Just now taking a _dekh_ (look) at the Calcutta _Khubber_ (News), I saw your name amongst those of a batch of griffs and _Tazu wulaits_ (fresh Europeans), having arrived by the _Rottenbeam Castle_. Welcome back, my dear fellow, to _John Kumpany ka raj_. I hope you will cut Calcutta, and lose no time in _puhonchowing_ (conveying) yourself up by _dawk_ to join the old _pultun_ (battalion), in which, I am sorry to say, things have been quite _oolta poolta_ (topsy-turvy) since you left us. Tims has quitted the corps, as you probably know. He was a d——d _puckha_ (stingy) hand, and a _muggra_ (sulky) beast into the bargain. However, I don’t think we have gained much by his _budlee_ (successor), our new _kummadan_ (commandant)—a regular _bahadur_ (great person), who _dicks_ our lives out with _kuddum ootou_ (drill), _dumcows_ (bullies) the native officers, and _gallees_ (abuses) the Jacks (sepoys). Tomkins and I still chum together; he, as _gureeb_ and _soost_ (quiet and lazy) as ever, and as fond of the _brandy pawney_, sends his _bhote bhote salaam_ to Marpeet Sahib. Station dull—no _tumasha_ (fun), as in the old times, when we were first here. The other day, however, old Dickdar, our brigadier, gave a _burra khanna_ (dinner); his _loll_ (claret) was bang-up and you may be sure we did not spare the _simpkin_ (champagne); _burra beebee_ (great lady) very gracious, and a great show-off of the _bal butchos_ (children). We had the old _bajja_ (band), your creation and hobby, in attendance, and got up a _nautch_. Smirks, our adjutant, quite a _burra admee_ (great man) since he mounted the _kantas_ (spurs), bucking up to and devilish sweet on the spinster; but it won’t _hoga_ (do); nothing under the revenue or judicial department will go down there—Samjah Sahib?—You understand me. Tip us a _chit_, my dear fellow, by return of _dawk_, and believe me, My dear Marpeet, ever yours very truly, JONAS TIPPLETON. “Well,” said I, “as far as I can understand, it seems a very friendly sort of a letter; but I should be better able to judge if you would give me the English of it.” Marpeet laughed, called me a critical dog, and put the letter in his pocket. “Come,” added I, “since you have shown me your letter, I will read you mine; one I have received from my factotum, Chattermohun Ghose, accounting for his temporary absence, which, for the choiceness of its language, is quite a _bijou_ in its way. Chattermohun tells me he was for some time a writer in an adjutant’s office, as also in a merchant’s counting-house here in Calcutta, which doubtless accounts for the phraseology smacking not a little of the technical language of both those schools. Here it is:— “‘MOST RESPECTFUL AND HONOURED SIR,