of dialogues between a husband and his wife on various social and moral topics. It is intended for the use of ladies learning to read and write late in life. Mad kháwá bara dáy—ját thákár ki upáy is devoted, like many other recent Bengali books, to an exposition of the evils of drunkenness. Jat Kinchit is a not very interesting exposition of the Brahmist religion. Abhedi—Tekchánd Thakur’s latest work—treats of the same subject, and has brought down upon him the wrath of the redoubtable Babu Keshub Chunder Sen and his followers.
From Tekchánd to 'Hutam' is an easy transition. For Kali Prosunno Singh, or 'Hutam', was one of the most successful writers in the style first introduced by Tekchánd. In early youth he made several translations from the Sanskrit, and in particular he is the author of a translation of the Mahabharata, which may be regarded as the greatest literary work of his age. But it is not as a translator that he is known to fame, and familiar to almost every Bengali, but as the author of Hutam Pyancha, a collection of sketches of city-life, something, after the manner of Dickens’ Sketches by Boz, in which the follies and peculiarities of all classes, and not seldom of men actually living, are described in racy vigorous language, not seldom disfigured by obscenity. Among them are the Charak Puja, the Bárah Yári, Popular Excitements, Charlatanry, Babu Pudma Lochan Datta or the Sudden Incarnation, and Snan Jattra. The following short extract will give some notion of his style. The scene is laid in the native quarter of Calcutta after nightfall.
‘The noise of the bell and the brass-worker has ceased to proclaim that it is still early. The lamps in every street are lighted. Bel flowers and ice-cream and curds are offered for sale by loud-voiced hawkers. The front doors of wine-shops are closed as the law directs, but men who wish to buy are not sent away empty. Gradually the darkness thickens. At this time, thanks to English shoes, striped Santipur scarfs and Simla dhutis, you can't tell high from low. Groups of fast young men, with peals of laughter and plenty of English talk, are knocking at this door and that. They left home when they saw the lamps lighted in the evening, and will return when the flour-mills begin to work. They haunt in crowds the poultry-market in Machua Bazar and the crossing in Chor Bagan Street. Some cover their faces with scarfs, and think that no one recognizes them. Others shout, cough, sneeze, and otherwise display their exuberant spirits. The office clerk has washed his hands and face and taken his brief evening meal, and is now busy with his guitar. In the next room little boys are bawling out their lessons from Vidyaságar’s spelling-book. Goldsmiths have lighted their small earthen lamps, and are preparing to set about their business. The cloth-merchants, braziers, and furniture-dealers have shut their shops for the night; and the money-changer is counting his cash and estimating his gains.
