to do, is to take one of these houses.
And, to do him justice, it must be said that he
generally does so when he can, and occasionally
when he can't—or shouldn't. The rent for a
first-class mansion will be about three hundred
rupees (thirty pounds) a month—occasionally
more; and it may be less in the comparative
obscurity of a back street. The furnishing is the
next important business. In a place where people
spend money on so comprehensive a scale as in
Calcutta, the natural course would seem to be a
visit to the principal upholsterers, the inspection
of some pretty drawings and patterns, and
a large order for the whole houseful of furniture,
from the telescope-table on the dining-room
floor, to the Chinese curiosities on the
drawing-room mantelpiece. But this desperate
course it is seldom necessary to resort to, for
the reason that somebody else has always been
doing it before you, and has found out the
mistake;—several somebody elses, in fact, especially
in the spring, which is the favourite season for
going home, when the "valuable household
furniture" of a dozen different persons at a
time is entrusted to the hammers of the
auctioneers. In the best houses this has been
nearly all supplied by one maker, whose name is
a guarantee for excellence in a metropolis
where it is generally too hot for people to form
a taste for themselves. It will always be found
of the last approved pattern, and to have a
general character which will make it available
for any new distribution. The family likeness,
indeed, between the tables, the chairs, the
couches, and nearly everything else, is somewhat
fatiguing to the free eye of Europe, accustomed
to the exercise of individual fancy in
such matters, and to the miscellaneous mode of
furnishing which has become the custom in
London.

In Calcutta, you are expected to fill your
rooms according to a certain standard, from
which few have the courage to deviate; those
who do, find out their mistake when they
want to sell again. The young housekeeper
accordingly pays a visit, in the first instance,
to the houses where goods are exposed on
view, previous to the sale; and here he will not
only find all the wood, china, glass, and plated
ware that he wants, but varieties of unconsidered
trifles which are generally withdrawn from
auctions in England—personal matters, including
books inscribed with all kinds of people's
affectionate regards, and the most curious kind
of accumulations. These, the owners, if going
home, cannot dream of taking with them. From
these he makes his selection—in as many
different houses as lie can find patience to visit—
and his next thought, if he be a practical man,
and like doing business for himself, will be to
attend the sales when they come off, and bid for
the objects of his fancy. Of this intention,
however, he will soon be cured if his time be worth
anything, or he have a decent amount of
fastidiousness; for the brokers and others gathered
together on such occasions will leave him no
chance of getting any articles he may happen to
want, except at preposterous prices. A friend
of ours made the experiment once, and found
that the result of his morning's work was the
acquisition of seven live canary-birds and a
statuette—not a very useful contribution towards
the filling of an unfurnished house. In despair,
the new arrival does as most men find they have
to do in England, if they want to avail themselves
of auctions—he entrusts his purchases to an
agent, who will look after his interests for the
commission of five per cent. This agent is a
native baboo—a sleek gentleman dressed in
white muslin, who usually speaks and writes
English after a certain fashion—sufficient for
the object in hand. In a few days the purchaser
will find a considerable number of the articles
he wants, sent home to him at something like
the prices he has fixed, and a great many articles
winch he may not want at all, which have been
purchased because the baboo thought they
would do. The baboo is often a better judge
than his employer, and the chances are that the
latter gets his house made habitable at the
charge of from five to ten thousand rupees—
that is to say, from five hundred to one
thousand pounds. Of course there are many
establishments in Calcutta which cost far more to
furnish.

Servants are the next consideration. Of these
our housekeeper must have a little troop. The
durwan, or doorkeeper, who occupies a hut at
the gate, is probably already provided—he had
only to be taken on from the last tenant. For
his own personal service, the sahib requires a
bearer, or valet, who has an assistant to do
subordinate work; a khitmutgar, or table attendant;
and a similar set if there be a lady, the
khitmutgar alone, in that case, being a man.
Another bearer or two will also be required for
the house, besides chuprassies, or messengers,
for out-door commissions. Then there is a
cook, as a matter of course, and he, if he have
any self-respect, will require an assistant; as
a matter of course, also, there is a khansamah,
or steward, who buys everything necessary for
the house, and a great deal more, and who will
bring you the longest bills ever heard of unless
well kept in hand. If the sahib keep a carriage
which requires driving by anybody but himself,
he must necessarily have a coachman; and for
every horse he keeps, he must in any case have
a syce, or groom, as well as a grass-cutter, to
gather green food which cannot be procured in
the bazaar. A dhobie, or washerman, is another
necessity, and an extra dhobie, if there be a
lady, for "the fine things," and also a dirzee, or
tailor, or more than one, to mend the "things,"
coarse or fine, as fast as the dhobie tears them,
and to make up such articles of apparel as it
may not be considered necessary to get from the
"Europe shops." To these must be added, in
the hot weather—that is to say, during the greater
part of the year—an indefinite number of coolies
to pull the punkahs; and bheesties, or water-carriers,
to supply the house all the year round;
besides one or more malees, or gardeners, if the
house happen to stand in a garden. Indeed,