a daffodil sky.”  Similarly, Lyall, writing with the enthusiasm of a young father for his firstborn, said:  “The child has eyes like the fish-pools of Heshbon, with wondrous depth of intelligent gaze.”  But, though a poet, it would be a great error to suppose that Lyall was an idealist, if by that term is meant one who, after a platonic fashion, indulges in ideas which are wholly visionary and unpractical.  He had, indeed, ideals.  No man of his imagination and mental calibre could be without them.  But they were ideals based on a solid foundation of facts.  It was here that, in spite of some sympathy based on common literary tastes, he altogether parted company from a brother poet, Mr. Wilfrid Blunt, who has invariably left his facts to take care of themselves.  Though eminently meditative and reflective, Lyall’s mind, his biographer says, “seemed always hungry for facts.”  “Though he had an unusual degree of imagination, he never allowed himself to be tempted too far from the region of the known or the knowable.”  The reason why he at times appeared to vacillate was that he did not consider he sufficiently understood all the facts to justify his forming an opinion capable of satisfying his somewhat hypercritical judgment.  He was, in fact, very difficult to convince of the truth of an opinion, not because of his prejudices, for he had none, but by reason of his constitutional scepticism.  He acted throughout life on the principle laid down by the Greek philosopher Epicharmus:  “Be sober, and remember to disbelieve.  These are the sinews of the mind.”  I have been informed on unimpeachable authority that when he was a member of the Treasury Committee which sat on the question of providing facilities for the study of Oriental languages in this country, he constantly asked the witnesses whom he examined leading questions from which it might rather be inferred that he held opinions diametrically opposed to those which in reality he entertained.  His sole object was to arrive at a sound conclusion.  He wished to elicit all possible objections to any views to which he was personally inclined.  It is very probable that his Oriental experience led him to adopt this procedure; for, as any one who has lived much in the East will recognise, it is the only possible safeguard against the illusions which may arise from the common Oriental habit of endeavouring to say what is pleasant to the interrogator, especially if he occupies some position of authority.

Only half-reconciled, in the first instance, to Indian exile, and, when once he had taken the final step of departure, constantly brooding over the intellectual attractions rather than the material comforts of European life, Lyall speedily came to the conclusion that, if he was to bear a hand in governing India, the first thing he had to do was to understand Indians.  He therefore brought his acutely analytical intellect to the task of comprehending the Indian habit of thought.  In the course of his researches he displayed that