Meerut is a large European station--a quantity of barracks and white bungalows spread over four miles of plain. There is nothing to see or to draw. George had a levée in the morning and audiences all day, and would not go out any more. F. and I went in the tonjauns wherever the bearers chose to convey us, and that happened to be to the European burial-ground. We could not discover any one individual who lived to be more than thirty-six. It may give Lady A. D. pleasure to know that Sir R.'s first wife is certainly dead and buried--at least she is buried--under a remarkably shabby tomb. People here build immense monuments to their friends, but Sir R. cut his wife off with a small child's tombstone. Wednesday, Feb. 7. There now! there is the overland post come, of December 1st, with a letter from R. and one from Mr. D., both to George. It is a great thing to know you were all well at that time, but still it is very mortifying not to have any letters addressed to our noble selves. It falls so flat. I had long ago given up any sea letters, but we kept consoling ourselves with the notion of this overland business--that is, I never did; I always said we should not have our proper complement of letters, so I am not the least surprised, for I am confident that we have been here at least fifteen years, and are of course forgotten; but still it is very shocking, is not it? Lady G. used to write, but she has given it up too. I do not know what is to be done; and I consider it rather a grand trait of character that I go writing on as much as ever, considering it is six months and four days since the date of your last letter. The post brought in plenty of papers, and the Queen's visits to Guildhall and to Covent Garden are very interesting. I think politics look ugly enough. We had a very large party last night--the two large tents quite full of nice-looking people--and they danced away very merrily. Meerut, Sunday, Feb. 11. We have had so much to do I could not write. But first and foremost we have had some letters of September by the 'Zenobia' and the 'Royal Saxon:' not a line from you--you evidently have a little pet ship of your own; and but one from L., one from Lady G., &c.: in short, a good provision, but I still wish yours would come to hand. These are five months old, but that is not so bad.