afraid
The fond parents have lost the prescription,
And I murmured; "No doubt, the old breed has died out,
At least such is my honest conviction."

In the horrible slums which form the foul homes
Of the rag-covered dames of the city,
I saw wrinkled hags, all wrapped in old rags,
Whose appearance excited but pity.
Beyond question the word which it would be absurd
To apply to these ladies is "pretty."

In the high Gujar huts were but brats and old sluts,
These last being the plainest of women;
Then I sought on the waters the sisters and daughters
Of the Mangis--those "bold, able seamen"
(I have often been told that the Mangi is bold,
And as brave as at least two or three men).

One lady I saw--I am told her papa
In the market did forage and "gram" sell--
Decked all over with rings, necklets, bangles and things,
She appeared a desirable damsel;
And I cried "Oh, Eureka! I've found what I seek:
Tell me quick--Is she 'madam' or 'ma'mselle'?"

It was comical, but to this question I put--
A remarkably innocent query--
I received but a sigh or evasive reply,
Or a blush from the modest Kashmiri;
And I gathered at last that the lady was "fast,"
And her name should be Phryne, not Here.

Toddled up a small tot--her hair tied in a knot--
Who remarked, "I can hardly consider
You've the ghost of a chance on this wild-goosie dance
Unless you should hap on a 'widder!'
For our maidens at ten--ay, and less now and then--
Are all booked to the wealthiest bidder."

"My dear man, it's no use to indulge in abuse
Of our customs, so be not enraged, sir--
No woman a maid is--we're all married ladies.
Our charms very early are caged, sir--
I'm eleven myself," remarked the small elf,
"And a year ago I was engaged, sir!"

Ah, well! The country is the loveliest I ever saw, and that goes far to
make up for its disgusting population.

Here, indeed, it is that

"Every prospect pleases, and only man is vile."

We stopped to look at the ruins of an ancient mosque, built in the days of
Akbar by the Shiahs. Its remains may be deeply interesting to the
archaeologist, but to me a neighbouring ziarat, wooden, with its grassy
roof one blaze of scarlet tulips, was far more attractive. Moving homeward,
we floated under a lovely old bridge, whose three rose-toned arches date
from the sixteenth century--the age of the Great