Dancing-girls are to be seen here, on the streets. They are attached to
some native temple, as no religious ceremony or gala day is considered
complete without them; and the same may be said of all large private
entertainments, no guests ever dancing in the East. They prefer to hire
it done for them. These Indian dancing-girls, with a musical
accompaniment, tell a story by their performance, expressing grief, joy,
jealousy, and other passions so well portrayed, that one easily
interprets the pantomime. They preserve strict propriety in their
dances, which are curious to witness, their ankles being covered with
silver bells, and their wrists and arms similarly decked.

No more unprotected spot could be found on the surf-beaten shore of the
Coromandel coast than this where stands Madras. It is so completely
exposed to the northeast monsoons as to be inaccessible for
sailing-vessels from October to January, and yet it was the first
British capital in India. There is usually such a surf on the shore
that nothing but the native boats can weather it; and when high winds
prevail, it is too much even for them. We embark by steamship from
Madras, and after a voyage of nearly a thousand miles up the coast and
Hoogly River, land at Calcutta, which is the political capital of India,
though since the Suez Canal has been opened, Bombay rivals it
commercially.

Calcutta is a very interesting city, very Indian, notwithstanding that
so many Europeans live here, and that it has so long been under English
rule, but it is by no means entitled to the designation so often given
to it, namely, the "City of Palaces." It is quite modern, having no
remains of antiquity about it, and in 1686 was but a mud village. As
seen from the Hoogly, when one first arrives, it exhibits a strong array
of fine public buildings; but a passage of a few rods, diverging from
the main thoroughfare, brings the visitor upon the dirty streets, the
mean and narrow houses, and general squalor of the native population.

The Burning Ghat, where cremation is going on at all hours of the day,
is the first place the stranger visits. The bodies are brought in and
placed upon a square pile of wood, raised to a height of four feet, in
the open yard. Under the wood there is plenty of combustible material;
the torch is applied, and instantly all is hidden by the flames. In
three hours nothing but calcined bones and ashes are left. These are
carefully gathered and cast into the