I read the letter, raced my eyes over the uncut pages of the Sadhana, and then again fell to nodding and humming through my poem.

There was a letter, the last number of the Sadhana Magazine, one of the Monist, and some proof-sheets.

I would commend these volumes, and especially the one entitled "Sadhana," the collection of essays, to all intelligent readers.

I wanted to tell you how the least thing distracts me nowadays from my duty to the Sadhana.