s is the hat, to which
the community cling with a pertinacity that would be extraordinary,
were it not common. Even the Parsee representative of "Young Bombay,"
dressed from top to toe in European costume, including a pair of shiny
boots, cannot be induced to discard the abominable _topee_, or hat,
distinctive of his race; though, perhaps, after all, we who live in
glass houses should not throw stones; for what can be more hideous
than the chimney-pot hat of our boasted civilization? The Parsee
head-dress, which contests the palm of ugliness with its English
rival, is constructed on a strong but light framework, covered with
highly-glazed, dark-colored chintz. The priests, who dress like the
laity, wear a hat of much the same shape as the former, but white,
instead of a dark color.

On occasions of ceremony, the ordinary tight-fitting narrow garment is
exchanged for one with very full skirts, like a petticoat; and a shawl
is usually worn round the waist, which is at other times omitted. The
costume of the women is a combination of that of the Hindoos and
Mussulmans, consisting of the short body and _sarree_ of the former,
with the full trousers of the latter. Both sexes endue themselves, at
seven years of age, with the sacred shirt, which is worn over the
trousers; the _sadra_, as it is called, is made of a thin, transparent
muslin, and is meant to represent the coat-of-mail the men wore when
they arrived in India, and with which they believe they can resist the
spiritual assaults of Ahriman, the evil principle. The hair of the
women is concealed by linen skull-caps, fitting tight to the head.

It is a singular and interesting sight to watch the Parsees assembled
on the sea-shore, and, as the sun sinks below the horizon, to mark
them prostrating themselves, and offering up their orisons to the
great giver of light and heat, which they regard as representing the
Deity. Their prayers are uttered, it is said, in an unknown tongue;
and after the fiery face of the orb of day has disappeared in his
ocean bed, and the wondrous pillars of light shooting aslant the sky,
proclaim that the "day is done," and the night is at hand, they raise
themselves from their knees, and turn silently away from the beach,
which is left once more to twilight and the murmur, or, if in angry
mood, the roar, of the sea as it breaks on the shore.

[Illustration: {The unknown man rescues the girl from the burning
building}]

THE CRIPPLE