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Updated: June 3, 2025
... a whole fortnight since I wrote last, and our tour is almost over. On Wednesday we go back to Calcutta, and in April I sail for home. The time has simply rushed past. This last fortnight has been a time of pure delight; I have been too absorbed in enjoying myself to write. First, we stayed two days in a town where Boggley had to open some sort of building.
They merely smiled and said, "Cer-tain-lee," and Boggley irritated me more and more by solemnly repeating: "It is not good for the Christian soul to hustle the Aryan brown, For the Christian riles and the heathen smiles And it weareth the Christian down.
I had an idea they were prowling all over India waiting to spring, but one man told me he had been in India fifteen years and had never seen one. Boggley came on one once and took it for a cow short-sighted Boggley! Dr. Russel says there was a man-eating tiger in the district lately, and a reward was offered for its capture. A young engineer sallied forth to slay.
And I am glad of your lonely life. I shall be able to show you what a nice thing a home is. A quiet, safe place we shall make it, where worldly cares may not enter. Boggley says I can make an hotel room look home-like, and, indeed, it is almost my only accomplishment, this talent for home-making. There is one thing I want to say to you.
I can order what I want at meals. At first when I wanted boiled eggs and heard Boggley order unda bile, I remonstrated, "Not under-boiled, hard-boiled," until it was explained to me that unda meant egg. The native can't say any word beginning with s without putting a y before it, thus y-spice beef, y-street.
It is never pleasant to come down from the heights, and we had rather a dreary journey to Siliguri. Boggley had taken care to wire for a lower berth in the train for me, but it seems ordained that I shall ascend in Indian trains.
When we reached our destination we found Autolycus prancing distractedly. "This," he said to Boggley, "is what comes of making no bundabust." Some other people were already occupying the bungalow, and we could only get the back rooms, small, mouldy, and inconvenient.
They come in little groups and talk to Boggley outside his tent, and I must say he is most patient with them and tries to do his very best for each one of them. They make my heart ache, these natives, they are so gentle and so desperately poor. Isn't it Steevens who says the Indian ryot has been starving for thirty centuries and sees no reason why he should be filled?
Isn't he pure gold, my Boggley? I know that you too "think nobly of the soul." He will be home in a year, and I am trying to tell myself that a year isn't long. Well, the Indian trip is over, and I have a lot, learned a few things, and made some friends best of them my faithful G. It is rather astonishing that I should have the joy of her company home again.
G. and I clambered on board, in great haste to find our cabin. Boggley was with us, but when he saw we were going to be firm he fled, "This," said G., waving her hand towards the offending box, "must go into the baggage-room." "Certainly," said the Glasgow woman. "I'm sure I don't know what it's doing here. Ma husband wrote the labels." And she actually began to drag it into the passage.
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