would face the public streets in such pan-Indian garb.

Every Sunday my brother would get up a _Shikar_ party. Many of those who
joined in it, uninvited, we did not even know. There was a carpenter, a
smith and others from all ranks of society. Bloodshed was the only thing
lacking in this _shikar_, at least I cannot recall any. Its other
appendages were so abundant and satisfying that we felt the absence of
dead or wounded game to be a trifling circumstance of no account. As we
were out from early morning, my sister-in-law furnished us with a
plentiful supply of _luchis_ with appropriate accompaniments; and as
these did not depend upon the fortunes of our chase we never had to
return empty.

The neighbourhood of Maniktola is not wanting in Villa-gardens. We would
turn into any one of these at the end, and high-and low-born alike,
seated on the bathing platform of a tank, would fling ourselves on the
_luchis_ in right good earnest, all that was left of them being the
vessels they were brought in.

Braja Babu was one of the most enthusiastic of these blood-thirstless
_shikaris_. He was the Superintendent of the Metropolitan Institution
and had also been our private tutor for a time. One day he had the happy
idea of accosting the _mali_ (gardener) of a villa-garden into which we
had thus trespassed with: "Hallo, has uncle been here lately!" The
_mali_ lost no time in saluting him respectfully before he replied: "No,
Sir, the master hasn't been lately." "All right, get us some green
cocoanuts off the trees." We had a fine drink after our _luchis_ that
day.

A Zamindar in a small way was among our party. He owned a villa on the
river side. One day we had a picnic there together, in defiance of caste
rules. In the afternoon there was a tremendous storm. We stood on the
river-side stairs leading into the water and shouted out songs to its
accompaniment. I cannot truthfully assert that all the seven notes of
the scale could properly be distinguished in Rajnarain Babu's singing,
nevertheless he sent forth his voice and, as in the old Sanskrit works
the text is drowned by the notes, so in Rajnarain Babu's musical efforts
the vigorous play of his limbs and features overwhelmed his feebler
vocal performance; his head swung from side to side marking time, while
the storm played havoc with his flowing beard. It was late in the night
when we turned homewards in a hackney carriage. By that time the storm
clouds had dispersed and th