1836, Dec. 9th.—Arrived at Jungipūr, where a toll was levied of six rupees on my bajrā, usually called budjerow, and two rupees on the cook boat,—a tax for keeping open a deep channel in the river. During the hour we anchored there, and the servants were on shore for provisions, I was much amused watching the women bathing; they wade into the stream, wash their dresses, and put them on again all wet, as they stand in the water; wash their hair and their bodies, retaining all the time some part of their drapery, which assumes the most classical appearance. They wear their hair fastened behind in the Grecian fashion, large silver nose-rings, a great number of white ivory churees (bracelets) on their arms, with a pair of very large silver bangles on the wrists, and massive ornaments of silver on their ankles; their drapery white, with, perhaps, an edge of some gay colour; bright brass vessels for water (gāgrī), or of porous red earthenware (gharā), in which they carry back the river water to their dwellings. Having bathed, they repeat their prayers, with their hands palm to palm raised to their faces, and turning in pooja to particular points. After sipping the water a certain number of times, taking it up in their hands, they trip away in their wet drapery, which dries as they walk. The skin of the women in Bengal is of a better tinge than that of the up-country women; they are small, well-formed, and particularly graceful in their movements.

10th.—The Bhaugruttī, as you approach Moorshadabad, is remarkably picturesque, and presents a thousand views that would make beautiful sketches. At this moment we are passing the Nawāb’s residence, or rather the palace that is building for him; it is situated on the side of the river, which presents a beautiful expanse of water, covered with vessels of all sorts and sizes, of the most oriental and picturesque form. A fine breeze is blowing, and the vessels on every side, and all around me, are in every sort of picturesque and beautiful position. The palace, which is almost quite completed, is a noble building, an enormous and grand mass of architecture, reared under the superintendence of Colonel Macleod.

The mor-pankhī, a kind of pleasure boat, with the long neck and head of a peacock, most richly gilt and painted, and the snake boats, used on days of festival, are fairy-like, picturesque, fanciful, and very singular. Pinnaces for hire are here in numbers. The merchant-boats built at this place are of peculiar and beautiful form, as if the builder had studied both effect and swiftness; the small boats, over which rafts are fastened to float down wood; the fishermen’s little vessels, that appear almost too small and fragile to support the men, and which fly along impelled only by one oar; the well-wooded banks, the mosques, and the mut’hs (Hindoo temples), mixed with curiously built native houses;—all unite in forming a scene of peculiar beauty. Kasīm bazār adjoins Moorshadabad; both are famous for silk of every sort. In the evening we anchored at Berhampūr; the budgerow was instantly crowded with people, bringing carved ivory toys, chess-men, elephants, &c., for sale, and silk merchants, with handkerchiefs and Berhampūr silk in abundance; all asking more than double the price they intended to take. Four more dāndees having deserted, I have been obliged to apply to the Judge Sāhib to procure other men.

The most delicious oranges have been procured here, the rinds fine and thin, the flavour excellent; the natives call them “cintra;” most likely they were introduced by the Portuguese. The station extends along the side of the river, which is well banked, and offers a cool and refreshing evening walk to the residents. I was tempted to buy some of the carved ivory chess-men, an elephant, &c., all very cheap, and well carved in good ivory; nor could I resist some silk nets for the horses.

12th.—At Cutwa cotton cloth was offered for sale; I bought some, but the purchase gave more trouble than the cloth was worth. The men asked eighteen sicca-rupees for each piece of eighteen yards, and took eleven Furrukhabad rupees; the mosquito curtains, for which they asked five rupees each, they sold for three.

14th.—Arrived at Culna, to which place the tide comes up. Here we anchored, to buy charcoal and clarified butter for my own consumption, and rice for the dāndees. We have passed a great many timber rafts that are floating down to Calcutta, with wood, for sale; the timber is cut in the hills. The stems of two large trees are lashed across a boat, and, passing over the sides to a considerable distance, support a number of trees, which float on the water, fastened along both sides of the boat; on the boat itself is a thatched shed. On each raft are two hill-men, their black bodies and heads completely shaved; with no clothing but a bit of cloth passed between the limbs, and supported by a string tied round the waist. They have a wild look as they row with their bamboo oars the unwieldy rafts, three or four of which are fastened together;—a picture in itself is the wild and strange-looking timber raft. A small canoe, hollowed out of a single tree, is always the accompaniment to a raft; I saw four men in a canoe of this sort crossing the river; one man steered by using an oar, while the other three, by leaning forward, made use of their hands alone as paddles; you may therefore imagine how narrow the boat was, when a man could use a hand at each side at the same time in the water, to paddle her forward. The men were laughing and shouting most happily. They cut the timber in the hills, and come down with it for scarcely any payment, merely just enough to feed them.

When the boats have delivered their wood in Calcutta, they take up one boat, and put it into another, and in this way the double boats return to the hills; for this reason two men alone come with one boat down the stream, but in returning, more men are required to track against it; the two boats being put one on the other, the four men suffice to take them back again.

15th.—This evening we anchored at Chandar-nagar, the town of Chandar, the moon, commonly called Chander-nagore, and took a walk to see a Bengālee temple, which looked well from the river. The building consisted of a temple in the centre, containing an image of the goddess Kalī, and five smaller temples on each side, each containing an image of Mahadēo; a little further on were two images, gaily dressed in tarnished silk and tinsel; the one a female figure, Unapurna, the other Mahadēo, as a Bairāgī or religious mendicant. The village was pretty. I stopped at a fisherman’s, to look at the curiously-shaped floats he used for his very large and heavy fishing nets; each float was formed of eight pieces of sholā, tied together by the ends, the four smaller within the four larger. When this light and spongy pith is wetted, it can be cut into thin layers, which, pasted together, are formed into hats; Chinese paper appears to be made of the same material. The banks of the river, the whole distance from Hoogly to Chinsurah and Chandar-nagar, presents a view of fine houses, situated in good gardens, and interspersed with the dwellings of the natives. There is a church at Chandar-nagar, where there are also cantonments; and the grand depôt for the wood from the up-country rafts appears to be at this place; the river-side was completely covered with timber for some distance. The natives were amusing themselves as we passed, sending up small fire balloons, and brilliantly blue sky rockets.

The view is beautiful at Barrackpūr; the fine trees of the park stretching along the side of the river; the bright green turf that slopes gently down to the water; the number of handsome houses, with their lawns and gardens; the Government-house and the buildings around it, stuccoed to resemble white stone; the handsome verandahs which surround the houses, supported by pillars; and the great number of boats gliding about, render it peculiarly pleasing.

In front, on the opposite side of the river, is the Danish settlement of Serampūr; its houses, which are large and handsome, are two or three stories high. We are floating gently down with the tide; I can scarcely write, the scenery attracts me so much,—the Bengālee mandaps (places of worship) close to the water, the fine trees of every description, and the pretty stone ghāts. We have just passed a ruined ghāt, situated in the midst of fine old trees; at the top of the flight of steps are the ruins of two Hindoo temples of picturesque form; an old peepul tree overshadows them; its twisted roots are exposed, the earth having been washed away during the rains. A number of women are bathing, others carrying water away in gharās poised on their heads: the men take it away in water vessels, which are hung to either end of a split bamboo, called a bahangī, which is carried balanced on the shoulder. We fly past the objects with the ebbing tide; what an infinity of beauty there is in all the native boats! could my pencil do justice to the scenery, how valuable would be my sketch-book!

The Governor-General, Lord Auckland, lives partly in Calcutta, and partly at the Government-house at Barrackpūr. At Cassipūr is the house of the agent for gunpowder, its white pillars half-hidden by fine trees. At Chitpore is a high, red, Birmingham-looking, long-chimnied building, with another in the same style near it; the high chimneys of the latter emitting a dark volume of smoke, such as one only sees in this country pouring from the black funnel of a steamer: corn is here ground in the English fashion, and oil extracted from divers seeds. The establishment cost a great sum of money, and I think I have heard it has failed, owing to each native family in India grinding their own corn, in the old original fashion of one flat circular mill-stone over another, called a chakkī.

From this point I first caught a view of the shipping off Calcutta: for ten years I had not beheld an English vessel: how it made me long for a glimpse of all the dear ones in England! “The desire of the garden never leaves the heart of the nightingale[15].”

Passing through the different vessels that crowd the Hoogly off Calcutta, gave me great pleasure; the fine merchant-ships, the gay, well-trimmed American vessels, the grotesque forms of the Arab ships, the Chinese vessels with an eye on each side the bows to enable the vessel to see her way across the deep waters, the native vessels in all their fanciful and picturesque forms, the pleasure-boats of private gentlemen, the beautiful private residences in Chowringhee, the Government-house, the crowds of people, and vehicles of all descriptions, both European and Asiatic,—form a scene of beauty of which I know not the equal.

We anchored at Chandpaul ghāt, amidst a crowd of vessels. The river-beggars fly about in the very smallest little boats in the world, paddled by one tiny oar: a little flag is stuck up in the boat, and on a mat at the bottom, spread to receive offerings, is a collection of copper coins, rice and cowries, thrown by the pious or the charitable to these fakīrs; who, if fame belie them not, are rascals. “A gooroo at home, but a beggar abroad[16].” I forgive them the sin of rascality, for their picturesque appearance; the gifts they received were very humble. “A kuoree is a gold mohur to a pauper[17].”

There not being room that night for our party at Spence’s hotel, I was forced to sleep on board the budjerow, off Chandpaul ghāt. What a wretched night it was! The heat was intolerable. I could not open a window because the budjerows on either side were jammed against mine: the heat, the noise, the mooring and unmooring, according to the state of the tide, rendered it miserable work. I wished to anchor lower down, but the answer was, “Budjerows must anchor here; it is the Lord Sāhib’s hukm (order).”

17th.—I took possession of apartments in Spence’s hotel: they were good and well furnished. Since I quitted Calcutta, a great improvement has taken place: a road has been opened from the Government-house to Garden Reach, by the side of the river; the drive is well watered, the esplanade crowded with carriages, and the view of the shipping beautiful.

M. le Général Allard, who had just returned from France, and was in Calcutta en route to rejoin Runjeet Singh, called on me; he is the most picturesque person imaginable; his long forked beard, divided in the centre, hangs down on either side his face; at dinner-time he passes one end of his beard over one ear, and the other end over the other ear. The General, who was a most agreeable person, regretted he had not seen me when he passed Allahabad, but illness had prevented his calling and delivering, in person, the bows and arrows entrusted to his charge.

I was much delighted with the General: he asked me to visit Lahore, an invitation I told him I would accept with great pleasure, should I ever visit the Hills, and he promised to send an escort for me. The General took with him to Europe some fine jewels, emeralds, and other valuable stones; he brought them back to India, as they were of less value in Europe than in the East.

I could have remained contentedly at the hotel myself, but my up-country servants complained there was no comfort for them; therefore I took a small house in Chowringhee, and removed into it the furniture from the budjerow. It was comfortable also to have my horses, which had arrived, in the stables.

Went to a ball given in the English style by a rich Bengālee Baboo, Rustam-jee Cowsajee. The Misses Eden were there, which the Baboo ought to have thought a very great honour.

1837, Jan. 1st.—Mr. H— arrived from Assam, suffering from the effects of one of the terrific fevers of that country: he brought me a leaf insect,—a great curiosity.

5th.—Made my salām at the Government-house, as in duty bound.

9th.—The first day of the races: drove to the stand at seven A.M., through a deep, white, thick fog, so usual in the early morning in Calcutta, which did my sore throat and cold no good.

11th.—The second day of the races; the Auckland Cup was to be given to the winner. The cup was of silver, the design remarkable, and very beautiful. It was sketched by Miss Eden, and executed in good style by Messrs. Pittar and Co., jewellers, in Calcutta. The winning horse came in well: twenty yards beyond the post, as the jockey attempted to pull him up, the horse dropped and died instantly. The cup was awarded to the dead horse. It was a piteous sight.

15th.—Accompanied Mr. W— and a party over his racing stables: the sight of the racers all ready for the contest in the morning was pleasing. We then visited a number of imported English and Cape horses that were for sale.

In the evening I drove to see the far-famed Bengālee idol, Kalī Mā’ī, to which, in former times, human sacrifices were publicly offered; and to which, in the present day, and in spite of the vigilance of the magistrate, I believe, at times, a human being is offered up;—some poor wretch who has no one likely to make inquiries about him. The temple is at Kalī Ghāt, about two miles from Calcutta. The idol is a great black stone cut into the figure of an enormous woman, with a large head and staring eyes; her tongue hangs out of her mouth, a great broad tongue, down to her breast. The figure is disgusting. I gave the attendant priests a rupee for having shown me their idol, which they offered with all reverence to Kalī Mā’ī. The instruments with which, at one stroke, the priest severs the head of the victim from the trunk are remarkable.

16th.—A cup of silver, given by a rich Bengālee, Dwarkanath Tagore, was run for: the cup was elaborately worked, and the workmanship good; but the design was in the excess of bad taste, and such as only a Baboo would have approved. It was won by Absentee, one of the horses I had seen in the stable the day before, contrary to the calculation of all the knowing ones in Calcutta.

17th.—The inhabitants of Calcutta gave a ball to the Miss Edens. I was too ill to attend.

30th.—Dined with an old friend at Alipūr, some two miles from Calcutta. The coachman being unable to see his way across the maidān (plain), stopped. The sā’īses, who were trying to find out where they were, ran directly against the walls of the hospital; the fog was so dense and white, you could not see a yard before you; it made my cough most painful, and the carriage was two hours returning two miles.

Feb. 4th.—I spent the day at the Asiatic Society. A model of the foot of a Chinese lady in the collection is a curiosity, and a most disgusting deformity. The toes are crushed up under the foot, so as to render the person perfectly lame: this is a less expensive mode of keeping a woman confined to the house, than having guards and a zenāna—the principle is the same.

Having bid adieu to my friends in Calcutta, I prepared to return to Allahabad, and took a passage in the Jellinghy flat. The servants went up the river in a large baggage boat, with the stores, wine, and furniture. I did not insure the boat, insurance being very high, and the time of the year favourable. The horses marched up the country.

March 6th.—I went on board the Jellinghy flat, established myself and my ayha in a good cabin, and found myself, for the first time, located in a steamer. She quitted Calcutta in the evening, and as we passed Garden Reach, the view of handsome houses in well-wooded grounds, which extend along the banks of the river, was beautiful. The water being too shallow at this time of the year for the passage of the steamer up the Bhaugruttī, or the Jellinghy, she was obliged to go round by the sunderbands (sindhū-bandh). The steamer herself is not the vessel in which the passengers live; attached to, and towed by her, is a vessel as large as the steamer herself, called a flat, built expressly to convey passengers and Government treasure. It is divided into cabins, with one large cabin in the centre, in which the passengers dine together.

7th.—We quitted the Hoogly and anchored in the sunderbands. The sunderbands is a large tract of low muddy land, covered with short thick jungle and dwarf trees. It is an assemblage of islands, the tides flowing between them. A more solitary desolate tract I never beheld. We anchored where three streams met, flowing in from between these low mud islands. When the tide turned in the middle of the night, the steamer swung round on the flat with a crash; several times the two vessels were entangled in this manner; the steamer drove in one of the cabin windows, and it was some time ere every thing was right again. Exposed to the power of the three streams, she was never quiet, never at rest: the children cried, the ducks did not like to be killed, and the vessels were wrestling together for hours—an unquiet night.

8th.—The mud islands are under water at high tide. At this moment we are passing through a very narrow passage; on each side the thick, low, impenetrable jungle comes down to the water’s edge. Not a tree of any size to be seen; not a vessel, not an animal. During the whole of this day I have only seen two paddy birds, and one deer. The thick jungle is full of tigers; so much so, that the Hindoos on board are not allowed to go on shore to cook their food on that account. Going along with the tide in our favour, the swiftness of the steamer is terrific; the velocity with which we pass the banks makes me giddy. We have just passed a spot on which an oar is stuck up on end. The captain of the flat pointed it out to me as a sign that a native had been carried off at that spot by a tiger. It is the custom to leave an oar to point out the spot, or to stick up a bamboo with a flag attached to it—as in Catholic countries a cross is erected on the spot where a murder has been committed.

“Kaloo-rayŭ is a form of Shivŭ: the image is that of a yellow man sitting on a tiger, holding in his right hand an arrow, and in his left a bow. A few of the lower orders set up clay images of this god, in straw houses, and worship them at pleasure. The wood-cutters in the eastern, western, and southern forests of Bengal, in order to obtain protection from wild beasts, adopt a peculiar mode of worshipping this idol. The head boatman raises elevations of earth, three or four inches high, and about three feet square, upon which he places balls of clay, painted red; and, amongst other ceremonies, offers rice, flowers, fruits, and the water of the Ganges carried from the river Hoogly, keeping a fast: the god then directs him in a dream where to cut wood free from danger. There is no authority for this worship in the shastrŭs. Dŭkshina-rayŭ is another god, worshipped in the same manner, and by the same class of persons[18].”

9th.—Last night two boats full of wood-cutters passed us; they said several of their men had been carried off by tigers. We have only overtaken four boats all this time in the sunderbands. During the hot weather people dare not come through this place; fevers are caught from the malaria: at the present time of the year it is safe enough. There are no inhabitants in these parts, the people finding it impossible to live here. We have a very pleasant party on board, most of whom are going to Allahabad. The vessel is a good one; the accommodation good, the food also. It is very expensive, but as it saves one a dāk trip in this hot weather, or a two or three months’ voyage in a country vessel, it is more agreeable. The heat in these vile sunderbands is very great; during the day, quite oppressive; when we enter the Ganges we shall find it cooler. As we were emerging from the sunderbands and nearing the river, the banks presented a scene which must resemble the back settlements in America. Before this time we had scarcely met with a good-sized tree. Here the trees partook of the nature of forest: some people were burning the forest, and had made a settlement. Barley was growing in small portions, and there were several dwarf cows. The scene was peculiar; a little bank of mud was raised to prevent the overflow of the tide; the stumps of the burned and blackened trees remained standing, with the exception of where they had been rooted out, and a paddy field formed. Places for look out erected on high poles were numerous, and thatched over: there a man could sit and watch all night, lest a tiger should make his appearance. There were a few miserable huts for the men, no women were to be seen; nothing could be more primitive and more wretched than these young settlements in the sunderbands. On the morning of the 10th we quitted this vile place, and anchored at Culna to take in a fresh supply of coals.

12th.—We arrived at Commercolly; anchored close to the bank, to take in more coal: it was very oppressive, but the evening was beautiful; the sky studded with stars, and the new moon just visible. I sat on deck enjoying the coolness: we anchored very late, not until it was impossible to see the proper course to steer on the river. We had at last gained the Ganges.

13th.—Passed a great number of boats that were out fishing, and ran over one of them containing four men, three were picked up immediately, the fourth passed under the steamer, from her bows to her stern; he was taken up exhausted, but uninjured. Some of the passengers are playing at chess, others reading novels; some asleep, some pacing the deck under the awning, all striving to find something wherewith to amuse themselves.

14th.—We arrived off Gaur; I looked with pleasure on its woods in the distance, recalled to mind the pleasant days I had passed there, and thought of the well-oiled dākait who had called on me as his grandmother to save him. It was just at this place that coming down the river we turned to the right, and went a short cut down the Bhaugruttī, instead of pursuing the course of the Ganges. A prize this day fell to my share in a lottery, in Calcutta, of a silver vase enamelled in gold; but more of this lottery hereafter.

16th.—I got up early and went on shore at Rājmahal, roamed in the bamboo jungle and amongst the ruins, until the ringing of the bell on board the steamer announced the coals were on board, and the vessel ready to start. Of all the trees in India, perhaps the bāns, bamboo, is the most useful, as well as the most graceful. What can be more picturesque, more beautiful than a clump of bamboos? From Calcutta to Allahabad, the common route by the river is eight hundred miles; round by the sunderbands the distance is nearly eleven hundred.

18th.—Passed the Janghiera rock, and anchored at Monghir: bought lāthīs, that is, solid bamboos, walking-sticks, sixty for the rupee. The male bamboo is solid, the female hollow. I bought them for the use of the beaters when M. mon mari goes out shooting.

20th.—The strong westerly wind sent the fine sand from the banks in clouds all over the vessel, filling the eyes and ears most unpleasantly.

25th.—Anchored at Benares: the steamer started again at 8 A.M.; the view of the ghāts as we passed was beautiful; the number of persons bathing, their diversified and brilliantly coloured dresses, rendered the scene one of great interest and beauty.

26th.—Passed Chunar;—the place had lost much of the beauty it displayed during the rains. A khidmatgār fell overboard, passed under the vessel from head to stern, and was picked up by the boat just as he was on the point of sinking. The skin was torn off the old man’s scalp; he received no further injury. The next day, to my astonishment, he was in attendance on his master at dinner-time, and seemed to think nothing of having been scalped by the steamer!

27th.—Received fruit and vegetables from an old friend at Mirzapore. I am weary of the voyage, the heat for the last few days has been so oppressive: very gladly shall I return to the quiet and coolness of my own home. Aground several times on sandbanks.

29th.—Started early, and arrived within sight of the Fort; were again fixed on a sandbank; the river is very shallow at this time of the year. With the greatest difficulty we reached the ghāt on the Jumna, near the Masjid, and were glad to find ourselves at the end of the voyage. My husband came down to receive and welcome me, and drive me home. The great dog Nero nearly tore me to pieces in his delight. Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī sent her people down to the ghāt to make salām on my landing, to welcome and congratulate me on my return, and to say she wished to see me.

It was pleasant to be thus warmly received, and to find myself once more in my cool and comfortable home on the banks of the Jumna-jee after all the heat and fatigue of the voyage.

The Brija Bā’ī, one of the Mahratta ladies, was delighted to see me once again, and performed a certain sort of blessing called balaiyā lenā, or taking all another’s evils on one’s self; which ceremony she performed by drawing her hands over my head, and cracking her fingers on her own temples, in token of taking all my misfortunes upon herself. This mode of blessing I have many times seen performed both by men and women, our dependents and servants, both towards my husband and myself, on our bestowing any particular benefit upon them; it expressed the depth of their gratitude.

April 6th.—The small-pox is making great ravages; some of our friends have fallen victims. Lord William Bentinck did away with the vaccine department, to save a few rupees; from which economy many have lost their lives. It is a dreadful illness, the small-pox in this country. People are in a fright respecting the plague; they say it is at Palee, and has approached the borders of the Company’s territories; we have fevers, cholera, and deadly illnesses enough, without the plague; it is to be trusted that will not be added to the evils of this climate.

The Palee plague, they say, after all, is not the genuine thing: it has not as yet entered our territories; however, the Government of Agra have very wisely adopted preventive measures, and have established boards of health, cordons, and quarantine, with the usual measures as to fumigations and disinfectants. It would be really too bad to give this stranger a playground, in addition to our old friends fever and cholera, already domesticated.

15th.—The first time of using the thermantidote was this morning: how delightful was the stream of cool air it sent into the hot room! how grateful is the coolness and darkness of the house, in contrast to the heat and glare on the river!

15th.—This day is the anniversary of the birthday of the Gaja Rājā Sāhib, and she has sent me an invitation to accompany her to the Trivenī, the sacred junction of the rivers, to see her perform a vow, made for her by her mother. The young Princess from her birth was very sickly, and the mother, fearing the death of her infant, vowed to Mahadēo that if the god would preserve her life, she should do pooja as a fakīr, at the shrine, on each anniversary of her natal day. The time having arrived, the young Mahratta Princess will perform the vow in the evening. How much I regret I am unable to attend; unfortunately illness prevents my quitting the house. Picture to yourself the extraordinary scene. The young Princess doing pooja before the shrine of Mahadēo, a descent on earth of Shivŭ the destroyer. Her delicate form covered from head to foot with a mixture of ashes and Ganges mud; her long black hair matted with the same, and bound round her head like a turban; her attire the skin of a tiger; her necklace of human bones, a rosary in her hand, and a human skull for an alms-dish,—a religious mendicant; or making discordant music on a sort of double-headed hand-drum used by fakīrs, and wandering about within the canvas walls of the zenāna tent like a maniac! The skull borne by religious mendicants is to represent that of Brŭmha. Shivŭ, in a quarrel, cut off one of Brŭmha’s five heads, and made an alms-dish of it. As the Gaja Rājā appeared as a religious mendicant, the form in which the lord of the Bhōōtŭs appeared on earth, I hope some of the ladies represented the latter, a number of whom always attended Shivŭ. The Bhōōtŭs are beings partly in human shape, though some of them have the faces of horses, others of camels, others of monkeys, &c.; some have the bodies of horses, and the faces of men; some have one leg, and some two; some have only one ear, and others only one eye. They would have made charming attendants on the little Princess, who, wrapped in a tiger’s skin, and wandering like a maniac, performed, before the shrine of Mahadēo, the vow made in her name by her mother at her birth!

The Hon. Miss Frances Eden has been with a party at Moorshadabad, tiger shooting; they had indifferent sport, and only killed five tigers, one of which had the happiness of dying before the eyes of the fair lady. They have returned to Calcutta. It must have been warm work in the jungles after the tigers; but when one has an object in view, one is apt to forget the power of an Indian sun, until a good fever reminds one of the danger of exposure.

21st.—Last night, at midnight, the moon was completely eclipsed, and darkness fell over the land. The natives are horror-struck; they say it foretels sickness, disease, and death to a dreadful extent. It is not unlikely their fears may be verified: the plague is raging at Palee; it is expected it will spread ere long to the Company’s territories. Then, indeed, will the natives believe in the direful presages of the eclipse, forgetting the plague was the forerunner not the follower of the signs of wrath in the heavens. Sir Charles Metcalfe has issued all necessary orders to prevent the intercourse of persons from the infected cities, with those of the surrounding country. The small-pox is carrying off the young and the healthy; in every part of the country you hear of its fatal effects.

The Brija Bā’ī, one of the favourite attendants on the Bāiza Bā’ī, came to see me; I showed her a prize I had won in a lottery at Calcutta; a silver vase beautifully enamelled in gold, value £40. She was much pleased with it, and anxious to procure tickets in the next lottery for mechanical curiosities.

22nd.—The Bāiza Bā’ī sent to me to say she had put into a lottery, and feared, having only taken seven tickets, she might not gain a prize, and her people would say she was unlucky. Therefore, to avert the evil of being called an unlucky person, she wished to procure the whole of the tickets which remained unsold. I tried to persuade her that she had tickets in abundance; nevertheless she sent for thirty more. How curiously superstitious the natives are! She is as much pleased as a child at this little bit of gambling for mechanical curiosities and jewellery.

24th.—The Brija came to request I would visit the camp to show them how to use a magic-lantern; I did so, but it was a failure, being dim and indistinct. In the course of conversation, wishing to remember a circumstance related by one of the ladies in attendance, I noted it in my pocket-book, on a little slate of white china. Her Highness, who observed the action, asked for the pocket-book, examined it, admired the delicately white china, and asking for a pencil wrote her own name upon it. She appeared surprised at my being able to read and write, accomplishments possessed by herself, but uncommon among the Mahratta ladies, who are seldom able to attain them, it being the system of eastern nations to keep their women in ignorance, imagining it gives them greater power over them. They are taught to consider it unfit for ladies of rank, and that it ought to be done for them by their writers and mūnshīs; nevertheless, they were proud of the accomplishments possessed by the Bāiza Bā’ī.

Her Highness returned me the pocket-book, which I received with pleasure, and value highly for the sake of the autograph, of which, in the plate entitled “The Kharīta,” the writing on the right-hand side is a fac-simile.

All the needlework is done by women in the zenāna: to allow a tailor to make your attire would be considered indelicate, and their clothes are never allowed to be shown to men, lest they should thus be able to judge of the form of the lady purdanishīn, i.e. behind the curtain. Imagine the disgust an Asiatic lady would feel if placed in Regent Street, on beholding figures displayed in shop windows, intended to represent English ladies in corsets, bustles, and under petticoats, turning round on poles, displaying for the laughter and criticism of the men the whole curious and extraordinary arcana of the toilet of an European!

May 5th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī was unable to get the thirty tickets she sent for in the lottery; eighteen were all that were unsold, and these were taken by her. She was very fortunate, and won two prizes; one was an ornament in diamonds attached to a necklace of two strings of pearls, and a pair of diamond ear-rings, valued at 2000 rupees, i.e. £200; the second a clock, valued at 400 rupees, £40: my own ticket proved a blank. The clock is placed on a rock in the picture, on which are trees, a town, and a fort. In front is the sea, on which float a three-decker and a cutter, which roll upon the waves moved by mechanism. The Mahrattas were charmed with it: it is a good specimen, but they will spoil it in a month.

By referring to Chapter the Eighteenth it will be observed, that, on the 30th January, 1831, Khema Jāh and Moona Jāh were presented with khil’ats (dresses of honour) by his Majesty, who declared the former to be his heir, and both of them his sons; the latter, the Moona Jāh, now en route to prison, alone was believed to be the son of the King. It is rumoured that his Majesty disowned the boys in the hope that his lately-acquired wife, Kurchia-Mahal, as he styled her, might present him with a son, whom he might raise to the throne. Moona Jāh remained at Chunar until his death in 1846. The King’s uncle, Muhammad Ulee Shah, an old man, was placed on the masnad; and Mossem-ood-Dowla, the grandson of Ghazee-ood-Deen Hydur, and son of his daughter, was deprived of his inheritance.—(See the pedigree of the Kings of Oude, Chapter the Eighteenth, page 186.)