Excerpt: Except for those who, under compulsion of a sick certificate, are flying Bombaywards, it is good for every man to see some little of the great Indian Empire and the strange folk who move about it. It is good to escape for a time from the House of Rimmon?be it office or cutchery?and to go abroad under no more exacting master than personal inclination, and with no more definite plan of travel than has the horse, escaped from pasture, free upon the country side. The first result of such freedom is extreme bewilderment, and the second reduces the freed to a state of mind which, for his sins, must be the normal 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{8} time that an Englishman has come by sea and rail via America, Japan, Singapore, 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.
