quires the best service possible in Burmah, and, as a result of her policy of sending her wisest men to the most useful places, Mr. Aitcheson finds himself in Rangoon. We may be said, in fact, to have arrived in Burmah during a crisis, and we had read in the Calcutta papers of the deep feeling created throughout Burmah by the atrocities of the new King, who had murdered most of his relatives and was talking about taking off the head of the British Resident at Mandalay. We also read that there was excitement among the people, commotion, a universal desire for the punishment of this worthless king, and the annexation of Upper Burmah. I expected to find the streets of Rangoon lined with people, as at home during an exciting election canvass, clamoring against the King, demanding the benef icent rule of England. I only saw the patient, dreamy, plodding Asiatic bearing his burdens like his brethren in India, content if he can assure a mess of rice for his food and a scrap of muslin for his loins. As to the rest, accept it as an axiom, that when the moral sensibilities of the English statesmen in India become so outraged as to become uncontrollable it means more territory. Our days in Rangoon were pleasant. The town is interesting. It is Asiatic, and at the same time not Indian. You have left Hindostan, and all the forms of that vivid and extraordinary civilization, and you come upon a new people. Here you meet John, the inscrutable John, who troubles you so much in California, and whose fate is the gravest problem of our day. You see Chinese signs on the houses, Chinese workmen on the streets, shops where you can drink toddy and smoke opium. This is the first ripple we have seen of that teeming empire towards which we are steering. Politically, Burmah is a part of the British Empire, but it is really one of the outposts of China, and from now until we leave Japan we shall be under the in fluence of China. The Hindoos you meet are from Madras, a different type from those we saw on our tour. The Burmese look like Chinese to our unskilled eyes, and it is pleasant to see women on the streets and in society. The streets are wide and rectangular, like those of Philadelphia, and the shade-trees are grateful. Over the city, on a height, which you can see from afar, is a pagoda, one of the most famous in Asia. It is covered with gilt, and in the evening, when we first saw it, the sun's rays made it dazzling. We knew from the pagoda that in leaving India, and coming to Burmah, we leave the land of Brahma, and come to the land of Buddha, and that remarkable religion called Buddhism. The institution of caste, upon which the Hindoo faith and the whole structure of Hindoo society rests, is not known in Buddhism. There is no priestly class like the Brahmins, claiming grotesque, selfish, and extraordinary privileges, descending from father to son, claiming honors almost divine, and teaching that all the good things of the world are especially intended for the Brahmins. The priests, like those in the Catholic Church, are taken from any rank in life. They do not marry. They deny themselves all pleasures of the sense, live a monastic life, dress in yellow gowns (yellow being a sacred color), shave their heads and beards, and walk barefooted. They live in common, eat in common. When they sleep, it is in a sitting posture. They go to church, pray, chant hymns, make offerings to their gods, - principal among them a statue of Buddha, -sometimes alone, sometimes with his disciples. The statue of Buddha holds the same position in the temples of his faith that the statue of our Saviour holds in the Catholic churches. As you go into these temples you are impressed with other forms of resemblance between the two systems of worship. The priests go in procession. They chant hymns and prayers and burn incense. They carry strings of beads like the rosary, which they count and fumble as they say their prayers. There is no single solemn ceremony like the sacrifice of the mass. Priests and people kneel before the images, surrounded with blazing wax lights, the air heavy with incense. They pray together, the priests only known by the yellow gowns. They pray kneeling, with clasped, uplifted hands. Sometimes they hold in their hands a rose, or a morsel of rice, or a fragment of bread as an offering. During their prayers they frequently bend their bodies, so that the face touches the ground. There are convents for women. The temples are places of rest and refuge. Hither come the unfortu nate, the poor, the needy, the halt and blind, the belated traveller. All are received, and all are given food and alms. As you walk into the temples, it is generally through a lane of unfortunates, in all stages of squalor and wretchedness, abandoned by the world. Trays or basins of iron are stretched along the road in which attendants pour uncooked rice. Animal life is held sacred, and a Buddhist temple looks like a barn-yard, a village pound, and a church combined. Cows, parrots, monkeys, dogs, beggars, children, priests, sight-seers, devotees - all mingle and blend on a footing of friendliness, the animals fearing no harm, the men meaning none. A Buddhist priest will not kill an animal. His sacrifices do not involve bloodshed. Before he sits on the ground he will carefully brush it, lest he might unwittingly crush an ant or a worm. This respect for animal life is so strong that some priests will wear a gauze cloth over mouth and nostrils, lest they inadvertently inhale some of the smaller insects which live in the air. I am curious to know what would become of this tenet of their religion, if they were to examine the air or water with a microscope. I am afraid the discoveries of the microscope would bring sorrow and shame to thousands of believing souls. Our first visit was to the famous pagoda, which rests upon Rangoon like a crown of gold, its burnished splendor seen from afar. The pagoda is in the centre of a park of about two acres, around which are fortifications. These fortifications were defended by the Burmese during their war with the English, and in the event of a sudden outbreak, or a mutiny, or a war, would at once be occupied. During the Burmese wars the pagoda was always used as a fort, and now, in the event of an alarm, or an invasion, or a mutiny, the troops and people would at once take possession. Ever since that horrible Sunday afternoon in Meerut, when the Sepoys broke out of their barracks, burned every house, and butchered every woman and child in the European quarter, all these Asiatic settlements have a place of refuge to which the population can fly. A small guard was on duty as we passed up the ragged steps that led to the pagoda. There was an ascent of seventy-five feet up a series of steps - a gentle and not a tiresome ascent, if you looked carefully and did not stumble among the jagged and crumbling stones. On either side of the way were devotees at prayers, or beggars waiting for their rice, or booths where you could buy false pearls, imitation diamonds, beads, packages of gold-leaf, flowers and cakes. The trinkets and flowers are given as offerings to Buddha. The gold-leaf is sold for acts of piety. If the devout Buddhist has a little money, he lays it out on the pagoda. He buys a package of the gold-leaf and covers with it some dingy spot on the pagoda, and adds his mite to the glory of the temple. No one is so poor that he cannot make some offering. We observed several devout Buddhists at work patching the temple with their gold foil. On the top of the temple is an umbrella or cap covered with precious stones. This was a royal offering, and was placed here some years since with great pomp. CHAPTER XXXIV. SAILING DOWN THE STRAITS OF MALACCA-FAREWELL TO INDIA-A VISIT TO SIAM- A LETTER FROM THE KING ALMOST AN ACCIDENT-IMPRESSIONS OF BANGKOK· THE VENICE OF THE EAST-LANDING IN BANGKOK· It was pleasant, writes one of the travellers, to sail down the Straits of Malacca and along the coast of Burmah in a comfortable and swift steamer called the Simla, commanded by Captain Franks. After leaving Rangoon we ran across to the little town of Maulmain. Here General Grant and party were received by Colonel Duff, the British Commissioner. There was a guard of honor at the wharf, and a gathering of what appeared to be the whole town. The evening after we arrived there was a dinner given by the Maulmain Volunteer Rifles-a militia organization composed of the merchants of Maulmain and young men in the service of the Government. This dinner was given in the messroom of the company-a little bungalow in the outskirts of the town. The next morning there was a visit to the wood-yards, where teak-wood is sawed and sent as an article of commerce into various countries. The teaktree is a feature in the commerce and the industry of the peninsula, and is said to be the most durable timber in Asia. The Javanese name for teak illustrates its character, meaning true, real, genuine. It is only found in |