with the story of Vidyasagar’s life more intimately than with the life of any other man.
It was often my privilege to accompany Vidyasagar in his early morning walks; and sometimes I saw him in his house and was permitted to inspect the splendid collection of books, Sanscrit and English, which the Pundit possessed. Vidyasagar’s conversation was as rich in anecdotes as his experience was varied, and was lighted up by his native wit which never failed him to the last days of his life. He often sent me a collection of his books whenever I established a circulating library in the districts where I was employed; and when in 1885 I commenced my Bengali translation of the Rig Veda hymns,—amidst a perfect storm of opposition from a section of my orthodox countrymen,—the generous-hearted Vidyasagar gave me his support and help.
His health was already failing about this time; and he often retired from Calcutta to the more bracing climate of Karmatar where he had a country-seat; and crowds of simple villagers came to see him there, and to receive the help which he never denied to the needy. He distributed simple medicines to the poor, and attended to their needs with a kindness which touched them. The end came at last; and in 1891, the greatest man in Bengal passed away from among us, at the full age of three score and ten.
