"Gold is where you find it."

Dawn at the commencement of hot weather in the hills if not the loveliest
of India's wealth of wonders (for there is the moon by night) is fair
preparation for whatever cares to follow. There is a musical silence cut
of which the first voices of the day have birth; and a half-light holding
in its opalescence all the colors that the day shall use; a freshness and
serenity to hint what might be if the sons of men were wise enough;
and beauty unbelievable. The fortunate sleep on roofs or on verandas,
to be ready for the sweet cool wind that moves in advance of the rising
sun, caused, as some say, by the wing-beats of departing spirits of the night.

So that in that respect the mangy jackals, the monkeys, and the chandala
(who are the lowest human caste of all and quite untouchable by the
other people the creator made) are most to be envied; for there is no
stuffy screen, and small convention, between them and enjoyment of
the blessed air.

Next in order of defilement to the sweepers,--or, as some particularly
righteous folk with inside reservations on the road to Heaven firmly insist,
even beneath the sweepers, and possibly beneath the jackals--come
the English, looking boldly on whatever their eyes desire and tasting
out of curiosity the fruit of more than one forbidden tree, but obsessed
by an amazing if perverted sense of duty. They rule the land, largely
by what they idolize as "luck," which consists of tolerance for things they
do not understand. Understanding one another rather well, they are
more merciless to their own offenders than is Brahman to chandala,
for they will hardly let them live. But they are a people of destiny, and
India has prospered under them.