presents a riot of strange costumes, bright colors, quick-moving figures with jingling bangles and anklets, unholy odors, and clamorous sounds.
At the stations, we were met in different parts of India by the greatest imaginable variety of conveyances—carriages with footmen and drivers in state livery, sent by the native princes, hotel and public carriages after models never dreamed of in America, bullock carts, elephants, camels, rickshaws, and, in Calcutta and Bombay, by taxi-automobiles.
When your driver starts off down the street at a reckless gait, clanging a bell in the floor of the carriage with his foot, and a boy on a step at the back calls out “Talivay!” as you bowl along, you wonder if you have not taken, by mistake, a police wagon or an ambulance. But it is all right: you hear the same shouting and clanging of bells from all the other carriages along the route. This noise is necessary to make the idlers who stroll along the streets hand in hand get out of the way of the carriages.
There are so many horses in India that one
A HAUGHTY MEMBER OF THE CAMEL CORPS.
wonders why any one should ever walk, and, in fact, very few do. They are of all grades, differing as much as docs the shabbiest beggar from the most gorgeous raja. The conveyances to which they are harnessed range from the rickety public ekkas to the royal gold and silver coaches used
A PARTY OF AMERICANS MOUNTING AN ELEPHANT.
on state occasions. One secs these wretched-looking public carriages that can be hired for a few cents filled with lazy natives and pulled along by a poor little pony that looks as if it were half-starved. Contrasting with these poor, over-worked creatures are the thoroughbreds which literally die in the stables of the princes for lack of exercise.
When we were visiting in the native states, the chiefs sometimes offered us saddle-horses. The first time I rode one of these, I started off gaily, nothing fearing. From a gentle canter my mount suddenly broke into a dead run. Supposing that horses in all countries understood the same language, I said “Whoa,” first mildly, persuasively, then loudly, imploringly: but without the slightest effect. On he sped faster and faster, until he overtook another horse, apparently a friend of his, for he slowed down to a walk beside it. I learned afterward that a sound similar to that used in America to make a horse go is used in India to make him stop. So the poor dear did not understand in the least my frantic cries of "Whoa!”
The only other swift-moving animal that it was my misfortune to encounter in India was a camel. This was in the north, in the desert of Rajputana. We were going to visit some tombs about five miles from the city. The others went in carriages, but I preferred to try the “fleet-footed camel” The creature knelt docilely enough to let me climb into the saddle back of
