The Sun.
London, England, 1861-11-08 00:00:00

THE SUN, GONDON, FRIDAY EVENING, NOVEMBER 8, 1861.

for Bang—that Oriental antithesis of tea, being, in
point of fact, the cup that inebriates without cheer-
ing ! It proves to be in no way an alias for Back-
sheesh—that more than merely Asiatic incentive to
a show of enthusiasm at all times, under all circum-
stances, and at the very shortest notice ! It proves,
in fine, to be in no way a delicate synonym for that
amiable little peculiarity incidental to marriage in
the far East, that affecting little conjugal weak-
ness, that touching little posthumous marital en-
dearment, known as the Suttee! Nothing of all
this is—" Nil Darpan," Nil Darpan being in effect
—simply—just in half-a-dozen words—The Colleen
Bawn of India!

It is nothing more nor less in reality, this won-
derful source of delight to our Asiatic fellow-
subjects, it is nothing more nor less than a highly
successful Bengali Drama !" A " sensation" play, in
we don't know how many acts—meaning by its
title Nil Darpan (it must be a marvellously com-
pact tongue that Bengalee language !) The Mirror
of Indigo Planting! And jast as the " Colleen
Baron," at the Adelphi, has been drawing crowded
houses almost nightly for months past—" Nil Dar-
pan" has been driving the playgoers of Calcutta all
but distracted with a long-sustained sense of pro-
foundest admiration. Its attractiveness, is truth,
would almost seem to hint that, as a sensation
drama, it must be distinguished, not by one
"header," but by a series of headers : and that, more
truly than EILY O'CONNOR herself, the heroine of
the Indian " Colleen Bawa" must be par excellence
THE Diving Belle !

Alluding to this much-talked of play; the new
Overland Organ alike of England and India—that
very smartly-written but somewhat spiteful Lite-
raryßudget, published by Messrs. SAUNDERS, OTLEY
and Ca., observes, in its very First Number, the in-
augurative number but just issued from the press
(p. 24)—" Its real author [that is the author of Nil
Darpan] has only to discover himself to be famous.
may have been once read more, and
native plays have come nearer nature, but the
Mirror of Indigo' will be remembered when
Sakoontala' is forgotten." Certainly, words of
praise, enough in themselves to pique the curiosity
of the mast utterly blasé and the most imperturbably
phlegmatic.

Yet—does any one feel really solicitous, after all
this, to examine into the merits and peculiarities of
this amazing politico-dramatic " hit" at Calcutta P
Fortunately for him, his eager inquiriei may be
satisfied to the full without any necessity for his
undergoing the prolonged agony of actually wit-
nessing its representation: In the current number
of Mr. DICKENS'S All the Year Round (No. 133,
pp. 158-164) within the compass of less than seven
of those familiar double-columned pages, now lurid
with the mystic wonders of the Strange Story
related from week to week by Sir BULWER
LYTTON—those who list can, in about a quarter of
an hour or twenty minutes, know all that any sane
Englishman would even care to know about this
preposterous fffusion of Bengalee genius. There
are tortures that we must all of 113, some time or
another, go through, whether we will or no. And
we suppose this is one of them And as Mr.
THACKERAY says in his last instalment of " Philip"
in the new number of the Cornhid Magazine—as
Mr. THACKERAY writes there in h.s absurdly droll
way—" If any of our people are going to suffer, let
the pain be soon over." Our whimsical humourist
continuing thus—" Sit down in this chair, Made-
moiselle, if you please, and you, Monsieur,
in this. Allow me to examine you ; just open
your mouth, if you please ; and—oh, oh, my dear
miss—there it is out ! A little eau-de-Cologne
and water, my dear. And now, Monsieur, if you
please, we will—what fangs! what a big one !
Two guineas. Thank you. Good morning. Come
to me once a-year. John, show in the next party."
Instead of two guineas, here, however, it is but
twopence: for the which, through the brief but
salutary anguish of the operation involved in
mastering the synopsis of this dreadful little
Bengali drama in the last number of All the
Fear Round, any one and every one who cares
to do so, may know all about that same porten-
tous Asiatic enigma 'ycleped "Nil Darpan !"
Perhaps there never was anything sillier that
could drive a whole people crazy with excite-
ment than this same stupendous piece of absur-
dity. And we avow as much with a vivid recol-
lection the while that American patriotism has
been roused to enthusiasm before now by the
ludicrous strains of "Yankee Doodle," and that
in our own country it was almost treasonable at
one time for a liege servant of the Crown to whistle
as Uncle TOBY loved so often to whistle (as one
may say sotto voee), the arrant nonsense of that
famous refrain of no-meaning—

" Lero-lero 1
Lillibullero 1
Lillibullero 1
Bullen-alla 1"

So has it been now for months past over yonder
in India with this dull piece of politico-dramatic
no-meaning called " Nil Darpan," or " The Mirror
of Indigo Planting." The incident of its popu-
larity, however, the circumstances of the extrava-
gance and prolongation of that popularity, cannot
but be useful, after all, if only rightly looked at
—suggestive as that incident and those circum-
stances are of the character of the race over which
her Britannic MAJESTY has but so very recently
assumed the reins, and, with the reins,the respon •
sibilities, of Government.

THE IMPERIAL THINBLERIG;
OR,"UNDER "WHICH HAT IS THE ROMAN PEA ?"

(From Punch.)
There's a thimblerigger has his stand
In the stately Tuileries,
And never did rig, on a scale so big,
Draw such a companie
As watch the twist of that nimble wrist,
As it works the Roman pea
His board is a map of the fair estate
That Matilda gave the Pope,
In days afar whe' the triple tear
With crowns en masse could cope ;
When St. Peter's boat had water to float,
And was taut in ribs and rope.

Cross-keys and a sword are the legs of the board,
And in place of the thimbles three,
'Neath which, in a vulgar rig, the Rats
Look out for the little pea,—
There's a little cocked hat, and a Cardinal's hat,
And a Bersaglier's kepi.
The little cocked hat it stands for France;
The Cardinal's hat for Rome;
The kepi stands for Italy,
Who'd square home affairs at home :
But there's the French Cock on the Capitol's rock,
And who's to cut his Comb ?
"Now, noble sportsmen, make your game.
Look sharp, and the trick is done;
Now here, now there, all's on the square,
The odds are two to one.
One, two, and three—goes the little pea,—
Who'll bet to which hat it's run?"
" Held hard I 'tis under the scarlet tile—"

Says a tonsured flat, " I'll swear 1"
" Done, Sir, with you I" and the flat looks blue,
For never a pea is there 1
" The Hat 1" " the Kepi!" lift either and see
But, 10, the board is bare 1
And so goes on the little game,
While the Roman pea doth spin,
From hat to hat, till what to be at,
Ihe flats to doubt begin—
And 'tis pretty clear, of all that are bore,
But one is meait to win.
Back which you choose, you're as safe to lose
As a duck to swim to land;
But there's one bet, which if you can get,
In with you I'd like to stand;
That wherever it be, the little pea
Is well in the rigger's hand 1

A telegram was posted at Lloyd's yesterday,
dated Sydney, Sept. 23, dispatched from Alexandria, Nov.
7, advising the destruction by fire of the clipper ship Sove.
reign of the Seas, from Liverpool, while lying in Sydney
440491.1 r. The date is not given.