CHAPTER IV







MY ROMANCE

My happy home life continued undisturbed until I was thirteen. Indian girls of that age are more advanced than their Western sisters; but I was still very much a child, thanks to my parents.
My father's name is for ever associated with the Civil Marriage Act, as it was entirely owing to his exertions that the Government passed this wise measure fixing the marriageable age of men and girls at eighteen and fourteen respectively.
The fairy prince in my romance was the young Nripendra Narayan Bhup Bahadur, Maharajah of Cooch Behar, who had been a ward of the Government since his infancy, and carefully educated to be a model ruler. Colonel Haughton wrote: "Ever since I have become Commissioner for Cooch Behar, the honor of the young Maharajah, his future happiness, and the welfare of the State have been my anxious care."
This Indian prince's family records show that he was descended from one of the oldest ruling families in the country. According to popular tradition his


THE YOUNG RULER


race had been founded by the love of a god and a maiden, and through successive ages strife and love have been associated with the dynasty of Cooch Behar, whose chiefs are always great rulers, great lovers, and great fighters.
The first wish of the Government was to prevent any palace interference with the baby Maharajah's upbringing. When his father, the late Maharajah, was a ward of the Government, the Maharanis had been very hostile to the idea of a foreign education, and similar opposition was what the Government now wanted to avoid. Therefore, for this and other private

reasons which can easily be understood when it is remembered that the late Maharajah left many wives, the Maharajah was removed, when he was five years old, to the Wards' institution at Benares, near which the members of the Cooch Behar Raj family lived in several houses known as the Cooch Behar Palace.
When he was eleven, the Government removed him from Benares to Patna, where he became a student at Government College, and Colouel Haughton's anxious instructions to Babu Kasi Kanto Mukerji, who was in charge of the boy, were "to watch over his conduct and the management of the household: to see that strangers and unauthorized persons have no access to them: and generally to discharge such duties with regard to him as a good parent is bound to do."
In 1872 Mr. St. John Kneller became his tutor


and guardian. The Maharajah remained in Patna for five years, during which time he and Mr. Kneller visited the North- Western Provinces, Oudh, and the Punjab, and in 1877 the Maharajah attended the Durbar at Delhi, when the Queen was proclaimed Empress of India. The Viceroy, the late Lord Lytton, received the young ruler most cordially, and presented him with the Kaisar-i-Hind medal. Now for the first time the Maharajah was saluted with thirteen guns, and had a European guard of honor to attend him.
So far the experiment of training the ideal ruler for the ideal state had succeeded beyond the highest expectations of the Government. The Maharajah had become a clever young man and a keen sportsman and, as Mr. Dalton remarked at the Chaurakaran ceremony at Cooch Behar in 1876, "His Highness is fond of his native soil and the people, and enjoys himself thoroughly, taking an interest in everything."

But now arose the question of the future. To ensure final success for the Government's scheme, it was necessary that the young ruler should marry an equally advanced girl, who would second him in his (and incidentally the Government's) efforts for Cooch Behar.
The difficult problem then arose as to whether an educated wife would agree to the polygamy hitherto customary with Maharajahs, and to adopt the many old fashioned ideas and ways of a Hindu Court. The Government was keenly alive to the


THE SEARCH FOR A MAHARANI


fact that marriage might make or mar their experiment, and they were determined to do all they could to prevent failure.
But as it is a principle of the British not to interfere with the marriage question in India, it was necessary for them to be very discreet in their plans, which required great tact to carry out with success.
Mr. Jadab Chandra Chuckerbutty, the Magistrate of Cooch Behar, was deputed to make confidential investigations and find if possible the enlightened girl whom the Government could approve as the Maharani of Cooch Behar. He carried out his mission with discretion; but none of the girls whom he found came up to the required standard.
It was absolutely necessary for the question of the Maharajah's marriage to be settled without further delay, as his visit to England was in contemplation. This journey was a very sore point with the Palace ladies, and Sir Richard Temple, then the Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal, had discussed it rather heatedly.

"During my interview with the Rajah's mother and grandmother," wrote Sir Richard, "these ladies expressed anxiety regarding the Rajah's visiting England, which they deprecated on the grounds that after seeing Europe he would never care for such a place as Cooch Behar nor for such quiet, homely people as his relatives. I explained that it had not been decided whether the Rajah should visit England; but that, if he did, it would only be for a short time,


enough indeed to enlarge and strengthen his mind, but not enough to make him forget his home and kindred; and that, while giving him the benefit of an English education, we should take every pains to train and prepare him for the duties he would hereafter have to discharge as the head of a Hindu State."
These arguments somewhat pacified the ladies, but they maintained that only as a married man could the Maharajah go away from India with any degree of security. At that time they had not realized that the hope of the Government was that the Maharajah would take one wife only when the time for his marriage came.
The party from Cooch Behar in search of a bride at last arrived at Calcutta, and Mr. Chuckerbutty went direct to Prosonna Babu, one of my father's missionaries, for advice and help. After several interviews and discussions Jadab Babu spoke of me. But Mr. Chuckerbutty said: "It is too much to expect that the Minister's daughter will be our Maharani;" still they thought they would try.
When the marriage was first suggested my father was very surprised. He never gave a thought to worldly or family affairs; his mind was too full of his religious work; and he refused the offer. But the Government and the representatives of the State

would not be discouraged. They continued writing to my father, interviewing him, and sending messages urging that the marriage of the young Prince and


SECRET PLANS OF THE GOVERNMENT


myself was most desirable. My father repeatedly refused. In one of his letters he said that I was neither very pretty nor highly educated, and therefore I was not a suitable bride for the young Maharajah.
This unexpected opposition was a set-back to the plans of the Government, and they determined it must be overcome at any cost. Those in authority were clever enough to understand that they must discover my father's weak point and work upon it, as it was evident the worldly advantages of the match made no appeal to him.
The messenger went backwards and forwards several times, for Jadab Babu and others would not hear of any refusal. My father with a troubled mind prayed and prayed until at last he obtained light from above and realized that the marriage would be for the spiritual good of the country. Thus he became in the end persuaded that such a union was a Divine command, and if he allowed me to marry this young ruler he would be fulfilling the will of God.
Of course the matter was not mentioned to me, but one day my second sister Bino remarked confidentially:
"Father and mother are talking about marriage, aren't they?" "Oh no," I answered; "it's nothing particular, probably one of the young missionaries is going to be married."
"Well, let me tell you, it's no missionary, but some one far more important."

"It doesn't matter to me," I said, and I thought no more of it.


Later one of the missionaries remarked with meaning in his voice: " You will be surprised in a day or two, Sunity. Some very important people are coming to see the school."
"So much the better," I assured him, "for now you have told me I can study hard and tell the others to do the same."
The day before the officials arrived from Cooch Behar, I fell ill with fever. After a restless night, I awoke to find my father and mother standing by my bedside.
They looked at each other. "Have you told Sunity?" asked my father.
"No," replied mother, "it is better you should." "Listen, Sunity," said my father. "Has Prosonna Babu
mentioned some visitors who are expected today?"
"Yes, he said that some Englishmen are coming to see the school; and, father," I faltered, " I can't get up."
"Sunity," answered my father in that loving voice which always made us children thrill with affection, "it is not the school. These gentlemen are coming to see you."
"To see me!" I cried. "Why?"
"Sunity," said my father in a gentle voice, " these people are coming to see you, and if we all agree, perhaps some day you will marry a handsome young Maharajah."
I hid my face in my pillow. I could not speak. Marriage was to me an undiscussed subject. I


A BRIDE FOR THE MAHARAJAH


had never considered it. I felt so shy I became quite red in the

face.
After a few hours I was told to get ready. Mother gave me some lovely jewels which looked beautiful on my mauve and gold sari. My hair was dressed. We drove over to dear Miss Pigot's school-house, where I usually had lessons. I was very nervous, and through fear and ague combined I trembled like a leaf.
I rested a little while on the verandah. While I was there I was given a strong dose of quinine. I shall never forget the unpleasant taste of that special draught.
Then I was taken to the drawing-room, where Mr. Dalton and the Bengali officials awaited me. Mr. Dalton looked kind but critical.
"Won't you play to me?" he asked.
I obediently seated myself at the piano and played a simple piece of music. Mr. Dalton watched me up to the piano and back to my seat and as I talked to him; and wrote a full description to the young Maharajah afterwards. "Very nice," he said, in such a charming way that I did not think he was examining me. He seemed favorably impressed, and so it proved, for in one of his letters to my father he wrote: "I thought your daughter a very charming young lady, and in every way a suitable bride for the Maharajah."
Letters passed and repassed between Cooch Behar and Calcutta, but nothing was settled until


the 27th of January, 1878, when Mr. Dalton wrote as follows :-

"My Dear SIR,

"The Lieutenant-Governor has at last decided that

the Rajah is to go to England in March, and, looking to the desirability of perfecting his bride's education, it is better that he should be married before he starts. Mr. Eden at first saw difficulties in the way of a match with your family, but our arguments in favor of the proposal have at length found weight with him, and he has given his consent.
"The Rajah has expressed his distaste to being married at all, as I told you in a previous letter, principally because he was averse to being worried about the matter, and partly because he knew that he was not to be permitted to live with his wife at once and wished to remain single until of an age to do so. But he has come to see that an educated bride is not to be procured at all, and is now eager for the alliance with your daughter, the idea of which was always pleasant to him, provided he could secure his mother's consent. This consent I have at length secured with great difficulty, on terms which Babu Jadab Chundra Chuckerbutty will explain to you, and which I hope you will agree to.
"I know it will seem difficult to you to arrange for a wedding on the 6th of March, and also that the idea of marrying your daughter before she has


MR. DALTON'S LETTER


completed her fourteenth year is repugnant to you. But consider the circumstances, and that in fact the marriage will not be a marriage in the ordinary acceptance of the term but a solemn betrothal, the Rajah proceeding to Europe immediately after the ceremony.
"I have read through your memo. There are some paragraphs which I think we can hardly consent to in their

entirety, but by a little concession on both sides, I have no doubt that, if you are really well disposed to this marriage, we may come to an agreement which will suit both parties.
"One of the Rani's conditions is that one of your relatives, not yourself, should give away the bride.
"The objection to you is principally based on the fact that you have been to England. I imagine that, as you will be actually present (or may be, if you like), it will not make any great difference to you should a brother or uncle actually repeat the formula. This is a condition on which great stress is laid, and I hope you will not arrest negotiations in limine by refusing to accede to it. Remember that we on our side have had great difficulties to smooth away, and that we have already conceded almost all that we have the power of conceding.
"Remember, also, that if you care about this alliance, it is a question of now or never, for nothing short of the urgency of the case (the Rajah going to England in March and the Ranis in despair at the


idea of his going unmarried) would have brought Mr. Eden to change his mind, a thing he rarely does.
"With my regards to yourself, etc."

Observe how in this letter Government smoothed away all my father's objections. The marriage was to be merely a "solemn betrothal," and hey presto! the age difficulty vanished. Concessions were certain so far as his religious scruples were concerned, but the words "now or never" throw a curious side- light upon the Government policy. The Cooch Behar-Sen alliance was necessary to them, and my father was to be finally "rushed" into giving his consent. That such was the case is shown by the following telegram from the Dewan to Babu

Chuckerbutty ;-
"Deputy Commissioner says can't wait too long even if matter not published. Must have private assurances of Keshub Babu's consent without delay. Remember preparations. 27-1- 78."
Then the delight of Babu Chuckerbutty found expression in this letter to Prosonna Babu ;-

"My Dear PROSONNA BABU,

"Such has been the pleasure of God! and I am amongst you to re-open the question of marriage.
"Mountains and oceans stood as barriers before us, but thanks to the great Remover of all difficulties, we have managed to get over them all.
"Should we not see in all this, the hand of Him


THE MAHARAJAH'S SIMPLE CREED


who dispenseth of everything human? We have all done all we could: it now rests finally with you as to the remainder. I have just now arrived here. I left Cooch Behar at midnight day before yesterday, and have come in at once. My present address is 6, Bhobani Dutt Lane, and my man will lead you to my house. I hope that our Maharajah is here.


"Yours, etc.,
"JADAB CHUNDER CHUCKERBUTTY."

The Maharajah wrote to my father as follows:-


"My DEAR SIR,


"I have been asked to let you know what my honest opinion is on the subject of polygamy.
"In reply I beg to inform you that it has always been my opinion that no man should take more than one wife, and I can assure you that I hold that opinion still.
"I give below a statement of my religious views and opinions. I believe in one true God and I am in heart a Theist.

"Yours truly, "NRIPENDRA NARAYAN BHUP."





CHAPTER V







MY MARRIAGE



By this time I had become accustomed to talk of my marriage. Often I wondered with mingled fear and pleasure what sort of future was before me. At last a day came when I was to see the

Maharajah. As my sister and I waited in my father's room I remember she said; "He is very handsome, so I've been told, and very, very clever."
When the Maharajah arrived we were called into the drawing-room. I was extremely nervous. It had been trying enough to face Mr. Dalton, but I felt more nervous now that the really critical moment had come.
We sat round a big table in the drawing-room. Mr. Kneller came with the Maharajah. They both talked to us for a time. I was so shy I did not know which was the Maharajah and which Mr. Kneller. Presently a man most gorgeously dressed came into the room. He brought something which was placed on the table. After a few minutes my father said;
"Sunity, this is a present from the Maharajah to



MY HUSBAND
Nripendra Narayan Bhup Bahadur, Maharajah of Cooch Behar,1887.









"I LOVE THE MAHARAJAH"




you." I looked up, and as I did so I met the Maharajah's eyes fixed on me full of love, and I blushed. From that moment my future husband and I loved each other. He was so handsome and so charming. He told me afterwards that he had brought the present in his carriage, but wished to see me first, and if he liked me he would offer it, and it would be a token of his love.
We met several times later, but always in the presence of others. Yet I knew the Maharajah loved me.
Notwithstanding our hopes that everything would go smoothly with the preparations, there were constant worries concerning the religious rites. After some weeks, when many messages had passed between the Government, the State, and my father, my sister told me that there was a hitch about the marriage because the State people would not hear of a Brahmo alliance. I answered, "One thing is certain, I shall not change my religion. Yet, Bino, I love the Maharajah and will marry no one else."
More correspondence followed, and at last the priests from Cooch Behar came to our house, and promised my father that the marriage should be arranged as he wished. This was the one thing needful. My father had come to have an affection for the Maharajah. Indeed, the whole of our family had fallen captive to the Maharajah's charm and kindness. He, on his part, clearly liked them all, and had a deep respect and admiration for my


father. How well I remember the delightful ceremony of "Jurini" which took place when my marriage was at last settled. On this occasion my fiance sent saris to all my relations, gave me the most beautiful presents, and distributed more than a

hundred plates of sweetmeats, etc., to the household. It was a perfect day, one of those on which it is pleasant to look back and forget in its happy memory the sad events of life.
But the clouds of hostile criticism had been gathering, and at last the storm broke. For some time questions had been asked as to my father's motives in allowing me to be married before the age stipulated in the Act which he had done so much to have passed. My marriage preliminaries were really a stormy time in my life, fulfilling the storm omens at my birth. It is too serious and too long a story to write in this book, but just a few lines may give my readers an idea of what my father had to go through in connection with my betrothal. People who did not have full faith in him and in his doctrines raised unheard-of questions; but the Government was determined on the marriage.
My father could have published the correspondence. He could have explained the situation, but serene in the integrity of his motives, and in his faith in God, he was undismayed by the attacks which were made upon him. His only response was: "I became a Brahmo when I heard the Divine call, and I have given consent to this marriage by


MY FATHER CONSENTS


the same Divine command. I obey God, not man."
As Miss Pigot wrote almost prophetically; "The generation that were the actors have nearly all passed away, and time will have mellowed these events to the aged survivors. But the new generation, viewing the past in the light of history, will not refuse the crown of martyrdom to the sufferings of Keshub Chunder Sen. It is in the course of human events that by some

tragic incident the truest and best men are brought to the slaughter."
Having achieved their end and obtained my father's consent to the marriage, it might have been assumed that the Government would have strictly observed their part of the bargain. They had promised to concede everything, and as it was the spiritual side of the ceremony that troubled my father, I think Mr. Dalton ought to have spared him any further worry.
There was one person who was very subtle in his opposition and more powerful than any English official. This was the Dewan, the late Calica Das Dutt, Prime Minister. He was not in favor of the marriage, because he thought he had been ignored. He was an influential follower of my father's, and yet all the correspondence relating to the marriage went through Jadab Babu, who was only a junior officer.
His quiet interference is shown in the following letter written by Mr. Dalton to Mr. Chuckerbutty ;--


"My Dear JADAB BABU,

"The Dewan tells me that he has already written to you regarding my wire as to the extent of Babu Keshub Chunder Sen's party coming to Cooch Behar for the wedding. Of course, my object is to avoid any unnecessary display of Brahmoism.
In marrying a Brahmo girl the Rajah makes a great concession to enlightened ideas, but it is most desirable that this connection should be softened as much as possible in the eyes of his relatives, at Cooch Behar and elsewhere, who are still wedded to the old superstitions, and who would look with horror upon any departure from the old Hindu formula.
"I wish therefore to dissuade Babu Keshub Chunder Sen

from bringing with him any of those who might be called his followers, apart from such as are his immediate relatives. In fact, we cannot permit any Brahmo demonstration whatever, and those who come must bear in mind that a single speech in any way whatever relating to Theism versus Idolatry will not be permitted.
"So far as possible, not only Hindu customs, but also the ideas and even the prejudices which arise from these customs must be respected: for instance, I disapprove altogether of the idea of bridesmaids, an idea at once novel and repulsive to strict and bigoted Hinduism. The maiden attendants of the bride should remain in the background and on no account be put prominently forward except when universal custom allows. Also I would suggest that


INVITING THE GUESTS


it is quite unnecessary and undesirable that a large company of ladies should accompany the party. I fail to see what good their presence can do.
I think the ladies should be limited to Keshub Babu's immediate family and one or two intimate friends, and as regards the male guests, please remember that the amount of distinction shown to them here will depend entirely as to their social status in Calcutta, and that only such as are entitled to be admitted and given a seat at the Lieutenant-Governor's Durbars will be considered here.
"Babu Keshub Chunder Sen is too sensible a man not to understand my reasons for all this. Though, of course, I cannot expect him to look at the matter from my point of view.
"It is possible that he may look upon this marriage as the

inauguration of a new era in the history of social and religious progress. But in Cooch Behar, at all events, he must wait for the fructification of his work until the Rajah attains his majority.
"Any of the well known and respected members of the Brahmo community who are Babu Keshub Chunder Sen's personal friends, and who would like to come, we will receive with great pleasure, and also any of similar rank and position whom he may wish to bring outside of the Brahmo community. I hold you responsible that a list of the intended party is submitted to me at an early date, to enable me to provide for a special train, etc.; and such


list should contain information as to the social status of those composing it.
"You should telegraph to me the number of 1st, 2nd, and 3rd class passengers who will make up the party. It seems to me that there can scarcely be more than twenty, or thirty at the outside, first-class passengers. I have consulted with the Commissioner on this subject, and he agreed altogether with my views.

"Yours sincerely,
" GODFREY T. DALTON."

The final arrangements for our journey to Cooch Behar were left in the hands of Babu Chuckerbutty, and at last everything seemed settled, and we left Calcutta on the 25th February, 1878. We were quite a large party, consisting of my father, mother, grandmother, father's sister, his younger brother, his special followers, two ladies (wives of missionaries), some relations, and a girl friend of mine.

I was naturally very excited, for this more or less State journey was very different from the journeys to which I had been accustomed. It seemed ages before we reached Coach Behar, by which time the discomforts of the journey had reduced our spirits to zero. I remember how dark the night seemed. We were directed to the house which had been prepared for us, and all of us were delighted to be in a house again. It was comfortably furnished.


DELAYS AND DIFFICULTIES


Soon after my arrival I asked my sister when I should see the Maharajah, but to my great disappointment I was told that I was not to see him until my wedding-day. The interval was taken up with elaborate ceremonies.
The Dewan and the State officials came to see me. Seated on a carpet, I received them and accepted the coin which tradition demanded they should give, and thanked each by bowing. As I never lifted my eyes, I could not distinguish one from another.
The day before the wedding the Dewan and a few Raj pandits came to see my father and talked over the ceremony. They told him that parts of it would be according to the old Hindu rites. To this my father refused to consent. All these difficulties have been described and explained in books written by missionaries of my father, and I need not repeat them here.
The town was beautifully illuminated and decorated. I felt very nervous, though very happy at the thought of seeing my betrothed. When the time drew near, I was sad at the thought of leaving the home that had been such a happy one.

To our great surprise the time appointed for my departure passed, and there was no sign of my going away. Then we heard that the State officials were still discussing the question whether we should be married before the Maharajah left for England or after his return.
After a long delay I was told to get ready. They


dressed me in a pretty sari and I was soon ready to go. My sister Bino and I went in one palki, and my grandmother followed in another. A grand escort from the palace came to fetch me. The time to say good-bye had now come. I touched my father's and mother's feet, and said good-bye to the others. I realized that I was bidding farewell to my childhood, and that I stood on the threshold of a new life quite different from anything I had ever imagined. The thought frightened me, and I broke into loud sobs.
As in a dream I heard my father's beautiful voice comforting me. His tender words fell like balm on my aching heart. He whispered one short sentence which gave me strength for my ordeal.
I dried my tears. Then, accompanied by my sister and followed by my grandmother, I went to my future home. Never shall I forget that journey through the crowded streets. I could hear the outcry which greeted our palkis. The torches flashed with a weird effect. At last the palkis stopped in the courtyard of the zenana part of the Cooch Behar palace.
I found myself in the midst of a great crowd of women. I stood, the observed of all, and listened to the various comments on my appearance. I was outwardly calm, but in reality I was a very scared miserable little girl. Then a lady came forward bearing lights and flowers. It was the


THE WEDDING DAY


Maharajah's mother, and she was performing Varan, or welcoming the bride.
After the Varan the crowd of women made way for us and we were taken to a reception-room. I was nervous and tired and longing for a rest, when suddenly I heard a gentle whistle outside. It was the Maharajah! I knew his whistle well, for I had often heard it at Lily Cottage. I felt at once that I was not forgotten, that in the darkness there was a cheery companion who loved me and wanted my love. I would have answered back in sheer joy, but could not. My sister and I were soon in bed. She immediately fell into the healthy sleep of tired youth, but I was too fatigued and nervous, with a thousand and one thoughts worrying me, to be able to sleep.
The next morning we were up early. It was my wedding day, and I had to go through a good deal before the ceremony. After my bath, my grandmother was told that a Hindu priest wished to recite the usual prayers. When we came out on the verandah, we saw the Brahmin waiting surrounded by relations of the Maharajah. Someone put a gold coin into my hand which I was requested to give to the priest of the Raj family.
My grandmother interposed. "No, no," she said, "our girls don't do this."
"What nonsense!" replied the Maharajah's grandmother. "Why! it means nothing."
But we were firm, and I placed the coin on the


floor. This was only one of the petty annoyances which

occurred during the day.
In the evening of the marriage the Maharajah's mother came and spoke to my mother most harshly. One of her remarks I still remember: "Do you mean to say you love your daughter?
How can you when you do not wish her to marry a Maharajah? If she does not marry my son according to Hindu rites, she will not be the Maharani."
My mother answered gently but very firmly: "I shall be sorry if my daughter does not marry your son, and I shall take her away from Cooch Behar; but my daughter shall never marry anyone according to Hindu rites." This made the Maharajah's mother furious.
While these disputes and discussions were going on in the palace, my dear father must have suffered a great deal silently in his house. There was much hot argument. Both sides were obstinate. Telegrams were dispatched to Government. Cooch Behar waited. Sunset came. It was the auspicious hour fixed for the marriage, but no word went forth that it was to take place.
Gradually silence reigned. The music and the sound of the conch shells ceased. The voice of the crowd was hushed. All of a sudden everything stopped. The musicians left the platforms and the town became perfectly quiet; the illuminations were extinguished one by one.
Then the unexpected happened, and the Gordian


VERY STRONG MEASURES


knot of caste and creed was suddenly cut. The news of the final dispute had been conveyed to the Maharajah. When he realized that the religious obstacles might prove insurmountable he became so strangely quiet and serious that

his people felt rather nervous and wondered what their young master would do. He took very strong measures.
Looking at those near him, with determination in every line of his set young face, the Maharajah, said: "Now give good heed to my words. I am going to bed. If I am to marry this girl, wake me up. Otherwise have my horse in readiness, for I shall ride away from Coach Behar for good and all tomorrow morning. If I cannot marry this girl, I will marry no one."
A great hush fell on those who heard, and there was general consternation. Never before had Nripendra Narayan Bhup so asserted himself. His councillors saw that their ruler intended to have his own way.
It was now midnight. My father was alone in his quiet house, as one and all had left for the palace. His soul was far beyond all earthly things, for he communed with the God who had never forsaken him. I believe that in that solemn hour he found the peace so healing to his soul.
Suddenly the sound of carriage wheels broke the stillness of the night. Steps hurried up the stairs. The door was flung open, and Mr. Dalton, pale and breathless, stood before my father.


"Mr. Sen," he cried, "the wedding must and shall take place tonight. The service shall be exactly as you wish. I'll be there to see that it is not interfered with. Come quickly. We've not a moment to lose. There is another auspicious hour at 3 a.m. Let it be then."
As he spoke he handed my father a written agreement confirming his words, and told him that the Lieutenant- Governor had telegraphed: "Let the marriage be performed according to the rites as settled in Calcutta."
Mr. Dalton almost dragged my father to the waiting

carriage, and followed by some of our friends they made their way with difficulty through the crowded streets.
Then as in a fairy tale the scene changed. The stillness was broken by music. The darkness was flooded with light. The whole town was illuminated in an instant; the band played, the conch shells sounded, fireworks were sent up. All was joyous and brilliant.
Our wedding was celebrated in an enormous tent: the crowd remarked that I looked very nice in a pale blue sari with raised gold flowers worked upon it and a bright red satin veil with masses of gold, the creation of a French dressmaker. But I felt very nervous when, seated on a piece of wood, I was carried between lines of soldiers, the Maharajah following close behind.
He was like a wonderful picture, one mass of


WE LEAVE COOCH BEHAR


gold from head to foot, and the shimmering fabric seemed moulded to his fine figure. I went through the ceremony with perfect confidence. The service was performed by the Rev.
Gour Govind Roy, who was one of the staunchest missionaries of our Church, and all the Maharajah's Hindu priests were also present.
It was lovely to think that we belonged to each other from that day, and I was so happy. Certainly never did any girl possess a more perfect husband than the Maharajah. He was so full of tender thought, and he planned most exciting surprises in the shape of lovely gifts for me.
But the next few days were very trying. The palace ladies used to threaten and scold me by turns. "You must become a

Hindu," was their incessant, wearying refrain, and I was heartily glad when the time came for me to return to Calcutta.
My husband had already gone to Darjeeling with Mr.
Dalton, to interview the Commissioner before his departure for England.
We left Coach Behar without regret. Great was my joy and surprise to find that the Maharajah had arranged to join our train and travel part of the way with us. Soon after our arrival in Calcutta he left for England, and I fell to wondering whether the past few weeks had been a dream or not.






CHAPTER VI






EARLY MARRIED DAYS



AFTER we returned from Cooch Behar I found (although I understood little about such serious matters then) that most of my father's followers had raised objections to my marriage. But I believed that nothing could hurt my father and that no one could do him harm.
These people continually attacked him and plotted to undermine his authority. The fire of discontent and disloyalty

which they kindled blazed fiercely and dazzled the eyes of the unfaithful. Some of them even went so far as to threaten to kill him. All those who had feeble faith left our Church, one after another.  Even this did not satisfy the malcontents, and they built a church of their own which is known as Sadharan-Somaj. One of their members, who is now dead, published a book called "The History of the Brahmo-Somaj." I do not wish to discuss the subject, but I may say this book plainly shows that not only the man who wrote it was in the wrong, but all the members of his


HIS LOYAL FOLLOWERS


Church. They are all responsible for preaching untruths. I have learned from my babyhood  that truth conquers untruth. Yet  it is sad to think that educated and  enlightened  men should allow such books to be published. I am waiting for some  dutiful son of the Church of the New Dispensation to write the true history of the Brahmo-Somaj. I hope that the members of the Sadharan-Somaj do not think we do not believe in our doctrine of  Universal Love. If they would accept the truth of the New Dispensation they would find us waiting to welcome and love them as brothers and sisters. It is sad that followers should work against their leader, their preacher, their minister, and persist in making the gulf wider every day.
Many of my father's followers insisted that my marriage had been a Hindu ceremony. Yet it was not an idolatrous one, and I often wonder why the Government never publicly defended my father and declared the truth. For the Government was most anxious for the Maharajah to marry me, and could easily have made the case clear to the public. They also might have

spoken for my father, as they knew that he was the leader of the Brahmos. However, the marriage was now an accomplished fact, I was Maharani of Cooch Behar, and it was left for me to prove the success or failure of the first Indian marriage which had defied traditional custom.
The public are still uncertain by what rites we


were married. The Brahmo Act that my father wished the Government to pass was not agreed to by other Brahmos, such as Maharshi Debendra Nath Tagore, and others. Although the Tagores called themselves Brahmos, they wanted their marriage ceremony to be known as Hindu marriage (non- idolatrous). As they opposed it, the Act was not passed, but instead of it Act III. of 1872, in which one of the many things mentioned was that the bride was not to be under fourteen or the bridegroom under eighteen years of age. But the Brahmo Marriage Bill, as worded by my father and from which the following extract is taken, will remove all misunderstandings :-
"I, A.B., am a native of British India. I do not profess the Christian religion, and I object to be married in accordance with the rites of the Hindu, Muhammedan, Buddhist, Parsi or Jewish religion."
It sounds too dreadful to have to say "No" to all religions.
One and all, I believe, resent it, but there is no other law for a Brahmo marriage.
The Maharajah could not be married under this Act as he had his own law in State, besides he was an independent ruler and a British marriage was of no value in Coach Behar. Our marriage was recognized by the Government and the State as a Hindu marriage. The Maharajah himself was a Brahmo, but he was the ruler of a Hindu Raj. As we were not married under Act III., the age limit did not affect us.




MY FATHER WRITES TO MISS COBBE



The following letter, which my father wrote to Miss Cobbe, puts the position clearly.

"Lily Cottage,
" 78, Upper Circular Road,
"Calcutta,
"29th April. 1878.




"My Dear Friend,

"Your kind letter has given me great relief, for which I thank you most sincerely. In the midst of my present trials and difficulties it is truly a Godsend. My antagonists have impeached my character, showered upon me abusive epithets of all kinds, and represented me before the public as one who, for fame and wealth and worldly advantages, has unhesitatingly sold his conscience and his daughter. This is indeed the substance of the charges preferred against me, and an insinuation to this effect is to be found, I am told, in the so- called protest. If my conscience acquits me, none can convict me. Of this I am sure, that I never sought a Rajah. I never coveted filthy lucre. As a private man I should not probably have acted as I have done. I was acting all along as a public man, and one course only was open to me. The British Government sought me and my daughter; a Christian Government that knew me thoroughly to be a Brahmo leader, proposed the alliance, and the weighty interests of a State were pressed upon me with a view to induce me to accept the

proposal and make the needful concessions. I found such arguments


as these placed before me: 'Here is the Cooch Behar State, a den of  ignorance and superstition, with a corrupt Court given to dissipation, polygamy, intrigue, and oppression. The young Rajah has been saved by the British Government acting as his guardian. The women of the Raj family have been mostly removed to Benares, and others will follow. The administration of the affairs of the State has greatly improved in all departments, education, police, revenue,  health,  etc.,  under the management of competent officers appointed  by  the British Government. The new palace will be erected at a cost of about Rs.8,OOO,OOO. Not a vestige will remain of the old regime, and the ground will have been thoroughly cleared for political and social improvements when the young Rajah will be formally installed and  begin to govern  his immense territory. It is desirable, it is of the utmost importance, that he should have an accomplished wife. Should he marry a girl of seven or eight in the old style, the effects of the education he has hitherto received will be neutralized, and he will surely go back into the evil ways from which he has been saved. A good and enlightened wife, capable of exercising always a healthy influence on the Rajah, is the "one thing needful" in the Cooch Behar State.' The Government, in presenting these views  before me, seemed to ask me whether I would give my  daughter in marriage to the Maharajah and thus help forward the good work so gloriously begun in the State by our benevolent


MY FATHER'S VINDICATION



rulers in the interests of millions of the subject population. I could not hesitate, but said at once, under the dictates of conscience, 'Yes.' You have justly said that a grave responsibility would have rested upon me, had I refused the overtures of the Government. In fact, I wonder how you have so clearly realized the position and grasped the real secret of the whole affair. I have acted as a public man under the imperative call of public duty. All other considerations were subordinated to this sacred duty. All other considerations were subordinated to this sacred call, this Divine injunction. I saw, I felt that the Lord had Himself brought before me in the strange ways characteristic of His Providence, the young Maharajah of Cooch Behar for alliance with my daughter.
Could I say No? My conscience bade me obey. And there I was, an enchained victim before a strange overpowering dispensation of the living providence of God. I did not calculate consequences, though most beneficial results I could not fail to foresee. I did not go through elaborate logical processes of thought. I did not refer to others for advice, though I saw clearly that the contemplated step involved risks and hazards of a serious character, as the Rajah was an independent chief and might fall back upon the evil
customs prevalent in his territory. I trusted, I hoped with all my heart that the Lord would do what was best for me, my daughter, and my country. Duty was mine; future consequences lay in the hands


of God. So I acceded to the main proposal of the Government, and negotiations went on between myself and the deputy Commissioners. It was at first proposed that the Rajah should

marry under the Marriage Act, and the Government made no objection. I was assured that the Rajah had no faith in Hinduism, but a public renunciation of the Hindu faith was objected to on political grounds. Mr. Dalton wrote to me: 'As a fact, he does not believe in it (Hindu religion), but profession and faith are two different things.' He added, 'These are difficulties, but I think they may be got over, and when you reflect on the benefits to the cause of enlightenment which may result from this marriage, I feel sure you will smooth our way as far as you can, even to the extent of conceding somewhat to Cooch Behar's superstition. The greatest difficulty I see in the way is the public declaration to be made in Cooch Behar by the Rajah that he does not profess Hinduism. If  that can be dispensed with, I think other difficulties may be got over. You must remember that Act III. of 1872 does not apply to Cooch Behar, and that there will be nothing illegal in leaving out this part of the program.' (Deputy Commissioner's letter, dated Calcutta, 24th September, 1877.) Touching the match itself and the question of rites the following occurs in the same letter: 'The Commissioner, Lord Ulick Brown, has written to me expressing his warm approval of the proposed engagement and asking me to obtain


LIFE AT LILY COTTAGE


from you in writing "what you require," that is to say, to state in writing the points in which the celebration of the marriage must differ from the Hindu ceremony.' "

After my return I resumed my life at Lily Cottage like an

unmarried girl, and was not sorry to forget the strenuous days at Cooch Behar. Our home was very peaceful, and as it was half an hour's drive from the town we were right out of the city. Lily Cottage is not isolated now. Houses have sprung up all round it and not many traces of the surroundings of my girlhood remain. It is a large house, with a sanctuary, bedrooms, and drawing-room on the upper story; below is the room that was used by the missionaries, and the dining- and guest-rooms.
The grounds were very pretty, and I especially remember the little hut outside where father and the missionaries cooked on Sundays. I used to get up quite early, and take my bath, for I attended to our prayer-room, and it is a strict Brahmo rule that this quiet sanctuary may be arranged only by those whose body and dress are clean. My father plucked flowers from the garden and brought them to the prayer-room every morning, and the service there usually lasted until about half-past twelve. After that I breakfasted and then began my daily lessons.
In India we offer betel leaf if any guest comes, as English people do cigarettes. Our cooks are


high-caste, and they have to bathe before they enter the kitchen. One maid goes to the market to buy vegetables, fish, and fruit every morning, other maids have to clean the brass plates, etc., early in the morning; after this they must bathe before they enter any of the rooms in the house. The sanctuary at Lily Cottage is very large; the floor is of marble; and when I went away my mother and sisters used to arrange the flowers. It was wonderful the designs mother made, sometimes from the stars she had seen the evening before. After prayers the children had their breakfast, and then the gentlemen, and then the ladies. Our chief food in India is milk; very little meat

is eaten, but plenty of vegetables and fruits in their seasons.
The Government had, according to their ideas, discovered for the ideal Wife the ideal governess, a lady of good family, Miss S--·, a society woman to her finger-tips, but useless except as a teacher of les convenances. I wanted to learn everything possible about the history of other nations, and I was anxious to acquire a good general knowledge of languages. German was the only foreign language which my governess seemed to think necessary for a Maharani; but, as her German was dominated by a strong Scottish accent, I doubted its conversational value. It was an unfortunate experience. No doubt the lady meant well, and regarded me as an uninteresting pupil. But she frightened and repelled me with


MY MOTHER'S KEYS


her trying temper, until I became quite cowed, and my education suffered in consequence. Mrs. White taught me painting, and my sister-in-law taught me Bengali. She was very clever, and the only language I know well is Bengali, thanks to her kind help.
I corresponded frequently with my husband in England; his letters were full of cheery accounts of his visit, and his wish to see me again. He returned to India in February, 1879, and every one was delighted to see how he had profited by his travels.
The same year he joined the Presidency College in Calcutta, and lived in a house in Theatre Road. My husband's stay in Calcutta was a time of great happiness for me. He often came to Lily Cottage, where it was decided I should live until he was eighteen, and I was sixteen. He was very fond of my mother, and often teased her about the keys which, according to the

Bengali custom, she carried in a knot in her sari. His great delight was to steal these keys and then enjoy her distress when she discovered her loss. "I can't understand why Englishmen hate their mothers-in-law," he said to the English ladies of his acquaintance, "mine is the sweetest imaginable, and I love her as my mother."
The Maharajah and I went to our church regularly every Sunday morning, wet or fine, winter or summer. He respected the missionaries and treated my brothers and sisters as if they were his own, in fact he loved and was beloved by one and all.


The Maharajah was full of praise of England, and there never lived a more loyal subject than he. Indeed, in most ways he was as Western in his ideas as people had anticipated. But he was entirely Indian at heart. The magic of the East held him. The "Land of the Lotus" was his own beloved country. His upbringing never eradicated the strong claims of blood.
When I was sixteen and the Maharajah eighteen it was decided that our "real" marriage should take place in my own dear home. In quiet ways we had gathered the fragrant flowers of friendship's garden, and there we had seen the roses of love which were blooming for us. Our future lay rich and glowing before us, and our happiness was perfect. We were married in the Church of the New Dispensation. How well I remember my wedding morn! As I write I glance at a modest ring, turquoise and diamonds, which never leaves my finger. It was my husband's gift to me on that exquisite day, and I prize it more than all the lovely jewels he delighted to give me.
Every one rejoiced that day. We were like one united family, and I knew that all the good wishes and kind words came straight from the hearts of those present. We started on our new life under the happiest auspices. We left Calcutta by

special train in the afternoon for Burdwan, where we were to spend our honeymoon. Our saloon was beautifully decorated with flowers, and a party of friends


OUR HONEYMOON JOURNEY


and relations came to see us off. Just before the train started I pressed my face against my father's arm and had a good fit of sobbing. I knew I was really leaving my childhood's home that day. But when I found myself alone in the train with my husband a heavenly happiness came over me. We were alone together! We two, who loved each other, and I shall never forget a Bengali song he sang to me that day: "He who has not undergone suffering cannot know love."
At Burdwan we were received in state, and I was treated like a strict purdah lady. The railway station and its approaches were covered in like a huge tent so that no outsiders could catch a glimpse of me, and directly the train stopped a bevy of maidens escorted me to a state carriage. When I was safely on the way to the palace, the draperies were withdrawn and my husband exchanged greetings with the officials who had assembled to offer him their congratulations.
The palace at Burdwan is a splendid building, and our rooms were on a terrace which overlooked the lake. Everything was as romantic as a young girl's heart could desire. But early next morning I was awakened by a dull roar which seemed almost to issue from our rooms. I could hardly believe I was awake until the roar was repeated, and then in an agony of fear I called to my husband: "Oh, do see what is the matter. I believe a tiger is trying to get in." Another roar made me quiver. My husband




laughed immensely while he explained that the Maharajah of Burdwan's most cherished possession was a zoological garden which was quite close to our apartments. That was my first tiger experience. I had plenty afterwards at Cooch Behar, and learned that the roar of the tiger in captivity is feeble compared with the majesty of his voice in the jungle where he is king.
One day during our stay at Burdwan I visited the Maharanis, who lived in an old palace. The Dowager Maharani welcomed me cordially and, instead of bestowing the customary present, she filled my hands with sovereigns until I could  hold  no more. She was a sweet old lady, this Maharani who had given up everything luxurious when she became a widow. She worshiped her late husband's slippers, which she placed before his chair, just as though he were alive and sitting there. I liked the Raj-Kumari, the daughter of the late Maharajah. All the palace ladies were good-looking, and I was struck by the large number of pretty faces.
My honeymoon was a very happy one, but after a few days in Burdwan we returned to Calcutta, and I began to realize the responsibilities of my position as the wife of the Maharajah of Cooch Behar. At first I was not allowed to meet Indian gentlemen, not even my husband's cousins. When English visitors came, I remember one of these cousins throwing their cards through the shutters of my door. Readers may wonder why the Maharajah


THE MAHARAJAH'S IDEAS

minded my seeing Indian gentlemen. The good reason was that there were very few Bengali ladies out of purdah in those days, and my husband strongly objected to my meeting men who did not bring out their own wives. Though he was only two years older than me, he was a very strict husband, and I always respected him as if he had been years older; he was my hero and ideal husband, and whatever he said I thought was right. He was very particular about my dress. A lady once remarked:
"It is a pity the Maharani doesn't wear her lovely pearls next her skin."
"She is not allowed," the Maharajah answered with a quiet smile.
"Not allowed!" exclaimed the lady, in great surprise. "You surely do not disapprove?"
"Yes, I disapprove."
"But why, Your Highness?"
"Well, simply and solely because I prefer my wife to do what I like. I don't care a bit what other women do."
I don't believe outsiders ever realized how absolutely Indian the Maharajah was at heart, and he had the strictest ideas about my conforming to his ideals. He did not like loud laughter or loud talking. I was not allowed to ride, dance, or play tennis. In later years, when my girls did all these things, he was often asked why he allowed his daughters such privileges.
"I allow Girlie, Pretty, and Baby to be 'outdoor'


girls, because I do not know what sort of men they may marry, and if their husbands like these things they will not be found lacking," was his reply.
As I was a Bengali girl. and had come from Calcutta, where

all my people were, and my husband wished to have a place near, Woodlands was bought and beautifully furnished. I was delighted with my little sitting-room, which was so charmingly decorated in pale pink and blue that it looked like a picture. I still remember some books I had on one table, on cooking, gardening, etc.
There we spent our early married days. Although my husband liked English food, and lived like an Englishman, I was faithful to the Indian cookery with which I was familiar. The hours passed all too swiftly. We began to entertain. I gave two enjoyable dances and believe I was quite a successful hostess.
The Maharajah took great pride in me. "Never forget whose daughter you are," he would say to me, and this appreciation of my dear father touched me very much. Any good I may have done in my life is entirely due to his influence.
In the summer of 1881 I knew I might look forward to the crowning glory of our happiness, for I was expecting to become a mother. Girl though I was, I realized how important a part this child might play in my life at Cooch Behar. For many generations no heir had been born to the ruler's chief wife. The succession had always been through

BIRTH OF THE HEIR


the son of a wife of lower rank. I knew therefore that, if I ever had a son, much of the ill-feeling of my husband's relations towards me would disappear.
A strange thing happened that year, when I was staying up in the hills at Mussoorie. My Indian maid came to me all excitement one morning, saying:
"Maharani sahib, there is a fortune-teller outside who wants to

see your hand."
"Tell him to go away," I said. But the man refused to leave. "Let Her Highness but pick out one grain of rice and send it to me," he urged. So I picked out a grain and sent it to him. I was surprised when the maid returned with the message:
"Her Highness will have a son, and he will rule the country."  My father also had a premonition about the expected baby. A few weeks before the child arrived, there was a ceremony, and while at prayers, my father said: "A Sebak (a devotee) is coming from God." At times the gift of prophecy is given to men like my father.
In the early morning of the 11th April, 1882, my first son was born at Woodlands. Late at night on the 10th a pandit had read the "Gita," and my relations who were present cried as if I were already dead and gone, as I suffered greatly, and for a couple of hours they did not know if I should survive the birth. But when the baby made his appearance every one exclaimed that his arrival was favored by the lucky stars then in the ascendant, and still


greater was the joy when it was known that the tiny new-comer possessed the "tika" (a prominence on the forehead), which is said to be bestowed only on very powerful rulers.
My father was alone in his room deep in prayer when Mazdidi, my cousin, told him that a prince was born to Cooch Behar. The usual ceremonies took place, and money and sweets were lavishly distributed. But the supreme moment for me was when my husband came into my room and sat by my bedside. "Darling wife," he whispered, "we have a little boy." I looked at him and, though we spoke little, we were so happy.
Our thoughts were full of our reward, for our little son was sent by Heaven in recompense for all that we had suffered.

Ah! my darling! My Rajey beloved! you are as near to my heart now in your peaceful paradise as you were on that April morning. You were the fruition of a great love and a perfect faith, but God decreed that your life should be as mutable as your birth month. He bestowed on you all that the world most values. He gave you a beautiful body and a beautiful mind. Yet your days were as a "tale that is told," and the only earthly remains of your beauty and greatness are a few ashes in the rose garden at Cooch Behar.
My father named this child of promise Raj Rajendra (King of kings), but he was always called Rajey. His birth was celebrated with great public


EXCITEMENT AND CONGRATULATIONS


rejoicings both at Calcutta and Cooch Behar. On the seventeenth day after the birth, we gave an evening party, when presents were bestowed on the lucky baby, and the whole of Woodlands was illuminated. On another day was the children's festival, when all sorts of pretty things were given to the little visitors, and, in fact, for some time we lived in a perfect whirl of excitement and congratulations.
"Rajey," as we called him, was a perfectly behaved baby, who hardly ever cried, and who was so fair that he was nick-named" the English baby." My husband allowed me to nurse him myself, a privilege not often permitted to Royal mothers.
Everyone adored Rajey. Dear old Father Lafont, one of the Jesuit Fathers in Calcutta, always alluded to him as "my boy." We went to Cooch Behar for the naming ceremony, and when I arrived there I found, as I had anticipated, that public feeling had completely changed, and I, as the mother of a Prince, was

popular, both in palace and State. There were many palace rules to be followed in regard to the heir; one was that the milk had to be well guarded, and when the cow was milked sentries stood all round her. Some of my happiest days were spent at Simla, and Rajey used often to go and see my father, who had a house there. My youngest brother was only six months older than my boy, so the children were more like playmates than uncle and nephew. Rajey had the simplest upbringing. His rank was never put forward, for it was my


husband's wish that his son should be brought up as simply as possible.
On the 31st October, 1883, the Maharajah completed his 21st year, and was installed as reigning ruler on the 8th of November by Sir Rivers Thomson, the Lieutenant-Governor, who made over to him the reins of government. Rajey and his father looked splendid together, and everyone congratulated me on having such a handsome husband and such a beautiful son. After a few days in Cooch Behar we returned to Calcutta.
My father had been ailing for a few months; but we little thought that the end of his journey in this world was so near. He had a fine figure, but was much reduced by December, 1883. Still we did not think it possible he would leave us.
Nothing I could write would give my readers an idea of how happy our childhood had been. Our home had been for us an abode of "sweetness and light"; and now it was to be shattered by sorrow. To all families such grief must come. To ours, always so united, the shadow of death seemed unthinkable. Yet my father's call had come. On the 1st of January, 1884, early in the morning he expressed a wish to consecrate the new sanctuary in the grounds of Lily Cottage. His physicians and all his relations and followers tried to dissuade  him, but he would

not listen to them. Though exhausted and very
ill, he was carried down to the sanctuary, where he offered his last and most impressive prayers.


MOURNING AT LILY COTTAGE


On the following Tuesday, the 18th January, just before 10
a.m. my father breathed his last. No one who witnessed it will ever forget the scene at Lily Cottage that morning. The house, the compound, the roads were full of people. The weeping of my mother and grandmother was heartrending. In the first bitterness of my grief I felt that I could never know happiness again. My father's missionaries and followers were like sheep without a shepherd. With him the brightness and joy of our days were gone. My mother gave up everything in the way of comfort. She wore coarse saris, discarded her soft bed and slept on a hard, wooden bedstead. Only the cheapest things were to be seen in her room. But many will have read about this in the Dowager Lady Dufferin's book. Her Excellency was a kind friend to my mother.
My father's ashes rest in a mausoleum built in front of the new sanctuary. The ashes of my mother's body are near his, and close to them the ashes of my brother, his wife and their baby boy, and next to them my third brother, Profulla. It is a peaceful spot, this tomb-house in the garden, and these words of my father are inscribed on his mausoleum:
"Long since has this little bird 'I' soared away from the Sanctuary,
I know not where, never to return again.
Peace! Peace! Peace !"
After we lost my father we heard the most wonderful

singing in the hush of the hour before


twilight; and we could hardly believe that the rapturous melody which thrilled our souls and seemed to bring heaven quite near to us could come from the throat of a bird.
Another strange thing happened after the tombstone had been placed over my father's grave. One day my mother noticed that a tiny plant was growing between the crevices in the ground, and she allowed it to remain. Gradually this plant became a flowering tree, with rich clusters of bloom. There it blossomed season after season; but when my mother's gravestone was being placed, the tree was cut down by a mistake of the masons, and it never grew again. I often think of that wonderful growth. It seemed like a bright message of hope from him whose departure had cast so deep a shadow on all our lives.