the Presidency, is like a costume ball. Ladies
dressed in the height of fashion, men in uniforms
of every gradation of splendour, a superb
military band, rooms illuminated in a manner
that shames the feeble efforts of a London
wax-chandler, the finest flowers (such as are
only to be procured in England from hothouses)
in the most luxuriant profusion, constitute
the leading features of these very agreeable
parties. Such scenes are not, however,
confined to Government House. The Byculla
Club occasionally lends its magnificent saloon
to this sort of reunion; and the other day the
Bachelors gave a sumptuous soirée in the grand
and classic saloon of the Town Hall; besides
which the leading members of society here
are continually giving agreeable dances.
Thus, here, as elsewhere, we try to cheat
existence of its sombre hue, and to give it a
varnish of hilarity not quite consistent with
its natural tones. The rooms here are, in
general, large and lofty, and the profusion
of wax lights is, on these occasions, quite
dazzling. Nothing can exceed the tedium
of a formal Bombay dinner. Tables groaning
with Brummagem imitations of splendour,
and dishes redolent of the strong and greasy
compositions of Portuguese cooks; guests
thrown together, in numerous confusion,
without reference to acquaintanceship or
similarity of tastes or habits; fifty or sixty
people seated at an immense table resembling
a table-d'hôte in all except the goodness of its
dishes, with a servant behind every chair.
This is a picture of a Bombay dinner.

The Fine Arts are unknown in Bombay.
A gaudy-coloured lithograph would be here
as much esteemed as a Titian or a Raphael;
and, I fear, the want of taste is not confined
to the native inhabitants. Europeans come
out so young, so partially educated, and with
their ideas on the subject of Art so little
developed, that they remain for the rest of
their lives as much children in this respect
as when they first arrived. I remember once
accompanying two Indian friends through the
gallery of the Pitti Palace. Their admiration
was wholly given to the worst pictures and
the worst statues. An artist here would
starve; and although the Hindoos have a
taste for sculpture, their efforts are confined
to the grotesque. This is extraordinary,
when we reflect that the human figure in its
most beautiful proportions is constantly
displayed to them. Some of the men from
Hindoostan—who go by the name of
Purdasees, or foreigners—are the most superb
models for a sculptor that can be conceived.
The women, too, throw their drapery about
them in the most elegant folds, and a group
of Hindoo girls at a well is perhaps the most
artistic combination that could be desired.
Yet these pass unnoticed and unadmired,
except, perhaps, by an occasional amateur,
whose other avocations leave him little
time to note or perpetuate the graceful scene.
We are apt to imagine that the Greeks
derived their superiority in the Fine Arts
from their constant familiarity with the
finest forms, in baths and wrestling places,
in the forum, the agora, or the hippodrome.
Yet these could only have been
occasional opportunities compared with those
offered daily in the streets of Bombay. The
genius of Mahometanism is opposed to the
imitation of the human figure, either in
painting or sculpture; but Hindoo temples
abound with examples of both. How is it,
then, that Art should be here at a lower ebb
in the nineteenth century than it ever was in
Egypt ? Even in architecture the taste of
the Hindoos is vicious and trivial to a great
extent; great labour and expense are frittered
away in the most tasteless attempts at
ornament, and not a single Hindoo monument of
architectural science is to be seen in or near
Bombay. The same may be said of the
Parsees, none of whom, even the richest,
possesses a painting worth five shillings, although
their rooms are crowded with chandeliers,
lustres, mirrors, and gilding, of the most
expensive character, and all procured from
London, which, if desired, could furnish their
magnificent saloons with exquisite pictures,
bronzes, and statues, at a very moderate
expense. Taste may perhaps arise after another
half-century of education, but at present it finds
no resting-place to the eastward of the Cape.
One only good picture is to be seen here, a
large whole-length portrait of Queen Victoria,
by Wilkie. This is in the possession of the
Parsee Knight, and was made a present to him
by the late Sir Charles Forbes.

The Town Hall, which contains the library
of the Bombay branch of the Royal Asiatic
Society, is rich in three magnificent works
of Chantrey. These are colossal statues
of Mount Stewart Elphinstone, Sir John
Malcolm, and Sir Charles Forbes; the two
former in his best manner. This building
is, perhaps, the finest specimen of
English taste in India. It is in the Doric
style, vast and well-proportioned, though
a little ponderous.

The trade of Bombay is extensive and
important, the imports and exports each reaching
on an average nearly ten millions sterling.
By far the greater part of this traffic is
conducted on commission, the majority of the
houses here being merely commission agents.
A large proportion of the trade with China
and other Eastern countries is in the hands
of natives; that with England and Europe
chiefly, if not entirely, in English and German
firms. There is not a single French house of
agency here. Taking the profits on these
twenty millions at eight per cent., which I
fancy every house of agency expects as its
share, we have here one million, eight
hundred thousand pounds to be distributed
amongst the mercantile community, some of
the leading members of which must be
annually realising very large sums. There is
not, however, much appearance or show of