LETTERS OF TRAVEL THE DOMINIONS EDITION LETTERS OF TRAVEL (1892-1913) BY RUDYARD KIPLING MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON 1920 The Letters entitled 'FROM TIDEWAY TO TIDEWAY' were published originally in _The Times_; those entitled 'LETTERS TO THE FAMILY' in _The Morning Post_; and those entitled 'EGYPT OF THE MAGICIANS' in _Nash's Magazine_. COPYRIGHT _This Edition is intended for circulation only in India and the British Dominions over the Seas_ CONTENTS FROM TIDEWAY TO TIDEWAY (1892)-- In Sight of Monadnock Across a Continent The Edge of the East Our Overseas Men Some Earthquakes Half-a-Dozen Pictures 'Captains Courageous' On One Side Only Leaves from a Winter Note-Book LETTERS TO THE FAMILY (1907)-- The Road to Quebec A People at Home Cities and Spaces Newspapers and Democracy Labour The Fortunate Towns Mountains and the Pacific A Conclusion EGYPT OF THE MAGICIANS (1913)-- Sea Travel A Return to the East A Serpent of Old Nile Up the River Dead Kings The Face of the Desert The Riddle of Empire * * * * * FROM TIDEWAY TO TIDEWAY 1892-95 IN SIGHT OF MONADNOCK. ACROSS A CONTINENT. THE EDGE OF THE EAST. OUR OVERSEAS MEN. SOME EARTHQUAKES. HALF-A-DOZEN PICTURES. 'CAPTAINS COURAGEOUS.' ON ONE SIDE ONLY. LEAVES FROM A WINTER NOTE-BOOK. * * * * * IN SIGHT OF MONADNOCK After the gloom of gray Atlantic weather, our ship came to America in a flood of winter sunshine that made unaccustomed eyelids blink, and the New Yorker, who is nothing if not modest, said, 'This isn't a sample of our really fine days. Wait until such and such times come, or go to such and a such a quarter of the city.' We were content, and more than content, to drift aimlessly up and down the brilliant streets, wondering a little why the finest light should be wasted on the worst pavements in the world; to walk round and round Madison Square, because that was full of beautifully dressed babies playing counting-out games, or to gaze reverently at the broad-shouldered, pug-nosed Irish New York policemen. Wherever we went there was the sun, lavish and unstinted, working nine hours a day, with the colour and the clean-cut lines of perspective that he makes. That any one should dare to call this climate muggy, yea, even 'subtropical,' was a shock. There came such a man, and he said, 'Go north if you want weather--weather that _is_ weather. Go to New England.' So New York passed away upon a sunny afternoon, with her roar and rattle, her complex smells, her triply over-heated rooms, and much too energetic inhabitants, while the train went north to the lands where the snow lay. It came in one sweep--almost, it seemed, in one turn of the wheels--covering the winter-killed grass and turning the frozen ponds that looked so white under the shadow of lean trees into pools of ink.