Now, danger happily averted, His Highness has seldom reposed under the canopy of a sounder brain than at present.”  Another long pause, and the second invariable question:  “I trust that your Highness’ Army is in its usual efficient state?” The surly Rajah, “Khirr Virr.”  The native interpreter, “Without doubt His Highness’ Army has never yet been so efficient.  Should troubles arise, or a pretty kettle of fish unfortunately occur, His Highness places his entire Army at your Excellency’s disposal; as Swan of Avon says, ’Come the three corners of the world in arms, and we shall shock them.’” A third question, “I trust that the crops in your Highness’ dominion are satisfactory?” The Rajah, “Ghirrr Firrr.”  The interpreter, “Stimulated without doubt by your Excellency’s auspicious visit to neighbouring State, the soil in His Highness’ dominions has determined to beat record and to go regular mucker.  Crops tenfold ordinary capacity are springing from the ground everywhere.”  One has seen a conjurer produce half a roomful of paper flowers from a hat, or even from an even less promising receptacle, but no conjurer was in it with that interpreter, who from two sulky monosyllabic grunts evolved a perfect garland of choice Oriental flowers of speech.  It reminded me of the process known in newspaper offices as “expanding” a telegram.  When the customary number of formal questions have been put, the Viceroy makes a sign to his Military Secretary, who brings him a gold tray on which stand a little gold flask and a small box; the traditional “Attar and pan.”  The Viceroy sprinkles a few drops of attar of roses on the Rajah’s clothing from the gold flask, and hands him a piece of betel-nut wrapped in gold paper, known as “pan.”  This is the courteous Eastern fashion of saying “Now I bid you good-bye.”  The Military Secretary performs a like office to the members of the Rajah’s suite, who, however, have to content themselves with attar sprinkled from a silver bottle and “pans” wrapped in silver paper.  Then all the traditional requirements of Oriental politeness have been fulfilled, and the Rajah takes his leave with the same ceremonies as attended his arrival.  At the beginning of a Durbar “tribute” is presented—­that is to say that a folded napkin supposed to contain one thousand gold mohurs is handed to the Viceroy, who “touches it and remits it.”  I have often wondered what that folded napkin really contained.

When I first knew Calcutta, most of the grain, jute, hemp and indigo exported was carried to its various destinations in sailing-ships, and there were rows and rows of splendid full-rigged ships and barques lying moored in the Hooghly along the whole length of the Maidan.  The line must have extended for two miles, and I never tired of looking at these beautiful vessels with their graceful lines and huge spars, all clean and spick and span with green and white paint, the ubiquitous Calcutta crows perched in serried ranks on their yards.  To my mind a full-rigged