keep and ride the horse during the remainder of my stay in Calcutta, and on my departure to send him to his stables. For this charming proof of Indian politesse, I returned thanks, but declined the offer. I felt so sorry to part with my beautiful horse, I could not bear the sight of him when he was no longer my own: it was my own act; my husband blamed me for having sold a creature in which I took so much delight, and was not satisfied until he had replaced him by a milk-white Arab, with a silken mane and long tail. Mootee, the name of my new acquisition, was very gay at first, not comprehending the petticoat, but on becoming used to it, carried me most agreeably. A fine Scotch terrier was given me to bear me company on the journey, but he was stolen from us ere we quitted Calcutta.
The people in Calcutta abused the Upper Provinces so much, we felt little inclination to quit the city, although we had applied for an appointment in the Mufassil. Imagining the march would be very fatiguing, I went on board several pinnaces; they did not please me; then I crossed the river to see the first dāk bungalow, and brought back a good account.
Nov. 22nd.—We quitted Calcutta, crossed the river to the bungalow, on the New Road, stayed there one day to muster our forces, and commenced our journey the next.
Our marching establishment consisted of two good mares for the Stanhope, two fine saddle Arabs for ourselves, two ponies, and nine hackeries, which contained supplies and clothes, also a number of goats, and two Arabs, which we had taken charge of for a friend. We travelled by the Grand Military road, riding the first part of the stage, and finishing it in the buggy.
30th.—I now write from Bancoorah, some hundred miles from the Presidency. Thus far we have proceeded into the bowels of the Mufassil very much to our satisfaction. The change of air, and change of scene, have wrought wonders in us both. My husband has never felt so well in health or so désennuyé since he left England. I am as strong as a Diana Vernon, and ride my eight or ten miles before breakfast without fatigue. We have still some four hundred miles to march; but
