heavy. It is difficult to make plans, with
such a break-down of human hopes in possession of all my thoughts.

_Calcutta.--August 8th._--It is now dreadfully hot.... In search of
something to stay my gasping, I mounted on to the roof of the house
this morning, to take my walk there, instead of in my close garden,
where there are low shrubs which give no shade, but exclude the
breeze. I made nothing, however, by my motion, for no air was stirring
even there. I had a solitary and ghastly stroll on the leads,
surrounded by the _adjutants_,--a sort of hideous and filthy vulture.
They do the work of scavengers in Calcutta, and are ready to treat one
as a nuisance, if they had a chance.... There is much sickness here
now.

_August 9th._--... The 'Ferooz' will not reach Suez till about the
middle of November, so you had better not arrive there till after that
time. You will have the best season for the voyage, and time to rest
here before we go up the country.

_Calcutta.--August 17th._--... I told you that I was feeling the
weather.... I am going to-morrow for change of air, to a place about
300 miles from Calcutta, on the railway. It is not cooler, but drier,
and the doctor strongly recommends the change. This is our worst
season, and I suppose we may expect six weeks more of it. If this
change is not enough, I may perhaps try and get a steamer, and go over
to Burmah. But there is some difficulty in this at present.

[Sidenote: Bhagulpore.]

_Bhagulpore.--August 19th._--We made out our journey to this place
very well yesterday. The morning was cloudy, with drizzling rain, and
much cooler than usual, and we had the great advantage of little sun
and no dust all day. At the station of Burdwan, the inhabitants of the
station, some of them ladies, met us, and in a very polite manner
presented flowers. We kept our time pretty well in our special train,
and reached our abode at about 7 P.M. The air here is sensibly fresher
than at Calcutta.... The house is a regular bungalow,--a cottage, all
on the ground-floor. It is situated on a mound overlooking the Ganges.
There is no garden about it, but a grass field, with a few trees here
and there. Between the window at which I am writing and the river is
an open shed, in which two elephants are switching their tails, and
knocking about the hay whi