where the fireworks are usually exhibited. The gentleman in charge of the model cemetery, already mentioned in these annals, was the only Caucasian informed of her intention, and he cheerfully colored his face, donned the flowing robes of a Brahmin, and accepted the appointment of Master of Ceremonies. Imagine our astonishment at coming upon this scene. The fire was crackling merrily away, the corpse was frizzling a beautiful brown, and the assembled participants were singing Hindoo hymns. The Master of Ceremonies was standing at the head of the flames with the widow in his arms. He was waiting till her husband should be nearly gone before he chucked her on, in order to keep up the fun as long as possible. “Stop! hold!!” we shouted, as soon as we could control enough breath to utter the sounds; “stop! We cannot allow any such proceedings--drop that woman.” [Illustration] The Master of Ceremonies turned upon us fiercely-- [“WHOSE FUNERAL IS THIS?”] “Whose funeral is this?” he asked ironically, and there was a wicked gleam in his eye which plainly indicated that he wasn’t going to be defrauded of his job without a struggle. “Go on with the music,” he added, turning to the Hindoos, who had ceased singing at the interruption, and he raised the widow in his arms ready for the throw. Our bosoms swelled; we were about to annihilate him, when chance intervened to save his life. Some rumor of the contemplated ceremony had reached the ears of the Park Commissioners. Naturally indignant that any such thing should take place in the Park, without their permission being first asked and obtained, they now came rushing upon the ground with their little fire engine, closely followed by the Insurance Patrol. In less time than it takes to record it, the widow was wrapped up in oil skin blankets, the natives were howling other than hymn tunes, and the fire and Master of Ceremonies were both put out by well-directed streams of water. The latter threatened vengeance. He was the most disappointed man we have ever seen. Whether war with India will be the result of this interference in a national and religious custom, the future alone can tell. We proceeded upon our way, and entering the Centennial precincts, the world within the palings, we passed a week in inspecting the FOREIGN DEPARTMENTS. The foreign display within the Main Building was grand, that outside was grander still. Had our minds been one whit less strong, we should have been bewildered by the conglomeration. Turkish kiosks, Chinese pagodas, Japanese pavilions, Arabian tents, Persian bazaars, Egyptian temples, Mohammedan mosques, Gypsy encampments, and American drinks, enough to confuse any one. Then monuments, booths, fountains, and cigar stands innumerable. We will give one day as an example of our travels.