My dear and kind Friend,—Shortly after my arrival in Calcutta I sat down to write in reply to that letter which reached me on board the Cornwall; it seemed my last link with country, home, and all the heart's affections, and many a time and oft was it read: in truth, I think I could have repeated it verbatim from the fact of having placed it in my dressing-box, to which instinctively my hand reached on every day I was able to sit up to have my hair combed. After duly announcing my arrival, I had proceeded to give you all the good reasons which prevented my compliance with the request contained in that letter—at least they were very sincere—as it seemed quite absurd to suppose that where men of genius and learning had written on the subject, anything I could say should be worth reading; even to enter on a path where so many formidable competitors had gone before seemed too nearly allied to vanity. All this I clearly expressed, and doubted not that the truth of the statement would be as visible to yourself as to me. Once more I read your letter, and made a full stop at that passage where you say, ‘No history of India, however wise and authentic, ever conveyed to me what I wished to know—a familiar picture of the everyday occurrences, manners, and habits of life of persons undistinguished either by wealth or fame. I care not whether Ram Row was poisoned or strangled, but should like to be able to realise to my own mind the actual situation and pursuits of my many friends there, and above all, whatever may more particularly concern yourself.’