_22nd September 1894._
It feels strange to be reminded that only thirty-two Autumns have come and
gone in my life; for my memory seems to have receded back into the dimness
of time immemorial; and when my inner world is flooded with a light, as of
an unclouded autumn morning, I feel I am sitting at the window of some
magic palace, gazing entranced on a scene of distant reminiscence, soothed
with soft breezes laden with the faint perfume of all the Past.
Goethe on his death-bed wanted "more light." If I have any desire left at
all at such a time, it will be for "more space" as well; for I dearly love
both light and space. Many look down on Bengal as being only a flat
country, but that is just what makes me revel in its scenery all the more.
Its unobstructed sky is filled to the brim, like an amethyst cup, with the
descending twilight and peace of the evening; and the golden skirt of the
still, silent noonday spreads over the whole of it without let or
hindrance.
Where is there another such country for the eye to look on, the mind to
take in?