Mother, put down your ear and listen to me. There is no danger whatever in box-pictures [snapshot-photographs]. Anyone submitted to them is in all respects as he was before. Nothing is taken out of his spirit. I, myself, Mother, have submitted myself to many box-pictures, both mounted and standing beside my horse. If at any time again the Zenana Doctor Sahiba desires to make a box-picture of _him_ do not snatch the child away but send the picture to me. I cannot see him in my dreams because at his age he changes with each month. When I went away he was still on all fours. Now you tell me he stands up holding by the skirts. I wish to see a box-picture of this very greatly indeed. I can read box-pictures now as perfectly as the French. When I was new to this country I could not understand their meaning in the least. This is on account of knowledge which comes by foreign travel and experience. Mother, this world abounds in marvels beyond belief. We in India are but stones compared to these people. They do not litigate among themselves; they speak truth at first answer; their weddings are not [performed] till both sides are at least eighteen, and no man has authority here to beat his wife. I have resided in billets with an old man and his wife, who possess seven hens, an ass, and a small field of onions. They collect dung from our horse-lines upon their backs, a very little at a time but continuously. They are without means of maintenance, yet they do not lay a finger upon any food except through invitation. They exhibit courtesy to each other in all things. They call me _Sia_ [monsieur?] which is Mian [Mahommedan title of respect] and also _man barah_ [mon brave?] which signifies hero. I have spoken to them many times of you, my Mother, and they desire I send you their salutations. She calls me to account strictly for my doings each day. At evening tide I am fetched in with the hens. My clothes are then inspected and repaired when there is need. She turns me back and forth between her hands. If I exhibit impatience, she hits me upon the side of the head, and I say to my heart it is your hands. Now this is the French language, Mother. (1) _Zuur mononfahn._ The morning salutation. (2) _Wasi lakafeh._ Coffee is prepared. (3) _Abil towah mononfahn._ Rise and go to parade. (4) _Dormeh beeahn mon fiz nublieh pahleh Bondihu._ This is their dismissal at night, invoking the blessing of their God. They use a _Tasbih_ [rosary] in form like ours but of more beads. They recite prayers both sitting and walking. Having seen my _Tasbih_ these old people become curious concerning the Faith. Certainly they are idolators. I have seen the images by the roadside which they worship. Yet they are certainly not Kafirs, who hide the truth and the mercy of Allah is illimitable. They two send you their salutations thus:--_Onvoyeh no zalutazioun zempresseh ar zmadam vot mair._ It is their form of blessing.