I am glad that in your last letter you deigned for once to comment on the ‘Pickwick Papers.’ I collected all the stray numbers, and began reading them straight through to-day, because hitherto I have never had time to make out exactly what they were about, delightful as they were. I wish you would read over again that account of Winkle and the horse which will not go on—‘Poor fellow! good old horse!’—and Pickwick saying, ‘It is like a dream, a horrid dream, to go about all day with a horrid horse that we cannot get rid of.’ That book makes me laugh till I cry, when I am sitting quite by myself. —— There! I thought so. We are aground, and the other steamer is going flourishing by, in grinning delight.
Friday, Oct. 27.
We remained aground for two hours, and touched several times after we were afloat. Some of the other party visited us in the evening, and I lent General E. a novel to help him on. I have been reading ‘Astoria,’ out of that last box you sent us, and that great fat ‘Johnsoniana.’ The anecdotes are not very new, but anything about Johnson is readable. G. has got some Bridgewater Treatises, which he likes.
Beanleah, Saturday, Oct. 28.
We stopped at Surder yesterday, to take in some sheep. We ought to have been there two days ago, if we had had better pilots and fewer groundings. G. said, last night, when we again failed in landing there, that it seemed to him Absurder rather than Surder. He made another good pun to-day. How our intellects are weakened by the climate!—we make and relish puns! The A.D.C.s are very apt to assemble over our cabins at night, to smoke and to talk, and we hear every word they say. When it is really time to go to sleep, I generally send old Rosina up to disperse them, in her civilest manner. I was telling W. O. that they were like so many old Chelsea pensioners; they go on prosing night after night exclusively about the army, the King’s army and the Company’s army; and that, if there were only a little levity in their talk, I should not so much mind being kept awake by it. He said, ‘Ah, yes, we were very animated last night about the Company’s army, and your old Rosina came creeping up with “O sahib, astai bolo” (gently speak); upon which G. observed, “Ah, if she had said, O sahib, nasty bolo!" that would have satisfied Emily much better.’ This joke being founded on Hindustani, and coming from the Governor-General, kept the whole suite in a roar of laughter for half an hour. They really relished it.
Two young writers whom we had known at Calcutta came to Surder to meet us, and we took them on board and took them back to Baulyah. How some of these young men must detest their lives! Mr. —— was brought up entirely at Naples and Paris, came out in the world when he was quite a boy, and cares for nothing but society and Victor Hugo’s novels, and that sort of thing. He is now stationed at B., and supposed to be very lucky in being appointed to such a cheerful station. The whole concern consists of five bungalows, very much like the thatched lodge at Langley. There are three married residents: one lady has bad spirits (small blame to her), and she has never been seen; another has weak eyes, and wears a large shade about the size of a common verandah; and the other has bad health, and has had her head shaved. A tour is not to be had here for love or money, so she wears a brown silk cushion with a cap pinned to the top of it. The Doctor and our friend make up the rest of the society. He goes every morning to hear causes between natives about strips of land or a few rupees—that lasts till five; then he rides about an uninhabited jungle till seven; dines; reads a magazine, or a new book when he can afford one, and then goes to bed. A lively life, with the thermometer at several hundred!
Raj Mahl, Monday, Oct. 30.
We are now, after ten days’ hard steaming, only 200 miles from Calcutta. G. sighs for the Salisbury ‘Highflyer’ and a good roadside inn; but to-day we have come to some hills, and a pretty bit of country. We landed at four, saw the ruins, which are very picturesque, gave Chance a run on shore, and we had time for one sketch. But the real genuine charm and beauty of Raj Mahl were a great fat Baboo standing at the ghaut, with two bearers behind him carrying the post-office packet. There were letters by the ‘Madagascar,’ which left London the 20th July, and was only three months on her passage. I had your large packet, and ten letters. Altogether it was a great prize, was not it? and just at such an interesting period. I think the young Queen a charming invention, and I can fancy the degree of enthusiasm she must excite. Even here we feel it. The account of her proroguing Parliament gave me a lump in my throat; and then, why is the Duchess of Kent not with her in all these pageants? There is something mysterious about that. Probably nothing is more simple, or obvious, but still I should like to know what the mother and daughter say to each other when they meet in private. To return to your letters. There must have been one missing, because Newsalls suddenly burst upon me as your actual residence, whereas I did not know that there was such a place, that it had ever been built, or that you ever thought of taking it.
Wednesday, Nov. 1.
We expect to be at Monghir to-morrow morning, whence I can send this. We passed through some pretty scenery yesterday; but it is all over now, I am afraid, and we shall see nothing but flat plains till we arrive at Simla.