He is—can he help it?—a special attorney—
an attaché of the Supreme Court.
Such, then, is the Course of Calcutta; and such a little melodramatic sketch may give some idea of the varied objects which there meet the eye.
We drove up and down several times, and recognized not a few of our ship companions; amongst others, the little colonel, in a barouche with some ladies, whom he was evidently entertaining with a “yarn.” Darkness now came on apace. The mussalchees, or link boys, with their flaring mussauls, met their masters at turns of the roads, to light them to their several homes, and we thought it time to depart. Marpeet drove to his quarters, where he invited me to pass the evening, to which I assented. Sitting over our wine, Marpeet discussed the Course, and gave me a few bits of scandal, touching sundry ladies and gentlemen we had seen, over which I yawned, for I have ever abominated what are called private histories.
“Well,” said Marpeet, “I think I shall start for the Upper Provinces, and leave you sooner than I thought. The lads there in the old corps are very anxious to have me amongst them once more. I have a letter to-day from Tippleton—an old friend of mine, who is a real good fellow, with no nonsense about him (I hope to bring you acquainted some day)—urging my going up without delay. Let me see,” said he, feeling his pocket, “I think I have it somewhere about me. Oh, yes, here it is, and you may read it, if you like. He is rather fond, you will perceive, of the Hindoostanee zuban, and so forth, but he does not set up for a great scribe, but is what is better, a devilish honest fellow. Come governor, toss off your heel-taps, and take some more wine.”
Every language has, probably, terms which, from their superior terseness or euphony, express more fully the meanings they are intended to convey than corresponding words in another tongue; and this certainly justifies their adoption. But there is also a practice of using foreign phrases indiscriminately, when the native ones would do quite as well. Shortly after the last peace, novel-writers could express nothing with point and effect but in French and Italian; so in India there are a class of men, generally small wits, who interlard their conversation with Hindoostanee words and phrases; these they often sport in England, where of course they are unintelligible and out of place. Ye guardian genii! who watch over the “well of English undefiled,” whilst you admit what will purify and sweeten, prevent its unhallowed pollution from garbage thrown into it by every idle and thoughtless hand! And now for Captain Tippleton’s letter, which though rather more fully charged with Hindoostanee terms than any the writer ever met with, yet presents some likeness of a certain species of Indian epistolary style (of the slip-slop and slang-wanging order):—
Grillumabad, Aug. 18—
My dear Marpeet,
Just now taking a dekh (look) at the Calcutta Khubber (News), I saw your name amongst those of a batch of griffs and Tazu wulaits (fresh Europeans), having arrived by the Rottenbeam Castle. Welcome back, my dear fellow, to John Kumpany ka raj. I hope you will cut Calcutta, and lose no time in puhonchowing (conveying) yourself up by dawk to join the old pultun (battalion), in which, I am sorry to say, things have been quite oolta poolta (topsy-turvy) since you left us. Tims has quitted the corps, as you probably know. He was a d——d puckha (stingy) hand, and a muggra (sulky) beast into the bargain. However, I don’t think we have gained much by his budlee (successor), our new kummadan (commandant)—a regular bahadur (great person), who dicks our lives out with kuddum ootou (drill), dumcows (bullies) the native officers, and gallees (abuses) the Jacks (sepoys). Tomkins and I still chum together; he, as gureeb and soost (quiet and lazy) as ever, and as fond of the brandy pawney, sends his bhote bhote salaam to Marpeet Sahib. Station dull—no tumasha (fun), as in the old times, when we were first here. The other day, however, old Dickdar, our brigadier, gave a burra khanna (dinner); his loll (claret) was bang-up and you may be sure we did not spare the simpkin (champagne); burra beebee (great lady) very gracious, and a great show-off of the bal butchos (children). We had the old bajja (band), your creation and hobby, in attendance, and got up a nautch. Smirks, our adjutant, quite a burra admee (great man) since he mounted the kantas (spurs), bucking up to and devilish sweet on the spinster; but it won’t hoga (do); nothing under the revenue or judicial department will go down there—Samjah Sahib?—You understand me. Tip us a chit, my dear fellow, by return of dawk, and believe me,
My dear Marpeet, ever yours very truly,