We crossed the line last Wednesday, but have not averaged thirty miles a day the last ten days. You have no idea how tantalising it is to waste ten such precious days, for the very hot weather begins at Calcutta the middle of March, so George was very anxious that we should have two or three cool weeks to break us in to the climate. If we could have a fair breeze we still might be there in ten days; but many people think we maybe a month or more. We tack about first to the east and then to the west, trying to screw a little northing out of them—so like people who can’t get to sleep, and try first one side to lie on and then the other. However, we are in our own northern hemisphere again, which I mention that I may twit Mr. with what he said one day at dessert, that I should not see the Great Bear again. Dear old beast! he came in sight again the night before last, looking handsome and friendly, worth all the Southern Crosses and Scorpions. I like to be in the same hemisphere with you; it is the best we can do for ourselves now. ‘Hem, sweet hem, there is no hem like ours,’ is the nearest I can come
