CHAPTER XVIII.

TRAVELS.

One of the most remarkable developments of modern times has been the increase in the facilities for foreign travel, with the consequence that travelling has become the pastime of the many, and not the privilege of the few. In the 'sixties and 'seventies travelling was difficult. In the first place, a passport had to be obtained, with the visé of the ambassador of every country through which it was intended to pass. It usually took ten days to procure this, and there also had to be faced the difficulties of the Customs at the various frontiers, the absence of through train services, and the general halo of suspicion with which foreigners were regarded on the continent, and which led frequently to unpleasantness. In 1860, on my way to Trieste, I was detained at Turin, and at the hotel I met Mr. Ed. Lear, R.A., the author of the _Book of Nonsense_, who was on his way to paint a picture in Italy. Mr. Lear made a few pen-and-ink sketches for me. When I arrived at the Austrian frontier at Verona, these were found in my baggage, and I was detained for twelve hours while enquiries were made about me by telegraph. Another time, I was staying at the little Portuguese town of Elvas, and walked across the frontier to see Badajos, the scene of the memorable siege during the Peninsular war. On entering the town, I was asked for my passport, which I produced, but as it had no Spanish visé I was placed in charge of a gendarme, who with a drawn sword marched me across the frontier back into Portugal. These little incidents serve to illustrate the suspicion which surrounded travellers on the continent.

In addition to my voyage round the world, already described, I paid annual visits to the Southern States of America, in connection with my firm's cotton business, and I also spent some time in Portugal and the West Indies.

In no department of travel has more progress been made than in ocean travel. I crossed the Atlantic in 1861 in the "City of Washington," of the Inman Line, and returned in the Cunard steamer "Niagara," the voyage each way lasting twelve days, and they were twelve days of great discomfort. The sleeping accommodation was below the saloon; the cabins were lit by oil lamps, which were put out at eleven o'clock at night; the air was foul and stifling; and there was an entire absence of ventilation.

In the saloon, above the dining-tables, trays filled with wine-glasses swung from side to side with every roll of the ship; the saloon was lit by candles, which spurted grease and smelt abominably. There was no smoking room provided, and we sat in the "fiddlee" upon coils of rope, while the sea washed to and fro, or else we tried to get under the lee of the funnel. What a change has taken place, and how greatly the electric light has contributed to the comfort of travellers by sea!

THE FRANCO-GERMAN BATTLEFIELDS.

The most interesting journey I ever made was in 1871, when with my father and the late Dr. Grimsdale and Mr. Ryley I visited the Franco-Prussian battlefields. The war was not ended and the German army was still surrounding Paris, which made travelling difficult, but we met with great civility from the Prussian officers, and visited the battlefields of Saarbrück, where the Prince Imperial received his baptism of fire, Wörth, Hagenau, Weissenburg, Gravelotte, where we found men still burying the horses slain in the battle, Mars-le-Tour, Metz, and finally Sedan. We gathered many trophies, but were not allowed to bring them away. Wherever the Prussians made a stand and were slaughtered in their hundreds, as at Gravelotte, we found pieces of small German Bibles, and we were told that every German soldier, from the Emperor William downwards, carried a Bible in his haversack.

COSTA RICA.

The year after I retired from business, in 1891, I visited Costa Rica with my eldest daughter, to inspect the railway in which we were much interested. The country from Port Limon, which lies on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, bathed in a tropical sun, to San José, the capital, is most picturesque and remarkable for its deep ravines, its rapid rivers, and its wealth of vegetation. On leaving Port Limon we passed through long and deep valleys filled with palms and every species of tropical plants, which made us exclaim that we might be in the Kew conservatories. We gradually worked our way up 5,000 feet to the plateau upon which San José is situated, and the scenery hereabouts reminded us of an undulating English landscape, such as we have in Kent or Surrey.

The railway was then in its infancy, and in a very rickety condition; it was said that the man who travelled by it for the first time was a hero, and if he travelled a second time he was a fool. But reconstruction was already in progress.

We were much interested in the banana cultivation, as it supplied cargoes for our steamers sailing between Port Limon and New York, a trade which has since developed into gigantic dimensions. We had all the anxiety of finding the capital necessary to finance both the banana industry and the railway, and like most pioneers we did not secure the reward; it went to an American company, who reaped where we had sown. My daughter and I had a charming trip to Cartago, and ascended the volcano of Iritzu, 13,000 feet, and from the summit had a view of both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. We made also a trip to the Pacific coast on horseback; it was a long journey, and in order to escape the heat of the sun we travelled chiefly by night. We passed innumerable waggons drawn by bullocks and laden with coffee for shipment from the Pacific coast. It required some vigilance on our part to prevent our horses being struck by the long horns of the bullocks as we passed by. We had eventually to leave the high road and strike through the bush, the Indians going before cutting down with their _machettes_ the vines and tree branches which blocked the path. We returned only a few days later, yet such is the rapid growth of tropical vegetation that the Indians had again to clear the track. We stayed the second night at the village of Esperanto, and early next day reached the Trinidad gold mines, situated on the mountain side looking down on the Pacific coast. I shall never forget the view which stretched out before us. There was the Pacific Ocean lying opalescent in the bright beams of the morning sun, and studded with little blue islands, looking like so many blue beads upon a silvered mirror.

On our way out from Jamaica to Limon we spent two days at Colon. The works on the Panama Canal were in active operation. We went a little way up and saw enough to convince me that the French would never make the canal. The waste of money was prodigious. We saw a train of trucks loaded with cases side-tracked into the bush and completely grown over. The sickness was also terrible. Every day a funeral train came down to Colon from the works with bodies for interment, and grave spaces in the cemetery were so scarce that they were let at a rental of so much a month. Now, thanks to the researches of the Liverpool Tropical School of Medicine, these pestiferous swamps have been rendered innocuous.

JAMAICA.

I made a voyage to Jamaica in 1864, the year of the rebellion, and had the pleasure of staying with Governor Eyre. The rebellion at one time assumed a very grave aspect, and the governor got into serious trouble, because, to save the situation, he shot several of the rebel ringleaders, after a trial by drumhead court-martial. I fully believed from what I knew of the circumstances that he was justified in doing so, and his action prevented a serious outbreak, but he was made the scapegoat.

I have visited Jamaica several times, and until I had seen Ceylon, considered it the most beautiful island in the world.

MEXICO.

In 1892, when on a visit to America with my daughter, I was asked to proceed to Mexico, to endeavour to induce the Mexican Government to give their National Bonds in exchange for the bonds of the Mexican Southern Railway. These had been guaranteed by the several Mexican States through which the railway passed, but there had been default in the interest payments, and the bonds were in consequence greatly depreciated in value, the $100 bond selling in London for $25. I thought it was a hopeless mission, but decided to go. We proceeded from New York through Arkansas and Texas. It took us thirty-six hours in the train to cross Texas, travelling all the while; this will give some idea of the great size of this state.

On our way we saw in the newspapers that an insurrection had broken out in Mexico, headed by Gusman. The New York papers had long detailed accounts. This induced me to break our journey at Laredo, which is situated on the frontier of Mexico, as I did not wish to expose my daughter to any danger. On my arrival at the hotel at Laredo, I sent for the landlord and asked him where the rebellion was. He replied, "Right here, sir, in this hotel." I could not understand what he meant, and desired him to explain himself. "Well," he said, "I will tell you how it was. Some reports reached the north that a civil war had broken out, and one day fourteen newspaper reporters arrived. They came to this hotel and sent for me, and demanded how they could get to the seat of the war, and where Gusman, the leader of the rebels, was to be found. I told them there was no rebellion, and that I had seen Gusman in Laredo a few days before, selling cattle. They were not, however, satisfied, and said that they had come down to write up a civil war, and a civil war there must be. They stayed in this hotel ten days, sending to the north every day long accounts of the progress of hostilities, and then they returned home." I thought this was one of the best stories of the methods of American journalists that I had ever heard, and as I knew it to be true, I repeated it to President Diaz a few days later, on my arrival at the city of Mexico. The old President was much amused, and said it reminded him of the story of a tiger. He received news that the people of a certain village were being destroyed by a tiger, and dared not venture out for fear of the animal, so he sent down a company of soldiers; they found it was quite true that the villagers were scared to death, but there was no tiger. A puma is called in Mexico a tiger.

When I told the President the object of my mission to Mexico he laughed, and exclaimed, "Did I think he was going to give me his good money for my bad money?" In my heart I thought he had very aptly described the situation, but I replied that I hoped to convince him that the good credit of Mexico was in jeopardy by my railway bonds being in default, and if the Government would step into the breach it would place the credit of Mexico in a high position in the London money market. I, however, made very little impression upon him. I was asking for Mexican bonds worth £900,000 for my railway bonds worth at the outside £250,000. I had several interviews, but met with very little encouragement. I, however, got to know the President, and he became very friendly and pleasant to me. On one of my visits he told me of his birthplace, Oaxaca, situated about 200 miles south of the city of Mexico; he was evidently very proud of it. He spoke of the beauty of the situation, the richness of the country, both in the fertility of its soil and mineral resources, and the industry of the Indian population.

I thought it would not be a bad idea to run down and see Oaxaca. I was doing no good in Mexico, and I should also be able to see something of the Mexican Southern Railway, which ran about half the way to a place called Tehuacan. We proceeded by train to Puebla, where I left my daughter, and then down the long broad valley of Tehuacan. Every few miles we came to a magnificent church, which formerly had been the centre of a village or town, for during the Spanish occupation this valley contained a population of 1,000,000, and was very fertile and rich. We saw now and again the aqueducts and tunnels which had conveyed water through the valley for irrigation.

At Tehuacan we passed through several fine cañons; here we took horses, as the railway was not completed beyond this point, and rode through a very delightful country. The first night we slept at an Indian village, or tried to sleep, but were disturbed by the barking of dogs. Every house appeared to possess a dog, which made it its business to howl and make the night hideous. The village was quite tidy, the houses mostly built of bamboo and thatched with dried palm leaves. The Indians themselves, in their wide-brimmed hats and white calico clothes, often wearing woollen ponchos, were picturesque and interesting.

On our arrival at Oaxaca we put up at the hotel, which was far from inviting, and then called upon the governor and the archbishop, the latter an Irishman with a decided brogue; he is a very rich and powerful man, and practically rules over his diocese, both in temporal as well as in spiritual affairs.

Oaxaca was a charming little town, prettily situated in a valley; in the centre of the town is a public garden and bandstand. One of the secrets of President Diaz's popularity is his sympathy with the love of music so general among the Indians, and he has wisely provided every little town with its orchestra.

We were much interested in the market, and saw the country people bring in with their produce little nuggets of gold, which they had washed out of the gravel beds on their farms.

The Indians in these parts consist of two clans or tribes, the "Black" and the "White Hats"; the "Black Hats" were a troublesome people to control, but so far as I could see, the Indians are an industrious and well-conducted people.

On my return to the city of Mexico, the President was greatly surprised and delighted when I told him where I had been. He was much interested and asked me many questions, and from this moment my mission appeared to make headway; I had made the President my friend. A bill was introduced into the Legislature authorising the issue of Mexican bonds in exchange for my railway bonds. Although it met with some opposition, the President was all-powerful, and it passed the Legislature, and in six weeks I received the new Mexican government bonds for £1,000,000. I can well remember the smile of the chief clerk in the Treasury when he handed me the bonds. I asked him why he laughed; he said such a rapid thing had never been done in Mexico before, and he could not quite see why they should have hurried in this way; nor could I, save that my daily presence at the Treasury acted as a gentle stimulus.

We returned home via El Paso and Denver. The directors of the Mexican Southern Railway were greatly delighted at my success, and presented me with a cheque for £1,000. I look back upon this journey with much pleasure, not only from recollections of a very beautiful and fascinating country and people, but having enjoyed the friendship of two very remarkable men--President Diaz and Signor Don Limantour, the present finance minister in Mexico. One day in course of conversation with the President, I mentioned my great admiration for Signor Don Limantour, and I added that he had been educated at Stonyhurst, in England, which I considered a great advantage to him. It was, therefore, very gratifying to me to learn shortly after I had reached England that he had been made finance minister, with the understanding that he would succeed Diaz as President. In the hands of two such capable men the future of Mexico is assured.

President Diaz is a man of great commonsense and of strong will. To consolidate his rule in the early years of his presidency he was obliged to be severe. The country was infested with banditti, who put a stop to all commerce and travel. Diaz, when he caught the banditti, made them into rural guards, on the principle of setting a thief to catch a thief, and by this means he quickly restored law and order. Even when I was in the country gibbets were still to be seen, some having hanging to them the remains of their former victims. For some years after I returned President Diaz occasionally corresponded with me, and I kept him informed of the condition of things in Europe, and in particular of the position of Mexican finance in London.

AMERICA IN 1905.

In company with Lord Claud Hamilton I again visited America in 1905. We sailed from Liverpool in the "Ivernia." When we arrived at Boston Lord Claud received a letter from the president of the New York Central Railway placing at his disposal a private car which would be attached to any train we required, and in which we were free to go to any part of the United States. This was a personal compliment to Lord Claud as chairman of the Great Eastern Railway.

We found the car contained a dining saloon, four state rooms, and at one end was a smoking room and observatory in which we could sit and view the scenery.

There was an excellent _chef_ and a very attentive steward; and in this car we travelled and lived for three weeks, being most sumptuously entertained. We picked up two friends, so we had a very pleasant party of four. We visited Niagara, Chicago, St. Louis (to see the Exhibition), Washington, and other places _en route_. At St. Louis we were received by the president of the Exhibition, Mr. Francis, who drove us round the grounds in a Western prairie coach, painted yellow, and drawn by six white horses. It was a curious experience. The coach was fully laden, and as we rushed around the corners it lurched and heeled over in a truly alarming manner. We felt for the time as if we were part of a Wild West circus troupe.

The Exhibition was very well worth seeing. Of all the great exhibitions it was quite one of the best. The illuminations in the evening were on a magnificent scale.

During our railway progress we were surprised at the number of wrecks of trains we passed; seventeen in all. Many had been accompanied by loss of life, but little or no allusion was made to them in the newspapers. We began to feel anxious for our own safety, and we were congratulating ourselves upon our escape from all trouble, when, nearing New York on our way from Washington, suddenly we saw our locomotive sail away in front of us, and looking back saw the remainder of the train standing half-a-mile behind us. The couplings had broken, but the automatic brakes, fortunately, brought us to a standstill.

When we arrived at any important place at which we intended to make a stay, we placed the private car on a siding while we took up our quarters at an hotel or a country club. These country clubs are charming institutions in America, and the members are most generous in extending their hospitality to travellers.

When at Washington President Roosevelt kindly invited us to dine at the White House. We were unable to accept this invitation, and he then asked us to lunch. With the exception of General Chaffee, we were alone with the President. The White House has a very English homelike aspect. It is a large Georgian house furnished and decorated in Adams style, and resembles an English gentleman's country residence.

President Roosevelt is a thick-set man of medium height, very vivacious and active, both mentally and physically. He had all the energy and strenuous activity, while his Chief Secretary of State, Mr. Hay, had the wisdom and discretion, and the two made a strong combination. When Mr. Hay died this salutary restraint was removed, and President Roosevelt tried to carry out reforms with a rush. Though his intentions were excellent the rough and hasty methods he adopted plunged the country into a disastrous and far-reaching financial disaster.

At lunch the President told me that he had that morning been reading Macaulay for the third or fourth time, and was anxious to know when Tories in England ceased to be called Tories. I replied, "It was after Macaulay's time; about the 'sixties." He then told me that he had been to see the Jiu-jitsu clan of Japanese perform with their grips; they had 300 grips, and being fond of athletics he had learned thirty of them. After lunch, while I was standing near the fire, the President rushed at me and said, "Let me try a few of the grips on you," and before I could answer he had my right arm over his shoulder, and I had to follow bodily. He did not hurt me, and relinquished his grip when he found he was my master. He then took hold of my legs below the knees and threw me over his shoulder, and finally, taking hold of my hands, placed me on my back. The easy way in which he caught me and prevented my falling was a proof of his great muscular strength. He attacked Lord Claud Hamilton in a similar fashion, but Lord Claud shrank from the contest. I think this was a proof of the extreme human character of the President. He will live as one of America's greatest Presidents, and I suppose there are not many men who can say they have wrestled with this great uncrowned king of America.

MISCELLANEOUS TOURS.

Of our winter travels in the Mediterranean, our visits to Egypt, Greece, Algiers, Norway, etc., I need not say much, the ground is now so familiar to most people.

THE DESERT OF SAHARA.

We had one little experience, to which I look back with much interest. Staying at Biskra, on the borders of the Sahara, we formed a camp and went four or five days' sojourn into the desert, quite a unique and pleasant tour. We were joined by two American ladies, and our camp consisted of eleven men and about a dozen mules, and four or five camels. We had an excellent native dragoman, who turned out to be a very good cook. The camels carried the tents and bedding, and the kitchen utensils, while we rode the mules. As we marched out of Biskra we formed quite an important cavalcade and all the people in the hotel turned out to see us. After marching about ten miles we halted for lunch, and it was surprising how soon Achmed had a ragout ready for us. We afterwards marched about fifteen miles, and pitched our camp just outside an oasis, and not very far from an encampment of Bedouins.

The days were very hot, but the nights quite cold. Our beds were spread on the ground in the tents, and we required all our blankets and rugs to keep the cold out. An armed Arab slept on the ground outside the door of each tent. The desert at this season of the year--the spring--was covered, more or less, with short grass and an abundance of wild flowers. In many places we had to pass over large areas of sand dunes, which were very trying, and to cross the dried-up beds of rivers. These rivers come down from the mountains when the snows melt and rush along in mighty torrents, scooping out water courses, until they finally lose themselves in the burning sands of the desert. As we got away from the mountains, the desert began to look more and more like the ocean, with its clean-cut horizon all round, the hummocks of sand reminding one of Atlantic seas. The clear blue sky and the translucent atmosphere imparted an enchanting aspect to the scene; indeed, it became fascinating, and I can quite enter into the spirit of the Bedouin, who sees in the wastes of his Sahara so much to love and to attract him.

The intense sense of loneliness is a new experience for an Englishman, and awakens within him strange emotions, giving him new views of his environment and throwing new lights upon the future. The starlight nights were lovely, and on one night we were able to play bridge by starlight up to midnight.

We passed through several oases, which usually consist of a village surrounded by two or three thousand date-palm trees, the houses being built of mud and thatched with palm leaves. Palms constitute the riches of this country, and a man's wealth is computed by the number of date-palm trees or camels he possesses.

The Bedouin tribes we came across seemed a well-behaved, peaceable people. They move about with their flocks of sheep and goats. At night their flocks are tethered about their tents, and by day they wander in search of pasture. The men beguile their time while watching their flocks by doing embroideries, and also in making garments. They lead the simple life.

THE COUNT'S GARDEN, BISKRA.

All lovers of a garden will take great delight in the Count's garden at Biskra, rendered famous by the beautiful poetic description given of it by Mr. Hichens in his novel the _Garden of Allah_.

The garden is situated just outside Biskra, on the banks of the river Benevent. It was laid out fifty years ago by the Count Landon, who lavished his money upon it to make this the most perfect tropical garden in the world. Every species of palm tree, every plant known in the tropics, finds here a home. On the south side it is bordered by the river, with terraces overlooking the desert wastes of the Sahara beyond; running streams of water intersect the garden and afford the means of the constant irrigation which is necessary. The borders and walks are wonderfully kept by an army of Arab gardeners, so vigilant in their attention that it is almost impossible for a falling leaf to reach the ground before it is caught and removed; thus everything is tidy and orderly.

It was in this garden Domini met the Count Anteoni and listened to his reasons for finding his happiness in its leafy solitudes: "I come here to think; this is my special thinking place." It was to him an ideal place for finding out interior truth. The Arabs of the Sahara sing, "No one but God and I knows what is in my heart," and so the vast solitudes of the desert in their terrible stillness, overwhelming distances, and awe-inspiring silence, make men think and think. The Arabs say in truth that "No man can be an atheist in the desert."

We enter the garden through a large gateway, flanked on one side by a two-storied Moorish dwelling-house which contains the sleeping apartments of the Count. We cross a large court-yard margined by hedgerows, towering up twenty feet or more, deeply cut to form a shade for the benches underneath. At the far end of the quadrangle is the salon, the walls of which are covered with bougainvillea of a deep violet colour. On the far side the salon looks out upon a broad avenue of date-palms, fringed with hedgerows of dark red hibiscus and scarlet geranium. A few yards beyond is the Arab divan, embowered by purple bougainvillea. Huge date-palms lift their heads above all and afford a welcome shade from the direct rays of the sun; but its rays glint through and light up the orange trees, with their red golden fruit, which stand on the far side, and throw a yellow shimmering tint over the feathery foliage of the bamboos which fill in the space between the palms.

Everywhere overhead the date-palms and the cocoanut-palms meet and form a series of leafy arcades, throwing a canopy over the undergrowth, protecting it from the scorching rays of the sun. This undergrowth consists of hedgerows of bamboos, hibiscus, and alamanders, intersected by avenues of date and cocoanut-palms, alcoves in shady corners, pergolas shrouded with creepers leading out of mysterious paths and by-ways, groves of phoenix-palms and bananas, thickets of scarlet geraniums, and large clearings filled with fan-palms. Everywhere is the music of running water rippling as it flows through its tortuous channels, distributing life and luxuriance in its path.

It is difficult to enumerate all the trees which give so much charm to the garden, but I must not forget the acacias, gums, indiarubber trees, eucalyptus, and many varieties of mimosa.

The garden is thrown open to the public upon a small payment, and forms one of the great attractions of Biskra. It is difficult to conceive a more wonderful contrast than that between the luxuriant tropical vegetation of the Count's garden and the arid, sandy wastes of the Sahara with which it is surrounded, and out of which indeed it has been created. It was amusing to run across in out-of-the-way nooks and corners so many people diligently reading, and it was always the same book, the _Garden of Allah_.

EGYPT.

There is probably no country so fascinating to the traveller as Egypt. It is not merely that it is Oriental and picturesque, but it is a Bible land and the seat of the early dawn of civilisation. Its explorers have made discoveries out of which they have been enabled to build up the history of an ancient and most remarkable people; and while the traveller beholds in wonder the gigantic proportions of pyramid, pylon and temple, he is fascinated by the story which recent discoveries have woven around them. One cannot visit Egypt without becoming an Egyptologist in a small way. My two visits to Assouan gave me a very good grasp of the centuries of history rolled up within the Nile valley, and enabled me to deliver on my return several lectures in the Picton Lecture Hall in connection with our course of free lectures.

Things have been changed very much in Egypt. The lovely island of Philæ, with its Ptolemean temple, is submerged, and the valley of the Nile has changed its character by the raising of its waters. Cairo has become the pilgrimage of the fashionable, and much of what was primitive and interesting has been improved away, but still the Egypt of history remains, and will remain, to charm and fascinate with its spell of romance--its reverence for the dead and the grandeur of its religious rites and ceremonies.

IMPRESSIONS OF INDIA.

India awakens within us such a sense of vastness and distance, and so strongly appeals to our imagination, that one is much tempted to write at length that others may enter into our enjoyment of a country and a people so great, so picturesque, and so remarkable. It was this feeling which prompted me, while in India, to write a series of letters to the _Liverpool Daily Post_. These letters are too long to be reproduced here, and I must, therefore, confine myself to a brief résumé of our impressions of India. The first thing which almost staggers the imagination is the extent of our Indian Empire.

Landing in Ceylon, which lies only seven degrees north of the Equator, we were surrounded by the most profuse and luxuriant tropical vegetation; and the vertical rays of the sun kept us indoors, except in the early morning and late evening. A few days later we had passed through Calcutta and found ourselves at Darjeeling, with snow lying all about us, and with the mighty snow-ranges of the Himalayas piled up before us, and yet we had not left India. We were surrounded by 300,000,000 of people belonging to six hundred nationalities, and speaking as many languages, differing not only in nationality and in language, but in religion, in civilisation, and in their manners and customs, and all this multitude of peoples, nations, and languages were comprised in "India."

Nothing brings this great diversity among the people of India more vividly before the mind than a walk through one of the main streets of Calcutta. Here one meets with natives from every part, some arrayed in simple white garments, but others clothed in gorgeous apparel. Their costumes of silk and satin are radiant with a dazzling wealth of colour, every nationality having its distinctive dress, the Bengalese, the Pathan, the Sikh, the Nepaulese, the Tamils, and the Mahrattas, and all walk with that dignified bearing which proclaims them to be members of a princely class. Our wonder increases. How comes it that this multitude of peoples, these descendants of martial races, live together in peace and amity?

The plains of Delhi, which for 2,000 years were the arena of perpetual conflict as nations were made and unmade, proclaim the warlike character of the people, the intensity of their national hatred, and the ferocity of their bloody feuds. They are now held together in peaceful union by legions of British troops--there are but 70,000 British troops in all India--and probably 250,000,000 out of the 300,000,000 people in India have never seen a British soldier.

This great phalanx of nations is held together, is made happy and prosperous, by the just rule which appeals to their imagination and their sense of justice, and which is administered by 900 British civilians, who are for the most part men under 40 years of age. I think this is one of the most remarkable spectacles the world has ever seen. It speaks well for the English public-school system which has trained these men. It speaks also well for honest administration and the influence and power which it exerts, exercising a moral influence greater and more far-reaching than any military rule.

The most interesting study in India is that of the people, among whom there is the greatest difference in physique. We have the lithe, active little coolie of Southern and Central India, the hewer of wood and the drawer of water; the fat, astute, and subtle Bengalee, devoid of moral or physical courage, a born agitator; the stalwart hillmen of the North-West who furnish our Indian army with its best recruits; and the Mahrattas, the descendants of warlike races, who to-day are among the most active traders.

The student of character has a wide and fruitful field for investigation, but there are certain features which stand out prominently--their marvellous patience, their devotion to their religion, which is almost fanatical. Like the Egyptians of old, they live in the contemplation of death, and look upon death as the great consummation. The elaborate and magnificent tombs we see everywhere correspond to the pyramids and monumental buildings of ancient Egypt; while their ruinous condition attest the wisdom of Solomon, that "Vanity of vanity, all is vanity."

The poverty of India is also striking, but it is not so great as it appears. When we talk of a daily wage of twopence it seems almost impossible that life can be supported on any such sum; but in India a penny will buy all the rice the coolie can eat, and his other expenses are very small. Still, it must be considered a poor country.

There is no scenery in India until we reach the hills, which occupy a considerable area in the Madras presidency, and margin the whole of the North-West. Central and Southern India are vast plains. The grandest mountain view in the world is that of the Himalayas, from Darjeeling. Darjeeling stands at an elevation of 7,000 to 8,000 feet, on the foot hills of the Himalayas, about forty miles from "Kinchin Junga," which is the centre of one of the highest ranges. In the foreground are several deep valleys, usually filled with clouds. Looking over these, a further great bank of clouds appears high up in the heavens. On closer examination we begin to see they are not clouds; their opaque, snowy whiteness and their sharp peaks and serrated edges tell us that this is a range of mountains. "Kinchin Junga" stands in the centre, with an altitude of 28,000 feet, but in this mighty mountain group there is no mountain less than 24,000 feet, and not one of these has been scaled by man. On a clear evening, when the setting sun throws its roseate rays over the snows, no view can be more sublime and beautiful. Away on the west they dip down into Nepaul, and on the extreme right the deep indentation marks the pass by which the British troops entered Tibet.

We do not travel to India to see scenery, but Oriental life: the splendours of Agra and Delhi, the pilgrim city of Benares, and the silent, deserted cities of Fatehpur Sikri and Amber, all rich in historical records of the great Mogul kings, who for so many centuries held sway in India. It is only by seeing these places that one can form some idea of the magnificence and splendour which surrounded these monarchs, which has never been surpassed.

While we were in India we saw the beginnings of that unrest which has caused so much anxiety and has led to those outrages which the best Indians must deplore. We have in promoting education in India forgotten that there is but a limited opening for mere students, and in the absence of fitting occupation they become agitators. We ought to train the young men for some definite calling as agriculturists, engineers, or mechanics.

We also thought that the Europeans in India hold themselves too much aloof from the educated Indians. Caste prevents any great intimacy, but more might be done to bridge this over.

With small and reasonable concessions to native ambition, but, above all, with that firmness of administration which alone appeals to the Oriental mind, the present feeling of unrest will pass away, and India will continue to pursue that remarkable development and progress which have done so much for the happiness and well-being of her people.

LORD CLIVE.

In the summer of 1906, when motoring through Shropshire, I turned aside to visit the little village church of Morton Saye, of which my great-grandfather, Samuel Peploe, was vicar in 1770. I had not visited the church for nearly fifty years. Then it was a very quaint, old-fashioned place, with black oak pews and a black oak minstrel gallery at one end close to the pulpit. This was the singing gallery, the choir of three voices being led by a violin and cornet.

I found all had been changed. The church had been restored; the old features had disappeared; but fortunately the restoration had been carried out in good taste. I spoke to the vicar, who had followed us in, and who was evidently proud of his little church; he showed me the brass plate he had taken off the coffin of my grandfather, and had placed as a memorial on the walls of the church. I knew the great Lord Clive had been buried in the church, and asked to see his grave. The vicar pointed to a flag-stone under some pews. There was no inscription upon it, and he said that the only record they had that the great soldier was buried in the church was the small brass plate above the vestry door, and he added:--"Strange to say, there is no memorial to the man who made India, either in England or India, except in Shrewsbury, his native town. I suppose," he added, "it was because he committed suicide." On his return home from India Lord Clive was furiously attacked by political enemies, and the man who had shown on so many occasions such conspicuous courage on the field of battle quailed and fell, struck down by the venom of his calumniators.

When I was in India during the year following I enquired everywhere for a memorial to Lord Clive, but, although India bristles with statues to its governor-generals and eminent soldiers, there is in India to-day no record of Lord Clive. I was so much impressed with this that I wrote the following letter to _The Times_:--

Grand Hotel, Calcutta, Feb. 8th, 1907.

LORD CLIVE.

To the Editor of _The Times_.

Sir,--India has many monuments erected in honour of successful and popular viceroys and others who have served her well, but I have been unable to discover any monument to Lord Clive, to whom more than any human being we owe our great empire of India. Westminster Abbey contains no record of the great soldier-statesman.

In the by-ways of Shropshire, in the quaint little church of Morton-Saye, the village swain sits Sunday after Sunday over the grave of Lord Clive. No inscription marks it, not even his name; a small brass plate hid away over the vestry door and scarcely legible is the only record that the remains of Robert Clive rest within its walls.

Truly Lord Clive made India, but in the making of it he aroused jealousies and political enmities which, acting upon a too sensitive nature, brought him to a premature death. But should he be forgotten?

The good work which Lord Curzon did for India in every direction is, I am glad to find, gratefully recognised and appreciated by her people. Among the many excellent things he accomplished was the preservation of her ancient monuments and historical records; and, if he had remained in office, I am sure the memory of his illustrious predecessor would not have been forgotten.

The Maidan, in Calcutta, would be enriched if it embraced a monument to Lord Clive. Westminster Abbey would more truly reflect all that is great and worthy in England's history if it contained some appropriate record of Robert Clive and what he did to build up her empire.

Yours truly,

(Signed) WILLIAM B. FORWOOD, Chairman of Quarter Sessions for Lancashire.

_The Times_ wrote a leading article; Lord Curzon followed with a brilliant letter, and other letters appeared, with a result that a committee was formed, the sum of between £5,000 and £6,000 was subscribed, and we shall shortly have memorials of the great soldier-statesman both in London and in India.