I was greatly tempted to accept this unique offering. They tell us mankind have a natural antipathy to a snake; an antipathy I never shared. I have killed them as venomous reptiles, but have a great fancy for them as beautiful ones. No child dislikes snakes until it is taught to fear them.
Those Indian fevers! the state to which a man is reduced may be gathered by the following note: “I never could have believed that lowness of temperament would have afflicted me with such mental suffering as the doctor has just brought on me: I wander about in this beautiful clear air and sunshine perfectly disgusted with life. Will the spring of my spirits return? for they are just now in their December. When happy, I seldom write to any one; when doleful, I become communicative. I hope you like to hear from even your selfish friends, and I have not a soul with whom to exchange an idea; consider that I am English, and may hang myself from the pankhā! Man certainly is a gregarious animal, and I could wish just now to be put into a large flock, even with the chance of being killed off every Monday.”
“My only portion of the rose is the thorn[114].”
June 1st.—I have scarcely energy enough to write; an easterly wind renders the tattīs useless; the thermometer at 93°! The damp air renders me so heavy and listless, it is an exertion either to eat or drink, and it is almost impossible to sleep, on account of the heat. At 7 P.M. I take a drive through the burning air, and come in parched and faint, eager for the only comfort during the twenty-four hours, a glass of English home-made black-currant wine, well iced, in a tumbler of well iced soda water; the greatest luxury imaginable.
I have not heard from home for six months, heart-sick with hope deferred. These tardy ships! Will the steam communication ever be established?
“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine, but a broken spirit drieth the bones.”
“I could lie down like a tired child,
And weep away this life of care,
Which I have borne, and still must bear.”