80 LETTERS FROM MADRAS. fLer. vid
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LETTER THE EIGHTH
Madras, February 9th.
We have just received all your letters, which were more welcome than ever letters were before. In England, with your daily post, you little know the eagerness with which we poor Indians look out for our monthly despatch, nor the delight with which we receive it. For some days before the mail is expected all Madras is in a fever, speculating, calenlating, hoping, almost praying, that it may arrive a few days, or cyen a few hours, be- fore the usual time; and when it is known to be “in,” the news travels like wildfire in all directions; peous are despatched from every compound to wait at the post-office and bring the letters the instant they are given out, in order to gain an hour upon the general postmen; all other interests and occupations are forgotten ; and many people will receive no visits, if there should chance to be any unfortunate beings so letterless as to be able to pay them.
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You ask what kind of scenery we have round Madras, Flat plains of sandy ground, covered with # little harsh dry grass; half-cultivated gardens with high hedges; and large dilapidated-looking houses. Here and there we see very curious and picturesque native buildings, chiefly pagodas; but in general there is very little beauty either of architecture or scenery. Indian colouring is not for a moment to be compared with Italian for Jightness, softness, or brilliancy. The sunsets are sometimes exceedingly beautiful, hut in general I think the colouring is rather heavy and glaring. However, Madras is not considered a good specimen; people tell me that when I go up the country I shall be “surprised aud delighted.” The number of open fields and gardens must be healthy, but there is never any fresh feeling in the air: itis ali as dead and close as the air of a street. ‘Ihe flowers have no perfume, except the pagoda-flowers,
