AN EVENING IN CALCUTTA.


About six o'clock every evening the beau monde of Calcutta begins to
take the air on the Course, a very pleasant drive which runs along the
bank of the river. It is usually crowded with carriages, but it must
be confessed that none of them would be likely to excite the envy of
an owner of a fashionable turn-out at home, unless indeed it might be
now and then for the sake of the occupants.

Long before the Course begins to thin it is almost dark, and then,
if the poor lounger is "unattached," and is sharing his buggy with
a friend as unfortunate as himself, the general effect of the scene
before him is the most interesting object for his gaze. The carriages
continue to whirl past, but one sees hardly more of them than their
lamps. The river glides, cold and shining, a long silvery light
under the opposite bank, while trees and masts and rigging relieve
themselves against the golden bars of the distant sky. But the band
ceases to play, and every one goes home to dress.

If the traveler chooses, he may find many an amusing drive in the
native parts of the town. Tall Sikhs, whose hair and beards have
never known scissors or razor, and who stride along with a swagger
and high-caste dignity; effeminate Cingalese; Hindoo clerks, smirking,
conceited and dandified too, according to their own notions; almost
naked palkee-bearers, who nevertheless, if there is the slightest
shower, put up an umbrella to protect their shaven crowns; up-country
girls with rings in their noses and rings on their toes; little
Bengalee beauties; Parsees, Chinese, Greeks, Jews and Armenians, in
every variety of costume, are to be seen bargaining on the quays,