ment, not for the public. It was simply, in the first instance, an official report. But when he went round from Calcutta to Bombay, and was there introduced by Malcom to Sir James Mackintosh, the full-brained Recorder besought him not to forget the public; and, though a little alarmed at first, he took the hint, and the official report grew into the best book on Caubul which has yet been given to the world. “Malcolm brought Elphinstone to breakfast,” wrote Mackintosh, at that time (1811) in his journal; “he has a very fine understanding, with the greatest modesty and simplicity of character.”
Elphinstone had by that time obtained the highest diplomatic appointment under the government of India. He was Resident at Poonah, where Badjee Rao, the Peishwah, held his court; and there he remained until he became Peishwah himself. The story of the downfall of the Mah- ratta Prince, and the acquisition of his territories by the British, has been often told by historians and biographers. A weak man, the tool of evil counsellors, he was persuaded to suspect the designs of Lord Hastings, and he was betrayed into hostility by his fears. An immense Mahratta army, in October, 1817, was assembled at Poonah, with the ostensible object of assisting our opera- tions against the Pindarrees. But, little by little, the truth began to manifest itself. Our allies were the most formidable of our enemies: the Mahratta troops were only waiting for a signal to attack the British Residency, to murder the Resident, and boldly to declare war against the English. If, in the face of this danger, Elphinstone had possessed any other than the highest qualities of mind; if he had not been cool, resolute, sagacious, the crisis would have overwhelmed him, and the vast designs of Lord Hastings would have been disarranged by the precipitated hostility. He knew the temper of Badjee Rao; he knew the feeling in the Mahratta camp; he heard from the verandah of the Residency the turmoil of preparation— but he betrayed no consciousness of coming danger, and by his very quietude averted the collision until it was comparatively harmless. The little Sepoy force at the Residency was strengthened by the arrival of a European regiment; and then, although the enemy were more than thirty thousand strong, and our own troops not a tenth of the number, Elphinstone felt that he was equal to the struggle. On the 5th of November it came. The battle of Khirkee was fought. Then again the civilian gave heroic proof of the fine soldierly character and high military qualities which had won the admiration of the Duke. Nominally, the force was commanded by another; but Elphinstone, ever in the thick of the fight, was the real general on that memorable day. The vast Mahratta army was beaten by the handful of British troops; and before it could recover from the shock of the unexpected disaster, reinforcements came to our aid, and the country of the Peishwah lay at our feet.
Badjee Rao fled; his broad lands were confiscated; and Elphinstone was appointed to administer the territories which thus passed under our rule. In this responsible position he exhibited administrative ability of the highest order. He had many difficult questions to solve; but he solved them with equal wisdom and justice. India has seen some administrative triumphs since that time, but Elphinstone’s authority is still cited as the highest; still frequent reference is made to the principles he inculcated and the rules which he established; and still the administrator holds his place in the affections of a grateful people. In the Poonah territory he remained for two years, at the end df which he was summoned to assume the government of Bombay. Malcolm, who had expected this promotion for himself, rejoiced in the prosperity of his friend, and unstintingly acknowledged his peculiar fitness for the office. Canning, who then presided at the Board of Control, had submitted to the Court of Directors three names — Malcolm, Munro, and Elphinstone; and they had chosen the civilian.
During eight years Mountstuart Elphinstone continued to preside over the Bombay government. They were years of comparative tranquillity, and were spent by him in administrative and legislative rather than in political business; the chief work to which he addressed himself being that of codification. The prominent events of his career are not many; but there is one circumstance so illustrative of the disinterestedness and integrity of the man, that it must be recorded here to his honour. The Home Government having impressed upon him the necessity of retrenchment in the expenditure of his Presidency, he applied the pruning-knife to the charges of Government House before he would touch anything else. He greatly curtailed his own establishment, and then reflecting that if he could efficiently maintain his position with that diminished state he ought to have done so before, he paid into the government treasury the sum of 4500/. , which his sensitive conscience caused him to regard as public money improperly expended.
In November, 1827, amidst the affectionate regrets of the community, European and native, Mountstuart Elphinstone retired from the government of Bombay — and from public life. From that date, although he was then in the full vigour of his prime, and the very meridian of his intellectual powers, he could not be induced to accept office. The Governor-Generalship of India was twice placed at his disposal, but he modestly declined the tempting offer, on the plea of infirmity of health. That when, in 1835, he was invited to proceed to India, as the successor of Lord William Bentinck, he could not persuade himself to obey the call, was, perhaps, the greatest calamity that has ever befallen our Indian empire. It is no exaggeration to assert, that had he reigned in India, instead of Lord Auckland, there would have been no Affghan war, and, therefore, no Sepoy Rebellion. That, mistrusting his health, he acted conscientiously in thus resisting the allurements of ambition, is not to be doubted: but it is not less a misfortune that such great political sagacity and administrative ability should have been lost to his country at so early an age.
And yet it was not wholly lost; for his advice, as has been said, was often asked, and freely given. Still, the last thirty years of his life were those of a literary recluse. His work upon the