s. As we attacked the chickens, I
perceived in the flickering glare that all my companions were English.
Everybody talked, and the thrill of the one American increased as the
names of the steamers waiting at Brindisi were mentioned--the
_Hydaspes_, the _Coromandel_, the _Cathay_, the _Mirzapore_: towards
what lands of sandal-wood, what pleasure-domes of Kubla-Khan, might not
one sail on ships bearing those titles! The present voyagers, however,
were all old travellers; they took a purely practical view of the
Orient. Nevertheless, their careless "Cairo," "Port Said," "Bombay,"
"Ceylon," "Java," were as fascinating as the shining balls of a juggler
when a dozen are in the air at the same moment. My right-hand neighbor,
upon learning that my destination was Corfu, good-naturedly offered the
information that the voyage was an easy one. "Corfu, however, is _not_
what it has been!"

"But, Polly, it is looking up a little, now that the Empress of Austria
is building a villa there," suggested a sister correctively.

After this outburst of talk, we all climbed back into the waiting train,
and went flying on towards the south, following the lonely, wild-looking
coast, with the wind from the Adriatic crying over our heads like a
banshee. It was midnight when we reached Brindisi. At present this, the
ancient Brundusium, is the jumping-off place for the traveller on his
way to the East; here he must leave the land and trust himself to an
enigmatical deep. But if he wishes to have the sensation in full force,
he must not delay his journey; for, presently, the Indian Mail will rush
through Greece and meet the steamers at Cape Colonna; and then, before
long, there will be another spurt, and Pullman trains will go through to
Calcutta, with a ferry over the Bosporus.

At Brindisi I became the prey of five barelegged boatmen, who, owing to
the noise of the wind and the water, communicated with each other by
yells. The Austrian-Lloyd steamer from Trieste, outward-bound for
Constantinople, which carried the friends I was expecting to meet, was
said to be lying out in the stream, and I enjoyed the adventure of
setting forth alone on the dark sea in search of her, in a small boat
rowed by my Otranto crew. During the transit there was not much time to
think of Brundusium, with its memories of Horace and Virgil. But there
was another opportunity to reflect upon the question, perplexing to the
unskilled mind--namely, Why it is that an America