"You will, I know, excuse me. I am by nature modest, even as an American, but having been hitherto particular as to my society, if I am to be damned to everlasting fame, it must be in good company!
"We are so few and far between in this country, that we cannot form a corps to show our esprit, yet even in this wilderness will I upraise my solitary voice in praise of Harrow-on-the-Hill.—Floreat in æternum!—Hoping that I have said enough 'to Harrow up your soul,'
"I am, your's,
"One of the Old School."
"Jungle Mehals."
August 6th.—The natives, especially the Hindūs, are dying
by hundreds daily in the damp and marshy part of Calcutta;
410 died in one night of cholera and fever, both of which
are raging fearfully. They sleep in such swampy places, in
the open air, it is only surprising they are not all carried off.
Last month a fever amongst the Europeans was universal, many
died of it; it has disappeared, and Calcutta is tolerably healthy;
the cholera has not attacked the Europeans.
September 18th.—We now consider ourselves fairly fixed in Calcutta; the climate agrees with us; and though we hold existence upon a frailer tenure than those in England, we still hope to see many happy years.
"'Tis in vain to complain, in a melancholy strain,
Of the money we have spent, which will never come again."
Furlough and the pension must make amends.
The cold season is the only time in which we live, and breathe, and have our being, the rest of the year is mere "leather and prunella," and we "groan and sweat under a weary life."
But then in Calcutta, we do not die of the blue devils, ennui, or from want of medical attendance, as those do who are far removed; and even the maladie du pays is relieved by the constant letters and news we receive from our native land.
The Burmese seem to have adopted the plan of the Russians,
