Letters from India Volume II/From the Hon E Eden to the Countess of Buckinghamshire 2
My dearest Sister,—I do not know when I wrote to you last, but it can do no harm writing again, and George asserts that this overland packet is a sure conveyance. I own I have a high opinion of ‘Overland’ himself just at this moment. On August 31 I had a letter from Robert and one from Frederic Grey, dated July 1; so, you know, it was just lawful to talk of a letter written last month from England. Curious; but the contents of those letters! What with intense interest in the novel of ‘The Young Queen,’ and political triumph, and hopelessness of finding any black bombazine for the old King, and eagerness about the elections, and the dearth of love-ribbon in the China Bazaar, and satisfaction with the Queen’s choice of ladies, and a wish to be there and to know all about it, I don’t think I have felt so much excitement since we came out. And then, though one never, by accident even, judges rightly, it does seem as if this change were everything for our ministry. Then the beginning of that young creature’s life is like the first vol. of the very best novel I ever read. The accounts of her proclamation almost made me cry. I am sorry for the old King too; he was a kind-hearted, good old man, and we mean to wear the deepest mourning for him, which in the month of September is a proof of devotion unsurpassed by anything I have ever met with in history; but, independent of respect for him, I think it a great shame amongst these millions of natives, who have a mysterious awe of kings, not to show proper regard for ours. Rosina told Wright to get her a black petticoat, as she had seen ‘my great Bashaw’ in his gold carriage when she was at the Admiralty. He was going to prorogue Parliament. She will be a good figure in a black petticoat with her scarlet and white veil. As I told you there is no bombazine in the market, and we could not wear it if there were this month; but I have trimmed a trashy, disrespectful silk with a whole width of black crape, which gives an idea of extreme grief, and, with no petticoats under, it is not so extremely hot.
Our journey up the country had a shocking shake for about a fortnight. The Burmese chose to have a ‘belle semaine’ and to depose one mad king and choose a madder, and he seemed so inclined to be troublesome that all the people in authority thought George could not be out of the way; but things are subsiding now, and I have luckily never been very strong since my fever, and ‘change of air,’ you know, is so desirable, and altogether our prospects are mending.
The overland packet is not to go till the 10th. Prospects decidedly better. Three boat-loads actually gone. Chaplain and lady embarking to-day; our carriages and the band actually packing. My health much better; indeed, I shall soon allow George to think I am quite well, which hitherto would have been the height of imprudence, but he is taking to like the thought of the journey himself. The only drawback to it is the fear that George and Chance may suffer by it merely from the circumstance that Bengal agrees with them so well, and I hold that a constitution adapted to Bengal can hardly be adapted to any other climate under heaven. I wish this horrid September were over. I am glad I have not a young daughter at home coming out to me. It would be morally wrong in the first place that I should have such an article, but I should be particularly sorry on her account.
God bless you, my dearest sister!
This is put up this 9th September; at which date we are all alive, much to our credit.
I certainly should like to see you now and every day.