or beautiful, or richly ornamented with jewels,
or displayed pretty ankles; but, by dint of
squeezing, and perspiring, and incurring sundry
maledictions for my curiosity, I made my slow
way to the front rank, and stood face to face
with the Nautch-MAN; for such, to my infinite
vexation, it proved to be! A man, too, with
moustachios and brawny arms, and stout body,
and elderly face. I should have much liked to
have knocked the effeminate monster down.
But I was too exhausted for any such effort,
and I stood like the rest of the mob, gazing
at him as he wriggled and twisted his body,
and shuffled and slid his feet along the floor,
with a slow clapping of hands, and a mournful
sing-song chant, as if mourning the
decease of some near relative.

Wearied of listening to this melancholy
cadence, I strolled into a small reception-
room furnished in a style of mixed
magnificence and dirt. Tawdry velvet couch
linings, damask curtains coated thickly with
dust, faded silk chair covers, the colours quite
undistinguishable; huge cracked mirrors
with the gilt rubbed off the richly-carved
frames; everything, in fact, denoting luxury
on its last legs; splendour in a deep decline.
This room was far less crowded with
company, and in the midst stood, in lively
conversation, our hosts, the great Baboos. They
were, of course, delighted to see me, and
eagerly inquired if I had heard the concert
and seen the dancing. I stammered out
something in the affirmative, having a
glimmering impression that they alluded to the
old gentleman playing on the wooden ladle
and the man sliding about the floor. Had I
enjoyed myself? Did I know many of the
guests? Was it not a fine night for a nautch?
Would I step in and see the banqueting-
room, where supper was laid for two hundred
and fifty persons? These, and many other
questions were fired at me in a running salute;
so that, fortunately, I had not a chance of
replying to them; however, we finished by
dragging ourselves to the banquet-room.

Nothing that can be found to the westward
of Malta will furnish an idea of my friends'
entertainment, as I then beheld it, displayed
before myself and some dozen Americans
and foreigners; who were making themselves
perfectly at home by testing the quality
of the drinkables. The place was a long
verandah, enclosed with branches of trees
and flowers. The tables were piled with
masses of incongruous food. Ices, fish,
lumps of meat, fruit, cakes, curries,
vegetables, soups, preserves—such a collection
within the same space was, perhaps, never
before seen—certainly not out of India. I
gave a vacant nod of approval, and hurried
away from the heated room as quickly as
my friends the Baboos would allow me. I
pleaded fatigue, which was indeed perfectly
true; and, resisting all their most pressing
invitations to remain to supper, I descended
the still crowded stairs.

At the portico I overtook two Germans,
who were just stepping into their vehicle, and
was in time to hear them agree to drive off
to another nautch, reported to be in the
suburbs, and in true Bengalee style. Still
anxious to behold the genuine article, though
disheartened with the hybrid imitation in
Waterloo Square, I sprang into my buggy,
and drove after the foreigners.

The night was dark as an Indian midnight
can be, with a clear sky and myriads of stars
above. I saw nothing of our road. On
we went at a rattling pace for half-an-hour;
when I discerned a bright star-like something
before us. My companions pulled up at the
star; which had, by that time, taken the
appearance of a small dwelling on fire. I
soon found myself walking through a narrow
doorway, and up a long avenue of bamboos
and branches, brilliantly lit up à la Bengallee.
At the end of this fine walk was a quaint,
old-fashioned house, with wide stone steps,
a curiously cut doorway, and an elaborately-
worked ceiling to the entrance hall.

The thing seemed at this point most hopeful.
There was a crowd of curiously-attired up-
country people, and a great light and much
noise within, so that my expectation of
something really good was once more at summer
heat instead of being below zero. A short
flight of stairs led me to the chief amusement
at once, the dancers; and, this time, they
really were nautch girls. I pressed forward
to catch a glimpse of their graceful elegant
movements; when splash went a shower of
dirty liquid into my face, nearly blinding me
for some minutes. It proved to be the
customary salutation with rose-water, expressed
from roses of more than doubtful quality.

As soon as I had recovered my equanimity
I again hastened to the front to feast my
sight upon the famed nautch girls. Once
more, disappointment! Girls they truly were;
but dumpy, baggy, rice-faced, unwashed,
uncombed, bedizened creatures. Half-a-dozen
London May-day ladies with sooty faces, and
wrapped up in as many muslin window
curtains, with pieces of tinsel stuck about them,
would not give my readers a bad idea of
these genuine nautch damsels.

There was nearly as much crowding and
quite as motley a gathering here, as at the
square. The rooms were smaller and more
poorly furnished, but there was the same
rushing about after nothing in particular, the
same heat, the same noisy guests, a duplicate
of the old gentleman performing on the
wooden spoon, with the host standing amidst
a circle of his friends. There was this difference,
however, that there was no supper in
fact, no eating whatever; the only refreshment
besides the ill-flavoured rose-water,
being copious libations of brandy and water
served in all sorts of vessels, of course cold.

It was early in the morning when I left;
the dumpy nautch girls were still slipping
ungracefully about: the dirty rose-water