Here are snuff-boxes made of coal, which have been sent from Woolwich; and a beautiful little cannon of agate, from Germany; and two violins, worth a great deal of money, which have been contributed from America.

I know that the productions of India will delight you by their beauty and ingenuity:  the costumes the natives have sent are even prettier than those of Turkey, Spain, or Persia, and their gold, silver, and mother-of-pearl ornaments, are enchanting; what splendid veils, dresses, shawls, carved ivory, and curiosities!

I would have you look very attentively at the contributions from India, they are so gorgeous; such superb muslins, baskets, and fans; with silks, cotton, cocoa-nuts, roots, woods, and such tempting fruits.  I always like to see Indian articles, they are so magnificent.  The persons who have sent these things must have worked very hard, to make so many beautiful specimens; but then the poorer people of India are exceedingly industrious; they live very simply, eating rice, boiled with milk and spices, as their principal food, for it is against their religion to touch meat of any kind.  They would lead rather a sorry life, were it not that their tastes were so extremely simple, and their wants so few.  A Hindoo village looks more like a gipsy encampment, than anything else, and bears a very strange appearance to a European, at first.

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However, although the poor people live in this way, the princes and nobles lead a far different life; an eastern grandee could formerly do anything he chose, even to killing of his wives and slaves, and, only I do not wish to frighten you, I could tell you many stories about the cruelty of the Indian nobles.  They live in great state, and are always surrounded by a throng of slaves, and attendants, who wait on them as they recline lazily on a pile of the softest cushions, which are covered with the skins of beasts, and with silks, velvets, and satins.  When they go abroad they are carried in what is called a palanquin, borne on the shoulders of servants, if they do not choose to ride on a horse or an elephant.

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Their houses are adorned with the utmost magnificence, while the gardens or approaches to them are delightfully cool and refreshing, being shaded by fragrant trees, and shrubs, perfumed by the most beautiful flowers, and cooled by fountains, playing in marble basins.  The Indian machinery is very clumsy indeed, and the mills are the funniest-looking things imaginable:  I must show you an oil-mill.

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A very cruel custom prevails in many parts of India, which I know will shock you very much:  when a Hindoo of rank dies, his widow is laid by his side on a pile of faggots, which being set fire to, the poor creature is suffocated, or else burnt alive, and they pretend that she likes to be so destroyed.  The ceremony is called a “Suttee,” and is conducted with great pomp, all the relations of the woman and her dead husband being present, in addition to an immense crowd; before getting on the pile, the widow divides all her jewels and ornaments amongst her friends.  Here is a picture of a widow about to bathe in a “consecrated” river, before going to be burnt.