village, uttered a scream of joy, for by the cloud of dust which she beheld rising on the plain she knew her daughter was advancing to the rescue. On turning round, the soldiers beheld the amazon mounted on a fiery war-horse, with her bow and quiver by her side. She now raised her stentorian voice, and commanded them as they valued their lives to release their prisoners, and carry back whatever they had taken to the village, in which case she would spare them. But they regarded her menaces no more than they had those of her mother. When three or four of the party, however, had felt the point of her arrows in their heart, and were stretched upon the earth, they began to be a little more alarmed, and had recourse to their own bows. But all their arrows fell short of the mark, while her powerful bow and arm sent every weapon home, so that she quickly despatched the greater number of her enemies, and having dispersed and terrified the remainder, rushed upon them sabre in hand, and hewed them to pieces. During the number of years which Bernier spent in Hindostan in a position peculiarly favourable to observation, he possessed ample leisure for correcting and maturing his opinions. His views, therefore, are entitled to the highest respect, the more especially as no trait of gasconading is visible in his character, and no touch of rhetorical flourishing in his style. His countrymen, in general, assuming Paris as the standard of whatever is noble or beautiful in architecture, describe every thing which differs from their type as inferior; but Bernier, whom philosophy had delivered from this paltry nationality, without depreciating the capital of his own country, observes, that whatever might be its beauties, they would be but so many defects could the city be transported to the plains of Hindostan, the climate requiring other modes of building, and different arrangements. Delhi was, in fact, a magnificent city in his times. Whatever Asia could furnish of barbaric pomp or gorgeous show was there collected together, and disposed with as much taste as Mongol or Persian art could give birth to. Domes of vast circumference and fantastic swell crowned the summits of the mosques, and towered aloft above the other structures of the city; palaces, cool, airy, grotesque, with twisted pillars, balustrades of silver, and roofs of fretted gold; elephants moving their awkward and cumbrous bulk to and fro, disguised in glittering housings, and surmounted with golden houdahs; and gardens, shaded and perfumed by all the most splendid trees and sweetest flowers of Asia: such were the principal features of Delhi.