princely a scale as the Maharajah. It was distinctly an invitation to
be treasured--and gratefully accepted.

The five-hundred-mile journey between Calcutta and Cooch Behar was
unquestionably a varied one. There were four hours' train on the
broad-gauge railway, an hour's steamer to cross the Ganges, ten hours'
train on a narrow-gauge railway, three hours' propelling by poles in a
native house-boat down a branch of the Brahmaputra, six miles of swamp
to traverse on elephants, thirty miles to travel on the Maharajah's
private two-and-a-half-feet-gauge toy railway, and, to conclude with,
a twenty-five-mile drive.

Cooch Behar is now, I believe, directly linked up with Calcutta by
rail.

We left Calcutta a party of four. My nephew, General Sir Henry
Streatfeild, and his wife, another of the Viceroy's aides-de-camp,
myself, and a certain genial Calcutta business magnate, most popular
of Anglo-Indians. As we had a connection to catch at a junction on the
narrow-gauge railway, an interminable wait at a big station in the
early morning was disconcerting, for the connection would probably be
missed. The jovial, burly Englishman occupied the second
sleeping-berth in my compartment. As the delay lengthened, he, having
some official connection with the East Bengal State Railway, jumped
out of bed and went on to the platform in Anglo-Indian fashion, clad
merely in pyjamas and slippers. Approaching the immensely pompous
native station-master he upbraided him in no measured terms for the
long halt. Through the window I could hear every word of their
dialogue. "This delay is perfectly scandalous, station-master. I shall
certainly report it in Calcutta." "Would you care, sir, to enter