The weather, during the cold season in this part of India, is not nearly so inclement as in Calcutta and the north-western provinces; nevertheless, it is very desirable to shut out the keen and cutting wind, which frequently blows during the night.  The people here, however, seem fond of living in tents, and it often happens that gentlemen especially, who have had good houses of their own over their heads, go to very considerable expense for the purpose of enjoying the free air of a camp.

I had an opportunity of seeing the facility and despatch with which such a change of residence is managed in Bombay.  Driving one evening round the foot of a conical hill overlooking the sea, we met a party of gentlemen who said that they were looking out for a good place to pitch their tents, and invited us to dine with them on the following evening at seven o’clock.  As the hill was in our neighbourhood, we ascertained at eleven o’clock the next morning that there was not a symptom of habitation upon it; however, we were determined to keep our engagement, and accordingly arrived at the appointed hour at the point of the road at which a rude pathway opened.

It was perfectly dark, but we found the place indicated by a cluster of lamps hanging like a bunch of grapes from a tree; a palanquin was also in waiting to carry the ladies up the hill in turn.  I preferred walking; and though my shoes and the hem of my gown were covered with prickles and thorns, which interweaved themselves in an extraordinary manner through a satin dress, I enjoyed the walk amazingly.  A man with a lanthorn led the way, a precaution always taken in Bombay, on account of the alleged multitude of the snakes, and at every three or four yards’ distance, another cluster of lamps suspended from a tree pointed out the way.

In a few minutes we arrived at a platform of table-land on the summit of the hill, prettily sprinkled with palm-trees, and came upon a scene full of life, picture, and movement.  The white outline of the smaller tents had a sort of phantom look in the ambiguous light, but the open doors of the principal one showed a strong illumination.  A table, which we might have supposed to be raised by the hand of an enchanter, gleaming with silver, cut glass, and wax candles, was absolutely framed in by the darkness around.  Two or three horses picketed under the trees with their grooms, cowering over fires made upon the ground, looked very like unearthly chargers, just emerged with their grim attendants from some subterranean kingdom; while the red glare from the cooking tents, and the dusky figures moving about, could scarcely be recognised as belonging to human and every-day life—­the whole scene having a supernatural air.