D.L.R.

Mrs. Carshore alludes, I suppose to the above lines, or the following sonnet, or both perhaps, when she speaks of my erroneous Orientalism—­

SCENE ON THE GANGES.

    The shades of evening veil the lofty spires
    Of proud Benares’ fanes!  A thickening haze
    Hangs o’er the stream.  The weary boatmen raise
    Along the dusky shore their crimson fires
    That tinge the circling groups.  Now hope inspires
    Yon Hindu maid, whose heart true passion sways,
    To launch on Gungas flood the glimmering rays
    Of Love’s frail lamp,—­but, lo the light expires! 
    Alas! what sudden sorrow fills her breast! 
    No charm of life remains.  Her tears deplore
    A lover lost and never, never more
    Shall hope’s sweet vision yield her spirit rest! 
    The cold wave quenched the flame—­an omen dread
    That telleth of the faithless—­or the dead!

D.L.R.

Horace Hayman Wilson, a high authority on all Oriental customs, clearly alludes in the following lines to the launching of floating lamps by Hindu females.

    Grave in the tide the Brahmin stands,
    And folds his cord or twists his hands,
    And tells his beads, and all unheard
    Mutters a solemn mystic word
    With reverence the Sudra dips,
    And fervently the current sips,
    That to his humbler hope conveys
    A future life of happier days. 
    But chief do India’s simple daughters
    Assemble in these hallowed waters,
    With vase of classic model laden
    Like Grecian girl or Tuscan maiden,
    Collecting thus their urns to fill
    From gushing fount or trickling rill,
    And still with pious fervour they
    To Gunga veneration pay
    And with pretenceless rite prefer,
    The wishes of their hearts to her
    The maid or matron, as she throws
    Champae or lotus, Bel or rose,
    Or sends the quivering light afloat
    In shallow cup or paper boat,
    Prays for a parent’s peace and wealth
    Prays for a child’s success and health,
    For a fond husband breathes a prayer,
    For progeny their loves to share,
    For what of good on earth is given
    To lowly life, or hoped in heaven,

H.H.W.

On seeing Miss Carshore’s criticism I referred the subject to an intelligent Hindu friend from whom I received the following answer:—­

    My dear Sir,

The Beara, strictly speaking, is a Mahomedan festival.  Some of the lower orders of the Hindus of the NW Provinces, who have borrowed many of their customs from the Mahomedans, celebrate the Beara.  But it is not observed by the Hindus of Bengal, who have a festival of their own, similar to the Beara.  It takes place on the evening of the Saraswati Poojah, when a small piece of the bark of the Plantain Tree is fitted out with all the necessary accompaniments of a boat, and is launched in a private tank with a lamp.  The custom is confined to the women who follow it in their own house or in the same neighbourhood.  It is called the Sooa Dooa Breta.

    Yours truly,