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same as that which obtains elsewhere in India, and it is undesirable that the Government of India should be subject exclusively to its influence.' Objection might be taken to this statement by a precisian, on the score that the Government of India resided in Calcutta for only about four months in each year. But the meaning is plain. It was during these four months that the Legislative Council was in Session at Calcutta. This Council had become a small Parliament of non-official Indian members, with the necessary number of officials to provide against a Government defeat. In addition to the Councillors themselves, the presence of the Government brought to Calcutta every season a certain number of the Indian Chiefs and other notabilities, all of whom would be exposed to the influences of local opinion. But the public opinion most in evidence at Calcutta at the time was one of a decidedly unwholesome type. Seditious propagandists had even been endeavouring to tamper with the loyalty of the Native Regiment stationed there, not without some success. If the leading politicals stood apart from the actual workers of iniquity, the line between them could not be very clearly drawn, inasmuch as the seditionists were only carrying into practice the lessons contained in the doctrines served out to them from press and platform. It was certain that, in such a state of society, every attempt would be made to turn the minds of visitors from other Provinces to the Bengali mood; and the community of ideas that runs through the Indian educated class must have rendered the Legislative Councillors particularly susceptible to such influence. But, if the Legislative Council on its new basis were to rise to a more important place in the system of Government, if the policy of 'amalgamation' were to have a fair chance of success, it was undesirable that its members should remain in surroundings where everything would be done to confirm them in an attitude of hostility towards the Executive Government, and where, as time went on, the debates might have taken the character of tournaments between official and non-official for the amusement of the Bengali public. On these grounds a shift from Calcutta was inevitable, and a return to it is altogether out of the question.

The Delhi Durbar, at which so many great changes,

the well-kept secrets of many months, were suddenly disclosed to the public, was as conspicuous an event as perhaps anything that could be instanced out of the pacific annals of mankind. The most gorgeous processions through the narrow streets of a modern city give a poor idea of the spectacular effects that can be produced in an Eastern country when ample space is obtainable; and the management had made the most of its opportunities. The unanimous opinion of a public well educated in these matters was that the Durbar was magnificent.

'All was royal;

To the disposing of it nought rebelled.

Order gave each thing view; the office did
Distinctly his full function.'

The office' was on this occasion Sir John Hewett, the then Lieutenant-Governor of the United Provinces, who was relieved for nearly a year of his Governorship to take entire charge of the preparations, and who carried out his task with the conspicuous capacity that he has shown in the discharge of every duty that has fallen on him. But the impressive splendours of the Coronation ceremony were less notable than the impression that the event produced on the whole country. If ever three hundred millions of human beings can be said to be stirred by one common feeling, it was the people of India throughout the year 1911. During that twelvemonth nothing was thought of but the Durbar. When the early rains failed and it seemed that the whole of Upper India was likely to be in for a severe famine, the calamity was awaited with dread because it would involve the postponement of the Durbar. When, at the eleventh hour, in the middle of August, the rains arrived with a plenteousness that made up for their lateness, the first consideration in the moment of relief was that the Durbar had been saved. By the time that His Majesty landed in Bombay, India, throughout its length and breadth, was in a state of expectancy and delight which had never been witnessed before. The Coronation at Delhi came home to thousands of villages which at this day have the dimmest notions of the current war, and only know of its existence through the medium of

grotesque rumours. For once, perhaps, in the history of the country, the feelings of the masses had an effect on the attitude of those above them. While the King was in the country, all criticism of the measures announced in the royal proclamation was suspended; for many months afterwards, in fact, the lips of criticism were closed by the finger of respect. Later still, other causes supervened to still its voice. At the end of the year 1912 Lord Hardinge, when making a State entry into Delhi, almost fell a victim to a bomb thrown by an Indian nihilist; and during the months of his painful recovery political controversy was waived. In the year following the country was greatly shocked by the sudden death of Lady Hardinge, who was not only popular, but had come to exercise a widely felt social influence. Finally, in the summer of 1914 came the war, which directly, through the Censorship, and indirectly, has almost closed the public discussion of controversial subjects. In a country so little affected by the war there has been little change below the surface; the same forces are at work as before, and the same tendencies that were in evidence three years ago will reassert themselves as soon as the world returns to normal conditions, perhaps the stronger for the temporary check imposed on them.

The despatch of Aug. 25, 1911, already mentioned above, deserves to be carefully noted by any one desirous of understanding the spirit of the times. It is written in a language new for an Indian State Paper. Considerations are openly advanced for this and that line of action which would not have been admitted formerly to influence the Government of India. Political expediency becomes the guiding motive; the playing-off of one section of the public against another, and the advantage of appeasing the noisier one, are openly recognised as motives for the decisions advocated. Needless to say that there has never been a time since the day of Warren Hastings when the Government of India has not taken close thought of the feelings, desires or objections of the people in regard to the measures it has had in view. Its attitude with respect to the abolition of barbarous practices and abuses, to the propagation of Christianity, to the enforcement of vaccination, and a hundred other

matters, has been entirely governed by the consideration of how they would be regarded by the people; but the arguments of the Delhi despatch are on a different plane altogether. This is not to say that a Governor-Generalin-Council at the present day can or ought to write his despatches in the style of Lord Wellesley, but the Government of India is still supposed to be the guard and guide of all classes and interests, executing its mission, as nearly as may be, with the impartiality of Providence. For an Englishman accustomed to seeing the Government continually doing everything which he dislikes and disapproves, in a way only made supportable by the hope that he will have a chance of turning it out in a few years' time, it may be difficult to realise the implicit trust which men come to put in the rectitude and high motives of an absolute, irreplaceable Government. In regard to the unofficial Anglo-Indian community, which is still the main support of the country industrially, the righteousness of the Government is all they have to trust to. Their exclusion from the new Council system is, to all intents and purposes, absolute. And it must have been a shock to their faith to find that the Delhi despatch waives aside the objections that may be anticipated from the Calcutta mercantile community, on the same ground as was advanced for the disregard of the wishes of the Mahomedans of Eastern Bengal, namely, that they are too loyal to make their opposition important. After this the Anglo-Indian community must surely conclude that the same calculation has entered into the plans of the Finance Department in the only increases of taxation that have been introduced of recent years, from each of which they have suffered peculiarly.

This spirit of political finesse, which is first avowed in this despatch, is a new development; and it is one that seems already to be on the increase under the influence of the seclusion of Delhi. Delhi, in spite of being the capital of the Empire, is socially for seven months in the year nothing more than any other of the small civil stations dotted about Upper India, one to each administrative district. The early visitor who finds himself sight-seeing there about the 20th of October may or may not come across another European in the course

of his day's round. Ten days later the vanguard of the official world from Simla begins to arrive, and, so far as numbers go, is very easily accommodated by the present site, which is nothing more than that of the old civil station, plus the temporary camps and buildings thrown out on the plain on the other side of the Ridge. Presently this small society is augmented by a certain number of visitors on business and pleasure-there has always been a tourist season at Delhi; and about the end of January appear the non-official Councillors, some thirty in number. Every attempt is made to give them a pleasant time; garden parties and receptions are the order of the day. The Legislative Councillor, thus made much of, generally proves to be a courteous, agreeable person. The best relations are established. There is no Bengali bounce here, but other tendencies make themselves apparent. In this small, sheltered society the debates of the Council assume a tremendous importance. Even if a motion for universal compulsory education, or some modest project of the kind, has been withdrawn, there will be a hum of conversation over the event; if the bold mover has insisted on a division, the thrill of excitement will be intense, even at official dinner tables.

In this little circle there is no room for rough passages. The Indian is intensely sensitive personally, and would look upon the manners of the House of Commons, not to say those of the Hungarian Parliament, as outrageous. Hence, if a member has brought forward some resolution which if adopted would mean financial catastrophe, the Government Minister who replies, while pointing out the regrettable obstacle, never forgets to compliment the mover on the singular ability and force of his speech; and this is often endorsed by His Excellency the President. It may seem to be an uncivil thing to find fault with excessive politeness, but there is no doubt that the effect of this kind of thing in perpetual repetition breeds insincerity. The admission of Indian members into the Executive Councils, Imperial and Provincial, tends in the same direction. These small and select bodies are entrusted with the arcana of Government; if they are to work properly, nothing should be hidden from them, nor should the members have any secrets from one another. Officially, no doubt,

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