622 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY. 



seven miles long, which formerly was a portion of the land, and 

 through this the pilgrim is condemned to wade to a temple built on a 

 rock. At last the Braruins have done with him, and he finds rest and 

 repose here. He wanders through the splendid corridor late in the 

 evening in the dark night and knows he has earned the right to re- 

 main. He feels that he has insured to himself beatitude hereafter, and, 

 he hopes, prosperity in this world. 



Before finishing, I must ask you to understand what Indian caste 

 is. It is compared to our society, but in reality is very different from 

 it. A high-caste man, no matter what his position, though he may be 

 a beggar and perform the most extraordinary offices, still always has 

 the right of entree into the houses of the richest natives, and is wel- 

 comed wherever he goes, and always received well. On the other 

 hand, a low-caste man, though with millions of money, is never allowed 

 to enter a temple. Among the higher caste are the fakirs. There is 

 one, such as I saw him. He confessed to me that water had never 

 touched his body, his nails had never been cut, he had never been 

 shaved, and his hair was bound up with rags, and was a solid mass of 

 dirt and filth, and yet this man was received with open arms in the 

 magnificent palaces of the rich natives, where he was always welcome 

 Such as I saw him I show him to you. 



* 



TO FREDERICK A. P. BARNARD. 1 



The years are many since, in youth and hope, 

 Under the Charter Oak, our horoscope 

 We drew thick-studded with all-favoring stars. 

 Now, with gray beards, and faces seamed with scars 

 From life's hard battle, meeting once again, 

 We smile, half sadly, over dreams so vain ; 

 Knowing, at last, that it is not in man 

 Who walketh to direct his steps, or plan 

 His permanent house of life. Alike we loved 

 The Muses' haunts, and all our fancies moved 

 To measures of old song. How, since that day, 

 Our feet have parted from the path that lay 

 So fair before us ! Rich, from life-long search 

 Of truth, within thy academic porch 

 Thou sittest now, lord of a realm of fact, 

 Thy servitors the sciences exact ; 

 Still listening, with thy hand on Nature's keys, 

 To hear the Samian's spheral harmonies 

 And rhythm of law. I, called from dream and song, 

 Thank God ! so early to a strife so long 

 That, ere it closed, the black, abundant hair 

 Of boyhood rested silver-sown and spare 

 On manhood's temples, now at sunset chime 

 Tread with fond feet the path of morning-time. 

 And if perchance too late I linger where 

 The flowers have ceased to blow, and trees are bare, 

 Thou, wiser in thy choice, wilt scarcely blame 

 The friend who shields his folly with thy name. 

 Amesbukt, Mass., Tenth Month, 1870. 



1 Whittier's beautiful dedication of "Miriam" deserves a wider circulation than it has received. 



