Letters from India Volume I/To the Hon and Rev Robert Eden 2
My dearest Robert,—I am going to try an overland despatch to you, and there is just a danger that you will be overwhelmed with letters all at once—be like a babe in the wood, buried painfully with leaves, or sheets.
Fanny has written a long letter to Mary by the ‘Perfect,’ which sailed on Saturday (the 27th), and I also wrote to you. There was not much in it, except that I mentioned a small present I had sent Mary—a nest of Burmese boxes, and I should like her to give one of them to Willy. They are very common boxes, but the sort of thing she likes; and as Grindlay is particularly charged to pay all expenses of everything we send to you, I do not mind sending a small present. I could not afford a good one just now, as we are all utterly ruined by the wear and tear of the rainy season, which not only destroys everything we have in hand, but makes the very few things that are left in the market about four times the price they are in England; and yet, hot as it is, people expect us to go about dressed, so we must buy these bad, dear goods. The box of books, as we have told you in our ‘Perfect’ letter was very acceptable, but not half enough. ‘Many and often’ is the only rule about sending us books, for we cannot get them here at all. There is no occupation but reading for wretched imprisoned women in this country.
George is preparing a very pretty present for Mary from Moorshedabad, but it cannot be completed till the rains are over—so, mind! I have not mentioned it. I have not alluded to it—you can’t guess what I mean—I only know a secret, and as I thought you might think yourselves neglected in that box sent by the ‘Perfect’ I had a great mind to say what I knew, but I did not.
I hope you go on writing muchly. We consider your letters models; they are very popular, and George says they are some of the best we receive.
We are all quite well, which is much to our credit, for there never was such weather—so damp and hot. Fairy, ’s little greyhound, had a shocking fit yesterday from mere heat, and, after an hour’s struggle for life, we called in Dr. Drummond, who bled her just like a lady, tied up her arm, and saved her.
God bless you dear, dearest Robert! and keep writing those good letters. How many children have you now? Best love to Mary, and if this arrives before the ‘Perfect,’ send it to . But they say it has no chance of arriving at all.