‘So you dined with the Queen?’ said one of these untravelled ladies to some general officer lately returned from Britain. ‘I suppose that at Her Majesty’s table there was nothing but tinned provisions.’ It is some years since the charming lady I allude to made this remark. The constant communication between England and India must have enlightened even those who have never left the country. In the hot weather Sundays mark that the weeks are passing; there is little else to do so. Divine service was at six in the evening, and the pale congregation gathered under punkahs to follow the clergyman, who, under his special punkah, read the service and preached a sermon. How very much hotter he must have been than we, who were melting, I can answer for, as I frequently officiated as clergyman in various quarters of India, owing to the absence, from sickness or other cause, of the padré sahib. I remember on one occasion the clerk whispering that there were banns of marriage to be proclaimed, and he only handed me the names of the pair. I utterly forgot the words of the form to do this, and could not find the place in the prayer-book; then, with startling distinctness, the old Scotch formula came to my mind, which I had often heard in the days of my boyhood: ‘There is a purpose of marriage between So-and-so, of this parish, &c.,’ announcing the same, to the considerable entertainment of some of my hearers. Occasionally, when the heat seemed to have reached its highest pitch, the bearer would appear, and ask leave to roll up the outside verandah chicks, as a storm was coming. The air felt thick and heavy, and the breathless stillness was overpowering. In a moment all was changed, and a raging tempest was upon us. A dust-storm is a terrible sight--the whole atmosphere a red mass, a whirlwind of dust, and all as dark as night around. I have stood at the window looking out into the darkness, and felt that there was some one beside me, without being able to distinguish who it was. Then the rain came down in torrents--we sallied forth always with an expectation of finding it cooler, but the sensation is that of a hot vapour bath. CHAPTER XVI. OUR FINAL JOURNEY. INDIAN HOSPITALITY--REMINISCENCES OF HINDOSTAN--MY BEARER--A SPINSTER IN A DILEMMA--DEOLLALEE--OUR FINAL JOURNEY--BOMBAY--VOYAGE IN THE JUMNA--ESCAPE OF A MINAR--LOSS OF A PARROT--RETURN TO ENGLAND--ESCAPADE OF A YOUNG OFFICER--ANECDOTE. CHAPTER XVI.