A.D. 1877
DISAPPOINTMENTS AND DELAYS
The year 1877 dawned full of work and full of hope, in Batala. Fresh
openings were appearing on all sides; and to the four Zenanas which
at first could alone be entered, others had been already added. Then
suddenly came a check. Miss Tucker’s hard-working companion, who had
all through suffered much from the Panjab climate, broke down, and was
ordered off to England. For Miss Tucker to remain alone at Batala,
without a single European companion, could not be thought of; and so many
Missionaries had been invalided during the past unhealthy year, that no
one else could possibly be spared. She had perforce to return to Amritsar.
The great disappointment--and very great it was--she took patiently, even
cheerily. Some considered a few months more at Amritsar no bad thing for
her or for her future work. She had freedom from responsibility, and more
leisure in consequence for study and for writing. Many a short story went
forth from her busy pen that winter for India’s millions. But her eyes
were still bent longingly upon Batala; and her whole desire and prayer
were that she might soon return there again.
Nor had she to wait long before the granting of her wish. Mr. and Mrs.
Beutel, then resident at Amritsar, were appointed C.M.S. Missionaries at
Batala; and when they went she could go also. Mr. Beutel describes as
follows the course of events:--
‘One day--it was early in 1877--after returning from a
preaching-place in the city (Amritsar), I met Miss Tucker on
my way home. She was glad to see me, and then told me of her
intention of going to settle at Batala, provided that my wife
and I were willing and prepared to go with her. After a while
this was sanctioned, and consequently we left Amritsar for
Batala in April, and settled in the old house ... which is still
used for the Christian Boarding School. It then looked like a
haunted house, inhabited by owls,--which regularly had a dance
in the loft almost every night!--bats and wasps, etc. Miss
Tucker occupied the one wing of the upper story, and we the
other. The centre-hall served as a dining-room. She was our
daily boarder.
‘As a rule she rose very early in the morning. After her
morning walk, service, and breakfast, she regularly went out
into the city, to see and teach some women in their houses,
occasionally accompanied by my wife. Now and then she also paid
visits, like myself, to the villages in the neighbourhood. As a
rule the afternoons were filled up by her with the study of the
language, reading and writing, etc.
‘But, alas! not quite two months had passed, when both Miss
Tucker and my wife were laid up with fever. The chief cause
of this, as the Doctor afterwards explained, seemed to be the
stagnant water almost all around the house; and he ordered them
both away as quickly as possible. Consequently we all returned
to Amritsar by the end of May 1877, and settled again in our
old quarters.
‘As soon as the hot season was over, we all went back to
Batala, a second time. The condition of the house was as bad
as before; but Miss Tucker immediately offered her help, and I
set about fifty people to work. The ground near the house was
soon raised about two feet or more; and consequently the place
became more healthy, so that this time we could stay there all
the winter, doing our work as before.’
After a few months, however, came a renewed check. Mr. Beutel was
required for work in Amritsar; and when he and his wife left Batala, Miss
Tucker had to leave also. Once more she was obliged to settle down for a
term of patient waiting and study at Amritsar.
Not till the spring of 1878 was any really permanent arrangement made.
Then a school of Panjabi boys was removed from Amritsar to the old
palace, under the presidency of the Rev. Francis Baring; and Miss Tucker
went to live under the same roof, to carry on the work among women of
Batala. Thenceforward her home was at Batala to the end. Throughout the
year 1877 she had much of doubt and disappointment to endure; but her
brave trustfulness never broke down under the strain. Charlotte Tucker
was a thoroughly loyal soldier of the Cross,--willing to go, or willing
to stay, as her Master might dictate. Her heart’s desire was to live and
toil in Batala; but a yet deeper desire of her whole being was to carry
out His Will, whatever that Will might be. The Centurion’s words, ‘I am
a man under authority,’ may be cited as peculiarly applicable to her. If
God’s Will for her were Amritsar, not Batala, she would be content.
For a short time, seemingly, things were so; but not for long. Fresh
plans in 1878 would make all clear. Meanwhile some months of change and
uncertainty did no harm. They were but part of the polishing of the
golden staff of her Will,--to revert to her own allegory of earlier days.
The history of these months, beginning with the time when she was first
at Batala with Miss Swainson, will best be told by occasional extracts
from the abundance of letters remaining.
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘BATALA, _Jan. 4, 1877_.
‘Here we are in a regular “fix,” as the boys would say,--no
bread nor butter in the house, and with the probability of a
grand lady, a Commissioner’s wife, coming to-day, perhaps to
stop the night. Pity the sorrows of--of ladies twenty miles
from civilised life. I’m not housekeeper, so I can laugh; but
poor dear Florrie!! You can feel for her. This is how we got
into the fix.
‘We settled on to-day, Thursday, for a general giving of prizes
in the six City schools. Several pounds have been spent on
prizes, and Florrie and I were for hours yesterday ticketing
and preparing them. The prize-giving is of real importance; for
we give prizes _instead_ of money, as the Government gives.
To throw _éclat_ on the affair, we asked Mrs. T. to give the
prizes away, which she kindly consented to do. A note was sent
to her on Tuesday morning by a kahar,[59] to tell her the day,
and the kahar was to bring back bread and butter, which we have
always to get from Amritsar, twenty-four miles off.
‘Thursday morning, the grand morning, has arrived,--nay, it
is nearly eleven o’clock, and the children of six schools,
their teachers and their mothers, and perhaps scores of women
besides, will be on the tiptoe of expectation,--and our _kahar
has never returned_!!! We don’t know whether Mrs. T. is
coming; we don’t know whether she is sticking half-way on the
road, waiting for the horse which we offered to send twelve
miles, _if_ she required it! Like the famous little pig, we
have eaten all the bread and butter; and if the grand lady
arrives--without that faithless kahar--what shall we give her
to eat? I urged Florrie at least to send to the city for meat;
but she fears that in the absence of the cook the guest may
arrive.
‘O dear! O dear! Why did we trust that _sust_[60] kahar,--or
eat up all the bread? O how shall the bari Bibi ever be fed? I
must go and try to cheer up poor Florrie, who suffers from her
head, in addition to being in this “fix.” I must tell you how
the matter ends afterwards.
‘Don’t fancy we’re starving! Oh, nothing like it! We had a
famous breakfast, chapatties,[61] eggs, etc. We don’t starve!
‘_Later._--No one has appeared. No tidings either of lady or
kahar; but Florrie has sent for meat. She told me that the poor
children had said that they would be ready at 7 A.M. If so,
they must be rather tired by this time, nearly 11½ A.M. ...
‘_Later._--The kahar came at last, and brought the provisions,
and a note from Mrs. T. to say that she is coming to-morrow.
‘_Jan. 6._--I was rather glad when yesterday’s grand affair was
over. As we had two dulis for three ladies, we had to manage by
Florrie always going first,--_i.e._ she proceeded to School 2,
while we lingered at No. 1--to School 3, while we stopped at 2,
etc. I had to try to amuse and show off the children to Mrs. T.
during the waiting time, which sometimes seemed rather long,
especially where the girls would _not_ sing. In vain I started
even a bhajan[62] in one of the schools.
TO MR. AND MRS. CHARLES TUCKER.
‘BATALA, _Jan. 6, 1877_.
‘How well I can fancy you in your home, with the wide blue
expanse of Ontario stretching in front. I suppose the world
looks very white with you just now; with us it is pretty green.
We have no garden, but our large house stands in the country,
without any enclosure. Herds of goats or strings of camels
could pass near to our mansion. There is certainly not much
noise of carriages. Here the sight of a dâk-gari is somewhat
rare; and in the city I have never seen any wheel vehicle,
except bullock-carts in the wider streets. We can sometimes
hardly get through the narrow streets in our duli; and I am not
aware that there are any other dulis in Batala except that of
the Catechist’s wife.
‘Very funny things we hear of ourselves; and I dare say many
funny things are said that we do not hear. In one place which
my companion visited, in company with E., the Catechist’s wife,
she overheard the remark that she---Miss Swainson--was the
husband, and E. her bibi. I think that I excite more curiosity
than my companion on account of my age. On account, I suppose,
of an Englishwoman with any silver hair being a rarity in
India, I seem to be sometimes considered wonderfully old.
Florrie told me that she had heard the women talking as they
might have done had I been a hundred years old.
‘One day I wore brown kid gloves. My hands were looked at with
surprise. I suppose that the women wondered why I should have
brown hands and a white face. I pulled off my gloves, and this
seemed a new cause for surprise. Natives are very curious.
One ... young man of good family acts as my Munshi. He told me
to-day that his aunt wished to know whether I have any salary.
How astonished we should be if French or drawing masters asked
such questions in England! I have been asked what salary my
nephew receives. My being unmarried makes me doubly an object
of curiosity to the Hindu women.
‘A poor woman came the other day to see us, and brought us
some common yellow flowers. I did not at all admire them,
but I thought it only courteous to accept so small a present
graciously. Miss Swainson did not like to accept the flowers--I
did not know why.... She told me afterwards that she was afraid
they were brought as religious offerings,--flowers are what are
used for such offerings,--and she had heard repeatedly that we
are ‘devi.’[63] What gross, fearful ignorance! I heard on good
authority that in one place in India, not the Panjab, offerings
are actually made to a dead European, who was a special
object of dread to the Natives, and whom they therefore wish
to propitiate as a kind of _demon_! Do not the poor, deluded
creatures want teachers? I find the women in general very
gentle and courteous, and quite willing to listen when they are
spoken to on the subject of religion. With the men--except of
course the servants--we have little to do.’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘BATALA, _Jan. 9_.
‘Florrie and I hired four extra kahars, took earlier breakfast,
and started this morning for O----, the village in which, as
you may remember, I encamped for two or three days with my
Margaret, about ten or twelve months ago.
‘We started on foot, as it was not at all too hot for a walk;
and though we never walk in the city, we have no objection
to doing so in the country. Our dulis, white and red, with
eight kahars, followed us. When we had walked about a mile,
whom should we meet but the postman, with the English letters!
I popped the rest of the things into the duli, but read my
Laura’s despatch as I walked along the dusty lane. Very many
thanks both to you and to dearest Leila. _The_ bonnet has not
yet arrived,--I dare say it will be very elegant,--and yet, as
well as the bag, owe its chief value to the love sewn up in it.
Your lovely tidies ornament my Batala home.
‘When F. and I returned from the village, being rather tired of
going about twelve miles in a canvas box,--of course there is
no seat in it; one sits half-Oriental style on a kind of coarse
carpet,--I got out to walk the last mile home.’
‘AMRITSAR, _Jan. 13_.--My note to dear Leila will tell you of
the change which now a good deal engrosses my mind. You did not
like my going to Batala; and as far as we can see, our Heavenly
Father does not intend us to remain there. He is Wisdom; and
what to us seems mysterious and trying must in the end be seen
to be right....
‘Ah, well, it is doubtless good to have the branches shaken, on
which we perch; and happily I have built no elaborate nest.’
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘BATALA, _Jan. 20_.
‘I am writing in such a dismantled room, making a table
of a chair, and sitting on the floor. My luggage went off
yesterday--such a quantity! My big boxes and little boxes,
chairs, tables, almira, sofa, etc. I do not intend to unpack
more than I can help, for I rather hope to have another move
before long,--a move back to dear Batala....
‘I have been round to the six schools and three Zenanas,
explaining the sad cause of our sudden departure. I have found
sympathy and kindness. On three faces at least there were
tears. Facts are often more eloquent than words! The Batala
people have seen B--n suffering keen anguish for Christ’s sake;
they see that the property which was ----‘s is his no more,
for Christ’s sake. They have seen two ladies going fearlessly,
trustingly, amongst them, one of them old, and the other so ill
that she has fairly broken down in her work--for Christ’s sake!
These things may tell more even than preaching.... With God’s
blessing Batala will yet be ours.
‘Strange to say, the Mission has just bought a house in the
midst of the City; not hired, but bought it out and out. I went
over it yesterday.... There is room on that ground to build a
church on. And, please God, we shall have a church there some
day. _Nil desperandum._’
To another she wrote on the same day: ‘It seems very sad, when there had
been such a promising beginning; a new and interesting Zenana opened to
me only yesterday; and I must quit Batala to-day, for one lady cannot
stay by herself. But I am not in the least discouraged. I believe that
the Almighty will not suffer the Mission to be permanently broken up. He
will send some one to take poor Florrie’s place; and then I am ready, at
twenty-four hours’ notice, to return to my post. I hear that the women
are very sorry for our going. I have myself seen tears on brown faces.’
Her confident hope was soon to come true.
‘MISSION BUNGALOW, _Jan. 29_.--Here I am, back again in my
nice large room. My nieces would have it so, and made all
arrangements during my absence.... I must tell dear Leila what C.
H. said one day, absurd as it sounds; but it was a compliment
to _her_ work, therefore I repeat it. “How bonny the Auntie
looks in her new bonnet!” There is a bit of flattery, spoken
for once by one who is particularly plain-spoken! But it was
the bonnet that was bonny, not your loving old sister.’
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘_March 5, 1877._
‘Many thanks to you and your sweet Mother for your loving
notes and the _Illustrated_. I am glad that I have not been
sent _Froggy’s Brother_. Not only am I afraid of shedding one
useless tear; but I seem to have scarcely any time for reading
what is unconnected with my work. I have begun the Koran, which
will be rather a tedious task,--only in English,--but I think
it well to read it, and a few books of manners and customs.
Then I have two Munshis; and with my imperfect memory, I must
be perpetually going over and over what I learn, so as not
to lose it. Then I ought to write, whenever I can, and visit
Natives a little; and we have so many interruptions. The day
passes so fast; and perhaps at the end one feels--“What has
been done?--how little!” But as for sitting down to amuse
oneself with an English story-book,--how can that be done by
your attached old Missionary Auntie?’
TO W. F. T. HAMILTON.
‘_March 9, 1877._
‘I am about a very tedious work, reading through the Koran
in English. I think that it may be very desirable for me
to be able to say--“I have read your Koran right through.”
But, oh, how sleepy one gets over the book! It is so full of
repetitions; the same ideas and stories over and over again.
I am perfectly well, and the weather is now charming,--such a
comfort to get rid of the cold!--but I believe that I twice
this forenoon went to sleep, simply from reading the Koran. I
read and read, then leant back in my comfortable chair, and
took a nap!
‘The poor Muhammadans must get a painful idea of the Almighty
from their book. It seems almost a mockery to head almost
every “Sura” with “In the Name of God the Compassionate, the
Merciful.” One is so perpetually reading of the torments of
unbelievers, the fires of Gehenna, etc.! Our Lord is written of
with great respect, and His Birth regarded as quite miraculous;
but the Muhammadans will not believe Him to be the “Son of
God.” There is a great deal about Abraham, Moses, Joseph,
etc., in the Koran; Old Testament stories altered and enlarged
upon, to suit Muhammadan tastes. I have met with no reference
to the Blood of Atonement; in the account of the Exodus,
given over and over, there is no allusion to the Paschal Lamb;
Muhammadanism appears as a religion of works.
‘It would seem to me to be a dreary kind of religion, and well
suited to make men hard and stern. Of the three religions in
the Panjab, I think Sikhism by far the best; but then the race
of those who profess it in purity seems to be dying away....
The Enemy would not leave poor Man even the scraps of Truth
bequeathed by the noble Guru Nanak. It is a sad pity. Hearts
which had only known _pure_ Sikhism might have formed a rich
soil to receive the seed of the Gospel.’
Early in March it was arranged, to her great joy, that before the close
of the month she might expect to be back in Batala again, living there
with Mr. and Mrs. Beutel. When the time came, the roads being especially
bad with the heavy rains, Miss Tucker performed her journey from Amritsar
to Batala in what she called ‘a most luxurious conveyance,--the big,
heavy Government dâk gari,[64] in which one can recline at ease, as
if in a bed.’ The twenty-four miles’ drive proved, however, to be not
altogether luxurious; for on the worst and roughest part of the road the
whole gari went over on its side,--‘one big wheel aloft, another big
wheel below.’ Miss Tucker being entirely unhurt, thought mainly of the
safety of her desks and of her ‘dear travelling clock.’ She found them,
to her great relief, ‘quite serene,’ as serene as she was herself in her
‘funny position,’--the clock ticking placidly on, undisturbed by the jar.
Describing the scene afterwards, she continued:
‘A number of men came to the aid of our forlorn conveyance,
down in the mud. The horses were of course released from the
traces. Many hands make light work; so, with a good deal of
pushing and shouting and tamasha, the carriage was set up
again on its wheels. I got out, thinking that I should have to
trudge through the mud on foot, carrying my clock in my hand.
But I was not obliged to make my entry into my palace in so
humble a fashion. I was able to re-enter the gari. Of course, I
presented the natives with a reward.’
* * * * *
‘_April 14, 1877._--I wrote to our Commissioner to ask his
permission for fish to be caught in the large tank, close
to which our mansion is built. He politely replied that we
were welcome to fish with hook and line, but that a net
is prohibited. I am rather amused to find that our dear,
kind-hearted Germans cannot bear to give to the fish the
suffering which a hook would inflict. I think that we shall do
without fish.
‘Such stormy--oh, such stormy weather as we have had, night
after night! There have been such thunder and lightning,
and rushing blast, and banging of doors and windows, as if
in this great echoing house there were pistol practice....
Those Indian unmanageable doors and windows are the worst of
it, particularly if any inmate of the house has headache or
fever. One wanders about in the dark,--perhaps helped by the
lightning,--to find the region of a door that is the chief
offender. The one which I managed to shut in the night, for the
first time since my coming chose to shut itself in the morning,
so that neither I nor my Ayah could open it. Some one had to go
round by another route to lift the latch, which had gone down
without being touched.’
In the same letter, speaking of a young Indian, who had eagerly said to
her that ‘the Bible is the light of our eyes, and the root of our faith,’
she sadly remarked that it was ‘almost sickening’ to think what the young
Muhammadan ‘would have to endure, did he openly confess Christ,’--even
while earnestly hoping that he _would_ be constrained ‘by the cords of
love’ to leave all and come forward.
TO MISS LAURA V. TUCKER.
‘_May 2, 1877._
‘Thanks many, darling Laura, for your dear, sweet letter. You
speak of the flowers. Ah, if I could but give you a sight of
the glorious pink water-lilies or lotuses out of our nice
tank! I am not sure, however, whether I would not change
them for--cabbages; certainly I would for cauliflowers. It
is not very easy to get our vegetables, twenty miles away
from an English garden. However, V. brought two cucumbers
to-day,--a welcome sight,--and a Native presented us with some
kelas,[65]--more welcome still. My experience is that fruit and
vegetables are particularly conducive to health in India.
‘You may rejoice to hear that we have got rid of our very
wicked cook.... But it is funny to have no cook at all!! Mrs.
Beutel’s old mother does all the cooking; perhaps Mrs. Beutel
helps a little; and it puts her quite into spirits. If we
were not likely to go into Amritsar in ten or eleven days, I
think that we should be obliged to procure a cook. It is a
most unusual thing for Europeans to cook in a Panjab _May_;
every day likely to get warmer and warmer! And if Mrs. J. fell
ill, as she did last year--her daughter is constantly off and
on with fever--where should we be? In a laughable dilemma, I
should say; for I don’t think that Mr. Beutel could cook; and I
am sure that _I_ can’t! I forget--“can’t” is not a Missionary
word! But I really don’t see what I could do, except boil eggs;
we have plenty of them. You know that Fairy Frisket did not
fancy a kitchen!
‘We have bread brought in regularly; for I did not think the
heavy, solid German home-made bread suitable for India. The
bread we get is so beautifully light. I do not know exactly
where it comes from,--I fancy from Gurdaspur or Amritsar. I am
not housekeeper.
‘What a greedy letter this seems! so much about eatables! But
it may help you to picture to yourself life at Batala. I am
very happy here.’
The end of May found her back again in Amritsar, but by no means
downhearted. The fresh check was evidently regarded by Miss Tucker as
only temporary.
‘_May 30._--It does my heart good to see Emily walking off to
her work, perhaps at 6 A.M., so brave and bright, with firm,
elastic tread.... Sweet Margaret has been very unwell. She looks
too much like the statue of an angel in white marble. But
she is better again; and if we can coax her back to her old
quarters here, and pet her to any extent--her medicine--I think
that she may weather the hot weather well.
‘As I have little need of a separate kahar here, I was advised
to part with V. I tried to do so, but I really could not.
The poor fellow pleaded,--it was so hard to get work,--and I
remember how miserable he looked when out of situation before.
Then he is a married man, and such an intelligent, faithful
creature.[66] So I gave in! It seems to me very hard to cast
off good servants, just because the perpetual changing about
makes one rather a supernumerary. V. is invaluable to me at
Batala; and I hope to return to Batala. I was rather pleased at
C.’s pleading for his companion. He seemed quite eloquent; but
I confess that I did not understand much of his eloquence; only
he evidently did not want poor V. to be cut adrift. I would at
any time, if troubles arose, trust my life either to C. or V. I
get quite interested in some of the servants, and they seem to
be really affectionate. They are much like children.’
* * * * *
‘AMRITSAR, _June 11, 1877_.--Emily said quietly to me
yesterday, “You certainly have wonderful health.” Not that
I was well during my last trying time at Batala; but I have
surprised my friends by getting all right again so very
rapidly. The heat is very moderate as yet. I have only once
this year had the thermometer in my sleeping room up to 90°. It
seldom rises above 85° or 86°, which is nothing.’
* * * * *
‘_June 22._--The banyan-tree has dropped its brown leaves at
last. Fancy a tree waiting till May or June before it will put
off its old dress! It waits till all its new leaves are well
out; and in midsummer throws off the withered ones. It is a
grand tree; the one here is a fine one, but not to be compared
to the one at Batala.
‘The quite new school at Batala, the first _Boys’_ School in
which Christianity is taught, has already risen to 175 pupils.
The house is too small, and I. D.[67] is going to give up his
for it, and take another. The religious instruction has been
given by three natives.’
* * * * *
‘_June 30._--Dear Emily is done up. She actually asked me for
an amusing book, feeling evidently fit for little but to lie on
the sofa and read. She overworks, and the season tells on her.
When dear Leila happens to be writing to Bella Frances, would
she kindly ask her to send me by post “Fairy Know-a-bit,” and
“Fairy Frisket,” and “Pride and his Prisoners,” my funniest
tales. We have three trying months at least to come; and I want
to keep my ladies as cheerful as I can. They have not much time
for reading, except when poorly, and then a laugh is medicine.’
* * * * *
‘_July 2._--The work is going on at Batala, love, though we are
absent. The Bible-woman, lately sent, who was here to-day, has
access into nearly double the number of zenanas that Florrie
and I had. There is also daily bazaar-preaching; and I. D.
tells me that he has great hopes from the new Batala Boys’
School, where the little lads listen readily to daily religious
instruction. The women, I hear, want me back; but I do not see
my way to returning till the rains are over. It would not do
to dwell in a house which might be surrounded by water.’
* * * * *
‘_July 14._--It was so nice last Wednesday welcoming my
dharm-nephew[68] back to Amritsar. Dharm is a good word to
distinguish my Missionary relatives from my relatives by birth.
A Godmother is a _Dharm_-mai. The Natives themselves have put
me up to adopting the distinction. One of them asked Emily
after me as her “dharm-poti,” (religion-aunt). My dharm-nephew
was only two days in Amritsar; he is off to Dhamsala, to be out
of the heat of the plains. He looked better than I had hoped to
see him, and just his own bright self.’
TO ---- ----
‘_July 20, 1877._
‘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.’