materials used in its construction could not be
brought to a higher state of polish. Look at
the smoothness of its clean floor. There is not
a grain of dirt on it. It looks as bright and
smells as fresh, as the floor which an English
housemaid has just scrubbed. In yonder corner
stands the cause of this immaculate purity.
A broom, a mere bunch of finely-split bamboo,
without handle, the common jarun, every
Indian housewife's daily companion.

But the interior of the hut gives other
evidence of the vicinity of the presiding genius of
the broom. For see how neatly she has ranged
her pots and earthen vessels on the floor against
the wall. Some are elevated on a wooden
shelf. On removing the saucer, or piece
of cloth laid on the mouth of each jar to
preserve its contents from the dust, and also
from the rats and vagabond dogs of the village,
we discover, in some, various kinds of grain;
in some, oil or ghee; in one or two, a few
of the good woman's trinkets—for even Hindu
women have trinkets. In many cases their
whole fortune is laid out, not in shares or
doubtful securities, or in the Three per Cents,
but in jewellery, ornaments, and gold or silver
robes. The whole interest of a Bengalee
woman's heart and soul, be she rich or poor,
centres in her wardrobe. Jewels and dresses
are her ambition, the subject of all her talk.
Her gossip sparkles with them. They clothe
all her ideas. Her thoughts are heavy with the
weight of the ornaments they have to carry.

The household lamp stands in yonder niche
in the wall. It is a common earthen saucer, or
bati, containing oil, with a lip in which reposes
a piece of cotton. The receptacle in which it
is placed, resembling a niche in one of our
cathedrals, appears to have been made for the
figure of an idol. Our host's bedroom furniture
is all contained in one article, a bed. This bed,
or charpoy, is made of stout string lashed to an
oblong frame of wood, supported on legs of
about a foot in height, and affords a very cool
and easy couch.

The possessor of all this wealth, the
respected occupier of the neat dwelling, is a tiller
of the soil, as appears from the two or three
implements of husbandry which are hung on
the beams of the roof. A rough plough, as
rude as when Adam first turned ploughman, a
short-handled hoe, and a sickle, comprise his
stock in trade. Yet most probably he is a
tiller of his own soil, a landed proprietor, his
estate covering perhaps half an acre.

An Indian hut possesses a most offensive
and disagreeable exterior. The back-yard
generally contains what may be called a mud
dust-bin, a receptacle for all sorts of filth and
rubbish, a place never covered over and scarcely
ever cleansed. On one side of the house—
we are now at the entrance of the village
where the houses are a little scattered—is a
pool of liquid death and abomination, or a mass
of rank vegetation, concealing within its leaves
noisome fevers and awful agues; or a dried-
up tank, its sides slippery with slimy plants,
its bottom covered with heaps of rubbish, dead
animals, and all foul and obscene matters. On
the outside of the hut, or around the tank,
there is perchance a clump of trees, perhaps
plaintain trees, or palm trees, starting up from
a thick impenetrable jungle, the shelter of
many a deadly snake, and often the half-way
house of a leopard out for the day. The
sides of the cottage are stuck all over with
dark patches, which, at first sight, one is apt
to consider as a national species of
ornament, but which, on a closer inspection,
one perceives, as well through the sense of
smell as through that of sight, to be cakes of
prepared cow-dung, placed there in a wet state
to bake in the heat of the sun for subsequent
use as fuel. In the early morning, scarce a fire
is alight in the village, but towards evening you
will be able to judge of the application and
effects of this abominable preparation. Then,
as you return from your evening walk, and
make a short cut through the narrow streets to
your house, you become sensible of a gradually
increasing thickness in the atmosphere; a smell
as of a stale dunghill becomes more and more
evident to your nostrils; your lungs become
by degrees slower and slower in their working,
your breath more and more heavy; a smarting
in your eyes, slight at first, grows more and
more intense. From every door, every crevice,
between every straw that composes the thatch
of every house, from every narrow passage and
confined alley, from every hole, corner, nook, or
cranny, from every open space, square, courtyard,
or thoroughfare, steals a thick, impenetrable,
heavy, peaty smoke. A smoke that no
well-bred senses could endure. A smoke that,
slowly rising from the fires which the villagers
are now lighting with these vile brown cakes,
gradually envelopes the whole village, temples,
houses, and trees, in one thick, dark, odorous,
blinding canopy. A smoke that fairly smokes
you out, and makes you run, with the fear of
suffocation, for dear life, till you have left the
village and its nocturnal covering far behind.

In the early morning the air is fresh, pure,
and clear; the rays of the sun give a genial,
not too intense, warmth, and everything is
sparkling with life and activity. The village
has been astir for some two hours, and as we
pass on towards the bazaar we are amused with
the bustle of the preparations on all sides for the
business or pleasures of the day. A great deal
has been written about "the Indian maiden,
who, with her pitcher poised on her head,
advances with all the modesty of maidenhood,
yet with the dignity of a queen, to the village
well; grace beaming forth in every movement
of her upright and well-defined form," &c.;
but an Indian maiden at a distance, with her
ghurra, or water-pot, on her head, looks like
a walking pillar; while on a closer view, her
garments generally prove to be very dirty, and
too scanty, or, if ample enough, too lazily put
on. However, here are several specimens for
you to judge from, in all degrees of undress,
cleanliness, and proximity; for the whole
population of the village is occupied in
performing its morning toilette, and men and