“I go into your great halls where laws are made—I see the wise men making laws to bind the weak and tempted with iron chains—laws to help bad men lead lives of impurity—laws to make legal crimes that your Holy Book says renders one forever unfit for Heaven. I find no God of Justice in this.”
“No,” sez I, “He hain’t nigh ’em, and never wuz!”
“Well then,” sez he, “why do they not find out the way of truth themselves before they try to teach other people?”
“The land knows!” sez I; “I don’t.”
“Some of your teachers do much good,” sez he; “they are good, and teach some of my people good doctrines. But why ever are they permitted by your government to bring ways and habits into our land that cover it with ruin?
“I was walking once with my own relation, Hadijah, unconverted, and we found one of our people lying drunken by the wayside, with bottles of American whiskey lying by his side. ‘Boston’ was marked on them, a city, I find, that considers itself the centre of goodness and lofty thought. The bottles were empty. Hadijah says to me—‘That man is a Christian.’
“‘That man is a Christian.’ ‘How do you know?’ ‘Because he is drunk.’”
“I said—‘No, I think not.’
“‘Yes he is,’ said he.