ter healing than his smile, his kindly jest with a word of quiet sympathy dropped in. His doctor's eye noticed everything-the pictures on the wall, the little decorations of the sick room, any change in the patient's dress-and his bright comments always gave pleasure, since his interest had a finer motive than mere curiosity. The warm outgoing of his kindliness compelled a response from the coldest. To Edinburgh he was, and is still, the beloved physician.

Of the depth and tenderness of his home affections this is, perhaps, not the place to speak; but his love and grief for his beautiful wife, taken from him after a companionship of twenty-four years, are unforgettable by those who witnessed them. One instance of his loyalty to her memory we may retell.* "I told him I could recall very vividly the only time I spoke to Mrs. Brown. He asked me to tell him about it, and I did. The next day I met him out at dinner, and, by rare good fortune, sat next him. He had only been seated a minute or two when he turned to me and said: "What you told me about her yesterday has been like a silver thread running through the day." His love for his father remained a part of him to the last. It comes out again and again in his talk and his letters. Writing to Dr. MacLagan at the time when the University of Edinburgh conferred the degree of LL.D. upon him, Dr. Brown says:

"Thanks for all you said and felt, and not least for the word about my father." Even on a day when he might justly have taken pleasure in his own honors, his pride in his good gray fa

ther came first.

After his wife's death in 1864 his sister Isabella made her home in Rutland Street, and for the last eighteen years of her brother's life guided his household, received and welcomed his friends, and in all ways rendered him such sprightly companionship as Bridget. gave to Elia. Unlike in many waysshe keen, impulsive, and impetuous; he, quiet in voice and movement-the brother and sister had yet much in

common.* In both were the same deeps of tenderness, the same heart of love that gave them so fresh an interest in their fellows; and both had the finely cultivated taste that made them choose and love only what was best in literature. Nor did "a difference of taste in jokes" divide them, for they shared a sly and "pawky" humor, a vivid sense of the ludicrous.

This last period of his life was, perhaps, the most tranquil and fruitful. Already honored by thousands as the creator of "Rab" and " Marjorie Fleming," he gathered about him old friends and new, finding in their affectionate regard consolation for many hidden sorrows. His interest in literature and in the expression of his thoughts by his pen was always quick to revive after seasons of depression, and his fertility and spontaneity seemed to increase toward the end; while his correspondence with all sorts and conditions of men and women brought a fresh breeze into his life. His love of nature never failed him. "The beauty and wondrousness of all visible things, the earth and every common sight,' was strong in him while he had eyes to see it. For Edinburgh-" the glorious creature"-he had a lover's passion; "frequence" never "staled" her charms for him. He rode or walked daily in Princes Street, his progress almost a royal one, so many hats were lifted, so many faces, young and old, brightened at sight of his.

And next to the "humans," his kindly regards were bestowed on the dogs of his friends. Here, too, his acquaintance was large and varied, as became one, indeed, who wrote of his fourfooted friends almost as if he held the Buddhist doctrine of previous birth, and had once been a dog himself. "Once, when driving, he suddenly stopped in the middle of a sentence, and looked out eagerly at the back of the carriage. "Is it some one you know ?" I asked. "No," he said; "it's a dog I don't know." That

* For perhaps the most perfectly truthful and sympathetic sketch yet made of both, see Miss McLaren's "John Brown and His Sister.

Dr. Peddie closes his little volume with a selection from Dr. Brown's correspondence; but the biographer's obligation, sacredly observed, to omit everything concerning the living, or too private for the public eye, somewhat detracts from the interest of the letters. For it was the personal touches in those intimate little notes over the quaint signature "Jeye Bee," the fine sympathy, that gave his correspondence its charm. His fellow feeling came out, perhaps, most strongly in the notes always brief-in which he sorrowed with his friends in their sorrow. The few words said so much, and said it so finely.

The letters to Sir George Harvey, a lifelong friend, are chiefly concerned with questions of art, though pleasant glints of home life in the Highlands shine through. Those to Coventry Dick are in another key, and with this cultured correspondent books and the men who write them are the chief theme. Here is a discerning criticism of Landor:

"Landor is rather an uncommon man than a great one, and a good deal of his fame is owing to that felicitous, hap-hazard, and wilful wildness of thought, and to his learning and largemindedness, making it dangerous to do anything but praise him, lest one betray his own ignorance. But, after all, there is real stuff in him, and his style is divine, having strength and beauty, and delicacy and unexpectedness, and yet naturalness. His arrogance seems His arrogance seems a state, not an act, of his mind, and it mars more than he is aware the effect of his best thoughts."

Thanking Sir Theodore Martin for a copy of his Life of Horace":

My dear Theodore Martin, Felix tu! Thanks for this delightful fireside 'Horace.' I have been sipping it in

my easy-chair, and with delectation all evening, and thinking how pleasantly the lonely, kindly man' would turn over the leaves if Blackwood would only send it (from the Author') to the Elysian Fields!... Good night! my dear old friend. Don't I see you in that light-blue dress with hooks and eyes, and an upright martial collar-at æt. eight, the envy of all Arnott's !"*

The graver side is sometimes, but not often, touched in his large correspondence. He shrank with characteristic Scotch reticence from any parade of religious feeling. But his life spoke

66

divine reverence" was a part of himself. "He was a sincere, humble, and devout Christian," writes his brother, Professor Crum-Brown. "His religion was not a thing that could be put off and on, or be mislaid or lost; it was in him, and he could no more leave it behind than he could leave his own body behind. It was in him a well of living water not for himself so much as for all around him. And his purity, truth, goodness, and Christ-like character were never more clearly seen than in those periods of darkness when they were hidden from his own sight. He very seldom spoke expressly of religion; he held that the greater and the better-the inner part of a man-is, and should be, private-much of it more than private.' But he could not speak of anything without manifesting what manner of man he was, and his ideas on religion can be, imperfectly, no doubt, but so far truly, gathered from his writings.'

John Brown died, after a very short illness, on May 11, 1882; the sorrowfulness and mystery that had so often darkened his days all rolled away. At eventide it was light.

He lives for many readers everywhere, in his books. He, too (as he wrote of Thackeray), " is beyond fear of forgetfulness or change," because of "Rab," of "Minchmoor," of "Pet Marjorie ;" but the generations that knew him think of the man first

good, sagacious, wise, lovely in his

life.-Leisure Hour.

* Writing ool, Edinburgh,

THE British subaltern of to-day has a proverbially hard lot when he attempts the herculean task of "living on his pay." Happy those whose paternal coffers are well filled, and who possess the "Open Sesame" to their treasures! India is the land of promise to the noble-hearted youths who aspire to the achievement of making both ends meet. Thither their footsteps turn, and there, having gone forth from their British regiments and enrolled themselves under the banner of the Staff Corps, they may find alleviations to their lot in the company of the sporting, pleasure loving members of Anglo-Indian society.

66

66

But the subaltern has a time of danger to pass through while he is being seasoned," not only to the climate, but to the social atmosphere of his new surroundings. In the days of his griffinhood-those first perilous twelve months-how many rocks ahead there are on which his bark may go down. With prudence, it is true, he may steer through open channels and escape shipwreck, but few will keep clear of the toils of some trusty" native bearer. The bearer speaks the language of which the newcomer knows nothing; the bearer knows the manners and customs of the country of which his master is profoundly ignorant; the bearer can arrange journeys and make bandobasts to perfection, where the griffin, after toiling and moiling, and getting his first taste of fever in struggling against the passive resistance of native officials, has to confess himself vanquished, and made up for his presumptuous rashness by unlimited backsheesh.

respect of the one, and the sharp, imperious orders and irascible speech of the other, that it is the Asiatic who is master of the situation, and who quietly, plausibly, and convincingly represents to his superior the necessities of the moment? Care soon begins to dog the footsteps of the too confiding subaltern, and only he and his bearer can trace the subtle windings of the spectre's advance. It would, perhaps, be truer to say that only the bearer knows the intricacies and can follow the slow weaving of the web that erelong binds his master hand and foot. The subaltern's British manhood is impotent to fight against the wiles of his Eastern brother. Pay-day is a time of untold horrors, for the month's pay is swallowed up in the yawning gulf of unmet claims of which the trusty bearer has such an alarmingly accurate knowledge.

Happy those whose bearers are not of the " trusty" order, and who have consequently struggled by themselves with the maddening problem of settling their little bills.

Should the griffin thus stand alone in the days of his extremity, the smallness of his pay will not prevent his being light-hearted, and there will be no extortionate bunniah, no oily, respectful, but relentless bearer to haunt his dreams, and drive peace from him. Then he can enjoy to the full the pigsticking and the polo, the Gymkhana and the dance, and may bask in the light of blue eyes and sunny smiles during his two months' leave to the hills.

And if in this year of grace 1893 the subaltern's position in the land of Ind is a precarious one, what was it in the time of our grandfathers? Then, as now, the subaltern's motto was noblesse oblige," and though his heart might by heavy within him, he manfully showed a brave front to the world, and gallantly met the claims that his position as a son of Mars forced on him on. The " trusty" race of bearers had not then arisen in the land, and his household and his housekeeping-for he does not seem to have belonged to any mess-were on the slenderest footing. This did not keep him from race,

sport, or dance, or from trying to retrieve his fortune in one of the many lotteries in which our forefathers delighted.

But a groan of suffering, nevertheless, was now and again wrung from him, and a certain Jacob Sorrowful bewailed his wretched fate in moving terms.* How could he live and move and have his being on ninety-five rupees a month? He thus makes his moan.

I am a younger son of Mars, and spend my time in carving

A thousand different ways and means to keep myself from starving,

For how with servants' wages, Sirs, and

clothes can I contrive

To rent a house and feed myself on scanty ninety-five?

though in spite of "scanty ninety-five" Jacob Sorrowful and his fellows seem to have had a fairly good idea of enjoying life.

There is a curious old-world "Gazette"* that tells us of his life at Calcutta, and gives us strange glimpses of a time that is no more. To make up for the lack of "khitmudgar and cook," our subaltern provided himself with a slave, and dire was his anger if his human chattel attempted to change his condition. He advertised his loss in hot haste, telling a sympathizing public that for the greater security of his rights the slave had his master's initials branded on his arm. Would any one to whom the lad might apply for employment send him back to his owner?

Luckless lad and basely defrauded owner! Surely human merchandise must have been cheap to come within the means of "scanty ninety-fire !" It was but natural that the subaltern should follow where his superior officers led the way, and those higher in the service kept not one but several slaves to do their bidding. Lieut.-Colonel advertises for a slave boy who has dared Call, stationed at Fort William in 1786, to leave him, and says he "will esteem himself particularly obliged" if any gentleman will enable him to recover his lost property. A few years later the East India Company had recognized that slavery was a blot on our social system, and issued a notice that any one traffic," "so shocking to humanity," found dealing in this "detestable would be punished with the "utmost severity." This notice, however, seems rather to apply to those who were exporting slaves than to those who kept them for their own use.

Journeys in those old days were sleepy, lengthy, and withal expensive luxuries. It was naturally a serious business to get to and from Europe, and masters of sailing vessels were, it seems, inclined to make their charges exorbitant to their luckless passengers. The Honorable East India Company, in its paternal relation to its servants, issues warnings, commands, and regulations on the subject, but apparently with little result. At last a table was

* Calcutta Gazette, 1784-1797.

drawn up, wherein it was stated that while general officers should pay £250 for their passage, an ensign should only pay £105, and a cadet £70. Commanders were warned that if by any ways or means, directly or indirectly, they should take or receive further sums of money for the same they should pay to the Company, for the use of the Poplar Hospital, treble the sum so taken.

For news from Europe our forefathers had, perforce, to wait with what patience they could muster. During the European war that was raging in the nineties, we find it matter of surprise and gratulation when news of the tragic histories of the autumn of '93 reached Bombay in April of the following year. We hear of the cost of a letter from Calcutta to Bombay being one rupee nine annas; while for news to travel from Madras to the capital in fourteen days is said to be "uncommonly expeditious." Small wonder that the excitement caused by the arrival of ships from Europe was such that by general consent existing engagements were set aside, so that all might be free to greet friends or study the news the mail had brought. An old native servant whose memory dated back to those days used to affirm that at the news of the arrival of ships in the harbor the dinner tables would be deserted, and all by one consent would make their way to the water side. What a sight it must have been in old Calcutta when the men rushed forth from the dinner tables and boarded the welcome vessels, clamoring for news from the old world.

English ladies were few in the land, and seem then, as now, to have wrought havoc in the susceptible breast of the subaltern. It is somewhat startling to the rigid notions of propriety of these nineteenth-century days to find verses of an ardent nature printed in the public journals, addressed to ladies by name, or under the flimsiest of disguises. But we must remember the refinement of those days was not that of the present time, and that our ancestors thought not as we think on matters social or political.

The duel was common, and it was no unusual occurrence for one of the principals to be left dead on the ground. Every one was anxious to shield the

survivor from the consequences of his deed, though the letter of the law was scrupulously adhered to. In 1787 occurred an instance in point. A junior officer was cited to appear before the Supreme Court of Calcutta to be tried for the murder of Captain of His Majesty's 73d Foot, whom he had killed in a duel. The Colonel of the accused duly sent his subordinate under escort to his trial, but failed to produce any witnesses. The judge pointed out to the jury that in the absence of evidence they could but give one verdict. Accordingly the gentlemen of the jury, without retiring, brought in their verdict "Not guilty," and the prisoner was discharged.

In an official letter of the Honorable Board of Directors of the East India Company there is a curious notice relating to a duel that had taken place between Sir John Macpherson and Major James Brown. The Directors say that they have read and deliberately considered the circumstances that led to this duel, and their remarks on the same give such a curious insight into the manners of the time that we quote them in full. "Resolved unanimously, that the apology required from Sir John Macpherson in his station of GovernorGeneral of Bengal, and not in his private capacity, the apology stating that the paragraph which gave the offence appeared in the Calcutta Gazette,' by the authority of the government, at the head of which he (Sir John Macpherson) was, as Governor-General of Bengal. That the calling upon any person acting in the character of the Governor-General of Bengal, or Governor of either of the Company's other Presidencies, or as Counsellor, or in any other station, in respect of an official act, in the way Sir John Macpherson has been called upon, is highly improper, tends to a subversion of due subordination, may be highly injurious to the Company's service, and ought not to be suffered." There was hot blood in the veins of those who had risen above the rank of subalterns, it seems, and with such examples before them no wonder that youth was fiery and impatient of control. We should like to kuow what the future of Major James Brown could have been, and how he