his own estimation; but appearances are delusive, and the sign that
really distinguishes him from other Pundits is that he enjoys in a
high degree the esteem and confidence of a native member of the
examining body. Another unfailing characteristic of him is that he
requires a monstrous monthly stipend and the promise of a handsome
douceur if you pass; but then you have the satisfaction of knowing
that, if you fulfil the conditions, that happy result is certain.
His system leaves no room for failure. Some people regard this man
as a myth, but I have had authentic accounts of him from numerous
young gentlemen who had failed in their examinations simply, as they
themselves assured me, because they did not employ him. The third
class consists of young men, aspirants to University honours and
others, with some knowledge of English and a laudable desire to
improve it by conversation with Englishmen. I do not know for what
purpose this sort of Pundit is useful.

Old Ragunath Rao belonged to the first of these three classes. He
knew no English, and he desired to know none, neither English words
nor English thoughts. He was an undiluted Brahmin. He had taught a
former generation of Anglo-Indians, long since retired, or in their
graves, and one or two of these, who were very religious men, had
impressed him by their characters so deeply that he always spoke of
them with reverence, as not men but divinities. The tide had ebbed
away from him, and no one employed him now: he was very poor. His
face was heavy, his ears like beef-steaks, with a fringe of long
bristles round the edge and a bushy tuft of the same sprouting from
the inside. His features were not pleasing, but strongly expressive
of character, stubborn Hindoo character, self-disciplined, self-
satisfied, and in a set attitude of defence against the invasions of
novelty. His athletic intellect was exercised in all manner of