ommer" moaning reproachfully, "Oh, Ali, you
might have woke us," while outside on the platform bounded the irate
Boggley speaking winged words.

We did get on to the boat, so after all there was no harm done.

I was quite sorry to part with my Americans when we reached Calcutta.
They and their Ali were going on to Benares that night, tired and
spiritless. They shook us both violently by the hand, vowing we were
just "lovely people" and that I was a "real little John Bull!"

The home mail was waiting us when we got back, and I read my letters,
slept for an hour or two, and then got up and went to a big New Year's
dinner-party, where we had fireworks in our crackers, and sang what G.
calls "Oldlangzine."

Thanks so much for your delightfully long letter.

My wrist aches so I can't write another word.

_Calcutta, Jan. 8_.

One more week and we start for the Mofussil and the Simple Life. The
Mofussil, I may remark in passing, is not, as at first I thought, some
sort of prophet, but means simply the country districts.

I have been standing over Bella while she laid out all my dresses,
telling her which are to be packed carefully and left in Calcutta, and
which are to accompany me. I don't want to take any more luggage than
I can help; as it is, I foresee we shall have a mountain. Boggley has
been begging everyone for the loan of books, as he does not see how
I am to be kept in reading matter when there are no libraries within
reach. He accuses me of being capable of finishing two fat volumes in
a day, but I shan't have time to read much if I carry out my great
project. _I am going to write a book_. You are surprised? But why?
Other members of the family can write, why not I? I read in a review
lately that John has great distinction of style, so perhaps I have
too. Anyway, I have bought a pile of essay-paper and sixpenny-worth of
J nibs, and I mean to find out. It is to be a book about the Mutiny,
the information to be derived from Trevelyan's book on Cawnpore. There
is room, don't you think, for a really good book on the Mutiny?

Last night the Drawing-Room was held by the Vicereine, a function that
everyone, more or less, is expected to attend. I went with G. and her
sister (one needn't go with the lady who presents one), and found it
most entertaining. Not being the wives or daughters of Members of
Council or anything _burra_, we hadn't the private entree, and had to
wait our turn in pens, like dumb driven catt