the smoke look like the Thames and home,—and then, all the letters! The pilot came on board at two this morning, and says we were given up for lost at Calcutta (which I am afraid may by ricochet have given you a fidget in England); that the steamers have been looking for us for three weeks; that John Elliot was tired of waiting, and is gone home; and, above all, that there are quantities of letters for us, some that left England the 11th of November, five weeks after us. Only conceive the pleasure of it!
We expect to be at Calcutta to-morrow evening. The steamer has got the ‘Zenobia’ in tow, which ‘Zenobia’ is to take our letters. There is a boat full of Hindoos in sight, with vegetables. We are in great want of fresh provisions. Rosina is in such a state of delight—poor old thing! I had finished a panorama of Rio for you, that was the admiration of the ship, so much so, that two days ago it was stolen out of the cabin, which is provoking. George is quite unhappy about it; it folded up like a map. Perhaps in time I may finish another for you.
