Shortly afterwards the “bearer” entered, noiseless as a tiger, and proceeded to open the shutters and admit the morning light. He next advanced to my couch with the evident intention of rousing me, but seeing the additions that I had made in my bed-clothing, stopped short. I pretended to be asleep, but watched him carefully. The poor fellow opened his eyes to their widest, looked round the room, thought for a moment, and then fled as before; returning this time in the company of my friend, who glanced at the bed, and immediately roared with laughter. It was all very funny, no doubt; but, not being quite able to appreciate the joke, I took refuge in pretended sleep. Later on, at breakfast, I gave a detailed account of what had happened, which my friend supplemented with the “bearer’s” version. Poor bearer! In spite of repeated explanations, he avoided me as much as possible, and evidently considered me dangerous. A day or two after I was claimed by a relation, and that domestic at least was greatly relieved by my departure! There is, gentle reader, a right and a wrong way of getting INTO bed as well as OUT OF it, as I found to my cost on more than one occasion; as, for example, the first stormy night at sea, when I made use of my swing-cot. Ignorance both of the language of the country and of the vast vocabulary of Anglo-Indian expressions was a sad drawback to anything like real enjoyment in those early days; as, besides feeling a bore of the first-water, having to ask so many questions, one felt more or less at every one’s mercy. At my first dinner-party I well recollect a gentleman inviting me to take “simkin” with him; politeness constrained me to accept “with pleasure”—and also with some secret misgivings; and some coagulated stuff was shot into my glass, which, on melting, turned out to be champagne—a word beyond any native’s power of pronunciation, and, in consequence, corrupted into “simkin” by natives and Europeans alike. Another friend begged me to call on him at some house in “Mango Lane.” I promised to do so, but, unfortunately suspecting a practical joke, I retaliated by telling him that my abode was “Pine-Apple Alley.” Had I only inquired, matters would have turned out otherwise. As it was, the poor fellow drove all over the town in search of a place that did not exist; while I never took the slightest trouble to find out his abode, though it was situated in one of the most important thoroughfares in Calcutta, where merchants most did congregate. Shortly afterwards we met out driving; and after the ensuing explanation, I made the _amende honorable_. I have already said that Calcutta did not impress me favourably at first; and after each subsequent visit I disliked the place more and more.