or an academy, not of a music-hall or a ball-room, but of the battle-field. Straight, pointed, Mr. Tilak's written words, arrow-like whistled through the air and hit the mark. They struck terror into the hearts of those who opposed him. The flunkeys, the Government minions and the busy nobodies were as mortally afraid of them as were the Reformers, the Moderates or the Liberals. Even the powerful Bureaucracy, protected by the prestige of the British Empire and the swords and guns of two hundred thousand soldiers, feared his attacks. Mr. Tilak has been frequently blamed for his strong language. We should, however, remember that he was the centre of acute political and social contro- versies extending over one generation. He could not be expected to rouse the masses to a sense of self-respect, self-reliance, and self-confidence except by pointed language. He, however, never hit below the belt. His criticism was impetuous but never vulgar, mean or vindictive. It bore ' no spots which all the perfumes of Arabia could not sweeten."
His instructions to his assistants reveal the secret of his direct but homely style. " Imagine that you are speaking to a villager and not writing for University people. No Sanskrit words please. Avoid quoting sta- tistics. Don't scare away the reader by quoting figures. Keep them to yourself. Let your style be simple and homely. It should be as clear as day-light. The meaning must never be obscure."
He was as good as his advice. True, in the early nineties, the Kesari was written in a more learned style. The exuberant scholarship of Mr. Tilak peeped through every column. Not a subject under the sun, but
