The ex-M.P. possibly reflects now on the
difficulties with which any attempts to introduce "Pussyfoot"
legislation into India would be confronted in a land where some
trees produce red wine spontaneously.
On another occasion I was going by sea from Calcutta to Ceylon. On
board the steamer there were a number of Americans, principally
ladies, connected, I think, with some missionary undertaking. When
we got within about a hundred miles of Ceylon, these American
ladies all began repeating to each other the verse of the well-
known hymn:
"What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle,"
over and over again, until I loathed Bishop Heber for having
written the lines. They even asked the captain how far out to sea
the spicy breezes would be perceptible. I suddenly got an idea,
and, going below, I obtained from the steward half a dozen nutmegs
and a handful of cinnamon. I grated the nutmegs and pounded the
cinnamon up, and then, with one hand full of each, I went on deck,
and walked slowly up and down in front of the American tourists.
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