Barrackpore, the Viceroy's country place, is unquestionably a
pleasant spot, with its fine park and famous gardens. Like the
Maidan in Calcutta Barrackpore is a very fairly successful attempt
at reproducing England in Asia. With a little make-believe and a
determined attempt to ignore the grotesque outlines of a Hindoo
temple standing on the confines of the park, and the large humps
on the backs of the grazing cattle like the steam domes on railway
engines, it might be possible to imagine oneself at home, until
the illusion is shattered in quite another fashion. There is an
excellent eighteen-hole golf course in Barrackpore park, but when
you hear people talking of the second "brown" there can be no
doubt but that you are in Asia. A "green" would be a palpable
misnomer for the parched grass of an Indian dry season, still a
"brown" comes as a shock at first. The gardens merit their
reputation. There are innumerable ponds, or "tanks," of lotus and
water-lilies of every hue: scarlet, crimson, white, and pure sky-
blue, the latter an importation from Australia.
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