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suspected. The Celts assumed common sentiment among the themselves to be autochthonous, members of a society is not just as the Greeks of Attica to be thought a small thing; did, though the majority of it may have the most serious the place names in Attica consequences-it may mould testify that they were given the whole life of men. by a non-Hellenic population. often hear of a grievance being Athens itself, Lycabettus, only sentimental, as if it were Hymettus, Ilissos, and, fur- opposed to, or to be disther away, Corinth, and many tinguished from, a real grievothers, have no Greek derivaance. The truth is that no tion. There is hardly a country grievance is real till it is sentiin Europe that does not show mental, for it is in sentiment similar phenomena. Enough, that grievance exists. And therefore, and more than likewise, when men have got enough, has been said to it into their heads that they show that we cannot call are a distinct nationality, built nationality the result of living upon more or less vague or together in one country or part unreal traditions, they will of a country, any more than invent and clutch at any kind we can find it represented by of reason to prove that this a race free from any admix- sentiment has a deep root in ture of others, or marked by the nature of things. They a unity in language or in will imagine a unity of race, oreed. they will assert that they come from a common home; they will claim that they always spoke a distinct language, and that they always worshipped their God in the same way. But all these cannot account for the sentiment, for they are never all true together, though they are probably never all false. But, as in the pedigrees of certain of our Lords, which are made up by heralds and flatterers, they come to do duty in a family tree to which they may be related, but into which they may have entered by dishonesty or mistake.

What, then, is this now prevalent idea of nationality which is making such a stir in the world? Is it a mere phantom which has deluded the nations of the world, a Will-o'-the-wisp which has led them into pathless error? I think not, and I am prepared to allow it great influence in the future of our civilisation, both for good and for evil. When probed to the bottom, we discover it to be a mere sentiment, a feeling among groups of men that they belong to one family in interests and habits, that they are brethren together, and regard their neighbours as comparative strangers; and this forms a real bond of union, which is strengthened by any other bond they can discover, or even invent. This

We come in conclusion to discuss the good or the harm which this now fashionable sentiment is doing in the civilised world. Let us first cite an instance in which it seems to do unmixed good. Take

the case of Scotland. After the Union with England in 1705, there were outbursts of nationality in the shape of rebellions, which brought great misery upon the country. But when these were over, and the Scottish people began to understand the commercial benefits of the Union, and also the scope which young Scots found opened to them as members of Great Britain, the bitter feeling of conquered nationality began to reconcile itself with the change, and so the Scots became gradually a loyal portion of the British Empire. But the nationality of the Scots is as marked as ever. ever. Though thoroughly proud of it, nay, perhaps, because they are proud of it, they despise keeping it up by artificial means, least of all by insisting on galvanising into life and teaching in all Scottish schools the language of their Highlands. They know very well that though Gaelic gives a strong flavour to their speech, and even to their poetry, they can do all they want for Scotland without isolating her from her neighbours, and making the access of civilisation more difficult to her children. Consider the ludicrous contrast of the Hungarians, who at their

millenary national exhibition in Buda - Pesth thought it a piece of dignified patriotism to put up all the notices throughout the building in Hungarian alone-a Tartar language which hardly anybody in Europe understands, and which nobody wants to learn. Such a comical absurdity would be quite possible now in Ireland, if the extreme advocates of the Gaelic movement had their way. The isolation of nations by divers languages is indeed one of the greatest bars to human progress, ever since the nations around the tower of Babel had their high ambitions shattered by the confusion of tongues. Nationalities which seek this means of self-assertion encumber themselves with a needless difficulty, and put a clog upon all their education. If there be one thing more than another which marks the good sense of the American States, it is that they will not tolerate the sentimental preservation of other tongues than English in their Parliaments, and by this more than by anything else they are probably making their motley population a distinct nationality as well as a great nation.

J. P. MAHAFFY.

FROM THE OUTPOSTS.

AKSO WAD DOK.

ALL this happened years ago, when I was Acting-Resident of Yambo, in Eastern Numidia. In those days there were no railways, no telegraphs, no steamers in the river above Meshra. The only roads were the native paths through the bush, and it took a month to get a message to Headquarters, another to get an answer. I was the only white man permanently in Yambo, which is a district about as big as Yorkshire, and I lived absolutely alone from year's end to year's end, except for an occasional visit from an inspector, a doctor, or a prospector. Any sort of Englishman was welcome-even one

who had just come out of prison. He, I remember, went away with my watch and two spoons, after a week's stay, but I hadn't the heart to prosecute him: he was the only white man I had seen for six months. So I just sent Akso Wad Dok after him with a note to say he had better return them, which he did, like a lamb.

This brings me to Akso Wad Dok, who is the hero of this yarn, or rather, I suppose, the victim. He was the very first prisoner I ever had to try. The charge was stealing a cow, and the evidence was quite clear. Akso, called upon for his defence, said that he had noticed the cow, that it seemed to him a good sort of cow, and

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that therefore he had taken it. He was sentenced to six months imprisonment. Thereupon he petitioned the Court for a flogging instead. He pointed out that the jail was known to be full of afreets, who would certainly eat him alive in the night: I thought at first he meant bugs, in which case his allegation would have been well founded, but it turned out that he meant devils. begged and prayed for a flogging: it really was most affecting; and as I had power under the Code to substitute flogging for imprisonment I finally let him off with twenty-five lashes. He took them without a murmur, though my experienced sergeant applied them with zeal; and from that day forward he could never do enough to show his gratitude. seems curious that one should gain a man's affections by ordering him to be pretty severely flogged, but there was no doubt whatever that Akso was entirely devoted to me.

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I liked him myself, I must say he was such a jovial beggar and such a good sportsman. He didn't belong to any of the tribes in those parts, having been a slave-boy brought right across Africa in Rabeh Zobehr's time, and left stranded in Yambo, by some accident, shortly before the French put an end to Rabeh's ambitions. He was, I think, a N'Zande, or Nyam-Nyam, from the Bahr

el Ghazal; but he was always very vague about his tribe. Probably the Arab slave-raiders had caught him when he was still too young to know the tribal name.

I did a good deal of shooting in those days; and Akso got into the habit of coming out with me, armed with an enormous spear. He was quite a good tracker, and a cheery fellow to have about. I used to laugh at his great spear, but one day it came in very handy, when a leopard I had hit rather far back came for me. I missed him clean at ten yards a charging leopard comes so fast you can hardly see him; and I expect I should have been done for if I'd been alone. But Akso got past me in time to catch the brute on the point of his spear, and spitted him like a lark. Jolly plucky thing to do: a charging leopard is no joke.

After that he attached himself to me as a sort of unofficial guide, philosopher, and friend, used to feed in my compound and do odd jobs. I don't think I used to pay him any regular wages, but I gave him what he wanted, which wasn't much. One thing I gave him was a tradegun, which he'd set his heart on. Quite wrong, I suppose, and contrary to the Convention of somewhere -or- other; but in those days international conventions didn't seem to penetrate so far inland as Yambo. After that, he left the spear at home, and took to bringing out the gun, loaded with buck - shot. This made me a bit nervous at

first; but he was quite safe with it, and used to stand by to stop a charge whenever I got a shot at lion, leopard, or rhino. Manvers, who was then Inspector - General, used to call him my man Friday; and certainly he was a devoted servant.

Then, one day, I heard that a white man was coming up from the river, and in the evening I strolled out to meet him. It turned out to be one Mackay, a bug - hunter, who had come to look for the big black-and-white beetle, which is reported to be found in Yambo, though I have never seen one. He had only two bearers left, all the rest having bolted: those two seemed to be loaded up with collectingboxes; apart from that he had no luggage of any kind. He was in rags, and dripping with sweat, and as he came up the path he nagged continually at his two remaining bearers, and occasionally poked them with the handle of his butterfly-net. I can't think why they hadn't deserted too. If there's one thing our black brothers absolutely loathe it's being nagged at. They don't mind being a bit cursed now and then, or even beaten, so long as it's all over in a few minutes, and everybody happy again; but they simply won't stay with a master who continually reproves them.

I took Mackay to my house, and sent off a party to collect his baggage. He wasn't really at all a bad little chap, except for his unfortunate manner with the natives. I tackled him on the subject, and told

him the story of Pie - dish O'Brien, my first chief. O'Brien's practice was, if any food displeased him, to send for the cook and throw dish and food together at his head, accompanied by perhaps half a dozen well-chosen expressions, after which he regarded the incident as closed. It used to come rather expensive in crockery, and the cook was generally more or less bruised; but there was no doubt that he was devoted to O'Brien. He never would leave him, though he had lots of good offers, having developed under this rather drastic treatment into an Al chef. The reason for his devotion, as he once confided to me, was that O'Brien never nagged at him. Mackay said there was no excuse for such disgusting violence, which was pretty good, considering his own performance with the handle of his butterfly-net,-jolly hefty stick, too.

Well, he stayed with me for some weeks, and, as I was very busy, I turned him over to Akso to be trotted round after his bugs and things. Poor old Akso didn't half like it; he thought all this bughunting a fool's game to start with, and then Mackay never stopped talking at him. Akso, it appeared, had knocked down a butterfly with a stick, and brought the mangled remains in triumph to Mackay. It turned out to be a very rare kind, and, of course, the remains were no good as a specimen. Mackay never stopped scolding about it, though it is not at all likely that he would

have got the butterfly if Akso had left it alone; and anyhow, it was only an excess of zeal on Akso's part. But Mackay couldn't see that, and kept on for days complaining about it.

Finally Akso turned really sulky. He said, among other things, that he was a warrior, and not a slave - boy; that, when his women nagged at him, it was his custom to beat them; and that if a man nagged like & woman, he ought to be beaten like a woman. Of course I gave him a dressing down, but I told Mackay he'd much better forget about his butterfly, and give Akso a rest- and he promised he would.

One morning, when I was writing in my office, my sergeant came in to say that the news had come that Mackay had been killed. I rode off at once to the place, and there I found the poor little beggar with a hole in his back you could have put your fist in. Someone had shot him at close range from behind; and there at the edge of the scrub we found the trade- gun I had given to given to Akso Wad Dok. Akso himself was nowhere to

be seen. It looked a pretty clear ease, didn't it?

Well, of course, I had the country scoured; but Akso came strolling in himself late in the afternoon. The sergeant collared him at once, and brought him in to me. All he would say was that someone had stolen his gun, and that he'd been out looking for it. So I committed him for trial on for trial on the charge of murder.

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