tures and the substitution of whisky and tea for ale; but when the same writers proceed to deplore the unnatural demand for labour caused by “ditching, trenching, and dykeing, together with the manufactures at Aberdeen," Aberdeen," one one doubts their judgment.

It may be asked why Sinclair, who, with all his faults, did not believe in cotton breeches except perhaps for sheep-and certainly knew knew who Saint Mary the Virgin was, did not check the productions of these sciolists. The answer is that he did do so, but being far too good-natured a man to hurt any one's feelings if he could help it, he was hindered by the storm of remonstrance which descended on his head from his contributors (and, of course, more especially from the more culpable) in the task of pruning and correction, and let much go uncorrected which should never have been printed. Left to himself, we can hardly suppose that he would have allowed the story of Lord Lovat's salmon or such inane statements as that "the people of this parish are of the ordinary size to go to press. In the matter of etymology, perhaps, the editor, who himself derived "ale" from "alo" on account of its nutritious properties, was hardly qualified to act as critic.

After his severance from the "Board" Sinclair had but little to do with the southern kingdom. He did not, however, devote himself entirely to "the bagpipes and Ossian." True, he trifled with the latter subject, and succeeded in drawing from Scott one of the most

perfect specimens of a noncommittal letter of acknowledgment to be found anywhere (he printed it with joy). But his great task now was to encyclopædise the whole of human knowledge, so far as he himself possessed it. He planned four gigantic treatises, each to be the final word, on Agriculture, Health, Political Economy-and Religion! The first two only saw the light; but even the last, if it had appeared, could hardly have provoked a greater storm of indignation than did the second. The layman who intrudes upon the doctor's preserves is at all times apt to suffer: for in no profession is esprit de corps so vigorous, not to say violent. The feeling which prevents a physician from ever acknowledging that a qualified colleague may be a murderer or even a harmless ignoramus has full sway when an empiric is concerned, and, said Maga' of that day, "these gentlemen having duly taken out licence were naturally annoyed at not being quietly suffered to kill their game in their own way." Peachum and Lockit for once were agreed: the Edinburgh and 'Quarterly,' equally ferocious: the former damning poor Sinclair in the very volume which assaulted Wordsworth, and gave the coup-de-gráce to "George Gordon, Lord Byron, a minor." And the style of criticism adopted was, to our modern way of thinking, grossly unfair.

Sir John had certainly the knack of putting sound principles in a ridiculous form, and assigning absurd causes for the

we

most natural results. That the pig is an animal propter convivia natum may be true, but that its loathsome appearance is what makes us haste to slaughter it surely represents the point of view of the queasiest of æsthetes. To say that the stomach is "far from recommending itself by any elegance of appearance," and is, indeed, an "unsightly membranous pouch," is surely a little hard on an organ which has just been patronisingly described as the "father of the family." Apart from the confusion of externals with internals here indicated, may ask, were all the gentlemen of his day of the potbellied type so dear to Rowlandson and the caricaturists? Even where absurdity was not, the reviewers contrived to find it. When the 'Quarterly' quotes Sinclair as saying that many persons have tumbled out of bed and died in consequence of the fall, "which ought to have put an end to so preposterous a custom," one can hardly believe that the "preposterous custom" is that of having beds of inordinate height, against which Sinclair properly protested. Again, that the advantage of sleeping at night is "strongly proved by an experiment made by two colonels of horse in the French army" sounds like Midsummer madness, until we learn that the question is the relative amount of refreshment secured respectively by sleep in the daytime and at night. "Circular beds" are only recommended for a particular purpose, and,

VOL. CLXXXV.—NO. MCXXIII.

after all, are they so much more absurd than octagonal billiard tables? That nightcaps should be worn to prevent one's hair from becoming tumbled during rest sounds childish perhaps, but that was the purpose for which Miss Austen's heroines wore them; and her modern illustrators have shown us how very piquant and pretty they might be. As to the recommendation that tall men should wear stays -over which the reviewers made so merry in 1807-why, why indeed, shall we scoff at this in 1909?

In the midst of a mass of platitudes and ill-put truths we find imbedded not only most rational hygienic principles, but also suggestions far above the purview of medical science at a time when the race of Sangrado was not yet extinct. Even the 'Edinburgh,' hired bravo of the medicos as its critic evidently is, must praise the invention of the simple form of filter which Sinclair had found in use in France and endeavoured to popularise. The advice to gentlemen who employ grooms to currycomb their horses to apply a similar method, mutatis mutandis, to their own skins, especially as a preservative against or alleviation of nervous or rheumatic complaints, is surely a most sagacious anticipation of modern methods. The doctrine of heredity is set forth, whimsically indeed, for Sir John cannot resist the temptation to show how the introduction of a primeval Miss Sinclair into a family had

2 Y

affected British genius in his own days-but sensibly and without the exaggeration which was lately fashionable. He is far in advance of his time in his protests against featherbeds and his advocacy of hair mattresses; he recommends the open-air cure, which is claimed as a modern invention, and insists on the necessity, then so little recognised, of plenty of open-air exercise for girls if they are to be healthy wives and mothers. Besides all this, there are scores of acute observations on the causes which shorten life which are now regarded as commonplaces, but were then novel enough, but all is set out with that deplorable want of appreciation of the ridiculous which exposed Sinclair defenceless to the slings and arrows of the reviewers, and led him to intersperse his sound sense with recipes for milk punch and silly anecdotes of topers. Mr Van Horn (surely it was Van Dunk) who consumed in twenty-three years 35,688 bottles of red port was indeed an abnormal instance. The reviewer rightly protests against this unfortunate (because short-lived) gentleman's stomach being compared to "a cellar," on the ground that it did not contain all those fiftynine pipes of port at once. But one is puzzled to decide whether critic or victim is here most open to the charge of lack of humour.

On the whole, Sir John bears away the palm in this respect. His proof of the possibility of human beings existing on hay

and grass, drawn from the history of Nebuchadnezzar, fairly entitles him to victory. Yet we must not overlook his admirable rules for athletic training, in which modern experience has made but few changes. His insistence upon "condition" is noteworthy. He was born not long after the first great English prize-fight, which was decided solely by training and the lack of it, and his father may very well have been present when poor old Broughton, the champion, who had been too proud to bring himself into condition, his puffy cheeks swollen up like pillows by a single lucky blow from Slack, groped wildly about the ring, crying to crying to "Butcher" Cumberland, "I'm not beat, your Royal Highness, but I'm blind: I can't see my man!" and so had to be led off the stage, a second Samson.

An ill-used man, Sinclair! Pompous no doubt, and selfsufficient: "spreading himself out," to use a vile but expressive Transatlantic phrase, most unwarrantably, he yet produced work and achieved results in his generation of which we are still reaping the advantage. It is strange to find how completely his characteristics were reversed in his famous daughter, perhaps the most epigrammatic writer of her day. For industrious and well-meaning as he was, and possessed of powers of observation far above the common run, it must yet be laid to Sinclair's charge that he joked with difficulty. But so did Mr Gladstone.

A. T. S. GOODRICK.

A WINTER

WHETHER it was the plague, as some said, or the famine, as others said, or stories of good money to be made in "Am""Afreeca," or "Cheen," reeka,' no one could say for certain. But the names in the Book of Hopefuls were fewer than seemed at all in accordance with the idea that the regiment had only to hold up its littlest finger for recruits to come flocking to be picked and chosen from. The book in question is one kept up by a Bengal cavalry regiment for entering the names of aspirants for service in its ranks-much in the same way as a boy's name is entered for a public school long before he goes there, or a man's name for a club.

When a recruit joins a regiment he puts down between £7 and £10, and later makes good the balance up to about £30, which is the price he has to pay for his horse and arms. The class of man that will enlist under these conditions is one that a regiment may well be proud of. The advantages of the service are many, but in the East sentiment is still a thing very much alive, and the honour and glory of it, and the fact that a man's father has served, and his father again, counts for a very great deal. And it is a state of affairs not by any means to be lightly parted with nor at all to be lost sight of in times when in an

VENTURE.

effort to be efficient we may forget what real efficiency is. It was to look into this matter affecting the solvency of the Book of Hopefuls that on a Christmas morning, not many years ago, I found myself lying in bed in a first-class compartment, snug, but wakeful through curiosity. We were at a standstill, and had been for some hours, and I wanted to know the reason why. Curiosity was sharpened by the recollection of a connection dependent on the train running not more than six hours late. I reared my head from its pillow and looked forth on a bright wintry sun heaving himself over the far edge of a vast flatness. Letting down the window, and thrusting out my head, I saw a light hoar frost on everything and snuffed up a very frosty air. But there was nothing in all this to account for the halt. Enginewards I saw driver and fireman squatting on the track and smoking. Rearwards, two guards were similarly postured and similarly employed. A couple of Sarus birds floated across the sunrise uttering their not unmusical rusty - door - hinge creaks. A herd of antelope was also pasturing, and to some purpose, on a field of young barley not far off. Two buck came out of the herd, and the click of their horns as they sparred rung sharp and clear in the distance. It was all very quiet and, barring the

buck-and they didn't mean business-very peaceful. There was such a seasonable feeling in the air that had a peal of church bells started chiming it would not have sounded the least out of place.

It seemed a pity to disturb things by shouting, so I pulled lustily at the alarm cord, and no one paid the slightest attention. But there was that connection still rankling. So I sent forth a bellow, "Mahboob!" A doe looked up and again continued at the barley. Nothing else happened: and I knew that Mahboob was wrapt in bestial slumber, with the quilt over his ears, in a neighbouring third-class compartment. In addition now to wanting to know the reason of delay I also wanted some tea, so I got into a "coat warm" (which is only officialese for a warm coat) and out of the carriage and stumbled along the ballast, bawling "Mahboob" louder and a great deal more audibly than railway people shout the names of stations. Presently a hooded head protruded, and Mahboob answered "Here am I," to which I replied, "Go, varlet, prepare tea, and eke get out the little rifle."

I passed to the two guards as being the brain of the train and sure to know things. They were Eurasians, and I, therefore, wished them a Merry Christmas-not so sure that they would understand, but heartened to the good deed by recollecting that a babu had once wished me "A Merry Good Friday."

The honest knaves seemed pleased. They both wore thin shoddy ulsters, topped with brilliant worsted comforters, and one of them sported-the dog-a sprig of mistletoe in his cap, which latter was the sole badge of his honourable profession; and they both looked as pinched and nipped and half-starved as only an ill-paid, under-clothed Eurasian guard can look on a slow train on a very cold Christmas morning. There was some attempt at hiding the hookah, as a thing only natives use. "The boiler being leakish, she stops," said one in answer to my inquiries.

"But can't they plug it and get on?"

"Perhaps they can or perhaps they cannot," said the other oracle sapiently.

"But without water procedure is impossible," said the first.

"What! All leaked? No water left?"

"Yes, all leaked. We shall report driver on first sion."

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