shook squares of tinselly stuffs from upper windows, and shouted, "Fifteen rupees!" for each damaged remnant. The smells of those byways were invitation to and promise of any pestilence, and in one damp, fetid corner that we retreated from abruptly even the glib guide seemed to smell a thing or two. "Phew! the drains! the drains! What a very bad municipal!" and we never wondered that the native states show such a great decrease of population during the last five years of the century, while the bubonic plague raged.
At the busy clothes bazaar, tinsel caps and orange jackets for little boys were the bargains of the day that crowds were competing for, and more and more peddlers were opening rainbow packs and preparing for an evening bazaar. We had done our duty by the sights and shows of Ahmedabad; we had had our fill of local color and smells; and we drove back to rest at the comfortable station. Our guide and the bearer were bewildered, and the latter tearful at our wasting two hours on foot in the bazaar, and losing that much time in the use of the horses taken at so much for all day. "But, memsahib," he whimpered, "if you pay six rupees a day for a carriage, you must use all day. You must see all. There are many nice tombs yet. You must see more. You must not stop now. These horses just stand around, while you walk two hours, and now you stop for tea, and no more use. It is too expenseful."
When the Bombay mail rumbled in, we found our reserved compartment, spread our razais, and lay down, and all at once had a strange, dizzy, floating
