for a
small great-nephew of mine, now a Lieut.-Colonel, and the father of a
family, then aged six. The child was very fearless, but the only
elephant he was allowed to approach was a venerable tusker named
"Warren Hastings," the very identical elephant on which Warren Hastings
made his first entry into Calcutta. "Warren" was supposed to be nearly
200 years old, and his temper could be absolutely relied on. It is
curious that natives, in speaking of a quiet, good-tempered animal,
always speak of him as "poor" (gharib). The little boy was perpetually
feeding Warren Hastings with oranges and bananas, and the two became
great friends. It was a pretty sight seeing the fearless small boy in
his white suit, bare legs, and little sun-helmet, standing in front of
the great beast who could have crushed him to a wafer in one second,
and ordering him in the vernacular, with his shrill child's voice, to
kneel. It was a more curious sight seeing the huge animal at once obey
his little mentor, and, struggling with the infirmities and rheumatic
joints of old age (to which, alas! others besides elephants are
subject), lower himself painfully on to his knees. "Salaam karo"
("Salute me"), piped the white child, and the great pachyderm instantly
obeyed, lifting his trunk high in salute; which, if you think it out,
may have a certain symbolism about it.

It was the same small boy who on returning to England at the age of
seven, after five years in India, looked out of the windows of the
carriage with immense interest, as they drove through London from
Charing Cross station. "Mother," he piped at length, "this is a very
odd country! All the natives seem to be white here."

My little great-nephew was immensely petted by the native servants, and
as he could speak the vernacular with greater ease than English, he
picked up from the servants the most appalling language, which he
innocently repeated, entailing his frequent chastisement.

I can sympathise with the child there, for at the age of nine, in
Dublin, I became seized with an intense but short-lived desire to
enlist as a trumpeter in a Lancer regiment. Seeing one day a real live,
if diminutive, Lancer trumpeter listening to the band playing in the
Castle yard, I ran down and consulted him as to the best means of
attaining my desire. The small trumpeter was not particularly
intelligent, and was unable to help me. Though of tender years, he was
regrettably lacking in refinement, for his