'Up the Country': Letters Written to Her Sister from the Upper Provinces of IndiaEden, Emily
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'Up the Country': Letters Written to Her Sister from the Upper Provinces of India
Eden, Emily
Eden, Emily, 1797-1869 -- Correspondence; India -- Description and travel
G. ought to dress himself as an abbot, and with his four attendant monks
receive as many nuns as the table will hold: the dress would make all
the difference, and otherwise I do not see how society is to be carried
on this year.
Friday, April 12.
I wish my box of gowns would ever arrive, don't you? I believe now, if I
see it when we go down from the hills this year I shall be lucky. Do you
recollect sending me a pink striped gown, a long time ago, by a Mr. R.?
I had it made up only lately, and put it on new last night: it was
beautifully made, 'and I never looked more truly lovely!' but there was
an _odd rent_ in the sleeve which, Wright said, must be the tailor's
fault. I put on my sash and heard an odd crack under the arm; then
Chance jumped into my lap, and there was an odd crack in front. I sat
down to dinner, and there was _another_ odd crack behind. In short, long
before bed-time my dear gown was what Mrs. M. used to call 'all in
_jommetry_'--there was hardly a strip wider than a ribbon, rather a
pretty fashion, but perhaps too undefined and uncertain: that comes of
being economical in dress. The next gown you send me shall be made up
the afternoon it arrives, but you need not send any more till we come
out to India next time. I really think _this_ banishment is coming to an
end. Now we have broken into the last year but one, it seems like
nothing. We have forsaken the buying of shawls and trinkets, and have
gone into the upholstery and furniture line; everything is done with a
view to Kensington Gore. I have just been writing to C. E. for a few
Chinese articles--a cabinet, and a table or so, to arrive at Calcutta
next year, and not to be unpacked. I have an arm-chair and a book-case
concocting at Singapore, and a sort of table with shelves of my own
devising, that is being built at Bareilly, under the magistrate there.
That, I think, may prove a failure, but I have a portfolio and inkstand
on the stocks that will be really good articles. I got some beautiful
polished pebbles from Banda and Nerbudda. (I have not a notion where
that is, but everybody here seems to know; I only know my pebbles were
ordered eight months ago.) I thought they would have been small trashy
things, but some of them are beautiful, like that great stone you had in
a brooch, and I am having them set in silver, as a portfolio incrusted
and enchased, and all that sort of thing. It will make a shocking item
in my month's expenditure, but then it will be an original device, and
when I go home of course everybody will observe: 'An Indian portfolio, I
see, Miss Eden,' and I shall carelessly answer, 'Yes, those are the
common Bazaar portfolios, but you can have very handsome ones made, if
you like to order them, and then, of course, everybody will write out
for a common portfolio.
Saturday.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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