Camp, Kurnaul, Nov. 13, 1839.

WE arrived here yesterday morning, and it is horrible to think how by constantly campaigning about we have become ‘Kurnaul’s tired denizens.’ This is the third time we have been here; the camp is always pitched in precisely the same place; the camp followers go and cook at their old ashes; Chance roots up the bones he buried last year; we disturb the same ants’ nests; in fact, this is our ‘third Kurnaul season,’ as people would say of London or Bath.

We had the same display of troops on arriving, except that a bright yellow General N. has taken his liver complaint home, and a pale primrose General D., who has been renovating for some years at Bath, has come out to take his place. We were at home in the evening, and it was an immense party, but except that pretty Mrs. J. who was at Simla, and who looked like a star amongst the others, the women were all plain.

I don’t wonder that if a tolerable-looking girl comes up the country that she is persecuted with proposals. There were several gentlemen at Kurnaul avowedly on the look-out for a wife.

That Mrs. —— we always called ‘the little corpse’ is still at Kurnaul. She came and sat herself down by me, upon which Mr. K., with great presence of mind, offered me his arm, and asked if I would not like to walk, and said to G. he was taking me away from that corpse. ‘You are quite right,’ G. said; ‘it would be very dangerous sitting on the same sofa; we don’t know what she died of.’

G. gives a great man dinner to-day, which is refreshing to his womenkind, who may dine quietly in their own tents.

Friday, Nov. 15.

There were some races early yesterday morning, to which they expected us to go; so I got up early and went with G., and luckily they were more amusing than most Indian races. Captain Z. revels in a halt at a great station, calls at everybody’s house, eats everybody’s breakfast, and asks himself to dinner everywhere; also rides everybody’s horses, and as, when he is well fed and thickly clothed, he weighs about four pounds, he is a valuable jockey, and he won two races to his great delight.

The last race was run by fifteen of the grasscutters’ ponies, ridden by their owners. These ponies are always skeletons, and their riders wear no great quantity of drapery, partly because they have no means of buying it, and then it is not their custom. They ride without saddles, and go as fast as they can, with their legs and arms flying in the air, looking like spiders riding on ants. One pony which was not particularly lame, was reckoned so very superior, that all the other riders insisted on his carrying two grasscutters, so the poor animal cantered in with two men on his back. I was so sleepy at the ball last night; I had sat two hours by K., knowing I should have to go in to supper with him, and at last, in a fit of desperation, asked Colonel L., one of our camp, to give me his arm. He is a regular misanthrope, and a professed woman-hater, and never even will call on us, though he has to come to the house every day to see G., and he looked astounded at my assurance; however, he bore it very well, and was rather pleasant in a bitter kind of way. We did not get home till past one. To-day we have a small dinner, chiefly of people who have come into camp from a distance.

Sunday, Nov. 17.

We left Kurnaul yesterday morning. Little Mrs. J. was so unhappy at our going, that we asked her to come and pass the day here, and brought her with us. She went from tent to tent and chattered all day, and visited her friend Mrs. ——, who is with the camp. I gave her a pink silk gown, and it was altogether a very happy day for her, evidently. It ended in her going back to Kurnaul on my elephant with E. N. by her side, and Mr. J. sitting behind, and she had never been on an elephant before, and thought it delightful. She is very pretty, and a good little thing, apparently, but they are very poor, and she is very young and lively, and if she falls into bad hands, she would soon laugh herself into foolish scrapes. At present the husband and wife are very fond of each other, but a girl who marries at fifteen hardly knows what she likes.

Paniput, Tuesday, Nov. 19.

I am so tired of being always at Paniput; are not you tired of hearing of it? We are constantly dropping in there. There is one European living here, a Mr. ——, the image of Jenkins, the dancing-master, for which simple reason we have always liked him. He has no other striking merit, but there is a halo of ‘Prince of Wales’s step’ and ‘the slow movement’ floating round him which is rather interesting.

We went to see his gaol, two miles off, and the first shower of rain of the season chose to come just as we were half-way there, on the elephants. A howdah is a sort of open cage without a top, and nobody had thought of a cloak, so it was a pleasant expedition. Paniput has had several famous battles fought at, or near it, and there is a grand tradition of one battle where 200,000 men fought on each side, and four were left alive. That is something like fighting; but happily it is not true.

Friday, Nov. 22.

We have had two or three most uneventful marches, and Sergeant H., who goes on the day before, always sends back the same report, ‘Road rough and very dusty,’ or to vary it, ‘Road very rough and dusty.’ However, we are always able to ride half of the way, which is a great help.

To-day we came over a wretched road and a bridge with one arch broken and no parapet, and as Sergeant H. reported, ‘Bridge in a worse state, if possible, than last year; quite unsafe for the carriage.’ After we come in to camp, we generally all sit in front of the tents and drink tea. The gentlemen come and ask for a cup and talk over the disasters of the road, and it is rather a gossiping time; particularly when enlivened by Mr. S., who is always like a sharp contradictory character in a farce, but before he has had his breakfast he is perfectly rabid. To-day he began as usual.

‘How slowly you must have come.’

‘The road was so bad,’ I said.

‘Yes, so everybody chooses to say. I thought it the best road we have had, much better than any of C.’s famous smooth roads.’

‘Did you come safely over that bridge?’

‘What was to hinder me? I cannot think why people find fault with that bridge, one of the best bridges I ever saw.’

‘Except that it has a broken arch and no parapet,’ I suggested.

‘Well! nobody wants to drive on a parapet. I think parapets are perfectly useless.’

Then C.’s palanquin went by, and as he was standing with us, Mr. S. took the opportunity of asking, ‘What wretches of children are those, I wonder?’ ‘Mine,’ said C., ‘or you would have had no pleasure in asking.’

It was such nonsense! Little ‘Missey C.’ is the smallest, prettiest little fairy I ever saw, and the pet of the whole camp; they are really beautiful children, and S. knew the palanquin perfectly. I told him at last he was just what our governess used to call ‘a child that had got out of bed the wrong way,’ and recommended his having his breakfast as soon as possible, and he owned, he thought it advisable himself.

Delhi, Monday, Nov. 25.

I am glad to be at dear Delhi again; it is the only place in the plains I have ever seen worth looking at, and it looks grander and more ‘great Babylonish’ than ever. We arrived on Saturday morning and rode in through an immense crowd, for besides all the regiments here, people have come from all parts just to ask for what they can get; appointments are filled up in November, because all the sick people who have been knocked up by the hot season get their furloughs for going home.

G. hates Delhi from the very circumstance of all these applicants. We had an immense party on Saturday evening, and nobody but ourselves knows who composed it.

There were young ladies from Meerut come for the chance of two balls, and all the ladies of our camp, and a great many from Kurnaul, and several young civilians who really had come in from their solitary stations to look for wives.

F. has caught such a cold she cannot go out. We never can settle whether we would rather have a slight illness, or go through all the festivities of a Station.

F. has not tried it before, but she now thinks she prefers the cold, only she has too much pain in her bones.

The people will not tempt us with many pretty things to buy, or else we have grown particular.

Tuesday, Nov. 26.

We had a great dinner yesterday, and G. and I went to the Station ball, which was very well managed. I do not know why one ball should be better than another; as far as the dinners are concerned, I think they are all equally tiresome, but balls do differ.

This was a very dancing business, and we did not get away till one. It went on till three, and I have been obliged to represent to our engaged aides-de-camp how very wrong it is of them to dance three times with the same girl—such a waste of time to all parties.

P. is quite altered since he has been engaged, and will talk and joke and dance in the most dÉbonnair manner. I suggested to him the propriety of my writing to Miss S. about his dancing three times with the same young lady, but he says he danced once under Captain L. E.’s name, and that he got up early to write an account of himself to ‘Clarissa’ this morning, mentioning that he had no pleasure in society whatever!

I have just been to ask G. to give F. and me two rings on which we have fixed our small affections, to which he was quite agreeable; but he had a lavish idea about buying for us two diamond bracelets, that a man from Lucknow has brought. I think that would be rather indefensible. However, they are gone to be valued.