ABSTRACT
George Saintsbury was at the summit of his career; his name was known wherever English Literature was known; his vast reading and prodigious memory had become almost legendary; he was one of the proudest possessions of our University. Other universities might have professors of English very able and very learned, but there was only one Saintsbury, and we had him. "A robust genius, fit to grapple with whole libraries," one might say of him, as was said of Dr. Johnson. Johnson may have "considered himself a very polite man": Saintsbury certainly was. The servitor who used to attend at Saintsbury's class was, during the war, serving with the Forces somewhere in the west of Scotland. His men students were scattered far and wide, but they carried with them vivid memories of that class and clear memories of things they had read with him.
