I leave the reader to imagine what kind of a night I had. Early in the morning my dear mother, as usual, went to bathe in the Ganges. A young lady had given me her ornament to carry to a goldsmith to have it mended, as I was a friend to the low castes in general. I felt that I ought to bring the ornament from the goldsmith and return it to her, because if I did not, the lady would not know whom to ask for it, and neither would the artist know to whom to return it, as it was given to him in private. I went to that man, but he was not at home. In vain I searched for him in several places where he was supposed to be, and I could not wait any longer, because my mother would expect me to breakfast. I returned home by half past eight, I believe, took my bath as usual, and entered into the dining-room for breakfast. The day before was the fast day of the Brahmun widows. So when my dear mother sat down to help me she looked very tired, after twenty-four hours’ entire abstinence from food and drink. I put the things into my mouth but had no strength to chew them. A deep anxiety, love for my mother, the thought of separation, seemed to fill my heart, and I cast side glances at her face, for I knew that if I lived a hundred years as a Christian, after my return from America, I should not be allowed to sit at meal on this floor and near my dear mother. She noticed the uneasy feelings, and asked, “Joguth, what is that cloud on your face? You look very pale. Are you unwell, child? Tell me what ails you,--I am your mother. Can’t you confide in me?” etc. I knew not what to say at first, and answered, “Mother, a young man has a great many things to think about.” After breakfast I entered into my bedroom and she followed me there. Not knowing what to take and what to leave, I walked from one end of the room to the other, putting my hand upon my clothes, books, pictures, etc. I sat on my bed, and whispered, “No more will my tired, sleepy, or sick body lie on thy bosom; no more from thee my voice will rise, in midnight gloom, to the throne of grace; no more shall I bathe thee with tears, which are counted and known by Him only who knows no sleep.” My mother said it was almost time for me to go to school. So I got up and thought I would not loiter about the room as it would create suspicion in my mother, and perhaps all my cherished plans and precaution would be crushed and frustrated. I must go without scrip--without a second suit of clothes--just as I am. The celestial voice bids me to “let the dead bury their dead;” and so I must not look at these things, my books, clothing, etc., useful as they are. God will provide me with all I need; I would “come and see,” with a filial confidence, how good my Father is. Just as I was, with one shirt and one mantle on my body, I went out of the room. My mother came after me, and said, “Child, how long it will take you to learn to wear your own clothes properly,” and began to button my shirt or outer garment.