with everything the heart of syce can desire, and he goes away
seemingly happy, and commences work at once, hissing like twenty
biscobras as he throws himself against the horse, and works his arms
from wrist to elbow into its ribs. It looks as if it would like to
turn round and take a small piece out of his hinder parts with its
teeth, but its nose is tied up to the roof of the stable, and its
hind feet are pulled out and tied to a peg behind it, so that it can
only writhe and cultivate that amiable temper which characterizes so
many horses in this country. And the syce is happy; but his
happiness needs constant sustenance. Next morning he is at the door
with a request for an anna to buy oil. Horses in this country cannot
sleep without a night-light. They are afraid of rats, I suppose,
like ladies. However, it is a small demand; all the syce's demands
are small, so are mosquitoes. Next day he again wants an anna for
oil, but this has nothing to do with the other. Yesterday's was one
sort of oil for burning, this is another sort of oil for cleaning the
bits. To-morrow he will require a third sort of oil for softening
the leather nose-bag, and the oils of the country will not be
exhausted then. Among the varied street-cries of Bombay, the "I-
scream" man, the tala-chavee-walla, the botlee-walla, the vendors of
greasy sweetmeats and bawlee-sugah, the legion of borahs, and that
abominable little imp who issues from the newspaper offices, and
walks the streets, yelling "Telleecram! tellee-c-r-a-a-m!" among them
all there is one voice so penetrating, and so awakening where it
penetrates, that--that I cannot find a fitting conclusion to this
sentence. Who of us has not started at that shrill squeal of pain,
"Nee-ee-ee-ttile!" The Ghorawalla watches for it, and stopping the
good-natured woman, brings her in and submits a request for a bottle
of neat's foot oil, for want of which your harness is going to
destruction. She has blacking as well as oil, but he will call her