faithful friend, was more than usually charming and kind—a balm to my lacerated feelings! If you don't get a letter next mail after this it will mean either that we are entirely out of the reach of post offices, or that a tiger has eaten the dâk-runner.
... A whole fortnight since I wrote last, and our tour is almost over. On Wednesday we go back to Calcutta, and in April I sail for home. The time has simply rushed past. This last fortnight has been a time of pure delight; I have been too absorbed in enjoying myself to write.
First, we stayed two days in a town where Boggley had to open some sort of building. The natives met us with a band, and there were decorations and mottoes and crowds. In the evening a dramatic entertainment took place for our amusement—Julius Cæsar acted by schoolboys. Mark Anthony wore a dhoti, a Norfolk jacket, and a bowler hat. In the middle of "Friends, Romans, Countrymen," the bowler fell off. Still declaiming, he picked it up with his toes, caught it with his hand,
