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Swinburne, T. R.

"A Holiday in the Happy Valley with Pen and Pencil"


Then it was I remembered that, at my host's suggestion, my bed had been
carried out into the shrubbery, and that I had fallen asleep, lulled by
the howling of the jackals and the rustle of the flying squirrels in the
gold mohur-tree overhead.
"Springing on to the cool, grassy carpet, and dressing quickly, to gain as
much time as possible before the rising of the hot October sun, I was soon
ready for breakfast, which Miss Macgregor and I had in the garden among
the parrots and the pigeons, and the dear little squirrels. We were ready
for the road before seven, and were soon trotting along between dusty
hedges of gaunt-fingered cactus, shaded here and there by neem trees and
peepuls."
"Our smart victoria was lent by a Rajput friend of Sir Swinton's, and he
had also sent us his private secretary as guide and escort--a very thin
young man in a black sateen coat and gay-flowered waistcoat."
"Through the pink-stuccoed streets of Jaipur we threaded our way--slowly,
on account of the holy pigeons breakfasting in thousands on the road, and
the sacred bulls, who barely deigned to move aside to let us pass."
"It appears to be the custom, when a man dies, for his relatives to let
loose a bull _in memoriam_, and the happy beast forthwith sets out to live
a life of sloth and luxury. The city is his, and every green-grocer in it
is only too much honoured if the fastidious animal will condescend to make
free with his cabbages.


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