Letters from India Volume I/To a Friend 21
Monday, December 12.
I could not write all last week—we have been very busy—the latter part of it with a ball given to the cantonments, as we heard the military thought we did not study their amusement sufficiently. All the front of the house and the road to the bridge and the bridge itself were illuminated in a very pretty fashion by Hudson and our own gardener, and the inside of the house was done on my plan, with arches of flowers and lamps up the two stair cases, and in the ball-rooms rows of little native lamps over the doors and windows, and wherever there was a straight line, which, in those high rooms made up of doors and windows, is not a scarce article. What I call native lamps are very small wooden saucers with a little pure flame of cocoanut oil in them. In the evening the native girls bring hundreds of them down to the water-side, and let them float down the river. If they burn well and float long, it proves that the fiancé is faithful; and, however that may be, the little lamp burnt in his honour is very pretty. I cannot say how many thousands of these we put up. The aides-de-camp all turned into tents that were erected in the park, and left their bungalows to the visitors. General Allard and all his Frenchmen came. The Danish people crossed over from Serampore and Calcutta behaved handsomely in furnishing us with sixteen dancing ladies, besides plenty of gentlemen. There was a steamer to bring them up, and boats to land them, and a sitting down supper, which they think much of. They began at nine, and danced without ceasing till two, and it really was the gayest-looking ball I have seen. At all events, it gave satisfaction to the parties concerned. The early part of the week we were alone.
We were much occupied in nursing Fanny’s bird, which was a very pretty creature that Major Byrne got for her from a New South Wales friend, and it talked and sang and whistled, and was very clever; but no foreign birds will live in the Bengal climate. We have lost such quantities in the menagerie; and notwithstanding all our nursing of poor Joey, he died on Thursday in a fit. It is a great pity, as he was such a clever bird, and quite a new discovery.
Monday, December 19.
The ‘Repulse’ goes to-night, and as we try all ways of writing, I will send this by her; and we have sent yesterday overland some single letters. We do so want to hear again from you. We have nothing later than the 1st August (except two or three newspapers; but they only made letters more desirable). Four months and a half unaccounted for; and, altogether, I want you to come in your letter, and as many children as it will hold besides. Calcutta now shows a large supply of children eight or nine years old; they are come from the Upper Provinces to be passed through Bengal at this wholesome season, and so sent home; but the sight of them gives me yearnings for my nephews and nieces. I always kiss my hand with the greatest warmth to the children on the plain. Some of the little girls put me in mind of our girls in their days, and then again of Greenwich times.
I wish you many happy Christmases, my dear; and that we may pass them together, and have some snow and icicles, and be on the top of a hill with people that we like all about us, and no India to go to, and no sun and no black people, and then we will talk it all over so comfortably.
I took your picture out of its frame yesterday, because I thought it looked a little mildewed; and I touched it up where the horrid insects had got at it; and then it looked so like you, I began to cry about it. passes at least two hours in each week fidgetting those pictures in and out of their frames, and I really like him for his odd fondness for them. ‘I think Mr. Eden, ma’am, wants a little touch about the cheek; it grows pale, don’t you think? but to be sure Mrs. C is the strongest likeness of any. It’s quite curious. I don’t know but what Mrs. D looks very well, and the insects seem to respect Mrs. D, ma’am; but, to my mind, Mrs. C is the best, though sometimes I do fancy all the ladies is here; these here pictures are so exactly them.’
Fanny is meditating an expedition to the Raj Mahl hills. has been concocting a shooting party with Mr. and Mrs. , and they wanted us to join the party. I should be very glad to see some hills, but I could not leave George for a month; and indeed he has not an idea of being left for a day; and, moreover, I never feel up to any fatigue; but I think it will be an excellent break for her, and with to take care of her, the difficulties of the journey will be nothing. In India, where everybody has their own servants, nothing is so easy as these little independent expeditions, and it will make a very amusing recollection in after-life. The tiger-shooting sounds rather awful, and I think Fanny is a little afraid of it; but there is no need for seeing more of it than she likes. They will start about the middle of February, and be away a month; and they will live in tents, and travel on elephants, and see wild rhinoceroses, and do all the things that ought to be done in India; and ’s heart is quite set upon it; and in many ways I think it will be a very good break in their Calcutta life.
God bless you.
Your own
E. E.