. Our troubles in Poona and the Deccan by Arthur Crawford. With numerous illus. by Horace Van Ruith . nd weekly journals, the local ? Pottses and Slagges{vide Pickwick) of the Deccan. A handsome young Brahminof the highest caste is seen descending carefully from aricketty pony-shigram, the growler of the city ofthe Peishwas. His clean-cut features, his arched blackeyebrows, with small, well-waxed moustache to match—hisforehead clean shaven (the holy caste-mark fresh as paintin the centre above his nose) surmounting a pair of smallgreen-grey eyes, with intelligence and craft in everyglance—a va
. Our troubles in Poona and the Deccan by Arthur Crawford. With numerous illus. by Horace Van Ruith . nd weekly journals, the local ? Pottses and Slagges{vide Pickwick) of the Deccan. A handsome young Brahminof the highest caste is seen descending carefully from aricketty pony-shigram, the growler of the city ofthe Peishwas. His clean-cut features, his arched blackeyebrows, with small, well-waxed moustache to match—hisforehead clean shaven (the holy caste-mark fresh as paintin the centre above his nose) surmounting a pair of smallgreen-grey eyes, with intelligence and craft in everyglance—a valuable pearl in the lobe of each ear—his head-gear a handsome but somewhat large turban of soft grass-green material of many folds, its kincob fringe modestlypeeping out at the curved peak—a valuable cashmere shawlof the same hue, folded carefully, but seemingly worncarelessly, over his left shoulder—a white calico jacket,wrinkled and extremely tight from elbow to wrist—hisdhotur made of delicate salmon-pink muslin, with broadphylactery gracefully folded, forming, as it were, richly. :z; oo !^ HW oi H> H< o Herf Or? i I % -^ ^^ Q tqH Vl/ O« o erf Ou t/3 X u O A THING OF BEAUTY IS A JOY FOR EVER. 85 broidered Zouave-like knickerbockers (if one may dareso to call them), descending to the knees and passingdeftly between his legs, brought tightly round his waist,and again tucked in (Again ! Maf kara Maharaj! —Forgiveme, my Lord!) so as to end in a broad flat terminal, decentlyfalling in front. Below the knees—alas! below the knees!—this decidedly picturesque bravery terminates in long, white,cotton stockings, baggy, wrinkled and ill-fitting by reasonof the wearers somewhat deficient calves—the great climaxbeing reached by splay feet plunged (I can find no fitterterm) into patent leather ankle jacks with elastic sides, ofwhich the tags protruding offensively behind. Surely this is some great chief incog. ? No, my his full title—Rao Saheb [se
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