how sonorous the murmur of the ice-cool water in thy depths!  Oh, world enchantress! oh, soother of the fatigues of man, employer of the idle, comforter of the henpecked husband’s heart, encourager of timid dependents, who can know thy glory!  Soother of the sorrowing! thou givest courage to the timid, intellect to the stupid, peace to the angry!  Oh, bestower of blessings, giver of all happiness, appear in undiminished power in my room!  Let your sweet scent increase daily, let your cool waters continue to rumble in your depths, let your mouthpiece ever be glued to my lips!

Pleasure-loving Debendra enjoyed the favour of this great goddess as long as he would, but yet he was not satisfied; he proceeded to worship another great power.  In the hand of his servant was displayed a number of straw-covered bottles.  Then on that white, soft, spacious bed, a gold-coloured mat being laid, a spirit-stand was placed thereon, and the sunset-coloured liquid goddess poured into the power-giving decanter.  A cut-glass tumbler and plated jug served as utensils for worship.  From the kitchen a black, ugly priest came, bearing hot dishes of roast mutton and cutlets to take the place of the sacred flowers.  Then Debendra, as a devoted worshipper, sat down to perform the rites.

Then came a troop of singers and musicians, and concluded the ceremonies with their music and songs.

At length a young man of about Debendra’s age, of a placid countenance, came and sat with him.  This was his cousin, Surendra.  Surendra was in every respect the opposite of Debendra, yet the latter was much attached to his cousin; he heeded no one in the world but him.  Every night Surendra came to see him, but, fearing the wine, he would only sit a few minutes.

When all were gone, Surendra asked Debendra, “How are you to-day?”

“The body,” replied Debendra, “is the temple of disease.”

“Yours is, especially,” said his cousin, “Have you fever to-day?”

“No.”

“Is your liver out of order?”

“It is as before.”

“Would it not be better to refrain from these excesses?”

“What, drinking?  How often will you speak of that?  Wine is my constant companion,” said Debendra.

“But why should it be?” replied Surendra.  “Wine was not born with you; you can’t take it away with you.  Many give it up, why should not you do so?”

“What have I to gain by giving it up?  Those who do so have some happiness in prospect, and therefore give it up.  For me there is no happiness.”

“Then to save your life give it up.”

“Those to whom life brings happiness may give up wine; but what have I to gain by living?”

Surendra’s eyes filled with tears.  Full of love for his friend, he urged: 

“Then for my sake give it up.”

Tears came into the eyes of Debendra as he said:  “No one but yourself urges me to walk in virtuous paths.  If I ever do give it up it will be for your sake, and—­”