t night when he started
to pack my various belongings; the way he sat down on his heels beside
each box and went through the work showed if not strength, its
equivalent in agility, and a method entirely his own. He told me, "Yes,
Sa, I do same whole camp one night, saddles, horses, bridles, whole lot
camp outfit while you sleep." He has been butler to two distinguished
generals, so I feel it must be rather a drop for him to valet a mere
cold-weather tourist, but he does not show it, which is a point in his
favour. It was a little awkward though the other day when he began to
beat up to find my profession; I forget what he said exactly. It was
something like, "Sahib General?" and I said, "No, no," as if Generals
were rather small fry in my estimation, and racked my brains how to
index myself. I've read you must "buck" in the East--isn't that the
expression?--so a happy inspiration came, and I said with solemnity, "I
am a J.P.,--a Justice of the Peace, you understand?" and I could see he
was greatly relieved, for unless you have some official position in
India you are no one. He went on packing perfectly satisfied, murmuring,
"Yes Sahib, I know, Sahib Lord Chief Justice, I know." Ought I to have
corrected him? Ought I to have told him seriously that I am an
artist!--a professional painter from choice, and necessity? He would
have left my ignoble service on the spot; why, even in Britain, Art is
reckoned after the Church, and in Belgium, though respectable, it is
still only a trade--Peter Paul notwithstanding.

After two or three hours in the train through this sunlit country, we
conclude it is worth coming to see; for the last hours have unfolded the
most interesting show that I have ever seen from a train in the time.
Outside all is new, and inside the train much is familiar; some English
people near us sit with their backs to the window and take no notice of
the outside world. What high head notes they speak with, and what
familiar ground they go over. "Oh! you know Bown, do you--such a good
fellah--good thot, I mean--went mad about golf--such a good gaime, you
know--what I mean is--you know it's," etc. Quite "good people" too,
probably keen on ridin' and shootin' though they may never have shot a
foxth or a goo'th, or have even seen a golden eagle. But they seem
almost happy, in a jog trot sort of a way, along the old trail--the
Midlands to Indiar, and Indiar to the Midlands, with bwidge between.

We swing round a cur