:

King, conqueror of nations, encourage two sorts of mortals,
One skilled in war, the other in counsel.

If so, why not Captain Macdonald should be the former?
If so, why not Mr. J. D. Ward would be the latter?

And here is part of a "distich on arrival of 38th N.I.":

We paid a visit upon Captain John A. Vanrenen,
He is a high-spirited hero and jolly gentleman,

So is the Lieutenant George Fergus Graham,
So is the Lieutenant Henry Tottenham.

The last poem of all is wholly devoted to eulogies of Chittagong
worthies. For example, Mr. H. Greavesour, the judge,

Is a pious and righteous man,
Administering justice with mental pain.

Of Mr. D. R. Douglas:

There is Mr. D. R. Douglas, Joint Magistrate,
His judgment is pure, yes, on the highest rate.

And Mr. A. Marsh, Magistrate-Collector:

He is devout, holy man, naturally shy,
His mind seems runs through righteous way.

And the Executive Engineer, Mr. C. A. Mills:

The energitic gentleman is getting on well.

All these were living and probably in daily reception of the obeisances
of the retired medical officer who esteemed them so highly; but Dr.
Beatson was dead:

We lost, lately lost, Dr. W. B. Beatson.
We again shall never gain him in person....
He is a Dr. Philanthropist,
He is a Dr. Physiognomist,
He is a Dr. Anatomist,
He is His Lordship's personal Surgeon.

It will be seen already that Mr. Dutt had not yet mastered his
instrument, but he did not lack thoughts: merely the power to express
them. Throughout these thirty odd pages one sees him floundering in the
morass of a new language, always with something that he wants to say but
can only suggest. Here, for example, is a personal statement, line by
line more or less inarticulate, but as a whole clear enough. With all
the mental incompleteness, the verbal looseness, the fumblings and
gropings of the traditional Baboo, it is a genuine piece of irony.
Seldom can a convert to Christianity have been more frank.

I would not accept a second creation,
I thank the Omnipotent for his kind protection.
From my minority,
I profess the mendacity,
Passed days in poverty,
From my minority.
Perpetually my duty,
Sobbing under perplexity.
Nothing least prosperity,
But sad and emotion.

I ga