al portion
of the Globe-trotter--the man who "does" kingdoms in days and writes
books upon them in weeks. And this desperate facility is not as strange
as it seems. By the time that an Englishman has come by sea and rail
_via_ America, Japan, Singapur, and Ceylon, to India, he can--these eyes
have seen him do so--master in five minutes the intricacies of the
_Indian Bradshaw_, and tell an old resident exactly how and where the
trains run. Can we wonder that the intoxication of success in hasty
assimilation should make him overbold, and that he should try to
grasp--but a full account of the insolent Globe-trotter must be
reserved. He is worthy of a book. Given absolute freedom for a month,
the mind, as I have said, fails to take in the situation and, after much
debate, contents itself with following in old and well-beaten
ways--paths that we in India have no time to tread, but must leave to
the country cousin who wears his _pagri_ tail-fashion down his back, and
says "cabman" to the driver of the _ticca-ghari_.

Now, Jeypore from the Anglo-Indian point of view is a station on the
Rajputana-Malwa line, on the way to Bombay, where half an hour is
allowed for dinner, and where there ought to be more protection from the
sun than at present exists. Some few, more learned than the rest, know
that garnets come from Jeypore, and here the limits of our wisdom are
set. We do not, to quote the Calcutta shopkeeper, come out "for the good
of our 'ealth," and what touring we accomplish is for the most part off
the line of rail.

For these reasons, and because he wished to study our winter birds of
passage, one of the few thousand Englishmen in India on a date and in a
place which have no concern with the story, sacrificed all his
self-respect and became--at enormous personal inconvenience--a
Globe-trotter going to Jeypore, and leaving behind him for a little
while all that old and well-known life in which Commissioners and
Deputy-Commissioners, Governors and Lieutenant-Governors, Aides-de-camp,
Colonels and their wives, Majors, Captains, and Subalterns after their
kind move and rule and govern and squabble and fight and sell each
other's horses and tell wicked stories of their neighbours. But before
he had fully settled into his part or accustomed himself to saying,
"Please take out this luggage," to the coolies at the stations, he saw
from the train the Taj wrapped in the mists of the morning.

There is a story of a Frenchman who