[4] Body-servants.

[5] A salutation of particular respect and well-wishing.

[6] Waistband.

[7] Destiny, fortune.

[8] A table-servant.

[9] A spiritual teacher.

[10] Writer, clerk.

[11] Banker, merchant in foreign trade.

[12] The fourth caste—­originally laborers.

[13] A native gentleman, of wealth, education, and influence.

[14] Hostler and footman.

[15] Washerman.

[16] Sweeper.

[17] Lit. Fan-fellow.

[18] “Good!  Bring the Europe-water,”—­Bengali for soda-water.

[19] Showmen and puppet-dancers.

[20] Little shells, used as coins by the poorest people to make the smallest change.

[21] Text.

[22] Dined.

[23] Pig, sot, and jungle-animal.

[24] “God grant the lady a substantial liver!”—­“the happiness and honors which should follow upon the birth of a male child being figuratively comprehended in that liberality of the liver whence comes the good digestion for which alone life is worth the living.”—­Child-Life by the Ganges.

* * * * *

A FRIEND.

    A friend!—­It seems a simple boon to crave,—­
          An easy thing to have. 
    Yet our world differs somewhat from the days
          Of the romancer’s lays. 
    A friend?  Why, all are friends in Christian lands. 
          We smile and clasp the hands
    With merry fellows o’er cigars and wine. 
          We breakfast, walk, and dine
    With social men and women.  Yes, we are friends;—­
          And there the music ends! 
    No close heart-heats,—­a cool sweet ice-cream feast,—­
          Mild thaws, to say the least;—­
    The faint, slant smile of winter afternoons;—­
          The inconstant moods of moons,
    Sometimes too late, sometimes too early rising,—­
          But for a night sufficing,
    Showing a half-face, clouded, shy, and null,—­
          Once in a month at full,—­
    Lending to-night what from the sun they borrow,
          Quenched in his light to-morrow. 
    If thou’rt my friend, show me the life that sleeps
          Down in thy spirit’s deeps. 
    Give all thy heart, the thought within thy thought. 
          Nay, I’ve already caught
    Its meaning in thine eyes, thy tones.  What need
          Of words?  Flowers keep their seed. 
    I love thee ere thou tellest me “I love.” 
          We both are raised above
    The ball-room puppets with their varnished faces,
          Whispering dead commonplaces,
    Doing their best to dress their lifeless thought
          In tinselled phrase worth naught;
    Or at the best, throwing a passing spark
          Like fire-flies in the dark;—­
    Not the continuous lamp-light