him, so that he shouted to his men and hit a native officer over the head, when the regiment then doubled after us, and all the Mahratta army fled or was captured. "So I entered the English service and ate their sugarcane for many a long year, but shall never forget Wellesley sahib that day, and how the English colonels were afraid of him. "Back I came to Poona, perhaps twelve years later, when Bajee Rao had forgotten Wellesley sahib. There was a battle at Kirkee, and I helped the English bullocks drag their guns through the Sangam marsh. Bajee Rao fled with the Nana Dundoo Punt, the cowherd's son. They hid in the cave temple near Bamburda, where men say the old priest who urged the Nana to kill the English at Cawnpore still lives to this day. They also say, though I believe it not, that the English knew he was there but would not take him. Men say, too, the English are changed since those days. Lard Carnwallis sahib would not have liked that, even though he did spare Tippu. 'Twas not long ago that three Mahratta Brahmins came to Gwalior, who said that that Bamburda priest was alive, and had planned the murder of the English commissioner who brought the great sickness five years ago; but who knows? for Mahrattas lie, even as they lied to Arthur Wellesley sahib. after that, when they had knew better. "Because men told him that I had carried those two Rustums, Combermere sahib must fain ride me also, and close under the Bhurtpur walls we rode, while Colonel Skinner's rissalah marched close behind, with all the elephants in the Purab drawing big guns: perhaps you were there too, Shisha Nag? "Outside Bhurtpur was the Begum Samru, who had come all the way from Sardhana to help the white English, for the sake of her dead lover, with 500 gorcheras [irregular cavalry] and three brass zumbooraks. Lard Combermere got down from my back to receive her, kissing her before all the army, after the English fashion, as Lard Lake had done before him, till the young sahibs laughed again, though why the Lard sahib should kiss a all shrivelled old woman beats my comprehension, since even her brass guns were honeycombed and not worth having. Two days later one hundred cannon opened against the town. "But who had seen the like of the English in those days, O Shisha Nag? It was soon "Years after, when the Sirkar had given me to Scindiah, and he in the Terror had lent me to the English, and I helped bring the siege-guns to Delhi with Jan Nikalseyn, I heard the cannon during the last days on the Ridge; but there was nothing like those at Bhurtpur, not even when the English sacked Lucknow. That was the last time I heard a gun fired in anger, and the Sirkar gave me back to Scindiah when fortress Gwalior was restored to him. So now I live in peace, Shisha Nag; but it's dull enough, for there's never a fight and rarely a rape, year in, year out: it's years since I've seen the English cannon till to-day, though now I've seen more white soldiers than ever marched with Carnwallis sahib and his Grand Army; but why they don't use elephants to draw their guns I know not, and perhaps am too old to care. That jemadar mahout who lights these foolish chirags sees me well fed, lest I tear him limb from limb, as I served the last who stole my sugar; and that's all I now care about,-for I'm old, Shisha Nag, and weak, and have waited a hundred years and more for Lard Carnwallis sahib, bahadur-i-bahaduran, to need me once again." And here that weird beast trumpeted shrilly, and the line of elephants in rear seemed to move in the dust and the smoke of the fires, while mingled with them came horse and foot, Tippu and Bajee Rao, with their trains of artillery, Lord Cornwallis himself on old Seevaji, in tie-wig and Kevenheuller hat, Arthur Wellesley on the missing Arab, spare and trim, De Boigne and Perron, with their French batteries, Colonel Skinner in his canary regimentals, swarthy and eager, the Begum Samru beside him, Pathan and Rohilla, Mahratta and Pindari, Moplah and Vilayati in one ghostly panorama, with myself in gunner mess-kit, astride the devil gun, harnessed in the procession, till-I awoke in my own Kabul tent in the grey Indian dawn, still in uniform, my imperturbable khidmatgar standing at my side with my tea, while glancing furtively through the opening of the tent, his opiumbox suggestively in his hand, stood old Sheikh Bhulloo, whom I had last seen cowering by that devil gun, as а century of Indian history filed before us. G. F. MACMUNN. PROFESSOR BAIN. To the present generation this selection from Aberdeen's long roll of honour may seem capricious and arbitrary; but at the time when it was written, and for twenty years before it, the citizens of Aberdeen would have accepted the Frenchman's definition. Among its special attributes, many of them admirable and some otherwise, it would appear that we must credit Aberdeen with a laudable readiness to do honour to its own prophets. During the score of years in which, as a teacher, he shed lustre on his university, Professor Bain was regarded by Aberdeen as its intellectual champion, and received a homage which may not have been exempt from exaggeration, but which certainly did honour to those who gave and to him who received. The most interesting feature about this homage was its source. Of the qualities that make for personal popularity Bain had few or none. Of the graces required to bring Philosophy out of closets and libraries, schools and colleges, to dwell in clubs and assemblies, at tea - tables, and in coffee-houses," he had certainly none at all. But none of these things is necessary to win reputation and respect in that north-east corner of Scotland. Aberdeen is prouder of its scholars than is Chicago of its millionaires. And in the case of Bain the feeling of pride was justly intensified by the recol lection that from the ranks of its humblest mechanics he had risen, in a manner so proudly identified with the history of Aberdeen University, to the eminence of a European reputation. Perhaps nowhere than in the north-eastern counties are there to be found a more genuine passion for education and a more perfect educational machinery. University, in its truest and best sense, signifies a place open to all; and this ideal has been loyally sought after by the colleges founded by Bishop Elphinstone and Earl Marischal. With no lack of respect for Aberdonians, we venture to believe that they are least likely of any people to look too curiously at the mouth of a gift-horse. Accordingly, we are not surprised to learn that they have availed themselves to the fullest extent of Mr Carnegie's munificent tribute to the cause of Scottish education. We are certainly not of those who would pull a long face over this cheerful acceptance of the good things sent by fate-vid Pittsburg. Mr Carnegie's dollars will not be spent in vain, if they exempt some of the best and the poorest of Scottish students from the necessity of adding to their proper work the ill-paid drudg ery of private tuition. Apart from this small, but not unimportant, matter, we take leave to doubt if Mr Carnegie's liberality will effect any change in the social status of the students of Aberdeen University. For at least a century and a half before his gift, we believe that very few, if any, of the poorest youths, either in the city or in the neighbouring counties, provided that they showed marked ability, had any real difficulty in forcing an entrance to the old quadrangle of King's College. In days not very remote, the "lad o' pairts" was in these quarters the village hero; the town schools were eager for his patronage; and both town and county awaited with breathless interest the results of the Olympic games to wit, the Bursary Competition. In Aberdeen the university holds a unique position in the eyes of its citizens. University news forms an important feature in the daily journalism of the city, and an event of such transcendent importance as the Bursary Competition is treated at not less length than a London evening paper devotes to the Derby or the Boat Race. Critics-and in the matter of criticism Aberdeen has paid the full penalty of success-have not been backward in suggesting that all this argues a want of proportion and of humour. It may well be so. Where there is smoke, there is fire; or, to give the axiom its suitable Aberdonian form— But this is assuredly a case "where glory from defect may rise." For a century and more the Bursary Competition at Aberdeen has exercised an extraordinary influence over the intellectual history of the north of Scotland. Critics, again, have suggested that the enthusiasm was begotten of a love for pounds, shillings, and pence. Nothing could be wider of the mark. The bursaries only ranged from ten to thirty pounds — sums excellently adapted to plain living and high thinking, but sufficient to rescue from a life of manual labour many scores of eminent men who have adorned the public services and the literature of the country. In a work published not very long ago, a comparison was stituted as to which counties had yielded the greatest number of eminent men. Aberdeenshire easily headed the list. We are not sufficiently acquainted with the history of Aberdeen Aberdeen University to say who was the sagacious originator of its Bursary Competition. But we are quite sure that to in that possibly unknown genius, as well as to Bishop Elphinstone and to Earl Marischal, Aberdeen owes three enduring monuments of its most flawless granite. In no two counties have so many men been promoted from the ranks to commissions in the army of intellectual progress as in Aberdeen and Banff, and for this the credit is due to the University of Aberdeen and "There's aye some water whaur the its ancient Grammar School. stirkie droons." Alexander Bain must have made his mark, it is true, under any circumstances. It is enough for our point to say that, while his genius was exceptional, his career is quite typical of that of many northcountry students. At the age of seventeen he was a handloom weaver; seven years later, thanks to the efficiency of Aberdeen's educational ma chinery, he had the honour to be asked by John Stuart Mill to revise the 'System of Logic.' The story of this development was well worth telling in detail: we have it here1 presented in an autobiography of no ordinary interest and importance. None of the toilers canonised by Samuel Smiles waged a sturdier fight against adverse circumstances than is revealed in the early life of Bain. His father was a handloom weaver, who had served nearly twelve years with the Gordon Highlanders. To support his family of eight children George Bain did not grudge a working-day of thirteen or fifteen hours, but in spite of his skill and assiduity, it was not possible for him to earn much more than a pound a-week. Of his parents Bain writes a characteristically dispassionate account. His father he describes as "not specially distinguished for intellect, although a good average Scotsman, with a fair education, and a ready, fluent talker, within his range of subjects. He was more remarkable on the moral side-for an unflinching energy of purpose, coupled with powers of endurance, far above the usual run of his class, or of any class. He was not without amiability and affection, but wanted the power of expressing what he really may have felt; and, consequently, his demeanour toward his family was hard and severe, and did not inspire affection on our side." At the time of his father's death, Bain had secured his first university appointment, "but I did not communicate the fact to my dying father. This was in keeping with the stiffness of the relationship between us, all through life." His mother "was vigorous, active, most industrious, and a good manager of limited means." Of his brothers and sisters, none of whom survived the age of forty, we are briefly told that "they were all failures in life. Such a melancholy history made a lasting impression on my mind." Even as a child Bain appears to have been able to detach himself from his surroundings; but it is plain that to some extent the iron entered into his soul, and that his early experiences gave a colour to his philosophy, as Mill's did to his. If Bain showed no very remarkable precocity, he at least astonished some of his very indifferent teachers by his mathematical aptitude. Before he was seven he had "done" arithmetic and was deep in algebra. Desultory reading was an advantage naturally denied to 1 Autobiography. By Alexander Bain, LL.D., with Supplementary Chapter. Longmans. VOL. CLXXVI.-NO. MLXV. G |