The author half turned himself in his chair to see who his midnight guest might be, and was greeted by ‘‘Hullo ! old boy, not yet abed ? How does my little busy bee ? Improving each shining hour and gathering wisdom all day long
With a heavy sigh, he resigned himself to the inevitable and made himself ready for a pretty long spell of boredom ; for, the man before him was no other than Narada S^stri, whom the naughty world was not ashamed to call meddling, inquisitive, and what not. Busy men steered clear of him, and our author, naturally of no sweet temper, was now in no mood to stand the bustling gaiety of the irrepressible Narada. But, he was ill a tight corner and no mistake ; so, forcing up a rebel- lious smile, he hastened to welcome the old gentleman.
Author. — “ Very glad to .see you. It is an age since you have shown your bright and cheery face here in this gloomy den of mine. To what do I owe this welcome visit, all unexpected ?
Narada. — “Oh, don’t speak of it; and now that I come to Tiotice it, what have you been doing to yourself? You look clean washed out. ”
Author. — {aside) What kindness ! Curse it, he speaks as if his blessed visit was the best invigorator possible. {aloud) Nothing remarkable. Only a preface to my Life of Ramanuja that I cannot, for the life of me, manage.
Narada, — What ! Life of RAm&mija !! You have written one and / do not know it ! Poor boy ! You must have been hard pressed indeed to wTite it without my help. You little know what you have lost. Such valuable sources of information ! Such rare books ! Such • eye-openers for the Orientalists ! What madness possessed you to do it ? Of course you had to write your precious life out of that apology for one— The Vi§ishtMwaita Catechism ?
