Page:The Atlantic Monthly Volume 1.djvu/638

630 animal spirits of her darling Hastings Clive.

“Soono, you sooa, toom kis-wasti omara bukri not bring?” says Hastings Clive, whose English is apt to figure among his Hindostanee like Brahmins in a regiment of Sepoys,—that is, one Brahmin to every twenty low-caste fellows.

The Hon. Mrs. Wellesley Gough.— Wellesley dear, do listen to that darling Hastings Clive, how sweetly he prattles! What did he say then? If one could only learn that delightful Hindostanee, so that one could converse with one’s dear Hastings Clive! Do tell me what he said.

The Hon. Wellesley Gough, of the Company’s Bad Bargains.—Literally interpreted, my dearest Maud, our darling Hastings Clive sweetly remarked, “I say, you pig, why in thunder don’t you fetch my goat into the parlor?”

The Hon. Mrs. Wellesley Gough, of the Hon. Mr. Wellesley Gough’s Bad Bargains.—Oh, isn’t he clever?

''If is tings Clive.—Jou, you haremrzeada! Bukri na munkta, nimuk-aram! The Hon. Wellesley Gough''.—My love, he says now, “Get out, you good-for-nothing rascal! I don’t want that goat here.”

The Hon. Mrs. Wellesley Gough.—Oh, isn’t he clever?

What dreadful crime did you commit in another life, O illustrious Moonshee, that you should fall now among such thieves as this horrid Hastings Clive?

“Sahib, I know not. ''Hum kia kurrenge? kismut hi:'' What can I do? it is my fate.”

Hastings Clive has a queer assortment of pets, first of which are the bushy-tailed Persian kittens, hereinbefore mentioned. When, in Yankee-land, some lovelorn Zeekle is notoriously sweet upon any Huldy of the rural maids,—when

“His heart keeps goin’ pitypat, And hern goes pity Zeekle,”—

when she is

“All kind o’ smily round the lips, And teary round the lashes,”—

it is usual to describe his condition by a feline figure; he is said to “cuddle up to her like a sick kitten to a hot brick.” But the sick Oriental kitten, reversing the Occidental order of kitten things, cuddles up to a water-monkey, and fondly embraces the refreshing evaporation of its beaded bulb with all her paws and all her bushy tail. The Persian kitten Stands high in the favor of Hastings Clive.

Hastings Clive has a whole array of parroquets and hill-mainahs, which, as they learned their small language from his peculiar scurrilous practice, are but blackguard birds at best. He also rejoices in many blue-jays, rescued from the Ganges, whereinto they were thrown as offerings to the vengeful Doorga during the barbarous pooja celebrated in her name. Very proud, too, is Hastings Clive of his pigeons,—his many-colored pigeons from Lucknow, Delhi, and Benares; an Oudean bird-boy has trained them to the pretty sport of the Mohammedan princes, and every afternoon he flies them from the house-top in flashing flocks, for Hastings Clive’s entertainment.

Hastings Clive has toys, the wooden and earthen toys for which Benares was ever famous among Indian children,— non-descript animals, and as non-descript idols,—little Brahminee bulls with bells, and artillery camels, like those at Rohilcund and Agra,—Sahibs taking the air in buggies, country-folk in hackeries, baba-logue in gig-topped ton-jons. But much more various and entertaining, though frailer, are his Calcutta toys, of paper, clay, and wax,—hunting-parties in bamboo howdahs, on elephants a foot high, that move their trunks very cunningly,—avadavats of clay, which flutter so naturally, suspended by hairs in bamboo cages, that the cats destroy them quickly,—miniature palanquins, budgerows, bungalows, and pagodas, all of paper,—figures in clay of the different castes and callings, baboos, kitmudgars, washermen, barbers, tailors, street-waterers, box-wallahs, (as the peddlers are called,) nautch-girls, jugglers, sepoys, po