one thinks of molesting
them.

The present city, now in its turn declining, has been a most gorgeous
capital, and has twelve fortified gates in good preservation. Its
principal streets are broad and full of busy life, exhibiting
representatives of all the various Asiatic races. Members of our party
wished to purchase a memento of Delhi, and what was there better suited
to the purpose than those fine hand-woven Cashmere shawls of many firm
but delicate colors, so exquisitely finished? You do not find these
hundred-guinea articles displayed in open bazars, but must follow your
guide under a broad archway, up steep, narrow, winding steps into the
dealer's private house and shop combined. A chair is placed for each
visitor, while the proprietor sits down upon a bit of Turkish carpet,
cross-legged. A few formal words of welcome pass, then at a sign an
attendant brings out from some mysterious corner a few shawls. The
cunning Hindoo is studying you with his deep-set lustrous eyes. Not an
expression of your face escapes him. He observes what pleases you best,
and whether you can appreciate quality as well as looks. More shawls are
ordered out from their cases, perhaps of a better grade, while your
custom is all the while being quietly but shrewdly angled for, as a
disciple of Izaak Walton would play with his game. You are gradually led
from one piece of goods to another; your gauge as to price is adroitly
discovered; and finally, with consummate judgment, a certain article,
characterized by fineness, beauty, and quality, is placed before you.
The moment your eyes rest upon it you are charmed. The shrewd old
merchant has mentally taken your measure for this myriad-threaded
beauty, and you are captivated. The price is named. "Too much," say you.
But you are told that this establishment is conducted on the fixed-price
principle; if cheaper goods are desired, there are those first shown to
you. Why struggle? You are literally caught, and may as well surrender.
So this exquisite article from far-off Cashmere is folded up and
intrusted to the guide. The gold is counted, and you receive a salaam,
as you depart, which might have been accorded to the Queen of Sheba.

In the broad main thoroughfare of Delhi,--the Chandni Chowk,--one
constantly meets ponderous elephants, solemn and awkward camels, fine
Arabian horses, and the diminutive toy-like pony of Cashmere. Daily
marriage processions of the most fantastic description crowd the
pa