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us with confidence; and we were in no mood to listen to the counsels of timidity. I applied myself to the task of collecting subscriptions; and in less than six months’ time I had raised the necessary funds, chiefly among our middle class people.

The only substantial sum. that we obtained was from the Maharani Swarnamoyee. I fortified myself with a letter from Babu Bankim Chunder Chatterjee, the great Bengalee novelist, who evinced the utmost sympathy with the whole movement. Armed with this letter and accompanied by my indefatigable friend, Babu Dwarakanath Ganguli, we called upon Rai Rajib Lochan Rai Bahadur, manager of the Maharani Swarnamoyee’s estate, at his house at Berhampore. The old man received us with kindness, but he promised us only one-half of what we wanted. We thanked him, of course, though we made it clear that we expected more. We took leave of him, and, as we were about to step into the street from his house, he summoned us back and said, ‘I have reconsidered the matter and promise the whole amount you want’. We thanked him very heartily and left his house, blessing him and the Maharani Swarnamoyee. This was the first and last time that I met Rajib Lochan Rai. The present generation knows him not. Soon his memory will pass out of the public recollection. But if the Maharani Swarnamoyee was, during her lifetime, known as the ‘Lady Bountiful’ of Cossimbazar, Rai Rajib Lochan was the inspirer of her beneficence, the power behind the throne. He it was who rescued the Cossimbazar Estate from forfeiture, and under his wise counsels the Maharani Swarnamoyee applied its vast resources to acts of private charity and public usefulness, which during her lifetime made her name a household word in Bengal.

I feel tempted to quote in this place an instance that illustrates the catholicity of her beneficence, which rose superior to all considerations of creed and colour. An Afghan merchant from Ghazni came and sought my help to recover certain moneys that he claimed from Government for supplying camels during the Afghan War of 1878. He came to me as a pauper and indeed a ruined man. He had lost his case and he had not even money enough to enable him to return home. I estimated the cost of the return journey to Ghazni at Rs. 150; and I applied to the Maharani for the money, telling her the whole story. She sent me Rs. 150, and the poor Afghan returned home, rejoicing and blessing the Maharani.

The money having been raised for the purpose, Mr. Lalmohan