This god is comfortably housed, and yet modestly, all things considered, for if he wanted to live in a palace he would only need to speak and his worshipers would gladly build it.  Sometimes he sees devotees for a moment, and comforts them and blesses them, and they kiss his feet and go away happy.  Rank is nothing to him, he being a god.  To him all men are alike.  He sees whom he pleases and denies himself to whom he pleases.  Sometimes he sees a prince and denies himself to a pauper; at other times he receives the pauper and turns the prince away.  However, he does not receive many of either class.  He has to husband his time for his meditations.  I think he would receive Rev. Mr. Parker at any time.  I think he is sorry for Mr. Parker, and I think Mr. Parker is sorry for him; and no doubt this compassion is good for both of them.

When we arrived we had to stand around in the garden a little while and wait, and the outlook was not good, for he had been turning away Maharajas that day and receiving only the riff-raff, and we belonged in between, somewhere.  But presently, a servant came out saying it was all right, he was coming.

And sure enough, he came, and I saw him—­that object of the worship of millions.  It was a strange sensation, and thrilling.  I wish I could feel it stream through my veins again.  And yet, to me he was not a god, he was only a Taj.  The thrill was not my thrill, but had come to me secondhand from those invisible millions of believers.  By a hand-shake with their god I had ground-circuited their wire and got their monster battery’s whole charge.

He was tall and slender, indeed emaciated.  He had a clean cut and conspicuously intellectual face, and a deep and kindly eye.  He looked many years older than he really was, but much study and meditation and fasting and prayer, with the arid life he had led as hermit and beggar, could account for that.  He is wholly nude when he receives natives, of whatever rank they may be, but he had white cloth around his loins now, a concession to Mr. Parker’s Europe prejudices, no doubt.

As soon as I had sobered down a little we got along very well together, and I found him a most pleasant and friendly deity.  He had heard a deal about Chicago, and showed a quite remarkable interest in it, for a god.  It all came of the World’s Fair and the Congress of Religions.  If India knows about nothing else American, she knows about those, and will keep them in mind one while.

He proposed an exchange of autographs, a delicate attention which made me believe in him, but I had been having my doubts before.  He wrote his in his book, and I have a reverent regard for that book, though the words run from right to left, and so I can’t read it.  It was a mistake to print in that way.  It contains his voluminous comments on the Hindoo holy writings, and if I could make them out I would try for perfection myself.  I gave him a copy of Huckleberry Finn.  I thought it might rest him up a little to mix it in along with his meditations on Brahma, for he looked tired, and I knew that if it didn’t do him any good it wouldn’t do him any harm.