"14th.–Your troublesome cough back again! I can't tell you how sorry I am for that. I am delighted to hear of J. W.'s success: he must press on, and make 'Excelsior' his motto. And is it true that my little name-daughter has been taken away to swell the numbers of the lambs in the fold above? I remember a sweet verse of a hymn which you may like to send her mother–
"'Ere sin could blight, or sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care;
The opening bud to heaven conveyed,
And bade it blossom there.'
"I shall write to her mother, whose kindness to me I can never forget.... I am labouring hard at the language, and have a teacher–a Moonshee–for two hours daily. I teach for two hours in the Mission School, and sometimes spend as much as three hours in the Government Hospital, which I visit daily, in order to become familiar with Indian complaints. I meant to spin you a long yarn about the country and the people, but must defer till my next.–Your ever loving son, William."
"Lahore, Feb. 28th.–So thankful, my dearest mother, that you feel better. Summer is coming, with its genial sunshine and bright blue skies, and all the gladness which nature in our dear Scotland can display, and you must go to the country and see it all. I should like you to go to Ballater, and see the beautiful everlasting mountains I love so much. Yes, you will go and write and tell me all about them. How I long to see hills. This country of India is just a dead level,–as smooth as the table of your best room. When journeying from Calcutta I saw some hills, though very diminutive ones; my heart was gladdened within me, they reminded me so much of Deeside. The other day I read a good criticism of Enoch Arden, one of Tennyson's poems, which I read to you on the banks of the Fench, near Banchory, when you and I visited that lovely spot. How I delight in recalling those bright days in our past. If it please God, dearest mother, I hope we shall again visit the 'Falls,' and again speak together of God's wonderful goodness to us both. I shall soon see higher mountains than you or I have ever yet beheld. The great Himalayas, in the midst of which lies cradled my future home, or perhaps I should say my field of work. I know you would like to read about it. The books which I find give one the most interesting information are, Jacquemont's Travels, Moorcroft's, and Vigne's ditto. If God spare me I purpose writing a book more comprehensive than any of them, as I shall have valuable opportunities for gathering information if spared to remain for a sufficient length of time in the valley.... Let me have much of your earnest prayers; I shall need them and expect them. By praying, dear mother, you will immeasurably help me, even more than if you were travelling with me over these strange lands. How the people of this dark land need the gospel, which alone can elevate and purify them! You can form no idea of their wickedness, but it corroborates the description given by St. Paul in Romans i. Much is being done for them, both by Government and by Missionaries, but so deep-seated is the evil, that you see as yet but little resulting from those efforts,–the evil seems to absorb the good just as a burning sandy waste absorbs the rain which falls on it. There are no fewer than 604 female schools in the Punjaub, but what are they among the millions? and if taught by heathen teachers, what result can we look for? You would laugh many a time, dear mother, at the significant looks and smiles of my little brown-faced charge at the Mission School, when I attempt to launch out, and make blunders in the language in so doing. I never mind, but hold on my way, for some direct mission work I must do, however feebly. It is encouraging to me that those signals of my mistakes are becoming fewer and fewer. When I go to Kashmir I shall have a new language to learn, and it will be much more difficult to acquire, because there are no grammars nor dictionaries of Kashmiri. Those I must make for myself, and have already done something towards this work.
"I forgot to recommend to you a delightful book, written by that good doctor in Edinburgh, George Wilson; it is called 'Counsels of an Invalid.' Get it if you can.... My warmest love to you, dearest mother."
"April 5, 1865.–So –– is after the loaves and fishes, is he? Tell him he will never cease to repent it if he draw back from the service of the Lord, to which he has devoted himself many times. I trust the Lord may show him that it is a glorious service, from which none should swerve. Poor R. B., his race has soon been run, but today he is reaping the inexpressible joy of being saved by Jesus. It is this assurance which makes life on earth bearable. It is the bright hope of this that has sustained me up to this time. It is very remarkable that every letter from home has told me of some well-known friend's death; this makes me anxious, but, as you say, we are each one in God's hands, and this thought should allay our fears, and calm the disturbed mind. 'I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.' I feel sorry and astonished to hear that Mrs. –– is so proud. But, dear mother, we are all frail in some way. Oh, to be really like Jesus! in humility and in everything else in which it is possible for us to resemble Him. To strive after this is really our life-work.
"It was resolved at a harmonious meeting of the committee, which met on Friday, that I should start for Kashmir on April 11th, and travel by Rawal Pindee and Murree. A proposition was made that I should go along with the Bishop of Calcutta, who is to spend a month in the valley for the benefit of his health, but I was opposed to this plan, for this reason, that the natives look on him as a great public functionary, in short, as one of the highest in the Government; and I fear, if I were to accompany him, that the natives of Kashmir would consider me too a servant of Government, and so my mission would be frustrated. The committee agreed with me. My policy in Kashmir is to be one of peace.