‘Mr. Clark told us the other evening that he had had an hour’s interview with a Brahmin, who has come from beyond Benares. This man’s views remind one of the Brahmo Somaj; but God grant that this Hindu may find more light than those Hindu Unitarians ever found. He is a man of great courage; he has flung aside the prejudices of his caste; he vehemently opposes idol-worship, and will readily eat with Christians. One of his special difficulties in regard to our faith is, I believe, the difficulty of reconciling God’s justice with the punishment of the Innocent. The Brahmin is a gifted, eloquent man, and many go to hear him.
‘Margaret and I were taking a moonlight drive after the heat of the day, with lightning flickering in the sky, when we passed a house in which I knew that the Brahmin has taken up his abode. It is some little way out of the city, and is a European bungalow. I pointed out to Margaret a little crowd in the compound, in the picturesque white Oriental costume, and told her that it was formed of those who were listening to the preacher.
‘Margaret stopped the carriage, and we tried to catch the words which could reach us at the distance. They were, however, few; so we got out of the carriage, and without going near the crowd drew a little nearer and nearer to the place where the Brahmin was addressing his audience. We were still too far off to hear much, and there was too much of Hindi mixed with his Urdu to make his language clear; but we could see the man’s eloquent, animated gestures, and hear the rich tones of his voice.
‘It was a very picturesque scene; the mingled torchlight, moonlight, and heat-lightning,—the quaint, white-robed crowd,—the man who has dared to break through so much, who calls himself a Luther, telling idolaters of the folly of idol-worship. I should think that it would be wise to place in communication with this remarkable man some of our most talented converts from Hinduism—not Muhammadanism.’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Aug. 11, 1877.—I missed a grand opportunity the other day of killing a centipede. It lay so quiet, as if to invite me to make myself illustrious. But I hate crunching creatures, so called out for some one to kill my centipede.... It is not fear of being bitten, but dislike of killing. The ladies think that it would not do for me to keep house, for that I should spoil the servants. I did give C. a decided rebuke the other day for beating his wife. He promised me to be kind in future.’
‘Aug. 13.—I have this morning received my precious Laura’s letter, with a request for a certain prayer—which I shall certainly remember. If a feeling of fear comes over my Laura, it must surely be as regards the act of departure, not what follows; for there is “no condemnation” to Christ’s people, no death in the real sense of the word.
‘But why, love, should we fear the act of departing? How many, many, pass Jordan, as it were, dry-shod? Remember how peacefully sweet Fanny sank to rest,—dearest Mother,—how my Letitia’s face was lighted up with a smile,—how our Bible-woman at Batala sang aloud a happy hymn within a few hours of her going! To me it seems such a simple thing for the—I had almost said imprisoned soul, to leave its “cottage of clay,”—for the bird, as soon as fledged, to spread its wings! We are winged creatures, and it seems a humiliation to be creeping on earth so long. Only think what the first sight of the Lord will be! I am not sure whether some departing ones do not see Him before the last breath is drawn.’