course, ray sword and revolver. The enemy
had been driven entirely out of the bazaar,
and for several hundred yards, almost up to
the cross-roads leading to the Chadnee Chok,
was our own. The sights which struck the
eye on every side were worse, if possible,
than the noisome stench. Now, you passed
the shop of a bunya, or native shopkeeper:
his dead figure, perhaps, stretched across his
own threshold: beside him the corpse of his
son: strewed around, and scattered in every
direction, his various stores—grain, atta,
dal—the white flour blackened with dried or
drying blood, his books still open, his papers
just written, and his accounts filed, just as
the owner left them, when he himself was
called to his last account. As you stand at
the door, out sneaks some miserable camp-
follower trying to conceal in his kapra the
wretched plunder he has pillaged from the
dead; you make him drop his bundle, kick
him, and pass on. Similar scenes continually
strike you, varied, indeed, in the minutiae, but
with the same strongly-marked features—
death, destruction, and avarice.

I sickened of the scene, and moodily
strolled on, lighting a wholesome weed as
some slight antidote to the pestilential
effluvia. I had walked for some time, and,
without perceiving it, had diverged from the
direct line of street into one of the numerous
alleys which intersect the town in every
direction, when, on a sudden, I seemed to
awaken to a sense of danger, and almost
started when I found myself perfectly alone
in a small, gloomy street—on the right a
high dead-wall, on the left a line of houses,
lofty, sombre, turreted, balconied, and castellated.
I was close to a huge gateway, when
I detected a movement behind one of the
wooden gates, which was open and folded
back; a moment's delay might be death.
I drew my sword and cocked my revolver.
An old Mussulman tottered out; and, falling
at my feet, clasped me round the legs, and
begged for mercy. I questioned him as to
who he was? what he was doing? to whom
the house belonged? et cetera. For some
minutes he could not articulate for fear;
but, as soon as he saw that I had no intention
of hurting him, his instincts returned,
and he commenced lying with great
volubility; so, catching him by the arm, and
holding my pistol to his forehead, I desired
him to show me over the house, clearly
explaining to him that, whatever happened to
myself, if he led me into any trap, I would
blow his brains out.

Passing in through the gateway, we
entered a small quadrangle, with a fountain
in the centre, and shrubs planted round
with considerable taste. Crossing this, we
reached an arched doorway, which led us
along a narrow passage to the foot of a
handsome staircase. This we mounted and
reached a spacious landing-place, or hall,
showing several doors at various distances in
the wall. My guide here seemed to hesitate,
but I pushed him forward towards the
largest door, whispering something into his
ear, which, coupled with the cold muzzle of
the revolver—which I kept cocked and
pressed to his forehead—seemed an effective
inducement to action. He opened the door
with a key at his girdle, and we passed into
a vast room splendidly furnished, evidently
the resilience of some very wealthy nawab
or Mussulman prince. From this room we
passed into another, and so on till we had
made the complete circuit of the house,
which was all furnished in the same style
and with the greatest extravagance. I was
beginning to recal to mind the Arabian
Nights and Persian Tales, and to wonder
whether my old conductor would vanish in a
flame, or melt into air, when I was recalled
to this sublunary world by the opening of a
door at the end of a corridor directly facing
me. There was just time to catch a glimpse
of a woman, veiled from head to foot, to hear
a scream, and the light sound of her retreating
footsteps, before the door was slammed
again, with violence and locked and chained
from the inside. I was alarmed. The
nawab, or sheik, and his whole family had
taken refuge in the zenana, or women's
apartments, and would only wait to make
sure there were no men with me below, to
sally out and attack me. I could not suppose
that a native lady would have been left with
no other guardian than the feeble old wretch
who still trembled in my grasp.

We proceeded together to the door of the
zenana, and, after some expostulation from
within, were admitted, passing through two
or three passages, and crossing once or twice
the roofs of houses. We at length reached
an apartment where three old women were
spinning, and a fourth lay on a bed crying
passionately. The room might have been called
the Temple of Luxury. Large, lofty, and
with arched ceilings, the upper walls were
covered with illuminative designs; round the
room, for about the height of six feet, a kind
of padded wainscoating of yellow silk was
fastened, so as to form an easy back for the
lounger sitting on Turkish cushions, while
rich carpets covered the floor. Opening from
either side of the apartment were the gussul-
khana, or bathing-rooms; the ab-khana, or
water-rooms; the buruf-khana, or ice-house;
the baberchi-khana, or kitchens; all fitted
up in the most splendid manner with all the
apparatus of luxury. Round the room were
ranged atta-dans, or perfume-boxes; pan-
dans, or pawn boxes; and peek-dans, or
spittoons; of solid silver. Two hookas—one
lighted and ready for use—literally covered
with gold, turquoise, and emerald caught my
sight; and two small gold lamps, studded
with alternate diamonds and rubies, and
inscribed with verses from the Koran, gave out
a strong perfume and a bright light, in front
of an enormous mirror which occupied one