The Silken East a
on the southern coast
parasols, draw the eye away from the traffic of life to its beauty, and small craft with sails bellying to the breeze, speed across the turbid waters. All that is here is new, deriving but little of its charm from history or old association. Its interest is vital, of the present. Thus as the pageant discloses itself, and calicoed Chinamen, cottoned Coringhi, and silken Burman play their parts upon the sunlit stage, we slip our anchor at Rangoon, and make with the tide for the ocean.
THE NIRVANA OF THE NIGHT
Night comes, and with it a sea of snow under the trail of the flaming moon. A warm-lipped wind from the south, sensuous and caressing, the very breath of