I must put this up to-night. This is the first time I have had an evening quite alone, in an English fashion, since we came to India--not even a stray aide-de-camp about. They are all gone to the last of the Simla theatricals. I had seen four out of the five plays, so I excused myself, as I am drawing all day for the fancy fair, and wanted to write to you and M. and C. to-night. I was in a horrid fright. ---- was going to stay with me, but with great tact he walked off to his own house; and so now, if there were but a carriage-road and a knocker, and a servant in red inexpressibles to announce you, I really should take it kindly if you would drive up, give a double knock, and be announced. As it is, I am very comfortable. I don't object; but the window is open to the verandah, and I see the little green Ghoorkas (the most hideous little soldiers in the world) mounting guard, with all sorts of outlandish noises. The door is, of course, open to the passage--Indian doors can't shut--and my four hirkarus are sitting cross-legged, wrapped up in shawls, playing at a sort of draughts that they call 'pucheese.' There is not a human being in the house who understands a word of English: the Europeans are all gone to the play, and the head servants go to their own homes after dinner. I have a great mind to call out 'fire!' and 'thieves!' as loud as I can, to see what will come of it--it will only break up the game of pucheese; and the hirkarus will think I have gone mad, and respect me accordingly--they have a great regard for madness. I really think it awful! I wish I could speak Hindustani--I am sure I must want something, only I cannot ask for it. I will tell them to seal this letter, and if they tear it up I shall have made a sad waste of my evening. Good-bye, dearest sister. Please always write by the overland post. CHAPTER XXII. Simla, September 27, 1838.