newspaper that I carried, and preserved it safely! We entered the temple of Juggernaut, and I saw the idol sitting on an elevated marble altar. There was little of him, except a great black face, with immense, owl-like eyes and a blood-red mouth. Two other comical-shaped idols were seated on either side of him.

As the heat became more excessive at Calcutta, I gladly accepted the cordial invitation of Mr. Richard McAllister, an American merchant, to spend a week or two at his beautiful summer retreat on the banks of the Hoogly. His grounds were half a square mile in extent, and upon them were two large cotton and jute mills, employing several hundred Hindoo operatives. I had not seen cotton-spinning on so large a scale before, and was never weary of watching the delicate operations of the various machines.

During the American Civil War cotton became so scarce that the British government stimulated its production in India by every means, and the cotton interest there rose to great importance. Speculation became brisk, and fortunes were made almost as rapidly in Calcutta and Bombay, as they were lost in Savannah and New Orleans. But at the end of the war American cotton regained its

prestige, owing to its superior quality and the improved machinery used in preparing it for market. Still the British government does what it can to foster the cotton-trade of India.

The manufacture of jute for bags, sacks, sails, etc., is also an important industry. Mr. McAllister employed 1,400 natives in his different mills.

His beautiful residence stood in a secluded and shady position, surrounded by a smooth lawn. From the balcony of his house we could watch the steamers and various vessels passing up and down the river. All that wealth and comfort could furnish were found in this delightful home, and every privilege was cordially extended to the guests. Soft-footed Hindoos stepped quietly through the marble-floored rooms, and were ready to do the stranger's bidding. One could scarcely put on his own hat or slippers, lay down his umbrella, wash his own face, or even dress himself in the morning, without a polite and silent attendant gliding up to him to assist in the operation! To the independent Anglo-Saxon, accustomed to help himself, and at least perform his own private toilet, these petty ministrations are at first a little annoying; but the warm climate soon relaxes his rugged spirit of independence, and he lazily surrenders all muscular

and manly effort to the willing services of the dusky shadows who dodge his footsteps. It takes a surprisingly short time to get accustomed to all the marks of deference heaped upon him; and he soon slides into a dreamy state of quiescence, accepting the most trivial attentions as a matter of course, as if marble palaces and turbaned retainers had formed a part of his surroundings from his youth up. He smiles with serene complaisance upon the solemn and silent Hindoos who rise to their feet at his very approach, touch their foreheads, lips, and heart, out of respect to so august a presence, and fan him with swinging "punkahs" for hours together, whenever he throws himself listlessly upon the sofa or into a comfortable armchair.

Hospitality is easy to give, and still easier to receive, in the East, where houses are spacious, servants are numerous and well trained, pantries are plentifully stocked, the cook is never ill-tempered, and an Oriental frankness and affability assure the guest that he is always welcome.

Once, when taking a quiet "tiffin" with my kind hostess, a note was brought in, saying that a party of fourteen ladies and gentlemen from Calcutta would take tea with us and spend a few days. The arrival was unexpected, but it caused no unusual

stir; a whisper in the ear of the "khansamer," or steward, was all the preparation that seemed necessary, and when the company appeared they were well received and entertained.

Though urged by my kind friends to make their hospitable mansion my home until the worst of the hot season was over; and though warned of the danger of doing India and its sight-seeing, with the thermometer at 140° Fah., I persisted in my plan (imprudently, though, it now seems to me) of attempting three thousand miles of travel in the country at the hottest season of the whole year.

CHAPTER VI.

BENARES, THE SACRED CITY OF THE HINDOOS.

AFTER the long sea voyage from Hong-Kong to Calcutta, the idea of a railroad-ride of more than a thousand miles "up country," as Northern India is called, possessed not a little novelty, notwithstanding the fatigue, dust, and even danger to be expected by the way.

I left Calcutta on the Queen's birthday (May 24), which was a national holiday, and taking the 10:30 P. M. train, travelled during the night and all the next day to Benares, a distance of four hundred and eighty miles.

The province of Bengal, through which we passed, is nearly five times as large as New York state, and supports a population as numerous as that of the United States. It is a vast alluvial expanse, through which the great river Ganges pours its sacred waters by a score of channels into the sea. The most important town in this fertile district is Patna, the capital of Behar province, and centre of the opium trade; here the drug is prepared from the poppy-plant, then made up into