To Miss Mary Hale
MY DEAR MARY,
Thanks to Mrs. Adams; she roused you naughty girls to a letter at last. “Out of sight out of mind” — as true in India as in America. And the other young lady, who just left her love as she flitted by, deserves a ducking I suppose.
Well, I have been in a sort of merry-go-round with my body which has been trying to convince me for months that it too much exists.
However, no fear, with four mental-healing sisters as I have, no sinking just now. Give me a strong pull and a long pull, will you, all together, and then I am up!
Why do you talk so much about me in your one-letter-a-year and so little about the four witches mumbling Mantras over the boiling pot in a corner of Chicago?
Did you come across Max Müller’s new book, Ramakrishna: His Life and Sayings?
If you have not, do, and let Mother see it. How is Mother? Growing grey? And Father Pope? Who have been our last visitors from America do you suppose? “Brother, love is a drawing card” and “Misses Meel”; they have been doing splendid in Australia and elsewhere; the same old “fellies”, little changed if any. I wish you could come to visit India — that will be some day in the future. By the by, Mary, I heard a few months ago, when I was rather worrying over your long silence, that you were just hooking a “Willy”, and so busy with your dances and parties; that explained of course your inability to write. But “Willy” or no “Willy”, I must have my money, don’t forget. Harriet is discreetly silent since she got her boy; but where is my money, please? Remind her and her husband of it. If she is Woolley, I am greasy Bengali, as the English call us here — Lord, where is my money?
I have got a monastery on the Ganga now, after all, thanks to American and English friends. Tell Mother to look sharp. I am going to deluge your Yankee land with idolatrous missionaries.
Tell Mr. Woolley he got the sister but has not paid the brother yet. Moreover, it was the fat black queerly dressed apparition smoking in the parlour that frightened many a temptation away, and that was one of the causes which secured Harriet to Mr. Woolley; therefore, I want to be paid for my great share in the work etc., etc. Plead strong, will you?
I do so wish I could come over to America with Joe for this summer; but man proposes and who disposes? Not God surely always. Well, let things slide as they will. Here is Abhayananda, Marie Louse you know, and she has been very well received in Bombay and Madras. She will be in Calcutta tomorrow, and we are going to give her a good reception too.
My love to Miss Howe, Mrs. Adams, to Mother Church, and Father Pope and all the rest of my friends across the seven oceans. We believe in seven oceans — one of milk, one of honey, one of curd, one wine, one sugar-cane juice, one salt, one I forget what. To you four sisters I waft my love across the ocean of honey. . . .
Ever sincerely, your brother,
PS. Write when you find time between dances.