burdens, while here and there may be seen groups of gayly-dressed Burmese ladies and children, enjoying the morning air. A sharp turn to the right brought us into the native quarter. Here we saw long rows of two-story wooden buildings, swarming with Burmese, Klings and Chinese, of all sizes and every variety of color, from the blackest black to the delicate lemonpeel shade so much admired by the Thompson Street beaux. The complexion is of great importance here, as the natives wear nothing else until twelve or fourteen years of age, when, if the father is wealthy, they come out in a gaudycolored silk skirt, lungi, with a short jacket, and a bright handkerchief for the head; but if poor, they usually have to be or contented with a string of glass beads for another ကျော်ညာစသည် ။ မော်လမြိုင်မြို့ ဝေဇယန္တာကျောင်းအနီး၊တောင်ဟော်ဇာတ်ရုံတော်ကြီးအတွင်း လွန်ခဲ့သောအင်္ဂါနေ့က အမြို့မြို့အရွ၁ရွာတို့မှ လှည့်လည်၍၊ ကျွန်နှုပ်တို့မော်လ မြိုင်မြို့သို့။ရန်ကုန်မီးသးင်္ဘောနှင့်း[ လောက်တပ်တြ ] ခေါ် ဇာတ်ပွဲကြီးသဘင်သည် ကောင်းစွာဆိုက်ရောက်လာ၁လပြီး ဆို အပ်ခဲ့ပြီးသောဇာတ်ပွဲ သဘင်သည်။ မြန်မာတို့းပွဲများကဲ့ဆို«ထပ်တူမချား သံပြိုင်ဆို၍၊ ကချသည်အများတို့သည်။ တရန်တခါမျှမမြင်စဘူး။ အတူးထဆန်း။ ဇာတ်အခါင်းတို့ကို ကောင်းစွာကြင်းပပြသမည်မှာ။ ဇွန်လ၁၁ရက် မြန်မာ ပဌမဝါဆိုလဆန်၇ရက် တနင်းထာည။ ယခုကျင်းပပြသမည်ပွဲသည်။ အလွှန်ရင်ကျေးသိန်မွှေ.သည်ဖြစ်၍။ ကျွန်ုပ်တို့ မြို့နေ မြန်မာပညာရှိ။သမာဒိ။သူတော်ကောင်း ယောကျားမိန်းမအပေါင်း တို့ကိုလည်း မမေအပ်သည်နှင့်အညီ၊မိတ်ဆွေ၏အမှတ်ဖြင့် နို့တစ်စာပေး အပ်လိုက်ပါသည်။ riors. Tobacco is grown in great quantities here, and is very cheap. The European residents get a good cigar for twentyfive rupees a thousand, which would certainly sell for a good price in New York or London, being equal in quality to an ordinary Key West cigar. The Burmese smoke a large, cigarshaped roll of tobacco, with a plantain-leaf wrapper, which they light, take a few puffs, and then (after carefully extinguishing), place over the ear like a pen, until they require another smoke. On arrival at the bazaar we found whole rows of small shops under sheds, with a kind of sliding door, which, when closed, leaves outside a platform about six feet wide, that serves for table or chair, as occasion may demand. A clean, white rush mat year, when they arrive at the dignity of a few yards of is usually spread over this platform, for the convenience cheap cotton cloth. There is very little difference in the dress of males and females, a long end of the lungi, left for passing over the head and down over the shoulder, being the most distinguishing mark. Aristocrats only wear shoes or sandals, but every one, young or old, smoke the universal Burmah cheroot. One often sees a ring of children, from three to twelve years of age, sitting under a palm-tree, all enjoying a huge cigar, which they pull at in turn and then pass to the next, like a grand council of Sioux war of the customer and shopkeeper, as Burmese bazaars have no counters for the display of goods. As we passed along through the narrow street we saw a great variety of articles (from every part of the world) offered for sale: Eastern rugs, Burmese and Chinese silks and satins, grass - cloth and waterproof garments made of heavy hemp fibre, cheap English and French goods, Indian fabrics of every kind, all jumbled up together. The cutlery, lamps, cordage, hardware, toilet-articles, boots, shoes, and fancy goods, are nearly all of European manufacture; while the carved ivory articles, brushes, | importance was to take place the following day-a Buddhhandkerchiefs, furniture, sun-hats, umbrellas, weapons, ist priest was to be cremated. We made all necessary mats, baskets, and toys, are gathered from all parts of arrangements, and, accompanied by many European resiAsia. dents, started out for the large tract of ground south of the great pagoda, where the ceremony was to take place. We found a large assemblage of Burmese, Chinese and Indians already on the ground, anxiously awaiting the commencement of the festivities, for they can be called nothing else. The visitor is quite as much interested with the merchant as his wares in the Rangoon bazaar. One sees representatives of all the Eastern nations: Hindoos, Mohommedans, Parsees, Burmese, Chinese, Siamese, Shans, Malays, Arabs, and some few natives of Ceylon, all wearing their national dress and conversing in their native language. The philologist that would not be puzzled here must be an adept, indeed. An English Inspector of Police conducted our carriages to a slight elevation, and we soon heard the funeral procession approaching. Mr. Regan informed us that the priest to be cremated had been dead over two months, and had been lying in state in a Buddhist monastery. Immediately after death the bodies of priests are em and then placed in a large coffin, which is run full of boiling resin; when this is completed the coffin is placed under a handsomely decorated canopy, and there lies while preparations for the cremation are being made. Our ladies lingered long over the great variety of silks, laces and native jewelry, and we only had time to don our evening-dress and enter our carriages for a drive to the lakes. We drove out over the hill on which fashion-balmed by being covered with a varnish-like kind of gum, able Rangoon has chosen to reside, and entered a long avenue of trees, which leads to the largest lake, a distance of three miles from the river. On reaching the lake a sharp turn to the right brought us into what is known as the Serpentine, which is a drive close to the shores of the lake, and as one winds in and out among the grand old trees, enjoying the evening breeze and watching the boats on the water, you cannot help thinking how difficult even the constant traveler will find it to equal a drive of such surpassing beauty. Elegant carriages, drawn by imported Arabian, Australian and English horses, and filled with beautiful ladies in elaborate toilets, pass one at short intervals, while an occasional troop of Burmese dandies, mounted on spirited little ponies, covered with rich trappings, or a huge elephant coming in from work, vary the cavalcade and help to make the necessary evening drive an event to be regularly looked forward to with pleasure. On our way home we met Colonel Olive, the head of the British Burmah Police, who invited us to stop and inspect a wayside station-house. This we found clean and neat, with only one European officer in charge, all the others being natives or Punjab Indians. On a framework just before the door a large bell was suspended, also an enormous gong, for giving an alarm should occasion require. The Burmese are great lovers of bells and gongs, particularly the former, and possess great skill in their manufacture. The great bell of Mengoon is supposed to be the largest in the world, and is said to contain fully ten per cent. of precious metals, gold, silver and copper bangles, rings, and other articles of jewelry, having been freely cast into the furnace during the fusing of the metal before casting, by devout Buddhists, who assembled in thousands to witness the casting, many people coming hundreds of miles for that purpose. The belief that the tones of a bell or gong not only please Buddha, but also ward off evil spirits, is almost universal. We paused for a few moments at a large house, to watch the movements (rather than hear the discords) of a Burmese band that was playing on an open veranda, evidently celebrating a marriage. Seven perform.ers, squatting on the floor, were engaged in vigorously pounding drums, tom-toms and a small flat box covered with sheepskin. One performer was seated in a circular railing, which supported a ring of small drums, to which several small bells were attached, while the post of leader was held by a tall, half-naked fellow, with a reed pipe of the yellow-clarionet species, on which he executed some of the vilest passages that ever the human ear had been compelled to suffer. On our return to the hotel we found a note from our friend, Mr. Regan, informing us that an event of great From our little hill we had a fine view of the procession as it wound over the roads to the cemetery. First came a bevy of twenty comely damsels, who would dance and sing in sections of four, each four having its own sorg and kind of dance; then twenty young men, who performed in like manner, all being dressed in their gayest attire. A band mounted on a bullock-cart came after the dancers; then followed the catafalque. The catafalque was mounted on a bullock-cart, and at a distance presented a very imposing sight; it was profusely gilt on all sides, and resembled a pagoda on wheels. On closer inspection, however, this glittering car proved to be but a house of cards; it was composed of the flimsiest material possible, principally gilt paper and bright-colored cloth. Arriving in the centre of the field, the bullocks were taken out and ropes fixed to the front and back of the car, when, after carefully depositing the coffin (which had been borne on the shoulders of six men until it reached the cemetery) in the car, the attendants all repaired to the numerous booths for refreshment. After having partaken of rice wine, pickled tea, pawn, and betel-nut, two parties of men rushed to the car; one party seized the ropes at one end and attempted to drag the car back toward the home of the priest, while the other party were pulling it toward the centre of the cemetery. This was anything but a mournful scene. The car, creaking and shaking, moves slowly, first one way and then the other, until at last, with shouts of delight, the strongest party carry it off with a run until it reaches the centre, when more men join the victorious party and pile up heaps of inflammable matter on and about the whole structure; after which all hands repair once more to the booths to see the dancing, which is going on all the time, and place the doons or rockets in position that are to fire the pyre. These rockets are small wooden cannon, made of the stem of a tree and filled with gunpowder and sawdust. They are mounted on small carriages and placed at about a hundred feet from the car and discharged in succession. Many of them miss the mark, and, we were informed, they sometimes burst among the crowd, when severe accidents happen. At last one strikes the pyre and ignites the combustibles, when, amid shouts and renewed dance and song, the bright flames shoot up, embracing each gay pinnacle and flag, until the whole catafalque comes down with a crash, and is soon reduced to ashes. After witnessing this serio-comic funeral, we drove down along the banks of the canal to the office of Mong Poe, the Burmese printer and agent to the King of Upper Burmah. Here we found a large building, fronting the water, with the external appearance of a stone house. On entering I was informed that the proprietor was sleeping. Now, this was serious, as the Burmese believe that when a person sleeps the spirit leaves the body, and, taking the form of a bird, flies about until fatigued, when it returns and the sleeper awakes; for this reason alone they feed and protect all birds, and, in consequence, the feathered songsters of Burmah are so tame as to enter the houses and perch in the windows with the audacity of domestic fowls. Well knowing the man believed that to awaken his master would be to cause his death, we were on the point of leaving, when a second man appeared and invited us in. The spirit had returned, and Mong Poe was awake. We found the great printer seated on a mat, rubbing his eyes and looking somewhat surprised at the size of our party. After carefully reading my letter of introduction from Mohammed Ismael, the Arab banker, he arose and solemnly shook the party by the hand. While thus engaged we had an opportunity to view the eccentricity of his costume. A silk lungi was his only garment; his body was tattooed all over with designs of birds, fishes and plants, resembling a frescoed wash-boiler in color. He spoke English very well, and surprised us by showing us. the latest inventions in all kinds of printing-machinery, which he had purchased in Europe. The accompanying programme of Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan's comic opera "Patience" conveys a good idea of the kind of printing done at this house, which is the largest in Burmah. A visit to the Public Gardens and the performance of the "Pirates of Penzance" occupied the remaining portion of our last day in Rangoon, when we went on board the mail-steamer for Maulmain, one hundred miles distant. On leaving the river we found the southwest monsoon blowing hard, and the dinner-bell failed to create any decided excitement among the passengers. A few of the best sailors went below to a fine spread, but the majority looked suspiciously at each other, and retired to secluded corners, to avoid looking over the side at occasional periods. About four o'clock we entered the river, and the wonderful effect of smooth water on the average traveler was at once apparent. The Maulmain River is the same broad, muddy, swift-running sheet of water one sees everywhere in Asia during the rainy season. We ran alongside a wharf-boat somewhat similar to those in use on the Lower Mississippi. The same garis, scenery, natives, and general features we had noticed in Rangoon, met us here, only we were not so well accommodated in the hotel line. The only hotel here is a large private house, poorly fitted up and badly conducted as a kind of stopping-place for what few strangers visit this out-of-the-way place. A week's stay without any noteworthy event enabled us to get the regular mail-steamer for Penang. Penang is a lovely little island, and is the first land one sees after crossing the Bay of Bengal. It belongs to the English, and must form the subject of another letter. PROMPTNESS. HALF the value of anything to be done consists in doing it promptly. And yet a large class of persons are almost always more or less unpunctual and late. Their work is always in advance of them, and so it is in their engagements. They are late in rising in the morning, and in going to bed at night; late at their meals; late at the counting-house or office; late at church; late at their appointments with others. Their letters are sent to the post-office just as the mail is closed. They arrive at the wharf just as the steamboat is leaving. They come into the station just as the train is going out. They do not entirely forget or omit the engagement or the duty, but they are always behind the time, and so are in haste, or, rather, in a hurry, as if they had been born a little too late, and for ever were trying to catch up with the lost time. They waste time for themselves, and waste it for others, and fail of the comfort and influence and success which they might have found in systematic and habitual punctuality. A good old lady, who was asked why she was so early in her seat in church, is said to have replied that it was part of her religion not to disturb the religion of another. And if it were with all a part both of courtesy and duty, not to say of religion, never to be unpunctual, they would save time for, as well as annoyance to, others, and aid themselves to success and influence in a thousand ways. TWINS. BY SUSAN K. PHILLIPS. ONE half the soul in the brilliant man The lonely and poor his heart, A strong, dumb, shapeless yearning The other half lay quiet and calm, Through tranquil nights and days, Each passed, the life-work done; Said an idler, who watched the skies that night. "See, two stars have shot to one!" SIBERIAN HOSPITALITY. EVEN hospitality, that true Sclavonic virtue, has not become acclimatized in this inhospitable region. The peasants like to visit and treat each other, especially on high days and holidays; but this hospitality is the result of calculation. When a man is going to visit his neighbor, he never goes straight to his house, but walks along the road, and stops as if by chance at the window and begins a conversation; then, if the master or mistress wishes to see him, they invite him in. When the samovar is ready, they drink tea out of saucers, now and then taking a bite of a piece of sugar. In this way they consume about three cups, and then turn the cups upside down, placing on the bottom the remains of the sugar they have been nibbling at. As soon as tea is over the guest rises to go, and then the following dialogue invariably takes place : "Why are you in such a hurry?" says the hostess. "Time to go home," answers the guest. "Stay a little longer." "Thank you; you have given us plenty to eat and drink." 66 "There was but little." does, and things go on in exactly the same way. Care "No; there was quite enough; we had plenty." must be taken that the viands provided are of equal This conversation, which always takes place, and is quantity and quality. If at any time a man eats or drinks almost mechanically repeated, being ended, the guest ap- more than his host, when a guest on a former occasion, proaches the host, and taking his hands, says, "I thank | did, quarrels, upbraidings, or sarcastic remarks, are the you for the vodka, the tea, the cakes, the sugar," etc. result. It is indispensable, when thanking the host, to enumerate everything the guest has consumed during his visit. At the end of this catalogue the visitor humbly begs his host to come and see him. which, after a time he "I gave them tea and sugar," the host will be heard to say, "and they gave me nothing but tea"; or, again "I gave them cake, and had nothing but bread in return." |