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36 headed, grave-natured boy whose acquaintance he had made before, and thinking that the woman must be of respectable family, at once stood up and said, "Please enter the tent."

The woman said "What I have got to say I will say here."

Joygopal writhed with a pale face. The curious villagers thought it a capital fun and attempted to press closer. But the moment the Sahib lifted his cane they scampered off.

Holding her brother by the hand Sosi narrated the history of the orphan from start to finish. As Joygopal tried to interrupt now and then, the magistrate thundered with a flushed face, Chup rao, and with the tip of his cane motioned to Joygopal to leave the chair and stand up.

Joygopal inwardly raging against Sosi stood on speechless. Nilmani nestled up close to his sister and listened awe-struck.

When Sosi had finished her story, the magistrate put a few questions to Joygopal, and on hearing his answers, kept silence for a long while and then addressed Sosi thus: "My good woman, though this matter may not come up before me, still rest assured, I will do all the needful about it, you can return home with your brother without the least misgiving."

Sosi said, "Sahib, so long as he does not get back his own home, I dare not take him there. Unless you keep Nilmani with you, none else will be able to save him." "And what would you do?" queried the Sahib.

"I will retire to my husband's house," said Sosi, "there is nothing to fear about me."

The Sahib smiled a little, and, as there was no other alternative, agreed to take charge of this Bengali boy—this lean, dusty, grave, sedate, gentle child with his neck covered with amulets.

When Sosi was about to take her leave, the boy clutched her cloth-end. 'No fear baba,—come,' said the Sahib. With tears streaming behind her veil, Sosi said, "Do go, my brother, my darling brother—you will meet your sister again!"

Saying this she embraced him and stroked his head and back, and somehow releasing her cloth-end, hastily withdrew; and just then the Sahib clasped Nilmani round with his left arm. The child wailed out, "Sister, O my sister!' Sosi turned round at once, and with her arm out-stretched sent a speechless solace, and with a bursting heart withdrew.

Again in that old, ever-familiar house husband and wife met. The decree of Prajapati!

But this union did not last long. For not long after the villagers learnt one morning that Sosi had died of cholera in the night—and her cremation had been finished in course of the night too.

None uttered a word about it. Only that neighbour Tara would sometimes be on the point of bursting out, but people would shut up her mouth saying, 'Hush.'

At the parting, Sosi gave her word to her brother, they would meet again. Where that word was kept none can tell.

From the Bengali of Babu Rabindranath Tagore.

HE world's tribute to King Edward VII is clearly a proof of the reaction that has been working for some time past in favour of monarchical constitutions, all over the modern world. Republicanism has been on its trial for more than a century; and it has not been the great success which its apostles and advocates had claimed and predicted for it. The government of the people, by the people, for the people,—is still an unrealised ideal. Republicanism has done away with the king, but has set up rival caucuses in his place. In place of the old despotic