whereat i was silent.their marriages and their divorces only concern these people;and neither i travelling,nor you,who may come after,have any right to make rude remarks about them.
only--only coming from a land where a man begins to lightly turn to thoughts of love not before he is thirty,i own that playing at house-keeping before that age rather surprised me.out in the west,though,they marry,boys and girls,from sixteen upward,and i have met more than one bride of fifteen--husband aged twenty.
"when man and woman are agreed,what can the kazi do?"from those peaceful homes,and the envy they inspire (two trunks and a walking-stick and a bit of pine forest in british columbia are not satisfactory,any way you look at them),i turned me to the lake front of buffalo,where the steamers bellow to the grain elevators,and the locomotives yell to the coal-shutes,and the canal barges jostle the lumber-raft half a mile long as it snakes across the water in tow of a launch,and earth,and sky,and sea alike are thick with smoke.
in the old days,before the railway ran into the city,all the business quarters fringed the lake-shore where the traffic was largest.to-day the business quarters have gone up-town to meet the railroad;the lake traffic still exists,but you shall find a narrow belt of red-brick desolation,broken windows,gap-toothed doors,and streets where the grass grows between the crowded wharves and the bustling city.to the lake front comes wheat from chicago,lumber,coal,and ore,and a large trade in cheap excursionists.
it was my felicity to catch a grain steamer and an elevator emptying that same steamer.the steamer might have been two thousand tons burden.she was laden with wheat in bulk;from stem to stern,thirteen feet deep,lay the clean,red wheat.
there was no twenty-five per cent dirt admixture about it at all.