seen a single thing suitable for a man. Poor Peter wailed for a monkey
or a mongoose, but I told him to wait till I came home and I would do
my best to bring one or both.

I can only send you greetings from a far country.

You know you will never be better than I wish you.


_Calcutta, Dec. 10_.

Dear Mr. Oliver Twist,--I really don't think I can write longer
letters. They seem to me very long indeed. I am not ashamed of their
length, but I am ashamed, especially when I read yours, of their
dullness and of the poverty-stricken attempt at description. How is it
that you can make your little German town fascinating, when I can only
make this vast, stupefying India sound dull? It wouldn't sound dull if
I were telling you about it by word of mouth. I could make you see it
then; but what can a poor uninspired one do with a pen, some ink, and
a sheet of paper?

I have been employing a shining hour by paying calls. You must know
that in India the new arrival does not sit and wait to be called
on, she up and calls first. It is quite simple. You call your
carriage--or, if you haven't aspired to a carriage, the humble, useful
_tikka-gharry_--and drive away to the first house on the list, where
you ask the _durwan_ at the gate for _bokkus_. If the lady is not
receiving, he brings out a wooden box with the inscription "Mrs.
What's-her-name Not at home," you drop in your cards, and drive on to
the next. If the box is not out, then the _durwan_, taking the cards,