Chronicles of Dustypore: A Tale of Modern Anglo-Indian SocietyCunningham, H. S. (Henry Stewart), Sir
History
Chronicles of Dustypore: A Tale of Modern Anglo-Indian Society
Cunningham, H. S. (Henry Stewart), Sir
British -- India -- Fiction; India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction
Homeric chief among his peers, mingles with the throng, and is valsing
with Felicia. Boldero has reached the seventh heaven of his hopes, is
actually in possession of Maud's hand and has her heart beating close to
his own. Desvoeux looks reproachfully at her over Mrs. Vereker's
shoulder as they go whirling by. A hundred happy hearts are pulsating
with excitement and pleasure, drowning the cares of existence in such
transient oblivion as may be manufactured out of fiddlers and champagne.
Is this the race which proclaims itself inadept at amusements, and
which, historians gravely assure us, loves to take its very pleasures
sadly? Are these the melancholy beings whose gloom is supposed to have
acquired a still sadder tinge from the sad routine of Eastern life? Say,
rather, a race with healthy instincts and conscious energy and the ready
joyousness of youth--fittest rulers of a world where much hard work is
to be done, where many things tend to melancholy and all things to
fatigue.
Boldero, as he rode homewards (only three miles out of his direct
course) by the side of Maud's palanquin, through the pelting rain,
admitted to himself an almost unlimited capacity for happiness, of which
he had till now been unaware.
There were some balls, moreover, when it did _not_ rain; when the music,
streaming out into the still atmosphere, could be heard miles away
across the gorge, and the moon, sailing in a cloudless sky, flooded the
mountain-sides with soft pure light. Such a night was that on which the
'Happy Bachelors' entertained their friends. Happy indeed! for the
fairest hands in Elysium had been busy twining wreaths and arranging
flowers; and ottomans and sofas and mirrors had been brought from many a
despoiled drawing-room, in order that the Happy Bachelors' abode should
look as picturesque and comfortable as hands could make it. Whole
conservatories of lovely plants had been all the morning marching up the
craggy path on peasants' heads. All Elysium was alert, for the
Bachelors were men of taste, 'well loved of many a noble dame;' and, if
not otherwise fitted for the Episcopate, at any rate fulfilling the
Apostolic requirement of being given to hospitality.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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