I had quite made up my mind to remain in the country on the principle that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush; besides which I was a little incredulous as to the oft-repeated and over-estimated advantages of India, and by no means eager to partake of its imaginary delights. Calcutta was odious, and Rangoon, in comparison, a paradise; while, besides enjoying excellent health, I was saving a goodly number of rupees, and making many friends. Hitherto the gates of Burmah had been closed to ladies, for whom “No Thoroughfare” had been the stern decree; but all this must ere long be cancelled, and then what an influx there would be of grass widows and perhaps too unmarried belles, tempted to try their fortunes in fresh woods and pastures new!
For some time to come, the comforts and pleasures might be inferior to those of Indian stations, but then there would be the reunion of loving hearts, that could find bliss in a cottage, even where the roses and honeysuckle were not.
The other day I came across a little book, “The Queen of Flowers,” which the author dedicated to his wife, and my thoughts were carried back to the date at which it was written, the days ere chivalry had fled and men had contracted the bad habit of talking disparagingly of the gentler sex. Now, in the height of their selfishness, they shut themselves up in their clubs, where they pore over the papers, criticize passers-by, and enjoy the fat of the land!
With us at that period, civilization was only at its budding stage, but nowhere perhaps did the plant make more brilliant progress than here, under the fostering hand of its Chief Commissioner, who paved the way for the prosperity which was to follow.
Some there were who vilified the land in no measured terms, but only such as missed certain comforts to which they had been accustomed. The leaven is working among the rising generation, who, unless pampered with all manner of luxuries that we were unacquainted with in my young days, profess to find life scarcely worth the living.
Not choice, but dire necessity compelled me to quit a country so pregnant with future advantages. I was standing one morning by the bedside of a patient, when a shiver passing through me warned me that the fever of the place had at length taken hold of my system.
I was in for a very stiff attack of the quotidian or daily variety, so intense indeed that it defied such supposed antidotes as arsenic or quinine.
The “bacilli” must have originated from a strong and determined race of microbes, for the “cold, hot, and sweating” stages were unusually protracted, and unaffected by quinine in 30-gram doses, which nearly blew the roof of my skull off, and certainly paralyzed my organs of digestion.
After a fair fight, medicine succumbed to microbes, and I had to beat a retreat.
A river trip failing to have the desired effect, I determined to try the sea. I was accordingly carried on board a steamer early one morning and placed in an easy chair under an awning, where I reclined, totally indifferent to all around, and perfectly willing to be heaved overboard. My appetite had completely vanished, and for several days I had eaten only oranges, solid food having been utterly distasteful and tobacco equally so.