Öa'S জীবন-চরিত taught us to leave of our native narrow invention, and to restrain our prurient imagination in conception and expression. He has put new blood into the veins of the Bengali Muse, and galvanized her with spirit. They say he has sinned by his not doing due Justice to Rama. But the great Vidyasagara has not sinned the less, whose wailing, weeping, and would-not-be-comforted Rama in the Sitarianabasha, appears to be a caricature, like that of Homer’s heroes in Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida. Milton’s Adam was “unused to the melting mood' So far as my memory serves me at the present moment, I recollect Ravana to be a great fighting hero, and Lachmana a great moral hero. Rama performed no other heroic feat than having taken up and broken the ponderous Afaradhanuk. He killed Ravana by stealth of the Mrittusara bana, which reads like an Anglo-Indian stratagem in the Panjab war. His heroism is taken upon assumption—it is an apriori conclusion based upon the idea of his incarnation. Rama is the gleat Brahmanical hero, but he did not come up to Modhu's ideal By conservatism, he would have pleased his countrymen, but outraged his own instincts. CALCUTTA, and September, IS94. BHOLANATHI CHUNDER. Reminiscences of Michael Modhu Sudan Datta, BY BABU RASBIHARI MU KERJEE. Mr. Michael Modhu Sudan Datta came twice to Uttarpara, once in 187o and the second and last time in 1873, to live in the first floor of the Public Library house. On both these occasions his wife and children accompanied furi. During the first visit, and indeed, all through that sojourn of about three months, it could be easily perceived, that his buoyant and cheerful spirit, and his gay, lively manner amid the wreck of his fortune and the pinch of poverty, had not for a moment left him. That frankness or enthusiasm of manner which the Frenchman calls abandon was then, as it had been before pre-eminently his own. At that time, one often heard him repeat, with unbounded, nigh blind admiration, passages from his favourite Dante and Milton, Shelley and Byron, and sing his never-to-be-stale song of Dave Carson's "Bengali Babu.' But when, in 1873, disease had been hurrying him to an untimely grave, and the gradual and conscious waste of vital power had given him warning that his end was near, a far different picture of the man, the ppet, and the galantuono presented itself. Then, all cheerfulness was gone, and those grand black eyes of his shone no more with the light of day, but were dimmed and dejected as it were by the sad thought
