About four days out from Victoria we plunged into hot weather, and all the male passengers put on white linen clothes.  One or two days later we crossed the 25th parallel of north latitude, and then, by order, the officers of the ship laid away their blue uniforms and came out in white linen ones.  All the ladies were in white by this time.  This prevalence of snowy costumes gave the promenade deck an invitingly cool, and cheerful and picnicky aspect.

From my diary: 

There are several sorts of ills in the world from which a person can never escape altogether, let him journey as far as he will.  One escapes from one breed of an ill only to encounter another breed of it.  We have come far from the snake liar and the fish liar, and there was rest and peace in the thought; but now we have reached the realm of the boomerang liar, and sorrow is with us once more.  The first officer has seen a man try to escape from his enemy by getting behind a tree; but the enemy sent his boomerang sailing into the sky far above and beyond the tree; then it turned, descended, and killed the man.  The Australian passenger has seen this thing done to two men, behind two trees—­and by the one arrow.  This being received with a large silence that suggested doubt, he buttressed it with the statement that his brother once saw the boomerang kill a bird away off a hundred yards and bring it to the thrower.  But these are ills which must be borne.  There is no other way.

The talk passed from the boomerang to dreams—­usually a fruitful subject, afloat or ashore—­but this time the output was poor.  Then it passed to instances of extraordinary memory—­with better results.  Blind Tom, the negro pianist, was spoken of, and it was said that he could accurately play any piece of music, howsoever long and difficult, after hearing it once; and that six months later he could accurately play it again, without having touched it in the interval.  One of the most striking of the stories told was furnished by a gentleman who had served on the staff of the Viceroy of India.  He read the details from his note-book, and explained that he had written them down, right after the consummation of the incident which they described, because he thought that if he did not put them down in black and white he might presently come to think he had dreamed them or invented them.

The Viceroy was making a progress, and among the shows offered by the Maharajah of Mysore for his entertainment was a memory-exhibition.  The Viceroy and thirty gentlemen of his suite sat in a row, and the memory-expert, a high-caste Brahmin, was brought in and seated on the floor in front of them.  He said he knew but two languages, the English and his own, but would not exclude any foreign tongue from the tests to be applied to his memory.  Then he laid before the assemblage his program —­a sufficiently extraordinary one.  He proposed that one gentleman should give him one word of a foreign sentence, and