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Conversely, he has Ganěsa for Ganēsha, and so on. Such mistakes, though unnoticed by Europeans, sound very disagreeably to Oriental readers. They might easily be avoided.
Another current Anglo-Indian phrase is Thikauna, a Hindee word, of which it is difficult to give the exact meaning. Its general signification is fixture, certainty,' or trust-worthiness.' Thus, “ there's no thikauna in the English weather; it may be fair and foul a dozen times a day" " there's no thikauna in that fellow; he may be your friend to-day and enemy to-morrow.”
We shall mention but one more, and that is the much-used but utterly untranslateable word Shouq. The ou is here to be pronounced as in shout, trout. It is the infinitive of the Arabic verb Shaaka, he wished' or desired. It is in some respects similar to our taste, but not exactly so, as shouq can be used in a ludicrous or perverse meaning, which • taste' cannot. Thus, “ he has a great shouq for pictures,” would hardly imply that he has a great taste for or in pictures, but that he has a great rage for buying and possessing them, whether he really be a judge of painting or not. • Rage,' however, would scarcely answer for shouq, in all instances. Thus," he has a great shouq for study," would be more properly, “he has a great love for study," and would give an idea of approbation, of which
rage,” is incapable. “ Horses and dogs were his shouq at one time, but there's no thikauna in him; he has given up all his old shouqs, and his only shouq now is for politics.” “I have a shouq for all sorts of machines, but I don't understand the hickmut of this watch; I think it is rather a bunao, for there's no thikauna in its going, and I know that my Sirkaur and the Ghurree Waula (native wateh-maker) are jaut bhaees." Such is the language that is often heard from old Bengalee residents; not classical, certainly, but yet not easy to be rendered with equal force into pure English.
Another class of passengers are of a sadder description than those of which we have yet given an account. They are the parents, generally the mothers, of children of from three to eight years old, whom the irremediable insalubrity of the Indian climate compels their parents to send to Europe. During this last day of their being together, the children may be seen running up and down the poop and deck of the vessel, enjoying the novelty and bustle, and talking incessantly to their ayahs and bearers about each juhaux (ships) and naoo (boat), as it passes by, while the parents, indifferent to all other objects, follow their little ones constantly with their eyes, endeavcuring to arrest their attention, and to say or do something that may remain in their own and their children's remembrance as a memorial.
This is, indeed, the most painful part of Indian exile. The insalubrity and oppression of its climate may be guarded against and alleviated; intercourse with Europe may be kept up, by correspondence; subjects with a large development of the bump of politics may have sent out bales of the Times and Morning Chronicle, according as the organs of conservativeness or destructiveness prevail; and they who, in addition to hearing the speculations of others, long to enlighten the world with their own, may at all times do so through the ever open columns of the Calcutta newspapers. Those again who wish to cultivate any particular department of science or literature have always opportunities of doing so, for there are few parts of the world where books are more easily procured than Calcutta. It is true that new English publications are unattainably expensive; but after the lapse of a few months, they are found selling in the bazaar, when the gloss of novelty is over, at a tenth part of their original cost. Besides this, cheap editions of all popular English and translations of French and German books are printed in America, and imported in large numbers into Calcutta, where
they sell at an equal or perhaps greater rate of reduction. The savans of France and the professors of Germany are fond of having their names included in the list of donors to the Asiatic Society, and almost universally present copies of their works to its library, which thus contains a vast store of valuable books, that (thanks to our wholesome laws against the importation of such a pernicious manufacture as foreign literature) are hardly procurable even in London; of these particularly are German and French periodicals; and lastly, there is the literature of Calcutta itself, Native, English, and AngloIndian, composing a mass of valuable information on all topics relative to India, and forming a vivid picture and genuine record of the opinions and manners of seventy millions of our fellow-subjects, from all knowledge of which the people of Britain (thanks to the operation of the same laws) are completely prohibited. 66 Malheureusement,” says Baron de Sacy, speaking of Macan's edition of the Shah Namah, “ les éditions de l'Inde parviennent difficilement en Europe;" and for some reason, best known to those at the head of affairs, the shores of Britain are girt as with a wall of iron against the admission of the literary products of our eastern dominions. The consequence is, that no intercommunity of literary feeling exists between
us; and that while we are perpetually complaining of the paucity of our information respecting Hindostan, we voluntarily deprive ourselves of that from which alone it can be obtained pure sophisticated, the statements of the inhabitants of India themselves, as they are to be found exhibited in every possible shape, by the innumerable newspapers, magazines, tracts and pamphlets, Native, English and Eurasian, that are perpetually issuing from the Indian press.
No country can possibly afford a richer field than India for the cultivation of the various branches of natural history, zoology, botany, geology, mineralogy, &c.; in short, the politician, the man of literature, and the man of science, will find abundant scope for the exercise of their respective powers, and were there no counterbalancing circumstances, each of these might live almost as happily in India as in Europe. But to the father of a family, all this can countervail nothing of what there may almost be called the eleventh commandment, thou shalt separate from thy children. For if there be any aphorism at all certain in Indian Hygiene, it is, that children of European parents cannot be reared in India, from birth to adult age, without destruction to their constitutions. No precautions in diet, clothing, lodging, exercise, or