1 Letters from Up The Country (1867)

Emily Eden

Introduction
by Kaitlyn Clark

Talented writer, painter, and people watcher, the Honourable Emily Eden (1797–1869) is most known for her collection of letters, Up the Country (1867), though she also obtained publishing success in painting and fiction. According to the ODNB, Eden grew up in a prominent family in the early nineteenth century (Perkins). She was the second youngest child in a family of fourteen children, and she displayed literary promise from a young age by articulating her perceptions of the world in letters. Pam Perkins notes how her novels describe moments of “political jockeying for position with detached amusement.” Similarly, Up the Country pays close attention to British India from a distanced and notoriously witty point of view.

In late October 1837, Eden travelled with her brother George—who had been governor-general of India for two years—from Kolkata (spelled Calcutta by Eden) to northern India. Since George was a bachelor, Eden fulfilled the responsibilities usually completed by a governor-general’s wife. As she and her brother toured northern India, she painted various moments from her travels. She also wrote to a sister in England, sending her several stream-of-consciousness letters, which Eden compiled decades later into Up the Country. Her elite upbringing comes with a privileged worldview, one that is particularly apparent in her observations of India. From Eden’s unique perspective, this epistolary book depicts her experiences in India through a both informal and performative style of writing. Throughout her letters, Eden often makes Eurocentric judgments about Indian ways of being.  However, despite Eden’s disdain for India, she also applies her mocking voice to the exorbitance of the governor-general’s tour—though an aristocrat herself, she suggests 140 servants is a bit much. To her, the tour’s excesses are almost as appalling as the country it travels through.

Richard Bentley first published Up the Country as a book in 1867. In particular, Eden’s letters seemed to have resonated with women. A contemporary reviewer suggested the book would be of “general popularity,” even though the ideal audience consisted of the “wives, sisters, or daughters” who, like Eden, faced the prospect of leaving home when their male relatives were appointed to positions in colonial governance (qtd. in prefatory material to Up the Country [Cambridge Library Collection]).

The tour of northwestern India ended in February 1840; however, Up the Country was not published until almost thirty years later. Why? It is clear in Eden’s dedication that she resented capitalist-industrialist progress at home and abroad. Were her letters published to maintain the class divide out of fear that Britain and the colonized were growing alike? Were they published simply to feed a nostalgia for exoticism? Perhaps, it was to bemoan middle-class capitalists usurping aristocratic power. Either way, Eden is an artisan in the rhetorical technique of irony, but what is truly ironic is how her dedication that laments the changes capitalism has wrought in India is immediately followed by her assumptions about the India’s lack of moral progress.

The following text is from Emily Eden’s Up the Country, published in 1867 in London by Richard Bentley. The text is in the public domain and is available in full on Google Books.
The introductory material, editorial notes, and discussion questions are available under the CC BY-NC 4.0 license. Unless otherwise attributed, they were written by Kaitlyn Clark as part of a project for English 334 at the University of Saskatchewan.
Fig. 2 is © National Portrait Gallery, London. It is available under the National Portrait Gallery Academic License and cannot be passed on for third-party use.

 

UP THE COUNTRY

Letters written to her Sister

FROM
THE UPPER PROVINCES OF INDIA
BY THE
HON. EMILY EDEN
AUTHORESS OF ‘THE SEMI-DETACHED HOUSE’ AND ‘THE SEMI-ATTACHED COUPLE’
1867.[1]

[…]

TO THE
LORD WILLIAM GODOLPHIN OSBORNE[2]

My dear William

I know no one but yourself who can now take any lively interest in these Letters. She to whom they were addressed,[3] they of whom they were written, have all passed away, and you and I are now almost the only survivors of the large party that in 1838 left Government House[4] for the Upper Provinces.[5]

Many passages of this Diary, written solely for the amusement of my own family, have of course been omitted; but not a word has been added to descriptions which have little merit, but that they are true and that they were written on the spot.

Now that India has fallen under the curse of railroads, and that life and property will soon become as insecure there as they are here, the splendour of a Governor-General’s progress[6] is at an end.

The Kootûb[7] will probably become a Railway Station; the Taj will, of course, under the sway of an Agra Company (Limited, except for destruction), be bought up for a monster hotel;[8] and the Governor-General will dwindle down into a first-class passenger with a carpet-bag.[9] These details, therefore, of a journey that was picturesque in its motley processions,[10] in its splendid crowds, and in its ‘barbaric gold and pearl,’[11] may be thought amusing. So many changes have since taken place in Indian modes of travelling, that these contrasts of public grandeur and private discomfort will probably be seen no more, on a scale of such magnitude.[12]

Believe me,

Ever your affectionate Aunt,

EMILY EDEN.

Eden Lodge, Kensington Gore[13]

May, 1866.

 

CHAPTER I.
On board the ‘Megna’[14] flat, Saturday, Oct. 21, 1837.

‘ONCE more upon the waters, yet once more,’[15] and so on. We are now fairly off for eighteen months of travelling by steamers, tents, and mountains—and every day of a cabin seems to me like so much waste. They ought all to go to the great account of the long voyage that will, at last, take us home again. And this cabin looks so like my ‘Jupiter’[16] abode, in all its fittings and appointments, that it is really a pity so to throw its discomforts away in going farther off. Well, I am sure it is all for the best—I make no objection—I like to see things take their course; but still I do say, that for a person[17] who required nothing but to be allowed the undisturbed enjoyment of that small Greenwich house and garden,[18] with all its little Cockney[19] pleasures and pursuits, I have been very hardly treated and rather overworked. We got up at five this morning; the servants were all in a fuss, and Wright[20] was in all the delusions of carpet-bags and nice bandboxes,[21] in which she may be indulged till we leave the steamer, and then she will be obliged to wake from them, as the coolie[22] is yet to be discovered who would carry a carpet-bag, and a bandbox does not precisely meet the views of a camel.

When we came down for some coffee, the great hall was full of gentlemen who had come to accompany his lordship to the ghaut[23]—even Mr. Macaulay had turned out for it. F.[24] and I, with Captain P., soon took ourselves off, and drove down to the landing-place. There were two lines of troops from the door of Government House to the river, and the band was playing that march in the ‘Puritani’[25] which, when we were at the Admiralty,[26] used to be played every morning by the Guards’ band, and which, consequently, always carries me back to the horrid time of our preparations for leaving England, so I can always cry it all over again to that tune. The road was covered with carriages and riders; and, at the ghaut, a large set of our particular acquaintances were waiting for us, so we got out and stood with them while G.[27] made his progress on foot. It was really a very pretty procession:[28] such crowds of people and such diversities of dress. He is not so shy as he used to be at these ceremonies, though I think a long walk through troops presenting arms is trying to everybody. The instant he arrived at the ghaut, he gave a general goodbye, offered me his arm, and we walked off to the boats as fast as we could. The guns fired, the gentlemen waved their hats, and so we left Calcutta.[29] It has really done handsomely by us, and we ought to be obliged to them for saying—if it is no more—[30] that they are sorry we are going. But I daresay we are an amusement to them. They liked our balls and parties, and whatever we did or said was the subject of an anecdote; and if we said or did nothing they invented something for us—and it all served to wonder at—which, in a country where there is little society and few topics, was an advantage.

The Sunderbunds,[31] Monday, Oct. 23.

We came into these lovely riant scenes on Sunday morning.[32] They are a composition of low stunted trees, marsh, tigers and snakes, with a stream that sometimes looks like a very wide lake and then becomes so narrow that the jungle wood scrapes against the sides of the flat—and this morning scraped away all G.’s jalousies, which are a great loss.[33] I never saw such a desolate scene: no birds flying about—there is no grain for them to eat. We have met only one native boat, which must have been there since the Deluge.[34] Occasionally there is a bamboo stuck up with a bush tied to it, which is to recall the cheerful fact that there a tiger has carried off a man. None of our Hindus, though they are starving, will go on shore to cook—and, indeed, it would be very unsafe. It looks as if this bit of world had been left unfinished when land and sea were originally parted.[35] The flat is dreadfully hot at night; but not more uncomfortable than a boat must necessarily be in this climate.

I must make you acquainted with the other flat, because then, once for all, you will understand our prospect of travelling companions. You know all about Mr. and Mrs. A. and their two children. Mr. and Mrs. B. are our next couple. He is one of the Government secretaries, clever and pleasant, speaks Persian rather more fluently than English; Arabic better than Persian; but, for familiar conversation, rather prefers Sanscrit.[36] Mr. and Mrs. C. (belonging to Mr. B.’s office) are a very pleasant couple; he acts and sings, and knows most of the people we know, and she sings and plays on the harp like an angel; and they have a small child, the least little sick thing possible, which I affection,[37] and I mean to borrow it when we are in camp to play in my tent. I often weary for a child to talk to. Captain and Mrs. D. are our commissariat couple—she is very pretty. General E. is the public military secretary—an astutious [38] oldish man. The two steamers generally anchor together at night; but the other comes in later than ours, and so we have seen none of the other party but Mr. A., who says they do very well together, all things considered. General E. is suspected of not being partial to the small D., A., and C. children—there had been rather an angry controversy about some apple and pear jam; and, in general, they were all, like our noble selves, so much bored that they went to bed at eight. Otherwise, they were all perfectly happy.

Wednesday, Oct. 25.

We stopped at Koolna[39] yesterday for coals, and stayed an hour to let the Hindus cook their dinner. We are out of the Sunderbunds now, and steaming between two banks not quite so elevated, nor nearly so picturesque as those flat marshes between Eastcombe and the river;[40] and, they say, we shall see nothing prettier, or rather less hideous, between this and Simla, except at Raj Mahl.[41] G. is already bored to death with having nothing to do. He has read two novels and cannot swallow any more, and is longing for his quiet cool room at Government House. The nights are dreadful—all for want of a punkah[42]—and hardly any of us get a wink of sleep. However, we shall soon overtake cooler weather. The six gentlemen passed the three first nights on deck, owing to the heat below, and I sat up in bed fanning myself. The native servants sleep any and everywhere, over our heads, under our feet, or at our doors; and as there are no partitions but green blinds[43] at the sides and gratings above, of course we hear them coughing all night.

Thursday, Oct. 26.

They are steering us very badly; we go rolling about from one side of the river to the other, and every now and then thump against the bank, and then the chairs and table all shake and the inkstand tips over. I think I feel a little seasick. Our native servants look so unhappy. They hate leaving their families, and possibly leaving two or three wives is two or three times as painful as leaving one, and they cannot endure being parted from their children. Then they are too crowded here to sleep comfortably. Major J. observed in a gentle, ill-used voice: ‘I think Captain K. behaved very ill to us; he said that between both steamers and the flat he could lodge all the servants that were indispensably and absolutely necessary to us, so I only brought one hundred and forty,[44] and now he says there is not room even for them.’ Certainly this boat must be drunk, she reels about in such a disorderly fashion. I wish I had my cork jacket on.[45]

I am glad that in your last letter you deigned for once to comment on the ‘Pickwick Papers.’[46] I collected all the stray numbers,[47] and began reading them straight through to-day, because hitherto I have never had time to make out exactly what they were about, delightful as they were. I wish you would read over again that account of Winkle and the horse which will not go on—‘Poor fellow! good old horse!’—and Pickwick saying, ‘It is like a dream, a horrid dream, to go about all day with a horrid horse that we cannot get rid of.’[48] That book makes me laugh till I cry, when I am sitting quite by myself.——There! I thought so.[49] We are aground, and the other steamer is going flourishing by, in grinning delight.

Friday, Oct. 27.

We remained aground for two hours, and touched several times after we were afloat. Some of the other party visited us in the evening, and I lent General E. a novel to help him on. I have been reading ‘Astoria,’[50] out of that last box you sent us, and that great fat ‘Johnsoniana.’[51] The anecdotes are not very new, but anything about Johnson is readable. G. has got some Bridgewater Treatises,[52] which he likes.

Beanleah,[53] Saturday, Oct. 28.

We stopped at Surder yesterday, to take in some sheep. We ought to have been there two days ago, if we had had better pilots and fewer groundings. G. said, last night, when we again failed in landing there, that it seemed to him Absurder rather than Surder. He made another good pun to-day. How our intellects are weakened by the climate!—we make and relish puns! The A.D.C.s[54] are very apt to assemble over our cabins at night, to smoke and to talk, and we hear every word they say. When it is really time to go to sleep, I generally send old Rosina up to disperse them, in her civilest manner. I was telling W. O.[55] that they were like so many old Chelsea pensioners;[56] they go on prosing night after night exclusively about the army, the King’s army and the Company’s army;[57] and that, if there were only a little levity in their talk, I should not so much mind being kept awake by it.[58] He said, ‘Ah, yes, we were very animated last night about the Company’s army, and your old Rosina came creeping up with “O sahib, astai bolo” (gently speak); upon which G. observed, “Ah, if she had said, O sahib, nasty bolo!”[59] that would have satisfied Emily much better.’ This joke being founded on Hindustani,[60] and coming from the Governor-General, kept the whole suite in a roar of laughter for half an hour. They really relished it.

Two young writers whom we had known at Calcutta came to Surder to meet us, and we took them on board and took them back to Baulyah.[61] How some of these young men must detest their lives! Mr. —— was brought up entirely at Naples and Paris, came out in the world when he was quite a boy, and cares for nothing but society and Victor Hugo’s novels,[62] and that sort of thing. He is now stationed at B., and supposed to be very lucky in being appointed to such a cheerful station. The whole concern consists of five bungalows, very much like the thatched lodge at Langley. There are three married residents: one lady has bad spirits (small blame to her), and she has never been seen; another has weak eyes, and wears a large shade about the size of a common verandah;[63] and the other has bad health, and has had her head shaved. A tour[64] is not to be had here for love or money, so she wears a brown silk cushion with a cap pinned to the top of it. The Doctor and our friend make up the rest of the society. He goes every morning to hear causes between natives about strips of land or a few rupees—that lasts till five; then he rides about an uninhabited jungle till seven; dines; reads a magazine, or a new book when he can afford one, and then goes to bed. A lively life, with the thermometer at several hundred!

Raj Mahl, Monday, Oct. 30.

We are now, after ten days’ hard steaming, only 200 miles from Calcutta. G. sighs for the Salisbury ‘Highflyer’ and a good roadside inn;[65] but to-day we have come to some hills, and a pretty bit of country. We landed at four, saw the ruins, which are very picturesque, gave Chance a run on shore,[66] and we had time for one sketch. But the real genuine charm and beauty of Raj Mahl were a great fat Baboo[67] standing at the ghaut, with two bearers behind him carrying the post-office packet. There were letters by the ‘Madagascar,’ which left London the 20th July, and was only three months on her passage. I had your large packet, and ten letters. Altogether it was a great prize, was not it? and just at such an interesting period. I think the young Queen a charming invention, and I can fancy the degree of enthusiasm she must excite. Even here we feel it.[68] The account of her proroguing Parliament gave me a lump in my throat;[69] and then, why is the Duchess of Kent[70] not with her in all these pageants? There is something mysterious about that. Probably nothing is more simple, or obvious, but still I should like to know what the mother and daughter say to each other when they meet in private. To return to your letters. There must have been one missing, because Newsalls suddenly burst upon me as your actual residence, whereas I did not know that there was such a place, that it had ever been built, or that you ever thought of taking it.

Wednesday, Nov. 1.

We expect to be at Monghir[71] to-morrow morning, whence I can send this. We passed through some pretty scenery yesterday; but it is all over now, I am afraid, and we shall see nothing but flat plains till we arrive at Simla.[72]

Fig. 2. Emily Eden and Chance. Watercolour by Simon Jacques Rochard painted in August 1835 and titled “Emily Eden.” © National Portrait Gallery, London.

 

Discussion Question

1. In Up the Country, Eden tends to write from a detached position though she is very much present in the events she records as they happen. Could it be significant that Eden’s two novels, The Semi-Detached House (1859) and The Semi-Attached Couple (1860), published after her time in India contain the words “detached” and “attached,” emphasizing the “semi-” in both? Does this suggest something about her identity, the historical fiction she writes, and how the two might merge?

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  1. According to the ODNB, though the letters were published in 1867, they were originally written on Eden’s journey to northwest India from October 1837 to February 1840 (Perkins). ↵
  2. This dedication goes out to Eden’s nephew who was brought along on the journey. By 1867, Eden and her nephew were the sole survivors of everyone included in the letters (Ratcliffe 22). ↵
  3. Eden’s older sister, Eleanor, was residing in England, so the letters were mainly addressed to her (Brown, Clements, and Grundy). ↵
  4. Government House in Kolkata, constructed 1799–1803 as the residence for England’s governor-general (Eden’s brother George at the time). Today, it is known as the Raj Bhavan in West Bengal (Ayers). ↵
  5. The Upper Provinces of India included present-day Uttar-Pradesh (excluding Lucknow and Faizabad), the Delhi Territory (1836–1858), Ajmer and Merawa (1832–1846), and the Saugor and Nebrudda Territories (1853–1861) of North-West India (“North-Western Provinces”). ↵
  6. According to the ODNB, Eden’s brother George was appointed governor-general of India from 1835 to 1842, around the same time these letters were written (Marshall). Here, the word progress refers to any formal tour taken by an important official through a region (“Progress, N.” def. II.5.a). ↵
  7. Qutab Minar, a UNESCO World Heritage Site in South Delhi. Its origins are debated: some say it is a “tower of victory” that symbolizes the start of Muslim rule in India, others say it is a minaret to call prayer (“Qutab Minar”). ↵
  8. The Taj Mahal is India’s national symbol of pride. As per its creation story (a mausoleum built by a Mughal emperor for his wife), the structure also represents eternal love (“Taj Mahal: The Symphony of Love”). The Taj Mahal is located in Agra, a city whose historic culture is closely connected to the Mughal dynasty (“Agra”). ↵
  9. Eden uses an aristocratic image combined with her satirical tone to continue her extended metaphor of the railroad as a curse. Here, she’s saying the governor-general is doomed to be granted only as much pomp and circumstance as anyone who can purchase a first-class ticket, a group which will come to include middle-class passengers. ↵
  10. Motley refers to the diversity of a group, often associated with colour (“Motley, Adj.” defs. 1.a, 2.b). Eden likely refers to the variety in the people she sees and encounters. ↵
  11. Eden is quoting from Book 2 of Milton’s Paradise Lost:
    High on a Throne of Royal State, which far
    Outshon the wealth of Ormus and of Ind,
    Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand
    Show’rs on her Kings Barbaric Pearl and Gold,
    Satan exalted sat, by merit rais’d
    To that bad eminence; and from despair
    Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires
    Beyond thus high, insatiate to pursue
    Vain Warr with Heav’n, and by success untaught
    His proud imaginations thus displaid. (2.1–10)
    Here, we see Eden using Milton to link “the East” with both barbarism and with Satan, showing that Orientalism has older roots than the nineteenth century. –K.H. ↵
  12. Eden acknowledges that since she has written these letters, India has changed to the point that the grand progression of a governor-general’s entourage through India—with elephants, hundreds of people, and the like—is no longer necessary. Instead, the future official tours of governors-general will happen through the mundane world of first-class rail travel. ↵
  13. Located on the road Kensington Gore in London, Eden Lodge was the home of Emily and her brother George upon their return from India in 1842. George died in 1849, and Emily remained there until her death in 1869, after which the mansion was demolished (“Estates and Houses”). –E.Z. ↵
  14. Megna is likely the name of the steamship on which they travelled to the northwest provinces. ↵
  15. From the third canto of Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, a poem written by Lord Byron about Childe Harold, a “self-exiled pilgrim” with a “past life of sin and pleasure” who occupies himself with his travels (Birch). –K.H. ↵
  16. Jupiter was not the name of her estate, but rather the name of the ship she arrived to India on. –K.H. ↵
  17. Eden here refers to herself. ↵
  18. Eden misses her freedom to do nothing and feel comfortable at her home in Kensington with its perfect combination of nature and city. ↵
  19. Eden’s use of the term Cockney here refers to pretenders to sophistication; that is, it referred to middle-class city folk who wanted to live the aristocratic life of shooting and outdoor sport but lacked the financial means or the social cache to do so. In fact, Dickens’ Pickwick Papers, mentioned below, was originally based on this classist stereotype of the Cockney. –K.H. ↵
  20. This likely refers to Eden’s lady’s maid (who would do her hair and help her get dressed and basically do whatever she needed); lady’s maids (and the male equivalent, valets) were called by their last names only as a mark of respect, since lower servants would be called by their first names alone. –K.H. ↵
  21. A bandbox refers to a cardboard box made to hold and protect hats (“Bandbox, n.” def. a). –E.Z. ↵
  22. Coolie is a derogatory term for an Indian servant (Stearns). ↵
  23. His lordship refers to her brother George, the governor general, while a ghaut refers to a river dock, similar to a wharf (“Ghat, N.” def. 3). ↵
  24. Eden’s sister Frances, also known as Fanny, who also accompanied George to India (Perkins). –K.H. ↵
  25. Vincenzo Bellini’s 1835 opera, I Puritani (Latham). ↵
  26. The Admiralty is the justice department that deals with maritime crimes and concerns (“Admiralty, N.”). ↵
  27. Eden uses “G.” to refer to her brother, George. ↵
  28. Having “pretty procession” and “diversities of dress” in the same sentence is a strong example of alliteration that showcases Eden’s natural instinct to perform as a writer even though these letters were originally intended for her family. ↵
  29. Kolkata, the capital city of West Bengal (Hadley). ↵
  30. Adding “if it is no more” between the em dashes implies she expected more of a goodbye. ↵
  31. The Sundarbans, a confluence of rivers forming a mangrove area in the Bay of Bengal (Hadley). ↵
  32. Riant means cheerful (“Riant, Adj.” def. 2). Eden is being sarcastic again. ↵
  33. A jalousie is a type of window blind (“Jalousie, N.”). Calling them a “great loss” fits with the dramatizing that continues throughout the piece. ↵
  34. By “the Deluge,” Eden is referring to the flood in the first book of the Bible, Genesis, in which God floods the entire world. Eden is implying that the boat has been there nearly since the beginning of human life. –K.H. ↵
  35. Eden again here refers to the flood in Genesis, implying that the Sunderbunds has not progressed since then. ↵
  36. Eden is being ironic here, implying that Mr. B. is such a language enthusiast that he likes best to hold casual conversations in the language used for Hindu scripture. –K.H. ↵
  37. At the time, affection could be used as a verb rather than just as a noun, meaning “to feel affection for” (“Affection, V.”) –K.H. ↵
  38. Simply a fancier way to say astute. –K.H. ↵
  39. Khulna, now a major city in Bangladesh (“Khulna”). ↵
  40. For Eden, the “picturesque” consists of landscapes resembling England, which is why she compares the marshes to those in Eastcombe (a village in England). She compares all that she sees to England, and England will always triumph in comparison. For further exploration of the picturesque in Eden’s Up the Country, see Pablo Mukherjee’s article “Touring the Deadlands.” ↵
  41. Shimla is the capital city of the northern Indian state, Himachel Pradesh. It is situated in the Himalayan foothills and used to be British India’s summer capital (Hadley). Raj Mahal is an ancient palace in Orchha that displays both Rajput and Mughal architectural influence (“Raj Mahal”). ↵
  42. A punkah is a type of fan dating back to the early sixth-century B.C.E. The word originates from the Hindu word pankh, which refers to a draft that arises from a bird’s flapping wings (“Punkah, N.” def. 2.b). ↵
  43. A partition is a wall-like structure dividing a larger space into smaller rooms. The word partition often implies impermanence or, in this case, flimsiness (“Partition, N.” def. 4.a.). ↵
  44. With the Industrial Revolution, materialism was growing rapidly. Labour was cheap in India and the economic input was sky rocketing in England. However, Chaudhuri notes that money was irrelevant: “the religious and social practices of the indigenous population forced [the British] to hire numerous servants” (551). ↵
  45. A cork jacket fulfills a similar purpose to a life jacket. (“Cork-jacket, N.”). Eden makes a clever play on the word cork here, as the boat is described as “drunk” and a cork is also used to stop a bottle. ↵
  46. Deigned means to do something that does not match or deserve one’s esteem (“Deign, V.” def. 2.a). By saying her sister “deigned for once,” Eden implies her sister thought Charles Dickens’ The Pickwick Papers were below her. The Pickwick Papers were accessible by all, making them a form of literature the upper class might disengage with to maintain status. ↵
  47. Dickens’ The Pickwick Papers were published in 1836. The novel was released in installments over a year and a half, which explains Eden’s collection of “stray numbers” (Slater). ↵
  48. Eden uses The Pickwick Papers as an intertextual analogy for her current situation. She chooses the quotation because she relates her situation to it—the horrid horse parallels the ship she cannot leave. ↵
  49. This dash and the “There!” gives a sense of immediacy, like we as readers are witnessing the boat running aground. –K.H. ↵
  50. Astoria is a novel written by Washington Irving, published in 1836 about John Jacob Astor’s expedition to settle the first American colony on the Pacific coast, what is now Oregon (Everett-Heath). ↵
  51. Johnsoniana is a collection of miscellaneous anecdotes and phrases from Samuel Johnson (1709–1784), one of the intellectual greats of eighteenth-century literature and culture (Rogers). ↵
  52. The Bridgewater Treatises (1833–1836) represent the state of science in early-Victorian Britain. It is a collection of eight works written by leading scientific figures of the time (Blackburn). ↵
  53. Beanleah and Surder are both unknown locations in India anglicized by Eden (Hadley). ↵
  54. Eden abbreviates family names for anonymity, and here the initials are combined as a form of shorthand. ↵
  55. William Osborne, to whom Eden dedicated the book. –E.Z. ↵
  56. Chelsea pensioners is a nickname for retired members of the British Army. They received this title from the Royal Hospital Chelsea, which “administered [...] and paid” army pensions between 1692 and 1955. (“What is a Chelsea Pensioner?”). –K.H. ↵
  57. That is, the East India Trading Company. ↵
  58. Levity means humour (“Levity, N.” def. 3.a.). Here, Eden uses sarcasm to say that their discussion is keeping her up without even entertaining her. ↵
  59. That is, speak more mean gossip. –K.H. ↵
  60. Hindustani is a group of languages in northwestern India. The most commonly known are Hindi and Urdu (“Hindustani, N.” def. 1.b). ↵
  61. Boliya, India. ↵
  62. A French novelist and playwright, Hugo was incredibly popular in England at the time, in spite of his radical politics, especially for his 1831 novel, Notre-Dame de Paris, published in English as The Hunchback of Notre Dame. –K.H. ↵
  63. Verandah is the British spelling of veranda, which is a platform along the outside of a house (“Veranda, N.”). True to her style, Eden is exaggerating. ↵
  64. The term tour comes from the French tour de cheveux and refers to “[a] crescent front of false hair” (“Tour, N.” def. 4.a.). –K.H. ↵
  65. The Salisbury Highflyer is a fast horse (Morris). Eden indicates that her brother longs for a good horse ride where he can stop somewhere familiar, like a “good roadside inn.” ↵
  66. Chance was a spaniel dog belonging to Eden. Later in Up the Country, Eden writes that Chance has his own servant, occasionally wears metal bangles and a pearl ring around his tail, and rides on an elephant gifted to Eden. See fig. 2. –K.H. ↵
  67. Baboo is a Hindi courtesy title, also spelled Babu. It is a sign of respect towards men, making it the equivalent of Mr. (“Babu, N.”). ↵
  68. All the way in India, they can feel the enthusiasm surrounding the young Queen Victoria’s crowning. The advent of railways allowed more people to attend her coronation, and at the time her youth (she was only 18 years old) and novelty (it had been a century since the country had a reigning queen) contributed to the general excitement (Rix). ↵
  69. When Queen Victoria first prorogued Parliament in July 1837, she had only been queen for a month, and the public took great interest in this young, female monarch. Many women came to Westminster to see Victoria, creating a “strong female presence” in the House of Lords, an environment usually dominated by men (Rix). ↵
  70. That is, the Queen’s mother. The Queen and her mother had a very fraught relationship (due to some strangely strict parenting and various political finagling). The ODNB notes, “After the coronation Queen Victoria kissed her aunt Queen Adelaide, but only shook her mother’s hand” (Longford) –K.H. ↵
  71. Munger, India (“Munger.”). ↵
  72. As Eden does best, she closes this entry grimly despite acknowledging the pretty scenery. For Eden, India will never be as beautiful as England. ↵

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