Letters from India Volume I/To the Countess of Buckinghamshire 5
My dearest Sister,—I have not much to say that I have not said fifty times over, but still I must write, because you are, as I said above, my dearest sister.
There was a ship—the ‘Gregson’—burnt three days ago. Just got out to sea beyond the Sandheads, and, though all the passengers were saved and are come back here again, every article on board was burnt. I wonder whether many of our letters went by her. I shall always say so. In fact, you would have been delighted with the very amusing narrative I sent you by the ‘Gregson.’ It finished off that immense packet I sent you by the ‘Victoria’ in October, which ill-fated ship, I am sorry to see, has also been burnt at the Mauritius; but, as I have written by other ships, only not so pleasantly and freely, of course I only allude to these missing letters just to show that I am always writing to you. It would be indelicate to make the slightest reference to the little offerings sent by the same opportunities. In fact, the little trifles sent per ‘Gregson’ were hardly worth your acceptance, and, as the better selection shipped per ‘Victoria’ now can never reach you, I will not tantalisc you by descriptions of the castern gew-gaws. You guess the style of thing—mother of pearl and silver filigree—and if I did not say anything about the shawl embroidered with seed pearls and emeralds, it must have been mere forgetfulness on my part, as I think you would have liked it to put over your gown when you were gardening.
I am so glad you continue to like Dandy. I am fonder of Chance in my own little way than of all the rest of India, with Ceylon and the Straits thrown into the bargain. He has got such a sweet coat too, which he wears morning and evening, after the fashion of dogs in India. He had a common red one, very well for a common black dog, but not quite the thing for the Prince Royal. There is a native who sells us Chinese silks, and I suppose has made a good thing of us, for he made up as a surprise to me a coat for Chance, of a broché gold-coloured satin bound with silver, with a sort of breast-plate of mock stones set in gold. It was put on Chance, and he was brought into my room in triumph by his man, followed by all my servants, just to see if I did not really think it the most beautiful dress in the world; and Rosina stands and admires it with genuine admiration, and asks every morning whether Chance had better wear his old coat or his Sunday dress.