st and most beautiful silks and ivory, and mingled with
them grocers' shops filled with tinned stuffs from England, and others
with every kind of modern utensil for a house. Such a mixture! They are
all heavily protected against the sun by awnings, for even at this early
hour of the morning it is strong. At the end of the street is a tall red
sandstone tower with a clock in it. In the distance we see the spire of
an English church, and down that opening we catch sight of a Mohammedan
mosque. The shop here beside us is a blaze of colour with Eastern
carpets hung out like banners; the native owner squats on a thing like a
wooden bedstead by his door and chews betel-nut, which makes his tongue
and lips a deep red. Next door is a vigorous agency for the sale of
sewing-machines! A Hindu religious fanatic, smeared with ashes and with
hardly any clothes to cover his lean body, walks ahead with eyes
unseeing, and at the same moment a smart motor-car stops beside us and
the voice of a high-bred English-woman says, "I will meet you at the
Effinghams in an hour," as she waves a greeting to her companions and
steps out.

[Illustration: A SHOP IN DELHI.]

Hullo! There is a band. Round the corner swings a company of Ghurkas,
the sturdy little men who helped England to overcome the mutineers. They
look very soldier-like in their neat holly-green uniforms, with small
round caps set at a jaunty angle on their cropped heads. They are hill
tribes from the north, and in appearance not unlike the Japanese. They
are all so much of one size you could run a ruler along their heads.
Their swinging stride would delight a soldier's heart, for it is like
clockwork in its precision. They are born soldiers, brave and easily
disciplined, devoted to their officers and without the knowledge of
fear. They have faults, of course. The Ghurka is apt to be rather a gay
dog; he gets drunk, and the girls he loves are many, but he is of the
right stuff, and his officers are proud of him.

I was talking to one of them as we came up the coast on the ship.

"Nothing like them anywhere else in the world," he said. "They take to
drill like their mother's milk, they thrive on it and discipline--the
slightest fault that might be overlooked elsewhere we punish severely.
They like it and live up to it. You could lead a Ghurka regiment
anywhere; fighting is their pastime. They have nothing in common with
the slothful races of Lower India; they are alert and vigorous