lin mantle,
the large red fan waving gently to and fro, the feet unmoving, but the
undulating motions of the body and the tremor of the limbs sufficing to
jingle the tiny ankle-bells. On the whole, the Nautch dance would be
disappointing to most people witnessing it; its fame leads one to expect
more than it really amounts to.

Before starting back to Delhi, I take a stroll through the adjacent
village of Kootub, a place named after the minar, I suppose. The crooked
main street of the village of Kootub itself presents to-day a scene of
gayety and confusion that beggars description. Bunting floats gayly from
every window and balcony, in honor of the festival, and is strung across
the street from house to house. Thousands of globular colored lanterns
are hanging about, ready to be lighted up at night. The streets are
thronged with people in the gayest of costumes, and with vehicles the
gilt and paint and glitter of which equal the glittering wagons and
chariots of a circus parade at home.

The balconies above the shops are curtained with blue gauze, behind which
are seen numbers of ladies, chatting, eating fruits and sweetmeats, and
peeping down through the semi-transparent screens upon the animated scene
in the streets. On the stalls, choice edibles are piled up by the bushel,
and busy venders are hawking fruits, sweets, toddy, and all imaginable
refreshments about among the crowds. Vacant lots are occupied by the
tents of visiting peasants, and in out-of-the-way corners acrobatics,
jugglery, and Nautch-dancing attract curious crowds.

The incoming tide of human life is at its flood as I start back to Delhi
by the same road I came. Here one gets a glimpse of the real gorgeousness
of India without seeking for it at the pageants of princes and rajahs.
Small zemindars from outlying villages are bringing their wives and
daughters to the festivities at the Kootub in circusy-looking
bullock-chariots covered with gilt and carvings, and draped and twined
with parti-colored ribbons. Some of these gaudy turn-outs are drawn by
richly caparisoned, milk-white oxen, with gilded horns. Cymbals and
sleigh-bells galore keep up a merry jingle, and tom-toming parties make
their noisy presence known all along the line.

Still more gorgeous and interesting than the gilded ox-gharries of the
ordinary zemindars are miniature chariots drawn by pairs of well-matched,
undersized oxen covered with richly spangled trappings, and with horns
curi