chaffering in the bazaars, loading and unloading the ships, trotting
along under their water-skins, driving their bullock-carts, smoking
their hookahs or squatting in the shade.

We have had the good fortune, thanks to our interest in native
manners and customs, to make the acquaintance of a Hindoo merchant,
a millionaire and a _bon vivant_, on whom his religion sits somewhat
lightly. We might, if we had not been otherwise engaged, have dined
with him this evening. He would have been delighted to receive us,
and would have treated us with abundant hospitality and kindness.
The dinner would have been of a composite character, partly European,
partly native. A sort of rissole of chicken would certainly have been
one of the dishes, and with equal certainty would have met with your
approval: the curry, too, would have satisfied you, even if you had
just come from Madras or Singapore. There would have been knives and
forks for us: our convives would not have made much use of the latter,
and some of the dishes on which they would have exercised their
fingers would hardly have tempted us. The champagne and claret are
excellent, and our host, Hindoo as he is, is not sparing in his
libations; and at the same time he and his countrymen would have been
vociferous in pressing us to eat and drink, filling our glasses the
moment they were empty, and heaping our plates with the choicest
morsels. After all, however, perhaps we have had no great loss in
missing the dinner. We shall enjoy the pleasant drive, and by being
a little late shall escape the not very delightful sound of various
stringed instruments being tuned. Arrived, we leave our horse and
buggy to the care of some most cutthroat-looking individuals, who
crowd round with much noise and gesticulation, wondering who and what
we are, while the noise brings out a sort of majordomo, who recognizes
us as friends of the master, and soon clears a way for us across the