Chapter I: KNEW the little bride; a pretty child, not a day over fifteen, with

great, dark eyes and dimpled cheeks, white even teeth, and rich fair complexion. She had often come in to spend an hour with me in my home in Cairo, affording me much diversion by her childish, artless ways and merry laughter.

But now she was to be married--this baby girl. Her future husband had never seen her face; for, according to the custom of the people, the parents had made all the arrangements, and the contract usual in such ceremonies had been drawn up by the fathers and mothers and signed in the presence of a priest without a word or suggestion from the parties most concerned in the transaction. The intended bridegroom was a young clerk in the employ of an English friend, a handsome, intelligent boy, but with little experience of life. We had heard the wedding was to be a grand affair, and were glad to accept an invitation to this Egyptian ceremony.

On the night of the marriage, the bridal procession, or zeffeh as it is called, looked as if wrapped in flames as it came slowly up the narrow street in the midst of hundreds of colored torches. A band was playing Arab tunes and women were ringing out the _zaghareet_--wedding laugh of joy--which is a kind of trill made with the tongue and throat. The entire way was lit with expensive fireworks of brilliant variety, and all the street wraps worn were of gorgeous colors.

Our little friend marched in this slow procession, her features concealed, as usual; that is, she was wrapped in a cashmere shawl, not covered by a canopy, as in Arab weddings, although in many respects the Coptic ceremony is similar to that of the Moslems.

She wore a white silk gown embroidered with gold, and over this a long flowing robe of lace, while masses of diamonds fastened the white face-veil to her turban.

Just before her walked two little boys carrying censers the smoke of which must have poured directly into her face as she walked slowly on enveloped in her cashmere wrappings.

On either side and a little in advance of the bride were the male relatives and friends, while behind her, continually trilling the _zaghareet_, followed the female friends; and along the whole procession two boys ran back and forth, bearing silver flasks of pomegranate form filled with perfume which they jetted in the faces of the guests in a most delicious spray.

The house of the bridegroom's father where the marriage was to take place, is situated in a narrow street off the Mooski, and as we reached the entrance we were met by black slaves who handed us each a lighted taper. Then a sheep was killed on the door-stone--a custom, I believe, observed only in Cairo, and some of the larger cities of Egypt. The bride, glittering with her diamonds and gorgeous costume, was carried over it and then the whole procession walking over the blood--the body having been removed--all of us bearing our lights--went in to the marriage, and the door was shut. Does it not remind you of the Parable of the Ten Virgins of old?

We were conducted to a room, very lofty and spacious. A low divan reached around it and constituted its sole furniture, excepting the table on which was spread the marriage supper.

At this supper I witnessed a custom which reminded me of an old Roman story. A slave brought in two sugar globes on separate dishes. When these were placed upon the table, one of the guests was invited to open them. Immediately upon one having been broken, out flew a lovely white dove, its neck encircled with tiny bells which rang merrily as it flew about. The other dove did not at first fly, when liberated from its sugar cage; but one of the guests lifted it up until it fluttered away like the other. If either of the doves should not fly, these superstitious people would draw from it an evil omen.

Many Arab dishes were set before us, among them boned fowl stuffed with raisins, pistachio, nuts, bread and parsley; sweets and melons following. But as an Arab eats with remarkable rapidity, one course was hardly brought before another took its place.

We were soon ready to accompany our host to the room where the marriage ceremony was to be performed, into which we were ushered in the midst of Arab music, sounding cymbals, smoking-incense, the _zaghareet_, and the unintelligible mutterings of many priests.

The bridegroom, clad in an immense white silk cloak embroidered with silk and gold, sat waiting in one of two palatial-looking chairs. In the midst of a perfect storm of music and confusion a door opened, and the bride, her face still veiled, entered and took the chair beside the bridegroom.

There were four priests to officiate in this novel marriage, three of whom were blind; these muttered Coptic prayers and filled the air with incense, while the priest whose eyes were perfect tied the nuptial knot by binding the waiting couple to each other with several yards of tape, knocking their heads together, and at last placing his hands in benediction on their foreheads and giving them a final blessing.

This concluded the ceremony.

We were glad to escape from the close room into the pure out-of-door air. We drove away under the clear, star-lit heavens, through the narrow streets with their tall houses and projecting balconies, out into the Mooski, the Broadway of Cairo, now silent and deserted; on into the wide, new streets, and so home; but it was nearly morning before I fell asleep, for the tumultuous music and trillings and mutterings of that strange ceremony rang in my ears and filled my thoughts with as strange reveries as if I had eaten hasheesh.

VI.

IN THE BOIS DE BOULOGNE.

THE first few years of my life were passed in Paris and, though my parents were American, I grew up quite like a French child as did, indeed, my brother and two little sisters.

The greater part of our time was spent in Paris and as we lived near the Bois de Boulogne we were taken there every day by our _bonne_ and allowed to play to our hearts' content. Some of you have probably been in this beautiful park and walked through its broad avenues and its hundreds of shady little alleys.

You may have followed as we did some of the merry little streams to find out where they would lead you, or better than all you may have joined in the play of some of the French children and discovered games new and strange to you. All this became very familiar to us and I often think of the good times we had there, when all the days were like fête days, and of the pretty games we used to play there with the charming French children.

French children think "the more the merrier;" so when a game is proposed the first thing they do is to look about and see if there are not other children near by whom they can ask to join them. This is done as much for the sake of showing politeness as to increase numbers, and as it is the custom, the mammas or the nurses of the invited children never refuse to let them take part in the fun.

Hide-and-seek or "_cache-cache_," blind-man's-buff or "_Colin Maillard_," tag, marbles, all these we also played; but there were other games I have never seen in this country.

One of which we never tired was "_Le Loup_--the Wolf." A boy was usually chosen for the wolf, and while he withdrew a short distance the others sauntered about among the trees, leisurely singing this little song:

Promenons-nous dans les bois
pendant que le loup n'y est pas.

Let us walk in the woods,
while the wolf is not about.

Then they call "_Loup, viens-tu?_--Wolf, are you coming?" "_Non, je me lève_--No, I'm getting up," replies the Wolf. Then they sing again and call, "_Loup, viens-tu?_" "_Non, je m'habille_--No, I'm dressing." This goes on for some time, the wolf prolonging the agony as much as possible, and stopping to get his hat, his cane, or cigar, but finally making a rush with, "_Je viens_--I'm coming!" he dives into the crowd, scattering the children in every direction and making general havoc. The one who happens to be captured is the "wolf" the next time.

Another game more limited to little girls, was, "_Sur le Pont d'Avignon_." We formed a ring and danced around singing:

Sur le pont d'Avignon
on y danse, on y danse,
Sur le pont d'Avignon,
on y danse, tout en rond.
Les dames font comme ça,
et puis encore comme ça.

"On the bridge of Avignon the people dance in a ring, the ladies do this way" (courtesying).

The next time it is "_Les blanchiseuses font comme ça_--the washerwoman, etc.," suiting the action to words; then "_Les couturières font comme ça_--the dressmakers do this way." Every trade or occupation was gone through with in like manner with the greatest earnestness.

Here is another of the same character:

1. Savez-vous planter les choux
à, la mode, à la mode,
Savez-vous planter les choux
à, la mode, de chez nous.

2. On les plantent avec les doigts
à, la mode, à la mode,
On les plantent avec les doigts
à, la mode, de chez nous.

3. On les plantent avec le pied
à, la mode, à la mode,
On les plantent avec le pied
à, la mode, de chez nous.

But the prettiest of these singing games was "_La Marguerite_." To play this a circle was formed around _La Marguerite_, who was supposed to be a beautiful princess waiting to be rescued from her imprisonment. Two knights seeking her walked round the ring singing:

1. Où est la Marguerite?
Oh qué,
Oh qué,
Oh qué,
Où est la Marguerite,
Oh qué son chevalier.

2. Elle est dans son château,
Oh qué,
Oh qué,
Oh qué,
Elle est dans son château,
Oh qué son chevalier.

And then, one by one, stones were loosened from the tower; that is, the ring was made smaller and smaller until _La Marguerite_ was set at liberty.

The skipping-rope and the hoop are, or were then, much more used there then here; and to skip the rope gracefully, or guide a hoop dexterously, was an accomplishment.

Whoever was agile enough to pass the rope under the feet twice while giving one skip was looked upon with admiration. New developments constantly took place with the skipping-rope or "_corde à sauter_," and all sorts of evolutions were gone through with, many of which were pretty and graceful.

Lively games were usually played in some wide open space near the Porte Maillot, one of the entrances to the Bois, as there was always sure to be a great number of both grown people and children thereabout. But there were retired nooks where our little band sometimes gathered and made merry. One favorite retreat was a pine grove; "_Les Sapins_" we called it.

Here the little girls liked best to play dolls, or make a _dinette_ with their _goûter_ of a tablet of chocolate and some bread which forms the regulation lunch of most French children. Sometimes we amused ourselves in gathering the resinous matter which oozed from the pines, sticking to the bark, and from it we made little plasters and doll medicines.

"_La Mousse_" was the name of another haunt; this was a mossy bank which on one side sloped gently down to one of the main avenues and on the other descended abruptly into a ravine called _La Fosse_. It was a great place for the boys and such a turning of somersets and racings down the steep sides of the Fosse as there were!

A favorite occupation was the making of gardens; and then there was a hunt for the prettiest mosses, the tiniest, brightest pebbles and the most tree-like twigs. Then a place was marked out on the side of the smooth sandy path and usually near a bench where would be sitting our _bonnes_ or whoever was taking care of us. Paths were traced and bordered with the pebbles; smooth lawns made of the velvety moss, and small branches stuck in for trees; while miniature flower-beds were made and filled with the smallest flowers to be found.

These gardens were often very pretty and much ingenuity could be displayed in laying them out. We sometimes made them in some secluded spot hoping to find them again the next day; but we never did, for Paris is the neatest city in the world and the Bois de Boulogne receives its share of cleaning and garnishing every day in the year.

There is nothing "snubby" or ungracious about French children, and I remember how many a time we helped poor peasant children pick up stray bits of wood to make their fagots, or invited them to share our fun.

One day we saw a crowd of these children carrying baskets filled with acacia-blossoms which they said were to be made into fritters!

We found that a large acacia-tree, laden with the snowy fragrant clusters, had been cut down and the people were plucking as much of the booty as they could carry away with them. We followed their example and that evening we had the addition of some delicious fritters to our dinner. The grape-like clusters had been dipped into a light batter, fried and sprinkled with sugar; truly they made a dish fit for a king.

Happy hours were those spent in the dear old Bois de Boulogne and if any of you girls and boys who read this ever go there, may you have as happy ones!

VII.

AN ARAB DINNER-PARTY.

ONE hot day towards the close of April, when the air fairly danced between the red sun and the reflected glare of the sand, our dahabeeah, the _Lohengrin_, was drifting with the current down the Negadeh reach of the Nile, in Upper Egypt. On each shore a rampart of bleak desert hills reared their craggy fronts, pouring from their gorges deep wind-silted shoots of sand which here and there swept over the narrow river-margin of fertile field and date grove. Few were the villages that we passed, and those that could be seen nestled under their canopy of palms, as if seeking refuge from the fierce sun. Their dusty streets appeared untenanted save for the ever-wheeling flights of pigeons, and the inevitable dogs, and everything had shunned the track of the chariot of the Egyptian sun-god, Ra. Everything but the birds, which--glorying in the heat of the noontide--were abroad on their bright eastern wings in endless numbers by "field and flood." Indeed many of the mud-flats, left in mid-stream by the subsidence of the waters, seemed alive with the noise and movement of feathered habitants, chattering in a thousand different tones--pompous old pelicans snapping their absurd bills in contemptuous disapproval of some silly water-gull's proposition; tall storks and cranes spoiling their dignity of blue-plumed head and neck by standing on one leg with the superfluous one tucked carefully out of the way; surly vultures fanning their wings in the hot sun, and stretching their ugly heads in gorged laziness; ragged kites swooping amongst a motley crowd of ravens; quarreling hawks and eagles, fastidious siksaks, terns, and coots running backwards and forwards over the dry mud, and wondering at the calm of ducks and geese who preferred standing stationary in the shallows, whence they in their turn could quack scorn of the spasmodic energy of the terns and their frantic brethren.

But there is an ennui that comes of watching the slow shifting scenes of the banks while the dahabeeah drifts onward with the Nile's current--an ennui that the heat of an Egyptian April day rather heightens than lessens, wherefore I determined to go ashore for a ramble. Our destination for the evening was the small village, El Wasta, some few miles further to the north; so telling my friends that I would rejoin them there, and taking with me my boon companion in all such enterprises, a pretty-faced Syrian boy named Gomah, whose knowledge of a dozen French words and about half that number of English made him a serviceable interpreter with the Arabs, I rowed to the western shore. We chose for a landing-place one of those desert offshoots, and consequently had much tiring exercise trudging through the soft sand till the borders of the neighboring fields were reached. Here and there we passed a solitary palm or dwarfed cluster of sont-trees, and occasionally our steps would lead us by some dry-mud hollow, startling the repose of some white ibis, or the meditations of the ubiquitous gray-headed crow.

We had wandered thus by a long circuit inland when, emerging again on the river, we sighted a small village half-hidden amongst its tall palms, and too insignificant on the map of the world to bear the dignity of a name. Between us and its small cluster of huts was a field of tall clover, by the borders of which were playing about some young goats too intent on their gamboling to notice how closely they were being watched by the keen eyes of an eagle perched on a mound amongst the fodder. This bird I endeavored to stalk by performing the somewhat tiring feat of crawling through the tall clover with my gun under me, and, successfully getting within range, brought him toppling down from his high pinnacle. The subsequent results, however, were very unexpected. No sooner had I risen to my feet than all the village dogs set on me, and commenced howling in most atrocious unison, with the decided intention of resisting my unbidden presence in their domains. Happily these were soon silenced by a native woman passing at the moment, whose authority they were in nowise anxious to resent. One old yellow cur, however, dissatisfied perhaps with the peaceful turn things had taken, climbed one of the mud huts and from that stronghold of safety gave vent to most persistent growls.

Several of the men and boys now issued forth from the narrow lanes of the village, and, after the formalities of salutation had been interchanged, commenced examining my gun. They seemed greatly pleased with its appearance, but flatly refused to believe in its powers until convinced by actual experiment.

While we were thus chatting the shaykh of the village had joined us unperceived and now coming forward, with many salutations asked me to visit his house. This I readily assented to as well from a desire to talk with this gray-bearded old lion in his den, as from the necessities of Eastern courtesy.

So escorted by some of the Arabs carrying their long staves of wood or "nebuts," we passed on down the tortuous alleys of this animated dust-heap, by tumbling hut, and dusty square, by the village pond--half-dried with the summer heat, and from the margin of which two or three palms reared their feathered heads, until the party came to a standstill before a mud-hut, somewhat larger, perhaps, than its surrounding neighbors, but not a whit less simple or ruinous.

Mud-built, with a low door and two small windows, it had little to boast of grandeur, except a coat of whitewash which sadly needed renewing. Like its fellows it was crowned with many white and gray jars sunk into the muddy composition of the building, wherein a multitude of pigeons found habitation; while every nook and corner round about these earthen pigeon-homes was fitted with branches of sont or other wood to serve as perches for them. Over the doorway was let into the mud of the lintel the customary broken saucer to guard against and absorb the harmful intentions of those possessed of the "evil-eye," and having duly gazed thereon we were bidden to enter this unpretentious "home" of the village shaykh.

The bright glare of the sun streaming in through the empty doorway lent a sort of twilight to the interior of the hut sufficient to distinguish objects clearly by. It was a large room--that is large as things-Egyptian go--roofed with split palm logs intertwined with their leaves, and its floor, like the walls, bare mud save for the kind carpeting of sand which some windy day had carried thither. On two sides of the room a couple of earthen "divans" faced each other, and in the far corner was a large kulleh in which the grain provisions of the family were doubtless stored, but other furniture there was none. In the wall opposite the entrance, the dark shadow of another doorway showed in contrast against the brown surroundings, but whether it led into the intricacies of the shaykh's domestic household, or out into some village lane, was wrapped in the secrecy of its own gloom.

In the centre of this square swallow's nest sort of habitation the shaykh, myself, Gomah and some half-dozen elders of the village had seated ourselves on the floor in a circle, and the inevitable cigarettes and coffee were handed round. Over these we discussed, more or less satisfactorily considering the extremely limited linguistic powers possessed by myself, Gomah and the company, various topics until the dinner hour of our aged host arrived.

I had hoped to have escaped this ordeal, but the laws of courtesy forbade any retreat. Moreover I had some ambition to witness the ordinary dinner of an Arab household, and this taking "potluck" with a shaykh was a chance too excellent to be missed. The arrangements were admirably simple, and charmingly well fitted to the general convenience. In the centre of our circle an Arab boy first placed a three-legged-stool affair on which he proceeded to balance a large circular tray, big enough to hold dinner for twice the number of guests present. In the middle of this improvised table he next placed an enormous bowl of boiled beans--a veritable vegetable Goliath, steaming and of decidedly savory odor--which he then surrounded with sundry small saucers containing butter, sour milk, cream, carraway seeds, and an infinitude of a peculiar kind of brown bread, which is happily only to be found in the land of Pharaohs and Ptolemies. By the side of each person was placed a small kulleh of water, and now the feast was ready.

Though I had attended at something of the same sort before in Egypt I did not feel quite confident of the _modus operandi_ to be followed here. Believing that possibly local customs might differ I concluded the wiser course would be to await events and see how my neighbors managed, so that I might adopt their method as my own. But alas! Arab politeness was too rigid to allow me to carry out my desire, and from the general delay it was evident that I was expected to lead off the revels.

Accordingly putting a bold face on my doubts I broke off a piece of the bread, dipped it first into the cream (for the excellent reason that that particular saucer was nearest) then into the milk and anything that came handy and--purposely forgetting that awful mountain of beans--tried to look happy while I overcame the difficulties of the unsavory morsel. Apparently my attempts at guessing the method in vogue were not wholly unsuccessful, or the manners of my fellow guests were too good to allow me to think otherwise, and with this debût away all started at eating.

And how they did eat! To judge by the appetites being displayed around me, there had not been any food distributed in the village for many a long day. Into that fast diminishing mound of beans hands were plunging each moment, bread was being broken and dipped into all the smaller saucers seemingly indiscriminately, and water ever carried to the well-nigh choked lips.

In the midst of all this I saw, with much expectant horror, the shaykh arrange on a small piece of bread a choice (to him) assortment of beans, butter, cream, and all the strange ingredients of the meal. Too well I knew what that mistaken courtesy boded for me, and as its maker leant invitingly forward, I had perforce to allow the old dusky rascal to pop the undesirable morsel with all its hideous unpalatableness into my mouth. When I had duly recovered the effects of this moment, the tragedy had, of course, to be re-enacted on my own part. Calling into play therefore all my lost memories of how to feed a young blackbird, I concocted the counterpart of his admixture, and "catching his eye," I--well, reciprocated the compliment.

This incident seemed to end the first part of the entertainment and the despoiled fragments were now taken away to be replaced by a central pile of bread, adorned with similar small saucers, as before, containing milk in various stages of sourness, cream, carraway seeds, and honey. Here again was I expected to give the sign for beginning, and so taking a fragment of bread I dipped it bodily with all the contempt that comes of familiarity into the milk first, which loosened its already very flabby consistency and then into the honey in which it promptly broke off and stuck. This unlucky essay of mine proved too much for the mirthfulness of some of the party, but one burly neighbor, with a gentleness most foreign to his fierce aspect, undertook to show me how to overcome the difficulty. It was very simple and my fault was merely the ordinary one of reversing the order of things. First dipping the bread into the honey my kind instructor then dipped it into the milk and conveyed the result to his spacious mouth. Thus enlightened I did likewise and achieved success, and all set to work again at the edibles before them.

But this course was much less violent than the last, and soon disposed of. When it was over the boy, who had heretofore filled the part of food-bearer, came around to each guest in turn and poured over their hands water from a pitcher which he carried, holding a bowl underneath meanwhile, and presenting a cloth to each after such ablution. A not unnecessary service, for the absence of knives and forks at dinner may have the advantage of economy, and revert for authority to the primitive days of Eden, but when carried out it is fraught with much that is compromising to the fingers. Moreover Egyptian honey is no less sticky than that of other lands.

The dinner was now wound up with coffee and cigarettes--not the least pleasing part to me--and a hubbub of chatting. But as the evening shadows were already creeping amongst the palms outside, and El Wasta--my harbor of refuge for the night--was yet some distance off, I begged my kind host's permission to continue my way. His Arab courtesy, however, was not to be hindered even here, and he insisted upon accompanying me to the confines of his village fields, where with many pretty excuses for his years and duties he at last consented to bid me farewell.

He left me to the care of "two of his young men," as he called them, charging them to take me safely to El Wasta, the palms of which we could see far down the river standing out against the evening sky.

Of the many pleasant mental photographs which I have of travel, that simple dinner with my kind shaykh of the unknown village holds a prominent tablet to itself. I had asked him for his ancient and time-worn tobacco-pouch when bidding farewell, that I might have the excuse of giving him mine in exchange, which at least had the advantage to an Eastern eye of plenty of color and bright metal. A fellow traveller whose wanderings have since led him by my steps of that day, tells me he found the old shaykh still owning that poor gift of mine, and that he keeps strange talismans and Koranic-script in its recesses as an infallible preventive against the dangers of ophthalmia, and to guard against his pigeon homes blowing down.

VIII.

A BIRTHDAY PARTY IN THE WEST INDIES.

WE were Americans and lived on one of the West India islands. Which one I shall not say; you may guess from the hints I give you.

It belonged to Denmark, and was inhabited by people of almost every nation, for the city was a busy trading place and famous sea-port.

This variety of nationalities is an advantage, or a disadvantage, just as you choose to think. To us children it was the most delightful thing in the world--why, we saw a Malay sailor once; but an English novelist, who wrote many books, visited our island, and said in a contemptuous way that it was "a Dano-Hispano-Yankee Doodle-niggery place." This was in the book he published about the West Indies and the Spanish Main. We children _never forgave that remark_.

An American refers incidentally to our old home in a beautiful story, called _A Man Without a Country_. How the tears rolled down our cheeks as we read that Philip Nolan had been there in the harbor--perhaps just inside Prince Rupert's Rocks!

I wonder if you have read that story? To us it was almost sacred, so strong was our love of country, and we believed every word to be true. The first piece of poetry Tom wished to learn was "Breathes there a man with soul so dead." But Tom was too small to learn anything but Mother Goose at the time he had his Birthday Party. He was a chubby little fellow, whose third anniversary was near at hand, and he was so clamorous for a party--he scarcely knew what a party was, but he wanted it all the more for that reason--that his parents laughingly gave way to him.

We did not keep house as people do in this country; in fact the house itself differed greatly from such as you see.

The climate was warm all the year round, and there were no chimneys where no fires were needed. There were no glass windows, excepting on the east side. At all other windows we had only jalousie blinds, with heavy wooden shutters outside to be closed when a hurricane was feared. The wonderful Trade Winds blew from the East, and sometimes brought showers; for this reason, we had glass on that side. The floors were of North Carolina pine, one of the few woods insects will not eat into and destroy. It is a pretty cream yellow, that looked well between the rugs scattered over it. Balconies and wide verandas were on all sides of the house.

As to servants, they were all colored and we had to have a great many, for each would only take charge of one branch of service, and usually must have a deputy or assistant to help. For instance, Sophie, the cook, had a woman to clean fish, slice beans, and do such work for her, as well as attend to the fires. There was no stove in the kitchen. A kind of counter, three feet wide and about as high, built of brick, was on two sides of the room; this had holes in the top here and there. The cooking was done over these holes filled with charcoal; so instead of one fire to cook dinner, Sophie had a soup fire, a fish fire, a potato fire, and so forth. A small brick oven baked the few things she cooked that way.

Tom's nurse, or Nana, as all West India nurses were called, was a tall negress, very dignified and imposing in her manners, and so good we loved her dearly. She always wore a black alpaca gown, a white apron covering the whole front of it, a white handkerchief crossed over her bosom, and one tied over her hair. Her long gold ear-rings were her only ornaments. These rings were very interesting, because Nana often announced to us that she had lost a friend and was wearing "deep mourning." This meant that she had covered her ear-rings with black silk neatly sewed on. They were mournful-looking objects then, I assure you.

I cannot describe all the servants, odd as they were, nor give you any idea of their way of talking--Creole, Danish, and broken English--but I must mention our butler, or "houseman," Christian Utendahl, the most important member of the household in his own opinion.

As soon as the party was decided on, Christian and Nana were called in to be consulted. Then it was discovered what a tiresome undertaking a child's party might be. All children under the care of Nanas must have those Nanas specially invited, and a particular kind of punch must be made for them; then champagne must be provided for the little ones to drink toasts.

"Oh, this will never do. I cannot think of such a thing," said mamma.

"I must advise you so to do, Madame," answered Christian. "Nana's punch is lemonade wid leetle bit claret in it; and when you see de glasses I'll permide fer de champagne you'll see fer you'sef dey can't hole a timmle full. Fer de credit of de family, Madame, fer fear folks'll say 'Americains don't know how to behave,' I must adwise you."

The last sentence was a powerful argument, and the solemn negro used it with effect.

Here Nana interposed, saying, "My lady, how you expec my leetle man to know how to conduct hes-sef less we begin wid his manners jes now?" Then she added that she could not appear without a new gown, apron and head-handkerchief, and the apron _ought_ to have Mexicain drawn-work a finger "deep at de bottom of it to be credi-tabble."

Next, Nana said the birthday cake _must_ be made by Dandy and covered with as many "sugar babies" as there were guests.

These babies were pure sugar figures on straws and were stuck into the cake through the icing.

"The 'Kranse Kage' and the 'Krone Kage' can be made at home by Ellen and Sophie, Miss Lind and Mrs. Harrigen," said Christian.

"Is a 'Kranse Kage' absolutely necessary?" asked mamma. "It will keep the women pounding almonds a whole day and it is very unwholesome."

"Of course it is necessary," said both advisers together, and "it would bring de chile bad luck to have it made out of de house," said Nana.

"Then we will have it and dispense with the 'Krone Kage.'"

"Not have a 'Krone Kage'! Oh, we must have dat out of compliment to de King, Madame."

Here mamma gave up in despair and let the rulers of the household have their way without further resistance.

Christian delivered the invitations to the party in his most formal manner. The Hingleberg boys, Emile Haagensen, Alma Pretorius, Ingeborg Hjerm, Nita Gomez, Achille Anduze, and several other boys and girls accepted promptly.

During the next few days there was so much excitement in the household, so much disagreement between Christian and Nana, and Tom was so vociferous, mamma said nothing would ever induce her to give a party for children again.

In Tom's good moments you would be sure to see him standing with his hands behind him, while Nana trained him in what he should say and do. "Sissy," he whispered to me, "Nana says if I ain't very, very dood she'll gie me a _fatoi_ before evelly body."

(We never knew what this mysterious punishment was, and now we think it must be Creole for something that never happens. We were often threatened with it and as often escaped it.)

At last the day came, and Tom was to be allowed to haul up the flag that morning. (We always kept the American flag floating over our house.) When the Danish soldiers fired the sunrise cannon from the fort, Tom pulled on the ropes with all his strength, his dear little face as red as it could be, and when the flag reached the top of the tall staff he gave a long sigh of satisfaction.

We were not to see the parlors till just before the guests were to come, about twelve o'clock. When we did go in we screamed with delight. The rooms were filled with flowers. The pillars were hidden by long ferns and the Mexican vine which has long wreaths of tiny pink flowers, such as you may have seen in the dress caps of babies. Tall vases of pink and white oleander filled the alcove, and everywhere were white carnations, jasmine, frangipanni, and doodle-doo blossoms. All this had been done by the servants as a surprise.

In the middle of the room was the table. The gorgeous birthday cake, bristling with knights, ladies, angels and all kinds of figures, was in the centre, and the Kranse Kage and Krone Kage were at either end of it; in the former a small silk American flag, in the latter a Danish one, were placed; between them were all sorts of good things, just such as you have at your parties. At each plate was the queerest wee glass imaginable.

Tom received many presents. One of them, a gun with a bayonet, gave almost too much bliss. He sat and hugged it, evidently thinking it was "the party."

Christian, dressed in white, met every one at the street gate. To the guests he said, "Mr. and Mrs. Alger presents deir complements and are glad to see you;" and to the Nanas he said politely, "How you so far dis mawning?"

To get to our house, one had to mount three or four steps from the street, then there was a high iron fence and gate. On each side of this were the only trees I ever disliked. We called them the "Boiled Huckleberry Pudding" trees. They had large poisonous-looking leaves, and bore pale lumpish fruit about as large as a quart measure, with small black seeds here and there through them. There were no other trees like them on the island and we had a tradition that they came from Otaheite and would kill any one instantly who tasted the fruit. There were beautiful trees and flowers on this terrace and on all; then came a wall covered with vines, and fifteen stone steps leading to another terrace and another wall. In this second wall, near the pepper-tree, was the home of our two monkeys Jack and Jill. On the third terrace was the house.

Tom received his friends nicely, Nana standing just behind him dressed in her new gown and beautiful apron. We could see she was very anxious lest he should disgrace her before the other Nanas. Often we heard her whisper "Say howdy wid de odder hand, My Heart," or "Mind what I tole you, Son." She escorted the Nanas to the court, where the bowl of punch was standing, and they drank Tom's health with many good wishes.

As soon as all the children had arrived they were seated at table, each Nana standing behind her charge. Daintily and prettily the little ones ate, and when Christian passed the cake around the "sugar babies" were drawn out with much ceremony. Then the other large cakes were cut and served and Christian put a drop of champagne in each little glass. As soon as this was done, quick as thought Carl Hingleberg stood up and said:

"_Lienge leve Kongen!_"

Would you believe it? Every little tot lifted his or her glass and drank this solemnly. Christian filled the glasses again and we saw Bebé Anduze was being nudged and pushed by her Nana; at last she put her finger in her mouth and hung her head but said very sweetly, "I wiss Tom Alger have many nice birfdays and be a dood boy!"

How we all laughed! And how surprised we were when Tom bowed and said, "Tak," but he spoiled it all by pounding on the table and shouting "Hurrah for Grant!"

When all had done, Nana lifted Tom down from his chair and turned him to the right. Each child he took by the hand and said, "_Velbekomme_;" and the answer given to him was "_Fak for mad_." Then Tom scampered off, and came back with his gun and singing with all his might "_Den tapre land soldat_;" and where he did not know the Danish words, he sang "Good Night, my brudder Ben!" which Nana proudly explained "he composed hes-sef." All the children joined in the chorus and were pleased at his singing something they all knew.

Now came the great event of the day. We went down to the wharf, where papa had boats ready to take us off to the American man-of-war in the harbor. We were kindly taken all over it and Tom was allowed to fire off a large cannon. This consoled him for the loss of his bayonet, which fell overboard on our way to the ship, by mamma's special request.

We had a delightful afternoon, and, when we returned home, Tom shook hands with all and said,

"Farvel Kom igjen."

NOTE.--_Kranse Kage_, Wreath Cake; _Krone Kage_, Crown
Cake; _Tak_, Thanks; _Den tapre land soldat_, The brave
land soldier; _Velbekomme_, Welcome; _Fak for mad_,
Thanks for bread, or the food; _Lienge leve Kongen_,
Long live the King; _Farvel Kom igjen_, Farewell, come
again.

IX.

A SIAMESE HAIR-CUTTING.

ALL the little Siamese children, both boys and girls, have the entire head, except a place on the very top, closely shaved. There a long lock of hair is allowed to grow, and this they wear twisted into a knot and fastened with a jeweled pin.

The cutting of this top-knot, as it is called, is an occasion of great ceremony. All the friends and relatives are invited to attend, and the festivities continue three days. On the third day the hair is cut by a priest, and a lock is preserved in the family. The cutting of the top-knot is equivalent to our coming of age, though the children are generally between eleven and fourteen, and sometimes even younger than that.

The hair-cutting of the King's eldest daughter, Princess Civili, was a most magnificent affair. We went to the palace at ten in the morning for the purpose of seeing the procession. After passing through the outer and inner courts which were thronged with people of almost every Eastern nationality, we were shown into a building reserved for Europeans. Soon we heard the band playing the National Anthem, and then, preceded by the royal body-guard, His Majesty appeared and took his seat near the private entrance to the Temple. Then the procession commenced to file past us. It was headed by a number of men with hatchets, and attired in odd-looking garments. Some of these men wore horrible masks and wigs of long, tangled hair. They looked much like apes, and represented wild men. Next followed two rows of "angels" as they are called, these being men dressed in long loose robes of thin white muslin bordered with gold-embroidered bands. On their heads were tall conical hats of white and gold. These "angels" carried a cord which was attached to the Princess' chair. Between these two rows of angels walked a dozen men in loose red jackets, and short red trousers, with flat caps to match. They held in their hands long reed instruments on which they blew, making a shrill, strange sound.

This was the signal of the approach of the Princess who soon appeared, carried in a high chair, and surrounded by nobles and relatives. She sat as immovable as an image, and looked neither to the right nor the left. With a little more expression, she would have been a very pretty child.

Behind Her Royal Highness' chair were her favorite slaves carrying all the beautiful presents that had been given her.

_Apropos_ of presents, here is a short account of one of them. The United States ship _Ashuelot_ was at that time anchored in the river Chow Phya Miniam, on which river Bangkok is situated. There is a custom in Siam of giving a present in return for one received, though the present given in return is always one of less value. The paymaster of the _Ashuelot_, hearing of this custom, presented Her Royal Highness with a diamond ring, and received in return a handsome gold betel-box of native workmanship. The captain of the _Ashuelot_ who was much annoyed that a subordinate should receive so handsome a gift while he himself received nothing, had the paymaster court-martialed on the ground that an officer in the United States employ had no right to receive a gift from a foreign nation.

But to return to the procession. Following the slaves, came a number of little Siamese girls dressed in white, and wearing a profusion of jewelry. After them, came girls from the provinces all decked in their gayest attire; then two rows of little Chinese girls with painted cheeks and lips, and having artificial flowers in their hair. Closely following came rows upon rows of native women (slaves of the Princess) who walked sedately on with their bright fluttering scarves of red, yellow and green, their hands folded as if in prayer.

Then came a great many little native boys; after these, Chinese boys, and, finally the procession was ended by a company of Hindoostani children followed by a detachment of men servants.

The next two days the procession was exactly the same, except that on the third day the "angels" and the little Siamese girls wore pink robes instead of white.

The cutting of the hair, the praying of the priests, and the bathing of the Princess in various waters, all took place in a large artificial mountain built for the occasion opposite the Temple. None but the King, the ex-Regent and a few other favored individuals were allowed to be present.

On the green, in front of the mountain, we saw a large company of actors. On inquiry we found they were members of His Majesty's _loken_ or theatre, and formed part of the religious ceremony.

After the cutting of the top-knot all Siamese girls of high rank are kept in the greatest seclusion. Some are sent into the palace and placed under His Majesty's protection. There they remain until married or until Death claims them.

X.

OLD ENGLISH HARVEST CUSTOMS.

Hoaky is brought
Home with hallowin'
Boys with plumb cake,
The cart followin'.
--_From Poore Robin_, 1676.

IN one of the fine old Homes of England, the tapestry lining the Withdrawing Room represents a scene which must have been very familiar to the ladies whose diligent fingers accomplished this large piece of handiwork. It is a "Harvest Home" of more than a hundred years ago; and as the light from the huge logs burning on the hearth flickers on the figures it almost seems as if the gayly decorated horses are drawing on the cart laden with sheaves, as if the girl enthroned on the top of the corn is waving the small sheaf she holds overhead, and as if the harvesters are really dancing around; that in another moment the lad riding the leader must sound his pipe, and the old man following the dancers make a merry tune come out of his fiddle-strings. The Harvest is over, and the "last neck" is being carried home in triumph, held on high by the Queen of the Harvest, until it can be deposited in the centre of the supper-table in the big farmhouse kitchen.

This tapestry hangs in a house in Cornwall, a county in which, from its remote southerly position, many traditions have lingered. Among such traditions those connected with the harvest are probably some of the most ancient; handed down from generation to generation from the days when the Romans first brought civilization to England and left their stamp on the harvest as well as on the language, laws, numerals and the roads of this county.

Until the beginning of this century, Ceres was the name given as a matter of course to the queen of the harvest; and in Bedfordshire two figures made of straw were formerly carried in the harvest procession, which the laborers called Jack and Jill, but which were supposed to represent Apollo, the Sun God, and the beneficent Ceres, to whom the Romans made their offerings before reaping began.

The merry queen of the harvest, worked in the tapestry, had no doubt been chosen after the usual Cornish fashion. The women reaped in Cornwall, while the men bound, and whoever reaped the last lock of corn was proclaimed queen. As all were ambitious of this honor, the women used to hide away an unreaped lock under a sheaf, and when all the field seemed cut they would run off to their hidden treasures, in hopes of being the lucky last. When a girl's sweetheart came into the field at the end of the day, he would try to take her sickle away to finish her work. If this was allowed, it was a sign that she also consented to the wedding taking place before the next harvest.

The last lock of corn being cut, it was bound with straw at the neck, just under the ears, and carried to the highest part of the field, where one of the men swung it round over his head, crying in a stentorian voice, "I have it, I have it, I have it!" And the next man answered, "What hav-ee, what hav-ee, what hav-ee?" Then the first man shouted again, "A neck, a neck, a neck, hurrah!" This was the signal for the queen to mount the "hoaky cart," as it was called, and the procession started for the farmhouse.

Over the borders in Devonshire, the custom of "crying the neck" varied a little. The men did the reaping and the women the binding. As the evening closed in, the oldest man present collected a bunch of the finest ears of corn and, plaiting them together, placed himself in the middle of a circle of reapers and binders. Then he stooped and held it near the ground, while all the men took off their hats and held them also near the ground, and as they rose slowly they sung in a prolonged harmonious tone, "A neck, a neck, a neck!" until their hats were high over their heads. This was repeated three times; after which the words changed to "We have-'en, we have-'en, we have-'en!" sung to the same monotonous cadence. The crying of the neck, as it echoed from field to field, and from hill to hill, on a fine evening, produced a beautiful effect, and might be heard at a great distance.

A musical cry of this sort was also common in Norfolk, Suffolk and Gloucestershire; but the words sung were "Hallo, largess!" One of the men was chosen lord of the evening and appointed to approach any lookers-on with respect, and ask a largess, or money, which was afterwards spent in drink. Meanwhile the other men stood round with their hooks pointed to the sky, singing:

Hallo!
Largess!

In Gloucestershire, Ceres rode the leader of the Hoaky Cart, dressed in white, with a yellow ribbon round her waist.

The last in-gathering of the crop,
Is loaded and they climb the top;
And then huzza with all their force,
While Ceres mounts the foremost horse.
"Gee-up," the rustic goddess cries,
And shouts more long and loud arise,
The swagging cart, with motion slow,
Reels careless on, and off they go.

Stevenson in his _Twelve Moneths_, date 1661, goes on to describe the arrival of the procession at the farmhouse:

The frumenty pot welcomes home the harvest cart, and
the garland of flowers crowns the Captain of the
reapers. The battle of the field is now stoutly fought.
The pipe and tabor are now briskly set to work, and the
lad and lass will have no lead on their heels. O! 'tis
the merry time when honest neighbours make good cheer,
and God is glorified in His blessings on the earth.

In Herefordshire "crying the neck" is called "crying the maze;" the maze being a knot of ears of corn tied together, and the reapers stood at some distance, and threw their sickles at it. The man who succeeded in cutting the knot won a prize and was made Harvest King for that year. In the same county there was a rough custom of the last load being driven home by the farmer himself at a furious rate, while the laborers chased the wagon with bowls of water which they tried to throw over it. In the more stately processions the horses that drew the Hoaky cart were draped with white, which Herrick, the Devonshire parson-poet, describes in his poem of Hesperides, 1646:

Come, sons of summer, by whose toil
We are the lords of wine and oil;
By whose tough labours and rough hands
We rip up first, then reap our lands.
Crowned with the ears of corn now come
And to the pipe ring Harvest Home.
Come forth, my lord, and see the cart
Dressed up with all the country art.
See here a maukin, there a sheet
As spotless pure as it is sweet;
The horses, mares, and frisking fillies
(Clad all in linen, white as lilies:)
The harvest swains and wenches bound
For joy to see the hock-cart crown'd.
About the cart hear how the rout
Of rural younglings raise the shout;
Pressing before, some coming after--
Those with a shout, and these with laughter.
Well, on, brave boys, to your lord's hearth
Glittering with fire, where for your mirth
You shall see, first, the large and chief
Foundation of your feast, fat beef;
With upper stories, mutton, veal,
And bacon (which makes full the meal;)
With sev'ral dishes standing by,
And here a custard, there a pie,
And here all tempting frumenty.

The harvest supper in Northumberland was called the "Kern Supper," from a large figure dressed and crowned with flowers, holding a sickle and sheaf, which was named the "Kern Baby," and, being carried by the harvesters on a high pole with singing and shouting, was placed in the centre of the supper table, like the Devonshire and Cornish Neck. Rich cream was served on bread at the Kern Supper, instead of meal; a custom which was reversed in a sister northern county, where the new meal was thought more of than cream, and the feast was called the "Neck Supper," in its honor.

There was one more quaint ceremony for the laborers to accomplish, after the feasting was over, connected with the completion of the rick or stack. This was formed in the shape of a house with a sloping roof, and as the man placed the last sheaf in the point of the gable he shouted, "He's in, he's in, he's in!" The laborers below in the stackyard, then sang out, "What's in?" and the rickmaker answered with a long harmonious sound, "The cro' sheaf," meaning the cross sheaf.

It has been thought that there used to be one universal harvest song used throughout England, but the words and music are not preserved as such. Some curious songs are performed by the laborers, where harvest suppers are kept up. A very popular one has a chorus ending with:

And neither Kings, Lords, nor Dukes
Can do without the husbandman.

The majority are drinking songs, and there is reason to fear that the ale and cider that flowed at harvest-time, conduced in no small degree towards the unbounded revelry of these old celebrations.

At the same time the country people of England in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were for the most part very simple and ignorant, and their childish exuberance of spirits may have been but the natural expression of life in a perfectly unartificial state. They were men and women who could live for the hour while the sun shone, who could laugh and dance like children who have no fear, and, as George Eliot says, who "cared not for inquiring into the senses of things, being satisfied with the things themselves."

But the change was coming. The old women of Cornwall lamented loudly when their sickles were taken away, and the corn was "round-hewed" by the men with a kind of rounded saw.

"There was nothing about it in the Bible," they said; "it was all _reaping_ there."

The round-hewing was but a step, to be speedily followed by the scythe, and then by the steam reaper. And it often happens that the steam engines do not leave the field until the corn is carried to a temporary rick in the corner and threshed on the spot.

Farewell to the Hoaky Cart, the crowns of flowers, the Kern Baby, and the Cro' Sheaf!

With the puffing snort, the whirr and smoke of the engine, came the downfall of the ancient ceremonies. If the corn is threshed in the field and carried away in sacks, there is no time for the triumph of Ceres, or the decking of "Necks."

The laborers are no longer "satisfied with the things themselves." They are keen for the shilling they will earn for overhour work, and in some counties prefer it to the gathering of master and men round the harvest board; and the drink makes them envious instead of merry.

Times are hard. The great iron rakes clear the fields and there are some farmers who no longer say with Boaz:

Let her glean even among the sheaves, and reproach her
not, and let fall also some of the handfuls of purpose
for her, and leave them that she may glean them, and
rebuke her not.

It seems as though the old happy gleaning days were also numbered. Those days to which the villagers look forward from one year's end to another! The hour at which gleaning may begin is made known in some parishes by the church bell tolling at eight o'clock, after which the children troop off with their mothers to the wide fields. The sun may shine with fierce August fervor, the children's arms and the mothers' backs be weary to breaking, and the corn gathered be only enough for two half-peck loaves--yet there are charms in the long days in the fields, in the strawberries picked in the hedge, and the potato pasties eaten under the rick, and when the church bell tolls again at nine o'clock there are still many lingerers in the fields.

The world is growing grave and old, and it is sad to think that many of the simple old-fashioned enjoyments of past years are fading away. Still there is another side to the inevitable law of change; for out of the relics of the worship of Ceres, out of the ashes of the ancient customs of revelry, a phœnix has arisen, grand and hope-inspiring, and that carries back our memories to days before the Romans were conquerors of the world, and when the most ancient of all nations, the Jews, used to celebrate their yearly feast of Ingathering.

When first Harvest Festivals in Churches were proposed they were looked on with suspicion, for somewhat similar services had been swept away by the iron hand of the Reformation. But thankful hearts and good common-sense have worn out the suspicion, and the day comes now in each year, when every Church in England is decked with sheaves of corn, grapes, torch lilies, dahlias, sunflowers, and all the splendors of autumn, and when glorious Te Deums, and hearty Harvest Hymns rise in thanksgiving for the blessings on the fields.

Once more the ancient cry of "Largess" is, as it were, revived. But now it is largess for the poor, beloved by God, it is largess for the suffering ones, who watch in pain, it is largess for home and foreign missions, that all may be safely gathered in to the great final Harvest.

It is also customary for a Festival to be held in the Cathedrals of the principal county towns. And there are few nobler sights than to see the Nave of one of these magnificent old buildings, on a market day, so full of men and women of every position in life, that they are sitting on the bases of the pillars, and standing in the aisles; and there are few nobler sounds than to hear that mighty congregation burst into singing:

Come, ye thankful people, come!
Raise the song of Harvest Home!

XI.

EASTER AT JERUSALEM.

AT no time is there more to be seen and done in Jerusalem than during the Easter season.

Then it is that the old city is crowded with pilgrims from far and near and wears, in consequence, an appearance of varied life and activity. Some of the pilgrims are Moslems returning from their journey to Mecca; others are Jews who have come to see that the massive stones of the old temple are being duly wailed over by their brethren; but by far the greater number are adherents of the Eastern Church.

Their purpose in making the pilgrimage is to anoint themselves with the fire which, according to their belief, is sent down from heaven each year at Easter-time to light the candles on the altar in the tomb of our Saviour in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Can they but ignite their little bundles of wax tapers by the holy flame and with it bathe their faces and breasts they believe that all their sin-stains are purged away. The great crowds of devotees become so wrought up with excitement over this divine manifestation that it is safer for those who would witness the ceremony to go to the church under consular protection.

Accordingly we assembled, about eleven o'clock on the morning of one Easter Sunday, at the American Consulate and from thence proceeded, with a number of fellow-countrymen, to the Church under the guidance of the _cawass_, or consular servant, whose heavy staff of office--a veritable drum-major's bâton--inspired respect on the part of the natives and opened a way for us through the dense crowds.

Arriving at the Church we were led to one of the galleries which run around the building in three tiers. The main portion of the structure is circular in form, and in the centre of the rotunda is a small chapel which, according to the tradition of the Greek Church, guards within its walls the Sepulchre of our Lord. The entrance to this little building is so lowly that one has almost to crawl on hands and knees to gain admittance; and when once inside there is only a shabby altar worn down by the lips of countless thousands of pilgrims, and shabbier candles which make the atmosphere most disagreeable.

From our vantage-point in the gallery we looked down upon a curious scene. Men, women and children armed with little bundles of tapers covered every foot of the spacious floor, save an aisle which a double line of some two hundred Turkish soldiers kept open around the Holy Sepulchre as best they could. The officers of the guard had difficult work in preserving order. Serious outbreaks were of frequent occurrence among the excited people which could only be quelled by a vigorous application of the officers' rawhides to the backs of the ringleaders, and, in some instances, a gentle prod from a soldier's bayonet was necessary to remind the individual that he was forgetting his good behavior.

The space between the inner line of soldiery and the Sepulchre seemed to constitute a sort of prison-pen, for here were thrust the most turbulent spirits. In a short time an assortment of these leading rascals was thus gathered together and, as might have been expected, they soon began to make things lively among themselves; the result being a vivid representation of pandemonium. In fact, rough-and-tumble fights were now the order of exercises, for all were endeavoring to elbow their way to a position nearer the chapel that they might be the first to secure the coveted fire. Such was the conduct of the adherents to the Greek Faith in their holiest sanctuary and at their holiest ceremony!

After waiting for nearly three hours, surveying the hubbub below us which had been, if possible, increasing, we noticed an unusual stir; and soon from one of the ante-rooms issued a procession made up of priests bearing large banners of various hues, and numerous surpliced boys swinging silver censers of incense, while in the centre of this company walked the Patriarch of the church clad in robes of heavy silk and satin richly embroidered with gold and silver thread as befitted the dignity of the High Father.

Three times this band moved round the Sepulchre while the crowds were awed to silence by the magnificent spectacle. After the procession passed out the pent-up excitement of the people broke out with renewed energy and those in the rear redoubled their efforts to gain a front place, for this pageant of priests seemed to herald the advent of the fire.

Soon two of the priests approached apertures in opposite walls of the Chapel and through these received from the Patriarch, who had meanwhile entered the Sepulchre alone, the heaven-sent flame. As the priests drew forth handfuls of tapers ignited by the holy fire, the agitation of the multitude knew no bounds. The great surging crowd seemed frenzied in their eagerness to light their own tapers. The women and children in the throng were entirely ignored and, as the stronger pushed them aside, more than one went down and were trampled under feet. But gradually now the divine flame was passed from one to another, those in the galleries letting down their tapers to be lighted until the whole church was soon ablaze.

Strife and wrangling speedily gave way now to smiling good-nature, and all were anointing their faces and breasts with the holy fire. The dark recesses of the old building, which the sunlight could never penetrate through the dingy dome, were lighted up with the flickering glow of the little candles which, with the constant darting to and fro at the flames, like so many will-o'-the-wisps, made up a weird picture never to be forgotten. Soon, however, the smoke and heat rendered the atmosphere intolerable and we were glad to elbow our way out through the now happy throng to the open air.

Such is the ceremony gone through with each year at Jerusalem. Many of the people try to carry the fire away with them that they may keep a candle which has been lighted with it continually burning, as it is reputed to possess wonderful restorative properties both for body and soul.

XII.

THE MOQUI SNAKE-DANCE.