erceive the perfect animal outline, but the colour is
wanting; the glorious sunshine, the profound glooms of humanity are
not there.

Such a man is dangerous; he decoys you into confidences. Even Satan
cannot respect a sinner of this complexion,--a sinner who is only
fascinated by the sinfulness of sin. As for my poor host, I can see
that he has never really graduated in sin at all; he has only sought
the degree of sinner _honoris causa_. I am sure that he never had
enough true vitality or enterprise to sin as a man ought to sin, if he
does sin. [Of course a man ought not to sin; and the nobler sort try
to reduce their sinning to a minimum; but when they do sin I hold that
they sin like men. (I have heard it said that a man should sin like a
gentleman; but I am much disposed to think that the gentleman nature
appears in the non-sinning lucid intervals.)] When I speak of sin I
will be understood to mean the venial offences of prevarication and
sleeping in church. I am not thinking of sheep-stealing or highway
robbery. My clever friend's work consists chiefly in reducing files of
correspondence on a particular subject to one or two leading thoughts.
Upon these he casts the colour of his own opinions, and submits the
subjective product to the Secretary or Member of Council above him for
final orders. His mind is one of the many dense and refractive mediums
through which the Government of India looks out upon India.

From time to time he is called upon to write a minute or a note on
some given subject, and then it is that his thoughts and words expand
freely. He feels bound to cover an area of paper proportionate to his
own opinion, of his own importance; he feels bound to introduce a
certain seasoning of foreign words and phrases; and he feels bound to
create, if the occasion seems in any degree to warrant it, one of
those cock-eyed, limping, stammering epigrams which belong exclusively
to the official humour of Simla. [In writing thus, the figure of
another Secretariat official rises before me with reproachful looks. I
see the thought-worn face of that Secretary to whom the Rajas belong,
and who is, in every particular, a striking contrast with the typical
person whose portrait I sketch. The Secretary in the Foreign
Department is a scholar and a man of letters by instinct. Whatever he
writes is something more than correct and precise--it is impressed
with the sweep and cadence of the sea; it is rhythmical, it is
sonorou