hining street"), which runs straight to
the Lahore gate of the city. Here an immense number of daily affairs
were transacting themselves, and the Present eagerly jostled the Past
out of the road. The shops were of a size which would have seemed very
absurd to an enterprising American tradesman, and those dealing in
the same commodities appeared to be mostly situated together--here the
shoemakers, there the bankers, and so on.

The gold-embroidered cloths--Delhi is famous for them--made me think
of those embroidered in stone which we had just seen in the Dewani
Khas. These people seem to dream in curves and flowing lines, as the
German dreams in chords and meandering tones, the Italian in colors
and ripe forms.

("And as the American--?" said Bhima Gandharva with a little smile as
we were walking down the Chandni Chowk.

"The American does not dream--yet," I answered.)

[Illustration: THE GRAND HALL OF THE DEWANI KHAS IN THE PALACE OF
DELHI.]

We saw much of the embroidered fabrics known as "kincob" (properly,
_kunkhwab_) and "kalabatu;" and Bhima Gandharva led me into an inner
apartment where a _nakad_ was manufacturing the gold thread (called
_kalabatoon_) for these curious loom embroideries. The kalabatoon
consists of gold wire wound about a silk thread; and nothing could
better illustrate the deftness of the Hindu fingers than the motions
of the workman whom we saw. Over a polished steel hook hung from the
ceiling the end of a reel of slightly twisted silk thread was passed.
This end was tied to a spindle with a long bamboo shank, which was
weighted and nearly reached the floor. Giving the shank of the spindle
a smart roll along his thigh, the workman set it going with great
velocity: then applying to the revolving thread the end of a quantity
of gold wire which was wound upon a different reel, the gold wire
twisted itself in with the silk thread and made a length of kalabatoon
about as long as the workman. The kalabatoon was then reeled off on a
separate reel, and the process continually repeated.

We stopped at the office of our banker for a moment on our way along
the Chandni Chowk in order to effect some changes of money. As we were
leaving, Bhima Gandharva inquired if I had observed the young man in
the red cotton turban who had politely broken off in our favor a long
negotiation with our banker, which he resumed when we had finished our
little business.

"Of course I did," I replied. "What a beautiful