The Etchingham Letters

ther like the too famous retreat of Colonel Monson: Chore par haudah, hathi par zin?in English, adapted to the circumstances, "Dogs in cages, and dicky-birds in muzzles." However, there you are, and still the best of correspondents, though I no longer have to rely on you for home news. We used to dream of being together when India had no more use for me; instead of which we find ourselves comparing notes on settling down in different places. It is good to be here in English country, among bright English faces, hearing the rich Western talk. And yet there is a kind of Asiatic home-sickness with it. One does miss the cheerful brown babies (clear, lustrous bronze, not the muddy tint that comes of mixing negro and white), and the coppersmith with prehensiletoes who sits hammering in his open shop-front, while a small boy next door is making his first copy of bold square N'agari letters in an equally open manner, and quite unmoved by the noise. And I am sorry to think that I rnay not expect to see my old friend Ram Singh again. I have told you of him?a poor gentleman with nothing in the world but his bit of land and his grandfather's tulwar, which he carries tucked under his arm, according to the privilege of Native States. And he will look any one, from the Viceroy downwards, straight in the eyes, and talk to him with the most perfect manners, knowing what he owes to himself as a Rajput of ancient family, and assuming that the Englishman knows it?as, if he is worth... --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.