Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1910-01-16

her own way along unaided. Then the
anchor goes down, the tender comes
alongside and the eager passengers en-
bark, being met at the quay by carriages
and so for a drive over the magic island
before dinner at the hotel.
The first feeling that seizes the bustling
Yankee when he lands is that, thank
goodness, he doesn't have to hurry.
There is no use: you wouldn't get any
where by hurrying. No one else does
It's a good feeling. In an open landau
you jog along over smooth, hard coral
roads. virgin highways unravished by
scurrying automobiles, for the latter are
tabooed in Bermuda.
The whole island Is garden. Lilies,
wild flowers, roses. bananas, palms. pines
all lend their beauties to this charming
landscape. Artistic bungalows and old
colonial houses, all Of one story and built
OF the white coral. dot the green surface
of the gardens and snuggle in the groves.
Romantic? The place breathes romance
and at times of full moon everybody
gets lovesck. Fortunately. we were there
in the dark of the moon, and hence
sane report
From Lighthouse Hill, at one end OF
the main island. the visitor gets few
hundreds Of square miles of ocean and
the greater part OF the island stretched at
his feet We reached there just at sun
set The sea was calm as IA mill pond
and aglow with sapphire, pink. saffron
and delicate green. 4 Accommodating lit
tie foreign bark. her flag calling for the
doctor beating into the channel looked
about as lonely a spectacle in that vast
expanse as one could imagine. Back of
us the contrast was vivid-civilfzation
peace. prosperity, tireside lights and HUI
man industry. The sun went down like
a plummet into the sea and darkness
came with rush. So we scurried back
to a quaint little British inn by the water
side and had tea and muff1ns-yeS, a wee
drappie o rum and lemon in the tea
Iy-ff
ish and you pay in British money.
The hotel. however, is conducted by a
Yankee, and when the party shows up
for dinner In immaculate evening attire
you would think You were at any Amer
lean seaside resort until his majesty's
Royal Fusileers' Band appears in its
red uniforms and the natty young Off
GERS from the garrison file in to lend
touch of color to the scene.
The immutability Of British custom is
here exemplified. 1t was New Year eve,
and this steamerload of New Workers
way fashion. All went well until IL
O'Clock struck-just the shank O. the
evenin'. when folks were beginning to
acquire a thirst-when the local custom
closed the bar 1t was something awful
the way those visiting firemen' took on!
There was wine behind the bar. money in
their jeans, frightful parching in their
threats. but not for love or money!
threats or cajolery. could another bottle
be obtained. The Boston barkeep fairly
cried at the loss.
Next morning, up early-you will never
know how cold a cold bath can be. until
YOU try one in the cold gray dawn of a
tropical morning in a hotel built for the
tropics. and SO for another drive to the
opposite end of the island before taking
ship.
At IL o'clock it's 'All aboard!' The
tender steams out to the boat in the road
Der about and troop into their sweet and
airy cabins, clean as hounds tooth and
bright as a home. Then days steam
ing through these wonderful cerulean
waters, amid a constant rapid fire of
CALCULATIONS of delight from the passen-
gers.
And in thirty-six hours more you are
again in New York harbof, watching with