MY DEAR SARALA,—_In my letter I cannot express what anxiety my mind feels, to see your sweet face. O what inexpressible pleasure do I feel when I place your beautiful (moonlike) face on my breast! I thought that that moment of happiness is come; but pain immediately overtook pleasure. The College is closed, but a great misfortune has come upon me; through the grace of God, if I be not able to extricate myself from it, I shall never be able any more to show my face to thee. The Indigo Planters have secretly brought an accusation against my father in the Court; their main design being, in some way or other, to throw him into Jail. I have sent letters, one after another, to my brother, giving him this information; and I myself am remaining here with the greatest care possible. Never disturb yourself with vain thoughts? The merciful Father must certainly make us successful. My dear, I have not forgotten the Bengali translation of “Shakespeare;” it cannot be got now in the shops; but one of my friends, Bonkima by name, has given me one copy. When I come home, I shall bring it with me. My dear, what a great source of pleasure is the acquisition of learning! I am conversing with you, although at such a great distance, Ah! what great happiness would my mind have enjoyed if my mother did not forbid you to send letters to me._ “_I am, yours_, “BINDU MADHAR.” As to myself—I have a full confidence as to that. If there be any fault in your character, then who should be an example of good conduct? Because I am fickle; cannot sit, for some time quietly in one place, my mother-in-law calls me the daughter of a mad woman. But, where is my fickleness now. In the place, where I have opened the letter of my dear Lord, I have spent nearly a fourth part of the day. The fickleness of the exterior part has now gone into the heart. As, on the boiling of the rice, the froth rising up makes the surface quiet, but the rice within is agitated; so am I now. I have not that smiling face now. A sweet smile is the wife of happiness; and so soon as happiness dies, the sweet smile goes along with it. My Lord, when thou shalt prove successful, every thing shall be preserved; if I am to see your face disquieted, all sides will be dark unto me. O my restless mind, wilt thou be not quieted? If you remain unquiet, that can be suffered. As to your weeping, none can see it, nor can hear it; but my eyes! you shall throw me into shame, (_rubbing her eyes_); if ye are not pacified, I shall not be able to go out of doors. _Enter_ ADURI