After we had visited several of the temples we went to the observatory of Rajah Jan Singh, built at the close of the seventeenth century, and looking down from its battlements we see the sacred river shining in the morning sun; the teeming, busy hive of temples and shrines, from which the hum of worship seems to arise; masses of pilgrims sluggishly moving toward the river to plunge into its holy waters and be cleansed of sin. We are pointed out the site of the holy well of Manikarnaki, dug by the god Vishnu, consecrated by the god Mahadeva, whose waters will wash away any sin and make the body pure. From here we went down to the water, and, on board of a steam launch, slowly we steamed under the banks, and the view of the city as seen from our boat was one of the most striking the world can afford. Although the day was not far advanced the sun was out in all his power. Here was the burning Ghat, the spot where the bodies of the Hindoos are burned. No office is so sacred to the dead as to burn his body on the banks of the Ganges. As we slowly steamed along, a funeral procession was seen bearing a body to the funeral pyre. We observed several slabs set around the burning Ghat. These were in memory of widows who had burned themselves on that spot in honor of their husbands, according to the old rite of suttee. We passed the temple of the Lord Tavaka, the special god who breathes such a charm into the ear of the dying that the departing soul goes into eternal bliss. We passed the temple

built in honor of the two feet of Vishnu, and which are worshiped with divine honors. We saw the Ghats, or steps erected by Sindia, an Indian prince, built in heavy masonry, but broken as by an earthquake and slowly going to ruin. We pass the lofty mosque of Aurungzebe, notable only for its two minarets, which, rising to one hundred and fifty feet, are the highest objects in Benares, and are a landmark for miles and miles. We pass shrines and temples without number, the mere recital of whose names and attributes would fill several chapters. All this is lost in the general effect of the city as seen from the river. Benares sits on the sacred river, an emblem of the strange religion which has made it a holy city, and there is

solemnity in the thought that for ages she has kept her place on the Ganges, that for ages her shrines have been holy to millions of men, that for ages the wisest and purest and best of the Indian race have wandered as pilgrims through her narrow streets, and plunged themselves as penitents into the waters to wash away their sins. It is all a dark superstition, but let us honor Benares for the comfort she has given to so many millions of sinful, sorrowing souls. And as we pass along the river toward our house, and leave the white towers and steps of Benares glistening in the sunshine, we look back upon it with something of the respect and affection that belong to antiquity, and which are certainly not unworthily bestowed upon so renowned, so sacred, and so venerable a city.

VISIT to India without an experience in the jungle would be a barren and imperfect proceeding, and since our coming to this country nothing has been more discussed as among the possible experiences of Indian travel, than what we should do among the elephants and among the tigers, the panthers and the beasts of prey. After Mr. Borie returned from his visit to the man-eating tigers, which the Maharajah of Jeypore kept in a special cage for the edification of his people, he made the official announcement that his curiosity and ambition were satisfied, and that under no circumstances would he go into the jungle to fight a tiger. There was some disappointment over this determination, because we had depended largely upon Mr. Borie to redeem the character of the members of our expedition in the hunting-field. We felt, also, that it was a neglected opportunity for Mr. Borie himself, because he is esteemed in Philadelphia, and, as his friends, we were all anxious that he should carry home to that

proud, domestic city evidences of his prowess in a new sphere. Then I can fancy nothing more conducive to table-talk, to secure absolute silence while you are talking, than to be able to begin a conversation by saying, "When I killed my first tiger in India," and so on. Such a declaration at a dinner party of prudent and peaceful Philadelphians would silence conversation, fill the listeners with awe, and rank the speaker among those heroes whose exploits hush the cries of children. These were among the arguments pressed upon Mr. Borie to induce him to lead our party into the jungle; but they were not strong enough to shake his resolution. So we turned to Colonel Grant to save us from the stigma of having crossed the seas and penetrated India and lived in the land of the hunter without entering the jungle. The opportunity was given us by our friend the Maharajah of Jeypore, who sent word to General Grant that if he wished to shoot the tiger, and gave his Highness twenty-four hours' notice, the tiger would be ready. This was the same courtesy extended to the Prince of Wales, who killed his first tiger in Jeypore. It seemed rather odd that even an Indian prince should have authority over the jungle, and be able to summon the wild beast from his lair for the entertainment of wandering sportsmen; but it was explained to us that his Highness kept a small collection of tigers for game.

General Grant would have trespassed upon the kindness of the Maharajah, and would not have objected to a day in the jungle. Colonel Grant was impatient for the experience. What interfered was the want of time. Tiger hunting, even when you know the tiger is in readiness, requires time, and during our visit to Jeypore, when the opportunities of a jungle adventure were the burden of our conversation, I acquired a great deal of information on the subject of tiger shooting. For successful sport two or three days are necessary. We should have had to ride elephants, to go attended with many other elephants, with wagons and beaters and huntsmen-with a small army in fact. Tiger hunting is, in some respects, a science, and those who are fond of the sport have various ways of enjoying it. The native hunter will sit in a tree during the night waiting

his chances at the tiger as he passes from the jungle to the streams for water. The Hindoo has so keen a vision that he can fire in the night with a certain aim. European huntersprobably because their vision is imperfect-despise this mode. Perhaps they dislike the idea of lying in the ambush of night. Then the hunters select a district where the tiger is known to range, and tie a buffalo or a kid to a tree. The tiger discovers the animal, kills it by opening the jugular vein and sucking the blood. This is his first meal. The blood appeases his hunger for several hours, and he retires to his lair for repose. In the meantime the hunters, seeing the dead animal, know the tiger will come again to finish his meal. They make an ambush of branches and boughs, and await his return. Another plan is to

surround the jungle where the tiger is known to live, and with stealthy footsteps seek him in his lair. This should be done at noon, when the sun is at the meridian, a time when the tiger seeks the refuge of a shady place—a rock, a cave, or a cliff— and sleeps. If he can be found asleep he may be killed, but this form of tiger hunting is the most dangerous, and only accepted by those who prefer the excitement and peril of the jungle. Another plan-and this was adopted by the Maharajah when the Prince of Wales was in the jungle-is to go with a retinue of elephants trained to hunting the tiger. A cordon of natives is picketed around the outskirts of the jungle, with gongs and drums and trumpets. They advance slowly through the bush, moving always toward the center, making horrible noises. The tiger, who is really a cowardly animal, retreats before the noise, and in time is forced under the muzzles of the rifles. At this instant-this crisis of the chase-the hunter re

quires perfect nerve. For the tiger is not, in the presence of a hunting party, dangerous until wounded. He may attack a man alone, but rarely two men if they face him. If you turn and run he is sure to follow. But when the tiger is wounded even the most carefully trained elephants are not safe. There is the danger that the elephant may break and run from fright; and a run into the jungle would be a serious business for those who are riding, for you may be dragged from your seat by the