TORU DUTT. 543 Geniuses are not always comfortable people to live with ; but Toru, although during the four years in which she accomplished the work of her lifetime she was a frail invalid wasting to her death, seems never to have been to those who shared her daily life anything but a blessing, from which they found it the greatest of sorrows to part. To some readers, the most touching thing in all her sad, short history is the brief paragraph in which her father, now childless, describes his companionship with her in labor She had a wonderful memory, and when a dispute arose between them as to the significance of any word or phrase, she was very apt to be in the right. Some- times, however, her father was so sure of his position that he would propose laying a wager — usually a rupee — before referring to the lexicon to settle the question. Toru almost always won, but now and then she was mistaken. " It was curious and very pleasant for me," says her father, " to watch her when she lost. First a bright smile ; then thin fingers patting my grizzled cheek ; then perhaps some quotation from Mrs. Barrett Browning, her favorite poetess, like this : 'Ah, my gossip, you are older and more learned, and a man ! ' or some similar pleasantry." The story of her life can not be better closed than by quoting here the beautiful last poem of her last book, in which her loving and observant spirit finds, perhaps, its highest expression. In it she sings once more of that dear garden home where she and Aru spent their child- hood together, and to which both returned to die. It is called " Our Casuarina Tree." Like a huge Python, winding round and round The rugged trunk, indented deep with scars, Up to its very summit near the stars, A creeper climbs, in whose embraces bound
