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with passion. It is love of country, love of humanity, decked forth in the fervid light and effulgence of the soul. It is the words that burn and glow and sparkle that alone can set the soul on fire; and it is the heart that touches the tongue with the celestial fire.

The presidential speech at Poona elicited warm encomiums. Sir Herbert Risley, himself an accomplished writer, wired to me to say that he greatly admired its perfect finish. The ovation that I received at Poona and elsewhere made a great impression in Calcutta. That a schoolmaster and an agitator should have been so honoured outside his own province, touched the gods of the official hierarchy. I myself was greatly moved by the cordiality of my reception. I can never forget the scene that took place at the pandal when I had finished my last concluding speech. I was familiar with Congress proceedings, and was ready with a speech that I intended to deliver at the termination of the session. I found that the atmosphere had become electric, seething with an exuber- ance of feeling for which even I was not prepared. I grasped the spirit of the situation; I cast aside the speech that I had prepared, and threw myself heart and soul into the full flood of the emotions that were swaying that vast audience. I was moved and carried away by the surging current. It was no longer a speaker inspiring an audience. It was the audience that moved and inspired the speaker. Truly a galvanic current was established between them and myself, and as I sat down, after my improvised speech (for here there was real improvisation)—as I sat down, the younger section of the audience rushed up the platform and were at my feet, eager to touch them and take the dust off them. For the moment glancing through the great past, the genius of which seemed now to stand revealed to me, I could realize the spirit that moved the ancestors of those young men, to found the greatest Hindu Empire of modern times. The memory of that day will never be effaced. It was one of the proudest in my life.

I returned to Calcutta, breaking journey at Allahabad, where my boy was dangerously ill. My friends, headed by Raja Benoy Krishna Deb Bahadur, had arranged a great demonstration for me at Sealdah railway station. I changed at Hughli and arrived at Sealdah via Naihati. The rush at the station was so great that the Raja fainted away, and it was with the utmost difficulty that I could get to my carriage.

Raja Benoy Krishna was a great friend of mine. My father and his, the late Maharaja Komal Krishna, were schoolfellows, and an