of the much vaunted but bloodless victories in other places will bear comparison in the eyes of posterity. When history is hereafter calmly written, multitudes of our present oracles will be dumb and forgotten, and the importance of the contest at Delhi, the achievements and endurance of our army, and the energy of the great man in the Punjab who fed its supplies, will beam forth resplendently on the page of truth. The only publication in which these things have as yet been fully told is the Narrative before us, and in that there is in every line the spirit of the soldier and the stamp of calm veracity.

BENGALI WORKS.

Alláler Gharer Dulál [Dulál of the house of Allál; or The Spoiled Child.] By Tek Chand Thackoor. Calcutta, 1858.

WE hail this book as the first novel in the Bengali language. Whatever may be our estimate of the intrinsic worth of the hundreds of novels that are daily issuing from the English and the European press, it is certain that prose works of imagination form no inconsiderable portion of modern literature. Fictitious literature has had three different phases of manifestation in the history of the human race; first, fables; secondly, romances; and thirdly, novels. The age of fables is gone by. The world has become far too practical to be pleased with dialogues between lions and mice, frogs and cranes, the thorn and the rose-bush. Such stories could give delight only in the infancy of the human race. Hence the day of Pilpay, of Esop, and of La Fontaine, is irrecoverably gone. The age of romances too is past. The stories of Jack the giant-killer, Puss in boots, the Devil on two sticks, the tales of Betál, the Arabian Nights' Entertainments, Orlando Furioso, and the like, do not give us that delight which our great-grand-fathers received from them. We have become too unpoetical, too utilitarian to derive amusement from those unreal and extravagant fictions. The world of to-day is a matter-of-fact world. We prefer the real to the unreal-the probable to the extravagant. We like the world of living beingsmen of real flesh and blood-men possessing like passions with ourselves. Hence the origin of novels.

Though novels occupy a large niche in modern European literature, Bengali literat ure has hitherto been entirely destitute of them. There has, doubtless, been plenty of stories ; but those stories have always partaken of the nature of the romantic, while the element of impurity runs in them all. It is, therefore, with peculiar pleasure, that we hail the rising star of Bengali fictitious. literature in the unpretending little book, the title of which we have placed at the head of this notice. Tek Chand Thackoor (who by the way is none other than the intelligent native gentleman, who has the charge of the Calcutta Public Library, under an assumed name)

Tek Chand Thackoor, has written a tale, the like of which is not to be found within the entire range of Bengali literature. He is evidently well read in English novels. He seems to be familiar with Defoe, Fielding, Scott, Dickens, Bulwer, Thackeray, and other masters of fiction. Whether he has succeeded in catching the spirit of those immortal writers, and in transfusing some portion of their spirit into his mother-tongue, those of our readers, who are able to preuse the story in the original, will judge for themselves. For the benefit, however, of such of our readers as are unacquainted with the Bengali language and they, we fear, constitute by far the majority, we shall here subjoin an abstract of the story. But, at the outset, we think it desirable to present to our readers our author's brief and modest English preface :

"The above original novel in Bengali being the first work of the kind, is now submitted to the public with considerable diffidence. It chiefly treats of the pernicious effects of allowing children to be improperly brought up, with remarks on the existing system of education, on self-formation and religious culture, and is illustrative of the condition of Hindu society, manners, customs, &c., and partly of the state of things in the Mofussil. The work has been written in a simple style, and to foreigners desirous of acquiring an idiomatic knowledge of the Bengali language and acquaintance with Hindu domestic life, it will perhaps be found useful. The writer thinks it well to add that a large portion of this tale appeared originally in a monthly publication, which met with the approval of a number of friends, at whose request he has been induced to conclude and publish it in the present form."

The hero of the novel is Moti Lal-the son of Baburam Babu-of the village of Baidyabati, about fourteen miles north-west of Calcutta. Being greatly indulged in childhood, Moti Lal grew up a very naughty boy; and his wishes having never been crossed, he spoke of "catching hold of the moon, and of eating cannon-balls." His education, if education it can be called, began at home, where he was initiated into the mysteries of the Bengali alphabet by a teacher of the regular Gurumahasaya type, who sitting cross-legged, with rattan in hand, and leaning against the wall, used to doze, and now and then break the silence with the well-known words, "Boys, go on with your writing." With the slumbering pedagogue, Moti Lal played a variety of tricks. He sometimes danced before him, at other times held up a plantain to his mouth by way of mockery, now thrust a stick into his nostril, and now threw a live coal into his clothes. The woe-begone pedagogue, not quite relishing the jokes of his facetious pupil, bethought himself of a plan to get rid of him. He accordingly went to Baburam Babu and said, that Moti Lal had finished his Bengali education-though the fact was, that he had not gone much beyond the double consonants. The fond father, overjoyed at the wonderful progress his son had made in his studies, determined to give him some knowledge of Sanscrit. He found a Sanscrit teacher in the person of the Brahman cook of the family, who, blockhead as he was, pretended, for the love of gain, to be acquainted with that learned language. But the cook-professor had not studied his pupil. Moti Lal after a few days plainly told his teacher that if he dared to vex him any longer with the subtleties of Sanscrit

Grammar, he would break his head by dashing against it an eleveninch brick. The awe-stricken Pundit imitated the policy of the Gurumahosaya, represented to the father that Mati Lal had made respectable progress in Sanscrit, and thus got the dangerous pupil out of his hands. A Mussulman teacher was now engaged, at one rupee eight annas per mensem, besides oil and fuel, to instruct Mati in the Persian language. The Moonshee, toothless on account of age, his beard all white, his moustache, "white as flax," set himself sedulously to his work. But Mati Lal one day set fire to his beard, on which the venerable sage, tormented with pain, left the house and pupil for ever, exclaiming as he went out "tobah ! tobah!" Mati Lal having mastered the Bengali, Sanscrit, and Persian languages, it was resolved to crown his education with English. He was, accordingly, put into Mr. Sherborne's Academy in Calcutta. This worthy East Indian gentleman rejoiced in a corpulent body, and thick-set brows, chewed pawn-leaves the live-long day, had always a rattan in his hand, inspected the classes occasionally, and spent the rest of the school-time in smoking. Mati Lal soon made himself famous in the school. He was at the head of every row, and the master of all mischief. The sons of Bacharam Babu, in whose house Mati was a boarder, he soon corrupted, with whom and other boon companions, he ran into all manner of excesses. One day they were caught by the police in the act of gambling. The case was tried in the Calcutta Police-the celebrated Mr. Blacquiere being Magistrate. By the eloquent pleadings of counsellor Butler-the skilful management of the native pleader Bacharam, the "wet-cat of dissimulation,”—and above all by the perjury of Thak Cháchá (Uncle deceit), the emperor of chicanery," and whose " very bones produced enchantment," Mati Lal was acquitted; while the sons of honest Bacharam, who would not have recourse to unfair means, were committed to prison. Baburam Babu with his son, and Thak Cháchá, who from this time became his "right trusty and well-beloved cousin and councillor," were [returning to Baidyabati, when they were overtaken by a storm in the river, from which they narrowly escaped with their lives. Mati Lal having thus finished his education, lived in his father's house at Baidyabati, and, gathering around himself a motley crew of fellows of the baser sort, made the streets of that village echo with the sounds of their mischief. To-day they plundered the property of a poor man, to-morrow they burnt the house of another; and of their mischief there was no end. The inhabitants were sorely vexed. Cracking their fingers they prayed-" May you be soon destroyed." Mati's mother, who was an excellent lady, and his two amiable sisters, Pramada and Mukshoda-one of whom was a widow, and the other married to a Koolin Brahman, were heart-broken at the conduct of the wicked boy; while the fond and imbecile father, blind to the faults of his eldest-born, looked upon him as the jewel of a son. When Mati was sixteen years old, he was married to the daughter of a rich Babu of Manirampore. The nuptial rites were celebrated with great pomp, on which occasion Thak Chacha played a conspicuous part.

DEC., 1858

Mati Lal had a younger brother of the name of Ramlal. This boy was the pride of his mother and the delight of the village. He had begun early to tread the paths of virtue chiefly through the teaching of one Barada Babu. This gentleman, a native of Eastern Bengal, was well educated in English, had no faith in the popular religion of his country, worshipped the God of nature, and was exact in his morals and unwearied in well-doing. By attending to the instructions of this man, as well as of his friend Bani Babu of Bali, Ram Lal became somewhat lax in his observance of the religious rites of the Hindus. This circumstance excited the anger of Baburam and of his MentorUncle deceit. The latter personage, at no loss for deceitful contrivances, made an elaborate plan to get rid of the hated Barada Prasad. He lodged a complaint against him in the Hoogly Court; and Barada Babu was taken up on suspicion of murder. As soon as Barada Babu with his companions-Ram Lal and Bani, was seated on a blanket under a tree in the purlieus of the court, a whole crew of petti-foggers offered to carry his case successfully through. False witnesses, also came in shoals to be hired. But honest Barada Prasad relied on his innocency. He contrived to state his case in English to the Magistrate directly. The case was dismissed to the great chagrin of Thak Chacha. Baburam Babu in his old age married a second wife. At the celebration of the nuptial rites, many jokes were cracked by facetious women on the baldness and toothlessness of the octogenarian bridegroom. But the stain of the nuptial turmeric had scarcely been rubbed off the old gentleman's body, when he sickened and died. The funeral rites of the deceased were solemnized with becoming splendour to the no little delight of the Brahmans of the village. As Ram Lal had, by his exact morals and freedom from superstition, increased his father's displeasure, he was left penniless, while Mati Lal was constituted sole heir of his father's estate. On his accession to his father's guddee, Mati Lal gave himself up to pleasure. Crowds of flatterers flocked around him. Thak Chacha and Bacharam became his counsellors, and led him on to ruin. He wasted his substance in riotous living. On his mother's remonstrating with him, he struck her, and threw her down to the ground. The mother, heart-broken at her son's shame, left the house, and banished herself along with her youngest daughter, the eldest having died some years before. The gentle and virtuous Ram Lal was forbidden to enter into the ancestral house; and he too exiled himself, and took a journey to the NorthWest. Mati Lal having thus got rid of his good mother, amiable sister, and virtuous brother, became undisputed master of his house, and did whatever seemed right in his eyes. But his means had become scant. His father had left him a large debt which had greatly increased by his costly pleasures. Thak Chacha and Bacharam, however, made a capital plan to retrieve their patron's fortunes. A portion of Mati Lal's Zemindari was mortgaged, and the money was placed in the hands of an English gentleman-Mr. John, who opened an Agency House in Calcutta of the name of John and Co. Of that firm Mati Lal was nominally made banian, while Thak Chacha

and Bacharam took care to have all the business in their hands. After a short time John and Co. failed, and Mati Lal, reduced to the brink of starvation, repaired with his boon companions to his Zemindari at Jessore.

Meanwhile Thak Chacha obtained his merited reward. Ever active in plotting mischief, he had for a long time been in the habit of perpetrating forgery, in the company of one Báhulye. The Calcutta Police having got scent of the affair, he was arrested. While in custody he disclosed in a dream the particulars of his crime. He was committed to the sessions. The Grand Jury found a true bill against him. His trial came off before a large crowd of natives, Mr. Butler pleading on his behalf. The Jury gave in a verdict of "guilty." The Chief Justice Russell sentenced him and Bahulye to transportation beyond the seas for life.

At Jessore Mati Lal was running headlong into the debts of vice. Ignorant of Zemindari affairs he was robbed, right and left, by his agents. He quarrelled with Indigo-planters and was over-reached by them. His pleasures had become very expensive, and he was a ruined man. He was at last brought to his senses. The pleasures of the world palled upon him; and he was disgusted with the companions of his debauchery. He left Jessore and betook himself to a wandering life. A little before, through the roguery of Bacharam, Mati Lal's ancestral house had been occupied by a stranger, and his wife and step-mother had obtained shelter under the hospitable roof of Baradá Babu. Mati Lal travelled to Benares, where he profited greatly by the instructions of a Hindu sage. He became a changed man. He wept at his past follies, and began to lead a life of piety. Ram Lal, who had travelled as far as Brindában, met there his mother and sister, who were wandering about as beggars. They then left Brindaban with Baradá Babu-whom our author makes all but ubiquitous, and came to Benares, where they joyfully welcomed Mati Lal in his right mind. The rejoicing family came back to Baidyabati, took possession of the ancestral house, and thenceforth lived together in happiness and contentment.

Such is the story which our author has told us, with a deal of humour and pleasantry, in a book of 180 pages. That the story, in some parts at least, is wanting in vraisemblance, must be admitted by every one acquainted with the inner life of native society. That Mati Lal's mother should forsake her son's house, simply because she was once beaten by him, will appear improbable to those who know of the strength of a Bengali mother's affection to her son; still less probable will it appear that the mother and sister of a rich Babu-and a Zemindar to boot, should be so far reduced in circumstances as to be under the necessity of begging from door to door in a strange land. The same remark is applicable to our author's placing Mati Lal's wife. and step-mother under the roof of Barada Prasad. The fact is, in Hindu society, no respectable family is ever reduced to so low a condition as that depicted by our author. Is it probable that the rich Babu of Monirampore, Mati Lal's father-in-law, should not think of