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Sunday, May 20th 2018

12:05 AM

Daily Reading

To Josephine MacLeod

The Math, Belur,

11th Dec., 1900.

Dear Joe,

I arrived night before last. Alas! my hurrying was of no use.

Poor Captain Sevier passed away, a few days ago -- thus two great Englishmen gave up their lives for us -- us the Hindus. Thus is martyrdom if anything is. Mrs. Sevier I have written to just now, to know her decision.I am well, things are well here -- every way. Excuse this haste. I will write longer ere long.

Ever yours in truth,



To Mrs. Ole Bull

The Math, Belur,

Howrah Dist., Bengal, India,

15 December, 1900.

My Dear Mother,

Three days ago I reached here. It was quite unexpected--my visit, and everybody was so surprised.

Things here have gone better than I expected during my absence, only Mr. Sevier has passed away. It was a tremendous blow, sure, and I don't know the future of the work in the Himalayas. I am expecting daily a letter from Mrs. Sevier who is there still.

How are you? Where are you? My affairs here will be straightened out shortly, I hope, and I am trying my best to straighten them out. 

The remittance you send my cousin should henceforth be sent to me direct, the bills being drawn in my name. I will cash them and send her the money. It is better the money goes to her through me.

Saradananda and Brahmananda are much better and this year there is very little malaria here. This narrow strip on the banks of the river is always free from malaria. Only when we get a large supply of pure water the conditions will be perfected here.




To Sister Nivedita


19th Dec., 1900.


Just a voice across the continents to say, how do you do? Are you not surprised? Verily I am a bird of passage. Gay and busy Paris, grim old Constantinople, sparkling little Athens, and pyramidal Cairo are left behind, and here I am writing in my room on the Ganga, in the Math. It is so quiet and still! The broad river is dancing in the bright sunshine, only now and then an occasional cargo boat breaking the silence with the splashing of the oars. It is the cold season here, but the middle of the day is warm and bright every day. But it is the winter of Southern California. Everything is green and gold, and the grass is like velvet; yet the air is cold and crisp and delightful.

Yours etc.,



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