indow which can show him
nothing but a sodden plot planted with wearied-looking shrubs, he
has the key of that magic casement which opens on perilous seas in
fairylands forlorn. He will never do anything great in the world, he
will never lead a forlorn hope, or marry the Princess, or see far
lands; he will never be anything but a poor, shabby clerk, but he is
of such stuff as dreams are made of, and God has given to him His
fairyland.

No, I don't think a new environment changes people, and it is foolish
to think it makes them forget. Sometimes in the Eden Gardens at
sunset, when we draw up to listen to the band, I watch the faces of
the youths--Scots boys come out from Glasgow and Dundee--dreaming
there in the Indian twilight while the pipers play the tunes familiar
to them since childhood. They are sahibs out here, they have a horse
to ride and a servant to look after them, things they never would have
had had they stayed in Dundee or Glasgow, but though they are proud
they are lonely. What does grandeur matter if "the Quothquan folk"
can't see it? The peepul trees rustle softly overhead, the languorous
soft air laps them round, the scent of the East is in their nostrils,
but their eyes are with their hearts, and is this what they see? A
night of drizzling rain, a street of tall, dingy, grey houses, and a
boy, his day's work done, bounding upstairs three steps at a time to
a cosy kitchen where the tea is spread, where work-roughened hands at
his coming lift the brown teapot from the hob, and a kind mother's
voice welcomes him home at the end of the day....

Autolycus has knocked at the door to say "Master's come" (he likes to
be very European with me so doesn't call him Sahib), and I must go to
tea. To-morrow Boggley is taking the whole day off and we have got it
all planned out, every minute of it. In the morning we shall drive in
a _tikka-gharry_ to the Stores to buy some final necessaries (such as
soap and tooth-powder), then to Peliti's to eat ices, then to the shop
in Park Street so that Boggley may get me a delayed birthday present,
then round and round the Maidan. _Then_ we shall go to luncheon at the
Townleys and go on with them to Tollygunge for golf. _Then_ we are
going to tea with some people who are taking us a motor run. _Then_ we
go to a farewell dinner at the Ormondes'. Then we shall go to bed.

Bless you, my dear.

_S.S. Socotra, Homeward Bound, Somewhere in the Hoogly, April 24_.

... This day