One
cupboard is full of medicines necessary for oriental expeditions or for
Mrs. Burton's Trieste poor, and on it is written 'The Pharmacy.' Idols
are not wanting, for elephant-nosed Gumpati is there cheek by jowl with
Vishnu.
"The most remarkable objects in the room just alluded to are the rough
deal tables, which occupy most of the floor space. They are almost like
kitchen or ironing tables. There may be eleven of them, each covered
with writing materials. At one of them sits Mrs. Burton, in morning
_neglige_, a gray choga--the long loose Indian dressing-gown of camel's
hair--topped by a smoking-cap of the same material. She rises and greets
her husband's old friend with the cheeriest voice in the world. 'I see
you are looking at our tables; every one does. Dick likes a separate
table for every book, and when he is tired of one he goes to another.
There are no tables of any size in Trieste, so I had these made as soon
as I came. They are so nice. We may upset the ink-bottles as often as
we like without anybody being put out of the way. These three little
rooms are our "den," where we live, work and receive our _intimes_; and
we leave the doors open, so that we may consult over our work. Look at
our view!' From the windows, looking landward, one may see an expanse
of country extending over thirty or forty miles, the hills covered with
foliage, through which peep trim villas. Beyond the hills higher
mountains dotted with villages, a bit of the wild Karso peering from
above.
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