And what might not this man have been, had he been enlightened with revelation, and enabled to discern who is indeed the desire of all nations. He lived and died in the darkness of Mohammedanism. Often in adversity, he knew the trials of life, but he knew not of that sunshine which can make even the clouds of adversity look bright. Diamonds and precious gems there are which have never seen the light; how many minds of great natural gifts lie buried in depths of heathenism and Mohammedanism, but which, if rescued from thence, would increase the moral riches of the world. THE HILL PEOPLE AT SIMLA. BY A MISSIONARY. THE hill people are divided into castes, over all of which the priests exercise the same influence as the Brahmins in Bengal over the people there. They bring about the marriages of parties as well as perform the ceremony; and they conduct the funeral rites of the dead. Although the gods and goddesses are few in number, the objects of their religious worship are comparatively small, yet are they sufficient to brutalize and corrupt the minds of their votaries, and like those religious observances which prevail in Bengal, encourage and countenance the most degrading vices. The people have Kali, Siva, Ganesha, and Krishna, in common with the natives of Bengal, but some, unknown there, are also worshipped, such as Tara Ingola, Pingola, Naroda, Sharoda, Naina, Jawala, &c. They observe a peculiar ceremony of tying a piece of red thread round the wrist for fear of being destroyed by the Daukinee, which is synonymous with the female monster. They adhere to this observance with an unparalleled pertinacity. They sacrifice goats, lambs, buffaloes, &c., to the gods, in the same manner as the people of Bengal do; in fact, their religion differs from the idolatry of Bengal only in degree, not in kind, as they venerate certain beasts, birds, &c., alike with the natives of Bengal. Their religion countenances the re-marriage of widows, and other practices which the Hindus, in spite of their religion, do not act upon, simply to avoid singularity, and the revival of customs which have not obtained for ages. The people are not repulsive in their manners or in their outward appearance, as some of the up-country people of Hindustan, being most accessible, harmless, and open to remonstrance. They have a fair complexion and strong constitution, exhibiting in their make a manly appearance. The women are equally fair, and some are very handsome. They work with their husbands in the fields, and share the labour and burden of conveying corn, wood, grass, &c., with them: they are not soon fatigued and knocked up like the women of the plains. The whole population is engaged in tillage, and the more wealthy, who do not feel the necessity of working personally, hire others to work for them. The people are thinly located on the sides of the hills and valleys. Their dwellings are made of stone and earth, with sloping roofs of slate. They have no windows to their houses, but one small door for entrance and exit, in passing through which one must contract his proportions. Although the people are given to hospitality, yet the difficulties and hardships which inseparably attend the progress of a stranger guest, are too dear a price for the pleasure of receiving an entertainment. Among the hill tribes, dress is not so much an object of show as use. They clothe themselves, not so much to be looked at and admired, as to protect themselves from the inclemency of the weather when it is cold, and for purposes of decency when it is warm. Their women dress most conveniently, having a covering from shoulder to shoulder, and another over it, which comes down to their legs, of a coarse texture, very unlike the fine covering of the Hindu females of Bengal. They bind their hair into a tuft in the middle, and into a plait behind, like that of the Chinese.-Calcutta Christian Observer. EARLY RISING AND PRAYER. WHEN first thine eyes unveil, give thy soul leave To do the like; our bodies but forerun The spirit's duty; true hearts spread and heave Give Him thy first thoughts then, so shalt thou keep Yet never sleep the sun up; prayer should Dawn with the day; these are set awful hours BASHONTO. A HINDU TALE. THE following paper is copied from the "Calcutta Christian Observer." We have long felt how desirable it is that our readers should know something more of the habits of a Hindu family. If the reality was placed more vividly before us, we should all feel more compassion for them, and be more anxious to send to them the Gospel. The writer of this paper seems to have been enabled to look within the purdah, and has interwoven with his narrative so much of this kind of information that we copy portions of it. About ten miles beyond one of the suburbs of Calcutta-whether to the east, west, north, or south, it matters not-is a large village, indeed almost a small town, inhabited chiefly by high-caste families, dwelling in substantial brick-built houses. There many wealthy men have their country residences. Availing themselves of one of the newly-opened lines of railway, they go every Monday morning to the city, and return to their families on Saturday afternoons. It is true they might, by using the same means of conveyance, go and return each day, but most Bengalee gentlemen have their city as well as their country-houses, and they prefer being near their places of business throughout the week. The railroad passes within a mile or two of this village, but the pleasantest way to it is by a carriage. The road is very beautiful. Now you pass by a tank covered with the gorgeous blossoms of the crimson lotus, a flower so regal in its beauty, that it seems to deserve the name of the Queen of Flowers far more than does the blushing rose: on one hand you see a grove of mango trees, and if the time of the year be the cold season, each branch is tipped with the orange blossoms and crimson leaves of a wild orchid; farther on is a long range of bamboos, looking so beautiful, so soft, in the ever-shifting alternations of cloud and sunshine; then you come to a field of a kind of pulse, blue with innumerable flowers of the richest, deepest azure; a field of yellow mustard succeeds with its golden light, and its peculiar yet grateful fragrance. In the rainy season every bank and bit of old wall is marvellously adorned with ferns of various kinds. The Adiantum lunulatum, with its palegreen, crescent-shaped leaves, and its black, hair-like stems, beautifies every road. The maiden-hair, with its delicate feather-like fronds, mantles every half-hidden, secluded wall. The very ditches on either side the road are beautiful, for in them grow arums of singular loveliness, Some of these arum leaves are blotched with purple; some are veined with exquisite embroidery; and the most are of a rich uniform green. During a shower these beautiful leaves hollow themselves to receive the raindrops, and then the succeeding burst of sunshine lights them up with extraordinary radiance. The bazaar is situated at the entrance of the village. There, in the little stalls may be seen all sorts of things exposed for sale. Here sits an old man with his stock of tiny looking-glasses, balls of thread, white and coloured, put up in bottles, little round wooden boxes fantastically painted, heaps of necklaces, or malas, as they are called, strings of beads of various sizes, and numberless bracelets of glass or lac. A miscellaneous collection of nails, locks, cow-bells, tin boxes, conch shells, &c., completes his assortment of goods. Further on is a pottery shop, with earthen vessels of different sizes and shapes, some of the shapes almost rivalling in beauty those of the famous Etruscan vases. Yet a little further on is a sweetmeat shop. Great plates full of parched rice, of sondeshes, jellabies, and a dozen other delectable preparations, are so arranged as to tempt the eyes of the passers-by. Beside it is a fruit shop, with bunches of golden plantains hanging up within, and an immense heap of green cocoa-nuts lying in front. And perhaps, next to this, is a stall for the flower garlands used in idol-worship. Here the worshipper, on his way to the river or the temple, may, for a few cowries, buy wreaths of white jessamine, crimson hibiscus, or any other of the beautiful flowers of India which may happen to be in bloom. Many other shops might be be described, but let us pass on. Leaving the bazaar, we come to scattered brick houses, each one em bosomed in trees. If the day is cool, we get out, and walk along the road. And what a walk that is! By one coming from the heart of the busy city the stillness is immediately felt as being most delightful. The air is fresh and cool, and "the voice of the turtle is heard in the land," for, stealing through the stillness, may be heard the sweet yet mournful coo of the wild dove. Sometimes, too, the hoarse croak of a raven may be heard, and occasionally the singular cry of a half-mythical bird, which no one professes to have ever seen, but whose nest, wonderful in size, is Isaid to have been discovered. In such a quiet and beautiful retreat was the homestead of Baboo Rajkoomar Bhattacharjya. He was a Brahmin, and a pundit. Sanskrit was nearly as familiar to him as Bengalee. Its pollysyllabic words had a strange charm for him, and nothing delighted him more than to have pupils who partook of his enthusiasm. A refined, polished man, he was a perfect gentleman: conversation with him was a real pleasure, for with great intelligence he combined the most finished courtesy. He taught in one of the Calcutta Colleges, and had beside some private pupils. On this account he stayed in Calcutta from Monday until Saturday, going to Gopalpore, for so we shall call the place, for the day of rest. Verily the Sabbath is a blessing, even to those who have not yet received into their hearts the Lord of the Sabbath! The pundit's household was not large. It consisted of his wife, Bamashoondari; his two sons, Premchand and Prionath; his daughter, Kamini; his brother Jodoonath, and his wife, Prosonno; and Boshonto, a young woman of eighteen, the widow of a younger brother, who had died a few months previous. An old aunt, Thakoormoni, and a servant, Herani, completed the establishment. Bamashoondari was a very sweet-looking woman, very fair and very gentle. Her age might have been about twenty-six. She was tattooed on her chin and her nose, but these marks, the former resembling a fleur-de-lys, the latter a simple black line, seemed only to give to her face a more intellectual expression than it would otherwise have had. Her three children were her pride. Premchand was a queer little fellow of about twelve years of age. He had been carefully instructed, and was really very clever. Like all Bengalee boys, his Bengalee education commenced on the day he completed his fifth year. On that day his mother dressed him up like a little Babu, and sent him to the village patshala. There he learnt the multiplication-table, and the way to form the letters on strips of palm leaves. Naturally quick, he soon learnt all that could be taught him at the patshala, and then his father took him with him into the city every Monday morning. There he attended one of the large Missionary institutions, and made very rapid progress in every branch of education. English was speedily acquired, and so fond was the little fellow of the new language, that whenever he met with any one who could speak English, he preferred talking in it to talking in Bengalee. He even affected to despise the Bengalee language, and all Bengalee books. Such was the progress he had made in understanding English, that he could most rapidly, and most accurately, translate from English into Bengalee, and from Bengalee into English. (To be continued.) |