hitched anywhere, and I did most firmly decline to fly in the face of Providence for five shillings in the basket of a captive balloon.
The Indian street is constructed with cleverness, but gives a very, very inadequate idea of the principal Calcutta thoroughfares; moreover, to cultivated Indian intellects, the fuss made by English ladies over native artisans and mechanics of rather so-so abilities and appearance seems a little ludicrous!
After dining, we witnessed the Historical Spectacle of India in the Empress Theatre, and Miss Wee-Wee made the criticism that the fall of Somnath was accomplished with a too great facility, since its so-called defenders did lie down with perfect tameness and counterfeit death immediately the army of Sultan Mahmud galloped their horses through the gateway.
But this appeared to me rather a typical and prudent exercise of their discretion.
It seems—though (in spite of extensive historical researches) I was in previous ignorance of the fact—that Sultan Mahmud, the Great Mogul Akbar, and Sivaji, the Mahratta Chief, were each taken in tow and personally conducted by a trio of Divine Guides, respectively named Love, Mercy and Wisdom, who came forward whenever nothing of consequence was transpiring, and sang with the melodiousness of Paradisiacal fowls.
As for the representation of the Hindu Para-
