faith, the tender and true in domestic life,--the redeeming and recuperative elements of civic society. * * * * * MY HEATHEN AT HOME. Kicking my "Dutch wife,"[3] that comfortable Batavian device, to the foot of the bed, and turning over with a delicious stretch just as day began to dawn, I opened my eyes with a drowsy sense of refreshing favor,--a half-dream, mixed of burning and breeze,--and discovered old Karlee, my pearl of bhearers,[4] waiting in still patience on the outside of the tent-like mosquito curtain, punka in hand, and tenderly waving a balmy blessing across the sirocco-plagued sand of my slumber. "Good morning, Karlee." "_Salaam, Sahib-bhote-bhote salaam!_[5] Master catch plenty good isleep this night, Karlee hope." "So, so,--so, so. But you look happy this morning; your eyes are bright, and your kummerbund[6] jaunty, and you sport a new turban. What's the good news, old man?" "Yes, Sahib. Large joy Karlee have got,--happy _kismut_,[7]--too much jolly good luck, master, please." "Aha! I'm glad of it. None too jolly for my patient Karlee, I'll engage,--not a whit too happy and proud for my faithful, grateful, humble old man. And what is it?" "By master's favor, one man-child have got; one fine son he come this night, please master's graciousness." "A son--your wife!--what, you, Karlee, _you_?" "Please master's pardon, no,--Karlee wife, no; Karlee daughter, Karlee ison-in-law, one man-child have catch this night, by Sahib's merciful goodness." "So! your daughter and her husband, the young kitmudgar,[8] they that were married last year. Good! let us exalt our horn, let us glorify ourselves; for is it not written, 'By a son a man shall obtain victory over all people; by a son's son he shall enjoy immortality; and by a son's son's son he shall reach the solar abodes'? Verily it is pleasant to have a boy-butcha in the house,--the heir and lord. So we will even make merry to-day; to-day we will take holiday. Let the buttons wait, and the beard go awry; send the barber away, and tell the tailor to come to-morrow; for one day Sahib, the master of earth, abdicates in favor of _Puttro_, the 'Deliverer from Hell,' the true king for every pious Hindoo. And here are some rupees to buy him a happy horoscope with, and to pay the _gooroo_[9] for a good strong charm, warranted to avert the Evil Eye." "Ah! Master's bountiful favor too much compassion have,--too much pitiful munif--" "That's all right, old man. Salaam now; and good luck to the baby."