elets and gewgaws, are sold
to people almost infantile in their cheerfulness. Wedding processions
pass and repass with a frequency proving an active matrimonial market,
each led by joyous singers and drum-beaters.

[Illustration: A MATCHED PAIR OF BULLOCKS, JEYPORE]

An entrancing place is this seat of His Highness of Jeypore, and
compensating for the tedious railway journey from Delhi landing one at
the city's gates in the inky darkness of 4:30 in the morning. At his
hotel a visitor learns that a formal request must be made for permission
to inspect the Maharajah's palace and stables, and to go to the
abandoned capital of the state, Ambir, five miles away. You make
application through a deputy, usually the man-servant traveling with
you, and an hour later comes formal notification that His Highness
welcomes you to his capital, and that a state carriage will be sent for
your use, as well as a state elephant to carry you up the hills to
Ambir. This outburst of hospitality comes with a surprise and force that
almost sweeps one off his feet, and you have instant misgivings for
having troubled the august potentate at such an unreasonable morning
hour. Then your brain almost reels as you recall books that had dwelt
upon the limitless hospitality of Eastern princes, and you hope that His
Highness will not insist upon your dining with him--with your evening
dress and high hat awaiting you at a Bombay hotel a command to the
palace would, to say the least, be awkward.

But you are spared this inconvenience, probably because the Maharajah is
as familiar with deputed affairs as you are. Two gaudy chaprassis who
have brought the desired permits are His Highness's deputies, and from
them you learn that their master has been for a fortnight at Calcutta,
but is expected to return in a day or two. They come into your room and
assure you in fair English that they are detailed for your use as long
as you honor Jeypore with your benevolent presence. They wear curious
swords high under the left arm, and beautifully inlaid shields are
belted to their right arms--these trappings are badges of office, but
you wonder if they would sell them to be taken to America to become
conspicuous adornments of somebody's cosy corner.

A person with a fondness for simplicity, or possessing scruples against
kingly institutions, may escape the state carriage by despatching a firm
and prompt declination of the honor. But the chaprassis remain; and the
ele