Phil. Robinson. yi 



seem to feel his change of circumstances or the coldness of 

 old friends who gradually drew away from him ; but the iron 

 no doubt had entered his soul ; for he did not live long to 

 point a moral. 



I had also a friend in Mr Phil. Robinson, who, as we all 

 know, has made his mark in English belles lettres. The 

 father, 'Julian the Apostate,' as he was called — for he was 

 once a clergyman in the Church of England, but gave the 

 office up — was a very able journalist in India, where Phil, 

 served his literary apprenticeship. I used to see a good 

 deal of Phil. Robinson in the early Seventies when he was 

 on the Allahabad Pioneer with Mr A. P. Sinnet as editor, 

 and Mr Allen as proprietor. The staff of the Pioneer, both 

 regular and outside, has always been strong, even admitting 

 the fact that I used to write for it. The Indian Family 

 Robinson was full of talent. Though strangely volatile, they 

 neither drank nor gambled, but suffered from that restless- 

 ness and impatience of control with which the possessors of 

 genius are ofttimes afflicted. Phil, was manifestly too good 

 for provincial journalism ; so he gravitated to London, and 

 made his name as a leader writer on the Daily Telegraph, 

 a war correspondent of the Daily News, and as an author. 

 His brother Kay — a rare good sort — after serving his time on 

 the Globe, went out to the Pioneer, and is now editor of the 

 Lahore Civil and Military Gazette, which is a smart paper. 

 While Phil, was yet 'under the punka,' I used often to go 

 down from Cawnpore, where I am stationed, to play poker 

 with the Allahabad sportsmen, of whom Mr Sinnet (that 

 was before his Blavatsky craze) was a prominent member. 

 He had learned poker in China, when he was editor of the 

 Shanghai organ, the North China Daily News (if I remember 

 rightly) in the good old tea-clipper days of Dent and Jardine, 

 and had written a book on the game. I had not much respect 

 for his method ; for I thought it was too mechanical. It was, 

 in fact, more adapted for a game of cards, than for one of 

 human character, which poker undoubtedly is. A man who 



