took their stands on the roofs of the houses; some of them even stood by the way side. Vidyasagar was a little late that day. It was past noon; the sun shone very hot on the heads of the spectators, but they did not mind it; they were too eagerly anxious to catch a glimpse of the illustrious hero. At last, they were relieved of their suspense by a cheerful cry of 'There comes Vidyasagar.' The school-boys sat in their places quietly; the teachers looked to their dresses, and heaved a deep breath. Vidyasagar passed by the way, but the female spectators could not see him, that is, could not distinguish him from his companions. We have already said, that our hero had acquired very simple habits of life. He was clothed in plain Dhuti and Chadar, his usual dress. At length, one of the aged women ventured to advance forward, and ask the foremost of the company;—'Where is Vidyasagar? Is he not come?' The man replied,—'Here is he of whom you speak,' pointing to Vidyasagar. The woman looked for a while at our hero's face with eyes dilated with wonder, and then said;—'Ah! Indeed! Pooh! To see this Uriya bearer with a coarse Chadar we have scorched ourselves to death! He has neither a coach nor a watch, neither Choga nor Chapkan!' In fact, it was very difficult to distinguish him from ordinary poor people.
To resume the thread of our narrative. The reader has already been told that Vidyasagar was
