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Friday, November 25th. Our grand fancy ball went off last night with the greatest éclat. Our little pages were the prettiest sight of the evening, particularly

who is a beautiful child, and being full of odd fancies, took a fancy that night to be a regular page and to carry my train and fan, like a page on the stage, and when I bade him good-night in the ball-room, he said, “I am going downstairs with you, it is my duty to see you to the carriage. Captain Cunningham was dressed as a Mameluke, Captain

as a Sikh Prince, William as the Corsair-so utterly disguised by black curls and eyebrows that I should not have known him at all, and the Doctor in his naval uniform. There was a sort of platform arranged for us, to which the steward took us and all our silver-sticks and chowries and peacock’sfeather men, who are glad to shirk their duties on ordinary occasions, but turn out with great pleasure for what they consider a very improper nautch. And George has just given them new scarlet and gold dresses for the cold weather, so they finished off our group very handsomely. Some of the native princes who were there had some very magnificent jewels, and there were some genuine Chinese dresses made of the sort of embroidered silk which I have always believed in, from knowing that the Chinese were the cleverest people in the world, but never saw. We came away at 12.30 P.M., quite astonished to find ourselves up so late. That is about the time we should be going to a ball in England. I am horridly tired to-day.

We had a long visit from a lady who is just come from Ava, where she has been two years without seeing any European woman, but one—and the Burmese treat the English just as contemptuously as the Chinese do. She was a nice good-humoured woman-all the nicer for bringing us a quantity of pretty Burmese curiosities. She said she was very fond of her one European friend at Ava, and thought her the cleverest woman she had ever seen, “but she is not fond of jokes, and sometimes I wanted to laugh, and except a Doctor, who came to Ava, and who talked nonsense, I really have not heard any nonsense for a very long time; but I hope at Calcutta everybody is not always grave.” I cannot hold out to her the most distant prospect of a joke, except the little we do in that way ourselves, and that grows less every day.

Wednesday, November 30th. We were to go to Dwarkananth Tagore's fireworks at night, so I would not ride, as the smallest possible quantity of fatigue is the grand aim of an Indian day, and I took a solitary drive by the river-side, and detected one of our boats coming up the river, and in it a remarkably fat rosy-looking young man, who turned out to be Captain returning from his three months' cruise, perfectly well. Dr. Drummond, who knew him when he first came out to India, says he thinks him now in much better health than he was then. I could not have believed three months could have made such a difference in any one. I drove down to the Ghaut and took him into the carriage, and he seemed really glad to be back again. He has brought us a great many pretty things—fans and card-cases and Chinese monsters, and some chessmen for William, and even a present for

who nursed him when he was ill.

George, after all, did not go to Dwarkananth's party, which was a pity, though I regret it less because if he goes to one party he must go to more; and getting up before six, as he does, it would be bad for him; and he is so well and looking so well now, that any change would be for the worse. We went in great state—three carriages and the aides-de-camp in their gorgeous uniforms, which they have only worn twice since we came; and we sent on fourteen of our own servants, because, as you will at once perceive, it would have been quite beneath us to allow the servants of a native to give us any tea; and we might have been bit by a mad mosquito if we had not taken our own chowry-men, as nobody else can have any when the Governor-General's are there. Moreover, the servants care about fireworks, if they care for anything. I have seldom seen a handsomer fête. It was very much like one of Lord Hertford's fêtes-beautiful fireworks; and then all the French actors and singers sat in one room, and dancing in another, and the instant one amusement was over another began. There were a great many of Dwarkananth's own relations present in very magnificent dresses, otherwise not many natives. We got away at 12.30 P.m., but the party lasted till 4. I was most dreadfully tired on Tuesday. George and I took a quiet drive, and we put off our ball till this evening.

Barrackpore, Monday, December 5th. We had our dance on Wednesday, and our usual levée on Thursday morning, and then came up here. I came with William in his boat, and I never felt a more beautiful evening than it was, and the sky and river were such a fine gold colour—the real Indian pure gold, not your trashy goldsmith's mixture, half brass; and then we have little vagaries of pea-green clouds-quite an original thought, rather vulgar, but still picturesque. As I have mentioned about thirty times in each letter to you what a shocking climate this has been ever since we came, it is but common justice to observe that the weather now is very enjoyable. Of course there can still be but one hour's going out for those who do not get up before sunrise, but the air that blows into the house all day is pleasant, and the evenings are charming

Ever yours, affectionately,

E. EDEN.

The Landlord of “The Sun."

BY WILLIAM GILBERT,
SHIRLEY HALL ASYLUM,” “DE PROFUNDIS," ETC.

AUTHOR OF

CHAPTER XXIV.

BRIGHTER PROSPECTS.

HITHERTO, the career of Christian Brandon, since his marriage with Sarah Gordon, had been marked by a series of unhappy events. Some of these, it is true, arose from faults of his own, but the greater portion were caused by the wickedness of others, and especially

by that of one man-Mr. Desbrow, the solicitor. A change, and a vast change for the better however came over the fortunes of Christian Brandon after his removal to Chicago. As stated in the last chapter, he managed in a very short time to collect around him a considerable number of respectable clients. These gradually increased until he had made the business one of great importance, and as he extended its operations, his profits in proportion became larger. In fact, after Christian had been three years established in Chicago, his business transactions yielded a profit to himself and his partner as large as the New York branch did to Mr. Lang alone.

For some time after Christian's removal to Chicago, he contented himself with his share in the profits arising from the ordinary course of a land agent's business, but as he began to accumulate money he became more ambitious. He now determined to invest his savings, which amounted to three thousand dollars, in the purchase of a plot of land near the town; judging from the rapid increase in its population, that it would shortly be required for building purposes, and he would then be able to sell it to great advantage. Nor was he disappointed in the conclusion he had arrived at, for eighteen months later he was paid not less than nine thousand dollars for his purchasea sum far exceeding what he had hoped for, even when his anticipations were at the highest.

It was some time before Christian could realize the extent of his good fortune. Even before he became the landlord of “The Sun," and when his funds were at the highest- he had never possessed half the amount he was now master of. Although greatly pleased with his good fortune, he determined to woo the fickle goddess still further since she seemed so favourably disposed towards him. Adding another thousand dollars (which he had received from the business since his investment in the plot of land) to the sum he had just realized, he made a similar purchase, and two years afterwards disposed of it again for double the price he originally paid for it. In the interval between the purchase and sale of the last plot of ground, Christian's business increased with immense rapidity, and he was fast becoming a man of considerable property. With his increase in wealth, a considerable change took place in his habits and manners. On first arriving in Chicago, he had a half anxious, half suspicious manner, which he had acquired in England after his escape from Van Diemen's Land, and this, from the incessant dread of meeting some of his old acquaintances, he had not been able to throw off even in New York. Nor was the alarm he felt in that city altogether without foundation, as was proved by his meeting the passenger

who had sailed in the same ship with him from New York to England, and afterwards his old sporting acquaintance, Botcherly.

At Chicago, Christian's fear of detection by those who had formerly known him diminished considerably, and the estimation and respect he found himself held in by his fellow-citizens succeeded at length in eradicating it altogether. Few who could have seen him after he had been two years in Chicago would have recognized him as the same being who, in London, was so depressed, and who dared not leave the house without the dread of meeting some of his old associates, or worse still, some detective police officer ready to arrest him. He had now acquired no inconsiderable portion of the frank independent manner of the Americans. He no longer felt troubled or turned aside, fancying he saw the eyes of a stranger fixed attentively on him, but returned gaze for gaze to all who looked at him.

In New York he had been remarkable for his taciturnity, rarely speaking to any one except on matters of business, and then as little as possible ; while in Chicago he was ever ready and willing to converse on any subject. He was now as good-humoured as he had formerly appeared morose, and though still preserving his temperance habits, he was genial and jovial when in society. With the fair sex he was a great favourite, especially with those no longer in the first bloom of girlhood, and more than one might be mentioned who would not have been offended had he proposed for her hand. But Christian, although by no means insensible to female attractions, was not what is termed a “ marrying man." Nor was this abnegation of the comfort and happiness to be found in the married state much to be wondered at. The reminiscence of the utter misery which had oppressed him from the time of his wedding till he emigrated to America, was indelibly stamped on his memory, and the impression it had made gave him but little encouragement again to become a husband. At last bis habits of celibacy appeared so confirmed, that those ladies in Chicago

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