And he addressed himself to the task. During the whole course of my travels, never had I met a man such as this. Pity, such a speaker has found no place in the arena of Bengal politics! It occurred to me that this was a fine chance for me. The train arrived at Madhupur at a very inconvenient hour, a time when one is apt to fall asleep; and if you do so you risk passing the station. By favour of this prince of talkers I might be able to keep awake. As he prepared the tobacco the old man said—"What is your name, Sir?"
"Mahananda Chatterii."
"My name is Sri Madan Gopal Dev Sarma Mukerji. I live at the village of Ilchoba, near Mollnai, in the Burdwan District. We are decendants of Jogeswar Pandit. Jogeswar Pandit had seven sons—Shankar Janoki Nath being one of them—We are the descendants of that Janoki Nath."
The speech was thus abbreviated, because Madan Gopal Babu had now begun to smoke. The expression of his face had been somewhat sad a little while ago, I fancy because of his loss—now a little pride beamed from it, probably at the memory of the renown of his ancestors. I studied his face with much curiosity.
Now the train stopped at Burdwan. My supply of cigars being exhausted, I alighted to
