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Charles Elliot, who, as Lieutenant-Governor, was President of the Council, put the best appearance he could upon this somewhat novel feature in the Council atmosphere by declaring that he welcomed an independent outlook, such as Mr. Dutt had shown, amongst official members.
Before I leave this part of my Reminiscences I should like to say a word or two about our English professors and tutors. Soon after our arrival we joined some of the classes in University College, London, and we took private lessons from some of them. We were treated by them all with the utmost kindness, and by some of them, Professors Goldstucker and Henry Morley in particular, with what I may call an affectionate solicitude. They perhaps realized that we were strangers in a strange land, far away from those near and dear to us. Mr. Morley treated us more or less as members of his household, and Dr. Goldstucker, who was a bachelor, with no household except a dog that barked whenever we came, and an old maid-servant with one tooth in her head, greeted us with the affectionate but stern authority of a Hindu guru. On one occasion I was late in arriving, and the first thing he said to me after the dog had done its barking was, 'Well, Banerjea, your ancestors lived without time, and you are keeping up their traditions. That will not do in London. Here time means money.' I put in the best excuse I could, but definitely made up my mind to sin no more, and ever since I have tried to practise the precept that punctuality is the virtue of princes and even of men who are not, and never can be, princes.
Dr. Goldstucker was Professor of Sanskrit in University College, and he was my Sanskrit tutor. He was a veritable pundit of the old type, straight, stern, irritable, but with a large fund of the milk of human kindness. He was lame and had a wooden leg. In the course of a conversation I mentioned that one wasted time in coming up by tram. He said, 'Oh, yes. I walk all the way and I don't stop to take people in as the tram does.' He had many fine qualities; but his weak point, as it seemed to me, was his uneasy feeling about the fame of Max Müller, a brother German.
Bred in the atmosphere of Sanskrit learning, he was, like our own pundits, apt to be irritable. On one occasion we were all walking along Charing Cross when Professor Goldstucker flew into a temper about some trifling matter. Professor Morley, who was one of our party, whispered into my ear, 'Banerjea, don't you