This immense paper[1] is a great atrocity, but it can’t be helped; I dare say it is, in fact, note paper, but it.has been drawn out by the heat.
I cannot think what possesses me to write to you at this hour—precisely half-past twelve—when the miserable attempt at breakfast, made at nine, has ceased to give the slightest support, and when, from exhaustion and heat, and the conviction that luncheon will never come, I feel utterly desperate. Too weak to read, and very weak indeed to think of writing to you. Breakfast is a remarkably bad meal in this country. I wish you could see the bilious despondency with which, one after another, we all look at it; not but what there is a great choice of evils—tea and chocolate and eggs in all shapes; and meat, fish, and pine-apples, and mango fruits, and mango-fool, instead of gooseberry-fool. But it is all in vain; it is too much trouble to eat at that hour, and sundry weak voices saying, ‘Peene ka pawnay’ are all that is heard, which, being interpreted, means ‘a glass of cold water,’ and if that is not sufficiently iced, the dejection of the moment turns into slight irritation.
I wish you would come here, dear. It really is very rude your never calling, and I should like to show you my room; somehow or another I have scraped together a number of pretty things; none very valuable, but they are odd and such as you have not seen before—Chinese and Burmese, and any other ese, that comes in my way.
The black angel, commonly called ‘ducky boy,’ had a horrid narrow escape a fortnight ago. He went frolicking out at the gate of Government House before and Fanny, who were riding, and of course never supposed that the country was in that state of disorganisation that any common dogs would touch his little excellency. But two bull-dogs, whom a man was leading in a chain, flew at him and pinned him down; when heard the hubbub and rode on, and, by dint of sentries and syces, rescued the poor little prince, who was bit in two places, and had fainted from sheer fright. Jimmund, his servant, had flown at the owner of the dogs, ‘and says he is the first native he ever saw who gave a regular English knock-down blow; but he knocked the man right down, and then began thumping him with the end of his dog’s chain, till advised him to beat the dogs rather than their owner. Chance was brought to by a warm bath, and was not really much hurt. When I came home Jimmund brought him to me, bandaged up in all directions, and told his story by means of an interpreter, who ended by saying, ‘And Jimmund say he very sorry Sahib call him off, because he would have deaded the man who have those dogs.’ I told him nothing could be more amiable or correct, but in general I should prefer his driving away the dogs to deading the man. The ‘Abercrombie Robertson’ is in the river, we hear, in which ship we know there is a box from for us with some ornamented paper; but it always takes a week to unpack a ship, and the captains clearly make it a general rule to put our boxes at the very bottom of the hold.
- ↑ Written on full-sized letter paper.