, or the University of Dublin, is the embodiment of the genius of the land; Burke, Grattan Goldsmith, Sheridan and Swift form a galaxy of stars, or rather a five-pointed star, which ever gleams over Dublin.

That picturesque city, in the center of the valley of the Lee, with its old red sandstone houses, approached through one of the noblest harbors


in the world, past great batteries, fertile islands and splendid villas along the river's bank — this is Cork, so close to the heart of the true Irishman. Then there are Limerick, on the Shannon, and, in the north, the great city and port of Belfast, which is the Liverpool of Ireland-rushing and bustling, a commercial and manufacturing city of which Great Britain is proud.

It is outside of the cities of Ireland that the hard struggle for physical and national life is progressing. From the western and northern coasts, which are of Scandinavian wildness, to the flat, sandy coasts of the east, one-half the surface is bog, water, rock and poor soil. The richest farming country is the broad belt from west to east included between Galway and Limerick. Nearly one-seventh of Ireland is covered with peat. The equable and mild climate of the country is, to some extent, an offset to the generally unfavorable character of the soil. The temperature ranges only a few degrees the year through, the extremes being forty and sixty degrees. The prevailing westerly winds come laden with the warm vapors of the Gulf Stream, so that vegetation is always green, and the Emerald Isle is not poetic license.

The spots of supreme freshness in Ireland are, therefore, very many. The loveliness of Irish scenery, so the world has decided, is concentrated in the Lakes of Killarney, in the extreme southwestern part of the island. The country around them receives not only the charm of their waters but the gentle influences from the western ocean, so that the wooded shores of the lakes and the gracious mountains beyond are


painted with all the shades of color from the light green of the arbutus to the dark firs of the highlands.

From Killarney lakes to the Giant's Causeway is through Ireland, in a diagonal line, and no two pictures could present a stronger contrast. In place of the rounded lines of the Killarney hills and the green shadows which fall over the lakes is a dreary coast piled thick with rocky columns, presenting the appearance of a stupendous array of piles, stretching out into the sea in rows and masses. The Causeway proper is a platform of these rocks which extends between rugged mounds and groups of pillars from a cliff down into the sea. The name is given to it because of the Celtic tradition that the walk was built by giants as the commencement of a causeway to the opposite coast of Scotland.

The remains of antiquity which are found in every part of Ireland make it a most interesting country to the curiosity-seeker and the student. They consist of mounds and burial stones, earthen ramparts, round towers and castles. Bronze weapons and gold ornaments are continually being turned up from under the soil. Of later date are houses built of stone and earth, like beehives, and religious buildings of various styles of architecture. The warlike spirit of the middle ages is also shown in many huge fortified castles.


The Germans.

THE origin of the name German is somewhat doubtful, although for several centuries about all that was known of the Teutonic tribes was that a warlike people lived beyond the Rhine who fought with spears, viz.: "ger" (spear) "mann" (man). Subsequently, when the Romans came to know more of them, it was learned that they were light-haired and powerfully built, blue-eyed, independent, tireless in war, industrious agriculturists, lovers of chastity and superstitious. They had bards and priests, sacred groves, and worshiped gods and giants. The God of War was their chief divinity. They elected their chiefs, who were often believed to be descended from Woden. The Franks, the Goths, the Vandals, the Teutons and the Burgundians were all German tribes which are intimately connected with the history of Germany, France and Rome.

It is not our purpose to go into details regarding the mythical and ancient history of Germany, or to trace the gradual steps by which her small states were united into one empire. The Germans are not the result of a conglomeration of races but are a combination of kindred tribes, some of which have always given rulers to the country. When Charlemagne, the great Frank, ruled over them, their empire was consolidated by the subjection of the Saxons, the last of the German tribes which refused to submit to him. He also compelled them to become Christians. But during the weaker reign of subsequent rulers the power of the king depended on the dukes who elected him, and their influence has ever since been great. To this must be added, during the last century, the gradual advance of the cause of popular government. Yet the strong traits of the German Empire and the German people are the same as when they were yet unwelded tribes; a love of discipline and thoroughness, combined with a love of independence, and a genius for war were added to a stern family affection.



The Bund, or reunion of the German States, which was consolidated in 1871 by the King of Prussia accepting the sovereignty of Germany, was formed for the protection of the territory of the Bund and for the care of the welfare of the German people. The Federal Council, or the Upper House of the empire (Bundesrath), is composed of members who are annually appointed by the governments of the various states. Unless the territory of the empire is attacked the Emperor is required to obtain the consent of the Bundesrath before he can declare war, make peace or enter into treaties with foreign countries. He is, however, the commander-in-chief of the army and navy and superintends the execution of the laws. The Emperor appoints the committees for the army and navy, except one who is appointed by Bavaria; all the other committees are elected by the Federal Council. Each committee consists of representatives of at least four states of the Empire.

The members of the Reichstag, or Lower House, are elected by the people for a term of three years, at the average rate of one deputy for every 100,000 inhabitants. All imperial laws must receive the sanction of both of these bodies and the Chancellor of the empire. The Reichstag may be dissolved by the Federal Council with the consent of the Emperor, but not oftener than once during each session. A new election must take place within sixty days after such dissolution.

The Imperial Chancellor is president ex officio of the Bundesrath, and he is also the disbursing officer of the imperial revenues. He is required to make an annual statement to both the Bundesrath and the Reichstag.

The military system of Germany is that which was in force in Prussia. Every German, capable of bearing arms, must serve in the standing army from his twenty-first to his twenty-eighth year; and for five years more he must be in the landwehr. In war, every soldier is bound to obey the Emperor, unconditionally. In times of peace the Bavarian troops have their own organization and are not subject to the Emperor's orders. The sovereigns of the other states select the lower grades of officers, while the higher ones are appointed by the Emperor.


Army discipline is carried into the educational domain and for at least five years every German child is obliged to go through with a course of mental training which in many countries would be considered unbearable. The system of instruction is much the same as that of the


United States, there being common elementary schools, Latin schools, Real schools intended to educate those in the higher branches who can not take a university course, the gymnasiums covering the ground of our high schools and lower colleges, and the universities to which students graduate from the gymnasiums. The conflict in the system comes as to the precise relation of the Real schools to the gymnasiums and universities; the former are divided also into higher trade schools and higher common schools, the chief distinction between them and the gymnasiums being that more attention is given to the natural sciences and practical arts than to classical training. The features most prominent in these departments of the German system are found in the scientific and classical courses of our colleges and universities. The order of advancement for the German who is designed for a university training is through the common school, Latin school and gymnasium.

The foundation of the popular schools of Germany is always accorded to Charlemagne. This great King was a stern but a good father to all classes, and a monk who wrote in his time says that upon a certain occasion he visited one of the schools he had founded and saw that the sons of the nobles were far behind the children of poor parents in scholarship. Dividing the poor children from the rich, he first addressed the former, thanking them for having obeyed his commands and promising them bishoprics and abbeys if they continued in their industrious ways. To the already abashed scions of nobility he turned with an angry countenance: "Ye high-born sons of my most illustrious nobles!" he roared, "Ye asses and coxcombs! In the pride of your birth and your possessions, you despise my commands, and give yourselves up to idleness, riot and disorder; but" — and here he raised his hand with a threatening gesture — "by the King of Heaven! if you do not straightway make up by diligence for your former neglect, you have little good to expect at the hands of Karl."

The first German university was founded at Prague, within the present limits of Austria, in 1348. To the Hapsburgs is due the university of Vienna and the Palatine Elector Rupert made Heidelberg possible.

But Charlemagne made the system possible which, in its rounded proportions, came from the patient hands of Frederick William III., King of Prussia.

The gymnasium student commences to ape the manners of the university student, beginning to smoke and drink, and being unhappy unless he can be the member of some mysterious society. He is no longer subject to corporeal punishment and looks exultantly forward to


the time when it is something of an honor to brave not only the university laws but those of the state.

The gymnasiast who aspires to be a typical German student has already a score of songs at his tongue's end, as no university gathering is complete without them. Students' songs are students' songs the world over, but one rests upon safe ground when he asserts that in no country in the world is so large a proportion of them patriotic and fit to be sung in private parlors as those poured out by hearty German students over their wine and beer; and, though no defense is attempted of drinking customs, it should always be remembered that German wine is very gentle, and (as a student writes) "that their beer is far more mighty of the hop than of the malt."

There are meetings within doors and meetings without, and special "Commers," which are celebrated by an excursion on rafts, or on horseback and in carriages, to some neighboring town. The revelers are attired in their most fantastic colored costumes, with their naked swords in hand, and their long pipes in mouth, and as they approach their destination are usually welcomed by the discharge of artillery, for the villagers are aware that as long as the students are in their midst fun and money will freely circulate. The usually sleepy waiters of the village inn are bustling to and fro, preparing viands, the cooks are ruthlessly slaughtering bird, beast and fish, every house flies a flag or is hung with a festoon, while the pretty girls show their beaming faces and their brightest ribbons as the noisy cavalcade rushes past. For twenty-four hours the whole village is turned upside down and inside out; not a drop of blood runs stagnant in man, woman or child.

People who have a tendency to pick flaws in anything which has a reputation for comparative perfection often sneer at the liberty which is allowed the student of the university, making, among other hypercritical statements, the one that the higher educational institutes of Germany are merely mediums by which the professors advertise their learning, in a word that the universities are more for the professors than the students. The preliminary drill is as strict as if the student were a soldier; all at once his bonds are loosened, a feast is spread before him, made up chiefly of substantials, and he can eat or not, as he chooses. Philosophical, scientific and historical pabulum, taken from world-wide sources, is offered, and the student may take it or go off and drink beer or fight a duel.

It is true enough that the Germans have come to the conclusion that after one has arrived at man's estate he ought to know what he needs in the way of education, and if he does not choose to avail himself of the best privileges which the nation can offer, it is quite certain that


he has not the necessary enthusiasm and strength of will to be a credit to himself or the university. The average age of German university students is also greater than in most other countries, so that anything but freedom would be doubly ridiculous — freedom, within limits.

Each university has its governing bodies, such as Select and Great Senates, with the rector at the head. There are regular professors and those who are privileged to lecture upon special topics; from the latter body are often recruited most valuable members of the salaried faculty. The oldest professor of each faculty is the dean. Universities have not only their governing boards but their courts of justice, their magistrates and beadles, all, however, conforming and in direct connection with the laws and officers of the empire. The chief beadle lives near the college, and the prison is in the upper part of his house. If necessary he can arrest without a warrant, but must report at once to the magistrate of the university. Various offenses against academical and state laws are punishable by reproof, fine, incarceration, and expulsion for from one year to five years, with a publication of the nature of the disgrace in every university of Germany. The university court of justice may in its discretion also have the offender confined in an ordinary state prison. The student is given great latitude as to attending lectures, but he is made to feel that he is still amenable to a double set of laws; and the penalties are especially severe if he joins a revolutionary union, which is not of great rarity. The secret university societies have made the government much trouble, but upon several occasions have united in one grand spirit of patriotic action, which has made it possible for the true German to forget a hundred rough pranks in the splendid vigor and heart of the student.

In fact, the association of the university "burschenschafts" had no small part in giving direction to the movement of national independence which resulted in the freedom of Germany from Napoleonic dominion. It was during the few years preceding the great battle of Leipsic that German students betook themselves so feverishly to gymnastics and sword exercises. Each student, in becoming a member of the great Burschenschaft, bound himself to become a soldier, and at once went into training. A broad patriotism for the German Fatherland and the German speech rested upon faithfulness to the Prince. But revolutionary tendencies in the shape of such constitutional declarations as "the law of the people shall be the will of the Prince" soon gave birth to bolder utterances and even to bloody deeds. In 1819 a university student murdered the Russian Counsellor of State, persuaded that the deed was justified by patriotism; unsuccessful attempts of a like nature


were made; mistaken ideas of liberty beclouded the moral natures of thousands of German youth; a republicanism such as even America might be proud of also walked forth from the university associations; but even the average of the utterances of German students turned so far away from the conservatism upon which the country's institutions were founded that the governments of both Prussia and Germany destroyed the Burschenschaft, and thereafter exercised an untiring censorship over the university societies.

Yet, even in the matter of attending lectures the student is bound by certain general rules. It is optional with him what course he will attend, but he must give notice to the professor who has it in charge, when he has determined. In the German states the student must attend a certain number of lectures in order to be entitled to the state examination; and his so-called departure certificate which accords him that privilege, not only vouches for his scholarship, but has something to say of his moral conduct and as to whether he has ever participated in any unlawful combination of a political nature. The professor is not only bound to the state to deliver a certain number of lectures per week, but it is his duty to deliver special lectures within his department, whenever a sufficient number of students assure him of an adequate remuneration, for his trouble.


The German universities are as particular as the American colleges to make a freshman feel his inferiority. He is called a fox and is made to perform many little services for the "old moss heads," as they call themselves. The seniors are also known as "old houses." It was formerly the custom of the seniors to require the foxes to black their boots and to write out their college notes.

"The student receives different names according to the duration of his abode at college. While he yet vegetated in the gymnasium he was a Frosch — a frog. In the vacation which lay between the time of his quitting the gymnasium and entering the university he chrysalized himself into a mule, and on entering the university he becomes a Kameel — a camel. This happy transition-state of a few weeks gone by, he comes forth finally, on entering a Chore — a fox, and runs joyfully into the new student life. During the first half-year he is a gold fox, which means that he has rich gold in plenty yet; or he is a fat fox, meaning that he yet puffs himself up with gold. In the second half-year he becomes a Brand-fuchs, or fox with a brand, after the foxes of Samson. The fox is then over, and they wash the eyes of the new-baked young student


since during the fox-year he was held to be blind, not being endued with reason. From young Bursche (student) he advances next to old Bursche, and then to Be-mossed Head, the highest state of honor to which man can attain." The student is dubbed a brand-fox because of a certain ceremony through which he is put by his superiors.


One of the most common forms of oppression by which the Old Houses assert their superiority over the foxes is to pretend to discover cause for a duel in something which is said or done; and if the fresh young man should be worked into such a state of defiance as actually to accept the challenge, he may be coolly ignored as being unworthy of attention. If equals desire to bring a duel one has only to call the other "dummen Junger," or "stupid youth" and the business is done, unless a retraction follows. If the offense or injury calls for some graver form of insult, "Infamen," or "infamous fellow" is the applied epithet. The weapons usually chosen are long, flexible, two-edged swords with square ends and basket hilts. Pistols or heavy, crooked sabres are employed when one of the parties is not a student, or the cause of dispute is very serious. If the student fights with a military man he uses the straight sabre.

Most of the duels between the students are hatched at their general meetings, which are held weekly. It is customary for them to divide into corps, or companies, according to nationalities or provinces, and few meetings will be concluded without a whole table being pitted against another, not only in the display of wit over their beer, but in the more exciting display of flashing blades. But duels are unlawful; so these differences are usually settled in a large rented room of some suburban inn. When the floor of the room is found marked with a certain chalk character, it is known by any subsequent comers that the quarters may be occupied by rival swordsmen for at least two duels.

At the appointed time each participant is conducted into a chamber by his witness and second, and clothed in the dueling costume, which consists usually of a cap to protect the face, a glove and quilted covering for the arm and high stuffed leather trousers. Before hostilities actually commence the duelist also puts on a neckcloth, which sometimes reaches to his nose, so that a small portion of his face and his breast is the only part of his body really exposed.

Being equipped, the swordsmen are conducted into the hall, and while the seconds are marking out the lines within which they must


fight and arranging the other preliminaries, the principals march up and down, each supporting his mighty sword arm upon his witness. The duelists may decide to fight with small caps or with large caps, with cravats or without cravats, with bandages or without them; they may also have the contest terminate with a certain number of rounds, if the surgeon does not decide that a wound is too serious to warrant further action, or the trial may end with a wound which draws blood within a definite number of rounds. The students are closely attended by their witnesses and seconds, the umpire standing some distance away between the combatants, and scoring the end of each round on a chair which stands before him. The seconds are armed with short, strong rapiers, with which they strike the swords apart when a stroke has been delivered, give advice and encouragement and see that the opponent presents his sword at such an angle that his champion will not fall upon its point when he lunges forward. They must, in fact, be remarkably skillful themselves, their object being to protect their combatant without interfering with the strokes of the adversary. The duties of the witnesses, who stand on the right side of the rivals, are confined to arranging disordered costumes and supporting weary right arms when a halt has been called.

Except the duels with the crooked sabre, in which the heavy, keen weapon, having reached its point, is drawn suddenly downward with great force, these contests seldom result seriously. But as we have noticed, there are strict academical laws against them, and as a neat reward is offered to those beadles who have prevented and detected the greatest number of them, the most secret chambers and grounds are often rudely invaded by these hounds of the law. Upon their approach the outpost whom the students have engaged gives notice of the threatened danger, and the dueling costumes are torn from the bodies of the students, there is a great scattering through doors and windows, into the woods, and each one finds his way back to the university as best he can.

The beadles, however, often approach in disguise, as peasants and sportsmen, and not unfrequently a wholesale capture is made and the delinquents are marched off to the university prison in the attic of the chief beadle's house. In some universities the confinement is not so strict but that the prisoner may drink, smoke, and chat with his acquaintances whom the magistrate admits, and after a few days he may attend lectures, returning to his prison at night; in others books and visits are denied, the student can not leave the prison and during the daytime his bed is even carried away so that he can not lie down and smoke his sentence away.


Sword bouts and drinking bouts do not comprise the student's life; neither is all said when he makes one of the great throng which pours forth to the dancing garden. He is invited to the homes of professors, becomes a welcome member of a city family, and joins reading circles, musical and social clubs. He takes long walks and rides with his companions through the surrounding country and in winter enjoys one of the sledging processions, which issue forth from most university towns to the thundering cracks of heavy whips, lighted on their way by a mass of torches. And lastly, life at a German university is not child's play. While the student is at his work his brain buzzes with the strain; from his necessities spring many of his uproars and pranks, and although he is not called upon to be a boor or a rough there is a fascination in the irrepressible height which his spirits reach when he has once set out to scour the rust of study hours from his variegated nature.



Although a native is received into the university through the gymnasium, only foreigners are admitted without examination. When the student has received his certificate of maturity, he not only can enroll himself in any university, but can continue his course at any number where he thinks he can obtain the most benefit. He can board and lodge where he pleases, and is virtually his own master. The regular course of study is four years, some of the universities requiring five years to complete the medical course. Dismissal from one university does not bar one out from another, but expulsion is final.

Most of the great literary lights of Germany have availed themselves of the privilege, studying, gleaning and experimenting at several universities before returning to enter the world of letters. The mighty Goethe went to Leipsic and Strasburg to study law, but found that love, philosophy, architecture, anatomy and anything but legal studies took hold of him. He also fled to Wetzlar that he might, if he would, drain the law libraries there; but instead he wrote the "Sorrows of Werther." There is nothing like the free range of university life in Germany to teach a young man wherein his strength lies; for the best of everything is spread before him in one university or another.

Bonn, Berlin and Gφttingen succeeded in imposing the degree of Doctor of Law upon Heine, Germany's greatest lyric poet, but he met Schlegel at the former university and discovered that he could not live outside the charmed circle of literature. Furthermore he became a violent democrat, and on account of some letters addressed to Count Von Moltke found it advisable to spend the balance of his life in Paris.

Next to Goethe, Schiller is recognized as Germany's greatest poet. Under the patronage of a duke he tried to press his soul into legal and medical fetters, but could not. Although he passed the examination for a military surgeon by the time he was of age, the publication of "The Robbers" during the same year told where his enthusiasm had been. A few years thereafter he was drawn to Leipsic, in which famous university town he met contemporaries worthy of his friendship. Schiller was afterwards invited to Weimar by the Grand Duke, Karl-August, and formed, for many years, one of a famous quartette, having as companions Goethe, Herder and Wieland. The ducal palace, the town church and public library still show frescoes illustrating their works, and striking busts which add a charm to the frescoes. Herder's tomb is in the town church and the bodies of Goethe and Schiller lie in the grand-ducal burial vault.



The university of Heidelberg is the oldest of the German institutes after those of Prague and Vienna. It stands in the center of the town which wanders for nearly three miles along the banks of the rushing Neckar River, gleaming waters and the vine-clad hills on the further shore to attract the eyes on one side and the beautiful suburban gardens and lightning-rifted castle of the Electors Palatine on the other. The university is a plain structure, the library comprising over 200,000 volumes, and the museums being contained in two separate buildings. The university has a world-wide reputation for the completeness of its departments, the castle is almost as celebrated as the university, and the beer tun, in the cellar of the deserted castle, has become as notorious as either.

The castle ruins almost throw their fantastic shadows down the face of the rocky hill upon the houses of the town. The castle proper has as companion pieces two towers which show that the engines of war are almost as mighty as those of nature, and behind it, upon the same broad terrace, are masses of older palaces and towers, the entire pile representing different styles of architectures prevalent during three or four centuries. Next to the Alhambra of Granada, the Castle of Heidelberg has been pronounced the most magnificent ruin of the middle ages.

In the valley below rushes the Neckar. The mountain of All Saints, with its ruined convent for a head dress, rises from the farther bank. Eastward the valley is shut in by hills; westward the sweep over the plain of the Rhine is free. Beyond rise the blue Alsatian mountains.

The dark paths of the castle gardens and their shadowy glens lead through valleys, fields and vineyards to the dense beech woods of the Odenwald and beyond the mountains themselves. These are fascinating and favorite walks for the students and villagers, and once upon the heights the picturesque and historical plain of the Rhine is before you. In the distance is Worms where the mythical Siegfried sought the hand of Kriemhild and where the unquestionable Luther fought a greater battle than the "Nibelungen Lied" ever recorded. Toward the south is ancient Swabia, and now the German may look boldly over into France.


Around Leipsic, the university city of Saxony, circled many of the whirlpools of the Reformation. Luther, the intellectual general of the movement, was a native of Saxony, and his first disciples were the students of the Wittenberg university, in which he taught as the professor of


scholastic philosophy. The text of the Latin theses which he nailed on the door of the old Schlosskirche now appears on the bronze doors of the new church, while heroic statues of himself and the scholarly, more gentle Melanchthon stand near the town hall. In the church the two are buried together, the two intellectual leaders of the Reformation in Germany — and if any of the princes of the German states can claim the questionable honor of defending religious liberty with the sword they are surely those of Saxony. Maurice of Saxony established the principle of liberty of worship for all the states of Germany, and, while the first bursts of public passion were raging, Luther owed his safety to Frederick the Wise. Under his protection he was lodged in a castle, and given that security and quiet which enabled him to translate the New Testament. The university of Wittenberg, afterwards merged with that of Halle, welcomed him when he again entered actively into the fight and over her he always hovered as over a favorite child; but the learned professors of the Leipsic university took up his work, and brought as powerful weapons to bear as any of the royal protectors of Lutheranism.

The university of Leipsic was founded during the first part of the fifteenth century, and having retained its landed estates in the city, it is a very wealthy landlord, and is enabled to support hundreds of poor students who are found worthy of assistance. It is great in all its departments, and its professors have been among the most eminent scholars of Germany. The university buildings form an imposing pile, the most prominent being the Augusteum, which contains a great hall, lecture room, museum and libraries. The structure is 300 feet in length and three stories high.

Hahnemann studied in the university, and after he had practiced his profession for several years, he returned to Leipsic, with his confidence shaken in the old system. His family were suffering with disease and he was obliged to prescribe for them according to methods in which he did not believe. Virtually abandoning his profession, although he was struggling with poverty, he devoted himself to translating foreign medical works. It was while thus engaged that he obtained the clue to the law of Similia similibus, which is the foundation of the system of homeopathy. Leipsic feels that he is one of her sons, and has a monument erected to him.

Of all the great men who have been citizens of Leipsic, John Bach, the musician, is among the greatest. He died in Leipsic, and his monument commemorates the blessed fact that he lived to inspire more people than the most eloquent of orators. The city which so long has been a treasury of genius and learning is one of the leading book centers of Germany, as well as one of the foremost of its commercial marts.


The downfall of Napoleon dates from Leipsic, 1813, rather than from Waterloo, 1815. Here he was overpowered and smothered by the overwhelming forces of Prussia, Austria and Russia. Though the Old Guard fought with a dash which will always inspire enthusiasm as long as there is a history of war, and the entire army of France were heroes worthy of being defenders of their own soil, the invaders were expelled and Germany became free.


Perhaps, next to her soldiers and her scholars, Germany is most noted for her peasantry. The government earnestly supports agricultural colleges and the people have made of farming a scientific study. It is singular how, even among the most ignorant of the peasantry, the latest methods of irrigation and rotation of crops have been disseminated. The holdings are generally so small, however, that the most improved of farming implements do not cut a figure. But when each agricultural village sends its representatives to Leipsic, or some other city where the annual congress is held, it receives, with the return of its honored citizens, the result of the combined experience of thousands of farmers and scientists. The consequence is that not a square foot of land which can be cultivated goes to waste; as the majority of the young men serve in the army the women form the bulk of the peasantry, which fact, also, accounts for the care which is taken that the profits of husbandry do not leak away in driblets of waste.

Every province, furthermore, has it general society, consisting of members from all the rural districts. They are publicly questioned by a general committee as to lay of land, methods of irrigation, ways of managing cattle, results obtained from various methods of grafting, etc., etc. Statements are compared, discussions are in order, changes and improvements are suggested, and the farmers go home to discuss the discussions among themselves and in their local gatherings and instruct their wives and daughters — or, likely enough, give orders to them.

Although, as he runs, the German agriculturist is a remarkably intelligent, industrious citizen, his home is not what it should be. On account of the value of land he can not afford a garden, his yard being monopolized by the cows, and, within, his house is dark and contracted, it being one of many which are crowded into the narrow lane of a dirty, old town. But his floors are white and sanded and he can offer you coffee, black bread and rolls in the early morning, a cold-meat luncheon in the forenoon, and a dinner of meat, vegetables and dessert. In season, he furnishes his table with apples, plums, grapes and pears; for there


are few farmers, however small, who have not their orchards, and nearly every village has an experimental nursery of fruit trees.

If the cattle and pigs, geese, hens and chickens were not so near, and the dining room table were not put to so many uses, and the drinking vessels corresponded to the mouths, the fare of the average German farmer would be appetizing enough; but though there is plenty there is not freedom. The cattle, sheep and pigs are obliged to be penned, as a rule; there is no room for them to roam. In summer the children and women go daily to the pasture and cut green fodder — grass and clover. Most of the land is devoted to pasturage. It is carefully sown to clover and the best of grasses, and tended with the same regard to individual blades and leaves as the florist gives to his most valued hothouse products.

Occasionally it happens that the pasture land is irregular and does not incline at a convenient angle for irrigation. Then the men and women remove the entire turf and layer of good earth. Next they take away enough unproductive subsoil to obtain the proper pitch, so that the water may run over the field. The meadow is graded, the fertile soil thrown over it, the turf relaid and the trenches formed through which the water is to be distributed. Sometimes a well is dug on the upper side of the inclined plane from which the water is run into the supplying canal which crosses the field, whether of grass, grain or vegetables. At the bottom of the field is the receiving canal. Between the two, crossing at right angles, are the narrow furrows for distribution. There is a science of grading the land so that the water will reach every part without disturbing the soil; there is a science in knowing when to flood a field, so that the crops will not be chilled; there is a science in the entire industry. Snow water should not be used, as it has a tendency to dissolve the earth and carry away its richest particles. "After the crops are gathered and the land clear, the water overflows two or three times a week during the autumn, till frost comes. In spring it is done in the night, two or three times a week, when it is dry and warm enough not to freeze, as this would injure the grass; again, in June, just before haying time, as thus the stems are rendered softer and the mowing easier. Then for the fourth and last time, fifteen days after the mowing is finished, and when the stubble is dry and decayed, so that it will not take in nourishment which is destined for the new shoots, the whole is overflowed quite often till fifteen days before the grain harvest commences."

A meadow thus coaxed and cultivated will yield enormous crops of feed, many fold greater than if left to the tender mercies of the cattle


and sheep. The number of animals which it will support is increased enormously, and with this increase another advantage is derived. Not only are the animals housed and all manures carefully preserved to fertilize grain-field, orchards and gardens, but the rich fluids from the heaps, which most husbandmen allow to run to waste, are collected into trenches, drawn by suction pipes into carts and employed as an invaluable fertilizer.

There are few exceptions among the German agriculturists to this ceaseless round of bringing feed to the animals, and fertilizers to the fields; in short, they allow nothing to take care of itself. But in some of the villages the cattle of the poor are allowed to crop the grass by the wayside for a few hours daily, the balance of their sustenance being obtained through the efforts of the children and the women, who scour hill and vale with knives and sickles, cutting blades and tufts of grass which have been overlooked by the harvesters and putting them into baskets or cloths. In the forests they may be seen gathering the cones, which fall from the fir trees, to use for fuel.


The peasants and villagers are very particular what they do in the forests, for if not actually government property they are under its supervision


and control. The preservation and cultivation of timber lands have been as carefully studied as the science of agriculture, and there are few timber tracts of any extent in the empire through which one can pass without discovering miniature forests and groves, neatly fenced, which are destined to take the place of the giants which are constantly being felled. The most extensive forests are found in Central and Southern Germany, and, at different times and by different writers, they have all been merged into the depths of the Hercynian Forest, the bugbear even of old Rome.

The blackest member of this dense Hercynian Forest is the Black Forest, which for ninety miles throws a mighty covering of pine, beech and fir trees nearly to the summit of a mountain chain. The forest stretches from near Heidelberg, in Northern Baden, along the valley of the Rhine almost to the Swiss boundary. Within it rises the great Danube, and the black woods of fir, whose branches are so intertwined that the very twitter of the birds has a muffled sound, have given birth to more giants, hobgoblins and robbers to frown upon the dreams of childhood than all other localities upon the surface of the earth. But the Black Forest is not all shadow, from which horrors issue. For eight months in the year the summits of the mountains above it wear their caps of snow, and from its feet creep pretty valleys clad with grass and vines, for as many months. The Rhine side of the forest pitches the rivers down the steep rocks with tumult and roar of waters; its eastern slopes shed them off so gently that they flow through the cool shades of the fragrant woods with just murmur enough to prove them alive.

The Black Forest spreads out from the mountains for several miles on either side, and openings in it are planted to small fields of rye, oats or potatoes, with here and there a saw-mill humming and screaming on the bank of a picturesque stream; or a farm house, with its wide projecting roof and balcony beneath, appears; or a whole village containing factory buildings where the rye straw is being turned into hats and some of the forest timber into clocks. Most of the strength of the Black Forest, however, goes into the masts and timbers of ships.

But the important manufacturing processes go on in the little forest houses. Whatever the denizens of the Black Forest might have once been, they are now as harmless as the canary birds which they raise in the aviaries beneath their porcelain stoves. This is a great business with the foresters and can almost be included among the manufactures. But while the birds are trilling in their tropic heat, or hopping merrily about, the women are braiding straw or making and polishing different parts of clocks and watches. When the straw has been braided it will be taken


to the factory, thrown into a vat, boiled in the dye and dried and ironed by men. In such a factory also can be seen flowers, wreaths and bouquets, fashioned and colored most beautifully by these forest peasant women. In the clock and watch factory it is noticed that the women and men there employed are merely putting the pieces together which are made in the cottages. Neither are the clocks all common in appearance, many of them being placed upon fine bronze and marble stands. When it is stated that about 180,000 of these wooden clocks are exported yearly from the Black Forest to all parts of Europe and America, no one will say that we have wasted words upon a very insignificant topic.

Furthermore, the busy women and children of the Black Forest send out many of those wooden sets of villages, with those pyramidical fir trees, which have pleased the children of all lands. The spinning wheel, with wool or flax upon the distaff, is busy, when the women can snatch time from their farm and household labors; the men give much of their attention to the raising of cattle, the country being better fitted for that branch of husbandry than for agriculture. And yet, notwithstanding there are few people who are more industrious and cheerful than these dwellers in the Black Forest, their houses are meanly furnished and their bill-of-fare rests upon pork, black bread, coffee and potatoes.

The lace makers of Saxony, and many of the industrial classes all over Germany, are home manufacturers. Cotton and woolen fabrics, glass and iron manufactures and other branches which flourish in the large cities, have been drawn into the whirl of machinery. The toys of the Black Forest and the Hartz Mountains have their uses, and so do the gigantic guns of Herr Krupp.

Their manufacture has founded a city. In the works and in the mines over 20,000 men are employed. A railway system, a telegraph system, printing and lithographic establishments, a fire brigade, hospitals, mansions and good dwelling houses are parts of Herr Krupp's wonderful machine. He speaks of his furnaces in four figures and the engines which supply the blasts which run his four-score giant hammers, and are behind the roaring, belching, hissing and deafening monster which we call works, are pushing the whole grand machine forward with the power of ten thousand horses. His foundries are at Essen.


It was in the vicinity of Essen and Mόnster and westward along the Rhine that the old Saxon sprung up as a written dialect, which was spoken in the lowlands of Central Germany from the Rhine to the Elbe.


The Saxons were, and still are, the most prominent representatives of the Low Germans, or those inhabiting the lowlands of Germany. North of them were the Frisians, who were also Low Germans, and who formed so important an element in the composition of the Dutch.

The most ancient confederation of Germanic tribes was called the Suevi. They were mentioned by Caesar as living between the Elbe, the Vistula and the Baltic, in what would now be Northern Prussia. Subsequently they appear in Southern Germany as the Swabians. The Bavari were also settled east of them on the Lower Rhine. The Swabians, Bavarians, Alsatians and Swiss belong to the High German division. There is still a modern Low German, but from Luther's time the High German of the south, and the middle High German, which closely resembled the Saxon, have been formed into the language which is now recognized as classical. His translation of the Bible had its effect in making of the various German tribes a united people, and since his day the distinction between High and Low Germans has not been so marked.

Perhaps in Luther and the Rhine may be found the two influences which made United Germany possible.


The Rhine is the national cord which binds Germany more firmly together than even her constitution. There are High and Low Germans, Bavarians and Hanovarians, but they are all agreed that the Rhine is the dearest river in the world, and if only one thing could be left to the Fatherland every strong native voice would shout, "The Rhine! The Rhine! Take all but the Rhine!" The river is like the most pleasing type of the national character — broad, deep, rugged, tender, impetuous


yet controllable. Primarily it draws its life from the glaciers and cold streams of the Alps. As it rushes along toward the Fatherland it receives hundreds of tributaries, until, no longer able to contain its vast supplies, it spreads out into the fickle Lake of Constance. Somewhat subdued in its impetuosity, it flows steadily toward France, but as if suddenly determining upon another course, turns abruptly to the north and becomes the loved one of Germany. If there is any one part more than another to which the national heart clings and over which it swells, where "The Watch on the Rhine" will burst forth from German lips and echo along steep rugged banks, among ruined fortresses and heavily laden vineyards, it is that portion of the splendid river which lies between Mainz and Bonn.

But others than the Germans have become drunk with the glories of the Rhine. One of the greatest of our American poets and most mellow of scholars exclaims: "O, the pride of the German heart is this noble river! And right it is; for of all the rivers of this beautiful earth, there is none so beautiful as this. There is hardly a league of its whole course, from its cradle in the snowy Alps to its grave in the sands of Holland, which boasts not its peculiar charms. By heavens! If I were a German I would be proud of it, too; and of the clustering grapes that hang about its temples, as it reels onward through vineyards, in a triumphal march, like Bacchus crowned and drunken. But I will not attempt to describe the Rhine; it would make this chapter much too long. And to do it well, one should write like a god, and his style flow onward royally with breaks and dashes, like the waters of that royal river, and antique, quaint and gothic times be reflected in it."


To every old castle which hangs fondly over the banks of the Rhine, as if loth to give up the ghost, some weird tale of genius or giant, or of bold knight and fair lady, is attached. There is scarcely a foot of ground which does not add its mite to the folk lore of Germany; and since many good people have become religious, the old ideas of sprightly dwarfs and helpful fairies have been strangely entangled with the God and Christ and angels of their faith. The Lord himself is supposed to come to earth and in various forms, during the silent watches of the night, mysteriously repair the leaking roof of the godly widow, caulk and paint the old boat of the good fisherman and put together the barrels of the pious cooper. The ghosts still haunt the castles, the fairies hide in the forests and the gnomes delve in the mountains, but the number of characters is increased. Each city also has its wonderful story to tell. For


instance there is Mainz, that massive, warlike city, which has presented a grim, stern front ever since Drusus built his castle before Christ lived. There is still to be seen a mass of stones, supposed to be his monument, and the remains of a vast Roman aqueduct. The town, with its ponderous fortifications, might remind one of how much that is Roman lies at the base of the German character. Gutenberg was born here also. But the quaint old German frau will tell you that Mainz is noted because when the Emperor Constantine was marching from it the Holy Cross appeared to him; that the city is famous, not that Charlemagne should have been born in it and should have built his palace of "Ingelheim" just within its walls, but that an angel should have visited him and given him warning of an attempt upon his life. The tale is spiced with magic herbs which enabled the king to understand the language of birds, with contests with mysterious knights in dark forests and all the etceteras. Charlemagne made the hills and valleys, opposite to the palace which he called Angel's Home, to glisten with vineyards, and filled immense cellars with their rich products; and another story runs that from his mighty tomb in Aix-la-Chapelle the great king steps forth annually, when the harvest is at hand, and blesses the villages, the cottages and the vineyards which he loved so well and which sleep so peacefully on the banks of the Rhine.

The tomb from which Charlemagne's gigantic ghost is said to stalk is in a beautiful cathedral in Aix-la-Chapelle, which is in Rhenish Prussia near the Belgium boundary, and at the time of the great monarch's death was a convenient point from which to survey his mighty dominions, Charlemagne's chair, his portrait, and the pictures of other German emperors who were crowned here previous to the middle of the sixteenth century, are also on exhibition in the cathedral or the town hall. Once in seven years it is customary to expose to public view a collection of


relics which Charlemagne received from the patriarch of Jerusalem and a Mohammedan caliph. They are usually preserved in a tower at the west end of the church.


Leaving the Rhine to creep between the high embankments of the Netherlands, or to break through them with its cruel vigor of the springtime, we pass to another region which is redolent with gnomes and fairies. The Hartz mountains are not even recorded on many maps, but who does not know of the Brocken, upon which the witches, under the masterly leadership of Goethe, celebrated their annual meeting during Walpurgis Night. From their sides of granite, limestone and sandstone are shed the waters of the Weser and the Elbe, and the Brocken, as the pivot of the range, has been washed into those swelling lines which give it the appearance of a stupendous ant-hill built up in the clouds, or a distant world which might, any moment, set out to roll in space.


When Mephistopheles suggests the desirability of a broomstick to ascend the mountain, where a visit was to be paid to the witches, Faust replies:

While fresh upon my legs, so long I naught require
Except this knotty staff. Besides,
What boots it to abridge a pleasant way?
Along the labyrinth of these vales to creep,
Then scale these rocks, whence, in eternal spray,
Adown the cliffs the silvery fountains leap:
Such is the joy that seasons paths like these!
Spring weaves already in the birchen trees;
E'en the late pine-grove feels her quickening powers;
Should she not work within these limbs of ours?

In other words, Faust not only desired to drink in the beauties of the Brocken, but he could see no reason why they should not use their own good German legs. Readers of the immortal tragedy know what they found, and there are few of a fanciful, wonder-loving disposition who have not met the gnomes of the Brothers Grimm, which little misshappen workmen originated to so great an extent in the folk lore of the natives of the Hartz. Even these delving philologists, one of them, at least, among the greatest of his age, could not exclude from their literary life the quaint conceits and honest beliefs of the common people.

The Brocken is ascended from the pretty mountain village of Ilsenberg,


with the black pipes of the foundries pouring forth smoke and flames in defiance of the trees which cluster around. The climb is usually made without even the staff with which Goethe was assisted and brings one through glades and pastures, forests of pine, over carpets of moss and fir cones and wild gardens of roses, forget-me-nots and purple heath, with moss and creepers covering the rocks which overhang the pathway. Black charcoal burners, both men and women, are seen working near masses of felled trees, and further along, it may be, there will be found a miniature forest of fir trees, a few inches in height, which in years to come will furnish their grandchildren with work. The tiny trees are surrounded with little fences, and as they grow will be placed further apart.

Much of the course of the Brocken is determined by the windings of the Ilse, but as we approach the Blocksberg, a spot haunted by witches and spectres from time immemorial, the path leaves the stream and the


scenery becomes wilder and grander. Great blocks of granite and mossy boulders shut out the keen air, which comes to us with a touch of relief when we reach a more exposed point. Of course Hans Christian Andersen has had his story about the Brocken, especially about the Blocksberg, which enormous rock looks with such a secure air over the surrounding country. He says that the beautiful maiden Ilse fled to it with her bridegroom when the Deluge carried the waters of the northern seas to the very base of the Brocken. At the summit of this famous rock is an inn, and in the hostelry is a visitor's book which contains verses and sketches by not a few noted men and by thousands of would-be wits. The genial Danish poet and story-teller left his mark in it himself and did not disdain to carve his name on the pine trees of the mountain. He also drank in, with quiet enjoyment, as thousands have done before and since, stories about those immense granite blocks, the Witches' Altar and the Devil's Pulpit. In a few simple words Andersen describes the summit of the Brocken:

"It gives me an idea of a northern tumulus on a grand scale. Here stone lies piled on stone and a strange silence rests over the whole. Not a bird twitters in the low pines; round about are white grave flowers growing in the high moss, and stones lie in masses on the sides of the mountain top. We were now on the top, but everything was in a mist; it began to blow, and the wind drove the clouds onward over the mountain top as if they were flocks of sheep."

In a clear day, when the clouds have condescended to float among the lower forests of pine like a lot of white clothes thrown down there to dry, the towns of Brunswick and Hanover appear as dots on the distant plains; but pine hills and mountains hide most of the watering places and mining villages of the Hartz, and a descent must therefore be made to see what they are like.


The Hartz, in fact, is being recognized as a delightful collection of charming associations and invigorating scenes. There are Goslar, and Clausthal, and Harzburg, making with the Brocken almost a parallelogram, but all different. In Goslar once lived German emperors and sat the German Diet. It was a commercial city with its guilds, and massive warehouses and breweries, and later a famous mining center. One of the imperial palaces, erected by Henry III., in the eleventh century, is partly in ruins and partly used as a granary and store-house. The streets are roughly paved, but the old houses bear upon their frontages and gables, their doors and heavy timbers, carvings of vines and


flowers, mermaids and dragons, which stand out clear and quaint while stone and brick are crumbling. Neither must the building be large in order to be artistically embellished. The gables of a small dwelling house are as likely to be scrolled and fringed with elaborate designs as the front of an imposing old town hall, or an ancient royal palace transformed into a hotel.

In the suburbs of the town are public gardens where patients take exercise, breathe good air, and, last of all, drink some kind of wonderful water. Near it is one of those old mines whose chambers reach grandly out and down, and which, when they were worked at their best, made Goslar great and famous. Within a few miles are extensive fields of slate. Burly German officers, dreamy metaphysicians and poets, ponderous merchants, lank students with knapsack and song, and ailing noblemen and ladies, brush against grimy miners, iron-workers, and charcoal men and women coming from the mountains, or young girls in clumsy wooden shoes, laden with huge paniers of fire wood. Here, as at Harzburg and other villages in the vicinity, the artist has lingered long enough to notice the similarity in the outline of peasants, houses, children, pigs and dogs to those old-fashioned toys which have failed to charm few of us — those villages in wood and paint which come so nicely


packed and stand so squarely on the ground when we put them together. Even the fir trees of the Brocken are larger types of the green wooden trees of our childhood. They were, in fact, carved by the German children of the Harz mountains for other children, the world over, and they find their models at home, as evidently do other artists for more skillful work. We should call the manufacturers of these toy villages, the artists who turned the country into stiff wood and bright paint, among the most wonderful of the fairies — they have brought such floods of joy to the little ones from such dry material. The little forest which we saw fenced around as we ascended the Brocken is not much larger than our toy trees, but it is royal property, like the mines, and will not change its general form; and when our children who are now playing with the toys in other lands travel as men and women to the valleys and villages and mountains of the Hartz they will understand the felicitous expression which has been applied to this region, "the toy country of Northern Germany."

Though the mountains of the Hartz have fertile valleys, with clinging herds of fat cattle, their fairies, spirits, gnomes and mines are what have made them famous. Rich deposits of iron, copper, silver, zinc and lead have been worked for over nine hundred years, but most of the mines date from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The veins of ore spread over a great area and penetrate to an unknown depth, for one of the mines, at least, has been worked into the earth for half a mile and is still productive. To reach the silver ore, on account of the extreme hardness of the stone, fires are built against the face of the vein, so as to act upon the arsenic and sulphur, and decompose the rock.

The mines of the Hartz region, which are provincial property, employ between 30,000 and 35,000 persons. The mining towns are given over entirely to this industry, and no business is conducted in them but that connected with mining and metallurgy. One of them, where the council meets which has general charge of the mines, has a mint and a school of mines.

The representative mining town of the Hartz is Clausthal, containing the Government School of Mines and the Museum. A visit to the latter, with its collections of minerals, models of machinery, and its tiny shafts and galleries, illustrates the geological formation of the land and every process required to get the ore from the ground and smelt it. Everything is run by water power and every rill of the region is put to use.

To master the entire system the students who attend the school are


obliged to work with the miners, learning the use of their tools by actual practice. The descent is down steep ladders for several hundred feet, side galleries leading out at intervals, from the small shaft. Lanterns flash, sparks of light fall from specks of silver ore and the sound of hammer and pick is mingled with "Glόck auf," or "Good luck to you." The wish may come from a woman; for there are women miners in this region, as well as charcoal women and woods-women. In one of the resting places, or caverns, of the galleries there is (or was not long ago) a chamber about ten feet long, hewn out of the rock, carefully proportioned and in the center of which is a chair or throne made out of rough silver ore, in memory of an English duke who once visited there.

But such a tour as this, underground, gives one very little general idea of the workings of the mine. One flash of the lantern reveals in an opening several half-naked men, some of them in pools of water, working in the most cramped of positions; another lights up the gloom of a second shaft as far as the rays will penetrate and there seems to be an infinity of space beyond. Echoes and shadows are dancing around in the most weird confusion. There is a mental conflict between the desire to appear unconcerned, the wish to be wholly interested and the instinct to feel oppressed as one creeps along through slippery passage ways; and peace does not succeed this war of emotions when, in order to breathe the upper air, he is obliged to take his stand upon a small piece of wood attached to an enormous beam, and grasping an iron ring above him, be drawn into a narrow slit of earth, which he is assured leads to the regions above.

Descending from the Brocken, and going toward the east, a macadamized road, with the not unusual accompaniments of fine carriages, houses and grounds, points the way to Wernigerode, the resort of many a wealthy merchant and nobleman and the summer residence of riot a few who go there to enjoy the mountains and the old town which is fast disappearing in the new. Beyond this aristocratic place are the smoky valleys of a mining territory and the great caves of Rόbeland. One of these magnificent chambers is entered through an opening in the rock, high above the roofs of the town, and descending by staircases and ladders an excursion of miles may be taken underground, the chief attraction being the stalactite formations whose curious shapes can be tortured into the resemblance of everything under the sun. From the caves of Rόbeland to a promontory of the mountains is not far, but from this point the telescope brings Berlin itself into the range of vision and indeed much of Northern Germany.



Beer is a fermented but not a distilled liquid. It is among the most ancient of drinks, and has been made from beans, peas, rice, wheat and barley. The Egyptians were manufacturing a wine from barley in the fifth century B.C., and that seems to have been the grain generally employed by the Celts, Germans and Britons in the manufacture of their beer, which is virtually the same thing. In ale the yeast of the liquid is sent to the surface; in beer it falls to the bottom. Ale is the English drink; beer is the German drink — all of which, and much more, the reader probably knows. But so much of a general nature is due an article which is of such wide-spread consumption and whose froth, in Germany, is almost as common as air.

Like everything else which she undertakes to do, Germany has made a thorough study of beer-making. Whatever may be said of its consumption the skill shown in its manufacture is something to be admired. Bavaria leads in the industry. It is a state which is founded upon beer, for two-thirds of its revenue is derived from that source. The true lager beer originated in that kingdom, and, in some respects, is still a monopoly. Lager beer is literally "store beer," and in Bavaria it acquires the right to that title by being allowed to slowly ferment in cool cellars. The liquor which is generally sold in this country is "draught beer," and contains less alcohol than the Bavarian varieties, and most of those made in Germany.

Much of the popularity of the German beer is due to the fact of the excellence of the water employed. It must contain much salt and lime, so as to counteract the tendency toward decomposition of any animal or vegetable matter which it may hold. So that two things must be aimed at: the presence of these purifying and preserving agencies and the absence of anything liable to putrefy. The waters employed in the most extensive breweries contain at least sixty grains of earthy salts dissolved in each gallon.


As Bavaria perhaps leads the world in the manufacture and consumption of beer (per capita), so does she stand in the front rank of states in the province of education. The university of Munich stands third in importance, the polytechnic school leads them all in point of size and the Bavarian newspapers are able and independent. She has one of the most extensive picture galleries in Europe.

In a certain sense, Bavaria stands alone among the German states.


Catholicism has always been the dominant religion, and until 1812 Bavaria was frequently an ally of France against both Prussia and Austria. She stood between Austria and Prussia as Belgium stood between Germany and France. But when French rule became distasteful, she joined the Germanic leagues, and during the Franco-Prussian war, to the surprise of the Emperor of France, she supported the King of Prussia and entered actively into the campaign. Even now, Bavaria is a kingdom within an empire.

West of Bavaria is Wόrtemberg, one of the leading states of Southern Germany and its capital, Stuttgart, has a considerable book trade, numerous paper mills, type foundries, etc. Its old palaces, its town hall built in the fifteenth century, its schools and museums, its manufactories of wool, cotton and scientific instruments mark it as another of those old German cities, flourishing materially and intellectually. A large public garden, one of the finest in the empire, and the King's summer palace and gardens make it a royal place for pleasure seekers.


While pursuing this subject of manufactures in rather a desultory fashion, mixing toy-making and mining with fairies and romance, and beer with education, we must rest a moment at Cologne, which is separated from Bavaria by only a few little provinces. Now we imagine that an uneasiness is working in the reader's mind, born of the fear that the thread-bare tale will be expanded to cover the intricacies of the manufacture of cologne and the glories of the gigantic Gothic cathedral. But it should be of more interest to learn that Cologne was once a Roman camp and afterwards a town where was born Agrippina, the daughter of Germanicus and the mother of Nero. Upon the present site of Cologne she induced her husband, Claudius, to found a colony, during the first century of the Christian era. "The town then received the name of Colonia Agrippina, which it still retains in part. The foundations of the Roman walls remain and may be traced through the heart of the city. Some suppose that traces of the Roman descent of its inhabitants may be found in their features and complexion. Down to the time of the French revolution the leading citizens were styled patricians and the two burgomasters wore the consular toga and were attended by lictors." When the city fell into the hands of the French, during the revolution, it was found that one-fourth of its people were beggars, although Cologne had once been an important commercial link between the north and the south of Europe and the far East. This evil was partially


corrected before the city was restored to Prussia, and since it has been voted a member of the railroad world some of its former prosperity has returned; but the great number of churches which survive the French occupancy and the Roman Catholic faith which is breathed from the very air, carnival celebrations and all, still uphold its claim to the title of the Northern Rome.


The German who has served his time in the army brings a military spirit to bear upon his private affairs. It is with him either order or obey. Army life also throws the uncultured man in contact with educated superiors, who make their calling a stepping stone to political and civil honors. But whether in army, private or civil life the same discipline is maintained, plentifully enlivened with seasons of recreation.

Heretofore the German has been viewed as a man of the world —as the soldier, student, farmer, manufacturer, traveler and the miner. His life at home is the simplicity of his character spread out in detail. His greatest horror is that he shall do something which is artificial and the result is that he is often artificially brusque and rude. He is prone to eat with a knife when a fork is at hand and would serve his purpose better. He talks loudly and uses violent expressions, not always because that is his individual tendency but because he is a German, with the national character to uphold. For the same reason he lets his wife drudge at home when he could afford to make life easy for her; it would not become the German to make any lot an easy one. His is a world of discipline and why should not hers be?

Though her social station may be high the woman, in order to be a model German wife, must be an expert at wrangling with the butcher and the grocer, a frequenter of the kitchen, and a wielder of flat irons. The result is that she, too, is often disagreeably plain and simple. Her duties call for loose wrappers, not over-clean, and except she dresses for a promenade or a ball she thinks it affectation to strive to please by dressing in a becoming manner at home. As she grows older she becomes even more defiant. It would be unbecoming the simple German wife of a German husband to hide the bald patches of her scalp or her red, gaunt throat. The German woman fades at a comparatively early age; she has enjoyed none of those bold exercises of sword, parallel bar, walking, army drill and open air life which have given her husband so splendid a physique. In this regard she is far behind the English and American woman.

Even to the table, where most nationalities have agreed to appear


better than they are away from it, the husband, wife and children bring all their boisterous ways and loud talk. In whatever costume the lady of the house appears, the man, especially if it be an after-breakfast meal, will have dressed himself in uniform. But it is not at all certain that the family will eat together; that will depend greatly upon the occupation of the man and the school hours of the children. The dinner sometimes lasts three or four hours. Notwithstanding the family provisions are kept strictly under lock and key by the mistress who acts under the exacting eye of her general-in-chief, there is always a bountiful supply of hearty food. Bread, butter, eggs, milk, coffee, vegetables, soups, meats, dumplings, beer and wine, all march to their graves to the tune of loud voices and laughter. The servants are noisy and are apt to be too familiar, or abject under the treatment of the master of the house; but in their dress, their language and their ways they conform to the national standard of studied simplicity or inherited brusqueness. To do anything un-Germanlike would be to have the whole town laughing at you, as a native nurse once told a foreigner who desired to have her child treated according to her own notions.

Coffee is served at four o'clock and supper between seven and nine. The latter is the pleasantest meal of the day, being usually a re-union. It is a lunch of bread and butter, meats, cheese, sardines, hard-boiled eggs, with tea, beer or wine — sometimes with all of them. "All the housewives as autumn wanes, lay in a goodly store of vegetables to last through the winter months, when nothing of the kind is to be procured for love or money. Potatoes are banked up in the cellars; cabbages, carrots, turnips and onions are buried in layers of mold, whence your cook will extract them, uninjured by damp or frost, for the daily meal. Vegetables of the finer sort, such as French beans, peas, etc., are, as they come into season, preserved for winter use in tins, which are hermetically sealed by a man who comes to solder them down." All this hearty food, spiced and greased and vinegared, and washed down with Rhine-wine and Bavarian beer, nourishes the vigorous body and brain of the German fighter, but it plays havoc with the woman, who never gets the start in health which her brother does in his younger years. So much is his food a part of the German that the pertinent question to those who return from a ball, dinner or supper is not as to what was worn, but what was eaten. The common form of inquiry is, "What did you get?" — a blunt, German question.

Aside from the clubs, theatres and other amusements common to other people, the true German has his own enjoyable garden. He erects a summer house in his yard, on some prominent spot, and Sunday afternoon


he is sure to be found there, with his spouse and daughters, contemplatively smoking while his wife knits, or presides over the coffee table. At times the prosperous citizen will have established his summer house in the suburbs of the city. As the family food is usually cooked in town and has to be brought out in baskets, along hot dusty highways, when applying for a position the common query of the maid of-all-work is, "Have you a garden?" If you have, the bargain is off.

In these garden scenes, during the family rambles and Sunday excursions, home life is seen in its most agreeable forms of simplicity. The big German is not abashed at being discovered hand in hand with his matronly wife. Though they speak harshly to their little ones, or rap them smartly on their backs (as they may consider dutiful), they have the most charming words of endearment, in the uttering of which there is no hypocrisy. "My little heart," "my beautiful one," "my pretty one," "my little love," "little mother," "sweetheart" and a score of other caressing terms are bandied about from parents to children, from lover to lover, in such a graceful, unaffected fashion as to make one forget the gutterals and hissings of the language.

Wherever an elderly German woman or a couple is, there also, or within hailing distance, will generally be a youth and maiden, enjoying their betrothal period, as other lovers do when outside eyes are not upon them. They have become so used to affectionate demonstrations, without privacy, that this characteristic will follow them through life. On a Rhine steamer, on the cars, on the street, love-making and love-talking go on with a coolness which is startling to many. Before the marriage is arranged, the "caution" must be decided upon, which is a sum of money which the man must deposit as a guaranty that his wife shall live in a becoming style in case of his death. If foresight is shown for the possible widow, the probable maiden lady of high standing is also provided for.

The Protestant nobles of Germany have instituted retreats for maidens of their standing who are thought beyond the pale of matrimony. Lands have been purchased and houses built, fisheries, forests and farms contributing to support the institution. Each noble who has contributed his share toward the original investment is entitled to present his maiden as a member of the retreat. The inmates are uniformed in black silk gowns, with the sign of their order across the breast, and can obtain leave of absence from the superior to enter society for three or six months annually. They have a standing in the community, and marriage is not quite out of the question when they can appear stamped with the badge of nobility. These retreats, or "Stifte," as they are


called in German, often become very wealthy and prove fortunate financial investments. It is said that the ladies of these retreats evince a pride of blood which is not shown in so marked a degree in many circles of German society.

But despite the ceremonials of a noble and courtly circle, now and then, the German character, whether dissected within the walls of the private house or the palace at Berlin, is one of simplicity — sometimes, as we have ventured to say, offensively rough. The men of standing in Germany, from the Emperor down, despite their political views, have never seemed far away from the people because of this very trait. Her great scholars, poets and scientists, even her statesmen of iron purpose, although they may be learned, mystical, analytical and cruel, still exhibit to the world beneath the outer crust a certain rugged childlikeness, which is a refined form of that earnestness which often deteriorates into rudeness.


The German life, in all its diversity and intellectual muscularity, is portrayed in Berlin, a massive, square city, set down on a sandy plain and cut in two by a sluggish river, and further divided by broad streets which stretched regularly through the city, as if made for the majestic tramp of the imperial army. Unterden Linden, a splendid street with a double avenue of linden trees, is where the majority of visitors are taken to see the most of the empire's capital. Nearly opposite the great university is the royal palace, and directly opposite a magnificent bronze statue of Frederick the Great. The names of Fichte, Hegel and Schelling cling to the university, their fame going along more modestly than that of Frederick upon his great horse. On each side of the royal palace are the fine public squares called Lustgarten and Schlossplatz.

Opposite the Lustgarten is one of the hundreds of institutes in which the German people take a just pride; it is the old museum, built upon a former bed of the river, the entrance being through a number of imposing porticoes, ornamented with statues and bronze figures. Its collections of vases and coins and its sculpture and picture galleries are celebrated over Europe. In the rear of the old museum is the new one containing antiquities of the northern nations and of Egypt, an entire hall decorated with paintings by pupils of Kaulbach, casts of famous statues and art collections of all descriptions. The Egyptian departments not only very complete but is unique in its arrangement, it being exhibited in a court which is modeled after an Egyptian temple. In the Linden is also the national gallery of paintings and other famous collections.


The Royal Theatre, the Italian Opera House, the stately parks and elegant pleasure-gardens both within the city and its suburbs, show the pleasure-loving side of the people. In one of the most charming of the suburban parks, is a monument to the memory of who was a native of the city. The city is adorned, from one extremity to the other, with masterpieces of architecture and art by the famous Schinkel, whose genius took a remarkably wide range; for he not only excelled as a historical painter and sculptor, his works being collected in a special museum, but he was the architect of some of the finest public works of Berlin.

The capital is, preλminently, the imperial city of Germany, not in the narrow but the broad sense of the word. Kings, artists, scholars and poets appear in their marble pallor in the parks, on public buildings and in palaces and private houses. There are royal libraries, royal palaces, royal theatres and streets named after the kings. On King's Street is the Commercial Exchange of Berlin, one of the world's great centers of trade. It is near the postoffice, and is a square, massive building, presenting a grand front of pillars and groups of statuary. The churches of Berlin are many, but perhaps the most noteworthy is the Roman Catholic Hedwigskirche, situated in the rear of the Italian Opera House, and built in imitation of the Roman Pantheon.

Berlin is a worthy subject for a book, but it should be added, as a tribute to its enterprise and the national unity of the empire, that since it became the capital of United Germany no city in Europe has taken


greater strides in every direction, and no people have evinced greater pride in their governmental center than have the Germans for the best representative of their greatness.


Frankfort-on-the-Main, formerly the capital of Germany, is rich in historic associations, as well as the center of a portion of the Rothschild activities. The founder of the great banking house and his children after him were born in Jews street, most of the old buildings of which have been pulled down. Goethe square contains a statue of Frankfort's illustrious citizen and Germany's great man. Frankfort once led the German cities in the publishing business, and possesses among its artistic attractions a monument in honor of the art of printing. Schiller has been commemorated in marble, several times, in the squares and public gardens the most noteworthy representation being the superb bust in Berthmann's pleasure grounds. The council house where the German emperors were elected, the Church of St. Bartholomew where they were crowned for 150 years, and that of Katharine, where the first Lutheran sermon was preached more than three centuries and a half ago, are places of interest, while the promenades and watering places around the city delight as well as interest. The belt of promenades and parks connect the old gates of the city and furnish a picturesque view of the river and distant mountains. They alone would make Frankfort a delightful pleasure resort. The picture galleries, museums and libraries, and its financial importance as being the scene of operations of many of the wealthiest Jewish houses in Europe, bring to it a great variety of nationalities. Business, pleasure, scholarship and art meet together most harmoniously in Frankfort; of all American cities it most resembles Boston.

Dresden, the capital of Saxony, has received many baptisms of fire, but is still a beautiful city. It is celebrated as one of the greatest art centers in Europe. The Academy of Fine Arts is near the bank of the Elbe River. The Japanese palace was built as a summer residence by one of the kings, but is now used as a museum. It contains a gallery of paintings, in which all the European schools are represented by their greatest masters; collections of antique sculpture, coins and pottery, a museum of natural history and the public library, especially complete in historical works. In the royal palace is a collection of rare and costly carvings, jewels and relics, gathered by the princes of Saxony. Michael Angelo's magic art is seen in some wonderful specimens of carvings. Dresden has few monuments, and perhaps its most noteworthy architectural work is the great bridge across the Elbe.



Much of Vienna's fame as a modern city rests upon work accomplished during the past century. The unsightly walls which surrounded the old city have been torn down and thirty-six suburbs admitted into the corporate territory. Within ancient Vienna, however, are the grandest squares and edifices, and the limits of the old city are retained by a belt of boulevards nearly three miles in length. The present municipal limits are also indicated by another belt, which is sixteen miles in length and follows the line of low ramparts erected during the beginning of the eighteenth century. The Ringstrasse, or that street which marks the bounds of the old city, is lined with palatial residences, as are also the streets which intersect it. In this locality are the opera house, archducal palaces, academies, museums, the imperial theatre, the military headquarters and other edifices and interesting localities, which, to mention, would be tiresome and to describe impossible. The center of this area is St. Stephen's Square, which is also the geographical center of Vienna. Many of the leading streets converge here, and the grand St. Stephen's cathedral and the Episcopal palace are worthy ecclesiastical monuments to this stronghold of Catholicism. In the church are numerous monuments and underneath it vast catacombs. There are numerous squares, all worthy of notice, but perhaps the Franzensplatz is most visited by foreigners since it is formed by the four wings of the imperial palace. The outer palace square is the largest in Vienna, containing statues of Archduke Charles and Prince Eugene; the inner square, the Franzensplatz, contains the monument to Francis I. Within the palace are not only splendid treasures, among other valuable curiosities the regalia worn by the German emperors when they were crowned, but cabinets of antiquities and of zoφlogy and botany. Under royal patronage are also fine art galleries, a truly imperial library, and the world-famed University of Vienna.

Vienna's reputation as a city of magnificence and of grand proportions, a diversified pleasure resort for all nationalities and tastes, is enhanced by her theatres, gardens and out-of-door resorts. An island in the Danube, several miles in length, called the Prater, is laid out in parks, avenues and promenades, and may be called the fashionable resort. This was the scene of the Exhibition of 1873. Besides the theatres, some of them unrivaled in Germany, and the gardens adorned with works of art and frequented by a greater diversity of nationalities than any other localities in Europe, there are most picturesque surroundings to be enjoyed. The imperial gardens, menagerie and summer residence are a few miles from the city.


Our Far-East Cousins.


POURING through a narrow mountain gorge into the broad plains of Mesopotamia, the River Euphrates was once the patron of a most ancient, energetic and splendid civilization. With the Tigris, it is now the boundary of a prolific land of decay. From those plains once poured forth vast floods of people and yet those left behind were the founders of glorious empires, the builders of Nineveh and Babylon. These mighty capitals are now little more than unsightly mounds of clay and sun-dried brick, among which dirty Arabs are delving for the building material of modern houses. From near the ruins of Babylon looms up a gigantic mound, standing alone in the midst of a vast plain — the tower of Babel! you recognize it at once. Other mounds of lesser note, now scattered, now grouped, now in the form of triangles; shafts of columns; Assyrian forts; rocks crowned with ancient castles; old towns filled with Roman and Saracenic architecture; groves of palm trees; clouds of scorching sand borne by the south winds; decaying walls of gigantic canals, vainly appealing to Turkish "enterprise," a tribe of restless Arabs with their camels, horses, sheep and women, their crude furniture and all their effects, seeking fresh pasture; answering sheets of flame rising from the fertile river tracts and springing from the hatred of the harvesters who have gathered their grain and are burning all green forage to keep it from those same thievish Arabs; a wandering dervish, only interrupting his prayers to light his pipe, asks for gifts from the faithful, or to search for vermin, the sound of an Arab water-wheel in the distance; a Turkish fortress perched upon a storm-beaten mound inclosing the ruins of centuries; narrow roads hanging to the mountain sides and dropping to the plain below; gorgeous mountain tints painted by a bold eastern sun and flung upon the background of a soft eastern sky; a valley in which nestles a village where Noah is said to have planted his vineyard; a dyke built by Nimrod, the mighty hunter; a griffin's


cave, at the mouth of which the Tigris roars and foams — such is the country in which rose and fell the oldest known civilization of the world.

Leaving the Euphrates river we enter the Syrian desert, and midway between the great river and the Mediterranean sea, in a small oasis, find the famed ruins of Palmyra; the "Tadmor in the Desert." Across to Baalbek — grand ruins again! The omnipresent Arab is there also, as at Palmyra, sheltered by his crazy hut and raising his corn and olives among the ruins. Striking south, we are still oppressed by ruins — some thirty of them — before we skirt the coast of the Dead Sea, and cross a desert tract of country and the Suez canal into the land of pyramids. What more natural than that we should journey from the land of ancient Assyria to the land of Egypt; for we are following in the footsteps of the races and families of men, and the ancient Egyptians are supposed to have preceded us in that little trip, overland, by some thousands of years.


Straight toward the Mediterranean sea a black line shoots across the desert waste, binding together a chain of lakes and lagoons, and marking the threshold to the land of shadows and sunshine. Another line winds toward Cairo, and still another seems to shoot more directly and with more momentum toward that great emporium to which our journey lies. In the ship canal constructed for the commerce of the world, and in the fresh-water canal built for the convenience of the isthmus inhabitants, are repeated the performances of the ancient Egyptians and Persians, accomplished before the wild Scythians ever dreamed of crossing the Bosphorus and laying the foundation of the most advanced of European civilization. Traces of that first canal are found deep in the desert sand of the isthmus country, where Egypt's frontier was threatened by those same savage tribes who now appear as Frenchmen, as Englishmen, as Germans, as representatives of nations which have sprung from the decay of the old. Here were her fortresses and from the banks of the Nile came fresh water, provisions and reλnforcements, if necessary, to the defenders of the civilization of those days; and Persia had her ship canal from sea to sea; but it was left to these days to shoot the railroad across the desert into the very haunts of antiquity, into the very shadows of the Pyramids. But we pass them by, and the splendid mosques of Cairo, and the tombs of its rulers, and the beautiful villas in the suburbs, and ancient


glory, and present attempts at magnificence, and go into the "by-ways and hedges" to get acquainted with the people. We will have nothing to do with the Turk, for he is not a native; although he has imposed many of his customs among the Egyptians. We shall avoid the Italians, French, English, Armenians and other nationalities who live in the "Frank" quarter of Cairo and Alexandria, and who are traveling up and down the Nile country, viewing curiosities, trafficking in precious stones, or awaiting the return of the pilgrims from Mecca laden with the wealth of the far East, who are the agents of commercial houses in their native lands, or the principals themselves in this central station of the overland route to India. For the present we


have no interest in these people, except in so far as they have relations to a very intelligent, courteous, industrious and humble class of the Egyptians, THE COPTS. They number about one-fifteenth of the entire population of the country, and are the sole remnant of the ancient Egyptians. In Lower Egypt they are of a yellowish tinge, which shades into a dark brown further south. The Copts inhabit small sections of the larger cities, while in Upper Egypt they have settled whole towns and villages. What is their business? They are clerks and accountants in government and mercantile offices; they are the Christian priests of Egypt, cheerful, humane and hospitable, with their convents and monasteries scattered along the Nile. They are the scribes, priests and scholars of Egypt, and an ink-horn at the girdle (for they wear the turban and flowing robe) is a masculine badge, as is the cross, tattooed upon the hand of the Copt woman, her mark of honor. The Coptic priesthood have considerably lapsed from the rigor of their religious observances as primitive Christians, although in the regular monasteries their discipline is still severe. The dress is a simple skirt of coarse woolen fabric. Only on feast days are small quantities of animal food allowed, the ordinary food being black bread and lentils. The convents, when not situated on some inaccessible rock, are surrounded by a high and strong wall which has only a single iron door, and in some cases is wholly without opening, the means of entrance being a pulley from the top.

The religious rites of the Copt are many and severe, the services lasting many hours at a time. Seven times daily he repeats his Pater Noster, and begs for Divine mercy forty-one. The churches are decorated with ornaments of ostrich eggs and divided into four compartments. Furthest from the doorway is the chancel, or sanctuary, where the eucharist is celebrated, and which is hidden behind a high screen. Next is the room where the priests interpret in Arabic the Coptic service to the singers, the leading men of the congregation and to strangers. In the third compartment are the men of the congregation, moving round in their bare feet to pray before the pictures of the saints, or leaning upon long crutches for support. The veiled women occupy the fourth room, which is dimly lighted, and usually situated in the extreme rear of the church.

The domestic life of the Copts is very similar to that of the Arabs who have settled along the Nile. They have adopted also many of the Moslem customs, such as the veiling of the faces of many of their women. Some Coptic women are allowed to go out from time to time and even to visit and shop pretty freely. Others, again, are as closely


secluded as if they were actual denizens of a harem. Nearly all keep black female slaves instead of hiring servants.

There are some peculiarities in the Coptic marriage ceremony, however. The bride, unlike the Moslem, has no canopy to cover her in the procession to the bridegroom's house. At the preliminary feast,


pigeons are released from pies and fly around the room shaking bells attached to their feet. After the marriage ceremony, the priests set on the foreheads of the new couple thin gilt diadems. In entering her husband's house, the bride must step over the blood of a newly killed lamb. The whole pageant, after lasting eight days, ends with a grand feast at the bridegroom's house. This is the custom, of course, among the well-to-do classes, but certainly would not prevail in the hut of a poor chicken hatcher or fellah (farmer). But we shall soon be among these poor swarthy sons of the Nile and it will become evident that they could not be the originators of pageants and feasts of superlative grandeur.


It is impossible for the humblest Egyptian to omit the Nile as an element in his life; for in her bosom lie life and death. Food, drink and clothing spring from her brooding over the soil. "May Allah bless thee as he blessed the course of the Nile!" exclaims the poor woman on its banks to the traveler. "Mohammed would not have gone to Paradise had he drunk of the Nile," says an Arabian proverb. She seems a living, moving thing — either a benefactor or a monster; her benefactions, generally, make her the power for good in Egypt and an all-pervading influence of blessedness. A few days in the spring and fall she rests from her labors. Then the tributaries from the mountains and table-lands of Abyssinia and from the recesses of Central Africa commence to trickle into her mighty channel and the great event, older than the pyramids and yet ever momentous, is soon recorded in Cairo. Across a branch of the river, near the metropolis, is a small island, in which is sunk a square wall or chamber. In the center of this chamber is a graduated pillar divided into cubits of about twenty-two inches each. Sometime in June the water commences to rise in the pillar, or nilometer, and Egyptian life again hangs upon the pleasure of old mother Nile. Every morning four official criers proclaim throughout Cairo the height to which the water has risen. When the sixteenth cubit is reached, it is quite certain that there will be a harvest and the Sultan's land tax is levied — what portion of it is collected from the shrewd natives is another thing. While the water line is creeping between the sixteenth and the eighteenth cubits, Cairo and Egypt are breathless with interest and anxiety. A straggling street runs from the city down to Fostat, its suburb and port. From Fostat a canal of irrigation runs through Cairo and is continued some miles beyond. It is believed to


form part of an ancient canal, traces of which we found in the desert sands toward Suez. As the water line in the nilometer rises toward the eighteenth cubit, this becomes a locality of supreme interest. The talk even among the counting houses and government offices; among the Europeans with their Coptic clerks; in the public gardens haunted by French and German strollers; in the bazaars filled with the goods and nationalities of the East; around the mosques in the city, and the coffee booths and fairs in the suburbs; among the serpent charmers and story tellers — the talk of Cairo itself is plentifully interspersed with references to the probable outcome of the rise. Famine has already been averted, and the Sultan has his tax — on paper. It now remains to be seen whether the Nile will come up to the standard of abundance which is marked on the fascinating nilometer by the eighteenth cubit, and which determines whether the pacha shall cut the banks which confine the waters and lead it into this grand canal, and thence into six thousand other artificial channels and reservoirs scattered throughout the region. Millions of anxious fellaheen and Copts, and wandering bands of Bedouins


and gypsies, are at the same time casting anxious eyes upon the broad, swelling bosom of the Nile, or, remembering her as generally kind, already see her muddy waters depositing their magic loam upon the parched land, and the fruits and grains of the world springing into green life. Bounty or famine depends upon what has been going on in the far-away regions of Central Africa and the mountains of Abyssinia.

Nature has been good, and the rains have fallen which bring the waters of the Nile up to the eighteenth cubit of the nilometer. The command is given by the authorities of Cairo. The pacha, attended by his grandees, cuts the confining mounds, and another harvest and season of plenty is assured. All classes now flock to the river side and, it may be, the whole night is spent in festivity. Like scenes of jubilee occur for hundreds of miles along the banks of the god-like river. Between September 20 and 30 the river is at its greatest height, remains stationary for about fifteen days and then usually commences to fall. Should the waters rise above twenty-four feet then the river ceases to be a "good Nile," and woe be to the little villages which lie in the level strip along her banks should she go far above that point. The whole valley of the Nile is now a vast lake, and as the inundated country at length appears it is seen to be covered with a layer of rich loam, averaging not more than one-twentieth of an inch. The strip fertilized is only two or three miles in breadth, but the soil, thus annually replenished, has filled the granaries of eastern and western kingdoms, and as long as the Nile does her duty, cannot be impoverished. When the waters recede, vegetation springs up, crisp and green. The beautiful date palms, which are so sympathetic, look brighter and more martial as they rise from the river side or protectingly group themselves around little hamlets or villages. The sturdy peasant, or fellah, comes from his mud hut and casts his wheat and barley upon the loam. Later, he drives his sheep, goats and oxen upon the "sown" grain to trample it in. In some places ploughing is thought necessary, but is usually dispensed with. Beans, peas, lentils, clover, flax, lettuce, hemp, tobacco and watermelons go through with much the same process, and yet the fellah confidently expects, from past experience, to harvest good crops within three or four months. In summer, chiefly by artificial irrigation, maize, onions, sugar cane, cotton, coffee, indigo and madder are brought from the bountiful soil, and temperate and tropical fruits vie with one another in lusciousness.

April, the great harvest month, sees the fields of Egypt white with barley and golden with wheat. Later appear the tiny green oranges, which do not mature for six months. Then the corn, which crackles with dryness as it is heaped upon the camels, is carried off to be


threshed. Seated in his wooden chair the peasant drives his rude cart round and round over the grain. Some of the wealthy land owners have introduced modern threshing machines, but this primitive object is still as familiar a sight as the poor fellah who has abandoned his desert for the garden spots of Egypt. His wants are few, however, — "a draught of Nile water, a handful of lentils, or a piece of bread made like a pancake and tough as wash-leather"— and, since fuel costs nothing, he gets along very well. He has also various crude devices for irrigating his land. A large wheel may be run out into the river and, with its hollow paddles, turned by the current. The water is thus caught up and emptied into a trench or tank on the bank. Or our Egyptian farmer may call the creaking "sakieh" into service — a series of cogwheels brought to bear upon an endless string of leathern vessels which empty their contents into a pool. Over the wheels is a thatched roof, and under the roof camels or buffaloes are plodding around a beaten path.

Thus is revealed the motive power. From the pool the water is carried off on its refreshing errand by a wooden shaft. Ruder, but more common than these quite-mechanical contrivances is an elevating machine consisting of a long pole working on a pivot, a lump of clay or a stone at one end and a bucket at the other, the whole arrangement being fastened to a simple framework of logs. Thousands of these "re-formed" Arabs — naked or half-naked men, women and children — virtually spend their lives before their "shadoof" in dipping water from the Nile to irrigate the fields. The water which is thus poured into trenches on the bank runs into small channels or ridges of earth which divide the land into squares. The cultivator uses his feet to regulate the flow of water to each part. By a dexterous movement of his toes, he forms a tiny embankment in one of the trenches, or removes the obstruction, or makes an aperture in one of the ridges, or closes it up again, as the condition of the crop requires. After all his labor when the grain is about ready to be harvested the vast flocks of geese, wild duck, hawks, pigeons, and cranes which darken the sky, may threaten a complete destruction of the crop. At these times, instead of scarecrows, the fellaheen place small stands or platforms in the fields, from which young boys armed with slings do wonderful execution.


Next to the birds, the greatest enemies of the fellaheen are the tax collectors, who do not hesitate to vigorously apply the stick when they find an unusually stubborn subject; and after the application of such


forcible arguments, if he still refuses to disgorge the coin which is clearly due the Sultan, as proven by the nilometer's record, his wife and his neighbors exalt him as a hero and a patriot. Their many tricks to evade the dues, which trickery they consider one of the paramount duties of life, are illustrative of their many-sided characters. Some years ago the tax upon country produce brought into cities was so increased as to be really a burden upon our rural friends. At the station where two country roads meet, a poor fellah would be seen dancing about "hopping mad," because he had been forced to pay more than he expected, or had been caught at some of his evasive tricks. But after swearing and lamenting in his native tongue, he would re-load his ass, throw off all his burdens of spirit and proceed with as unruffled a countenance as though every tax fiend in Egypt had started for Constantinople. Occasionally, however, they do escape the sharp-eyed officials, though this is not the case in the following instance. A funeral procession enters the city by the chief country road, the chanting mollahs (religious doctors) walking behind, accompanied by men carrying the coffin with a red shawl over it, as is the usual custom. But the official scents something in the wind which is not a badly preserved corpse, and orders a halt and an investigation. The coffin, which in the East is only covered with a pall, is found to be filled with cheese! If the cheese had been a corpse it would have entered the city free of duty. Neither are the fellaheen always honest in their dealings with private parties. A traveler tells the story that he once observed a large heap of little clay balls on the banks of the Nile which, evidently, were not formed by nature. He asked a fellah who stood near what they were for, as there were two or three such heaps. "Oh," he coolly replied, "they are for mixing with corn. Many boats laden with corn stop here." A boatman added that the village was famous for a peculiar kind of clay, of a corn color, but weighing heavier than the grain.

As a rule, however, the fellaheen, who comprise four-fifths of the Egyptian population, are honest, lazy, patient, merry and domestic. They are the brawn of Egypt and cling jealously to her most ancient customs, strenuously opposing the introduction of implements of modern invention even when the attempt is made by their Turkish masters. The men average five feet eight inches in height, and have broad chests, muscular limbs and generally black, piercing eyes, straight thick noses, large but well-formed mouths, full lips, beautiful teeth and fine, oval faces. Their dress rarely consists of more than a shirt, leaving bare the arms, legs and breast. The distinctive garb of the fellaha, or peasant's wife, is the dark-blue cotton and black muslin veil. In the towns many wear


prints of various colors for trousers, and for the short waistcoat without sleeves, which is worn in winter as an additional garment. The favorite hues are orange, pink and yellow, or magenta crimson. The older women, even among quite poor people, frequently dye their grey locks a tawny orange color. When we speak of the "older women" we mean those far this side of thirty. From twelve — the usual age of marriage — to eighteen or nineteen nearly all the women are splendidly formed and many of them are real beauties, but after that they rapidly wither.


Having introduced the fellah and spoken of his occupation and disposition, it is no more than just that we should do the same for his wife. While he is abroad, tending his cattle or sheep, looking after his crops, selling fodder, fruit, milk or vegetables, or looking after the irrigation of his land, we shall enter his home, meet his wife and family, and see how and where they live.

The houses of the fellaheen are all of the same general type, the wealthier of them, of course, living in a large mud "mansion" instead of occupying one about four feet in height. The well-to-do may have carpets and mattresses, little coffee cups and some brass cooking vessels, instead of a sleeping mat, a water jug and a few rude kitchen utensils; and their daily bill of fare may include more items than coarse bread and onions, cheese, dates, beans and rice. In some of the houses of the more pretentious peasants there is a separate apartment, called "hareem," for the women; but it is usually dirty and disorderly and a pitiful parody upon the magnificence of its Moslem prototype. The wife of the rich fellah displays gold ornaments, a brocaded silk vest, a black muslin veil and, on special occasions, trousers; the poor fellaha has her silver bracelets and her dark cotton garments, often thin and ragged.

As soon as it is light the poor woman gets up from her mat, spread in the low one-room hut, and shakes herself; or, if the weather is hot, she has been sleeping outside, with her family. Having thus completed her toilet, she and her husband and children gather round a small earthen dish containing boiled beans and oil, pickles or chopped herbs, green onions or carrots. Possibly the family do not go to all this trouble, but each takes what pleases him, when he likes, the substantial part of the food being a coarse kind of bread in which is mixed some most bitter seeds which seem to immensely tickle the palate of the average Egyptian. The father now, in all probability, goes to his work, and the mother, if she has none to do, wanders away to gossip with the neighbors,


leaving the children to roll in the dust or otherwise shift for themselves. If she has no neighbors and lives in the country, she may go off with her husband and the children to assist him in drawing water to irrigate their land. If it is baking day, or she has some other simple household duty to perform, she deposits her infant (in appearance a heap of dirty rags) upon the first spot which strikes her eyes, when the idea comes to her. It may be on a heap of rubbish, with the sun beating down upon it or the flies swarming over it. If she is a country fellaha working with her husband, the infant may go down in the mud. Should she be eating an onion, or a pickle, or a raw carrot, and the baby cries — and has teeth — she will, as likely as not, fill its little mouth with whatever she is enjoying. But bread-making day has really arrived, and approaching the windowless mud-hut, with its wooden door and huge wooden key, we find that the woman has brought the strength of the whole family to bear upon her task. Perhaps the smaller children and an old grandmother are picking and cleaning the corn, the older boys or the father carrying it off to be ground and bringing back the flour. A grown daughter or a sister is sifting the flour and with the fellaha's assistance mixing the leaven, working up the dough and shaping it into round cakes. These are then baked in the mud oven of the hut, or, if the fellaha lives in a village, the batch may be taken to the public oven.

When evening comes a pretense is usually made to unite the family. They sit in a circle, often on the ground — mother, father, children, sister and grandmother — and dip their cakes of bread into a vegetable mess before them, contained in a coarse earthen pan. They eat in comparative silence, often, and when each is satisfied he gets up and goes away. Sometimes the man eats alone, or with his sons; and the women finish the bowl. But this practice obtains only among those upon whom the Moslem customs have a strong hold. If the fellah family, in whose house we visit, is above the average in respectability, after supper is finished, wife, daughter or slave brings in a basin and pours water


over the hands. Whether the family sleeps indoors or out, depends, principally, upon the season of the year. But let them sleep, for the present, wherever they are and whoever they are — whether the Moslem who has gone through with his evening devotions on a carpet spread on the ground, or the Coptic Christian who has said his prayers and counted his beads forty and one times during the day.


In many of the villages along the Nile, Moslem and Copt dwell in comparative peace, the men working together in the fields and their children attending the same school, when one has been established in a rural district by some European missionary. The boys, however, far outnumber the girls, from the fact that maidens are more useful at home than their brothers; that they are called away from school before they have made much progress, to become wives, and that Moslem Egyptians are generally imbued with the Turkish indifference to female education and advancement. The little girls attend in loose frocks called "gellebeehs," with muslin or gauze veils, slippers in winter, and in summer wooden clogs which are kicked off when they seat themselves. In the native schools little is taught besides the Koran and the merest elements of arithmetic. Though the school-master may be blind, if he can repeat the Moslem bible without stumbling, the permanency of his position is assured. The school is generally attached to the village mosque, which is built of mud with a white-washed spire. Its locality can be ascertained beyond a doubt by the tremendous hubbub which always proceeds from a Moslem school; for all those who are learning to read are sitting upon the ground with the school-master, vigorously rocking their bodies back and forth, and reciting their lessons from their wooden tablets and at the top of their voices. Before the older pupils, on little desks made of palm sticks, are copies of the Koran or some of its thirty sections. They also are going through with the same form of gymnastics, which is thought to be an aid to the memory.


In the small towns and villages the masters of the schools are nearly as ignorant as the pupils, but manage by their native shrewdness to hide their lack of learning. Naturally the "salary" is a mere nothing. But in Cairo, where the course of instruction is somewhat broader, the remuneration to the school-master is correspondingly greater; from the parent of each pupil there is sent to him, every Thursday, what would be equivalent to three cents. The master of a school attached to a mosque or public building, in Cairo, also receives yearly a piece of white muslin for a turban, a piece of linen and a pair of shoes. Each boy receives, at the same time, a linen skull cap, eight or nine yards of cotton cloth, half a piece of linen, a pair of shoes, and in some cases from three to six cents. These presents are supplied by funds bequeathed to the school. Although several Sultans of enlightened views have attempted to reform the cause of education in Egypt, they have found it a graceless task, the prejudice and ignorance of the bulk of the population being as firmly set against any innovation here as they are in the field of agriculture. So the boy continues to shout his lessons, and the poor little maiden is often not allowed to know much of her Koran, for, when a mere child, she is hurried away from home to wed somebody whom, perchance, she has never seen. In a few short years, when she begins to fade, she fails to understand the cause of the great rejoicing which then took place; or of the bright-hued procession which followed her red silk canopy, under which she herself walked covered from head to foot with a large red shawl; or why discordant bands of music and sweetly tinkling singers should do their best to celebrate the event, as if her world did not know that marriage was the stepping-stone to dismal, neglected old age.


In this general view of the customs, dispositions and daily life of the Copts and fellaheen, who really are the two components of the modern Egyptians, we have failed to even touch upon salient points, which to omit, would leave the picture of the Land of the Nile and its people incomplete and colorless. We have got acquainted with some of the people, so that they do not seem like strangers to us, and now must just skim the surface of their mysterious country — another land of decay — stopping at a point or two which is typical of their modern institutions. As you pass through the delta of the Nile, the flocks of pelican, wild duck and other fowl make the waters hum and you might imagine, if it were not for that narrow strip of desert, that you


had by mistake wandered into the State of Louisiana. The tremendous fields of grain which, in season, would be stretching down to the river's edge for three miles on either hand, would also soon dispel the illusion caused by the presence of these myriads of water fowl. Alexandria, a strange combination of decay and life, being left behind, the fertile strip of country grows quite narrow as Cairo comes into view — Cairo, with its dark and gloomy streets, its great mosques and its seven miles of area which is the focal point of three distinct civilizations. The slaves of Africa, the spices and fabrics of the East and the gold of Europe are all cast into Cairo, and a tremendous jumble of Englishmen and Germans, French and Americans, Arabs, Copts, Armenians, camels, asses, dogs, funeral and marriage processions, bazaars, veiled women, Turks, caravans and noise is the result. Opposite to Cairo, and extending along a slope to the river, are the sixty pyramids; the ravages of time, and the depredations of Arab builders for ages, having given some of them a somewhat irregular outline as they stand up against the clear sky in their gloomy grandeur.

The mountains now approach nearer to the river than they did in Lower Egypt, and over the desert a picturesque group of Bedouins are wandering. They have been brought into subjection by rigorous governmental treatment, but still proudly cling to their nomadic ways notwithstanding their race has been abandoned by so many tribes who have settled down into the drudgery of partial civilization. They are therefore harmless to travelers. They are dressed in clothes of camel's hair, with girdles of leather, and their wives wear the dark cotton robe of the fellaha, with an additional veil of crimson or white crape. Entering the river's fertile strip the Arab band is seen to approach a cluster of mud huts, under a grove of palms, and connected with a farm. They talk with the bailiff in charge of the land and the fellaheen, and quickly pitch their tents beside the hut. They have returned to watch his crops and cattle, for they have been found trustworthy before, although it is impossible to foretell when their thieving propensities will seize upon them. Wandering, like the Arab, through the pyramid section, we find that an opportunity is given them to rob us in genteel civilized fashion. The sheik of a tribe has founded his village at the foot of one of the pyramids and complacently levies his tribute upon curiosity seekers, who, under the hallucination that they will be "conducted" are rushed up its sides at railroad speed, over steps of three or four feet in height, by his impetuous and "lungless" Arabs. Still skirting along the Nile, or through Egypt, with its mid-days of white heat, its purple mountain shadows, its cold


twilights and mellow "after-glows," its deserts and gardens, its hills pierced with pictured tombs, its bee boats stopping wherever the flowers bloom, its boatmen's chants heard with choruses and clappings of hands, its boats built as they were in the days of the Pharaohs with their triangular sails, its limestone pyramids and sandstone temples — while wonderful nature and human life cast themselves and their moods over this country of Egyptian, Grecian and Roman ruins — "our special artist" finds — what? Another specimen village, and the Bedouins have actually so far ventured into the confines of civilization as to settle in it. The village, which is a short distance from the beach, is thickly sprinkled with palms. A plot near by is also covered with gum trees. The houses are of the vulgar mud, but the large herd of cattle in the vicinity and the rich ornaments worn by the women, who are grouped near the river bank, are sufficient evidences that the Bedouins have gained by changing their ways of living. If you had been inclined to visit the sheik of the village he would, perhaps, have spread a Persian carpet for you under the shade of one of these gum trees, and, in the presence of his chief men, would politely have inquired as to your goings and comings. His house is also open to you. But, it may be, you had better rest content with seeing the outside of the village, especially it you have any valuables which you wish to retain.

Let us now pass Siout, from which the Nubian caravans are departing, and to which some of our fellah acquaintances have journeyed to lay matters before the governor of Central Egypt which are too momentous to be settled by any village authority. Let us pass the Christian town of Ekhmin, with its Coptic convent and its great ruins, and even the broad plain covered with the remains of fallen Thebes, her dark mountain tombs in the back-ground. All these wonders, of which you may read in hundreds of books and see them stand forth from thousands of bold engravings, are lightly skimmed over, only to enter a modest village beyond and see what is going on there. In Siout the governor may dispense justice as he pleases for all the interest we take in his grand ways — but here is a village court-house! It would correspond to our county court, several villages and towns bringing their legal affairs to it, and is crowded with handsome, sturdy peasants. At the door stand the keepers — two half-naked lads with long sticks. The room is small and approached by a narrow, dirty staircase. Many of the windows are broken, the panes being stuffed with rags or a ragged curtain to keep out the sun. At a number of inky, crazy-looking wooden desks in front, sit several scribes writing; while on a ragged divan, with soiled cushions, sit a dozen more, each with paper or inkhorn of brass in his girdle or his


hand. Each head scribe chants out the contents of his paper, in a sonorous, but not very loud tone of voice, to his assistant, who copies it. The dinner hour having arrived, does the court adjourn? That would hardly accord with the dignity of the Turkish judge. A lad brings into the court-room a tray, upon which are vegetables, bread, cheese and a watermelon; whereupon the Court, with two of his assistants, calmly proceed to dip their bits of bread in the vegetable dishes and go through the whole course. Then, leisurely wiping their hands, they resume work.

In the village, outside of the sleepy court-room, a lively scene is found in the shape of the weekly market. We see no booths, but each seller spreads his wares before him on little mats, cloth, wool, tobacco, butter, salt, curds, handkerchiefs, sugar, coffee, thread, etc., are displayed for sale. Veiled women, decorated according to their condition with, colored glass or white shells, silver bracelets, golden coins or antique jewels, chat, examine and sometimes buy. Gentle Egyptian cattle wander about unmolested. The fellaha even appears as a "sales-lady" beside her pile of egg-plants or gourds, and shrilly proclaims their virtues. A Bedouin chief even appears upon his strong horse, his saddle furnished with cases of pistols. Elderly peasants, in turbans of white or crimson, sit in sunny spots, smoking and chatting over their bargains. All this animation and enjoyment and indolence are fondled by a bright Egyptian sun. These fairs are certainly a great institution of Egyptian, peasant and village life.

But adieu to the fair and to the village with its mud huts, some standing alone and some clustering around a common court-yard, some filled with vermin and others with chickens in all stages of artificial development; to clerical, priestly Copt, to brawny, mercurial fellah, and to picturesque, thievish Bedouin. We are traveling into Upper Egypt, where the valley of the Nile so contracts that the sandstone rocks overhang the water. From these rugged cliffs were quarried the huge stones which went into the building of the ruined monuments and temples of Upper Egypt and Nubia. Here is the home of the Copt and his villages are scattered all along the rocky banks, his convents often crowning a precipitous height or the ruins of some imposing structure. He and his priest chose these dreary dwelling places when their ways of living were more ascetic than they now are; when the early Christians hid themselves in caves both from choice and from necessity; but having once planted their feet in this rocky gorge the ties of kindred and the bonds of poverty have kept them there. With the roar of the cataracts in our ears we say good-bye to the land in which was born the tale of Atlantis.


The Syrians.

WHEN Greece was young and Rome was not born, Syria was a wealthy land, her coast cities being centers of a vast commerce and civilization. Tyre and the Phoenicians include her greatest features. Berytus, or Beyrout, was among her famous ports; and although Sidon and Tyre have disappeared, and her ancient prominence has been dimmed by the ruthless hands of many conquerors, the city bids fair to rise to eminence now that the Suez Canal is drawing the trade of two hemispheres through the Mediterranean Sea and the Persian Gulf. Nineveh and Babylon are fallen, but the Tigris, the Euphrates and the Jordan remain as possible arteries of trade, while all around is the country which the Turks say is "the odor of Paradise," the Hebrews, "a garden planted by God for the first man," and the Arabs, a land "where the mountains bear winter on their heads, autumn on their shoulders, spring in their bosoms, while summer is ever sleeping at their feet."

Beyrout is the natural commercial port of Syria and was a great city of the Roman emperors. It was called the Nurse of the Law, for the Roman jurisprudence was ably taught in its schools. Portions of beautiful pavements and columns are still seen in its gardens and on the sea shore. It was destroyed in the Roman wars and rebuilt by Augustus, who still considered it a gem of his empire. It was from Beyrout, also, that the virgin was sent to the dragon, whom St. George slew about ten minutes' walk from the city. Out in the sea is Cyprus where the lovely goddess rose from the ocean. Spots of historic interest, better authenticated, are grouped all around. Tyre and Acre are on the coast. Opposite is Carmel, and a few hours away Nazareth, Mount Tabor and Genesareth. The Druse and Maronite villages cover the mountains for many miles east and north of it. Twelve hours distant is Damascus, and Baalbek is forty miles away.

The modern city is built upon the slope of a hill which overlooks the sea, having as a background the bold peaks of Mount Lebanon. Mulberry gardens, orange and citron groves, palms, mosques, light flat-roofed


houses painted in lively colors, terraces filled with flowers, blend into a charming picture. Its bazars are filled with goods of the East and the West, and Armenian, Druse, Maronite, Turk, Greek and Arab are all there or strolling along their favorite sea-shore walk. Besides being a commercial point of no mean standing the city is becoming quite a resort for tourists and invalids. Its citizens are wide-awake, metropolitan and always picturesque. The accompanying cut gives a good idea of their average appearance.

The plain of Beyrout stretches out to the east, covered with every variety of foliage — the orange, date, fig, pine, — and sweet with hyacinths and gillyflowers; and still beyond it is Mount Lebanon, cut up into deep ravines and charming valleys, the particular home of those mysterious people the Druses and Maronites. One of their mixed villages called Beit-Miry is a summer resort for many of the Europeans of Beyrout. Other villages, more distant, are frequently visited by tourists; but those occupied by the Druses alone are not so often entered.


In the northern and central portions of Syria are the Druses, who are supposed to be a conglomeration of Kurds, Persians and Arabians. They hold exclusive possession of about 120 villages and share 200 more with the Maronites. Among the mountains of the Lebanon a religion slowly grew, which, in the eleventh century, was personified in a caliph of Egypt, who proclaimed at Cairo that the spirit of God was incarnate in him. The new faith was not well received outside of Syria, and the caliph's confessor and one of his disciples, a Persian, retired to the mountains and deserts of the Lebanon, and there established the religion which the Druses now profess. It is a strange combination of Judaism, Christianity and Mohammedism, but is founded upon the unusual basis of strict exclusiveness, separation from heretics, veracity to each other only, and mutual protection and assistance. The unity of God is the great tenet of their faith. They call themselves, in fact, Unitarians.

For eight hundred years they have retained a distinct religion and nationality, not seeking to extend their power, but to hold fast to that


which they have. They are, however, divided into two classes, those initiated into the mysteries of the faith and the uninitiated. The former are moral and abstain from all luxuries and personal adornments. The latter are free from all religious duties and are, if anything, prone to dress. Polygamy is unknown, and the general morality of the Druses is said to be above the average of eastern sects. The wife's rights are maintained. She can own personal property, chooses her own husband, and if divorced retains her half of the dower.

The Druses have their princes, chiefs and common people. They pay a stated sum to the Sublime Porte, but are as nearly independent as any people who live in the empire. Their villages are usually placed at the entrances to passes, the houses rising tier upon tier, sometimes one village almost overlapping another, and the whole mountain side being covered with habitations and artificial gardens. Their churches are usually some distance away, jealously guarded from intrusion, and their ukkals (who are the initiated, or religious teachers) see to it that neither stranger nor infidel penetrates the mysteries of their worship. The people are simple in their habits and generally well educated and industrious. The sheiks often labor with the common people, but sometimes live in state. Some of them are artisans, but the bulk of the population cultivate the mulberry, olive and vine upon the terraced hill-sides, and the women spin and weave at home. Silk is the chief manufacture.

The Druses are divided into a number of tribes who are often at war with each other, but when danger threatens from without they unite under the leadership of the emir, or prince, and from their mountain homes bid defiance to the Sultan himself. Questions of peace and war are determined, in a way, by popular vote, the prince calling a general


assembly on some mountain height, in which every sheik and peasant of any standing is entitled to a voice. When war has been determined criers often ascend the summits of the mountains, shouting in a loud voice: "To war! to war! Take your guns. Take your pistols. Noble sheiks, mount your horses. Arm yourselves with lance and saber. Gather to-morrow at Dair el-Kamar (once their capital). Zeal of God! Zeal of combat!"

The hardy peasants, with their muskets and little bags of flour, their legs bare, and wearing short coats, promptly assemble under their chosen leaders. They are skillful marksmen, intrepid when brought to close quarters, but fighting mostly from behind rocks and bushes, and trusting to their success in skillful ambuscades.

The common dress of the men is a coarse black woolen cloak, with white stripes, thrown over a waistcoat, and loose, short trowsers of the same stuff, tied around the waist by a white or red linen sash. On the head is worn a flat, turnip-shaped turban. The women wear a coarse blue jacket and petticoat, without any stockings, and a sort of winding hood and veil, their hair being plaited and hanging down behind.

The Druse women generally have fair complexions, dark blue eyes, long black hair and white teeth. The dress of those of high standing who have no religious scruples, as well as that of Maronite ladies, is very striking and elegant. The most prominent ornament is the tantoor, a conical tube of silver from a foot to two feet in length, secured to a pad on the head by two silken cords which hang down the back and terminate in large tassels or knobs of silver. It supports a long white veil, which falls over the shoulders or the face, as required. The tantoor is worn by only married women. Other items of dress are a silk pelisse, fringed with gold cord, over an embroidered silk vest, a rich shawl bound around the waist, a diadem of silver and gold, earrings and necklaces, loose silk trowsers and soft leather shoes. The life which they lead in the mountains gives them a vigor and animation, which add to their natural charms of form and feature.

The men marry at from sixteen to eighteen years of age and the women generally three or four years earlier. After the consent of the


parents has been obtained and the dowry decided upon, the bride presents her future husband with a dagger. With this he binds himself to protect her during life, if she prove a true wife to him. Should she prove unfaithful he sends her back to her father's house, and with her the dagger without the shield. She is tried for her offense by her father and brothers at her husband's house, and, if found guilty, one of the brothers usually acts as executioner. The tantoor and a lock of bloody hair are afterwards sent to the husband, as an evidence that the awful duty has been performed and the family dishonor wiped out with the deed.


The Maronites, who dwell in the same district as the Druses, are Christians who have invariably supported the Roman Pontiff, and the patriarch of their church is subject to his confirmation. They were friends of the Crusaders, and, with the Druses, have always been enemies of the Mohammedans; they both, however, have been so far reduced by the Porte as to pay tribute to a Turkish governor who resides at Dair el-Kamar. They have even had their bloody conflicts with the Druses, the difficulty between them having been that the Maronites were too tardy in fighting for their independence to suit their more energetic neighbors.

The villages which the Maronites solely occupy are chiefly situated in the country east of Tripoli and Tyre to the lake of Genesareth. They formerly held the entire chain of mountains from Antioch to Jerusalem, and their homes were long the asylums of the Christians who were persecuted and driven away by the Saracens. Their ways of living are similar to those of the Druses. As with the latter, property is sacred among them. Their priests marry as in the early days of the Christian church, their dress being a black cossack, with a hood and leather girdle. The communion is celebrated by throwing the pieces of bread into the wine and feeding them to the communicants with a spoon. Among the relics of barbarism which the Maronites have retained is that of retaliation — the custom by which the nearest relative of a murdered person is bound to avenge him.


Most of the nationalities and religions of Turkey are represented at Smyrna, on the western coast of Asia Minor and, perhaps, next to Constantinople, the most important commercial port of the empire. There are Greeks and Turks, Jews and Roman Catholics, Armenians


and Americans. The city runs down the gentle slope of a hill to the water's edge, the Armenians living upon the lower ground, while between them and the Turks is the Jewish quarter. Smyrna is the Christian city of the Ottoman Empire, and here reside Archbishops of the Greek, Armenian and Roman Catholic churches.


The Hebrew, or Jew, is to be viewed merely as a native of Palestine, or as a pilgrim to the Holy Land and to Jerusalem. From all quarters of the globe the people of a great, and yet almost invisible, nation come to wail over their fallen state. Of ancient Jerusalem little remains. Warriors of Europe, Asia and Africa, and representatives of nearly every religion, have besieged and devastated it, and were it not for the mountains and valleys which are so associated with Christian remembrances and surround it, the identity of the Holy City might almost be questioned.

Within, are crumbling walls and dirty narrow streets, and various unsatisfactory reasons are adduced for fixing upon spots where were the scenes in the life of Christ with which the Christian is so familiar. Constantine, for example, is reported to have recovered the Holy Sepulcher, over which the pagans had heaped a mound of earth, and to have erected a basilica to mark the spot. But while the Christians were banished from Jerusalem there is no evidence to show that the locality was allowed to be thus marked, or that the present Church of the Holy Sepulchre was erected therein.

The site of Solomon's Temple, on the other hand, has been fixed with tolerable certainty as being to the east of the modern city, upon a ridge guarded by valleys on every side. Still further east is the Golden Gate, a


double passage way, through which the Mohammedans are convinced that the King of the Christians may ride victoriously into Jerusalem. The gate is therefore walled up with solid masonry.

Extending from one of the ruined walls of the Temple area is a remarkable series of piers upon which were arches, the remains of the bridge mentioned by ancient historians as spanning the valley and connecting the Temple with Jerusalem. Within the Temple area is the Mosque of Omar, or the Dome of the Rock, a magnificent structure rising in its dome-like grandeur from a great marble platform. There are other mosques within the area, but none equal to this, "next after Mecca the most sacred, next after Cordova the most beautiful, of all Moslem shrines." Beneath the foundation of the Temple area are various subterranean chambers, one of them, according to Mohammedan tradition, being the birthplace of Jesus, and used as a chapel, which is dedicated to him. The site of the Temple, itself, is a matter of warm dispute. Some incline to the belief that the Mosque of Omar stands over the altar of the Temple and that its marble platform marks the site. Another theory is advanced, and voluminously supported by circumstantial evidence, that a certain cave in a mysterious rock which the mosque incloses is the Holy Sepulcher. It will thus be seen how the


minds of the Hebrew and the Christian must be torn with conflicting emotions in their vain endeavors to fix upon the exact locality of the spot which each considers so holy.

At the western wall, near where the piers and bridge arches were discovered, is the wailing place of the Jews; and here gather the pilgrims from all lands, as well as the residents of Jerusalem, to bewail their national misfortunes, and especially their exclusion from the Temple where their fathers worshiped and which is now in ruins. This locality is near the squalid quarter of the city which is occupied by the Jews, and they seem to have chosen it because of the fine state of preservation in which they found the wall, retaining as it does a trace of the massive and perfect character of the Temple's architecture, and bringing to their minds something of its past glories and sanctities. "Many of the stones are twenty-five feet in length, and apparently have remained undisturbed since the time of the first builder. Here the Jews assemble every Friday to mourn over their fallen state. Some press their lips against the crevices in the masonry as though imploring an answer from some unseen presence within. Others utter loud cries of anguish. Here is one group joining in the prayers of an aged rabbi; yonder another sitting in silent anguish, their cheeks bathed in tears. The stones are in many places worn smooth with their passionate kisses. The grief of the new-comers is evidently deep and genuine, but with the older residents it has subsided into little more than a mere ceremonial observance and an empty form."

Lying north of the Temple area is the Valley of Jehosaphat, on the other side of which is the garden of Gethsemane, and, beyond, the Mount of Olives. Both Jew and Mohammedan believe that the valley is to be the scene of the final judgment; the Mohammedan that his, prophet will stand upon the Golden Gate, and Jesus upon the Mount of Olives, and together judge the world. The valley is therefore a continuous grave-yard. The garden is about 80 yards square, contains a number of neat flower beds and gnarled olive trees, and is fenced with sticks. A rambling church building is perched upon the summit of the mount.


Taking the road which carries us past the Mount of Olives, in a northeasterly direction, we journey along the bases of wild mountains and robber-like glens, toward Jericho and the plains of the Jordan. We have, in fact, a guard, for the Bedouins are frequently desperate. In the middle of the journey are the ruins of an ancient "khan," a resting place


for travelers, and which has stood in the same place from time immemorial, the only one on the road; the inn where stopped the Good Samaritan, who so tenderly cared for him who had been wounded and robbed.

Jericho, the ancient, a great commercial city, stood upon the plain of the Jordan. Joshua destroyed it when he entered into the promised land. Three times more it became mighty and the residence of kings, and was thrice leveled to the ground, by Romans and Mohammedans. A Turkish hamlet next sprung up, and of this there only now remain a few wretched mud huts and a ruined Saracenic tower.


The men, many of whom are shepherds tending their flocks, usually are seen with their musical pipes of reed with mouth pieces of hardwood, all of home make. But the truth must be told, the words being borrowed from an English traveler and Christian, that although the Bethlehemites are all professedly Christians, they are a turbulent, quarrelsome set, ever fighting amongst themselves or with their neighbors. In the disturbances which take place so frequently at Jerusalem, it is said that the ring-leaders are commonly found to be Bethlehemites. About five miles from Bethlehem, in the side of a limestone mountain, and approached by a narrow path through a rugged ravine, is a black slit through which one person can crowd, only to find before him a series of vast vaulted chambers. This has been fixed upon as the retreat of David and his followers, the cave of Adullam.

Just outside of the village is the Church of the Nativity, situated upon the limestone hill which is the site of Bethlehem, being a noble structure with stately columns. The inn, or khan of the East, is generally without the town, and that of Bethlehem, upon whose site the church stands, was upon ground which had descended to David and to David's adopted son, Chimham. Long after the time of David it was known as the khan of Chimham, being the first resting place from Jerusalem on the road to Egypt. The chapel of the Nativity is a grotto, and there is strong evidence to prove that the Saviour was born in a cave which might have served as a stable to the inn.


Rapidly passing over the steep hills that encompass Nazareth the little village itself is reached. Before a visit is paid to the Church of the Annunciation, supposed to have been built on the site of Joseph's workshop.


shop, it is proposed to glance a moment at the women of Nazareth. As of old they are still bearing jugs of water to their homes, washing their clothes in little streams, engaging in the fields or in household duties. They are tall, erect and handsome, with Grecian features, seeming to have a touch of pride in their carriage, although they are courteous and pleasing. They do not veil their countenances, and instead of wearing gold and silver coins in their hair their faces are framed in a sort of cap to which is attached a pad covered with the coins, the lower row of which usually falls over the forehead. A similar fashion prevails among the Kurdish maidens.

The chief attraction, artistically speaking, of the Church of the Annunciation is a painting which hangs over its altar. The central figure is Joseph, the carpenter, with his axe upon a block of wood, but his fatherly and wondering eyes are fixed upon the child Jesus, who sits on a low stool by the bench and is reading to him and to Mary, who likewise is seated and forgetful of all but her love and her wonder.


The Hindus.

THE claim is made, based principally upon physical characteristics, that the Hindu, or native of Hither India, is an amalgamation of the Mongol and the Aryan. On the other hand those who place paradise and a submerged birth-place of races in the Indian Ocean start a great emigration from the southwest, rolling through Ceylon and Southern Hindustan and leaving in its track the Dravidas, or aborigines; the Aryan stock spreading northwest from the Himalaya Mountains. But whether the Aryans came down from the north, mixing with such of the natives as they could and driving the balance into the jungles, or whether they came up from the south, to found a civilization on the shores of the Indian Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea, certain it is that in the regular features, the brunette skin, the black hair, the long head and oval face of the Hindu stands confessed the Indo-European.

The aboriginal tribes number about twenty million people and exist in the mountainous districts, in jungles or the outskirts of towns. Although they differ from the refined people of the higher castes, in physiognomy and cranial development they are quite distinct from the Indo-Chinese Mongolian. In their dispositions they are his antipode. British influence has somewhat subdued their ferocity — put it, perhaps, in irons — but although they have been drafted into the English army they are still the tigers of the jungles, with their claws cut off; and although, they have had Brahmanism, Mohammedanism and Christianity near them for centuries, many of them persistently hide in the wilds of Hindustan and worship the Devil, as they did of old. Their human sacrifices, mostly of captive children, are offered to the malignant deities who alone are supposed to rule the world.

But the Hindu proper, the Aryan-Indian, has not been in hiding, all these generations. He has developed a religious system which once was noble and has spread over the greater portion of Asia, modified by race and geographical peculiarities. He has been a gigantic manufacturer of


rich and delicate fabrics, silver and gold ware, furniture, swords — everything, in fact, wherein could be exercised his artistic taste, his manual skill and his indomitable patience. The hand of the Hindu was as cunning when Imperial Rome purchased the products of its skill as it is today. He works with the same rude tools as his father did; they are members of the same caste, and methods and tools are alike handed down from father to son. The Hindu farmer is supposed to be the first to rotate his crops, but the mechanism by which the rotation is accomplished is crude in the extreme. The manure of cattle he will not use upon his land, as it is considered holy, and devoted to religious purposes.

As architects the Hindus have showed great genius; but their temples, distinguished for size and splendor, were built before the Christian era, and the structures erected by the Mohammedan emperors are of the Saracenic style of architecture, and therefore devoid of originality, though finely executed. The natives have constructed immense numbers of reservoirs, massively built of stone, and the princes of former days undertook to put in operation a system of canals. They built a number which fell into disuse and the work has been energetically taken up by the British Government, both to the end of furnishing the country with irrigating facilities and improving its navigable rivers, the Jumna and the Ganges.


The entire population of India was originally divided into four great castes. First there was a division which the Aryans made, by which they separated themselves from the Sudras, or aboriginal tribes


which they found occupying the country when they invaded it. Caste, in the Sanskrit, signifies "color," the aborigines being of a darker complexion than the Aryans. The Sudras remained a distinct caste (servants), and there were also the divisions of Brahmans, who were expounders of the Veda, and conducted the sacrifices; the Kshatriyas, warriors and subordinate priests, and the Vaisyas, comprising the peasantry and merchants. These great divisions were subject to further separations into specific trades and professions, and into the unclean castes of the aboriginal population.

Although there is still a system of caste which is all-embracing, through the influence of Western thought the sharp lines of division are being gradually obscured. A man of high caste was formerly justified in slaying one of a lower one, who even touched him accidentally, and the lower castes were so unclean that it was considered both sinful and criminal for a Brahman to instruct them. Far beneath the uncleanliness of the aboriginal castes were those who had lost color in society. Eighty years ago, even, the system was at the height of its glory.

Persons who abandoned the Hindu religion, traveled into foreign countries and ate forbidden food, or food cooked by an inferior caste, a union with women of a lower caste or a foreigner, the non-performance of the minutest religious rites, made the offenders and the offenses which were spurned and spit upon. To give a few instances: A Brahman of Calcutta was forced by a European to eat flesh and drink spirits, and another ate with a Brahman of a prescribed caste; to get back into good standing they were obliged to pay thousands of dollars to their brethren. A number of Brahmans, who secretly performed the funeral rites over the body of a lady who had lost caste by associating with Mohammedans, were themselves excommunicated when their offense was discovered. In vain they applied for re-instatement, and at last, in despair, one of their number tied himself to a jar of water and drowned himself in the Ganges. Three brothers lost caste through the indiscretion of their mother; one poisoned himself and the other two fled the country. A Brahman, in a moment of rashness, married a washerwoman's daughter.


His act was discovered, he sold his property, fled to another city and his wife became a maniac. A Mussulman nobleman seized the daughters of some Brahmans. They complained to the judge, but were irreclaimably disgraced, and poisoned themselves.

The outcasts of Hindu society are therefore forced to form a class of their own. Those who are cast out of the lower ranks are put to the most menial tasks. All over Hindustan are found a people who are sprung from a mixture of castes, from the marriage of a sudra, or servant, with a Brahman woman. Their occupations are those of the lowest day-laborers. They carry the dead to their graves, and deceased dogs to their last resting-places. They act as public executioners and perform other offices which usually devolve upon slaves or criminals. These outcasts are called Chandalahs, and are described by the sacred books:

"The abode of the Chandalahs must be out of town. They must not have the use of entire vessels. Their sole wealth must be dogs and asses. They must wear only old clothes. Their dishes for food must be broken pots, and their ornaments rusty iron. They must continually roam from place to place. Let food be given to them in potsherds, and not by the hands of the giver, and let them not walk by night in cities and towns."

In Southern India is a body of outcasts, inhabiting the Tamul country, or the land of the Dravidas. The people are called Pariahs, and the name has been applied, collectively, to the thousands of outcasts who still adhere to the country which treats them so cruelly. Formerly the Pariah was obliged to wear a bell, in order that the Brahman might be warned of his approach, and escape from the very contamination of his shadow. So utterly are they detested by Hindu society, that the most disreputable mongrel dogs, roaming about the streets and suburbs, or hunting in packs upon the plains, are called Pariah dogs.


It has been urged that caste was established for the practical good of separating society permanently into trades and professions, that perfection might ultimately be attained. But we have seen how the system has worked in this particular, and it may be added, on the authority of a Hindu author, that "native carpenters, shoemakers, tailors, engravers, lithographers, printers, gold and silversmiths now-a-days turn out articles which in point of workmanship are not very much inferior to those imported from Europe. Of course they are materially indebted to Europeans for this improvement."

Looking at the evil effects of the system from a higher point of view, it is a drag upon charity, mutual love and the true ideas of a religious life; for the strange anomaly exists of being able to wash away the sins of a lifetime by simply washing in the sacred Ganges, and of being savagely cast out of the pale of fellowship, sometimes beyond recall, because of the violation of certain arbitrary rules whose origin is yet in dispute.

Where European influence is paramount, however, especially in Bengal, the system of caste is dying. Superior castes engage in the occupation of the lower; Brahmans hold government offices, act as soldiers, enter the service of Europeans, Mohammedans, and even Sudras; and under the British government, an actual loss of caste can not be punished by disinheritance or a forfeiture of property.

Aside from European influence, two native forces are breaking down this hoary and evil institution. Over fifty years ago a religious sect was formed, composed of Christians of educational institutions, Mohammedans and Brahmans, whose tenets are the fatherly and brotherly love of one God, with Christ as His most holy and spiritual representative, the rejection of miracles, and the abolition of all distinctions of caste and religion as contrary to the broad, human character of their faith. The sect has been established in all the large cities of India.

A nabob, named Peeralee, succeeded in destroying the caste of many noble and rich families of Calcutta, and from them have descended the Peeralees, a people who are scattered over the country. They have risen to power as philanthropists, reformers and patrons of literature, and although still Hindus in religion, they are outcasts from society. Brahman priests administer the religious rites for them, and they have tried to buy their way back to their former caste, but without avail. One of their number started an English paper called the "Reformer," which has done much to hasten the downfall of caste, and the general elevation and refinement of the Hindu community of Calcutta are principally due to them.



For ages the Brahman upheld his title as "the twice-born," by his religious purity and moral excellence; but from the worship of one God he has degraded himself to the adoration of 330,000,000 of gods and goddesses, and instead of studying how he can develop his spiritual nature that he may impart it to the world, he has become a mercenary, deceitful, scheming worldling and beggar. In short, some irreverent hard-headed statistician has taken the trouble to analyze the criminal records of Bengal, where the Brahmans greatly flourish, and he has found that representatives of this caste in the jails of the province far outnumber those of any other class.

As a relic, however, of something pure and noble, it is of interest to learn how the Brahman is born into the privileges of his order, which consist of being feed, fed and feasted upon every possible occasion and of being accorded all outward honor.

The sacred office of priest may be bestowed upon the boy, at from nine to fifteen years of age. Upon the day fixed, if the weather is fair, the candidate for sacerdotal honors, having abstained from the use of fish and oil, shaved his head, bathed his body and donned clothes of red, is furnished with a tall tinsel hat, and appears before the priest. His spiritual superior reads certain incantations, and after worshiping Vishnu, one of the Brahman Trinity — who is represented by the household god (a small, round stone) — the boy is covered with a cloth to keep him from the contaminating gaze of a non-Brahman; under the protection of the cloth he is invested with the mendicant's staff, the branch of a certain tree, at the top of which is tied a piece of dyed cloth. He afterwards receives the sacred thread of his caste, other incantations follow, the father even taking part, whispering the mysterious words to his son, lest some one of an inferior caste should hear them. Dressed as a beggar, with a staff upon his shoulder and a wallet by his side, the youth solicits


alms of his relatives, who give him a small quantity of rice and some money. Burnt sacrifice is then offered by the father, and other forms are exhausted, after which the youthful aspirant, who has been squatting upon the floor, rises in ecstacy and declares his intention of leading the life of a religious mendicant. But the boyish actor is persuaded to abandon a pretended determination, and which all parties to the comedy know is not sincere, by being reminded that the holy Shastra inculcates the cultivation of a clean heart and a religious spirit rather than outward humiliation. Casting down his beggar's staff, the boy assumes a thin bamboo staff, which he throws over his shoulder as an evidence that he has decided to remain with the world. He is taught to commit certain services, fasts, and for three days is prohibited from seeing the sun or the face of an inferior being. On the morning of the fourth day he goes to the sacred stream of the Ganges, throws the two staves into the water, bathes, repeats his prayers, returns home, and resumes his ordinary occupations.

This is the ceremony which transforms a Hindu into a Brahman; but as the system of caste bars out the majority of natives from being thus "twice born," it is evident that many natives of Hindustan are strict adherents to what has come to be known as Brahmanism without having ever become Brahmans. They are simply Hindus.


In the separation of the Hindus into castes, tribal lines have generally been observed. Brahmans, artisans and servants, however, must be distributed throughout society. In some cases whole tribes seem gradually to have changed their occupations, so that the agricultural caste of


to-day may have been originally a military caste, and the greatest pride is taken in tracing the tribal genealogy back to one of the original four great castes. The tribes which have been fixed upon as the aborigines are the smallest in the population, and usually live among the hills of Central and Southern India. One of the most noteworthy are the Gonds of Central India. They number over 800,000, it is true, but that is small for an Indian tribe. The Gonds are almost diminutive in stature, but are hardy and brave. Near the Hindu boundaries they are agriculturists; in the interior they are wild and savage in their social and religious customs. Universally, the men are great hunters, their peculiar weapon being a small axe, which they throw with such skill and force as to kill both birds and animals. This they also use to fell trees, which they burn, planting grain in the ashes. The chief hunters of the village also use matchlocks in the place of bow and arrow. The women are drudges, and


wives are bought and paid for in money or in services to their parents. The Gonds have intermarried with the Hindu tribes near them, especially with the noble Rajpoots, in which case their physical characteristics are greatly modified. In Southern India is a variety of tribes whose occupancy of the hills antedates history. Some of them have dwindled to a few hundred. They live generally in communities, but one of the more populous tribes dwells in villages, with regular streets. The houses are of stone and mud, thatched, divided into separate apartments, and otherwise above the average hut, but strange to say the doorways are not more than 40 x 25 inches.


In the vast jungles lining the sacred Ganges, especially in the province of Bengal, lie in wait the most destructive to human life of any of the wild beasts — the royal Bengal tiger. In thickly settled districts the rifle has suppressed His Royal Highness, but in many parts of Bengal he still is the terror of the villages, attacking cattle and human beings with equal ardor. At night the villagers protect themselves with noisy drums and with torches; by day they sometimes institute a great hunt, in which the natives for miles around participate, some on foot and others on the backs of elephants.


The chief of the Dravidian races, or aborigines of India, are the Tamils, or Tamuls, inhabiting a country in the southeastern part of Hindustan and portions of Ceylon. They are restless, lithe and dark brown, being the sailors of India, wandering along the coasts seeking employment in English ships. Their language (the "Kuli") has given a name to Indian laborers as a body. A coolie is known the world


over. The Tamuls are social and energetic, and have not that exclusiveness which is a trait of several minor Dravidian tribes, who will have nothing to do with foreigners but live in walled villages and only intermarry with their own people. The whole group of Dravidas is sometimes called the Tamulian family. The Tamuls number over 10,000,000 souls.

Near them are the Telugus, a populous tribe who are agriculturists, but were formerly of a commercial turn, holding, at one time, several islands in the Indian Archipelago. They are tall, fair and commanding in appearance.

In contrast to them are a hill tribe, in Central India, who, instead of numbering 14,000,000, as do the Telugus, muster not more than 1,400. They are the Kotar, but are models of industry; for not only are they agriculturists, but carpenters, smiths, basket-makers and menders of plows. They, are in fact, a little inclined to be parsimonious, and dead cattle and carrion of every kind are promptly eaten by them.


This tribe claims to be descended from the original Kshatriya caste mentioned by Menu, who were to protect the people and serve as warriors,


as well as offer sacrifice. The conflict seems to have been severe which established the supremacy of the Brahmans over them; but while the latter have fallen from their high estate, this remnant of the primitive military caste maintains the ancient dignity. The territory of the Rajpoots is in Northwestern India, and includes fifteen states allied to the British government. Their history is made up of Mohammedan and native invasions which, for centuries, they resisted, but finally to be safe from the encroachments of neighboring states they placed themselves under the protection of Great Britain.

The Rajpoots are not supposed to be pure Hindu, but show such force of character that their people have given chiefs to most of the tribes of Rajpoota. One of their tribes also dwells in Cashmere, and its chief is lord of that important state.

The appearance of the Rajpoot does not belie his commanding character, he being tall, vigorous and athletic. Woman is treated by him with a romantic gallantry which, with his other qualities, stamps him as the Norman of India. The Rajpoot lady is well informed and an illustration of the leaven which is to raise the female condition throughout India.


There are no other people in the world who have done so little for it, about whom so many theories have been advanced, as the gypsies. They received their name from the fact that the majority of early investigators settled upon the theory that they were Egyptians; but they have, by turns, been called Egyptians, Hindus, Nubians, Tartars, Assyrians, Ethiopians, Armenians, Moors and German Jews. The most learned linguists of late years have, however, found in the words and structure of their language evidence which proves, beyond reasonable doubt, that it is a branch of the Sanskrit, corrupted by additions from the vocabularies of the many countries to which they have wandered, and that they are the descendants of some of the lower tribes of Northern Hindustan. The language is necessarily split into a multitude of dialects, but there are certain forms common to all, and it contains such evident mixtures from the Persian and Greek that the course of their first emigration has been traced. Persian and Arabian authorities identify them with a tribe of Northern Hindustan, 10,000 of whom were invited into Persia to satisfy the passion for music which is so marked in that country; this was about 400 A.D. Wave after wave followed the first and the wanderers soon passed from Asia Minor into Europe, besides spreading into other parts of the continent and Africa. They refrain from eating certain


animals and are believers in transmigration of the soul; but, if necessary to their well-being, they conform to the religion of the country in which they live.

Notwithstanding the ease with which they adapted themselves to the views of others, on account of their modes of life and their mysterious callings they were from the first a proscribed race. Both Saracens and Tartars drove them out of Asia, and they were shrewd enough to pose as persecuted Christians, when from the twelfth to the fifteenth centuries they made their appearance in hordes of thousands each, and begged, thieved and humbugged their way into Greece, Russia, Austria, Switzerland, Italy, Germany, Scandinavia, England, France and Spain. It seems to have been during this period that they so effectually aroused the curiosity of the civilized world as to their identity and real character. The whole race which had wormed itself into the most obscure cranny of Europe succeeded in advertising itself and its magic arts in a way which might make an enterprising merchant blush for shame. They had been conquered in Egypt and forced to renounce Christianity. They had been reconquered by the Christians, and were now doing penance by their wanderings for having abandoned the true faith. Earlier still their forefathers had ill-treated Joseph and Mary, and they were all penitent, sorrowing, wandering Jews.

Finally the ignorance and superstition of the middle ages conspired against these dealers in the black arts, who had so thoroughly advertised


themselves, and further interest in them for several centuries was swallowed up in an all-absorbing passion to crush them out of existence. An illustration of the severity of the laws enacted against them is that which remained in force in Germany down to the 18th century, providing that every gypsy more than eighteen years of age found in the kingdom should be hanged. Later they were more humanely treated, Maria Theresa, of Austria, being specially active in efforts to improve their condition. Steps were taken to educate their children and inducements were offered for them to cultivate the soil. They settled in large numbers in the villages of Hungary and Transylvania, special streets being laid out for them and buildings erected. But these attempts to plant them in the soil, or bind them to any settled ways of life, proved generally abortive, as they always have done. In a more literal sense than of any other people it may be said that they are wanderers upon the face of the earth.

In Europe, Asia, Africa, America and in the islands of every sea, they show their dark soft skin, large brilliant eyes, exquisitely shaped mouths, cherry lips, snow-white teeth, and elegant forms so picturesquely draped, being pronounced by critics to be among the fairest physical specimens of humanity which were ever created. If their morals were as perfect as their bodies, it were well that they thus displayed themselves to the world.


The Cashmere, of Northwestern India, are Claimed by many to be


the purest specimens of the ancient Hindus. They are tall, vigorous and industrious, the women being famed for their fine complexions and beauty. Their kingdom of Cashmere is enclosed by mountains, the valleys of which are wonderfully fertile. Rice is the common food of the inhabitants, and the lakes yield thousands of tons of a water-nut which may be ground into a flour, cooked or eaten raw.

The valley of Cashmere is a picture for an artist, with its little villages, all containing groves of poplars planted centuries ago by Mogul Conquerors, and its thousands of cattle, sheep and goats grazing on the hill-sides and fertile plains; and near its center the city of Cashmere, lying for four miles on both sides of a tributary of the Indus, bound together with numerous canals and called the Venice of Asia. The city contains a gigantic Mohammedan mosque in which 60,000 people can worship and near it is a charming lake, with floating islands, surrounded by beautiful scenery and the gorgeous palaces of former Mogul emperors. This is the locality which Moore selected for the closing scene of Lalla Rookh. Cashmere is the center of the shawl industry and quite a commercial point. The kingdom is a portion of the territory which the Sikhs transferred to Great Britain, but was sold by the latter to a rajah, and is independent.

The Mahrattas for a century were the most powerful of the Hindu tribes, being for many years in possession of Delhi, the center of the Mohammedan power and capital of the Mogul empire. Their states which were finally united stretched quite across Hindustan, but after their defeat by the Afghans in 1761, they commenced to decline in power. A long war with England completed their subjugation as a military power, although they are still turbulent and predatory, and remarkable horsemen. They are scattered over portions of Central and Western India.


Their island is chiefly noted for its natural scenery and for the stupendous ruins of a Buddhist civilization, which are buried in the depths of its dense forests. The primitive inhabitants are the Vaddahs, a tribe of outcasts who live in the caves and jungles of Eastern Ceylon or in mud huts near European settlements. A few words constitute their language; they have not even a mythology, eat lizards and monkeys, and seem irreclaimable.

The Singhalese are supposed to have emigrated from the valleys of the Ganges about the middle of the sixth century, and either brought Buddhism with them or were converted through the personal teachings


of its great master. They founded a monarchy, and were in continual warfare with the Tamuls, or Dravidas of Southern Hindustan, whose kings often ruled the island and introduced the worship of Hindu deities into Buddhist temples. The Buddhism of Ceylon has, therefore, been greatly corrupted, notwithstanding the existence of its many sacred shrines to which thousands of pilgrims repair. Upon the summit of Adam's Peak will be shown the imprint of Buddha's sacred foot. His tooth is presented in an elegant shrine. In the north of the island was the ancient capital of Ceylon, and its mighty ruins indicate what must have been the power of the Singhalese, after they had obtained supremacy over the Tamuls and established Buddhism as the national faith. The most remarkable of these remains is a vast rockhewn-temple, at the right of its entrance being a reclining figure of Gautama (Buddha), forty-five feet in length. The mere ruins of a bell-shaped temple, or dagoba, tower to a height of 250 feet, with a diameter of 360, and, from base to pinnacle, the monument is covered with gigantic trees. At another point is the sacred Bo tree (whose pedigree has been traced to 288 B.C.), and scattered over the island are colossal reservoirs and tanks which were parts of a general system of irrigation. The Singhalese are yet the most numerous of the natives, being devoted to that corrupted Buddhism which the Burmese are seeking to bring back to the original purity.


The trinity of Brahmanism consists of Brahma as Creator, Vishnu as Preserver, and Siva as Destroyer. They are priestly developments, having no existence in the Vedas, the collection of hymns which formed the basis of the early Hindu religion.

Brahma was originally the Eternal Essence of things; something to be contemplated, immaterial and invisible. After the Vedas came the Brahmanas, an expansion of some portions of the first religious


books, by which the priests were set aside from the world as holy and divine, and Hindu society divided into castes.

Prayer had ever been the all-important power, and without it the gods who are created in the Vedas could not rule the world. Brahman-aspati was the god of prayer, and therefore became the great god, his priests, the Brahmans, being little below him. There is a Vishnu in the Vedas, but he is rarely mentioned, and is named as a minor sun god. But he has been developed into the creator of the earth and the preserver of its unbroken order. Siva is god of the destructive forces, and has his minor gods. His forerunner in the Vedas is supposed to be Indro, the god of storms. Siva, however, was actually adopted from the mythology of the Dravidas, who were thus bound closer to Brahmanism.

The very creation of the trinity of Brahmanism is ascribed to the opponents of Buddhism, who wished thereby to unite all the elements of the Aryan and the aboriginal population which were opposed to the new doctrine. A symbol, so to speak, was then formed, represented by the image of a body with three heads cut out of a single block of stone.

The separate images of the gods which form the trinity seem to vary. Brahma is represented with several heads, each one of which is crowned.

Siva is usually four-handed, and has three eyes, one in the middle of his forehead. In one hand is a trident, in another a sling, while his other hands are either empty or contain an antelope and a flame of fire. Around his neck is a necklace of skulls, and on his head is a cap of elephant or tiger skin. In different images, Siva's hands vary from four to thirty-two.

Vishnu is generally represented as attended by an eagle, and having four hands and a number of heads, emblematic of his omniscience and omnipresence.

One of the Vedic hymns makes the creation of the world to consist of three acts — first, love which was born of religious meditation; second, the impulse which love gave to the creative element, fire; and third, the act of creation. Manu, the first ancestor of mankind, was the father of the Aryans; and this fact gave rise, later, to their separation from the darker tribes, and the establishment of the first system of caste. Vishnu assigned Manu to the earth, and the latter was the author of the most famous of the social and public laws of the Hindus.

The only trinity which is authorized by the Vedas is that of "om" — a mysterious syllable which in the Sanskrit is formed with three letters; three letters and one sound — this is the real trinity of the ancient Hindu religion. One of its religious text books is entirely


devoted to showing how "om" is immortal. Among its most lucid passages are these:

"Om is immortal. Its unfolding is this universe, is all that was, is, and shall be. Indeed, all is the word om; and if there is anything outside of these three manifestations, it is also om. For this all is Brahma; this soul is Brahma."

Fire, as has been seen, is pronounced a divine and creative element; hence it is Agni, the god of fire, who burns the body that he may recreate a celestial form which he allows another god to endow with immortality.

The goddess Doorga, wife of Siva, is the Minerva of the Hindus, and even of greater power than she, for Brahma, Vishnu and Siva are all said to have propitiated her, and she was the terror of the other gods. Her image represents her with three eyes and ten arms, in the act of piercing a giant with a spear and with the fangs of a huge serpent which she grasps by the tail. Her other hands are filled with weapons of war. In honor of this monster is held the greatest of the Hindu festivals, commemorative of the day on which a great king of India, now deified, marched against a prince of Ceylon who had stolen his perfect wife. Other festivals are celebrated in honor of the goddess, but this is the greatest of all, because superstition and national pride join hands to give it ιclat.

Sudra, the king of heaven holds the first place among the inferior deities, his position being maintained only by constantly warring against the giants of India. He may be ejected by a Brahman. Tama, the holy king, judges the dead, he being a hideous green man in red garments who holds court in the mountains. The rivers of India are divinities, particularly the Ganges, which descends from heaven, and whose waters purify sin.

Krishna was one of Vishnu's incarnations. Another of Krishna's titles is Jagannatha, or lord of the world. To him is dedicated a great temple, that of Jagannatha, or Juggernaut. The town situated in Bengal is called by the same name. But the great car of Juggernaut, forty-three feet high, with its sixteen ponderous wheels, no longer crushes any human victims. The temple, however, is still the most holy of the shrines of Hindustan, and is visited annually by 1,000,000 pilgrims.

So, through the centuries, the gods went on multiplying. Every physical principle and force of the earth had one, and to cover the infinity of the heavens hundreds of thousands, — yea, millions — of gods, were created, although not called by name.


Although Buddhism has been all but confined to Ceylon, "The Divine Island," which tradition assigns as the scene of many of Buddha's


priestly labors, it threatened, at one time, to supplant Brahmanism, and has in spite of its persecutions, had much influence upon Brahmanism, and has spread over the vast empires to the east. Buddhism abolished caste as a religious institution and carried its religion to all people. Purity of conduct was inculcated — "to eschew everything bad, to perform everything good, to tame one's thoughts." All sacrifices were rejected. Nature was an illusion. The final object is Nirvana, the deliverance of the soul from all pain and the body from all passions by right view, right sense, right speech, right action, right position, right energy, right memory and right meditation. Buddhism left to Brahmanism the doctrine of the incarnation of the gods, which has been, for ages, an important feature of the Hindu religion. This incarnation is called by the Brahmans an Avatar, Vishnu having been especially favored in this respect. He is said to have passed through seven different incarnations, in all of which he destroyed the enemies of the human race.


An Indian Mohammedan does not essentially differ from that of Turkey, being principally distinguished from a Hindu for his restlessness under restraint of British rule. He is proud and arrogant, remembering when he was the conqueror of India and occupied the magnificent city of Delhi, as the capital of his great empire. This he still calls the city of the King of the World, in remembrance of one of the most powerful Mogul emperors of India. He looks upon the great mosque, built by another emperor, who quelled both Persians and Afghans and further solidified the cause of Mohammedanism, and then he scowls upon the Englishman.

In Mohammedan eyes this mosque is one of the wonders of the world. It stands on a rocky height near the center of the city, being built on a paved platform. The mosque is approached by broad stone steps, is lined and faced with white marble, surmounted by three domes of the same material, striped with black, and having at each end of the front a high minaret. Scattered through and around the city are more than forty other mosques and tombs of the emperors and Mussulman saints.

In the center of the Northwestern Provinces of British India is the province and city of Agra, once the capital of the Mogul Empire. Its ancient walls embraced an area of nearly twice that of the modern city. Within the English fort, which limits the latter, is the palace of a former Great Mogul, and a pearl mosque, while near the Jumna River, a short


distance east, is the mausoleum erected for himself and wife upon which 20,000 men were employed for twenty-two years. It is built in the form of an irregular octagon, is of white marble, and so lavishly decorated that the whole of the Koran is said to be written in precious stones on the interior walls. The tomb of another Mogul emperor is six miles from the city; so that Agra is almost as much a lasting humiliation to the Mohammedan as Delhi itself. The Hindus greatly predominate, and venerate the city as the scene of one of Vishnu's incarnations.


The Fakir of India is a re-appearance of the Dervish of Turkey, Persia and Arabia. It is an Arabian word, and this mendicant monk is much more of a Mohammedan than a Hindu. Mendicancy, with the accompaniment of personal degradation, is no part of Brahmanism.

There seems, however, to be a certain class of Fakirs, who are partial subscribers to Brahmanism, and who believe that, by great austerity, complete isolation and intense meditation, they may even obtain power over the invisible world; stories are related of mortals who have thus expelled divinities from the very heavens. Some hide themselves in the woods, allowing their hair and nails to grow, and their bodies to become covered with filth until they are more repulsive than wild beasts. Others remain with their arms raised above their heads, or their bodies bent double, until they assume these positions permanently; or they go naked, sleeping upon the ground without shelter of any kind, never kindling a fire, but using the excretions of cattle for food, considering


this a holy act, since the cow is one of India's sacred animals. Another form of penance is to lay fire upon the scalp and allow it to burn to the bone; to tie the wrists to the ankles, cover the body with filth, and then roll along, from village to village, begging and giving advice to the awe-stricken. Those who believe in a more passive kind of self-torture have been known to bury themselves in the ground and take their food and water through narrow tubes, for unmentionable periods.

The primary requisite in a Fakir is, of course, abject poverty, and some of those who travel over the country wear robes rent into tatters, such as the Mussulmans fondly believe were worn by the prophets of old. They often carry a cudgel, a battle axe or a spear, on which are hung rags of various colors; but it is said that these weapons are put to more wicked uses when the bearers meet travelers upon a lonely highway. In the towns, they appear as religious teachers. The Fakir, who has a long chain attached to one leg, which he clanks as he prays; becomes a superior being before whom the superstitious Indians grovel and tremble, and to whom they come to be cured of their diseases.


In Hindustan his home is Bombay, the western capital of British India. In Persia, the native land of Zoroaster, whose follower he is, he is oppressed and degraded by the Mohammedans as a "guebre," or infidel. There, also, he is wedded to the worship of fire, and has lost sight of its symbolic character. This is so to a great extent in Hindustan, temples being built over subterranean fires and sacred flames, which Zoroaster is said to have brought from heaven. Priests tend the fire on altars, chanting hymns and burning incense. But the Parsee of India is not content to rest here, and a great effort is being made to restore the religion to its original purity; to follow the simple faith of the Persian prophet to this end: — that the two principles of good and evil animate the universe, and are found in every created thing; that the good is eternal and will prevail over the evil, and that God has existed from all eternity.

From Bombay as a center the sect is increasing quite rapidly. Next to the Europeans, also, the Parsees have built not only some of the largest vessels in the service of the East India Company, but have even constructed frigates and men-of-war. But, although commercially, politically, intellectually and socially they take rank with the Europeans, and are adopting many Western customs, they have not yet abandoned their peculiar way of treating the dead. On the summit of Malabar Hill, the most fashionable suburb of the city, is the Parsee cemetery, walled and guarded. It contains five round towers, each about sixty feet in diameter and fifty feet in height and surmounted by a large grate. The


bodies of the newly dead are placed upon these towers, and when the vultures have removed the flesh from the skeletons the bones fall through the grate into the inclosure beneath.

Between the Indus and the Ganges, in Northwestern India, are a race of people called the Jats, who are supposed to be of a northern origin, either descendants of the Scythians or Huns. They are of the agricultural caste, are tall and robust, with clear-cut features, and the finest specimens of physical manhood in India. Besides leading in husbandry, their history has shown that they are second to no tribe as brave warriors.


A Sikh is a Jat who has adopted the best portions of Mohammedanism and Brahmanism. The founder of the sect was of the warrior caste, who in his youth had been educated as a Hindu and afterwards was adopted by a Mohammedan dervish. He therefore imbibed the principles of both religions, and when he came to promulgate his own doctrines, toleration and the brotherhood of man were naturally its leading tenets. Those whom he drew to his religious standard were called simply "Sikhs," or "disciples." His successors as heads of the sect were able and bold, and were looked upon as the arch enemies of both Mohammedanism and Brahmanism. One of them was tortured and put to death by the Mussulman government.

Then commenced a fierce war against the Mohammedans. The Sikhs were driven into the mountains of the Northern Punjaub where they formed a state of a decidedly democratic turn. All caste was abolished. The Sikhs, irrespective of social standing, wore a blue dress. Every man was a soldier and constantly carried his steel blade. The contest against the Mohammedans was renewed, periodically, and the Sikhs became so powerful that the Shah took the field against them personally, and almost annihilated them. This was after they had fought the fight for conscience' sake, for two centuries. But fifty years thereafter (1764) they had so recovered as to be able to drive the Afghans from the Punjaub, and for seventy-five years more existed as petty states and as one powerful kingdom, known as Lahore. The English subdued them, and they remained faithful to their conquerors during the Sepoy rebellion. A few states continue to be independent, situated in Southeastern Punjaub.


As to the duties of the male and female heads of a Hindu household they do not essentially differ from those of the American husband and wife. From all accounts the women are usually models of economical management and the men are careful to lay in a month's supply of


provisions at a time. In the upper and central provinces it is customary, at harvest, to buy a year's supply.

Little Hindu children with their light brown skins, dark eyes and hair, acquiline noses, high foreheads and intelligent faces are sheltered, loved and educated with true devotion; to be without children is counted not only a misfortune, but a sin for which religious atonements are required. It is in the painful seclusion which the Hindu women suffer and in their separation from their older sons and their husbands that the difference between Eastern and Western households is mostly observed.

The houses are so constructed that the court-yard is always reached through a tortuous passage way which is closed by a low door. There is an outer and an inner apartment, below. The rooms above are reached by small contracted staircases.

Not satisfied with shutting them out from fresh air and sunshine, when meal time comes custom requires that the women shall eat separately from the men. In the morning the children are served first, that they may go to school. Then the adult male members are favored, the mother and wife squatting with them on a bit of carpet. She sees that everybody is properly waited upon by the servants, and although she participates in the conversation she can not eat. The cooking is generally left to Brahman servants, but it is not uncommon for wealthy Hindu ladies to take a pride in preparing the evening meal of their sons and husbands.

The Hindu woman is separated from her husband's elder brothers as by walls of adamant. She can not speak to her husband, or lift her veil, in the presence of her mother-in-law. In a word she is neither to be seen nor heard when elder members of the family are around.

After the family have separated she changes her clothes and retires


to a room in which is the tutelar god, usually an image of Krishna made of stone and metal, placed on a gold or silver throne, upon which are a silver umbrella and household utensils dedicated to it. She prostrates herself, invokes its blessing and takes her breakfast, which like all other meals is simple, consisting principally of vegetables, fish and milk; then she enjoys a nap, chewing afterwards a mouthful of betel to color and strengthen her teeth. After she has changed her garments for secular robes she bathes, as a religious duty. If she is poor and lives near the Ganges, she goes to the sacred stream, and, as the sun rises and sets, washes her body and clothes at its banks. In the upper provinces, at all seasons of the year, hundreds of women can be seen daily walking toward its waters, with baskets of flowers upon their heads, chanting in chorus the praises of the sacred river of India. In the Hindu household, also, ladies are not permitted to participate in domestic occupations unless they bathe their bodies and change their garments, morning and afternoon.

Morning and evening, also, the priest visits the house to worship its god, bless the members of the family and carry away the offerings of rice, fruits, sweetmeats and milk. For the support of the household god the Hindu sometimes sets apart an endowment fund of landed property.


The birth of a male child is announced by the sounding of a conch or large shell, and when the mother hears the welcome note she is convinced that she has been under the kind charge of the goddess Shashthi, who has charge of children. Her heart sings for joy; for she knows that a male child will be welcomed by her husband; while, if the shell is mute, she raves in a double agony, for a little daughter is at first an interloper of the Hindu world. "The family barber bears the happy tidings of a son's birth to all the nearest relatives, and he is rewarded with presents of money and clothes. Oil, sweetmeats, fishes and curdled milk are presented to the relatives and neighbors, who, in return offer their congratulations. A rich Hindu, though he study practical domestic economy very carefully is, however, apt to loosen his purse string at the birth of a son and heir. The mother forgetting her trouble and agony, implores Bidhata (the god of fate) for the longevity of the child."

The goddess Shashthi is, on the sixth day after the great event, worshiped in front of the room where the child was born, the officiating priest making offerings of food and clothes. There are deposited in the mother's room a palm leaf, a pen and ink and a serpent's skin; the articles being to aid the god of fate in writing on the forehead of the child


its future destiny. On the eighth day, the children of the house and neighborhood, after being feasted, repair to the door of the room, beating upon a fan with small sticks, asking, "How is the child doing?" and shouting, upon a favorable reply being given, "Let it rest in peace on the lap of its mother."

The boy has in the meantime been blessed by his father and relatives, gold coins (for good fortune) have been forced into his baby hands, and he has been visited by the family astrologer, who has noted the day, the hour and the minute of his birth and cast his horoscope. He may be named after a god, which is common. If the child is a daughter, on the other hand, she may go through life, eventually loved and petted, but burdened with such a name as Ghyrna (despised). The ceremony of christening occurs when the child is six months old, upon which occasion it is fed with a little boiled rice which has been sanctified; the baby being shaved, clad in a silk garment and adorned with gold ornaments.


The boy grows like other babies, and besides the care he receives from his parents may likewise be protected by a metal charm, which is strung upon a string tied around his loins. At the age of five, if the astrologer pronounces the day propitious, the youngster is bathed, put in a new garment, and taken to the image of the goddess of learning, where the priest is again found waiting to intercede for him and bear away the offerings, as well as his own gift. He is then introduced to the master of the infant school, where he writes his letters upon the ground (five at a time) with a soft stone. As he advances, he writes upon palm leaves, slate and paper, with a wooden pen and ink, and each step is marked by a gift of food, clothes and money made by his parents to the master, the regular fee being from one penny to three pence a month. Reading and a little arithmetic are also taught.

To ensure an early attendance a master resorts to the practice of giving the first comer one rap with a cane, the second two, the third three, and the last boy, or a truant, is made to stand on one leg and hold out a brick in his right hand until he is completely exhausted. Another native mode of punishment is to apply the leaves of a stinging; plant to the back of the naughty boy.

When the boy is six years old, if his parents have become imbued with Western ideas and they can afford it, he is sent to one of the public schools of Calcutta, where he receives an education in both his own and the English language, and may eventually undergo a university training. But social and family duties may call him into other fields.



The education of the girl as a wife commences when she is little more than a baby. When she is five years old she is not brought before the goddess of learning, but before the goddess Doorga. This divinity, under the instruction of some elderly woman, the little girl represents by two tiny images of clay, which she makes and sprinkles with water from the Ganges, repeating as the drops fall, "All homage to Siva"; this being the name of Doorga's model husband, whom she worshiped before and after marriage. The innocent child is then required to offer flowers and leaves to the goddess, and flowers and sandal paste to Siva, to the god and husband. To a supposed question from the god as to her wishes, the baby replies that she desires the prince of the kingdom for her husband; that she may be beautiful and virtuous and the mother of "seven wise and virtuous sons and two handsome daughters," that she may have good daughters-in-law and sons-in-law and a well-filled granary and farm-yard; that her dear ones may enjoy long life and prosperity and that she may eventually die on the banks of the sacred Ganges.

Within the next few months the Hindu maiden makes various vows or "bratas," all accompanied by painting upon the floor with rice paste the images of gods, men, ornaments of gold and precious stones, houses and granaries, her prayer being for an affectionate husband, and only one. Her last performance (still a child of five years), after invoking a blessing from above, is to curse her possible rival of bed and board. The rival wife is called a "sateen," and she is to become "a slave," be exposed to infamy, have "her head devoured," and die — if she ever live; but her prayer is to "never be cursed with a ‘sateen’" — this is the lifelong prayer of a Hindu female from babyhood to old age.


The girls are married at from eight to thirteen years of age — in the opinion of the Hindus, the earlier the better. At the age of seventeen or eighteen the boy is a subject for matrimony. Sometimes the children are pledged to each other in infancy, or the marriage may be arranged by professionals, called "ghatucks."

The strongest point in favor of the youth, now-a-days, supposing that his social standing is good, is that he has passed successfully all the examinations of the university and has been honored with a degree. The parents of such a boy demand of the parents of the girl that they shall be guaranteed a long list of gold ornaments, which constitute the


if a prior wife is childless for seven years, if she has lost all her children by the tenth year, if for ten years she has borne only daughters, or, if she speak unkindly, "without delay." Great teachers of Brahmanism have even added to the various pretexts by which the Hindu has carried polygamy into his household, despite the life-long protests of the woman.

Polygamous Brahmans are known as "koolins," and native investigators, who have had the best opportunities to look into their family affairs, assert that their numerous marriages are made generally for purposes of worldly gain, or for bare support. When money is required for themselves or wives they pounce upon their father-in-laws for it. "Among the Turks," says a Hindu author, "seraglios are confined to men of wealth, but here a Hindu Brahman, possessing only a shred of cloth and a piece of thread, keeps more than a hundred mistresses. " The custom is furthermore said to be productive of crimes on the part of the women too horrible and unfit to relate, and from the abandoned wives and daughters of the koolins come most of the Hindu females of ill-repute. The parents of daughters who thus place their children in such jeopardy usually seek to have them married to Brahman koolins on account of the caste of the bridegroom and in order to keep up the honor of their families. The children of these marriages invariably remain with their mothers and are maintained by the relatives of these females. The pictures which have been drawn of the inner life of these harems are composed of constant quarreling between the wives on personal grounds and on account of their children, screaming and cursing, and forcibly expressed wishes by each that she may "eat the head" of the other, — viz., cause her death. Even separate cook rooms, separate apartments, and giving the same set of ornaments to each do not bring peace, especially if one of the wives has received the usual education of being taught to hate a rival.

An attempt is being made by native reformers, with which Hindustan is swarming, to abolish the Order of Merit, as the koolin system was first known. The British Government was even memorialized to take a legislative hand in its destruction, but refused to interfere with the social customs of the nation. The practice of burning widows with the dead bodies of their husbands, which has been a most ancient custom, has been abolished within the limits of British India (which comprises two-thirds of the area and five-sixths of the population of Hindustan), not by legislative enactment, but by gradually throwing many obstacles in the way of the horrible practice.

It would never, in all likelihood, have had so long an existence, were it not for the pious austerity which Manu enjoins upon the widow, as


a passport to paradise. She is to emaciate her body by living voluntarily on pure flowers, roots and fruits, not pronounce the name of another man, and to abstain from the common pursuits of life. She may not even take part in any good work which will bring her into contact with society, but is expected to remain with her mother, or grandmother, perhaps in the holy city of Benares living upon one coarse meal a day, fasting regularly twice a month and upon every religious celebration; to strip herself of even iron and gold bangles, earrings and bordered clothes; is not permitted to daub her forehead with vermilion, and is denied every feminine pleasure. If she has not children to solace her, in despair she shaves her head and pines away neglected, or, recklessly severs every tie, throws behind her all feminine honor and leads the worst life of which a Hindu woman is capable.


A Hindu family is patriarchal in its composition, husband and wife, sons, daughters and daughters-in-law dwelling under the same roof. Their own daughters may be married, also, as on account of the tender age of Hindu husbands their wives usually live at home for several years, and during this period the father-in-law is expected to support them all. When the head of the household therefore takes to his bed, laying aside all considerations as to natural affection, it is a season of great anxiety, and when the native physician announces that he is no more destined to have rice and water, torrents of grief are released from the men, women and children.

If possible, the sick man is borne on a cot to the banks of the Ganges and is told to look upon the sacred stream, and as he opens his eyes he sees scores of bodies, in all stages of life and death, brought thither to be stamped with the sacred seal. The person who is thus hurried to the Ganges is often entrusted to the care of servants, who, if he persist in living, "get tired of their charge and are known to resort to artificial means, whereby death is actually accelerated. They unscrupulously pour the unwholesome muddy water of the river down his already choked throat, and, in some cases, suffocate him to death. The process of Hindu ‘antarjal,’ or immersion, is another name for suffocation.

"In the case of an old man the return home after ‘immersion’ is infamously scandalous, but in that of an aged widow the disgrace is more poignant than death itself. Scarcely any effort has ever been made to suppress or even to ameliorate such a barbarous practice, simply because religion has consecrated it with its holy sanction." The above are the words of a former Brahman, who has seen the errors of his native religion.


He instances cases in which the aged of both sexes were returned to their homes, after they had undergone this murderous process a dozen times; anxious to die, having looked upon the Ganges, but unable to pass away, so vital is the spark of life. Disgraced beings, they dragged on a miserable existence, and one of them, a widow, at length drowned herself in the divine river, which is thought to flow from the throne of the gods.


If the man dies, with the names of the gods whispered in his ears by his attendants, his body is burned at the Nimtollah Ghaut, the most noted river terrace at Benares, the son setting fire to the pile, if he luckily is present. A portion of the body, which is not burned, is thrown into the Ganges, and the funeral pile is watered from the sacred stream, the son also bathing in it. Upon returning to the stricken home, he is greeted by the doleful cries of the females who are beating their breasts and tearing their hair.

For a month the son goes unshaved, with unpared finger nails, dresses in a simple white garment and lives upon a very slender diet. To fully carry out Hindu regulations, consisting of presents of money, brass pots, silver utensils, sweetmeats and sugar, to the Brahmans, the Pundits (professors), and so on down the grade of castes, with special entertainments, after the funeral, to the Brahmans, the "Kayastas" (writers) and other classes, a fortune is required. A late Rajah of Calcutta celebrated the demise of his illustrious father at an expense of $250,000. At the funeral services the distribution of garlands, according to caste, is an important feature of the proceedings and the cause of bitter jealousies. The "Gooroo," or spiritual guide, and the "punohit," officiating priest, are always most honored, the only question being as to how much.

At the feasts given to the Brahmans, and others, the guests place themselves on grass seats in long rows, in the court yard, and if the householder is wealthy they do not commence to eat until the number reaches two or three hundred. Each guest is provided with a piece of plaintain leaf and an earthen plate, and upon these receptacles are placed the fruits and sweetmeats. In spite of the utmost vigilance Hindus of the lower castes, decently dressed but poor, and willing to strive after a free lunch, often enter the court yard and obtain shares destined for the privileged class. They are not killed, however, as of yore, but are simply ejected; and, says a native, "some of the Brahmans who are invited do not scruple to take a portion home, regardless of the contaminated touch of a person of the lowest order, simply because the temptation is too strong to be resisted."


Next to the river, Benares is the natural object of the Hindus greatest veneration. Ruins found in the vicinity of the city, of palaces, mosques and temples, indicate that there was a Benares of far greater antiquity than the present; the Hindus believe it to have been founded


at the creation of the world. To die within its limits is to be sure of heaven. The waters of the Ganges are far holier in Benares than elsewhere. Along the terraced river-side fires are continually burning, on which smolder the bodies of the recent dead. Sacred bulls roam through its narrow streets, and from the temples dedicated to Doorga, troop forth hundreds of sacred yellow monkeys.


The Japanese.

THE native of Japan is a modification of the Mongol type as seen in the Chinese. He has eyes which are set less obliquely than those of his southern cousin; but his eyebrows are heavy, his face oval, his forehead high and his complexion is not uniform at all. He has even been classed as a Malayan, who in his bold voyages over every Asiatic sea settled in the "Land of the Rising Sun" and adopted the Mongol, or was by him adopted, the two forming the Japanese type.

The native of this empire, since his country has been unlocked to the outside world, is commencing to be known and appreciated as an intelligent, animated, enterprising gentleman; but it has long been a wonder how so mild and good-humored a people as they evidently are, can live under so sanguinary a code of laws. Death is the one general penalty. They are a proud people, though they acknowledge a supreme ruler, a spiritual monarch, the Mikado, who makes their laws. There is no middle class.


The government is the Mikado and the hereditary princes who form the imperial cabinet and govern the principalities of the empire. Japan allows no competitive examination for appointment to the civil service as the Chinese do, but all power is inherited. And not alone are the lines of caste so strictly drawn that it is only lawful for men of rank to enter a city on horseback; but so proud a people as the Japanese submit to a system of espionage which runs through every grade of society. These and other burdens to which they cheerfully submit are perhaps borne for the sake of their religion, which is so woven into the structure of their government that to tear at the fibres of one would be to injure the other.

The Mikado is the spiritual head of Shintoism, or their ancient and national religion, the essence of their worship being reverence for their ancestors and sacrifice to departed heroes; and the great aim of their


religion is obedience to the edicts of the government. The three great commandments issued by the Department of Religion a few years ago, and intended to be the basis of a reformed Shinto, are as follows:— "Thou shalt honor the gods and love thy country; thou shalt clearly understand the principles of heaven and the duty of man; thou shalt revere the Emperor as thy sovereign and obey the will of his court."

The Shinto temples are made of pure wood called "sunwood," and in them are seen mirrors and strips of white paper, emblems of self-examination and purity. The sun and moon are worshiped. Cleanliness of person and cheerfulness of heart are cardinal virtues. The heroes of the country are canonized and worshiped, the most popular of the minor deities being the god of war, one of their brave emperors. The forms of worship are simple:

"The devotee approaches under the gateways until within a short distance of the door. He then stops, flings a few coins in the box or on the floor, folds his hands in a posture of reverence, mutters his prayers and departs."

Buddhism, however, is the popular religion of Japan, while many of the higher classes reject all worship of idols and accept the Confucian philosophy of life and morality. But the Mikado cares not what religion is professed so long as they acknowledge his divinity; whence has come about the persecution of Christians — not because they held to any distasteful religious beliefs, but because their creed made them rebels to the government.


Among the Chinese, politeness is inculcated as the outward manifestation of an equable and moral character; with the Japanese politeness is scarcely distinguishable from morality itself, and actions are looked upon as bad if they grate upon their keen sensibilities. Etiquette is the study of rich and poor. It is a great science, clearly defined, systematized and taught in the school from divers text books. Five years of study, among the educated classes, are devoted to it, both theoretically and practically, and until Japanese scholars and the Japanese government brought back from England and America a knowledge of modern institutions and countries, the scope of the higher education


covered the ground of Confucian classics, social and court forms and Japanese and Chinese history. But, although the scope has been enlarged, etiquette is still the polished corner-stone of Japanese society and the japanning is carried over the lower structure itself, so that even the servants and coolies bow and bend to one another and use a formal and courtly language which would even give pleasure to a Lord Chesterfield. The contrast between the Eastern forms of etiquette and those of the West is too well known to warrant an expansion of the theme. One peculiar form of Japanese table etiquette, however, has not often been exposed. When a cup of rice, beer or tea has been emptied at a feast, it is quite a delicate mark of attention for the guest who desires more to throw it across the table to a brother guest, who, in turn, hands it to the damsel in waiting. If one desires to introduce himself to another at a banquet the proper way is to offer his cup to the person whom he wishes to know; if the guest would honor him with his acquaintance he drinks and returns the cup.

The Japanese are the greatest eaters of marine animals in the world, and their fish markets are found everywhere. Raw fish is even a favorite article of food. River, lake and sea are frequented by thousands of fishermen and women. Many of the latter are expert divers, remaining in the water for hours and swimming for long distances with heavy bags of shell-fish on their shoulders. No meal would be complete without fish.

"The visitor is always served with tea, sweetmeats laid on white paper on a tray and a little bowl with a live coal in it to light his pipe with. It is etiquette to carry away the remnants of the cake or candy, folded up in the paper and put in


the wide sleeve. Meat, venison, poultry, game and large vegetables are cut or sliced before being brought on the table. Food is eaten out of lacquered wooden bowls and porcelain cups, chop-sticks taking the place of the knife and fork. A feast is accompanied by music and dancing and the last of the merry courses is rice and tea."


The Japanese do not approve of such early marriages as most of the Orients — twenty years for the man and sixteen for the woman are considered proper ages. Betrothals are not entirely in the hands of parents, either. The young man himself, when he desires to marry, sends a third party, it is true, to arrange the affair; but it is usually one of his married friends, and he is seldom rushed into matrimony without having had a chance to meet the lady. The will of the parents has its weight, but it is not supreme as in Corea and China. When the wedding day has been fixed, the trousseau of the bride and her wedding gifts are sent to the house of the groom. They are followed by the little woman herself, dressed in white, borne in a palanquin and escorted by her parents. The gayly attired bridegroom receives her, escorts her to the hall, where before the altar of the domestic gods, decorated with images and symbolic plants, they are betrothed and married by the same ceremony. No priest is in attendance, but the forms are simple and touching, the final one consisting in the young couple drinking together from a two-mouthed bottle, thereby pledging themselves to drain the waters of life together.

The above is a mere outline of the formalities required by Japanese society to unite a couple in marriage. To conscientiously observe them all is to incur a greater expense than many of the people can bear. It is therefore a favorite plan, in order to evade these responsibilities, for the youth and maiden to collude with the parents and feign a runaway match in which the ceremony is necessarily brief and inexpensive.

The education of women in all the walks of life consists, almost entirely, in forming her into an expert housewife. The Woman's Great Study is an immense volume, which may be said to contain the national standard of excellence toward which all females are instructed to strive. Obedience to parents, husband, and if a widow, to the eldest son, is the grand injunction. The study of etiquette, which is such an important part of popular education, does not cease during the lifetime of the Japanese lady. There are few more affectionate mothers than the Japanese. They treat their children as infants until they are two years of age, carrying them constantly with them.



A very short time ago it was considered the height of temerity for a foreigner to travel outside of the five open ports of Yokohama, Nagasaki, Hiogo, Niegati and Hokodadi. The danger did not come from the hostility of the common people so much as from the jealousies of the princes and nobles of the empire. Although they have become reconciled to the existence of another order of civilization than their own, it is still best to engage the services of a native policeman, especially if one is about to venture into the streets of a large city. This functionary, in uniform, resembles a gaunt woman with a gaudy umbrella tied to her head, dressed in a loose jacket and skirt and armed with two swords carried underneath the outer garment. If the yakonin is mounted, in masculine fashion of course, his appearance is all the more ludicrous. Should the journey be a long one he would be escorted by runners, naked except for a cloth around the loins. From a distance this latter statement would scarcely be credited, for the entire bodies of the escorts are tattooed, being often covered with figures representing jackets and breeches, seamed and checked, with buttons and all. So, supposing that the services of the yakonin have been engaged, the stranger proceeds to examine the costumes and personal appearance of the Japanese, whether old or young, high or low.

Japanese women have become noted for their striking and coquettish dress. They take especial pride in arranging their glossy hair, it being usually divided into three great sections, fastened with large ornamental pins or pretty ribbons. Both sexes wear a large open dressing gown, the women crossing it in front and tying it behind with an enormous sash. As the little women trot along in their wooden sandals, they are truly pleasing objects to contemplate. A lady of high standing is often attired in a garment of rich silk, beautifully decorated with flowers and vines, wearing over her shoulders a sack or shawl of plain but rich material.

That hideous practice, which was formerly well-nigh universal, by which women above twenty years of age, and all who were married, shaved off their eyebrows and blackened their teeth, is gradually dying out. The reform originated at court twenty years ago and is rapidly


spreading. The custom was rooted in the Oriental idea that a married woman belonged, body and soul, to her husband; and her husband chose to make her unattractive, to the outside world at least. The Japanese maiden, wife and widow, are now distinguishable in society by the style of their coiffure. If it were not for the immoderate use of paint the women would be as attractive as those of any country, with their glossy dark brown hair, oval faces, slender graceful forms, and elegant manners. In the young, the natural complexion is seen to be fair, and when a lady of the upper class who is not exposed to the weather, leaves all her paint in the box, she often appears with a face as white as a European's.

Usually, head coverings are not worn, except broad screens to keep off sun and rain, and a simple cloth cap and face protector in winter. Oiled paper or straw overcoats are worn in rainy weather, and the fan is carried by men and women. Loose trousers are the distinguishing mark of the nobility, but the hideous pantaloons formerly worn at court, which completely covered the wearer's feet and spread out far to the side, and the upper garment with its enormous, flapping sleeves, have given place to European attire. The higher classes, however, have their rank indicated by the crest of the family or clan, which is worked upon the breast and back of the outer robe. The carrying of swords — two or more for the nobility, and one for the common people — is a custom which is quite obsolete.

The higher class of medical practitioners, such as the court physicians, shave their heads completely, as do the priests; but the common masculine fashion is to shave off the hair about three inches in front, comb it up from the back and sides and glue it into a tuft at the top of the head, where it is confined by pins of gold or tortoise shell.


The Japanese have not the staid, placid dispositions of the Chinese. They are more light-hearted, and even at table often enliven the simple courses with music upon the guitar. Tokio has a permanent fair, and


here may be witnessed the diverse forms of amusement which tickle the lively minds of these people. In the center is an immense temple, surrounded by groves and tea houses. A wide, well-paved road, which passes through the grounds, is planted to maples and covered with merchants who squat upon their mattresses and proclaim the virtues of their goods. One has a heap of dead rats beside him — he sells rat poison. Another fondles the head and claws of a bear — he vends bear grease, for the skin. Bank lotteries, stereoscopes and telescopes are temptingly displayed for trial. The astrologer and the professional story-teller and news-agent are also here. The latter tells about the last murder and the way in which the villain was punished, and for a little money distributes leaflets containing the account to his auditors, that they may bear the exciting tale to absent ones.


The uproar of the crowd is pierced with the cries, songs and dissonance of the mountebanks, players and jugglers; they are balancing sticks, swallowing swords, whirling bottles and cups, making flowers grow from nothing, crushing birds and reviving them, breaking eggs and bringing cart loads of silks from them, and the climax of every wonder is being made more startling by the shrill note of fife, the clang of drum or the rattle of tambourine in the hands of able assistants. The music is not calculated to educate one's taste, but rather to distract the attention of the lynx-eyed native at critical points.

A group of Japanese acrobats, who perform beneath a great shed on the fair grounds, draw an immense crowd as they do everywhere. Their balancing poles are very long false noses, upon which children may perch with safety, or stand thereon upon their own shorter proboscides. Another difficult trick is where the performer places an egg upright on his forehead and upon the egg balances a saucer. Juggling tricks as performed by native geniuses are simply miraculous — until you know how they are done. The common manner of applause is to strike the palm of the left hand with the closed fan, this action being accompanied with a slight cry of satisfaction.


This subdued applause is impossible, however, when the ponderous feats of the Japanese wrestlers are under review. The contests take place in circuses. In the centre is the ring, a platform slightly elevated and surrounded by a double pile of straw sacks. The wrestlers, who are


usually mountains of avoirdupois, divide into companies and squat around the ring. The master of ceremonies, armed with his fan of command, calls a rival from each company, and the two giants are loudly applauded as they raise their arms above their heads to salute the immense audience. Then, sprinkling grains of rice and drops of water about the arena, which is covered with gravel, in order to propitiate the god of gladiators, they moisten their limbs, rub some sand between their hands to insure a firm grasp, and rush at each other like mad bulls. The object of the conflict is, by blows or by clinching, to expel each other from the ring.

From the middle of the seventh century, when Japan was favored with its first Mikado, these gladiators have been an honored class, proudly tracing their descent through a line of more or less illustrious ancestors. The nobility of Japan, even, do not disdain their acquaintance; in fact, the leaders of the wrestlers once wore swords, a sign of nobility. The wrestlers themselves are members of a great organization, presided over by their king or acknowledged champion. Each province furnishes its quota of athletes, who form a minor society whose head is the champion of the province. Every professional must be incorporated with some society and be content with a salary, the champion, on the other hand, drawing from the proceeds of the entertainments and being responsible to the king only. The Mikado fixes the length of time during which the companies shall exhibit at the principal towns.


Open-air theatricals and exhibitions of puppets are favorite forms of amusement with the poorer classes, the more wealthy people attending regular theatres. The play commences at sunrise, crowds of tradesmen, clerks and prosperous artisans hastening toward the doors of the theatre, with their gaily dressed wives and children. A lady of the nobility occasionally slides in (incognito), but her husband can not attend even in disguise. There is no law against such enjoyment, but he would thereby seriously imperil his standing in society.

The wife of the well-to-do tradesman appears, however, in her true colors. She even commenced to prepare for this enjoyable event the evening before. The hair-dresser built a tower upon her head, and during the night she could not even turn upon her block of wood. Upon the morrow she arose, bathed, washed her neck, shoulders and arms with milk-starch; blackened her eyebrows with a pencil; coated her lips with a golden preparation which afterwards turned to vermilion; decked herself with silken robes, confined by a sash which was twisted around the hips and tied behind in a great bow — then eating a light breakfast with


her husband and child, and providing them with other refreshments which might be required, she was prepared to be borne away to the theatre in her palanquin.

The performance may last fifteen hours, or forty-five, but after having bought their tickets, hired their cushions and procured their programmes at an adjoining tea house, the family are prepared to give themselves up entirely to pleasure, notwithstanding that there are other headdresses in all portions of the great hall as obstructing to the view as our lady's. In the center of the theatre is a small platform occupied by a special policeman. The stage stretches across one side of the hall and the orchestra of drums, flutes and three-stringed guitars is in front, to the left. Galleries run around the hall, the ground floor being divided into square boxes by wooden partitions. Two boarded platforms run from the stage on either side to the opposite end of the hall, and along these pathways the actors make their entrances and exits. The play of several hours or several days is almost entirely pantomime, a choir of singers and an ear-splitting orchestra keeping up a constant din.

But hour after hour the happy natives applaud a favorite actor, a melodramatic representation or even a gesture, partaking of refreshments which are handed to them by waiters who walk along the ledges of the wooden partitions, the men constantly lighting their small copper pipes at the little brazier, or pan of live coals, which stands in the middle of each box.

The stage turns upon a pivot, so that as one set of actors passes out of sight a new lot, already gesticulating, posturing, groaning, laughing, scowling and otherwise using the universal language, comes before the audience. But by far the most unique feature of Japanese theatricals is embodied in the "Shadow."

"He is clothed entirely in black, wears a black cowl, and stands close behind the actor, off of whom he never takes his eye for an instant, and whose every movement he follows as though


he were his reflection. He hands him all the little accessories he is in need of, and places a small stool at the right moment for him to sit upon and prevent the inconvenient posture of squatting. The eye can not at first accustom itself to this black form stalking so silently about the boards; but in a theatre, all is so conventional that the quaint impression soon wears away, and, once admitted, this shadow certainly fills a most useful part. Amongst other services, when the day wanes he holds a lighted candle at the end of a stick under the nose of the actor to render his gestures and features distinguishable."


The bath in Japan is what it was in Rome in the ancient days, with this difference — that in the Eastern Empire both sexes formerly performed their ablutions in common. Of late years, however, the practice has been prohibited. Although contrary to all Western ideas of propriety, the subsequent conduct of maidens who daily repaired to the public house was modest and ladylike. The custom was one of great antiquity, and as whole streets were devoted to bathing houses and they were national institutions, supported by father, son, mother and daughter, so far as might be judged by outsiders, the custom was not productive of lamentable results.

Nearly each house of the upper classes has attached to it, also, private bathing rooms, but they are often unused. Hot-water baths are considered as necessary to a Japanese as eating or sleeping; so that besides his morning bath he goes through a course of parboiling later in the day. As he is religiously opposed to wetting his head, he is frequently stricken with apoplexy before he leaves his little leather tub and the gossiping and laughing crowd of men who frequent the bathing hall.

Next to the bathing hall the tea house is the most popular of


resorts. In the cities, in the suburbs, far out into the country, the tea houses spring from the most picturesque localities. Upon public road they often reach the dignity of hotels; in retired country nooks they descend to mere huts of wood and paper, covered with a thatched roof, but snug and inviting, notwithstanding. In establishments of any pretensions young girls wait upon customers, who sit cross-legged upon soft mats and slowly sip their bowls of tea. By calling for them they also will be served with rice, brandy, eggs or fish. The saddest phase of Japanese life is seen in another class of tea houses, called "Joro-jas." They are frequented by night, the entrances being guarded by wooden gratings. Beyond are halls lighted sufficiently with paper lanterns for any passer-by to discern the richly attired young girls squatting together in a group for inspection, like so many bedizened wax dummies. They range from fourteen to twenty years of age, and their beautiful jet black hair is artistically arranged and ornamented with yellow tortoise shells. Within are beautiful gardens and pavilions, and Japanese musicians and dancers, some of them mere children, who have been sold into slavery by poor parents.


The rapid changes which the Japanese are undergoing from native to European civilization are best illustrated by a glance at Yeddo, or as it has been known for many years Tokio, the capital of the empire. Its settled districts, with beautiful gardens and groves, wide streets and canals, cover an area of nearly sixty square miles. Tokio lies in a broad valley, which slopes toward the waters of the Bay of Yeddo. All around are wooded hills and the cypress, palm, bamboo and evergreen oaks spring up on every side. Charming suburbs, with snug hedgerows and shady lanes, nestle around the bustling city, which is itself broken into magnificent parks adorned with artificial lakes, pavilions, and temples which are used for civil as well as religious purposes. The very heart of the city is a bewildering succession of these temple gardens, and here is the official quarter, which comprises an area of five square miles surrounded by a triple line of fortifications and containing the former palaces of the nobles. These great structures, as well as the castle of the Tycoon (who was formerly the real ruler of Japan), are built on the summit of a range of hills. Massive walls and gateways, macadamized roads, deep moats in which are myriads of wild fowl, with groups of buildings standing upon bold elevations, green slopes, overhanging groves, and everything which the fine artistic sense of the Japanese mind, aided by nature, can suggest, combine to make this district of


the city one of the most alluring spots in the world. The residences of the daimios surrounded the palace of the Tycoon, but with his degradation and the entrance of foreigners to the empire many of the nobles deserted their homes and retired in disgust to the country. Space which was formerly monopolized by such useless magnificence is now covered with government buildings, cotton, woolen and paper mills, colleges, schools, arsenals and foundries. In the imperial university are 100 foreign instructors, and the schools and colleges are attended by 60,000 or 70,000 pupils. The youth of the land are bright and ambitious, as several of the universities of America know full well.

Elementary schools are being established throughout the empire; the law of 1872 providing for 53,000 of them. Forty per cent, of the children of school age are receiving instruction, and among the youth and manhood of the land the fever to imbibe European ideas is at its height. Not only are the higher schools and colleges thronged, but private tutors of standing are besieged on all sides. One of these masters at Tokio is an author of political and social works and a translator from the best Western writers. His students already fill many important government offices, and others have established a newspaper which vigorously criticises all public acts. Throughout Japan there are between 300 and 400 newspapers and periodicals, and school books, and works on political, scientific, ethical, historical and poetical subjects are constantly issuing from the press.

Outside of the district which may be considered as under the immediate patronage of the Mikado and the government, is the business and residence territory. Within this are miles of stone and brick buildings in the modern style of architecture, with miles more of open booths. A horse vehicle is not so great a wonder in Tokio as in other portions of the empire, and carts piled high with goods of all descriptions are being dragged through the streets in endless procession. Bathhouses, fireproof warehouses, mounted policemen; natives in black coats and leather shoes as well as in native costume; newspaper offices using the metal types and running off their sheets on cylinder presses; telegraph wires, connecting not only the police districts, but the other chief cities of the empire with the capital; locomotives running to Yokohama, the foreign mercantile settlement seventeen miles away, and others now building to run over longer lines; sewing and knitting machines and banks are thrown together — the old and the new brought together in striking contrast. But sufficient is seen to place the Japanese in the list of decidedly progressive and remarkable people.

In one of the most thickly settled districts of Tokio is a massive


wooden bridge spanning the river Okawa. It is not a remarkable engineering achievement and only interesting as being the center of the empire and the point from which distances are reckoned — so many ri (two and one-half miles) from the "Nipon-bas," as the bridge is called, north or south.

Tokio is the most noteworthy illustration of the spread of European ideas; for here are manufactured from foreign models such articles as watches, clocks, globes, thermometers, barometers, microscopes, telescopes, knives, spoons, looking-glasses, rugs, carpets, clothing, etc.; but in all the large cities and towns, the new is crowding out the old, and even pickles, condensed milk, fancy soap, patent medicines, wines and brandies, are swinging into line.


Legalized suicide is an institution peculiar to China and Japan. It is called "harri-kari" in the latter empire, and the mode of legalized procedure is to disembowel one's self with a sharp knife; this is peculiarly Japanese. Efforts are being made to suppress the disgrace, which is still a hideous instrument employed by cruel and autocratic daimios to punish those who have offended them; the unfortunates are ordered to commit harri-kari, and such is the power which the princes often have over their subjects, that the self-murder is generally committed. On the other hand, it is often considered a privilege of which the nobility themselves take advantage.


The common Japanese houses have frameworks of wood, to which are fastened reeds or bamboo, and the interstices filled with mud, with wooden door and window frames covered with paper, broad eaves and a veranda running completely around. The rain doors, or outer shutters, protect the inner ones during stormy weather. Within are paper partitions, which can be slid out of sight, and the whole house thrown into a hall to accommodate the pleasure-seeking people. No house is without its gem of a garden. It matters not how tiny it is, the ground is laid out in beautiful groves of dwarf shrubs which surround miniature lakes, little streams over which green arches are thrown to represent bridges, or leafy bowers which would scarcely accommodate a company of Lilliputians. The houses are often loaded with blue lilies and other flowers, while these artificial landscapes are enclosed with bamboo fences over which creep trailing vines and plants.


The palaces of the nobility are simply several of these houses, united by corridors of stone or wood, roofed over with cement, and surrounded by a continuous rampart of smaller whitewashed structures, in which the domestics reside. The Mikado's palace is a "yashki" of larger dimensions, comprising many courts and streets, and scores of houses, pavilions and corridors, with beautifully varnished, gilded and sculptured roofs.

When the sound of the tocsin is heard from the fire tower there is naturally great alarm; for fires in all the cities of Japan are destructive. It is estimated that Tokio is burned all over once every seven years. When the flames fairly get a headway the most that can be done is to pull down a great area of buildings, and remove the goods in their immediate pathway to the nearest fire-proof warehouse. This is shaped like a tower, built of wood and encased with cement or mud, sometimes a foot in thickness. The doors and windows are built of the same material, are closed upon the approach of a conflagration and the cracks plastered up with mud. Candles have been lighted inside to convert the oxygen of the air into carbonic acid gas, so that the building is made absolutely fire proof. These warehouses, or low towers, are also used upon the approach of the typhoon or hurricane.

Fire, wind and earthquake are the three forces of nature with which the Japanese are obliged to contend, and their houses, which are seldom more than thirty feet in height, are constructed with reference to the latter. If they are two stories high, the second is built more substantially than the first (experience has taught them that this is the safer plan) — the upper one comprising the living rooms and the lower the cellar for the storage of provisions.


The same delicacy of taste and sense of propriety are noticed in the interior as in the exterior arrangements. Simplicity, cleanliness, harmony of design and coloring, and comfort are the uppermost features. Thick mats of rice straw cover the floor, over which members of the family walk barefooted. Writing is done by kneeling before a table about a foot high. When the letter is finished the table is put away in a cupboard. The family eat sitting on their heels around a small table. After dinner every person takes a nap of several hours. In the evening comes another meal, and after the table is cleared men, women and children produce their pencils, brushes, paints and papers, and give exhibitions of their skill. The height of the artist's ambition is not so much to excel in delineating Nature's moods as to draw and


paint in the most surprisingly ingenious methods. He will put in ahead here, a tail there, a tree in one corner, a house in another, a leg in the air, an arm beneath, an eye glancing out of space, and when all have tired themselves in guessing what it all can mean, a few rapid strokes of pencil and brush will join everything together and form a tolerable picture.

Other games succeed the artistic efforts, and they are enjoyed by son, father, grandfather, even to the fourth generation; and the same universal love of diversion is witnessed out of doors, where the natives fly kites and indulge in feats of skill, everyone entering heartily into the sport, from the infant who can hardly walk to the sire who can just totter around. When night comes, they envelop themselves in lame warm night robes, placing their day clothes either in an open cabinet or upon a frame which stands near and repose upon a straw matting covered with a quilt, with a wooden block stuffed at the top for a pillow. It is customary, also, to have a teapot with cups beside the bed, with conveniences for heating, so that the day may be ushered in with one or more cups of the favorite beverage. Day and night the brazier is kept burning, and if the Japanese is not drinking tea, he is usually somewhere in the vicinity of the teapot, smoking and gossiping with his friends.


Regard for the dead is manifested by the Japanese in the same way as by the Chinese. The ancestral tablet is placed with the household gods, and the family altar is their most sacred shrine. If the body is interred, it is buried in a sitting posture, with the hands folded. The coffins are invariably circular. The ceremonies at the grave are conducted by priests, and even here there is little of that depressing spirit of mourning manifested, which, with some, is considered a religious as well as a social duty. The nearest relatives are dressed in grayish white,


the men wear coarse straw hats, and the women discard their elaborate ornaments, merely wearing a comb in the hair. The cemetery is bright with flowers, and each family has its own enclosure, marked with simple stones or massive granite monuments.

If the deceased has expressed a desire to have his body burned, after the ceremonies have been performed in the temple, the corpse is carried to a small house, placed upon a stone scaffold, and being consumed in the presence of priests, the bones are carefully drawn from the fire by men armed with sticks. The remaining ashes are placed in an urn, and carried to the tomb by the relatives.


Government and people combine to make Japan a garden, and to utilize every possible acre of ground. The land is divided into small holdings, irrigated, enriched and cultivated according to the Chinese methods. The plough generally in use is a heavy piece of wood fastened obliquely to a beam, and hollowed out so as to receive a piece of iron which serves as a share. When the land has been inundated from the canals in early spring, it is broken up into a liquid paste and the rice is cast into the ground by hand. It is then harrowed; when the young rice begins to shoot it is transplanted and reaches maturity in October. The transformation of the tea plant into commercial forms is accomplished through the same processes in Japan as in China. When you are intimate with the agriculture of either country you can "farm it" in the other.

As horticulturists, however, the Japanese stand alone in certain specialities. They seem even to carry their feats of legerdemain into this department. They will grow you a cedar many feet in circumference or only a few inches; a head of lettuce larger than a bushel basket or smaller than a rose, but healthy and productive in either case. Among other wonders in this line a sight-seer mentions the vigorous appearance of a fir, a bamboo and a cherry tree, which were growing in a box 5 x 2 inches. It is by the application of this remarkable skill that the Japanese are enabled to delineate upon the tiniest pieces of ground, the boldest and most charming landscapes.

With the introduction into Japan of steam power and modern machinery the native manufactures are already undergoing many changes, not always for the better. It is an open question, therefore, whether in certain lines of work the Japanese have not reached their greatest perfection. Their lacquer work and their bronzes are the finest in the world. For the former they have become so noted as to have given a


common word to the English language — japanning. The varnish which they use is mixed slowly and smoothly upon a copper palette with the coloring matter, and after being applied five or six times, being allowed to dry after each application, is scraped and polished with a stone or bamboo utensil. The mother-of-pearl figures are cut out and colored underneath, placed upon the varnish and undergo the same process as the wood.

The bronzes are not only noted for the fineness of the metal but for the beauty of the finish. They are richly decorated with figures representing national heroes, mythological personages, and historical events, as well as birds, animals and landscapes. The swords of Japan are almost as famous as the Damascus blades. In short, as workers in iron, copper and brass they are unexcelled.

Their paper, which they make from the mulberry tree, is tough, glossy and fine, and is used for napkins. The bark of the tree is boiled in an alkaline composition, washed, and mixed with a preparation of rice; being thus reduced to a smooth paste, the mixture is formed into sheets by being pressed between bamboo laths.

The Japanese tend their silkworms as carefully as their children. The art of weaving is, by legendary account, of celestial origin, and is considered as of as royal a nature as it is in China. The lovely maiden who brought the art to earth returned to her home in one of the heavenly constellations, and upon the seventh day of the seventh month, as the stars appear, Japanese women and girls spread beneath their kindly rays silken threads of various colors, offering fruits and flowers to the divinities who control the cunning of human hands.


In the decoration of their fans, houses, metal and wood work, and the arrangement of their beautiful parks, the Japanese exhibit their artistic talents to the best advantage. Birds, flowers and fruit are their favorite themes, and they delineate them in perfect forms and exquisite colors. But when they come to the representation of landscapes, where perspective is required, their efforts are crude in the extreme; in fact, they are such masters of detail that they can not conceive how it is that every feather and shade of color should not be distinctly brought out of the bird upon the wing in the far distance as well as every line of the palace which stands in the foreground The Japanese have made a close study of anatomy, but Japanese artists slur the "human form divine" most shamefully. It is generally draped and properly attired in


native costume, when appearing in their pictures, and a Japanese sculptor would be a curiosity indeed.

Like the Chinese the Japanese are persistent musicians, although they produce but little music. Music is part of every woman's education, her favorite instruments being a three-stringed banjo and a larger instrument which is placed upon the ground and played with slender strips of bamboo.


There is one entire race of people who engage in fishing — the Aοnos, who inhabit the island of Yezo, to the north of Niphon. They are the aborigines of the archipelago. In appearance they are small and thick set, with wide foreheads, black, horizontal eyes and fair skin. The women dress in zouave style, wear broad-brimmed hats with a conical center, or simply cloths tied over the head. The men have tight-fitting pantaloons, with a cloak fastened with a sash, the cloth for which is made from sea-weed.

The Aοnos have no traditions of their origin, but they believe they came from the west, although they differ from all the tribes of Eastern Siberia. They worship the fish and the wolf and make


no attempt to cultivate their land. The Aοnos were formerly masters of the archipelago, north of Niphon, and after being driven from that island fought stubbornly for many years and were not reduced to complete subjection until the fourteenth century. They are rapidly decreasing in numbers and are being crowded into the northern districts of the only island which remains to them; so that before long it is probable that they will be extinct.


It seems probable that the Coreans are of the great Tungoosic stock to which the Mantchoos belong and which has spread over so great a portion of Northern Asia. Their language is Mongolian, and they are both taller and stouter than either the Chinese or Japanese. But although they have been conquered by the Mantchoos, the Japanese and the Chinese, the latter have retained the supremacy, and they render even a less tribute to the empire than does Mongolia. Their religions, however, are borrowed from China and the nature of the government is Confucian.

Literary attainment is the basis of political preferment. The examinations all take place in Seoul, the capital of the kingdom, the preliminary one being conducted annually, and those of higher grade when His Majesty is in need of government officers. The king is absolute, although there are near to him the Counsellor of the Right, the Counsellor of the Middle and the Counsellor of the Left. The six Chinese departments appear in Corea, the Interior, the Treasury, the War, the Public Works, and the departments of Justice and Religious Rites. Each department has its head, whose title, translated, is "decisive signature," and he is assisted by several "helps-to-decide" and "helps-to-discuss."

The provinces into which the kingdom is divided have each a governor, who has six assistants; these assistants, who are rulers of districts, are aided by six other officials upon whom, in turn, depend six other functionaries. Three and multiples of three seem to be considered magic numbers.

The audience hall of the King's palace, which is of the Chinese form of architecture, is faced by three gates; the approach from the gates to the first flight of steps is flanked on either side by eighteen granite slabs upon which are engraved the different ranks of His Majesty's subjects and which mark also the precise point to which they may advance toward his divine presence, when a royal reception is on hand.


Three Centuries of Discovery.


THE discoveries which Columbus made, and which he inspired others to make, are those which have led to the creation of America as we know it to-day. It is true that his object was to find the land of Cathay, with its cities of gold and oceans of spices; that he did not originate the theory that the eastern bounds of Asia would be reached by sailing to the West, and that he believed to his dying day that he had found nothing more than the outlying lands of the Old World. It is true that his purpose was to convert the people of the East to the sway of the Catholic faith and their Catholic Majesties, and to spend one-fourth of the gold which he obtained upon another crusade for the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre. He believed, moreover, in all the meelstroms, seas of mud and slimy weeds, and hideous monsters of water, land and air, with which Europeans had for ages been crowding the Western regions. Columbus was filled with all the fanaticism and superstition, as well as the geographical knowledge, of his times.

But the hero is he who trembles and yet goes right on. Thus for years Columbus braved the hisses of courtiers, the scorn of kings and the storm of churchmen, and finally sailed out into the unknown dangers, of the mysterious West to prove his faith in his theory. He deceived his men as to the distance they were sailing that he might quiet their fears of getting beyond the point where the rotundity of the earth would allow them to return home. The variations of the needle, which he did not himself understand, he promptly "explained" to his followers. He encouraged the despondent, calmly checked the turbulent, held out promises of gold and spices to the avaricious, and when his private logbook indicated that he had reached the point where land ought to lie, he confidently predicted its appearance. Soon thereafter came the floating weeds, the birds, the flickering lights, the discovery of the little island — the glorious day of October 12, 1492, which is soon to be made even more glorious by the Columbian Exposition.


When Columbus landed, he found that the simple natives of the New World looked upon him and his men as celestial beings, and he begged his followers to so conduct themselves that the savages would have no cause for changing their minds. Very soon, however, such articles as bits of broken glass, straps and hoops of wine barrels were being given to the Indians in exchange for pieces of gold, pearls and other valuables which they considered common and valueless. From first to last the commander protested against this deceit. Nevertheless, upon his departure from Hispaniola he captured a number of Indians and carried them to Spain, that they might be baptized, learn the Spanish tongue, act as interpreters and spread the faith. Great was the excitement when he returned to his native land with these unearthly people. He had heard, he said, of natives with tails and without hair, but had found no monsters. The West was not so dreadful as men thought, and hundreds now flocked to Columbus begging to be enrolled under him.

At this time Seville was the principal point in Spain for the outfitting of ships, and was the headquarters of many wealthy business houses. At their head was a certain Bernardi, and associated with him was an energetic young Florentine — a scholar, geographer, astronomer and merchant — Americus Vespucius. One of Vespucius' ambitions was to repair the shattered financial fortunes of his family, which was already famous in the politics of the republic of Florence. This firm it was which bought the meats, wines, grain and other provisions for the ships of Columbus' second fleet, and the two men who were to be so closely connected with the history of America were thrown together in such a way that they became not only associates but friends.

The ships weighed anchor on September 25, 1493. Columbus found Jamaica and other islands, nearly sailing to the western extremity of Cuba. From Hispaniola he wrote a letter to a friend at court, sending him gold, fruits, plants, and five hundred Indians to be sold in Seville. These natives, it should be remarked, were believed to be cannibals, and were considered as prisoners of war — bondsmen who were to be taught Spanish and some useful occupation, converted and be returned to the Indies as agents of good among their people. But these benevolent intentions were not to be realized. Even in Hispaniola both Indians and Spaniards were becoming quarrelsome and rebellious, the natives having long ago been undeceived as to their belief in the heavenly nature of the new comers.

Some eighteen months after writing the letter to his friend, Columbus returned again to Spain with such striking evidences of gold that he


insisted he had found King Solomon's mines. Then a regular board for the conduct of Indian affairs was established. This was the first step taken by Ferdinand to dispossess Columbus of the Admiralty of the Indies, which office he held under the license granted him when he ventured out into the western ocean. The discoveries were growing into something worthy of being coveted even by a king.

As his ships entered the tropics, on their third voyage, Columbus says that such heat was suffered that the wheat burned like tinder, the hoops burst from the wine and water barrels, and the bacon and salt meat fried as in an oven. All gave themselves up for lost, believing that the common report was to be verified — that here was the zone of fire in which no man could live. But as they approached the equinoctial and the continent the temperature became balmy and heavenly. As Columbus approached the Island of Trinidad, being borne along on the strong currents flowing toward the west, there came toward him a sheer wall of water. The meeting of the Orinoco floods and the Atlantic currents was terrible, and his escape from the Dragon's Mouth (as he called the Gulf of Paria) was a miracle. Columbus was in doubt, also, whether such a vast body of fresh water was drained from a continent or issued from Paradise. He concluded that Paradise "must be near these parts and near the summit of the earth, which here in the region of the equinoctial rises like the stalk of a pear."

Having discovered the Coast of Pearls, he dispatched a letter to Their Highnesses, expressing his entire confidence in their friendship and support, yet hinting that his enemies who grumble at the small quantities of spices, pearls and gold which he sent home may be like water dropping upon a stone. And these fears were not groundless. All of Christendom was aroused over the Columbian discoveries. Even the English had sent the Cabots to search for an Indian passage to the Northwest. They had penetrated the Arctic region, discovered land near the mouth of the St. Lawrence, and dropped nearly to the limit of the Spanish explorations. Later the Portuguese sailed even farther north, and it is supposed that the two Cortereals were lost, between 1501-2, in the storms and ices of Hudson Bay. The old companions of Columbus (such as Ojeda and Pinzon, who had been with him on his first voyage) were also now his rivals, and, encouraged by King Ferdinand, Bishop Fonseca (at the head of the Council of the Indies) and others who were jealous of his fame, they were furnished with the maps and charts which had been drawn by the great discoverer and sent to the Coast of Pearls. Pinzon, Ojeda, the veteran cosmographer


and navigator De la Cosa, and Americus Vespucius, comrades of Columbus by sea and by land, discovered the mouth of the Amazon and portions of the coast of Northern South America, which their predecessor had not found. As a result of the expedition under Ojeda, John de la Cosa (while the ship was lying in port, in May, 1500) drew the first general map of America.

While on his way to Spain, Ojeda touched at Hispaniola and attempted to further the rebellion against Columbus, which was already well under way, and which culminated in the arrest of the Discoverer by Bobadilla, the King's governor and agent. Columbus was charged with usurping


the royal prerogatives in the new Indies, and was placed in chains to be shipped to Spain.

But before either the dispatches of Bobadilla or the shattered hero himself were received at court, a pathetic letter had been read to Queen Isabella which completely won her heart — if it had ever threatened to slip away from Columbus. The letter was written by the Discoverer to one of her ladies in waiting, the nurse to her children, and a friend of his. It reiterated his confidence in her, and added that one of his motives in undertaking his third voyage was to relieve somewhat the griefs which death (that of Prince John) had occasioned her.

Although Bobadilla was recalled from Hispaniola and another small fleet was fitted out for Columbus, he was never again restored to the rank of admiral, and when, in May, 1502, he set out upon his fourth voyage he was ordered, upon no account, to touch at Hispaniola. This, his last voyage, was one of storms and wrecks. At length a hurricane, which threatened the destruction of his four caravels, furiously cast itself upon the richly-laden Spanish fleet and sent it to the bottom of the sea, with Bobadilla and other enemies of Columbus as a part of its freight. Although refused shelter by Ovando, the new governor of Hispaniola, Columbus weathered the terrible storm, but after being buffeted by the winds and waters of the Caribbean and struggling along the coasts of Honduras and Darien for nine months, he found himself with only two weather-beaten ships, sick and heart-sore, stranded upon the shores of Jamaica. It was here, while waiting for relief from Ovando and threatened with death by his mutinous followers — the whole party expecting to be butchered by savages — that he wrote directly to King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella, reminding them of his acknowledged services, and how he and his brothers had been plundered of their honors, their pearls and their very frocks. He had not a hair upon his head which was not gray; his body was infirm; he had not been left the smallest: offering, he said, wherewith to save his soul, and he besought them, if he were rescued, to sanction his pilgrimage to Rome. The letter was dated Jamaica, July 7, 1503.

At length relief came and Columbus was borne, through a succession of tempests, across the ocean to Seville, where he arrived as complete a human wreck as any which ever floated. He was too ill and worn to proceed on his way; but his son Diego and his brother Bartholomew were already at court to urge that justice be done to him, and Americus Vespucius had been sent by Columbus to assist his relatives in mending his fortune and his name. His friend, Vespucius, who was also


the King's favorite, set out in February, 1505. But Queen Isabella's death, during the preceding November, had been the final blow to his hopes and his life, and while relatives and friends were pleading at court for a more just return for his great life-work than a fair estate in Spain, the brave and vexed soul of the Genoese alien passed into peace. He died at Valladolid, whither he had been removed, on May 20, 1506.


As the death of Isabella was a fatal stroke to the prospects of Columbus, so it was life to the career of Vespucius. For some reason not quite plain he had abandoned King Ferdinand and made two voyages in the service of the King of Portugal. One of them had earned him such fame that the unseaworthy ship in which he returned to Lisbon had been broken up, amid popular rejoicings, and the pieces hung in the churches as precious relics. He had written to his noble friends in Florence, giving an account of his third voyage, in which he says he measured a quarter of the earth's circumference; whereupon Vespucius' name was publicly honored at Florence, in a grand festival of rejoicing. This bold suggestion was even made by the German editor of a geography of the day: "The fourth part of the world being discovered by Americus, it may be called Amerigo; that is, the land of Americus, or America." Although there has been much dispute over the extent of Vespucius' geographical discoveries, it is quite certain that he was one of the most broad-minded astronomers and cosmographers of his day, and that from his post, as Pilot Major of Spain (to which he was appointed by Ferdinand four years after Columbus' death), he had the best of opportunities to reach the significance of the western discoveries. A careful reading of the letters of Vespucius, in fact, indicates that he should have the honor of being named the first of the famous geographers who persisted in christening these new western lands, the New World.


Vespucius enjoyed the honors of his position four years, but during that period his name was spread abroad with every ship that sped toward the West, as the royal representative of the New World. Strange to say, however, he died just before the tidings came to Spain of the first authenticated footfall upon the North American Continent — upon the Land of Flowers — Florida, the future land of death.


Now, among those who followed Columbus to the New World during his second voyage — when Jamaica and Porto Rico were discovered — was Ponce de Leon, a brave soldier in the Moorish wars and a favorite of King Ferdinand. Like his brave leader, he was both ambitious and romantic, and after he had conquered the island of Porto Rico with his steel-clad warriors and terrible bloodhounds, he found himself a rich old man, sighing after new adventures and the strength of youth to carry them out. The Indian story, therefore, that somewhere to the north, in the "Land of Bimini," was a region where time did not sap the strength of men — this tale was exactly fitted to Ponce's mind.

In March, 1513, then, his fleet of three ships sailed from Porto Rico for the North. Touching at Guanahani, the first island which Columbus discovered, he steered for the northwest, searching the Bahama Islands for Bimini, the wonderful land of springs and streams. On Easter Sunday, which the Spaniards call Pasque de Flores, he sighted the land which he named Florida. With the design of seeing if it was Bimini, he ran along the coast for several days, coming to anchor on April 2, near the present city of St. Augustine. In the meantime the Indians had been gathering upon the shores, following the ships as they crept along or exchanging provisions for colored ribbons, bits of tin, hawk bells, or whatever other trinkets the men had to offer. The Spaniards, however, did not venture to go ashore until the 8th of April. The Indians had been beckoning to Ponce and showed such friendliness that he then landed, erected a stone cross, and, with many grave and loud-spoken words, took possession of the country in the name of the Catholic Church and the King of Spain.

Soon afterward, however, the Spaniards were attacked and driven away. They were also repulsed by the savages from the coast, near Cape Florida, and many years thereafter (in 1521) Ponce de Leon was to receive his death wound while attempting a landing on the shores of the Florida bay which still bears his name.


In 1509, Columbus' son Diego, through his marriage with the niece of the Duke of Alva, and the strength of his cause — which the Council of the Indies was even forced to acknowledge — obtained partial justice from King Ferdinand, and was sent out with a brilliant retinue as Governor of Hispaniola. That he was not Admiral of the Indies, as he himself supposed, was at once made manifest by the royal appointments to governorships over the western lands which were promptly made without so much as consulting him. Like his father, Don Diego was eventually worried and worn into his grave.

About the time that Columbus (sometimes called, by courtesy, the Second Admiral) went forth, full of renewed hope, to Hispaniola, the fiery and faithless Ojeda was sent to the Darien country as its royal governor. Despite the advice of his elder and more cautious comrade, John de la Cosa, he landed upon the present site of Cartagena (northern shore of Colombia), in the territory of a hostile chief, and advanced into the interior of the country, ordering the natives, in the King's name, to be converted, and capturing and abusing many of them. At length his command was attacked with such fury that only himself and one other soldier escaped to his ships alive. Juan de la Cosa fought bravely to the last, but some days after the battle the relief party which was sent to search for him found his body lying near a tree, hideously swollen with the poison of the many arrows with which it was transfixed.

After the tragic death of America's geographic father, Ojeda planted a colony near Cartagena, called San Sebastian, taking that saint for his patron because he was shot to death with arrows. San Sebastian has been called the first permanent settlement on the continent of South America, some claiming that the honor should be accorded to Veragua, which Columbus founded, during his fourth voyage, upon the shores of the Isthmus of Darien.


The turbulent Ojeda soon departed for Hispaniola, where he was to die a natural and an obscure death, and one of his lieutenants, not knowing the fate of the expedition, sailed for the already deserted town of San Sebastian. Of all the company which set out for the mainland, only a bankrupt adventurer, secreted in a wine cask, had anything to do with making American history. He — Vasco Nunez de Balboa — when the ship was fairly upon the high seas and he knew that he was out of the clutches of his creditors, came forth from his retreat, and, to be short about it, from the time of the landing and founding of a new town on


the coast of Darien, his bravery, ability and suavity of manners gained him the power which belonged, officially, to the commander. Ojeda's lieutenant was finally imprisoned and sent to Spain, but he induced the King to recall Balboa himself. The daring Spaniard, however, and his adventurous captain, Pizarro, had been informed of a country of gold and a great sea beyond the mountains of Darien. A chief, after having witnessed the Spaniards quarreling over a few pieces of gold which he had given them, ran to the scales, struck them with his fist and scattered the precious bits upon the ground, saying that the Christians


need not fall out about such a trifle, for beyond the mountains was a great sea, and beyond the sea they would find a country where gold was as plentiful as iron in Spain.

Balboa had already sent much gold to his Sovereign, and to further conciliate him he resolved to discover the opulent country to the south. First, however, he must find the great Southern Sea beyond the mountains. The passage across the mountains to the isthmus was laborious and perilous. Some of the Indians he won over by presents of trinkets and iron axes; others he was obliged to fight, the fire-arms of the Spaniards and their bloodhounds striking the natives as terrible powers of the Devil. On the 26th of September, 1513, Balboa, from the summit of the mountain range, first sighted the Pacific Ocean, and a few days later he walked into its waters up to his thighs, with his sword and shield, calling witnesses to testify that he took possession of the South Sea for the King of Castile and Leon, and that he would defend the possession against all opposers. He then returned to Darien, and, dragging the materials across the mountains, his men built two brigantines with which to explore the mighty sea. But Balboa was betrayed into the hands of his enemies and finally (1517) was executed in Spain.


In 1511, Diego Columbus dispatched to Cuba one of the wealthiest and most popular of his followers, Captain James Velasquez, who, moreover, had accompanied his father on his second voyage, and was his warm admirer and friend. With the assistance of the priests, the conquest of what proved to be the most valuable of the Spanish possessions was accomplished almost without bloodshed. Cortes, who had already been highly honored by Ovando, the former Governor of Hispaniola, was sent to Cuba as Velasquez' private secretary. This young man of twenty-six, however, was so ambitious that he became the messenger of a dissatisfied clique, and agreed to lay their charges of ill-treatment before the Judges of Appeal, who had lately arrived at Hispaniola. As the reckless Cortes was stepping into his canoe to cross the eighteen leagues of sea which lay between the islands, he was arrested by Velasquez' agents. But although he narrowly escaped a hanging, he afterward was received into the confidence of his superior, was appointed a judge of Cuba, and became very wealthy.

Although, by 1518, two of Velasquez' captains had discovered the coast of Mexico and obtained news of the powerful monarch, Montezuma,


they had done nothing toward conquering the country. The enterprise was therefore entrusted to Cortes, who proceeded, with characteristic energy to push the building of the ships and the collecting of provisions and men. The whole strength of Santiago was centered in this undertaking, and the whole town viewed the preparations with admiration. One day when they were nearly completed, Velasquez, his jester, Franky, and Cortes, were walking together near the harbor, viewing the busy scene. Suddenly the jester turned to his master and said, "Take heed what you do, lest we be forced to go a-hunting after Cortes." Velasquez laughed heartily and said to Cortes: "Comrade, mind what that knave says." Although Cortes had heard it, he answered, "What, sir?"

Velasquez repeated the buffoon's remark, and Cortes said that the fool was mad and not worth listening to. But all who heard the words laughed knowingly, and they so clung to Velasquez that soon afterward he decided to cancel Cortes' commission and choose a less ambitious man. His "comrade" however, was advised of his intentions, and, although the preparations were not completed, Cortes slipped out of port one night, with his eleven ships, 500 soldiers and ten brass cannon, and gathering provisions in Jamaica and portions of Cuba, as well as picking up about 150 new recruits, he sailed away from the Havana for the opposite coast of Yucatan. The jester was right, and although Velasquez many a time thereafter ordered Cortes to return, and sent his soldiers after him, he was beyond recall — he was to be a greater man than his patron. After losing one ship, he landed upon the coast of Mexico, on March 4, 1519. For two years and a half he fought his way to supreme power, the City of Mexico and the empire of the Montezumas falling before the valor and unprincipled cruelty of the Spaniards in 1521.

Like those of Columbus, the wings of Cortes were clipped that he should not soar too near the royal plane. He was denied the Viceroyalty of New Spain, but became Captain-General, and was afterward allowed to go on voyages of discovery — mostly at his own expense — along the western coasts of Mexico. Cortes was the first European to sight the peninsula and Gulf of California, in 1533, two years thereafter planting a colony upon these shores.


When Cortes first landed upon the coasts of Mexico, the eastern shores of South America had been traced by the Portuguese and the


Spaniards nearly to the Strait of Magellan. Each of these great maritime people was endeavoring to discover how far the New World (as South America was then called) extended toward the south. In spite of the assaults of cold, hunger and blood-thirsty mutiny amidst the Antarctic wastes, the stern and gallant Portuguese solved the problem for Spain. In November, 1520, Magellan emerged into the unmeasured expanse of the Pacific, and though he was killed in a conflict with the natives of the Philippines, one of his captains lived to pass around the southernmost point of Africa and proudly return to Spain as the first circumnavigator of the globe.


Rouen, the old capital of Normandy, and Dieppe, its principal seaport, were long the most important maritime centers of France, and during the earliest days of America many of their bold mariners frequented the fisheries of Newfoundland and other rich grounds of the St. Lawrence. The sailors of Normandy were worthy descendants of the ancient Norsemen, and during the era of the early Columbian discoveries, under bold captains, they also became noted as fearless and successful corsairs. It is suspected, further, that the treasure ships of the Spaniards and Portuguese were as much coveted by the wealthy merchants as by the captains and their crews.

A certain Florentine, named John Verrazzano, is reported to have accompanied a mariner of Dieppe to the region of the St. Lawrence, in 1508, and later, as a captain, to have taken a treasure ship in which Cortes was sending $1,500,000 worth of valuables to his royal master. Soon after this successful venture Verrazzano was sent by the King of France into the western ocean, to search for a passage to India in that part of the world lying between the Spanish and the English discoveries. On March 10, 1524, after a tempestuous voyage in his small vessel, the Dauphine, he reached the coast of the United States, at the 34th parallel of north latitude, near Cape Fear, North Carolina, and, before he returned to France, examined the shores of the Atlantic from this locality to the island-studded bays of Maine. On the 8th of July of this year, on shipboard in the port of Dieppe, he wrote a letter to King Francis, describing the country along his route — the coasts of North Carolina and Virginia, Chesapeake Bay, New York harbor and river, Narragansett Bay, Cape Cod and the shores of Maine. This stretch of country he called the New Land — soon afterward to be called New France — and his letter it was which first connected the northern and southern discoveries,


and revealed the New World in its true grandeur. He concluded that the New World covered 120° of latitude, which is wonderfully near the truth. Verrazzano made another voyage to America, in 1526, during which some historians assert that he was eaten by the Indians — others that he was captured by the Spaniards, taken to Spain and hung for piracy.

This was the period (1526), also, when further great discoveries were inaugurated in South America; when Pizarro commenced his career of conquest in that country of which he had heard when a captain under Balboa, and when Sebastian Cabot, now in the employ of Spain, was fighting his way up the great valley of the Plata. They were the forerunners of others, who, within twenty years, had conquered and explored the coast countries of Western South America, had colonized the valley of the Plata to Central South America, and had sailed down the Amazon River from its headwaters among the Andes to its mouth in the Atlantic. But from the time of the French discoveries the attention of Europe was permanently divided between the South and the North.

Spain and Portugal both protested at the claims of France; England did not. But Francis, the King, continued to send out his men, and, at length, when Cartier landed at Chaleur's Bay, below the mouth of the St. Lawrence River (in 1534), taking possession of the country in his


name, and the two southern kingdoms sent forth a more decided protest than ever, the royal gentleman of France got out of patience and exclaimed that he "should like to see the clause in our Father Adam's will and testament wherein such vast lands were deeded to Spain and Portugal." Cartier took back two Indians to France, who told him of the St. Lawrence River, and the next year (1535) he returned and ascended it to the sites of Quebec and Montreal. The latter portions of the sixteenth century was darkened by the bloody quarrels between the Spaniards and the French, on the southeastern coasts of the United States, after which France began to concentrate all her strength and bravery upon the explorations of the interior. Cartier drove the entering wedge for Champlain, Joliet, Marquette and La Salle, by whose intrepidity the valley of the St. Lawrence, the Great Lakes, and the valleys of the Ohio and Mississippi were explored for a century and a half, and the most wonderful system of fresh water in the world was revealed.

But about the time, in 1541, that Cartier was returning from France, as captain of the King's ships in New France, the Spaniards were making bold expeditions into the southern portions of the United States. Coronado, from Mexico, and De Soto, from Florida, approached to within a few hundred miles of each other, at a point west of the Mississippi River. Coronado penetrated to the Missouri; De Soto into Texas. De Soto left his wasted body in the Mississippi Valley. Coronado returned to New Spain, a crushed man. They both sought for such glorious Indian kingdoms as Cortes and Pizarro had found; but their luckless adventures, and their wanderings from sea to sea, only resulted in laying the foundation for the future territorial claims of Spain in the United States.


During the latter portion of the sixteenth century England awoke to the value of the Western discoveries, and sent her greatest mariner, Francis Drake, to the West Indies and the northern shores of South


America, that Spain might feel the entrance of another power into the domain of the southern and the western seas. After carrying consternation into the lands of the Caribbean, seizing Spanish ships and towns with zeal and ease alike, the intrepid commander sailed down the eastern coasts of South America to the Strait of Magellan, emerging into the Pacific Ocean, in September, 1578, as the first Englishman whose craft had plowed its waters. Skimming along the coasts of Chili and Peru, pouncing upon the Spanish ships as he went, he at length arrived upon our coasts, sated with plunder. His land-fall was in the vicinity of San Francisco Bay. He took possession of the country for Queen Elizabeth, naming it New Albion, and, after a short season of rest, sailed up the coast nearly to the latitude of the international boundary. Being unsuccessful in his search for an eastern passage of escape into the Atlantic, he turned boldly into the Pacific Ocean, and steered for the Moluccas. Drake arrived in the harbor of Plymouth, on November 3, 1580, being the first Englishman to circumnavigate the globe. Soon after his return he was visited by the Queen, on shipboard, and received the honors of knighthood.

The most important discovery next made on the western coast of America was that its bold extension to the northwest was separated by a strait from the northeastern peninsula of Asia. Vitus Bering, or Behring, a German in the employ of Russia, made this discovery, in 1728. But the coast of America from Drake's New Albion to Behring's Strait remained unexplored, in a scientific and thorough manner, until the time of Cook and Vancouver. While transporting an English scientific party from Tahiti, where its members had been observing a transit


of Venus, and searching for the vast southern continent, which was believed to exist in the Antarctic Ocean, the famous Captain Cook discovered New Zealand, the southeastern shores of Australia, and other lands for the Sovereign of England. This was in 1769. Captain Cook made another unsuccessful search for the Antarctic Continent, and finally was instructed to sail to the coast of America and examine it from New Albion, north, to 65°, for the purpose of ascertaining if there was an eastern passage into the Atlantic Ocean. After discovering the Sandwich Islands, he reached the California coast, in March, 1778, and then sailed north along the shores of Canada and Alaska to Cook's Inlet. Here, at last, he thought he had found the great Atlantic strait, but, being disappointed, passed on nearly to Behring's Strait, where his further progress was stopped by ice. He then directed his course to the Sandwich Islands, where he was killed February 13, 1779. One of his brightest midshipmen, upon this and a previous voyage, was George Vancouver, who, from 1792-94, under orders from the British Government, completed the survey of the Pacific coast from Lower California to Cook's Inlet. Thus the English must be considered the fathers of our Pacific coast, as the French are of our Atlantic.

Furthermore, as the French were the discoverers of Interior United States east of the Mississippi River, so were the Americans the first scientific explorers of the country west of that mighty natural division. The first government expedition was sent out by Thomas Jefferson, in 1805, and traced the course of the Missouri and Columbia rivers. The late General John C. Fremont, so identified with the history of California and the Southwest, may be called the last great American explorer and discoverer. As late as 1848 he revealed almost a new world in the United States of America. He was the last child of Columbus, and paved the way for those transcontinental railways, which have at length brought Europe into close communication with Asia — with the Land of Cathay and the Spice Islands of the East. The French and the Americans first opened the eyes of the world to the vastness of the land barring the way to the East; the explorers of Interior United States and her Anglo-American colonizers at length made it plain that in this "obstructive world" was to be found the riches, the sunshine and the strength of youth which Columbus and his comrades sought in the East, beyond the mere curtains of the West.

When the cotemporaries of Columbus were forced to see that some vast land lay between them and their spices, they still sought for a passage by water through Panama's narrow neck. The strait not being


forthcoming, a few years after the death of Columbus they were discussing the practicability of a communication, by small boats and carts, from Panama to the North Sea, via the Chagres River. Thus Spain hoped to outgeneral Portugal, who was obliged to sail around Cape Horn. But Providence had other plans in view. The short and easy way remains untraveled; instead, Anglo-Saxon and Latin fought their way through savage men and savage nature for nearly three thousand miles, before the real highway was opened to Cathay and the Moluccas. France and America completed the chain to India.

Now, a further word as to America's part. Thomas Jefferson was as truly the father of the Western United States as of the National Constitution. Many years before the first government expedition, under his control, penetrated to the Pacific, he attempted to solve the mysteries of our West. Jefferson it was who dispatched Lewis and Pike, and witnessed, with pride, the geographical birth of splendid river systems, huge mountain peaks and wonders of nature not dreamed of before. Many vital truths were revealed, of the country between the Mississippi and the Rockies, from the headwaters of that river to Texas, and of the territory from the sources of the Missouri and Columbia to the Pacific Ocean. From his retirement at Monticello he followed the tracks of Major Long as that explorer traced the Platte and Arkansas rivers to their hiding-places in the mountains. It was at this time, when Thomas H. Benton was just commencing his long career in the Senate, that Jefferson received a visit from the Missouri statesman. It was the first and only time that the two came together, but the effects of that interview were so lasting upon Senator Benton's mind that for thirty years he aimed, as a legislator, to carry out the western policy of his master.

Senator Benton, after Jefferson, was the father of the West. It is fitting, therefore, that his statue at St. Louis should face the West, that its finger of marble should point to the West, and that from its pedestal should be read this inscription:

"There is the East;
There is the road to India."

Not only has the road to India been found, but through such a land!


North American Indians.


THE regions of Alaska which are really known are confined to the coast, and the district inhabited by others than the native Indians is virtually included in the region about Sitka, or New Archangel. What has been learned of the interior of the country has come through rather indefinite native sources. Fort Yukon, at the junction of the Yukon and Porcupine Rivers, is the most northerly station of the Hudson Bay Company, and some 900 miles east of the coast. The traders occasionally obtain information, with furs, from the natives, but the former is scant indeed. Sitka, as capital of the territory, and St. Paul, on Kadiak Island, as the main depot of the seal fisheries, are where tourists mostly seek news of the country. The Yukon and the smaller rivers have been explored, and it is safe to say that no stories told about the salmon can be too large.

Geologically, Alaska will prove a pregnant field for scientists, and lovers of the grand and the beautiful will be attracted even more strongly. All along the Pacific Coast there are glaciers filling the mountain gorges, and terminating at the sea in magnificent masses of overhanging ice. One of the most remarkable of these grand exhibitions, of which nature is so wonderfully lavish, is the Muir's Glacier, of Glacier Bay, a product of the Sitka Mountains. The swiftest and strongest pen falls far behind the reality in describing this frozen river, which stands as high as the loftiest cathedral, is two miles across and forty miles in length.


The Athabascans compose a great family which has left its mark all over the western portions of British America, in the names of rivers and lakes, although its own name was given it by the Algonquins. The tribes of Alaska and British America are mild and industrious, greatly


resembling the Esquimaux in their mode of living, especially in the skill which they show in the construction and use of their fishing weapons and their taste in carving their ornaments. Unlike the Esquimaux, however, who are most unsatisfactory as historical subjects, they retain traditions of a journey from the icy regions and islands of the great northwest. Another peculiarity which distinguishes them both from Esquimaux and other Indians is a heavy beard; otherwise they have square heads, short hands and feet, and greatly resemble a Siberian Tungoose.

The tribes of this family, comprise the native interior population of Alaska; the Esquimaux occupying the northern coasts, and the Aleuts the Aleutian and adjacent islands. The latter have been classed both as Esquimaux and as Indians, but have been in contact with the Russians for so many years as factors, or traders, that they have lost their national characteristics. In Alaska, the Athapascans are known as Kenaians, a tribe by that name dwelling on the peninsula of Kenai, between Cook's Inlet and Prince William Sound. These tribes are principally settled along the Yukon River, which, from the Rocky Mountains, cuts through the country for eighteen hundred miles and empties into Behring Sea.


The waters of all the rivers and streams abound in salmon. They are caught and dried by the Indians, some of whom use the typical birch-bark canoe in their journeys up and down. The work of catching salmon in Alaska rivers is not difficult; during the spawning season the streams are simply black with them, and it is no uncommon sight to see the banks piled up with dead fish to a height of three feet, the waves having cast ashore those which were weak and injured.

Even now the Esquimaux and the Athabascans come into conflict, although their habits and beliefs are in many ways similar; but, as a rule, they are mostly employed, either individually or by traders, in collecting fossil ivory, hunting the fox, beaver, marten, otter, mink, lynx and wolverine; occasionally also fishing for the ulikon, which is abundant in some sections and celebrated as the fattest of known fish. Other ocean game engages their attention and taxes their ingenuity, which seems never to be found wanting.

The most original of their hooks, and which was especially photographed from the real thing for us, is so constructed that when the fish snaps at his bait he not only gets hooked, but finds his head wedged into a sort of framework, so that he can not break away in either


direction. The fish line, or rope, is made from a number of strands which consist of tough wood fibre, all twisted together in the neatest and most substantial fashion. The hook is fastened into a piece of wood which is grotesquely carved to represent a man playing a flute.

The Alaska Indians are as fond of playing cards as many of their Siberian ancestors, but most of the American natives show Yankee skill in making their own implements of the game. They consist, in some cases, of little round pieces of hard wood, in shape like a finger, which are smoothed and polished and carved into faces and figures. The manner in which they play their games has not yet transpired, but the form of their cards would preclude much shuffling.

The center of the fur-seal industry is 1,400 miles west of Alaska, on the Pribylov Islands, in the very heart of Behring Sea, but within American waters. It is monopolized by the Alaska Commercial Company of San Francisco, and by Act of Congress seals may only be killed in June, July, September and October; firearms may not be used, or other means employed to drive the seals away; neither female seals, nor those less than one year old, can be killed. The act also limits the number to be killed, in addition to those required for food by the natives, to 100,000 annually. St. Paul and St. George are the two islands of the above group where the seals resort for breeding purposes, the shores being well drained and gently sloping, and peculiarly adapted to the habits of the animals. The males usually arrive early in June, as many as possible selecting and defending a few square feet of land upon which to establish their families when the females appear, about a month later. Only to the brave, however, flock the fair, the result being that more males are bachelors than heads of families. The bachelor seals have their separate grounds, and they are the ones who are the victims of the hunter. Armed with thick clubs about five feet in length, and with knives, the natives drive the seals from their hauling grounds which the animals have themselves selected, to the killing grounds which the men have laid out. The next process is simply to knock them on the head, stab them to the heart, and skin them. The skins are then salted, piled in bins where they are allowed to pickle for several weeks, and then rolled into bundles of two skins each, with the hairy side out, ready for shipment.


Returning to the continent, it is found that among the Kenai Indians there are more distinct traces of Asiatic blood than among the Aleuts. They have their Shaman as do the Siberian tribes, and uphold


a species of caste. After burning the dead, the ashes are generally placed in a leather bag, which is suspended to a painted pole; some of the tribes, however, put the corpse on a staging, or even bury it decently and erect a wooden tomb over it. Marriage is not allowed between members of the same clan or family, the children belonging to the mother's clan. Trousers and shoes are fastened to a kind of leather tunic; which latter is worn of greater length by the women, rounded in front and trimmed with shells. The men paint their faces and wear shells in the nose, while the women tattoo lines on the chin. Personal beauty is said to favor the men, who, however, are in the minority. When girls arrive at a marriageable age they are separated from the rest for one year, and wear a peculiar bonnet with fringe over the face. The winter houses of some of the tribes are underground, as are the Esquimaux, and they are all given as much to barter as the Arctic race. Their money is either shells or beads.

The Alaskans are divided into many tribes, and each tribe has its peculiar totem, or symbol, as was the case with the Iroquois of New York, or the Six Nations; and the totem is still an institution with many of the tribes of the United States. There are Beaver, Crow, Rat, Turtle and all other kinds of Indians among the Alaskans, and each tribe has in front of its village a totem pole, on which is carved the figure or combination of figures which constitutes its coat-of-arms. These may even be seen in fascinating variety along the coast in the neighborhood of Sitka.

The totem originates in the wide-spread Indian tradition that the red man's creation results from the union of a spirit with some of the lower animals, and the bird, beast or fish which he fixes upon as one of his parents becomes his totem. There are tribal totems and family totems. As to the latter, the skin of the totem is "carefully stuffed, bedecked with ornaments and feathers, is tied to a staff and carried about in the hand on grand full-dress occasions. In good weather it is stuck up in front of the door of the lodge, and when the head of the family dies it is suspended to the top of a strong, high pole, which is firmly planted beside his grave. It is the family crest, the title of honor, the symbol of its ancestry and descent, and whatever may be the name of the individual of that family, his signature is a rude representation of the creature to which he believes he owes his origin." The above applies more particularly to the tribes of the Western plains.


Upon their reservation in Washington Territory is a small band


of Chinooks, a tribe of Indians who, at one time, lived on the coasts of Oregon and Washington and the banks of the Columbia River. They would be unworthy of mention were it not that they still conform to a custom which was in vogue with the ancient tribes of Mexico, Central America and Peru, and with the mound-builders whose skulls have been excavated in the valleys of the Mississippi and Ohio. Either by binding a piece of board or tightly braided grass upon their infants' heads, and suspending them so that the feet are the highest portions of their bodies, the Chinooks manage to flatten the soft, little craniums out of all natural shape. These Indians are small and unprepossessing, are filthy in their habits, but are shrewd and intelligent, ingenious in the construction of their household utensils and fishing weapons, as well as being of quite an artistic turn of mind. The Indians known as Flatheads are not flatheads, in fact, they having never adopted the custom of thus disfiguring themselves. They are located on a reservation in Western Montana, and are a remarkable instance of instinctive elevation. When they were half starved and naked, they voluntarily sent for a missionary and invited others to settle among them who could improve their condition. Willing to work, they made rapid progress in agriculture and industrial pursuits, obtained horses and cattle and, what was better, schools and churches. The Flatheads are naturally peaceable, but they have fought bravely against the Sioux when attacked. They belong to the Selish family.

A few hundred of the Athapascans live on the banks of the Columbia River, Oregon, and they and other small tribes, although they do not attempt to fix the time, have traditions, which are borne out by geological evidences, that several of the peaks of the Cascade Mountains were active volcanoes. The Nez Perces, the Wallawallas, and other minor tribes occupy reservations or native grounds in Idaho and Oregon, on the Columbia or Snake River.


To set a fierce Apache against one of these fishing, hunting and trading Indians is a wonderful contrast, and remarkable when it is considered that they are of the same stock. Only a few hundred of the 15,000 or 20,000 who have fortified themselves in the Sierra Nevada and Rocky Mountains, along the rivers of the United States and Mexico, periodically issuing forth to harass settlers and give the national troops a brisk campaign, have been brought under government control. For fifty years previous to the war one of their wonderful chiefs brought imposing forces into the field, but with his death the tribe has scattered,


although the fragments are still troublesome enough. The Apaches fight upon the fly, being mounted upon small, wiry ponies, which are guided by a simple cord passed under the jaws. Their principal weapon is a very long, iron-pointed arrow, which they shoot with the most unerring precision. The chief, or captain of a band, in addition to the breech-cloth, or blanket, wears a buckskin helmet, ornamented with a feather. The common warrior goes dashing at his enemy bareheaded, and if he kills him disdains to take his scalp. Both sexes ornament themselves with pearl shells or rough carvings of wood, and wear high buckskin moccasins. Their feet being thus confined are so small that an Apache's trail is easily recognized.

When in their mountain retreats the Apaches live in lodges built of light boughs and twigs, resting from their labors of the field and allowing the women to do all the work of collecting fuel, besides performing the regular duties of the household. Their songs are not weirdly sweet, and their card-playing, of which they are very fond, is probably not according to Hoyle; but their smoking is sedate and quite proper. The women as they move about, perhaps carrying infants in osier baskets at their backs, are seen to wear short petticoats and no ornaments. The African, the Polynesian, the Australian and the Esquimau, however much they may abuse their wives, generally allow them the feminine luxury of adorning their persons, but the Indian even cuts off this enjoyment. When the Apache travels he loads his wife with provisions, upon a horse, fastening the basket cradle of his papoose to the saddle.

Should the warriors not return from battle the women cut off their long, loose hair as a sign of mourning.

Montezuma seems to be an Apache deity, although the savage professes a belief in a Supreme Being. White birds and the bear are sacred to them, and the hog they consider unclean.


The traditions of the Dakotas are more pregnant in thought to the student, who is forced to trace the progenitors of the American Indian to Asia, than those of any other of the Indian families. Their language, also, is Mongolian in its structure. According to their traditions they were driven back from the Mississippi River by the Algonquins, after they had slowly advanced from the Pacific Coast and the Northwest. Only one tribe, the Winnebagook (Winnebagoes), pushed through the ranks of their enemies, settling on the shores of Lake Michigan, where


they were held in check. There, in the regions adjacent to Green Bay, they lorded it over many of the tribes with such a high hand that they were attacked and nearly exterminated by an allied Indian force. Yet they were still warlike and troublesome, and after they had ceded over two million and a half acres of their lands to the Government, they were removed west of the Mississippi, then hither and thither, to Dakota, Minnesota, Nebraska — and where not? There, as in other States, they commenced to cultivate land, build cottages and schools, and dress and live like white men. It was formerly the practice of the agents to depose and appoint their chiefs at will; now they are elected. The Winnebagoes left in Wisconsin are self-supporting and peaceable.

Other tribes of the Dakota family have given us the following geographical names: Missouri, Kansas, Iowa, Osage, Omaha and Sioux. There were also the Upsarokas, or Crows. A few of the family yet remain within the British possessions, but the majority of them are on reservations in the northeastern part of Indian Territory, in Eastern Nebraska, in Southern Dakota and Montana.



The Sioux are still the powerful tribe of the family, as they always have been, and were the arch enemies of the Algonquins, especially the Chippewas. The fortunes of war were various, the Sioux preferring to fight upon the plain and the Chippewas in the woods, but, as has been stated, the Sioux were, after a century or so of warfare, driven from the headwaters of the Mississippi to the south. By the early part of this century the bulk of the nation was upon the Missouri River, although native villages were scattered from Northern Minnesota to the Black Hills. During the first part of our civil war the Sioux commenced to prepare for a general uprising, on account of dissatisfaction with the way they were being treated by the Government and its agents, and eventually the whole of Minnesota and the regions bordering on the Missouri, with the Western Plains, were the scenes of their massacres and hostilities. The discovery of gold in the Black Hills, and subsequent troubles with Sitting Bull, Red Cloud and Spotted Tail, on account of their reluctance to part with their grounds, are matters of recent record. Some of the most warlike bands fled to British territory, others agreed to go to their immense Dakota reservation. There 30,000 of them are supposed to cover 34,000,000 acres of land. Churches and schools have been established among them, and the younger generation show aptitude and patience. The settled bands have their tribal form of government, and are raisers of live-stock, and agriculturists; notwithstanding which, the Sioux may yet be called an uncertain quantity in the Indian problem.

In December, 1890, several thousand Sioux braves took the war path. Many of them were armed with Winchester rifles, and they were lashed into rebellion by a religious craze which took the form of a belief in an Indian Messiah who was to lead not only the living warriors but the ghosts of the dead against the white foes. They claimed also that Government agents were cheating them out of their rations. Actual hostilities were preceded by the "ghost dance," the Messiah fanatics being led on by the wily old mischief maker, Sitting Bull.

United States troops were at once dispatched to the threatened scene of hostilities in Southwestern Dakota, near the Pine Ridge Agency, the Sioux braves gathering in the Bad Lands between the Cheyenne and White Rivers. The Indian police did brave work everywhere. Among their most unfortunate ventures was the capture of Sitting Bull, as he, his sons and a party of warriors, were about starting from the vicinity of Standing Rock Agency, Grand River, to the rendezvous


in the Bad Lands. Both men and ponies were in war paint, ready for mischief. Sitting Bull was seized, but not bound. The son of the old Medicine Man urged his comrades to recapture his father, and with yells the hostiles charged and fired upon the police. The police responded, and during the fierce fight the Medicine Man and his son were pierced with bullets. The government police were surrounded and would undoubtedly have been annihilated, had they not been rescued by a cavalry force which brought two machine guns to bear upon the warlike Sioux. The death of Sitting Bull removed a dangerous fire-brand. Soon afterward, the Sioux were surrounded near Pine Ridge Agency, and gave up the fight as hopeless.


The Indian believes in the Good God and the Bad God, and he speaks of the latter deity with the greatest disinclination. Gods and spirits of the plains, rivers and mountains also play a bold role in his faith. He does not apply morality to his religion, but whatever thwarts his aims he attributes to the Bad God. The Good God helps him to kill his enemy, steal the wife of a friend or raid a white settlement. No prayers are necessarily offered to the Good God.

Death by strangulation bars the Indian out of the Happy Hunting Grounds, for his soul is supposed to escape through the mouth, which opens at the moment of dissolution. It was formerly a universal belief with the Indians of the plains that scalping an enemy annihilated his soul. This is now quite a general superstition; also one that each person killed by them, and not scalped, will be their servant in the next world. They have their good omens and their bad. One of their most common ways of preparing medicine, which they use as it turns out good or bad, is to take earth, sand, ashes of plants or bones, and, mixing them in a shallow dish, stir the ingredients. If by the combination of colors and figures the Indian is convinced that his Good God has charge of his affairs, he places the mixture in tiny deer skin bags and ties them in his hair, upon the tail of his war horse and around the necks of his women and children. Should the mixture prove to be bad medicine, or an indication that his Bad God has the upper hand, the stuff is taken outside the camp and secretly buried. The exact nature of this mixture is a close secret between the individual and his gods. He is forever making the medicine, and takes not the smallest step without consulting it.

The Indians have different ways of propitiating the Evil One.


When he brings them into great danger a common vow is to consecrate a pony to his service, should he allow them to escape. When this is done the animal is never again mounted, is treated with care and even tenderness.

When the warrior dies the pony which is killed for him, and the weapons which are laid on his grave, will appear as phantoms and serve him in the Happy Hunting Grounds. If he falls in battle, cut or shot to pieces, his shade, in the next world, will appear mutilated and imperfect. In fact, in every particular, he commences his spirit life in the beyond under the conditions which govern his material life. If a body is pierced with arrows, the Indian, particularly the Sioux, believes that the soul will be always tormented with ghostly arrows. Should a warrior, or his enemy be killed in the dark, darkness will be his eternal portion. The fear of meeting this fate has deterred more than one savage from murderous midnight attacks upon the wagon trains of the plains.

There is hardly a tribe which agrees with another as to the length of time which it required for a soul to pass from this earth to the Happy Hunting Grounds; the ideas vary from one to two days, to as many months. If the period is long, food and water are brought to the grave, generally by the female mourners. The entire journey is conceived to lie over a dreary space, devoid of all the necessities of life; hence the provisions, the phantoms of food and water to supply the needs of the spirit traveler.

The Medicine Chief of a band of Indians divides the honors with the war chief, obtaining, if anything, more than an equal share. He is always dignified, the owner of the most attractive wives and ponies, holds no social intercourse with any except the principal men of the tribe, is the spiritual head of the tribe and the recipient of the confidences of the women, is the all-powerful physician of both body and soul, and when the fighting force takes the field, he proves his faith in his own power and religion by entering into the heat of the fight and the thick of the carnage. With the weakening of the authority of the head chief, the Medicine Chief has, if anything, gained in influence.

The Medicine Chief is assisted in his work of exorcising evil spirits by a band of women, who howl to the drone of his incantations. Their wails and howls draw the women of the other lodges to the scene of action, and this deafening chorus is intensified by a muscular young priest who beats a tom-tom over the head of the poor patient. When the Medicine Chief dies, his successor steps into the coveted position only by coming forward with the claim that he has found the medicine which will keep away the Bad God, and then proving it by obtruding himself into every danger and coming out unscathed.


Many of the western tribes of Indians have a mysterious something, which is in careful charge of the head chief or Medicine Chief, it being wrapped in a number of complicated coverings. Its influences are all good, and it is always carried in war, or on important expeditions, by the Medicine Chief. Each tribe, as well as each Indian, has, of course, a particular medicine; but this thing is different — it goes without a name. The tribal medicine of the Cheyennes is a bundle of arrows, wrapped in skins and placed in a small case of stiff raw-hide. It was captured by the Pawnees, some years ago, and the whole tribe was thrown into a panic, expecting instant annihilation. Runners were dispatched; but the medicine was not regained until the Cheyennes had paid the Pawnees three hundred ponies. The Utes attribute many of their late troubles to the capture by the Arapahoes of a little squat stone figure which they had adopted as the "tribal medicine."


In former days the Medicine Chief had power of life and death over the actions of the dancers, each of whom was placed in a large ring, his eyes fixed upon an image suspended from above, and having in his mouth a small whistle; as he danced hour after hour, he continued to blow upon the whistle and keep his head painfully thrown back upon his shoulders. Eight or ten hours of this distressing performance would generally throw some of the warriors into a faint. They were then dragged out of the ring, and if not revived by the mystic figures which the priest painted upon their faces and bodies, cold water was thrown over them. He might order them back until they actually danced themselves to death. In case the dance progressed to the end of the appointed time without the occurrence of any misfortune, the tribe were assured of good medicine, which generally induced them to go to war.

If the exhausted warriors could not be revived, the dance was broken up in confusion. The women shrieked and inflicted ghastly wounds upon themselves. The men howled and rushed off to kill their horses for the use of the warriors who had preceded them to the Happy Hunting Grounds. Bad Medicine had been proclaimed; the Bad God had them well in hand.

The Indians still have their medicine dances (in lodges which the women construct), but the Medicine Chief is no longer autocrat, and whether the omen is good or bad is determined, in a general way, by the conduct of the different bands toward each other, by the attitude of the elements toward the festivities and by the fervor displayed in this


aboriginal revival. The dancers, however, gaze at the same dangling image — the Good God (painted white) on one side, and the Bad God (black) on the other; some enter to display their costumes, some to show their powers of endurance, and others from pure religious fervor or because they hope to thus propitiate the Bad God for some evil he has brought to them. But all are at liberty to withdraw when they see fit, the duration of the dance being fixed at four days. A United States officer, who lived for over thirty years among the Indians of the West, is authority for the statement that some of the dancers keep in motion before their image, blowing constantly upon their whistles, for seventy-five hours without sleep, food or drink.

Succeeding the medicine dance, and occasionally as a portion of the proceedings, is the self-torture of the braves. Here the Medicine Chief also is master of ceremonies, and with his own hand makes the incisions in the muscles of the breast, through which horsehair ropes are passed and tied to pieces of wood; or he uses his broad-bladed knife on the muscles of the back, lifting them from the bones and passing a rope underneath, with a stick at the end so as to keep it fast. The free ends of the ropes are either attached to poles of the lodge or to heavy movable objects, and the aim is to tear the sticks from the wounds and obtain freedom. Sometimes the Indian is unable at once to do this, and must remain without food or water until the tissues soften; but it is good medicine to tear loose at once. As soon as freed, the warrior is examined by the Medicine Chief, and if all is right, religious ceremonies are gone through with and his wounds are properly attended to. He is honored and sung. Should one, however, during this fearful ordeal, which has been known to last several days, show any sign of weakness, he is sent away a disgraced man.


Indian tribes who live in somewhat permanent villages select regular burial grounds, often placing the corpse upon a scaffold which is roofed over with a frame work covered with skins. If the body is that of a warrior, it is dressed in the most gorgeous apparel, and hanging from his neck is his medicine bag. His weapons are by his side and his totem bag is tied to his lance or rifle. At his girdle, or on his lance or shield, are hung all the scalps he has taken in life. Pots, kettles and other utensils which he will need in his spirit journey are fastened to the platform outside, and over all are hung streamers of red and white cloth to frighten away beasts and birds of prey.


Caves and the forks of trees are favorite burial places for wandering tribes. Women and female children of common people are put out of sight with as little ceremony as scalped warriors, or those who die except in the fight. Indians near the agencies frequently use for coffins the boxes which are sent to them filled with soap or crackers.

The burial customs of nearly all the Western tribes, except the Utes, have been quite carefully investigated by travelers and army officers. After the burial of one of their number, these Indians carefully erase every footprint which may lead to a discovery of the place of interment. Although several army officers were present at the funeral of Ouray, the great Ute chieftain, they were ordered back when they attempted to accompany the body to the grave. The corpse was wrapped in a blanket thrown across a horse and taken away. When, a few weeks later, it was removed to Ouray's own country, the officers managed to be taken along by the Indians and found the body in a natural cave which had been walled up with rocks. Another Ute grave, discovered by accident, was found in a hill, lined with stone walls.


The Cherokees, Creeks, Choctaws, Chickasaws and Seminoles, all Southern tribes who previous to the war held slaves and were in arms against the United States Government, constitute now the Five Nations of the Indian Territory. They had previously developed quite a complete system of self-government, and generally retained their old constitutions when they were removed to the Indian Territory after the war.


The Cherokees have their peculiarities of language and organization which entitle them to be considered a distinct family. They formerly occupied portions of Tennessee, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia and Alabama in the valleys of the Allegheny Mountains, the Upper Tennessee and the headwaters of the Savannah and Flint Rivers. They consist of seven clans, and members of the same clan are forbidden to marry. They fought with the English against the French with such effect that Louisiana made great efforts to obtain their friendship.

With the capture of slaves, in their wars, the Cherokees commenced to give more attention to the cultivation of land and less to war. The nation divided, a portion crossing the Mississippi and the balance remaining on their own lands. They were aided by the United


States Government, which furnished them with agricultural implements and mills. As the white population clamored for their lands, however, they gradually ceded them to the Government until they were in possession of but a mountainous tract of 8,000 square miles in the States of Georgia and North Carolina. Gradually they were crowded out of these States and removed to the Indian Territory.

Different factions of the eastern and western divisions prevented a union of the nation until 1839, but by the commencement of the war it was very prosperous. Printing presses were at work, turning off newspapers and books both in English and Cherokee; grain, cotton, salt, cattle and horses were all elements of their wealth. At the breaking out of the civil war the nation's warriors, who numbered over 15,000, divided their allegiance, and their territory was ravaged by both armies. The slaves of the Cherokees were, of course, emancipated, but they themselves gained in habits of industry.

Their territory now comprises about 5,000,000 acres, two-thirds of which is unfit for cultivation. The chief of the nation is elected for four years. The country is divided into eight districts, and the citizens are governed by a National Committee and Council, elected for two years. The Cherokees lead the five nations in the cultivation of wheat, corn and oats. They have neat villages, schools, churches and public buildings, and are a noteworthy evidence of Indian civilization.


The Creeks are allied to the Choctaws, Chickasaws and Seminoles, and occupied a territory which was bounded on the north by that of the Cherokees, but stretched south into Florida. Not being able to trace their origin beyond a certain point, they claim to have sprung from the earth and emigrated from the northwest. They settled principally along the streams of Georgia and Florida, where they were found by the English and called Creeks.

Two bands of the Creeks who remained in Florida and intermarried with negroes and Spaniards form the Seminole Indians. The Creeks called them Seminoles, or Wanderers, and it was the latter's refusal to be bound by a treaty made by the Creek nation with the United States which precipitated the war in Florida which was so disastrous both to them and to the United States. The Creeks were divided into a number of distrinct tribes, including the Alabamas and Natchez, who figured for years in Southern troubles, but fifty years ago the Government succeeded in removing, all but a few hundred, to Arkansas. The civil war split them asunder as it did the Cherokees, and they suffered severely.


After the war both sections were removed to their reservation. Their form of government is not so republican as that of the Cherokees retaining more of the tribal features.

Notwithstanding all efforts to consolidate them, the Seminoles have retained their individuality and form one of the most progressive of the nations. They have missions and district schools, are steady and industrious.


The Choctaws and Chickasaws speak the same language and have a tradition that they came with the Creeks from west of the Mississippi. The Choctaws attained more to the dignity of a nation, for, with their allied tribes, they formerly occupied nearly all the coast territory from the Mississippi to the Atlantic. When the French first came among them they were in the habit of flattening the heads of their children with bags of sand, and therefore became known as Flatheads. They were allies of the French, and did splendid service for them against the Natchez, Chickasaws and other hostile tribes. The State of Georgia offered them the rights of citizenship, but they preferred to cede their lands and move with the Chickasaws to Arkansas.

They were already a nation, in fact, as in name, and are still governed by a written constitution, substantially adopted in 1838. They are governed by a chief elected for a term of four years, by a National Council and a regular judiciary. Trial by jury is also a feature of their government. Besides exhibiting other evidences of the white man's civilization, the Choctaws comprise a distinguished member of the Five nations as being the principal lumbermen of the group.

The Chickasaws at first formed a part of the Choctaw nation, but, subsequently organized a government of their own, consisting of a Governor, Senate and House of Representatives. The Chickasaw nation embraces a decided negro element; for instead of giving up a proportion of their lands to the Government, the proceeds of which were to go to their former slaves, the nation adopted them into their tribe.

The curious products, and manufactures collected not only from the tribes of the Indian Territory, but from the Pueblos of New Mexico — who, from the earliest of times, have lived in their great mud houses or fortresses — these form a department of our World's Fair of much interest. It enforces the truth — especially to strangers — that even the Indians of North America are not all savages.


The World's Fair.


UP to this point the discoverers of America have been introduced, both ancient and modern. The great nations which will take the most prominent part in the Columbian Exposition have also been brought forward. The natives whom Columbus and his successors found in possession of the soil of the Americas — some of them warring savages, others consolidated nations, well advanced in art and government — have just been presented.

Undoubtedly, the most prodigious result of the Columbian discoveries is the United States of America, and its grand center and the heart of the great Columbian Exposition is the government of the United States. No one should therefore forget for a moment that the Republic, as a government, is Anglo-Saxon. A charter was never granted to a colony in America, from that of Virginia in 1606 to that of Georgia in 1732, which did not stipulate that the laws should conform, as nearly as possible, to those of Great Britain. Yet it is a common delusion that our constitution, armed with justice and power, sprung instantly from the brain of American statesmen. It was, in reality, a growth — a slow, a weary, a painful growth. The wonder should be not at its final vigor, but that the birth should have been so long delayed, and, although we cut ourselves clear from all entangling alliances with England — whether statutory or otherwise — that the spirit of the English laws, the jewels of the English constitution, purified and brightened, should have been made to do such splendid service for another people and another land. But in this parallelism, which even the Declaration of Independence did not disturb, lies the hope of the future union of all English-speaking races.

But although each colonial charter stipulated that American laws were to conform, as nearly as possible, to those of Great Britain, the modifying clause covered the loop-hole through which much democracy found a way into our constitution. The first of the charters — that


granted to Raleigh — provided for the establishment of a virtual monarchy in Virginia, the head of the colony being the creator of its laws.

In the founding of the Plymouth Colony, however, there was a partial severance of the close tie which bound the colonial laws to the English constitution. In fact, for over seventy years Plymouth existed without a royal charter. It finally obtained its lands from the New England Company; but the colonists were authorized to make no laws, and the Pilgrims had no right to land where they did. In a word, it was held by some that they were bound by nothing, and they threatened to do as they pleased the moment they landed. As one of the pilgrims says:

"Some of the strangers had let fall in the ship that when they came ashore they would use their own liberty, for none had power to command them; the patent they had being for Virginia and not for New England — which belonged to another government, with which the Virginia Company had nothing to do."

It was evident that something must be done, and done quickly. So, as the ship rounded Cape Cod and anchored in the harbor, the following compact was drawn up and signed by those who were the recognized leaders in the enterprise:

"In the name of God, amen. We, whose names are underwritten, the loyal subjects of our dread sovereign lord King James, by the grace of God, of Great Britain, France and Ireland King, Defender of the Faith, etc., having undertaken, for the glory of God and advancement of the Christian faith and honor of our King and country, a voyage to plant the first colony in the northern parts of Virginia, do by these presents solemnly and mutually, in the presence of God and one of another, covenant and combine ourselves together into a civil body politic, for our better ordering and preservation and furtherance of the ends aforesaid; and by virtue hereof to enact, constitute and frame such just and equal laws, ordinances, acts, constitutions and offices, from time to time, as shall be thought most meet and convenient for the general good of the colony, under which we promise all due submission and obedience. In witness whereof we have hereunder subscribed our names at Cape Cod the 11th of November, in the year of the reign of our sovereign lord King James, of England, France and Ireland, the eighteenth, and of Scotland the fifty-fourth, Anno Dom. 1620."

It was from Plymouth Rock, from Massachusetts Bay, from Rhode Island and Connecticut, in fact, that the earliest forms of democracy issued, and not from such colonies as Virginia and Maryland. They were to come nobly forward, in the promulgation and vindication of popular principles, at a later day. It is, therefore, no carelessly grounded sentiment


which has generally seized upon the hearts of Americans — that of fixing upon the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers as the real birth of America.

The Revolutionary War, which removed many restrictions upon the material growth of the country, gave birth to the United States as an industrial nation. Forges and rolling mills sprung up in Pennsylvania and New York. Somewhat later came the banks and insurance companies of Philadelphia, and Webster's first American school books. Whitney, the Massachusetts school teacher, went down into Georgia and (1793) invented the cotton gin. During the same year Thomas Jefferson became the father of the modern plow, although he obtained no patent for his mould-board which so neatly turned the soil of his Virginia farm. Several years later the first regular cast-iron plows were patented, and were made in New Jersey. In 1789 appeared the cotton and woolen factories of Massachusetts and Connecticut, which were the pioneers of their kind in America.

When the United States entered the nineteenth century, her industries and inventions made her simply a wonder-land. Think of the list!


In 1803, Hoe brought out his steam printing press, and was, for years, the peer of any European manufacturer. Fulton, in 1807, made the first steamboat in the world which really "went." Pins were first manufactured in England (1824), being turned out by an American machine. An American first suggested the locomotive, the idea was adopted by England and an engine put on the Liverpool and Manchester Railroad in 1829, and in 1830 the first locomotive built in this country was made at Peter Cooper's iron works, near Baltimore. American mowing machines, reapers and steam plows fell into line with the English inventions, in the early 30's. The first successful reaping machine (1833) was purely an American invention, the famous McCormick reapers being patented in 1834. The first submarine cable in the world was put in operation (1842) by Prof. Morse, in New York harbor; the same brilliant and patient genius, in 1844, sent the first message over a regular telegraph line (from Washington to Baltimore); and the father of practical telegraphy was also the originator of the transatlantic cable, first laid in 1858. The modern propeller is, beyond dispute, an American invention of 1841. The Howe (patented 1846) was the first sewing machine to approach the domestic wonder of the present. From 1860-62, the Ericsson Monitor, the Parrott gun, the Spencer rifle, the Gatling gun, etc., added to our fame in a new direction, and from 1868 on, the typewriter, telephone, phonograph and other inventions have maintained the reputation of Americans as the foremost of inventors. The exhibit by the Patent Office will be as interesting as any to be made at the World's Fair.

These running remarks take no account of the educational, the charitable, the reformatory and the religious institutions, which flourished in the colonies and have been growing ever since. They do not touch the various phases of art — art which scarcely lived in this country before the Revolutionary War. The intent was to place a few landmarks along the pathway of our material progress. The Columbian Exposition will prove that Americans are lovers of art and the higher life, and artists and doers as well; but its main purpose, after all, is to show to the world what we have done for it and ourselves in producing useful things — in making our mark as practical people, awake to every human want, and anxious not only to get ahead ourselves but to improve the nations by supplying them with comforts and conveniences.


Fathers of our World's Fair.


FAIRS date from the earliest times; world's fairs only from 1851. The earliest fairs were for barter and sale; the later ones for purposes of exhibition merely. There are records of Greek and Roman fairs before the time of Christ, but the records are, of course, incomplete. Games were features of the fairs, although the main object for which they were established was to bring buyers and sellers together under the most favorable auspices — in other words, to create a market for goods. Means of transportation were limited, and in consequence it was hard for the buyer to go to the seller, and vice versa. Matters were simplified, and both parties benefited by locating the fair on a grand central market-place, to which, at specified times, the merchant could come with his goods and the purchaser with his money. The purchaser had much to choose from, and the merchant had many buyers of his wares.

To add to the enjoyment of the occasion, the time of the fair was made a holiday and all kinds of entertainment were provided. Everything possible was done to attract great crowds, and in this way to stimulate trade. Furthermore, arrangements were made for the prompt settlement of all disputes arising on the grounds. Was there a difference between buyer and seller? No need to put the case on the already crowded docket of the Roman Circuit Court, or whatever its prototype may have been; a special court was provided to promptly settle the matter on the spot. It is probable that these courts also had much to do with the settling of disputes over bets made on the games; but concerning that, history is discreetly silent.

From these fairs the World's Columbian Exposition is directly descended, and it is not as difficult to trace the descent as one might suppose. They spread all over Europe and Asia, and it was an unimportant place indeed that did not have a fair at least once a year, to which came all the merchants from the surrounding country. The larger


the city the greater the display and the more important the fair. The great fair at Mecca was perhaps one of the most important in early days.

In France, an annual fair was started in 629 by Dagobert. It was held at St. Denis, and for 1,160 years never missed a year. That is a record that has never been beaten in the way of annual fairs. So successful was this that in the year 800 fairs were established at Troyes and Aix la Chapelle and continued for several centuries. Guibray fell into line in 1100, and Beaucaire in 1300. These fairs became larger and more important, and finally began securing exhibits from foreign nations — in fact, they began to touch pretty closely on what we consider world's fairs at the present time. As transportation facilities increased, the barter and sale feature became less pronounced, and the exhibitive feature more so.

It was in 1800 that Paris began to have her fairs, and she has probably done more than any other one city toward perfecting them. Napoleon took hold of them in 1802, and after that year they were held triennially. In 1844, Paris decided to hold a fair that should be a real world's institution — one to which all nations should be invited — but London forestalled her.

The first fairs of England, by the way, were of a religious nature, and were almost invariably held on church property. Alfred the Great inaugurated one in 886, and it was continued for a number of years. The Priory of St. Bartholomew started one in 1133, and continued it till 1855. The Donnybrook fair of Ireland is well known even to this day. Its exhibit of shillalies is said to have been a remarkably good one. Other fairs were held at Norwich, Weyhill, Ipswich and Ballinasloe, and were continued up to the time of the great fair of 1851.

Germany also had a great many fairs in early times, although France and England both lead it. Leipsic began a series about the year 1200, and Frankfort-on-the-Main and Brunswick promptly fell in line. Holland, Russia, China and Japan all did their share in the way of fairs, but the records of them — particularly in the last two countries — are very incomplete. The time that Holland's fairs were open was made a public holiday, and the same was true of Russia. Two were held at Nijni-Novgorod each year — one in the summer and one in the winter. The latter was held on the ice. Little is known of the fairs of China and Japan.

Nearly all of these fairs grew in size and importance until London and Paris started in simultaneously on a grand scale in 1844. London got a trifle the start, and after postponing the exhibition once or twice, finally held it in 1851.



The London Fair of 1851 was the first really modern and universal exhibition — the first to be world-wide in its conception and execution. The nobility of the enterprise was worthy of the cultivated mind and the large soul of the Christian Prince Albert, and was a notice to the world that the era of peace between nations had at last been conceived by a powerful ruler of men.

Prince Albert of England, then, was the father of the modern world's fair, which was born in this wise: In the spring of 1849, before the Society of Arts, he outlined the plan of a great industrial exhibition of all nations, to take place in 1851, dwelling with fervor upon the happy results to be anticipated from such an enterprise. In July following, the Prince, in the name of the Society which now espoused the cause, applied to the government for the appointment of a royal commission to organize and manage such an exhibition. Great meetings were held at the Mansion House and elsewhere to arouse public interest, and, early in 1850, the commission was appointed, with Prince Albert at its head. A very large guarantee fund was promptly subscribed, the consent of the crown for holding the exhibition in Hyde Park obtained, and, in September following, with less than eight months' time for work, the building of the original Crystal Palace of the world was commenced. Two thousand workmen were engaged, however, and rapid progress was made. The colossal building, over a third of a mile in length, covering nineteen acres — more than seven times the ground area of St. Paul's Cathedral — was, in good time, turned over to the Royal Commission. Punctually, on May 1, 1851, the Crystal Palace Exhibition was opened by the Queen in person, Prince Albert in an address explaining the purposes of the undertaking, and many of the nobility, including the Duke of Wellington, Lord Palmerston, the Marquis of Anglesea and others, taking part in the ceremonials.

Hyde Park, the site of the first World's Fair, originally laid out by Henry VIII., and for many generations one of the most frequented resorts of London, has been made famous as the scene both of state pageantries and military reviews and popular demonstrations. It is the rendezvous both of aristocrat and plebeian. Its location is midway between Charing Cross, or the center of London, and its western outskirts. The park is one of the pleasant gardens of England, covering 390 acres and blending the splendors of noble fountains, statuary, arches and


monuments with the purer beauty of wide lawns, vast beds of flowers and rows of majestic trees. In its immediate vicinity are the houses of such celebrities as the Duke of Wellington, the Duke of Cambridge and Baron Rothschild. Kensington Gardens, Kensington Palace and Holland House are also close at hand. Its drives are the most noted in the world, the site being favored with such wide and easy approaches from central London that, of the estimated 6,000,000 visitors to the Fair, nearly ten per cent, of the attendance was by private conveyance.

The total number of exhibitors was 13,937, England contributing 6,861, her colonies 520, the United States 499, Persia 12, China 30, Greece 36, Denmark 39, France, Germany and the other European countries furnishing the remainder. The classification was simple and consisted of four great sections — raw material and produce, machinery, manufactures and fine arts. The awards were a Medal of Honor, a Prize Medal and a certificate of Honorable Mention, the United States receiving 160 awards, including 102 prize medals. A special feature of the exhibit consisted of the American buggies and coaches, pianos, reaping machines and rubber goods. The most conspicuous feature in the very meager department of arts was Powers' Greek Slave.

The estimated value of exhibits was $9,000,000. The gate receipts were $1,780,000, to which enough was added from sale of space and privileges to return a profit of $930,000 to the managers, after deducting $965,000 (cost of structure) and $716,000 (operating expenses). During the six months of the exhibition $20,000,000 was added to the wealth of London. Thus the first World's Fair, while entirely experimental, was a financial success, and entirely creditable to the public spirit of the British nation.


One important and immediate effect of the London Fair was to stimulate the nations of both hemispheres to efforts in a similar direction. Within eight years' time the ambitious capitals of the world had given either world's fairs or special expositions on a new scale of magnificence. Dublin came first in 1853, with what proved a failure as an international effort, but which brought out the finest collection of paintings ever before presented to the public. New York followed, the same year, with her "Exhibition of the Industries of All Nations:" Paris coming forward in 1855 with her brilliant and pretentious show, a year behind Melbourne, with her palace of glass, and Munich, with her 7,000 exhibitors


who were scattered by the approach of cholera. Manchester fell into line with her World's Fair of Art, in 1857, preceded by Brussels and her gorgeous "Industrial Celebration" — Lausanne, Turin and Hanover joining the procession at various intervals from 1857 to 1859.

The first international exhibition, after that of London, to command the recognition of the world was that held at New York in 1853. The magnitude of such an undertaking does not appear to have been fully realized at that early day, the Fair Association having an original capital of but $200,000, the only addition to that fund being secured by subscriptions to stock through the banking house of Duncan, Sherman & Co.

The site selected was several acres of ground corner Sixth avenue and Forty-second street, lying about two miles north of the outer residence district. It was central to the main railways, and near the banks of the Hudson River. The work of construction was commenced late in August, 1852, and, with its annex, the two-story main building covered an area of six acres. It was designed in the Moorish style of architecture, composed entirely of wood, iron and glass, and, out of courtesy to the architects rather than from fidelity to art or truth, has ever since been known to fame as the New York "Crystal Palace." It was formally opened to the world on July 14, 1853 — President Pierce, Gen. Winfield Scott, Jefferson Davis (then Secretary of War), Caleb Cushing, Governor Seymour, of New York, and many other eminent personages, both Americans and foreigners, being present. The building, less in size than a first-class dry goods store, and less ornate than a first-class passenger depot, was yet in an unfinished condition; but the exhibition proceeded without embarrassment and with 4,100 exhibitors — a little less than one-half of whom were composed of American manufacturers, merchants, inventors and artists. England, with her dignified generosity, and France, true to her splendid instinct of international courtesy, contributed the main line of exhibits from abroad. The classification of articles was the same as at London — raw materials, machinery, manufactures and fine arts. The latter formed an important feature of the exposition and occupied the entire gallery of the second building or annex. Owing to the multiplicity of American manufactures, the exhibits took a very wide range, with farm implements, machinery, wagons and carriages, pianos and organs, printing presses, leather, iron and rubber goods and cotton fabrics as the prominent features. England sent liberally of her cutlery, woolen fabrics and articles of utility; France contributing abundantly of her silks and broadcloths, wines, perfumeries,


pictures and ornaments; Switzerland of clocks and music-boxes; and Germany of musical instruments and cheese.

Financially, the New York World's Fair was not a success, the total attendance being estimated at 1,500,000, and receipts from all sources at $340,000. The cost of building and other expenses amounted to $640,000, a loss of $300,000 being thus entailed upon the stockholders.

Horace Greeley, a director in the undertaking, was arrested while in Paris and confined in Clichy prison, at the suit of a French exhibitor whose property was alleged to have been damaged by the reckless handling of the proverbial American "baggage smasher." Otherwise, the World's Fair, New York, 1853, was without historic incident.


The city of Paris has now given the world a series of four brilliant and successful international exhibitions, beginning with the memorable event of 1855 and culminating, in 1889, in one of the most splendid triumphs of the modern world and of all civil history. There are many reasons why Paris should have put forth earnest and repeated endeavor to win fame as a world's fair city. In the first place, sentiment has ever been a most potent factor in all French enterprises. And there can be no doubt that the laurels of success, the glories of a great civil triumph won by England in her initial London effort, exerted a powerful and permanent influence in awakening the fiery ambition of Paris and of France — an ambition that accounts for that constant renewal of exertion from 1885 to 1889.

The World's Fair of Paris, 1855, was the conception of a commercial association, which, after securing the Champs Elysees as the site, began the erection of the proper buildings. Emperor Napoleon, however, with the support of the government, assumed the management, taking all risks, guaranteeing the company a percentage of profits, and contributing $2,750,000 to the building fund. Imperial Commissioners, appointed by the Emperor, with Prince Napoleon at their head, constituted the board of responsibility, direction and control. The exhibition, for the first time thus far in World's Fair history, was held in separate department buildings — the Palace of Industry, Machinery Hall and Palace of Fine Arts, the latter being located at quite a distance from the other two. The total space occupied by these structures was 1,866,000 square feet, the approaches and open spaces subsidiary to the exhibition making about forty acres.


Champs Elysees, the site of the first great Paris fair, is a wide oblong plain and promenade, on the northeast bank of the Seine, adjacent, on the east, to the great centers of Paris and near to the palaces of the Tuileries and the Louvre. It is called the Elysian Fields in clear irony, for it has hardly the Elysian sweetness or color of one blade of grass, or one red rose, or one green leaf, to temper the pale clay of its wide expanse, every square foot of which has been hammered and flattened into adamant by the tramp of a hundred million human feet. It was elected as a World's Fair site, apparently, because it was the universal promenade of Paris, afforded ample room, and was easy of access to the body of the people.

The total number of exhibitors on this occasion was 23,954, divided almost evenly between France and outside countries, and exceeding the number at London in 1851 by 10,017. The attendance numbered 5,162,330, the largest one day's attendance being on Sunday, Sept. 9 (123,017 persons). The total cost of the exhibition was $5,000,000, the main item being the Palace of Industry, $2,750,000, a permanent structure, a noble monument of the great event, and now among the distinctive attractions of the city. The total receipts were $644,100, showing a loss of over $4,000,000 to the government, though $30,000,000 are estimated to have been expended in Paris by visitors. The classification of exhibits was in eight groups and thirty-one classes. Ten thousand five hundred and sixty-four awards were made. One grand medal of honor was awarded to C.H. McCormick, of Chicago.

An important feature of this first Paris Fair was the interest taken in it by the English government and nation. The Queen, Prince Albert and the Prince of Wales were among the visitors, several thousand British workmen were sent over free of charge, and the British section of the fair was a more complete representation of the products of the United Kingdom than was that at London in 1851. The United States sent but 144 exhibitors. The fabrics of Europe were well represented, but the department which, by personal and official encouragement of the Emperor and Prince Napoleon, became the one of supreme interest and importance, such as to lend it prominence in all subsequent international fairs, was the department of fine arts.


London's second international exhibition, the fourth in the great modern series, was opened on May 1, 1862, and closed November 15. The original idea was to hold a decennial exhibition, which would have


dated the event in 1861, but the national loss, in the death of Prince Albert, occasioned the postponement of a year, and dimmed the luster of the great event by forbidding the state pageantry that would otherwise have been incident to the opening. The site chosen was the Horticultural Society's garden in South Kensington, on the elevated grounds between Hyde Park and Windsor Castle, and a mile distant from the site of 1851. The general environment of the point chosen was, in respect of historic landmarks and associations, of almost equal interest with the former location, being rich with scenes from the lives of Wilberforce, Sheridan, Sir Isaac Newton, Lord Holland and some of the later sovereigns of the British empire. Kensington Palace, originally known as Nottingham House, was purchased by William III., in 1690, by whom large sums of money were expended in its improvement. The site is nearer the Thames, and with about the same approaches from London centers as those that accommodated the populace in 1851. The main buildings of London's second World's Fair covered an area of over twenty-three acres, including two annexes east and west of the Horticultural Gardens. The area of space roofed in was nearly double that of the Crystal Palace, but its buildings, in point of architecture and decorative features, have never favorably compared with the earlier structure. The cost of buildings was $1,605,000, other expenses bringing the total cost of the exhibition to $2,300,000. The Duke of Cambridge presided at the opening, 30,000 people being present, including a few of the nobility and many foreign guests and visitors, with the Japanese embassy in full court costume. A choir of 2,000 voices and an orchestra of 200 musicians added to the pleasures of the entertainment. The enterprise, conducted with the advantage of former experience, developed many advantages. In addition to a reading room, a telegraph office, a money-order system and a bank, a postoffice was established, through which there passed, during the first six months, 211,500 letters. Among other new features were comfortable restaurants, to which 74,000 square feet of space was allotted, and at which the sale of wines and malt liquors was not forbidden.

The total of the receipts from all sources is given at $1,644,260, or less than total expenses by $655,740, thus showing the enterprise to have been a financial failure. The number of exhibitors was 28,653, or more than double the number in 1851, and included 2,305 artists. The total attendance was 6,211,000, with a daily average of 36,328 visitors, the largest number for one day being 67,891.

There were no gradations of medals, the only two forms of award


being the Medal and Honorable Mention. In all, 13,423 jury awards were rendered, the United States, with 128 exhibitors, securing 58 Medals and 3 Honorable Mentions. Beside the Department of Fine Arts, there were thirty-six classes of exhibits, the most important of which were those of machinery, carriages, furniture, musical instruments, mechanics' tools, woolen and cotton fabrics, and general hardware. At the close of the exhibition, which seemed to have awakened less national enthusiasm and less of general interest throughout Europe than was anticipated, all of the buildings were torn down with the exception of the picture galleries, which have since been used for the National Portrait Exhibition.

PARIS, 1867.

The Second International Exhibition given by Paris — the fifth in the World's great series — was held in 1867. It was now more essentially a state undertaking than on the first occasion; but the idea, although originating with the Emperor, was in keeping with the manifest inclination of the people. The site selected for this event, as for the subsequent fairs of 1878 and 1889, was the Champs de Mars, a public square of 105 acres, on the opposite side of the Seine and a quarter of a mile farther northeast from Central Paris than the former location. The Champs de Mars was the scene of the Festival of Federation, preceding the French Revolution. It was the scene, too, of the last imperial ceremony of the First Empire, June 1, 1815, when Napoleon entered in coronation state, drawn by eight white horses, to receive homage from assembled Paris. It was a fit site for a World's Fair, celebrated by the court of France and drawing such state guests as the Czar of Russia, the Sultan of Turkey, the Khedive of Egypt, Bismarck and the King of Prussia, the Prince of Wales and the Kings of Denmark, Portugal and Sweden. The main building of the Exposition presented the form of a grand architectural oval, 1,550 x 1,250 feet, covering eleven acres. The oval form was selected by Prince Napoleon with a view to facilitating and simplifying the arrangement of exhibits, by classes and countries, so that the visitor could follow a single class of products through every nation until he arrived again at his starting point; or, desiring information regarding a single nation, he could simply confine himself to that section of the elliptic. Smaller structures increased the area of buildings to 37 acres, with 52 acres of the island of Billancourt as an agricultural annex. The seventy remaining acres of the Champs de Mars were laid out in gardens and fountains, and covered with specimens of the architecture


of different nations — Turkish mosques, Russian slobodas, Swiss chalets, Tunisian kiosks, Swedish cottages, English light-houses, Egyptian temples, caravansaries, etc. The formal opening took place April 1, the exhibition being open on Sundays. There were 50,226 exhibitors about twice the former number, the total attendance being 10,200,000 and total receipts 12,103,675. The cost to the government, over and above that sum, is estimated at about $7,000,000, the compensation being found in the vast addition to the revenues of Paris.

The exhibits were divided and sub-divided into a limited number of departments and classes, the French, Italian and German contributions in the fine arts, the English exhibit of her iron and steel industries, and the United States display of machinery and inventive appliances forming conspicuous features. The British government, in practical appreciation of this Exposition as a universal school of instruction, again sent over some thousands of English workmen, free of expense, and who, at a later date, made full reports on all branches of industry. The United States was represented by 536 exhibitors, a small number, but great in comparison with the former occasions and sufficient to show a healthy growth of interest. The percentage of awards to this country exceeded that to any other nation excepting France. A notable incident of the close of this World's Fair was the meeting of official representatives of all the most prominent nations, and the promulgation of opinions bearing upon the management of future International Expositions; one of those opinions was that no prizes of any kind ought to be awarded, but that reports on every class of exhibits should be made and signed by an international jury. Another recommendation was that future exhibitions be held in rotation in various capitals.


The idea of an International Exhibition at Vienna originated with the Board of Trade of that city, of which Baron Weitheimer was president. That wealthy body having raised the sum of $1,500,000 as a preliminary, the government, early in 1870, took an active part, advanced the sum of $3,000,000, named a commission of 300 from among leading officers of state and men of science and industry, and announced May 1, 1873, as the date of opening. All Europe became interested, each of the nations appointing a semi-royal commission to honor and encourage the enterprise, the commissioners including the leading statesmen, philosophers and industrial magnates of the old world.


The Prater, a noble park three miles northeast from Central Vienna, near the banks of the Danube and the terminus of the Northern and Eastern railways, was selected as the site. The Prater is the Hyde Park of the Empire. It became the property of the imperial family in 1570 and was opened as a public pleasure ground by Emperor Joseph II in 1776, and for more than a century has been the resort of all Vienna. The actual exhibition area was 280 acres. The main building, a central nave 2,953 x 84 ft. and 74 ft. in height, with sixteen transepts, 573 x 54 ft., enclosed a central rotunda 354 ft. in diameter. The transepts were connected by facades and enclosed courts or gardens. Machinery hall, with nearly ten acres of floorage, was the main feature. The art building to the east, 600 x 100 ft., included a grand corridor for statuary. The department of agriculture, was confined to three vast frame buildings, covering about six acres. Exhibits were classified in twenty-six groups, and followed the plan of London and Paris. There were seven forms of award: Diplomas of Honor, Medals for Progress, Honorable Mention, Medals of Merit, Medals for Good Taste, Fine Arts Medal and Medals awarded to workmen. There were 70,000 exhibitors, the 654 from the United States receiving 442 awards. The criticism usually applied to the Vienna Exhibition was that it was "too big." It was cumbersome, unwieldy, elephantine and distracting. Edward Everett Hale said that it was a specimen of the world, but one would want a smaller museum for a specimen of the exhibition. Owing to the fact that living was made inordinately high in Vienna through the rapacity of hotels, lodging houses, restaurants, etc., attendance was comparatively meager — a total of 3,492,622 in 186 days. The total receipts from all sources are estimated at about $1,750,000, so that, the official buildings having cost nearly $8,000,000 above operating expenses, the financial loss entailed was something stupendous. During the exposition, trials in agriculture took place in the vicinity, with 1,000 acres of harvest and other land, divided among reapers and mowers, steam plows and threshing and winnowing machines.


The patriotic conception of a second World's Fair for America — the seventh in the universal series — to be held in 1876, in commemoration of the birth-day of American Independence, dated back fully ten years prior to that time, and soon found hundreds of thousands of advocates in public-spirited citizens in all sections of the country. At first the


project was discouraged by many leading men in public life, on the ground that the monarchical governments of Europe would hardly care to join us in celebrating the overthrow of kingly power. At length, however, the scheme grew in national favor and, in 1871, Congress passed a bill providing for an international exhibition of arts, manufactures and products of the soil and mines, in the city of Philadelphia, and for the appointment of one commissioner from each state and territory to prepare a proper plan and put it in force. Later, in June, 1872, Congress passed another act, creating a Centennial Board of Finance, authorized to issue shares of $10 each, up to a sum not exceeding $10,000,000. Philadelphia made a donation of $50,000, afterward increased by $1,000,000, the state of Pennsylvania appropriated $1,500,000, and the government at length added a loan of $1,500,000, subsequently canceling the debt. Popular subscriptions came in slowly, but in June 1873, the governor of Pennsylvania informed President Grant that provision had been made for buildings and, on July 3, following, a proclamation issued for the opening of the exhibition on the 19th of April, 1876. The Secretary of State at once sent a note of the fact to foreign ministers at Washington, expressing the hope of His Excellency, the President, that their several governments might be pleased to notice the subject and bring it before the people of their several countries — which they did, three-fourths of the exhibitors at Philadelphia coming from foreign lands. Fairmount Park, three miles west of Philadelphia, comprising 450 lovely acres on the line of the Pennsylvania Central and near the Reading railway, was contributed as a site, and 236 acres were fenced in for buildings and general exhibition grounds. The main building covered an area of 870,464 square feet; machinery hall, 504,720; art building 76,650 square feet of floor space and 88,869 of wall space; horticultural hall, 350 x 160 feet; agricultural building, 117,1760 square feet; women's department building, 208 x 208 feet. The United States appropriated $728,500 for a government exhibit. England, after establishing its commission headquarters at Philadelphia a year before opening, sent a collection of paintings valued at over $1,000,000, besides vast consignments of articles, representative of all her main industries. France, Germany, Russia, Spain, Italy — all the monarchies and republics at that time extant, from Mexico and Brazil to Siam, Siberia, China and Japan, attested their interest and good will by liberal contributions, with the result of 30,864 exhibitors. The seven departments were: Mining and Metallurgy, Manufactures, Education and Science, Art, Machinery, Agriculture and Horticulture. The awards, rendered by a body of judges, half foreigners


and half Americans, numbered 13,104, of which number, 5,364 went to American exhibitors. The medals were bronze, four inches in diameter, being struck at the U.S. Mint. The chief of the Bureau of Awards was Gen. Francis A. Walker.

The three miles of fence line inclosing the exhibition were provided with 106 entrance gates for visitors, beside 17 grand carriage and wagon entrances. The total number of visitors was 9,910,966. The largest day was September 28, — Pennsylvania Day — when 274,919 visitors were admitted. The total gate receipts were $3,813,724.49, the city of Philadelphia being largely reimbursed for losses by the enormous addition to


her monetary circulation. The two most prominent departments of the Centennial World's Fair were those of Agriculture and Manufactures, in which were represented, collectively, no less than 19,000 exhibitors. In Horticulture there were but 40 exhibitors.

PARIS, 1878.

The third of the Paris International Exhibitions — eighth in the modern series — was opened May 1, 1878, on the Champs de Mars, and closed on the 10th of October. It was entitled an "Exhibition of the Works of Art and Industry of all Nations," and was the first given in the Old World under the auspices of a republican government. The total area of ground covered by buildings was 100 acres, the main building — the wonder of the time in sheer magnitude — occupying 54 acres. The French exhibits covered one-half of the entire space, Great Britain coming next and Austria-Hungary, Belgium, Russia, Italy, Switzerland and the United States following England, in relative importance as participants. The total number of exhibitors was 40,330, the United States sending 1,229, and being also well represented in its official commission. The total number of admissions was 16,032,725, and the average daily attendance for the 194 days was 82,650. The total receipts were $2,531,650, the government again sustaining an apparent loss of several million dollars, and again finding its balance in a profit of fully $15,000,000 to the city of Paris. The line of exhibits, classification, etc., was nearly a repetition of the Paris fair of 1867. The display of fine arts and machinery was upon a very large and comprehensive scale, and the Avenue of Nations, a street 2,400 feet in length, was occupied by specimens of the domestic architecture of every country in Europe and several in Asia, Africa and America. The Palace of the Trocadero, on the north bank of the Seine, was an imposing structure, with towers 250 feet in height flanked by two grand galleries. For the first time in the history of foreign world's fairs, the United States had a separate building. Not less than two-thirds of the exhibitors from this country received awards.

Following this Paris World's Fair of 1878, came those of Sydney, New South Wales, in 1879, and of Melbourne, Victoria, in 1881.

PARIS, 1889.

The subject of a fourth grand International Exhibition — the ninth in the world's modern series — was first broached in Paris six years before the actual event, the matter being unofficially considered by members of


the Corps Legislatif, in June 1883. Public agitation and discussion followed, and in November, 1887, M. Jules Grevy, President of the Republic, signed a decree that the Exhibition be opened on May 5, 1889, and closed October 30, following. The government, in alliance with a guarantee society, undertook the work of organization, the society guaranteeing the state in the sum of $3,600,000. The board of control was composed of eight municipal councillors, seventeen senators, deputies and state representatives, and eighteen subscribers to the guarantee fund, while a consulting committee of three hundred persons appointed by the government, under title of the Grand Council, was divided into twenty-two sub-committees to watch over the various departments. The Champs de Mars was again selected as the main site of the exhibition, though a subsidiary space of some seventy acres now became necessary, the total area comprising 173 acres. The largest building was Machinery Palace, 166 feet in height, covering eleven acres and costing $1,500,000. The Palace of Arts cost $1,350,000, and the Palace of the French Section $1,150,000, an additional $500,000 being expended on the parks and gardens. Among these annex spaces was interspersed a marvellous series of dwellings representing a street in Algiers, houses of New Caledonia, an Indian dwelling, the Tunisian minaret, Turkish village, English dairies, Dutch bakeries, etc.

The permanent Eiffel Tower was the principal attraction. This structure which cost $1,000,000, is 984 feet in height, its base forming a gigantic archway over a main avenue leading from the bridge to the central grounds. The tower was built entirely of iron girders and pillars, with four great shafts, of four columns each, rising from the four corners of the base and merging into the single shaft forming the main spire of the tower. This culminated in the great Alpine reception room, surmounted by a yet higher lantern, or observatory, the platform of which is 800 feet above the ground. The total weight was 15,000,000 pounds. Four elevators, their united capacity being three hundred passengers, carried visitors to the observatory and first platform.

Organized on so grand a scale, the fourth Paris exhibition became the sensation of the civilized world. Seventy thousand visitors went over from the United States and three hundred and eighty thousand from England, the total attendance being 28,149,353, a daily average of 137,289. The number of visitors on the closing day reached 400,000. The total attendance was nearly three times that of the American Centennial of 1876, and four times that of the London Fair of 1851.

Eight hundred policemen, under four chiefs, four brigadiers and


fifty-two sub-brigadiers, were required for day duty on the grounds, and a proportionate force for the night service; yet but one hundred and ninety-eight arrests were made during the entire period of the exhibition, including just one American criminal. Who that American was, history sayeth not. At all events, he has been made ignobly prominent.

The number of exhibitors was 55,000, 1,750 being from the United States. The awards were of five degrees and in five forms: Grand Prize, Gold Medal, Silver Medal, Bronze Medal and Honorable Mention, 941 awards being made to American exhibitors.

The expenses of the exhibition were about $8,000,000 and the receipts nearly $10,000,000, showing for the first time in Paris direct financial returns on the investment. The item of expense chargeable to buildings and grounds was a little less than $6,000,000.

The effect of the great international event on the finances of Paris was shown in the increase of bank balances, and of railroad, theatre, hotel and store receipts. The best estimates indicate the addition to the circulating capital of the city of nearly $350,000,000.

The range and variety of exhibits was the widest, largest and most thoroughly representative of all the different forms of human industry ever gathered. It seemed to completely epitomize the commerce, the invention, the organized labor and the art treasures of Christendom. To have taken in the entire exhibition would have required a walk of fifteen miles, and months of observation were necessary to an appreciative review of its attractions and treasures. Details were such as to defy even approximate enumeration, and it is safe to say that there was not a visitor to Paris, nor even an officer of the company, who saw the show in its entirety. There was no great change from the previous plan of classification, but every separate department had, in itself, the dignity, the completeness and the splendor of a special international exhibition. The department of greatest interest to the industrial world was that assigned to the Machinery Palace, while the departments of fine arts, of education, of agriculture, of electricity, of minerals and of general industry, were all of a degree of prominence that rendered comparison difficult. All the shining merchandise of all the capitals of Europe; all the mechanical appliances born of American inventive skill; all the products of the looms, the shops, the factories and the foundries of England, Germany, Spain, Portugal and Russia; all the oriental bric-a-brac and decorative notions of China and Japan; all the treasures and splendors of all the galleries and studios of France and Italy were there in full representation of the taste, the ingenuity and the labors of mankind.


For purposes of comparison, the American Exposition of 1893 will be placed against this superb triumph of French industry, power of organization and artistic genius; and that fact is one of the keenest of the incentives which have pushed on our World's Fair to a high standard of success — which are proving that the Americans are an artistic people, as well as a practical, thriving race.

Also for purposes of comparison as to what has been done, statistically speaking, by the previous world's fairs, the following table is presented, some of its items having already been given:

WHERE HELD. YEAR. Acres Occupied by Bldgs. No. of Exhibitors. No. of Admissions. Days Open. Average Attendance. Receipts.
London 1851 21 13,937 6,039,195 144 41,938 $1,780,000
New York 1853 6 4,100 1,500,000     340,000
Paris 1855 24½ 23,954 5,162,330 200 25,811 644,100
London 1862 23½ 28,653 6,211,103 171 36,328 1,644,260
Paris 1867 37 50,226 10,200,000 117 47,470 2,103,675
Vienna 1873 40 70,000 3,492,622 186 39,003 1,750,000
Philadelphia 1876 60 30,864 9,910,966 150 62,333 3,8l3,724
Paris 1878 100 40,366 16,032,725 194 82,650 2,531,650
Paris 1889 75½ 55,000 28,149,353 183 137,289 8,300,000

But although these figures tell a story of their own, there is a broader side of the matter which has been only partially presented. It is not the receipts at the gates of the Fair, compared to the expenditures upon grounds, buildings, exhibits and management, which determine the success of the enterprise. The hundreds of thousands of strangers who visit the World's Fair City come with money to spend, and spend it. All lines of business take a bound. The city presents a bright face to the World, makes everyone welcome, and is on its good behavior. The Fair not only brings an added circulation of money, but a permanent increase of population from those who are seeking new and pleasant homes. These are successes outside of the gate receipts.

The World's Fair also serves to exhibit the comparative standing of the nations in special lines — in the arts, manufactures, products of the soil, etc, — and illustrates the advantages which would accrue from a universal division of labor among the states of the universe, should they ever be able to forget their old feuds and compete only in the industrial and commercial arenas.


History of our World's Fair.


THE fact that the nineteenth century — the most progressive as well as the most pregnant in stupendous advances in science and civilization since the beginning of the Christian era — was rapidly drawing to a close, naturally suggested to the Government of the United States the appropriateness of commemorating, during its crowning decade, an event of such importance in the world's history that in comparison with it the achievements of military heroes sink into insignificance. The discovery of the Western Hemisphere has served to transform the world, not only in its outward seeming but even in its domestic, social and political life. It seemed fitting that the country which had given a new impetus to the propagation of faith in a universal brotherhood should invite to its shores the nations of the world to celebrate the four hundredth anniversary of the discovery of the land over which it reigns mistress. To celebrate this discovery by a man who was at once thinker, enthusiast and martyr, constitutes a fitting climax to four centuries of human progress, of emancipation of thought and of acquisition of a broader and deeper knowledge. It was in reflections such as these that the idea of the World's Columbian Exposition found at once its germination and development.

The conception of celebrating so great an event through an international exhibition, where might be afforded a view of the comparative progress made by the countries of the earth in art, science and manufacture, no less than in the cultivation of the soil, was first agitated in Chicago. To George Mason, Esq., of that city, belongs the honor of originating, as early as November, 1885, at a meeting of the directory of the Inter-State Exposition Company (of which body he was a member), resolutions looking to the inauguration of such a colossal project. The expediency and feasibility of the enterprise was subsequently discussed at a private meeting of representative citizens selected from the


leading clubs of Chicago, and a pronounced sentiment in its favor found almost unanimous expression.

The following year — 1886 — the same idea found lodgment in the minds of public-spirited men in Eastern States. A Board of Promotion was organized, with a view to securing Congressional action in this direction. Ex-Governor Claflin, of Massachusetts, was made President, and he at once took steps to bring about national legislation. On July 31, of that year, Senator George F. Hoar introduced a resolution for the appointment of a joint Congressional committee of fourteen to consider the advisability and practicability of such an undertaking. The committee was appointed, met and submitted a favorable report, and here the matter, for the time being, was allowed to rest.

The Board of Promotion, however, was not idle. Its preference was for an exhibition at the Capital, and it even proceeded so far as to


consider and finally adopt plans for the erection of both temporary and permanent buildings at Washington.

The press of the entire country took cognizance of the movement, and the interest, if not the enthusiasm, of the people of every section was at once aroused. The project met with general favor, and its consummation soon came to be regarded as an accepted fact, the accomplishment of which was only a matter of time. Public opinion having been emphatically expressed in favor of the celebration, in the halls of Congress, in the press, in public gatherings, on the floors of commercial exchanges and on the streets, the possible advantages — financial and otherwise — accruing to the city where such an exhibition should be located early became a subject of eager discussion. Long before Congress had taken definite action in the premises, competition for the site was earnest, clamorous and resolute between the cities of Washington, New York, St. Louis and Chicago. The claims of Washington were persistently urged on the ground that, as the Exposition was to be fathered and fostered by the national government, the national capital was the only appropriate location. Common cause against Washington was made by New York, St. Louis and Chicago, the latter city being the first in the field. The controversy between the four contestants was not conducted without much good-natured raillery, underlying which, it must be confessed, was a spirit of more or less acrimony. Not an advantage was left unclaimed by either of the rivals, not a defect existed that was not pointed out by some competitor, and for months the arguments carried on in the press furnished entertainment to the entire country.


The ultimate triumph of Chicago was due, in no small degree, to earlier and more perfect organization. As early as August, 1889, a corporation known as the World's Exposition of 1892, with a capital stock of $5,000,000, was formed under the laws of Illinois, the expressed object of which was to promote the holding of a World's Fair in Chicago in 1892. Among the signatures affixed to the application for a license were those of men whose lives were identified not only with the municipal government but also with the city's growth and prosperity. Within seven months the entire amount of capital stock had been taken. On March 23, 1890, a call was issued for a stockholders' meeting, at which — on April 4, following — a Board of Directors was elected. Subsequently, at a meeting presided over by his Honor, Mayor Cregier, a committee of one hundred leading citizens was appointed to visit Washington and


employ all honorable means to secure the location of the proposed exhibition at Chicago.

The New York Chamber of Commerce, at the suggestion of Mr. Cornelius N. Bliss, took action looking toward the location of the fair at the great Atlantic entrepot of the commerce of the American continent. At a meeting convened under the call of Mayor Grant, a committee of one hundred was appointed, and four sub-committees — on permanent organization, finance, site and buildings, and legislation — were named. The sum of $5,000,000 was guaranteed by individual subscriptions, provided, of course, that New York be selected as the location. Ground


lying immediately north and west of Central Park was chosen as a site, and the draft of an act prepared.

Action of a character similar to that of Chicago and New York was also taken by St. Louis.

Congress accorded the representatives of the four competing cities a hearing before committees, and it was agreed that the choice of a site should be left to Congress. The project of holding a World's Fair having been accepted, a most vigorous campaign for securing the location was inaugurated and waged by the advocates of the competing points. Headquarters were opened, sectional pride and sympathy were stimulated, and the fight went merrily on.


The result was that, after several ballots, the bill prepared was amended by the insertion of the word "Chicago" in the blank left for the interpolation of some name in the draft approved by Congress, and the date of holding the Fair was postponed until 1893. The measure was, approved April 25, 1890. Chicago having now the coveted prize, the next step was to effect a local organization, the selection of the members of the directory being determined by a vote of the stockholders. The vote resulted in the choice of men widely known in the financial centres of the world: Lyman J. Gage, President; Thomas B. Bryan, First Vice-President; Potter Palmer, Second Vice-President; Benjamin Butterworth, Jr., Secretary; Anthony F. Seeberger, Treasurer; and William Ackerman, Auditor.

Mr. Gage is a native of the Empire State and has been a banker during the greater portion of his life. As a resident of Chicago since boyhood he has been not only identified with some of her largest commercial and financial enterprises but with her artistic and charitable institutions.

The act of Congress provided for the appointment of a National Commission, to be composed of two members from each state and territory and from the District of Columbia and eight commissioners-at-large. The commissioners from the respective states and territories were to be nominated by the respective governors and approved by the President; the eight additional members were to be named by the Chief Executive.

Before the selection of the local directory, President Harrison had approved of the gubernatorial nominations and made his own, and the


first meeting of the National Board was held at Chicago, on June 26, 1890, and on the day following an organization was effected by the election of Hon. Thomas W. Palmer, of Michigan, as President, and of Hon. John F. Dickinson, of Texas, as Secretary.

Mr. Palmer was born and educated in Michigan, but since his younger years he has had the benefit of European travel, a large and successful business experience, and service both in state and national Senate. He is, in fact, a man of broad education, broad experience,


broad culture, suave and persuasive in his manners, and withal energetic and determined.

By common consent of both the National Commission and Illinois Corporation, Hon. George R. Davis, of Chicago, was elected Director General, or Chief Executive of the World's Fair. Before he was of age, Col. Davis enlisted in a Massachusetts regiment. His promotion was steady as his bravery was assured. Since coming to Chicago he has maintained his military reputation, has served three times in Congress and been otherwise honored. The chief responsibility of the conduct of the World's Fair rests on him, and the burden rests on strong shoulders.

It is surely within bounds to say that the great pillars of the World's Fair, from first to last, have been Director General Davis; Presidents Gage and Palmer; Thomas B. Bryan, First Vice-President of the Local


Directory, who proved such a force in the presentation of Chicago's case before Congress; E.T. Jeffery, of the Committees on Grounds and Buildings and State and National Exhibits, who visited Paris for the purpose of examining into the workings of her last exposition, and came to Washington splendidly equipped as a Chicago champion; and Benjamin Butterworth, the diplomatic, able and tireless Secretary of the Local Directory.

At the end of his first term of office, Lyman J. Gage, President of the Board of Directors, declined a re-election, to the greatest regret of all friends of the Fair. In the search for a fit successor to this


most important post, the unanimous choice fell on W.T. Baker, then President of the Chicago Board of Trade. The wisdom of the choice was proved in his hearty re-election to the office at the end of his year's service. Mr. Baker has long been one of Chicago's most prominent citizens, both as a successful business man, and one interested in every movement for the advancement and welfare of the City. He has been an enthusiastic supporter of the Fair from its first inception, and the credit for its success is due to him in no small measure.

He was born in West Winfield, N. Y., in 1841, and, as a boy of fourteen, commenced his business life in Groton, N.Y. Coming to Chicago in 1861 he steadily worked his way upward until now, while hardly yet in middle life, he stands at the head of one of the largest commission houses in the country.

Mr. Baker, at the end of his first term of office, was re-elected to a second term. Finding, after about four months, that the immense responsibilities and constant worry attending his position were wearing on his health, he decided to resign, and Harlow N. Higinbotham was elected to fill his place. Again the choice fell on worthy shoulders, for Mr. Higinbotham, an Illinoisan by birth, as partner and credit manager of Marshall Field & Co., has long been ranked among the foremost of Chicago's business men and financiers.


The preliminary work of classifying the proposed exhibits was early entrusted to Prof. G. Brown Goode, of the Smithsonian Institution, and a leading member of the Board of Management of the United States Government Exhibit. After being revised and amended by the National Committee on Classification, the Exposition was finally divided into the following great departments.

A. Agriculture, Food and Food Products, Farming Machinery and Appliances.

B. Viticulture, Horticulture and Floriculture.

C. Live Stock, Domestic and Wild Animals.

D. Fish, Fisheries, Fish Products and Apparatus of Fishing.

E. Mines, Mining and Metallurgy.

F. Machinery.

G. Transportation Exhibits — Railways, Vessels, Vehicles.

H. Manufactures.

J. Electricity and Electrical Appliances.


K. Fine Arts — Pictorial, Plastic and Decorative.

L. Liberal Arts — Education, Engineering, Public Works, Architecture, Music and the Drama.

M. Ethnology, Archaeology, Progress of Labor and Invention — Isolated and Collective Exhibits.

N. Forestry and Forest Products.

O. Publicity and Promotion.

P. Foreign Affairs.

More or less discussion followed as to the choice of a site. One was tendered to the National Commission by the Local Directory at the first meeting of the former after the completion of its organization, which at first seemed to meet with general approval. At subsequent conferences, objections were urged and this vital point long hung in abeyance.

The necessity for additional legislation, both state and municipal, was soon perceived. The former being considered the most vital the


Governor of Illinois was asked to convene the legislature in special session, with which request he cheerfully and promptly complied. The end in view was to enable the city of Chicago to contract a bonded debt of $5,000,000, the proceeds to be devoted to the furtherance of the interest of the Exposition. The legislature adopted the necessary measure, and upon ratification of the same by popular vote, the securing of the additional funds was assured.


For many, and cogent reasons, it was deemed wise that some site in the South Division of Chicago be selected for the location of the Exposition. The Commissioners of the South Park were willing to meet the Local Directory half way in the request of the latter that a portion of the improved lands under their control be turned over for this purpose. For a time there appeared to be imminent danger of a disagreement between applicants and officials to whose care the property was intrusted. All questions at variance were, however, finally settled in a spirit of mutual concession and general devotion to a common cause. Jackson Park, containing 586 acres, — one of the most beautiful within the city limits — with such portion of the contiguous Washington Park as might be needed, together with the interlying, cultivated strip of land known as the Midway Plaisance (embracing 80 acres of ground,) were surrendered for the purposes named.

At first it was thought that a dual site would be desirable, and it was proposed to utilize a portion of Chicago's Lake Front for the erection of certain buildings, at least one of which — the Art Palace — was designed to be permanent. Grave objections presented themselves to this suggestion, however, and after having been earnestly championed and for a time approved and acted upon, the idea was finally abandoned. The outcome of all the agitation was that upon the first three localities named — Jackson and Washington Parks and the Midway Plaisance — comprising some 800 acres, were located all the exhibits of the Fair.

After it was decided to locate the main portions of the Exposition at Jackson Park and the Lake Front, the Board of Architects — which at first consisted of D. H. Burnham, Chief of Construction; John W. Root, Consulting Architect, and F. L. Olmsted & Co., Consulting Landscape Architects — pushed its work forward as rapidly as possible, submitting a general report in November. Afterwards the work of preparing plans for the main buildings was placed in the hands of experts


from New York, Chicago, Boston and other cities, and the plans were finally adopted in February, 1891 — subject to modifications.

On December 24, 1890, through the Department of State, the President extended invitations to foreign nations to participate in the Exposition. In the proclamation it was also announced that the 10,000,000 and adequate grounds, as required by law, had been provided for the World's Fair. France was the first country to formally respond. Even by March, 1891, the appropriations which had been made by the Government, the Local Directory, the States, Territories, foreign nations, corporations, associations and private individuals amounted to $32,000,000. Evidently, the World's Fair had been founded upon a rock.


Mostly in the Air.


THE Eiffel Tower was the great and crowning glory of the French Exposition. In fact, the Exposition is, in history, associated with the tower, rather than the tower with the Exposition. Its stupendous height dwarfed the fabled structures of history, and since then to out-Eiffel Eiffel has been the ambition of many nations. In inventive genius the American is awarded the palm, and the Great Columbian Exposition afforded him every chance for a display of that genius. Of the thousands of schemes evolved from the American brain to add greatness to the Fair and, incidentally, glory to the inventor, the greater majority took the shape of tall buildings, reaching from anywhere on the ground to any place in the clouds. Space was to be penetrated and the stars made captive to Yankee enterprise and Yankee genius. Of the very many such structures the following are selected — every one feasible, at least in the minds of its advocates:


"The Chicago Columbus Tower" was to have been 1,500 feet high, by 480 feet wide at the base, constructed of steel and iron and supported by the contributions of the visitors and sixteen great arched legs. This huge daddy long-legs was designed on paper by rapid Chicago gentlemen. It would have required over 7,600 tons of steel, 6,000 tons of iron, and the small sum of $2,000,000. From the center was to rise a dome, 200 feet wide and 200 feet high, which was to be used by concert and theatrical troupes. The dome would seat 25,000 people. Eighteen elevators, each with a capacity of fifty people, would afford ample employment for the same number of obliging elevator boys. Unfortunately, these elevators were not intended to have gone any higher than 1,250 feet. But for the sake of affording the heathens from other lands


a chance to travel farther in the direction they never were intended to go, a small piece of silver will insure a view of heaven 250 feet nearer. On the summit of this great tower it was originally intended to put a great globe thirty-three feet in diameter, and provided with sixteen powerful electric lights, which were to be observable fifty miles distant. As the tower has not been built, the idea of putting the globe there has been abandoned.

But genius did not halt here. An electric tower was projected which should shoot into the ambient air for 2,750 feet, until its flagstaff might almost tickle the chin of the old man in the moon. Its height and dimensions were as follows: base, 1,000 feet from corner to corner; height to first platform, 1,000 feet; to second platform, 1,750 feet; to third platform, 2,750 feet. An enormous electric light crowned the entire structure.

The projector of the "Columbian Memorial" very wisely stated that it could be built to any dimensions, but he desired it as follows: The ground plan was in the shape of an eight-pointed star, from the center of which was to rise a steel tower, the apex of the flagstaff of which was to be at an altitude of 1,492 feet. The pedestals of the tower — sixteen in number — were in a circle. Surrounding the tower and resting on its pedestals was to rise in impressive grandeur an immense glass and steel dome or hemisphere 400 feet high and 400 feet in diameter, thus giving unobstructed space for the amphitheater and other purposes. The building could have been adapted to innumerable purposes, being equally important in all its parts and appointments. The projectors suggested that an amphitheater be arranged in the rotunda, with galleries, etc., capable of seating 50,000 persons, and the building of an immense chamber in one of its wings to seat from 10,000 to 15,000 people, the opportunity being unexceptionable to obtain a perfect line of sight and acoustics nearing perfection. The estimated cost of this structure was in the vicinity of $2,000,000, but in the opinion of the projectors the revenue to be derived from the investment could not have failed to pay large returns to a well-organized corporation. The profits possible from such a building appalled the directors so much that they were afraid to undertake the responsibility of taking care of the heavy receipts. It is not yet built.


Then, again, there was to have been a "Columbus World's Fair Triumphal Arch." It was in the form of a horseshoe, and large enough to allow a horse 3,000 feet high, but without a rider, to pass beneath.


Elevators would run inside of the arch and land passengers out of sight at a height of 3,250 feet, where a large bald-headed eagle would be seen taking care of the stars and stripes and, incidentally, of the earth. As will be seen by the illustration, it was a great idea, and only failed in its accomplishment.


Another design equally as interesting was a "Memorial Tower of the World's Fair," and is thus described by its enthusiastic projector:

"In the base of the tower and within the frame work supporting the upper portion of the structure is placed a globe, intended to represent the earth, and mapped out as accurately as possible, representing the different oceans, seas, continents and islands, with all the rivers, lakes and mountains clearly defined and the respective heights of the mountains illustrated. Every city of the world is clearly shown in its proper geographical position upon the earth's surface, with every point of great interest. This globe is 400 feet in diameter, and mounted upon a low pedestal of suitable dimensions, inside of which are numerous elevators and a grand stairway. These elevators are intended to land the passengers in the interior of the globe, which I propose to call Astronomical Hall — an exhibition of the solar system, the sun being represented by an enormously powerful group of electric lights, incased within a translucent globe, suspended in the center of space. This is to be the only light within the globe, so as to produce the same effect upon the planets as does the light of the sun. Within the lower portion of the structure and surrounding the globe is an electric railway, ascending in a spiral form, and having a grade of one foot in fifty. The tracks, which aggregate seven miles of railway, with their supporting girders, form so many circumferential bands or girts attached to the inner surface of the main supporting frame-work. This railway lands its passengers upon the grand gallery, which forms the approach to the theatre and elevators. The four towers contain sixteen electric elevators, having a capacity of elevating and returning 15,000 persons a day, landing them upon the third gallery or upon the entrance to the four grand hotels."

The projector said and did other things concerning this great tower of which history has kept no record. It will be seen, however, that he meant well.

An enthusiast from Utica, N.Y., proposed to have a globe representing the earth, and above that a hotel, and yet above that a tower, the


top of the latter being 1893 feet nearer heaven than earth is. So far as learned, the projector's idea has not been carried out.


Then there was the telescope tower, made in any sizes from pocket up, but mostly to suit the size of the pocket. The gentleman from Connecticut who evolved the great idea in his saner moments described the wonderful structure about as follows:

The first base would be about 400 x 500 feet, by 100 feet high. Rising from this about seventy-four feet would be another section, leaving a margin on first base of twenty-five feet. From the top of this base would rise another structure 150 feet more. These sections would form the base of a gigantic monument-shaped tower. Now, in the base would be erected a telescopic structure, consisting of steel tubes within tubes, placed in circles, joined to each other by powerful pumps in such a manner that, at a stated time every day during the Exposition, the pumps would be started, and this steel-tube structure would slowly rise until, at the end of two or three hours, it would tower like a mighty monument 1,000 feet high in mid air. On the first section there would be a drive-way; on the second a bicycle-way, and on the small end of the telescope a restaurant with galleries around.

What a beautiful idea he had of being telescoped into eternity! The plans have been prepared for some time, and are better prepared every day.

A French artist suggested a plan consisting of two lighthouses, with a globe of the world on each and Columbus standing astride, on the old and the new continent. The statue was to have been sixty-five feet high and the whole structure 200 feet high. The cost was estimated at $100,000. Since this idea was evolved it has been proven that the Colossus of Rhodes was a Roman fake. The Fair directors did not desire that in after years, centuries hence, their memories should be reviled by such an insinuation, and so the idea was not carried out.

A Minneapolis architect, in a moment of inspiration, prepared plans for a building to seat 120,000 persons, affording, at the same time, ample space for a full mile race track, base ball and cricket grounds and artificial lake, with artificial water. The building was designed to be 400 feet high, and surmounted by a globe 200 feet in diameter. The most marvelous feature of the structure was a drive-way for carriages, beginning at the base and circling around to the foot of the big globe. An electric railway was designed in the mind of the architect to wind around


the same course. The seating capacity would have been six times as great as the Colosseum. Generally and for the benefit of those who are fond of well-fed words, the contemplated structure consisted of an amphitheatre one mile in measurement on its periphery, and of oval form. Within the ellipse occupied by the seats for the audience it was possible to place the entire adult population of the city of Chicago.


The numerous means proposed for getting as far away from this earth as possible may have suggested to a French enthusiast the idea of falling 1,000 feet, or as many more or less as desirable. He would, if he had his way, have dropped a projectile-shaped car from a tower 1,000 feet in height into a basin of water. Not one of those in common use every day, but one built for the purpose.

The cigar-shaped car, according to his plan, should be built of steel, with a number of interior cones to prevent compression of air in the passenger compartment when the craft strikes the water. The proper height of the projectile was given as about forty feet and its weight estimated at eleven tons. If dropped from a height of 1,000 feet, the car would be traveling at a speed of 250 feet per second when it strikes the water. As this rate is considered more than three times as fast as an express train, the occupants would gain an idea of what rapid transit really means. The basin was to be 200 feet deep. Before reaching that depth, the resistance of the water would bring the projectile to a gradual stop, when it would rise to the surface, ready to be carried to the elevator leading to the tower from which the drop was made.


The arrest of motion would be so gradual that the fifteen passengers, seated on cushion chairs on a floor resting on springs, would not be jarred when the craft struck the water.

For some reason or other — probably both — the idea was not carried out. It would have afforded foreigners, however, a good chance to learn what is meant by the American expression, "taking a tumble."


Coming nearer to the realities of life, it was proposed to show the visitor to the Fair the great mines of the world. To do this, it was necessary to take them into the bowels of the earth, and here, again, the great American genius came to the front with the following idea:

Above ground there was to have been a unique structure, the entrance to a shaft, in which people, by means of elevators, would descend to a depth of 500 feet. Here, on emerging from the car, they would find themselves in a spacious circular shaped underground room, containing seats for repose and space for various exhibits of mining wealth. Here the different processes of mining, washing and smelting would be daily performed by skilled workmen.

Had this scheme been carried out, it would have afforded an opportunity to learn what it is to live underground, away from the broils of society, and study the monotonous life and toil of the dusky miner. Samples of ore from the great lodes of the Pacific coast, of salt, of coal, of copper, and all minerals, would have been reproduced in position, as removed from some of the rocks of the underground world. Europeans would then have learned what was meant by American mining stocks. Of course, the interior of this mine would have been strongly perfumed and


lighted. A good many would have infinitely preferred going down 500 feet, instead of going up 1,500 feet, as it would have been less strange.


Many of the genii allowed their thoughts to wander to buildings, whose vastness spread more on the earth than into space. For instance, there was the great Columbus Dome, the leading feature of which was a great hemisphere, having a radius of 400 feet — that is, a diameter of 800 feet. This dome was designed to rise from a flat, pedestal-like building, which was in the form of a cross, 1,892 feet long and 1,492 feet deep. On the top of the dome was to be a temple of Liberty, and on this structure a colossal figure of Columbus, pointing to his discovery, which is represented by a great map on the face of the dome. The style of architecture of the exterior of the building was the Italian renaissance, while that of the interior of the dome would have been Moorish. The Temple of Liberty at the top of the dome was to have been over 600 feet above the ground, and about 100 feet in diameter. The material was designed to be iron and steel, and the cost about $3,000,000.


Still another design was by a fellow-countryman of Columbus, and was a globe resting on a pedestal or base. The pedestal was of graceful proportions, 300 feet high. The monument was a globe whose diameter was to have been equal to the height of the Eiffel Tower. Surmounting the whole was to be a full-rigged ship. The total height of the monument may be put down at about 1,400 feet. At the equator a gallery was to run round this globe, which was to have been about two-thirds of a mile in circumference, while on the surface was marked the continents and oceans, just as on a school globe. From the equator to the north pole, winding around the outside, there was an inclined railway nearly four miles long. A large statue of Columbus stood in the center of the base under the globe. A Columbus museum and library devoted to literature in connection with his discoveries and those of other explorers was to have been established, and restaurants were to be placed here and there at more or less elevated positions. An observatory was also to be built at the summit of the monument. The cost of construction was estimated at about $5,800,000.

This design was hardly sufficiently expensive to meet the ideas of the World's Fair Directors, and so it was not considered.


An individual with a ponderous brain had the temerity to propose a tower to be at least 1,500 feet high. He was also under treatment for his ailment, but found time in saner moments to put his plans on paper, where they have remained ever since. He would have an aluminum cylinder, similar in shape to that which, in its halcyon days, sustained the Mount Carmel Airship, but of enormous size, and capable of containing an unmentionable number of cubic feet of gas. To this he earnestly desired to attach a large car or circular room, the whole thing to be anchored to the ground at a height of 1,500 feet. Should the cable snap — why, then all the passengers had to do was to leave the car to


take care of itself, and get out. This scheme has never been successfully tried, however.

One more reference to a dome planned for the great Exposition. An Eastern editor evolved a plan for a dome, resting upon a perfectly solid foundation, but a little above the level of the city streets — an exact circle on the ground plan, and an exact half circle in elevation, arch and roof. The plan contemplated a dome 400 feet in diameter and 200 in height, this surmounted by a tower of 175 feet, and this, again, by a globe twenty-five feet in diameter. The height of all would have been 400 feet. This would have given a mammoth hall 400 feet in diameter, and capable of seating 25,000 people. These poor people will now have to stand the remainder of their lives, as the dome has really not been built.


A scheme that attracted great attention for awhile was the Jenison tent plan. It was the idea of a local architect that he would like to be awarded the contract for roofing the greater portion of Chicago. He had an idea, and has it still, that it would have been the crowning glory of the Fair, had his suggestions been carried out. A center-pole he would erect, 1,492 feet high, and cover, with canvas, sheet-iron, or glory, a space large enough to cover the entire business portion of Chicago north of Twelfth street, and to the river. This huge tent would have contained thirty times as much space as the Colosseum of Rome. The wires supporting the great roof would be 1,785 feet in length, and the wall of the circular tent would be 500 feet high. Around this wall it was the design of the architect to build balconies for special exhibits, those of the States and foreign countries being arranged from the center-pole out. It was a great idea, and would have cost the city of Chicago the small sum of $6,000,000. But as the tent was not erected, the money it would have cost has not bankrupted any one.


A ponderous idea was evolved by a religious enthusiast out of his own head. It was a World's Fair Temple of Religion, and would have cost the modest sum of $30,000,000. But it does not cost anything to tell about it.

The plans of the Temple included an immense circle, 875 feet in height and 1,750 feet in diameter, a circle of circles around this, each 875 feet in diameter, and still another circle of circles around this, each


438 feet in diameter. In each of these circles the projector would have pictured the paradise of all nations and all times; that of the Christians to be given "the seat of honor" in the great central circle or dome. In another circle, one of the second size probably, would be placed the Mohammedan paradise, filled with lovely houris. In still another would be the Polynesians' heaven; in still another the Ethiopians', and so on to the end of the long roll of heavens that the differing desires of men have manufactured from time immemorial, and are continuing still to manufacture. In these various temples it was proposed, if they had been built, that services should be held daily during the Fair, in accordance with the rites of every religion under the sun; the projector estimating that the worshipers gathered from all quarters of the globe would amount to at least a million.


So far so good, as to the buildings. But there were schemes innumerable suggested, to mention a tithe of which would be impossible. The means and methods of transportation seemed to worry inventors to an unwarranted degree. How would it have pleased the visitor to the Exposition to have found for his accommodation a gently-moving platform, making a circuit of the buildings and grounds, while he sat reading his guide-book or eating a sandwich? And yet that was the luxury proposed.

Almost level with the regular foot-way was to have been laid a wooden path, carried on a kind of underground railway, at a rate of speed so slow that every one could step on or off without an effort. There was no interstice between the stationary path and the moving one, no place where anything could catch, not even a crack for a child's toe. It was to be simply a lapping of one plank over another. At intervals, of a yard or more were uprights which furnished a hand-hold to any one walking alongside who wished to step on, or any one riding to step off. The taking it must not be confounded with mounting a horse car while it is moving, for there the step is raised and the speed far greater — two material factors in mounting a moving vehicle. This was to be more like the change from walking on one plank to standing still on another. The moving platforms were really three in number; a slow one on each side, and a faster one in the middle. The whole roadway was necessarily continuous, circular, oval or elliptical; no halting or reverse of the motion being possible. The center platform was to be provided with a


row of seats, covered with a pavilion or canopy. It is difficult to imagine a more delightful and exhilarating trip than the circuit of the great exhibits in this ease and comfort. The motion would be more like sleigh-riding than carriage or car travel. But this glorious device never was adopted, and the beautiful picture of laziness hugging herself still remains nothing but a picture.


No one has as yet traveled 200 miles per hour, but there is no telling how fast they would have got along had the Hydraulic Railway been adopted. The method employed is the use of slides instead of wheels, and the use of water as the bearing surface on which the car rests. The propulsion is likewise accomplished by water. The train consists of a number of open cars. Underneath the cars is a continuous line of pallets or buckets, like the chambers of a turbine wheel. By a system of automatically opened and closed nozzles a stream of water is directed against these pallets and drives the train forward. The essential part of the invention, however, is the slide which replaces the wheel of the ordinary train. This slide is a metal box with a depression in the center, forming a step which supports the suspension rod, which in turn supports the car. Water is introduced into the box from above. The included air, being compressed, forces the water out through a series of complicated and interrupted channels in the base, which rests on a perfectly smooth, flat rail, which is further embraced by deep flanges on either side of the box. The water forced out forms a very thin cushion between the rail and the base of the box, and on this continuous cushion of water the train slips along with a minimum of friction. This cushion or film of water is not over 1-40 of an inch in thickness.

It was thought that the Airship would have been completed in time to bring passengers from New Orleans and New York in the morning, returning them to their several homes on the same day, but fate has ordained otherwise. There is no recounting the innumerable suggestions made to the World's Fair Board of Directors — from the man who wanted to reproduce Adam and Eve, to the modern inventor who desired a garden of flowers made of glass, the petals forming miniature incandescent lights. From these few descriptions, however, the visitor to the Fair can form a good idea of what might have been.

These words are scarcely run off the pencil when the writer is rung up by telephone, and a friend at World's Fair headquarters, who keeps


him posted, shouts through it that he has another scheme to tell about. Another Chicago genius proposes not to out-Eiffel Eiffel, but to out-Pisa Pisa. The leaning tower in Italy would be straight as a deacon compared to this one. The inventor says it will be 225 feet high, 70 feet square, and boldly lean 100 feet from the perpendicular. "The entire structure is of metal" (we quote his words), "principally steel, weighing about 500 tons above the foundation, and of novel cantilever construction that affords all requirements of stability. It will be built to safely sustain a load of 160,000 pounds on the top story. The frame-work is of steel-truss construction, forming a huge cantilever of enormous strength and rigidity, which combines for support a substructure of metal. The depth of substructure is 48 feet; area, 165 by 115 feet. The construction of the foundation is chiefly of plate-riveted iron girder work, imbedded in concrete, which forms a solid bed about eighteen feet deep.

"The walls of the tower are comparatively light, being simply a framing of small-sized angle iron attached to the truss-work and having a facing of embossed sheet metal. The exterior will be painted a dark terra-cotta color.

"Electric-hoist elevators and easy stairways conveniently lead from the entrances to the upper stories. Above the first story there are five floors. They are inclined and consist of a series of broad steps extending across the tower. Numerous windows light the interior, balconies provide interesting outlooks for visitors, and at the top of the tower an extensive view of the surroundings and a midair realization may be had. A spacious buffet, serving light refreshments, will be in the top story, and about midway will be the tower curiosity-shop. The visitor can also reach the foundation and view the construction.

"It will take eight months to build this structure — cost $500,000."

These figures are refreshingly modest — but the telephone rings again, to say that four more men are in Director Davis' waiting-room, with schemes in their pockets ranging from one mile underground to a mile above, and from $500,000 to $5,000,000; also that Mr. Davis has been again seized with the grip — or seized his grip (the words are muffled) — and started for the South.



The erection of this giant tower, which was the only practical scheme in the way of a tower that was suggested, engaged the serious consideration of the Fair officials for many months. A private company stood ready to put the scheme through like a flash, if a satisfactory grant could have been secured for its erection on the grounds. It is the one thing about the Fair which it is regretted was not carried out. This wonderful structure was planned to cover 400 feet square at the base. The first landing was at a height of 200 feet, and, with all its rooms, promenades and balconies, possessed an area sufficient to accommodate fully 50,000 people, without the slightest crowding. Here were to be places devoted to refreshments of various kinds, photograph galleries, billiard halls, etc.

Another ascent of 200 feet places us on the second landing 400 feet toward heaven, and here are repeated the designs of the first landing, though on a somewhat smaller scale. This modest resting place had a capacity for but 25,000 people.

The next step up would be 520 feet, landing you at a height of 920 feet above all your poor relations walking on the earth below. No danger of mistaking your destination, for if the plan had carried, instead of the golden pavements awaiting you, would have been the fiend of peanuts, popcorn, cigars, soda, ice-cream, etc. Still one more ascent, only 80 feet this time, up a winding staircase, and you would gaze down from a dizzy height of an even 1,000 feet.

This marvel of ingenuity and mechanical skill would require 8,000 tons of steel, galvanized iron and wire in its construction, or enough to make 800 carloads. Its ten elevators would accommodate 80,000 people daily, and the cost of construction would be only about $3,000,000.

When Congress visited Chicago in February, 1892, to inspect the progress of the Fair, they came so near to having their breath taken completely away by the undreamed of magnitude of the scale on which the enterprise was being worked out, it is safe to say the addition of a half dozen or so of the many schemes proposed to attract and startle, would have added nothing to the effect.

Imagination hath not devised a scheme that could create greater wonderment and awe than must be inspired by what the Fair offers without the aid of this chapter.


Our World's Fair City.


IT was a broad avenue, alive and brilliant with every style of turnout, and manhood, and womanhood. From the modest, low, basket carriage, drawn by the frisky little Shetland, to the gorgeous tandem and the massive English cart; from the laughing women and children, out for fun, to the aristocrats, out for parade; from the dainty, giggling miss, tripping along the broad stone walk of the grand Lake Front, musical with fountains and decked everywhere with statues and gems of landscape architecture, to the dozing lounger stretched upon his bench and getting his fill of elysian air, unclouded and untainted by city smoke; from first to last — from the muffled rumble of the cars, running beneath the covered way over which thousands of pleasure-seekers were strolling along the shores of the lake, to the silent but almost consciously beautiful palaces lying across the avenue and facing this expanse of animation, of marble, of green and blue loveliness — everything pointed to the fact that here was the approach to some magnificent municipal body. Opposite the park was an almost solid array of palatial structures — the elegant grounds bright with gay groups of visitors — and vast granite and brick blocks.

In fact, the World's Fair City had been thrown open to the world. The Exposition was open, and a party of distinguished foreign guests were being chaperoned about Chicago — were being introduced to it — and had taken as their starting point this splendid public green by this splendid lake.

In the first carriage was an enthusiastic, observant, talkative Frenchman, who observed that one would know that they were approaching the magnificence of a great city. The fact, to him, was in the very air, pure as her smoke consumers had made it. His English companion — a middle-aged gentleman, who looked "beefed and aled" into loyal passiveness — twirled his thumbs skeptically, but said nothing. A cool-browed but warm-blooded and bright-eyed journalist, the conductor of the party, who for several years had passed the age of manhood, gazed


mildly into the distance and bided his time. A well-bred, military Russian officer completed the quartette in this carriage, while behind them rolled along, in another conveyance, a studious, investigating, spectacled German, with an Austrian count, an Italian official of some kind, and a Spanish Republican. "What are these grand buildings along here?" asked the Russian officer, pointing to the left. "This vast granite and limestone pile of ten stories is as impressive as anything in St. Petersburg; it would be more so if it had more space around it."

"This is the Michigan avenue, or hotel side of the Auditorium building, which is to be thrown open to some of the great congresses of the World's Fair. The theatre and opera entrances are on Wabash avenue and the side street — Congress. Look at that acre and a half of massiveness, rising from its gigantic granite foundations and colossal pillars, the stones and supports getting smaller as the upper stories are reached; finally that great building called a tower — eight stories, or ninety-five feet piled on the 145; and a smaller tower, thirty feet higher — placed upon the 240. There's a perch for the Signal Service — 270 feet up!"


"It looks as solid as Gibraltar outside," remarked the Englishman, allowing his eyes to wander over its massive perspective.

"And inside you will really find artistic effects," insisted the Frenchman, "worthy of Paris. That hotel, with its marble walls and pillars, great banquet hall, elegant saloons and dining rooms, and the auditorium hall, in the opposite part of the structure — for size it is unrivalled. With the stage, which is a large hall in itself, it seats 8,000 people. Marble pillars, marble walls everywhere, curtained and mirrored dressing rooms for visitors — really for convenience, acoustic properties and elegance — but I should be disloyal to Paris to say more," concluded our Frenchman, laughing brightly.

Beside the Auditorium, hardly diminished by its shadow, was a granite palace of darker shade, through whose enormous windows noble steeds were seen, attached to every variety of wheeled vehicle. A grand arched driveway pierced it. Merely the salesrooms of a large carriage manufacturer, this! The steeds were stuffed.

"Aha! So they have an Art Institute," remarked the Frenchman, referring to his guide-book and pointing to a dark, rich-colored sandstone building to the left of the avenue. "They should have it even nearer the lake. And the building is hardly worthy, although it has a generous, welcoming look."

"But what have they inside?" asked the English visitor. "Rather a city of money-getters, you know. Trade and merchandise, I believe, amounts to something like a billion and a half. They pack $140,000,000 worth of meat — hogs, about $60,000,000. Biggest lumber market, biggest meat market, biggest produce market, biggest railroad center, biggest increase of bank deposits in the country. But what have they inside their art institutes?" and the Englishman looked around, questioningly.

"There is quite a nucleus within, and you see that magnificent architectural pile, nearly opposite on the Lake Front — in time that will be filled with real treasures. Truly an art palace," said the Frenchman.

"We're moving," said the native newspaper man. "Since we've lifted such cities as this out of the prairie muds, we haven't had much time to make a business of getting artistic and cultured. We're beginning to get time now. Our bankers, our board of trade men, our pork packers, and their sons and daughters, are supporting and developing our art institutes and our scientific societies. Why, the President of our World's Fair Directory and one of its leading directors were at the very foundation of this Institute. They and other wealthy gentlemen and ladies not


only worked for it, but loaned their valuable paintings and works of art to it. We are money-getters, but not quite money-hardened."

"I understand, also," said the Russian officer, "that no city in America responded so enthusiastically to the paintings of our Vereschagin and the Angelus as Chicago."

On they rolled past more hotels of marble, granite and brick, and still more, and finally a noble nine-story structure of fine brick, with ornamental towers, gigantic granite foundations, and huge polished pillars which would have withstood any Samson. As the carriage passed a grand entrance our foreign friends were undecided as to whether it was a city, a state, or a national building, or an evidence that there were princes in the land after all. They were more in doubt when the carriages drew up to the grand entrance, on the side street, with its paved inner court, the walls ornamented with rich tilings, and two massive stone staircases leading to the floor above. When they learned that this was the property of the man who built the dining, parlor and sleeping cars in which they had luxuriated from the sea-coast; that it contained, besides his offices, those of a great military department of the United States, a large restaurant, and scores of living rooms — scores of homes; and that the said Mr. Pullman owned a city toward the south, besides this palace, an elegant home and his car works, they were not credulous, but slightly disturbed, because both the American journalist and the Americanized German who imparted the information did so with such an air as to convey the impression that they had Pullmans in store — galore.


Down the avenue the carriages glided, past large business houses and the imposing Public Library (in what used to be known as Dearborn Park) on the west, while toward the lake still lay the variegated stretch of sward, flower wonders, sprays and marble gems. Then they swept into a district of wholesale houses — groceries, spice, tea and coffee houses, boot and shoe and dried fruit establishments, chemical works and what not. They finally diverged toward a huge steam bridge which spanned the river and were about to cross it, when the drivers were ordered to draw up to the side of the street. Pointing across the river at a huge pile of factories and warehouses, the newspaper guide proceeded to explain that over on the other bank, not ninety years ago, there came a Michigan fur trader and bought a log hut which had formerly been occupied by a mulatto adventurer. The successor to the


mulatto was a Frenchman, and he sold out his business to John Kinzie, the fur trader, the Indian agent, the silversmith, who made trinkets for the Indians — "

"How many years ago, my boy?" asked the Englishman.

"1804 — he's right. Indians were here in 1804 — until 1835," said the Frenchman, who was studying his guide-book.

"Kinzie enlarged the hut into the first family residence in Chicago," continued their guide, "and brought up a lot of children there. Across the way, right there" (pointing across the street to a five-story brick building, which presented a narrow front at the sharp angles where two streets came together) "right there, opposite John Kinzie's house, which stood on the other bank of the river, where that factory backs up nearly to the wharf, was government fort erected about the time that Kinzie first came upon the scene. A block-house at each of the corners of a palisade; an underground passage to the river, to be used in case of an Indian surprise; near the fort a log building for the Indian agent, with storehouses between; that was the aristocratic South Side of the river. In these very early days the equally fashionable North Side consisted of the Kinzie house and two or three other huts held by French traders, their Indian wives and half-breed children. This Fort Dearborn, the officers and their families, the Indian agents and traders, John Kinzie, wife, and the little Kinzies who were born across the river there, were about all of Chicago, until she was platted as a canal town, in 1830."

The Frenchman had been silent for some time, but at length said: "From all I can learn we Frenchmen have always done the rough work here in Middle America. Still you call us dainty. When your English and your American traders came to Chicago you found that we Frenchmen had been here ahead of you. Your first known Chicagoan, your mulatto from Hayti, was more a Frenchman than anything else, and fled to the swamps and woods of this region because he could not live at Fort Chartres, the French capital of the Illinois country, after it fell into the hands of Englishmen."

"But what is the meaning of the inscription under the old blockhouse — the bas-relief on the stone tablet which is set into the front of


this building?" As both carriages drew nearer the tablet at the same time, it is evident that the question was put nearly simultaneously by some member of each party.

The inscription was to this effect:

"This building occupies the site of old Fort Dearborn, which extended a little across Michigan avenue and somewhat into the river as it now is. The fort was built in 1803-4, forming our outmost defense. By order of General Hull, it was evacuated


August 15, 1812, after its stores and provisions had been distributed among the Indians. Very soon after, the Indians attacked and massacred about fifty of the troops and a number of citizens, including women and children, and the next day burned the fort. In 1816 it was rebuilt, but after the Black Hawk war it went into gradual disuse, and in May, 1837, it was abandoned by the army, but was occupied by various government officers till 1857, when it was torn down, excepting a single building, which stood upon the site until the great fire of October 9, 1871."

The visitors were much interested in the story of the massacre, especially as by stepping around to the head of the avenue they could get a view of so much of the route taken that August morning — that march of death along the sand hills by the lake shore, and the final massacre by the skulking savages at a point near Eighteenth street, south of the Lake Front Park. In the distribution of the stores, the blankets, calicoes and paints were passed over to the Indians, but the muskets, bags of shot and flints, were thrown into the river and the garrison well. This underhanded proceeding, the Indians afterwards admitted, was the cause of the massacre.

"After the massacre," broke in the Frenchman again, "Chicago was deserted by all save my people. Did not a Frenchman hold John Kinzie's cabin for him? If I am not misinformed, a few French traders — half-breed Indians, they were — one of them a great friend of Mr. Kinzie's, kept Chicago until peace was again declared with England, and the government rebuilt your fort in 1816. Then, in short order, came your Kinzies again to share the early days with the French Beaubiens. But Mr. Beaubien — he got to be colonel of your county militia afterwards — had been upon the abandoned site of Chicago before him and raised a crop of corn from the farm of old Fort Dearborn. Afterwards a good many Frenchmen became residents — organized your first church — but I mustn't go into that. The Beaubiens — the brothers and the younger generation — did as much as the Kinzies toward the building of the second Chicago. But I can't quite forgive your treatment of my countryman, the Colonel. He bought the military reservation, covering your lake front and the land where your Public Library stands, for $94. You Chicago people said he should have it, and so did your State courts, but the highest court in the land said ‘no.’ So the poor Colonel, like most pioneer Frenchmen in Middle America, was crowded out of his home. The Government paid him back his $94 and sold the reservation to the city, provided your lake front and Dearborn Park were always to be used for public purposes."



"You spoke of the town being platted in 1829-30, did you not?" The Italian spoke. The German guide assented. "Well, I knew you were young, but not so young." The Spaniard smiled sympathetically. The Italian admitted, further, that he could now understand why they had met no ruins along Michigan avenue. "But you have ruins somewhere?"


"Not now, but we have had them, and after riding through the business parts of the city I shall tell about them," soberly replied our German friend; "and they were no such mellow ruins as we have on the Danube and the Rhine. I want to say, too, that when the canal commissioners surveyed the section which is now embraced by State and Madison, Desplaines and Kinzie streets, the most active center of Chicago was not where it is now. The Military Reservation wasn't included — Wabash and Michigan avenues and the cross streets — but that isn't what I mean. You ought first to get the Chicago river well in your mind. Although in those days the river took a half circle around Fort Dearborn and emptied into the lake far south of where it now does, still its main course, then as now, was east. Two branches form this eastward trunk, one flowing from the north and the other from the south. Where the branches meet the main river, on the western banks, was and is a point — Wolf's Point it had been called for years before the commissioners decided to make a canal town of Chicago. There, so said the sharpest, was to be the settlement. For a year before the town was surveyed one of Kinzie's sons had been keeping tavern at Wolf's Point; also a store. Nearly opposite, on the north branch, Kinzie's son-in-law kept a rival hotel. Within hailing distance, on the south side of the main river, was a famous tavern run by Mark Beaubien, the younger brother of John. The postoffice was in the old Kinzie house, North Side, Father Kinzie having died at the fort two years previous, where his married daughter lived. There was the fort, and the Indian agent's house, and Col. Beaubien's trading hut just outside the reservation, on the South Side. But later we got to be the county seat, and a lock-up, and a little court house was built on the square, and the river was straightened and its mouth cleared of sand, and the harbor improved by the government, and vessels came in, and steamers, and there was a rush to get lots on the river, and houses and stores and offices sprung up on its banks and near them — and Wolf Point became a suburb. It's now covered with elevators and warehouses and railroad tracks, and opposite on either side of the main river are great coal yards and warehouses, and wholesale stores."


At a nod from the guides the drivers now turned their horses up River street until they came to Wabash avenue. A dash up the avenue showed how closely successful business houses crowded each other on both sides of the way — the most luxurious groceries, the finest millinery,


glassware and china establishments, straw goods, willow ware and carpet houses, furniture dealers, pianos, stationery and book stores, etc., etc., were there — just where they were most required.

After visiting the Libby Prison, which was brought from the South to this city of the North, brick by brick, the gentlemen were driven west to State street.


Then they glided rapidly past a solid mile of retail stores of all grades, with popular theatres planted, wonderful to relate, right in the midst of people and not too near together! On this street, also, which, below Madison, was formerly the eastern bounds of Chicago, were found gigantic department stores, covering acres and acres of area, supplying everything needed by man, woman and child, under any conceivable condition. The half a block of iron and Maine granite, on the corner of Van Buren, which represents $1,250,000 of Mr. L. Z. Leiter's money, and the "Fair" leviathan of steel and terra cotta, covering as much ground, twice as much height and more than twice as many dollars, are not to be passed without recognition. Neither is Marshall Field's great establishment, located in the lower portion of the thoroughfare, within convenient distance of the substantial citizens and the masses of the North, South and West divisions.

"But, my dear sir, that is a giant standing down there to the right!" exclaimed the Russian, half rising from his seat in his admiration, as the superb proportions of the Masonic Temple came into clearer view.

The grand structure, twenty stories in height, rising 275 feet in its architectural strength and beauty, its fronts of granite, brick and terra cotta being all of equal finish, needed no words to enforce the truth that master minds had conceived and master hands executed. The visitors alighted from their carriages and spent fully an hour wandering around the balconies of the court within, and examining the beautiful goods displayed in the entire streets of shop windows which occupied nine or ten stories of the temple. Above these were hundreds of offices, and the three upper floors were given up to the halls and parlors of the Masonic fraternity, all furnished and decorated in princely style.


"Here's where we make our homes," remarked the newspaper man, smiling at his companions and waving his hand up Dearborn street, into


which the carriages swept. "There are more and sharper real estate men, I venture to say, in the district bounded by Dearborn, Randolph, La Salle and Adams streets than within any equal area in the world.

That's why Chicago is getting to have more homes than any other American city — that, and because her clerks, her workmen and her business men know how to earn money, how to save it, and how to invest it.

"The real estate men and the lawyers are putting up some of the biggest office buildings in the world here in Chicago; the capitalists themselves say that they do it. Look at the Pontiac, for instance: Fourteen stories, brown pressed brick and steel, cost $350,000; and the Monadnock, a great, square, chocolate-colored fortress of the same material, devoid of beauty, but mounting sixteen stories and costing $1,000,000. Both on this street; corners, Harrison and Jackson, respectively. Think of it! But we have something more interesting in another direction.

"Up Washington, driver. Stop on the corner of Clark. There! Here we are on historic ground again. This is the birth-place of Chicago politics. On that square, in the early thirties, were a log jail and a long, one-story brick court house, with broad steps and Corinthian pillars in front. Not so large as this present court house, but still a kind of a sawed-off mass of basement, pillars and cornices. The court room was above, the county offices below — "

"But why mention the jail in connection with the birth-place of Chicago politics?" interrupted the Englishman, raising his eye-brows. The delineator smiled, as if it had been an oversight, and continued, nodding to the Lake-street corner and his French companion: "There was a plain, three-story brick structure,


thought grand in those days, called the Saloon Building, in which our first City Council met — 1837."

"Oh, yes; I see. Saloon Building — birth-place of Chicago politics. I see;" and our English guest unbent and slapped his knees.

"But you mistake him, my friend," replied the French gentleman, somewhat severely. "I have read of this Saloon Building, and find that the word was not applied in the vulgar democratic sense. In it were not sold whisky and beer. The word is the French salon — a hall — even a palatial hall. The public room in the upper part of this building was thought one of the finest in the western country. Below were reputable business establishments. We shall not allow our friend here to have his joke on that. Chicago politics are bad enough, but they were not of necessity conceived in iniquity."

"Good," admitted the Englishman, and the laugh went round.

"Now, if we could bring you to the spot, near Lake street and the river, where Mark Beaubien's favorite ‘Sauganash Hotel’ stood, and in which he fiddled, and beamed, and dispensed various inspiration — then you would know where bloomed the first Chicago politicians."

Across the way from the Washington and La Salle corner of the Court House Square, the visitors were introduced to the lofty structure of terra cotta, stone and iron, thirteen stories in height, known as the Chamber of Commerce.

"Here, then, you sell and buy those great quantities of grain, some of which you only have in your minds," said the English traveler. "I move that we look into the chamber."

It was then explained that this was the home of the Board of Trade, from a year after the Fire until the completion of the new building at the head of La Salle street, twelve or thirteen years afterward. The building was not what it is at present, however. In 1890 the old structure was used as a basis for the expenditure of $2,000,000, its height was doubled, the interior completely revolutionized — in fact, the old Board of


Trade building was swallowed by the new Chamber of Commerce and disappeared entirely. Banks and offices now monopolize it."

"Then we'll drive on and see your actual Board of Trade building," they all declared.

In the same block, however, with the Chamber of Commerce building, corner of La Salle and Madison streets, was the Tacoma. Superb stores occupied the first floor. Twelve stories of fine brick and terra cotta above were composed of hundreds of elegant offices, the highest being ornamented with an array of light pillars and elaborate cornices. The Tacoma has a grand entrance both on La Salle and Madison streets, and is one of Chicago's architectural triumphs.

As far as could be seen, north, south, east and west, were solid ramparts of stone and brick structures, towering 100, 150, 200 feet and over. The streets were seething with people, their voices muffled by the ponderous din of traffic.


The graceful and massive Board of Trade was but few a blocks beyond, its tower, which rose 300 feet above the din, being surmounted by a noble vessel of the lakes — symbol of what first brought prosperity to the banks of the Chicago river, and a guide to mariners far out on the lake. It seemed to block the street completely. But as the visitors drew near Monroe street, their attention was riveted upon a temple whose purposes they could not fathom. For two stories the walls were of rugged granite, the main entrance being a magnificent combination of marble pillars and alabaster walls; above the two stories of granite, marble and alabaster were seven stories, built of buff brick and terracotta; and from the tenth floor the building line retreated, and an immense roof of brown tile commenced, breaking, as it ascended, into Gothic turrets. From the center of these sprung a bronze tower, seventy feet high, or 285 feet above the observers. The beautiful tower of bronze was surmounted by the speaking form of a woman, her face upturned and her hands outstretched to heaven.


"This is the Woman's Temperance Temple," said the guide, in answer to general inquiries, expressed by both words and looks.

"Built by women?" asked the Russian and Spaniard in wonder, "and to keep men from drinking?"

Without discussing the temperance question from an American standpoint, it was explained that this great edifice was a monument to the energy, ability, heart and soul of woman, and that it had been dedicated, in November, 1890, to the destruction of intemperance, whether it had laid hold of man or woman. The dedicatory ceremonies were participated in by thousands of children, by prominent clergymen and public men, and by the greatest generals of the temperance crusade in the world.

"And can American women carry on, unaided, such an enterprise?" persisted the gentleman from the North.

"Our Spanish beauties, I must admit," said the gentleman from the South, "would consider it almost a miracle for the men."

"This is merely an iota in the temperance work accomplished by women. From this building go out tons of pamphlets, newspapers and books to the very ends of the world, and missionaries, too — weak women," laughed the newspaper man. "This temple is worth looking into,"

The gentlemen from both carriages alighted, and, passing through the grand entrance, were introduced to some of the gracious ladies found in charge of the national, state and city headquarters, on the first floor. They were then conducted to Willard Hall — lined with marble and covered with various inscriptions. They were told that the hall had been named after Miss Frances E. Willard, one of the most able and practical reformers whom the country had produced, and, for many years, the acknowledged head of this movement. The marble walls were inscribed with the names of individuals and societies who had contributed toward the erection of the temple. There were also beautiful memorial windows, and busts and statues in honor of the heroes and heroines of temperance. Eleven floors of the temple were given over to offices, the rentals from which, it was explained, had already gone far toward paying for this splendid monument — raised at a cost of $1,100,000. The ground upon which it stands had been leased for two hundred years, at a rental of $40,000 a year. In fact, it had become quite general to lease ground for a century, or two centuries, which was an evidence of the faith possessed by Chicago in her own permanency.



The visitors left this Woman's Temple with some reluctance, and a block beyond it were directed to a superb structure of granite and brick, a dozen stories in height, which they were told went by the very strange title of "The Rookery." It is but politeness to explain why it is called Rookery. Within a week after the Great Fire, workmen commenced upon a new city hall, its location being upon a tract of land on the southeast corner of Adams and La Salle streets. Nearly in the center of this 190-foot square, owned by the city, was a great iron tank (with a good brick substructure) which had once served as a reservoir for the South Side water works. Around this structure, as a nucleus, a rough, shambling, two-story brick building was erected. When finished, by New Year's day of 1872, the uncouth reservoir protruded considerably above the highest roof of the City Hall, although, in places, an extra half story had been added to the two floors. The old tank had really cause to feel dignified, for it now served as a vault for the keeping of valuable documents. But although the city and some of the county officials of a great municipality transacted their business in this structure, the birds came also and built their nests in its many corners and crannies. The safety tank was an especially favorite haunt — so the newspaper boys say — of the rooks. At all events, the dingy, country-looking concern which the City of Chicago occupied for thirteen years got "Old Rookery" fastened upon it, so that the name is still applied to this rich, grand affair on the old site.

As the carriages drove away from the Rookery to continue up La Salle street to the Board of Trade building, it would have been an oversight not to have remarked that the next block to the east was occupied by the Government building, and that the impressive ten-story structure near the southwestern corner of Adams and La Salle streets was for some time the headquarters of the Exposition officials. This was the Rand-McNally block — occupied by the largest map and atlas house in the world.

But the Board of Trade temple was finally reached. Granite and iron, it was; cost, $1,500,000. Through the grand entrance, on Jackson


street, on either side of which were massive pillars of gray granite, the visitors passed up the stairways of variegated granite to the great hall above, with its sample tables for grain, flour, etc., its pits for both grain and provision dealers, and the bewildering shouts and antics of the operators. The clicking of telegraphic instruments, the lightning-like recording of the markets by the bulletin clerks, and the darting of messenger boys but added to the wonder generally expressed by our visitors that in the midst of such a whirl could be transacted the commerce which had made Chicago famous.

Coming from the temple of trade, with their heads buzzing, the guide thought it but an act of kindness to take them through the great wholesale district of clothing, boots and shoes and kindred goods, which lay west of them to the south branch of the river. This seemed a good point to call attention to the fact that south of the Board of Trade, on Van Buren street, and on the western side of the river — in fact, just on the outskirts of Chicago's greatest furnishing district — were the depots of those railroads over which the manufactures of the East were sent. It was a singular coincidence. Perhaps mercantile foresight, and a determination to obtain possession of the goods to be sold as quickly as possible, might have something to do with this admirable state of affairs.


Finally, driving on Van Buren street toward the river, the party stopped at the intersection of one of the broadest of these thoroughfares. It was evident that there was an indecision as to whether they should cross the bridge to the great democratic west side of the river, or choose some other section for their investigations.

It did not look very inviting, the strangers thought — crowded with square brick factories, warehouses and stores, and now and then a little patch or stretch of dilapidated frame houses which looked, even from a distance, as if they were fighting for their lives.

"It is not very inviting," the Chicago man admitted. "But we will drive over that way (pointing toward the southwest) about three-quarters of a mile, make one stop of about three-quarters of a minute, return to this spot, and then follow the South Branch and the main over to Rush street bridge, which will take us over onto the North Side."

The carriages, therefore, crossed to the West Division, and within a few minutes reached a conglomerate neighborhood of factories, stores and dirty frame houses. At length they drew up in front of two residences


of quite substantial and respectable appearance — one of brick, the other of stone. The house of stone, a large two-story and basement, was their objective point.

Another opportunity was given to study an inscription upon a tablet. It was a marble slab, four feet by two, which was built into the front wall just above the basement line. The inscription read:


There was no one in that party who had not heard of the Great Fire of 1871, but their ideas of it were confused, as a whole.

"Now, here is a good point from which to start on a grand excursion," proposed the Russian. "We've had some great fires in Moscow. Our English friend here has had his London fire, too. Now, let us see if we can get a clear idea of this Chicago fire of only some twenty-two years ago. You Chicagoans seem to reckon so many things from the Fire!"

"We have been driving thus far over a portion of the burnt district," said the newspaper fiend, smiling modestly.

"What," exclaimed the Italian, "all your finest business district razed to the ground within the life-time of a young man, and these palaces and temples built! And you say only a portion!"

"From this point, where stood the historic O'Leary house, with a barn in the rear — "

"Mrs. O'Leary milking, and the cow kicked over the lamp," interrupted the Englishman, laconically.

"No; that story was exploded a week after the fire. Mrs. O'Leary, her husband and neighbors all swear, was in bed — that no milking was done that night — everybody who ought to know clears both Mrs. O'Leary and the cow; but there is no use trying to crush that yarn," said the Chicago man in disgust.

"Well, the Great Fire broke out, when the whole city was tinder, at the rear of this lot, about 9 o'clock Sunday evening, when the honest O'Learys were in bed. It swept northeast, between Jefferson street and the river, and soon crossed it completely, never to return. Van Buren, Polk and Adams street bridges and the vessels lying by the docks were just what were needed for the flames to spring over by. The grand leap was made about midnight, and in a minute a whole square of frame and brick buildings was licked up, the assaulting force was sending great


balls and shafts of fire in every direction, and a dozen fires were raging at once. The general direction, however, was northeast. From the moment the gas works, on Adams street, were fired the conflagration took a bound like a whipped steed. The Grand Pacific Hotel — not yet completed — the Post Office, the Court House, the Chamber of Commerce, the solid, ‘fire-proof buildings on La Salle street, Field & Leiter’s, the Palmer House, whole blocks and streets of structures, any one of which a city might be proud of — all swept away in such a whirlwind of fire that no one could tell at the time the extent of the ruin. Within twenty-four hours all the district between Harrison street, Dearborn and the river had been laid in ruins. Of the newspapers, the Tribune, on Dearborn street, was not touched. But hardly had its editors and those east of the street begun to breathe a little easier before a hurricane, which came from no one knew where, caught up a storm of live coals and hurled them against the wooden buildings on Dearborn street, and the South Side was again in a sea of flames. On they swept northeast to the lake, and then returned and traveled back on State street and Wabash avenue. Gunpowder, however, carried the day along Harrison and Congress streets, for by the blowing up of several buildings the enemy was checked here."

"But think of it! Where the fire crossed the river — that is, about the center of the mass — was almost directly west of where we commenced our ride on the Lake Front. All the ground we covered was swept, only two buildings which could not be called ruins remaining; 1,600 stores, 28 hotels, 60 manufactories — 450 acres of ruins. Very well. We'll creep along the river, as the fire rushed."

Thereupon the party was driven along South Water street, between solid embankments of oranges, bananas, chickens, meats, potatoes, vegetables, butter, eggs, express wagons, lake captains, sailors, tug men, etc., etc., for this is the great produce market of the city, and one of the greatest in the world. They soon arrived again at Rush street bridge, and after driving "up town" for dinner, decided to "do" the North Side, the Parks, the Boulevards and the Stock Yards in the afternoon and the next day.

The gentleman from Rome inferred that there they might find ruins, but was told that, for the same reason as the former one, no, sir.

"And have we not covered your burnt district yet?" asked the Russian. "I see why you date so many things from the fire, and write it with a large F."

"By the way, here is a picture I've kept of the first building erected


in this district after the fire — 89 Washington Street; location on the north side of the street, between Dearborn and Clark," and the newspaper man took a picture from his pocket-book, which we present to our readers on this page.

The drive, partly along the residence avenues and partly along the lake shore, when the carriages passed over to the North Side, was both charming and refreshing. As they swept along it was explained that at this point, at the time of the fire, the city extended westward for a mile; first, the more elegant residences and churches, then a crowded district of retail stores, plain houses and churches — nearly all foreigners; next, manufactories, railroad tracks, etc. All this was razed to the northern limits of Lincoln Park — four miles and a half in a straight line from O'Leary's shanty. But the North Side fire did not appear to be a direct continuation of the South Side conflagration. After the latter had been raging for nearly three hours, a fire broke out in some livery stables east of State street (North Side), being communicated from some combustible substance stored in railroad cars near by. This fire made a comparatively narrow swath, however — east of State street to the lake — but it made it to the Water Works in about an hour and took them also. In the meantime, up from the south and the southwest rolled wave after wave of the first conflagration. Blazing timbers, balls and tongues of flame, were driven across the river, and Clark, La Salle and all the other streets were swept, bridges burned and thousands of people literally driven to the shores of the lake, while some were roasted alive.

As the strangers were driven along, the different localities were pointed out. An attempt was also made to describe the feelings of the city, when, about midnight of Monday, after the South Side had been razed and 1,500 acres of the North (nearly all of it), the raging monster commenced to lap up the coal and lumber yards near Chicago avenue so ravenously that fears were expressed that he would recross the river, sweep south and destroy the West Division, the only valuable district remaining. But Chicago was not to be entirely wiped out, although one-third of the total value of property within the city, twenty-six hours before the fire, was swept away, viz: $186,000,000; 100,000 people were made homeless and over three square miles of the city were in ruins.



As an entrance was made into the artificial and natural beauties of Lincoln Park — there is a great, splendid green at its lower end — someone was heard to remark that Chicago had laid out to be a world's metropolis, by providing for good lungs, or breathing places. It was the Frenchman, who had been doing some figuring in his guide-book, and announced, moreover, that Chicago had already 2,000 acres of parks, to say nothing of her miles of boulevards which swung around the city.

He was greatly pleased with this, the oldest of the parks, with its artificial lakes, drives, restaurants, rustic retreats, conservatories, zoological exhibits, statues, and, most of all, with "what we shall always miss, even in Paris, when we see this — your Lake Front."

After driving through the park for about three-quarters of a mile, nearly all the distance in sight of the lake, the tourists turned toward the west and left its bright waters and fresh breezes with regret. They were three miles from the river, or that distance from the point where the fire commenced to sweep the North Side. Where they turned away the monster had been stopped in his mad career by thick groves of trees which had been saturated by floods of welcome rain, and thousands of people who had encamped in the park, with their children and scant


household goods around them, received, in what seemed a blessed baptism from heaven, merely their sentences of death.

The visitors left, with regret and wonder, the beauties and associations of Lincoln Park, being especially impressed with Lincoln monument and the Grant equestrian statue, as well as the group of Indians in bronze which so faithfully depicted the approach of civilized intruders — doubtless white interlopers. As the drive took them westward and away from the fire district, their thoughts gradually drifted from that awful event to the fresh attractions of their boulevard spin. For three miles they sped over a macadamized road, as smooth as a floor, bringing up at a little park, known as Logan Square. Lincoln, Grant and Logan — a trio of noble dead whom the proudest of Europeans might be proud to know!

Turning south, the course was along a broader band of boulevards for a mile and a half to Humboldt Park — another 200 acres of groves, lawns, meadows and lakes, or lungs for the tired and hot men, women and children of Northwestern Chicago. Douglas (180 acres) is over two miles south of Humboldt Park. Each is four miles from the City Hall, or the central districts of Chicago — the latter southwest and the former northwest.

Between the two, and more to the west, is Garfield Park. It is on the line of Madison street, the great business thoroughfare of the West Side, and its 185 acres of lakelets, islands, pavilions, grass plats, play grounds, rustic seats and lovers' retreats are as well patronized as any


area given up to similar purposes in the city. Fortunately, our visitors drove through the grounds during the progress of one of those popular afternoon concerts, which add so much to the pleasures and restful influences of an outing.

The suggestion to finally bring up at the South Park system, or World's Fair parks, was hailed with delight. When told of the beautiful drives, the elegant stores and residences, and the imposing churches of the West Side, they were inclined, however, to see that city within the city.

"I suppose," ventured a timid voice, which was ascertained to be the newspaper man's, "that if you travel over the West Side, east of here for four miles, you would want to see the balance of it for two miles west and two miles south; and you surely would not miss two or three of our prettiest little towns, seven or eight miles northwest of here, which the city took in three years ago, and which you could not now separate with a case-knife. All this is outside of the boulevard system which we have been traversing. And, of course, in order to be civil, when you have done that, you will feel obliged to visit these charming residence districts and homes of the dead, which lay north of Lincoln Park for five miles and from the lake, inland, half that distance."

"Excuse me; but I thought your boulevard system formed your city limits," said the Englishman.

"Bless you, no, my dear sir!" exclaimed the newspaper man, warming to his subject, and dropping his little by-play. "There are bigger districts south of here than those I mentioned, which are all north and west of the parks and boulevards. After we have taken our drive four miles south and four miles east to Washington Park, instead of going on to Jackson and the lake again, I might take you for twelve miles in a southeasterly direction, through what were, three years ago, thickly settled suburbs and great manufacturing towns, but which since then have been made a part of Chicago. Why, for nearly four miles below Washington Park, this city is more than eight miles in breadth — in one place it is ten. For twenty-three miles this World's Fair city stretches itself along this lake of ours, and averages seven miles inland. I think, my dear sirs, that if you do not wish to spend the night on the road we had better drive along toward the World's Fair grounds, after we have visited the Live Stock Yards, and then take a four-mile hum along the boulevards to what you call the city. Perhaps it would be well to take luncheon at the Stock Yards, and — "

"What!" exclaimed our French guest, forgetful for the moment of his good breeding.


"There is a fine hotel there," replied the newspaper man; "but wait and see."

South of Douglas Park the carriages turned off from the boulevard, and after crossing a labyrinth of railroad tracks, upon some of which cars were still standing, loaded with hogs, cattle, horses and sheep, they approached a city of pens, alleys, streets, stables, huge packing and slaughter houses and other large buildings. One of the latter, fully 250 x 50 feet, was pointed out as the Exchange Hall, and contained bank, post-office, telegraph and business offices. Near by was a commodious hotel and a little newspaper office, and to the latter (after lunching) the visitors went for information as to the Stock Yards and the business transacted. It was discovered that the yards proper had about 150 acres under cover and about 250 acres of open pens; also that 15,000,000 animals were handled in a year — nearly two-thirds hogs. Cattle had come in quantities. During one day 25,000 had arrived and been handled without confusion. Well, of course, $250,000,000 was considerable money to receive in the shape of live animals; but, you know, Chicago is not surprised at anything she does herself.

Soon afterward the visitors were being whisked toward the boulevard again and their destination — the South Parks.

"Well, well; that Stock Yards is a great place," said the Englishman, rubbing his hands. As he spoke of the beeves he saw, his hands approached suspiciously near his stomach. "But when you see our English exhibit at the Fair, you'll see blood — blooded stock, sir!"

"I am glad to hear you make that admission voluntarily. You begin to appreciate Chicago already. Permit me to give you a few figures, and they will help you to a fuller appreciation, and save you from being surprised constantly. They tell the story, you know, that when Buffalo Bill was calling on the Four Hundred in New York, a lady asked him if there were many buffaloes around Chicago. When he was in London, one of the queens of society there asked him if there were many Indians around New York. I want you all to be able, when you go back, to tell others who are coming, what they will find in this ‘Windy City’ of the ‘Wild and Woolly West.’

"Chicago is the second city on this continent and the seventh in the world. Its population in 1890 was 1,208,689, and is now estimated to be about 1,500,000. It contains 174 square miles. It is twenty-five feet above the level of Lake Michigan, and 592 feet above the mean sea level. It is within 850 miles of Baltimore, the nearest point on the Atlantic, and within 2,417 miles of San Francisco, on the


Pacific. It is the most cosmopolitan city on earth. In proof of this here are the figures of nationalities from the official census:

Americans 292,463 Italians 9,921
Germans 384,958 Hollanders 4,912
Irish 215,534 Hungarians 4,827
Bohemians 54,209 Swiss 2.735
Polish 52,756 Roumanians 4,350
Swedish 45,877 Canadians 6,989
Norwegians 44,615 Belgians 682
English 33,785 Greeks 698
French 12,963 Spanish 297
Scotch 11,927 East Indians 28
Welsh 2,966 West Indians 37
Russians 9,977 Sandwich Islanders 31
Danes 9,891 Mongolians 1,217

"Its parks and boulevards cover 3,290 acres; of the boulevard system there are seventy-four miles; it has 2,300 miles of streets; sixty-one bridges, nearly all operated by steam, span the river and its two branches; it requires 37,000 lamps to light its streets, and these do not include the wilderness of electric street-lights which are in the down-town district, and which are being extended all over the city; it has forty-one miles of river frontage; twenty-one miles of lake frontage; it has 1,200 miles of electric wire.

"Chicago handles more mail matter than any other American city, not excepting even New York, employing about 2,000 persons.

"The city's annual expenditures approximate $20,000,000. The police force numbers about 3,000 men. In the fire department are employed nearly 1,000 men, sixty-five steam-engines, twenty-one chemical-engines, eighty-one hose-carts, twenty-one hook and ladder trucks, one water-tower, three fire-boats, 390 horses, ninety stations and a repair-shop.

"Twenty-four first-class theaters help to contribute to its amusement, and some of them are the finest in the United States; in church architecture it has no rival; there are 465 of these places of worship; its hotels are placed at 1,400, and these do not include any that are not fully equipped in accordance with modern ideas; there are 600 restaurants; there are thirty-five trunk lines of railway; there are six union depots, and four of these are unequaled in every appointment; it has 396 miles of street railway, four lines of cable railway and two elevated roads. There are published here 531 newspapers, and in this number are included twelve dailies; it has 219 school-houses. In 1889 there were built 7,590 buildings, a frontage on streets of thirty-four miles, at a cost of $31,516,000. In 1890 there were erected


11,640 buildings, covering a street frontage of fifty-one miles, and at a cost of $48,000,000. In 1891 there were built more than fifty-one miles solid front, at a cost of $55,360,000, an increase of 17 per cent.

"These are the merest outlines of what constitutes the finest-built city in the world. It is the opinion of the best-traveled persons, who have been around the world, that a month is barely sufficient to see Chicago as it should be seen to be appreciated, and to keep abreast of its progress and its wonders requires a lifetime. This is not a boast, but a conclusion that can be called conservative, and one in which you will concur before your visit is over."

"To change the subject," said the French gentleman, "would it be asking too much of anyone who attended the dedicatory ceremonies of the Fair to tell me something about them. I was absent at the time on a business trip to Algeria, and saw only a short dispatch stating that they were grand and rather historical in their character."

"Yes, they were grand," responded the journalistic guide. "The committee having the matter in charge arranged an elaborate programme extending over several days. The first day witnessed the most imposing and varied pageant in all history. The procession was indicative of peace, contentment and prosperity, composed of federal troops, bodies of the national state guard from several states, followed by innumerable bodies from the various local and national industrial and social organizations, some afoot, some in carriages and some horseback, with their gay-colored emblems of every conceivable shape, size and design. This great parade was reviewed by the President, his Cabinet, Congress and the many guests of honor. Business for the time being was almost wholly suspended. The buildings of the city had been generously and beautifully decorated, under the supervision of a citizens' committee, aided by leading artists, so that uniformity was secured, and a most imposing effect produced.


"The second day, the dedication day, was ushered in with a national salute at sunrise. The President, his Cabinet, members of the Supreme Court, members of both branches of Congress, distinguished foreign guests, governors of the different states and territories with their staff, officers of the World's Fair Commission and Directory of the World's Columbian Exposition and Board of Lady


Managers were escorted by a guard of honor, composed of the troops from all branches of the service which had participated in the procession of the previous day, to the Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building at the Fair grounds, in which the dedicatory exercises were held. At one o'clock, the programme, as prepared, was begun. First, a Grand March, specially written by John K. Payne. Second, Prayer. Third, Dedicatory Ode. Fourth, Presentation of the Master Artists of the Exposition and their completed work, by the Construction Chief. Fifth, Report of the Director General to the World's Columbian Commission. Sixth, Presentation of the buildings, for dedication, by the President of the World's Columbian Exposition to the President of the World's Columbian Commission. Seventh, Chorus, ‘The Heavens are Telling,’ Eighth, Presentation of the buildings for dedication by the President of the World's Columbian Commission to the President of the United States. Ninth, Beethoven March and Chorus, ‘The Ruins of Athens.’ Tenth, Dedication of the buildings by the President of the United States. Then followed several dedicatory and Columbian orations, interspersed with music, and all ended with a grand national salute. Just imagine, if you can, what that music was like, when I tell you that an able leader had been upwards of eighteen months preparing for that one event, in training several thousand children, and drilling them to render the selections. That multitude of sweet voices gave forth such a volume of melody, that it found its way to the massive arches of the great building, which seemed to vibrate and give back the sound with the resonance of a monster harp.

"For months previously the Director of Works had been crowding an army of 10,000 workmen to their fullest capacity to have the buildings all in readiness. No small part of the extra work entailed by the dedicatory services was the preparation of the great Manufactures' Building to accommodate the crowd. In the center of the great building, which, under the main arch, measures 380 by 1,280 feet, were two great platforms, one at each end of the building, and the two joined by a platform about one thousand feet long. The honorary guests were received at the north entrance of the building, mounted the first platform, and passed down to the other at the south end, where the distinguished visitors all sat. This platform had seats for 3,800 people, and the other room for over 4,000 musicians. There were over 90,000 seats on the main floor, and provision made for the


accommodation of 125,000 persons inside the building. Of course it was impossible for all to get inside, and to hear what was said. Many who could not get into the main building still had other opportunities to listen to dedicatory speech-making, for during the three days some of the state buildings held special exercises, and gave opportunity to utilize the oratory of favorite sons, and of other distinguished personages, who otherwise, in such an assemblage of talented speakers, might not have been heard at all.

"On the third day there was a special dedication of the Woman's Building by the officers and members of the National Board of Lady Managers and their invited guests from this and foreign countries. A number of brilliant social entertainments were given by the citizens of Chicago during the three evenings of the Dedication celebration, concluding with a grand Dedicatory Ball on the final night of the celebration, and after three days of festivities, conducted in the most impressive and brilliant manner ever known, the World's Columbian Exposition was dedicated, and Columbus was vindicated.

"Yes, truly," the guide continued, addressing himself particularly to the Frenchman, "you were not misinformed when you heard that the ceremonies were grand. Upwards of $300,000 were expended in perfecting and carrying out the programme.

"Each evening following the exercises of the day was rendered a special grand electric and pyrotechnic display, excelling anything of the kind ever before attempted. The fireworks alone during the three evenings represented an expenditure of upwards of $30,000. Some of the most striking features of the pyrotechnic exercises were the following:


"An opening salute of 100 aerial maroons.

" Several flights of 100 shells each. The highest ever before fired at one time was twenty-five.

"A prismatic fountain, rising to a height of seventy-five feet and changing form ten times.

"The ascent of forty-three six-pound asteroid rockets, each detaching forty-three floating stars, with alternating red, white and blue colors, and representing the States of the Union.


"The largest fire wheel ever produced, centered with United States eagle and shield, and forty-three wheels representing the States, changing again and again, and finishing with an immense fire-wheel 150 feet in circumference.

"The simultaneous flight of 5,000 rockets.

"An aquatic novelty on the Grand Canal, throwing columns of water 200 feet high, illuminated by bursting bombs.

"The discharge of 100 fifteen-inch bombs, fired by electricity.

"Sixty-six sextuple rockets. Each rocket reaching its altitude, discharging six other rockets.

"A battery of sixty-inch shells or bombs, the largest ever fired, each weighing 100 pounds and containing 1,500 stars.

"There were fireworks in every direction, because the throng of visitors was so great that the display had to be scattered, in order that all might see some part. It is simply out of man's power to convey in words to you a description of those crowds and those services that will give you an adequate conception of the magnitude of the former and the grandeur of the latter."

Once at the gates of the Exposition, however, it being late, the guests determined to drive down town, and begin their travels at the Fair early the next day, deciding, also, to approach it from the most picturesque point of view — the Lake Front.

At this point of the narrative our friends scatter, but the reader will be taken the rounds nevertheless.


Pen Pictures of the Fair.


THE World's Fair City, during the holding of the Exposition, had donned its gala attire. The streets themselves were a sight long to be remembered, gaily decked as they were with bunting and enlivened by the bright-colored uniforms of the soldiery of this, as well as European countries. The scarlet fez of the Turk, the turban of the merchant from the Orient and the colored costumes of the other visitors, mingling on the sidewalks, gazing up at the Masonic Temple, with its twenty stories, or the more massive Auditorium, formed a picture alike pleasing to the eye and flattering to the city. The police regulations were so perfect that the great masses of the people were kept in constant motion, and accidents were of exceedingly rare occurrence. The sign, "keep to the right," posted prominently at different places, in all languages, told the stranger from every clime his duty. The peddler had found his way hither from far-away Roumania, from Cairo, from Port Said and from Constantinople, and was offering for sale holy relics or religious mementoes cut from the sacred wood of Mount Olivet, or mined from the jasper fields of Roumania. High above the din of all, however, comes the toot of the steamboats, landing or taking on passengers for the Exposition grounds. With the crowd that is now surging towards the Lake Front, goes the humble narrator of a great event.

The steamboat transportation company had built a number of piers several hundred feet out into the lake. The edge of the water was, for fifty feet from the landing-place, protected from a crush of people by being railed in, and only those with tickets for the Exposition grounds were allowed to pass through. The regulation fare was a nickel. Once on one of these numerous steamboats that plied in the harbor, and well away from the shore, the scene from the deck was in itself a great treat. The motley, although not unruly crowds of people, pouring in on the Lake Front, through the wide streets, and the vast numbers that covered


the park, would at first attract attention, but only for a short time. Looming up in grandeur was the great Auditorium building, from every window a streamer and from every corner a flag. The parapet of the Signal Observatory Tower was draped in the flags of all nations, and at that height presented a glowing mass of colors. Crowds poured in and out of the great Art Palace, originally intended for Jackson Park, but afterwards built on the Lake Front, where it will remain a lasting monument to Chicago taste and enterprise, and one of the great permanent outcomes of the Exposition. It may now be called her Reception Palace, and many great characters have already met there to perfect their plans for the various world's congresses which are soon to assemble. Away down Michigan avenue, as far as the eye could reach, the same glowing appearance was maintained. One mass of humanity surged past the pretentious dwellings. The steamboat was freighted with a load of pleasure-seekers, talking in almost all the tongues of Babel. But through all the animated discussions ran, evidently, a vein of pleasure and amazement, and the word "Chicago," though pronounced in a thousand different tongues, was still easily recognizable.


All around, the surface of the water, until well out of the harbor, was covered with small pleasure craft or other passenger vessels. Once outside the breakwater, and headed south, what lake craft we meet are mostly all engaged in passenger service between the city and the Fair. Strains of music now and then come across the water from a passing craft. Well out in the lake, the vessel heads almost due south, and only the general outlines of the shore are visible. Way off south, with its huge roof rising above all else, is seen the immense Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building. For several miles it remains alone, its gigantic proportions looming up even as the steamboat leaves the Lake Front harbor. Drawing nearer, the outlines of the harbor at the site begin to appear; the great towers assume a more definite shape; a large, black hull, with streamers floating from its masts, looks as if closely hugging the shore; numerous black specks seem in constant motion on the surface of the water; what appear to be dark lines run out on the water, and lo! as the mind is wondering what it all means, the black specks become busy passenger steamers; the shapeless hull resolves itself into a gigantic Man-of-War; the dark lines running out from the shore become jetties; and as the mind takes it partly in, but is still bewildered with a


sense of awe, the strains of martial music break on the ear, the vast buildings come into view, and the visitor sees before him the great Columbian Exposition of 1893.

The approach to the Fair by way of the harbor is the most impressive and inspiring which can be imagined. As we approach the shore our eyes are attracted by the beautiful peristyle which spans the mouth of the grand lagoon, which here enters the lake. At one end of this is the Music Hall and at the other the Casino. Beneath, the boats of all nations pass to and fro into the vast water-ways of the Fair grounds. From the south bank of the lagoon the great pier extends out into the lake a distance of fifteen hundred feet, taking at that distance a turn of several hundred feet to the southward


and having at its extremity (rising from the water on a stone foundation) an immense Greek pavilion, its graceful roofs, or awnings, gaily colored and adorned. Here numerous visitors are seen enjoying the cooling lake breezes, listening to the music and obtaining a magnificent view of the great Exposition buildings and other shore attractions. Not the least of these is the gigantic battle-ship, constructed on piling, protected by a breakwater, surrounded by water and apparently moored to a wharf. From the battle-ship, at times, comes the invigorating strains of the Washington Marine Band, which scarcely die away before the last notes are gathered up by some colossal outburst of the Thomas Orchestra, or the Tomlins Chorus, from the superb Music Hall on the Exposition grounds. Not far away from this model ship of the line are not only a life-saving station in active operation, but a little Columbian fleet has cast anchor, seemingly just from Spain. Near by, also, are a clean-cut revenue cutter and several portentous torpedo boats. To get a view of such attractions, the dense crowds which swarm along the shore flow out upon the jetties.


As the boat draws up at the landing by the pier, something more than a confused view of massive and elegant structures, domes, pagodas, towers, flags, streamers and general magnificence is at length presented. It is scarcely conceivable that the beauties and grandeurs of landscape and structural architecture, which begin to unfold the moment the visitor steps upon the pier, are the creations of only three years. In these final triumphs, however, is seen the wisdom of selecting for the main site of the Exposition a tract of wooded and diversified land, in which nature had already partially dug the beds of the lagoons and traced the courses of the canals around which the great structures are now grouped with an air of almost conscious dignity and confidence.

The creators of the Fair, moreover, with rare judgment, had placed in direct line of the grand approach from the lake their master-piece of art — an architectural perspective, or vista, which has never been equaled at any of the World's Fairs. Extending westward is a long, broad avenue, several hundred feet in width, the central portions occupied by a charming sheet of water, connected with the harbor. In the foreground are a beautiful bridge and an heroic statue of Columbia. Beyond is a generous basin, from which canals branch each way.

Far beyond is the pride of American architects, the Administration Building,


fronting a grand court. Toward the north is the great structure devoted to a display of the manufactures and liberal arts of the world. While not so pretentious, architecturally, as the former, it is justly spoken of as the Main Building. Nearly one-third of a mile long by 788 feet in width, with its great dome over the central entrance, it conveys the appropriate impression of strength and simple grace. Upon the other side of the basin is the Agricultural Building, 800 x 500 feet; rectangular in form, but elaborately ornamented with statues and other relief work. This structure is connected with Machinery Hall by a horseshoe arcade, which doubles a branch of the lagoon. It is almost identical with it in the matter of size and cost, but differs considerably in appearance, being "serious, impressive and rich in architectural line and detail."

Opposite Machinery Hall and north of it, in the center of this long avenue — at the end of this wonderful vista of nearly a mile — stands the Administration Building. Beyond all cavil, this is one of the most imposing and, in proportion to its size, the most expensive one of the large structures. It is stately and simple, yet exceedingly striking in appearance, and an excellent representation of Italian Renaissance. It cost $650,000, is adorned with scores of statuary figures and surmounted by a gilded dome rising 250 feet, or about the height of the Auditorium tower.

To the northward of the Administration Building, on either side, and facing the grand avenue, are two immense buildings — one for the Electrical and the other for the Mining exhibits. Each covers a little over five and a half acres. The Electrical Building cost $650,000, while that for the Mining exhibit cost $350,000.


Now, north of these, on the main lagoon, the visitor sees an island of about thirty acres, kept as wild and primitive as possible. It is a relief to cross to its shores and wander through a miniature "forest primeval," pathless and untransformed by art, hunting the fragrant wild flower or the saucy chipmunk.


Proceeding from the Administration Building still further westward, or, more accurately, southwestward, the visitor is brought to the great


structure which furnishes the power for both lighting purposes and for operating the machinery. This main power house is a huge building, covering several acres. It is used also to contain the overflow exhibits from Machinery Hall, with which it is connected.

The ponderous engines, moving with a power that seems enough to turn the world, have an unceasing fascination for all comers. To avoid all smoke on the grounds hard coal is used altogether for fuel.

To the southward of the line of buildings which are ranged along the grand avenue is an open space of sixty-three acres, which is devoted to the Live Stock exhibits. Here immense buildings have been erected, as well as a spacious show ring. The crowd in this neighborhood is always very dense.


Jackson Park is, in form, a right-angled triangle, and so far the visitor on his tour of inspection has traversed the lake shore, or hypothenuse of the triangle, and across the southern end or base. Now, he turns toward the north and notes the structures ranged along the perpendicular. The first one to be encountered is the Transportation Building. It is Romanesque in style and one of the largest of all, measuring 1,020 by 260 feet, exclusive of a great annex in the rear. Together with the depots, it cost $1,000,000. North of this is the Horticultural Hall, another immense structure, 1,000 x 250, with three domes — one at each end and a larger one in the center. It is constructed mainly of glass and iron, and $250,000 has been expended upon it.


Still further north, and directly opposite the park entrance of Midway Plaisance, stands the Woman's Building, which is certainly one of the chief objects of interest in the grounds. It was designed by a lady architect — Miss Sophia G. Hayden, of Boston, a Chilean by birth, but coming of an old Massachusetts family and being thoroughly grounded in the principles of architecture. The dimensions of the building are 400 x 200 feet; the cost is $250,000; the style, Italian Renaissance. The corner and center pavilions are connected in the first story by an open arcade, surmounted by classic vases. There are double pilasters on the corners of the pavilions. The second-story curtains are recessed, with windows opening on the balcony of the first-story arcade. The center pavilion contains the main entrance of the building, and the entire palace


is covered with a low Italian roof. Here the Lady Managers have their headquarters.

Beyond the Woman's Temple — the Temple itself, and all that it contains, being the work of her mind or her hands — is the embodiment of the enterprise, the wealth, the generosity and the genius of the people of Illinois, who did so much to make the Fair what it is. Their building (430 x 160 feet), with its speaking dome, stands northwest of the main system of lagoons, and south of the eighty or ninety acres, just beyond that charming system, which is devoted to the exhibits of other States and of foreign countries.


South and east of the tract covered by the State and foreign exhibits, and just beyond the wooded island, the lagoons and canals become more intricate and enclose a number of small islands. These, however, are far from being in a state of nature. East of the Woman's and Illinois buildings, and directly west of the channel by which the lagoons connect with Lake Michigan in this northern portion of the site, is the largest of the islands, and upon it is a Romanesque, or Spanish-looking structure, warm with color, and fully 700 feet in length. The main building is connected by curved arcades, with a circular aquarium at either end. Through their clear waters an entrancing spectacle is presented of marine animals and marine plants, forests and mountains. The most secret habits of the creatures of both ocean and river may be studied, the buildings being those of the United States Fish Commission, a department or bureau of the National Government.

South of these attractions, upon the mainland, and in direct line with the vast structure given up to the manufacturers, rises the classical features, of apparent stone, iron and glass, called the Government Building, and beyond it, toward the east and the lake shore, are the land batteries, life-saving station, the war-ship and other sights which have been already witnessed from the deck.


The visitor cannot help being impressed with the magnificence and solidity of appearance of all the buildings he has seen. He has probably asked himself the question, how can they afford to build these great structures, which are only to be used for six months, out of granite and marble and sandstone, and how have such great stone


buildings, with their carved and polished columns and cornices, been put up in a few months' time — for surely they are all built of stone.

Alas for the truth! these imposing; walls of granite, these beautiful statues of marble, these exquisitely carved doorways, are only wood, covered with a product of human invention called "staff." It is made of gypsum, cement and seaweed, shaped in moulds, and attached to the plebeian wood in thin slabs. The whole is then colored to represent the kind of stone to be imitated, and when all is done only an expert can detect the difference.

Besides being cheap and quickly applied, this staff has the virtue of being fire-proof, and so, while adding to the grandeur of the buildings, protects them also.


Before we proceed further in our ramble, let us ascend this observation tower near at hand. Several of these towers are located in different parts of the grounds, to enable one to view the Fair from above. Speeding to the top in the elevator, let us take a sweeping view of the lagoons and fix them in our mind's eye, for they have done much to make this Fair an artistic and social success. All in all, they embrace a stretch of land considerably over a mile in length, and from 100 to 300 feet in breadth. As stated, they connect with the lake, through the harbor, east of the fascinating fish display and between the Manufactures and Agricultural buildings. The gay waters are set in grassy plats, sloping down gently to meet their ripples, and fringed with broad walks of stone and gravel. Both rustic and pretentious bridges of staff, some of them apparently of granite, variegated marble and other stone, cross the lagoons and the canals at convenient points. Little pleasure boats of all epochs and nations dart hither and thither, enter the grand basin from the glittering and animated harbor, shooting under the bridge and past the serene statue of Columbia, with the thirteen States, sweep along the shores of the seething court which so superbly sets off the beauties of the Administration palace, then turning and leaving all this behind, with merry dip of oars, laughter and song, dart between the Electrical Building (which has a kind of a weird look about it) and the long, impressive Manufacturers' home, and so on to the wooded island and the wonders of the Government, the Woman's, the State, the Water and the Foreign palaces. Or it may be that the pleasure-seekers and seekers after knowledge are bent upon a more quiet and systematic survey of the Fair.


The gondolas and other craft, therefore, stop at commodious landing-places, scattered over the site, and find all the attractions grouped around and along these convenient water-ways.

At night, when the electric lights come forth in all their purity, the scene, both within the buildings and outside, is even more glorious. Above all flash the bright gleams from the lights on the pinnacles of the roofs, while the many walks in the park, the buildings, the boats, the steamers in the harbor, brilliantly lighted as they are, lay below in quiet peace. The great bustle of the day has been stilled, and from some nook in the lagoon come the strains of the mandolin, the guitar or the harp, the yodle of some one from the land of William Tell, the tuneful singing of a party of excursionists from Bremen or the Rhine, or an aria from some opera in sweet woman's voice, as a gondola speeds by. Pleasure parties proudly carol the songs of their fatherlands, or perhaps some Chinese mandarin sends forth a monotonous turn-turn, imagining himself once more speeding through the heart of Canton. From prow and stern of boats hang gaily-colored lanterns, although the brilliant way in which the grounds are lighted obviated the necessity for any such precaution. Beautiful effects are produced on the water by the insertion of colored globes containing electric lights. The prow of a boat one moment cuts through a surface of glittering orange color, then through one of crimson, and again through a dark green wave, turning the spray on either side as if it were scattering precious stones.

The branches from the islands in the lagoons hang heavy with Chinese lanterns, or incandescent lights, of various colors, artistically arranged in the forks of the trees. And under all this glorious massing of colors the gay costumes of the European visitors show to fine advantage. Venice, in the palmiest days of the Medici, is outdone.


If the Observation Tower does not give us a wide enough outlook let us screw up courage and step into the basket of this Captive Balloon. While we hold our breath the huge globe shoots up a thousand feet or more into space. The grand Exposition lies at our very feet, its distant hum scarcely reaching our ears. The entire 586 acres of Jackson Park, and the harbor and lake beyond, are ready for inspection. The grand Plaisance, 600 feet in width and over a mile in length, which forms the main approach to the Fair proper by land, stretches away on the other hand — a few hundred feet, it seems, of glory.


Still beyond are the 370 acres of Washington Park — a toy village and a patch of brilliancy, fountains and flowers. Still to the west, miles to the north and miles to the south is the city — its loftiest spires, its most wide-embracing domes, its most triumphant monuments to commerce and trade, massing themselves against the northern skies. And as far as the eye can sweep, over water or land, there is either movement or color.

Along the Plaisance and overflowing into Washington Park is a large and curious aggregation of foreign and state buildings, intermingled with those of semi-private construction. Very many beautiful structures are to be seen, many of them reproductions of famous houses of history, or exhibit buildings erected by different branches of trade, such as those devoted to the music interests, which subscribed liberally for a house of their own. One fact is very noticeable in reference to all of the important buildings. They stand on terraces, a few feet above the general park level, thus greatly improving the landscape effect and rendering their own appearance more imposing. The structures have all the appearance of magnificent palaces of marble, granite and glass, but are built principally of wood and staff; yet the same grandeur of design, beauty of finish, evenness of color and solidity are there as attach to the main buildings of the Fair — except, of course, in less degree. This can be seen from our airy station.

In order, however, to get the full benefit of the unique attractions which have overflowed from the main site of the Fair, the rambler takes a glide downward and earthward. He may at once fancy himself as living in any age or clime; for before him is a street in ancient Rome, and just beyond a Pompeiian home, an Arab's tent, an Indian's wigwam, a Japanese village with specimens of wonderful landscape gardening, a Laplander's hut, an East Indian temple, or a camp of gypsy fortunetellers. Gems of modern architecture, contributed by France, Germany, England, Russia, Spain, Italy and other nations, are there. All the powers of the earth, of whatever rank, have come to recognize the good fellowship and the commanding position of the American Republic.


Before leaving behind the bolder features of the Fair and taking up the details of administration, an attraction should be noticed which, although not, strictly speaking, a portion of the great Exposition, is closely joined to it, both as to locality and patronage.

Near the Live Stock exhibit, at the southern extremity of the Fair,


is the Gentleman's Driving Park. Here, every afternoon, may be witnessed great trials of skill and speed. The fine points of the American trotter, with his feather-weight yet durable gig, prove a source of endless wonder and amusement to the great mass of the European visitors. As every one knows, the roads of Europe are not conducive to the breeding of a Sunol or a Maud S. The steeple-chasers of England give daily proofs of their ability to take to stone walls and high fences as ducks do to water, and, in a sense, lessen the apparent superiority of American horseflesh. A number of fine specimens of the far-famed Arabian steed are seen, their milky whiteness and gentle manners making them the pets of the lady visitors. The smallest Shetland pony and the heaviest of Clydesdales are daily exhibited, selected from the great number at the live stock exhibit near by. In fact, since the creation of the world, such a variety of these superb animals has never been brought together, and never before have such object lessons been given of their race, their fleetness, their strength, their mettle, their docility and their affection, as are being continually witnessed at the Gentleman's Driving Park. Taken in connection with the Fair's exhibition of horses, this is one of the most popular features of the entire Exposition.


When one commences to examine the intricate machinery which has been planned and put in motion by the management of the World's Fair, it becomes plain why the general headquarters, or the Administration Building, should be the center of so much activity and interest; it seems more than ever appropriate that the Administration Building should be the architectural gem of the Exposition.

The great problems which have been so perfectly mastered are the protection to life and property, and the distribution of visitors, of light and of water. There are also a thousand and one details relating to the convenience and the pleasure of our guests, which go to form this wonderful system, kept oiled, in repair and in operation by the ability enthroned at the Administration Building.

First, the visitor makes note of the police system. It is evident that there is no necessity for the police other than to handle the crowds, as expert detectives from all countries closely scrutinize all who enter the grounds, and refuse admission to suspicious characters. When visitors enter the World's Fair grounds they will find a Columbian


Guard of 1,500 men to protect them in their wanderings about the grounds and buildings. The guards do not have the appearance of the policemen who travel beats in the City of Chicago, but each is clothed in a natty uniform of blue, consisting of a braided blouse and trousers, with bright red stripes. They wear a fatigue cap modeled somewhat after an Austrian design, and carry a mahogany mace and a short bayonet sword.

These men are under the direction of Col. Edmund Rice, U.S.A. Col. Rice will be the commander of the guard and have general police supervision over the grounds during the period of the Fair. In order to secure his services a special act of Congress was necessary, and it was passed, for the Colonel belongs to the Department of the Missouri, with headquarters at Chicago, where he has been under Gen. Miles as Acting Judge-Advocate.

The Columbian Guards are a fine body of men. No one can enter the service whose age is more than thirty-five years. The applicant must be intelligent and active. He must be courteous as well as muscular and capable of giving information concerning the grounds and buildings to all inquirers.

These men have been selected from the many applicants because of their familiarity with the European tongues. A force of mounted police also patrols the grounds.

It is believed that the staff, and the more solid material of which the foundations of buildings are constructed, are fire-proof, but in order that every precaution may be taken, a fire-department service is established on the grounds. Although it may not be called upon, the engines, hose carts, hooks and ladders, eager horses, and the parlor-like cleanliness of the entire apparatus form an exhibit in themselves which attracts large crowds of foreign friends. Occasionally, also, illustrations are given of the promptness with which the department could respond and bring the saving torrents of water to bear upon a conflagration.

A frolicking party may occasionally get turned over into the harbors or the lagoons, but either policemen or members of the life-saving service are always within reach if their assistance is required.

True to their practical wisdom and good hearts, the Lady Managers have selected a grand central point in the grounds, at which interpreters are stationed, and to which all lost guests, whether children or elders, are conducted. A hospital, established near by, is under the especial patronage of the Board of Lady Managers. It frequently


happens that in the great crushes women faint, or perhaps receive serious injuries. Whenever this is the case, however, the ambulance corps comes immediately to the rescue, and prompt assistance is rendered.


Fountains innumerable play all over the grounds. No matter where the visitor turns he encounters the flowing faucet and the waiting cup. The water is supplied from two 12,000,000-gallon pumps at Sixty-eighth street. They were erected by the city of Chicago for the needs of the Exposition, at a cost of $100,000. During the Fair the company has exclusive right to use the pumps, paying the city $20 per million gallons of water furnished. When the Fair closes the city acquires the pumping outfit by repaying the sum advanced, without interest.

In addition there is a plant of four Worthington pumps on the Exposition grounds with a capacity of 40,000,000 gallons per day, which takes water from the lagoons for steam machinery and for the fountains. In case of fire or breakdown of the city pumping-works these pumps are expected to furnish a full supply. Water is brought into the grounds from the Hyde Park station through a 36-inch main to Machinery Hall, where it divides, and two 30-inch mains conduct it throughout the grounds. Each Exposition building is surrounded by a water pipe not less than eight inches in diameter. This pipe is crossed at every 300 feet by a six-inch pipe, attached to which is a double-nozzled, frost-jacket, fire hydrant. Within the walls of each building, at intervals of 150 feet, are standpipes rising to the roof, with hose connections on each floor, gallery, and roof. Altogether there are twenty miles of water-pipe.

A hundred thousand incandescent lamps, placed harmoniously about the grounds and buildings, and 10,000 arc lamps, distributed


advantageously to light up the beautiful architecture and pleasing landscape, alone furnish almost a fairy spectacle, but combine with these, electric fountains pointing rainbow sprays toward the sky, ignes fatui in the shape of glittering lamps of many colors sparkling under the clear waters of the lagoons, and at night setting out in all their dainty colorings Uncle John Thorpe's floral beauties, and the most brilliant kaleidoscope will fade in an every-day dull contrast. Then add to such a scene panoramic glimpses of the tout ensemble made by those great electric reflectors as their almost demoniac eyes wander about the earth and shoot their rays into the heavens, and the result can be better imagined than described. This is what electricity does for the whole scene of the great Fair.

It was at first thought that the cost of lighting the grounds and buildings would alone cost nearly $2,000,000. But by awakening a spirit of rivalry among the electric lighting companies, and inducing them to furnish the plant and lamps at a nominal figure for the purpose of advertising their wares, this cost was reduced to about $400,000.


No one feature of the Fair's management causes more surprise and delight than the absence of friction in the handling of the vast crowds both without and within the Exposition grounds. The traveler may come by carriage, by cable, or by rail, and be carried from one section to another on the elevated roads which connect and penetrate the buildings, or follow the broad ways which surround them. Or he may arrive by steamer from the lake, and board one of the gay boats which glide from building to building along the lagoons.

All passenger railways, whether steam, cable, electric or horse, enter the park at the southwest corner, though some of them have stations at the Midway Plaisance or other convenient places outside the grounds. Those roads entering the enclosure deliver passengers near the Administration Building. From this place an intramural electric elevated road passes out through the grounds, entering buildings where deemed advisable and having convenient stations wherever necessary. It connects with the station at the Midway Plaisance and passes back to the Administration Building by another route, thus forming a complete circuit and making it easy to go from one place to another without walking.

This elevated system is double-tracked, and trains of electric cars


speed along at intervals of a few minutes. Single-trip fares are five cents. There are something over five miles of track, and stations at intervals of about 1,000 feet. In addition to the elevated road there is for the accommodation of visitors on the grounds a fleet of boats which ply on the canals and lagoons. These also are operated by electricity.

Within the enclosures of the grounds no private vehicles are allowed; the transportation from building to building is effected by either the intramural railway, just described, or the pleasure boats on the lagoons. The crowds are so dense that it would have been positively dangerous to permit the presence of any vehicles. Sedan chairs, as a curiosity, are seen in places, many of them representing those in use in England a couple of hundred years ago. One can ride in them on the payment of a dime. On certain paths, however, bicycles and tricycles are allowed, but they are confined to the driveways bordering the lake shore. Here the marvelous dexterity of the wheelmen is apparent, and friendly races are indulged in between rival American as well as rival European clubs.


And now for the trip "down town." Near the many exits stand interpreters, who answer all questions put by the visitors. The peddler, who has been excluded from the grounds, is there in all his glory, with everything imaginable to sell, from a history of the Exposition, bird's-eye views of the grounds and gaily-colored lithographs of the various buildings, to a button from the coat of George Washington, the best blacking, and the surest hair restorer. Opposite the long line of the Fair enclosure, while the buildings were numerous and put to almost every conceivable use, there was a noticeable absence of anything unsightly and cheap. This must be credited to the City Council, which in January of 1891, passed an ordinance regulating the construction of such buildings. Although within the grounds there are cafιs of different nations, still the restaurants without are very numerous indeed, and of a very respectable kind.

No matter where the visitor turns, he will be within half a block of some of the many depots erected by the different railroads, which further on enter the grounds on the great loop already referred to. But however great the crush, it is evident that the police are still masters of the situation. From three o'clock to seven P.M. and from


nine to twelve o'clock, trains leave the site every two minutes. At other hours of the day transportation to the city is to be had by railway every five minutes, and by cable almost continuously.

A cable train leaving at the moment of his exit from the grounds, the narrator boarded it and returned to the city. The ride occupied forty minutes, but it was a most interesting one, as the mind was engaged in watching the streams of pedestrians, and noting the large hotels erected but a short time. Signs were everywhere to be seen telling the Germans, the Frenchmen, the Italians and others that their language was spoken within and that one of their countrymen kept the hostelry. It was noted that a certain class of visitors more frequently patronized the cable than other lines, for the reason that it afforded them more of a novelty, being essentially an American contrivance, and very rarely seen abroad. Every few blocks the car was boarded by interpreters, in the employ of the company, who were notified by the conductor if they were required to answer any question put to him. This was one of the most convenient features, and among the most appreciated by the guests of Chicago, as it gave them a sense of security and a knowledge that they could at all times be understood.

Once down town, the mind became so confused that the memory was all but paralyzed; nevertheless, a few general facts were noted. It had not been the custom, previous to the opening of the Fair, for the great stores to remain open very long after supper, but, in many a double force of clerks was now employed, and all remained open until ten o'clock, many not closing until eleven.

The theatres were all densely packed. Going into the Auditorium and looking from the gallery, the spectator saw beneath him a mass of people which would be equivalent to the population of a small city. Grand opera was having a run, and the glorious tenor of Tamagno rolled out over the little world of beating hearts. Officials in gilded uniforms, attachιs from foreign courts, members of embassies, almost everyone in full dress — royalty, aristocracy and democracy all blended under the magic wand of the musician. And such was the triumph of genius in every prominent place of amusement. Good nature and charity ruled the hour and the season. Chicago and her guests were in close communion. "Good will upon earth and peace among men" was the text endorsed by two million proud residents and happy visitors within this fair city of this Columbian Exposition.


Uncle Sam's Exhibit.


OF the many nations represented at the Paris Exposition, America, the greatest of them all, made the poorest exhibit. Europeans laughed it to ridicule, and Americans blushed for shame. It was this state of affairs that primarily suggested the Exposition to influential and intelligent citizens, both West and East. Uncle Sam, smarting under the ridicule, at Paris, was determined to be glorified in the exhibit made at Chicago. As a consequence, the Government was very liberal in the appropriations made for that purpose. Among other things, it was provided in the Congressional act that there should be exhibited by the Government, from its executive departments, the Smithsonian Institution, the United States Fish Commission and the National Museum, such articles and materials as would illustrate the functions and administrative faculty of the Government in time of peace, and its resources as a war power — all tending to demonstrate the nature of our institutions and their adaptation to the wants of the people. The board chosen was charged with the selection, preparation and arrangement, safe-keeping and exhibition of the collections.

Now, let us see how nobly the original plan has been carried out. The Government Building, covering an area of 350 x 450 feet, is constructed solely of iron, brick, staff and glass. Its leading feature is an octagonal dome in the center, while the style of the architecture is classical, bastions on the corner — relieving the dead line of the facades.

The department exhibits are distributed as follows: On entering the building by the west main entrance, the exhibit of the Department of Justice is reached, being displayed in a long narrow room, opening into the dome. On the south side of this room is the War Department, and to the north, that of the Interior. South of the dome is the space for the Agricultural exhibit, and north, that for the Smithsonian Institution. In the northwest corner is the space allotted to the Fish Commission,


while in the southwest room are the Treasury and Post-office departments. The main entrance of this great building resembles somewhat the Arc de Triomphe, at Paris. The annexes to the structure afford 50,000 additional feet of floor space, which accommodate among other unique exhibits, that of the Military Hospital. Uncle Sam, outside of the cost of his building, spent $1,000,000 on his exhibits.


But to pass to a consideration of the different department exhibits, and what the government has done to enlighten the visitors from other countries. The Secretary of Agriculture afforded every possible support to the gathering of specimens illustrative of the agricultural resources of this vast country, and a great exhibition has therefore been prepared of the various kinds of cereals, fruits, vegetables and grasses. The series illustrating the modification of crops by soil and climate proves a most interesting portion of the display, not only to farmers, but to the general public. The chemistry division of this great department picks your food to pieces and tells you what it is made of. In fact, the visitor and stranger may learn here, by the floral, horticultural and agricultural display of American products of the soil, by samples of seeds, reports of the department, exhibitions of obnoxious insects and fungi and specimens of their destructive work, what a broad and useful field of labor is filled by the Agricultural Department. Other divisions of the department illustrate, by large and beautifully prepared maps, the distribution of animals and vegetables in the United States, and their intimate connection.

The magnificent extent and value of our forests have never before been so demonstrated as by the special exhibit put forth by this department. From Maine, Michigan, Wisconsin and California to Georgia, Alabama, Texas, Missouri, Arkansas, Florida and Louisiana; from the pine forests of the Ottawa, the Alleghanies, the Mississippi Valley and Chili, the monsters of California and the mahogany forests of Northern South America, to the wonderful woods of Australia and India, the specimens are collected, prepared and arranged as to utility and beauty. The redwood of California especially draws the crowds. The section on exhibition came from Tulare County, and was cut from a tree which measured 99 feet in circumference at the base and was 312 feet high. The distance from the ground to the first limb, which was three feet in diameter, was 172 feet. This tree was supposed to be 3,000 years old.


The Weather Bureau was formerly under control of the War Department, but was transferred to the Agricultural, in July, 1891. The workings of the Bureau are hourly illustrated by the giving out of reports to visitors, with explanations, if required. In the very clouds, also, at the pinnacle of the great Observation Tower, is a branch of the United States Signal Service, hourly sending its indications to the Bureau in the Government Building, and displaying its tell-tale flags to hundreds of thousands of people — some on land and some far out on the lake.


In the Department of the Interior may be seen samples of clothing and food furnished the Indians, with large maps showing where are the principal reservations, and intelligent officials in attendance to explain the government policy. The Indian Bureau and the Bureau of Ethnology furnish much of the material to illustrate the primitive savage and the progress of the American Indian in agricultural and industrial pursuits. At the headquarters of the Bureau of Education, information may be obtained about schools for Indians and colored children, industrial, technical and normal schools, kindergartens, compulsory laws, and the gathering of educational statistics. The geology of the United States is studied by means of a large map, with specimens of soil, rocks and minerals as practical illustrations. The General Land Office furnishes a map which tells with startling force how much of the original domain has been granted to railroads and how much is left to the people. Those who are interested in the workings of the Pension Office — the largest bureau of the Department of the Interior — may examine them here in the series of papers and books exhibited for that purpose.

The Patent Office makes a vast display of the inventive genius of the American people. Some of the most important of the models and the drawings of machines invented since we became a nation are here seen, so that one is able to trace the development of any kind of mechanism in which he is interested. The collection would be even larger than it is had not two fires in the Patent Office destroyed thousands of models and drawings.


The great naval exhibit speaks well for the rapid strides which have been made by the American Navy during the past few years. At the foot of Fifty-ninth street, moored to a pier built out into the lake, is an


exact duplicate of an American man-of-war, equipped in the most modern fashion and containing on its several decks the different appliances now in use in naval warfare. The use of torpedoes, and the many ways in which electricity is made to do service at sea, in lighting, heating, telegraphing, etc., are all amply illustrated. The vessel is manned as usual, and daily drills are given, showing the actual life of the American seaman. On the third deck is a regular museum of curios, in connection with the naval battles of American history. A gallery of all the great admirals, and models of historic boats (the Monitor, Merrimac and others) are items among the many attractions. Along the shore are seen sections of fortifications, while at the point of the pier are a lighthouse and life-saving service outfit, manned by a picked crew from the United States Naval Academies. It is well to mention that on board the duplicate man-of-war (which, by the way, is called the "Chicago"), are several crews from the United States Naval Academies, and the method of training boys for sea service is being continuously exemplified. This wonderful model is built of brick, coated with cement, or of staff, is 348 feet long, sixty-nine feet amidships, and supplied, as stated, with all the fittings and apparatus that belong to the most approved war vessel, such as guns, turrets, torpedo, tubes, torpedo nets and booms, boats and anchors. On the shore, close to the battle ship, the Government has placed a gun battery, life-saving station, complete with apparatus, a lighthouse, and war balloons. Of the workings of these, examples are given every day.

The War exhibit, which is placed in the same class as that of the Navy, was very readily prepared, inasmuch as its component parts had been ready for some time.

From the Ordnance Museum of the War Department came models of rifles, revolvers, cannon, balls, etc., in use, with relics of earlier days; from the Quartermaster's Department, models and pictures of tents, barracks, storehouses, hospitals, etc.; from the Medical Museum (an institution which has not a second), thousands of photographs illustrating the diseases and wounds of war, with their treatment, a display of modern and ancient surgical instruments, and models of ambulances and railroad cars. The Naval Museum gives a vivid picture of the manufacture of all naval appliances, and over its collection of relics one lingers with amused satisfaction.

The displays of improved small arms are very complete, as well as exhibitions of the giant guns. Not only is the visitor shown how cartridges are made, but models of the most scientific engineering works


are in this museum, flags and guns from the battlefields of our four wars, and portraits of our famous military leaders.


The greatest of the scientific institutions — practical as well as scientific — which is connected with the government is the Smithsonian. In short, whatever portion of sea and land can be reached by the Government of the United States is within the direct scientific jurisdiction of the Smithsonian Institute. From Alaska to Patagonia, and from Labrador to the Argentine country are agents of the Signal Service, Coast Survey, consuls and naval officers, as well as paid servants of the Institute, ransacking earth and water for material upon which to build the truths of natural and historic development.

Government expeditions of the United States which are sent upon missions quite foreign to the development of science and the increase of knowledge, seldom fail to remember the Smithsonian Institute. In fact, the Institute has the American trait of refusing to be forgotten. As an example, when the Government sent out the Greely relief expeditions in 1882-4, among their members were a number of naval ensigns whom the Institute had trained in photography, taxidermy, and the collection of minerals and fossils. Not only, therefore, was the prime object of the expeditions accomplished, but science and knowledge were the gainers in valuable collections of natural history and many photographs vividly descriptive of the country and the natives.

From the above, it will be seen how futile it would be to attempt to give a detailed description of the vast exhibit of the Smithsonian Institution. But all the experience gained by it in arranging exhibits for the Centennial of 1876, the Louisville and Cincinnati Expositions of 1883, the New Orleans Cotton Exposition of 1884, and the Berlin and London Fisheries Expositions during the same years — all of the experience thus gained, and the collections made to meet the demands of those occasions, made the management better able to perform this last supreme act. Not only by its own exhibit, but by the assistance which its officials have rendered to other departments, has the Smithsonian Institution proved one of the strongest educational forces in the Columbian Exposition of 1893.


The world at large will be greatly interested in the exhibit of the Treasury Department. Of course, in this, the Bureau of Engraving and


Printing plays a prominent and most interesting part. It shows how paper money and revenue stamps are printed, as well as the manner in which the engraved plates for them are made up. The workings of the mint are fully illustrated, and the production of the coin, from the smelting of the ore to its stamping and the milling of its edges. Such information, also, as may safely be made public is furnished as to the means taken to protect the coin and currency of the country, and to detect counterfeiting — thus pointing to the secret service of this department. A most interesting collection is that of captured counterfeit notes, coins, plates, dies and molds, with photographs of noted criminals in this line — a collection which illustrates how much artistic, mechanical and chemical genius is put to criminal uses. The Treasury Department has its collections of coins and paper money, from colonial days to the present; also models and photographs of its gigantic vaults. As the milling machine is an American invention, it is here exhibited bodily. You may also examine plans of all the government buildings and maps of coast surveys, etc., thus learning that these matters are controlled by the Treasury Department.

On the lake shore, as stated, arrangements have been made for a daily exhibition of the life-saving service, and victims hired for the purpose are rescued in a most realistic manner.


The American post-office system is, at least, not rivaled in completeness by any other, and visitors from both hemispheres are afforded a fine chance to examine the practical workings of the department, from the time letters are deposited in the mail boxes until received. The distribution of mail on trains, use of pneumatic tubes in the collection, and operations of the stamp departments, weighing and carrier service, all come in for their share of attention. A stamped-envelope machine is a mechanism which is also shown. Object lessons are given daily in the workings of the money order departments. In fact, we have a first-class post-office here in active operation — not only that, but postal exhibits from Great Britain, Germany, France and other countries. The latter, of course, are not so extensive as our own, but are sufficiently complete to illustrate the different systems of the world and demonstrate that every nation might make improvements.

The State Department presents many interesting papers, such as Washington's commission as commander-in-chief of the army; autograph


letters from Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, and the crowned monarchs of the world, and treaties made with the nations of the two hemispheres, a ponderous European state paper lying side by side with a gorgeous silken document from Japan.

It will thus be seen that although the state department is the most cosmopolitan in its outside relations, the actual collection which can be drawn from its archives is the smallest. But every article has attached to it not only a personal but a dignified interest, and in examining the autographs of dead and living statesmen, kings and queens, one realizes, with pride, not only the brilliant array of American statesmanship, but the vast power of the nation.


Classified and Special Exhibits.


THE Government Building and exhibits occupy, as they should, a central position at Jackson Park. Until the Government put its stamp upon the Fair it had merely the dignity of crude ore. Therefore, the visitor has been placed first within the Government Building. If he has not the diagram of the site before him, he undoubtedly has it well in mind. Having left the Government Building, the plan of operations is to visit the exhibitions of the great Fair in the order in which their exteriors were viewed. Next, then, we enter the Main Building.


This structure, without reference to its contents, is the most marvelous sight to greet the visitor's eyes. The Eifel Tower at Paris in 1889 was the triumph of mechanical engineering skill at that time. But the world progresses. What seemed wonderful at Paris in 1889 seems commonplace in Chicago to-day. Towers there are at the Fair, but to have built one a few hundred feet higher than the Eifel, simply to outdo Paris, would have been little real satisfaction. Frenchmen would have smiled patronizingly and pointed it out as an indication of a lack of originality. Who shall rightfully claim originality if not the "Yankee," and who shall lead if not Chicago? Who can command language to convey an idea of the wonder of such a structure as the main building of the Chicago World's Fair? Here inside of eighteen months has sprung up a building, the erection of which only a few years since no engineer or contractor could have been found to undertake. The trusses in the roof are the largest of any in the world. Each truss covers a space of 386 feet. There are twenty-two of these,


each weighing 200 tons. There are more than 6,000 tons of steel in the roof of the building alone, equal to over 600 carloads. Above these immense arches are smaller ones to support the lantern roof. These latter span only 150 feet and are thirty-six feet high. When the Pennsylvania Railroad Company was building its depot in Jersey City a year or two ago, the New York newspapers devoted several columns each day to describing the work, and declared that the erection of those enormous steel trusses was the most gigantic undertaking in the history of mechanical art, not excepting the Eifel Tower or the great Brooklyn Bridge. Yet the trusses of the Jersey City depot could be placed inside those of the Manufactures Building and there would be a clear space of fifty feet between them and the roof.

If any of our readers think of taking a contract to build such a structure as this, let us caution him to take account of the expense to be incurred in simply getting ready to do the real work. Twelve draughtsmen worked for months making plans of the derricks that were used to hoist the different parts of the trusses into place. Ordinary sawhorse platforms on top of each other would not answer for this kind of a job, and even Chicago couldn't muster a "raising bee" equal to such a task without the expenditure of thousands first, in the work of preparation. In the construction of these derricks, 250,000 feet of timber and 43 tons of steel rods for bracing were used. The derricks were built in the form of three towers, supporting a large


swinging platform 125 feet above the floor of the building. On top of this platform was another derrick 90 feet high, with swinging booms, to swing the different pieces of the truss into place. The under derricks rested on tracks running the length of the building, a set of tracks for each derrick. When one truss was in position, the derricks were moved along a hundred feet for the next one. An idea of the strain these great trusses are subjected to, may be conceived from the fact that the pins used in fastening the different parts together are eight and ten inches in diameter.


How fully do you comprehend the magnitude of this greatest structure in the world, by the statement that it covers more than 33 acres of ground? The distance around the ordinary race-course is half a mile. The distance around the Manufactures Building is within but a few feet of one mile. Figure it for yourself. The length is 1,687 feet, and the width 787 feet. It required over 3,000,000 feet of lumber for the floor alone, equal to about 200 carloads. It took five carloads of nails to lay this floor. In the entire building were used 17,000,000 feet of lumber, equal to about 1,250 carloads, and over 12,000,000 pounds of iron, equal to over 600 carloads.


The Cathedral of St. Peter's at Rome is the largest church edifice in the world. The largest church in the United States, with possibly one or two exceptions, would go inside the vestibule of St. Peter's. Eight such buildings as the famous Auditorium of Chicago could be erected inside of St. Peter's. Imagine then, if you can, what the Manufactures Building is like, when we say that three such buildings as St. Peter's at Rome could be erected on its floor space. The average ordinary cottage residence covers a space of 25 feet front by 50 feet deep. A city of one thousand such residences, and five to ten thousand population, could be contained beneath the roof of the main building, and the glass lantern roof, 250 feet above, could be easily imagined the perpetual blue vault of heaven.

Taking the space in the fifty-foot gallery running round the interior of the building, together with the ground floor space, and allowing two square feet to a person, there would be accommodation for over 800,000 people. If they were not particular about their accommodation, and would use the thirty great staircases, each twelve feet wide, and the eighty-six small galleries projecting each twelve feet out from the main gallery around the sides and ends, and perch upon the great trusses of the roof, and among the braces, all of New York city's population, man, woman and child, could find shelter in this one main building.

Our readers will not ask for any apology from us for dwelling thus upon this structure rather than hasten on to its contents. This is the feature of the Columbian Exposition which outclasses, which stands head, shoulders and waist above