ten soldiers will spread death and devastation in some peaceful
neighboring meadow, or ruthlessly loot some happy, pastoral melon-garden.
Let the Indian Government be warned in time and increase its army.

By nine o'clock the bicycle is threading its way among the moving throngs
on the pontoon bridge that spans the Hooghli between Howrah and Calcutta,
and half an hour later I am enjoying a refreshing bath in Cook's Adelphi
Hotel.

I have no hesitation in saying that, except for the heat, my tour down
the Grand Trunk Road of India has been the most enjoyable part of the
whole journey, thus far. What a delightful trip a-wheel it would be, to
be sure, were the temperature only milder!

My reception in Calcutta is very gratifying. A banquet by the Dalhousie
Athletic Club is set on foot the moment my arrival is announced. With
such enthusiasm do the members respond that the banquet takes place the
very next day, and over forty applicants for cards have to be refused for
want of room. For genuine, hearty hospitality, and thoroughness in
carrying out the interpretation of the term as understood in its real
home, the East, I unhesitatingly yield the palm to Anglo-Indians. Time
and again, on my ride through India, have I experienced Anglo-Indian
hospitality broad and generous as that of an Arab chief, enriched and
rendered more acceptable by a feast of good-fellowship as well as
creature considerations.

The City of Palaces is hardly to be seen at its best in September, for
the Viceregal Court is now at Simla, and with it all the government
officials and high life. Two months later and Calcutta is more brilliant,
in at least one particular, than any city in the world. Every evening in
"the season" there is a turn-out of splendid equipages on the bund road
known as the Strand, the like of which is not to be seen elsewhere, East
or West. It is the Rotten Row of Calcutta embellished with the
gorgeousness of India. Wealthy natives display their luxuriousness in
vying with one another and with the government officials in the splendor
of their carriages, horses, and liveries.

Mr. P, a gentleman long resident in Calcutta, and a prominent member of
the Dalhousie Club, drives me in his dog-cart to the famous Botanical
Gardens, whose wealth of unique vegetation, gathered from all quarters of
the world, would take volumes to do it justice should one attempt a
description. Its magnificent banyan is justly entitled to be called one
of