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A Damsel in Distress (Saturday Evening Post serial)/Part 8

UT on the terrace the night was very still. From a steel blue sky the stars looked down as calmly as they had looked on the night of the ball, when George had waited by the shrubbery, listening to the wailing of the music and thinking long thoughts. From the dark meadows down by the brook came the cry of a corncrake, its harsh note softened by distance.

“What shall we do?” said Maud. She was sitting on the stone seat where Reggie Byng had sat and meditated on his love for Alice Faraday and his unfortunate habit of slicing his approach shots. To George, as he stood beside her, she was a white blur in the darkness. He could not see her face.

“I don't know!” he said frankly.

Nor did he. Like Lady Caroline and Lord Belpher and Keggs the butler, he had been completely overwhelmed by Lord Marshmoreton's dramatic announcement. The situation had come upon him unheralded by any warning, and had found him unequal to it.

A choking sound suddenly proceeded from the whiteness that was Maud. In the stillness it sounded like some loud noise. It jarred on George's disturbed nerves.

“Please!”

“I c-can't help it!”

“There's nothing to cry about, really! If we think long enough we shall find some way out all right. Please don't cry.”

“I'm not crying! The choking sound became an unmistakable ripple of mirth. “It's so absurd! Poor father getting up like that in front of everyone! Did you see Aunt Caroline's face?”

“It haunts me still,” said George. “I shall never forget it. Your brother didn't seem any too pleased either.”

Maud stopped laughing.

“It's an awful position,” she soberly. “The announcement will be in the Morning Post the day after to-morrow. And then the letters of congratulation will begin to pour in, and after that the presents. And I simply can't see how we can convince them all that there has been a mistake.” Another aspect of the matter struck her. “It's so hard on you, too.”

“Don't think about me,” urged George. “Heaven knows I'd give the whole world if we could just let the thing go on, but there's no use in discussing impossibilities.” He lowered his voice. “There's no use either in my pretending that I'm not going to have a pretty bad time. But we won't discuss that. It was my own fault. I came butting in on your life of my own free will, and, whatever happens, it's been worth it to have known you and tried to be of service to you.”

“You're the best friend I've ever had.”

“I'm glad you think that.”

“The best and kindest friend any girl ever had. I wish” She broke off. “Oh, well!”

There was a silence.

In the castle somebody had begun to play the piano. Then a man's voice began to sing.

“That's Edwin Plummer,” said Maud. “How badly he sings.”

George laughed. Somehow the intrusion of Plummer had removed the tension. Plummer, whether designedly and as a somber commentary on the situation or because he was the sort of man who does sing that particular song, was chanting Tosti's Good-by. He was giving to its never very cheery notes a wailing melancholy all his own. A dog in the stables began to howl in sympathy, and with the sound came a curious soothing of George's nerves. He might feel broken-hearted later, but for the moment, with this double accompaniment, it was impossible for a man with humor in his soul to dwell on the deeper emotions. Plummer and his canine duettist had brought him to earth. He felt calm and practical.

“We'd better talk the whole thing over quietly,” he said. “There's certain to be some solution. At the worst you can always go to Lord Marshmoreton and tell him that he spoke without a sufficient grasp of his subject.”

“I could,” said Maud, “but, just at present, I feel as if I'd rather do anything else in the world. You don't realize what it must have cost father to defy Aunt Caroline openly like that. Ever since I was old enough to notice anything I've seen how she dominated him. It was Aunt Caroline who really caused all this trouble. If it had only been father I could have coaxed him to let me marry anyone I pleased. I wish, if you possibly can, you would think of some other solution.”

“I haven't had an opportunity of telling you,” said George, “that I called at Belgrave Square, as you asked me to do. I went there directly I had seen Reggie Byng safely married.”

“Did you see him married?”

“I was best man.”

“Dear old Reggie! I hope he will be happy.”

“He will; don't worry about that. Well, as I was saying, I called at Belgrave Square and found the house shut up. I couldn't get any answer to the bell, though I kept my thumb on it for minutes at a time. I think they must have gone abroad again.”

“No, it wasn't that. I had a letter from Geoffrey this morning. His uncle died suddenly of apoplexy, while they were in Manchester on a business trip.” She paused. “He left Geoffrey all his money,” she went on; “every penny.”

The silence seemed to stretch out interminably. The music from the castle had ceased. The quiet of the summer night was unbroken. To George the stillness had a touch of the sinister. It was the ghastly silence of the end of the world. With a shock he realized that even now he had been permitting himself to hope, futile as he recognized hope to be. Maud had told him she loved another man. That should have been final. And yet somehow his indomitable subconscious self had refused to accept it as final. But this news ended everything. The only obstacle that had held Maud and this man apart was removed. There was nothing to prevent their marrying. George was conscious of a vast depression. The last strand of the rope of hope had parted, and he was drifting alone out into the ocean of desolation.

“Oh!” he said, and was surprised that his voice sounded very much the same as usual. Speech was so difficult that it seemed strange that it should show no signs of effort. “That alters everything, doesn't it.”

“He said in his letter that he wanted me to meet him in London, and talk things over, I suppose.”

“There's nothing now to prevent your going—I mean, now that your father has made this announcement you are free to go where you please.”

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

There was another silence

“Everything's so difficult,” said Maud.

“In what way?”

“Oh, I don't know.”

“If you are thinking of me,” said George, “please don't. I know exactly what you mean. You are hating the thought of hurting my feelings. I wish you would look on me as having no feelings. All I want is to see you happy. As I said just now, it's enough for me to know that I've helped you. Do be reasonable about it. The fact that our engagement has been officially announced makes no difference in our relations to each other. As far as we two are concerned, we are exactly where we were the last time we met. It's no worse for me now than it was then to know that I'm not the man you love, and that there's somebody else you loved before you ever knew of my existence. For goodness' sake, a girl like you must be used to having men tell her that they love her and having to tell them that she can't love them in return.”

“But you're so different.”

“Not a bit of it; I'm just one of the crowd.”

“I've never known anybody quite like you.”

“Well, you've never known anybody quite like Edwin Plummer, I should imagine. But the thought of his sufferings didn't break your heart.”

“I've known a million men exactly like Edwin Plummer,” said Maud emphatically. “All the men I ever have known have been like him, quite nice and pleasant and negative. It never seemed to matter refusing them. One knew that they would just be a little bit piqued for a week or two and then wander amiably off and fall in love with somebody else But you're different. You matter.”

“That is where we disagree. My argument is that, where your happiness is concerned, I don't matter.”

Maud rested her chin on her hand and stared out into the velvet darkness.

“You ought to have been my brother instead of Percy,” she said at last. “What chums we should have been! And how simple that would have made everything!”

“The best thing for you to do is to regard me as an honorary brother That will make everything simple.”

“It's easy to talk like that. No, isn't: it's horribly hard. I know exactly how difficult it is for you to talk as you have been doing, to try to make me feel better by pretending the whole trouble is just a trifle. It's strange. We have only really met for a few minutes at a time, and three weeks ago I didn't know there was such a person as you but somehow I seem to know everything you're thinking. I've never felt like that before with any man, even Geoffrey. He always puzzled me.”

She broke off. The corncrake began to call again.

“I wish I knew what to do,” she said with a catch in her voice.

“I'll tell you in two words what to do. The whole thing is absurdly simple. You love this man and he loves you, and all that kept you apart before was the fact that he could not afford to marry you. Now that he is rich there is no obstacle at all. I simply won't let you look on me and my feelings as an obstacle. Rule me out altogether. Your father's mistake has made the situation a little more complicated than it need have been, but that can easily be remedied. Imitate the excellent example of Reggie Byng. He was in a position where it would have been embarrassing to announce what he intended to do, so he very sensibly went quietly off and did it and left everybody to find out about it after it was done. I'm bound to say I never looked on Reggie as a master mind, but, when it came to a way out of embarrassing situations, one to hat he had the right idea. Do what he did.”

Maud started. She half rose from the stone seat. George could hear the quick intake of her breath.

“You mean—run away?”

“Exactly; run away!”

An automobile swung round the corner of the castle from the direction of the garage, and drew up, purring, at the steps. There was a flood of light and the sound of voices as the great door opened. Maud rose.

“People are leaving,” she said. “I didn't know it was so late.” She stood irresolutely. “I suppose I ought to go in and say good-by, but I don't think I can.”

“Stay where you are. Nobody will see you.”

More automobiles arrived. The quiet of the night was shattered by the noise of their engines. Maud sat down again. “I suppose they will think it very odd of me not being there.”

“Never mind what people think: Reggie Byng didn't.”

Maud's foot traced circles on the dry turf.

“What a lovely night,” she said. “There's no dew at all.”

The automobiles snorted, tooted, backfired and passed away. Their clamor died in the distance leaving the night a thing of peace and magic once more. The door of the castle closed with a bang.

“I suppose I ought to be going in now,” said Maud.

“I suppose so. And I ought to be there, too, politely making my farewells. But something seems to tell me that Lady Caroline and your brother will be quite ready to dispense with the formalities. I shall go home.”

They faced each other in the darkness.

“Would you really do that?” asked Maud. “Run away, I mean, and get married in London?”

“It's the only thing to do.”

“But can one get married as quickly as that?”

“At a registrar's? Nothing simpler. You should have seen Reggie Byng. It was over before one realized it had started. A snuffy little man in a black coat with a cold in his head asked a few questions, wrote a few words, and the thing was done.”

“That sounds rather—dreadful.”

“Reggie didn't seem to think so.”

“Unromantic, I mean—prosaic.”

“You would supply the romance.”

“Of course one ought to be sensible. It is just the same as a regular wedding.”

“In its effects, absolutely.”

They moved up the terrace together. On the gravel drive by the steps they passed.

“I'll do it!” said Maud.

George had to make an effort before he could reply. For all his sane and convincing arguments, he could not check a pang at this definite acceptance of them. He had begun to appreciate now the strain under which he had been speaking.

“You must,” he said. “Well, good-by.”

There was light on the drive; he could see her face. Her eyes were troubled.

“What will you do?” she asked.

“Do?”

“I mean, are you going to stay on in your cottage?”

“No, I hardly think I could do that. I shall go back to London to-morrow and stay at the Carlton for a few days. Then I shall sail for America. There are a couple of pieces I've got to do for the fall. I ought to be starting on them.”

Maud looked away.

“You've got your work,” she said almost inaudibly.

George understood her.

“Yes, I've got my work.”

“I'm glad.”

She held out her hand.

“You've been very wonderful. Right from the beginning you've been—oh, what's the use of my saying anything!”

“I've had my reward—I've known you. We're friends, aren't we?”

“My best friend.”

“Pals?”

“Pals?” They shook hands.

WAS never so upset in my life!” said Lady Caroline. She had been saying the same thing and many other things for the past five minutes. Until the departure of the last guest she had kept an icy command of herself and shown an unruffled front to the world. She had even contrived to smile. But now, with the final automobile whirring its way homeward, she had thrown off the mask. The very furniture of Lord Marshmoreton's study seemed to shrink, seared by the flame of her wrath. As for Lord Marshmoreton himself he looked quite shriveled.

It had not been an easy matter to bring her erring brother to bay. The hunt had been in progress fully ten minutes before she and Lord Belpher finally cornered the poor wretch. His plea, through the keyhole of the locked door, that he was working on the family history and could not be disturbed was ignored; and now he was face to face with the avengers.

“I cannot understand it,” continued Lady Caroline. “You know that for months we have all been straining every nerve to break off this horrible entanglement and, just as we had begun to hope that something might be done, you announce the engagement in the most public manner. I think you must be out of your mind. I can hardly believe even now that this appalling thing has happened. I am hoping that I shall wake up and find it is all a nightmare. How you can have done such a thing, I cannot understand.”

“Quite!” said Lord Belpher.

If Lady Caroline was upset, there are no words in the language that will adequately describe the emotions of Percy. From the very start of this lamentable episode in high life Percy had been in the forefront of the battle. It was Percy who had had his best hat smitten from his head in the full view of all Piccadilly. It was Percy who had suffered arrest and imprisonment in the cause. It was Percy who had been crippled for days owing to his zeal in tracking Maud across country. And now all his sufferings were in vain. He had been betrayed by his own father.

There was, so historians of the Middle West tell us, a man of Chicago named Young, who once, when his nerves were unstrung, put his mother—unseen—in the chopping machine, and canned her and labeled her “Tongue.” It is enough to say that the glance of disapproval which Percy cast upon his father at this juncture would have been unduly severe if cast by the Young offspring upon their parent at the moment of confession.

Lord Marshmoreton had rallied from his initial panic. The spirit of revolt began to burn again in his bosom. Once the die is cast for revolution there can be no looking back. One must defy, not apologize. Perhaps the inherited tendencies of a line of ancestors who, whatever their shortcomings, had at least known how to treat their womenfolk, came to his aid. Possibly there stood by his side in this crisis ghosts of dead and buried Marshmoretons, whispering spectral encouragement in his ear—the ghost, let us suppose, of that earl who, in the days of the seventh Henry, had stabbed his wife with a dagger to cure her of a tendency to lecture him at night; or of that other earl who, at a previous date in the annals of the family, had caused two aunts and a sister to be poisoned apparently from a mere whim. At any rate, Lord Marshmoreton produced from some source sufficient courage to talk back.

“Silly nonsense!” he grunted. “Don't see what you're making all this fuss about. Maud loves the fellow. I like the fellow. Perfectly decent fellow. Nothing to make a fuss about. Why shouldn't I announce the engagement?”

“You must be mad!” cried Lady Caroline. “Your only daughter and a man nobody knows anything about!”

“Quite!” said Percy.

Lord Marshmoreton seized his advantage with the skill of an adroit debater.

“That's where you're wrong. I know all about him. He's a very rich man. You heard the way all those people at dinner behaved when they heard his name. Very celebrated man! Makes thousands of pounds a year. Perfectly suitable match in every way.”

“It is not a suitable match,” said Lady Caroline vehemently. “I don't care whether this Mr. Bevan makes thousands of pounds a year or twopence-ha'penny. The match is not suitable. Money is not everything.”

She broke off. A knock had come to the door. The door opened and Billie Dore came in. A kind-hearted girl, she had foreseen that Lord Marshmoreton might be glad of a change of subject at about this time.

“Would you like me to help you to-night?” she asked brightly. “I thought I would ask if there was anything you wanted me to do.”

Lady Caroline snatched hurriedly at her aristocratic calm. She resented the interruption acutely, but her manner, when she spoke, was bland.

“Lord Marshmoreton will not require your help to-night,” she said. “He will not be working.”

“Good night,” said Billie.

“Good night,” said Lady Caroline.

Percy scowled a valediction.

“Money,” resumed Lady Caroline, “is immaterial. Maud is in no position to be obliged to marry a rich man. What makes the thing impossible is that this Mr. Bevan is nobody. He comes from nowhere. He has no social standing whatsoever.”

“Don't see it,” said Lord Marshmoreton. “The fellow's a thoroughly decent fellow; that's all that matters.”

“How can you be so pig-headed! You are talking like an imbecile. Your secretary, Miss Dore, is a nice girl; but how would you feel if Percy were to come to you and say that he was engaged to be married to her?”

“Exactly!” said Percy. “Quite!”

Lord Marshmoreton rose and moved to the door. He did it with a certain dignity, but there was a strange, hunted expression in his eyes.

“That would be impossible,” he said.

“Precisely,” said his sister. “I am glad that you admit it.”

Lord Marshmoreton had reached the door and was standing holding the handle. He seemed to gather strength from its support. “I've been meaning to tell you about that,” he said.

“About what?”

“About Miss Dore. I married her myself last Wednesday,” said Lord Marshmoreton, and disappeared like a diving duck.

T A QUARTER past four in the afternoon, two days after the memorable dinner party at which Lord Marshmoreton had behaved with so notable a lack of judgment, Maud sat in Ye Cosy Nooke, waiting for Geoffrey Raymond. He had said in his telegram that he would meet her there at four-thirty; but eagerness had brought Maud to the tryst a quarter of an hour ahead of time; and already the sadness of her surroundings was causing her to regret this impulsiveness. Depression had settled upon her spirit. She was aware of something that resembled foreboding.

Ye Cosy Nooke, as its name will immediately suggest to those who know their London, is a tea shop in Bond Street, conducted by distressed gentlewomen. In London, when a gentlewoman becomes distressed—which she seems to do on the slightest provocation—she collects about her two or three other distressed gentlewomen, forming a quorum, and starts a tea shop in the West End, which she calls Ye Oak-Leaf, Ye Olde Willow-Pattern, Ye Linden-Tree, or Ye Snug Harbor, according to personal taste. There, dressed in Tyrolese, Japanese, Norwegian or some other exotic costume, she and her associates administer refreshments of an afternoon with a proud languor calculated to knock the nonsense out of the cheeriest customer. Here you will find none of the bustle and efficiency of the rival establishments of Lyons and Co., nor the glitter and gayety of Rumpelmayer's. These places have an atmosphere of their own. They rely for their effect on an insufficiency of light, an almost total lack of ventilation, a property chocolate cake which you are not supposed to cut, and the sad aloofness of their ministering angels. It is to be doubted whether there is anything in the world more damping to the spirit than a London tea shop of this kind, unless it be another London tea shop of the same kind.

Maud sat and waited. Somewhere out of sight a kettle bubbled in an undertone, like a whispering pessimist. Across the room two distressed gentlewomen in fancy dress leaned against the wall. They, too, were whispering. Their expressions suggested that they looked on life as low and wished they were well out of it, like the body upstairs. One assumed that there was a body upstairs. One cannot help it at these places. One's first thought on entering is that the lady assistant will approach one and ask “Tea or chocolate? And would you care to view the remains?”

Maud looked at her watch. It was twenty past four. She could scarcely believe that she had been there only five minutes, but the ticking of the watch assured her that it had not stopped. Her depression deepened. Why had Geoffrey told her to meet him in a cavern of gloom like this instead of at the Savoy? She would have enjoyed the Savoy. But here she seemed to have lost beyond recovery the first gay eagerness with which she had set out to meet the man she loved. Suddenly she began to feel frightened. Some evil spirit, possibly the kettle, seemed to whisper to her that she had been foolish in coming here, to cast doubts on what she had hitherto regarded as the one rock-solid fact in the world, her love for Geoffrey. Could she have changed since those days in Wales? Life had been so confusing of late. In the vividness of recent happenings those days in Wales seemed a long way off, and she herself different from the girl of a year ago. She found herself thinking about George Bevan.

It was a curious fact that the moment she began to think of George Bevan she felt better. It was as if she had lost her way in a wilderness and had met a friend. There was something so capable so soothing about George. And how well he had behaved at that last interview. George seemed somehow to be part of her life She could not imagine a life in which he had no share. And he was at this moment probably packing to return to America, and she would never see him again. Something stabbed at her heart. It was as if she were realizing now for the first time that he was really going.

She tried to rid herself of the ache at her heart by thinking of Wales. She closed her eyes and found that that helped her to remember. With her eyes shut, she could bring it all back—that rainy day, the graceful, supple figure that had come to her out of the mist, those walks over the hills. If only Geoffrey would come! It was the sight of him that she needed.

“There you are!”

Maud opened her eyes with a start The voice had sounded like Geoffrey's, but it was a stranger who stood by the table, and not a particularly prepossessing stranger. In the dim light of Ye Cosy Nooke, to which her opening eyes had not yet grown accustomed, all she could see of the man was that he was remarkably stout. She stiffened defensively. This was what a girl who sat about in tea rooms alone had to expect.

“Hope I'm not late,” said the stranger, sitting down and breathing heavily. “I thought a little exercise would do me good, so I walked.”

Every nerve in Maud's body seemed to come to life simultaneously. She tingled from head to foot. It was Geoffrey!

He was looking over his shoulder and endeavoring, by snapping his fingers, to attract the attention of the nearest distressed gentlewoman; and this gave Maud time to recover from the frightful shock she had received. Her dizziness left her, and, leaving, was succeeded by a panic dismay. This couldn't be Geoffrey! It was outrageous that it should be Geoffrey! And yet it undeniably was Geoffrey. For a year she had prayed that Geoffrey might be given back to her, and the gods had heard her prayer. They had given her back Geoffrey, and with a careless generosity they had given her twice as much of him as she had expected. She had asked for the slim Apollo whom she had loved in Wales, and this colossal changeling had arrived in his stead.

We all of us have our prejudices. Maud had a prejudice against fat men. It may have been the spectacle of her brother Percy, bulging more and more every year she had known him, that had caused this kink in her character. At any rate, it existed; and she gazed in sickened silence at Geoffrey. He had turned again now, and she was enabled to get a full and complete view of him. He was not merely stout, he was gross. The slim figure which had haunted her for a year had spread into a sea of waistcoat. The keen lines of his face had disappeared altogether. His cheeks were pink jellies.

One of the distressed gentlewomen had approached with a slow disdain, and was standing by the table, brooding on the corpse upstairs. It seemed a shame to bother her.

“Tea or chocolate?” she inquired proudly.

“Tea, please,” said Maud, finding her voice.

“One tea,” sighed the mourner.

“Chocolate for me,” said Geoffrey briskly, with the air of one discoursing on a congenial topic. “I'd like plenty of whipped cream. And please see that it's hot.”

“One chocolate.”

Geoffrey pondered. This was no light matter that occupied him.

“And bring some fancy cakes—I like the ones with icing on them—and some tea-cake and buttered toast. Please see that there's plenty of butter on it.”

Maud shivered. This man before her was a man in whose lexicon there should have been no such word as butter, a man who should have called for the police had some enemy endeavored to thrust butter upon him.

“Well,” said Geoffrey, leaning forward, as the haughty ministrant drifted away, “you haven't changed a bit—to look at, I mean.”

“No?” said Maud.

“You're just the same. I think I”—he squinted down at his waistcoat—“I have put on a little weight. I don't know if you notice it?”

Maud shivered again. He thought he had put on a little weight, and didn't know if she noticed it! She was oppressed by the eternal melancholy miracle of the fat man who does not realize that he has become fat.

“It was living on the yacht that put me a little out of condition,” said Geoffrey. “I was on the yacht nearly all the time since I saw you last. The old boy had a Japanese cook and lived pretty high. It was apoplexy that got him. We had a great time, touring about. We were on the Mediterranean all last winter, mostly at Nice.”

“I should like to go to Nice,” said Maud, for something to say. She was feeling that it was not only externally that Geoffrey had changed. Or had he in reality always been like this, commonplace and prosaic, and was it merely in her imagination that he had been wonderful?

“If you ever go,” said Geoffrey earnestly, “don't fail to lunch at the Hotel Cōte d'Azure. They give you the most amazing selection of hors-d'œuvres you ever saw. Crayfish as big as baby lobsters! And there's a fish—I've forgotten its name—it'll come back to me—that's just like the Florida pompano. Be careful to have it broiled, not fried. Otherwise you lose the flavor. Tell the waiter you must have it broiled, with melted butter and a little parsley and some plain boiled potatoes. It's really astonishing. It's best to stick to fish on the Continent. People can say what they like, but I maintain that the French don't really understand steaks or any sort of red meat. The veal isn't bad, though I prefer our way of serving it. Of course what the French are real geniuses at is the omelet. I remember, when we put in at Toulon for coal, I went ashore for a stroll, and had the most delicious omelet with chicken livers, beautifully cooked, at quite a small, unpretentious place near the harbor. I shall always remember it.”

The mourner returned, bearing a laden tray, from which she removed the funeral bakemeats and placed them limply on the table. Geoffrey shook his head, annoyed.

“I particularly asked for plenty of butter on my toast!” he said. “I hate buttered toast if there isn't lots of butter. It isn't worth eating. Get me a couple of pats, will you, and I'll spread it myself. Do hurry, please, before the toast gets cold. It's no good if the toast gets cold. They don't understand tea as a meal at these places,” he said to Maud, as the mourner withdrew. “You have to go to the country to appreciate the real thing. I remember we lay off Lyme Regis, down Devonshire way, for a few days, and I went and had tea at a farmhouse there. It was quite amazing! Thick Devonshire cream and homemade jam and cakes of every kind. This sort of thing here is just a farce. I do wish that woman would make haste with that butter; it'll be too late in a minute.”

Maud sipped her tea in silence. Her heart was like lead within her. The recurrence of the butter theme as a sort of leitmotif in her companion's conversation was fraying her nerves till she felt she could endure little more. She cast her mind's eye back over the months and had a horrid vision of Geoffrey steadily absorbing butter, day after day, week after week, ever becoming more and more of a human keg. She shuddered.

Indignation at the injustice of fate in causing her to give her heart to a man, and then changing him into another and quite different man, fought with a cold terror, which grew as she realized more and more clearly the magnitude of the mistake she had made.

She felt that she must escape. And yet how could she escape? She had definitely pledged herself to this man.

“Ah!” cried Geoffrey gayly, as the pats of butter arrived. “That's more like it!” He began to smear the toast.

Maud averted her eyes. She had told him that she loved him, that he was the whole world to her, that there would never be anyone else. He had come to claim her. How could she refuse him just because he was about thirty pounds overweight?

Geoffrey finished his meal. He took out a cigarette.

“No smoking, please!” said the distressed gentlewoman. He put the cigarette back in its case. There was a new expression in his eyes now, a tender expression. For the first time since they had met Maud seemed to catch a far-off glimpse of the man she had loved in Wales. Butter appeared to have softened Geoffrey.

“So you couldn't wait!” he said with pathos.

Maud did not understand.

“I waited over a quarter of an hour. It was you who were late.”

“I don't mean that; I am referring to your engagement. I saw the announcement in the Morning Post. Well, I hope you will let me offer you my best wishes. Mr. George Bevan, whoever he is, is lucky.”

Maud had opened her mouth to explain, to say that it was all a mistake. She closed it again without speaking.

“So you couldn't wait!” proceeded Geoffrey with gentle regret. “Well, I suppose I ought not to blame you. You are at an age when it is easy to forget. I had no right to hope that you would be proof against a few months' separation. I expected too much. But it is ironical, isn't it! There was I, thinking always of those days last summer when we were everything to each other, while you had forgotten me. Forgotten me!” sighed Geoffrey. He picked a fragment of cake absently off the tablecloth and inserted it in his mouth.

The unfairness of the attack stung Maud to speech. She looked back over the months, thought of all she had suffered, and ached with self-pity.

“I hadn't!” she cried.

“You hadn't? But you let this other man, this George Bevan, make love to you.”

“I didn't! That was all a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

“Yes. It would take too long to explain, but”

She stopped. It had come to her suddenly, in a flash of clear vision, that the mistake was one which she had no desire to correct. She felt like one who, lost in a jungle, comes out after long wandering into the open air. For day she had been thinking confusedly, unable to interpret her own emotions; and now everything had abruptly become clarified. It was as if the sight of Geoffrey had been the key to a cipher. She loved George Bevan, the man she had sent out of her life forever. She knew it now, and the shock of realization made her feel faint and helpless. And, mingled with the shock of realization, there came to her the mortification of knowing that her aunt, Lady Caroline, and her brother Percy had been right after all. What she had mistaken for the love of a lifetime had been, as they had so often insisted, a mere infatuation, unable to survive the spectacle of a Geoffrey who had been eating too much butter and had put on flesh.

Geoffrey swallowed his piece of cake and bent forward.

“Aren't you engaged to this man Bevan?”

Maud avoided his eye. She was aware that the crisis had arrived and that her whole future hung on her next words.

And then Fate came to her rescue. Before she could speak there was an interruption.

“Pardon me,” said a voice. “One moment!”

So intent had Maud and her companion been on their own affairs that neither of them observed the entrance of a third party. This was a young man with mouse-colored hair and a freckled, badly shaven face which seemed undecided whether to be furtive or impudent. He had small eyes, and his costume was a blend of the flashy and the shabby. He wore a derby hat, tilted a little rakishly to one side, and carried a small bag, which he rested on the table between them.

“Sorry to intrude, miss.” He bowed gallantly to Maud. “But I want to have a few words with Mr. Spencer Gray here.”

Maud, looking across at Geoffrey, was surprised to see that his florid face had lost much of its color. His mouth was open and his eyes had taken on a glassy expression.

“I think you have made a mistake,” she said coldly. She disliked the young man at sight. “This is Mr. Raymond.”

Geoffrey found speech.

“Of course I'm Mr. Raymond!” he cried angrily. “What do you mean by coming and annoying us like this!”

The young man was not discomposed. He appeared to be used to being unpopular. He proceeded as though there had been no interruption,

He produced a dingy card.

“Glance at that,” he said. “Morris Willoughby and Son, Solicitors. I'm Son. The guv'nor put this little matter into my hands. I've been looking for you for days, Mr. Gray, to hand you this paper.” He opened the bag like a conjurer performing a trick, and brought out a stiff document of legal aspect. “You're a witness, miss, that I've served the papers. You know what this is, of course?” he said to Geoffrey; “action for breach of promise of marriage. Our client, Miss Yvonne Sinclair, of the Regal Theater, is suing for ten thousand pounds. And if you ask me,” said the young man with genial candor, dropping the professional manner, “I don't mind telling you I think it's a walk-over! It's the best little action for breach we've handled for years.” He became professional again. “Your lawyers will no doubt communicate with us in due course. And if you take my advice,” he concluded, with another of his swift changes of manner, “you'll get 'em to settle out of court, for, between you and me and the lamp-post, you haven't an earthly!”

Geoffrey had started to his feet. He was puffing with outraged innocence.

“What the devil do you mean by this?” he demanded. “Can't you see you've made a mistake? My name is not Gray. This lady has told you that I am Geoffrey Raymond!”

“Makes it all the worse for you,” said the young man imperturbably, “making advances to our client under an assumed name. We've got letters and witnesses and the whole bag of tricks. And how about this photo?” He dived into the bag again. “Do you recognize that, miss?”

Maud looked at the photograph. It was unmistakably Geoffrey. And it had evidently been taken recently, for it showed the later Geoffrey, the man of substance. It was a full-length photograph, and across the stout legs was written in a flowing hand the legend “To Babe from her little Pootles.” Maud gave a shudder and handed it back to the young man, just as Geoffrey, reaching across the table, made a grab for it.

“I recognize it,” she said.

Mr. Willoughby Junior packed the photograph away in his bag and turned to go.

“That's all for to-day then, I think,” he said affably.

He bowed again in his courtly way, tilted the derby hat a little more to the left, and, having greeted one of the distressed gentlewomen who loitered limply in his path with a polite “Gangway, if you please, Mabel!” which drew upon him a freezing stare of which he seemed oblivious, he passed out, leaving behind him strained silence.

Maud was the first to break it.

“I think I'll be going,” she said.

The words seemed to rouse her companion from his stupor.

“Let me explain!”

“There's nothing to explain.”

“It was just a—it was just a passing—it was nothing, nothing!”

“Pootles!” murmured Maud.

Geoffrey followed her as she moved to the door.

“Be reasonable!” pleaded Geoffrey. “Men aren't saints! It was nothing! Are you going to end—everything—just because I lost my head?”

Maud looked at him with a smile. She was conscious of an overwhelming relief. The dim interior of Ye Cosy Nooke no longer seemed depressing. She could have kissed this unknown “Babe” whose businesslike action had enabled her to close a regrettable chapter in her life with a clear conscience.

“But you haven't only lost your head, Geoffrey,” she said; “you've lost your figure as well.”

She went out quickly. With a convulsive bound Geoffrey started to follow her, but was checked before he had gone a yard.

There are formalities to be observed before a patron can leave Ye Cosy Nooke.

“If you please!” said a distressed, gentlewomanly voice.

The lady whom Mr. Willoughby had addressed as Mabel—erroneously, for her name was Ernestine—was standing beside him with a slip of paper.

“Six and twopence,” said Ernestine.

For a moment this appalling statement drew the unhappy man's mind from the main issue.

“Six and twopence for a cup of chocolate and a few cakes?” he cried, aghast. “It's robbery!”

“Six and twopence, please!” said the queen of the bandits with undisturbed calm. She had been through this sort of thing before. Ye Cosy Nooke did not get many customers, but it made the most of those it did get.

“Here!” Geoffrey produced a half sovereign. “I haven't time to argue!”

The distressed brigand showed no gratification. She had the air of one who is aloof from worldly things. All she wanted was rest and leisure, leisure to meditate upon the body upstairs. All flesh is as grass. We are here to-day and gone to-morrow. But there beyond the grave is peace.

“Your change?” she said.

“Damn the change!”

“You're forgetting your hat.”

“Damn my hat!”

Geoffrey dashed from the room. He heaved his body through the door. He lumbered down the stairs.

Out in Bond Street the traffic moved up and the traffic moved down. Strollers strolled upon the sidewalks.

But Maud had gone.

N HIS bedroom at the Carlton Hotel George Bevan was packing. That is to say, he had begun packing; but for the last twenty minutes he had been sitting on the side of the bed, staring into a future which became bleaker and bleaker, the more he examined it. In the last two days he had been no stranger to these gray moods, and they had become harder and harder to dispel. Now with the steamer trunk before him gaping to receive its contents, he gave himself up whole-heartedly to gloom.

Somehow the steamer trunk, with all that it implied of partings and voyagings, seemed to emphasize the fact that he was going out alone into an empty world. Soon he would be on board the liner every revolution of whose engines would be taking him farther away from where his heart would always be. There were moments when the torment of this realization became almost physical.

It was incredible that, three short weeks ago, he had been a happy man. Lonely perhaps, but only in a vague, impersonal way; not lonely with this aching loneliness that tortured him now. What was there left for him? As regards any triumph which the future might bring him in connection with his work, he was, as Mac the stage-door keeper had said, “blarzy.” Any success he might have would be but a stale repetition of other successes which he had achieved. He would go on working of course, but

The ringing of the telephone across the room jerked him back to the present. He got up with a muttered malediction. Someone calling up again from the theater probably. They had been doing it all the time since he had announced his intention of leaving for America by Saturday's boat.

“Hello?” he said wearily.

“Is that George?” asked a voice. It seemed familiar, but all female voices sound the same over the telephone.

“This is George,” he replied. “Who are you?”

“Don't you know my voice?”

“I do not.”

“You'll know it quite well before long. I'm a great talker.”

“Is that Billie?”

“It is not Billie whoever Billie may be. I am female, George.”

“So is Billie.”

“Well, you had better run through the list of your feminine friends till you reach me.”

“I haven't any feminine friends.”

“None?”

“No.”

“That's odd.”

“Why?”

“You told me in the garden two nights ago that you looked on me as a pal.”

George sat down abruptly. He felt boneless.

“Is—is that you?” he stammered. “It can't be—Maud!”

“How clever of you to guess. George, I want to ask you one or two things. In the first place, are you fond of butter?”

George blinked.

This was not a dream.

He had just bumped his knee against the corner of the telephone table, and it still hurt most convincingly. He needed the evidence to assure himself that he was awake.

“Butter?” he queried. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, well, if you don't even know what butter means, I expect it's all right. What is your weight, George?”

“About a hundred and eighty pounds. But I don't understand.”

“Wait a minute.” There was a silence at the other end of the wire. “About thirteen stone,” said Maud's voice, “I've been doing it in my head. And what was it this time last year?”

“About the same, I think. I always weigh about the same.”

“How wonderful! George!”

“Yes?”

“This is very important. Have you ever been in Florida?”

“I was there one winter.”

“Do you know a fish called the pompano?”

“Yes?”

“Tell me about it.”

“How do you mean? It's just a fish. You eat it.”

“I know. Go into details.”

“There aren't any details. You just eat it.”

The voice at the other end of the wire purred with approval.

“I never heard anything so splendid. The last man who mentioned pompano to me became absolutely lyrical about sprigs of parsley and melted butter. Well, that's that. Now here's another very important point. How about wall paper?”

George pressed his unoccupied hand against his forehead. This conversation was unnerving him.

“I didn't get that,” he said.

“Didn't get what?”

“I mean, I didn't quite catch what you said that time. It sounded to me like 'What about wall paper?'”

“It was 'What about wall paper?' Why not?”

“But,” said George weakly, “it doesn't make any sense.”

“Oh, but it does. I mean, what about wall paper for your den?”

“My den?”

“Your den. You must have a den. Where do you suppose you're going to work, if you don't? Now my idea would be some nice quiet grass cloth. And of course you would have lots of pictures and books. And a photograph of me. I'll go and be taken specially. Then there would be a piano for you to work on, and two or three really comfortable chairs. And—well, that would be about all, wouldn't it?”

George pulled himself together.

“Hello!” he said.

“Why do you say Hello?”

“I forgot I was in London. I should have said 'Are you there?'”

“Yes, I'm here.”

“Well, then, what does it all mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“What you've been saying—about butter and pompanos and wall paper and my den and all that? I don't understand.”

“How stupid of you! I was asking you what sort of wall paper you would like in your den after we were married and settled down.”

George dropped the receiver. It clashed against the side of the table. He groped for it blindly.

“Hello!” he said.

“Don't say Hello! It sounds so abrupt!”

“What did you say then?”

“I said 'Don't say Hello!'”

“No, before that! Before that! You said something about getting married.”

“Well, aren't we going to get married? Our engagement is announced in the Morning Post.”

“But—but”

“George!” Maud's voice shook, “Don't tell me you are going to jilt me!” she said tragically. “Because, if you are, let me know in time, as I shall want to bring an action for breach of promise. I've just met such a capable young man who will look after the whole thing for me. He wears a bowler hat on the side of his head and calls waitresses 'Mabel.' Answer yes or no. Will you marry me?”

“But—but—how about—I mean what about—I mean how about”

“Make up your mind what you do mean.”

“The other fellow!” gasped George.

A musical laugh was wafted to him over the wire.

“What about him?”

“Well, what about him?” said George.

“Isn't a girl allowed to change her mind?” said Maud.

George yelped excitedly. Maud gave a cry.

“Don't sing!” she said. “You nearly made me deaf.”

“Have you changed your mind?”

“Certainly I have!”

“And you really think—you really want—I mean, you really want—you really think”

“Don't be so incoherent!”

“Maud!”

“Well?”

“Will you marry me?”

“Of course I will.”

“Gosh!”

“What did you say?”

“I said Gosh! And listen to me, when I say Gosh! I mean Gosh! Where are you? I must see you. Where an we meet? I want to see you! For heaven's sake tell me where you are! I want to see you! Where are you? Where are you?”

“I'm downstairs.”

“Where? Here at the Carlton?”

“Here at the Carlton!”

“Alone?”

“Quite alone.”

“You won't be long!” said George.

He hung up the receiver, and bounded across the room to where his coat hung over the back of a chair. The edge of the steamer trunk caught his shin.

“Well,” said George to the steamer trunk, “and what are you butting in for? Who wants you, I should like to know!”


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Rh we shall, under either of the systems now proposed, give only a second rate or third rate education. For as to Kishen Rao, though a deserving man, he is quite incompetent to supply the place of such a person as Mr. Clift or Mr. Nicholls; and I am rather afraid that the notice taken of his exertions by Government, though honorable to Lord William Bentinck, and likely to produce indirectly many useful effects, has made him conceited and captious.

If it be determined to adopt one of the two plans before us, I am inclined to prefer Mr. Shore’s to Mr. Sutherland’s. I quite agree with Mr. Sutherland that we ought not to fritter away our means on feeble institutions. But the institution now proposed will be feeble, whichever plan we adopt. I think it better to have three feeble institutions than one, the cost being the same. I see no great reason to expect more good from the Saugur School, if organized on Mr. Sutherland’s plan at an expense of 418 Rupees, than if organized on Mr. Shore’s plan at an expense of 215 Rupees.—[Book M. page 16.] 8th April, 1836.

Masters for Saugur School.—I am willing to leave the masters for the present to the Local Committee. But I should direct them to be instructed to report how many hours the Deputy English master attends. A man who takes from us a small salary merely to eke out his income is very likely to make his place a sinecure.—[Book O. page 45.] 17th August, 1836.

Saugur School.—I will try to see Mr. Shore, and to learn what is the best course open to us respecting the Saugur School. In the meantime Mr. Singer can be asked whether lie will take the situation, if it should be offered him on the terms mentioned by Mr. Sutherland. Mr. Trevelyan tells me that he has seen Mr. Shore, who says that they are in great want of a master at Saugur. We had better therefore make the proposition at once to Mr. Singer.—[Book L. page 107.] 25th March, 1837.

Saugur School.—We have been long looking out for a master for this School, and have been unable to find one who would suit us. At last we have made a choice which seems to be unexceptionable: and I would abide by it. We shall not be able to get a tolerable teacher on a smaller salary.

I recommend that the arrangements about Mr. Rao should be hastened as much as possible. We have lost too much time already.—[Book M. page 114.] 8th May, 1837.

Saugur Local Committee.—I conceive that the appointment of Captain Murray requires our sanction, though we are not asked to give it. The matter is a trifle. But we must not relinquish our control over the Local Committee. We may bring this with all delicacy to the notice of Mr. Shore, and

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26 The most considerable quantity of ore has been gained, not by vein-mining, but by washing in the felspathic clays flanking the western aspect of the hill. These clays afforded pure stream Cinnabar in great abundance, as well as hundreds of rich boulders of ore-bearing rock that had been denuded from the upper parts of the hill. This source of wealth, however, was limited, and may be regarded as exhausted.

A search for fresh deposits has been instituted from time to time. Traces of Cinnabar have been detected behind the Sibugoh mountain and in the Samaraham and Sadong districts; and traces of metallic mercury have been reported on good authority at Marup in the Batang Lupar; and at Gunong Gading, a few miles to the west of Tagora, ore has been discovered in situ, and is being worked. The Gading deposits are altogether smaller and much poorer than those at Tagora. The general geological features of the two hills are similar, but the matrix at Gading is more siliceous and more highly metamorphosed, though at the same time decomposing rapidly on exposure to atmospheric influences, as is also the case with the Tagora rock. The character of the Cinnabar differs from that of the Tagora deposits, being soft and crystalline, and the ore in the stream-washing is small and very friable, and so abundantly mixed with iron-pyrites as to make it impossible to separate the two minerals by simple hand-washing.

As with the antimony there is evidence of the association of minute quantities of quicksilver, so too, antimony (sulphide) has been observed in juxtaposition with the Cinnabar in the same fragment of veinstone at Gading.

With regard to the origin of these deposits of Cinnabar, it is almost certain that they were produced by the passage of heated vapours bearing quicksilver and sulphur in a state of sublimation, which were deposited by the cooling of the vapours as they approached the surface of the earth. The peculiar and irregular mode of deposition of the Cinnabar, and the facts that the lower the miner goes the less abundant the ore becomes, and that no definite "run," or fissure vein, is observable, all point in this direction. It is confirmatory of this view, that the surrounding shales and sandstones are all more or less highly impregnated with peroxide of iron, whilst in the metamorphic ore-bearing rock, iron is scarcely visible except in the form of pyrites, i.e. in combination with sulphur, which can only have risen from below in a state of sublimation, and has seized on the iron and collected it in this form. Assuming a large proportion of sulphur in the


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Rh may at the same time approve of Captain Murray’s appointment. On second thoughts, I recollect that the sanction of the Governor-General in Council, as well as ours, is necessary to Captain Murray’s appointment. We had better apply for that sanction.—[Book M. page 50.] 8th July, 1836.

Local Subscriptions towards the salary of a Head Master.—I should prefer a different course. Suppose that we offer to pay half the salary of an English Master, if the other half can be raised by subscription in Sehore or the neighbourhood of it. I have the greatest respect for Mr. Wilkinson: but I am not sure that his opinions quite agree with those which we entertain respecting the mode of educating the natives: and I think therefore that we ought strictly to tie up whatever we may vote.—[Book J. page 57.] 25th February, 1836.

An English School in Bundelcund.—Bundelcund has considerable claims. But before we decide, we had better communicate with some person there,—Mr. Simon Fraser for instance. We might ask that gentleman whether a school for teaching both English and the Vernacular languages would be likely to succeed.—[Book N. page 26.] 21st June, 1836.

Jubbulpore School.—I tbink that at all events the rule about the exclusion from the English class of boys who cannot read the Vernacular language ought to have been submitted to us. What right the Hon’ble Agent, as the master calls him, had to give any such express order, I do not understand.—[Book N. page 72.] 18th March, 1837.

A Grant-in-Aid Subathoo School.—I would not return a positive refusal. Our funds will increase every six months by the falling in of stipends, and in a very short time, if not immediately, it will be in our power to do something for the school at Subathoo.—[Book K. page 6.] 26th December, 1835.

A diplomatic letter about Meerut School.—I hardly see what we can do more about Mr. Blunt. I shall be glad if Mr. Sutherland can frame a letter in the true diplomatic style, which shall mean very little, and shall appear to mean a great deal.

As to the school-house, I think that we may venture to ask Government to let us have the premises rent-free till they are wanted for the public service. At worst, we can only draw on ourselves a refusal.—[Book M. page 1.] 27th February, 1836.

Salaries at Meerut School.—I greatly doubt whether we can obtain a good master for 200 Rupees; and I should like to know more about Mr. Harris before I consent to secure his services by diminishing the salary of the person at the head of the school. I propose that the question should be referred to the Sub-Committee for the selection of School-masters, but that


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 boys in the sixteenth century spoke little Latin when they were alone by themselves. Cordier, writing in 1530, says, “Our boys always chatter French with their companions; or if they try to talk Latin, cannot keep it up.”

The old ecclesiastical Latin of the Middle Ages had been superseded by the classical Latin of the Roman poets, and all the energies of the educational institutions were thrown into the acquisition and practice of Latin eloquence. The classics were read for the phrases that might be culled for use in the construction of Latin sentences; these, with disputations, declamations, and Latin plays, were the order of the century. Since education consisted in the acquisition of a graceful and elegant style, the young learner, from the first, applied himself to the grammatical study of Latin authors, regarding solely the language of the classics, and taking subject-matter into account only when this was necessary to understand the words. There was no study of the mother-tongue preliminary to the study of the classics. Children began at once the study of the Latin grammar, and they had to write Latin verses before they had been exercised in compositions, in the vernacular, or, for that matter, before they had been trained to express their thoughts in Latin prose. And still more remarkable, as Oscar Browning points out, “the Latin taught was not the masculine language of Lucretius and Cæsar, but the ornate and artificial diction of Horace and Virgil, and, above all, of Cicero.” “There is no doubt,” he adds, “that narrow and faulty as it was, it gave a good edu-


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Rh the Sub-Committee should be instructed to make no arrangement which may cause an increase of charge, without a reference to the General Committee.—[Book O. page 15.] 9th June, 1836.

Meerut School Examination.—Highly satisfactory. I see the Local Committee ask for a Master in the Vernacular language. I would allow them one, and let them chusechoose [sic] (sic) him. I should be obliged to any gentleman acquainted with that part of the country, who would suggest what he thinks would be a reasonable salary.—[Book K. page 121.] 30th January, 1837.

The Meerut Committee suspend Mr. Halford for causing two European boys to be punished.—I would instantly expel the offending boys. I must own that I think Mr. Halford’s conduct by no means inexcusable. If any power of correction at all be given to a master, this is one of the cases in which the exercise of that power seems to be justifiable. If the Local Committee think that the transaction is likely to make Mr. Halford’s services less useful at Meerut, I would find another situation for him. But I really do not think that what has passed, is morally discreditable to him: nay, I do not think that it ought to lead us to pronounce him an indiscreet person.—[Book N. page 91.] 15th May, 1837.

Transfer of Masters from one place to another.—I do not very strongly object to Mr. Sutherland’s proposition about this difficult matter. But I cannot help feeling that we are a little too indulgent to the whims of the people in our employ. We pay a large sum to send a master to an up-country station. He dislikes the place. The Collector is uncivil; the Surgeon quarrels with him: and he must be moved. The expenses of another journey have to be defrayed. Another man is to be transferred from a place where he is comfortable and useful. Thus we have a collection of rolling-stones which, as the proverb says, gather no moss. Our masters run from station to station at our cost, as vapourish ladies at home run about from spa to spa. It is desirable to make a stand. It does not much matter whether we make it on this occasion. But it must speedily be made. All situations have their discomforts: and there are times when we all wish that our lot had been cast in some other line of life or in some other place. But necessity forces people to make the best of what they have got; and they become contented because it is of no use to them to be otherwise. I fear that we encourage our masters to be capricious and fastidious; and I think that we should b8 wiser if we were a little more hard masters.

Now would Mr. Pereira like the change? His taste surely ought to be consulted as much as Mr. Halford’s.


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Rh local subterranean exhalations containing quicksilver, the formations of both pyrites and cinnabar may be readily explained.

is found in many localities on the N. W. Coast of Borneo and crops up in the Sarawak Territory at Simunjan, at Lingga and other spots in the Batang Lupar district, in the Rejang, and in the Mukah and Bintulu rivers. It was formerly worked at Sadong, and the mine has recently been repened by the Government, and now supplies regularly a small quantity of fair steam coal. For the past two years an exploration of the Lingga seams has been in progress, and it is hoped that this field will be shortly worked on a large scale. The other outcrops of coal of importance are those of Mukah and Rejang: both in such inaccessible situations as to be for the present quite useless, although, so far as is known, of good quality and considerable extent. The varieties of the mineral found are anthracite and cannel coal, both of which appear to be remarkably free from pyrites and sulphur. The Cannel coal has been found to give a very small percentage of ash (1.20 according to an analysis by Dr. Stenhouse) but this advantage is counterbalanced by the presence in it of considerably more Nitrogen than is generally exhibited by such coals. The ordinary Lingga coal is very nearly identical in composition, as regards the proportion of carbon and hydrogen, with the Hartley-Newcastle coals, as Dr. Steuhouse has lately shown by the following analyses conducted in duplicate.

It would be premature to take these analyses of small samples, however exact, as affording reliable data on which to base an opinion as to the value of the bulk of the Sarawak Coal. Nevertheless the trial of the Lingga coal lately conducted on board S. S. "Delhi" and "Baroda" (Peninsula and Oriental Company), go rather to confirm, than to throw discredit on the laboratory analyses. Two 40-ton samples were burned under ordinary conditions of wind and speed, on board these vessels, and the coal was found with no more than the usual care from the stokers, to burn clearly with little smoke, and leave a residuum of only some 16 per cent in the furnaces, consisting of light and easily broken clinker. It would seem, however, that under severer test-conditions the coal would be found to burn a good deal faster than the best North Country Coals, uuless mixed with good ordinary steam-coal. I should add that


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28 these samples being procured under difficulties as to working appliances and carriage, did not fairly represent the condition in which the mineral would by put into the market after mining operations had been regularly opened, and therefore the results obtained are all the more encouraging.

.—There is some reason for believing that the diamondiferous deposits of Sarawak are more valuable than has yet appeared to be the case. No systematic operations in the search for these precious stones have ever been carried on in the country. The only people who pursne diamond-washing as a means of livelihood are the poorer Malays, who are mostly gamblers, and carry on their work in a way very desultory and imperfect. Mr. Gray, who arrived in Sarawak last year with all necessary appliances for this kind of mining, and who had three years previous experience at the Cape fields, commenced operations in the Sentah river, but relinquished the attempt as unprofitable after an essay of ten days' or a fortnight's duration. I have been informed that in the opinion of the native diamond-washers, this gentleman never reached the true gem-bearing stratum; which may or may not have been the case. However this may be, a two weeks' exporationexploration [sic] cannot be considered very satisfactory. One frequently hears of stones of good size and water being disposed of in Singapore as coming from Sarawak, and some are to be seen in Kuching now. They not seldom exhibit a pure lemon-yellow tinge, which is different from the straw colour of the Cape, and more valued. The large {SIC|dimond|diamond}} (76  carats), brought over from M'rau in the Sikaiam district of Dutch Borneo a year or two ago, is proof that stones of very considerable size are to be found in the island.

The Sentah is a tributary of the Penrissen branch of the Sarawak river. It is from this branch that Aquamarines are brought to Kuching. They seem to be very rare, and the only one which has come under my own notice was a mass of flaws, and useless as a gem.

To sum up the preceding notes. Of the known minerals of Sarawak, Antimony and Cinnabar are the only ores that have been explored on a large scale; of these, the difficulty of obtaining the first in remunerative quantity is daily increasing, while the yield of the second, at no time extraordinary, is capricious in the extreme. Arsenic, Gold, and Diamond have either proved failures, or do not tempt European capital. Coal has been tried and found wanting; but later discoveries with respect to its extent and quality, justify a some what confident belief that the


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 On the whole I am rather for leaving Mr. Halford where he is. As to the other points, I agree with the Secretary.—[Book M. page 134.] 29th August, 1837.

Furruckabad School. I would not give up the school; and, in order to give our experiment there a fair chance of success I would authorize the Local Committee to procure, if they can, another school-house. But I cannot consent to send an assistant to a school where there are only 34 pupils. As to salary to Dr. Tytler it is out of the question. But we may send him books as Mr. Sutherland suggests.—[Book M. page 157.] 17th October, 1837.

Dr. Login’s proposal to assist some schools in the Deccan.—I fear not. The schools, two of them at least, for I cannot make out the name of the third station, are out of the Company’s territories. It also appears that religious instruction is imparted: and whatever disposition we may feel to assist such efforts in our individual capacity, we cannot have any thing to do with them as agents for the Government.—[Book L. page 14.] 15th April, 1836.

Patna School expends money without sanction.—I do not think the explanation quite satisfactory. But as the Local Committee meant well,—as they have a good right to our confidence; as it would be inexpedient to discourage them, placed as they are in perhaps the most discouraging situation in Bengal,—and as there is little chance that the error will be committed again, I would not pass any censure on what has been done.—[Book L. page 50.] 5th August, 1836.

Promotion of Second Masters.—We must be on our guard against allowing second Masters to step as a matter of course into the situations of first Masters on vacancies. There is the more danger of this because the second Master, unless there is some strong objection to him, will generally be able to induce the Local Committee to recommend him from good nature. I would refer the question to the Sub-Committee for the choice of School-masters, who must know more than I do about Mr. Fowles. All that I know is that, last year, he was not thought qualified for one of the higher Masterships. He is not very likely to have improved himself much more, and Patna is a peculiarly delicate and important situation.—[Book K. page 97.] 30th October, 1836.

Chittagong School.—I would gladly pay a school-master at. But it appears that we shall have also to build a school-house: and I doubt whether our finances are in a condition at this moment to support this additional expense. I would therefore answer Mr. Dampier as Mr. Sutherland proposes.


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Rh 62. The UK’s future foreign policy depends on its ability to form relationships with a wide group of countries, “in the Commonwealth, in the African Union, in ASEAN and elsewhere”. When the Wagner Network is involved in a country, it becomes harder for the UK to engage there, both diplomatically and militarily. Although working with the Wagner Network is a sovereign decision of national governments, the UK can seek to influence these decisions.

63. UK diplomats have brought up the network’s activities in discussions with national authorities who have engaged with the network. The means by which the UK has sought to dissuade countries from working with the Wagner Network are unclear. Ben Fender (Director, Eastern Europe and Central Asia, FCDO) pointed out that many governments in West Africa are concerned about the Wagner Network’s activities in Mali, noting: “I like to think that our diplomacy and our efforts have contributed” to those concerns - but he did not elaborate on the role of UK diplomacy in informing these countries’ views. The Government has not provided examples of individual countries that it has successfully deterred from choosing to engage with the network. In other words, in its evidence to our inquiry, the Government was unable to provide any direct evidence of having limited or successfully challenged the Wagner Network’s efforts and ambitions in countries where it is invited. The United States is currently working to deter African countries from engaging with the network by sharing intelligence strategically with allies. US officials credited this approach with blunting a planned destabilisation operation in Chad.

64. Another mode of influencing governments’ decisions to engage with the Wagner Network may be to offer a ‘carrot’ in the form of a compelling alternative. The UK’s work with partner states on “nation building and investing in institutions” is

"critical to the ability of often fragile states to build their own capacity so that they are not subject to the business model of a Wagner-type group"

The Minister highlighted the UK’s work to strengthen institutions in “much of Africa and other regions”; he judged that the UK military and Foreign Office represent a “very successful agent of institutional state building and improving”. Our sister Committee, the International Development Committee, called on the Government in October 2022 to reassess whether a sufficient share of UK aid is reaching communities in fragile and conflict-affected states.

65. In contrast, a ‘stick’ to influence governments’ decisions could be to increase the negative consequences of associating with the network. One such tool would be to


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 indubitably large deposits of this mineral in Sarawak, will shortly be re-opened on a scale not heretofore attempted in connexion with mining operations in this part of the East.

As the evidence stands, therefore, Sarawak cannot be looked upon as a mineral-producing country. What discoveries may be made in the future it is of course impossible to foretell; but it is not unreasonable to anticipate fresh discoveries of Antimony and Cinnabar; and, judging from the geological analogies existing between the N. W. Coast of Borneo, Banka, and the Malay Peninsula, of ores of tin and lead also. Such discoveries would be of much importance to the material welfare of Sarawak, and if made in any of the Sea-Dyak districts would be doubly beneficial. It is a regrettable circumstance that the Borneo Company—who hold a monopoly of all minerals in Sarawak, with the exceptions I believe, of coal, gold, and precious stones— have never instituted any system of prospecting the country beyond the limits of Sarawak Proper. It is true that their officers have now and again been despatched to look up traces of minerals, and have spent a few days in so doing, when weeks would have been insufficient for the fulfilment of the object in view. A superficial examination of a district in which strong traces of a mineral have been observed is, if unsucessful, worse than no examination at all, for it operates as a preventive against more thorough search being undertaken at a future day. The exploration for minerals in an open country is a sufficiently protracted and laborious affair—how much more so in a land like Borneo, densely clothed with a luxuriant vegetation.

In conclusion, whatever minerals may be awaiting discovery in the Territory, their importance can only be relative in comparison with that of the coal fields of N. W. Borneo. If these coal seams are available as a source of good average steaming fuel— and the partial statement of evidence which I have given above is most favourable to the idea that they are so available,—the probability is that they will be worked in Sarawak; and in that case their proximity to the great commercial emporium, and perhaps future naval arsenal of Singapore, will invest with a new interest this country, which, although playing a useful part in the gradual civilization of Borneo, and in the protection of trade on its coasts, has not otherwise any strong claims at present on the attention of the outside world.


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Rh Since I wrote the above, Mr. Smith has sent me a memorandum of the state of our finances, from which it appears, that we can afford something for Chittagong. l am disposed to allow 150 Rupees a month for a master there.—[Book L. page 54.] 9th September, 1836.

Chittagong School.—Mr. * * * seems to be a very weak, foolish person. I agree with Mr. Sutherland in thinking that his being a Baptist is no reason for discarding him. But his foolish and disrespectable way of living, the evident dislike with which the Local Committee regard him, and his inefficiency as a master, are I think reasons for parting with him. I should be glad to know the opinion of the gentlemen who selected him.

I think that there could be no impropriety in our writing to Government to recommend Mr. Dampier’s application to favorable consideration.—[Book N. page 73.] 18th March, 1837.

Chittagong School Endowment.—I am anxious that the sum should belong and should be known to belong to Chittagong School. In what mode it may most conveniently be brought to account is a question which I am incompetent to decide. But I see no advantage in remitting backwards and forwards.—[Book P. page 38.] 14th August, 1837.

Chittagong School.—Have we a good Bengalee teacher in Chittagong? How many pupils has he? Does he want assistance? I should be obliged to Mr. Sutherland to circulate the last information on these points. All that we can do is, as he justly says, to provide the means of instruction; but thus called upon, we shall be much to blame if we do not see that they are really provided.—[Book N. page 135.] 26th August, 1837.

Comillah School.—I vote for adopting this School, and for asking the gentlemen who form the present voluntary Committee to consent to our recommending them to Government as an official Local Committee. As the Board of Revenue has pressed on us the importance of teaching pure Bengali in Chittagong, I would ask the Local Committee whether the present teacher is competent to teach that language in its purity.—[Book P. page 42.] 25th August, 1837.

Arracan School.—To abolish the school at Furrackabad without a longer trial appears to me inexpedient. And if it were transferred to Cawnpore, we should save nothing. Such an arrangement would therefore not enable us to do anything for Arracan. I would certainly adopt Mr. Sutherland's last suggestion and forward the paper of Captain Boyle to Government. It is very interesting. But I hardly know how to reconcile what he says of the freedom of the Mughs from religious prejudices with


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 the vast power which the priests seem to exercise over the education of the whole nation: and I strongly suspect that we shall find these meek holy Phoonjees rather formidable opponents.—[Book L. page 191.] 21st October, 1837.

Application to place Midnapore School under the Educational Department.—Before deciding on this point, I should like to know whether there is a school-house which we could have without paying for it, or whether we should be under the necessity of building or hiring one.

The books may be supplied.—[Book M. page 65.] 12th September, 1836.

Ghazipore School Report.—We ought to applaud the zeal and perseverance of the Ghazipore Committee and to assure them that we shall not be discouraged by the unfavorable appearances which they report.—[Book K. page 19.] 30th Jan. 1836.

Ghazipore Local Committee.—The Local Committee is remarkably zealous and active: and the prospects of the school seem to be brightening. The progress which the pupils have made is as rapid, I think, as there was any ground to expect.—[Book O. page 73.] 13th January, 1837.

Allahabad School, Rupees 60 as house-rent and free quarters both recommended for the head-master.—The Local Committee seem to deserve our confidence so well, Mr. Bird’s judgment is entitled to so much respect, and Allahabad is so important a place, that though there are some objections to this manner of making an addition to a salary, I am disposed to comply.—[Book N. page 52.] 22nd November, 1836.

Encouragement of Hindi at Allahabad.—I would not abolish the Persian class. Let it live till it dies a natural death. But let us by all means improve the Hindi school. I do not see why both the Hindi and Persian schools might not he transferred to the new English school-house, and I would willingly grant all the rent that is saved by this arrangement to the Hindi department.—[Book M. page 116.] 8th May, 1837.

Salary of Head Master of Gowhati School raised.—I would raise Mr. Singer’s salary to Rupees 200 a month, and I would approve of the payments that have been made for prizes. The statement is encouraging.—[Book K. page 29.] 25th February, 1836. Teaching Persian in Assam.—I quite agree with Mr. Sutherland. I would not suffer any portion of the hours for which we pay Mr. Singer to be employed in teaching Persian, nor would I send him any Persian books.

I am no judge about furniture. But it seems strange that it should be necessary to send to Calcutta.—[Book K. page 54.] 19th March, 1836.


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Rh ''Gowhatti School. Economy in the use of paper''.—As to the indent for paper, it seems to me very high. It is more than a quire for every pupil. I feel certain that the great majority of the boys may, for a long time to come, do very well with slates. At all events the paper which we send for boys to scrawl upon, should be the coarsest and cheapest.—[Book J. page 119.] 29th August, 1836.

Sasseram Madrussa.—I am in great doubt as to this matter. I feel the force of the considerations urged in the letter which Mr. Sutherland proposes. Yet I am very unwilling to refuse support to an English school at a place where the natives shew so much desire to study our language.

I am inclined to propose that before we return an answer to Government, a reference should be made to the Local Committee at Benares. Sasseram is not very far from Benares and lies on the high road. There is constant intercourse between the two places. The Benares Committee could probably tell us whether an English school would be likely to thrive at Sasseram, and whether it would be possible to provide for the occasional inspection of such a school by some English gentleman. Regular superintendence there cannot be. But as many persons of high character are often travelling to and from Benares through SaseeramSasseram [sic], it strikes me as possible that we might make such arrangements as would enable us to receive from time to time reports of the state of the School from quarters in which we could confide.

All this I submit with great diffidence to the judgment of those who know more of this country.—[Book M. page 47,] 8th July, 1836.

Sasseram Madrussa.—Having perused Mr. Smith’s minutes, for which we are all much obliged to him, I vote for sending an answer to the Government to the effect, that we do not think an English school likely to thrive at Sasseram, and that we are unwilling to employ any part of our funds in such an undertaking.—[Book M. page 55.] 14th July, 1836.

Monitors at the Calcutta Madrussa.—We must take care not to revive the abuses of the old stipendiary system under another name. I do not object to paying monitors, provided it is distinctly understood that the monitorships be given on examination to the best scholars, and that they be hold only for a term which ought in no case to exceed a year, and that they be then again open to competition.—[Book N. page 2.] 15th April, 1836.

Increase of stipends in the Calcutta Madrussa.—Our practice must be uniform. My own opinion is expressed in the papers sent up from the Sub-Committee. I see no reason to change


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Rh it as to the general principle. But in this particular case as the right may be said to have vested before the promulgation of the Government Orders, I would sanction the promotion.—[Book K. page 80.] 8th July, 1836.

Petition for money prizes instead of books at the Madrussa.—I hardly know what to say. If it be desirable to keep up this school at all, it seems to be desirable to reward merit in the way most acceptable to the students. I am rather disposed to grant their prayers.—[Book R page 3.] 24th February, 1837.

Unsatisfactory state of the rich Nizamut College at Moorshedabad.— Mr. Sutherland describes very correctly the inefficient state of the Moorshedabad school and the delay which has taken place. We must absolutely put an end to this unsatisfactory state of things. I trust that Captain Higgerson will send us his assistance for that purpose. I should wish to see an exact statement of the way in which the funds are now expended. I presume that such a statement can easily be procured within a few days; When we see what money we have at our command, we can frame a plan and carry it into effect instantly.—[Book L. page 6.]; 18th March, 1836.

Nizamut College.—I have suggested one slight alteration. I quite approve of the proposed letter generally. I entertain better hopes for the College than Mr. Sutherland, and am quite willing to pardon Mr. ——————’s prolixity in consideration of his zeal.—[Book L. page 41.] 30th June, 1836.

Moorshedabad Local Committee.—I agree with Mr. Sutherland in thinking that the Secretary must exercise a discretion as to re-circulating the books; and I think that he was right in re-circulating them on this occasion. The only thing that seems to me irregular is this,—that we resolved to consult Mr. Melville only as to the appointment of Mr. Elliot. We did not desire Mr. Melville to recommend anybody else. I therefore cannot agree with Mr. Prinsep in thinking that we are at all bound by the recommendation of the Local Committee.

I think that the best way out of the difficulty is to appoint both gentlemen, unless there be some objection to them. No such objection appears.—[Book O. page 99.] 5th April, 1837.

School house at Benares.—I think it very desirable that the Custom House at Benares should if possible be procured from Government for a school house. Perhaps some gentlemen acquainted with Benares can tell us whether the premises are the property of Government and whether they would answer our purpose. In the mean time I would stay all further proceedings.—[Book K. page 52.] 18th March, 1836.


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 cation so long as people believed in it. To know Horace and Virgil by heart became the first duty of the scholar. Speeches in Parliament were considered incomplete if they did not contain at least one Latin quotation. A false quantity was held to be a greater crime than a slip in logical argument. Cicero not only influenced the education of English statesmen, but had no inconsiderable effect on their conduct.”

The humanist educators of the sixteenth century not only neglected the study of the mother-tongue—they proscribed it. The Ratio of the Jesuits forbids its use except on holidays, and Sturm at Strasburg abbreviated the recreation periods of his pupils because of risks of speaking in the mother-tongue on the playground. And all this proscription of the vernacular that students might acquire eloquence in a foreign tongue. Well does Raumer ask, “Why did they continue, like a second Sisyphus, their fruitless endeavors to metamorphose German into Roman youths, and to impart to them, in defiance of the laws of human nature, another tongue?”

They were themselves deceived in assuming that they could call to life the ancient culture of Rome and Greece. Indeed, they believed that they had discovered ways of training which would develop scholars capable of producing Latin works equal to the masterpieces that they had studied in their schools. John Sturm, one of the most ardent of the humanists, said:


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Rh Benares School Essays.—I think the samples very respectable. Siva Suhagur’s seems to me to be the best. It is very creditable for a lad of fifteen, who has been admitted only five years. I propose that we should give him a prize of 50 Rupees and 25 Rs. to the other.—[Book K. page 24.] 11th February, 1836.

Benares School-house.—By all means, if by making this application we do not bind ourselves always to employ the executive officers. Sometimes, at Agra for example just now, we may find it convenient to contract with private parties.—[Book N. page 9.] 7th May, 1836.

Benares College Library.—This is discouraging. But I trust that we shall have means to supply the deficiency. We ought I think to consider the windfalls which come to us occasionally from a new-made Rajah and so forth as a peculiar fund for the purchase of books.—[Book K. page 71.] 1st June, 1836.

The Law Professorship of the Benares Sanscrit College.—I have no objection to what Mr. Sutherland proposes about the Benares Pundits, unless indeed there be in upper India any qualified person not among the candidates to whom the situation might be an object. I should have thought that there would be many such.—[Book N. page 167.] 25th November, 1837.

Division of the rich from the poor at the Benares College.—I am inclined to adopt the proposition of the Local Committee without the reservation proposed by Mr. Sutherland. The dividing of the pupils into two classes, the one consisting of the rich and the other of the poor, must be a difficult matter; and, if society in India be not altogether in a different state from that which exists in Europe, must produce great evils.—[Book L. page 207.] 28th December, 1837.

Agra College.—I am no judge of the price of building in this country. But 10,000 Rupees for two Bungalows seems to be high. I think that we had better authorize an outlay of Rupees 8,000 and direct the Local Committee not to exceed that sum without a reference to us.—[Book K. page 27.]

Estimate for Agra College Bungalows.—It seems to me that we should act most absurdly in sanctioning this estimate. The house would have cost only 11,000 rupees. The bungalows, if I remember rightly, were preferred to the house solely on the ground of economy; and we are now called upon to pay for them nearly 4000 Rupees more than were asked for the house.

I would not sanction this expenditure. It seems to me impossible that all those members of the Committee here who are well acquainted with the Mofussil, and all the members of


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Rh the Local Committee should have been so egregiously mistaken in their estimate of the cost of running up bungalows.

I have had abundant opportunities of learning since I have been in this country that some of the executive engineers are very unreasonable in their charges, and I cannot help thinking that this must be the case with Captain T——————. I would rather allow house-rent than assent to the proposition of the LcoalLocal [sic] Committee.—[Book K. page 66.] 30th April, 1836.

Donation of Rupees 500 from the Agra Bank.—Yes, if they have no globes. It seems to me that we should not act wisely in throwing a present of this sort, not large in amount, yet very handsomely given, into the general fund and employing it to pay School-masters at Dacca or to buy stationery for Ghazipore. I think that it should be laid out in procuring something which, while it is of use, may also continue for a considerable time, to remind people of the liberal conduct of the Agra Bank. Two handsome globes for the Agra College would do exceedingly well. We might ask the Local Committee what we shall do with the surplus. Some scientific apparatus may perhaps be required.—[Book L. page 17.] 28th April, 1836.

Arabic Teachers at Agra College.—I do not understand from the letter that there are several classes. The Committee speak only of one. But we ought to be fully satisfied that there is not a demand for the services of an Arabic teacher before we recommend to Government the abolition of the office. It is not enough that the Local Committee think, as I think, that the money may be more usefully spent. What we have to ascertain, under the orders of Government is, whether the teacher will have a respectable number of pupils if we appoint him. I think that we should point this out to the Local Committee and call for fuller information.—[Book O. page 12]. 31st May, 1836.

At Agra College, boys of the same creed sit together.—I approve generally.—I quite disapprove of the exacting of payment from Christians as such. As to the separation which Mr. Woollaston has made between Christian and native pupils, I should wish for more information before I decide. We are in the habit of showing considerable indulgence to the prejudices, as we think them, of people whose religion differs from ours; and if the Christians who send their children to school at Agra wish them to sit together, and not to be mingled with the natives, I should be inclined to comply with their wish, just as I would comply with a similar wish on the part of Hindoos or Musalmans. The general rule, however, clearly ought to be that all classes should be treated alike and should be suffered to intermingle freely. I would call for explanation on this


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Rh and I would inform the Local Committee that only very peculiar circumstances can, in our opinion, justify such a distinction as that which now exists.—[Book L. page 80.] 25th November, 1836.

''Agra College. Mr. Duncan, the Secretary having become Principal is required to take his due share in the instruction of the pupils''.—At present I think that we can do no more than call for a report setting forth the amount of duty which Mr. Duncan performs and the time which he devotes to it.—[Book L. page 37.] 26th December, 1836.

''Meerut School. Head-master’s House''.—I would let him have the advance for which he asks. But I see no reason for building him a bungalow. Still less would I repair a bungalow within the lines, from which we may be ejected any day.

Agra College.—Certainly I would not deprive the successful candidate of his prize because he is a Christian. That would be too much in the style of Diocletian who is reprehended very justly, though not very much apropos in Balmokund’s Essay. I would also give Balmokund a prize of 15 Rupees. We must not of course reverse the judgment of the Local Committees. But, as a matter of private taste, I think his Essay the better of the two.

If the Local Committee will mention the names of any natives who are qualified to be added to their body, we may recommend the measure to Government. I will not call such natives Assessors. Let them be members of the Committee if they are fit to be so.

I very generally agree with the propositions of the Secretary.—[Book M. page 107.] 31st March, 1837.

The Principal’s duties at Agra.—I do not see that we can produce much improvement by further interference. We ought to shew, from time to time, that our eyes are open and that we are not absolutely letting every body take his own way. For the rest we must trust to the Local Committees.

As it is intended to teach Chemistry, we had better supply the institution, if it has not yet been done, with copies of Dr. work.—[Book M. page 132.] 21st August, 1837.

On the Delhi Committee proposing to re-appoint a Master on probation, Macaulay says:—

“I agree with the Secretary in thinking the course pursued by the Committee at Delhi rather singular. I would agree to what they propose, however. But I would desire them to report to us in a quarter of a year at latest, what measures they have taken for ascertaining Mr. Prest’s fitness for the place,


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Rh what the result of their enquiries has been.”—[Book E. page 176.] 17th December, 1835.

Delhi College.—The report is highly satisfactory, I am glad to find that my opinion on the subject of stipends is borne out by the facts, I agree generally with Mr. Sutherland. But I am at a loss to understand why pupils should be turned out of the institution at the end of six years. I would propose the immediate abolition of this restriction. I do not mean that any pupil should keep his stipend longer than he is now entitled to keep it. That would be inconsistent with the principles on which we are acting. I mean only that no pupil who is willing, without being paid, to avail himself of the advantages of the education given at Delhi should be limited as to time.

I would give thirty rupees to the author of the best theme. It is a highly creditable performance, every thing considered.—[Book M. page 5.] 1st March, 1836.

Chairs instead of forms for boys of rank at Delhi.—I am not sufficiently acquainted with native usages to give a decided opinion about the chairs. But, unless there be some strong reason for allowing that distinction, of which I am uninformed, I most fully agree with Mr. Sutherland.

I am quite against allowing the stipends to be continued.—[Book N. page 7.] 7th May, 1836.

—————— College Principalship.—I never can agree to pay 1,100 Rupees a month for Mr. —————— services. I will venture to say that we might procure an excellent scholar, a man of considerable literature, from England for less money. Eight hundred rupees a month is the utmost extent to which I can conscientiously go; and considering that we have proposed only 600 for the Principal at the Hooghly College, I doubt whether this is not going too far.—[Book N. page 13.] 2nd June, 1836.

—————— College Committee.—I would give them a flap which should not be gentle, I would give Mr. —————— to understand that he will be dismissed if things go on in this way. He is one of the most expensive agents employed by us; and there is no excuse for this negligence.—[Book M. page 74.] 29th October, 1836,

The Abolition of the useless office of Secretary at Delhi College.—If Mr. —————— declines the office of Principal I would not suffer him to retain that of Secretary. This place of Secretary is a mere sinecure. When we propose to give him an efficient office with an augmentation of salary, he refuses it. I propose that we should intimate to the Local Committee at Delhi our determination on this subject, and suffer Mr. —————— to take his choice.


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Rh I doubt about the expediency of sending up to Delhi Bengalees from the Hindu College. But if the Sub-committee of School-masters can suggest persons who are likely to be more acceptable at Delhi than Bengalees would be, and to be at the same time good teachers, I would appoint those persons to the situations which are now filled in a manner unsatisfactory to the Local Committee.—[Book O. page 65.]—26th November, 1836.

Delhi College.—I have again looked into this question; and I perceive that Mr. Thompson is among the teachers whose services are to be dispensed with. I do not well understand this. He was educated in Bengal. I have seen letters from him very well expressed, and it is not likely that any youth whom we may send up from Calcutta, will be better acquainted with the English language. I think that we should call on the Local Committee to state distinctly whom they propose to displace, and on what grounds. I am sorry to say that I do not see reason for reposing quite the same confidence in the judgment and temper of our friends at Delhi which I am generally willing to repose in our Local Committees.—[Book O. page 67.] 26th November, 1836. Delhi College.—In my opinion Mr. Everest shews good grounds for the changes which are proposed among the under masters. I would do nothing till we receive an answer to all the points in the letter of the 12th of December. Such an answer cannot be long delayed. If it does not arrive in a few days, I would suggest that Mr. Sutherland should write again.—[Book M. page 95.] 17th February, 1837.

Delhi College.—I should be inclined to reserve this question till we know whether the arrangement which we proposed respecting Delhi is or is not to be carried into effect in all its parts. It is impossible for us to leave out of our consideration the fact that the father of this Mr. —————— has been for some time holding a sinecure place in the Delhi College. With the father for Secretary, and the son for Master, the College has been going down.

We have found it necessary to propose a new arrangement, which has not yet been acceded to by the father. Till that matter is disposed of, I would make no addition to the salary of the son.—[Book P. page 40.] 25th August, 1837.

Delhi College.—It would have been very desirable that Mr. Pereira should have been directed not to quit Furrackabad till he had been relieved. Ignorant as we are of the state of things at Delhi, I would let him stay, till we have a decisive answer to the question whether our plan is or is not adopted,—[Book N. page 139.] 8th September, 1837.