the idol of the country, the Uving embodiment of all its aspirations. Behind him lay the memories of an uneven and almost single-handed struggle extending over forty years. Ahead, there was a struggle still, but a struggle where victory was certain, and the sinews of war quite abundant. He was not only the Moses but the Joshua of the Promised Land. He had won his Austerlitz at Amritsar, and the future struggle, grim as it promised to be, was in a sense far easier than the one in which he was engaged ever since his entry into the public life.
But, — alas ! the end was approaching. Ever since his return from Amritsar, a sense of inexplicable fatigue frequently haunted him. He would occasionally talk of retiring from active hfe. PoUtics meant strain, phy- sical and mental and he did not feel himself up to it. This was surely the whispering of Death.
After his sickly boyhood, Mr. Tilak enjoyed many years of exuberant health and energy. Rarely, if ever, he was HI. His digestion was exceptionally nice. He had the glut of a giant for thought or action. His powers of endurance were wonderful. His sleep was short and sound and very often he could dispense with it altogether. After a busy day, he usually read far into the night and was up at the usual time. His reading, deep and varied, lasting at a stretch for hours together, was never known to weary him.
With the incarceration of 1897, there came a change. He lost enormously in weight. His health was pulled down ; his digestion was enfeebled. After his release he spent a few months at Sinhgad in rest and in the improvement of his health. To a certain extent it 20
