and through broken half-closed windows
between pent-up walls, loop-holed and lofty;
through another and a larger square, dotted
about with miscellaneous buildings and low
straggling trees, I came to a sudden halt
before a great gateway belonging to one of
the miscellaneous edifices from whose
windows light and sound streamed abundantly.

It was the Baboo's house in Waterloo
Square. The Nautch was at a roaring pitch
within. I alighted at a portico of goodly
dimensions before which lay a capacious plot
of ground, hybrid of yard and garden,
crammed as full as it could well contain with
stone figures, marble vases, and plaster groups;
more like a statuary's yard in the New Road,
London, than anything oriental or festive.
The wide stone steps leading under the
portico to the obscure door on the right, was
equally thronged with dwarf representations
in granite of two or three hundred Hindoo
deities and sundry British generals. Passing
along a narrow passage, strewed with a
miscellaneous collection of ancient and modern
furniture, I ascended a staircase rejoicing in
a new carpet and a brilliant supply of light
from lamps which may have been in use in
the time of Aladdin.

The scene in the guest rooms was so entirely
new to me, so exciting, that some time elapsed
before I could observe all that was passing
about me. There was an exclusive suite of
lofty apartments, lit up by a motley collection
of chandeliers, wall-shades, moderators,
argands, and brass candlesticks. The amount
spent in oil and candles must have been
considerable: there was a light of some kind
burning from every possible nook, corner,
and projection. The walls were literally
covered with either lamps or pictures. The
latter were as miscellaneous in their
character as the former; very respectable works
of art were cheek by jowl with a common
print from Seven Dials: her most gracious
Majesty stood between a Noah's Ark and
the Death of Nelson in coarse wood-
engraving. A marble group of the Graces
stood next to a chipped plaster figure of
Napoleon crossing the Alps on a tail-less
horse.

Cracked mirrors; couches with faded velvet
and gold coverings; chairs, the wood of which
was invisible under a coating of dirt; richly
carved tables on rickety legs; elephant
tusks, elk horns, boars' heads, tiger skins, were
as thick in all directions as possible.

And the guests, how motley and how
many! A Nautch? Where could the dancing
girls exhibit, unless upon the shoulders of
the crowd: where could the musicians
perform, unless upon one of the decrepit tables ?
The hosts were as yet invisible; for I had
not squeezed through the first room of entry,
where, near the summit of the stairs, two
boys in flowing robes flung rose-water upon
you as you passed.

There was certainly a sprinkling of good-
looking Bengalees; but the majority of the
party was made up of fast young merchants,
American captains, French supercargoes,
Scotch clerks, Shroffs, Bengalee writers, and
it was impossible to say who else. I looked
in vain for the stately Oriental or the
reserved Englishman. I could see no trace
of fountains, flowers, or birds. The marble
halls were reeking hot; the melody of music
was lost in the roar of laughter. Romance,
poetry, and harmony, fled scared before the
dust and heat of that terrible mob. In forcing
my slow way through it towards where the
hosts might possibly be, I found myself
jammed between the sharply carved edge of a
couch and a posse of transatlantic mariners.
Anon I was arrested by the oleaginous frame
of some redoutable Baboo, loosely covered by
a transparent robe of cobweb muslin. Again
I was impelled onward by the sharp points
of somebody's oriental slippers. How I
prayed for the companionship of the brace
of Hindoo youths with the rose-water, from
the top of the staircase! How I longed for
a breath or two of the breeze that was
mocking us from the palm-topes outside!
How I regretted having dressed in my best
suit of Paramatta cloth! How I wished that
I had never heard of a nautch, or that
nautches had never been invented!

Within an inner apartment where the
crowd was, if possible, greater, there seemed
to be some description of music performed.
As I forced my way through the crowd, I
heard a soft indistinct tinkling, not unlike
that of a wire-strung instrument; something
between a Jew's-harp and a sheep-bell. In
the centre of the room, a circle of guests
was formed round an elderly grey-headed
gentleman of the Baboo species, who was
seated cross-legged on the floor, and extorting
certain sounds from a curious instrument
like a large wooden ladle with strings across
the bowl. To the ear of a European, this
so-called music would, of course, be a mere
nuisance; but the Bengalee audience drank
in the sounds, as if they proceeded from a
Paganini. These sons of Brahma stroked
their beards, stroked their oily sides, turned
up their eyes, and groaned:

"Wah! wah! Is it not wonderful?"

I must have amused some of the auditors,
exceedingly, by my want of taste; for I
broke from the throng as quickly as I could,
and made for a third room; where the
crowd appeared to be less closely packed. A
slight clapping of hands, and a low moaning
chaunt greeted me as I entered. Here a
circle was formed round a dancer. I caught
a glimpse of a flowing white robe, of a gay
head-dress, and a pair of moving feet. A
pair of hands was being clapped, and
something meant for a song proceeded from the
mouth of the dancer.

Well, here at length, I had found the
Nautch:—here was the Nautch Girl. I
was not near enough to see if she were young