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CHAPTER VIII.

Containing some Prognostics of a grand Fancy Ball and introducing a new Heroine.

We do not undertake to say that Peregrine Pultuney was utterly overwhelmed by the intelligence of his uncle's death. We believe that he was as little selfish as most people; but how could he be very sorry for the demise of an elderly gentleman, every bit as cross as a Good Friday's bun, whose existence was a curse to every body around him as well as to his own self? Besides, he knew that one obstacle at least to his union with Julia was removed, and his love had not dwindled down to so small a stature as to render him lukewarm on this subject—still the nearest of all to his heart. Mrs. Poggleton had promised to help him, and then it was possible-though he turned away from the thought -that by the decease of Mr. Poggleton, another barrier might have been removed-it was possible that the civilian might have left money behind him; and in this case, why should not the young

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people be married as quickly as possible—when the year of mourning would be over. Mourning !" thought Peregrine, "ah! I suppose, I must buy half-a-yard of black crape to tie round the sleeve of my raggy."

As Peregrine was no hypocrite, he did not pretend to be deeply grieved by the death of his uncle. He communicated the intelligence to every body whom he thought it might concern, and caused it also to be published in the newspapers. Mr. Poggleton was not a favourite, and, almost with the solitary exception of Dr. Fitz-simon, scarcely a person did any thing more than express regret at the occurrence. To the house of the latter gentleman Peregrine betook himself on his first arrival in Calcutta-indeed from the post-office he proceeded direct to No., Chowringhee, partly to inform the worthy doctor of Mr. Poggleton's death, and partly of his own (Peregrine's) entire restoration to health -the latter piece of information of course to be accompanied with a profuse tender of thanks. Nothing could have happened better for Peregrine than this early visit to his kind friend; for in little more than an hour after his walking up the steps of the Chandpaul Ghaut, he found himself once more domesticated in Dr. Fitz-zimon's house, as happy as he could be under existing circumstances, and almost as happy as he ought to have been with so much kindness and hospitality about him.

There is nothing in the way of climate, to the best of our belief, at all equal to an Indian cold

weather, and when Peregrine reached Calcutta, the cold weather was certainly as delightful as it could easily be. It would be impossible to convey the slightest idea of the luxury of this glorious season to any body who has not sweltered through the intense miseries of the hot weather from April to November. It is like-but we must leave its glories to be imagined; our pen is not equal to the description of them; so we must confine our remarks to external effects and say nothing about inward

sensations.

It was the cold weather-the dear, delicious cold weather, and Calcutta was getting brisk again. Book-muslins and coloured muslins, and all kinds of muslins had not been disturbed for some weeks past; silks and challis and merinos had taken their place, and dhobies were getting fat and indolent. Velvet bonnets were much in request, and kid gloves were almost wearable-ice was at a discount, punkahs idle in the godowns, and meat able to get through a night without an attack of putrid fever. Port wine was more valued than claret, long-lost appetites were returning to their owners, and the coldwater bath had become an object of terror to nine out of ten bathers. All Calcutta was alive-the races were just over, cricket-matches were being played every day, and balls innumerable on the tapis, when Peregrine Pultuney made his third appearance in the City of Palaces, full of health and half-full of spirits. He was not quite happy-how could he be?

His six months' leave not having expired, he determined to remain a week or two in Calcutta before returning to Dum-Dum and duty-guard-mounting, bullock-driving, and fuse-setting; and, having bought a yard of crape for his hat, and discovered that he had a black surtout in very tolerable condition, and of most unexceptionable build, a little creased only for want of resuscitation after a year or two's " snugg lying in the abbey," one of Welsh and Stalker's bullock-trunks, he mounted the proper mourning for his deceased uncle, and went forth to pay a round of visits. People in India do not consider it necessary to exclude themselves from all society, when they hear of the death of a relative at a distance, unless the relationship be a very near one; and Peregrine, who, as we have said before, neither cared nor pretended to care about his uncle, did not consider it necessary to shut himself up, because Mr. Poggleton, just two months ago, had fretted himself into a watery grave. So two or three days after his arrival in Calcutta, he set forth, in one of Dr. Fitz-simon's carriages, to see all his affectionate friends, who were, we doubt not, as much rejoiced at his return, as they could be at any thing which was not of immediate importance to their own interests.

There was a grand fancy ball on the tapis, and as a matter of course, every body was talking about it. It was the one great subject of conversation-the leading idea in fashionable circles—and for once

the besetting apathy of Indian society seemed to have been fairly banished out of doors. After a vast quantity of preparatory discussion and two or three meetings at the town-hall, the important day had just been fixed upon, stewards chosen, preliminaries settled, advertisements published in the morning papers; and, as a consequence of these manifestations on the part of the bachelor community, all the ladies of Calcutta were, of course, in a flurry, and the milliners on the qui vive. Every body was beginning to cogitate profoundly on the great question of what dress was to be worn on this momentous occasion. Books of costumes were in great demand, and Walter Scott's novels were dipped into. The extravagant began to ponder on new velvets, gold lace, and ostrich feathers; whilst the economical were thinking what old dresses they could cut most successfully into costumes, and how they could make the greatest show at the least possible expense. The inquisitive were pretty well engaged in trying to find out how Mrs. This, or Miss That would be dressed, whilst the mysterious were taking as much pains to prevent others from discovering the nature of their contemplated disguise, and looking as important and secret-department-ish as any three days' old member of council. Every body, though all in different ways, was full of the fancy ball, and to have talked about any thing else, in society would have been as preposterous as talking to a young mother, just out of her "month,"

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