he wrote this with all the reserve of an official,
and the fear that Aunt Grainger might misquote him. Of course there were
other features in these letters--those hopes and fears, and prayers and
wishes, which lovers like to write, almost as well as read, poetising to
themselves their own existence, and throwing a rose-tint of romance
over lives as lead-coloured as may be. Of these I am not going to say
anything. It is a theme both too delicate and too dull to touch on. I
respect and I dread it. I have less reserve with the correspondence of
another character of our tale, though certainly, when written, it was
not meant for publicity. The letter of which I am about to make an
extract, and it can be but an extract, was written about ten months
after the departure of Calvert for India, and, like his former ones,
addressed to his friend Drayton:

"At the hazard of repeating myself, if by chance my former
letters have reached you, I state that I am in the service
of the Meer Morad, of Ghurtpore, of whose doings the _Times_
correspondent will have told you something. I have eight
squadrons of cavalry and a half battery of field-pieces--
brass ten pounders--with an English crown on their breech.
We are well armed, admirably mounted, and perfect devils to
fight. You saw what we did with the detachment of the --th,
and their sick convoy, coming out of Allenbad. The only
fellow that escaped was the doctor, and I saved his life to
attach him to my own staff. He is an Irish fellow, named
Tobin, and comes from Tralee--if there be such a place--and
begs his friends there not to say masses for him, for he is
alive, and drunk every evening. Do this, if not a bore.

"By good luck the Meer, my chief quarrelled with the king's
party in Delhi, and we came away in time to save being
caught by Wilson, who would have recognised me at once.
By-the-way, Baxter of the 30th was stupid enough to say,
'Eh, Calvert' what the devil are you doing amongst
these niggers?' He was a prisoner, at the time, and, of
course, I had to order him to be shot for his imprudence.
How he knew me I cannot guess; my beard is down to my
breast, and I am turbaned and shawled in the most approved
fashion. We are now simply marauding, cutting off
supplies, falling on weak detachments, and doing a small
retail business in murder