other--I think they called her a Begum or a Glumdrum, or other such like
Gulliverian appellative--had been singularly fond of him, and had loaded
him in early life with favours--not only kisses, and so forth, but
jewellery and gold pagodas. And lately, as we know, Puttymuddyfudgepoor,
with its radiating rajahs and nabobs, had proved a mine of wealth: for a
crore is ten lacs, and a lac of rupees is any thing but a lack of
money--although rupees be money, and the "middle is distributed;" in
spite of logic, then, a lack means about twelve thousand pounds: and
four of them, according to Cocker, some fifty thousand. It would appear
then, that with the produce of the Begum's diamonds, converted into
money long ago, and some of them as big as linnet's eggs--and not to
take account of Mrs. Green's trifling pinch of the five Exchequer bills,
all handed over at once to Emily--the General's present fortune was
exactly one hundred and twenty-three thousand pounds.

Of course, _he_ wasn't going to bury himself at Burleigh Singleton much
longer; and yet, for all that stout intention of houses and lands, and
carriages and horses, in almost any other county or country, it is as
true as any thing in this book, that he was a resident still, a
lease-holder of Aunt Green's house, long after the _dénouement_ of this
story; in many things an altered man, but still identical in one; the
unchangeable resolve (though never to be executed) of leaving Burleigh
at farthest by next Michaelmas. Most folks who talk much, do little; and
taciturn as the general now is, and has been ever throughout life, it
will surprise nobody who has learned from hard experience how silly and
harmful a thing is secresy (exceptionables excepted), to find that he
grew to be a garrulous old man, gossipping for ever of past, present,
future, and, not least, about his deeds at Puttymuddyfudgepoor.

General Tracy is by this time awake again; if ever indeed he slept on