house on the rock, and I remember that, as darkness fell in that lonely spot, I felt as if I were living in another world. My childish heart vaguely wondered what that love could be which made people careless of life. The future was then mercifully as obscure as the evening shadows. I was to know later that the agony of the fire is nothing compared with the fierce flames of aching remembrance. The pang of death is happiness compared with the weary time of waiting to rejoin the beloved husband who has gone before. The little house is still standing.
The childhood of an Indian girl of years ago may have some interest now, and I must say that I do not admire the modern upbringing of children. Our old system had many defects, but it had also many advantages, chiefly the ideas of simplicity and duty which were primarily inculcated in the little ones. Religion was never uninteresting to us and lessons were a pleasure. I was the second of ten children, and named after Sunity, the mother of Dhruba. I got up early and by nine o'clock my eldest brother, "Dada," and I were ready for school. I went to Bethune College and he to a boys' school. We came back at four. I had a second bath. My hair was arranged and I had a meal of fruit and sweets. Then came the glorious hour of fun and freedom when the innumerable children of "Sen's House" played together.
My mother always helped Dada and me prepare our lessons in both English and Bengali, and we
