It was by the merest chance that I heard from a Captain Marpeet, who has been staying here, in his way up, of your arrival in India. How I missed seeing your “well-known” name in the papers or General Orders I really cannot imagine. Marpeet says, you only want a little more of his tuition to become a _ne plus ultra_—in short, I must not tell half the handsome things he has said of you; but in all I could not fail to recognize, clearly and distinctly, my old class-mate and companion of the third form. How I long, my dear fellow, to have a good dish of chat with you about school-days, and all the fun and frolic we have had together in times past! Do you recollect lame Tomkins, the pieman, and your unsuccessful attempt to prove to him, synthetically and dialectically, that long credit and great gains were preferable, as a mercantile principle, to small profits and quick returns, to which logic many an empty pocket sent forth, doubtless, a confirmatory echo? But oh, that stony-hearted man! Orpheus himself could not have moved him—no eloquence, no wiles—nought but the _ipsa pecunia_, the money’s chink. My regiment has lately arrived here from Berhampore. I have been for some time out of my griffinage, and though but a “jolly ensign,” like yourself, and not very deep in the mysteries of the _Hindee Bolee_, have lately obtained the command of a company—we being rather deficient in old hands. This works me a good deal, but I like my new powers, and if I could but understand the fellows, I should get on famously. I have a small bungalow near the river, and am comfortable enough, all things considered, so you must come and spend a month with me at least. Why not get to do duty with our regiment at once? it can be easily managed. I hope you enjoy life amongst the “True Blues” in the Mofussil. I have had some experience of them myself, and a kinder-hearted and more hospitable set of fellows, taking them in a body, does not exist. Give me a few lines to say on what day I may expect you here, and I will ride out and meet you (if you dawk it) and have breakfast ready. So for the present adieu—_au revoir_. Your friend and schoolfellow, T. RATTLETON. P.S.—By-the-bye, do you recollect your changing old Thwackem’s digestive pill, daily deposited at the corner of his desk, for a pea rolled in flour (or a bolus of your own manufacture), and how unsuspectingly the old boy would gulp it down, preparatory to locking up his cane and descending from his awful elevation? Many a good laugh I’ve had at this piece of _friponnerie_ of yours.