“Christnah, the Indian Apollo, is the darling,” says Archer, “of the Hindoo ladies; and in his pranks, and the demolishing pitchers of milk, or milk-pitchers, has acquired a fame infinitely surpassing that enjoyed by the hero of the agreeable ditty entitled _Kitty of Coleraine_!” I confess I do not understand the levity of temperament which betrays itself in this witticism. For my part I cannot contemplate any form of religion without a sensation of awe. There may be much imposture, much also of hypocrisy, and no small share of self-delusion amongst _individuals_ of every sect, but sincerity will be found in the _aggregate_ of each: and where _certainty_ is not attainable by finite comprehensions, nay, where _unity_ is incompatible with freedom of thought and will, it would more become us, methinks, to make allowance for each other’s weaknesses, than to vilify any worship, which, after all, may only differ from our own as to mode. Christianity, beyond a question, does not inculcate such intolerance. The _true_ follower of that faith recognises in every _altar_ an evidence of common piety; perceives in every articulation of the name of _Lord_, a mutual sense of dependence and a similar appeal for succour; and taking these as inlets into the character of the supplicant, he traces an approximation to that hope whereby he is himself sustained, and rejoices in the discovery: yet it is no less true, that, when superadded to these generalities, he beholds the “image” of his Creator, acknowledging the mission of the second Godhead, and, by reliance on the all-fulness of his immaculate atonement, immersed in the waters of regenerating grace, his bosom expands with _more_ gladness, and he welcomes the stranger as a brother. That the rebuke here intended is not gratuitous or uncalled for, I refer to the testimony of Sir William Jones, who, with some infusion, I regret, of the same irony and incredulity, offers the following portrait, the result of tardy conviction of the superhuman qualifications of this identical Christnah, viz.: “The prolix accounts of his life are filled with narratives of a most extraordinary kind, and most strangely variegated. This incarnate deity of Sanscrit romance was not only cradled, but educated among shepherds. A tyrant, at the time of his birth, ordered all the male infants to be slain. He performed amazing, but ridiculous miracles, and saved multitudes partly by his miraculous powers, and partly by his arms: and raised the dead, by descending for that purpose into the infernal regions. He was the meekest and best tempered of beings; washed the feet of the Brahmans, and preached indeed sublimely, but always in their favour. He was pure and chaste in reality, but exhibited every appearance of libertinism. Lastly, he was benevolent and tender, and yet fomented and conducted a terrible war.”