I have a suspicion of having been dawdling lately in the writing line; in fact, I feel confident that I have not written more than one letter the last fortnight.
We have been attending the races, which necessitates getting up before six every other morning; and they run races very slowly in India—dawdle three-quarters of an hour between each race—so we never get home till past nine, so nearly glared blind that writing was too white a pursuit for the rest of the day. But the races were rather amusing and very good of their kind. George’s cup was run for on Wednesday, and we had all set our hearts on Captain winning it, partly because Mrs. was so anxious for it, and then they are the only racing people we know well, but it was won by a horrid spider of a man who lives up the country, and will carry the cup out of sight and reach. It was a melancholy finale to a race, for his horse dropped down dead before the jockey could dismount; so as a set-off to this disaster, we all tried to be glad he had won the cup; but I have quite returned to my original opinion of the man. Another of his racers broke its leg exercising, and he gave it over to some surgeon to try experiments on, and there was this poor high-bred thing that had lived in a hot stable, and been cockered up and taken care of like a child, standing on three legs under a tree with only a cloth over it, and looking in the greatest pain. It disgusted everybody so much, that the gentlemen began a, subscription to buy it of him to shoot it, and he was at last reduced to have it killed by mere shame. So it is a pity he has won the cup. George and I have been all three mornings to the races; they occur only every other day. Fanny has only been once, as she has been very poorly altogether for three days; and though she is much better to-day, she has not the least chance of going to the ball that is given to us on Tuesday, which is a great bore. For various reasons it has been put off two or three times, greatly to the general inconvenience of Calcutta, which poor hothouse of a place cannot produce any plants that will stand two nights’ amusement. So there is a play on Monday; the whole of Calcutta rests on Tuesday and comes out fresh and yellow again on Wednesday; and in this dissipated race-fortnight it has been found difficult to find a day for our ball. I do not know in what way it is to differ from the balls in general, except that we are told to come in feathers and that our names are said to be emblazoned all over the Town Hall, as well as on the buttons of the stewards’ coats, but all the rest is a mystery.
Fanny is much better, nearly well again; but at present Dr. Drummond will not hear of her going to the ball to-morrow. However, I dare say she will be able to go for ten minutes, which will be quite enough. had a sudden fit of fever too on Saturday, which came on in the night and was gone again in six hours, but was, while it lasted, Dr. Drummond said, as violent as it well could be. He walked home from dinner, and there was a fog at the time, which is very apt to produce those sudden chills. He is quite well again.
The ‘Zenobia,’ which took our first letters from hence home, is in the river to-day—come back with answers. What a time we must have been here! And I give you fair notice I shall cry and roar considerably if she does not bring quantities of letters. Yours of August must be on board. Mind you do not slacken about writing. Somehow we have been rather starved the last two months, and it is a shocking sensation. I believe we expect too much when a great many ships come in, because they cannot all bring letters; but yet they ought. This must go to-morrow per ‘Windsor,’ but I shall leave it open to the last minute for the chance of the ‘Zenobia’s’ news.
Two letters from Maria, who is a jewel of a friend, one from Mr. Greville, and one from by a Glasgow ship; all very well. ‘But where is County Guy?’ Which means where is your letter, and them ’ere journals? However, in fact, there are only what they call ‘loose letters’—not in a moral sense; but we always hear per ‘Semaphore’ so many ‘loose letters, and so many ‘box packets,’ and the Post Office takes clearly twelve hours hammering away at unpacking those ‘box packets.’
I am so glad you got my panorama, though it was not half finished, and I am particularly glad that thief was discovered. We were always sure it was that boy. Rosina said, when I told her, ‘Me always think so; shocking naughty boy. Me know where his mother live; when me go home to England with Ladyship, me go and beat him for taking me Lady’s things.’ How surprised he will be five years hence at that assault. I wonder what he did with my Prayer-book; however I-am devotedly attached to the other you sent me.
We dined out yesterday at Sir B. ’s, our third and last Judge.
Captain is come back, but not at anchor yet; however he will be with us to-morrow, I expect, and when the ‘Andromache’ goes home I mean to send my drawings to your care. I expect they will amuse you. There is another box going to your care by the ‘Robert Small,’ which sails the end of this week. It is part of the furniture which I have had embroidered in the house here, but the climate is spoiling it already. Will you take care of it and have it aired occasionally? and in due time it will have to be made up. That will be a very satisfactory moment, because then we shall be on our road home.
Fanny and set off in rather less than three weeks for their Raj Mahl Hill expedition, and are full of preparations.