husband. It is needless to expatiate on its poetic merit or
felicity of diction. As my ill-luck would have it, the composer had
indicated that the dirge was to be chanted to the mode _Behaga_. So the
widow one day entreated me to sing it to her thus. Like the silly
innocent that I was, I weakly acceded. There was unfortunately no one
there but I who could realise the atrociously ludicrous way in which the
_Behaga_ mode combined with those absurd verses. The widow seemed
intensely touched to hear the Indian's lament for her husband sung to
its native melody. I thought that there the matter ended, but that was
not to be.

I frequently met the widowed lady at different social gatherings, and
when after dinner we joined the ladies in the drawing room, she would
ask me to sing that _Behaga_. Everyone else would anticipate some
extraordinary specimen of Indian music and would add their entreaties to
hers. Then from her pocket would come forth printed copies of that
fateful composition, and my ears begin to redden and tingle. And at
last, with bowed head and quavering voice I would have to make a
beginning--but too keenly conscious that to none else in the room but me
was this performance sufficiently heartrending. At the end, amidst much
suppressed tittering, there would come a chorus of "Thank you very
much!" "How interesting!" And in spite of its being winter I would
perspire all over. Who would have predicted at my birth or at his death
what a severe blow to me would be the demise of this estimable
Anglo-Indian!

Then, for a time, while I was living with Dr. Scott and attending
lectures at the University College, I lost touch with the widow. She was
in a suburban locality some distance away from London, and I frequently
got letters from her inviting me there. But my dread of that dirge kept
me from accepting these invitations. At length I got a pressing telegram
from her. I was on my way to college when this telegram reached me and
my stay in England was then about to come to its close. I thought to
myself I ought to see the widow once more before my departure, and so
yielded to her importunity.

Instead of coming home from college I went straight to the railway
station. It was a horrible day, bitterly cold, snowing and foggy. The
station I was bound for was the terminus of the line. So I felt quite
easy in mind and did not think it worth while to inquire about the time
of arrival.

All the station platforms were com