and he asserted that if a man or woman were only believ ers in the blood of Christ, the Almighty did not see their sins at all. Whatever crimes or villainies they had done, they were entirely hidden under the name of Christ, and the all-seeing eye would never look beyond that covering. After this sermon I was conversing on deck with a number of educated Hindu gentlemen who were astounded that any preacher could talk in that way. There were three or four of these educated Hindus, and they were unanimous in the opinion that if any such doctrine as that were really to get into the mind and heart of any large number of Hindus, the amount of crime that would ensue would be unimaginable. I told them that the fruits of such preaching were already visible in England, but that fortunately very few preachers could be found even in the most ignorant conventicles to believe such stuff, and that the masses of English and American people got their morals mainly from the law courts.

To those who like myself desire to preserve and continue all the varieties of religion in their own structural development, it is a satisfaction to realize the extent to which the literalism of missionaries prevents their doing much real harm.

CHAPTER XI

Calcutta - Keshub Chunder Sen and his death — Jogendra Chandra Ghosh and Positivism-Mozoomdar and Dr. Tyndall - Exposition - Holy pictures-Miracle plays and Hindu theatres - Kalighat festival — Sir William Hunter A learned fakir - Kali - Salvation Army-Entertainment by Prince Furrok Shah - Christian errors about "idols " — A dream interview with Kali.

I

REACHED Calcutta just in time to be present at the banquet in celebration of the one hundredth anniversary of the Royal Asiatic Society of Bengal. Its president, the viceroy (Marquis of Ripon), was a Catholic. The Catholics often secure fraternal relations with peoples of dark complexion where Protestants fail. The viceroy had already shown the Catholic spirit by a disposition to include native gentlemen further in the affairs of India, and was entertaining mixed colours at the vice-regal table. He made an excellent speech, as also did the Hon. Mr. Ilbert and Dr. (afterwards Sir) William W. Hunter.

On my way from Madras I travelled with the Brahmo minister, Protap Chunder Mozoomdar, who told me that I would find their chief, Keshub Chunder Sen, much expanded intellectually since he was in London. But on arrival at the wharf we learned that Sen was dead. His followers gave vent to their grief in utterances rather startling. A disciple in "New Dispensation" wrote that their "master" had been killed by "the poisonous darts of unbelief, indifference, and disobedience which were repeatedly levelled against him." "Thus the light that was shining in darkness, and the darkness knew it not, was suddenly extinguished; thus the Son of God had been

crucified a second time, though in a novel fashion, but no less cruel and corrupt than the first." "Have we called our Master the Son of God? Yes. He came first to show us the Father, and now he came again to show us the Mother." All this shows that the movement of Sen had mingled with the Hinduism, toward which it had relapsed, Christian modes of thought and expression. One who knew him intimately declared to me that his death was an unconscious suicide; he was killed by Yoga. This idea of spiritual sanctification and absorption, taking the form of ecstatic austerities, reducing the food necessary to nourish his large frame and sustain his labours, resulted in elephantiasis. Mr. Dall, the American Unitarian missionary in Calcutta, who loved Sen, told me that the scene at his death was very painful. When he (Dall) entered the room a devotee sat at his head crying in a mournful voice, "Hari, Hari!" [name of Chaitanya's "Salvation Army" god centuries ago]. His son, weeping continually, called "Baba, Baba!" Sen's mother asked mournfully, "What have I done, that thou shouldst suffer such agony?" The dying man said that this agony was the apparently stern face of his Divine Mother, and that he saw her countenance full of love and beauty. A Singing Apostle sang in the room hymns that are thus translated:

I. If possible, O beloved, remove this cup, yet not my will but thine be done. In this dire distress, body, mind, and life are thine. Do with them as Thou wilt only; with clasped hands I ask for this blessing, — Grant unto me peace, patience, and strength.

II. In the darkness of peril, Mother, what a frightful look is Thine. The body trembles at that terrible countenance. In the midst of the dismal ground of cremation Thou seemest to be dancing in the armour of battle. Thy intelligent form, deep in its immensity, appears tinged