I have had two Delhi miniature painters here, translating two of my sketches into ivory, and I never saw anything so perfect as their copy of Runjeet Singh. Azim, the best painter, is almost a genius; except that he knows no perspective, so he can only copy. He is quite mad about some of my sketches, and as all miniatures of well-known characters sell well, he has determined to get hold of my book. There is a fore-shortened elephant with the Putteealah Rajah in the howdah, that particularly takes his fancy. However, I do not want them to be common, so I cut out of the book those that I wish to have copied, and I never saw a native so nearly in a passion as he was, because he was not allowed the whole book. Their miniatures are so soft and beautiful. F. has had your likeness of my father copied. Camp, Thursday, Feb. 21. I was quite sorry to leave the Residency yesterday, all the more so, from my ague having been particularly severe last night; it is very odd that nothing will cure it. However, we shall be at Simla in three weeks, and there was a good deal of rain again last night, which is against ague. Friday. We had such a frightful thunder-storm last night for three hours, with rain that might have drowned us all; I never heard such a clatter. _Our_ tents stood it very well, but a great many tents were beat down, and all the servants' tents were full of water. Luckily, this advanced camp escaped great part of the storm, and the tents are much drier than those we left. This is not good weather for ague; it goes lingering on, and they say will do so, till I get to the hills. I keep very quiet, but I shall be glad to be settled at Simla. You know I never could quite understand the Psalms, but I see what David means when he says, 'Woe is me that I am constrained to dwell with Mesech, and to have my habitation in the tents of Kedar.' Mesech I think he was wrong about. I should have no objection to dwell with him in a good house of his own, but the tents of Kedar are decidedly very objectionable and 'woe-is-me-ish;' double-poled tents, I have no doubt, and lined with buff and green. Sunday, Feb. 24. The idea of the December mail arriving this morning! letters of the 26th, less than two months old. 'Oliver Twist' we have read, doled out in monthly parts nearly to the end, and I like it very much--but 'Nicholas Nickleby' still better. We have left off there, at Miss Petowker's marriage, and Mrs. Crummles' walking tragically up the aisle 'with a step and a stop,' and the infant covered with flowers. There never was such a man as Dickens! I often think of proposing a public subscription for him--'A tribute from India'--and everybody would subscribe. He is the agent for _Europe_ fun, and they do not grow much in this country. Paniput, Tuesday.