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 THE LAST 
 SCRATCH OF AN 
 OCTOGENARIAN 
 PEN
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 -*£ 
 
 THE LAST SCRATCH 
 
 OF 
 
 AN OCTOGENARIAN PEN. 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT NEEDHAM CUST, LL.D. 
 
 HERTFORD 
 PRINTED BY STEPHEN AUSTIN AND SONS. 
 
 1903.
 
 PJ 
 if 
 
 THE LAST SCRATCH OF AN OCTOGENARIAN PEN, 
 
 September, 1903, aged 83. 
 
 The idea of a Series of Volumes, containing reprints of Essays, and 
 small Volumes, was suggested by my own experience. I have 
 gleaned a great deal of knowledge from contributions to Periodicals : 
 in course of time the author dies, the name of the periodical is 
 forgotten, and I have been unable after a lapse of twenty years 
 to refer to the contribution, as no one can recollect where or when 
 it appeared. To obviate this in my own case I arranged to reprint 
 all my contributions to Periodicals, of which there are scores, and 
 all Pamphlets and small Volumes, in my Seven Series of Linguistic 
 and Oriental Essays. 
 
 But this is not enough. I have found people asking for 
 a writing of mine written forty years ago, and it gave me much 
 trouble to find it. So I have now compiled Three Lists (see 
 p. 369 et seq.) : 
 
 I. Chronological List of Writings : this contains a record of 
 everything that I have put into print, or retained in Manuscript 
 Volumes, 1,270 in number. 
 
 II. List of Separate Volumes, 60 in number. Of these last 
 a great many are sold out, or entirely given away. 
 
 III. List of Books of which copies are still to be obtained, 
 prepared up to date by the Printer, in whose charge all the 
 books are. 
 
 It is with a mixed feeling of joyful gratitude and pain that 
 I contemplate the Chronological List of my Writings during the 
 seventy years which have passed since 1834, when at the age of 13 
 at Eton College I first handled the pen; and in my 83rd year 
 I am unwillingly wiping it dry and putting it down. My work 
 in life is clone, and I have had a good time of it, as the List 
 shows, as it has 1,270 entries recorded. In addition there are 
 several Quarto Volumes of Cuttings from different Newspapers in 
 
 21 16853
 
 4 THE LAST SCRA TCH OF 
 
 Great Britain, or India, or some other Country, and a great 
 number of Manuscript Volumes of different dates. 
 
 A wise man was once asked to express an opinion as to the 
 comparative pleasure of the Composer of a new Book, and the 
 Parent of a new Baby. After careful thought he replied that the 
 birth of a new Baby gives greater pleasure at the time, but causes 
 infinite expense, and trouble, and possibly annoyance, for the rest 
 of the Parent's life ; while the birth of the Book is attended with 
 infinite trouble at the time, but causes no expense, or trouble, or 
 annoyance, afterwards, and possibly may bring in profit to the 
 Parent. The birth of both Book and Baby seems to be a matter of 
 absolute chance, and there is no limitation in either case as to age, 
 as I am putting forth my Sixtieth Volume at the age of 82, while 
 a brother Magistrate of the County of London is indulging himself 
 in an annual Baby at the same age, and it is quite uncertain, 
 whether in either case the latest birth will be the last. 
 
 I was at Eton College when I caught the cacoethes scrilendi, or 
 the infection of Composition in Prose and Verse in Latin and Greek, 
 which formed then the chief part of our Education, accompanied 
 by weekly repetition of passages from Latin and Greek Poets, or 
 the study in the Class-room of Prose- writers. I suppose that this 
 was the way in which the disease, which has clung to me for 
 a long life, was caught, and the motive was purely voluntary, as 
 I never wrote a line for the sake of profit, and if in some cases 
 money came from the sale of printed matter, it went to pay the 
 expense in part of the Printers' Bill, and as I grew older and 
 stronger I deliberately gave away hundreds of volumes of my 
 books on Missions or a Scientific Subject. I used to send forty 
 copies of each Series of Linguistic and Oriental Essays to Libraries 
 of Great Britain, the same number to Libraries in the United 
 States, ten copies to Libraries in India, and ten to Libraries on 
 the Continent. Add to this an unlimited supply of copies to friends 
 and acquaintances, and men of Science. And in return I received 
 profuse thanks, and presentation Volumes of the recipients' books. 
 I must here relate two anecdotes. 
 
 I had occasion at the Bodleian Library, Oxford, to hunt for 
 a Book, which I wished to consult. My eye was attracted by my 
 own name in the list of Authors, and I found three or four large 
 sheets of the Kegister covered with the names of my Publications.
 
 AN OCTOGENARIAN PEN. 
 
 5 
 
 On another occasion I was at Stockholm, and I called in at the 
 Library to inquire whether they had any new Books on the 
 Languages of Africa. "Yes," was the reply, "and an excellent 
 Book of the kind," and the Librarian produced my own two- 
 volumed Book on the Languages of Africa, which had just 
 appeared in London. I seemed to feel in both these cases a new 
 idea of the pleasure of Fame. 
 
 I contributed Articles for fifty years to a great number of 
 Periodicals ; for instance, to the Calcutta Review I sent fifty- 
 three contributions, and the same number to the Journal of the 
 Royal Asiatic Society. And as time went on and I found that 
 there was an undistributed stock of copies of my Book in the 
 hands of my Printers, I used to send out a copy of this Circular, 
 and got a large number into circulation. I mention this to 
 encourage other Authors to do the same. 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 " I submit to your notice a Memorandum of the copies of 
 " books published by me at my own cost, which I have still in 
 " store. 
 
 " If you have any desire to possess any of these books, which 
 " were printed, not for profit, but for the purpose of diffusing my 
 " views on certain subjects, I should be happy to present you with 
 " copies, free of cost, if you will apply to my Printer. 
 
 " A good many of my books have been entirely disposed of, and 
 " are omitted from this list." 
 
 Some readers may not appreciate the difference between a Book, 
 and an Essay, but it is this : a Book, like the great glories of past 
 Centuries, consists often of many Volumes, while an Essay is only 
 part of a Volume ; as time goes on it forms part of a Volume, 
 losing its identity as an Essay and becoming a Chapter of a great 
 work. But it so happened that my studies and experiences were 
 such, that if an Essay had not been written at the time, by stealing 
 a few hours from the ceaseless burden of official business, it would 
 have lost its freshness, or perhaps never have been written at all. 
 And then it happens that some Essays will not coalesce with others 
 in a Volume, so the device in my case of a Series of Linguistic 
 and Oriental Essays was had recourse to ; and when one Series
 
 6 THE LAST SCRATCH OF 
 
 had reached several hundred pages, another was opened, and a vast 
 number of Contributions to Eeviews, separate Pamphlets, and 
 Articles in Newspapers were thrown together, and saved from the 
 waters of Lethe, and published in such a form that they could find 
 their way to the New as well as the Old "World. Then there often 
 happens to be a variety of Languages, and some Volumes contain 
 papers in English, French, German, Italian, Spanish, Greek, and 
 my dear Hindustani : written in English by myself, and translated 
 by competent scholars under my careful supervision, and proof- 
 reading. 
 
 Another feature of the Essay is, that after a lapse of years it 
 recalls thoughts and feelings of bygone times. I quote two Essays 
 from my pen, which I wrote nearly forty years ago in a moment 
 of deep depression, when by the will of God my prosperous career 
 in India was brought to a sudden close, when I was cut off from 
 official Honours, and, what I valued more, Usefulness, and crept 
 back to my Native Land with my great Mission uncompleted. 
 A kind friend said to me at the time that " Life was a period 
 of compensations : if you do not get one thing, you get another." 
 I have found it to be so, and have had nearly forty years of 
 Usefulness, Literary employment, and Happiness. 
 
 "Diem perdidi." 
 
 Thanks are due to the glorious old heathen, who uttered these 
 memorable words. No doubt, in the discharge of his Imperial 
 duties, he had that day issued orders to his Proconsuls in every part 
 of the Eoman "World; he had replied to the queries of his Generals, 
 who commanded his scattered forces on the Euphrates, the Danube, 
 and in distant Britain ; he had received the Ambassadors of 
 Sovereigns, who held their sceptres at his pleasure ; he had given 
 his sanction to new and wise laws regulating the affairs of the 
 human race (as it appeared to him) ; he had worshipped devoutly 
 at the altars of his country's gods ; he had presided at the games in 
 the Flavian Amphitheatre, and entertained the nobles of Rome at 
 a banquet on the Palatine : he seemed in the eyes of his courtiers to 
 have done a good day's work, and yet when, according to the 
 golden precepts of Pythagoras, be counted up what he had done, or
 
 AN OCTOGENARIAN PEN. 7 
 
 left undone, before he closed his eyes in sleep, he felt, and he 
 exclaimed aloud, with so deep an intonation that his words still 
 ring in the hearts of men, that he had lost a day. He remembered, 
 that he had on that day done no act of kindness ; had said no 
 word of mercy, consolation, and love ; had devised no scheme of 
 benevolence and charity; had forgiven no personal injury; had 
 returned good for no evil ; had alleviated no life of sorrow, want, 
 and disappointment ; had by timely advice held back no rash spirit 
 from the precipice of destruction ; had by judicious suggestion 
 turned into a happier and more hopeful channel the jaundiced 
 thought of no broken-hearted one ; had not ministered to any of the 
 wants of his fellow-creatures ; he had not helped to bear the burden 
 of any brother, and thus fulfil the great law of his own life : and 
 so the great Emperor, clothed in purple, sighed, because he had 
 lost a day. We thiuk, that his memory was bad, and that probably 
 he had done much, but his inner consciousness was moved, that he 
 had not done enough. Verily, of such men, who are thus moved, is 
 the Kingdom of Heaven. 
 
 Life is like a basket, which everyone must fill before night : let 
 us put in something that is really good, and be not content to 
 exclude what is absolutely bad ; something besides official reports, 
 social conventionalities, and trivial amusements ; let us put in what 
 is really good at once, for the night comes on apace, and the golden 
 opportunity may be gone. The poor man may have moved on from 
 our door with his wants unrelieved ; the sick man may have died 
 with his bedside unvisited; the neighbour, who might have been 
 Baved, may have erred beyond hope of recovery ; Christ Himself, in 
 the form of a poor starving child, may have stood at our door and 
 knocked, and not have been admitted ? Do we ever ask ourselves, 
 as the long tedious hours of the Indian Summer day at length wear 
 themselves out, " Have I done anything, tried to do anything, said 
 anything, thought anything, for the good of my fellow-creatures, 
 and for the Glory of my Saviour?" No need to aspire to great 
 things : little things make up the sum of life's history, and we are 
 all capable of little things, so wisely typified in the cup of cold 
 water, and the opportunity occurs so often, and in such multiform 
 variety. We allude to the timely alms, the earnest co-operation, 
 the word, only a word, of sympathy, the tribute of respect shown 
 to unfashionable merit and goodness ; the manful standing up
 
 8 THE LAST SCRATCH OF 
 
 against error even in high places, and to the probable detriment of 
 the opposer ; the resistance to the current of down -grade morality, 
 low religion, low sense of public duty ; the word of advice spoken 
 just in time to save; the thought wrought out which is able to 
 breathe new life to others ; the words put to paper, which will 
 bring tears to the eyes, or burn the cheek of the reader, long after 
 you are slumbering in your grave. Let each of us do each day 
 something of this kind, or better, and he will not have lost a day ; 
 his labour will not be in vain in the Lord, and his works will 
 follow him. 
 
 " Southern Cross, 11 Allahabad, 1867. 
 So be it ! 
 
 " In Te, Domine, speravi." 
 
 Changes of the most afflicting nature constantly occur in the circle 
 of our Anglo-Indian community with a suddenness and bitterness 
 which are quite appalling. "We look around, and those, who were 
 our every-day companions, are gone. We hear of neighbours, young 
 and old, struck down by death, by disease, or incapacitated by 
 blindness, or crushed by such bereavements, as carry with them all 
 the bitterness, without the rest of death to the survivors. The air 
 is indeed filled with farewells of the dying, and wailings for the 
 dead ; the casual acquaintance is disturbed by the complaints of 
 the broken-hearted, and the burden of the disappointed, and we 
 seem relieved, when the train carries off into space, no more to be 
 heard of, the member of the community, who has ceased to be 
 agreeable or useful. The turn of all comes, one by one ; some 
 sooner, some later ; some oftener, some at long intervals : the same 
 trite, well-meaning, but meaningless, consolation is tendered in all 
 cases, whether on the death of an infant of a few weeks, of an aged 
 parent, or one who hoped, and was hoped to be, the loving partner 
 of a long life. The only real consolation is contained in the words 
 we have above quoted, "Lord, in Thee have I trusted." Trust in 
 God always ! 
 
 The path, which we have selected, may appear to be a promising 
 one for God's work, and a useful one and an agreeable one ; but 
 a wall is suddenly found, which interrupts onward progress. The 
 heart sinks at the prospect of abandoning schemes of usefulness,
 
 AN OCTOGENARIAN PEN. g 
 
 labours of love, prospects of success, brightened by loving sympathy, 
 hallowed by sweet companionsbip. If God's service be our real 
 object, let us not be cast down. Whether the impediment be 
 sickness, bereavement, or disappointment, the Lord will provide for 
 the sacrifice in His own time and in His own place. Let our hearts 
 only be ready. Or the path, into which we have strayed, may be 
 one of thoughtlessness, if not sin; of levity, if not an entire forget- 
 fulness of God's service ; of undue devotion to the world, and its 
 honours and its snares, and a too eager gathering of the treasures, 
 which perish, or clog when obtained. Let us be thankful, if a lion 
 obstruct such a path, and let us welcome the calamity, whatever 
 it may be, as God's Messenger, believing that our travel is afflicted 
 with such trouble, lest the delight (over-delight of the provisions 
 of the journey) should take away our desire for the Rest, which 
 should be the journey's end. Iu such dark hours Trust in the Lord ! 
 This is the last echo of a voice, or rather of two voices (one has 
 been silent for three months in the grave, and the other will be 
 heard here no more), which have striven to rouse their friends 
 by advice, by illustration, by narratives, to a sense of a higher 
 life, a nobler vocation, an obligation laid upon the British in India, 
 to do something, each of us according to his ability, in the cause 
 of our fellow-creatures, especially as regards spreading the Gospel 
 among the people of India. The ardent desire to serve God here, 
 longer and better, has not been gratified ; but the sphere alone 
 has been changed, and not the work. We may humbly believe, 
 that the blessed saints, and spirits of the just made perfect, have 
 still a work of Love and Self-sacrifice to do in their Father's 
 Kingdom on high, and in the presence of that Saviour, whose 
 faithful service was the Law of their brief mortal life. And the 
 sufferer, left for a season to fill up the measure of his sufferings 
 alone, will surely in due time find a work to be done by him below, 
 if his Faith remains unshaken, and if he trusts in the Lord. 
 " Southern Cross," Allahabad, Nov., 1867. 
 
 So indeed, and more also, I have found it. 
 London, 1890. 
 
 Words uttered one day are forgotten next day, but if leisure 
 permitted the sentiments which these words conveyed to the ear to 
 be recorded on paper, something remains, which may have been
 
 10 THE LAST SCRATCH OF 
 
 profitable to casual readers of the Volume, to read, and which after 
 the lapse of thirty-six years it is pleasant to think that someone 
 had grace to write it. It was written at Allahabad, my last residence 
 in India, and the date shows that it was written early in 1867, the 
 last year of my Indian life : perhaps it illustrates one of the ad- 
 vantages of contributing to the passing Literature of Periodicals. 
 
 Another reason why it is more easy and profitable to strike off 
 articles for Periodicals than to work at a great book on one subject 
 in many Volumes, like "The Decline and Fall of the Roman 
 Empire," by Gibbon. Some subject comes before you, which has 
 to be what is technically called got up by careful study, the con- 
 sulting of many books, or the visit of distant places. The best way 
 to utilize and perpetuate the acquired knowledge is by striking off 
 an Essay on the subject, while you have the materials under your 
 hand. This fact, or rather necessity, gave birth to a large number 
 of the Essays or Magazine Articles enumerated in the Catalogue. 
 
 In the India Civil Department there is necessarily an abundance 
 of writing of Reports from the official in charge of a District, or 
 a cluster of Districts known as a Division, and his superior officers. 
 They are necessarily long, but some officers acquire the art of not 
 making them tedious, and tell their story fully and intelligibly ; and 
 great Administrators like Lord Lawrence, though perhaps they did 
 not possess the gift themselves, appreciated it in such subordinates 
 as Sir Richard Temple, and others. 
 
 In the administration of a newly conquered Province such as the 
 Panjab in Northern India in 1 844-1 804, there was room for the 
 composition of many official Books in English or Urdu, and their 
 publication at the expense of the Government, Books which would 
 appear very odd in a list of Publications in England, but which had 
 their merit and use in India, and the Annual Reports of the Adminis- 
 trator of a Province taught the Compiler a lesson in the Art, and 
 many Members of the India Civil Service are famous for their 
 power of writing, while they have little or no power of public 
 speaking, as the mouth is not opened, and men are generally 
 what their environment makes them. I submit a list of my Indian 
 official Compositions : dull reading enough. 
 
 In another Essay I have described my Travels and Tours in 
 Europe, Asia, and Africa. Before such an excursion I used to 
 prepare myself by reading up all about the Country to be visited,
 
 AN OCTOGENARIAN PEN II 
 
 and after my return to my home, whether in India or England, 
 a descriptive paper sent to some Periodical was the necessary 
 conclusion. 
 
 Fifty years have elapsed since in 1850 I visited the Vale of 
 Cashmere, then little known, and in 1851 I traversed Palestine, 
 and after the lapse of half a Century, I read with delight my 
 narrative of those delightful Tours. Other Essays record some 
 Administrative experiences in my own Province of India, or 
 describe the great Battles, in which I was present in 1845 and 
 1846, the result of which was the Conquest of the Panjab, or 
 brought into order the internal history of Languages, or some other 
 delightful subject, which thrust itself under my observation twenty 
 or forty years ago, and which formed the basis at a later date of 
 some substantial Treatise. Poetry intermixed itself with Prose. 
 My interest in Missions to Evangelize the Heathen led to the 
 composition of many a Religious Essay, or Volume, and I am 
 humbly thankful in my old age to think that I had Grace given to 
 study the subject. 
 
 " As by our works alone we shall be known, 
 
 " We must not live to please ourselves alone; 
 
 " For Life's short space is lent for toil, and then 
 
 " Love to our God, Love to our fellow-men. 
 
 " When hundreds fell around on battlefield, 
 
 " Thou o'er my head didst spread Thy gracious shield ; 
 
 " And when in Peace the fell assassin's blow 
 
 " My Chief, and my Subordinate, struck low, 
 
 " I stood unharmed : and so it seems to me, 
 
 " Serving my fellow -creatures I serve Thee." 
 
 R. N. Ctjst : Poems of Many Years and Many Places 
 
 (Second Series, p. 270).
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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