the English fashion, and oil extracted from divers seeds. The establishment cost a great sum of money, and I think I have heard it has failed, owing to each native family in India grinding their own corn, in the old original fashion of one flat circular mill-stone over another, called a chakkī.
From this point I first caught a view of the shipping off Calcutta: for ten years I had not beheld an English vessel: how it made me long for a glimpse of all the dear ones in England! "The desire of the garden never leaves the heart of the nightingale[1]."
Passing through the different vessels that crowd the Hoogly off Calcutta, gave me great pleasure; the fine merchant-ships, the gay, well-trimmed American vessels, the grotesque forms of the Arab ships, the Chinese vessels with an eye on each side the bows to enable the vessel to see her way across the deep waters, the native vessels in all their fanciful and picturesque forms, the pleasure-boats of private gentlemen, the beautiful private residences in Chowringhee, the Government-house, the crowds of people, and vehicles of all descriptions, both European and Asiatic,—form a scene of beauty of which I know not the equal.
We anchored at Chandpaul ghāt, amidst a crowd of vessels. The river-beggars fly about in the very smallest little boats in the world, paddled by one tiny oar: a little flag is stuck up in the boat, and on a mat at the bottom, spread to receive offerings, is a collection of copper coins, rice and cowries, thrown by the pious or the charitable to these fakīrs; who, if fame belie them not, are rascals. "A gooroo at home, but a beggar abroad[2]." I forgive them the sin of rascality, for their picturesque appearance; the gifts they received were very humble. "A kuoree is a gold mohur to a pauper[3]."
There not being room that night for our party at Spence's hotel, I was forced to sleep on board the budjerow, off Chandpaul ghāt. What a wretched night it was! The heat was intolerable. I could not open a window because the budjerows
