“Well, Augustus,” said he, “what are the prospects of indigo this year? how does the blue look?” “Oh! fair, sir, very fair. If we have no further rise of the river, and get a few light showers, and the rain does not fall too long to wash the colour out of the plant, and this wind continues, we shall do very well this year. The price is well up, Rs. 300 a maund for the best, and I think we shall make 600. The plant looks beautiful on the Chuckergolly churs—at least it did till the Bobberygunge Talookdar’s cows and buffaloes got into it. However, after all, I think we shall, on the whole, have a capital season.” “That’s well,” said the general. “Egad, I think we’ll see you go home with your plum, Augustus, yet.” “Home, sir!” said Augustus; “I know of no home but India. Here I was born, and here, please God, I will die, however singular the determination.” Tiffin was now announced, and we descended to the dining-room. Tiffin, or lunch, is in Bengal a delightful meal, suitable in its character to the climate, which renders the supererogatory one of dinner, particularly in the hot season, with its hecatombs of smoking meat and general superfluity of viands, often very much the reverse. The tiffin on the whole passed off very agreeably. Mrs. Delaval described society as it exists in the Madras presidency, and much she had seen and heard there. Augustus told us of a recent battle-royal, a sort of Bengalee Chevy Chase, which had been fought between his followers and those of a neighbouring Zumeendar, by way of settling the right to some disputed beegahs of indigo; in which many crowns were cracked, and astonishing feats of chivalry displayed on both sides. But the parts of his conversation which most delighted me, were the accounts he gave of sundry wild hog and buffalo hunts, which after deducting about 50 per cent. on account of embellishments—for sportsmen, like poets, must be allowed some considerable latitude in that way—were really very exciting. In fact, I told him I was dying to have a touch at the hogs and buffaloes myself, and that I hoped it would not be long before I fleshed my maiden spear on a few of the former. This looked rather like a fish for an invitation to the Junglesoor Factory, and I won’t swear that I was wholly without design on the worthy indigo planter’s hospitality in making the remark; whether he, viewed it in this light, or not, I cannot say, but he promptly said he should be happy to gratify my longing in that line, if I would go and spend a fortnight with him at his factory. I replied, “I should be delighted to accompany him, if I could obtain leave.” “Oh!” said he, “that difficulty can easily be overcome; my father, I dare say, will give you a note to a friend of his in the adjutant-general’s office, who’ll procure you leave at once.”