If my imagined lunch-parties in Westminster and the tomb of Washington should take place, the incident would cause a vast outbreak of bitter eloquence about Barbarism and Irreverence; and it would come from two sets of people who would go next day and dance in the Taj if they had a chance.

As we took our leave of the Benares god and started away we noticed a group of natives waiting respectfully just within the gate—­a Rajah from somewhere in India, and some people of lesser consequence.  The god beckoned them to come, and as we passed out the Rajah was kneeling and reverently kissing his sacred feet.

If Barnum—­but Barnum’s ambitions are at rest.  This god will remain in the holy peace and seclusion of his garden, undisturbed.  Barnum could not have gotten him, anyway.  Still, he would have found a substitute that would answer.

CHAPTER LIV.

Do not undervalue the headache.  While it is at its sharpest it seems a bad investment; but when relief begins, the unexpired remainder is worth $4 a minute. 
                                  —­Pudd’nhead Wilson’s New Calendar.

A comfortable railway journey of seventeen and a half hours brought us to the capital of India, which is likewise the capital of Bengal—­Calcutta.  Like Bombay, it has a population of nearly a million natives and a small gathering of white people.  It is a huge city and fine, and is called the City of Palaces.  It is rich in historical memories; rich in British achievement—­military, political, commercial; rich in the results of the miracles done by that brace of mighty magicians, Clive and Hastings.  And has a cloud kissing monument to one Ochterlony.

It is a fluted candlestick 250 feet high.  This lingam is the only large monument in Calcutta, I believe.  It is a fine ornament, and will keep Ochterlony in mind.

Wherever you are, in Calcutta, and for miles around, you can see it; and always when you see it you think of Ochterlony.  And so there is not an hour in the day that you do not think of Ochterlony and wonder who he was.  It is good that Clive cannot come back, for he would think it was for Plassey; and then that great spirit would be wounded when the revelation came that it was not.  Clive would find out that it was for Ochterlony; and he would think Ochterlony was a battle.  And he would think it was a great one, too, and he would say, “With three thousand I whipped sixty thousand and founded the Empire—­and there is no monument; this other soldier must have whipped a billion with a dozen and saved the world.”