A.D. 1882-1883
THE FIRST STONE OF BATALA CHURCH
About the middle of August Miss Tucker went for change to Allahabad; and very soon after her arrival she was able to speak of herself as ‘less tired’ than before leaving Batala; despite two nights of severe travelling, inclusive of sixteen hours straight off in her duli. ‘The change of air already tells on my bodily frame,’ she wrote; ‘and the change of scene on my mind and spirits.... I was becoming low in every way.’ Before the end of September she was back again in Batala; and there she was soon joined by Mr. Baring, after his most sad absence. For a while, but only for a while, Batala was still to be his home.
In October for the first time the idea came definitely up of building a ‘Mission Bungalow’ in the place, an idea which afterwards developed into A. L. O. E.’s last earthly home.
It was also in the course of 1882 that some one wrote a sketch of her life, and requested her to revise the same before publication. Miss Tucker had not attained to modern composure on such questions, and she wrote with indignation: ‘I am afraid ... neither you nor others may like my note to ——.... I need not dwell upon the part about the little book; it is too personal to myself. What would you think of a little book being written about yourself,—and sent to you to correct? Oh! Oh!! Oh!!!’
[360]
For some time past Charlotte Tucker had been watching with great interest the movements of the Salvation Army in India; at first with a disposition to admire and approve, which tendency gave place gradually to strong disapproval, as she saw more of the methods employed, and found the exceedingly defective nature of the religious teaching given.
Some very curious glimpses of Indian modes of life and thought, and of the manner in which Miss Tucker dealt with them, appear in the letters of 1882 and 1883, as will be seen in succeeding extracts. Among the singular things constantly happening, an old woman in a Zenana, at about this time, composedly offered to sell to A. L. O. E. one of her daughters-in-law. ‘If you will give me a hundred rupees, you may have her,’ the old woman said frankly. Needless to remark, Miss Tucker did not buy the poor girl!
‘Nov. 17, 1882.—I had, I thought, finished my Zenana-visiting to-day, when a man, at a loom in a room which I had not entered, called out to me, “I wish a Gospel. I want to compare it with the Koran.” He and the bibi wanted me to come into their room; so of course I went and sat down. Says the man, “I think my religion good. I want to compare our books.” “Much better,” said I. The man brought his Koran, a translation into Urdu, probably made by some Christian, or at least printed in some Christian press. The good man treated me to such a long reading of the Koran, page after page, I did not know when he would stop! I felt it not only common politeness to sit and listen attentively, but good policy also, for how can I expect an earnest Muhammadan to give the Gospel a fair hearing, if I will not even listen to the Koran?
‘The man was anxious that I should understand as well as hear, stopping every now and then to translate a word that he thought might puzzle me. But the Urdu was particularly simple for anything doctrinal. To understand anything doctrinal, even such sermons as I hear, it is absolutely necessary to know some Arabic words. I have written out more than two hundred,—chiefly Arabic,—all beginning with M, and mostly three-syllabled words, which I feel that I ought to know; yet they are hardly of any use with women; and if I have[361] them all at my fingers’ ends, I shall still be very imperfectly furnished. Is it not a puzzling language? Of course, some of these two hundred words are provokingly similar to each other, but the meaning is different.’
In the same letter she mentions a visit from the Indian Christian Faqir, M., who a quarter of a century before had given up a lucrative situation, and ever since had wandered about India, preaching the Gospel. On 20th November the same subject recurs:—
‘His type of devotion is thoroughly Hindu, transfigured into Christianity.... One part of our conversation, however, amused me.... It was when we came on the subject of celibacy. The Hindu evidently thought it better than marriage. He seemed to regard it as an objection to the latter, that when a husband lost his wife he would cry for two or three days!—the Faqir’s[104] religion is a very joyful one, and when his eyes moisten it is with religious emotion. I stood up for marriage. The dear man is no stern ascetic; he smiled and half gave way, and said that he liked people to be happy. It is pretty clear, however, as regards himself that it is better for him to be unwedded. He walks long distances; sometimes forty—fifty—sixty—miles. He says that he is not so strong as he was. But he thinks nothing of age; the spirit never grows old.... M.’s voice is peculiar; one could always tell without seeing him whether he were in chapel or not; for his “Amen” sounds like a note from a bassoon.’
‘Nov. 21, 1882.—While it is fresh in my mind I had better give you a description of our grand day, the laying of the first stone of our Church by the Lieutenant-Governor....
‘Since the old days of the Sikhs I doubt whether Batala ever saw such a tamasha. Numbers and numbers of boys were gathered together by dear Francis, lining the roads, and cheering. Gay looked the many-coloured turbans. Mr. Wade thought there must be about one thousand boys, for we had Government School, City School, our Village Schools, and our own boys. We had a fine triumphal arch at the opening into our grounds, with “Welcome” in gold on scarlet; but it was far surpassed by the lovely one in Persian Urdu, prepared by our boys for the Church site: “Him that cometh to Me, I will in no wise cast out.” Dear Emily Wauton came and helped us greatly; she specially took the luncheon-table under her care; and very elegant it looked, with the cold collation, and plenty of flowers from Amritsar.[362] My bedroom overlooks our front door, so in this room our three pardah-nishin were hidden.... I dare say that these poor prisoners[105] of pardah specially enjoyed what was to them so novel. The good Lieutenant-Governor was more than punctual; a happy thing, as we had much for him to do, and only about an hour and a half to do it in. He brought with him his daughter, a winsome young maiden, ... whom I called “dear” before we parted. I liked the Lieutenant-Governor very much; a man of fine presence but simple manners....
‘The luncheon was preceded by the reading by one of the Batala non-Christian magnates of an address, emblazoned with gold; other Batala folk, some in very grand dresses, standing in line. The Lieutenant-Governor gave a reply in English, which I doubt whether many understood. Then we went to our collation; fifteen sat down.... You should have seen our servant ——; he was quite magnificent. He had on such a gold-adorned pagri that it might have graced the head of a rajah, and had as much gold on his dress. I did not think that he looked like a Missionary’s servant, but we left him to enjoy his splendour. I had thought, darling, whether I should wear your silk dress:[106] but no, thought I; in my Batala I will not wear silken attire; so I wore my Laura’s purple, which was just the thing, sober and handsome. The collation went over nicely; we could not linger at it long, and no one could drink too much, as water was our beverage. After seeing the view from the roof, we started in the borrowed carriages for the Church. The first carriage, which held the Aitchesons, Mera Bhatija, and myself, had highly conservative horses, decidedly opposed to progress. No use coaxing and urging them; the “nat-khats” would not go. The only thing was to get out and go into another carriage.
‘Of course, there were many people at the site of our church. We had four surpliced clergymen, my three nephews, Francis, Mr. Wade, and Mr. Weitbrecht, and Nobin Chanda.[107] ... The religious Service was very nice; of course, in Urdu. Then Sir Charles[108] spread mortar over the place on which the marble block was to descend, in what was considered a very workmanlike manner. We sang “The Church’s One Foundation” in Urdu; Mr. Weitbrecht’s and Mr. Wade’s fine voices making it sound so well. Sir Charles made such a nice religious speech; it was almost like a little Missionary address. He had had, he said, a very private conversation for an hour with a Native of distinction, who was in concern about his soul; and it ended by the Native saying that he had sometimes prayed to the[363] Lord Jesus, but would now pray to Him every day. Thank God for a Lieutenant-Governor who thus shows his Christian colours!
‘We drove to the station, after again forsaking the carriage drawn by the “nat-khats.”[109] Sir Charles made me come into the railway carriage, to see its comfortable arrangements. Thoughtful Francis had caused tea and cake to be taken to the station. All went off so nicely; and my dear Bhatija feels that he has not had his labour and expense for nothing.’
‘Nov. 28.—In three days I am to go up to Amritsar, ... where I am to sleep on that Friday night.... By some afternoon train I shall probably then go to Lahore.... On Sunday there are to be special services for the Conference, and Holy Communion is to be administered; a meet commencement for a gathering together of sisters from nine different Societies. But Char has a special interest of her own. We have at least a dozen of those who were Batala boys at Lahore.... I have arranged that my boys should meet me on Sunday afternoon. This is to me one of the most interesting parts of my visit to Lahore.... I have been obliged to prepare two little papers, but have made them mercifully short. I think that one takes about five and the other three minutes to read aloud,—I timed the reading,—so no one will have time to be tired.’
Of the above event Miss Wauton says: ‘In 1882 she came to a Conference in Lahore, in which all the Zenana Missions of the Panjab were represented, and was with one consent elected President of the Meetings. None who were present could ever forget the tactful, graceful way in which she conducted the proceedings. Many, I believe, felt that the harmonious spirit, which prevailed in that assembly, was largely due to the loving and Catholic spirit of our President.’
‘Dec. 15, 1882.—I have written to the ——s about the Salvation Meeting at Lahore, at which I was present. I have not told them, however, how sad an impression it left on my mind.... To me there was no real joyousness in the sound of the drum and the tambourines.... The puzzle is to me how such music CAN be the means of converting any, unless it be English roughs. X.[110] was eager to join the “Army,” and go with them for a month to Calcutta. But he went to the meetings, and his wish appears to have evaporated;[364] at least here he is.... The prevailing feeling in my heart (at the meeting) was—pity. Though I knelt, I really could not pray. The big drum and tambourines seemed to silence any whisper of real devotion in my soul.... I think that I have just ascertained one thing which has cooled our really devout X. It appears that he asked ——[111] about Holy Communion, and found that he had not received it since coming to India! Alas! alas! and if he lets Natives consider themselves saved and sure of Heaven without Baptism,—where will all end? The Blessed Saviour’s two clear commands neglected! And —— just killing himself to introduce such a mere—one almost fears—shadow of religion! It is just grievous! How inconceivably artful the Enemy is!’
‘Dec. 21.—I paid a visit to a village to-day. I first went to the school, then paid my respects to the lady of the place.... She showed me into a pretty bare room,—a chair was brought for me afterwards. But I thought little about the room; its strange occupants attracted my attention. I seemed transported into the Middle Ages, and found myself amongst the retainers of some bold baron,—men who looked like the stuff out of which freebooters are, or were, made. There were four powerful men, with four falcons; and the hoods of the falcons were grand. I suspect that they were valuable birds, used for hunting.
‘I had an animated conversation with these burly fellows—not the birds, but the men—if that could be called a conversation, where the talking was almost entirely on one side. I had my Parable of the Two Paths with me, and spoke very plainly about Paradise and Hell;—and they listened to the old lady with perfect good-humour. I dare say that the bold falconers were rather surprised to find such an apparition in the village; for they seemed to have nothing to do with Batala, where of course my face is very familiar.
‘As I was returning in my little duli, I saw a bullock-cart in front, with a kind of red, dome-shaped vehicle on it, which of course contained some pardah-lady, perhaps a bride. I noticed that the curtain was drawn back. Probably the prisoned inmate of the red cage had caught sight of the duli, and was curious to see its occupant. As my kahars went faster than the bullocks, I passed the red cage, and a bright jewel-bedizened lady—smiling, as if amused at seeing a white woman—exchanged brief glances with me. I thought her a pretty creature. I wonder what she thought of the old lady who smiled at her.’
A head and shoulders photo of Miss Tucker
Taken at Amritsar about 1882
F. Jenkins Heliog Paris
[365]
The New Year begins with a line from Mrs. Wade to Mrs. Hamilton, in reference to the recent Conference:—
‘Amritsar, New Year’s Day, 1883.
‘I wish you could have seen dear Miss Tucker as President of our Lahore Ladies’ Conference. She did all so perfectly; one only feared her being over tired, but I think she is stronger than she was some months ago. We had the pleasure of her staying a night with us on her way; and her walking powers are wonderful! You will no doubt have a report of the Conference, and of her solemn and helpful words on John xiii., as it is to be printed in England.’
Although Mrs. Wade could speak of her ‘walking powers’ as ‘wonderful,’ Miss Tucker had at this period hardly the same unvarying good health as in earlier years. A few days later she was laid by with an attack of ‘shingles,’ with pain in the side. The Native doctor, called in, informed her that nothing was wrong with either lungs or heart,—the pain which troubled her being ‘simply from the nerves,’ which were ‘affected by the eruption.’ Miss Tucker assured him that she was not nervous. Upon which, as she relates, ‘the Hindu doctor smiled quietly, and gave me to understand that nerves are real things. He had not meant that I was fanciful. So the whole thing was simple enough,’ she philosophically adds. ‘To make a bull, I had a little toothache in my side.’ The attack gave way readily.
‘Jan. 25, 1883.—One is so apt to feel for the poor, down-trodden Muhammadan women, that, until I began to read a novelette written by a Native, I had no idea how they sometimes turn the tables on their husbands. I am reading the book with N. N., who quite confirms the truthfulness of the picture. It appears that a woman will sometimes be asked a question ten times by her husband, before she vouchsafes an answer. Some women burn the soles of their shoes, and make a preparation of them to put on the eyes, believing that by this strange superstitious means they will always keep their husbands under their feet! With all the talk about Woman’s Rights, we have hardly got so far as this!’
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‘Feb. 20.—Mera Bhatija and I took rather a long walk this afternoon, to look at a lovely little mosque. I had said before to Francis, “How is it that the mosques are so beautiful, and our churches here—unless expensively built—so ugly?” Francis gave me a simple but good reason: “We want people to go into our churches; the Muhammadans worship outside theirs.” You see, love, we have first to think of room and comfort; so beauty gets shoved into a corner.
‘We went to look more closely at the graceful mosque, to see if we could gain hints. I made a rough sketch of the front. Francis says that it would be much too expensive for us to have anything so ornamental. We want room for one hundred people at least; and that dot of a mosque would hold comparatively very few. Mera Bhatija thinks that we might indulge in two minarets, and ornament our church with clay vessels turned upside down, and painted white, with a little Cross on the top of each. We must have a good-sized Cross, gilt, to glitter in the sun, on the top of all.... The Cross is our Banner, the Sign of Faith in the Son of God, rejected by Muhammadan and Hindu! It should crown—and sparkle on, too—every religious edifice in this land.’
‘March 8, 1883.—I had an extraordinary conversation with a Muhammadan boy to-day. His name is Y. He lives in what I consider a nest of bigotry. I am more likely to have to dispute there than in any other place in Batala. I had with me, besides my Bible, the “Mirror of the Heart,” which contains beautifully coloured pictures of the human heart, with allegorical vices represented by various animals, the serpent, rat, etc. It is a valuable help to a Missionary. The first heart is that of the natural man, before repentance; the second, that of a man repenting. The fourth is a horrid heart, of a dingy colour, with a black cross in it, and seven devils, mounted on the bad emblems, wanting to get in. It is the heart of a hypocrite. Well, dear one, I was showing this picture in a Zenana, and a grave-looking boy, to whom before I had given a portion of Scripture, and who I think once studied in our Mission-School, Y., was close beside me. When I had gone over the various pictures, I said to Y., “Which of these hearts,”—showing the first and second,—“is like yours?” I meant, “Are you repenting or unrepenting?” The boy, perhaps fourteen years of age, would not agree that either was like his. To my surprise he made me turn over to the fourth heart, and told me that was like his.
‘“But it is not a Muhammadan’s heart,” said I. “You see the Cross is in it,—but it is black.”
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‘“And how do you know,” said the boy gravely, “that the Cross is not in my heart?” I think that he repeated this touching question afterwards. In short, he kept firmly to his declaration that that heart was the one like his. What is passing in that lad’s soul? Does he consider himself a hypocrite, with seven devils surrounding him? If so, he must be a hypocrite as regards Muhammadanism?—for he does not pretend to be a Christian. I suspect that this may be the case. He has a cross, but it is a black one, because he does not confess the Saviour.
‘There is a great change in dear ——‘s mother. (You remember perhaps the dear lad in a bigoted home, who so loved the Lord Jesus, bore persecution for Him, and died in peace.) My last visit to that house was so different to the first! On the first occasion I left the place so shocked, that I uttered the exclamation as I went, “God have mercy on you!” I do not think that I ever left any other house with such an exclamation on my lips. The last time I left the house with the exclamation, “God grant!” The mother had told me the story of her eldest brother, a policeman, who, like her son, had become Christian in heart, and incurred the fierce anger of his father by speaking against Muhammad. A Suni[112] had stabbed the policeman in the side with a knife; but the Christian refused to prosecute. He was very gentle, just like the nephew who followed in his steps. The policeman left Lahore,—this was more than twenty years ago,—and has never been heard of since. Probably he is numbered in the noble army of martyrs.
‘I said, “I think that both your brother and son are with the Lord Jesus.” “Without doubt!” cried this once bigoted woman. I urged her to follow them, and asked her if she had no love for the Lord in her heart. “He is the Apple of my eye,” she replied. You must not suppose, love, that there is any immediate prospect of Baptism; but I talked to her about it; and, as I have mentioned, left the house with a “God grant!”’
‘March 24, 1883.—We cannot see one step before us! I was thinking to-day, as I was going to the City, where my work seems of so little use, “Abraham had to wait for twenty years before God kept His promise to him.” Perhaps it may be twenty years before the promise is fulfilled—fully—to me, “Your labour is not vain in the Lord.”
‘O the utter carelessness of some of the women, who will interrupt the most solemn, heart-searching conversation with a[368] question about my dress, or a request for a pin. They seem so utterly frivolous! Then those who do think, and have some concern for religion, are such earnest Muhammadans; it is with them a matter of heart-love! It is a mystery how it should be so, when Muhammad was not only a murderer and profligate, but has lowered woman altogether; but it seems especially the women who delight in his false religion. They do not care for its having no proofs; they love it.’
‘March 28.—I had rather an interesting visit to-day, which you may like to hear about.
‘I went to the house of a Maulvi ... I had books to take to his sweet young daughter; and soon I found that the ladies had gone to a wedding; but as two servants were in the house, I thought it better to stop and give the “good news” to them. Whether they cared about it or not, I know not. After my interview with them, I was about to leave, when who should come in but the master of the house, the Maulvi himself. (He is not the same one who was so proud, that I could not help an unpremeditated rebuke escaping from my lips.) This Maulvi was fresh from a pilgrimage to Mecca; but the merit ascribed to a Haji did not seem to make him proud at all.
‘He courteously addressed me, sat down, and prepared for a tête-à-tête with the Englishwoman. He told me that he had none of our books; that he wanted a controversial one, that he might compare the two religions. There was no appearance of bigotry at all. He asked me whether we read prayers. I told him that we not only had regular prayer, but that we sang God’s praises,—which the Muhammadans never do,—and opening my Bible, I read aloud several passages in which Hasrat David (Saint David) commands us to do so. My gentle Maulvi made no observation on this proof that Christians pay more obedience than Muhammadans do to the commands of one whom both acknowledge as a Prophet....
‘Accompany me now to another Zenana. A young man showed himself again and again, as if he wanted to take a share in conversation, but did not at first see his way to doing so. At last he told me that there was great excitement. I could not for some time make out what it was about; it seemed to be about some birth; but then it appeared to be about something else. At last the difficulty cleared up. The young Muhammadan made me understand that it was said that the Imam Mahdi had been born; and on account of this there was great excitement in H—— and over the country.
‘I said that I had heard about a man, calling himself the Mahdi,[369] near Egypt. The young man did not seem to have an idea where the long-expected Imam is, but he said that when the place should be known all would go to see him. My curiosity was a little aroused. I asked what the Mahdi was to do. “To reign over all kingdoms, and make every one Muhammadan.” “But if they should not choose to be Muhammadans?” “Oh, all will be Muhammadans.” “But if I did not choose to be a Muhammadan, would he kill me?” “No, his rule will be like that of the English.”
‘I would not trust the Mahdi, however, nor that animated young man! This was the only Zenana in which I have heard of the Mahdi; and I have visited plenty. I had more talk with the Muhammadan. I said that I thought that the Dajal was expected to come before the Mahdi. No,—the Mahdi is to come first; then the Dajal; and then Jesus Christ! It is curious to hear these ideas!’
‘March 28.—I almost think that the Muhammadans are stronger in their bigotry, from an expectation of some coming event at the coming Ramazan (great fast) in July. Perhaps, some of them think, there will be great pestilence; perhaps Christ and the Mahdi will come;—and the sun rise in the west instead of in the east. The more intelligent do not seem to expect the last wonder.’
‘April 27.—The beautiful monument which Francis is going to place over the grave of sweet Margaret was sent here from Delhi. I have sent a sketch of it to her sisters, and another to Mrs. Baring. I did not find it so easy to draw as I expected, on account of the perspective of the three white marble steps, which support the pure white Cross.... How little we know who will be called! I remember my pleading with her not to delay coming out, or she might find a Cross instead of her friend. The white Cross has been for her, not for me; and I see no likelihood at present of my soon being called, though of course one never knows. I have seen so many young pass away since I came to India.’
In the same letter she says with respect to the Baring High School: ‘I hope and expect that our School has reached its lowest ebb,—twenty-three boys, mostly little ones. There is some likelihood of six more coming.’
Mrs. Hamilton had begun to ask occasionally to her house in London young Indians who had come to England for a Western education. Some of them she saw repeatedly, and reference is often made to them in letters.
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C. M. T. TO THE REV. W. F. T. HAMILTON.
‘June 19, 1883.
‘Shortly after writing to your dear Mother, I had myself a visit from a Muhammadan. I remembered what I had just been writing,[113] so soon plunged straight into the subject of religion. I had seen Sheik A. twice before; and the first time had had a good talk. Yesterday he listened very well, though I ventured to contrast Muhammad a little with the Blessed One. Sheik A. agreed to his wife visiting me here this evening,—I sending a duli for her, as she is “pardah-nishin”; and as he is going to L——, he asked me for a letter of introduction to some lady there, that she might visit his wife. This was encouraging. Sheik A. took a cup of tea with me, and we parted excellent friends. Perhaps a couple of hours afterwards my dear Faqir, M., came to see me. He too had been having an interview with Sheik A. “Much excitement,” said the Faqir. I think that the Muhammadan had probably not been as much on his good behaviour with the dark Madrassee as with the white Englishwoman. There seemed to have been a hot discussion below. Dear M. was inclined to reproach himself. “Harsh!—my loud voice!” said he. Depend upon it, he went at his work like a cannon. But all seemed to end well. I think he told me that Sheik A. and he shook hands as they parted.’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘July 21, 1883.
‘How different it is writing a free and easy letter to you, from a studied one like that to ——! I hope that my Laura will not consider Char a conceited old woman, who likes no one to find fault with her writings. But, you see, love, I know nothing of Mr. ——‘s capacity to act as critic.... I cannot consent to walk in chains because Mr. —— has a liberal hand and a full purse. I am so glad that I refused pecuniary recompense. In writing I must be free. I hope that I have not made a mistake in putting in as many proverbs as I have done. It was difficult to select. How inappropriate—clever as it is!—would it have been to put in such as this, “The sieve said to the needle, You have a hole in your tail”!’ ...
‘Aug. 4.—Yes, love, I dare say that I was mistaken about your entering on religious subjects soon with the young Indians. I often[371] doubt my own judgment. You see, it is a disadvantage to me to have no one to correct me. This has been, I think, my most lonely hot weather.
‘I am thankful that I do not hold the doctrine of Perfectionism. I should be very miserable if I did; for sometimes it seems to me as if I went backwards instead of forwards. If I thought that a real child of God ought to be perfect, I must come to the conclusion that I at least am not a child of God. But I do not hold this view, and I see that the holy Simeon wrote clearly and distinctly against it.’
‘Alexandra School, Amritsar, Aug. 15, 1883.
‘Here I am in this big palace, a good deal bigger than my Batala one,—the guest of dear, loving Florrie.[114] ...
‘I have been taking my morning walk. I saw the old banyan in the garden of what was my first Indian home with sweet Margaret. The downward shoot which I named “Batala” has now the size of the trunk of a tree.’
A visit of two or three weeks to her nephew at Dunga Gully followed, where the children were a great enjoyment to her, letters home being full of the pretty utterances of little Tudor and Beryl. On the 15th of September, however, she once more gaily reported herself as ‘back again in dear old Batala!’ and again the steady round of work went on as usual.
‘Sept. 19.—A lady who knows a good deal about Muhammadanism, and has read from the Hadis (Muhammadan traditions), told me something very curious that she had come upon....
‘There is a supposed prophecy of Muhammad, that in the latter days a marvellous being, called Dajal, will appear. He will perform marvels, bring a band of musicians, and whoever hears the enchanting sound will follow him, leaving friends, parents, etc.... I, after hearing this, inquired about Dajal from ——. He, having been a learned Muhammadan, of course knew all about the prophecy.... Dajal, who will become a king, is to have but one eye, and ride an ass nine coss (about fourteen miles) long!... Dajal is supposed to be an evil being, drawing downwards those whom he influences. After him the Muhammadans expect the Imam Mahdi;—and then, our Blessed Lord.
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‘What extraordinary ideas these people have of our Saviour! They think that He never died, but was caught up to Heaven, and some one else crucified in His stead. This is a true doctrine of the devil, for of course it strikes against all belief in the Atonement. It would drive us from the very key and central point of our faith. Often have I tried to show how completely such a doctrine is against prophecy. Well, dear, this is not all. The Muhammadans believe that after our Lord comes again, to convert the world to Muhammadanism, He will die! I have spoken with one who has actually seen the place where His future tomb is to be at Medina! It is near Muhammad’s grave, and is considered a very holy place. There is a handsome black marble slab, bordered with white, and fine palings around.’
TO MISS LEILA HAMILTON.
‘Sept. 24.
‘I have started to-day a temporary drawing-class for the five poor little boys who have to stay here all during the holidays. They are so pleased. It was a pleasure to me to see them all seated, busy with pencil and paper, instead of lounging about wearily. I did not succeed in making them do a bit of carpentering for me.
‘The drawing lesson was a lesson to me, dear. After my own fashion, it seemed to me a type, and—strange as it may seem to you—a type bearing on the disputed subject of perfection in this life. We are all children,—the sooner we realise this, the better!—and the Lord sets us a copy; not a poor little one, such as I placed before the boys, but a perfect, exquisite one. Now, I imagine three of our boys drawing as nicely as they can, and then coming to me with their copies.
‘The first is very happy indeed. “It is quite perfect!” says he. “My dear child, you may think so, but I do not think so. Take your measuring paper, and go over your copy more carefully; and you will see that not all the lines are straight.”
‘The second comes to me, crying. “I shall never manage my copy,” sighs he. “It is not a quarter as good as the picture, and yet I took such pains!” “Yes, dear boy, I see that you have taken pains; and that is all that I require. You will do better in time. But dry your tears. Did you really think that I should be angry with you, because your drawing is not perfect?”
‘The third looks modestly into my face, to see if he has pleased me. He knows that he has tried to please me; and though he has not succeeded in making a perfect drawing, he has succeeded in pleasing.
‘The third child is the one whom I should most wish to resemble. He trusts me!’
[373]
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Oct. 14, 1883.
‘Do you ever note what is the first waking thought when consciousness returns in the morning?... The other day my thought on awakening was so very odd, that it made an impression by its very strangeness. I could not imagine what could have put it into my head, and you will smile when you read it. “The snuffers were of gold!” I have not so much as seen snuffers since I came to India.... Why on earth should my waking thought be of them? “Well,” considered I, “snuffers are worthy of mention in the Bible; and those in the Temple were of gold. What can I make out of this thought?”
‘Then it occurred to me that the office of snuffers, humble enough, being to make candles brighter, the office was emblematical perhaps of that which St. Paul adjudged to the aged women. They were to teach the young women to love their husbands, etc. At last I began to think, darling, that perhaps my place in the Church here is a little like that of a pair of snuffers; and now, when I feel that I ought to give a little word in season to Native Christians, I fancy that I have to snuff them—not out!—O no!—only to remove some little superfluity....
‘I think I must have amused my Laura with my idea of the snuffers; but it may be a useful thought to those who are no longer young. A little gentle snuffing may be the work—unostentatious work—given to us.... What a snip dear H. gave to W. long, long ago, and how the fine boy admired her for it!... But then the snuffers were of gold. No one likes to be snuffed by coarse iron ones.
‘What a pity that I have no one to snuff me here! Were we together, it would be your office, love. I have to act as my own snuffers, and take hints never intended to be hints, like noble Tudor’s—“I must do my duty.” He had no idea that he was acting the part of a tiny pair of gold snuffers. I may almost say that I have taken these snuffers up, and have been snipping away with them at our young Natives ever since. No mortal could object to such a miniature pair.
‘Oct. 16.—Do not think, from what is written above, that, as I grow older, I think it well to grow more censorious. If I have grown in anything this year, I think that it is in knowledge of my own errors and mistakes. I sometimes feel quite disheartened. I do not think that I ever more mistrusted my own judgment than I do now, after my various blunders. But we know that, though snuffers are less straight, comely, and upright, perhaps, than the candlestick, they may be useful in brightening the light which it carries.’