most easily knocked down by the crowd: which
is of a ragged and squalid description that we
would defy anybody to find, out of the purlieus
of an Eastern city. It is less ragged, perhaps,
than it might be, if its members wore more
clothes; for, as in the majority of cases the
garment is confined to the neighbourhood of
the waist, its holding on at all is a guarantee of
its tolerable entirety; but with the slightest
augmentation of the toilette the dilapidations
begin, and these have an extent which put
decency and adornment equally out of the question.
Moreover, as the season for entertainments
such as that of Baboo Mukhanauth
Lalshrab Ghose is generally the "cold weather,"
and as cold nights in Calcutta are very apt to
be damp, you may imagine the mist in which
the whole scene is enveloped, all the oil lights
to the contrary notwithstanding. Muggy would
be a cold word to describe the state of the
atmosphere; and one of those roaring thoroughfares
in London where they sell fried fish, and
everything else that can be sold cheap to an
overflowing population on a Saturday night in
November, can give but a faint idea of the
sights and the sounds and the scents that assail
our visitor as he nears his destination.

Great men's houses in Eastern cities usually
turn their backs upon the public thoroughfare,
and this of the Baboo shows nothing but a
wall and a gate to the common people. Our
visitor has probably driven himself to the
place in his buggy, and here his syce, or
groom, extricates himself from his perch
behind, and endeavours to induce the people,
now crowded more densely than ever, to get
out of the way. This is accomplished after a
great deal of getting under the horse's head,
and among his legs, and we are not sure that we
may not add through the spokes of the wheels,
has been gone through on the part of the populace,
and threats to "walk into" them with his
whip on the part of the Sahib, who at last finds
himself in the court-yard, or "compound," as it
is called—a curious word, which may be
described, in racing parlance, as coming by
Corruption out of Portuguese. Inside the gateway
there are more lights than ever, both of the pan
on the ground and the Vauxhall variety, and on
each side of the covered pathway through which
the Sahib, having alighted from his buggy, now
proceeds, are statues the size of life: some
popular, some classical, some both, and nearly all
well known in Europe. They are cast in plaster
for the most part, though one or two appear
strangely built of wood, and are, in point of
colour, what the heralds call "proper;" all are
more or less dirty and damaged, and contribute
their share to the general effect of the
approaches to the place—which is that of the
place having a great holiday, and holding a final
festivity previous to being indicted for a
nuisance.

The house has a large open court in the
centre, which, being covered over for the
occasion, now forms the great reception hall.
Around, and accessible by flights of stairs, both
from inside and outside, are the private
apartments: to all of which the visitors have access,
except those of the "ladies of the house," who
may be observed, however, from behind semi-
transparent screens, looking down upon the
scene below with much curiosity, their chirpy
voices suggesting the idea of innumerable birds
upon branches. It is not considered well-bred
to stare at the places whence these sounds come,
or to take any notice, indeed, of the other signs
of feminine existence, even though you
occasionally see a pair of eyes shining through a
(perhaps) chance hole in a curtain, or a hand
and arm (beautifully braceleted) hastily closing
the said curtain which such hand and arm
have incautiously drawn aside. The hall, it
must be said, is brilliantly lighted, and
presents a general effect of mirrors and gilding
and Oriental architecture, very pleasing to
the eye. Below, upon a carpet upon which
no man not admitted to an equality may
venture, is seated the host, smoking at intervals
a hookah, which an attendant keeps studiously
alight for him. It is here that, he receives his
guests, for whom, besides the play, he has
provided such other amusements as can be obtained.
Native minstrels in one part of the hall sing
"Taza, bataza, now be now," "Hillee, pillee
punneah," and other popular native songs,
besides some English songs, of the class of "Home,
sweet home," which they murder most
melodiously. Nautch girls elsewhere go through
the graceful attitudes which here pass for ballet,
accompanied by the monotonous chant which is
the local substitute for opera. In another place
may be found native jugglers, who perform the
most wonderful feats without exciting anybody's
wonder, and the most extraordinary delusions
with which nobody is deluded. Should any
wandering performers from Europe—Ethiopian
Serenaders and the like—happen to be in
Calcutta, they will most probably be engaged; and
so you may choose between the East and the
West in your music, as in your refreshments.
As far as the latter are concerned, they
consist mainly of Attar and Pân—the Attar
for the delectation of your fingers and your
nose; the Pân to put into your mouth, and to
eat if you can. But in a room up-stairs there
is always laid out a British ball-supper, with
chicken and ham, jelly, trifle, and all complete,
with "champagne up to the mast-head," as you
may hear an enchanted ensign exclaim, but with
the strange addition of bottles of brandy placed
all down the table, varied at intervals by bottles
of beer. The natives have a great notion of the
sahibs' powers of drinking the two last liquids,
and I fancy they expect the very few European
ladies who are usually present on such
occasions also to indulge in them. Of course, the
host does not himself sit down to the feast; but
the European guests, to do them justice,
console themselves for his absence, and make
themselves quite at home.

The play, which is the prominent entertainment
of the evening, takes place most likely at
one end of the hall, where a stage is fitted up