CHAPTER XXI.

_Journal continued._

Simla, Sunday, Sept. 2, 1838.

This is your birthday, and an excellent reason for starting again in my Journal. I wish you a great many of them, dearest; only please to be economical, and don't spend them lavishly, till I come home to be with you.

We have not done much since my last Journal went. We had a meeting of ladies to settle about the fancy sale, which was easily done, as before they came I wrote a paper of proposals and they all read it, and said it would do very well; and if we can only find anything to sell, I dare say we shall sell it very well. It is to be held in a very pretty valley called Annandale, and G. gives some silver prizes to be shot for by the Ghoorkas, and M. is trying to get up some pony races. The only novelty I suggested was to ask the wives of the uncovenanted service (the clerks in public offices) to send contributions. This was rather a shock to the aristocracy of Simla, and they did suggest that some of the wives were very black. That I met by the argument that the black would not come off on their works, and upon the whole it was considered that we should not lose consequence, and might be saved trouble, by sending a printed paper round to each of their houses. I have done a quantity of drawings, which Mr. C. is to sell by auction. The rain still continues, but not so unceasing as it was, and as it lets us get out and prevents our giving balls, I think it a very nice time of year.

Wednesday, Sept. 5.

I have had Mr. D.'s June letter, which is always satisfactory, and is one of those _gentlemanlike_ epistles (I don't mean _genteel_, but pithy and to the point, and like a gentleman in contradistinction to a lady) that make most eligible letters in these foreign parts. G. always opens and reads Mr. D.'s letters to us before we see them, because he says he gets so much news out of them. Rather cool! What do you think I ought to do about it? Mr. D. and I might have secrets of vital importance, which G. might let out--very unpleasant!

Friday, Sept. 7.

There was such a beautiful plate-chest to be raffled for at the 'Europe shop' here--everything that life could require--silver tea-pot, cream, sugar, forks, spoons, bottle-stands, cruets, &c., and all so pretty. W. took two tickets, and I one, and there were only 26 tickets in all--5_l._ each--so it is a great shame we have not won; but it was thrown for yesterday, and Mr. C. has got it. I am glad, for he wanted it, and is quite delighted.

There was a second prize, of a clock, which I could have _put up with_--but did not get it; and a third, of a looking-glass, which nobody wanted, and which Dr. D. won, and now he does not know what to do with it. I advise him to bring it home some dark night, and throw it into the valley behind his house. It may amuse the monkeys, who live there in tribes, and can be of no other use.

No looking-glass in India has _much_ quicksilver, but this happens to have none at all, except a few slight streaks here and there.

Saturday, Sept. 8.

You cannot imagine how beautiful our weather is, since a storm on Wednesday, which cleared up the rains. Such nice clear air, and altogether it feels English and exhilarating; and I think of you, and Eden Farm, and the Temple Walk, and Crouch Oak Lane, and the blue butterflies, and then the gravel-pit, and your reading 'Corinne' to me; and then the later days of Eastcombe and our parties there, with G. V. in his wonderful spirits, with all his wit, and all the charm about him; and all this because the air is English. I _should_ like to go back to childhood and youth again--there was great enjoyment in them.

Monday, Sept. 10.

We had a large congregation yesterday, and an excellent sermon from Mr. Y., whose health, however, does not improve. I have made such a collection of drawings for the fancy sale--_really_ very good. I am sorry to say it, for it may sound vain, perhaps is vain; but I persist in thinking them good drawings, and I cannot help thinking you would buy some of them.

Mrs. Chance, with her twins, came to visit Chance _père_ to-day. He was very polite to his wife, but could not endure the young puppies. I am not surprised, for they are nearly quite black, with a little white, but no tan, and with vulgar, greasy, smooth hair. However, they are only ten days old, and babies, as you know, alter rapidly.

Thursday, Sept. 13.

We had such a nice expedition yesterday afternoon; just the sort of thing your children would have enjoyed (only you never let them come out with me _now_). It was to see two waterfalls, and in Simla, where water is bought at great expense, we make much of a few pailfulls that fall gratis over a rock. The valley is about 3,000 feet below our house, very Swiss, and quite different from the hills--such large cedars, and here and there a little Swiss-looking cottage, with one door and no window. I always wonder _how_ ignorant of the ways of the world the inhabitants of these solitary valleys can be, and how such ignorance feels. No 'crafty boys,' no fashions, no politics, and, I suppose, a primitive religion that satisfies them. There are temples of great age in all these places. I imagine half these people must be a sort of vulgar Adams and Eves--not so refined, but nearly as innocent.

F. and I were carried down, and rode part of the way up, and when there, we clambered about some wonderful places, and I have not laughed so much for ages. There was a cave to go to, and a smooth rock to descend. G. and Captain J. got me safely to the bottom of the rock, and there we stopped to see Major U., Dr. D., and F. follow. They got half-way, clinging on, by a chain of the servants, to a tree at the top, and then they could get no further. The waterfall made such a noise, that we could not make them hear that there was nothing, in fact, to come for; and their hesitations, and scramblings back again, very nearly killed me. Luckily there was nobody left below to laugh at my return. The jonpaunees made steps of themselves, and I ran up a flight of jonpaunee-stairs very decorously. We are all so stiff to-day, not having walked so much for three years. 'My bones, girl, my bones!' (see 'Romeo and Juliet.') I wonder whether old Mrs. Davenport has died since we left England. What an actress she was!

Monday, Sept. 17.

There! I skip three entire days, for my whole soul is in England, and this letter must go to-day. This morning there came a knock at the door at seven, and Rosina brought me your July letters, with E.'s enclosed. I had scarcely digested those, when the Calcutta dâk came in, bringing to me your June despatch, which ought to have come with the other June letters exactly one fortnight ago--but never mind! How pleasant it is to have them both! The Coronation seems to have gone off wonderfully well, and must have been a beautiful sight. I suppose we shall have our English papers in two days: I am insatiable for more details. To be sure, if that little Queen's head were quite turned, and she became the most affected and consequential of beings, it would not be surprising. A young creature of nineteen to be the occasion of such a splendid ceremony, and to have brought together all the great people from all the great nations to do her honour, is enough to intoxicate her. She must have great good sense to be so entirely guiltless of _nonsense_.

_Letter to the Countess of B._

Simla, Sept. 8, 1838.

My dearest Sister,--There was no letter from you by the last overland (June). Odd! Can you account for it? Perhaps you did not write, which might be one reason (though a very insufficient one) why the letter did not come, but still it was a pity.

I say no more, being held back by the circumstance that you will have been a whole month without a line from us. Our letters of June, July, and August, all leave Bombay this blessed day--Saturday, Sept. 8. Such an accumulation of twaddle! _We_ are not to blame; _we_ have written--I wish everybody could say as much: but, however, as Falstaff says, when he had wrongfully accused Dame Quickly of picking his pocket, 'Hostess, I forgive thee--go. Look to thy servants: cherish thy guests; thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason. Thou seest I am pacified.'

It is such a nice day to-day. The rains ended last Wednesday. After five days of an even down-pour, there came a storm of wind that might have changed the places of some of the little hills, if they had been addicted to hopping, and which devastated my little garden, which happens to be on the windy side of the house; but since that, we have not had a drop of rain. The snowy range has appeared again after a fog of three months. The hills are all blue and green and covered with flowers, and there is a sharp, clear air that is perfectly exhilarating. I have felt nothing like it, I mean nothing so English, since I was on the terrace at Eastcombe, except perhaps the week we were at the Cape. It is a shame of the storm to have twisted my one honeysuckle into a wisp of dead leaves; to have laid low our only double dahlia, and to have broken off a branch of _the_ lavender bush of Simla. All these treasures G. deposited in my little garden at the back of the house, and this is the result of his unguarded confidence. The dahlia was of that rhubarb and magnesia colour which makes you hear the spoon _grit_ against the cup as you look at it. Still it was the only double dahlia in India; but that will revive again. The honeysuckle is a mortifying business. Colonel V. has another, and he used to come crowing and stuttering here about this 'cu-cu-cu-curious plant' of his which suddenly took a dwarfish turn and stopped growing; whereas mine had reached the top of the house, and old V. used to call once a week to look at it. Now, I don't mind the loss of Colonel V.'s visits, but I did like to make him envious of my honeysuckle. We are all dreadfully within sight of travelling again, but there are still six weeks of repose, so that I am as deaf as a post when the word '_tent_' is mentioned. Still, the subject of provisions, and marches, and agents and magistrates, must be alluded to.

Don't you think it would be worth my while to buy a pot of paint, out of my own allowance, from the Simla 'Europe shop,' and have the acorns and oak leaves painted _out_ of the lining of my tent? The lining is buff, with sprigs of oak leaves, and there is an occasional mistake in the pattern, which distracts me; and there is such an association of dust and bore and bad health with those acorns, that I do not think I _can_ encounter them again. We are to leave this on November 5. I mention that openly, because if Guy Faux wishes to keep his '_day_,' it would, perhaps, be better and more humane to blow up people who are going into camp, than people who live in houses.

Sept. 13.

I must put this up to-night. This is the first time I have had an evening quite alone, in an English fashion, since we came to India--not even a stray aide-de-camp about. They are all gone to the last of the Simla theatricals. I had seen four out of the five plays, so I excused myself, as I am drawing all day for the fancy fair, and wanted to write to you and M. and C. to-night. I was in a horrid fright. ---- was going to stay with me, but with great tact he walked off to his own house; and so now, if there were but a carriage-road and a knocker, and a servant in red inexpressibles to announce you, I really should take it kindly if you would drive up, give a double knock, and be announced.

As it is, I am very comfortable. I don't object; but the window is open to the verandah, and I see the little green Ghoorkas (the most hideous little soldiers in the world) mounting guard, with all sorts of outlandish noises. The door is, of course, open to the passage--Indian doors can't shut--and my four hirkarus are sitting cross-legged, wrapped up in shawls, playing at a sort of draughts that they call 'pucheese.' There is not a human being in the house who understands a word of English: the Europeans are all gone to the play, and the head servants go to their own homes after dinner. I have a great mind to call out 'fire!' and 'thieves!' as loud as I can, to see what will come of it--it will only break up the game of pucheese; and the hirkarus will think I have gone mad, and respect me accordingly--they have a great regard for madness. I really think it awful! I wish I could speak Hindustani--I am sure I must want something, only I cannot ask for it. I will tell them to seal this letter, and if they tear it up I shall have made a sad waste of my evening.

Good-bye, dearest sister. Please always write by the overland post.