a t an early hour, and I drove at once to the Cubbon
hotel, kept by Mr. Brown, one of the best hotels in
India, consisting of a group of bungalows. Most
luxuriantly housed and fed, and with kind friends in
the town, I should be ungrateful indeed if I did not
acknowledge Bangalore to be the Eldorado of Southern
In d ia ; nay, I honestly think it is. There are no
wonderful monuments here, either religious or secular,
but the European element is strongly represented, both
military and civil, who vie with each other in providing
amusements of every kind, and whose hospitality is
proverbial.
This, the capital of Mysore, is essentially a handsome
town, each resident living, Indian fashion, in his own
bungalow, surrounded by a garden and compound,
which latter includes stables and outhouses. The
natives have their own quarter, the “ Pettah,” quite
distinct and some distance from the former; there a
lively trade is carried on in all kinds of goods, but the
principal manufactories are those of silk and cotton
cloth, called sari, for the adornment of native women,
and of carpets, which, although not equal to the Vellore
make, notoriously the best in India, are strong and
of good pattern. Beyond the Pettah is the old fort,
kept in tolerable condition ; it includes the arsenal and
the ruins of an old palace.