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[Illustration]


                              THE LIFE OF

                            ADONIRAM JUDSON

                               BY HIS SON

                             EDWARD JUDSON




                                NEW YORK
                     ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY
                     900 BROADWAY, COR. 20TH STREET




                            COPYRIGHT, 1883,
                           BY EDWARD JUDSON.








                               NEW YORK:

                           EDWARD O. JENKINS,
                       _Printer and Stereotyper_,
                          20 North William St.

                                                    ROBERT RUTTER,
                                                          _Binder_,
                                                   116 & 118 E. 14th St.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

                    TO THE CHILDREN OF MISSIONARIES,

                       THE INVOLUNTARY INHERITORS

               OF THEIR PARENTS’ SUFFERINGS AND REWARDS,

                 THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED

                        BY ONE OF THEIR NUMBER.

------------------------------------------------------------------------


It is not my purpose to present a theory of missions, but simply to give
a clear and consecutive story of my father’s life. I have been impelled
to do this by the desire that his memory should be cherished in the
minds of the rising generation. Dr. Wayland’s noble and comprehensive
Memoir is now out of print, and it has seemed to me that a career which
may be justly said to form the main artery of all American foreign
missionary endeavor, needed to be presented anew. In order to bring into
bold relief my father’s social, domestic, and personal traits, I have
introduced large extracts from his letters and journals, which, however,
in a few places, I have taken the liberty of condensing. Free use has
also been made of the valuable reminiscences contributed to Dr.
Wayland’s Memoir by Mrs. Emily C. Judson.

                                                               E. J.

NEW YORK, _January, 1883_.

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                               CONTENTS.

                                -------


                               CHAPTER I.

                              EARLY YEARS.

                               1788-1809.


 Birth—Precocity—Reverence for his father—Ambition
   over-stimulated—His sister, Abigail—Playing church—Removal to
   Wenham—His brother Elnathan—Death of a sister—Childhood
   reminiscences—“Does the sun move?”—Solving hard
   enigmas—Proficiency in arithmetic—“Old Virgil dug up”—Studying
   Revelation—Removal to Braintree and to Plymouth—College
   life—Teaching school—Publishing grammar and
   arithmetic—Conversion—Early impressions—Sceptical
   views—Journey—Startling incident at an inn—Entering the
   Theological Institute at Andover—Self-dedication—Joining the
   Church—Consecration to the ministry—Fervent piety                   1


                               CHAPTER II.

                    CONSECRATION TO MISSIONARY LIFE.

                               1809-1812.


 Buchanan’s “Star in the East”—Association with kindred missionary
   spirits—Haystack monument—Obstacles—Attractions at home—Best
   men needed abroad—Anticipation of dangers and
   hardships—Application to Dr. Bogue—The case laid before the
   _General Association_—Organization of the American Board of
   Commissioners for Foreign Missions—Failure to co-operate with
   the _London Missionary Society_—Journey to England—Captured by
   a French privateer—Confined in the hold—In prison at
   Bayonne—Paroled—Scene at a masked ball—Reception in
   England—Personal appearance—Return to America—Appointed by the
   Board—Meeting with Ann Hasseltine—Incident at the table—Sketch
   of Ann Hasseltine—Marriage—Parting with parents—The wayside
   prayer—Ordination—Parting with sister—Embarcation                  16


                              CHAPTER III.
                            VOYAGE TO BURMAH.
                               1812-1813.


 The course—Change of views on Baptism—Arrival in
   Calcutta—Announces to the Board his change of views—Appeal to
   the Baptists—His baptism—Excluded from India by the East India
   Company—Journey to the Isle of France—Death of Harriet
   Newell—Journey to Madras—Voyage to Rangoon—Arrival—The effect
   in America of his change of views—Organization of a Baptist
   Missionary Society—Beneficial consequences of his becoming a
   Baptist—Missionary operations widened—Consolidation and growth
   of the Baptist denomination                                        36


                               CHAPTER IV.

                                 BURMAH.


 Face of the country—Animals—Inhabitants—Industrial
   life—Government—Religion—History and distribution of
   Buddhism—Buddhism and Brahminism contrasted—Life of
   Buddha—Buddha’s Way of salvation—Point of Departure, the Goal,
   and the Way—Buddha’s moral code—Buddhism and Christianity          56


                               CHAPTER V.

                            LIFE IN RANGOON.

                               1813-1819.


 Rangoon a strategic point—First impressions of Rangoon—The _Task_
   before him—The evangelization of Burmah—The _Means_—Not
   civilization—Not schools for children—The Gospel conveyed to
   the adult mind—The printed Word—Oral preaching of the
   Gospel—The press can never supersede the pulpit—His method of
   preaching—The _Difficulties_—Burman conservatism—Learning the
   language—Danger of persecution—Sublime faith—Removal into the
   city proper—Mrs. Judson’s declining health, and voyage to
   Madras—Birth and death of Roger Williams Judson—Conversation
   between Mr. Judson and his Burman teacher—His illness—Compiling
   Burman Grammar—The first tract—Arrival of Mr. Hough and the
   press—The first inquirer—Matthew translated—Ill health—Horrors
   of the sea voyage to Madras—Mrs. Judson’s heroism during his
   absence—Arrival of Messrs. Colman and Wheelock—Beginning of
   public worship in the zayat—The first baptism—Handpicking among
   the Burmans—Rising persecution—Determination to go to Ava—Death
   of Wheelock                                                        74


                               CHAPTER VI.

                       LIFE IN RANGOON—CONTINUED.

                               1819-1823.


 Journey to Ava—Unsuccessful visit at court—Return to
   Rangoon—Firmness of the converts—Colman’s death in
   Arracan—Revival amid persecution—First baptism of a Burman
   woman—Letter from Burman converts to American churches—Mrs.
   Judson’s alarming illness—The voyage to Calcutta and
   return—Series of conversions and baptisms—Mrs. Judson’s visit
   to America—Personal appearance—Mr. Judson’s solitude—Arrival of
   Dr. and Mrs. Price—Death of Mrs. Price—Second journey to
   Ava—Favorable reception at Court—Return to Rangoon—Purpose to
   establish a mission at Ava                                        147


                              CHAPTER VII.

                      LIFE IN AVA AND OUNG-PEN-LA.

                               1823-1826.


 Third journey to Ava—Bright prospects—Gathering war-cloud—Cold
   reception at Court—War between the English and Burmans—All the
   white foreigners thrown into prison—Duration of
   imprisonment—The place—Horrors of an Oriental jail—Serene
   faith—Mrs. Judson’s intercessions—Birth of Maria—Removal to
   Oung-pen-la—Final release—His personal reminiscences of his
   captivity—A British officer’s description of Mrs. Judson          212


                              CHAPTER VIII.

                            LIFE IN AMHERST.

                               1826-1827.


 Treaty of peace—Condition of affairs in Rangoon—The Wades and
   Boardmans at Calcutta—Description of Mr. and Mrs. Boardman—The
   founding of Amherst—Removal to Amherst—Accompanying the English
   Embassy to Ava—Uncongenial employment—Mrs. Judson’s death—His
   return to Amherst—Arrival of the Wades and Boardmans—Death of
   little Maria—Decline of Amherst—Removal to Maulmain—Death of
   Mah-men-la—Death of his father                                    282


                               CHAPTER IX.

                            LIFE IN MAULMAIN.

                               1827-1831.


 _Guyonism_—Tendency toward asceticism—Physical constitution
   shaken by tortures and sorrows—Solitude—American Christians
   slow to send reinforcements—Intense piety—Forms of
   self-mortification—Gives property to the Board—Destroys all
   correspondence and materials for eulogiums—Crucifies taste for
   literature—Gives up society—His intense socialness—Recovery of
   equilibrium—The mission-house at Maulmain—Bold robbery—Zayat
   work—School work—Women and children persecuted—Sufferings of
   Mee-Shway-ee—Work of translation—Ordination of
   Moung-Thah-a—Ordination and death of Moung-Ing—Removal of
   Boardman to Tavoy—Death of Elnathan Judson—Arrival of Mr. and
   Mrs. Bennett—Removal of the Wades to Rangoon—Mr. Judson repairs
   to Rangoon—Attempt to establish a mission in Prome—Return to
   Rangoon—Burman thirst for the Word—Distribution of
   tracts—Seclusion at Rangoon for the Bible translation—Interior
   of his study—Invitation to visit America declined—Regard for
   the health of his missionary associates—Death of Boardman         303


                               CHAPTER X.

                       LIFE IN MAULMAIN—CONTINUED.

                               1831-1845.


 Return to Maulmain—Condition of affairs—The Karens—Views of
   ministerial education—Tours in the Karen jungles—Reinforcements
   from America—His personal habits—His marriage to Mrs.
   Boardman—Her heroic career at Tavoy—Parting with
   George—Translating the Bible—Revision—His views of distributing
   the Bible—His views of the Old Testament—The excellence of his
   Burman version of the Bible—Teaching and preaching—Personal
   appearance—Annals of domestic life—Birth of Abby Ann—Birth of
   Adoniram Brown—Declining health—Birth of Elnathan—Voyage to
   Calcutta and return—Birth of Henry—Birth of Luther—Voyage of
   the family to Calcutta—Death of Henry at Serampore—Return to
   Maulmain via Isle of France—Incidents of the voyage—Birth of
   Henry Hall—Death of his aged mother at Plymouth—Beginning the
   Burman dictionary                                                 376


                               CHAPTER XI.

                            VISIT TO AMERICA.

                               1845-1846.


 The births of Charles and Edward—Mrs. Judson’s declining
   health—Voyage to America necessary—Arrival at the Isle of
   France—“We part on this green islet, love”—Mrs. Judson’s death
   at St. Helena—Arrival in Boston—His humility—An address in
   Eaton—A sermon at Plymouth—Missionary mass-meeting in
   Boston—Providence—New York—Bradford—Death of
   Charlie—Philadelphia—Utica—Waterville
   College—Hamilton—Richmond—Baltimore—Sketch of Emily
   Chubbuck—His first meeting with Emily
   Chubbuck—Marriage—Conflicting public opinions—Judson longs for
   his Burman home—Farewell to his sister and to his
   children—Embarcation                                              442


                              CHAPTER XII.

                               LAST YEARS.

                               1846-1850.


 Passing St. Helena—The Isle of France and Amherst—Arrival at
   Maulmain—Resuming work on the dictionary—Removal to
   Rangoon—“Bat Castle”—Sickness, suffering, and persecution at
   Rangoon—Retreat to Maulmain—The permission that came too
   late—Preaching, translating, and pastoral work—A spirit
   unconquerably youthful—Personal appearance—Correspondence with
   the Crown Prince of Siam—Sympathy with those in sorrow—Domestic
   life—Birth of “My Bird”—Mrs. Judson’s declining health—His last
   illness and death at sea—Birth and death of “Angel
   Charlie”—Closing scenes—“Sweet mother”                            494


                              CHAPTER XIII.

                          POSTHUMOUS INFLUENCE.


 The Burman Dictionary unfinished—Summary of results in Burmah—The
   difficulties overcome—Results in America—Formation of
   missionary organizations—The American Board of Commissioners
   for Foreign Missions—The American Baptist Missionary
   Union—Missionary societies among the Episcopalians, Methodists,
   and Presbyterians—Indirect influences of his life—His
   sufferings fruitful of blessing—The graves of our missionaries    550


                                APPENDIX.


 A.—Autobiographical Record of Dates and Events, by A. Judson        561


 B.—Mr. Judson’s First Tract for the Burmans                         568


 C.—The Threefold Cord                                               571


 D.—Advice to Missionary Candidates                                 577#


 E.—The Kathayan Slave                                              580#


 F.—Wayside Preaching                                               589#

                                   I

[Illustration: THE LAND HEMISPHERE.]

                                   II

[Illustration: BURMAH.]




                               CHAPTER I.
                              EARLY YEARS.
                               1788-1809.


The traveller who visits Malden, Massachusetts, one of the picturesque
suburban towns of Boston, may find in the Baptist meeting-house a marble
tablet, bearing the following inscription:

                              IN MEMORIAM.
                         REV. ADONIRAM JUDSON.
                           BORN AUG. 9, 1788.
                          DIED APRIL 12, 1850.
                        MALDEN, HIS BIRTHPLACE.
                       THE OCEAN, HIS SEPULCHRE.
                         CONVERTED BURMANS, AND
                           THE BURMAN BIBLE,
                             HIS MONUMENT.
                         HIS RECORD IS ON HIGH.

An old wooden house embosomed among the trees is still pointed out as
the birthplace of Adoniram Judson. His father, who also bore the quaint,
scriptural name of Adoniram, was a Congregationalist minister, born in
Woodbury, Connecticut, in June, 1752. He was married November 23, 1786,
to Abigail Brown, who was born at Tiverton, Rhode Island, December 15,
1759. Soon after his marriage he settled in Malden, Massachusetts, and
here his eldest son, Adoniram, was born.

The boy was very precocious, learning to read when he was only three
years old. While his father was absent on a journey, his mother
conceived the idea of teaching her child to read, in order that she
might give her husband an agreeable surprise on his return. She
succeeded so well that upon his father’s return he saluted him by
reading a whole chapter in the Bible.

His affection for his father must have been deeply tinged with awe; for
the elder Adoniram was a stern man, and very strict in his domestic
administration. One who saw him in his later life, when he was over
seventy years of age, says:

  “He was, as I remember him, a man of decidedly imposing appearance.
  His stature was rather above the average. His white hair, erect
  position, grave utterance, and somewhat taciturn manner, together with
  the position he naturally took in society, left one somewhat at a loss
  whether to class him with a patriarch of the Hebrews or a censor of
  the Romans. He was through life esteemed a man of inflexible integrity
  and uniform consistency of Christian character.”

To the influence of such a father perhaps were due the stately courtesy
that characterized Mr. Judson’s social intercourse throughout his whole
life, and the dignity of style which pervaded even his most familiar
letters.

His father stimulated his ambition to the utmost. He seems early to have
formed the hope that his boy was to become a great man, and he took no
pains to hide this expectation; so that even in childhood Adoniram’s
heart came to be full of worldly ambition, which in subsequent years had
to be nailed to the cross. For if a man can sink the desire to be great
in a passion for doing good, then his greatness really begins. “No man,”
says Carlyle, “rises so high as he who knows not whither he is going.”

The family lived in Malden until Adoniram was about four and a half
years old. During that time his sister, Abigail Brown Judson, was born,
to become the companion of his childhood and his life-long confidante.
She still survives him; and in the old homestead at Plymouth, at the age
of more than ninety years, awaits a reunion with that brother of whose
“affectionate tenderness” she has still a “vivid recollection.” She
remembers hearing her parents relate how even in those early childhood
days in Malden, when her brother was only four years old, he used to
gather together the children of the neighborhood to play church, he
officiating as minister; and that even then his favorite hymn was the
one beginning, “Go preach my Gospel, saith the Lord.”

In January, 1793, the family removed to Wenham, Massachusetts, a village
about twenty miles north-east of Boston. Here Adoniram lived until he
was twelve years old. Here his brother Elnathan, who became a surgeon in
the United States Navy, was born May 28, 1794. Here, too, when Adoniram
was eight years old, his sister Mary was born, and died six months
later. The loss of this little sister must have marked an epoch in his
boyhood, for memorable is the hour when the keen ploughshare of sorrow
tears up the fresh turf of a child’s heart.

Wenham, too, was the scene of many of the following reminiscences, for
which we are indebted to the pen of Mrs. E. C. Judson:

  “Adoniram was about seven years old, when, having been duly instructed
  that the earth is a spherical body, and that it revolves around the
  sun, it became a serious question in his mind whether or not the sun
  moved at all. He might have settled the point by asking his father or
  mother; but that would have spoiled all his pleasant speculations, and
  probably would have been the very last thing to occur to him. His
  little sister, whom alone he consulted, said the sun did move, for she
  could see it; but he had learned already, in this matter, to distrust
  the evidence of his senses, and he talked so wisely about positive
  proof, that she was astonished and silenced. Soon after this, he was
  one day missed about midday; and as he had not been seen for several
  hours, his father became uneasy and went in search of him. He was
  found in a field, at some distance from the house, stretched on his
  back, his hat with a circular hole cut in the crown, laid over his
  face, and his swollen eyes almost blinded with the intense light and
  heat. He only told his father that he was looking at the sun; but he
  assured his sister that he had solved the problem with regard to the
  sun’s moving, though she never could comprehend the process by which
  he arrived at the result.

  “He was noted among his companions for uncommon acuteness in the
  solution of charades and enigmas, and retained a great store of them
  in his memory for the purpose of puzzling his school-fellows. On one
  occasion he found in a newspaper an enigma rather boastfully set
  forth, and accompanied by a challenge for a solution. He felt very
  sure that he had ‘guessed riddles as hard as that,’ and gave himself
  no rest until he had discovered a satisfactory answer. This he copied
  out in as fair a hand as possible, addressed it to the editor, and,
  with no confidante but his sister, conveyed it to the post-office. But
  the postmaster supposed it to be some mischievous prank of the
  minister’s son, and he accordingly placed the letter in the hands of
  the father. The poor boy’s surprise and discomfiture may be imagined
  when he saw it paraded on the table after tea. ‘Is that yours,
  Adoniram?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘How came you to write it?’ Silence. ‘What is
  it about?’ Falteringly, ‘Please read it, father.’ ‘I do not read other
  people’s letters. Break the seal, and read it yourself.’ Adoniram
  broke the seal and mumbled over the contents, then placed the letter
  in his father’s hands. He read it, called for the newspaper which had
  suggested it, and after reading and re-reading both, laid them on the
  table, crossed his hands on his knees, and looked intently into the
  fire. Meantime Adoniram stood silently watching his countenance,
  speculating on the chances of his being treated as a culprit, or
  praised for his acuteness. But the father woke from his reverie, the
  subject of conversation was changed, and the letter never heard of
  afterward. The next morning Adoniram’s father gravely informed him
  that he had purchased for his use a book of riddles, a very common
  one, but, as soon as he had solved all that it contained, he should
  have more difficult books. ‘You are a very acute boy, Adoniram,’ he
  added, patting him on the head with unusual affection, ‘and I expect
  you to become a great man.’ Adoniram seized upon the book of riddles
  joyfully, and was a good deal surprised and disappointed to find it
  the veritable arithmetic which the larger boys in Master Dodge’s
  school were studying. But then his father had praised him, and if
  there was anything puzzling in the arithmetic, he was sure he should
  like it; and so he prepared to enter upon the study with alacrity.

  “Before reaching his tenth year, he had gained quite a reputation for
  good scholarship, especially in arithmetic. A gentleman residing in
  the neighboring town of Beverly sent him a problem, with the offer of
  a dollar for the solution. Adoniram immediately shut himself in his
  chamber. The reward was tempting; but, more important still, his
  reputation was at stake. On the morning of the second day he was
  called from his seclusion to amuse his little brother, who was ill. He
  went reluctantly, but without murmuring, for the government of his
  parents was of a nature that no child would think of resisting. His
  task was to build a cob-house. He laid an unusually strong foundation,
  with unaccountable slowness and hesitation, and was very deliberately
  proceeding with the superstructure, when suddenly he exclaimed,
  ‘That’s it. I’ve got it!’ and sending the materials for the half-built
  house rolling about the room, he hurried off to his chamber to record
  the result. The problem was solved, the dollar was won, and the boy’s
  reputation established.

  “At the age of ten he was sent to one Captain Morton, of whom he took
  lessons in navigation, in which he is said to have made decided
  progress. In the grammar-school he was noted for his proficiency in
  the Greek language. His school-mates nicknamed him Virgil, or (in
  allusion to the peculiar style of the hat which he wore, as well as to
  his studious habits) ‘old Virgil dug up.’ As a boy, he was spirited,
  self-confident, and exceedingly enthusiastic, very active and
  energetic, but fonder of his books than of play. His sister has a
  vivid recollection of his affectionate tenderness toward her, and of
  his great kindness to inferior animals. He was very fond of desultory
  reading; and as there were no books for children at that period, he
  alternated between the books of theology found in his father’s library
  and the novels of Richardson and Fielding, or the plays of Ben Jonson,
  which he was able to borrow in the neighborhood. It is not probable
  that his father encouraged this latter class of reading; but the
  habits of self-dependence, which he had thought proper to cultivate in
  his son, left his hours of leisure mostly untrammelled; and seeing the
  greediness with which the boy occasionally devoured books of the
  gravest character, it very likely had not occurred to him that he
  could feel the least possible interest in any work of the imagination.

  “Before Adoniram was twelve years of age, he had heard visitors at his
  father’s talk a great deal of a new exposition of the Apocalypse,
  which they pronounced a work of rare interest. Now, the Revelation was
  the book that, of all others in the Bible, he delighted most to read;
  and he had searched the few commentators his father possessed without
  getting much light upon its mysteries. The new exposition was owned by
  a very awe-inspiring gentleman in the neighborhood; but Adoniram felt
  that he _must_ have it, and after combating a long time with his
  bashfulness, he at last determined on begging the loan of it. He
  presented himself in the great man’s library, and was coldly and
  sternly refused. For once, his grief and mortification were so great
  that he could not conceal the affair from his father. He received more
  sympathy than he anticipated. ‘Not lend it to you!’ said the good man,
  indignantly; ‘I wish _he_ could understand it half as well. You shall
  have books, Adoniram, just as many as you can read, and I’ll go to
  Boston myself for them.’ He performed his promise, but the desired
  work on the Apocalypse, perhaps for judicious reasons, was not
  obtained.”

In the year 1800 the family removed to Braintree, and two years later,
when Adoniram was fourteen years old, took up their abode in the old
historic town of Plymouth. In 1804 he entered Providence
College—subsequently called Brown University—one year in advance.

During his college course he was a hard student; and in 1807, at the age
of nineteen, was graduated the valedictorian of his class, in spite of
the fact that for six weeks of the Senior year he was absent, engaged in
teaching school in Plymouth. He was ambitious to excel; and a classmate
says of him, he has “no recollection of his ever failing, or even
hesitating, in recitation.” He had a powerful rival in his friend
Bailey,[1] and this probably added zest to his ambition. When he
received the highest appointment in the commencement exercises, his
delight knew no bounds. He hurried to his room, and wrote, “Dear father,
I have got it. Your affectionate son, A. J.” He then took a circuitous
route to the post-office, that he might quiet the beatings of his heart,
and appear with propriety before his classmates, and especially before
his rival friend.

To his circumspect and studious behavior while in college, a letter to
his father from the President of the College bears unequivocal witness:

                                “BROWN UNIVERSITY, _April_ 30, 1805.

  “REV. SIR: Notwithstanding the greatness of my present hurry, I must
  drop you a word respecting your son; and this, I can assure you, is
  not by way of complaint. A uniform propriety of conduct, as well as an
  intense application to study, distinguishes his character. Your
  expectations of him, however sanguine, must certainly be gratified. I
  most heartily congratulate you, my dear sir, on that charming prospect
  which you have exhibited in this very amiable and promising son; and I
  most heartily pray that the Father of mercies may make him now, while
  a youth, a son in his spiritual family, and give him an earnest of the
  inheritance of the saints in light.

                             “I am, very respectfully,
                                          “Your friend and servant,
                                                       “ASA MESSER.”

In the autumn of 1807, young Judson opened in Plymouth a private
Academy, which he taught for nearly a year. During this time he also
published two text-books: “The Elements of English Grammar,” and “The
Young Lady’s Arithmetic.”

But the most important event of this period of his life was his
conversion. In a condensed journal of his, entitled “A Record of Dates
and Events pertaining to the Life of Adoniram Judson,”—a valuable
document still preserved in autograph, and reproduced in the
Appendix—may be found the following entry: “1808, Nov. Began to
entertain a hope of having received the regenerating influences of the
Holy Spirit.”[2]

From his earliest years he had indeed breathed a thoroughly Christian
atmosphere. He could truly have said with St. Augustine, “This name of
my Saviour, Thy Son, had my tender heart, even with my mother’s milk,
devoutly drunk in, and deeply cherished; and whatsoever was without that
name, though never so learned, polished, or true, took not entire hold
of me.”

The following reminiscences of his youth, by Mrs. E. C. Judson, show
that years before he had given serious thought to the subject of
personal religion:

  “When about fourteen years of age, his studies were interrupted by a
  serious attack of illness, by which he was reduced to a state of
  extreme weakness, and for a long time his recovery was doubtful. It
  was more than a year before he was able to resume his customary
  occupations. Previous to this, he had been too actively engaged to
  devote much time to thought; but as soon as the violence of the
  disease subsided, he spent many long days and nights in reflecting on
  his future course. His plans were of the most extravagantly ambitious
  character. Now he was an orator, now a poet, now a statesman; but
  whatever his character or profession, he was sure in his
  castle-building to attain to the highest eminence. After a time, one
  thought crept into his mind, and embittered all his musings. Suppose
  he should attain to the very highest pinnacle of which human nature is
  capable; what then? Could he hold his honors forever? His favorites of
  other ages had long since been turned to dust, and what was it to them
  that the world still praised them? What would it be to him, when a
  hundred years had gone by, that America had never known his equal? He
  did not wonder that Alexander wept when at the summit of his ambition;
  he felt very sure that he should have wept too. Then he would become
  alarmed at the extent of his own wicked soarings, and try to comfort
  himself with the idea that it was all the result of the fever in his
  brain.

  “One day his mind reverted to religious pursuits. Yes, an eminent
  divine was very well, though he should of course prefer something more
  brilliant. Gradually, and without his being aware of his own train of
  thought, his mind instituted a comparison between the great worldly
  divine, toiling for the same perishable objects as his other
  favorites, and the humble minister of the Gospel, laboring only to
  please God and benefit his fellow-men. There was (so he thought) a
  sort of sublimity about that, after all. Surely the world was all
  wrong, or such a self-abjuring man would be its hero. Ah, but the good
  man had a reputation more enduring. Yes, yes, his fame was sounded
  before him as he entered the other world; and that was the only fame
  worthy of the possession, because the only one that triumphed over the
  grave. Suddenly, in the midst of his self-gratulation, the words
  flashed across his mind, ‘Not unto us, not unto us, but to Thy name be
  the glory.’ He was confounded. Not that he had actually made himself
  the representative of this last kind of greatness; it was not
  sufficiently to his taste for that; but he had ventured on dangerous
  ground, and he was startled by a flood of feelings that had till now
  remained dormant. He had always said and thought, so far as he had
  thought anything about it, that he wished to become truly religious;
  but now religion seemed so entirely opposed to all his ambitious
  plans, that he was afraid to look into his heart, lest he should
  discover what he did not like to confess, even to himself—that he did
  not want to become a Christian. He was fully awake to the vanity of
  worldly pursuits, and was, on the whole, prepared to yield the palm of
  excellence to religious ones; but his father had often said he would
  one day be a great man, and a great man he had resolved to be.”

During his college course he began to cherish skeptical views.

  “It was at this period that French infidelity was sweeping over the
  land like a flood; and free inquiry in matters of religion was
  supposed to constitute part of the education of every man of spirit.
  Young Judson did not escape the contamination. In the class above him
  was a young man by the name of E——who was amiable, talented, witty,
  exceedingly agreeable in person and manners, but a confirmed Deist. A
  very strong friendship sprang up between the two young men, founded on
  similar tastes and sympathies; and Judson soon became, at least
  professedly, as great an unbeliever as his friend. The subject of a
  profession was often discussed between them. At one time they proposed
  entering the law, because it afforded so wide a scope for political
  ambition; and at another, they discussed their own dramatic powers,
  with a view to writing plays.

  “Immediately on closing the school at Plymouth, Judson set out on a
  tour through the Northern States. After visiting some of the New
  England States, he left the horse with which his father had furnished
  him with an uncle in Sheffield, Connecticut, and proceeded to Albany
  to see the wonder of the world, the newly-invented Robert Fulton
  steamer. She was about proceeding on her second trip to New York, and
  he gladly took passage in her. The magnificent scenery of the Hudson
  had then excited comparatively little attention, and its novelty and
  sublimity could not fail to make a deep and lasting impression on one
  of Judson’s ardent and adventurous spirit. Indeed, during his last
  illness, he described it with all the enthusiasm that he might have
  done in his youth. His name was frequently mistaken for that of
  Johnson; and it occurred to him that, in the novel scenes before him,
  he might as well use this convenient disguise, in order to see as
  deeply into the world as possible. He therefore, without actually
  giving out the name with distinctness, or ever writing it down, became
  Mr. Johnson. He had not been long in New York before he contrived to
  attach himself to a theatrical company, not with the design of
  entering upon the stage, but partly for the purpose of familiarizing
  himself with its regulations, in case he should enter upon his
  literary projects, and partly from curiosity and love of adventure.[3]

  “Before setting out upon his tour he had unfolded his infidel
  sentiments to his father, and had been treated with the severity
  natural to a masculine mind that has never doubted, and to a parent
  who, after having made innumerable sacrifices for the son of his pride
  and his love, sees him rush recklessly on to his own destruction. His
  mother was none the less distressed, and she wept, and prayed, and
  expostulated. He knew his superiority to his father in argument; but
  he had nothing to oppose to his mother’s tears and warnings, and they
  followed him now wherever he went. He knew that he was on the verge of
  such a life as he despised. For the world he would not see a young
  brother in his perilous position; but ‘I,’ he thought, ‘am in no
  danger. I am only seeing the world—the dark side of it, as well as the
  bright; and I have too much self-respect to do anything mean or
  vicious.’ After seeing what he wished of New York, he returned to
  Sheffield for his horse, intending to pursue his journey westward. His
  uncle, Rev. Ephraim Judson, was absent, and a very pious young man
  occupied his place. His conversation was characterized by a godly
  sincerity, a solemn but gentle earnestness, which addressed itself to
  the heart, and Judson went away deeply impressed.

  “The next night he stopped at a country inn. The landlord mentioned,
  as he lighted him to his room, that he had been obliged to place him
  next door to a young man who was exceedingly ill, probably in a dying
  state; but he hoped that it would occasion him no uneasiness. Judson
  assured him that, beyond pity for the poor sick man, he should have no
  feeling whatever, and that now, having heard of the circumstance, his
  pity would not of course be increased by the nearness of the object.
  But it was, nevertheless, a very restless night. Sounds came from the
  sick-chamber—sometimes the movements of the watchers, sometimes the
  groans of the sufferer; but it was not these which disturbed him. He
  thought of what the landlord had said—the stranger was probably in a
  dying state; and was he prepared? Alone, and in the dead of night, he
  felt a blush of shame steal over him at the question, for it proved
  the shallowness of his philosophy. What would his late companions say
  to his weakness? The clear-minded, intellectual, witty E——, what would
  he say to such consummate boyishness? But still his thoughts _would_
  revert to the sick man. Was he a Christian, calm and strong in the
  hope of a glorious immortality? or was he shuddering upon the brink of
  a dark, unknown future? Perhaps he was a ‘freethinker,’ educated by
  Christian parents, and prayed over by a Christian mother. The landlord
  had described him as a _young_ man; and in imagination he was forced
  to place himself upon the dying bed, though he strove with all his
  might against it. At last morning came, and the bright flood of light
  which it poured into his chamber dispelled all his ‘superstitious
  illusions.’ As soon as he had risen, he went in search of the
  landlord, and inquired for his fellow-lodger. ‘He is dead,’ was the
  reply. ‘Dead!’ ‘Yes, he is gone, poor fellow! The doctor said he would
  probably not survive the night.’ ‘Do you know who he was?’ ‘O, yes; it
  was a young man from Providence College—a very fine fellow; his name
  was E——.’ Judson was completely stunned. After hours had passed, he
  knew not how, he attempted to pursue his journey. But one single
  thought occupied his mind, and the words, Dead! lost! lost! were
  continually ringing in his ears. He knew the religion of the Bible to
  be true; he felt its truth; and he was in despair. In this state of
  mind he resolved to abandon his scheme of travelling, and at once
  turned his horse’s head toward Plymouth.”

He arrived at Plymouth September 22, 1808, and in October of the same
year entered the Theological Institution at Andover, one year in
advance. As he was neither a professor of religion nor a candidate for
the ministry, he was admitted only by special favor. On the 2d of
December, 1808, he made a solemn dedication of himself to God; and on
the 28th of May, 1809, at the age of twenty-one, joined the Third
Congregational church in Plymouth. His conversion involved in itself a
consecration to the Christian ministry. How complete this consecration
was, may be seen in the following extract from a letter to Miss Ann
Hasseltine:

                          “ANDOVER, _December_ 30, 1810. Sunday Eve.

  “I have been through the labors of another Sabbath. A preacher can say
  with Pope, ‘E’en Sunday shines no day of rest to me.’ Brother Nott
  preaches this evening; but, on account of a cold, I stay at home. I am
  persuaded that the chief reason why we do not enjoy religion is, that
  we do not try to enjoy it. We are not like a good man who resolved
  that he _would_ grow in grace. We pervert the doctrine of our
  dependence to indulging indolence and sinful ease. I have enjoyed some
  religion to-day, and I think by means of resolving in the morning that
  I would avoid everything displeasing to God. I have some hope that I
  shall be enabled to keep this in mind, in whatever I do—_Is it
  pleasing to God?_ To assist my memory, I have used the expedient of
  inscribing it on several articles which frequently meet my sight. Is
  it not a good plan? But after all, it will be of no use, unless I
  resolve, in divine strength, instantly to obey the decision of
  conscience.”

                                         “_December 31._ Monday Eve.

  “It is now half after nine, and I have been sitting fifteen minutes
  with my pen in hand, thinking how to begin. I have this day attained
  more than ever to what I suppose Christians mean by the enjoyment of
  God. I have had pleasant seasons at the throne of God. Those lines of
  Watts have been very sweet to me:

                 “‘Till Thou hast brought me to my home,
                 Where fears and doubts can never come,
                 Thy countenance let me often see,
                 And often Thou shalt hear from me.’
                                (_78th of 1st Book._)

  God is waiting to be gracious, and is willing to make us happy in
  religion, if we would not run away from Him. We refuse to open the
  window-shutters, and complain that it is dark. We grieve the Holy
  Spirit by little sins, and thus lose our only support. Perhaps the
  secret of living a holy life is to avoid everything which will
  displease God and grieve the Spirit, and to be strictly attentive to
  the means of grace. God has promised that He will regard the man that
  is of a broken and contrite spirit, and trembleth at His word. He has
  promised that they that wait upon Him shall renew their strength. The
  Almighty, the immutably faithful, has made this promise. He is not a
  man, that He should lie, and His arm is not of flesh. Wait, then, upon
  the Lord. Of how much real happiness we cheat our souls by preferring
  a trifle to God! We have a general intention of living religion; but
  we intend to begin to-morrow or next year. The present moment we
  prefer giving to the world, ‘A little more sleep, a little more
  slumber.’ Well, a little more sleep, and we shall sleep in the grave.
  A few days, and our work will be done. And when it is once done, it is
  done to all eternity. A life once spent is irrevocable. It will remain
  to be contemplated through eternity. If it be marked with sins, the
  marks will be indelible. If it has been a useless life, it can never
  be improved. Such it will stand forever and ever. The same may be said
  of each day. When it is once past, it is gone forever. All the marks
  which we put upon it, it will exhibit forever. It will never become
  less true that such a day was spent in such a manner. Each day will
  not only be a witness of our conduct, but will affect our everlasting
  destiny. No day will lose its share of influence in determining where
  shall be our seat in heaven. How shall we then wish to see each day
  marked with usefulness! It will then be too late to mend its
  appearance. It is too late to mend the days that are past. The future
  is in our power. Let us, then, each morning, resolve to send the day
  into eternity in such a garb as we shall wish it to wear forever. And
  at night let us reflect that one more day is irrevocably gone,
  indelibly marked. Good-night.”

-----

Footnote 1:

  The late Hon. John Bailey, member of Congress from Massachusetts.

Footnote 2:

  See Appendix A.

Footnote 3:

    The natural tenderness of the sister from whom some of these
    reminiscences have been derived, has cast a mantle of charity over
    this episode in Mr. Judson’s life. There is reason to believe that
    his course was more wayward than is here indicated.

    An English gentleman who, many years after, was his fellow-prisoner
    in Ava, writes as follows: “I will give the story as I heard it from
    the actor’s own mouth, and as nearly as I can recollect them, in his
    words: ‘In my early days of wildness I joined a band of strolling
    players. We lived a reckless, vagabond life, finding lodgings where
    we could, and bilking the landlord where we found opportunity—in
    other words, running up a score, and then decamping without paying
    the reckoning. Before leaving America, when the enormity of this
    vicious course rested with a depressing weight on my mind, I made a
    second tour over the same ground, carefully making amends to all
    whom I had injured.’”

    This, though rather a coarse statement of the case, seems to the
    author in the main truthful. The author does not wish to gloze over
    this episode in Mr. Judson’s life. Such a wrong course, succeeded by
    thorough repentance and reparation, he thinks quite characteristic
    of Mr. Judson’s positive nature.




                              CHAPTER II.
                    CONSECRATION TO MISSIONARY LIFE.
                               1809-1812.


In September, 1809, young Judson, at the age of twenty-one, began to
ponder seriously the subject of Foreign Missions. He had just finished
his first year of study at Andover; another year of the theological
course remained. At this time there fell into his hands a sermon
preached in the parish church of Bristol, England, by Dr. Claudius
Buchanan, who had for many years been a chaplain to the British East
India Company. The sermon was entitled, “The Star in the East,” and had
for its text Matt. ii. 2: “For we have seen His Star in the East, and
are come to worship Him.” The leading thought of the sermon was the
Evidences of the Divine Power of the Christian Religion in the East. Dr.
Buchanan described the progress of the Gospel in India, and especially
the labors of the venerable German missionary, Schwartz. This sermon
fell like a spark into the tinder of Judson’s soul.

In a letter written many years afterward, he says:

  “Though I do not now consider that sermon as peculiarly excellent, it
  produced a very powerful effect on my mind. For some days I was unable
  to attend to the studies of my class, and spent my time in wondering
  at my past stupidity, depicting the most romantic scenes in missionary
  life, and roving about the college rooms declaiming on the subject of
  missions. My views were very incorrect, and my feelings extravagant;
  but yet I have always felt thankful to God for bringing me into that
  state of excitement, which was perhaps necessary, in the first
  instance, to enable me to break the strong attachment I felt to home
  and country, and to endure the thought of abandoning all my wonted
  pursuits and animating prospects. That excitement soon passed away;
  but it left a strong desire to prosecute my inquiries and ascertain
  the path of duty. It was during a solitary walk in the woods behind
  the college, while meditating and praying on the subject, and feeling
  half inclined to give it up, that the command of Christ, ‘Go into all
  the world and preach the Gospel to every creature,’ was presented to
  my mind with such clearness and power, that I came to a full decision,
  and though great difficulties appeared in my way, resolved to obey the
  command at all events.”

Six months elapsed from the time of his reading Buchanan’s “Star in the
East” before he made the final resolve to become a missionary to the
heathen. This was in February, 1810. He was, no doubt, stimulated to
form this purpose by close contact with several other young men of like
aspirations. When a man is rocking in the trough of the sea of
indecision, it is very reassuring to have his interior conviction
matched by an external Providence. His earliest missionary associate was
Samuel Nott, Jr., who entered the Seminary early in the year 1810, and
was even then weighing the question whether he should devote himself to
the work of carrying the Gospel to the heathen. About the same time
there came to Andover four young men from Williams College—Samuel J.
Mills, Jr., James Richards, Luther Rice, and Gordon Hall. While in
college these students had formed a missionary society, and they were
accustomed to meet together at night beneath a haystack near the college
grounds. At Williamstown, on the spot where now stands the famous
Haystack Monument, these young men consecrated themselves to the work of
Foreign Missions, and poured out their fervent prayers for the
conversion of the world; and this green nook among the Berkshire hills
may well be called the birthplace of American Foreign Missions.

As great scientific discoveries have seemed to spring up almost
simultaneously in the minds of independent and widely-separated
thinkers, sometimes engendering a strife as to the original discoverer,
so this grand thought of evangelizing the heathen seems to have been in
the atmosphere, and to have floated at almost the same time into the
hearts of different young men living far apart. Christian society was
like a field which, having been ploughed and sown, has folded up in its
bosom a potency of growth. Judson and his associates were like the first
green shoots, scattered far and wide, that appear above the ground and
promise to be followed by countless others. It was after long meditation
and prayer, and in communion with kindred glowing spirits, that the
thought in Judson’s mind of consecrating himself to the foreign
missionary work became a fixed purpose.

There were many obstacles in the way. He was not going among the heathen
because he could not find suitable employment at home. He had received a
tutor’s appointment in Brown University and had declined it. The Rev.
Dr. Griffin had proposed him as his colleague in “the largest church in
Boston.” “And you will be so near home,” his mother said. “No!” was his
reply, “I shall never live in Boston. I have much farther than that to
go.” The ambitious hopes of his father were overthrown; and his mother
and sister shed many regretful tears. He did not go abroad because he
was not wanted at home.

                                      “In the spring
            And glory of his being he went forth
            From the embraces of devoted friends,
            From ease and quiet happiness.... He went forth
            Strengthen’d to suffer—gifted to subdue
            The might of human passion—to pass on
            Quietly to the sacrifice of all
            The lofty hopes of boyhood, and to turn
            The high ambition written on that brow,
            From its first dream of power and human fame,
            Unto a task of seeming lowliness—
            Yet God-like in his purpose.”[4]

It is a mistake to suppose that a dull and second-rate man is good
enough for the heathen. The worst-off need the very best we have. God
gave His best, even His only-begotten Son, in order to redeem a lost
world. The most darkened and degraded souls need the best thinking. When
our Blessed Lord was presenting His Gospel to a fallen Samaritan woman,
He seems to have preserved His best thought for her; and in order to
make a bad woman good, utters in her ears the most august philosophical
thesis to be found in any tongue: “God is a Spirit, and they that
worship Him must worship Him in spirit and in truth.” Missions have had
their grandest successes when England’s best scholars, like Bishop
Patteson and Bishop Selwyn, have devoted their splendid talents to the
conversion of the fiercest and the lowest savages of Micronesia and New
Zealand. It would be a sad day for American Christians if they should
ever deserve Nehemiah’s reproach: “Their nobles put not their necks to
the work of their Lord.” Christianity will advance over the earth with
long, swift strides when the churches are ready to send their best men,
and the best men are ready to go.

Judson fully appreciated the dangers and hardships of a missionary life.
He seems to have counted the cost. After one of the battles in the
Franco-Prussian war, the German Emperor, William, had his attention
drawn to one of the wounded soldiers on the field. The King held out his
hand to the powder-stained private, and asked him what his trade was.
The man said, “I am a Doctor of Philosophy, your Majesty.” “Well, you
must have learned to bear your wounds philosophically,” said the King.
“Yes,” replied the soldier, “that I had already made up my mind to.”
Young Judson, before he had resolved to be a missionary, had _made up
his mind to_ the sufferings and privations which he well knew were in
store for him. He thus wrote to Mr. Hasseltine, of Bradford, when asking
for his daughter’s hand:

  “I have now to ask whether you can consent to part with your daughter
  early next spring, to see her no more in this world? whether you can
  consent to her departure to a heathen land, and her subjection to the
  hardships and sufferings of a missionary life? whether you can consent
  to her exposure to the dangers of the ocean; to the fatal influence of
  the southern climate of India; to every kind of want and distress; to
  degradation, insult, persecution, and perhaps a violent death? Can you
  consent to all this, for the sake of Him who left His heavenly home
  and died for her and for you; for the sake of perishing, immortal
  souls; for the sake of Zion and the glory of God? Can you consent to
  all this, in hope of soon meeting your daughter in the world of glory,
  with a crown of righteousness brightened by the acclamations of praise
  which shall redound to her Saviour from heathens saved, through her
  means, from eternal woe and despair?”

These same anticipations of missionary sorrows pervade a pathetic letter
written by him to Miss Ann Hasseltine, during the period of their
betrothal:

                                   “_January 1, 1811._ Tuesday Morn.

  “It is with the utmost sincerity, and with my whole heart, that I wish
  you, my love, a happy new year. May it be a year in which your walk
  will be close with God; your frame calm and serene; and the road that
  leads you to the Lamb marked with purer light. May it be a year in
  which you will have more largely the spirit of Christ, be raised above
  sublunary things, and be willing to be disposed of in this world just
  as God shall please. As every moment of the year will bring you nearer
  the end of your pilgrimage, may it bring you nearer to God, and find
  you more prepared to hail the messenger of death as a deliverer and a
  friend. And now, since I have begun to wish, I will go on. May this be
  the year in which you will change your name; in which you will take a
  final leave of your relatives and native land; in which you will cross
  the wide ocean, and dwell on the other side of the world, among a
  heathen people. What a great change will this year probably effect in
  our lives! How very different will be our situation and employment! If
  our lives are preserved and our attempt prospered, we shall next new
  year’s day be in India, and perhaps wish each other a happy new year
  in the uncouth dialect of Hindostan or Burmah. We shall no more see
  our kind friends around us, or enjoy the conveniences of civilized
  life, or go to the house of God with those that keep holy day; but
  swarthy countenances will everywhere meet our eye, the jargon of an
  unknown tongue will assail our ears, and we shall witness the
  assembling of the heathen to celebrate the worship of idol gods. We
  shall be weary of the world, and wish for wings like a dove, that we
  may fly away and be at rest. We shall probably experience seasons when
  we shall be ‘exceeding sorrowful, even unto death.’ We shall see many
  dreary, disconsolate hours, and feel a sinking of spirits, anguish of
  mind, of which now we can form little conception. O, we shall wish to
  lie down and die. And that time may soon come. One of us may be unable
  to sustain the heat of the climate and the change of habits; and the
  other may say, with literal truth, over the grave—

              “‘By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed;
              By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed;
              By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned;’

  but whether we shall be honored and mourned by strangers, God only
  knows. At least, either of us will be certain of _one_ mourner. In
  view of such scenes shall we not pray with earnestness, ‘O for an
  overcoming faith,’ etc.?”

But what steps did he and his young associates take in order to execute
their sublime purpose? There was at that time no foreign missionary
society in America to which they could offer their services, and which
would undertake their support in the foreign field.

There was, indeed, the Massachusetts Missionary Society, founded in
1799, the object of which was to diffuse a missionary spirit among the
Congregational churches in New England, and to carry the Gospel to the
Indians and to the newly-settled parts of our own land. But this Society
had not yet launched upon the work of foreign missions; and so Mr.
Judson, and the young men who shared his purpose, first proposed to each
other to enlist as missionaries under the London Missionary Society.
Accordingly Mr. Judson wrote the following letter to the venerable Dr.
Bogue, the President of the Seminary in Gosport, England, where the
missionaries of the London Society received their training:

                   “DIVINITY COLLEGE, ANDOVER, MASS., _April, 1810_.

  “REV. SIR: I have considered the subject of missions nearly a year,
  and have found my mind gradually tending to a deep conviction that it
  is my duty personally to engage in this service. Several of my
  brethren of this college may finally unite with me in my present
  resolution. On their as well as my own behalf, I take the liberty of
  addressing you this letter. My object is to obtain information on
  certain points—whether there is at present such a call for
  missionaries in India, Tartary, or any part of the _Eastern_ Continent
  as will induce the directors of the London Missionary Society to
  engage new missionaries; whether two or three young, unmarried men,
  having received a liberal education, and resided two years in this
  Divinity School, wishing to serve their Saviour in a heathen land, and
  indeed susceptible of a ‘_passion for missions_,’—whether such young
  men, arriving in England next spring, with full recommendations from
  the first Christian characters in this country, may expect to be
  received _on probation_ by the directors, and placed at the seminary
  in Gosport, _if that be judged expedient_; and whether, provided they
  give satisfaction as to their fitness to undertake the work, all their
  necessary expenses after arriving in England shall be defrayed from
  the funds of the Society, which funds will, it is hoped, be ultimately
  reimbursed by supplies from the American churches.

  “We have consulted our professors on this subject, particularly Dr.
  Griffin, Professor of Oratory. He intends writing to several in
  England, and perhaps to Dr. Bogue. But his engagements being such as
  will prevent his writing at present, and wishing _myself_ to receive a
  letter from you _immediately_, containing the desired information, I
  have written myself. I close with an earnest request that you will
  please to transmit me an answer as soon as possible, and a prayer that
  your answer may be favorable to my most ardent wishes.

                                               “ADONIRAM JUDSON, JR.

  “P. S.—I shall deem it a favor if you do not confine your remarks to
  the points which I have proposed, but are pleased to give such general
  _information_ and _advice_ as you may think will be useful to me and
  my brethren.”

While awaiting a reply to this letter, these devoted students made their
desires known to their teachers in the Seminary and to several
influential ministers in the vicinity. The professors and ministers met
for consultation on the matter at the house of Prof. Stuart in Andover,
on Monday, June 25, 1810.

These wise and conservative men advised the students to submit their
case to the General Association, a body representing all the
Congregational churches of the State of Massachusetts, and which was to
meet at Bradford the next day.

Accordingly, on June 27, the students laid before the Association the
following letter:

  “The undersigned, members of the Divinity College, respectfully
  request the attention of their reverend fathers, convened in the
  General Association at Bradford, to the following statement and
  inquiries:

  “They beg leave to state that their minds have been long impressed
  with the duty and importance of personally attempting a mission to the
  heathen; that the impressions on their minds have induced a serious,
  and, as they trust, a prayerful consideration of the subject in its
  various attitudes, particularly in relation to the probable success
  and the difficulties attending such an attempt; and that, after
  examining all the information which they can obtain, _they consider
  themselves as devoted to this work for life_, whenever God, in His
  providence, shall open the way.

  “They now offer the following inquiries, on which they solicit the
  opinion and advice of this Association: Whether, with their present
  views and feelings, they ought to renounce the object of missions, as
  either visionary or impracticable; if not, whether they ought to
  direct their attention to the Eastern or the Western world; whether
  they may expect patronage and support from a missionary society in
  this country, or must commit themselves to the direction of a European
  society; and what preparatory measures they ought to take previous to
  actual engagement.

  “The undersigned, feeling their youth and inexperience, look up to
  their fathers in the Church, and respectfully solicit their advice,
  direction, and prayers.

                                               “ADONIRAM JUDSON, JR.
                                               “SAMUEL NOTT, JR.
                                               “SAMUEL J. MILLS.
                                               “SAMUEL NEWELL.”

The names of Luther Rice and James Richards were originally appended to
this petition, but had been stricken out “for fear of alarming the
Association with too large a number.”

The General Association, when they came to act upon this petition,
passed the following resolutions:

  “_Voted_, That there be instituted by this General Association, a
  Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, for the purpose of
  devising ways and means, and adopting and prosecuting measures, for
  promoting the spread of the Gospel in heathen lands.

  “_Voted_, That the said Board of Commissioners consist of nine
  members, all of them, in the first instance, chosen by this
  Association; and afterwards, annually, five of them by this body, and
  four of them by the General Association of Connecticut. Provided,
  however, that if the General Association of Connecticut do not choose
  to unite in this object, the annual election of all the commissioners
  shall be by this General Association.

  “It is understood that the Board of Commissioners, here contemplated,
  will adopt their own form of organization, and their own rules and
  regulations.

  “_Voted_, That, fervently commending them to the grace of God, we
  advise the young gentlemen, whose request is before us, in the way of
  earnest prayer and diligent attention to suitable studies and means of
  information, and putting themselves under the patronage and direction
  of the Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, humbly to wait the
  openings and guidance of Providence in respect to their great and
  excellent design.”

Thus was organized the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign
Missions, a society widely known and justly revered at the present day
as the missionary organ of the Congregational churches of America, and
indeed the mother of American foreign missionary societies.

The nine men originally forming this Board distrusted their ability to
support in the foreign field those who had offered their services. They
feared that the missionary sentiment among the churches of New England
was hardly strong enough, as yet, to undertake so great an enterprise;
and so they turned instinctively to their brethren in England,
represented in the London Missionary Society, for aid and co-operation.
They accordingly sent Mr. Judson to England to ascertain whether such
co-operation would be agreeable to the London Society.

The English directors gave Mr. Judson a most courteous and affectionate
greeting, but a joint conduct of the missions did not seem practicable
to them. They were willing to receive and support Mr. Judson and his
associates as their own missionaries, but did not feel disposed to admit
the American Board to a participation with them in the direction of the
work. Such co-operation might occasion complications, and they wisely
thought that American Christians were able to take care of their own
missionaries.

[Illustration:

  _J. Morris Pinc^t._          _Alex. Cameron Sculpt._
  REV^D. ADONIRAM JUDSON _JUN^R. A.M._
  _Missionary to the East._
  _Taken in the 23^d Æ t AD1811._
]

Mr. Judson embarked for England January 11, 1811, on the English ship
_Packet_. She was captured on the way by a French privateer, and so he
was subjected to imprisonment and compulsory detention in France. On the
6th of May he arrived in London, and on the 18th of June he embarked at
Gravesend, in the ship _Augustus_, bound for New York, where he arrived
on the 17th of August. Some interesting reminiscences of this voyage to
England have been preserved by the pen of Mrs. E. C. Judson:

  “There were on the ship _Packet_ two Spanish merchants; and these, I
  believe, were the only passengers beside Mr. Judson. When they were
  captured by _L’Invincible Napoleon_, these two gentlemen, being able
  to speak French, and most likely to furnish a bribe, were treated very
  civilly. Mr. Judson, however, was very young, with nothing distinctive
  in his outward appearance, and was, moreover, speechless, friendless,
  and comparatively moneyless. He was, without question or remonstrance,
  immediately placed in the hold, with the common sailors. This was the
  first hardship he had ever known, and it affected him accordingly. He
  shrank from the associations of the place, and the confined air seemed
  unendurable. Soon the weather roughened, and he, together with several
  of his more hardy companions, became excessively seasick. The doctor
  visited him every day, but he could not communicate with him, and the
  visit was nearly useless. Sick, sorrowful, and discouraged, his
  thoughts went back to his dear old Plymouth home, then to Bradford,
  and finally the Boston church—‘the biggest church in Boston’; and he
  became alarmed at the strange feeling that crept over him. It was the
  first moment of misgiving he had known. As soon as he became aware of
  the feeling, he commenced praying against it, as a temptation of the
  adversary. It seemed to him that God had permitted this capture, and
  all his trouble, as a trial of his faith; and he resolved, in the
  strength of God, to bear it, as he might be called upon to bear
  similar trials hereafter. As soon as he had come to this resolution,
  he fumbled about in the gray twilight of his prison, till he succeeded
  in finding his Hebrew Bible. The light was very faint, but still he
  managed to see for a few moments at a time, and amused himself with
  translating mentally from the Hebrew to the Latin—a work which
  employed his thoughts, and saved his eyes. One day the doctor,
  observing the Bible on the pillow, took it up, stepped toward the
  gangway, and examined it; then returned, and addressed his patient in
  Latin. Through the medium of this language Mr. Judson managed to
  explain who he was; and he was consequently admitted to a berth in the
  upper cabin, and a seat with his fellow-passengers, the Spaniards, at
  the captain’s table.

  “His second day on deck was a somewhat exciting one. A sail was
  reported from the masthead; and while the stranger was yet a mere
  speck to the naked eye, many glasses were levelled curiously at her,
  and a general feeling of anxiety seemed to prevail among the officers.
  Of course, Mr. Judson was all excitement; for although he was now in
  comfortable circumstances, he dreaded the effect of this detention on
  his mission to England. Finally the stranger loomed up against the
  sky, a beautiful brig under a full press of canvas. As they watched
  her, some anxiously and some admiringly, suddenly her fine proportions
  became blended in a dark mass; and it was evident to the most
  inexperienced landsman that she had changed her course. The two
  Spaniards exchanged significant glances. Mr. Judson felt very much
  like shouting for joy, but he suppressed the inclination; and the next
  moment the order came for the decks to be cleared, and he, with his
  companions, was sent below. The Spaniards informed him that they were
  pursued by a vessel much larger than their own; that the privateer had
  little to hope in an engagement, but she was the swifter sailer of the
  two, and the approaching darkness was in her favor. Mr. Judson passed
  a sleepless night, listening each moment for unusual sounds; but the
  next morning, when he carefully swept the horizon with the captain’s
  glass, not a mote was visible.

  “The privateer touched at Le Passage, in Spain, and there permitted
  the two Spaniards to go on shore. From thence the prisoners were
  conveyed to Bayonne, in France; and Mr. Judson again, to his surprise
  and indignation, found himself marched through the streets in company
  with the crew of the _Packet_. He had as yet acquired only a few words
  of French, and of these he made as much use as possible, to the
  infinite amusement of the passers-by. Finally it occurred to him that
  he was much more likely to meet some person, either a native or a
  foreigner, who understood English, than to make his broken French
  intelligible. Accordingly he commenced declaiming in the most violent
  manner possible against oppression in general, and this one act in
  particular. The guards threatened him by gestures, but did not proceed
  to violence; and of the passers-by, some regarded him a moment
  carelessly, others show little interest or curiosity, while many
  laughed outright at his seemingly senseless clamors. Finally a
  stranger accosted him in English, advising him to lower his voice.
  ‘With the greatest pleasure possible,’ he answered, ‘if I have at last
  succeeded in making myself heard. I was only clamoring for a
  listener.’ ‘You might have got one you would have been glad to
  dismiss, if you had continued much longer,’ was the reply. In a few
  hurried words Judson explained his situation, and, in words as few,
  learned that the gentleman was an American from Philadelphia, and
  received his promise of assistance. ‘But you had better go on your way
  quietly now,’ added his new friend. ‘O, I will be a perfect lamb,
  since I have gained my object.’

  “The prison was a gloomy-looking, massive structure, and the apartment
  into which they were conveyed was underground, dark and dismal. In the
  centre was a sort of column, on which burned a solitary lamp, though
  without it was still broad day. Around the walls a quantity of straw
  had been spread, on which his companions soon made themselves at home;
  but Mr. Judson could not divest himself of the idea that the straw was
  probably not fresh, and busied his imagination with images of those
  who had last occupied it. The weather had seemed almost oppressively
  hot above-ground; but now he shivered with the chilling dampness of
  the place, while the confined air and mouldy smell rendered him sick
  and giddy. He paced up and down the cell, he could not tell how long,
  but it seemed many hours, wondering if his new friend would really
  come; and again, if he did not, whether he could keep upon his feet
  all night; and in case of failure, which part of the straw he should
  select as the least loathsome. And then his thoughts would wander off
  again to Plymouth, and to Bradford, and to the ‘biggest church in
  Boston,’ but not with the feeling that he had before. On the contrary,
  he wondered that he ever could have been discouraged. He knew that at
  most his imprisonment could not last long. If he only had a chair, or
  the meanest stool, that was all he would ask. But he could not hope to
  walk or stand long.

  “While leaning against the column for a moment’s rest, the door of the
  cell opened, and he instantly recognized the American he had seen in
  the street. He suppressed a cry of joy, and seeing that the stranger
  did not look at him, though he stood close by the lamp, tried himself
  to affect indifference. The American making some remark in French,
  took up the lamp, and then adding (or perhaps translating) in English,
  ‘Let me see if I know any of these poor fellows,’ passed around the
  room, examining them carelessly. ‘No; no friend of mine,’ said he,
  replacing the lamp, and swinging his great military cloak around Mr.
  Judson, whose slight figure was almost lost in its ample folds.
  Comprehending the plan, Mr. Judson drew himself into as small a
  compass as possible, thinking that he would make the best of the
  affair, though having little confidence in the clumsy artifice. His
  protector, too, seemed to have his doubts, for, as he passed out, he
  slid some money into the jailer’s hand, and again, at the gate, made
  another disbursement, and as soon as they were outside, released his
  protégé, with the expressive words, ‘Now run!’ Mr. Judson quite forgot
  his fatigue from walking in the cell, as he fleetly followed his tall
  conductor through the streets to the wharf, where he was placed on
  board an American merchantman for the night. The next evening his
  friend returned, informing him that his place of refuge had been only
  temporarily chosen, and as the papers necessary to his release could
  not be procured immediately, he would be much safer in the attic of a
  shipbuilder, who had kindly offered this place of concealment.
  Accordingly he removed to the attic, from which, after a few days, he
  was released on parole.

  “Mr. Judson passed about six weeks in Bayonne, boarding with an
  American lady who had spent most of her life in France. He told his
  landlady that he was a clergyman, and frequently held long religious
  conversations with her; but he did not permit his character to be
  known generally in the house, as he thought it would interfere with a
  plan he had of learning as much as possible of the real state of
  French society. He attended various places of amusement with his
  fellow-boarders, pleading his ignorance of the language and customs of
  the country as an excuse for acting the spectator merely; and in
  general giving such evasive replies as enabled him to act his part
  without attracting undue attention. It was not long, however, before
  his companions became pretty well aware that indifference formed no
  part of his real character. His shrewdness was at variance with his
  implied ignorance of the world, and his simplicity sometimes wore a
  solemn impressiveness, from the influence of which it was impossible
  to escape. The last place of amusement he visited was a masked ball;
  and here his strong feelings quite overcame his caution, and he burst
  forth in his real character. He declared to his somewhat startled
  companions that he did not believe the infernal regions could furnish
  more complete specimens of depravity than he there beheld. He spoke in
  English, and at first addressed himself to the two or three standing
  near him, who understood the language; but his earnestness of manner
  and warmth of expression soon drew around him a large circle, who
  listened curiously and with apparent respect. He spoke scornfully of
  the proud professions of the (so called) philosophy of the age, and
  pointed to the fearful exhibitions of that moment as illustrative of
  its effectiveness. He rapidly enumerated many of the evils which
  infidelity had brought upon France and upon the world, and then showed
  the only way of escape from those evils—the despised but truly
  ennobling religion of Jesus Christ. Finally he sketched the character
  of man as it might have been in its original purity and nobleness, and
  then the wreck of soul and body to be ascribed to sin, and wound up
  all by a personal appeal to such as had not become too debased to
  think and feel. He had warmed as he proceeded with his subject, noting
  with pain and surprise the great number of those who seemed to
  understand the English language, and drawing from it an inference by
  no means favorable to his travelled countrymen. Most of the maskers
  evidently regarded the exhibition as a part of the evening’s
  entertainment; but those who understood his remarks seemed confounded
  by the boldness, and perhaps unexpectedness, of the attack, and when
  he had finished, stood aside, and allowed him to pass from the place
  without a word. This incident, I have been told, was reported by some
  person present on the occasion, and published in a Boston newspaper.

  “Mr. Judson, I do not recollect by what means, was introduced to some
  of the officers of Napoleon’s suite, and travelled through the country
  in one of the emperor’s carriages. At Paris, he spent most of his time
  in the society of these officers, and persons whom they introduced,
  and, in general, pursued the same course as at Bayonne. In view of the
  opportunity thus afforded for observation, and the store of practical
  knowledge really gathered, he always regarded his detention in France
  as a very important, and, indeed, necessary part of his preparation
  for the duties which afterward devolved upon him.

  “In England he was received in a manner peculiarly flattering. He was
  at this time small and exceedingly delicate in figure, with a round,
  rosy face, which gave him the appearance of extreme youthfulness. His
  hair and eyes were of a dark shade of brown, in his French passport
  described as ‘chestnut.’ His voice, however, was far from what would
  be expected of such a person, and usually took the listeners by
  surprise. An instance of this occurred in London. He sat in the pulpit
  with a clergyman somewhat distinguished for his eccentricity, and at
  the close of the sermon was requested to read a hymn. When he had
  finished, the clergyman arose, and introduced his young brother to the
  congregation as a person who purposed devoting himself to the
  conversion of the heathen, adding, ‘And if his faith is proportioned
  to his voice, he will drive the devil from all India.’”

Soon after Mr. Judson returned to America, on the 18th of September,
1811, the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions met at
Worcester, Mass., and advised him and his associates not to place
themselves at present under the direction of the London Missionary
Society. It was also voted that “Messrs. Adoniram Judson, Jr., Samuel
Nott, Jr., Samuel Newell, and Gordon Hall be appointed missionaries to
labor under the direction of this Board in Asia, either in the Burman
Empire, or in Surat, or in Prince of Wales Island, or elsewhere, as, in
the view of the Prudential Committee, Providence shall open the most
favorable door.” Thus the way was opened for Mr. Judson to realize his
ardent desire to become a missionary to the heathen.

But he was not to go alone, for he was already betrothed to Miss Ann
Hasseltine. They met for the first time on the memorable occasion
already described, when, in June, 1810, the General Association held its
session at Bradford, and young Judson and his fellow-students modestly
made known their desires to attempt a mission to the heathen.

The story is told that during the sessions the ministers gathered for a
dinner beneath Mr. Hasseltine’s hospitable roof. His youngest daughter,
Ann, was waiting on the table. Her attention was attracted to the young
student, whose bold missionary projects were making such a stir. But
what was her surprise to observe, as she moved about the table, that he
seemed completely absorbed in his plate! Little did she dream that she
had already woven her spell about his young heart, and that he was at
that very time composing a graceful stanza in her praise.

She was born in Bradford, December 22, 1789, and was about a year
younger than Mr. Judson. Her parents were John and Rebecca Hasseltine.
She had an ardent, active, even restless temperament; so that her mother
once reproved her in childhood with the ominous words, “I hope, my
daughter, you will one day be satisfied with rambling.” She was educated
at the Bradford Academy, and was a beautiful girl, characterized by
great vivacity of spirits and intensely fond of society. In fact, she
was so reckless in her gayety, and so far overtopped her young
companions in mirth, that they feared she would have but a brief life,
and be suddenly cut off.

At the age of sixteen she received her first deep religious impression.

  “One Sabbath morning,” she writes, “having prepared myself to attend
  public worship, just as I was leaving my toilet, I accidentally took
  up Hannah More’s ‘Strictures on Female Education,’ and the first words
  that caught my eye were, ‘_She that liveth in pleasure is dead while
  she liveth_.’ They were written in italics, with marks of admiration;
  and they struck me to the heart. I stood for a few moments amazed at
  the incident, and half inclined to think that some invisible agency
  had directed my eye to those words. At first, I thought I would live a
  different life, and be more serious and sedate; but at last I thought
  that they were not so applicable to me as I first imagined, and I
  resolved to think no more of them.”

After a struggle of several months, she could truly say:

  “I began to discover a beauty in the way of salvation by Christ. He
  appeared to be just such a Saviour as I needed. I saw how God could be
  just, in saving sinners through Him. I committed my soul into His
  hands, and besought Him to do with me what seemed good in His sight.
  When I was thus enabled to commit myself into the hands of Christ, my
  mind was relieved from that distressing weight which had borne it down
  for so long a time. I did not think that I had obtained the new heart
  which I had been seeking, but felt happy in contemplating the
  character of Christ, and particularly that disposition which led Him
  to suffer so much, for the sake of doing the will and promoting the
  glory of His heavenly Father.... A few days after this ... I began to
  hope that I had passed from death unto life. When I examined myself, I
  was constrained to own that I had feelings and dispositions to which I
  was formerly an utter stranger. I had sweet communion with the blessed
  God from day to day; my heart was drawn out in love to Christians of
  whatever denomination; the sacred Scriptures were sweet to my taste;
  and such was my thirst for religious knowledge that I frequently spent
  a great part of the night in reading religious books.”

She threw herself with all her native ardor into the joys and labors of
the Christian life. She taught school for several years in Salem,
Haverhill, and Newbury. Her constant endeavor was to bring her pupils to
the Saviour.

Her decision to become a foreign missionary must have required great
heroism, for, thus far, no woman had ever left America as a missionary
to the heathen. Public sentiment was against her going. It was thought
to be wild and romantic. One good lady said to another, “I hear that
Miss Hasseltine is going to India! Why does she go?” “Why, she thinks it
her duty. Wouldn’t you go if you thought it your duty?” “But,” replied
the lady, with emphasis, “I would not think it my duty!”[5]

On the 5th of February, 1812, Mr. Judson was married to Ann Hasseltine,
at Bradford. Two days before, at Plymouth, he had taken final leave of
his parents. His brother Elnathan accompanied him to Boston. The journey
was made on horseback. Elnathan had not yet been converted. While on the
way the two dismounted, and among the trees by the roadside they knelt
down and Adoniram offered a fervent prayer in behalf of his younger
brother. Four days later they parted, never to meet again on earth. The
wayside prayer was not unheeded in heaven. Years afterward Adoniram was
permitted to have the assurance that the brother over whom his heart so
fondly yearned became an “inheritor of the kingdom of heaven.”

On the 6th of February he received ordination at Salem from the Rev.
Drs. Spring, Worcester, Woods, Morse, and Griffin; on the 7th he bade
good-bye to his younger sister and companion of his childhood; and on
the 19th embarked at Salem with Mrs. Judson and Mr. and Mrs. Newell, on
the brig _Caravan_, Captain Heard, bound for Calcutta.

-----

Footnote 4:

  Whittier’s “The Missionary.”

Footnote 5:

  For further particulars concerning Miss Hasseltine’s early life the
  reader is referred to her biography, by the Rev. J. D. Knowles.




                              CHAPTER III.
                           VOYAGE TO BURMAH.
                               1812-1813.


After the shores of America had faded from their eyes, almost four
months elapsed before Mr. Judson and his missionary associates caught
sight of land. They made the long trip around the Cape of Good Hope, and
at last descried the towering mountains of Golconda. Now that the Suez
Canal has been opened, and a railroad track laid across our continent,
the way to India is much shorter. The modern missionary goes either
through the Mediterranean Sea or by the way of San Francisco and
Yokohama, the voyage consuming only about two months.

While taking the long voyage from America to India, Mr. Judson changed
his denominational latitude and longitude as well. He was a
Congregational minister; his parents were Congregationalists; and he had
been sent out by a Congregational Board. All his sympathies and
affections were bound up with the life of that great denominational
body. On his way to Burmah, however, he became a Baptist. His attention
was at this time especially drawn to the distinctive views of the
Baptists by the fact that he was now about to found a new Christian
society among the heathen. When the adult heathen accepted Christ by
faith and love, he should of course be baptized, and thus formally
initiated into the Christian Church. But ought the children also to be
baptized upon the strength of the parent’s faith? This was a practical
question.

Again, Mr. Judson expected to meet in India the eminent English Baptist
missionaries, Carey, Marshman, and Ward. In the immediate neighborhood
of these men, he proposed to institute a Congregational form of church
life, and he would, of course, have to explain to the natives these
denominational differences. His mind was cast in a scholarly and
argumentative mould. Controversy might possibly arise between himself
and the Baptist missionaries. He thought it best, while he was on the
ocean, to arm himself beforehand for the encounter with these formidable
champions, in order successfully to maintain the Pedobaptist position.

In the enforced seclusion of a long sea voyage, he had plenty of time
for thought and study on this important subject. The result of his
searching investigation was the conclusion, reluctantly formed, that he
was wrong and that the Baptists were right. Of course they held many
fundamental doctrines in common with Christians of all other evangelical
denominations; but there were two distinctive tenets, that faith should
always precede baptism, and that baptism is immersion. He was convinced
that in these views they had the Bible on their side.

It was only after a great struggle that he yielded; for he had to break
with all the traditions and associations of his ancestry and childhood.
He pictured to himself the grief and disappointment of his Christian
friends in America, especially of his venerable parents. He saw that he
would be separated from those young students, the boon companions with
whom he had originated this great scheme of American Foreign Missions.
In their discussions, his wife always took the Pedobaptist side. He knew
that he and she might find themselves without bread in a strange heathen
land. For who could expect the American Board to sustain a Baptist
missionary, even if he could, on his part, obey their instructions? He
could have little hope that the Baptists of America, feeble, scattered,
and despised, would be equal to the great undertaking of supporting an
expensive mission in distant India. Ah, what long, anxious conversations
must he and his wife have had together in their little cabin on the brig
_Caravan_!

The question may have arisen in his mind, Are these doctrines so
important after all? Can I not cherish them in secret, and still remain
identified with the religious body that I so much love and honor? No;
because if individual faith is the prerequisite of baptism, what
scriptural authority would he have for baptizing the unconscious infant?
If baptism is a symbol, then of course the form is all-important. If
faith must precede baptism, and if immersion is essential to baptism,
then he had never been baptized at all. He knew that baptism had been
expressly commanded by our blessed Lord, and that alone was sufficient
to necessitate obedience. Prompt and straightforward obedience to Christ
was the keynote of his life. His was too positive a character to try to
effect a compromise between conviction and action. He had one of those
great natures that can not afford to move along with the crowd. Traces
of this intense inward conflict may be seen in the following extracts
from Mrs. Judson’s letters:

                              _To a Friend._

                                               “_September 7, 1812._

  “Can you, my dear Nancy, still love me, still desire to hear from me,
  when I tell you I have become a Baptist? If I judge from my own
  feelings, I answer you will, and that my differing from you in those
  things which do not affect our salvation will not diminish your
  affection for me, or make you unconcerned for my welfare. You may,
  perhaps, think this change very sudden, as I have said nothing of it
  before; but, my dear girl, this alteration hath not been the work of
  an hour, a day, or a month. The subject has been maturely, candidly,
  and, I hope, prayerfully examined for months.

  “An examination of the subject of baptism commenced on board the
  _Caravan_. As Mr. Judson was continuing the translation of the New
  Testament, which he began in America, he had many doubts respecting
  the meaning of the word _baptize_. This, with the idea of meeting the
  Baptists at Serampore, when he would wish to defend his own
  sentiments, induced a more thorough examination of the foundation of
  the Pedobaptist system. The more he examined, the more his doubts
  increased; and, unwilling as he was to admit it, he was _afraid_ the
  Baptists were right and he wrong. After we arrived at Calcutta, his
  attention was turned from this subject to the concerns of the mission,
  and the difficulties with Government. But as his mind was still
  uneasy, he again renewed the subject. I felt afraid he would become a
  Baptist, and frequently urged the unhappy consequences if he should.
  But he said his duty compelled him to satisfy his own mind, and
  embrace those sentiments which appeared most concordant with
  Scripture. I always took the Pedobaptist side in reasoning with him,
  even after I was as doubtful of the truth of their system as he. We
  left Serampore to reside in Calcutta a week or two, before the arrival
  of our brethren; and as we had nothing in particular to occupy our
  attention, we confined it exclusively to this subject. We procured the
  best authors on both sides, compared them with the Scriptures,
  examined and re-examined the sentiments of Baptists and Pedobaptists,
  and were finally compelled, from a conviction of truth, to embrace
  those of the former. Thus, my dear Nancy, we are confirmed Baptists,
  not because we wished to be, but because truth compelled us to be. We
  have endeavored to count the cost, and be prepared for the many severe
  trials resulting from this change of sentiment. We anticipate the loss
  of reputation, and of the affection and esteem of many of our American
  friends. But the most trying circumstance attending this change, and
  that which has caused most pain, is the separation which must take
  place between us and our dear missionary associates. Although we are
  attached to each other, and should doubtless live very happily
  together, yet the brethren do not think it best we should unite in one
  mission. These things, my dear Nancy, have caused us to weep and pour
  out our hearts in prayer to Him whose directions we so much wish and
  need. We feel that we are alone in the world, with no real friend but
  each other, no one on whom we can depend but God.”

                      _Mrs. Judson to her Parents._

                   “ISLE OF FRANCE, PORT LOUIS, _February_ 14, 1813.

  “I will now, my dear parents and sisters, give you some account of our
  change of sentiment, relative to the subject of baptism. Mr. Judson’s
  doubts commenced on our passage from America. While translating the
  New Testament, in which he was engaged, he used frequently to say that
  the Baptists were right in their mode of administering the ordinance.
  Knowing he should meet the Baptists at Serampore, he felt it important
  to attend to it more closely, to be able to defend his sentiments.
  After our arrival at Serampore, his mind for two or three weeks was so
  much taken up with missionary inquiries and our difficulties with
  Government, as to prevent his attending to the subject of baptism. But
  as we were waiting the arrival of our brethren, and having nothing in
  particular to attend to, he again took up the subject. I tried to have
  him give it up, and rest satisfied in his old sentiments, and
  frequently told him, if he became a Baptist, _I would not_. He,
  however, said he felt it his duty to examine closely a subject on
  which he had so many doubts. After we removed to Calcutta, he found in
  the library in our chamber many books on both sides, which he
  determined to read candidly and prayerfully, and to hold fast, or
  embrace the truth, however mortifying, however great the sacrifice. I
  now commenced reading on the subject, with all my prejudices on the
  Pedobaptist side. We had with us Dr. Worcester’s, Dr. Austin’s, Peter
  Edwards’s, and other Pedobaptist writings. But after closely examining
  the subject for several weeks, we were constrained to acknowledge that
  the truth appeared to lie on the Baptists’ side. It was extremely
  trying to reflect on the consequences of our becoming Baptists. We
  knew it would wound and grieve our dear Christian friends in
  America—that we should lose their approbation and esteem. We thought
  it probable the commissioners would refuse to support us; and, what
  was more distressing than anything, we knew we must be separated from
  our missionary associates, and go alone to some heathen land. These
  things were very trying to us, and caused our hearts to bleed for
  anguish. We felt we had no home in this world, and no friend but each
  other. Our friends at Serampore were extremely surprised when we wrote
  them a letter requesting baptism, as they had known nothing of our
  having had any doubts on the subject. We were baptized on the 6th of
  September, in the Baptist chapel in Calcutta. Mr. J. preached a sermon
  at Calcutta, on this subject, soon after we were baptized, which, in
  compliance with the request of a number who heard it, he has been
  preparing for the press. Brother Rice was baptized several weeks after
  we were. It was a very great relief to our minds to have him join us,
  as we expected to be entirely alone in a mission.”

The four missionaries arrived in Calcutta on June 17th, and were warmly
welcomed by Dr. Carey.

They were invited to visit the settlement of English Baptists at
Serampore, a town about twelve miles from Calcutta, up the Hugh River.
Here they awaited the arrival of the other group of American
missionaries, Mr. and Mrs. Nott, and Messrs. Hall and Rice, who had
sailed from Philadelphia in the ship _Harmony_, and who did not arrive
until August 8th. In a note to the Rev. Dr. Baldwin, an influential
Baptist minister, of Boston, Mr. Judson discloses his change of
denominational views:

                                       “CALCUTTA, _August_ 31, 1812.

  “REV. AND DEAR SIR: I write you a line to express my grateful
  acknowledgments to you for the advantage I have derived from your
  publications on baptism; particularly from your ‘Series of Letters’;
  also to introduce the following copy of a letter which I forwarded
  last week to the Baptist missionaries at Serampore, and which you are
  at liberty to use as you think best.

                        “I am, sir, with much affection and respect,
                              “Your obliged friend and servant,
                                          “ADONIRAM JUDSON, JR.”

                                       “CALCUTTA, _August_ 27, 1812.

  “TO THE REV. MESSRS. CAREY, MARSHMAN, AND WARD.

  “As you have been ignorant of the late exercises of my mind on the
  subject of baptism, the communication which I am about to make may
  occasion you some surprise.

  “It is now about four months since I took the subject into serious and
  prayerful consideration. My inquiries commenced during my passage from
  America, and after much laborious research and painful trial, which I
  shall not now detail, have issued in entire conviction, that _the
  immersion of a professing believer is the only Christian baptism_.

  “In these exercises I have not been alone. Mrs. Judson has been
  engaged in a similar examination, and has come to the same conclusion.
  Feeling, therefore, that we are in an unbaptized state, we wish to
  profess our faith in Christ by being baptized in obedience to His
  sacred commands.

                                              “ADONIRAM JUDSON, JR.”

He also sent a letter to the American Board, in which he breaks to them
the startling news that he is to cease to be their missionary:

  “REV. AND DEAR SIR: My change of sentiments on the subject of baptism
  is considered by my missionary brethren as incompatible with my
  continuing their fellow-laborer in the mission which they contemplate
  on the Island of Madagascar; and it will, I presume, be considered by
  the Board of Commissioners as equally incompatible with my continuing
  their missionary. The Board will, undoubtedly, feel as unwilling to
  support a Baptist missionary as I feel to comply with their
  instructions, which particularly direct us to baptize ‘_credible
  believers with their households_.’

  “The dissolution of my connection with the Board of Commissioners, and
  a separation from my dear missionary brethren, I consider most
  distressing consequences of my late change of sentiments, and, indeed,
  the most distressing events which have ever befallen me. I have now
  the prospect before me of going alone to some distant island,
  unconnected with any society at present existing, from which I might
  be furnished with assistant laborers or pecuniary support. Whether the
  Baptist churches in America will compassionate my situation, I know
  not. I hope, therefore, that while my friends condemn what they deem a
  departure from the truth, they will at least pity me and pray for me.

  “With the same sentiments of affection and respect as ever,

                          “I am, sir, your friend and servant,
                                               “ADONIRAM JUDSON, JR.

“Rev. Dr. Worcester, Corresponding Secretary of the American Board of
    Commissioners for Foreign Missions.”

At the same time he wrote a second letter to Dr. Baldwin, in which he
announced his change of views on the subject of Baptism, and added:
“Should there be formed a Baptist Society for the support of a mission
in these parts, _I shall be ready to consider myself their missionary_!”

A letter written at the same time to Rev. Dr. Bolles, of Salem, Mass.,
points in the same direction:

                                     “CALCUTTA, _September_ 1, 1812.

  “REV. SIR: I recollect that, during a short interview I had with you
  in Salem, I suggested the formation of a society among the Baptists in
  America for the support of foreign missions, in imitation of the
  exertions of your English brethren. Little did I then expect to be
  personally concerned in such an attempt.

  “Within a few months, I have experienced an entire change of
  sentiments on the subject of baptism. My doubts concerning the
  correctness of my former system of belief commenced during my passage
  from America to this country; and after many painful trials, which
  none can know but those who are taught to relinquish a system in which
  they had been educated, I settled down in the full persuasion that the
  immersion of a professing believer in Christ is the only Christian
  baptism.

  “Mrs. Judson is united with me in this persuasion. We have signified
  our views and wishes to the Baptist missionaries at Serampore, and
  expect to be baptized in this city next Lord’s day.

  “A separation from my missionary brethren, and a dissolution of my
  connection with the Board of Commissioners, seem to be necessary
  consequences. The missionaries at Serampore are exerted to the utmost
  of their ability in managing and supporting their extensive and
  complicated mission.

  “Under these circumstances I look to you. Alone, in this foreign
  heathen land, I make my appeal to those whom, with their permission, I
  will call _my Baptist brethren_ in the United States.

  “With the advice of the brethren at Serampore, I am contemplating a
  mission on one of the eastern islands. They have lately sent their
  brother Chater to Ceylon, and their brother Robinson to Java. At
  present, Amboyna seems to present the most favorable opening. Fifty
  thousand souls are there perishing without the means of life; and the
  situation of the island is such that a mission there established
  might, with the blessing of God, be extended to the neighboring
  islands in those seas.

  “But should I go thither, it is a most painful reflection that I must
  go alone, and also uncertain of the means of support. But I will trust
  in God. He has frequently enabled me to praise His divine goodness,
  and will never forsake those who put their trust in Him. I am, dear
  sir,

                                  “Yours, in the Lord Jesus,
                                              “ADONIRAM JUDSON, JR.”

On September 6th, Mr. and Mrs. Judson were baptized in Calcutta by the
Rev. Mr. Ward, and, on the first of November, Mr. Rice, one of his
missionary associates, who, though sailing on a different vessel, had
experienced a similar change of sentiment, was also baptized. “Mr. Rice
was thought,” Dr. Carey says, “to be the most obstinate friend of
Pedobaptism of any of the missionaries.”

But becoming a Baptist was only the beginning of troubles for these
missionaries. India was ruled by the East India Company, which was
opposed to the introduction of missionaries, especially of Americans—for
England and America were not at that time on friendly terms. Besides,
the English feared that the natives of India, finding themselves beset
by the missionaries of a foreign religion, and their own sacred
institutions undermined, would rise against the whole English race, and
a war ensue which would be rendered more intense by the spirit of
religious fanaticism. The Oriental meekly submits to oppression, except
when religious questions are involved; it was the greased cartridge
which brought on the Sepoy rebellion. The English authorities feared, as
was once stated in the House of Lords, “that every missionary would have
to be backed by a gun-boat.” There might arise endless complications,
and they determined to nip the danger in the bud.

Mr. and Mrs. Judson and Mr. Rice were peremptorily ordered to repair
from Serampore to Calcutta. When they appeared at the Government House
they were told that they must return at once to America. They asked
leave to settle in some other part of India, but this was refused. They
then asked if they could go to the Isle of France (Mauritius). This
request was granted; but the only ship sailing at that time for that
point could convey but two passengers, and, by common consent, Mr. and
Mrs. Newell embarked. Mr. and Mrs. Judson and Mr. Rice remained behind
for another vessel. After two months, they received an order to go on
board one of the Company’s vessels, bound for England, and their names
were even printed in the official list of passengers. But a vessel,
named the _Creole_, was just about to sail for the Isle of France. They
applied to the Government for a passport. This was refused. Then they
asked the captain if he would take them without a passport. He said,
good-naturedly, “There was his ship; they could go on board if they
pleased.” They immediately embarked under cover of the night. But while
sailing down the Hugli River from Calcutta to the sea, they were
overtaken by a Government dispatch. The pilot was forbidden to go
farther, as there were persons on board who had been ordered to England.
They were put ashore on the bank of the river, and took shelter at a
little tavern, while the vessel continued her course down the river
without them.

After three or four days, however, a letter came from Calcutta,
containing the much-desired passport to sail on the _Creole_. Who
procured the passport, has always remained a mystery. But now they had
every reason to suppose that the vessel had got out to sea. She might,
however, be anchored at Saugur, seventy miles below. With all haste they
put their baggage in a boat, and sped down the river. They had to row
against the tide, but arrived at Saugur before the evening of the next
day, and had the happiness of finding the vessel at anchor. “I never
enjoyed,” says Mrs. Judson, “a sweeter moment in my life, than that when
I was sure we were in sight of the _Creole_!” After a voyage of six
weeks they arrived in Port Louis, on the Isle of France, January 17,
1813.

The Isle of France, or Mauritius,[6] lies in the Indian Ocean, 480 miles
east of Madagascar. It is about 36 miles long and 32 wide. It had, only
a few years before, been wrested from the French by the English. During
the wars between the French and English it had furnished harborage for
the French privateers, which, sallying forth from its ports, attacked
the richly-freighted English merchantmen on their way from India.

The Isle of France, the scene of St. Pierre’s pathetic tale of “Paul and
Virginia,” was to our missionaries also, who took refuge here, a place
of sorrow. They learned of a death which rivals in pathos the fate of
Virginia. Mrs. Harriet Newell, the first American martyr to Foreign
Missions, had only just survived the tempestuous voyage from Calcutta,
and had been laid in the “heathy ground” of Mauritius: one who “for the
love of Christ and immortal souls, left the bosom of her friends, and
found an early grave in a land of strangers.” She never repented leaving
her native country. When informed by her physician of her approaching
death, she lifted up her hands in triumph, and exclaimed: “Oh, glorious
intelligence!”[7]

What a sense of desolation must have crept over the little band of
missionaries, now that death had so early broken into their ranks! On
February 24th Mr. Newell embarked for Ceylon, and on the 15th of March
Mr. Rice sailed for America, in order to preach a missionary crusade
among the Baptist churches there; and thus Mr. and Mrs. Judson were left
alone. They were obliged to remain about four months on the Isle of
France; and while much of their time was spent in self-sacrificing
labors among the English soldiers that formed the garrison of the
island, the missionaries still longed to reach their final destination.
Mrs. Judson writes: “Oh, when will my wanderings terminate? When shall I
find some little spot that I can call my own?” Her mother’s ominous
words, uttered long ago, were coming true. She was, indeed, having her
fill of “rambling.” They had left America nearly fifteen months before,
and yet after all their journeyings they seemed no nearer a field of
labor than when they first set out. Their destination was still a
mirage—an ever-dissolving view.

They decided to make another descent upon the coast of India. On May 7,
1813, they embarked on the ship _Countess of Harcourt_ for Madras,
intending to establish a mission on Pulo Penang, or Prince of Wales
Island, lying in the Straits of Malacca. It was a little island, of
commodious harbors and salubrious climate, which had recently been
purchased by the English, and the small native population of Malays was
being rapidly increased by emigration from Hindostan, Burmah, Siam, and
China.

On June 4th the Judsons arrived in Madras, where they were kindly
received by the English missionaries, Mr. and Mrs. Loveless. But they
knew that they could not remain long, for they were again under the
jurisdiction of the East India Company. Their arrival was at once
reported to the Governor-General, and they feared they would be
immediately transported to England. There was no vessel in the harbor
bound for Pulo Penang, and the only vessel about to sail in that
direction was bound for Rangoon, Burmah. They dreaded to pass from the
protection of the British flag into the power of the Burman despot,
whose tender mercies were cruel. But their only alternative was between
Rangoon and their own dear native land, and they chose the former.

On June 22d they went on board the “crazy old vessel” _Georgianna_.
After a stormy voyage they reached Rangoon July 13th, and took
possession of the English Baptist mission-house, occupied by a son of
Dr. Carey. This young man was temporarily absent, and soon afterward
resigned the mission in their favor, and entered the service of the
Burmese Government.

The horrors of the voyage, and the dreariness of their arrival in this
strange, lawless land, and of their first settlement in the deserted
mission-house at Rangoon, made this the most painful experience through
which they had ever passed. Their only refuge was in Him who has said:
“Although I have cast them far off among the heathen, and although I
have scattered them among the countries, yet will I be to them as a
little sanctuary in the countries where they shall come.” They were
sustained by the same faith which, three years before, found beautiful
expression in the words that Judson wrote to his parents:

  “O the pleasure which a lively Christian must enjoy in communion with
  God! It is all one whether he is in a city or in a desert, among
  relations or among savage foes, in the heat of the Indies or in the
  ice of Greenland; his infinite Friend is always at hand. He need not
  fear want, or sickness, or pain, for his best Friend does all things
  well. He need not fear death, though he come in the most shocking
  form, for death is only a withdrawing of the veil which conceals his
  dearest Friend.”

It is related that the old English missionary, St. Cuthbert, was driven
by a snow-storm upon the coast of Fife. His companions repined. “The
snow closes the road along the shore; the storm bars our way over the
sea.” “But,” Cuthbert said, “there is still the way of heaven that lies
open.”

But Mr. and Mrs. Judson can best describe their first taste of life in
Burmah.

    _Extract from a letter by Mrs. Judson to her parents and sisters._

                                          “RANGOON, _July_ 30, 1813.

  “We stayed at Madras only a fortnight, when we embarked on board a
  Portuguese vessel for this place. I had procured a European
  woman-servant to go with us, as it was not thought prudent to go
  without one. She went on board two days before us, and when we went on
  board she appeared in perfect health. We had but just entered the ship
  when she fell on the floor, apparently in a fit. We made every
  possible effort to recover her, but she gasped a few times and died.
  The exertion I made to recover her, together with the shock my frame
  and feelings received at her sudden decease, brought me also near the
  gates of death. I indeed thought the time of my departure was at hand,
  and that all my toils and perplexities were ended. I had no physician,
  no medicine, no attendant but Mr. Judson. Added to this, we were in a
  small, dirty vessel, which was kept in continual motion by the
  violence of the wind and sea. Perfect ease and quiet seemed absolutely
  necessary for my recovery; but these it appeared impossible to obtain.
  But all things are possible with God; and we were never so sensible of
  His care and protection as at this time.

  “In the midst of our darkness and distress, and when we had given up
  all hope of my recovery, our captain informed us that we were close to
  the Andaman Islands, and that we could escape being driven on them in
  no way but by going through a narrow channel between two of them. We
  were in much danger, but the vessel was almost perfectly still, as we
  were in smooth water as soon as we entered the channel, the wind being
  broken by the islands. Thus I obtained that ease and quiet which a few
  moments before seemed impossible to obtain. We were three weeks on our
  passage, and when we arrived I was not able to walk, nor had I even
  left my bed for half an hour.... We felt very gloomy and dejected the
  first night we arrived, in view of our prospects; but we were enabled
  to lean on God, and to feel that He was able to support us under the
  most discouraging circumstances. The next morning I prepared to go on
  shore, but hardly knew how I should get to Mr. Carey’s house, as there
  was no method of conveyance except a horse, which I was unable to
  ride. It was, however, concluded that I should be carried in an
  arm-chair; consequently, when I landed, one was provided, through
  which were put two bamboos, and four of the natives took me on their
  shoulders. When they had carried me a little way into the town, they
  set me down under a shade, when great numbers of the natives gathered
  around, as they had seldom seen an English female. Being sick and
  weak, I held my head down, which induced many of the native females to
  come very near and look under my bonnet. At this I looked up and
  smiled, at which they set up a loud laugh. They again took me up to
  carry, and the multitude of natives gave a shout, which much diverted
  us. They next carried me to a place they call the custom-house. It was
  a small open shed, in which were seated on mats several natives, who
  were the custom-house officers. After searching Mr. Judson very
  closely, they asked liberty for a native female to search me, to which
  I readily consented. I was then brought to the mission-house, where I
  have entirely recovered my health.... The country presents a rich,
  beautiful appearance, everywhere covered with vegetation, and, if
  cultivated, would be one of the finest in the world. But the poor
  natives have no inducement to labor to raise anything, as it would
  probably be taken from them by their oppressive rulers. Many of them
  live on leaves and vegetables that grow spontaneously, and some
  actually die with hunger. Everything is extremely high, therefore many
  are induced to steal whatever comes in their way. There are constant
  robberies and murders committed. Scarcely a night passes but houses
  are broken open and things stolen. Yet our trust and confidence are in
  our heavenly Father, who can easily preserve and protect us though a
  host should encamp about us. I think God has taught us by experience
  what it is to trust in Him, and find comfort and peace in feeling that
  He is everywhere present. O for more ardent, supreme love to Him, and
  greater willingness to suffer in His cause!”

                  _Extract from a letter by Mr. Judson._

  “After a mournful separation from brother Rice, at the Isle of France,
  in March, 1813, we remained there about two months, waiting for a
  passage to some of the eastern islands, not venturing at that time to
  think a mission to Burmah practicable. But there being no prospect of
  accomplishing our wishes directly, we concluded to take passage to
  Madras, and proceed thence as circumstances should direct. We arrived
  there in June, and were immediately informed of the renewed
  hostilities of the company’s government toward missionaries, exhibited
  in their treatment of the brethren both at Serampore and Bombay. We
  were, of course, reported to the police, and an account of our arrival
  forwarded to the supreme government in Bengal. It became, therefore, a
  moral certainty that, as soon as an order could be received at Madras,
  we should be again arrested, and ordered to England. Our only safety
  appeared to consist in escaping from Madras before such order should
  arrive. It may easily be conceived with what feelings I inquired the
  destination of vessels in the Madras roads. I found none that would
  sail in season, but one bound to Rangoon. A mission to Rangoon we had
  been accustomed to regard with feelings of horror. But it was now
  brought to a point. We must either venture there or be sent to Europe.
  All other paths were shut up; and thus situated, though dissuaded by
  all our friends at Madras, we commended ourselves to the care of God,
  and embarked on the 22d of June. It was a crazy old vessel. The
  captain was the only person on board that could speak our language,
  and we had no other apartment than what was made by canvas. Our
  passage was very tedious. Mrs. Judson was taken dangerously ill, and
  continued so until, at one period, I came to experience the awful
  sensation which necessarily resulted from the expectation of an
  immediate separation from my beloved wife, the only remaining
  companion of my wanderings. About the same time, the captain being
  unable to make the Nicobar Island, where it was intended to take in a
  cargo of cocoa-nuts, we were driven into a dangerous strait, between
  the Little and Great Andamans, two savage coasts, where the captain
  had never been before, and where, if we had been cast ashore, we
  should, according to all accounts, have been killed and eaten by the
  natives. But as one evil is sometimes an antidote to another, so it
  happened with us. Our being driven into this dangerous but quiet
  channel brought immediate relief to the agitated and exhausted frame
  of Mrs. Judson, and conduced essentially to her recovery. And in the
  event, we were safely conducted over the black rocks which we
  sometimes saw in the gulf below, and on the eastern side of the
  islands found favorable winds, which gently wafted us forward to
  Rangoon. But on arriving here, other trials awaited us.

  “We had never before seen a place where European influence had not
  contributed to smooth and soften the rough features of uncultivated
  nature. The prospect of Rangoon, as we approached, was quite
  disheartening. I went on shore just at night, to take a view of the
  place, and the mission-house; but so dark, and cheerless, and
  unpromising did all things appear, that the evening of that day, after
  my return to the ship, we have marked as the most gloomy and
  distressing that we ever passed. Instead of rejoicing, as we ought to
  have done, in having found a heathen land from which we were not
  immediately driven away, such were our weaknesses that we felt we had
  no portion left here below, and found consolation only in looking
  beyond our pilgrimage, which we tried to flatter ourselves would be
  short, to that peaceful region where the wicked cease from troubling
  and the weary are at rest. But if ever we commended ourselves
  sincerely, and without reserve, to the disposal of our heavenly
  Father, it was on this evening. And after some recollection and
  prayer, we experienced something of the presence of Him who cleaveth
  closer than a brother; something of that peace which our Saviour
  bequeathed to His followers—a legacy which we know from this
  experience endures when the fleeting pleasures and unsubstantial
  riches of the world are passed away. The next day Mrs. Judson was
  carried into the town, being unable to walk; and we found a home at
  the mission-house, though Mr. Carey was absent at Ava.”

When the tidings reached America that Mr. and Mrs. Judson and Mr. Rice,
Congregational missionaries, sent out by the American Board, had been
immersed at Calcutta, the Baptists throughout the whole land were
thrilled with a glad surprise. God had suddenly placed at the disposal
of the Baptist denomination three fully-equipped missionaries. They were
already in the field, and action must be prompt. Several influential
ministers in Massachusetts met at the house of Dr. Baldwin, in Boston,
and organized the “Baptist Society for Propagating the Gospel in India
and other Foreign Parts.” They also, as well as the American Board,
first turned instinctively toward England for counsel and help. They
proposed to the Baptist Missionary Society in London that Mr. Judson
should be associated with Messrs. Carey, Marshman, and Ward, at
Serampore, and that the Baptists in England and America should
co-operate in the work of foreign missions. This, however, did not seem
wise to the English brethren, and so America was again thrown back upon
her own resources.

Mr. Rice, upon his return to this country, travelled everywhere, telling
the thrilling story of the experiences of these pioneer missionaries.
The greatest enthusiasm was aroused, and missionary societies similar to
the one in Boston sprang up in the Middle and Southern States. In order
to secure concert of action it seemed best that there should be a
general convention, in which all these societies might be represented.
Accordingly, on the 18th of May, 1814, delegates from Baptist churches
and missionary societies throughout the land convened in the First
Baptist church of Philadelphia. These delegates organized a body which
was styled “The General Missionary Convention of the Baptist
Denomination in the United States of America for Foreign Missions.” The
sum of four thousand dollars was put into the treasury, contributed by
the local societies; and it was thought that possibly an annual income
of five thousand two hundred and eighty dollars might be secured. It was
the day of small things. In 1845 the Southern brethren withdrew to form
a society of their own, called “The Southern Convention.” The Northern
organization adopted a new constitution, and assumed the name of “The
American Baptist Missionary Union.” Its receipts for 1880 were about a
quarter of a million of dollars.

Although Mr. Judson’s change in denominational attitude occasioned
considerable irritation at the time, yet good and wise men of all
religious bodies, viewing his conduct from the stand-point of the
present, are agreed that it proved a blessing to the Christian world at
large. It occasioned the formation of a second Missionary Society. There
came to be two great benevolent forces at work, where there was only one
before. What a history-making epoch that was! The action of those
consecrated students at Andover led to the formation of the American
Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, and of the American Baptist
Missionary Union, the one the organ of the Congregationalists, the other
of the Baptists of America. A watershed was upheaved, from which two
beneficent and ever-widening streams flowed forth for the healing of the
nations.

Mr. Judson’s life also marks the beginning of that wonderful growth
which has characterized the Baptist denomination in this country, for in
gathering together and rallying for his support the Baptists awoke to
self-consciousness. They arrived at the epoch, so momentous in the life
either of a society or of an individual, when the infant passes out of a
mere sort of vegetable existence into a consciousness of his being and
power.

               “But as he grows he gathers much,
                 And learns the use of ‘_I_’ and ‘_Me_,’
                 And finds ‘I am not what I see,
               And other than the things I touch.’”

In the history of a social body, as well as of the human infant, the
period of self-consciousness is the beginning of all real power. In 1812
the Baptists of America were a scattered and feeble folk, and lacked
solidarity. There was little or no denominational spirit. The summons to
the foreign field shook them together. A glass of water may be slowly
reduced in temperature even to a point one or two degrees below
freezing, and yet remain uncongealed, provided it be kept perfectly
motionless. If, then, it is slightly jarred it will suddenly turn into
ice. The Baptist denomination of America was in just such a state of
suspense. It needed to be jarred and shaken into solid and enduring
form. Mr. Judson’s words: “_Should there be formed a Baptist society for
the support of a mission in these parts, I should be ready to consider
myself their missionary_,” proved to be the crystallizing touch.

-----

Footnote 6:

  See Map I.

Footnote 7:

  For further particulars see “Memoir of Mrs. Harriet Newell,” by Dr.
  Leonard Woods.




                              CHAPTER IV.
                                BURMAH.


Let us now take a look at the country in which Mr. and Mrs. Judson at
last found themselves. At the present time there are two distinct
Burmahs: British Burmah and Independent Burmah. But at the time when Mr.
and Mrs. Judson arrived in Rangoon, these two countries formed one great
Empire, ruled by one monarch, whose throne was at Ava. Under successive
British invasions the Empire has shrunk to two-thirds of its original
size. The English have appropriated the whole of the seaboard, the
fertile lowlands forming the richest rice-producing district in the
world, and the heavy teak forests of Pegu, which yield ship timber
unrivalled for its durability. At the time of the arrival of the
Judsons, Burmah was 1,020 miles long and 600 miles wide. It was bounded
on the north by Assam and Thibet; on the east by China and Siam; and on
the south and west by the Bay of Bengal and the British provinces of
India. Its area was 280,000 square miles; so that it was four times as
large as the whole of New England.

Burmah is scored by three parallel rivers that flow southward: the
Irrawaddy, Sittang, and the Salwen.[8] By far the largest of these is
the Irrawaddy, which is navigable by steamers to Bhamo, 840 miles from
the mouth. The country is made up of these three parallel river valleys,
and the mountain chains which flank them. The land in Asia gradually
slopes from the Himalayas southward toward the Bay of Bengal. Starting
at the south and moving northward, the traveller finds first broad
paddy-fields, submerged during a part of the year by the network of
streams through which the Irrawaddy finds its way to the sea; then he
traverses upland plains; then a rolling country, with ranges of hills;
and finally deep forests, high mountains, and the magnificent defiles,
through which the rivers flow.

The southern part of Burmah, like Egypt, owes its fertility to an annual
inundation which is thus described by an English officer:[9]

  “With the exception of high knolls standing up here and there, and a
  strip of high ground at the base of the hills, the whole country,
  fields, roads, bridges, is under water from one to twelve feet, or
  more, in depth. Boats are the only means of locomotion for even a few
  yards. You sail across the country, ploughing through the
  half-submerged long grass, piloting a way through the clumps of
  brushwood and small trees, into the streets of large agricultural
  villages, where the cattle are seen stabled high up in the houses,
  twelve feet from the ground; the children are catching fish with lines
  through the floor; the people are going about their daily concerns, if
  it is only to borrow a cheroot from their next-door neighbor, in
  canoes; in short, all the miseries and laughable _contretemps_
  sometimes pictured in the illustrated papers as caused by floods in
  Europe, may be seen—with this difference, that every one is so
  accustomed to them that they never create a thought of surprise.”

The northern part of Burmah abounds in mountain streams of exquisite
beauty. An eye-witness describes them in glowing terms, as follows:[10]

  “In some places they are seen leaping in cascades over precipices from
  50 to 100 feet high; in others, spreading out into deep, quiet lakes.
  In some places they run purling over pebbles of milk-white quartz, or
  grass-green prase, or yellow jasper, or sky-blue slate, or variegated
  porphyry; in others, they glide like arrows over rounded masses of
  granite, or smooth, angular pieces of green stone. In some places
  nought can be heard but the stunning sounds of ‘deep calling unto
  deep’; in others, the mind is led to musing by the quiet murmur of the
  brook, that falls upon the ear like distant music. The traveller’s
  path often leads him up the middle of one of these streams, and every
  turn, like that of a kaleidoscope, reveals something new and pleasing
  to the eye. Here a daisy-like flower nods over the margin, as if to
  look at her modest face in the reflecting waters; there the
  lotus-leafed, wild arum stands knee-deep in water, shaking around with
  the motion of the stream the dew-drops on its peltate bosom like drops
  of glittering quicksilver. Here the fantastic roots of a willow,
  sprinkled with its woolly capsules, come down to the water’s edge, or
  it may be a eugenia tree, with its fragrant white corymbs, or a water
  dillenia, with its brick-red, scaly trunk, and green, apple-like
  fruit, occupies its place; there the long, drooping red tassels of the
  barringtonia hang far over the bank, dropping its blossoms on the
  water, food for numerous members of the carp family congregated
  below.”

Having studied the _Geography_ and the _Physical Geography_ of Burmah,
we turn to its _Natural History_. The domestic animals are the ox,
buffalo, horse, and the goat. The horses are small, and are used for
riding, never as beasts of burden. The dog is not kept as a pet, or for
hunting, but, as in other Oriental countries, he roams about the cities
in a half-wild condition, devouring offal, and at last becomes the
victim of famine or disease. The jungles swarm with wild animals, the
monkey, elephant, rhinoceros, tiger, leopard, deer, and wild-cat. The
elephants are caught, tamed, and used for riding. The white elephant, or
albino, is especially prized. A specimen is always kept at court as the
insignia of royalty, one of the king’s titles being, “Lord of the White
Elephant.” The tiger sometimes steals out of the jungle into a Karen
village, and carries off a pig or a calf, or even a child. When once he
has tasted human blood, he is very dangerous. An American missionary, a
lady, relates that she came once to a native village which a tiger had
formed the habit of visiting every night. On each occasion he would
carry off some domestic animal. The villagers had taken no measures to
avert the danger. She urged them to try and kill the monster. She
described how speedily an American village would rid itself of such a
nuisance. And so they built an enormous trap or dead-fall. The trunk of
a tree was to fall and break the tiger’s back. A squealing pig was tied
up for bait. The following night some English officers arrived. They sat
up late talking over their adventures, when suddenly a terrific roar
pealed through the village. The officers rushed out and found an
enormous Bengal tiger pinned down in the trap. They speared him to
death, and his beautiful skin was given to the lady as a trophy.

Even in the towns the dove-cote has to be placed on the top of a high
pole, the base of which is sheathed with tin, in order to prevent the
wild-cats from climbing up and devouring the doves. One of the author’s
childish reminiscences is seeing in a cage a wild-cat that had been
caught alive in the belfry of the church at Maulmain.

Venomous and offensive reptiles and insects abound. While you are eating
your dinner the lizard may drop from the bamboo rafters upon the table.
As you step out of your door the gleaming forms of chameleons shoot up
the trunk of your roof-tree and hide themselves in the branches. The
scorpion, with its painful sting, and the centipede, with its poisonous
bite, may be found in your garden. The children must be warned not to
race through the bushes in your compound, lest they encounter the hated
cobra, whose slightest nip is sure and speedy death. The author
remembers his father taking the Burman spear, the only weapon which he
ever used, and going down into the poultry-yard to dispatch a cobra,
whose track had first been discovered in the dust beneath the house.

How much discomfort and suffering are caused, even in our own land, by
rats, mice, snakes, flies, and mosquitoes! And the foreign missionary
has these same pests, but in a more aggravated form. These are larger,
more numerous, and in addition to them he has to cope with the white
ants that in armies destroy his furniture, the scorpion, the centipede,
the cobra, the tiger.

The _inhabitants_ of Burmah next claim our attention. The Burmans belong
to the Mongolian race, the characteristics of which are “long, straight
hair; almost complete absence of beard, and hair on the body; a
dark-colored skin, varying from a leather-like yellow to a deep brown,
or sometimes tending to red; and prominent cheek-bones, generally
accompanied by an oblique setting of the eyes.”[11]

The Burmans are described by a modern writer[12] as “of a stout, active,
well-proportioned form; of a brown, but never of an intensely dark
complexion, with black, coarse, and abundant hair, and a little more
beard than is possessed by the Siamese.”

At the time of Mr. and Mrs. Judson’s arrival, the population numbered
from six to eight millions. This included, however, not only Burmans,
who are the ruling race, and dwell mainly in the larger towns and
cities, but also several subject races—Shans, Karens, Kakhyens—half-wild
people, who live in villages scattered through the jungles and along the
mountain streams. These tribes have different habits, and speak a
different language from the Burmans. They are related to the Burmans
somewhat as the North American Indians are to us, being, perhaps, the
original inhabitants of the country, and having been subjugated at some
remote period of the past. It would seem that wave after wave of
Mongolian conquerors had swept over the country from the North, and
these tribes are the fragments of wrecked nationalities.

Major Yule, in his “Embassy to Ava,” gives the following graphic
description of the mental and moral traits of the Burmese:

  “Unlike the generality of the Asiatics, they are not a fawning race.
  They are cheerful, and singularly alive to the ridiculous; buoyant,
  elastic, soon recovering from personal or domestic disaster. With
  little feeling of patriotism, they are still attached to their homes,
  greatly so to their families. Free from prejudices of caste or creed,
  they readily fraternize with strangers, and at all times frankly yield
  to the superiority of a European. Though ignorant, they are, when no
  mental exertion is required, inquisitive, and to a certain extent
  eager for information; indifferent to the shedding of blood on the
  part of their rulers, yet not individually cruel; temperate,
  abstemious, and hardy, but idle, with neither fixedness of purpose nor
  perseverance. Discipline or any continued employment becomes most
  irksome to them, yet they are not devoid of a certain degree of
  enterprise. Great dabblers in small mercantile ventures, they may be
  called (the women especially) a race of hucksters; not treacherous or
  habitual perverters of the truth, yet credulous and given to monstrous
  exaggerations; when vested with authority, arrogant and boastful; if
  unchecked, corrupt, oppressive, and arbitrary; yet distinguished for
  bravery, whilst their chiefs are notorious for cowardice; indifferent
  shots, and though living in a country abounding in forest, not bold
  followers of field sports.”

But what is the _industrial life_ of the Burmans? The soil of Burmah is
richly productive of all that is needed for food or clothing or shelter
or ornament. The chief crops are rice, maize or Indian corn, wheat,
tobacco, cotton, and indigo. It is computed that 80 per cent. of all the
rice brought from the East to Europe is produced in the rich
paddy-fields of British Burmah.

There is an abundance of delicious fruits—the jack-fruit, the
bread-fruit, oranges, bananas, guavas, pine-apples, and the cocoa-nut.
After the annual inundation, the subsiding rivers leave behind them, in
the depressions of the ground, ponds well stocked with fish. Beef and
mutton the Burman learns to forego, as his religion does not allow him
to eat cattle or sheep unless they die a natural death. His meal of rice
and curry is sometimes enriched by the addition of poultry. The bamboo
yields building material for his houses, and the teak forest timber for
his ships. The mineral resources are large. The earth yields iron, tin,
silver, gold, sapphires, emeralds, rubies, amber, sulphur, arsenic,
antimony, coal (both anthracite and bituminous), and petroleum oil,
which is used by all classes in little clay lamps.

And yet at the time of the arrival of our missionaries, and even now in
Independent Burmah, there is no commerce on a large scale. This is shown
by the high rate of interest, 25 per cent., and 60 per cent. when no
security is given. The very productiveness of his country made the
Burman of fifty years ago feel independent of foreign nations. He took
the narrow view that exportation only tended to impoverishment. The
Government rigidly prohibited all important exportation except that of
the cheap and abundant teak timber. Gold and silver and precious stones
must not be carried out for fear of reducing the country to poverty. If
in those days an English merchant had carried a large quantity of silks
and calicoes to the royal city, and had exchanged them for £5,000 in
gold, he could possess and enjoy the money there, but he could not,
except by bribery, succeed in carrying it home. His wealth made him
practically an exile and a prisoner. The marble could not be exported,
because it was consecrated to the building of idols and pagodas. The
cotton and the rice could not be exported, lest there should not be
enough left for the clothing and food of the population. The only
commerce worth mentioning was with China. The Chinese caravans brought,
overland, large quantities of raw silk, and received cotton in exchange.

On account of the low state of commerce, the science of navigation was
quite unknown to the Burmans. When sailors made their little trips, in
the dry season, along the shore of the Bay of Bengal, they took pains
never to pass out of sight of land.

There were no extensive manufactures in Burmah, for these required an
accumulation of large capital; and a man could never be sure that his
wealth would not be wrested from him by the Government. And so the chief
article of manufacture is lacquer-ware, as this requires but little
capital. Woven strips of bamboo were smeared with mud, and baked, and
polished, and varnished, and then manufactured into beautiful boxes and
trays.

Most of the Burmans, however, are engaged in agricultural pursuits. They
raise rice and catch fish, which they pound up into a mass with coarse
salt, and so produce their favorite relish, _ngapee_. Immense quantities
of rice and _ngapee_ are carried up the Irrawaddy in boats, and sold at
the capital and in the upper provinces of Burmah.

The _government_ of Independent Burmah is an absolute despotism. The
king has supreme power over the life and possessions of every subject.
He may confiscate property, imprison, torture, or execute at his
pleasure,—his only restraint being fear of an insurrection. An English
writer relates that at the sovereign’s command one of the highest
officers of the State was seized by the public executioner, and
stretched on the ground by the side of the road, under a scorching sun,
with a heavy weight upon his chest, and afterward restored to his high
position. There are, indeed, two Councils of State, by which the
government is administered, but the members of these councils are
appointed by the king, and may be degraded or executed at his word. The
late monarch of Burmah saw the evils of this despotic system, and, in
arranging for the succession, formed a plan by which his successor
should be subject to limitation by his prime ministers. But the new
king, Thebaw, a brutal and licentious boy of 20, frustrated this
benignant purpose. He murdered his counsellors, massacred his blood
relations, and Burmah, that had roused herself for a moment from her
long nightmare of despotism, sank again into sleep.

The whole country is divided into provinces, townships, districts, and
villages. Over each province is a governor, or as the Burmese call him,
an _Eater_. Through his underlings he taxes every family. His officers
receive a share of what they can extort, and the rest he divides with
the king. In this way the whole land is a scene of enormous extortion.
There are no fixed salaries for Government functionaries. The higher
officer _eats_ a certain province or district. The lower officer lives
on fees and perquisites. Courts of law are corrupted by bribery. It is
customary to torture witnesses. The criminal is usually executed by
decapitation. He may, however, be disembowelled, or thrown to wild
beasts, or crucified, or have his limbs broken with a bludgeon—if he can
not effect his escape by the plentiful use of money.

  “On the 7th of February, 1817, seven persons found guilty of sacrilege
  were conveyed to the place of execution near Rangoon, and secured in
  the usual way to the stake. The first of them was fired at four
  successive times by a marksman without being hit. At every shot there
  was a loud peal of laughter from the spectators. The malefactor was
  taken down, declared to be invulnerable, pardoned, and taken into a
  confidential employment by the governor. He had paid a large bribe.
  The second culprit was shot, and the remaining five were
  decapitated.”[13]

Who can estimate the miseries which the peasantry must suffer under such
a system of bribery and extortion? It is not strange that the late
Burman monarch, when he came to the throne, uttered the exclamation,
“Great God, I might as well be king over a desert!”

The _religion_ of Burmah is Buddhism. Here and in the Island of Ceylon,
this cult exists in its purest form. Buddhism originated in India about
500 years before Christ. Here it succeeded in supplanting the ancient
religion of the Hindoos, derived from the Vedas, and called Brahminism.

India was in former times saturated with Brahminical philosophy and
Brahminical ceremonial. The people were completely priest-ridden.
Buddhism was an outgrowth from Brahminism, or perhaps rather a recoil
from it. It was related to it somewhat as Christianity is to Judaism, or
Protestantism to the Romish Church. For one hundred and fifty years
Buddhism had a very rapid and vigorous growth in India, but soon after
the beginning of the Christian era it began to decay, and in the eighth
and ninth centuries A.D., in consequence of a great persecution,
Buddhism was completely extirpated in India. The ancient religion,
Brahminism, was reinstated, and Gaudama has no worshipper in the land of
his birth.

But a prophet is not without honor save in his country. Buddhism is
pervaded by a missionary spirit, and has won its way by peaceful
persuasion into Ceylon, Burmah, Siam, Thibet, and China. It is, at the
present day, the religion of more than four hundred millions of human
beings—about one-third of the population of the globe.

Having considered the distribution of Buddhism, let us contrast it with
Brahminism. Buddhism, like Brahminism, holds the doctrine of
transmigration of souls. The soul is at first united with the lowest
forms of organic life. By successive births it may climb into the bodies
of spiders, snakes, chameleons, and after long ages may reach the human
tenement. Then comes the period of probation. According to its behavior
in the flesh it either rises still higher to occupy the glorious forms
of demigods and gods, or it relapses little by little into its low
estate, and again takes up its wretched abode in the degraded forms of
the lower animals.

            “Life runs its rounds of living, climbing up,
            From mote, and gnat, and worm, reptile and fish,
            Bird and shagged beast, man, demon, deva, God,
            To clod and mote again.”[14]

  “He who is now the most degraded of the demons may one day rule the
  highest of the heavens: He who is at present seated on the most
  honorable of the celestial thrones, may one day writhe amidst all the
  agonies of a place of torment; and the worm that we crush under our
  feet may in the course of ages become a supreme Buddha.”[15]

               “Eternal process moving on,
                 From state to state the spirit walks,
                 And these are but the shattered stalks,
               And ruined chrysalis of one.”[16]

This belief pervades the every-day thinking of the most ignorant
Burmese. An English officer writes, that just before the drop fell with
a wretched murderer, he himself heard him mutter as his last word, “May
my next existence be a man’s, and a long one!” An old woman, whose
grown-up son had died, thought that she recognized that son’s voice in
the bleating of a neighbor’s calf. She threw her arms about the animal,
and purchasing it, cherished it until its death, as the living
embodiment of her own child.

Faith in transmigration accounts for the pious Buddhist’s treatment of
the lower animals. The priests strain the gnats out of the water they
drink. “They do not eat after noon, nor drink after dark, for fear of
swallowing minute insects, and they carry a brush on all occasions, with
which they carefully sweep every place before they sit down, lest they
should inadvertently crush any living creature.” Mr. Huxley tells us
that a Hindoo’s peace of mind was completely destroyed by a microscopist
who showed him the animals in a drop of water. The Buddhists often build
hospitals for sick brutes. Perhaps this deep-seated and hereditary faith
in transmigration may account for the singular apathy of the natives to
the destruction of life caused by snakes and tigers. In fact, one of
their legends represents the founder of their religion as sacrificing
his life-blood to slake the parched thirst of a starving tigress.

Although Brahminism and Buddhism both agree in teaching transmigration,
they differ widely in their views of God, and of the soul. Brahminism is
pantheistic; Buddhism atheistic. According to Brahminism matter has no
real existence. All physical forms are the merest illusions. The only
real existences are souls. These are all parts of a great Divine soul,
from which they emanate, and into which they will at last be reabsorbed,
as when a flask of water is broken in the ocean. Buddhism denies the
existence not only of matter, but of the soul and of God. It is a system
of universal negation. There is no trace in it of a Supreme Being. All
is mere seeming. Nothing is real in past, present, or future.

Again, Brahminism betrays a deep consciousness of sin. It teaches the
necessity of doing painful penance and of offering animal sacrifices.
Buddhism regards sin as cosmical. There is no such thing as blame or
guilt. There is no mediation or pardon. The Buddhist brings no animal to
the altar. His worship consists in offering up prayers, and perfumes,
and flowers, in memory of the founder of his religion.

Again, Brahminism is aristocratic; Buddhism democratic. Brahminism is
the religion of caste. It divides the nation into four classes: the
priest, the warrior, the tradesman, and the serf. Besides these, but
lowest of all, are pariahs, or _outcastes_—the offspring of intercourse
that violated the law of caste. There can be no social mingling of the
castes. The condition of the serfs is most wretched and humiliating. The
laws of Menu ordain that their abode must be outside the towns, their
property must be restricted to dogs and asses, their clothes should be
those left by the dead, their ornaments rusty iron; they must roam from
place to place; no respectable person must hold intercourse with them;
they are to aid as public executioners, retaining the clothes of the
dead. Now Buddhism rejected the system of caste. Gaudama taught: “The
priest is born of a woman; so is the _outcaste_. My law is a law of
grace for all. My doctrine is like the sky. There is room for all
without exception, men, women, boys, girls, poor and rich.” The two
beautiful stories that follow remind us of the spirit and behavior of
our own blessed Lord.

Amanda, an eminent disciple of Gaudama, meets an _outcaste_ girl,
drawing water at a well. He asks for a draught. She hesitates, fearing
she may contaminate him by her touch. He says, “My sister, I do not ask,
what is thy caste, or thy descent; I beg for water: if thou canst, give
it me.” It is also related that a poor man filled Gaudama’s alms-bowl
with a single handful of flowers, while the rich could not accomplish it
with ten thousand bushels of rice.

But let us glance at the life of the founder of Buddhism. He is called
Gaudama, Siddartha, or Buddha. Gaudama was the name of his family;
Siddartha his own individual name, and Buddha, “the enlightened one,”
the surname he acquired by his wisdom. He was born about the year 500
B.C., at Kapilivastu, a few days’ journey from Benares, near the base of
the Himalayas. His father was an Indian prince, and ruled over a tribe
called the Sakyas. Buddha is described as of a gentle, ardent, pensive,
philanthropic nature. He was reared in the lap of Oriental luxury, but
his earnest nature became weary with pleasure. Intimations of the
wretchedness of the peasantry of India penetrated even the palace walls.
The winds soughing through the strings of the Æolian harp, seemed to
whisper in his ear the miseries of mankind.

            “We are the voices of the wandering wind,
            Which moan for rest, and rest can never find;
            Lo! as the wind is, so is mortal life,
            A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife.

            “O Maya’s son! because we roam the earth,
            Moan we upon these strings; we make no mirth,
            So many woes we see in many lands,
            So many streaming eyes, and wringing hands.”[17]

The desire to be a savior takes possession of his breast. Four ominous
sights contribute to fix his purpose. He sees in his pleasure-grounds an
old man, broken and decrepit; again, he meets a man smitten with a
malignant disease; again, his eye rests upon a corpse. He learns that
such are the destinies of himself and of all his fellow-beings. At last
he sees a mendicant monk passing by with his alms-bowl. The young prince
resolves to leave his father, his wealth, his power, his wife, and
child, and become a homeless wanderer, that he may search out the way of
salvation for himself and his fellow-men. He first became a Brahminical
ascetic, and gave himself over to the severest penance and self-torture.
Afterward he abandoned this altogether, and at last, while in
profoundest meditation under the bo-tree, he discovers the way of life.
He spends his remaining days in travelling through India, preaching his
gospel, and gaining many disciples. He revisits his home at Kapilivastu.
He lives to be an old man, and at last dies with the words on his lips:
“Nothing, nothing is durable!” The eminent French savant, M. Barthélemy
St. Hilaire, says:

  “Je n’hésite pas à ajouter, que, sauf le Christ tout seul, il n’est
  point, parmi les fondateurs de religion, de figure plus pure ni plus
  touchante que celle du Bouddha. Sa vie n’a point de tache. Son
  constant héroîsm égale sa conviction; et si la théorie qu’il préconise
  est fausse, les exemples personnels qu’il donne sont irréprochables.
  Il est le modèle achevé de toutes les vertus qu’il prêcha; son
  abnégation, sa charité, son inaltérable douceur, ne se démentent point
  un seul instant; il abandonne à vingt-neuf ans la cour du roi, son
  père, pour se faire religieux et mendiant; il prépare silencieusement
  sa doctrine par six années de retraite, et de méditation; il la
  propage par la seule puissance de la parole et de la persuasion,
  pendant plus d’un demi siècle; et quand il meurt entre les bras de ses
  disciples, c’est avec la sérénité d’un sage qui a pratiqué le bien
  toute sa vie, et qui est assuré d’avoir trouvé le vrai.”[18]

But one eagerly inquires, What was the _way of salvation_ that Buddha
discovered under the bo-tree, and spent half a century of his life in
preaching? Observe successively the _point of departure_, the _goal_,
and the _way_.

Buddha starts out with the idea that misery is the indispensable
accompaniment of existence—sorrow is shadow to life. The foundation of
his philosophy rests in the densest pessimism. While we are bound up in
this material world, we are a prey to disappointment, disease, old age,
death. We find ourselves “caught in this common net of death and woe,
and life which binds to both.” There is no way out of the vast and
monotonous cycle of transmigration except into _Nirvana_—the _blowing
out_—that is, total extinction.

The highest _goal_, therefore, to which we can attain is utter
annihilation. That this is the meaning of _Nirvana_, or _Nigban_, seems
established beyond a doubt. The most eminent authorities on Buddhism,
Barthélemy St. Hilaire, Bigandet, Eugène Burnouf, Spence Hardy, and Max
Müller, all agree with the view presented by Mr. Judson many years ago,
that _Nirvana_ or _Nigban_ is nothing less than a total extinction of
soul and body. It is the final blowing out of the soul, as of a lamp;
not its absorption, as when a “dew-drop slips into the shining sea.”

It is

               “To perish rather, swallowed up and lost,
               In the wide womb of uncreated night.
               Devoid of sense and motion.”

But in what _way_ is this bliss of annihilation to be reached? Only by a
long and arduous struggle. There are four truths to be believed. 1.
There is nothing in life but sorrow. 2. The root of sorrow is desire. 3.
Desire must be destroyed. 4. The way to destroy desire is to follow the
eightfold path, viz., 1. Right doctrine. 2. Right purpose. 3. Right
discourse. 4. Right behavior. 5. Right purity. 6. Right thought. 7.
Right solitude. 8. Right rapture.

But in order to do these eight right things, five commandments must be
kept. 1. Not to kill. 2. Not to steal. 3. Not to commit adultery. 4. Not
to lie. 5. Not to get intoxicated. And upon these commandments Gaudama
himself gives the following commentary:

  “He who kills as much as a louse or a bug; he who takes so much as a
  thread that belongs to another; he who with a wishful thought looks at
  another man’s wife; he who makes a jest of what concerns the advantage
  of another; he who puts on his tongue as much as the drop that would
  hang upon the point of a blade of grass, of anything bearing the sign
  of intoxicating liquor, has broken the commandments.”

There are four stages to be arrived at in the way of salvation. 1. The
believer has a change of heart, and conquers lust, pride, and anger. 2.
He is set free from ignorance, doubt, and wrong belief. 3. He enters the
state of universal kindliness. 4. He reaches _Nirvana_.

In this succession of stages Buddha makes right conduct a precedent
condition to spiritual knowledge; and so is in striking harmony with a
greater than he: “If any man willeth to do His will, he shall know of
the doctrine.”

It is clear that the strength of Buddhism lies not in its philosophy or
theology, but in its code of morals. To its system of rightness rigidly
practiced by its founder, it owes its vitality. If the presentation of a
system of morality could save, then long since India, Burmah, Ceylon,
Siam, Thibet, and China ought to have become an earthly paradise.
Besides the virtues ordinarily recognized in heathen codes, Buddhism
teaches meekness and forbearance. The pious Buddhist, when struck a
violent blow, can meekly reflect that it is in consequence of some sin
that he has committed in a previous state of existence. This is a system
that teaches us to love our fellow-men tenderly and perseveringly. “As
even at the risk of her own life a mother watches over her own child,
her only child, so let him—the Buddhist saint—exert good-will without
measure towards all beings.” It even teaches resignation in sorrow. I
give the following beautiful story as it is told by T. W. Rhys Davids:

  “Buddha is said to have brought back to her right mind a young mother
  whom sorrow had for a time deprived of reason. Her name was
  Kisagotami. She had been married early, as is the custom in the East,
  and had a child when she was still a girl. When the beautiful boy
  could run alone, he died. The young girl, in her love for it, carried
  the dead child clasped in her bosom, and went from house to house of
  her pitying friends, asking them to give her medicine for it. But a
  Buddhist, thinking, ‘She does not understand,’ said to her, ‘My good
  girl, I myself have no such medicine as you ask for, but I think I
  know of one who has.’ ‘Oh, tell me who that is,’ said Kisagotami. ‘The
  Buddha can give you medicine; go to him,’ was the answer.

  “She went to Gaudama, and, doing homage to him, said: ‘Lord and
  master, do you know any medicine that will be good for my child?’
  ‘Yes, I know of some,’ said the teacher. Now it was the custom for
  patients or their friends to provide the herbs which the doctors
  required; so she asked what herbs he would want. ‘I want some mustard
  seed,’ he said; and when the poor girl eagerly promised to bring some
  of so common a drug, he added: ‘You must get it from some home where
  no son, or husband, or parent, or slave has died.’ ‘Very good,’ she
  said; and went to seek for it, still carrying her dead child with her.
  The people said, ‘Here is mustard seed, take it’; but when she asked,
  ‘In my friend’s house has any son died, or a husband, or a parent, or
  a slave?’ they answer, ‘Lady, what is this that you say? The living
  are few, but the dead are many.’ Then she went to other houses, but
  one said, ‘I have lost a son’; another, ‘We have lost our parents’;
  another, ‘I have lost my slave.’ At last, not being able to find a
  single house where no one had died, her mind began to clear, and
  summoning up resolution she left the dead body of her child in a
  forest, and returning to the Buddha, paid him homage. He said to her,
  ‘Have you the mustard seed?’ ‘My Lord,’ she replied, ‘I have not; the
  people tell me that the living are few, but the dead are many.’ Then
  he talked to her on that essential part of his system, the
  impermanency of all things, till her doubts were cleared away; she
  accepted her lot, became a disciple, and entered ‘the first path.’”

But, after all, Buddhism, with its exquisite code of morals, has never
succeeded in cleansing the Augean stables of the human heart. It is a
religion without God, or prayer, or pardon, or heaven. Its laws lack the
authority of a Law-giver. Its _Nirvana_ is a cheerless and uninviting
prospect. It is a system of despair. The spirits are weighed down by the
vast load of demerits, and haunted by the anticipation of endless ages
of misery. There is no “pity sitting in the clouds.” There is no way of
forgiveness, no sense of Divine presence and sympathy. Under such a
system of cold abstractions, it is not strange that the common people
should distort the conception of _Nirvana_ into an earthly paradise, and
fly for refuge even into demon-worship, and other forms of Shamanism.

In Edwin Arnold’s beautiful poem this religion has been presented in a
most burnished and fascinating form, but no one whose mind is not filled
with misconceptions of Christianity, would think for a moment of
exchanging the “Light of the World” for the “Light of Asia.”[19]

In the _Missionary Magazine_ of 1818 Mrs. Judson writes:

  “Let those who plead the native innocence and purity of heathen
  nations visit Burmah! The system of religion here has no power over
  the heart or restraint on the passions. Though it forbids, on pain of
  many years’ suffering in hell, theft and falsehood, yet, I presume to
  say, there is not a single Burman in the country, who, if he had a
  good opportunity, without danger of detection, would hesitate to do
  either. Though the religion inculcates benevolence, tenderness,
  forgiveness of injuries, and love of enemies—though it forbids
  sensuality, love of pleasure, and attachment to worldly objects—yet it
  is destitute of power to produce the former, or to subdue the latter,
  in its votaries. In short, the Burman system of religion is like an
  alabaster image, perfect and beautiful in all its parts, but destitute
  of life. Besides being destitute of life, it provides no atonement for
  sin. Here also the Gospel triumphs over this and every other religion
  in the world.”

-----

Footnote 8:

  See Map II.

Footnote 9:

  See Forbes’s “British Burmah.”

Footnote 10:

  See Mason’s “The Natural Productions of Burmah.”

Footnote 11:

  Oscar Peschel.

Footnote 12:

  Major Yule, in his “Embassy to Ava.”

Footnote 13:

  See Crawfurd’s “Embassy.”

Footnote 14:

  “The Light of Asia,” by Edwin Arnold.

Footnote 15:

  Hardwick’s “Christ and other Masters.”

Footnote 16:

  Tennyson’s “In Memoriam.”

Footnote 17:

  “The Light of Asia.”

Footnote 18:

  “I do not hesitate to add that, with the exception of the Christ
  alone, there is among the founders of religions no purer or more
  affecting figure than that of Buddha. His life has no stain. His
  constant heroism equals his conviction; and if the theory which he
  extols is false, the personal examples which he gives are
  irreproachable. He is the finished model of all the virtues which he
  preaches; his self-denial, his charity, his unalterable gentleness do
  not fail for a single instant; at twenty-nine years of age he leaves
  the court of the king, his father, in order to become a recluse and a
  mendicant; he silently prepares his doctrine during six years of
  seclusion and meditation; he propagates it for more than half a
  century by the power of persuasion alone; and when he dies in the arms
  of his disciples, it is with the serenity of a sage who has practiced
  the good all his life and who is assured of having found the true.”

Footnote 19:

  The reader may be interested to see what weapons Mr. Judson used in
  assailing the hoary system of Buddhism, and is therefore referred to
  Appendix B.




                               CHAPTER V.
                            LIFE IN RANGOON.
                               1813-1819.


Mr. and Mrs. Judson, as has already been stated, arrived in Rangoon June
13, 1813. For almost a year and a half since leaving their native land,
they had been seeking a home on heathen shores. Having reached Calcutta,
they had been forced by the oppressive policy of the East India Company
to take refuge upon the Isle of France. They returned again to India and
landed at Madras. But they were compelled to flee a second time, and
having reluctantly relinquished the strong protection of the British
flag, had, at last, settled down in Rangoon, the chief seaport of the
Burman Empire. Their own desires and hopes had pointed elsewhere; and it
was “with wandering steps and slow” that they had come to this
destination. God had drawn around them the relentless toils of His
providence, and had hemmed them in to this one opening. But subsequent
history has proved that the hand which led them so strangely and
sternly, was the hand that never errs. American Christians, in their
assault upon Asiatic heathenism, could never have chosen such a
strategic position as Rangoon. It is situated near the mouth of the
great Irrawaddy River, which is thus described by an English officer:

  “After draining the great plain of upper Burmah, it enters a narrow
  valley lying between the spurs of the Arracan and Pegu ranges, and
  extending below the city of Prome. Thus the mighty stream rolls on
  through the widening bay, until about ninety miles from the sea, it
  bifurcates; one branch flows to the westward and forms the Bassein
  River, while the main channel of the lower part of the Delta
  subdivides and finally enters the sea by ten mouths. It is navigable
  for river steamers for 840 miles from the sea, but it is during the
  rainy season (Monsoon) that it is seen in its full grandeur. The
  stream then rises forty feet above its summer level, and flooding the
  banks presents in some places, as far as the eye can reach, a
  boundless expanse of turbid waters, the main channel of which rushes
  along with a velocity of five miles an hour.”

The two natural outlets for the commerce of Western China are this great
river, and the Yang-tse-kiang, which takes its rise in Thibet, and
following an easterly course of nearly three thousand miles, empties
itself into the Yellow Sea. Along this channel a vast tide of commerce
has flowed from time immemorial, and depositing upon the river-banks its
rich sediment of wealth and population, has occasioned the growth of
Shanghai, Nanking, and other enormous cities. But the merchandise of
Western and Central China would find a shorter and easier and cheaper
path to the sea through the valley of the Irrawaddy, and would long ago
have pursued that course, had it not been impeded and endangered by rude
mountain tribes which the Governments of Burmah and of China have not as
yet been vigorous enough to reduce to harmlessness. As civilization
advances, a much larger part of the trade of Central Asia will be sure
to find its way to the sea through the valley of the Irrawaddy.
Christianity always enters the heart of a nation along the lines of
trade; so that Rangoon, near the mouth of the Irrawaddy, where Mr. and
Mrs. Judson landed, and Bhamo, situated at the head of navigation, 840
miles up the river, where the American Baptists have recently planted a
mission, are two of the most important strategical points for the
conquest of all Asia.[20]

Rangoon is described by an English traveller who passed through it about
the time of the arrival of the Judsons, as

  “A miserable, dirty town, containing 8,000 or 10,000 inhabitants, the
  houses being built with bamboo and teak planks, with thatched
  roofs—almost without drainage, and intersected by muddy creeks,
  through which the tide flowed at high water. It had altogether a mean,
  uninviting appearance, but it was the city of government of an
  extensive province ruled over by a viceroy, a woongee of the empire,
  in high favor at the court.”

Some of the first impressions which the country made on the Judsons may
be learned from their journals and letters.

                         _Mrs. Judson’s Journal._

  “_September 20._ This is the first Sabbath that we have united in
  commemorating the dying love of Christ at His table. Though but two in
  number, we feel the command as binding, and the privilege as great, as
  if there were more, and we have indeed found it refreshing to our
  souls.

  “_December 11._ To-day, for the first time, I have visited the wife of
  the viceroy. I was introduced to her by a French lady, who has
  frequently visited her. When we first arrived at the Government house
  she was not up; consequently we had to wait some time. But the
  inferior wives of the viceroy diverted us much by their curiosity in
  minutely examining everything we had on, and by trying on our gloves,
  bonnets, etc. At last her highness made her appearance, dressed richly
  in the Burman fashion, with a long silver pipe at her mouth, smoking.
  At her appearance, all the other wives took their seats at a
  respectful distance, and sat in a crouching posture, without speaking.
  She received me very politely, took me by the hand, seated me upon a
  mat, and herself by me. She excused herself for not coming in sooner,
  saying she was unwell. One of the women brought her a bunch of
  flowers, of which she took several, and ornamented her cap. She was
  very inquisitive whether I had a husband and children; whether I was
  my husband’s first wife—meaning by this, whether I was the highest
  among them, supposing that my husband, like the Burmans, had many
  wives; and whether I intended tarrying long in the country. When the
  viceroy came in, I really trembled, for I never before beheld such a
  savage-looking creature. His long robe and enormous spear not a little
  increased my dread. He spoke to me, however, very condescendingly, and
  asked if I would drink some rum or wine. When I arose to go, her
  highness again took my hand, told me she was happy to see me; that I
  must come to see her every day, for I was like a sister to her. She
  led me to the door, and I made my _salaam_, and departed. My only
  object in visiting her was, that, if we should get into any difficulty
  with the Burmans, I could have access to her, when perhaps it would
  not be possible for Mr. Judson to get access to the viceroy. One can
  obtain almost any favor from her by making a small present. We intend
  to have as little to do with Government people as possible, as our
  usefulness will probably be among the common people. Mr. Judson lately
  visited the viceroy, when he scarcely deigned to look at him, as
  English _men_ are no uncommon sight in this country; but an English
  female is quite a curiosity.”

                  _Mr. Judson to the Rev. Mr. Emerson._,

                                        “RANGOON, _January_ 7, 1814.

  “It is nearly a year since I wrote to America, my last being forwarded
  by brother Rice. I have had no opportunity of conveyance since that
  time, nor have I any at present. I intend to send this to England,
  hoping that on its arrival the war may have terminated, or that it may
  find a conveyance in a dispatch vessel. We have been here about six
  months; have been living in the mission-house, with brother F. Carey’s
  family, but expect within a few days to take a house within the walls
  of the town on account of the bands of robbers which infest all the
  country, and which have lately been very numerous and daring. Our
  situation is much more comfortable than we expected it would be in
  such a country. We enjoy good health, and though deprived of all
  congenial Christian society, we are very happy in each other, and
  think we frequently enjoy His presence whose smile can turn the
  darkest night to day, and whose favor is the fountain of all
  happiness. ‘Peace I leave with you—my peace I give unto you.’ There
  has yet been but very little effected in this country to any real
  missionary purpose. Brother Carey’s time is greatly occupied in
  Government matters. The emperor has given him a title, and requires
  him to reside in the capital. He is just now going to Bengal on his
  majesty’s business, and expects, after his return, to reside at Ava.
  Not a single Burman has yet been brought to a knowledge of the truth,
  or even to serious inquiry. In all the affairs of this Government,
  despotism and rapine are the order of the day. The present viceroy of
  this province is a savage man. Life and death depend on his nod. He is
  very large in stature, and when he stalks about with his long spear,
  everybody shrinks from before him. I called on him once, but he
  scarcely looked at me. Ann waited on her highness, and was much better
  received. This man is about to be recalled to Ava, and it is doubtful
  whether he will return. During the interim we expect all things will
  be in confusion, and this is one reason why we desire to get within
  the walls of the city.

  “My only object at present is to prosecute, in a still, quiet manner,
  the study of the language, trusting that for all the future ‘God will
  provide.’ We have this consolation, that it was the evident
  dispensation of God which brought us to this country; and still
  further, that if the world was all before us, where to choose our
  place of rest, we should not desire to leave Burmah. Our chief anxiety
  is that brother Rice may not be able to join us again; but even this
  we desire to leave in His hands who doeth all things well.”

              _From Mrs. Judson to the Rev. Samuel Newell._

                                         “RANGOON, _April_ 23, 1814.

  “MY DEAR BROTHER NEWELL:

  “A few days since we received yours of December 18th, the only one we
  have ever received since you left us at Port Louis. It brought fresh
  to my mind a recollection of scenes formerly enjoyed in our dear
  native country. Well do I remember our first interesting conversations
  on missions and on the probable events which awaited us in India. Well
  do I remember the dear parental habitation where you were pleased to
  favor me with your confidence relative to a companion for life. And
  well do I remember the time when I first carried your message to the
  mother of our dear Harriet, when the excellent woman exclaimed with
  tears in her eyes, ‘I dare not, I can not speak against it.’ Those
  were happy days. Newell and Judson, Harriet and Nancy, then were
  united in the strictest friendship, then anticipated spending their
  lives together in sharing the trials and toils, the pleasures and
  enjoyments, of a missionary life. But, alas! behold us now! In the
  Isle of France, solitary and alone, lies all that was once visible of
  the lovely Harriet. A melancholy wanderer on the Isle of Ceylon is our
  brother Newell, and the savage, heathen empire of Burmah is destined
  to be the future residence of Judson and Nancy. But is this separation
  to be forever? Shall we four never again enjoy social, happy
  intercourse? No, my dear brother, our separation is of short duration.
  There is a rest—a peaceful, happy rest, where Jesus reigns, where we
  four soon shall meet to part no more. Forgive my gloomy feelings, or
  rather forgive my communicating them to you, whose memory, no doubt,
  is ever ready to furnish more than enough for your peace.

  “As Mr. Judson will not have time to write you by this opportunity, I
  will endeavor to give you some idea of our situation here, and of our
  plans and prospects. We have found the country, as we expected, in a
  most deplorable state, full of darkness, idolatry, and cruelty—full of
  commotion and uncertainty. We daily feel that the existence and
  perpetuity of this mission, still in an infant state, depend in a
  peculiar manner on the interposing hand of Providence; and from this
  impression alone we are encouraged still to remain. As it respects our
  temporal privations, use has made them familiar, and easy to be borne;
  they are of short duration, and when brought in competition with the
  worth of immortal souls, sink into nothing. We have no society, no
  dear Christian friends, and with the exception of two or three sea
  captains, who now and then call on us, we never see a European face.
  But then, we are still happy in each other; still find that our own
  home is our best, our dearest friend. When we feel a disposition to
  sigh for the enjoyments of our native country, we turn our eyes on the
  miserable objects around. We behold some of them laboring hard for a
  scanty subsistence, oppressed by an avaricious Government, which is
  ever ready to seize what industry had hardly earned; we behold others
  sick and diseased, daily begging the few grains of rice which, when
  obtained, are scarcely sufficient to protract their wretched
  existence, and with no other habitation to screen them from the
  burning sun, or chilly rains, than what a small piece of cloth raised
  on four bamboos under a tree can afford. While we behold these scenes,
  we feel that we have all the comforts, and, in comparison, even the
  luxuries, of life. We feel that our temporal cup of blessings is full,
  and runneth over. But is our temporal lot so much superior to theirs?
  Oh, how infinitely superior our spiritual blessings! While they vainly
  imagine to purchase promotion in another state of existence by
  strictly worshipping their idols and building pagodas, our hopes of
  future happiness are fixed on the Lamb of God who taketh away the sin
  of the world. When we have a realizing sense of these things, my dear
  brother, we forget our native country and former enjoyments, feel
  contented and happy with our lot, with but one wish remaining—that of
  being instrumental in leading these Burmans to partake of the same
  source of happiness with ourselves.

  “Respecting our plans, we have at present but one—that of applying
  ourselves closely to the acquirement of the language, and to have as
  little to do with Government as possible. Brother Carey has never yet
  preached in Burman, but has made considerable progress toward the
  completion of a grammar and dictionary, which are a great help to us.
  At present, however, his time is entirely taken up with Government
  affairs. It is now almost a year since he was ordered up to Ava, which
  time has been wholly occupied in the king’s business. He has just
  returned from Bengal, and is now making preparations for Ava, where he
  expects to found a new mission station. His family go with him;
  consequently we shall be alone until the arrival of brother Rice, who,
  we hope, will arrive in six or seven months.

  “Our progress in the language is slow, as it is peculiarly hard of
  acquisition. We can, however, read, write, and converse with tolerable
  ease, and frequently spend whole evenings very pleasantly in
  conversing with our Burman friends. We have been very fortunate in
  procuring good teachers. Mr. Judson’s teacher is a very learned man,
  was formerly a priest, and resided at court. He has a thorough
  knowledge of the grammatical construction of the language, likewise of
  the Pali, the learned language of the Burmans.”

It may be well to consider for a moment the _task_ which the young
missionary had set before him. What did they propose to do, this man of
twenty-five and his young wife, standing amid the level rice fields on
the coast of Lower Burmah, with their faces turned landward toward towns
and cities swarming with idolaters, and hill-tops crowned with heathen
temples and pagodas? Their purpose was to undermine an ancient religion,
deeply fixed in the hearts and habits of four hundred millions of human
beings. They did not propose to bring to bear influences by which
Christianity was to be introduced as a State religion and reluctant
knees be forced to bow to the Christ. This would have been indeed an
audacious undertaking. But they sought to work out a more searching
revolution, nothing less than a change of belief and of heart in each
individual. The millions of Burmans were to be taken one by one—their
affections subdued, and their characters transfigured by the religion of
Christ. They felt sure that in the mass of people about them, there was
here and there a man who had been so schooled by the providences of God,
and so matured by the Divine Spirit, that if the story of the Cross
could once be got to him, he would immediately accept it and say, “That
is just what I want.” As the sod of moss, brought from the woods into
the house, often contains within its bosom hidden germs, and after a
season, in the warmth of the parlor, sends forth sweet, unexpected
spring flowers, so out of the unattractive sod of heathenism, under the
genial rays of the Holy Spirit, might emerge disciples of Christ, and
these disciples, organized by baptism into churches, would, by the same
process of reaching individual souls, little by little leaven the whole
of the empire.

But what _means_ did Mr. Judson use in his endeavor to bring about this
great moral and spiritual revolution? Simply the Gospel of Christ. The
sole weapons of his warfare were the old-fashioned truths, the existence
of a personal and beneficent God, the fatal sinfulness of man, and
salvation by faith in the Son of God, who came to “seek and to save that
which was lost.” No system of truth could be devised more diametrically
opposed to Buddhism, which teaches that there is no God to save, no soul
to be saved, and no sin to be saved from. He felt sure that if he could
only plant the seeds of Christian truth in the soil of the Burman’s
heart, then, under the mellowing influence of the Holy Spirit, they
would germinate and bring forth the fruit of meek and pure behavior. As
in flushing a drain, a large body of pure water is poured through the
whole length of it, washing out every impurity, so the Gospel of Christ
is a cleansing tide, which, as it courses through the individual heart,
or through human society, sweeps away before it all the stagnant and
loathsome accumulations of sin.

Mr. Judson did not believe that Christianity should follow in the wake
of civilization. He did not propose to spend his time in teaching the
arts and sciences of the Western world, in imparting more correct
astronomical, geographical, and geological conceptions, in order, little
by little, to prepare the mind of the Burman to accept his religious
ideas. He had implicit confidence in the promise of his Master, “Lo, I
am with you alway.” He believed that Christ was with him in the heart of
the heathen, unlocking the door from the inside.

Again, he did not say to himself, “It is a hopeless task to attempt the
conversion of the hoary heads. I will try to gather the little children
together and establish schools, and thus purify the fountains of
national life.” He had his schools, indeed, but they were quite
subordinate to the work of preaching the Gospel to the adult mind. He
reached the children through the parents, and not the parents through
the children. He believed that the grown-up Burmans, rather than their
children, should bear the brunt of persecution involved in embracing a
new religion. He followed the method of the Acts of the Apostles. A
preacher of the Gospel, he did not allow himself to shrivel into a mere
school-teacher or a school-book maker.

There were only two channels through which the truths of the Gospel
could be conveyed to the conscience of the Burman—the eyes and the ears.
The natives were emphatically a reading people. They had their ancient
scriptures embodying the teachings of Gaudama, and the first question
asked of the propagator of a new religion would be, “Where are your
sacred books?” So that one way in which Mr. Judson communicated the
Gospel was by the translation of tracts—either succinct and concrete
statements of Christian truth, or portions of the Bible. These were not
scattered about like autumn leaves, but were given discriminatingly to
individuals, the gift often being accompanied by a solemn injunction to
read, followed by a fervent prayer. The following letter to the Rev. Dr.
Baldwin shows how earnestly he engaged in this work of imparting
Christian truth in a printed form:

                                      “RANGOON, _February_ 10, 1817.

  “Have just heard that a person whom we have some time calculated on as
  a letter-carrier to Bengal is unexpectedly going off in the course of
  an hour. Have, therefore, time only to accompany the enclosed tracts
  with a line or two.

  “We have just begun to circulate these publications, and are praying
  that they may produce some inquiry among the natives. And here comes a
  man, this moment, to talk about religion. What shall I do? I will give
  him a tract, to keep him occupied a few moments while I finish this.
  ‘Here, my friend, sit down, and read something that will carry you to
  heaven if you believe and receive the glorious Saviour therein
  exhibited.’

  “We are just entering on a small edition of Matthew, the translation
  of which I lately commenced. But we are in great want of men and
  money. Our hands are full from morning till night. I can not, for my
  life, translate as fast as brother Hough will print. He has to do all
  the hard work in the printing-office, without a single assistant, and
  can not, therefore, apply himself to the study of the language, as is
  desirable. As for me, I have not an hour to converse with the natives,
  or go out and make proclamation of the glorious Gospel. In regard to
  money, we have drawn more from Bengal than has been remitted from
  America; so that now, if not for their truly brotherly kindness in
  honoring our bills on credit, we should actually starve. Moreover, an
  edition of five thousand of the New Testament will cost us nearly five
  thousand dollars. And what are five thousand among a population of
  seventeen millions, five millions of whom can read? O that all the
  members of the Baptist Convention could live in Rangoon one month!
  Will the Christian world ever awake? Will means ever be used adequate
  to the necessities of the heathen world? O Lord, send help! Our
  waiting eyes are unto Thee!”

It is a noteworthy fact that the attention of the first serious Burman
inquirer was caught by two little writings that fell into his hands, a
tract and a catechism. The British and Foreign Bible Society publish a
statement, made upon the authority of Sir Bartle Frere, that he met
“with an instance which was carefully investigated, in which all the
inhabitants of a remote village in the Deccan had abjured idolatry and
caste, removed from their temples the idols which had been worshipped
there time out of mind, and agreed to profess a form of Christianity
which they had deduced for themselves from the careful perusal of a
single Gospel and a few tracts.” And the eminent African missionary,
Moffat, related that when he was almost perishing for want of food, he
was succored by an old negro woman whose spiritual life had been fed for
years from a little copy of the Dutch New Testament. She drew it from
her bosom and said: “This is the fountain whence I drink; this is the
oil which makes my lamp to burn.”

But far more important than the work of translating and distributing
tracts, catechisms, and portions of the Scripture, was the oral
preaching of the Gospel. For this Mr. Judson had rare aptitude, and in
it he won his most signal triumphs. While engaged in the necessary work
of translation, he was always pining for the opportunity of imparting
the message of salvation with the living voice. In a letter to Dr.
Bolles he says: “I long to see the whole New Testament complete, for I
will then be able to devote all my time to preaching the Gospel from day
to day; and often now the latter appears to be the more pressing duty.
May the Spirit of the Lord be poured out!” When eye meets eye, and the
mind of an objector is confronted by a living, loving personality, he
receives a deeper impression of religious truth than he can ever get
even from the leisurely perusal of a printed book. The press can never
supplant the pulpit. The truth, which, when pressed home by the earnest
voice of the speaker, carries with it conviction, and arouses the
conscience, and kindles the affections, is often weak and thin when
presented on the printed page.

But Mr. Judson’s preaching was unlike that of the orator about whom a
great throng gathers. After the little chapel, or _zayat_, was built,
public worship indeed was held, the audience consisting of perhaps a
hundred persons. But most of the preaching at first was to the
individual. It was a process of spiritual button-holing. A single person
would enter into a discussion with the missionary, while a few others
would draw near to witness the encounter. It was in these hand-to-hand
frays that Mr. Judson often extorted exclamations of admiration from the
bystanders, as with his keen logic he hewed his opponent to pieces as
Samuel did Agag.

His preaching was concrete. He did not deal in vague abstractions. Truth
assumed, in his mind, statuesque forms. His conversation abounded in
images and illustrations; and in this respect he resembled the great
Teacher, whom England’s poet laureate thus describes:

               “For wisdom dealt with mortal powers,
                 Where truth in closest words shall fail,
                 When truth embodied in a tale
               Shall enter in at lowly doors.”

Mrs. E. C. Judson contributes a reminiscence of his vivid method of
imparting religious truth:

  “A native Christian woman told me that she was at one time about to
  engage in something which Dr. Judson considered not conducive to her
  spiritual good. He sent for her, and remonstrated; but she would not
  give up her darling project. ‘Look here!’ said he, eagerly snatching a
  ruler from the table, and tracing not a very straight line on the
  floor, ‘_here_ is where you have been walking. You have made a crooked
  track, to be sure—out of the path half of the time; but then you have
  kept near it, and not taken to new roads, and you have—not so much as
  you might have done, mind, but still to a certain extent—grown in
  grace; and now, with all this growth upon your heart and head, in the
  maturity of your years, with ripened understanding and an every-day
  deepening sense of the goodness of God, here,’ bringing down the ruler
  with emphasis to indicate a certain position, ‘_here you stand_. You
  know where this path leads. You know what is before you—some
  struggles, some sorrows, and finally eternal life and a crown of
  glory. But to the left branches off another very pleasant road, and
  along the air floats, rather temptingly, a pretty bubble. You do not
  mean to leave the path you have walked in fifteen years—fifteen long
  years—altogether; you only want to step aside and catch the bubble,
  and think you will come back again; but _you never will_. Woman,
  think! Dare you deliberately leave this strait and narrow path, drawn
  by the Saviour’s finger, and go away for one moment into that of your
  enemy? Will you? _will you_? WILL YOU?’

  “‘I was sobbing so,’ said the woman, ‘that I could not speak a word;
  but he knew, as he always did, what I meant; for he knelt down, and
  prayed that God would preserve me in my determination. I have made a
  great many crooked tracks since,’ she added, tearfully, ‘but, whenever
  I am unusually tempted, I see the teacher as he looked that day,
  bending over in his chair, the ruler placed on the floor to represent
  me, his finger pointing along the path of eternal life, his eye
  looking so strangely over his shoulder, and that terrible “Will you?”
  coming from his lips as though it was the voice of God; and I pray
  just as Peter did, for I am frightened.’”

Behind his words, when he preached, lay the magnet of a great character.
He was a man of tender sensibilities and of strong affections. There was
no mistaking his motives. He had come a long distance and endured great
hardships because he loved the Burmans. Little by little they found this
out; and the power of a preacher is in direct ratio with his capacity
for inspiring confidence and affection. Not the truth on the lips, but
the truth incarnated in the behavior, has weight. One who often heard
him preach in Burmese, though she was at that time only slightly
acquainted with the language, writes:

  “He preached with great fervor and earnestness; but besides this,
  there was a touching simplicity in the matter and language, which it
  was long before I could appreciate. His figures, which I understood
  sooner, were drawn from immediately surrounding objects. Of these, in
  accordance with Eastern taste, he made great use. He often remarked
  that Christ was the model preacher, and that He never preached great
  sermons.”

A missionary thus describes the impression which he received from
hearing Mr. Judson the first time:

  “True, he preached in Burman; but though I did not know the meaning of
  a single sentence he uttered, still my attention was never more
  closely riveted in any sermon I have ever heard. Were I to fix upon
  any characteristic of the preacher which, perhaps more than any other,
  rendered his discourse interesting and impressive, I should say it was
  _earnestness of manner_. It was impossible for any one to escape the
  conviction that his whole soul was in the work. Every tone, every
  look, every gesture spoke out in most emphatic language to tell us
  that the man was in earnest to make us believe the truths that he
  uttered. But what contributed not a little to the interest of the
  occasion was the appearance of the assembly. Every hearer sat
  motionless, every eye was immovably fixed upon the preacher, and every
  countenance seemed to change with every varied expression of
  sentiment; now beaming forth joy, as though some joyous news from the
  other world had just reached them, which before had never gladdened
  their hearts—now depicting a feeling of anxiety as though their mortal
  all, or that of their friends, were at stake; and next, of deep
  solemnity, as though standing before their final judge!”

Having considered the stupendous _task_ set before the young missionary,
and the _methods_ he used, let us look at some of the _difficulties_.
His ardent temperament flung itself against the hard reef of Burman
_conservatism_. Oriental slowness to accept a new idea proved a strong
obstacle at the outset. He writes:

  “The Burmans are a slow, wary, circumspect race; but their pertinacity
  in maintaining an opinion deliberately adopted, will bear, I imagine,
  due proportion to their tardiness in adopting it. This trait in their
  character will render missionary operations among them less rapid in
  the outset, but more effective and permanent in the issue.”

Another great difficulty at the beginning was _learning the language_
without grammar, or dictionary, or an English-speaking teacher. How hard
a task this was, may be learned from his letters.

                        _To the Rev. Dr. Bolles._

                                       “RANGOON, _January_ 16, 1816.

  “Yours of March, 1815, I lately received, and read with real
  satisfaction. Neither brother Rice nor any of the others you mention
  have yet been heard of in these parts. May they not be far distant.
  Whenever they shall arrive, I hope to be of some real service to them
  in their preparatory studies, and to be able to give them, in a short
  time, information on many points which it has cost me months to
  acquire. I just now begin to see my way forward in this language, and
  hope that two or three years more will make it somewhat familiar; but
  I have met with difficulties that I had no idea of before I entered on
  the work. For a European or American to acquire a _living_ Oriental
  language, root and branch, and make it his own, is quite a different
  thing from his acquiring a cognate language of the West, or any of the
  dead languages, as they are studied in the schools. One circumstance
  may serve to illustrate this. I once had occasion to devote about two
  months to the study of the French. I have now been above two years
  engaged on the Burman; but if I were to choose between a Burman and
  French book to be examined in, without previous study, I should,
  without the least hesitation, choose the French. When we take up a
  Western language, the similarity of the characters, in very many
  terms, in many modes of expression, and in the general structure of
  sentences, its being in fair print (a circumstance we hardly think
  of), and the assistance of grammars, dictionaries, and instructors,
  render the work comparatively easy. But when we take up a language
  spoken by a people on the other side of the earth, whose very thoughts
  run in channels diverse from ours, and whose modes of expression are
  consequently all new and uncouth; when we find the letters and words
  all totally destitute of the least resemblance to any language we had
  ever met with, and these words not fairly divided and distinguished,
  as in Western writing, by breaks, and points, and capitals, but run
  together in one continuous line, a sentence or paragraph seeming to
  the eye but one long word; when, instead of clear characters on paper,
  we find only obscure scratches on dried palm leaves strung together
  and called a book; when we have no dictionary, and no interpreter to
  explain a single word, and must get something of the language before
  we can avail ourselves of the assistance of a native teacher,—

                        ‘Hoc opus, hic labor est.’

  “I had hoped, before I came here, that it would not be my lot to have
  to go on alone, without any guide in an unexplored path, especially as
  missionaries had been here before. But Mr. Chater had left the
  country, and Mr. Carey was with me but very little, before he left the
  mission and the missionary work altogether.

  “I long to write something more interesting and encouraging to the
  friends of the mission; but it must not yet be expected. It
  unavoidably takes several years to acquire such a language, in order
  to converse and write intelligibly on the great truths of the Gospel.
  Dr. Carey once told me, that after he had been some years in Bengal,
  and thought he was doing very well in conversing and preaching to the
  natives, they (as he was afterward convinced) knew not what he was
  about. A young missionary who expects to pick up the language in a
  year or two will probably find that he has not counted the cost. If he
  should be so fortunate as to find a good interpreter, he may be useful
  by that means. But he will find, especially if he is in a new place,
  where the way is not prepared, and no previous ideas communicated,
  that to qualify himself to communicate divine truth intelligibly by
  his own voice or pen, is not the work of a year. However,
  notwithstanding my present incompetency, I am beginning to translate
  the New Testament, being extremely anxious to get some parts of
  Scripture, at least, into an intelligible shape, if for no other
  purpose than to read, as occasion offers, to the Burmans I meet with.

  “My paper allows me to add nothing more but to beg your prayers, that
  while I am much occupied in words and phrases, and destitute of those
  Gospel privileges you so richly enjoy, in the midst of your dear
  church and people, I may not lose the life of religion in my soul.”

                     _To the Rev. Dr. Staughton._

  “I am sometimes a little dispirited, when I reflect that, for
  two or three years past, I have been drilling at A, B, C, and
  grammar. But I consider again that the gift of tongues is
  not granted in these times; that some one must acquire this
  language by dint of application; must translate the Scriptures,
  and must preach the Gospel to the people in their own
  tongue, or how can they be saved? My views of the missionary
  object are, indeed, different from what they were,
  when I was first set on fire by Buchanan’s ‘Star in the East,’
  six years ago. But it does not always happen that a closer
  acquaintance with an object diminishes our attachment and
  preference. We sometimes discover beauties, as well as deformities,
  which were overlooked on a superficial view; when
  some attractions lose their force, others more permanent are
  exerted; and when the glitter in which novelty invested the
  object has passed away, more substantial excellencies have
  room to disclose their influence; and so it has been with me,
  I hope, in regard to the work of missions.”

The following extract from the _Calcutta Review_ of December, 1850, will
show how completely he mastered this difficult language:

  “Let our readers dwell for a moment upon the difficulty, in their own
  powerful Saxon tongue, of discoursing upon free will, predestination,
  and many other such subjects, and then endeavor to realize to
  themselves how infinitely more difficult the attempt must be in a
  language of monosyllabic formation and structure; its very
  polysyllables being the roughest possible mosaic of monosyllables, and
  the genius and construction of the tongue such, that even the simple
  language of the Gospels—the sentences of which are in general so
  remarkably plain and free from complication—is beyond its flexibility,
  the simplest sentences in the Gospels of Mark or John having to be
  chopped up and decomposed, in order to adapt them to this peculiar
  language. Let our readers imagine, if they can, the wonderful command
  requisite of so awkward an instrument, in order to be enabled to
  answer an Oo Yan—‘How are sin and eternal misery reconcilable with the
  character of an infinitely holy, wise, and powerful God?’ or to meet
  the subtleties of a Moung Shwa-gnong, arguing on his fundamental
  doctrine, that divine wisdom, not concentrated in any existing spirit,
  or embodied in any form, but diffused throughout the universe, and
  partaken in different degrees by various intelligences, and in a very
  high degree by the Buddhs, is the true and only God. Yet so completely
  was Judson master of this very difficult tongue, and of the modes of
  thought of its people, that he could, by his replies and arguments,
  impart to an Oo Yan intense satisfaction, and a joy which exhibited
  itself by the ebullitions natural to a susceptible temperament; and,
  in the end, could force a subtle Moung Shwa-gnong to yield to the
  skill of a foreign disputant.”

But the chief hindrance to preaching the Gospel to the Burmans was the
_danger of persecution_. Mr. Judson found himself in the dominions of a
monarch upon whose slightest nod depended the life of each subject.
Every convert knew that in adopting this new religion he was
encountering the risk of confiscation of property, imprisonment,
torture, or death in its most shocking form.

But in spite of these great difficulties, and even in the face of the
fact that many of his brethren and sisters in his own, distant, native
land regarded the undertaking as hopeless, and looked upon him as an
obstinate and chimerical fanatic, he never for a moment lost hope. He
felt as sure that Burmah would be converted to Christ as that it
existed. He was buoyed up by the same faith that caused him to answer
many years after, when he was asked whether he thought the prospects
bright for the speedy conversion of the heathen, “As bright as the
promises of God.” And in the darkest period of the history of our
missions, he sounded the bugle-call, which will inspire the heart of the
Christian missionary until that day when “The kingdoms of this world are
become the kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ.”

                        _To the Rev. Luther Rice._

                                         “RANGOON, _August_ 3, 1816.

  “I have completed a grammar of the Burman language, which I hope will
  be useful to you; also a tract, which I hope to get printed as soon as
  Mr. Hough arrives.

  “If any ask what success I meet with among the natives, tell them to
  look at Otaheite, where the missionaries labored nearly twenty years,
  and, not meeting with the slightest success, began to be neglected by
  all the Christian world, and the very name of Otaheite began to be a
  shame to the cause of missions; and now the blessing begins to come.
  Tell them to look at Bengal also, where Dr. Thomas had been laboring
  seventeen years (that is, from 1783 to 1800) before the first convert,
  Krishna, was baptized. When a few converts are once made, things move
  on; but it requires a much longer time than I have been here to make a
  first impression on a heathen people. If they ask again, What prospect
  of ultimate success is there? tell them, As much as that there is an
  almighty and faithful God, who will perform His promises, and no more.
  If this does not satisfy them, beg them to let me stay and try it, and
  to let you come, and to give us our _bread_; or, if they are unwilling
  to risk their bread on such a forlorn hope as has nothing but the WORD
  OF GOD to sustain it, beg of them, at least, not to prevent others
  from giving us bread; and, if we live some twenty or thirty years,
  they may hear from us again.

  “This climate is good—better than in any other part of the East. But
  it is a most filthy, wretched place. Missionaries must not calculate
  on the least comfort, but what they find in one another and their
  work. However, if a ship was lying in the river, ready to convey me to
  any part of the world I should choose, and that, too, with the entire
  approbation of all my Christian friends, I would prefer dying to
  embarking. This is an immense field, and, since the Serampore
  missionaries have left it, it is wholly thrown on the hands of the
  American Baptists. If we desert it, the blood of the Burmans will be
  required of us.”

Upon arriving in Rangoon, of course there was nothing for Mr. and Mrs.
Judson to do but to learn the Burmese language.

  “As it respects ourselves,” Mrs. Judson writes, “we are busily
  employed all day long. I can assure you that we find much pleasure in
  our employment. Could you look into a large, open room, which we call
  a veranda, you would see Mr. Judson bent over his table, covered with
  Burman books, with his teacher at his side, a venerable-looking man in
  his sixtieth year, with a cloth wrapped round his middle, and a
  handkerchief round his head. They talk and chatter all day long, with
  hardly any cessation.

  “My mornings are busily employed in giving directions to the servants,
  providing food for the family, etc. At ten my teacher comes, when,
  were you present, you might see me in an inner room, at one side of my
  study-table, and my teacher the other, reading Burman, writing,
  talking, etc. I have many more interruptions than Mr. Judson, as I
  have the entire management of the family. This I took upon myself for
  the sake of Mr. Judson’s attending more closely to the study of the
  language; yet I have found, by a year’s experience, that it was the
  most direct way I could have taken to acquire the language, as I am
  frequently obliged to speak Burman all day. I can talk and understand
  others better than Mr. Judson, though he knows more about the nature
  and construction of the language.”

After a few months Mr. and Mrs. Judson removed from the English Baptist
mission-house into the city proper. The mission-house which they had
been occupying was situated half a mile from Rangoon, near the place of
public execution, where the refuse of the city streets was thrown, and
not far from the place where the dead were buried. While outside the
city walls, the missionaries were exposed to robbers and to wild beasts.
It was thought best, therefore, to move into the city itself, especially
as in this way they would be brought into closer contact with the
people.

After they had been in Rangoon about a year and a half, Mrs. Judson’s
health began to break down under the effects of the climate. They had no
physician to consult, and her symptoms proving dangerous, she was
obliged to sail to Madras to secure both medical advice and the
recuperation of a sea voyage. She set sail on January 25, 1815, and
after an absence of nearly three months, returned with her health much
improved. This first experience of long separation was very painful. Mr.
Judson writes:

  “There is not an individual in the country that I can pray with, and
  not a single soul with whom I can have the least religious communion.
  I keep myself as busy as possible all day long, from sunrise till late
  in the evening, in reading Burman, and conversing with the natives. I
  have been here a year and a half, and so extremely difficult is the
  language—perhaps the most difficult to a foreigner of any on the face
  of the earth next to the Chinese—that I find myself very inadequate to
  communicate divine truth intelligibly. I have, in some instances, been
  so happy as to secure the attention, and in some degree to interest
  the feelings, of those who heard me; but I am not acquainted with a
  single instance in which any permanent impression has been produced.
  No Burman has, I believe, ever felt the grace of God; and what can a
  solitary, feeble individual or two expect to be the means of effecting
  in such a land as this, amid the triumphs of Satan, the darkness of
  death? The Lord is all-powerful, wise, and good; and this
  consideration alone always affords me unfailing consolation and
  support.”

In a letter to her parents, sisters, and brother, Mrs. Judson gave the
following description of the voyage to Madras and her return to Rangoon:

  “I embarked for Madras to procure medical assistance, and hoping a
  change of air would conduce to the restoration of my health. I was
  obliged to leave Mr. Judson here alone, without a single associate to
  animate him in his arduous work. We did not think it his duty for him
  to leave the mission if I could possibly go alone. But though I was
  separated from him, and felt for the first time in my life that I was
  entirely alone in this wide world, yet I could not but trace the kind
  dealings of God in inclining every one with whom I had any concern to
  favor and assist me in my way. The viceroy gave me an order to take a
  woman with me, free from expense, a thing which is generally attended
  with great difficulty, owing to the Burman law which forbids any
  female to leave the country. We went to him ourselves with a small
  present, which is customary when a favor is asked. On his seeing it,
  he inquired if we had any business; and on Mr. Judson’s presenting the
  petition, he immediately commanded his writer to give us an official
  order, without causing us any expense whatever. The captain with whom
  I went refused any pay for my passage, though he provided every
  necessary for one in ill health. I stayed at Madras six weeks, and
  resided at Mr. Loveless’ house, where I received every attention. When
  about to leave Madras, I sent the physician under whose care I had
  been, seventy rupees, which he immediately returned, saying he was
  happy if he had been serviceable to me. After an absence of three
  months I safely arrived at Rangoon, where I found Mr. Judson well, and
  laboring hard, though entirely alone. My health continued to mend, and
  on the 11th of September I was made the happy mother of a little son.
  I had no physician or assistant whatever excepting Mr. Judson. Since
  the birth of our little son my health has been much better than for
  two years before. I feel now almost in a new state of existence. Our
  hands are full, and though our prospects in regard to the immediate
  conversion of the Burmans are dark, yet our trust in God is strong,
  and our hopes animating.”

The little boy to whom Mrs. Judson alludes in this letter was born
September 11, 1815, and named Roger Williams, but on May 4, 1816, he
closed his brief life on earth, at the age of seven months and
twenty-three days.

In a letter dated Rangoon, May 7, 1816, Mr. Judson conveys the sad
intelligence to the Rev. Mr. Lawson, missionary at Serampore:

  “Our little comfort, our dear little Roger, has become insensible to
  our parental attentions and fond caresses; the light of his mild blue
  eyes is quenched, his sweet face has become cold to our lips, and his
  little mind, which, to a parent’s discernment at least, discovered
  peculiar sensibility and peculiar sweetness of disposition, has
  deserted its infantile tenement and fled—oh, where? Into what strange
  scenes is it introduced? Who supports and guides its trembling steps
  across the dark valley? There a parent’s aid could not be extended.
  But we hope it had a more affectionate and abler guide. We hope that
  Jesus has repaired the ruins of the fall in regard to all little
  children. And who but thinks their departed children sweet and lovely
  beyond compare? Perhaps I am a novice in affliction. Had I lost a
  wife, I might not thus lament for a little child eight months old. Yet
  nothing but such a scene of bereavement and anguish as we have passed
  through can teach us to pity others in like circumstances. Nothing but
  experience can teach us what feelings agonize the soul of a parent
  when he puts his face to that of his dear, his only child, to
  ascertain whether there may not be one breath more; and when satisfied
  of the truth, when hope expires with life, he tries to raise the
  bursting aspiration: O Lord, receive the spirit!

  “Our little Roger died last Saturday morning. We looked at him through
  the day, and on the approach of night we laid him in the grave. This
  is the fourth day, and we just begin to think, What can we do for the
  heathen? But yet it seems hard to forget little Roger so soon, to
  force off our thoughts from the attractive, painful subject, and to
  return to our usual employments. O may we not suffer in vain! May this
  bereavement be sanctified to our souls! and for this I hope we have
  your prayers.

  “How is Mrs. Lawson, and your little _ones_? We had only _one_. Might
  not this have been spared? It was almost all our comfort and our
  amusement in this dreary place. But, ‘the Lord gave,’ etc.”

At this same period Mrs. Judson thus opened her sorrowful heart to a
lady in Beverly, Mass.:

                        “RANGOON, _May_ 10, 1816.

  “The sun of another holy Sabbath has arisen upon us, and though no
  chime of bells has called us to the house of God, yet we, two in
  number, have bowed the knee to our Father in heaven, have invoked His
  holy name, have offered Him our feeble praise, have meditated on His
  Sacred Word, and commemorated the dying love of a Saviour to a
  perishing world. Inestimable privileges! Not denied even in a land
  where the Prince of Darkness reigns!

  “Since worship I have stolen away to a much-loved spot, where I love
  to sit and pay the tribute of affection to my lost darling child. It
  is a little enclosure of mango-trees, in the centre of which is
  erected a small bamboo-house on a rising spot of ground, which looks
  down on the new-made grave of an infant boy. Here I now sit; and
  though all nature around wears a most romantic, delightful appearance,
  yet my heart is sad, and my tears frequently stop my pen. You, my dear
  Mrs. Lovett, who are a mother, may _guess_ my feelings; but if you
  have never lost a first-born, an only son, you can not _know_ my pain.
  Had you even buried your little boy, you are in a Christian country,
  surrounded by friends and relatives who could soothe your anguish and
  direct your attention to other objects. But behold us solitary and
  alone, with this one single source of recreation! Yet even this is
  denied us; this must be removed, to show us that we need no other
  source of enjoyment but God himself! Do not think, though I thus
  write, that I repine at the dealings of Providence, or would wish them
  to be otherwise than they are. No; ‘though He slay me, I will trust in
  Him,’ is the language I would adopt. Though I say with the prophet,
  ‘Behold and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow,’ yet I
  would also say with him, ‘It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not
  consumed, because His compassions fail not.’”

While engaged in the hard task of learning the Burman language, Mr.
Judson caught eagerly at every opportunity of imparting Christian truth.
We give his record of a conversation with his teacher:

  “_September 30, 1815._ Had the following conversation with my teacher,
  as nearly as I can recollect it. This man has been with me about three
  months, and is the most sensible, learned, and candid man that I have
  ever found among the Burmans. He is forty-seven years of age, and his
  name is Oo Oungmen. I began by saying, Mr. J—— is dead. _Oo._ I have
  heard so. _J._ His soul is lost, I think. _Oo._ Why so? _J._ He was
  not a disciple of Christ. _Oo._ How do you know that? You could not
  see his soul. _J._ How do you know whether the root of that mango-tree
  is good? You can not see it; but you can judge by the fruit on its
  branches. Thus I know that Mr. J. was not a disciple of Christ,
  because his words and actions were not such as indicate a disciple.
  _Oo._ And so all who are not disciples of Christ are lost? _J._ Yes,
  all, whether Burmans or foreigners. _Oo._ This is hard. _J._ Yes, it
  is hard indeed; otherwise I should not have come all this way, and
  left parents and all, to tell you of Christ. He seemed to feel the
  force of this, and after stopping a little he said, How is it that the
  disciples of Christ are so fortunate above all men? _J._ Are not all
  men sinners, and deserving of punishment in a future state? _Oo._ Yes,
  all must suffer in some future state for the sins they commit. The
  punishment follows the crime as surely as the wheel of the cart
  follows the footsteps of the ox. _J._ Now, according to the Burman
  system, there is no escape. According to the Christian system, there
  is. Jesus Christ has died in the place of sinners—has borne their
  sins; and now those who believe on Him, and become His disciples, are
  released from the punishment they deserve. At death, they are received
  into heaven, and are happy forever. _Oo._ That I will never believe.
  My mind is very stiff on this one point, namely, that all existence
  involves in itself principles of misery and destruction. The whole
  universe is only destruction and reproduction. It therefore becomes a
  wise man to raise his desires above all things that exist, and aspire
  to _nigban_, the state where there is no existence. _J._ Teacher,
  there are two evil futurities, and one good. A miserable future
  existence is evil, and annihilation, or nigban, is an evil, a fearful
  evil. A happy future existence is alone good. _Oo._ I admit that is
  best, if it could be perpetual; but it can not be. Whatever is, is
  liable to change, and misery, and destruction. Nigban is the only
  permanent good, and that good has been attained by Gaudama, the last
  deity. _J._ If there be no eternal being, you can not account for
  anything. Whence this world, and all that we see? _Oo._ Fate. _J._
  Fate! The cause must always be equal to the effect. See, I raise this
  table. See also that ant under it Suppose I were invisible, would a
  wise man say the ant raised it? Now, fate is not even an ant. Fate is
  a word; that is all. It is not an agent; not a thing. What is fate?
  _Oo._ The fate of creatures is the influence which their good or bad
  deeds have on their future existence. _J._ If influence be exerted,
  there must be an exerter. If there be a determination, there must be a
  determiner. _Oo._ No, there is no determiner. There can not be an
  eternal being. _J._ Consider this point. It is a main point of true
  wisdom. Whenever there is an execution of a purpose, there must be an
  agent. _Oo._ (After a little thought.) I must say that my mind is very
  decided and hard, and unless you tell me something more to the
  purpose, I shall never believe. _J._ Well, teacher, I wish you to
  believe, not for my profit, but for yours. I daily pray the true God
  to give you light that you may believe. Whether you will ever believe
  in this world, I do not know; but when you die, I know you will
  believe what I now say. You will then appear before the God that you
  now deny. _Oo._ I don’t know that. _J._ I have heard that one Burman,
  many years ago, embraced the Portuguese religion, and that he was your
  relation. _Oo._ He was a brother of my grandfather. _J._ At Ava, or
  here? _Oo._ At Ava he became a Portuguese; afterwards went to a ship
  country with a ship-priest, and returned to Ava. _J._ I have heard he
  was put to death for his religion. _Oo._ No, he was imprisoned and
  tortured by order of the emperor. At last he escaped from their hands,
  fled to Rangoon, and afterwards to Bengal, where they say he died.
  _J._ Did any of his family join him? _Oo._ None; all forsook him; and
  he wandered about, despised and rejected by all. _J._ Do you think
  that he was a decided Christian, and had got a new mind? _Oo._ I think
  so; for when he was tortured hard, he held out. _J._ Did he ever talk
  with you about religion? _Oo._ Yes. _J._ Why did you not listen to
  him? _Oo._ I did not listen. _J._ Did you ever know any other Burman
  that changed his own for a foreign religion? _Oo._ I have heard that
  there is one now in Rangoon, who became a Portuguese; but he keeps
  himself concealed, and I have never seen him.”

After almost three years of the closest application to study, Mr. Judson
was taken ill. He wrote to Dr. Baldwin:

  “I began to enter into my studies with such pleasure and spirit, and
  to make such rapid progress, as encouraged me to hope that the time
  was not far distant when I should be able to commence missionary
  operations. I was going forward in a course of most valuable Burman
  reading, and, at the same time, had begun to translate one of the
  Gospels, and to write a ‘View of the Christian Religion’ in Burman,
  which, in imagination, were already finished and circulating among the
  natives, when, all of a sudden, in the midst of the hot season, which
  in this country is most severe during the months of March and April, I
  was seized with a distressing weakness and pain in my eyes and head,
  which put a stop to all my delightful pursuits, and reduced me to a
  pitiable state indeed. Since that time, excepting at some intervals, I
  have been unable to read, or write, or make any exertion whatever.
  Sometimes I have almost given up the hope that I should ever be of any
  more service; sometimes I have been on the point of trying a short
  voyage at sea. But, thanks be to God, it is now ten days since I have
  experienced a turn of severe pain, though I still feel great weakness
  in my head, and, indeed, throughout my whole nervous system. I begin
  now to hope that I shall gradually recover, though I fear I never
  shall be as I formerly was.”

He improved even the hours of his illness by collecting what knowledge
he had acquired of the language and “putting it together in the shape of
a grammar that it might not be wholly lost to others.” Fearing that his
own life might soon come to a close, he determined to _blaze_ the trees
through this hitherto untrodden wilderness of the Burmese language, by
preparing a grammar. On July 13, 1816, exactly three years to a day
after his arrival, he completed a work with the modest title,
“Grammatical Notices of the Burman Language.” It was printed twenty
years afterward; and although it was the result of a study of only three
years, of one of the most difficult Oriental languages, and was written
to relieve the tedium of a sick-bed, yet its merits were such as to
command the following notice in the _Calcutta Review_:

  “He (Dr. Judson) published another work, a grammar of no pretensions,
  and of very small dimensions, yet a manual which indicated the genius
  of the man, perhaps, more strikingly than anything else, except his
  Bible. He has managed, from a thorough knowledge of the language, to
  condense into a few short pages (only seventy-six) a most complete
  grammar of this difficult tongue; and, as the student grows in
  knowledge, _pari passu_, this little volume rises in his estimation;
  for its lucid, comprehensive conciseness becomes more and more
  manifest. In our limited acquaintance with languages, whether of the
  East or West, we have seen no work in any tongue which we should
  compare with it for brevity and completeness; yet we have, in our day,
  had to study and wade through some long and some would-be short
  grammars.”

Partially recovering from his illness, Mr. Judson completed, on July 30,
1816, his first tract, entitled “A View of the Christian Religion, in
three parts, Historic, Didactic, and Preceptive.”[21]

The next step was to multiply this tract and speed it on its way among
the Burmans. A press and Burman types had already arrived—a valuable
present from the English Baptist brethren of Serampore. A missionary
printer, the Rev. Geo. H. Hough, and his wife, were already on their way
from America. Mr. Rice was still arousing the Baptists in the United
States to send on reinforcements of men and money.

Mr. Judson wrote again and again appealing for help.

  “We know not the designs of God in regard to this country; but I can
  not but have raised expectations. It is true we may have to labor and
  wait many years before the blessing comes. But we see what God is
  doing in other heathen lands, after trying the faith and sincerity of
  His servants some fifteen or twenty years. Look at Otaheite, Bengal,
  Africa. And is Burmah to remain a solitary instance of the inefficacy
  of prayer, of the forgetfulness of a merciful and faithful God? Is it
  nothing that an attempt is begun to be made; that, in one instance,
  the language is considerably acquired; that a tract is ready for
  publication, which is intelligible and perspicuous, and will give the
  Burmans their _first ideas_ of a Saviour and the way of salvation;
  that a press and types have now arrived, and a printer is on the way;
  that a grammar is finished, to facilitate the studies of others, and a
  dictionary of the language is in a very forward state; and that the
  way is now prepared, as soon as health permits, to proceed slowly in
  the translation of the New Testament? Is it nothing that, just at this
  time, the monarch of the country has taken a violent hate to the
  priests of his own religion, and is endeavoring, with all his power,
  to extirpate the whole order, at the same time professing to be an
  inquirer after the true religion? Is all this to be set down a mere
  cipher? It is true that we may desire much more. But let us use what
  we have, and God will give us more. However, men and money must be
  forthcoming. Work can not be done without men, and men can not work
  without bread; nor can we expect the ravens to feed them in ordinary
  cases. I do not say several hundred missionaries are needed here.
  This, though true, would be idle talk. My request I think modest. Five
  men, allowing two or three to each of the stations, is the smallest
  number that will possibly answer.

      .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

  “Permit me to close with a word in behalf of Eastern missions. Great
  Britain and the United States appear to be the only countries which
  can at present take a very active part in missionary concerns. The
  British are fully occupied with India, Africa, and the South Sea
  Islands. East of the British possessions in India are Burmah, Siam,
  several other Indo-Chinese nations, the great empire of China, Japan,
  thence north indefinitely, and southward the numerous Malayan Isles.
  With all these countries the British are no more connected than the
  Americans. The British are under no greater obligations to evangelize
  them than the Americans. They are no nearer the English, in point of
  transportation, than the Americans. And furthermore, throughout all
  these countries the British are suspected and feared; but not the
  Americans.

  “The idea that the western continent belongs to the Americans, and the
  eastern continent to the British, however plausible at first sight,
  can not bear a moment’s examination. I apprehend that all the
  northwestern Indians, and the inhabitants of those parts of South
  America which are accessible, will scarcely outnumber the inhabitants
  of this single empire of Burmah. And on what principle can the
  Americans, who are perhaps half as numerous as the British, be let off
  with one-twentieth or one-thirtieth part of the work? But when we
  apply the case to the Baptists, it is still more decisive. There are
  about five hundred Baptist churches in Great Britain, which average
  one hundred members each. There are two thousand in America, which
  average about the same. Behold Ireland, also, almost as destitute as
  South America. And suppose the British should say, This is the proper
  province of our missionary exertions; let us leave Asia and Africa to
  the Americans, and ‘not send our young men to the antipodes.’”

But while asking for men, he wanted the right kind. They must be well
qualified.

                      “RANGOON, _November 14, 1816_.

  “In encouraging other young men to come out as missionaries, do use
  the greatest caution. One wrong-headed, conscientiously-obstinate
  fellow would ruin us. Humble, quiet, persevering men; men of sound,
  sterling talents (though, perhaps, not brilliant), of decent
  accomplishments, and some natural aptitude to acquire a language; men
  of an amiable, yielding temper, willing to take the lowest place, to
  be the least of all and the servants of all; men who enjoy much closet
  religion, who live near to God, and are willing to suffer all things
  for Christ’s sake, without being proud of it, these are the men, etc.
  But O, how unlike to this description is the writer of it.”...

Again he wrote:

  “In regard to the education necessary for missionaries, it appears to
  me that whatever of mental improvement, or of literary and scientific
  attainment, is desirable in a minister at home, is desirable in a
  missionary. I think I could illustrate this in a variety of
  particulars; but the limits of a letter do not allow. I feel, however,
  more and more, the inadequacy and comparative insignificance of all
  human accomplishments, whether in a minister or a missionary, and the
  unspeakable, overwhelming importance of spiritual graces—humility,
  patience, meekness, love—the habitual enjoyment of closet religion, a
  soul abstracted from this world, and much occupied in the
  contemplation of heavenly glories. Here I can not help digressing from
  the subject to myself. You know not, my dear sir, you can not
  conceive, how utterly unfit I am for the work in which I am engaged. I
  am, indeed, a worm, and no man. It is a wonder that I am allowed to
  live as a missionary among the heathen, and receive an undeserved
  support from the dear people of God—from many who are poor in this
  world, but rich in faith. Yet I feel necessity laid on me to remain
  here, and try to do a little something.”

The reinforcements at last arrived. On October 15, 1816, the Rev. Mr.
Hough and family landed at Rangoon, and the following joint letter was
signed by Mr. Judson and Mr. Hough to Dr. Staughton, the Corresponding
Secretary of the missionary society in America, to which these
missionaries looked for support:

                                           “RANGOON, _November_ 7, 1816.

  “It is with peculiar satisfaction that we are, at length, able to
  address a letter to the Board, in our joint capacity. We had a joyful
  meeting in this place the 15th ult. Mr. Hough has settled in one part
  of the mission-house; and we are now united, both as a church of
  Christ and as a mission society. Our regulations on the latter point
  we here submit to the Board. It will be evident, at first sight, that
  these regulations have a prospective view, and are framed somewhat
  differently from what they would have been had we not expected that
  our society would soon be enlarged. But we hope that the time is not
  far distant when they will receive the signature of brother Rice also.
  Indeed, we hope for more than this; we hope that one or two others
  will be found to accompany Mr. Rice.

  “It is true that one of us remained about three years in this place
  without uttering any Macedonian cries. But we apprehend that the time
  is now come when it is consistent with the strictest prudence to lift
  up our voice and say, Come over the ocean and help us. By a residence
  of three years in this country, many doubts, which at first occurred,
  are removed; and many points concerning the practicability of a
  mission, and the prospect of success, are ascertained. We can not now
  enter much into detail; but we desire to say that we consider the
  mission established in this land. We unite in opinion that a wide door
  is set open for the introduction of the religion of Jesus into this
  great empire. We have at present no governmental interdict to
  encounter, and no greater obstacles than such as oppose the progress
  of missionaries in every heathen land. It appears to us (and may it so
  appear to our fathers and brethren) that God, in removing the English
  mission from this place, and substituting in their stead an American
  mission, is emphatically calling on the American churches to
  compassionate the poor Burmans, and to send their silver, and their
  gold, and their young men to this eastern part of the world, to the
  help of the Lord against the mighty.

  “It is with great pleasure that we announce the valuable present of a
  press and Burman types, made to us by the Serampore brethren. We are
  now closing in a room for a temporary printing-office, and hope very
  soon to issue a Gospel tract, which has been in readiness some time,
  and which is intended to give the heathen around us some idea of the
  way of salvation through the Lord Jesus. But we can not move one step
  in the way of printing without money. Though favored with the press,
  in the first instance, gratis, we have already expended in paper,
  freight, and sundries, about four hundred rupees. We therefore beg an
  immediate appropriation, not only to liquidate the expenses already
  incurred, but to enable us to proceed in this all-important part of
  our work. The accounts of the mission press we propose to keep
  distinct; and they shall be submitted together with the accounts of
  the mission.

  “We know not how long the press will be permitted to remain in
  Rangoon; we do not, however, deprecate its removal to Ava. Such a
  measure would doubtless tend to the furtherance of the cause, and to
  the introduction of religion into the very heart of the empire, where
  Satan’s seat is. But in this case more men and more money would be
  imperatively demanded; and we trust that the patronage of the Board
  will not fail us in these necessary points. We desire humbly to repeat
  to the Board what the first missionaries from the Baptist society in
  England said to their friends, when on the point of embarkation in the
  great work which seems destined to illumine Western India with the
  light of the Gospel. ‘We are,’ said they, ‘like men going down into a
  well; you stand at the top and hold the ropes. Do not let us fall.’
  Hold us up, brethren and fathers; and if health and life be spared to
  us, we hope, through the grace of God, to see Eastern India also
  beginning to participate in the same glorious light. Many years may
  intervene in the latter as well as in the former case; many
  difficulties and disappointments may try your faith and ours. But let
  patience have her perfect work; let us not be weary of well-doing; for
  in due time we shall reap, _if we faint not_.”

The articles of agreement alluded to in this letter are as follows:

  “In order more effectually, under the blessing of our Lord and Master,
  to accomplish the important work for which we have come into this
  heathen land, we, the undersigned, form a union on the following
  principles, namely:

  “1. We give ourselves to the Lord Jesus Christ and to one another by
  the will of God.

  “2. We agree to be kindly-affectioned one toward another with
  brotherly love, in honor preferring one another; feeling that we have
  one Master, even Christ, and that all we are brethren.

  “3. We agree in the opinion that our sole object on earth is to
  introduce the religion of Jesus Christ into the empire of Burmah; and
  that the means by which we hope to effect this are, translating,
  printing, and distributing the Holy Scriptures, preaching the Gospel,
  circulating religious tracts, and promoting the instruction of native
  children.

  “4. We therefore agree to engage in no secular business for the
  purpose of individual emolument; and not at all, unless, in the
  opinion of the brethren, the great object of the mission can be best
  promoted thereby.

  “5. We agree to relinquish all private right to remittances from
  America, avails of labor, and compensation for service; in a word, to
  place all money and property, from whatever quarter accruing, in the
  mission fund; provided, that nothing in this article be construed to
  affect our private right to inheritances, or personal favors, not made
  in compensation of service.

  “6. We agree that all the members of the mission family have claims on
  the mission fund for equal support in similar circumstances; the
  claims of widows and orphans not to be in the least affected by the
  death of the head of their family. But it is to be understood that no
  one shall have a right to adopt a child into the mission family, so as
  to entitle it to the claims secured in this article, but by consent of
  the brethren.

  “7. We agree to educate our children with a particular reference to
  the object of the mission; and if any expense be necessary or
  expedient for this purpose, it shall be defrayed from the mission
  fund.

  “8. All appropriations from the mission fund shall be made by a
  majority of the missionary brethren united in this compact; subject,
  however, to the inspection of our patrons, the Board.

                                                  “A. JUDSON, JR.
                                                  “GEORGE H. HOUGH.”

Upon Mr. Hough’s arrival he immediately put the printing-press into
operation. One thousand copies of the tract above mentioned and three
thousand copies of a catechism which had just been completed by Mrs.
Judson, were struck off and put into circulation. This strange new
religion could not fail of at least catching the attention of the
inquisitive Burmans. As the fishermen attach many hooks to a long line
stretched across a river, hoping that at least a few of the many fishes
swimming past may be taken, so our missionaries, with much care and
toil, adjusted their trawl of tracts in the midst of the dense Burmese
population, and anxiously, prayerfully awaited the result.

After only a few weeks of suspense they caught the first inquirer. In a
letter to the Corresponding Secretary, dated Rangoon, March 7, 1817, Mr.
Judson writes:

  “Since the beginning of this year, we have printed two tracts, the one
  a view of the Christian religion, seven pages, one thousand copies;
  the other a catechism of six pages, 12mo, three thousand copies. After
  which, finding that we had paper sufficient for an edition of eight
  hundred of Matthew, we concluded to undertake this one gospel, by way
  of trial, and as introductory to a larger edition of the whole New
  Testament. I am now translating the eleventh chapter, and in the
  printing-room the third half-sheet is setting up. Having premised thus
  much concerning the present posture of our affairs, I proceed to
  mention the circumstance which induced me to take up my pen at this
  time. I have this day been visited by the first inquirer after
  religion that I have ever seen in Burmah. For, although in the course
  of the last two years I have preached the Gospel to many, and though
  some have visited me several times, and conversed on the subject of
  religion, yet I have never had much reason to believe that their
  visits originated in a spirit of sincere inquiry. Conversations on
  religion have always been of my proposing, and, though I have
  sometimes been encouraged to hope that truth had made some impression,
  never, till to-day, have I met with one who was fairly entitled to the
  epithet of _inquirer_.

  “As I was sitting with my teacher, as usual, a Burman of respectable
  appearance, and followed by a servant, came up the steps, and sat down
  by me. I asked him the usual question, where he came from, to which he
  gave no explicit reply, and I began to suspect that he had come from
  the Government house, to enforce a trifling request which in the
  morning we had declined. He soon, however, undeceived and astonished
  me, by asking, ‘How long time will it take me to learn the religion of
  Jesus?’ I replied that such a question could not be answered. If God
  gave light and wisdom, the religion of Jesus was soon learned; but,
  without God, a man might study all his life long, and make no
  proficiency. ‘But how,’ continued I, ‘came you to know anything of
  Jesus? Have you ever been here before?’ ‘No.’ ‘Have you seen any
  writing concerning Jesus?’ ‘I have seen two little books.’ ‘Who is
  Jesus?’ ‘He is the Son of God, who, pitying creatures, came into this
  world, and suffered death in their stead.’ ‘Who is God?’ ‘He is a
  being without beginning or end, who is not subject to old age and
  death, but always is.’ I can not tell how I felt at this moment. This
  was the first acknowledgment of an eternal God that I had ever heard
  from the lips of a Burman. I handed him a tract and catechism, both
  which he instantly recognized, and read here and there, making
  occasional remarks to his follower, such as ‘This is the true God;
  this is the right way,’ etc. I now tried to tell him some things about
  God and Christ, and himself, but he did not listen with much
  attention, and seemed anxious only to get another book. I had already
  told him two or three times that I had finished no other book, but
  that in two or three months I would give him a larger one, which I was
  now daily employed in translating. ‘But,’ replied he, ‘have you not a
  little of that book done, which you will graciously give me now?’ And
  I, beginning to think that God’s time is better than man’s, folded and
  gave him the first two half-sheets, which contain the first five
  chapters of Matthew, on which he instantly rose, as if his business
  was all done, and, having received an invitation to come again, took
  leave.

  “Throughout his short stay, he appeared different from any Burmans I
  have yet met with. He asked no questions about customs and manners,
  with which the Burmans tease us exceedingly. He had no curiosity, and
  no desire for anything, but ‘MORE OF THIS SORT OF WRITING.’ In fine,
  his conduct proved that he had something on his mind, and I can not
  but hope that I shall have to write about him again.

  “_March 24._ We have not yet seen our inquirer; but to-day we met with
  one of his acquaintance, who says that he reads our books all the day,
  and shows them to all that call upon him. We told him to ask his
  friend to come and see us again.”

In a letter written almost a year afterward, Mrs. Judson alludes to this
same inquirer:

  “_January 30._ The Burman Mr. Judson mentioned some time ago as being
  the first serious inquirer, and one who has excited the most hope,
  came to-day to the mission-house. It is now almost a year since he
  first came, and with much apparent anxiety inquired, ‘How long time
  will it take me to learn the religion of Jesus?’ We have since
  frequently inquired, but obtained little information respecting him
  until to-day. Soon after his first visit, he was appointed governor of
  a cluster of villages situated on the Salwen River, in the country of
  Pegu. He has been at Rangoon but once since, and then on business by
  order of the viceroy, and obliged to return immediately.

  “I asked him if he had become a disciple of Jesus Christ. He replied,
  ‘I have not yet, but I am thinking and reading in order to become one.
  I can not yet destroy my old mind; for when I see a handsome _patso_
  (a cloth the Burman men wear) or a handsome _gownbown_ (the
  handkerchief worn on the head), I still desire them. Tell the great
  teacher, when he returns, that I wish to see him, though I am not a
  disciple of Christ.’ He requested the remaining part of Matthew’s
  gospel, also catechisms and tracts for his followers. I gave all of
  his attendants tracts; on which he said to them, ‘Take and read them
  attentively, and when you have embraced the doctrines they contain,
  come here, and converse with the teacher.’”

As no further mention is made of this first inquirer who caused such a
leap of hope in Mr. Judson’s heart, we are left in the dark as to his
subsequent life, as in the case of the young man who asked our blessed
Lord what good thing he should do that he might have eternal life, and
having heard the reply, went away sorrowing. Did this eager inquirer for
“more of this sort of writing” learn to cherish a secret faith in the
Christ, so earnestly commended to him by the pale-faced stranger? or,
rejecting the Saviour, did he make what Dante calls “the great
refusal”?[22]

On May 20, 1817, Mr. Judson completed the translation of the gospel of
Matthew. This marks the first stage in the monumental task of
translating the whole Bible into Burmese. Two days later he began to
compile a Burman dictionary. But close application for more than four
years to the study of the Burman language and to the translation of
tracts and Scriptures, and to the compilation of a grammar and
dictionary, were breaking down his health. A sea voyage was needed to
restore his vigor. But need of rest alone would not have caused him to
take even a few weeks’ vacation from his toils and cares. He was
impatient to begin holding public services in the Burman tongue. But
although he understood the structure of the language, and could read,
and write, and speak in Burman, yet for conducting public worship he
felt the need of a native Christian helper.

Burmah is flanked on the western side by the mountains of Arracan;[23]
between these and the Bay of Bengal lies the flat coast district of
Chittagong. It had been ceded to the English. The inhabitants of this
district spoke Burmese. A few years before, the English Baptists had
begun a mission in Chittagong. Several converts had been baptized, when
the mission was abandoned. Mr. Judson conceived the plan of visiting
Chittagong, in order to gather together the scattered converts, instruct
them anew, and perhaps bring one or two of them to help him in Rangoon.
This would furnish him employment during the needed vacation. Besides,
the rare opportunity was afforded of going and returning in the same
ship; so that he would have to be absent for only three months. How
painfully this pet project of his was frustrated, and how his three
months were stretched out into almost two-thirds of a precious year, may
be learned from the following letters to the Corresponding Secretary:

                                            “MADRAS, _May_ 28, 1818.

  “In former letters I have stated my circumstances at the close of last
  year, and the reasons which induced me to leave Rangoon on a visit to
  Chittagong; particularly the prospect of a direct passage, and speedy
  return in the same ship—an opportunity of very rare occurrence in
  Rangoon.

  “Since that time a series of unexpected providences have befallen me,
  which, though uninteresting in detail, must be briefly mentioned, in
  order to account for my present situation.

  “When we left Rangoon, December 25, we expected a passage of ten or
  twelve days. At the expiration of a month, however, by reason of
  contrary winds, and the unmanageableness of the ship in the difficult
  navigation along the coast, we found ourselves still at a great
  distance from port; and the season being so far advanced as to deprive
  us of the hope of more favorable winds, the captain and supercargo
  agreed on a change of the ship’s destination, and made sail for
  Madras.

  “Previous to leaving the coast, we put into Cheduba, a place under
  Burman government, for a supply of provisions. I was unable to go
  ashore, but took the opportunity of sending a tract by the boat. It
  happened to be conveyed directly to the governor, and he ordered it
  read in his presence. Soon after, when our captain had an audience,
  the governor inquired after the writer of the tract, who he was, and
  how long he had been in the country. The captain evaded some
  questions, for fear of detention, I suppose, and merely stated that
  the writer was a foreigner, who had resided in Rangoon about four
  years. ‘No,’ replied the governor, ‘that is not to be credited. You
  can not make me believe that a foreigner, in so short a time, has
  learned to write the language so well. It must have been written by
  some other person.’ The captain related this to me on his return. I
  felt particularly gratified by this testimony to the perspicuity of
  the style, and thought it not unworthy of mentioning, because it could
  not be suspected, as others which had been made to me personally, of
  having been a mere compliment.

  “The ship’s destination was changed on the 26th of January. We
  retraced our course for a few days, and then stood to the westward. It
  was with the most bitter feelings that I witnessed the entire failure
  of my undertaking, and saw the summits of the mountains of Arracan,
  the last indexes of my country, sinking in the horizon, and the ship
  stretching away to a distant part of India, which I had no wish to
  visit, and where I had no object to obtain. It was, however, some
  mitigation of my disappointment, that I should, in all probability, be
  able to return to Rangoon, and resume my missionary business much
  earlier than if I had visited Chittagong. But even the consolation of
  this hope was not long allowed me. We had, indeed, a quick passage
  across the bay; but on drawing near the Coromandel coast the wind and
  current combined to prevent our further progress, and at the
  expiration of another month, having for a long time subsisted on
  nothing scarcely but rice and water, and being now reduced to very
  short allowance, we concluded to make sail for Masulipatam, a port
  north of Madras, which we doubted not we should be able to reach in a
  very few days. In this, again, we were disappointed, and through the
  unmanageableness of the ship, or the mismanagement of the captain,
  were detained at sea nearly another month. During this period we were
  sometimes in great distress, deeming ourselves very fortunate when
  able to get a bag of rice, or a few buckets of water, from any native
  vessel which happened to pass. Once we sent the long-boat to the
  shore, and obtained a considerable supply of water, which was a great
  relief. But of rice we could obtain no sufficient supply, and all
  other articles of provision were quite out of the question.

  “The low state to which I was at length reduced occasioned a partial
  return of the disorder of my head and eyes, to which I was subject two
  years ago. This, with other circumstances united, left me no other
  source of consolation but resignation to the will of God, and an
  unreserved surrender of all to His care; and praised be His name, I
  found more consolation and happiness in communion with God, and in the
  enjoyments of religion, than I had ever found in more prosperous
  circumstances.

  “Finally we did reach Masulipatam, and I left the ship on the 18th of
  March, twelve weeks after embarking at Rangoon. I waited at
  Masulipatam a few days, until it was ascertained that the ship would
  unlade her cargo, and remain several months. And as there was no
  prospect that season of reaching Madras by sea, the only port on the
  coast where I could hope to find a vessel bound to Rangoon, I was
  under the necessity of taking a journey by land—distance about three
  hundred miles. I accordingly hired a palanquin and bearers, and
  arrived here the 8th of April. My first aim was, of course, the beach,
  and my first inquiry a vessel bound to Rangoon. But my chapter of
  disappointments was not yet finished. No vessel had sailed for Rangoon
  this year, and such, it was understood, was the unsettled state of the
  Burman country, that none would probably venture for some time to
  come.

  “Here I have remained ever since, under very trying circumstances.
  Have scarcely heard from Rangoon since I left, or been able to
  transmit any intelligence thither by a conveyance to be depended on.
  The weakness of my eyes prevents my application to study, or attempt
  at any exertion. I am making no progress in missionary work; I am
  distressed by the appalling recollection of the various business which
  was pressing on me at Rangoon, and made me very reluctant to leave
  home for the shortest time. Now, I have been detained twice as long as
  I anticipated, and have, withal, wholly failed in my undertaking.
  Where, my rebellious heart is ready to cry, where is the wisdom of all
  this? But it is wise, though blindness can not apprehend. It is best,
  though unbelief is disposed to murmur. Be still, my soul, and know
  that He is GOD.”

                                        “RANGOON, _October_ 9, 1818.

  “My last was dated Madras, May 28, 1818. At that place I remained,
  waiting for a conveyance to Rangoon, until the 20th of July, when I
  took passage on an English vessel, at one hundred and sixty-seven
  rupees. During my stay in Madras, I experienced great kindness and
  hospitality in the families of the Rev. Mr. Thompson, chaplain, and
  the Rev. Mr. Loveless, missionary; and received such proofs of
  Christian affection from many dear friends, as rendered parting with
  them very painful, though my detention in Madras had, in other
  respects, been almost insupportable. We anchored at the mouth of
  Rangoon River, on the 2d of August. The next morning, when the pilot
  came on board, I was overwhelmed with the intelligence that, on
  account of the dangerous situation of affairs, the mission had been
  broken up, and that Mr. Hough and family, and Mrs. Judson, had taken
  passage for Bengal. To my great relief, however, it was added, that,
  before the ship left the river, Mrs. Judson’s reluctance to leave the
  place had so increased as to force her back to the mission-house
  alone; and further, that the ship, being found unfit for sea, was
  still detained. On my arrival, I found that brother Hough was inclined
  to pursue his original plan. His reasons he will doubtless communicate
  to the Board. It is expected that the vessel will be ready for sea in
  about a fortnight.”

It is characteristic of Mr. Judson’s letters to the Board that he kept
out of sight his own personal sufferings, touching only upon matters
which seemed to him of general interest and importance. We are,
therefore, indebted to Mrs. E. C. Judson for certain reminiscences of
this horrible voyage, which she received from his own lips:

  “They had sailed for Chittagong, a passage which should have been made
  in ten or twelve days, at farthest. He had, therefore, prepared
  himself for only a few weeks’ absence from home. When the vessel put
  in at Cheduba, the nervous affection of his head and eyes, occasioned
  at first by low diet, had so much increased by exhaustion and lack of
  food, that he was unable to go on shore. When they approached the
  Coromandel coast, and again encountered contrary winds, they were
  reduced to almost the last extremity, and the constitution of Mr.
  Judson sank under these accumulated hardships. The mouldy, broken
  rice, which they picked up from native vessels, and this in small
  quantities, with a limited supply of water, was their sole sustenance
  for three or four weeks. He was accustomed to look back on his
  sufferings at this time with a feeling of horror scarcely equalled by
  his reminiscences of Ava. Here he was alone, in a state of passive,
  monotonous suffering, with no one to share his sympathies, and nothing
  to arouse his energies. His scanty wardrobe, prepared for a trip of
  ten or twelve days, had been long since exhausted, and what with
  starvation, filth, pain, and discouragement, he became unable to leave
  his berth. At last he was attacked by a slow fever, and turning in
  disgust from his little mess of dirty rice, he begged continually for
  water! water! water! without ever obtaining enough to quench, even for
  a moment, his devouring thirst. At length the little vessel came to
  anchor in the mud of Masulipatam, some two or three miles from the
  low, uninviting beach, and the captain came to inquire if he would be
  taken on shore. The fact that they were near land seemed to him an
  incredible thing, a kind of dreamy illusion too fanciful to interest
  him. After some urging, however, he became sufficiently roused to
  pencil a note, which he addressed to ‘any English resident of
  Masulipatam,’ begging only for a place on shore to die. After a little
  while, one of the men came below, to tell him that a boat was
  approaching from the shore. He now succeeded in crawling to the window
  of his cabin, from which he plainly distinguished, in the rapidly
  moving boat, both the red coat of the military and the white jacket of
  the civilian. In the first thrill of joyful surprise, the sudden
  awakening of hope and pleasure, he threw himself on his knees and
  wept. Before his new friends were fairly on board, he had succeeded in
  gaining some little self-control; but he added, his voice faltering
  and his eyes filling with tears as he related the incident to Mrs.
  Judson, ‘The white face of an Englishman never looked to me so
  beautiful, so like my conception of what angel faces are, as when
  these strangers entered my cabin.’ They were very much shocked at his
  visible wretchedness: he was haggard, unshaven, dirty, and so weak
  that he could with difficulty support his own weight. Their earnest
  cordiality was peculiarly grateful to him. One of the officers took
  him to his own house, supplied him from his own wardrobe, procured a
  nurse, whom, however, he had occasion to employ but a short time, and
  displayed throughout a generous hospitality which Dr. Judson never
  forgot.”

But his anxieties and sufferings during this voyage were fully
parallelled by those of the heroic woman whom he had left behind him at
Rangoon. From Christmas-day of 1817 until July 16 of the following year,
no word whatever came to Mrs. Judson from her husband, from whom she had
expected to be parted only for a few weeks. She occupied part of her
time teaching about thirty Burman women whom she had gathered together.
She writes:

  “I have again commenced my studies, keeping myself closely engaged
  until 2 o’clock. This I find the best method to avoid dejection.
  Besides my conscience will not permit me to sit idly down, and yield
  to those depressing feelings in which a Christian should not indulge.”

A succession of disasters had swept over the little mission. She alone
faltered not. We catch a gleam at Rangoon of that same fidelity and
courage that afterward burned so long and so steadily at Ava and
Oung-penla. The mission was harassed by Government persecution. It was
rumored that the foreigners were to be banished. The viceroy, who had
been their steady friend, was recalled to Ava. The new viceroy was a
stranger to them. A menacing order summoned Mr. Hough to the
court-house, with the message that, “If he did not tell all the truth
relative to his situation in the country, they would write with his
heart’s blood.” Mrs. Judson interceded in person, and by her own
knowledge of the language, and her matchless womanly tact, conciliated
the viceroy. Asiatic cholera raged in Rangoon. The death-gong sounded
all the day long. Rumors of war between England and Burmah filled the
air. The English ships one by one hastily weighed anchor and slipped out
of the harbor; only a single vessel remained—the only way of escape. Her
missionary associates, the Houghs, determined to seize this last
opportunity, and fly from the country before it was too late. Against
her will they urged her on board. But her great nature rose in its
strength. She insisted on going ashore. She tore herself away and went
back to the mission premises alone. Her husband, if still alive, should
not return and find his mission-station deserted, and himself in Burmah
without a companion.

        “For mightier far than strength of nerve and sinew,
        Or magic potent over sun and star, is Love;
        Though oft to agony distrest,
        And though his favorite seat be feeble woman’s breast.”

The subjoined account of Mrs. Judson’s experiences is in her own words:

  “Mr. Hough, for some time past, has been desirous to have Mrs. Hough,
  myself, and his children go to Bengal. But I have ever felt resolved
  not to make any movement until I hear from Mr. Judson. Within a few
  days, however, some circumstances have occurred which have induced me
  to make preparations for a voyage. There is but one remaining ship in
  the river, and if an embargo is laid on English ships, it will be
  impossible for Mr. Judson (if he is yet alive) to return to this
  place. But the uncertainty of meeting him in Bengal, and the
  possibility of his arriving in my absence, cause me to make
  preparations with a heavy heart. Sometimes I feel inclined to remain
  here alone, and hazard the consequences. I should certainly conclude
  on this step, if any probability existed of Mr. Judson’s return. This
  mission has never appeared in so low a state as at the present time.
  It seems now entirely destroyed, as we all expect to embark for Bengal
  in a day or two. Alas! alas! how changed our prospects since Mr.
  Judson left us. How dark, how intricate the providence which now
  surrounds us! Yet it becomes us to be still, and know that He is God
  who has thus ordered our circumstances.

  “_July 14._ Alone, my dear friends, in this great house, without an
  individual excepting my little girl and Burmans, I take my pen to
  relate the strange vicissitudes through which I have passed within a
  few days.

  “On the 5th of this month I embarked with Mr. Hough and family for
  Bengal, having previously disposed of what I could not take with me. I
  had engaged Mr. Judson’s teacher to accompany me, that in case of
  meeting him in Bengal he could go on with his Burman studies. But the
  teacher, fearing the difficulties arising from his being a Burman,
  broke his engagement, and refused to go. My disinclination to proceed
  in the course commenced had increased to such a degree, that I was on
  the point of giving up the voyage myself; but my passage was paid, my
  baggage on board, and I knew not how to separate myself from the rest
  of the mission family. The vessel, however, was several days in going
  down the river; and when on the point of putting out to sea, the
  captain and officers ascertained she was in a dangerous state, in
  consequence of having been improperly loaded, and that she must be
  detained for a day or two at the place in which she then lay. I
  immediately resolved on giving up the voyage and returning to town.
  Accordingly the captain sent up a boat with me, and engaged to forward
  my baggage the next day. I reached town in the evening—spent the night
  at the house of the only remaining Englishman in the place, and to-day
  have come out to the mission-house, to the great joy of all the
  Burmans left on our premises. Mr. Hough and his family will proceed,
  and they kindly and affectionately urge my return. I know I am
  surrounded by dangers on every hand, and expect to see much anxiety
  and distress; but at present I am tranquil, and intend to make an
  effort to pursue my studies as formerly, and leave the event with
  God.”

After this gloomy episode the prospects of the mission began to
brighten. Mr. Hough, indeed, had gone to Calcutta, taking the
printing-press with him, so that for some time all the presswork of the
mission had to be done there. But on September 19, 1818, Messrs. Colman
and Wheelock, with their wives, arrived in Rangoon and joined the
mission. Mr. Judson writes:

  “We had, I can truly say, a most joyful meeting. You have never seen
  them, or it would be unnecessary to add that they are four _lovely_
  persons, in every sense of the word, and appear to have much of an
  humble, prayerful spirit. Such being their interesting appearance, we
  regret more deeply to find that the health of the brethren is so
  feeble. They have both had a slight return of bleeding at the lungs,
  an old complaint, to which they were subject in America. May the Lord
  graciously restore and preserve them.

  “A few days after their arrival, I introduced them into the presence
  of the viceroy. He received us with marked attention, which, however,
  must be ascribed to the influence of a handsome present, which went
  before us. Though surrounded with many officers, he suspended all
  business for a time, examined the present, and condescended to make
  several inquiries. On being told that the new teachers desired to take
  refuge in his glory, and remain in Rangoon, he replied, ‘Let them
  stay, let them stay; and let your wife bring their wives that I may
  see them all.’ We then made our obeisance, and retired.”

The time had now come when Mr. Judson’s long-cherished desire to hold
public worship among the Burmans in their own tongue was to be
gratified. The little chapel, or _zayat_, had been built. It is thus
described by Mrs. Judson:

  “The _zayat_ is situated thirty or forty rods from the mission-house,
  and in dimensions is twenty-seven by eighteen feet. It is raised four
  feet from the ground, and is divided into three parts. The first
  division is laid entirely open to the road, without doors, windows, or
  a partition in the front side, and takes up a third part of the whole
  building. It is made of bamboo and thatch, and is the place where Mr.
  Judson sits all the day long, and says to the passers-by, ‘Ho! every
  one that thirsteth,’ etc. The next and middle division is a large,
  airy room, with four doors and four windows, opening in opposite
  directions; made entirely of boards, and is whitewashed, to
  distinguish it from the other _zayats_ around us.

  “In this room we have public worship in Burman on the Sabbath; and in
  the middle of it I am now situated at my writing-table, while six of
  the male scholars are at one end, each with his torch and blackboard,
  over which he is industriously bending, and emitting the curious
  sounds of the language. The third and last division is only an
  entry-way, which opens into the garden leading to the mission-house.
  In this apartment all the women are seated, with their lights and
  blackboards, much in the same position and employment as the men.”

It will be seen from this that the _zayat_ was not simply a church, but
a religious school-house as well. It also afforded a convenient place of
rendezvous where Mr. Judson could sit all the day long, attracting the
attention of the passers-by, and often engaging them in religious
conversation.[24]

The following letter from Mr. Judson to the Corresponding Secretary
relates to this, the first house of worship erected by American Baptists
in Burmah:

                                      “RANGOON, _February_ 20, 1819.

  “The prospect of the speedy departure of a vessel for Bengal reminds
  us of our unanswered letters. Brother Colman has nearly recovered his
  health, which suffered much on his first arrival. But brother Wheelock
  still remains in a low, and, I fear, declining state.

  “My time, for the last few months, has been divided between reading
  Burman, writing some portions of Scripture, and other things
  preparatory to public worship, holding conversations on religion, and
  superintending the erection of a _zayat_ (as the Burmans call it), or
  place of public resort, where we intend to spend much of our time, and
  where we hope to have stated worship, or, at least, to try the
  practicability of such an attempt under this Government.

  “The peculiarly retired situation of the mission-house has long
  rendered the erection of such a building, or a change of residence, a
  very desirable measure. After much hesitation and perplexity about our
  duty, we were so fortunate as to procure, at a very moderate price, a
  piece of ground which is contiguous to the mission premises, and at
  the same time opens on a public road. The building is now going up,
  with such scanty materials and means as we can afford, or, rather, as
  we think you can afford. The whole concern will cost about two hundred
  dollars. And should this _zayat_ prove to be a Christian
  meeting-house, the first erected in this land of atheists, for the
  worship of God—a house where Burmans, who now deny the very existence
  of Deity, shall assemble to adore the majesty of heaven, and to sing
  with hearts of devotion the praises of the incarnate Saviour——But the
  thought seems too great to be realized. Can _this_ darkness be
  removed? Can _these_ dry bones live? On Thee, Jesus, all our hopes
  depend. In Thee all power is vested, even power to make sinful
  creatures instrumental in enlightening the heathen.

  “You want to hear of some poor benighted Burman brought to taste that
  the Lord is gracious; but O, not more than I want to speak of it. I
  hope, I do hope, my dear sir, that we shall both one day be
  gratified.”

On April 4, 1819, even before the _zayat_ was completed, the first
public service was held. Mr. Judson was thirty-one years old, and had
been in Rangoon nearly six years before he ventured to preach to a
Burman audience in their own tongue. This marks an era in the history of
the Burman mission; for it is a noteworthy fact that the institution of
public worship was soon followed by the first in a series of
conversions.

It was on June 27, 1819, about seven years and four months after Mr.
Judson left America, and about six years after his arrival in Rangoon,
that he was permitted to baptize the first Burman convert, Moung Nau.
The secret of that sublime faith which enabled him to endure without a
misgiving so many long, weary years of sowing without the joy of seeing
a single blade of grain, may be learned from the following lines, which
he wrote in pencil on the inner cover of a book which he was using in
the compilation of the Burman dictionary:

                   “In joy or sorrow, health or pain,
                     Our course be onward still;
                   We sow on Burmah’s barren plain,
                     We reap on Zion’s hill.”

The following extracts from his journal, with a letter of Mrs. Judson’s,
afford a vivid description of the commencement of public worship among
the Burmans, and the progress of that religious movement which
culminated in the baptism of the first three converts, Moung Nau, Moung
Byaa, and Moung Thahlah:

  “_April 4, 1819._ My close application to the Burman dictionary during
  the year 1817, and my subsequent loss of nearly a year in the
  unsuccessful attempt to visit Chittagong, have occasioned a long
  interruption in my journal. Since my return to Rangoon, the little I
  have to say I have communicated in letters. With this day, a new, and
  I hope important, era in the mission, I resume the journal.

  “To-day, the building of the _zayat_ being sufficiently advanced for
  the purpose, I called together a few people that live around us, and
  commenced public worship in the Burman language. I say _commenced_,
  for, though I have frequently read and discoursed to the natives, I
  have never before conducted a course of exercises which deserved the
  name of _public_ worship, according to the usual acceptation of that
  phrase among Christians; and though I began to preach the Gospel as
  soon as I could speak intelligibly, I have thought it hardly becoming
  to apply the term _preaching_, since it has acquired an appropriate
  meaning in modern use, to my imperfect, desultory exhortations and
  conversations. But I hope, though with fear and trembling, that I have
  now commenced a course of public worship and regular preaching. This
  would have taken place just a year ago, had I returned to Rangoon as I
  expected, and still earlier, had I not been under a Government where I
  thought it prudent to gain a considerable acquaintance with the
  language before commencing public operations, lest I should be unable
  properly to vindicate my conduct when called to a judicial account.

  “The congregation to-day consisted of fifteen persons only, besides
  children. Much disorder and inattention prevailed, most of them not
  having been accustomed to attend Burman worship. May the Lord grant
  His blessing on attempts made in great weakness and under great
  disadvantages; and all the glory will be His.

  “_April 25. Lord’s day._ Yesterday we completed the _zayat_, set up
  the front stairs, and laid open the entrance from the road. This
  morning I took my seat on the floor in the open porch, under some
  solemn impression of the great responsibility attached to my new mode
  of life.

  “In the forenoon the members of the mission family came over to have
  our usual worship, having concluded to hold it for a few Sundays in
  the _zayat_, rather than in the house, in order to give the Burmans
  some idea of the place.

  “In the afternoon our people came together, and several came in from
  the road, so that we had an assembly of between twenty-five and
  thirty, besides children. At the close of the service I distributed
  several tracts to the strangers.

  “_April 28._ Nothing interesting through the day. At night,
  encountered a bitter opposer; he had visited Bengal, and some foe to
  missions had poisoned his mind; he manifested a most virulent spirit.
  I felt that he would most gladly be foremost in destroying us. But
  through divine grace I was enabled to treat him with meekness and
  gentleness, and he finally left me politely. He appeared to be rich,
  and had several followers. In the evening there were some hopeful
  appearances in Mrs. Judson’s female meeting—a meeting which she has
  recommenced since public worship has been set up in the _zayat_.

  “_April 29._ A precious case has just occurred. A young man of
  twenty-four, by name Moung Koo, happened to stroll in last Sunday, and
  was present at worship. He appeared to be rather wild and noisy,
  though his manners were respectful. He took a tract, and went away.
  This morning he made his appearance again, and has been with me about
  two hours. I have been enabled, through divine assistance, to give him
  a great deal of truth, and especially to expatiate with some feeling
  on the love and sufferings of the Saviour. The truth seems to have
  taken hold of his mind.

  “_April 30._ I was agreeably surprised in the morning to see the young
  man of yesterday come again so soon. He stayed all the forenoon, and
  seemed desirous of hearing as much as possible about religion. Several
  others came and went. A very busy day; hardly time to prepare these
  minutes to be forwarded by a vessel which leaves this port for Bengal
  early to-morrow morning.

  “_May 1, 1819._ Burman day of worship; of course many visitors; among
  the rest, Moung Nau, a man who was with me several hours yesterday;
  but, from his silence and reserve, excited little attention or hope.
  To-day, however, I begin to think better of him. Moung Koo came again
  at night, and appeared pretty well. These two men, with the two
  persons from Kambet, of the 27th, I call the fruits of the week. But
  let us see who of them will remember the day of worship.

  “_May 2. Lord’s day._ About three o’clock the quiet and modest Moung
  Nau came in and took his usual place. For the others we looked in
  vain. About thirty present at worship. Very few paid much attention,
  or probably received any benefit.

  “_May 3._ Among the visitors of to-day was a respectable man, formerly
  an officer, now a merchant, resident at Little Bridge, a village
  contiguous to Kambet. After long and various conversation, in which he
  paid close and respectful attention, he said that he was a person not
  a little versed in Burman literature, but that he now saw he had erred
  in all; he regretted that he had lived two years in the neighborhood
  without knowing me; to-day was an auspicious day; he wished to become
  my disciple, would read my writings with attention, and come as often
  as possible.

  “_May 5._ Moung Nau has been with me several hours. I begin to think
  that the grace of God has reached his heart. He expresses sentiments
  of repentance for his sins, and faith in the Saviour. The substance of
  his profession is, that from the darknesses, and uncleannesses, and
  sins of his whole life, he has found no other Saviour but Jesus
  Christ; nowhere else can he look for salvation; and therefore he
  proposes to adhere to Christ, and worship Him all his life long.

  “It seems almost too much to believe that God has begun to manifest
  His grace to the Burmans; but this day I could not resist the
  delightful conviction that this is really the case. PRAISE AND GLORY
  BE TO HIS NAME FOREVERMORE. Amen.

  “_May 6._ Moung Nau was again with me a great part of the day. He
  appears to be slowly growing in religious knowledge, and manifests a
  teachable, humble spirit, ready to believe all that Christ has said,
  and obey all that He has commanded. He is thirty-five years old; no
  family, middling abilities, quite poor, obliged to work for his
  living, and therefore his coming, day after day, to hear the truth,
  affords stronger evidence that it has taken hold of his mind. May the
  Lord graciously lead his dark mind into all the truth, and cause him
  to cleave inviolably to the blessed Saviour.

  “_May 8._ Burman day of worship. Thronged with visitors through the
  day. Had more or less company, without intermission, for about eight
  hours. Several heard much of the Gospel, and engaged to come again.
  Moung Nau was with me a great part of the day, and assisted me much in
  explaining things to new-comers.

  “_May 9. Lord’s day._ Moung Shwaa Oo came in the morning, and stayed
  through the whole day. Only two or three of all I conversed with
  yesterday came again. Had, however, an assembly of thirty. After
  worship, some warm disputation. I begin to feel that the Burmans can
  not stand before the truth. In the course of the conversation, Moung
  Nau declared himself a disciple of Christ, in presence of a
  considerable number; and even Moung Shwaa Oo appeared to incline the
  same way.

  “_May 10._ Early in the morning, Moung Nau came to take leave, being
  obliged to go to a distance after timber, his usual occupation. I took
  him alone and prayed with him, and gave him a written prayer to help
  him in his private devotion.

  “Heard much to-day of the danger of introducing a new religion. All
  agreed in opinion that the king would cut off all who embraced it,
  being a king who could not bear that his subjects should differ in
  sentiment from himself; and who has, for a long time, persecuted the
  friends of the established religion of the empire, because they would
  not sanction all his innovations. Those who seemed most favorably
  disposed whispered me that I had better not stay in Rangoon and talk
  to common people, but go directly to the ‘_lord of life and death_.’
  If he approved of the religion, it would spread rapidly; but, in the
  present state of things, nobody would dare to prosecute their
  inquiries, with the fear of the king before their eyes. They brought
  forward the case of the Kolans, a sect of Burmans who have been
  proscribed and put to death under several reigns. I tried to set them
  right in some points, and encourage them to trust in the care of an
  almighty Saviour; but they speak low and look around fearfully when
  they mention the name of the ‘_owner of the sword_.’

  “_May 13._ Had company all day, without intermission. About noon,
  Moung Nau came in, having given up his journey on account of the
  unfaithfulness of his employer. His behavior and conversation were
  very satisfactory. He regrets the want of a believing associate, but
  declares his determination of adhering to Christ, though no Burman
  should ever join him.

  “_May 15._ Moung Nau has been with me all day, as well as yesterday.
  He is anxious to be received into our company, and thinks it a great
  privilege to be the first among the Burmans in professing the religion
  of Jesus Christ. He has been told plainly that he has nothing to
  expect in this world but persecution, and perhaps death; but he thinks
  it better to die for Christ, and be happy hereafter, than to live a
  few days and be forever wretched. All the members of the mission have,
  at different times, conversed with him, and are satisfied that a work
  of grace is begun in his heart.

  “_May 17._ Moung Nau has received an advantageous offer to go to Ava,
  in the employ of a boat-owner. We were afraid to dissuade him from
  accepting, as he has no way of getting a living, and equally unwilling
  to have him absent several months. At length we advised him not to go,
  and he at once acquiesced.

  “_May 22._ We have taken Moung Nau to live with us, intending to
  employ him in copying some small things for distribution which we can
  not get printed at present, and allow him ten ticals a month. Our
  principal object, however, is to keep him in the way of instruction,
  hoping that he will ultimately be useful to his countrymen.

  “At night, Moung A came the second time, and appeared anxious to know
  the way of salvation. But I am grieved to find that he is going away
  on business to-morrow morning, and will be absent a long time.

  “_June 6. Lord’s day._ Had two interesting visitors. They were present
  at worship, and stayed till dark—certain they should come again—but
  will they?

  “After partaking of the Lord’s supper in the evening, we read and
  considered the following letter of Moung Nau, which he wrote of his
  own accord:

  “‘I, Moung Nau, the constant recipient of your excellent favor,
  approach your feet. Whereas my Lord’s three have come to the country
  of Burmah,—not for the purposes of trade, but to preach the religion
  of Jesus Christ, the Son of the eternal God,—I, having heard and
  understood, am, with a joyful mind, filled with love.

  “‘I believe that the divine Son, Jesus Christ, suffered death, in the
  place of men, to atone for their sins. Like a heavy-laden man, I feel
  my sins are very many. The punishment of my sins I deserve to suffer.
  Since it is so, do you, sirs, consider that I, taking refuge in the
  merits of the Lord Jesus Christ, and receiving baptism, in order to
  become His disciple, shall dwell one with yourselves, a band of
  brothers, in the happiness of heaven, and therefore grant me the
  ordinance of baptism.[25] It is through the grace of Jesus Christ that
  you, sirs, have come by ship from one country and continent to
  another, and that we have met together. I pray my Lord’s three that a
  suitable day may be appointed, and that I may receive the ordinance of
  baptism.

  “‘Moreover, as it is only since I have met with you, sirs, that I have
  known about the eternal God, I venture to pray that you will still
  unfold to me the religion of God, that my old disposition may be
  destroyed, and my new disposition improved.’

  “We have all, for some time, been satisfied concerning the reality of
  his religion, and therefore voted to receive him into church
  fellowship, on his being baptized, and proposed next Sunday for
  administering the ordinance.

  “_June 20. Lord’s day._ For the last fortnight, have had but little
  company at the _zayat_, owing probably to the rains, which have now
  fully set in. The town has also been in great confusion in prospect of
  the viceroy’s departure for Ava. We have been called on to pay another
  tax of fifteen ticals—got off with paying half. Have had several other
  molestations from petty officers of Government. Concluded to postpone
  Moung Nau’s baptism till the viceroy be fairly off.

  “_June 21._ The town is in the utmost anxiety and alarm. Order after
  order has reached our viceroy to hasten his return to Ava, with all
  the troops under arms. Great news are whispered. Some say there is a
  rebellion; some say the king is sick, some that he is dead. But none
  dare to say this plainly. It would be a crime of the first magnitude;
  for the ‘_lord of land and water_’ is called immortal. The eldest son
  of his eldest son (his father being dead) has long been declared the
  heir of the crown; but he has two very powerful uncles, who, it is
  supposed, will contest his right; and in all probability the whole
  country will soon be a scene of anarchy and civil war.

  “_June 22._ Out all the morning, listening for news, uncertain whether
  a day or an hour will not plunge us into the greatest distress. The
  whole place is sitting in sullen silence, expecting an explosion.
  About 10 o’clock, a royal dispatch-boat pulls up to the shore. An
  imperial mandate is produced. The crowds make way for the sacred
  messengers, and follow them to the high court, where the authorities
  of the place are assembled. Listen ye: The immortal king, wearied, it
  would seem, with the fatigues of royalty, has gone up to amuse himself
  in the celestial regions. His grandson, the heir-apparent, is seated
  on the throne. The young monarch enjoins on all to remain quiet, and
  wait his imperial orders.

  “It appears that the Prince of Toung Oo, one of his uncles, has been
  executed, with his family and adherents, and the Prince of Pyee placed
  in confinement. There has probably been bloody work; but it seems,
  from what has transpired, that the business has been settled so
  expeditiously that the distant provinces will not feel the shock.

  “_June 23._ Had some encouraging conversation with Moung Thah-lah, a
  young man who has been living in our yard several months. He has
  lately made me several visits at the _zayat_, and appeared very
  thoughtful and teachable. To-day, on being asked the state of his
  mind, he replied, with some feeling, that he and all men were sinners,
  and exposed to future punishment; that according to the Buddhist
  system, there was no way of pardon; but that according to the religion
  which I taught, there was not only a way of pardon but a way of
  enjoying endless happiness in heaven; and that, therefore, he wanted
  to believe in Christ. I stated to him, as usual, that he must think
  much on the love of Christ, and pray to God for an enlightened and
  loving heart, and then gave him a form of prayer suited to his case.

  “In the female evening meeting, his sister, Ma Baik, whose husband
  also lives in our yard, manifested considerable feeling, especially
  when Mrs. Judson prayed with her alone, and expressed a strong desire
  to obtain an interest in the Saviour.

  “_June 27. Lord’s day._ There were several strangers present at
  worship. After the usual course, I called Moung Nau before me, read
  and commented on an appropriate portion of Scripture, asked him
  several questions concerning his _faith_, _hope_, and _love_, and made
  the baptismal prayer, having concluded to have all the preparatory
  exercises done in the _zayat_. We then proceeded to a large pond in
  the vicinity, the bank of which is graced with an enormous image of
  Gaudama, and there administered baptism to the first Burman convert.
  O, may it prove the beginning of a series of baptisms in the Burman
  empire which shall continue in uninterrupted succession to the end of
  time!

  “_July 4. Lord’s day._ We have had the pleasure of sitting down, for
  the first time, to the Lord’s table with a converted Burman; and it
  was my privilege—a privilege to which I have been looking forward with
  desire for many years—to administer the Lord’s supper in two
  languages. And now let me, in haste, close my journal for transmission
  to the Board.”

                        _Letter from Mrs. Judson._

                             “RANGOON MISSION-HOUSE, _June_ 2, 1819.

  “In my last, I mentioned Mr. Judson’s commencing public preaching in a
  building which we had erected for that purpose, and which you will in
  future know by the name _zayat_. Little did I think, when I last
  wrote, that I should so soon have the joyful intelligence to
  communicate that one Burman has embraced the Christian religion, and
  given good evidence of being a true disciple of the dear Redeemer.
  This event, this single trophy of victorious grace, has filled our
  hearts with sensations hardly to be conceived by Christians in
  Christian countries. This event has convinced us that God can and does
  operate on the minds of the most dark and ignorant, and that He makes
  His own truths, His own word, the instrument of operation. It serves
  to encourage us to hope that the Lord has other chosen ones in this
  place.”

  “_July 10._ Some pleasant conversation with Moung Thah-lah. Seldom a
  day passes in which he does not spend an hour or two with me or Moung
  Nau. This man is rather superior to the common Burmans in point of
  abilities, and, though not very learned, he has read much more than
  the generality. He is much superior to any one resident on our
  premises, and, if converted, would be a valuable acquisition to the
  mission.

  “_July 12._ Considerable company all day. Moung E, whose name I have
  not yet mentioned, though he has made several visits, broke through
  his usual reserve, and acknowledged his love for this religion, and
  thought he should become a disciple, and not return to Tavoy, whence
  he lately came on some Government business. Moung Thah-lah appears to
  be really earnest in his desires to become a disciple of Christ.

  “_July 19._ Had some particular conversation with Moung Thah-lah on
  his spiritual state. He says that the more he reads and hears of the
  Christian religion, the more inclined he becomes to believe and
  embrace it, but fears that his weakness and sinfulness incapacitate
  him for keeping its holy precepts as it becomes a professing disciple.

  “_July 29._ Finished revising the tract for a new edition. Have
  considerably enlarged it, particularly by adding several prayers; so
  that it now stands, ‘A View of the Christian Religion, in four Parts,
  Historical, Practical, Preceptive, and Devotional.’ We intend sending
  the manuscript to Serampore, with a request to brother Hough that he
  will get it printed in a large edition of five thousand copies. The
  first edition, of one thousand, is nearly exhausted. Such, indeed, is
  the demand for it since the opening of the _zayat_, that we should
  have given away all the copies long ago, had we not been doubtful
  about a fresh supply.

  “_August 7._ Brother Wheelock embarked for Bengal, but in so low a
  state that we fear the voyage, instead of being beneficial, will tend
  to shorten his life.

  “_August 8. Lord’s day._ Several strangers present at worship; a
  larger assembly than usual.

  “_August 21._ Have not lately mentioned Moung Thah-lah, though he has
  continued to visit me regularly. To-day I had a conversation with him,
  that almost settled my mind that he is really a renewed man. He,
  however, thinks he is not, because he finds his heart so depraved that
  he can not perfectly keep the pure commands of Christ.

  “_August 22. Lord’s day._ After worship, had another conversation with
  Moung Thah-lah. He hopes that he is a disciple of Jesus Christ in
  heart, but wants to know whether a profession of religion is
  indispensable to salvation. He fears the persecution that may
  hereafter come on those who forsake the established religion of the
  empire. I gave him such explanation as I thought suitable, and left
  him with the solemn consideration, that unless he loved Christ above
  his own life, he did not love Him sincerely, and ought not to hope
  that He is interested in his redemption.

  “_August 24._ Another conversation with Moung Thah-lah, which at
  length forces me to admit the conviction that he is a real convert;
  and I venture to set him down the second disciple of Christ among the
  Burmans. He appears to have all the characteristics of a new-born
  soul, and though rather timid in regard to an open profession, has, I
  feel satisfied, that love to Christ which will increase and bring him
  forward in due time.

  “_August 31._ A man, by name Moung Ing, has visited the _zayat_ five
  or six days in succession. At first, a variety of other company
  prevented my attending much to him, and he conversed chiefly with
  Moung Nau, and employed himself in reading Matthew. He once told Moung
  Nau that he had long been looking after the true religion, and was
  ready to wish that he had been born a brute, rather than to die in
  delusion, and go to hell. Sunday I conversed with him largely, and his
  attention during worship was very close and solemn. To-day he has made
  me half inclined to believe that a work of grace is begun in his soul.
  He says that he formerly had some idea of an eternal God from his
  mother, who was christened a Roman Catholic, in consequence of her
  connection with a foreigner; but that the idea was never rooted in his
  mind until he fell in with the _zayat_. Within a few days he has begun
  to pray to this God. He is quite sensible of his sins, and of the
  utter inefficacy of the Buddhist religion, but is yet in the dark
  concerning the way of salvation, and says that he wants to know more
  of Christ, that he may love Him more. Lord Jesus, give him the saving
  knowledge of Thine adorable self!

  “_September 1._ Moung Thah-lah continues to express similar sentiments
  to those already noted; is still afraid of persecution and death, but
  professes to be laboring to obtain that love to Christ, and faith in
  Him, which will raise him above the fear of man; and particularly
  requests us to pray that he may obtain these graces.

  “_September 3._ A great crowd of company through the whole day, the
  teacher Moung Shwa-gnong, from ten o’clock till quite dark, with
  several of his adherents. He is a complete Proteus in religion, and I
  never know where to find him. We went over a vast deal of ground, and
  ended where we began, in apparent incredulity. After his adherents,
  however, were all gone, he conversed with some feeling; owned that he
  knew nothing, and wished me to instruct him; and when he departed, he
  prostrated himself, and performed the _sheeko_—an act of homage which
  a Burman never performs but to an acknowledged superior.

  “After he was gone, Moung Ing, who has been listening all day,
  followed me home to the house, being invited to stay with Moung Nau
  through the night. We conversed all the evening, and his expressions
  have satisfied us all that he is one of God’s chosen people. His
  exercises have been of a much stronger character than those of the
  others, and he expresses himself in the most decided manner. He
  desires to become a disciple in profession, as well as to be in
  Christ, and declares his readiness to suffer persecution and death for
  the love of Christ. When I stated the danger to which he was exposing
  himself, and asked him whether he loved Christ better than his own
  life, he replied, very deliberately and solemnly, ‘When I meditate on
  this religion, I know not what it is to love my own life.’ Thus the
  poor fisherman, Moung Ing, is taken, while the learned teacher, Moung
  Shwa-gnong, is left.

  “_September 5. Lord’s day._ A very dull day—not one stranger present
  at worship. In the evening Moung Thah-lah was a spectator of our
  partaking of the Lord’s supper. Moung Ing could not be present. He
  lives at some distance, and is getting ready to go to sea, pursuant to
  his purpose before he became acquainted with us. We have endeavored to
  dissuade him from going, and to keep him near us; but we are afraid
  that his circumstances will not allow him to comply with our advice
  and his own inclinations.

  “_September 6._ Spent the evening in conversing with Moung Byaa, a man
  who, with his family, has lived near us for some time, a regular
  attendant on worship, an indefatigable scholar in the evening-school,
  where he has learned to read, though fifty years old, and a remarkably
  moral character. In my last conversation, some time ago, he appeared
  to be a thorough legalist, relying solely on his good works, but yet
  sincerely desirous of knowing and embracing the truth. The greater
  part of the evening was spent in discussing his erroneous views; his
  mind seemed so dark and dull of apprehension, that I was almost
  discouraged. Toward the close, however, he seemed to obtain some
  evangelical discoveries, and to receive the humbling truths of the
  Gospel in a manner which encourages us to hope that the Spirit of God
  has begun to teach him. The occasion of this conversation was my
  hearing that he said that he intended to become a Christian, and be
  baptized with Moung Thah-lah. He accordingly professes a full belief
  in the eternal God and His Son Jesus Christ.

  “_September 7._ Am grieved that Moung Ing comes no more. Presume he
  has gone off, contrary to our advice, and was reluctant to take leave
  of us under such circumstances.

  “_September 10._ Surprised by a visit from Moung Ing. It appears that
  he has been confined at work on board the vessel in which he is
  engaged, and has not been ashore for several days. As the vessel is
  certainly going to-morrow, he got leave of absence for a short time,
  and improved it in running out to the _zayat_. I was exceedingly glad,
  as it afforded me an opportunity of giving him some parting
  instructions, and praying with him alone. He appears very well indeed.
  He is quite distressed that he has so far engaged himself, and appears
  desirous of getting off, and returning to us, if possible; but I have
  very little hope of his succeeding. I believe, however, that he is a
  real Christian, and that, whenever he dies, his immortal soul will be
  safe, and that he will praise God forever for his transient
  acquaintance with us. The Lord go with him and keep him.

  “_September 11._ Moung Shwa-gnong has been with me all day. It appears
  that he accidentally obtained the idea of an eternal Being about eight
  years ago; and it has been floating about in his mind, and disturbing
  his Buddhistic ideas ever since. When he heard of us, which was
  through one of his adherents, to whom I had given a tract, this idea
  received considerable confirmation; and to-day he has fully admitted
  the truth of this first grand principle. The latter part of the day we
  were chiefly employed in discussing the possibility and necessity of a
  divine revelation, and the evidence which proves that the writings of
  the apostles of Jesus contain that revelation; and I think I may say
  that he is half inclined to admit all this. He is certainly a most
  interesting case. The way seems to be prepared in his mind for the
  special operation of divine grace. Come, Holy Spirit, heavenly Dove!

  “His conversion seems peculiarly desirable, on account of his superior
  talents and extensive acquaintance with Burmese and Pali literature.
  He is the most powerful reasoner I have yet met with in this country,
  excepting my old teacher, Oo Oungmen (now dead), and he is not at all
  inferior to him.

  “_September 26. Lord’s day._ Moung Shwa-gnong came, with several
  adherents. Some warm conversation before worship, but nothing
  personal. During worship, discoursed from ‘Fear not them that kill the
  body,’ etc. My discourse was chiefly intended for Moung Thah-lah and
  Moung Byaa; but the latter was absent on account of sickness. After
  worship the teacher immediately departed with his people, without even
  saying a word. Fear he has taken some offence.

  “_October 5._ Received a visit from the teacher. My hopes of his
  conversion are very low. He is settling down in Deism, and evidently
  avoids all conversation of a personal nature.

  “_October 6._ Conversation with Moung Thah-lah and Moung Byaa, which
  revives my hopes of their coming forward before long. They are both
  growing in religious knowledge, and give evidence of being in the
  exercise of gracious feelings.

  “_October 7._ Was rejoiced in the morning to see the teacher, Moung
  Shwa-gnong, come again so soon. We spent the whole day together,
  uninterrupted by other company. In the forenoon, he was as crabbed as
  possible; sometimes a Berkeleian, sometimes a Humeite or complete
  skeptic. But in the afternoon he got to be more reasonable, and before
  he left he obtained a more complete idea of the atonement than I have
  commonly been able to communicate to a Burman. He exclaimed, ‘That is
  suitable; that is as it should be,’ etc. But whether this conviction
  resulted from a mere philosophic view of the propriety and adaptedness
  of the way of salvation through Jesus Christ, or from the gracious
  operations of the Holy Spirit, time must discover. I hardly venture to
  hope the latter. O Lord, the work is Thine! O come, Holy Spirit!

  “_October 23._ Have for some days been wondering at the long absence
  of the teacher. To-day heard a report that he has been summoned by the
  viceroy to give an account of his heretical sentiments.

  “At night Moung Thah-lah and Moung Byaa presented a paper, professing
  their faith in Jesus Christ, and requesting to be baptized, but in
  private. We spent some time with them. They appear to have experienced
  divine grace; but we advised them, as they had so little love to
  Christ as not to dare to die for His cause, to wait and reconsider the
  matter.

  “_October 29._ The teacher came again, after an interval of three
  weeks; but he appears to be quite another man. He has not been
  personally summoned, as we heard; but, through the instigation of the
  Mangen teacher, he was mentioned before the viceroy as having
  renounced the religion of the country. The viceroy gave no decisive
  order, but merely said, ‘Inquire further about him.’ This reached the
  ears of Moung Shwa-gnong; and he directly went to the Mangen teacher,
  and, I suppose, apologized, and explained, and flattered. He denies
  that he really recanted, and I hope he did not; but he is evidently
  falling off from the investigation of the Christian religion. He made
  but a short visit, and took leave as soon as he could decently.

  “_November 1._ One of the greatest festivals in the year. The crowds
  are truly immense and overwhelming. We vacated the _zayat_, as we have
  several days of late, beginning to query whether it is prudent to go
  on boldly in proclaiming a new religion, at the hazard of incensing
  the Government, and drawing down such persecution as may deter all who
  know us from any inquiry.

  “_November 6._ The two candidates for baptism again presented their
  urgent petition that they might be baptized, not absolutely in
  private, but about sunset, away from public observation. We spent some
  hours in again discussing the subject with them and with one another.
  We felt satisfied that they were humble disciples of Jesus, and were
  desirous of receiving this ordinance purely out of regard to His
  command and their own spiritual welfare; we felt that we were all
  equally exposed to danger, and needed a spirit of mutual candor, and
  forbearance, and sympathy; we were convinced that they were influenced
  rather by desires of avoiding unnecessary exposure than by that sinful
  fear which would plunge them into apostasy in the hour of trial; and
  when they assured us that, if actually brought before Government, they
  could not think of denying their Saviour, we could not conscientiously
  refuse their request, and therefore agreed to have them baptized
  to-morrow at sunset. The following is a literal translation of the
  paper presented this evening:

  “‘Moung Byaa and Moung Thah-lah venture to address the two teachers:
  Though the country of Burmah is very far distant from the country of
  America, yet the teachers, coming by ship the long way of six months,
  have arrived at this far distant country of Burmah, and town of
  Rangoon, and proclaimed the propitious news by means of which we,
  having become acquainted with the religion, know that there is an
  eternal God in heaven, and that there is a divine Son, the Lord Jesus
  Christ, deserving of the highest love; and we know that the Lord Jesus
  Christ, the divine Son, endured, on account of all His disciples,
  sufferings and death, even severe sufferings on a cross, in their
  stead. On account of our sins, we were like persons laden with a very
  heavy burden. On account of our many sins, we found no deliverance, no
  place of refuge, and our minds were distressed. In this state
  remaining, the two teachers produced the sacred system from the
  Scriptures, and we became informed of the existence of the one God,
  and of the facts that the divine Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, redeemed
  with His sacred life all who love and trust in Him, and, in order to
  save His disciples from hell, suffered death in their stead. Now we
  know that we have sinned against the sacred One, and we know,
  assuredly, that if we become disciples of the divine Son, the Lord
  Jesus Christ, we shall be saved from the hell which we deserve. We
  desire to become disciples, and with the two teachers, like children
  born of the same mother, to worship the true God, and observe the true
  religion.

  “‘On searching in the Scriptures for ancient rules and customs, it
  does not appear that John and other baptizers administered baptism on
  any particular time, or day, or hour. We, therefore, venture to beg of
  the two teachers, that they will grant that on the 6th day of the wane
  of the Tanzoungmong moon (November 7), at six o’clock at night, we may
  this once receive baptism at their hands.’

  “_November 7. Lord’s day._ We had worship as usual, and the people
  dispersed. About half an hour before sunset, the two candidates came
  to the _zayat_, accompanied by three or four of their friends; and
  after a short prayer, we proceeded to the spot where Moung Nau was
  formerly baptized. The sun was not allowed to look upon the humble,
  timid profession. No wondering crowd crowned the overshadowing hill.
  No hymn of praise expressed the exultant feelings of joyous hearts.
  Stillness and solemnity pervaded the scene. We felt, on the banks of
  the water, as a little, feeble, solitary band. But perhaps some
  hovering angels took note of the event with more interest than they
  witnessed the late coronation; perhaps Jesus looked down on us, pitied
  and forgave our weaknesses, and marked us for His own; perhaps, if we
  deny Him not, He will acknowledge us, another day, more publicly than
  we venture at present to acknowledge Him.

  “In the evening we all united in commemorating the dying love of our
  Redeemer; and I trust we enjoyed a little of His gracious presence in
  the midst of us.

  “_November 10._ This evening is to be marked as the date of the first
  Burman prayer-meeting that was ever held. None present but myself and
  the three converts. Two of them made a little beginning—such as must
  be expected from the first essay of converted heathens. We agreed to
  meet for this purpose every Tuesday and Friday evening, immediately
  after family worship, which in the evening has for some time been
  conducted in Burman and English, and which these people, and
  occasionally some others, have attended.

  “_November 14. Lord’s day._ Have been much gratified to find that this
  evening the THREE CONVERTS REPAIRED TO THE ZAYAT, AND HELD A
  PRAYER-MEETING OF THEIR OWN ACCORD.

  “_December 4._ Another visit from Moung Shwa-gnong. After several
  hours spent in metaphysical cavils, he owned that he did not believe
  anything he had said, and had only been trying me and the religion,
  being determined to embrace nothing but what he found unobjectionable
  and impregnable. ‘What,’ said he, ‘do you think that I would pay you
  the least attention if I found you could not answer all my questions,
  and solve all my difficulties?’ He then proceeded to say, that he
  really believed in God, His Son Jesus Christ, the atonement, etc. Said
  I, knowing his deistical weakness, ‘Do you believe all that is
  contained in the book of Matthew, that I have given you? In
  particular, do you believe that the Son of God died on a cross?’ ‘Ah,’
  replied he, ‘you have caught me now. I believe that He suffered death,
  but I can not admit that He suffered the shameful death of the cross.’
  ‘Therefore,’ said I, ‘you are not a disciple of Christ. A true
  disciple inquires not whether a fact is agreeable to his own reason,
  but whether it is in the book. His pride has yielded to the divine
  testimony. Teacher, your pride is still unbroken. Break down your
  pride, and yield to the word of God.’ He stopped and thought. ‘As you
  utter those words,’ said he, ‘I see my error. I have been trusting in
  my own reason, not in the word of God.’ Some interruption now
  occurred. When we were again alone, he said, ‘This day is different
  from all the days on which I have visited you. I see my error in
  trusting in my own reason; and I now believe the crucifixion of
  Christ, because it is contained in the Scripture.’ Some time after,
  speaking of the uncertainty of life, he said he thought he should not
  be lost, though he died suddenly. Why? ‘Because I love Jesus Christ.’
  ‘Do you really love Him?’ ‘No one that really knows Him can help
  loving Him.’ And so he departed.”

Just at this most interesting period, when three Burmans had been
baptized and many others were inquiring into the new religion, the black
cloud of persecution gathered over the heads of these young converts and
their Christian teachers.

The viceroy of Rangoon regarded with an unfavorable eye this attempt to
introduce a new religion. When informed that a prominent Burman teacher
was about to renounce the religion of the empire, he uttered the ominous
sentence: “Inquire further.” These words scattered the group of
inquirers that had gathered about Mr. Judson as quickly as the lifted
hand disperses a school of fish. The new converts, indeed, stood firm
even under the peril of the confiscation of their goods, and the risk of
torture and death; but the work had come to a standstill. The
inhabitants of Rangoon did not even dare to visit the foreign teacher.
In these circumstances the boldest measure seemed to Mr. Judson the
wisest. He determined to beard the lion in his lair. He resolved to go
directly to Ava, the capital of Burmah, and lay the whole matter at the
feet of the emperor. If he could gain from the Burman monarch permission
to propagate the Christian religion among his subjects, then he would be
at once exempt from the annoyance and persecution inflicted by
provincial underlings. If, on the other hand, he should fail, matters
could not be made any worse, as news of this religious movement would
soon get to the ears of the king. The nature of the threatening
persecution, and the reasons for going to Ava, may be learned from Mr.
Judson’s letters and journals:

                        _To the Rev. Dr. Baldwin._

                                        “RANGOON, _August_ 26, 1817.

  “REV. AND DEAR SIR: I am at present wholly absorbed in the dictionary.
  I hope to have it finished by the time that brother Rice arrives. The
  rains make it difficult for me to go out much; and, for the same
  reason, we have not many Burman visitors in our insulated situation.
  Even those who have visited us frequently, and acquired some knowledge
  of our religion, and manifested some spirit of inquiry, are deterred
  from prosecuting their inquiries by fear of persecution. I do not mean
  to imply that all persecution is to be dreaded, but that persecution
  which would effectually prevent the use of the means of grace
  certainly is. It is true that God will call those whom He has chosen;
  but since He has made means necessary to the end, since it is by the
  Gospel of His Son that He calls His people, it is certainly as much
  the duty of His servants to endeavor to avert such persecution as
  would effectually prevent the use of means as it is to use any means
  at all; and we may reasonably conclude that, when God has a people
  whom He is about to call, He will direct His servants in such a
  course.

  “I have no doubt that God is preparing the way for the conversion of
  Burmah to His Son. Nor have I any doubt that we who are now here are,
  in some little degree, contributing to this glorious event. This
  thought fills me with joy. I know not that I shall live to see a
  single convert; but, notwithstanding, I feel that I would not leave my
  present situation to be made a king.”

                   _Extract from Mr. Judson’s Journal._

  “One malicious intimation to the king would occasion our banishment;
  and banishment, as the Burmans tell us, is no small thing, being
  attended with confiscation of all property, and such various abuses as
  would make us deem ourselves happy to escape with our lives.

  “We feel encouraged by the thought that many of the dear children of
  God remember us at the mercy-seat. To your prayers I desire once more
  to commend myself—the weakest, the most unqualified, the most
  unworthy, and the most unsuccessful of all missionaries.

  “_November 26._ On taking our usual ride this morning to bathe in the
  mineral tank, we were accosted, on one of the pagoda roads, by the
  Mangen teacher, and peremptorily forbidden to ride there in future on
  pain of being beaten.

  “Our business must be fairly laid before the emperor. If he frown upon
  us, all missionary attempts within his dominions will be out of the
  question. If he favor us, none of our enemies, during the continuance
  of his favor, can touch a hair of our heads. But there is a greater
  than the emperor, before whose throne we desire daily and constantly
  to lay this business. O Lord Jesus, look upon us in our low estate,
  and guide us in our dangerous course!”

                 _Extract from a letter to Dr. Baldwin._

                                       “RANGOON, _December_ 9, 1819.

  “REV. AND DEAR SIR: Since my last we have had the happiness of
  baptizing two more Burmans, whose names are Moung Thah-lah and Moung
  Byaa; the former a young man of considerable talents and reading; the
  latter an old man of fifty, who has been learning to read in an
  evening-school. Moung Nau, the first convert, continues faithfully
  attached to the cause. Our fourth is a poor fisherman, whose exercises
  for a few days have been very strong and satisfactory, but he was
  obliged to go to sea before we thought it advisable to give him
  baptism. Our fifth is still an inquirer merely, a teacher, of learning
  and distinction, and possessed of the very first abilities. But soon
  after he began to manifest an open attachment to us, Satan became
  unusually disturbed, and sent one of his faithful servants to the
  viceroy with a complaint that our friend had renounced the religion of
  the country. The viceroy said, ‘Inquire further,’ and this portentous
  sentence, implying that a renunciation of the established religion
  would not pass with impunity, carried such terror to the heart of our
  poor Nicodemus, that he directly fled to his accuser, made his peace
  with him, and almost forsook us. This little circumstance, strange as
  it may seem to one living under a free government, spread dismay among
  all our acquaintance, and for above a month we have been nearly
  deserted by all, except those who have actually joined us.

  “The new king, moreover, has remitted the persecution of his
  grandfather, and restored the priests of Buddh to their former
  privileges; so that all the devout throughout the land are quite mad
  on their idols.

  “In a word, such is the state of things that though there are many, I
  am certain, who have some desire to inquire further into the Christian
  religion, they are afraid to come near us.

  “Brother Colman and myself have, therefore, concluded to follow your
  advice, by going up to Ava, and laying our business before the
  monarch. We have some hope that the Lord will incline him to hold out
  to us the golden sceptre, like another Ahasuerus, and become a
  protector of the infant cause. But it is almost too great a favor to
  hope for. And yet this favor we must obtain, or relinquish some of our
  dearest and most sacred hopes. Oh, what a trying case! None can know
  or experience the uncertainty of our present situation. But we
  sometimes rest on the Saviour and derive sweet consolation from the
  assurance that ‘our Jesus will do all things well.’”

Before Mr. Judson and Mr. Colman set out for Ava, the little group of
missionaries was thinned by the departure of the Wheelocks. Only seven
days after Mr. Wheelock arrived in Rangoon, while engaged in family
worship he had a hemorrhage, and on August 7, 1819, he set sail for
Bengal. After being thirteen days at sea, during a period of temporary
delirium he threw himself into the ocean. While Mrs. Wheelock was
engaged in writing, and he apparently lying asleep, she heard the cabin
door close. She looked around, saw that he was gone, sprang to the door,
opened it, and discovered that he had vanished forever from her sight.
The ship was sailing with such speed that no effort could be made to
rescue him. The death of this young man was a great loss to the infant
mission. His fervent piety, his sweet and uncomplaining spirit, and his
devotion to the work of saving the heathen, had endeared him to his
missionary associates. After mentioning in one of his letters that he
and Mr. Colman had only one room each, he adds: “We prefer ONE room in
Rangoon to SIX in Boston. We feel that we are _highly blessed_.”

-----

Footnote 20:

  I am indebted for some of these facts to a thoughtful and inspiring
  article by the Rev. A. Bunker, in _The Baptist Missionary Magazine_,
  March, 1879.

Footnote 21:

  See Appendix B. Being the first printed statement of Christian truth
  presented to the Burman mind, it has a peculiar interest.

Footnote 22:

  For this phrase of Dante’s I am indebted to Canon Farrar.

Footnote 23:

  See Map II.

Footnote 24:

  The work done through the _zayat_ is described in a sketch by Mrs. E.
  C. Judson, entitled “Wayside Preaching.” See Appendix F.

Footnote 25:

  At the time of writing this, not having heard much of baptism, he
  seems to have ascribed an undue efficacy to the ordinance. He has
  since corrected his error; but the translator thinks it the most fair
  and impartial to give the letter just as it was written at first.




                              CHAPTER VI.
                      LIFE IN RANGOON (CONTINUED).
                               1819-1823.


On December 21, 1819, Mr. Judson and Mr. Colman, leaving their wives
alone in Rangoon, began their journey up the Irrawaddy to Ava, the
capital of the empire. The following extract from Mr. Judson’s journal
describes their journey up the river, their unsuccessful visit at the
royal court, and their return to Rangoon:

  “_December 10._ A few days ago we succeeded in purchasing a boat for
  the journey to Ava, after having spent a whole week in the search.
  Have since been employing workmen to cover it and put it in order.

  “Yesterday we applied to the viceroy for a pass to go up to the golden
  feet, and lift up our eyes to the golden face. He granted our request
  in very polite terms.

  “I must now close up my journal, to be sent on board ship to-morrow
  morning. We expect to leave Rangoon in about a week. My next will
  probably contain some account of our journey up the river, and our
  reception at court. O Lord, send _now_ prosperity; yet not my will,
  but Thine, be done.”

                               _Journal._

  “_December 21._ After having made arrangements for our wives’
  residence in town during our absence, brother Colman and myself
  embarked. Our boat is six feet wide in the middle, and forty feet
  long. A temporary deck of bamboos is laid throughout, and on the
  hinder part of the boat the sides are raised with thin boards, and a
  covering of thatch, and mats tied on, so as to form two low rooms, in
  which we can just sit and lie down. Our company consists of sixteen
  besides ourselves: ten rowmen, a steersman, a head man—whose name is
  inserted in our passport, and who, therefore, derives a little
  authority from Government—a steward or cook for the company—which
  place is filled by our trusty Moung Nau—our own cook, a Hindoo
  washerman, and an Englishman, who, having been unfortunate all his
  life, wishes to try the service of his Burman majesty; and this last
  personage may be called our gunner, he having charge of several guns
  and blunderbusses, which are indispensable on account of the robbers
  that infest the river.

  “We have been much perplexed in fixing on a present for the emperor,
  without which no person unauthorized can appear in his presence. Our
  funds were evidently inadequate to the purchase of articles which
  would be valuable to him in a pecuniary point of view; when we
  considered, also, that there ought to be a congruity between the
  present and our character, we selected that book which we hope to be
  allowed to translate under his patronage, the BIBLE, in six volumes,
  covered with gold leaf, in Burman style, and each volume enclosed in a
  rich wrapper. For presents to other members of Government, we have
  taken several pieces of fine cloth and other articles.

  “Thus manned and furnished we pushed off from the shores of Rangoon.
  The teacher, Moung Shwa-gnong, had not been to see us for several
  days, ashamed, probably, of having declined accompanying us; but just
  as we were pushing off, we saw his tall form standing on the wharf. He
  raised his hand to his head, and bade us adieu, and continued looking
  after the boat until a projecting point shut Rangoon and all its
  scenes from our view. When shall we redouble this little point?
  Through what shall we pass ere the scene now snatched away be
  re-presented? The expedition on which we have entered, however it may
  terminate, is unavoidably fraught with consequences momentous and
  solemn beyond all conception. We are penetrating into the heart of one
  of the great kingdoms of the world, to make a formal offer of the
  Gospel to a despotic monarch, and through him to the millions of his
  subjects. May the Lord accompany us, and crown our attempt with the
  desired success, if it be consistent with His wise and holy will.

  “At night we moored by the banks of Kyee-myen-daing. It was near this
  place that, a few days ago, one of the boats belonging to Mr. G., late
  collector of Rangoon, was attacked by robbers, and the steersman and
  another man killed at a single shot. We felt unwilling to remain at
  this village, but found it necessary.

  “On the 30th reached Kah-noung, a considerable town, about ninety
  miles from Rangoon. Here we met a special officer from Bassein, with a
  detachment of men, sent in pursuit of a band of robbers who lately
  made a daring attack on a large boat, wounded and beat off the people,
  and took plunder to the amount of fifteen hundred ticals. The
  commander offered us an escort for the journey of to-morrow, which
  lies through a dangerous tract of country; but we declined accepting,
  as we should have been obliged to give the people presents, without
  deriving any substantial assistance in the hour of danger. Strict
  watch all night.

  “_January 17, 1820._ Reached Pugan, a city celebrated in Burman
  history, being, like Pyee, the seat of a former dynasty. It is about
  two hundred and sixty miles from Rangoon.

  “_January 18._ Took a survey of the splendid pagodas and extensive
  ruins in the environs of this once famous city. Ascended as far as
  possible some of the highest edifices, and, at the height of one
  hundred feet, perhaps, beheld all the country round, covered with
  temples and monuments of every sort and size; some in utter ruin, some
  fast decaying, and some exhibiting marks of recent attention and
  repair. The remains of the ancient wall of the city stretched beneath
  us. The pillars of the gates, and many a grotesque, decapitated relic
  of antiquity checkered the motley scene. All conspired to suggest
  those elevated and mournful ideas which are attendant on a view of the
  decaying remains of ancient grandeur; and, though not comparable to
  such ruins as those of Palmyra and Balbec (as they are represented),
  still deeply interesting to the antiquary, and more deeply interesting
  to the Christian missionary. Here, about eight hundred years ago, the
  religion of Buddh was first publicly recognized and established as the
  religion of the empire. Here, then, Ah-rah-han, the first Buddhist
  apostle of Burmah, under the patronage of King Anan-ra-tha-men-zan,
  disseminated the doctrines of atheism, and taught his disciples to
  pant after annihilation, as the supreme good. Some of the ruins before
  our eyes were probably the remains of pagodas designed by himself. We
  looked back on the centuries of darkness that are past. We looked
  forward, and Christian hope would fain brighten the prospect. Perhaps
  we stand on the dividing line of the empires of darkness and light. O
  shade of Ah-rah-han, weep over thy falling fanes; retire from the
  scenes of thy past greatness. But thou smilest at my feeble voice.
  Linger, then, thy little remaining day. A voice mightier than mine, a
  still small voice, will ere long sweep away every vestige of thy
  dominion. The churches of Jesus will soon supplant these idolatrous
  monuments, and the chanting of the devotees of Buddh will die away
  before the Christian hymn of praise.

  “_January 25._ Passed Old Ava, the seat of the dynasty immediately
  preceding the present, and Tsah-gaing, a place of some note,
  distinguished for its innumerable pagodas, and the residence of one or
  two late emperors, and about noon drew up to O-ding-man, the lower
  landing-place of New Ava, or Amarapoora, about three hundred and fifty
  miles from Rangoon. At our present distance of nearly four miles from
  the city (and we can not get nearer this season), it appears to the
  worst advantage. We can hardly distinguish the golden steeple of the
  palace amid the glittering pagodas, whose summits just suffice to mark
  the spot of our ultimate destination.

  “_January 26._ We set out early in the morning, called on Mr. G., late
  collector of Rangoon, and on Mr. R., who was formerly collector, but
  is now out of favor. Thence we entered the city, passed the palace,
  and repaired to the house of Mya-day-men, former viceroy of Rangoon,
  now one of the public ministers of state (woon-gyee). We gave him a
  valuable present, and another of less value to his wife, the lady who
  formerly treated Mr. G. with so much politeness. They both received us
  very kindly, and appeared to interest themselves in our success. We,
  however, did not disclose our precise object, but only petitioned
  leave to behold the golden face. Upon this, his highness committed our
  business to Moung Yo, one of his favorite officers, and directed him
  to introduce us to Moung Zah, one of the private ministers of state
  (a-twen-woon), with the necessary orders. This particular favor of
  Mya-day-men prevents the necessity of our petitioning and feeing all
  the public ministers of state, and procuring formal permission from
  the high court of the empire.

  “In the evening, Moung Yo, who lives near our boat, called on us to
  say that he would conduct us to-morrow. We lie down in sleepless
  anxiety. To-morrow’s dawn will usher in the most eventful day of our
  lives. To-morrow’s eve will close on the bloom or the blight of our
  fondest hopes. Yet it is consoling to commit this business into the
  hands of our heavenly Father—to feel that the work is His, not ours;
  that the heart of the monarch before whom we are to appear is under
  the control of Omnipotence; and that the event will be ordered in the
  manner most conducive to the divine glory and the greatest good. God
  may, for the wisest purposes, suffer our hopes to be disappointed; and
  if so, why should short-sighted mortal man repine? Thy will, O God, be
  ever done; for Thy will is inevitably the wisest and the best.

  “_January 27._ We left the boat, and put ourselves under the conduct
  of Moung Yo. He carried us first to Mya-day-men, as a matter of form;
  and there we learned that the emperor had been privately apprised of
  our arrival, and said, ‘Let them be introduced.’ We therefore
  proceeded to the palace. At the outer gate we were detained a long
  time, until the various officers were satisfied that we had a right to
  enter, after which we deposited a present for the private minister of
  state, Moung Zah, and were ushered into his apartments in the palace
  yard. He received us very pleasantly, and ordered us to sit before
  several governors and petty kings, who were waiting at his levee. We
  here, for the first time, disclosed our character and object—told him
  that we were missionaries, or ‘propagators of religion’; that we
  wished to appear before the emperor, and present our sacred books,
  accompanied with a petition. He took the petition into his hand,
  looked over about half of it, and then familiarly asked some questions
  about our God and our religion, to which we replied. Just at this
  crisis, some one announced that the golden foot was about to advance;
  on which the minister hastily rose up, and put on his robes of state,
  saying that he must seize the moment to present us to the emperor. We
  now found that we had unwittingly fallen on an unpropitious time, it
  being the day of the celebration of the late victory over the Kathays,
  and the very hour when his majesty was coming forth to witness the
  display made on the occasion. When the minister was dressed, he just
  said, ‘How can you propagate religion in this empire? But come along.’
  Our hearts sank at these inauspicious words. He conducted us through
  various splendor and parade, until we ascended a flight of stairs, and
  entered a most magnificent hall. He directed us where to sit, and took
  his place on one side; the present was placed on the other; and Moung
  Yo and another officer of Mya-day-men sat a little behind. The scene
  to which we were now introduced really surpassed our expectation. The
  spacious extent of the hall, the number and magnitude of the pillars,
  the height of the dome, the whole completely covered with gold,
  presented a most grand and imposing spectacle. Very few were present,
  and those evidently great officers of state. Our situation prevented
  us from seeing the farther avenue of the hall; but the end where we
  sat opened into the parade which the emperor was about to inspect. We
  remained about five minutes, when every one put himself into the most
  respectful attitude, and Moung Yo whispered that his majesty had
  entered. We looked through the hall as far as the pillars would allow,
  and presently caught sight of this modern Ahasuerus. He came forward
  unattended—in solitary grandeur—exhibiting the proud gait and majesty
  of an Eastern monarch. His dress was rich, but not distinctive; and he
  carried in his hand the gold-sheathed sword, which seems to have taken
  the place of the sceptre of ancient times. But it was his high aspect
  and commanding eye that chiefly riveted our attention. He strided on.
  Every head excepting ours was now in the dust. We remained kneeling,
  our hands folded, our eyes fixed on the monarch. When he drew near, we
  caught his attention. He stopped, partly turned toward us—‘Who are
  these?’ ‘The teachers, great king,’ I replied. ‘What, you speak
  Burman—the priests that I heard of last night?’ ‘When did you arrive?’
  ‘Are you teachers of religion?’ ‘Are you like the Portuguese priest?’
  ‘Are you married?’ ‘Why do you dress so?’ These and some other similar
  questions we answered, when he appeared to be pleased with us, and sat
  down on an elevated seat, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword,
  and his eyes intently fixed on us. Moung Zah now began to read the
  petition; and it ran thus:

  “‘The American teachers present themselves to receive the favor of the
  excellent king, the sovereign of land and sea. Hearing that, on
  account of the greatness of the royal power, the royal country was in
  a quiet and prosperous state, we arrived at the town of Rangoon,
  within the royal dominions, and having obtained leave of the governor
  of that town to come up and behold the golden face, we have ascended
  and reached the bottom of the golden feet. In the great country of
  America, we sustain the character of teachers and explainers of the
  contents of the sacred Scriptures of our religion. And since it is
  contained in those Scriptures, that, if we pass to other countries,
  and preach and propagate religion, great good will result, and both
  those who teach and those who receive the religion will be freed from
  future punishment, and enjoy, without decay or death, the eternal
  felicity of heaven—that royal permission be given, that we, taking
  refuge in the royal power, may preach our religion in these dominions,
  and that those who are pleased with our preaching, and wish to listen
  to and be guided by it, whether foreigners or Burmans, may be exempt
  from Government molestation, they present themselves to receive the
  favor of the excellent king, the sovereign of land and sea.’”

  The emperor heard this petition, and stretched out his hand. Moung Zah
  crawled forward and presented it. His majesty began at the top, and
  deliberately read it through. In the meantime, I gave Moung Zah an
  abridged copy of the tract, in which every offensive sentence was
  corrected, and the whole put into the handsomest style and dress
  possible. After the emperor had perused the petition, he handed it
  back without saying a word, and took the tract. Our hearts now rose to
  God for a display of His grace. ‘Oh, have mercy on Burmah! Have mercy
  on her king.’ But, alas! the time was not yet come. He held the tract
  long enough to read the first two sentences, which assert that there
  is one eternal God, who is independent of the incidents of mortality,
  and that beside Him, there is no God; and then, with an air of
  indifference, perhaps disdain, he dashed it down to the ground. Moung
  Zah stooped forward, picked it up, and handed it to us. Moung Yo made
  a slight attempt to save us by unfolding one of the volumes, which
  composed our present, and displaying its beauty; but his majesty took
  no notice. Our fate was decided. After a few moments, Moung Zah
  interpreted his royal master’s will, in the following terms: ‘Why do
  you ask for such permission? Have not the Portuguese, the English, the
  Mussulmans, and people of all other religions, full liberty to
  practice and worship according to their own customs? In regard to the
  objects of your petition, his majesty gives no order. In regard to
  your sacred books, his majesty has no use for them; take them away.’

  “Something was now said about brother Colman’s skill in medicine; upon
  which the emperor once more opened his mouth, and said, ‘Let them
  proceed to the residence of my physician, the Portuguese priest; let
  him examine whether they can be useful to me in that line, and report
  accordingly.’ He then rose from his seat, strided on to the end of the
  hall, and there, after having dashed to the ground the first
  intelligence that he had ever received of the eternal God, his Maker,
  his Preserver, his Judge, he threw himself down on a cushion, and lay
  listening to the music, and gazing at the parade spread out before
  him.

  “As for us and our present, we were huddled up and hurried away,
  without much ceremony. We passed out of the palace gates with much
  more facility than we entered, and were conducted first to the house
  of Mya-day-men. There his officer reported our reception, but in as
  favorable terms as possible; and as his highness was not apprised of
  our precise object, our repulse appeared probably to him not so
  decisive as we knew it to be. We were next conducted two miles through
  the heat of the sun and dust of the streets of Ava, to the residence
  of the Portuguese priest. He very speedily ascertained that we were in
  possession of no wonderful secret, which would secure the emperor from
  all disease, and make him live forever; and we were accordingly
  allowed to take leave of the reverend inquisitor, and retreat to our
  boat.

  “At this stage of the business, notwithstanding the decided repulse we
  had received, we still cherished some hope of ultimately gaining our
  point. We regretted that a sudden interruption had prevented our
  explaining our objects to Moung Zah in that familiar and confidential
  manner which we had intended; and we determined, therefore, to make
  another attempt upon him in private.

  “_January 28._ Early in the morning we had the pleasure of seeing our
  friend Mr. G. coming to our boat. It may not be amiss to mention that
  he is the collector who was chiefly instrumental in relieving us from
  the exorbitant demand which, a few months ago, was made upon us in
  Rangoon. He now told us that he had heard of our repulse, but would
  not have us give up all hope; that he was particularly acquainted with
  Moung Zah, and would accompany us to his house, a little before
  sunset, at an hour when he was accessible. This precisely accorded
  with our intentions.

  “In the afternoon, therefore, we called on Mr. G., and he went with us
  into the city. On the way we paid a visit to the wife of the present
  viceroy of Rangoon, whose eldest son is married to the only daughter
  of the present emperor. We carried a present, and were, of course,
  kindly received.

  “Thence we went to the house of Moung Zah, some way beyond the palace.
  He received us with great coldness and reserve. The conversation,
  which we carried on chiefly through Mr. G., it is unnecessary to
  detail. Suffice it to say, that we ascertained beyond a doubt, that
  the policy of the Burman Government, in regard to the toleration of
  any foreign religion, is precisely the same with the Chinese; that it
  is quite out of the question, whether any of the subjects of the
  emperor, who embrace a religion different from his own, will be exempt
  from punishment; and that we, in presenting a petition to that effect,
  had been guilty of a most egregious blunder, an unpardonable offence.
  Mr. G. urged every argument that we suggested, and some others. He
  finally stated that, if we obtained the royal favor, other foreigners
  would come and settle in the empire, and trade would be greatly
  benefited. This argument alone seemed to have any effect on the mind
  of the minister, and looking out from the cloud which covered his
  face, he vouchsafed to say, that if we would wait some time, he would
  endeavor to speak to his majesty about us. From this remark it was
  impossible to derive any encouragement; and having nothing further to
  urge, we left Mr. G., and bowing down to the ground, took leave of
  this great minister of state, who, under the emperor, guides the
  movements of the whole empire.

  “It was now evening. We had four miles to walk by moonlight. Two of
  our disciples only followed us. They had ventured as near as they
  durst to the door of the hall of audience, and listened to words which
  sealed the extinction of their hope and ours. For some time we spoke
  not.

          “‘Some natural tears we dropped, but wiped them soon;
          The world was all before us, where to choose
          Our place of rest, and Providence our guide.’

  And as our first parents took their solitary way through Eden, hand in
  hand, so we took our way through this great city, which, to our late
  imagination, seemed another Eden, but now, through the magic touch of
  disappointment, seemed blasted and withered, as if smitten by the
  fatal influence of the cherubic sword.

  “Arrived at the boat, we threw ourselves down, completely exhausted in
  body and mind. For three days we had walked eight miles a day, the
  most of the way in the heat of the sun, which, even at this season, in
  the interior of these countries, is exceedingly oppressive, and the
  result of our travels and toils has been—the wisest and best possible;
  a result which, if we could see the end from the beginning, would call
  forth our highest praise. O, slow of heart to believe and trust in the
  constant presence and overruling agency of our own almighty Saviour.

  “_January 29._ We again rose early, and, having considered the last
  words of Moung Zah, wrote down our request in the most concise and
  moderate terms, and sent it to Mr. G. with a message that he would
  once more see Moung Zah, lay the paper before him, and ascertain
  unequivocally whether there was any possibility of gaining our point
  by waiting several months.

  “The rest of the day, and the next, being Lord’s day, we remained in
  the boat.

  “_January 31. Monday._ Mr. G. called upon us, with our little paper in
  his hand. ‘I have shown your paper to Moung Zah, and begged him not to
  deceive you, but to say distinctly what hopes you might be allowed to
  entertain. He replied, “Tell them that there is not the least
  possibility of obtaining the object stated in this paper, should they
  wait ever so long; therefore let them go about their business.”’

  “I now thought of one more expedient; and taking out the manuscript
  tract the emperor threw down, I handed it to Mr. G. ‘This is a brief
  view of the Christian religion. Do you present it, in our name, to
  Moung Zah, and persuade him to read it, or hear it read. We have
  indeed no hope of its efficacy; but it is our last resort, and God may
  help us in the extremity.’ He took it with some feeling, and promised
  to do his best.

  “Before leaving us, he communicated the important intelligence that
  the emperor, flushed with his late victory over the Kathays, had
  determined on war with Siam, and intended next fall to march in person
  to Pegu, and there establish his headquarters.

  “After Mr. G. left us, we went to visit Mr. R. We were formerly
  acquainted with him in Rangoon, and he would now have assisted us had
  he not been out of the favor of the new emperor. We related all our
  proceedings, and the disappointment of our hopes. ‘I knew it would be
  so,’ replied he, ‘when you first called on me; but I was not willing
  to discourage you from making trial for yourselves.’ He then related
  the following story, with the substance of which we were previously
  acquainted:

  “‘About fifteen years ago, the Roman Catholic priests converted to
  their faith a Burman teacher of talents and distinction. They took
  great pains to indoctrinate him thoroughly in their religion, and
  entertained great hope of his usefulness in their cause. After his
  return from Rome, whither they had sent him to complete his Christian
  education, he was accused by his nephew, a clerk in the high court of
  the empire, of having renounced the established religion. The emperor,
  who, it must be remembered, was far from approving the religion of
  Buddh, ordered that he should be compelled to recant. The nephew
  seized his uncle, cast him into prison and fetters, caused him to be
  beaten and tortured continually, and at length had recourse to the
  torture of the iron mall. With this instrument he was gradually
  beaten, from the ends of his feet up to his breast, until his body was
  little else than one livid wound. Mr. R. was one of those that stood
  by and gave money to the executioners to induce them to strike gently.
  At every blow, the sufferer pronounced the name of Christ, and
  declared afterward that he felt little or no pain. When he was at the
  point of death, under the hands of his tormentors, some persons who
  pitied his case went to the emperor with a statement that he was a
  madman, and knew not what he was about; on which the emperor gave
  orders for his release. The Portuguese took him away, concealed him
  until he was able to move, then sent him privately in a boat to
  Rangoon, and thence by ship to Bengal, where he finished his days.
  Since then, the Roman priests, of whom there are four only in the
  country, have done nothing in the way of proselyting, but confined
  their labors to their own flocks, which are composed of the
  descendants of foreigners. The man who accused his uncle is now the
  very first of the private ministers of state, taking rank before Moung
  Zah. Furthermore, the present chief queen, who has great influence
  with his majesty, is, and ever has been, particularly attached to the
  religion and the priests of Buddh.’

  “Mr. R. also confirmed the information we had received of approaching
  war with Siam.

  “Our case could not be more desperate. We directly returned to the
  boat, and ordered our people to sell off all unnecessary articles, and
  be ready to start as soon as our passport could be obtained.

  “_February 1._ Went to Mya-day-men and applied for a passport to
  Rangoon. He appeared willing to oblige us, but said we must make
  formal application to Moung Zah.

  “_February 2._ Went to various places, and made various inquiries and
  applications for a passport. Ascertained that it was absolutely
  necessary, in our case, to procure a special one from the high court
  of the empire.

  “_February 3._ Sent our head man and some of our people with a
  petition to Moung Zah. After they had gone off, we called on Mr. G. He
  informed us that the tract had been presented to Moung Zah, and read
  in his presence. After listening to the whole of it, instead of
  throwing it down, or even returning it, he committed it to one of his
  people to keep, saying to Mr. G., ‘The doctrines and commands are very
  good; but it will be a long time before Burmans can be convinced that
  there is a God and Saviour.’ After this interview with Moung Zah, Mr.
  G. was summoned before the emperor. His majesty, among other things,
  inquired about the foreign teachers. Mr. G. told him our country, our
  character, and our object. The emperor observed that the Portuguese
  priest had told him very different things, particularly that we were a
  sect of Zandees (a race very obnoxious to former emperors). Mr. G.
  endeavored to vindicate our character, but the emperor appeared quite
  averse to hearing anything in our favor. ‘What,’ said he, laughing,
  ‘they have come presuming to convert us to their religion. Let them
  leave our capital. We have no desire to receive their instructions.
  Perhaps they may find some of their countrymen in Rangoon who may be
  willing to listen to them.’

  “Mr. G. now advised us to obtain a royal order protecting us
  personally from molestation while we should remain in the country.
  ‘Otherwise,’ said he, ‘as it will be notorious that you have solicited
  royal patronage, and been refused, you will lie at the mercy of every
  ill-disposed person.’

  “This suggestion of Mr. G. occupied our thoughts the rest of the day.
  We finally concluded that, as such an order would cost several hundred
  ticals, we would prefer trusting in the Lord to keep us and our poor
  disciples.

  “At night our people returned. They had found Moung Zah, and presented
  the petition for a passport, to which he made no other reply but ‘Come
  to-morrow.’

  “_February 4._ Sent the people, early in the morning, with a handsome
  present to Moung Zah. They returned late at night. He accepted the
  present, and assured them he would do our business to-morrow.

  “_February 5._ Sent the people as usual, our trusty Moung Nau
  accompanying them, with a quantity of silver. This did the business.
  Late in the evening I had the pleasure of taking into my hand the
  pointed palm-leaf. It has cost us the value of thirty dollars.

  “_February 6._ Pushed off from the beach of O-ding-man. I could
  moralize half an hour on the apt resemblance, the beautiful congruity
  between the desolate state of our feelings and the sandy, barren
  surface of this miserable beach. But ‘‘tis idle all.’ Let the beach
  and our sorrow go together. Something better will turn up to-morrow.

  “_February 12._ Reached Pyee, two hundred and thirty miles from Ava;
  our descent on the river being, of course, much more rapid than our
  ascent. Here, to our great surprise, we met with the teacher, Moung
  Shwa-gnong. He had come up from Rangoon, a few days ago, to visit an
  old acquaintance, who was dangerously ill; expects to return shortly;
  would gladly go with us, if we could wait a day or two. We stated to
  him all our adventures at court, the distressing result of the
  expedition, and the present danger of propagating or professing the
  religion of Christ, and wound off with the story of the iron mall. He
  appeared to be less affected and intimidated by the relation than we
  could have expected. Indeed, his language was rather too high for the
  occasion. I therefore told him that it was not for him that we were
  concerned, but for those who had become disciples of Christ. When they
  were accused and persecuted, they could not worship at the pagodas, or
  recant before the Mangen teacher. He felt the force of the reflection,
  and tried to explain his past conduct. ‘Say nothing,’ said I; ‘one
  thing you know to be true—that, when formerly accused, if you had not,
  in some way or other, satisfied the mind of the Mangen teacher, your
  life would not now be remaining in your body.’ ‘Then,’ said he, ‘if I
  must die, I shall die in a good cause. I know it is the cause of
  truth.’ He then repeated, with considerable emphasis, the most
  prominent points of his present faith, as follows: ‘_I believe in the
  eternal God, in His Son Jesus Christ, in the atonement which Christ
  has made, and in the writings of the apostles, as the true and only
  word of God_. Perhaps,’ continued he, ‘you may not remember that,
  during one of my last visits, you told me that I was trusting in my
  own understanding, rather than the divine word. From that time I have
  seen my error, and endeavored to renounce it. You explained to me also
  the evil of worshipping at pagodas, though I told you that my heart
  did not partake in the worship. Since you left Rangoon, I have not
  lifted up my folded hands before a pagoda. It is true, I sometimes
  follow the crowd, on days of worship, in order to avoid persecution;
  but I walk up one side of the pagoda, and walk down the other. Now,
  you say that I am not a disciple. What lack I yet?’ I was now
  satisfied that he had made a little advance since our last interview,
  which required a corresponding advance on my side. I replied,
  therefore, ‘Teacher, you may be a disciple of Christ in heart, but you
  are not a full disciple. You have not faith and resolution enough to
  keep all the commands of Christ, particularly that which requires you
  to be baptized, though in the face of persecution and death. Consider
  the words of Jesus, just before He returned to heaven, “He that
  believeth and is baptized shall be saved.”’ He received this
  communication in profound silence, and with that air which I have
  observed to come upon him when he takes a thing into serious
  consideration. Soon after I hinted our intention of leaving Rangoon,
  since the emperor had virtually prohibited the propagation of the
  Christian religion, and no Burman, under such circumstances, would
  dare to investigate, much less to embrace it. This intelligence
  evidently roused him, and showed us that we had more interest in his
  heart than we thought. ‘Say not so,’ said he; ‘there are some who will
  investigate, notwithstanding; and rather than have you quit Rangoon, I
  will go myself to the Mangen teacher, and have a public dispute. I
  know I can silence him. I know the truth is on my side.’ ‘Ah,’ said I,
  ‘you may have a tongue to silence him, but he has a pair of fetters
  and an iron mall to tame you. Remember that.’ This was the substance
  of our conversation, though much more prolix; and he left us about
  nine o’clock at night.

  “This interview furnished matter for conversation till past midnight,
  and kept us awake much of the remainder of the night. Perhaps, on
  arriving in Rangoon, we shall find the disciples firm, and some others
  seriously inquiring. Perhaps we shall discover some appearances of a
  movement of the divine Spirit. Perhaps the Lord Jesus has a few chosen
  ones, whom He intends to call in, under the most unpropitious and
  forbidding circumstances. Perhaps he intends to show that it is not by
  might nor by power, but by His Spirit. In a word, perhaps in the last
  extremity, God will help us. Ought we, then, hastily to forsake the
  place? Ought we to desert those of the disciples that we can not take
  with us, and some others, for whom perhaps Christ died, in such an
  interesting crisis of their fate? Would it be rashness to endeavor to
  trust in God, and maintain the post, though disallowed by Government,
  and exposed to persecution? But again: Can we bear to see our dear
  disciples in prison, in fetters, under torture? Can we stand by them
  and encourage them to bear patiently the rage of their persecutors?
  Are we willing to participate with them? Though the spirit may be
  sometimes almost willing, is not the flesh too weak?

  “Pondering on such topics as these, a little ray of hope seemed to
  shine out of the darkness of our despair. But it was not like the soft
  beam of the moon, which kindly shines on the path of the benighted
  pilgrim, and guides him to a place of shelter. It was rather like the
  angry gleam of lightning which, while for a moment it illumines the
  landscape around, discloses the black magazines of heaven’s artillery
  and threatens death to the unwary gazer.

  “_February 18._ Arrived in Rangoon.”

Mr. Judson and Mr. Colman returned from Ava utterly disheartened, for
their journey had been a complete failure. The emperor had refused to
give them permission to propagate the Christian religion among his
subjects; and any Burman who should renounce Buddhism and become a
Christian, would incur the displeasure of his sovereign.

Mr. Judson at once decided to remove the mission to Chittagong, where,
under the protection of the British flag, he could preach Christ to a
Burmese-speaking population. He gathered his converts and inquirers
together, and made no concealment of the failure at Ava. He pictured the
sufferings to which the Burman would be exposed who should espouse
Christianity, while he declared his intention, reluctantly formed, of
leaving the country. But, to his great surprise, his converts stood
firm. They expressed their willingness to suffer persecution, and even
death, rather than renounce Christ. They entreated him not to leave
them. “Stay at least,” they said, “until a little church of ten is
collected, and a native teacher is set over it, and then, if you must
go, we will not say nay. In that case we shall not be concerned. This
religion will spread of itself. The emperor can not stop it.” The
heroism of the disciples prevailed to keep the teacher in Rangoon.

It was thought best, however, that Mr. Colman and his wife should go to
Chittagong[26] and gather together the few converts left there by the
English Baptists, and to preach the Gospel to the Arracanese. Thus
Chittagong might prove an asylum for the Judsons and their Burman
converts if they should be hunted out of Rangoon. On March 27, 1820, Mr.
Colman embarked for Arracan, where, after a short but heroic missionary
career, he died at Cox’s Bazaar on the 4th of July, 1822.

Thus Mr. and Mrs. Judson again found themselves alone at Rangoon. The
Houghs, the Wheelocks, the Colmans had gone. They were left with their
little group of three converts to continue the conflict with heathenism.
But, strange to say, in this darkest hour of all the Spirit began to
work mightily in the hearts of the Burmans. Within five months, in the
very face of impending persecution, seven heathen, one after another,
were converted and baptized, among them the learned skeptical Moung
Shwa-gnong, and the first woman, Mah-men-la. The church of three native
converts rapidly grew into a church of ten. But, at this point, Mrs.
Judson’s health became so completely shattered that, in order to save
her life, Mr. Judson had to take her to Calcutta.

All these interesting events will be found narrated, with fuller detail,
in the succeeding extract from Mr. Judson’s journal:

  “_February 20. Lord’s day._ In the evening I called the three
  disciples together, and gave them a connected account of the affair at
  Ava, that they might have a full understanding of the dangers of their
  present condition, and the reasons of our intended departure from
  Rangoon. We expected that, after being destitute of all the means of
  grace for some time, and after seeing their teachers driven away from
  the presence of their monarch in disgrace, they would become cold in
  their affections, and have but little remaining zeal for a cause thus
  proscribed and exposed to persecution. We thought that, if one out of
  the three remained firm, it was as much as we could reasonably hope
  for. But how delightfully were we disappointed! They all, to a man,
  appeared immovably the same; yea, rather advanced in zeal and energy.
  They vied with each other in trying to explain away difficulties, and
  to convince us that the cause was not yet quite desperate. But whither
  are the teachers going? was, of course, an anxious inquiry. We told
  them that it was our intention never to desert Burmah; but that, since
  the emperor had refused to tolerate our religion, we thought it
  necessary to leave for a time those parts of the empire which are
  immediately under his dominion; that there is a tract of country lying
  between Bengal and Arracan, which, though under the government of
  Bengal, is chiefly inhabited by Arracanese, who speak a language
  similar to the Burman, the district being really a part of Arracan,
  one component part of the present Burman empire; that formerly a
  teacher from Bengal (De Bruyn) lived at Chittagong, the principal town
  in that district, and baptized several converts, who, at his death,
  were left destitute of all instruction to the present time; and that,
  in view of these considerations, it was our purpose to proceed
  thither, in hope of finding that toleration which was denied us in
  Rangoon. We then asked them, severally, what they would do. Moung Nau
  had previously told us that he would follow us to any part of the
  world. He was only afraid that he should be a burden to us; for, not
  being acquainted with another language, he might not be able to get
  his living in a strange land. ‘As for me,’ said Moung Thah-lah, ‘I go
  where preaching is to be had.’ Moung Byaa was silent and thoughtful.
  At last he said that, as no Burman woman is allowed to leave the
  country, he could not, on account of his wife, follow the teachers.
  ‘But,’ continued he, with some pathos, ‘if I must be left here alone,
  I shall remain performing the duties of Jesus Christ’s religion; no
  other shall I think of.’ This interview with the disciples rejoiced
  our hearts, and caused us to praise God for the grace which He has
  manifested to them.

  “_February 24._ We have spent three or four days in inquiring about
  Chittagong, and the prospect of getting a passage directly thither, or
  by the way of Bengal.

  “This evening Moung Byaa came up with his brother-in-law, Moung
  Myat-yah, who has lived in our yard several months, and formerly
  attended worship in the _zayat_. ‘I have come,’ said Moung Byaa, ‘to
  petition that you will not leave Rangoon at present.’ ‘I think,’
  replied I, ‘that it is useless to remain under present circumstances.
  We can not open the _zayat_; we can not have public worship; no Burman
  will dare to examine this religion; and if none examine, none can be
  expected to embrace it.’ ‘Teacher,’ said he, ‘my mind is distressed; I
  can neither eat nor sleep since I find you are going away. I have been
  around among those who live near us, and I find some who are even now
  examining the new religion. Brother Myat-yah is one of them, and he
  unites with me in my petitions.’ Here Myat-yah assented that it was
  so. ‘Do stay with us a few months. Do stay till there are eight or ten
  disciples; then appoint one to be the teacher of the rest; I shall not
  be concerned about the event; though you should leave the country, the
  religion will spread of itself; the emperor himself can not stop it.
  But if you go now, and take the two disciples that can follow, I shall
  be left alone. I can not baptize those who may wish to embrace this
  religion. What can I do?’ Moung Nau came in, and expressed himself in
  a similar way. He thought that several would yet become disciples, in
  spite of all opposition, and that it was best for us to stay a while.
  We could not restrain our tears at hearing all this; and we told them
  that as we lived only for the promotion of the cause of Christ among
  the Burmans, if there was any prospect of success in Rangoon, we had
  no desire to go to another place, and would, therefore, reconsider the
  matter.

  “_February 26._ Moung Shwa-boo, a sedate and pleasant man, who came to
  live in our yard just before we went to Ava, accompanied Moung
  Myat-yah to the usual evening worship. When we were about breaking up,
  Moung Thah-lah began conversation by saying, ‘Teacher, your intention
  of going away has filled us all with trouble. Is it good to forsake us
  thus? Notwithstanding present difficulties and dangers, it is to be
  remembered that this work is not yours or ours, but the work of God.
  If He give light, the religion will spread. Nothing can impede it.’
  After conversing some time, I found that Moung Louk, another
  inhabitant of the yard, had been listening without. Accordingly, he
  was invited to take his seat with the inquirers. Moung Byaa now began
  to be in earnest; his arm was elevated, and his eyes brightened. ‘Let
  us all,’ said he, ‘make an effort. As for me, I will pray. Only leave
  a little church of ten, with a teacher set over them, and I shall be
  fully satisfied.’ Moung Nau took a very active part in the
  conversation. The three new ones said nothing, except that they were
  desirous of considering the religion of Christ. None of them, however,
  was willing to admit that, as yet, he believed anything.

  “We felt that it was impossible for us _all_ to leave these people, in
  these interesting circumstances; and, at the same time, we felt it
  very important that Chittagong should not be neglected. Under these
  circumstances, we came to the conclusion that brother Colman should
  proceed immediately to Chittagong, collect the Arracanese converts,
  and form a station to which new missionaries from the Board may at
  first repair, and to which I may ultimately flee, with those of the
  disciples that can leave the country, when we find that persecution is
  so violent as to suppress all further inquiry, and render it useless
  and rash to remain; that I should remain in Rangoon until the state of
  things becomes thus desperate, and then endeavor to join brother
  Colman in Chittagong; but that if, contrary to our expectation, the
  Rangoon station should, after a lapse of several months, appear to be
  tenable, and that for an indefinite time, and some work be evidently
  going on, brother Colman, after settling one or two missionaries in
  Chittagong, to keep that place, should rejoin me in Rangoon.

  “_February 28._ A visit from Moung Shwa-gnong. He had considered, he
  said, my last words—that one must believe and be baptized in order to
  be a full disciple. It was his desire to be such, and he wanted to
  know what outward rules in particular he must observe in case he
  should become a professor. I told him that the disciples of Christ,
  after baptism, were associated together; that they assembled every
  Lord’s day for worship, and that from time to time they received the
  sacrament of bread and wine. I then warned him of the danger of
  self-deception, and of the persecution to which disciples were exposed
  in this country, and advised him to reconsider the matter most
  thoroughly before he made a definite request for baptism.

  “_March 2._ Another visit from Oo Yan. Venture to indulge a little
  hope that truth is beginning to operate on his mind.

  “_March 5. Lord’s day._ Private worship, as last Lord’s day. In the
  evening received the sacrament of bread and wine. Moung Nau was not
  present, having gone on a visit to Baulay, his native place. Had a
  refreshing and happy season with the two other disciples. Two of the
  inquirers were spectators.

  “_March 8._ In the evening had a very pleasant and instructive
  conference with the disciples and inquirers. Moung Thah-lah appeared
  to great advantage. Took the lead in explaining truth to the new ones,
  and quoted Scripture with singular facility and aptness.

  “_March 26. Lord’s day._ Three women present at worship—acquaintances
  of Moung Shwa-gnong. They have visited Mrs. Judson once or twice
  before. The principal of them renounced Gaudama some years ago, and
  adopted the semi-atheistic system, but without obtaining any real
  satisfaction. Two years ago, she met with a copy of the tract, which
  gave her an idea of an eternally-existing God; but she knew not whence
  the paper came. At length, Moung Shwa-gnong told her that he had found
  the true wisdom, and directed her to us. Her case appears very
  hopeful.

  “In the evening, after worship, had a protracted conversation with the
  disciples and inquirers, on account of brother Colman’s intended
  departure to-morrow. Moung Shwa-ba appeared very well indeed. Moung
  Myat-yah said, ‘Set me down for a disciple. I have fully made up my
  mind in regard to this religion. I love Jesus Christ; but I am not yet
  quite ready for baptism.’ After we dismissed them, _they went over to
  the zayat of their own accord, and held a prayer-meeting_.

  “And here I must close my journal. We have spent the last evening with
  our very dear brother and sister Colman. They expect to embark
  to-morrow morning. Our parting is mournful; for happy, uncommonly
  happy has been our past intercourse. Nothing but a sense of duty could
  force the present separation. We hope that it will be of short
  duration, and that we shall soon reunite our labors in Chittagong or
  Rangoon.

  “On their departure, Mrs. Judson and myself will again be left to our
  former ‘loneliness of lot.’ In this situation, we renewedly commend
  ourselves to the remembrance and prayers of the Board.

  “_April 15._ Moung Shwa-ba has for some days been talking of a visit
  to Shwa-doung, his native place, to communicate the treasure which he
  has found to his numerous relations and friends. This evening, after
  expressing his desires, he said it had occurred to him that it might
  be proper to ask permission or license so to do. Not that he aspired
  to set up as a teacher; far from that; but he wanted to feel that, in
  communicating the Gospel, he was proceeding in a regular authorized
  manner. He thought that, if two or three disciples could be raised up
  in each of the large towns, it would much facilitate our operations.
  He was sure that at least one in ten of his relations and friends, on
  hearing his story, could not help embracing the new religion. I
  secretly exulted at hearing his proposal, so evidently the result of
  Christian principle, and exhorted him to constant self-examination and
  prayer, as the means of discovering his own duty and the divine will.

  “_April 16. Lord’s day._ Early in the morning the teacher, Moung
  Shwa-gnong, came in, after an absence of just a month. He was soon
  followed by Oo Yan and his two friends. They spent the whole day with
  me. All appear hopeful. The teacher remained, as usual, after the
  others had left, and thereby afforded me an opportunity for private
  conversation He admitted that all his objections to positive commands
  were removed, and that it was his desire to be a full disciple; but,
  when urged closely on the subject, he intimated that his wife and
  friends were opposed to his taking any decided step, and that, if he
  did, he was, moreover, exposed to imminent danger of persecution and
  death. He mentioned these things with so much feeling, and such
  evident consciousness of simple weakness, as completely disarmed me.
  My heart was wrung with pity. I sincerely sympathized with him in his
  evident mental trials. I could not deny the truth of what he said, but
  gently hinted, as thy day is, thy strength shall be, and proposed the
  example of the apostles and martyrs, the glory of suffering for
  Christ, etc. But the thought of the iron mall, and a secret suspicion
  that, if I was in his circumstances, I should perhaps have no more
  courage, restrained my tongue. We parted with much solemnity,
  understanding one another better than ever before. I shall not
  probably see him again very soon; for it is too dangerous for a man of
  his distinction to be seen coming frequently to the mission-house.

  “_April 20._ Mah Men-la and her friends have been with Mrs. Judson all
  day. She gives increasing evidence of being a real disciple, but is
  extremely timid, through fear of persecution. One of her remarks
  deserves notice, as a natural expression of true Christian feeling. ‘I
  am surprised,’ said she, ‘to find this religion has such an effect on
  my mind as to make me love the disciples of Christ more than my
  dearest natural relations.’ She is a woman of very superior
  discernment and mental energy. One of the women, who has frequently
  accompanied her in her visits, met with a tract at Old Pegu about six
  weeks ago, and came all the way to Rangoon, chiefly, she says, on that
  account.

  “This day I have finished the translation of the Epistle to the
  Ephesians, begun before I went to Ava, but intermitted on account of
  the weakness of my eyes. It is with real joy that I put this precious
  writing into the hands of the disciples. It is a great accession to
  their scanty stock of Scripture; for they have had nothing hitherto
  but Matthew. Intend to give them Acts as fast as my eyes will allow.

  “_April 30. Lord’s day._ One of the busiest days I have ever spent.
  Not a multitude of visitants, as formerly. That we can not expect in
  present circumstances. But, besides the usual evening assembly, there
  were eight or ten present at worship, some of whom were with me from
  nine in the morning till ten at night. Mah Men-la and her company were
  with Mrs. Judson, who, by the way, has had a serious attack of the
  liver complaint for a fortnight past, and is now in a course of
  salivation.

  “Oo Yan, after having searched out all the difficult points of
  religion, came to-day to the _ne plus ultra_—How are sin and eternal
  misery reconcilable with the character of an infinitely holy, wise,
  and powerful God? He at length obtained such satisfaction that he
  could not restrain laughing, from pure mental delight, and kept
  recurring to the subject, and repeating my remarks to those around
  him. He was accompanied, as usual, by his two friends, Moung Thah-a
  and Moung Myat-lah, husband of Mah Men-la. With these came also one
  Moung Yo, a disciple of Moung Shwa-gnong, a poor man, but a sharp
  reasoner. He was, or pretended to be, on the semi-atheistic plan.
  After ascertaining his precise ground, I used an argument which, in a
  late combat with Oo Yan, I found quite invincible. It is simply this:
  ‘No mind, no wisdom; temporary mind, temporary wisdom; eternal mind,
  eternal wisdom.’ Now, as all the semi-atheists firmly believe in
  eternal wisdom, this concise statement sweeps with irresistible sway
  through the very joints and marrow of their system. And, though it may
  seem rather simple and inconclusive to one unacquainted with Burman
  reasoning, its effect is uniformly decisive. No sooner is this short
  sentence uttered than one significantly nods his head, as if to say,
  ‘There you have it.’ Another cries out to the opponent, ‘You are
  undone, destroyed.’ Another says, ‘Talk about wisdom! where else will
  you find it?’ The disputant himself, who was perhaps preparing a
  learned speech about the excellence, and efficacy, and eternity of
  wisdom, quite disconcerted by this unexpected onset, sits looking at
  the wreck of his system, and wondering at the simple means which has
  spread such ruin around him; presently he looks up (for the Burmans
  are frequently candid), and says, ‘Your words are very appropriate’;
  and perhaps his next question is, ‘How can I become a disciple of the
  God you worship?’ All the visitors to-day, and, indeed, all the
  semi-atheists, are despisers of Gaudama and the established religion
  of the land. Moung Shwa-gnong has disseminated this heresy in Rangoon
  for several years; but since he has become acquainted with us, he
  frequently tells his adherents, ‘I know nothing; if you want true
  wisdom, go to the foreign teacher, and there you will find it.’ I have
  reason to believe that this heresy is not confined to Rangoon, but is
  taking root in various parts of the country and preparing the way for
  the Christian religion. O for toleration—a little toleration! We will
  be content to baptize in the night, and hold worship in private; but
  we do pray that we may not be utterly banished from the land; that we
  may not be cut up, root and branch. O that these poor souls, who are
  groping in the dark, feeling after the truth, may have time and
  opportunities to find the precious treasure which will enrich them
  forevermore! We are all looking with anxiety toward the golden feet.
  Our viceroy, Moung Shwa-thah, has gone thither on a visit; and it is
  doubtful whether he will return, or his rival, Mya-day-men. If the
  latter, there is some reason to hope that we shall keep footing in
  Rangoon, at least during his administration.

  “_May 5._ Another visit from Moung Myat-lah and his wife, which has
  afforded us good reason to hope that he also has become a true
  believer. His wife appears the same as usual. They are both gaining
  courage in regard to an open profession of the Christian religion, and
  begin to wonder at the backwardness of their former oracle, Moung
  Shwa-gnong.

  “_May 8._ Moung Thah-a, the friend of Moung Myat-lah, has spent most
  of the day with me, and given equally good evidence of being a true
  disciple. He was formerly an officer under Government, and amassed
  considerable property, which he mostly spent in building pagodas and
  making offerings. But he obtained no satisfaction, found no
  resting-place for his soul, until he became acquainted with the
  religion of Jesus. He now rests in this religion, with conscious
  security; believes and loves all that he hears of it, and prays that
  he may become fully a true disciple of the Saviour.

  “Both of these men are respectable householders, rather above the
  middling class. They live in a little village called Nan-dau-gong,
  about half a mile from the mission-house. Moung Myat-lah has a large
  family; but Moung Thah-a has none, and were it not for an aged mother
  who depends on him, he would follow me, he says, throughout the world.

  “_May 12._ The three visitors from Nan-dau-gong have been with us part
  of the day. One characteristic trait in these people is a particular
  love for the Scriptures. They almost quarrel with one another for the
  only copy of the Ephesians which I have given them, and I therefore
  determine to spare them another as soon as it is done. They say that
  the translation of this Epistle is plainer, and more easily
  understood, than that of Matthew, which is very encouraging to me, as
  I made it without the assistance of any person, not even a Burman
  teacher. My old teacher went to Ava some months ago, and I am now
  afraid to employ another, lest he should become too well acquainted
  with the disciples and inquirers, and betray them to Government.

  “_May 14. Lord’s day._ A very busy day with the Nan-dau-gong visitors,
  and the usual evening assembly.

  “_May 18._ Mah Myat-lah and Mah Doke, who have frequently accompained
  their relation, Mah Men-la, came to-day by themselves. They appeared
  to be under solemn religious impressions, sensible of their sin and
  danger, and anxious to obtain an interest in the Saviour, but are yet
  unenlightened in regard to the way. Mah Baik, also, sister of Moung
  Thah-lah, who formerly afforded us some encouragement, but afterward
  fell off, has recommenced visiting us. We hope that during several
  months’ confinement she has not in vain meditated on the truths she
  formerly heard. She says that her mind is changed, that she loves the
  Saviour, and trusts in Him alone for salvation from sin and hell, and
  desires to become His disciple in full by receiving baptism. Her
  husband, Moung Nyo-dwa, and Moung Thah-yah, another resident in our
  yard, whom I think I have not yet mentioned, are constant attendants
  on evening worship, and seem to be making slow advances in the
  knowledge and love of divine truth. Moung Shwa-ba, the last baptized,
  begins to appear to great advantage; has very correct ideas of the
  Gospel system, and communicates truth to the inquirers with much
  feeling and animation. In zeal for the extension of the Redeemer’s
  kingdom, he surpasses the older disciples. This is the man who, from
  not knowing that there was such a being in the universe as a God,
  became a speculative believer, a penitent, a hopeful recipient of
  grace, and a candidate for baptism, all in the space of three days.
  Some of the above-mentioned have, on the contrary, been several months
  in making similar attainments, and are yet found wanting. Thus diverse
  are the operations of the Holy Spirit.

  “_June 16._ Received letters from Bengal. News from Bombay that a
  Mahometan has professed the Gospel, and from Java that brother
  Robinson has baptized the first Chinese convert. Thus there seems to
  be a beginning in several very important stations. May the little one
  become a thousand. Rejoiced to hear that brother Colman had safely
  arrived at Bengal, and embarked on a boat for Chittagong, and that
  thus far he had not met with any molestation or interruption from the
  police. May he get a footing in Chittagong, for everything here, in
  regard to toleration, grows darker.

  “_June 27._ Mrs. Judson at length despairs of recovering without some
  proper medical assistance. For a few days we have hoped that she would
  get some relief from the various applications which are made, though
  at the expense of an almost total exhaustion of strength; but this
  morning, to our utter disappointment, the disorder has returned with
  increased violence, and her constitution appears to be rapidly
  failing. I have intended, for some time past, to send her alone to
  Bengal; but she has become too weak, and the present circumstances of
  the complaint are too alarming, to allow such a measure, and I have
  therefore, though with great reluctance and much conflict of mind,
  concluded to accompany her to Bengal. We have a special inducement to
  embrace the opportunity afforded us by the ship which lately brought
  our letters, since, if we reject this, we shall have to wait several
  months for another opportunity, during which time Mrs. J. will, in all
  probability, be placed beyond the reach of medical assistance.

  “_July 16. Lord’s day._ A few days ago we concluded to receive the two
  new applicants for baptism; but I thought it most prudent, partly by
  way of trying their sincerity, to send them a message, suggesting
  that, since I was greatly occupied in getting ready for sea, and since
  one of them was not so well acquainted with the doctrines of religion
  as was desirable, it might be better to defer their baptism till my
  return.

  “This morning they came up in much trouble. They stated that, as they
  had fully embraced the Christian religion in their hearts, they could
  not remain easy without being baptized, according to the command of
  Christ; that no man could tell whether I should ever return or not,
  and that it was their earnest petition that if I could possibly find
  time, and thought them worthy of the ordinance, I would administer it
  to them before I went away. They did not wish me to go out to the
  usual place, as that was at some distance, but would be baptized in a
  small pond near the mission-house. Moung Gway said that, though he was
  very ignorant, he knew enough of this religion to love it sincerely,
  and to trust in Christ for salvation from all his sins. I reexamined
  them both, stated to them the great danger of professing a foreign
  religion, etc., and, on their urging their request, told them I would
  baptize them in the evening.

  “Was obliged to be out all the afternoon, getting our things aboard
  the ship, as we expect to move down the river tomorrow morning. At
  night baptized the two new disciples, after which we all partook of
  the Lord’s supper for the last time.

  “_July 17._ Ship to be detained two days. In the forenoon, the
  teacher, Moung Shwa-gnong, came in. I received him with some reserve,
  but soon found that he had not stayed away so long from choice, having
  been ill with a fever for some time, and occupied also with the
  illness of his family and adherents. He gradually wore away my
  reserve; and we had not been together two hours, before I felt more
  satisfied than ever, from his account of his mental trials, his
  struggles with sin, his strivings to be holy, his penitence, his
  faith, his exercises in secret prayer, that he is a subject of the
  special operations of the Holy Spirit, that he is indeed a true
  disciple. He stayed all day. In the afternoon the five Nan-dau-gong
  visitors, the doctor Oo Yan, and several others came together, and we
  had much interesting conversation. Toward the close, Moung Shwa-gnong,
  as if to bring things to a crisis, addressed me thus: ‘My lord
  teacher, there are now several of us present who have long considered
  this religion. I hope that we are all believers in Jesus Christ.’ ‘I
  am afraid,’ replied I, ‘to say that; however, it is easily
  ascertained; and let me begin with you, teacher. I have heretofore
  thought that you fully believed in the eternal God; but I have had
  some doubt whether you fully believed in the Son of God, and the
  atonement which He has made.’ ‘I assure you,’ he replied, ‘that I am
  as fully persuaded of the latter as of the former.’ ‘Do you believe,
  then,’ I continued, ‘that none but the disciples of Christ will be
  saved from sin and hell?’ ‘None but His disciples.’ ‘How, then, can
  you remain without taking the oath of allegiance to Jesus Christ, and
  becoming His full disciple in body and soul?’ ‘It is my earnest desire
  to do so, by receiving baptism; and for the very purpose of expressing
  that desire, I have come here today.’ ‘You say you are desirous of
  receiving baptism: may I ask _when_ you desire to receive it?’ ‘At any
  time you will please to give it. Now—this moment, if you please.’ ‘Do
  you wish to receive baptism in public or in private?’ ‘I will receive
  it at any time, and in any circumstances, that you please to direct.’
  I then said, ‘Teacher, I am satisfied from your conversation this
  forenoon, that you are a true disciple, and I reply, therefore, that I
  am as desirous of giving you baptism as you are of receiving it.’ This
  conversation had a great effect on all present. The disciples
  rejoiced; the rest were astonished; for though they have long thought
  that he believed the Christian religion, they could not think that
  such a man could easily be brought to profess it, and suffer himself
  to be put under the water by a foreigner. I then turned to Moung
  Thah-a, one of the Nan-dau-gong people, who, I hope, is a true
  believer. ‘Are you willing to take the oath of allegiance to Jesus
  Christ?’ ‘If the teacher Moung Shwa-gnong consents,’ said he, ‘why
  should I hesitate?’ ‘And if he does not consent, what then?’ ‘I must
  wait a little longer.’ ‘Stand by,’ said I; ‘you trust in Moung
  Shwa-gnong, rather than in Jesus Christ. You are not worthy of being
  baptized.’ Moung Myat-lah, on being similarly interrogated, wished to
  consider a little longer. Oo Yan was still further from committing
  himself. Of the women present, I interrogated Mah Men-la only. She had
  evidently a considerable struggle in her mind, probably on account of
  her husband’s having just declined. At length she said that, if I
  thought it suitable for her to be baptized, she was desirous of
  receiving the ordinance. I told her that her reply was not
  satisfactory. I could not consent to baptize any one who could
  possibly remain easy without being baptized, and then I related the
  story of the last two disciples; after which the party broke up.

  “In the evening, I laid the case of Moung Shwa-gnong before the
  church, and we joyfully agreed to receive him to communion, on his
  being baptized.

  “_July 18._ In the morning, the teacher again made his appearance. I
  again asked him whether he preferred being baptized in the day or in
  the evening, and he again left it to my decision; on which I advised
  him to wait till night. He appeared very well through the day, his
  deportment solemn, his conversation spiritual. Just at night, I called
  in two or three of the disciples, read the account of the baptism of
  the eunuch, made the baptismal prayer, and then proceeded with the
  teacher to the accustomed place, went down into the water, and
  baptized him.

  “On my return, I found that Mah Men-la, whom I had left with Mrs.
  Judson, had gone away. As soon as she saw that the teacher had
  actually gone to be baptized, she exclaimed, ‘Ah, he has now gone to
  obey the command of Jesus Christ, while I remain without obeying. I
  shall not be able to sleep this night. I must go home, and consult my
  husband, and return.’ In the evening, we again partook of the Lord’s
  supper, in consequence of the admission of the teacher, and my
  expected departure on the morrow. We had just finished, when, about
  nine o’clock, Mah Men-la returned, accompanied by the two other women
  from her village. She immediately requested to be baptized. The
  disciples present assented without hesitation. I told her that I
  rejoiced to baptize her, having been long satisfied that she had
  received the grace of Christ; and, it being very late, I led her out
  to the pond near the house by lantern light, and thus baptized the
  tenth Burman convert, and the first woman. Mah Men-la is fifty-one
  years old, of most extensive acquaintance through the place, of much
  strength of mind, decision of character, and consequent influence over
  others. She is, indeed, among women what Moung Shwa-gnong is among
  men.

  “On returning to the house, she said, ‘Now I have taken the oath of
  allegiance to Jesus Christ, and I have nothing to do but to commit
  myself, soul and body, into the hands of my Lord, assured that He will
  never suffer me to fall away.’ Several visitors spent the night at the
  mission-house.

  “_July 19._ In the morning, we all met for worship. After I had
  prayed, Moung Thah-lah and Moung Shwa-ba both prayed, with much
  propriety and feeling. In the course of the forenoon, Mah Men-la’s
  husband, and Moung Thah-a, and the doctor, and several others, came
  in, so that we had quite a houseful. At noon, we set out for the
  river, followed by near a hundred people, the women crying aloud in
  the Burman manner, and almost all deeply affected. When we entered the
  boat, I called the teacher and Mah Men-la and a few others to go with
  us to the ship, which lay at some distance in the river. The rest
  remained on the wharf, bidding us farewell, telling us to come back
  soon, etc. Thus we left the shores of Rangoon. Those who accompanied
  us to the ship stayed an hour or two and returned. We stood as long on
  the quarter-deck looking at them as the others had stood on the wharf
  looking at us.[27]

  “_July 20._ The ship having been unable to move yesterday, on account
  of the anchor’s being foul, the teacher, Moung Shwa-gnong, espied the
  masts from his village, and came off in a boat, with his wife and
  another woman. Soon after, most of the Nan-dau-gong people came to the
  mission-house, and, finding that the ship had not dropped down, came
  off, accompanied by several of our own people. We were much gratified
  by this fresh proof of their attachment; but the ship got under weigh
  immediately, and they were obliged to leave us for the last time.”

The following letter sent by these newly-made converts to their brethren
in America, shows of what stuff this first Burman church was made:

  “Brethren all, who live in America! The brethren who live in Burmah
  address you.

  “We inform you, brethren, that, trusting in the grace of the eternal
  God, the divine Spirit, and the excellent Son, the Lord Jesus Christ,
  we remain happy; and seeing our real state and circumstances, we have
  repentance of soul, and an anticipation of the happiness of heaven.

  “God, the sum of all perfection, without beginning and without end,
  subsists through successive ages; and this world, the earth and sky,
  and all things therein, which He has created, are according as He
  created them.

  “God, the Creator, is replete with goodness and purity, and is exempt
  from old age, sickness, death, and annihilation; and thus there is
  none that can compare with Him.

  “It is contained in the Scriptures, that God, in His own nature,
  unites three, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and is [yet]
  mysteriously one God; that He is in all places, but dwells in heaven,
  by the clearer manifestation of His glory; that His power and wisdom
  are unrivalled; and that He enjoys happiness incomprehensible to
  creatures.

  “But the Burmans know not the true God; they know not the true
  religion; they worship a false god; they practice a false religion;
  and [thus] they transgress the divine law, and sin against the most
  estimable Benefactor, and therefore they neither expiate their sins
  nor acquire merit. And by excessively loving themselves and the filth
  of this world, they love not nor worship the eternal God, nor believe
  in the Lord Jesus Christ, but regard the good things of this world
  merely.

  “That the Burmans, who know not the way to eternal happiness, might
  become acquainted with it; that they might be renewed; and that they
  might escape everlasting punishment, the American teacher Judson and
  wife have both come to Burmah and proclaimed the Gospel of the divine
  Son, the Lord Jesus Christ; on which some Burmans have become
  disciples. And on these accounts, the disciple Moung Shwa-ba says that
  your favor is very great [or he gives you very many thanks].

  “Those who love divine grace, who believe, who hear and consider the
  Gospel, who trust in the Lord Jesus Christ, who repent of their sins,
  attain the state of disciples. And that this religion may spread
  everywhere, Moung Shwa-ba is making endeavors, and constantly praying,
  to proclaim the Gospel. And he prays thus: O eternal God, graciously
  grant the favor which I desire. Graciously grant that I may have
  regard to Thy divine will, and be conformed thereto. Be pleased to
  take notice of my supplications, O God. I desire not to seek my own
  profit; I desire constantly to seek the profit of others. Thou art the
  Creator of all things, and if Thou art pleased to be gracious, O,
  grant that I may be enabled to promote the good of others. Open Thou
  the eyes of my mind and give me light. And when I shall preach in
  various places, evermore send forth the divine Spirit that multitudes
  may become disciples. That Thou wilt grant these things, I beseech
  Thee, O God.

  “The disciple Moung Shwa-ba has composed this writing, and committed
  it to the hand of the teacher; [even] in the Burman year 1182, on the
  7th of the waxing of the moon Wah-goung, he has written this, and
  delivered it to the teacher and his wife.

  “P.S. Brethren, there are in the country of Burmah nine persons who
  have become disciples.”

Mr. and Mrs. Judson embarked at Rangoon July 19, 1820, and arrived at
Calcutta on the 18th of August. What a pang it must have cost them to
leave their little mission just at this time when, after long years of
waiting, they saw the Burmans eagerly and rapidly embracing the Gospel!
On the very day of embarkation Mr. Judson wrote to Dr. Baldwin:

                        “RANGOON, _July_ 19, 1820.

  “REV. AND DEAR SIR: My last gave you some account of our affairs to
  the time of brother Colman’s departure. Soon after that event Mrs.
  Judson was taken ill. The symptoms were at first slight, but they
  gradually became more decisive and alarming; and the disorder
  continued to gain ground, until she was unable to leave the couch, or
  walk across the room, without bringing on violent suffering. Under
  such circumstances I determined to accompany her to Bengal, partly for
  the sake of the voyage, which is commonly beneficial in such
  disorders, and partly to procure medical assistance, of which we are
  perfectly destitute in Rangoon.

  “Never did I feel more unwilling to leave Rangoon, nor was the mission
  ever in more interesting circumstances than at the present time. Since
  our return from Ava, I have not ventured to make any public movement,
  but confined myself at home, holding private worship, translating the
  Scriptures, and conversing with all who visited me. The Spirit of God
  has, however, continued operating in the minds of several, and carries
  on the work which began before we went up to Ava.... All the ten
  baptized disciples give satisfactory evidence of being true converts.
  Those of longest standing are evidently growing Christians. Some of
  them take the lead in prayer-meetings with great propriety; and nearly
  all of them have made some attempt at this exercise before the church.
  A good degree of Christian affection prevails among them all, the
  appearance of which, Moung Shwa-gnong says, convinced him more than
  anything else of the divine origin and efficacy of our religion. The
  proofs of their attachment to us are too numerous to be detailed. Even
  at this moment the house is full of people bewailing our departure,
  and begging us to return soon, most of whom never have received, and
  have no prospect of ever receiving, from us any temporal advantage
  whatever.

  “We are just now going aboard ship. I write this letter in haste, and
  leave it to be forwarded by another opportunity, that you may get some
  intelligence of us, in case we are lost at sea.

  “It is hardly necessary to add that, whatever may be the event of the
  present voyage, in regard to Mrs. Judson’s health, it is my intention
  to return to this place as soon as possible.”

After his arrival at Calcutta, Mr. Judson writes as follows to Dr.
Bolles:

  “About two months ago we commended our little church of ten converted
  Burmans to the protection and blessing of Him in whom they have
  trusted, and with reluctant hearts and weeping eyes tore ourselves
  away from the shores of Burmah. Mrs. J.’s illness alone forced us to
  adopt this measure. She had been growing worse for several months. I,
  at first, intended to send her alone to Bengal. But her state finally
  became so alarming that mere humanity seemed to forbid my sending her
  aboard ship without a single female companion or friend, to be
  consigned in all probability to the deep, or buried unwept on some
  foreign shore. I felt that the strictest devotedness to the mission
  did not forbid my leaving the station for a time, in order to
  facilitate the recovery of one who had been my faithful coadjutor in
  missionary privation and toil for many years, or at least to
  administer some consolation to her in the final trial, and perform in
  person the last offices which are due to those we love on earth.”

But these mournful forebodings were not to be realized.

The three months spent at Serampore, near Calcutta, caused a great
improvement in Mrs. Judson’s health. The two weary missionaries had
sweet and restful intercourse with the English Baptists stationed there,
and with “the affectionate family of Mr. Hough.” Mr. Judson’s enjoyment
was only marred by his extreme anxiety about “those few sheep that I
have left in the Burman wilderness.” “Oh, may the great Shepherd,” he
prays, “feed the little flock, and gather the lambs with His arm, and
carry them in His bosom.”

On November 23d Mr. and Mrs. Judson embarked for Rangoon, where they
arrived January 5, 1821.

  “Our voyage,” Mrs. Judson writes, “was tedious and distressing above
  any that we had ever taken. The brig was so small and so filled with
  native passengers that we were unable to obtain the least exercise by
  walking on deck, and was so full of scorpions and centipedes that we
  never dared to shut our eyes to sleep without completely enclosing
  ourselves with curtains. In addition to these inconveniences, we had a
  strong contrary wind and frequently violent squalls, with the most
  terrific thunder and lightning we had ever witnessed. We were six
  weeks in making a passage which is generally made in ten or fifteen
  days.”

After their joyous arrival in Rangoon they plunged once more into their
missionary work.

                         _Extracts from Journal._

  “_January 5, 1821._ As we drew near the town, we strained our eyes to
  distinguish the countenances of our friends amid the crowd that we saw
  assembled on the wharf. The first that we recognized was the teacher,
  Moung Shwa-gnong, with his hands raised to his head as he discerned us
  on the deck; and on landing we met successively with Mah Men-la, and
  Moung Thah-lah, and several others, men, women, and children, who,
  after our usual examination at the custom-office, accompanied us to
  the mission-house. Soon after, Moung Nau and others came in, who had
  not at first heard of our arrival. In the evening, I took my usual
  seat among the disciples, and when we bowed down in prayer, the hearts
  of us all flowed forth in gratitude and praise.

  “_January 7. Lord’s day._ Had worship and administered the Lord’s
  supper. Most of the disciples present; but some of them unavoidably
  detained in consequence of the distress which presses upon all ranks
  of people, occasioned by the expedition to Siam.

  “_January 13._ Yesterday Moung Gway, the only one of the baptized whom
  we had not seen, returned from the woods on hearing of our arrival;
  and I am now able to record (and I do it with the most heartfelt
  satisfaction and grateful praise to the preserving Saviour), that,
  though they have, for the space of six months, been almost destitute
  of the means of grace, and those who lived in our yard have been
  dispersed and forced, through fear of heavy extortion and oppression
  from petty officers of Government, to flee into the woods or take
  refuge under some Government person who could protect them, yet not
  one of them has dishonored his profession, but all remain firm in
  their faith and attachment to the cause. I do not, however, perceive
  that any of them have made the least advance in any respect whatever;
  nor was this to be expected, as they have not even enjoyed the
  privilege of meeting for worship.

  “The same remarks are to be made concerning the four Nan-dau-gong
  people, companions of Mah Men-la, who appeared to be hopefully pious
  before we left. The doctor, Oo Yan, with whom we did not feel so well
  satisfied, has been with me repeatedly, and, in the last interview,
  gave good reason to hope that he also is a true convert. He seems at
  length to have obtained light and satisfaction on the two difficult
  points which have so long perplexed him—namely, the doctrine of
  vicarious atonement, and the possibility of being a disciple of
  Christ, by keeping the two commands of grace, Repent and believe,
  without perfectly keeping the two immutable commands of merit, Love
  God entirely, and love others as yourself. O how interesting it is to
  see (you can almost see it with your eyes) the light of truth dawning
  upon a precious soul hitherto groping in darkness! If Oo Yan prove a
  true convert, he will be a most precious acquisition to our cause,
  next to Moung Shwa-gnong. He is a man of talent and respectability.
  His words are as smooth as oil, as sweet as honey, and as sharp as a
  razor.

  “In respect to Mah Bike, she has given way to her violent temper, and
  involved her husband in debt; and though she now professes to repent
  and desire baptism, and though we have some hope that she is not
  destitute of grace, we feel obliged at present to put her away from us
  as a wicked person.

  “The most important event (and that relates of course to Moung
  Shwa-gnong) remains to be mentioned. It will be remembered that he was
  accused before the former viceroy of being a heretic, and that the
  simple reply, ‘Inquire further,’ spread dismay amongst us all, and was
  one occasion of our visit to Ava. Soon after Mya-day-men assumed the
  government of this province, all the priests and officers of the
  village where Moung Shwa-gnong lives entered into a conspiracy to
  destroy him. They held daily consultations, and assumed a tone of
  triumph; while poor Moung Shwa-gnong’s courage began to flag, and,
  though he does not like to own it, he thought he must flee for his
  life. At length one of the conspiracy, a member of the supreme court,
  went into the presence of the viceroy, and in order to sound his
  disposition, complained that the teacher, Moung Shwa-gnong, was making
  every endeavor to turn the priests’ rice-pot bottom upwards. ‘_What
  consequence?_’ said the viceroy. ‘_Let the priests turn it back
  again._’ This sentence was enough; the hopes of the conspiracy were
  blasted, and all the disciples felt that they were sure of toleration
  under Mya-day-men. But his administration will not probably continue
  many months.

  “_January 20._ This afternoon Mrs. Judson went to the village of the
  Nan-dau-gong people to fix on a spot for the erection of a small
  school-house. Mah Men-la has, _of her own accord_, proposed to open a
  school in the precincts of her house, to teach the girls and boys of
  the village to read; in consequence of which, the latter will not be
  under the necessity of going to the Burman priests for education as
  usual. When we found that she had really made a beginning, we told her
  that some of the Christian females in America would, doubtless, defray
  the expenses of the undertaking, and make some compensation to the
  instructress. We fear the school will not succeed in the present state
  of the country; but we regard the voluntary attempt of Mah Men-la as
  illustrative of the efficiency of evangelical faith.

  “On Tuesday evening we recommenced our usual Tuesday and Friday
  evening prayer-meetings; but we expect to have very few present, as
  most of the disciples who formerly lived around us are afraid to
  return on account of the present general distress, from which we are
  unable to protect them.

  “_January 21. Lord’s day._ All the disciples but one, and all the
  hopeful inquirers, were present at worship; who, together with some
  others, made up an assembly of about twenty-five adults, all paying
  respectful and devout attention; the most interesting assembly, all
  things considered, that I have yet seen. How impossible it seemed, two
  years ago, that such a precious assembly could ever be raised up out
  of the Egyptian darkness, the atheistic superstition of this heathen
  land! After worship, two of the Nan-dau-gong people had some
  particular conversation with Moung Thah-lah about baptism. Much
  encouraged by the general appearance of things this day. Why art thou
  ever cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? Hope
  thou in God—the God of the Burmans, as well as David’s God; for I
  shall yet praise Him for the help of His countenance, revealed in the
  salvation of thousands of these immortal souls.

  “_February 16._ Moung Ing has returned. He is the second Burman whose
  heart was touched by divine grace. We rejoiced to see his face again,
  notwithstanding his rough and unprepossessing appearance, occasioned
  by the hardships through which he has passed since he left us. On his
  arrival at Bike, a town far below Rangoon, he showed his copy of
  Matthew to the Roman Catholic priest stationed there, who directly
  committed it to the flames; and gave, instead of it, a writing of his
  own device. But, through divine grace, our poor friend retained his
  integrity, and remained steadfast in the sentiments which he formerly
  embraced.

  “_February 20._ This is the second evening in which Mrs. Judson and
  myself have had an interview with the viceroy and his lady, in their
  inner apartment. Her highness gave us some very encouraging hints on
  the subject of religious toleration, and promised to introduce us to
  the emperor, on his visiting Rangoon next fall, in prosecution of the
  war with Siam.

  “_February 25. Lord’s day._ Moung Ing presented his petition for
  baptism and admission into the church, and we unhesitatingly agreed to
  grant his request next Lord’s day. Not one of the disciples has given
  more decided evidence of being a sincere and hearty believer in the
  Lord Jesus. The manner of his first acquaintance with the truth is
  somewhat noticeable. I had conversed with two men who visited the
  _zayat_ the preceding evening, and given them a tract. On their way
  home they called at the house of the Tsah-len teacher, where Moung Ing
  resided, said a few things about the eternal God and the new religion,
  by way of disapproval, and concluded that the tract was good for
  nothing but to tear up and make cigars of. But the truth which they
  despised fell like a flash of lightning on the benighted soul of Moung
  Ing. The next morning, before sunrise, he was in the porch of the
  _zayat_, and, on opening the doors, we found the poor man standing
  without. He will not, I trust, meet with any such detention at the
  doors of heaven.

  “_March 4. Lord’s day._ Moung Ing received baptism immediately after
  worship in the afternoon. Several of the hopeful inquirers witnessed
  the administration.

  “_May 15._ Dispatched the manuscript of Ephesians, and the first part
  of Acts, to Serampore, requesting brother Hough to procure an edition
  of six hundred of each, at the expense of the Board.

  “At night received a visit from Moung Gwa, brother-in-law to Moung
  Shwa-ba. He was accompanied by one Moung Thah-ee, an intractable,
  furious creature, noted for browbeating and silencing every
  antagonist. He professes to be a strict Buddhist, without the least
  doubt on the subject of religion; but having heard of my object in
  coming to this country, wishes to give me an opportunity of making him
  doubt. I found him extremely difficult to manage, and finally told him
  that he must get a humble mind, and pray to the true God, or he would
  never attain true wisdom. This threw him into a passion. He said he
  would have me to know that he was no common man. He could dispute with
  governors and kings, etc. I then gave him a tract, which he affected
  to disdain, but finally received it and went away.

  “_May 16._ Moung Gwa called to apologize for his companion’s conduct.
  He said that, from being always victorious in disputation, he had
  become insolent and overbearing, but that he was really inquiring
  after the truth, and had been reading the tract attentively. Moung Gwa
  himself seems to be favorably disposed to the Christian religion.

  “_May 17._ Moung Thah-ee spent the whole evening with me. I find that
  he has a strong mind, capable of grasping the most difficult subject.
  He listened to the truth with much more attention and patience than at
  first.

  “_May 18._ Moung Thah-ee came again, accompanied by several of his
  admirers. At first he behaved with some propriety, and allowed
  conversation to proceed in a regular manner. But soon he descended
  into his own native element, and stormed and raged. When I found that
  he would be utterly unreasonable, and not permit me even to finish a
  sentence, I remained silent, and suffered him to display himself. When
  he was quite exhausted, I took an opportunity to exhibit a brief view
  of the reasons which convinced me that the religion of Gaudama is
  false, and the Buddhist scriptures fictitious, and then challenged him
  to refute my statement. But he declined, saying that we were both
  tired, and he would finish the debate some other time.

  “_May 19._ A succession of company all the day. At night, Moung
  Thah-ee came alone, intending to have some private conversation; but
  no opportunity offered.

  “_May 20. Lord’s day._ Encountered another new character, one Moung
  Long, from the neighborhood of Shwa-doung, a disciple of the great
  Toung-dwen teacher, the acknowledged head of all the semi-atheists in
  the country. Like the rest of the sect, Moung Long is, in reality, a
  complete skeptic, scarcely believing his own existence. They say he is
  always quarrelling with his wife on some metaphysical point. For
  instance, if she says, ‘The rice is ready,’ he will reply, ‘Rice! what
  is rice? Is it matter or spirit? Is it an idea, or is it nonentity?’
  Perhaps she will say, ‘It is matter’; and he will reply, ‘Well, wife,
  and what is matter? Are you sure there is such a thing in existence,
  or are you merely subject to a delusion of the senses?’

  “When he first came in, I thought him an ordinary man. He has only one
  good eye; but I soon discovered that that one eye has as ‘great a
  quantity of being’ as half a dozen common eyes. In his manners he is
  just the reverse of Moung Thah-ee—all suavity, and humility, and
  respect. He professed to be an inquirer after the truth; and I
  accordingly opened to him some parts of the Gospel. He listened with
  great seriousness, and when I ceased speaking, remained so thoughtful
  and apparently impressed with the truth, that I began to hope he would
  come to some good, and therefore invited him to ask some question
  relative to what he had heard. ‘Your servant,’ said he, ‘has not much
  to inquire of your lordship. In your lordship’s sacred speech,
  however, there are one or two words that your servant does not
  understand. Your lordship says, that in the beginning God created one
  man and one woman. I do not understand (I beg your lordship’s pardon)
  what a man is, and why he is called a man.’ My eyes were now opened in
  an instant to his real character; and I had the happiness to be
  enabled, for about twenty minutes, to lay blow after blow upon his
  skeptical head, with such effect that he kept falling and falling; and
  though he made several desperate efforts to get up, he found himself,
  at last, prostrate on the ground, unable to stir. Moung Shwa-gnong,
  who had been an attentive listener, was extremely delighted to see his
  enemy so well punished; for this Moung Long has sorely harassed him in
  time past. The poor man was not, however, in the least angry at his
  discomfiture, but, in the true spirit of his school, said that, though
  he had heard much of me, the reality far exceeded the report.
  Afterward he joined us in worship, and listened with great attention,
  as did also his wife.

  “_May 21._ Moung Thah-ee came again, with several others; but he was
  so outrageous, and vulgar, and abusive, that I found it impossible to
  hold any rational conversation with him; and he finally went away in a
  great passion, saying that he had been sent by some men in authority
  to spy us out, and that by to-morrow he would bring us into trouble.
  Such threatenings tend to sink our spirits, and make us realize our
  truly helpless, destitute condition, as sheep in the midst of wolves.
  ‘Lord, behold their threatenings,’ etc.

  “_June 4._ Moung Long spent two or three hours with me, in which I
  endeavored to lay before him all the evidences of the truth of the
  Christian religion. His wife proves to be as sharp as himself, and has
  been harassing Mrs. Judson with all sorts of questions about the
  possibility of sin’s finding entrance into a pure mind, or of its
  being permitted under the government of a holy sovereign.

  “I have this day taken Moung Shwa-ba into the service of the mission.
  He bids fairer than any other member of the church to be qualified, in
  due time, for the ministry. For, though inferior to Moung Thah-lah in
  fluency of speech, and to Moung Shwa-gnong in genius and address, he
  is superior to the former in consistency of character and gravity of
  deportment, and to the latter in experimental acquaintance with divine
  things and devotedness to the cause. But the principal trait of
  character which distinguishes him from the rest, and affords
  considerable evidence that he is called by higher authority than that
  of man to the Christian ministry, is his _humble_ and _persevering_
  desire for that office—a desire which sprang up in his heart soon
  after his conversion, and has been growing ever since. I intend to
  employ him, at present, as an assistant in the _zayat_, on a small
  allowance of seven or eight rupees a month, which I hope the Board
  will approve of. In that situation he will have an opportunity of
  improving in those qualifications which are requisite to fit him to be
  a teacher of religion among his fellow-countrymen.

  “_June 10. Lord’s day._ Moung Long again present—all eye and ear. Mrs.
  Judson pronounces his wife superior in point of intellect to any woman
  she has ever met with in Burmah.

  “After evening worship, Mah Myat-lah presented her petition for
  admission into the church, which was granted, and next Sunday
  appointed for her baptism. The evidences of her piety are of the most
  satisfactory kind. We esteem her quite as highly as her sister, Mah
  Men-la, though she is far inferior in external qualifications.

  “_June 11._ Moung Long and wife spent most of the day with us. Their
  minds are in a truly hopeful state, though still greatly governed by
  the maxims of the Toung-dwen school. Their main inquiry to-day was how
  they could obtain faith in Christ. May the Holy Spirit solve their
  difficulties, by giving them an experimental acquaintance with that
  saving grace!

  “_June 14._ An intimate friend of the Woon-gyee-gah-dau told Mrs.
  Judson to-day, in presence of her highness, who by silence assented to
  the correctness of the remark, that when the emperor and others in
  Government said that all might believe and worship as they please, the
  toleration extended merely to foreigners resident in the empire, and
  by no means to native Burmans, who, being slaves of the emperor, would
  not be allowed with impunity to renounce the religion of their master.
  This remark accords with all that we have heard at Ava, and may be
  depended on (notwithstanding some private encouragement we have
  received from the viceroy and his wife) as affording a correct view of
  the state of religious toleration in this country. It is a fact that,
  except in our own private circle, it is not known that a single
  individual has actually renounced Buddhism, and been initiated into
  the Christian religion.

  “Mah Myat-lah informs us that the news of her intended baptism has
  been rumored among her neighbors, and excited a great uproar. She is
  not, however, disheartened, but rather wishes that her baptism may not
  be deferred till Sunday, lest some measures be taken to prevent it. I
  expect that she will present herself for baptism to-morrow evening,
  but am obliged to close up this number, as the vessel by which it is
  conveyed is just going down the river.

  “Pray for us and our little church.

  “_June 15._ According to the purpose mentioned under the last date,
  Mah Myat-lah received baptism, about sunset, at the usual place.

  “_July 3._ Moung Thah-lah was married to a woman resident in our yard,
  a usual attendant on public worship—the event somewhat noticeable, as
  being probably the first Christian marriage ever performed between
  persons of pure Burman extraction.

  “_July 14._ In the interval of receiving company, I have lately been
  employed in translating; have finished the Gospel and Epistles of
  John, those exquisitely sweet and precious portions of the New
  Testament, and am now employed on the latter part of Acts. I find
  Moung Shwa-ba a most valuable assistant in all parts of missionary
  work. Moung Shwa-gnong also begins ‘to be dissatisfied with being a
  mere disciple, and hopes that he shall some time be thought worthy of
  being a teacher of the Christian religion.’ These two, with Mah
  Men-la, are, at present, the flower of our little church. I have no
  reason, however, to complain of the conduct of any, considering the
  great disadvantages under which they all labor. Some have grown
  comparatively cold, but none have forgotten their first love. Praise
  forever be to Him

                    “‘Who is faithful to His promises,
                    And faithful to His Son.’

  “_August 4._ Am just recovering from the second fit of sickness which
  I have had this season. The second day after I was taken, Mrs. Judson
  was taken ill; and for several days we lay side by side, unable to
  help one another. Through divine mercy, however, we contrived to get
  our medicines from time to time, and are now in a convalescent state,
  so far as the fever is concerned. Mrs. Judson, however, is suffering
  severely, and her disease is making such rapid and alarming advances
  as to preclude all hope of her recovery in this part of the world.”

It now became Mr. Judson’s painful duty to send his wife to America.
This would occasion a separation of at least two years, but unless it
were done the life so dear to him, and of such incalculable value to the
Burman mission, would soon be brought to a close. Mr. Judson writes:

  “The crisis which I have long endeavored to avert has at length
  arrived; and I find myself under the most distressing necessity of
  giving my consent to Mrs. Judson’s departure for America.... I feel
  that there is no alternative; and I acquiesce in the measure, however
  painful to our feelings, under the full conviction that it is
  absolutely necessary, in order to avert a more painful separation,
  which might otherwise be realized in the course of a very few months—a
  separation final, and precluding all further hope in this world.

  “Whatever money Mrs. Judson may need in America, I beg may be paid to
  her order on the Treasurer; and all such money I shall pass to the
  credit of the Board, and deduct from my usual allowance.... I have
  made such arrangements as will prevent the necessity of burdening the
  Board with any additional expense on this occasion, except that of
  passages at sea; and for this my only apology must be the extreme
  necessity of the case.

  “Finally, I beg leave to recommend Mrs. Judson to the friends and
  patrons of the mission, as one who has faithfully labored many years
  in their service, and whose sole object in visiting her country once
  more is to recover her health and strength, that she may devote the
  remainder of her days to the promotion of the Redeemer’s cause among
  the perishing Burmans.”

Mrs. Judson embarked for Calcutta, on her way to America, August 21,
1821. Mr. Judson commends her to the care of Mr. Hough in these humorous
and pathetic words:

  “I send you herewith Mrs. Judson, and all that remains of the blue
  pill and senna, and beg you will see the articles all well packed and
  shipped for America by the earliest safe opportunity. Whatever
  expenses may be incurred be so good as to defray from your own funds,
  and transmit your bill to me.

  “It is said that man is prone to jest in the depth of misery; and the
  bon-mots of the scaffold have been collected; you may add the above
  specimen to the list if you like. I feel as if I was on the scaffold,
  and signing, as it were, my own death warrant. However, two years will
  pass away at last. Time and tide wait for no man, heedless alike of
  our joys and sorrows.

  “When I last wrote, I was in the latter part of Acts; since that time,
  I have done nothing at all. For ten days or a fortnight we were laid
  by with fever, unable to help one another; and since we became
  convalescent, I have been occupied in making up my mind to have my
  right arm amputated, and my right eye extracted, which the doctors say
  are necessary in order to prevent a decay and mortification of the
  whole body conjugal.”

His letters written to his wife during her absence betray here and there
a sinking even of his buoyant spirits:

  “_September 5, 1821._ I hope you enjoy more religion than I do. This
  heavy affliction does not have that salutary effect on my heart which
  I anticipated. Mercies and judgments seem to be thrown away on me, and
  I am afraid that I shall never make much advance in the divine life. I
  had such a view and sense of my depravity this morning as made me
  ready to give up all for lost—not, I mean, as it regards my interest
  in Christ—_there_ I feel strong—but as it regards any attainments in
  holiness, while remaining in this state of sin.

  “Oh! how consoling it is to give up myself, and you, and the interests
  of the mission, into the faithful hands of Jesus, and to look forward
  to that blessed state, where we are sure of meeting, though we should
  meet no more on earth. The Lord reigns, and I feel, at times, that I
  can safely trust all in His hands, and rejoice in whatever may betide.
  If we suffer with Christ we shall also be glorified with Him.

  “_September 12._ Company continued with me until after three o’clock;
  and then I found myself alone, and, for a few hours, was very desolate
  and unhappy.

  “But about sunset, the time mentioned in your last letter for mutual
  prayer, I felt more comfortable.”

  “I wish I could always feel as I did last evening, and have this
  morning. At first, on hearing Moung Shwa-gnong’s story, I felt much
  disheartened, and thought how pleasant it would be if we could find
  some quiet resting-place on earth, where we might spend the rest of
  our days together in peace, and perform the ordinary services of
  religion. But I fled to Jesus, and all such thoughts soon passed away.
  Life is short. Happiness consists not in outward circumstances.
  Millions of Burmans are perishing. I am almost the only person on
  earth who has attained their language to such a degree as to be able
  to communicate the way of salvation. How great are my obligations to
  spend and be spent for Christ! What a privilege to be allowed to serve
  Him in such interesting circumstances, and to suffer for Him! The
  heavenly glory is at hand. O, let me travel through this country, and
  bear testimony to the truth all the way from Rangoon to Ava, and show
  the path to that glory which I am anticipating. O, if Christ will only
  sanctify me and strengthen me, I feel that I can do all things. But in
  myself I am absolute nothingness; and when through grace I get a
  glimpse of divine things, I tremble lest the next moment will snatch
  it quite away.

  “Let us pray especially for one another’s growth in grace. Let me pray
  that the trials which we respectively are called to endure may wean us
  from the world, and rivet our hearts on things above. Soon we shall be
  in heaven. O, let us live as we shall then wish we had done. Let us be
  humble, unaspiring, indifferent equally to worldly comfort and the
  applause of men, absorbed in Christ, the uncreated Fountain of all
  excellence and glory.”

Even while on the journey to her dear native land, Mrs. Judson cast “a
longing, lingering look behind.” It was hard to leave Rangoon, even to
go to America. In a letter to Dr. Baldwin, dated Calcutta, December 8,
1821, she writes:

  “I left Rangoon last August, and arrived in Calcutta on the
  twenty-second of September. My disorder gained ground so rapidly, that
  nothing but a voyage at sea, and the benefit of a cold climate,
  presented the least hope of life. You will readily imagine that
  nothing but the prospect of a final separation would have induced us
  to decide on this measure, under circumstances so trying as those in
  which we were placed. But duty to God, to ourselves, to the Board of
  Missions, and to the perishing Burmans, compelled us to adopt this
  course of procedure, though agonizing _to all the natural feelings_ of
  our hearts. On my arrival in Calcutta, inquiries were immediately made
  relative to a voyage to America. But, to my great disappointment, I
  found most of the American captains far from being disposed to take
  passengers, on account of having their cargoes engaged to the extent
  of the tonnage of their vessels. One captain, however, offered to give
  me a passage for fifteen hundred rupees, but I could not think of
  causing the Board so great an expense. In mentioning my circumstances
  to Mrs. Thomason, (lady of the Rev. Mr. Thomason, chaplain,) she
  suggested the advantages of a voyage to England, on account of the
  superior accommodations, medical advice, and female passengers in
  English ships. The pious captain of a ship bound to England was then
  residing in her family; with him she consulted, and they made
  arrangements for my passage for five hundred rupees, provided I went
  in a cabin with three children, who were going to England. As my only
  object in going to sea is restoration of health, I did not hesitate to
  secure a passage, though I should have rejoiced (since I must take a
  long voyage) to have gone direct to America. The father of the
  children has since arrived in Calcutta, and has very kindly offered to
  pay the whole price of the cabin (which is four thousand rupees),
  which will enable me to go to England, free of expense to the Board.
  If the pain in my side is entirely removed while on my passage to
  Europe, I shall return to India in the same ship, and proceed
  immediately to Rangoon. But if not, I shall go over to America, and
  spend one winter in my dear native country. As ardently as I long to
  see my beloved friends in America, I can not prevail on myself to be
  any longer from Rangoon than is absolutely necessary for the
  preservation of my life. I have had a severe struggle relative to my
  _immediate_ return to Rangoon, instead of going to England. But I did
  not venture to go contrary to the convictions of reason, to the
  opinion of an eminent and skilful physician, and the repeated
  injunctions of Mr. Judson.”

Mrs. Judson was heartily welcomed by the Christians of England, and was
entertained at the house of Mr. Butterworth, a member of Parliament,
who, afterward referring to her in a public address, said that her visit
at his house reminded him of the words of Scripture: “Be not forgetful
to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels
unawares.”

She arrived in America Sept. 25, 1822, and remained until the 22d of
June, 1823. Her visit in this country awakened great missionary
enthusiasm, and on her return she was accompanied by the two
newly-appointed missionaries, Mr. and Mrs. Wade. She reached Rangoon on
the 5th of December, 1823, after an absence of about two years and three
months.

She is thus described by Dr. Wayland, who formed a personal acquaintance
with her during her visit in the United States:

  “I do not remember ever to have met a more remarkable woman. To great
  clearness of intellect, large powers of comprehension, and intuitive
  female sagacity, ripened by the constant necessity of independent
  action, she added that heroic disinterestedness which naturally loses
  all consciousness of self in the prosecution of a great object. These
  elements, however, were all held in reserve and were hidden from
  public view by a veil of unusual feminine delicacy. To an ordinary
  observer, she would have appeared simply a self-possessed, well-bred,
  and very intelligent gentlewoman. A more intimate acquaintance would
  soon discover her to be a person of profound religious feeling, which
  was ever manifesting itself in efforts to impress upon others the
  importance of personal piety. The resources of her nature were never
  unfolded until some occasion occurred which demanded delicate tact,
  unflinching courage, and a power of resolute endurance even unto
  death. When I saw her, her complexion bore that sallow hue which
  commonly follows residence in the East Indies. Her countenance at
  first seemed, when in repose, deficient in expression. As she found
  herself among friends who were interested in the Burman mission, her
  reserve melted away, her eye kindled, every feature was lighted up
  with enthusiasm, and she was everywhere acknowledged to be one of the
  most fascinating of women.”

After Mrs. Judson’s departure, Mr. Judson was left alone in Rangoon for
nearly four months, and continued his labors in complete solitude. On
December 13, 1821, the Rev. Jonathan Price, M.D., a medical missionary,
arrived with his family, and joined the mission. About a month later Mr.
Hough and his family returned from Calcutta. On the 2d of May, 1822,
Mrs. Price died, after having been in the country only five months, and
was buried by the side of Mr. Judson’s little Roger. Dr. Price’s medical
skill, especially shown in performing operations for cataracts,
attracted the attention of the Burman emperor at Ava. He was summoned to
appear at the royal court, and Mr. Judson thought it best to accompany
him, hoping that now the king’s favor might be secured in behalf of the
new religion, and that he might even be permitted to plant a mission in
the capital city. So on August 28, 1822, Mr. Judson set out on his
second journey to Ava, this time in the company of Dr. Price, and at the
expense of the Government. In the meantime, the number of the native
church membership in Rangoon had grown from ten to eighteen. His visit
to Ava, and return to Rangoon, are thus described in his journal:

  “After much tedious detention, resulting from our connection with
  Government, we reached Ava on the 27th of September. We were
  immediately introduced to the king, who received brother Price very
  graciously, and made many inquiries about his medical skill, but took
  no notice of me, except as interpreter. The a-twen-woon Moung Zah,
  however, immediately recognized me, made a few inquiries about my
  welfare, in presence of the king, and, after his majesty had
  withdrawn, conversed a little on religious subjects, and gave me some
  private encouragement to remain at the capital.

  “_October 1._ To-day the king noticed me for the first time, though I
  have appeared before him nearly every day since our arrival. After
  making some inquiries, as usual, about brother Price, he added, ‘And
  you in black, what are you? A medical man, too?’ ‘Not a medical man,
  but a teacher of religion, your majesty.’ He proceeded to make a few
  inquiries about my religion, and then put the alarming question
  whether any had embraced it. I evaded, by saying, ‘Not here.’ He
  persisted. ‘Are there any in Rangoon?’ ‘There are a few.’ ‘Are they
  foreigners?’ I trembled for the consequences of an answer, which might
  involve the little church in ruin; but the truth must be sacrificed,
  or the consequences hazarded, and I therefore replied, ‘There are some
  foreigners and some Burmans.’ He remained silent a few moments, but
  presently showed that he was not displeased, by asking a great variety
  of questions on religion, and geography, and astronomy, some of which
  were answered in such a satisfactory manner as to occasion a general
  expression of approbation in all the court present. After his majesty
  retired, a than-dau-sen (a royal secretary) entered into conversation,
  and allowed me to expatiate on several topics of the Christian
  religion, in my usual way. And all this took place in the hearing of
  the very man, now an a-twen-woon, who, many years ago, caused his
  uncle to be tortured almost to death under the iron mall for
  renouncing Buddhism and embracing the Roman Catholic religion; but I
  knew it not at the time, though, from his age, a slight suspicion of
  the truth passed across my mind. Thanks to God for the encouragement
  of this day! The monarch of the empire has distinctly understood that
  some of his subjects have embraced the Christian religion, and his
  wrath has been restrained. Let us then hope that, as he becomes more
  acquainted with the excellence of the religion, he will be more and
  more willing that his subjects should embrace it.

  “_October 3._ Left the boat, and moved into the house ordered to be
  erected for us by the king. A mere temporary shed, however, it proves
  to be, scarcely sufficient to screen us from the gaze of people
  without or from the rain above. It is situated near the present
  palace, and joins the enclosure of Prince M., eldest half brother of
  the king.

  “_October 4._ On our return from the palace, whither we go every
  morning after breakfast, Prince M. sent for me. I had seen him once
  before, in company with brother Price, whom he called for medical
  advice. To-day he wished to converse on science and religion. He is a
  fine young man of twenty-eight, but greatly disfigured by a paralytic
  affection of the arms and legs. Being cut off from the usual sources
  of amusement, and having associated a little with the Portuguese
  padres who have lived at Ava, he has acquired a strong taste for
  foreign science. My communications interested him very much, and I
  found it difficult to get away.

  “_October 21._ Visited the a-twen-woon Moung Zah, and had a long
  conversation on the religion and customs of foreigners, in which I
  endeavored to communicate as much as possible of the Gospel. Upon the
  whole, he appeared to be rather favorably disposed, and, on my taking
  leave, invited me respectfully to visit him occasionally. Thence I
  proceeded to the palace, but met with nothing noticeable, and thence
  to the house of Prince M., with whom I had an hour’s uninterrupted
  conversation. But I am sorry to find that he is rather amused with the
  information I give him, than disposed to consider it a matter of
  personal concern. I presented him with a tract, which he received as a
  favor; and finally I ventured to ask him whether Burman subjects who
  should consider and embrace the Christian religion would be liable to
  persecution. He replied, ‘Not under the reign of my brother. He has a
  good heart, and wishes all to believe and worship as they please.’

  “_October 23._ Had some pleasant conversation with Moung Zah in the
  palace, partly in the hearing of the king. At length his majesty came
  forward, and honored me with some personal notice for the second time,
  inquired much about my country, and authorized me to invite American
  ships to his dominions, assuring them of protection, and offering
  every facility for the purposes of trade.

  “_October 24._ Visited Moung Zah at his house. He treated me with
  great reserve, and repelled all attempts at conversation. Afterward
  called on Prince M., and spent a long time with him and the officers
  in waiting. The whole tract was read before them by one of the
  secretaries. In the afternoon, went out of town to visit Moung
  Shwa-thah, former viceroy of Rangoon. During our absence, Prince M.
  sent to our house to call me, saying that a learned pundit was in
  attendance with whom he wished to hear me converse.

  “_October 26._ While I lay ill some days ago, a young man, brother of
  an officer of Prince M., visited me, and listened to a considerable
  exposition of Gospel truth. Since then he has occasionally called, and
  manifested a desire to hear and know more. This evening he came to
  attend our evening worship, and remained conversing till nine o’clock.
  I hope that light is dawning on his mind. He desires to know the
  truth, appears to be, in some degree, sensible of his sins, and has
  some slight apprehension of the love and grace of the Lord Jesus
  Christ.

  “_October 28._ Spent the forenoon with Prince M. He obtained, for the
  first time (though I have explained it to him many times), some view
  of the nature of the atonement, and cried out, ‘Good, good!’ He then
  proposed a number of objections, which I removed to his apparent
  satisfaction. Our subsequent conversation turned, as usual, on points
  of geography and astronomy. He candidly acknowledged that he could not
  resist my arguments in favor of the Copernican system, and that, if he
  admitted them, he must also admit that the Buddhist system was
  overthrown. In the afternoon, visited Prince T. A hopeless case.

  “_October 29._ Made an introductory visit to the Great Prince, so
  called by way of eminence, being the only brother of the queen, and
  sustaining the rank of chief a-twen-woon. Have frequently met him at
  the palace, where he has treated me rather uncourteously; and my
  reception to-day was such as I had too much reason to expect.

  “_October 30._ Spent part of the forenoon with Prince M. and his wife,
  the Princess of S., own sister of the king. Gave her a copy of Mrs.
  Judson’s Burman catechism, with which she was much pleased. They both
  appear to be somewhat attached to me, and say, ‘Do not return to
  Rangoon, but, when your wife arrives, call her to Ava; the king will
  give you a piece of ground on which to build a _kyoung_’ (a house
  appropriated to the residence of sacred characters). In the evening,
  they sent for me again, chiefly on account of an officer of
  Government, to whom they wished to introduce me.

  “_October 31._ Visited the a-twen-woon Moung K., whom I have
  frequently met at the palace, who has treated me with distinguished
  candor. He received me very politely, and, laying aside his official
  dignity, entered into a most spirited dispute on various points of
  religion. He pretended to maintain his ground without the shadow of
  doubt; but I am inclined to think that he has serious doubts. We
  parted in a very friendly manner, and he invited me to visit him
  occasionally.

  “_November 12._ Spent the whole forenoon with Prince M. and his wife.
  Made a fuller disclosure than ever before of the nature of the
  Christian religion, the object of Christians in sending me to this
  country, my former repulse at court and the reason of it, our exposure
  to persecution in Rangoon, the affair of Moung Shwa-gnong, etc., etc.
  They entered into my views and feelings with considerable interest;
  but both said, decidedly, that, though the king would not himself
  persecute any one on account of religion, he would not give any order
  exempting from persecution, but would leave his subjects, throughout
  the empire, to the regular administration of the local authorities.

  “After giving the prince a succinct account of my religious
  experience, I ventured to warn him of his danger, and urged him to
  make the Christian religion his immediate personal concern. He
  appeared, for a moment, to feel the force of what I said, but soon
  replied, ‘I am yet young—only twenty-eight. I am desirous of studying
  all the foreign arts and sciences. My mind will then be enlarged, and
  I shall be capable of judging whether the Christian religion be true
  or not.’ ‘But suppose your highness changes worlds in the meantime?’
  His countenance again fell. ‘It is true,’ said he, ‘I know not when I
  shall die.’ I suggested that it would be well to pray to God for
  light, which, if obtained, would enable him at once to distinguish
  between truth and falsehood; and so we parted. O Fountain of Light,
  shed down one ray into the mind of this amiable prince, that he may
  become a patron of Thine infant cause, and inherit an eternal crown.

  “_November 14._ Another interview with Prince M. He seemed, at one
  time, almost ready to give up the religion of Gaudama, and listened
  with much eagerness and pleasure to the evidences of the Christian
  religion. But presently two Burman teachers came in, with whom he
  immediately joined, and contradicted all I said.

  “_November 18._ Visited the Princess of T., at her particular request.
  She is the eldest own sister of the king, and therefore, according to
  Burman laws, consigned to perpetual celibacy. She had heard of me from
  her brother-in-law, Prince M., and wished to converse on science and
  religion. Her chief officer and the mayor of the city were present;
  and we carried on a desultory conversation, such as necessarily takes
  place on the first interview. Her highness treated me with uncommon
  affability and respect, and invited me to call frequently.

  “_November 26._ Have been confined since the 21st with a third attack
  of the fever and ague. To-day went to the palace, and presented a
  petition for a certain piece of ground within the walls of the town,
  ‘to build a _kyoung_ on.’ The king granted it, on condition that the
  ground should be found unoccupied.

  “_November 28._ Spent the whole day at the palace, in
  endeavoring to secure the ground petitioned for. At night, the
  land-measurer-general’s secretary accompanied me to ascertain
  the premises, and make out a plan of the place.

  “_November 29._ The land-measurer-general reported to the a-twen-woons
  that the ground was not actually occupied, but, having been the site
  of a _kyoung_ when formerly the city was the seat of Government, must
  be considered sacred and inalienable; in which opinion nearly all the
  a-twen-woons coincided, notwithstanding the king’s decision to the
  contrary.

  “Had an interesting interview with Prince M., and presented him with a
  copy of the last three chapters of Matthew, in compliance with his
  wish to have an account of the death and resurrection of Jesus-Christ.
  He appeared concerned for our failure to-day in the privy council, but
  still maintained that, though the ground was sacred, it might with
  propriety be given to a priest, though not a priest of Gaudama, and
  advised me to make another application to the king.

  “_December 25._ I have had nothing scarcely of a missionary nature to
  notice since the last date, having been employed, most of the time
  (that is, in the intervals of two more attacks of fever and ague), in
  endeavoring to procure a piece of ground within the city, but have
  been defeated at every point.

  “In prosecuting this business, I had one noticeable interview with the
  king. Brother Price and two English gentlemen were present. The king
  appeared to be attracted by our number, and came toward us; but his
  conversation was directed chiefly to me. He again inquired about the
  Burmans who had embraced my religion. ‘Are they real Burmans? Do they
  dress like other Burmans?’ etc. I had occasion to remark that I
  preached every Sunday. ‘What! in Burman?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Let us hear how you
  preach.’ I hesitated. An a-twen-woon repeated the order. I began with
  a form of worship which first ascribes glory to God, and then declares
  the commands of the law of the Gospel; after which I stopped. ‘Go on,’
  said another a-twen-woon. The whole court was profoundly silent. I
  proceeded with a few sentences, declarative of the perfections of God,
  when his majesty’s curiosity was satisfied, and he interrupted me. In
  the course of subsequent conversation, he asked what I had to say of
  Gaudama. I replied, that we all knew he was the son of King
  Thog-dan-dah-nah; that we regarded him as a wise man and a great
  teacher, but did not call him God. ‘That is right,’ said Moung K. N.,
  an a-twen-woon who has not hitherto appeared very friendly to me. And
  he proceeded to relate the substance of a long communication which I
  lately made to him, in the privy council room, about God and Christ,
  etc. And this he did in a very clear and satisfactory manner, so that
  I had scarcely a single correction to make in his statement. Moung
  Zah, encouraged by all this, really began to take the side of God
  before his majesty, and said, ‘Nearly all the world, your majesty,
  believe in an eternal God, all, except Burmah and Siam, these little
  spots!’ His majesty remained silent, and after some other desultory
  inquiries, he abruptly arose, and retired.

  “_January 2, 1823._ To-day I informed the king that it was my
  intention to return to Rangoon. ‘Will you proceed thence to your own
  country?’ ‘Only to Rangoon.’ His majesty gave an acquiescing nod. The
  a-twen-woon Moung Zah inquired, ‘Will you both go, or will the doctor
  remain?’ I said that he would remain. Brother Price made some remark
  on the approaching hot season, and the inconvenience of our present
  situation; on which Moung Zah, inferring that it was on account of the
  climate that I was about leaving, turned to me, saying, ‘Then you will
  return here, after the hot season.’ I looked at the king, and said
  that if it was convenient, I would return; which his majesty again
  sanctioned by an acquiescing nod and smile, and in reply to brother
  Price, said, ‘Let a place be given him.’ Brother Price, however,
  thinks of retaining the small place on which we now live for medical
  purposes, and getting a place at Chagaing, on the opposite side of the
  river, for his permanent residence.

  “In the evening had a long conversation with Moung Zah on religion. He
  believes that there is an eternal God, and that Gaudama, and Christ,
  and Mahomet, and others are great teachers, who communicated as much
  truth respectively as they could, but that their communications are
  not the word of God. I pressed my arguments as far as I dared; but he
  seemed to have reflected much on the subject, and to have become quite
  settled and inflexible in his conclusions. He may be called a deistic
  Buddhist, the first that I have met in the country. On parting,
  however, he remarked, ‘This is a deep and difficult subject. Do you,
  teacher, consider further, and I also will consider.’

  “_January 7._ Among the many places which I endeavored in vain to
  procure was a small one, sufficient for one family only, pleasantly
  situated on the banks of the river, just without the walls of the
  town, and about a mile from the palace. But it had been appropriated
  by the chief woon-gyee, and partly fenced in, with the intention of
  building a temporary zayat for his recreation and refreshment, when
  accompanying the king in that quarter of the city, and was, therefore,
  placed beyond any reasonable hope of attainment. Among other desperate
  attempts, however, I wrote a short petition, asking for that place,
  and begging leave to express my gratitude, by presenting a certain sum
  of money. It was necessary to put this into his own hand; and I was,
  therefore, obliged to follow him about, and watch his movements, for
  two or three days, until a favorable opportunity occurred, when he was
  apart from all his retinue. I seized the moment, presented myself
  before him, and held up the paper. He read it, and smiled. ‘You are
  indefatigable in your search after a place. But you can not have that.
  It is for my own use. Nor, if otherwise, could you get it for money.
  Search further.’ I now concluded to return to Rangoon for the present,
  and wait until the town should be settled, when, as all inform me, I
  shall be able to accommodate myself better. I accordingly informed the
  king of my purpose, as mentioned above, and began to look about for a
  boat. In the meantime, it occurred to me to make a ‘seventh attempt to
  fix the thread,’ and I sought another interview with the chief
  woon-gyee, a being who is really more difficult of access than the
  king himself. This evening I was so fortunate as to find him at his
  house, lying down, surrounded by forty or fifty of his people. I
  pressed forward into the foremost rank, and placed myself in a proper
  attitude. After a while, his eye fell upon me, and I held up a small
  bottle of _eau de luce_, and desired to present it. One of his
  officers carried it to him. He happened to be much pleased with it,
  and sat upright. ‘What kind of a house do you intend to build?’ I told
  him, but added, ‘I have no place to build on, my lord.’ He remained in
  a meditating attitude a few moments, and then suddenly replied, ‘_If
  you want the little enclosure, take it!_’ I expressed my gratitude. He
  began to take more notice of me, inquired about my character and
  profession, and then entered, with considerable spirit, on the subject
  of religion. After some conversation, he desired a specimen of my mode
  of worship and preaching; and I was obliged to repeat much more than I
  did before the king; for whenever I desisted, he ordered me to go on.
  When his curiosity was satisfied, he lay down, and I quietly retired.

  “_January 8._ After taking the best advice, Burman and foreign, I
  weighed out the sum of money mentioned in the private petition,
  together with the estimated expense of fencing the place given me by
  the woon-gyee, and in the evening carried it to his house, where I was
  again fortunate in finding him in the same position as yesterday
  evening. A few noblemen and their attendants were present, which
  prevented me from immediately producing the money. His excellency soon
  took notice of me, and from seven o’clock till nine, the time was
  chiefly occupied in conversation on religious subjects. I found
  opportunity to bring forward some of my favorite arguments, one of
  which, in particular, seemed to carry conviction to the minds of all
  present, and extorted from the great man an expression of praise; such
  praise, however, as is indicative of surprise rather than approbation.
  When the company retired, my people at the outer door overheard one
  say to another, ‘Is it not pleasant to hear this foreign teacher
  converse on religion?’ ‘Ay,’ said the other, ‘but his doctrines are
  derogatory to the honor of Lord Gaudama.’ When they were gone, I
  presented the money, saying that I wished to defray the expense of
  fencing the ground, which had been graciously given me. His excellency
  was pleased with the offer, but gently declined accepting anything. He
  then looked steadily at me, as if to penetrate into the motives of my
  conduct, and recollecting the manœuvres of the first English settlers
  in Bengal, thought he had discovered something. ‘Understand, teacher,
  that we do not give you the entire owning of this ground. We take no
  recompense, _lest it become American territory_. We give it to you for
  your present residence only, and, when you go away, shall take it
  again.’ ‘When I go away, my lord, those at whose expense the house is
  to be built, will desire to place another teacher in my stead.’ ‘Very
  well, let him also occupy the place; but when he dies, or when there
  is no teacher, we will take it.’ ‘In that case, my lord, take it.’

  “_January 10._ Spent the whole of yesterday and to-day with various
  secretaries and officers of Government in getting actual possession of
  the ground given me.

  “_January 13._ Built a small house, and stationed one of the disciples
  and family to keep the place during my absence.

  “_January 18._ Removed to Chagaing, into a house which Prince M. has
  allowed brother Price to build on his ground, in expectation that a
  change of air and residence would relieve me from the fever and ague,
  under which I suffer nearly every other day. It is my intention,
  however, to return immediately to Rangoon, the time being nearly
  expired which I at first proposed to spend in Ava, and the ends for
  which I came up being sufficiently gained.

  “_January 22._ Took leave of Prince M. He desired me to return soon,
  and bring with me all the Christian Scriptures, and translate them
  into Burman. ‘For,’ said he, ‘I wish to read them all.’

  “_January 24._ Went to take leave of the king, in company with Mr. L.,
  collector of the port of Rangoon, who arrived last evening. We sat a
  few moments conversing together. ‘What are you talking about?’ said
  his majesty. ‘He is speaking of his return to Rangoon,’ replied Mr. L.
  ‘What does he return for? Let him not return. Let them both [that is,
  brother Price and myself] stay together. If one goes away, the other
  must remain alone, and will be unhappy.’ ‘He wishes to go for a short
  time only,’ replied Mr. L., ‘to bring his wife, the female teacher,
  and his goods, not having brought anything with him this time; and he
  will return soon.’ His majesty looked at me. ‘Will you, then, come
  again?’ I replied in the affirmative. ‘When you come again, is it your
  intention to remain permanently, or will you go back and forth, as
  foreigners commonly do?’ ‘When I come again, it is my intention to
  remain permanently.’ ‘Very well,’ said his majesty, and withdrew into
  his inner apartment.

  “Heard to-day of the death of Mah Myat-lah, sister of Mah Men-la, one
  of the most steadfast of the church in Rangoon.

  “_January 25._ Embarked on a small boat, intending to go day and
  night, and touch nowhere, in order to avoid the robbers, of which we
  have lately had alarming accounts.

  “_February 2. Lord’s day._ At one o’clock in the morning reached
  Rangoon, seven days from Ava.

  “A letter from Mrs. Judson, in England, informs me that she is going
  to America, and will not be here under several months. I propose,
  therefore, waiting her return, and occupying the interval in finishing
  the translation of the New Testament.”

The way now seemed open to establish a mission in Ava. Mr. Judson always
longed to go into the “regions beyond.” The Houghs and the Wades could
sufficiently care for the infant church at Rangoon. Why not plant a
church in the heart of the empire, under the shelter of the throne? A
letter to Dr. Baldwin discloses this daring purpose:

                      “RANGOON, _February_ 11, 1823.

  “REV. AND DEAR SIR: My last to you was written just before we left
  Rangoon for Ava.

  “You will learn from my journal, forwarded herewith to the
  Corresponding Secretary, the particulars of our visit to Ava. Suffice
  it here to say that the Lord has been gracious to us beyond our
  expectation. My reception, as a minister of religion, has been very
  different from what it was before. A liberal and candid spirit seems
  to prevail among all the members of the royal family, and among many
  of the leading members of Government. It is distinctly understood by
  the king, and by all who have any knowledge of me at all, that I am a
  thah-tha-nah-pyoo-tsayah, that is, a religion-propagating teacher; and
  yet I have been smiled on, and listened to, and, by order of the king
  himself, have received from the chief public minister of state the
  grant of a small piece of ground, for the express purpose of building
  a _kyoung_ (a house appropriated to sacred characters). It is my
  intention, therefore, to return thither as soon as Mrs. Judson
  arrives, who, I hear, has gone on to America. And in the meantime, I
  shall occupy myself in finishing the translation of the New
  Testament—a work which I left unfinished with great reluctance, and
  which I rejoice to have leisure to resume.

  “During my absence, one of the best of our church members, the sister
  of Mah Men-la, was called from this world to join, I trust, the church
  triumphant. She died in peace and joy, professing her belief in Jesus
  Christ, and saying that she should soon be with Him in heaven.

  “During the whole of my residence at Ava, I was severely afflicted at
  intervals with the fever and ague. I did hope that a change of climate
  would effect my cure; but the disorder has followed me to Rangoon, and
  I am subject to it every other day. Brother Price was apprehensive
  that it would terminate fatally, having resisted every medical
  application, and become so deeply rooted; and he would have
  accompanied me hither, had I not dissuaded him. My only hope now is,
  that it will exhaust itself before my constitution is exhausted; but
  the Lord’s will be done. I could wish to live to finish the New
  Testament, and I should also be happy to see a little church raised up
  in Ava, as there has been in Rangoon. But the ways of God are not as
  the ways of man. He does all things well. Glory be to His holy name
  forevermore.”

But before going to Ava, he must await Mrs. Judson’s arrival. Ten months
intervened between his return from Ava and her arrival at Rangoon.
During this time he completed the translation of the New Testament into
Burmese, and prepared an epitome of the Old Testament, which might serve
as an introduction to the study of the New. On the 13th of December,
1823, eight days after Mrs. Judson’s arrival, he set out in company with
her for Ava, where they arrived on January 23, 1824. This marked an
epoch in Mr. Judson’s life. His ardent, active temperament was to be
subjected to the crucible of passive endurance; and we now pass from the
record of his activities to the story of his sufferings.

-----

Footnote 26:

  See Map II.

Footnote 27:

    “One of these female disciples was found at Rangoon by the
    missionaries in August, 1852, having attained the age of eighty
    years. From the time of her baptism until then, for thirty years,
    she had maintained, in the midst of heathenism, a consistent
    Christian profession. She remembered well Mr. Judson and ‘the Mamma’
    Judson, and was in daily expectation of meeting them again in
    heaven.”




                              CHAPTER VII.
                      LIFE IN AVA AND OUNG-PEN-LA.
                               1823-1826.


When Mr. and Mrs. Judson left Rangoon to establish their home in Ava,
the outlook was encouraging. They had left behind them a small but
vigorous church of eighteen converted Burmans, under the care of Mr. and
Mrs. Hough, and Mr. and Mrs. Wade. They had been invited by the king to
live in the capital city, and had received from him a plot of ground on
which to build a mission-house. They felt sure of royal protection and
favor. Many persons of high rank seemed kindly disposed to the new
religion; while Dr. Price had won golden opinions by his medical skill.

They immediately commenced the building of a little dwelling-house, and
Mrs. Judson soon had a school of three native girls. Mr. Judson preached
in Burmese every Sunday at Dr. Price’s house, and held worship every
evening. The journey up the Irrawaddy and the beginning of their life in
Ava are described in the following fragment from a letter written by
Mrs. Judson to her parents and sisters:

                        “AVA, _February_ 10, 1824.

  “After two years and a half wandering, you will be pleased to hear
  that I have at last arrived at home, so far as this life is concerned,
  and am once more quietly and happily settled with Mr. Judson.

  “We had a quick and pleasant passage from Calcutta to Rangoon. Mr.
  Judson’s boat was all in readiness, my baggage was immediately taken
  from the ship to the boat, and in seven days from my arrival we were
  on our way to the capital. Our boat was small and inconvenient; but
  the current at this season is so very strong, and the wind always
  against us, that our progress was slow indeed. The season, however,
  was cool and delightful; we were preserved from dangers by day and
  robbers by night, and arrived in safety in six weeks. The
  A-rah-wah-tee (Irrawadi) is a noble river; its banks everywhere
  covered with immortal beings, destined to the same eternity as
  ourselves. We often walked through the villages, and though we never
  received the least insult, always attracted universal attention. A
  foreign female was a sight never before beheld, and all were anxious
  that their friends and relatives should have a view. Crowds followed
  us through the villages, and some, who were less civilized than
  others, would run some way before us in order to have a _long_ look as
  we approached them. In one instance, the boat being some time in
  doubling a point we had walked over, we seated ourselves, when the
  villagers, as usual, assembled, and Mr. Judson introduced the subject
  of religion. Several old men who were present entered into
  conversation, while the multitude was all attention. The apparent
  schoolmaster of the village coming up, Mr. Judson handed him a tract,
  and requested him to read. After proceeding some way, he remarked to
  the assembly that such a writing was worthy of being copied, and asked
  Mr. Judson to remain while he copied it. Mr. Judson informed him he
  might keep the tract, on condition he read it to all his neighbors. We
  could not but hope the Spirit of God would bless those few simple
  truths to the salvation of some of their souls.

  “Our boat was near being upset in passing through one of the rapids
  with which this river abounds. The rudder became entangled in the
  rocks, which brought the boat across the stream and laid her on one
  side. The steersman, however, had presence of mind sufficient to cut
  the rudder from the boat, which caused her to right, without
  experiencing any other inconvenience than a thorough fright and the
  loss of our breakfast, which was precipitated from the fireplace into
  the water, together with everything on the outside of the boat.

  “On our arrival at Ava, we had more difficulties to encounter, and
  such as we had never before experienced. We had no home, no house to
  shelter us from the burning sun by day and the cold dews at night. Dr.
  Price had kindly met us on the way, and urged our taking up our
  residence with him; but his house was in such an unfinished state, and
  the walls so damp (of brick, and just built), that spending two or
  three hours threw me into a fever, and induced me to feel that it
  would be presumption to remain longer. We had but one alternative—to
  remain in the boat till we could build a small house on the spot of
  ground which the king gave Mr. Judson last year. And you will hardly
  believe it possible—for I almost doubt my senses—that, in just a
  fortnight from our arrival, we moved into a house built in that time,
  and which is sufficiently large to make us comfortable. It is in a
  most delightful situation, out of the dust of the town, and on the
  bank of the river. The spot of ground given by his majesty is small,
  being only one hundred and twenty feet long and seventy-five wide; but
  it is our own, and is the most healthy situation I have seen. Our
  house is raised four feet from the ground, and consists of three small
  rooms and a veranda.

  “I hardly know how we shall bear the hot season, which is just
  commencing, as our house is built of boards, and before night is
  heated like an oven. Nothing but brick is a shelter from the heat of
  Ava, where the thermometer, even in the shade, frequently rises to a
  hundred and eight degrees. We have worship every evening in Burman,
  when a number of the natives assemble; and every Sabbath Mr. Judson
  preaches the other side of the river in Dr. Price’s house. We feel it
  an inestimable privilege, that amid all our discouragements we have
  the language, and are able constantly to communicate truths which can
  save the soul.

  “My female school has already commenced with three little girls, who
  are learning to read, sew, etc. Two of them are sisters, and we have
  named them _Mary_ and _Abby Hasseltine_. One of them is to be
  supported with the money which the ‘Judson Association of Bradford
  Academy’ have engaged to collect. They are fine children, and improve
  as rapidly as any children in the world. Their mother is deranged, and
  their father gave them to me to educate, so that I have been at no
  expense for them excepting their food and clothes. I have already
  begun to make inquiries for children, and doubt not we shall be
  directed in regard to our school.”

The following letter from Mr. Judson to Dr. Baldwin shows, however, that
a dark cloud was gathering on the horizon:

                                              “AVA, _February_ 19, 1824.

  “My last was dated the 7th of December, a few days after Mrs. J.’s
  arrival in Rangoon. We left on the 13th ensuing, and were six weeks on
  the journey. A few days below Ava, brother Price met us in a small
  boat, having heard of our approach. From him we first learned that all
  the _A-twen-woons_, the privy council of the king, had been turned out
  of office, and a new set appointed, with whom we had no acquaintance
  or interest. Various occurrences had conspired to render the king
  somewhat disaffected toward foreigners. Brother Price has made but
  little advance in the royal favor. On my appearing at the palace, I
  found that a year had made great changes. My old friends and advocates
  before the king were missing. Very few recognized me. At length his
  majesty came forward, just spoke to me, and accepted a small present.
  But I have seen him twice since without obtaining a word or look.

  “The only persons who ever received me with real cordiality are Prince
  M. and his wife; but even they are not much disposed to converse on
  religion.

  “I have public worship every Lord’s day at brother Price’s, as he is
  able, from his acquaintance with the neighbors around him, to collect
  an assembly of a dozen or twenty, including two or three of the
  disciples who accompanied us from Rangoon.

  “But my time has been hitherto almost wholly occupied in getting up
  something to shelter us on the lot formally assigned me by the
  Government. It will be necessary also to build a small brick house as
  soon as possible, and to use every other precaution against the heat,
  which is so intense during the months of April, May, and June, as to
  raise the thermometer to one hundred and eight and ten in the shade.

  “A misunderstanding has existed for several months between this and
  the Bengal Government. Troops have marched from both sides to the
  frontiers. War appeared at one time to be certain, but the latest
  accounts are rather pacific. In the case of actual war, as the
  distinction between Americans and Englishmen is pretty well understood
  in this place, we hope we shall not be considered as implicated, and
  suffer no other inconvenience than that of having all communication
  with our friends cut off, except in case of war’s reaching the
  capital, when we shall be exposed to the vicissitudes and dangers
  incident to such a state.

  “But in all cases, we trust that we have a few dear friends at home
  who bear us on their hearts at the throne of grace, and a still dearer
  and greater Friend at the right hand of the Divine Presence in Heaven,
  who is touched with the feeling of our infirmities, and will
  graciously succor us in the time of trouble and make us come off
  conquerors at last.

  “But, my dear and venerable friend and brother and father, you are,
  from long experience, more able than I am to taste the sweetness of
  this precious truth; and your advanced age, and the grace of Christ,
  enable you to hope that you will ere long be allowed to adopt the
  triumphant language of the Apostle Paul. Pray for me, that I may be
  accounted worthy to hold out to the end, and finally meet with you
  before the throne, and handle a harp of gold in the dear Redeemer’s
  praise.”

Mr. Judson’s forebodings were well founded. War soon broke out between
Burmah and the English Government in India. For two years after the
writing of the above letter, the Christians of America were kept in a
state of terrible suspense, unbroken by any tidings from their
missionaries in Ava, which was only assuaged by fervent and universal
prayer on their behalf.

The occasion of the war was Chittagong, that particular strip of low
land lying along the sea and flanking Burmah on the west, and to which
Mr. Colman had gone to prepare an asylum for the Judsons in case they
should be driven out of Rangoon. This district was under British rule,
and refugees from the cruel despotism of Burmah had taken shelter there.
The Burman monarch insisted that his victims should be arrested by the
English authorities and handed over to him. Besides, he felt that
Chittagong belonged naturally to Burmah. And such was his pride and his
contempt for British prowess, that he deemed it quite possible for him
not only to recover this territory, but even to conquer the whole of
Bengal.

When war actually broke out, suspicion fell at once on all the white
foreigners residing in Ava. They were thought to be spies secretly
acting in collusion with the English Government. They were immediately
arrested, fettered, and thrown into the death-prison.

  “I was seized,” Dr. Judson writes, “on the 8th of June, 1824, in
  consequence of the war with Bengal, and in company with Dr. Price,
  three Englishmen, one American, and one Greek, was thrown into the
  death-prison at Ava, where we lay eleven months—nine months in three
  pairs, and two months in five pairs of fetters. The scenes we
  witnessed and the sufferings we underwent during that period I would
  fain consign to oblivion. From the death-prison at Ava, we were
  removed to a country prison at Oung-pen-la, ten miles distant, under
  circumstances of such severe treatment, that one of our number, the
  Greek, expired on the road; and some of the rest, among whom was
  myself, were scarcely able to move for several days. It was the
  intention of the Government, in removing us from Ava, to have us
  sacrificed in order to insure victory over the foreigners; but the
  sudden disgrace and death of the adviser of that measure prevented its
  execution. I remained in the Oung-pen-la prison six months in one pair
  of fetters; at the expiration of which period, I was taken out of
  irons, and sent under a strict guard to the Burmese headquarters at
  Mah-looan, to act as interpreter and translator. Two months more
  elapsed, when, on my return to Ava, I was released at the instance of
  Moung Shwa-loo, the north governor of the palace, and put under his
  charge. During the six weeks that I resided with him, the affairs of
  the Government became desperate, the British troops making steady
  advances on the capital; and after Dr. Price had been twice dispatched
  to negotiate for peace (a business which I declined as long as
  possible), I was taken by force and associated with him. We found the
  British above Pah-gan; and on returning to Ava with their final terms,
  I had the happiness of procuring the release of the very last of my
  fellow-prisoners; and on the 21st inst. obtained the reluctant consent
  of the Government to my final departure from Ava with Mrs. Judson.”

In these few modest words Mr. Judson passes over all the prolonged
horrors which he endured in the confinement of an Oriental jail. Let us
glance at his experience more in detail. His imprisonment was remarkable
for its _duration_. For nine months he was confined in three pairs of
fetters, two months in five, six months in one; for two months he was a
prisoner at large; and for nearly two months, although released from
prison, he was yet restrained in Ava under the charge of the north
governor of the palace, so that his confinement reached nearly to the
end of twenty-one long months.

[Illustration: EXTERIOR OF PRISON ENCLOSURE.]

Again, for most of the time of his confinement, he was shut up in a
loathsome, wretched _place_.

  “It derives its remarkable, well-selected name,
  _Let-ma-yoon_—literally interpreted, _hand, shrink not_—from the
  revolting scenes of cruelty practiced within its walls. To those
  acquainted with the Burmese language, the name conveys a peculiar
  impression of terror. It contemplates the extreme of human suffering,
  and when this has reached a point at which our nature recoils—when it
  is supposed that any one bearing the human form might well refuse to
  be the instrument to add to it, the hand of the executioner is
  apostrophized and encouraged not to follow the dictates of the heart:
  ‘Thine eye shall not pity and thine hand not spare.’”[28]

The _Let-ma-yoon_ was a building about forty feet long and thirty feet
wide. It was five or six feet high along the sides, but as the roof
sloped, the centre of it was perhaps double that height. There was no
ventilation except through the chinks between the boards and through the
door, which was generally closed. On the thin roof poured down the
burning rays of a tropical sun. In this room were confined nearly one
hundred prisoners of both sexes and all nationalities. Dr. Price thus
describes the impressions he received on entering the prison:

  “A little bamboo door opened, and I rose to go toward it. But oh! who
  can describe my sensations! shackled like a common felon, in the care
  of hangmen, the offscouring of the country, turned like a dog into his
  kennel, my wife, my dear family, left to suffer alone all the rudeness
  such wretches are capable of. The worst, however, was yet to come; for
  making the best of my way up the high steps, I was ushered into the
  grand apartment. Horror of horrors, what a sight! never to my dying
  day shall I forget the scene: a dim lamp in the midst, just making
  darkness visible, and discovering to my horrified gaze sixty or
  seventy wretched objects, some in long rows made fast in the stocks,
  some strung on long poles, some simply fettered; but all sensible of a
  new acquisition of misery in the approach of a new prisoner.
  Stupefied, I stopped to gaze till, goaded on, I proceeded toward the
  further end, when I again halted. A new and unexpected sight met my
  eyes. Till now I had been kept in ignorance of the fate of my
  companions. A long row of white objects, stretched on the floor in a
  most crowded situation, revealed to me, however, but too well their
  sad state, and I was again urged forward. Poor old Rodgers, wishing to
  retain the end of the bamboo, made way for me to be placed alongside
  of Mr. Judson. ‘We all hoped you would have escaped, you were so long
  coming,’ was the first friendly salutation I had yet received; but
  alas, it was made by friends whose sympathy was now unavailable.”

[Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE LET-MA-YOON PRISON.]

The following description of the interior of this jail is given by an
English fellow-prisoner of Mr. Judson:

  “The only articles of furniture the place contained were these: First,
  and most prominent, was a gigantic row of stocks, similar in its
  construction to that formerly used in England, but now nearly extinct;
  though dilapidated specimens may still be seen in some of the
  marketplaces of our own country towns. It was capable of accommodating
  more than a dozen occupants, and like a huge alligator opened and shut
  its jaws with a loud snap upon its prey. Several smaller reptiles,
  interesting varieties of the same species, lay basking around this
  monster, each holding by the leg a pair of hapless victims consigned
  to its custody. These were heavy logs of timber, bored with holes to
  admit the feet, and fitted with wooden pins to hold them fast. In the
  centre of the apartment was placed a tripod, holding a large earthen
  cup filled with earth-oil, to be used as a lamp during the
  night-watches; and lastly, a simple but suspicious-looking piece of
  machinery whose painful uses it was my fate to test before many hours
  had elapsed. It was merely a long bamboo suspended from the roof by a
  rope at each end, and worked by blocks or pulleys, to raise or depress
  it at pleasure.

  “Before me, stretched on the floor, lay forty or fifty hapless
  wretches, whose crimes or misfortunes had brought them into this place
  of torment. They were all nearly naked, and the half-famished features
  and skeleton frames of many of them too plainly told the story of
  their protracted sufferings. Very few were without chains, and some
  had one or both feet in the stocks besides. A sight of such squalid
  wretchedness can hardly be imagined. Silence seemed to be the order of
  the day; perhaps the poor creatures were so engrossed with their own
  misery that they hardly cared to make any remarks on the intrusion of
  so unusual an inmate as myself.

  “If the _ensemble_ be difficult to portray, the stench was absolutely
  indescribable, for it was not like anything which exists elsewhere in
  creation. I will therefore give the facts, and leave the reader’s nose
  to understand them by a synthetic course of reasoning—if it can.

  “The prison had never been washed, nor even swept, since it was built.
  So I was told, and have no doubt it was true; for, besides the ocular
  proof from its present condition, it is certain no attempt was made to
  cleanse it during my subsequent tenancy of eleven months. This gave a
  kind of fixedness or permanency to the fetid odors, until the very
  floors and walls were saturated with them, and joined in emitting the
  pest. Putrid remains of castaway animal and vegetable stuff, which
  needed no broom to make it _move on_—the stale fumes from thousands of
  tobacco-pipes—the scattered ejections of the pulp and liquid from
  their everlasting betel, and other nameless abominations, still more
  disgusting, which strewed the floor—and if to this be added the
  exudations from the bodies of a crowd of never-washed convicts,
  encouraged by the thermometer at 100°, in a den almost without
  ventilation—is it possible to say what it _smelt_ like?

  “As might have been expected from such a state of things, the place
  was teeming with creeping vermin to such an extent that very soon
  reconciled me to the plunder of the greater portion of my dress.”

Surely it were enough for Mr. Judson to be shut up in the hot, stifling
stench of a place like this without having his ankles and legs weighted
with five pairs of irons, the scars from which he wore to his dying day.
He could say with the Apostle Paul, “I bear in my body the marks of the
Lord Jesus.” In each pair of fetters the two iron rings were connected
by a chain so short that the heel of one foot could hardly be advanced
to the toe of the other; and this task could be accomplished only by
“shuffling a few inches at a time.” The five pairs of irons weighed
about fourteen pounds, and when they were removed after being long worn,
there was a strained sensation, the equilibrium of the body seemingly
destroyed, so that the head was too heavy for the feet. Then at
nightfall, lest the prisoners should escape, they were _strung_ (to use
Dr. Price’s graphic if not elegant expression) on a bamboo pole.

  “When night came on,” writes one of Mr. Judson’s fellow-prisoners,
  “the ‘Father’ of the establishment, entering, stalked toward our
  corner. The meaning of the bamboo now became apparent. It was passed
  between the legs of each individual, and when it had threaded our
  number, seven in all, a man at each end hoisted it up by the blocks to
  a height which allowed our shoulders to rest on the ground, while our
  feet depended from the iron rings of the fetters. The adjustment of
  the height was left to the judgment of our kind-hearted parent, who
  stood by to see that it was not high enough to endanger life, nor low
  enough to exempt from pain.... In the morning, our considerate parent
  made his appearance, and, with his customary grin, lowered down the
  bamboo to within a foot of the floor, to the great relief of our
  benumbed limbs, in which the blood slowly began again to circulate.”

When Mr. Judson was subjected to these indignities and tortures, he was
in the very prime of life—thirty-six years old. He had come to that age
when a good physical constitution is thoroughly seasoned and well
qualified to endure hardship.

He had always taken the best care of his health consistent with the
performance of his multiform duties. Even before leaving America, he had
adopted the following rules: First, frequently to inhale large
quantities of air, so as to expand the lungs to the uttermost; secondly,
daily to sponge the whole body in cold water; and thirdly, and above
all, to take systematic exercise in walking.

Again, he had that tough, wiry physique which endures unexpectedly even
during prolonged crises. All this was in his favor. But, on the other
hand, he was a student, unused to suffering hardship. His naturally
vigorous constitution had been somewhat enfeebled by ten years of close
application to study in a tropical climate, and of late years had been
completely shattered by repeated blows of fever and ague. He was reared
in the cold, bracing air of New England, and during the tedious hours of
imprisonment, how often must his memory have projected the sufferings of
the Oriental jail against the background of the cool, green hillsides of
his childhood. For

                            ... “this is truth the poet sings,
    That a sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.”

And his was an active, methodical nature, to which the enforced idleness
of twenty-one months must have brought the keenest torture. There was
his Burman Bible unfinished, and ten years of work in Rangoon going to
pieces in his absence. He longed to be preaching the Gospel. Now that he
had at last completely mastered the native tongue, he was filled with
Jeremiah’s consuming zeal. “His word was in mine heart, as a burning
fire shut up in my bones.”

Endowed with a nervous temperament, his nature was exceedingly sensitive
to discomfort. One of his fellow-prisoners says: “His painful
sensitiveness to anything gross or uncleanly, amounting almost to folly,
was an unfortunate virtue to possess, and made him live a life of
constant martyrdom.” Of his personal habits, Mrs. E. C. Judson says:

  “His predilection for neatness, uniformity, and order amounted,
  indeed, to a passion. Then he had an innate sort of refinement about
  him, which would subject him to annoyance when a less sensitive person
  would only be amused—a most inconvenient qualification for a
  missionary. This passion for order—which I should rather consider an
  unconquerable love for the beautiful and elegant, studiously
  perverted—displayed itself rather oddly after the means for its
  natural gratification and development were cut off. Nobody ever
  luxuriated more in perfectly spotless linen, though, partly from
  necessity, and partly because there was a suspicion among his friends
  that he would wear no other, it was always coarse. The tie of the
  narrow black ribbon, which he wore instead of a neckcloth, was
  perfect, and the ribbon itself would not have soiled the purest snow,
  though it was often limp and rusty from frequent washing. His general
  dress was always clean, and adjusted with scrupulous exactness, though
  it often looked as if it might have belonged to some rustic of the
  last century, being of the plainest material, and in fashion the
  American idea of what was proper for a missionary, perpetuated in
  broad caricature by a bungling Bengalee tailor. Most people thought
  that he dressed oddly from a love of eccentricity; but the truth is,
  he was not in the least aware of anything peculiar in his costume,
  never seeing himself in a mirror larger than his pocket toilet-glass.
  He could see his feet, however; and his shoes never had a spot on
  their polish, nor the long, white, carefully-gartered stockings a
  wrinkle, much less a stain. In the construction and arrangement of his
  unique studying apparatus, which was composed of two long, narrow
  boxes mounted on a teak table, there was the same mixture of plainness
  with neatness and order, and, what was rather conspicuous in all his
  arrangements, a wonderful capacity for convenience. No one ever
  thought of invading his study corner; for he dusted his books and
  papers himself, and knew so well where everything was placed, that he
  could have laid his hand upon the smallest article in the darkest
  night.”

A nature amply endowed with these fine sensibilities must have
instinctively shrunk from the filth of the dungeon and the squalor of
the prisoners; while the constrained and crowded position, night and
day, and the galling fetters, were almost unendurable.

There was also much to shock his moral nature. He found himself thrown
into close association with the basest criminals of the Burman capital.
His pure look rested upon their repulsive features, his reluctant ears
were filled with their vulgar and blasphemous jests. Besides this, again
and again he saw the wretched prisoner tortured with the cord and the
mallet, and was forced to hear the writhing victim’s shriek of anguish.

Again, he was a man of the strongest and tenderest affections. What keen
mental anguish must he have experienced at the thought of his beloved
wife threading alone the hot, crowded streets, hourly exposed to the
insults of rude Burman officials; day by day bringing or sending food to
the jail; assuaging the wretchedness of the prisoners by bribing their
keepers; pleading for the release of her husband with one Burman officer
after another, and with such pathetic eloquence that on one occasion she
melted to tears even the old governor of the prison; giving birth to her
babe during a confinement of only twenty days; carrying her little Maria
all the way in her arms to that “never-to-be-forgotten place,”
Oung-pen-la, her only conveyance a rough cart, the violent motion of
which, together with the dreadful heat and dust, made her almost
distracted; nursing her infant and the little native girls under her
care through a course of small-pox; and at last, broken down herself,
and brought to death’s door by the same loathsome disease, succeeded by
the dread spotted fever.

Add to these horrors of Mr. Judson’s imprisonment the daily and even
hourly anticipation of torture and death, and it will be difficult to
conceive of a denser cloud of miseries than that which settled down on
his devoted head. The prisoners knew that they were arrested as spies.
The Burman king and his generals were exasperated by the rapid and
unexpected successes of the English army, and Mr. Judson and his
fellow-prisoners had every reason to suppose that this pent-up fury
would be poured upon their heads. It was customary to _question_ the
prisoner with instruments of torture—the cord and the iron mallet.
Rumors of a frightful doom were constantly sounding in their ears. Now
they heard their keepers during the night sharpening the knives to
decapitate the prisoners the next morning; now the roar of their
mysterious fellow-prisoner, a huge, starving lioness, convinced them
that they were to be executed by being thrown into her cage; now it was
reported that they were to be burned up together with their prison as a
sacrifice; now that they were to be buried alive at the head of the
Burman army in order to insure its victory over the English. The
following description by Mr. Gouger of the solemn hour of three, shows
the exquisite mental torture to which the prisoners were subjected:

  “Within the walls nothing worthy of notice occurred until the hour of
  three in the afternoon. As this hour approached, we noticed that the
  talking and jesting of the community gradually died away; all seemed
  to be under the influence of some powerful restraint, until that fatal
  hour was announced by the deep tones of a powerful gong suspended in
  the palace-yard, and a death-like silence prevailed. If a word was
  spoken it was in a whisper. It seemed as though even breathing were
  suspended under the control of a panic terror, too deep for
  expression, which pervaded every bosom. We did not long remain in
  ignorance of the cause. If any of the prisoners were to suffer death
  that day, the hour of three was that at which they were taken out for
  execution. The very manner of it was the acme of cold-blooded cruelty.
  The hour was scarcely tolled by the gong when the wicket opened, and
  the hideous figure of a spotted man appeared, who, without uttering a
  word, walked straight to his victim, now for the first time probably
  made acquainted with his doom. As many of these unfortunate people
  knew no more than ourselves the fate that awaited them, this mystery
  was terrible and agonizing; each one fearing, up to the last moment,
  that the stride of the spot might be directed his way. When the
  culprit disappeared with his conductor, and the prison door closed
  behind them, those who remained began again to breathe more freely;
  for another day, at least, their lives were safe.

  “I have described this process just as I saw it practiced. On this
  first day, two men were thus led away in total silence; not a useless
  question was asked by the one party, nor explanation given by the
  other; all was too well understood. After this inhuman custom was made
  known to us, we could not but participate with the rest in their
  diurnal misgivings, and shudder at the sound of the gong and the
  apparition of the _pahquet_. It was a solemn daily lesson of an
  impressive character, ‘Be ye also ready.’”

It is no wonder that Mr. Judson in the midst of these horrors took
refuge in the quietism of Madame Guyon, and used often to murmur her
beautiful lines:

                 “No place I seek, but to fulfil
                 In life, and death, Thy lovely will;
                 No succor in my woes I want,
                 Except what Thou art pleased to grant.
                 Our days are numbered—let us spare
                 Our anxious hearts a needless care;
                 ’Tis Thine to number out our days,
                 And ours to give them to Thy praise.”

His sublime faith in God never faltered. One of his fellow-captives thus
writes of him:

  “Often he expressed to me such sentiments as these: ‘Think what the
  consequences of this invasion must be. Here have I been ten years
  preaching the Gospel to timid listeners who wished to embrace the
  truth, but dared not; beseeching the emperor to grant liberty of
  conscience to his people, but without success; and now, when all human
  means seemed at an end, God opens the way by leading a Christian
  nation to subdue the country. It is possible that my life may be
  spared; if so, with what ardor and gratitude shall I pursue my work;
  and if not, His will be done; the door will be opened for others who
  will do the work better.’”

The following letter from Mrs. Judson to her brother tells the story of
the imprisonment, and forms, perhaps, the most thrilling recital to be
found in the annals of missions:

                        “RANGOON, _May_ 26, 1826.

  “I commence this letter with the intention of giving you the
  particulars of our captivity and sufferings at Ava. How long my
  patience will allow my reviewing scenes of disgust and horror, the
  conclusion of this letter will determine. I had kept a journal of
  everything that had transpired from our arrival at Ava, but destroyed
  it at the commencement of our difficulties.

  “The first certain intelligence we received of the declaration of war
  by the Burmese was on our arrival at Tsen-pyoo-kywon, about a hundred
  miles this side of Ava, where part of the troops under the command of
  the celebrated Bandoola had encamped. As we proceeded on our journey,
  we met Bandoola himself with the remainder of his troops, gaily
  equipped, seated on his golden barge, and surrounded by a fleet of
  golden war-boats, one of which was instantly dispatched from the other
  side of the river to hail us, and make all necessary inquiries. We
  were allowed to proceed quietly on, when we had informed the messenger
  that we were Americans, _not English_, and were going to Ava in
  obedience to the command of his majesty.

  “On our arrival at the capital, we found that Dr. Price was out of
  favor at court, and that suspicion rested on most of the foreigners
  then at Ava. Your brother visited at the palace two or three times,
  but found the king’s manner toward him very different from what it
  formerly had been; and the queen, who had hitherto expressed wishes
  for my speedy arrival, now made no inquiries after me, nor intimated a
  wish to see me. Consequently, I made no effort to visit at the palace,
  though almost daily invited to visit some of the branches of the royal
  family, who were living in their own houses, out of the palace
  enclosure. Under these circumstances, we thought our most prudent
  course lay in prosecuting our original intention of building a house,
  and commencing missionary operations as occasions offered, thus
  endeavoring to convince the Government that we had really nothing to
  do with the present war.

  “In two or three weeks after our arrival, the king, queen, all the
  members of the royal family, and most of the officers of Government,
  returned to Amarapoora, in order to come and take possession of the
  new palace in the customary style. As there has been much
  misunderstanding relative to Ava and Amarapoora, both being called the
  capital of the Burmese empire, I will here remark that the present Ava
  was formerly the seat of Government; but soon after the old king had
  ascended the throne, it was forsaken, and a new palace built at
  Amarapoora, about six miles from Ava, in which he remained during his
  life. In the fourth year of the reign of the present king, Amarapoora
  was in its turn forsaken, and a new and beautiful palace built at Ava,
  which was _then_ in ruins, but is _now the capital_ of the Burmese
  empire. The king and royal family had been living in temporary
  buildings at Ava, during the completion of the new palace, which gave
  occasion for their returning to Amarapoora.

  “For several weeks nothing took place to alarm us, and we went on with
  our school. Mr. Judson preached every Sabbath; all the materials for
  building a brick house were procured, and the masons had made
  considerable progress in raising the building.

  “On the 23d of May, 1824, just as we had concluded worship at the
  doctor’s house, the other side of the river, a messenger came to
  inform us that Rangoon was taken by the English. The intelligence
  produced a shock, in which was a mixture of fear and joy. Mr. Gouger,
  a young merchant residing at Ava, was then with us, and had much more
  reason to fear than the rest of us. We all, however, immediately
  returned to our house, and began to consider what was to be done. Mr.
  G. went to Prince Thah-ya-wa-dee, the king’s most influential brother,
  who informed him he need not give himself any uneasiness, as he had
  mentioned the subject to his majesty, who had replied, that ‘the few
  foreigners residing at Ava had nothing to do with the war, and should
  not be molested.’

  “The Government were now all in motion. An army of ten or twelve
  thousand men, under the command of the kyee-woon-gyee, were sent off
  in three or four days, and were to be joined by the sakyah-woon-gyee,
  who had previously been appointed viceroy of Rangoon, and who was on
  his way thither when the news of its attack reached him. No doubt was
  entertained of the defeat of the English; the only fear of the king
  was, that the foreigners, hearing of the advance of the Burmese
  troops, would be so alarmed as to flee on board their ships and
  depart, before there would be time to secure them as slaves. ‘Bring
  for me,’ said a wild young buck of the palace, ‘six kala-pyoos [white
  strangers] to row my boat.’ ‘And to me,’ said the lady of a woon-gyee,
  ‘send four white strangers to manage the affairs of my house, as I
  understand they are trusty servants.’ The war-boats, in high glee,
  passed our house, the soldiers singing and dancing, and exhibiting
  gestures of the most joyous kind. ‘Poor fellows!’ said we, ‘you will
  probably never dance again.’ And it so proved, for few, if any, ever
  again saw their native home.

  “As soon as the army were dispatched, the Government began to inquire
  the cause of the arrival of the strangers at Rangoon. There must be
  spies in the country, suggested some, who had invited them over. And
  who so likely to be spies as the Englishmen residing at Ava? A report
  was in circulation that Captain Laird, lately arrived, had brought
  Bengal papers which contained the intention of the English to take
  Rangoon, and it was kept a secret from his majesty. An inquiry was
  instituted. The three Englishmen, Gouger, Laird, and Rogers, were
  called and examined. It was found they had seen the papers, and were
  put in confinement, though not in prison. We now began to tremble for
  ourselves, and were in daily expectation of some dreadful event.

  “At length Mr. Judson and Dr. Price were summoned to a court of
  examination, where strict inquiry was made relative to all they knew.
  The great point seemed to be whether they had been in the habit of
  making communications to foreigners of the state of the country, etc.
  They answered, they had always written to their friends in America,
  but had no correspondence with English officers, or the Bengal
  Government. After their examination they were not put in confinement,
  as the Englishmen had been, but were allowed to return to their
  houses, in examining the accounts of Mr. Gouger, it was found that Mr.
  Judson and Dr. Price had taken money of him to a considerable amount.
  Ignorant as were the Burmese of our mode of receiving money by orders
  on Bengal, this circumstance, to their suspicious minds, was a
  sufficient evidence that the missionaries were in the pay of the
  English, and very probably spies. It was thus represented to the king,
  who, in an angry tone, ordered the immediate arrest of the ‘two
  teachers.’

  “On the 8th of June, just as we were preparing for dinner, in rushed
  an officer, holding a black book, with a dozen Burmans, accompanied by
  _one_, whom, from his spotted face, we knew to be an executioner, and
  a ‘son of the prison.’ ‘Where is the teacher?’ was the first inquiry.
  Mr. Judson presented himself. ‘You are called by the king,’ said the
  officer—a form of speech always used when about to arrest a criminal.
  The spotted man instantly seized Mr. Judson, threw him on the floor,
  and produced the small cord, the instrument of torture. I caught hold
  of his arm. ‘Stay,’ said I; ‘I will give you money.’ ‘Take her too,’
  said the officer; ‘she also is a foreigner.’ Mr. Judson, with an
  imploring look, begged they would let me remain till further orders.
  The scene was now shocking beyond description. The whole neighborhood
  had collected; the masons at work on the brick house threw down their
  tools, and ran; the little Burman children were screaming and crying;
  the Bengalee servants stood in amazement at the indignities offered
  their master; and the hardened executioner, with a kind of hellish
  joy, drew tight the cords, bound Mr. Judson fast, and dragged him off
  I knew not whither. In vain I begged and entreated the spotted face to
  take the silver, and loosen the ropes; but he spurned my offers, and
  immediately departed. I gave the money, however, to Moung Ing to
  follow after, to make some further attempt to mitigate the torture of
  Mr. Judson; but instead of succeeding, when a few rods from the house,
  the unfeeling wretches again threw their prisoner on the ground, and
  drew the cords still tighter, so as almost to prevent respiration.

  “The officer and his gang proceeded on to the court-house, where the
  governor of the city and officers were collected, one of whom read the
  order of the king to commit Mr. Judson to the death-prison, into which
  he was soon hurled, the door closed, and Moung Ing saw no more. What a
  night was now before me! I retired into my room, and endeavored to
  obtain consolation from committing my case to God, and imploring
  fortitude and strength to suffer whatever awaited me. But the
  consolation of retirement was not long allowed me, for the magistrate
  of the place had come into the veranda, and continually called me to
  come out, and submit to his examination. But previously to going out,
  I destroyed all my letters, journals, and writings of every kind, lest
  they should disclose the fact that we had correspondents in England,
  and had minuted down every occurrence since our arrival in the
  country. When this work of destruction was finished, I went out, and
  submitted to the examination of the magistrate, who inquired very
  minutely of everything I knew; then ordered the gates of the compound
  to be shut, no person to be allowed to go in or out, placed a guard of
  ten ruffians, to whom he gave a strict charge to keep me safe, and
  departed.

  “It was now dark. I retired to an inner room with my four little
  Burman girls, and barred the doors. The guard instantly ordered me to
  unbar the doors and come out, or they would break the house down. I
  obstinately refused to obey, and endeavored to intimidate them by
  threatening to complain of their conduct to higher authorities on the
  morrow. Finding me resolved in disregarding their orders, they took
  the two Bengalee servants, and confined them in the stocks in a very
  painful position. I could not endure this, but called the head man to
  the window, and promised to make them all a present in the morning, if
  they would release the servants. After much debate, and many severe
  threatenings, they consented, but seemed resolved to annoy me as much
  as possible. My unprotected, desolate state, my entire uncertainty of
  the fate of Mr. Judson, and the dreadful carousings and almost
  diabolical language of the guard, all conspired to make it by far the
  most distressing night I had ever passed. You may well imagine, my
  dear brother, that sleep was a stranger to my eyes, and peace and
  composure to my mind.

  “The next morning I sent Moung Ing to ascertain the situation of your
  brother, and give him food, if still living. He soon returned, with
  the intelligence that Mr. Judson and all the white foreigners were
  confined in the death-prison, with three pairs of iron fetters each,
  and fastened to a long pole, to prevent their moving! The point of my
  anguish now was, that I was a prisoner myself, and could make no
  efforts for the release of the missionaries. I begged and entreated
  the magistrate to allow me to go to some member of Government to state
  my case; but he said he did not dare to consent, for fear I should
  make my escape. I next wrote a note to one of the king’s sisters, with
  whom I had been intimate, requesting her to use her influence for the
  release of the teachers. The note was returned, with this message: she
  ‘did not understand it’; which was a polite refusal to interfere;
  though I afterward ascertained that she had an anxious desire to
  assist us, but dared not, on account of the queen. The day dragged
  heavily away, and another dreadful night was before me. I endeavored
  to soften the feelings of the guard by giving them tea and cigars for
  the night; so that they allowed me to remain inside of my room without
  threatening, as they did the night before. But the idea of your
  brother being stretched on the bare floor, in irons and confinement,
  haunted my mind like a spectre, and prevented my obtaining any quiet
  sleep, though nature was almost exhausted.

  “On the third day I sent a message to the governor of the city, who
  has the entire direction of prison affairs, to allow me to visit him
  with a present. This had the desired effect, and he immediately sent
  orders to the guards to permit my going into town. The governor
  received me pleasantly, and asked me what I wanted. I stated to him
  the situation of the foreigners, and particularly that of the
  teachers, who were Americans, and had nothing to do with the war. He
  told me it was not in his power to release them from prison or irons,
  but that he could make their situation more comfortable; there was his
  head officer, with whom I must consult relative to the means. The
  officer, who proved to be one of the city writers, and whose
  countenance at the first glance presented the most perfect assemblage
  of all the evil passions attached to human nature, took me aside and
  endeavored to convince me that myself, as well as the prisoners, was
  entirely at his disposal; that our future comfort must depend on my
  liberality in regard to presents; and that these must be made in a
  private way, and unknown to any officer in the Government! ‘What must
  I do,’ said I, ‘to obtain a mitigation of the present sufferings of
  the two teachers?’ ‘Pay to me,’ said he, ‘two hundred ticals [about a
  hundred dollars], two pieces of fine cloth, and two pieces of
  handkerchiefs.’ I had taken money with me in the morning; our house
  being two miles from the prison, I could not easily return. This I
  offered to the writer, and begged he would not insist on the other
  articles, as they were not in my possession. He hesitated for some
  time; but fearing to lose the sight of so much money, he concluded to
  take it, promising to relieve the teachers from their most painful
  situation.

  “I then procured an order from the governor for my admittance into
  prison; but the sensations produced by meeting your brother, in that
  _wretched, horrid_ situation, and the affecting scene which ensued, I
  will not attempt to describe.[29] Mr. Judson crawled to the door of
  the prison—for I was never allowed to enter—gave me some directions
  relative to his release; but before we could make any arrangement, I
  was ordered to depart by those iron-hearted jailers, who could not
  endure to see us enjoy the poor consolation of meeting in that
  miserable place. In vain I pleaded the order from the governor for my
  admittance; they again harshly repeated, ‘Depart, or we will pull you
  out.’ The same evening the missionaries, together with the other
  foreigners, who paid an equal sum, were taken out of the common
  prison, and confined in an open shed in the prison enclosure. Here I
  was allowed to send them food, and mats to sleep on, but was not
  permitted to enter again for several days.

  “My next object was to get a petition presented to the queen; but no
  person being admitted into the palace who was in disgrace with his
  majesty, I sought to present it through the medium of her brother’s
  wife. I had visited her in better days, and received particular marks
  of her favor. But now times were altered; Mr. Judson was in prison,
  and I in distress, which was a sufficient reason for giving me a cold
  reception. I took a present of considerable value. She was lolling on
  her carpet as I entered, with her attendants around her. I waited not
  for the usual question to a suppliant, ‘What do you want?’ but in a
  bold, earnest, yet respectful manner, stated our distresses and our
  wrongs, and begged her assistance. She partly raised her head, opened
  the present I had brought, and coolly replied, ‘Your case is not
  singular; all the foreigners are treated alike.’ ‘But it is singular,’
  said I; ‘the teachers are Americans; they are ministers of religion,
  have nothing to do with war or politics, and came to Ava in obedience
  to the king’s command. They have never done anything to deserve such
  treatment, and is it right they should be treated thus?’ ‘The king
  does as he pleases,’ said she; ‘I am not the king; what can I do?’
  ‘You can state their case to the queen, and obtain their release,’
  replied I. ‘Place yourself in my situation; were you in America, your
  husband, innocent of crime, thrown into prison, in irons, and you a
  solitary, unprotected female, what would you do?’ With a slight degree
  of feeling, she said, ‘I will present your petition; come again
  to-morrow.’ I returned to the house with considerable hope that the
  speedy release of the missionaries was at hand. But the next day, Mr.
  Gouger’s property, to the amount of fifty thousand rupees, was taken
  and carried to the palace. The officers, on their return, politely
  informed me they should _visit our house_ on the morrow. I felt
  obliged for this information, and accordingly made preparations to
  receive them, by secreting as many little articles as possible,
  together with considerable silver, as I knew, if the war should be
  protracted, we should be in a state of starvation without it. But my
  mind was in a dreadful state of agitation lest it should be
  discovered, and cause my being thrown into prison. And had it been
  possible to procure money from any other quarter, I should not have
  ventured on such a step.

  “The following morning, the royal treasurer, the governor of the north
  gate of the palace, who was in future our steady friend, and another
  nobleman, attended by forty or fifty followers, came to take
  possession of all we had. I treated them civilly, gave them chairs to
  sit on, tea and sweetmeats for their refreshment; and justice obliges
  me to say that they conducted the business of confiscation with more
  regard to my feelings than I should have thought it possible for
  Burmese officers to exhibit. The three officers, with one of the royal
  secretaries, alone entered the house; their attendants were ordered to
  remain outside. They saw I was deeply affected, and apologized for
  what they were about to do by saying it was painful for them to take
  possession of property not their own, but they were compelled thus to
  do by order of the king. ‘Where are your silver, gold, and jewels?’
  said the royal treasurer. ‘I have no gold or jewels; but here is the
  key of a trunk which contains the silver; do with it as you please.’
  The trunk was produced, and the silver weighed. ‘This money,’ said I,
  ‘was collected in America by the disciples of Christ, and sent here
  for the purpose of building a _kyoung_ [the name of a priest’s
  dwelling], and for our support while teaching the religion of Christ.
  Is it suitable that you should take it?’ The Burmese are averse to
  taking what is offered in a religious point of view, which was the
  cause of my making the inquiry. ‘We will state this circumstance to
  the king,’ said one of them, ‘and perhaps he will restore it. But is
  this all the silver you have?’ I could not tell a falsehood. ‘The
  house is in your possession,’ I replied; ‘search for yourselves.’
  ‘Have you not deposited silver with some person of your acquaintance?’
  ‘My acquaintances are all in prison; with whom should I deposit
  silver?’ They next ordered my trunk and drawers to be examined. The
  secretary only was allowed to accompany me in this search. Everything
  nice or curious which met his view was presented to the officers for
  their decision whether it should be taken or retained. I begged they
  would not take our wearing apparel, as it would be disgraceful to take
  clothes partly worn into the possession of his majesty, and to us they
  were of unspeakable value. They assented, and took a list only, and
  did the same with the books, medicines, etc. My little work-table and
  rocking-chair, presents from my beloved brother, I rescued from their
  grasp, partly by artifice and partly through their ignorance. They
  left, also, many articles which were of inestimable value during our
  long imprisonment.

  “As soon as they had finished their search and departed, I hastened to
  the queen’s brother to hear what had been the fate of my petition,
  when, alas! all my hopes were dashed by his wife’s coolly saying, ‘I
  stated your case to the queen, but her majesty replied, “_The teachers
  will not die; let them remain as they are._”’ My expectations had been
  so much excited, that this sentence was like a thunder-clap to my
  feelings. For the truth at one glance assured me that if the queen
  refused assistance, who would dare to intercede for me? With a heavy
  heart I departed, and on my way home attempted to enter the
  prison-gate to communicate the sad tidings to your brother, but was
  harshly refused admittance; and for the ten days following,
  notwithstanding my daily efforts, I was not allowed to enter. We
  attempted to communicate by writing, and after being successful for a
  few days, it was discovered; the poor fellow who carried the
  communications was beaten and put in the stocks, and the circumstance
  cost me about ten dollars, besides two or three days of agony for fear
  of the consequences.

  “The officers who had taken possession of our property presented it to
  his majesty, saying, ‘Judson is a true teacher; we found nothing in
  his house but what belongs to priests. In addition to this money there
  are an immense number of books, medicines, trunks of wearing apparel,
  etc., of which we have only taken a list. Shall we take them or let
  them remain?’ ‘Let them remain,’ said the king, ‘and put this property
  by itself, for it shall be restored to him again if he is found
  innocent.’ This was in allusion to the idea of his being a spy.

  “For two or three months following, I was subject to continual
  harassments, partly through my ignorance of police management, and
  partly through the insatiable desire of every petty officer to enrich
  himself through our misfortunes. When the officers came to our house
  to confiscate our property, they insisted on knowing how much I had
  given the governor and prison officers to release the teachers from
  the inner prison. I honestly told them, and they demanded the sum from
  the governor, which threw him into a dreadful rage, and he threatened
  to put all the prisoners back into their original place. I went to him
  the next morning, and the first words with which he accosted me were,
  ‘You are very bad; why did you tell the royal treasurer that you had
  given me so much money?’ ‘The treasurer inquired; what could I say?’ I
  replied. Say that you had given nothing,’ said he, ‘and I would have
  made the teachers comfortable in prison; but now I know not what will
  be their fate.’ ‘But I can not tell a falsehood,’ I replied; ‘my
  religion differs from yours; it forbids prevarication; and had you
  stood by me with your knife raised, I could not have said what you
  suggest.’ His wife, who sat by his side, and who always, from this
  time, continued my firm friend, instantly said, ‘Very true; what else
  could she have done? I like such straightforward conduct; you must
  not,’ turning to the governor, ‘be angry with her.’ I then presented
  the governor with a beautiful opera-glass I had just received from
  England, and begged his anger at me would not influence him to treat
  the prisoners with unkindness, and I would endeavor, from time to
  time, to make him such presents as would compensate for his loss. ‘You
  may intercede for your husband only; for your sake he shall remain
  where he is; but let the other prisoners take care of themselves.’ I
  pleaded hard for Dr. Price; but he would not listen, and, the same
  day, had him returned to the inner prison, where he remained ten days.
  He was then taken out, in consequence of the doctor’s promising a
  piece of broadcloth, and my sending two pieces of handkerchiefs.

  “About this period I was one day summoned to the Lut-d’hau in an
  official way. What new evil was before me I knew not, but was obliged
  to go. When arrived, I was allowed to _stand_ at the bottom of the
  stairs, as no female is permitted to ascend the steps, or even to
  stand, but sit on the ground. Hundreds were collected around. The
  officer who presided, in an authoritative voice began: ‘Speak the
  truth in answer to the questions I shall ask. If you speak true, no
  evil will follow; but if not, your life will not be spared. It is
  reported that you have committed to the care of a Burmese officer a
  string of pearls, a pair of diamond earrings, and a silver teapot. Is
  it true?’ ‘It is not,’ I replied; ‘and if you or any other person can
  produce these articles, I refuse not to die.’ The officer again urged
  the necessity of ‘speaking true.’ I told him I had nothing more to say
  on the subject, but begged he would use his influence to obtain the
  release of Mr. Judson from prison.

  “I returned to the house with a heart much lighter than I went, though
  conscious of my perpetual exposure to such harassments.
  Notwithstanding the repulse I had met in my application to the queen,
  I could not remain without making continual efforts for your brother’s
  release, while there was the least probability of success. Time after
  time my visits to the queen’s sister-in-law were repeated, till she
  refused to answer a question, and told me by her looks I had better
  keep out of her presence. For the seven following months, hardly a day
  passed that I did not visit some one of the members of Government, or
  branches of the royal family, in order to gain their influence in our
  behalf; but the only benefit resulting was, their encouraging promises
  preserved us from despair, and induced a hope of the speedy
  termination of our difficulties, which enabled us to bear our
  distresses better than we otherwise should have done. I ought,
  however, to mention that, by my repeated visits to the different
  members of Government, I gained several friends, who were ready to
  assist me with articles of food, though in a private manner, and who
  used their influence in the palace to destroy the impression of our
  being in any way engaged in the present war. But no one dared to speak
  a word to the king or queen in favor of a foreigner while there were
  such continual reports of the success of the English arms.

  “During these seven months, the continual extortions and oppressions
  to which your brother and the other white prisoners were subject are
  indescribable. Sometimes sums of money were demanded, sometimes pieces
  of cloth and handkerchiefs; at other times an order would be issued
  that the white foreigners should not speak to each other, or have any
  communication with their friends without. Then, again, the servants
  were forbidden to carry in their food without an extra fee. Sometimes,
  for days and days together, I could not go into the prison till after
  dark, when I had two miles to walk in returning to the house. O, how
  many, many times have I returned from that dreary prison at nine
  o’clock at night, solitary, and worn out with fatigue and anxiety, and
  thrown myself down in that same rocking-chair which you and Deacon L.
  provided for me in Boston, and endeavored to invent some new scheme
  for the release of the prisoners. Sometimes, for a moment or two, my
  thoughts would glance toward America, and my beloved friends there;
  but for nearly a year and a half, so entirely engrossed was every
  thought with present scenes and sufferings, that I seldom reflected on
  a single occurrence of my former life, or recollected that I had a
  friend in existence out of Ava.

  “The war was now prosecuted with all the energy the Burmese Government
  possessed. New troops were continually raised and sent down the river,
  and as frequent reports returned of their being all cut off. But that
  part of the Burmese army stationed in Arracan, under the command of
  Bandoola, had been more successful. Three hundred prisoners, at one
  time, were sent to the capital, as an evidence of the victory that had
  been gained. The king began to think that none but Bandoola understood
  the art of fighting with foreigners; consequently, his majesty
  recalled him, with the design of his taking command of the army that
  had been sent to Rangoon. On his arrival at Ava, he was received at
  court in the most flattering manner, and was the recipient of every
  favor in the power of the king and queen to bestow. He was, in fact,
  while at Ava, the acting king. I was resolved to apply to him for the
  release of the missionaries, though some members of Government advised
  me not, lest he, being reminded of their existence, should issue an
  immediate order for their execution. But it was my last hope, and, as
  it proved, my last application.

  “Your brother wrote a petition privately, stating every circumstance
  that would have a tendency to interest him in our behalf. With fear
  and trembling I approached him, while surrounded by a crowd of
  flatterers; and one of his secretaries took the petition, and read it
  aloud. After hearing it, he spoke to me in an obliging manner, asked
  several questions relative to the teachers, said he would think of the
  subject, and bade me come again. I ran to the prison to communicate
  the favorable reception to Mr. Judson; and we both had sanguine hopes
  that his release was at hand. But the governor of the city expressed
  his amazement at my temerity, and said he doubted not it would be the
  means of destroying all the prisoners. In a day or two, however, I
  went again, and took a present of considerable value. Bandoola was not
  at home, but his lady, after ordering the present to be taken into
  another room, modestly informed me that she was ordered by her husband
  to make the following communication: that he was now very busily
  employed in making preparations for Rangoon; but that when he had
  retaken that place, and expelled the English, he would return and
  release all the prisoners.

  “Thus, again, were all our hopes dashed; and we felt that we could do
  nothing more but sit down and submit to our lot. From this time we
  gave up all idea of being released from prison till the termination of
  the war; but I was still obliged to visit constantly some of the
  members of Government with little presents, particularly the governor
  of the city, for the purpose of making the situation of the prisoners
  tolerable. I generally spent the greater part of every other day at
  the governor’s house, giving him minute information relative to
  American manners, customs, government, etc. He used to be so much
  gratified with my communications as to feel greatly disappointed if
  any occurrence prevented my spending the usual hours at his house.

  “Some months after your brother’s imprisonment, I was permitted to
  make a little bamboo room in the prison enclosure, where he could be
  much by himself, and where I was sometimes allowed to spend two or
  three hours. It so happened that the two months he occupied this place
  were the coldest of the year, when he would have suffered much in the
  open shed he had previously occupied. After the birth of your little
  niece,[30] I was unable to visit the prison and the governor as
  before, and found I had lost considerable influence previously gained;
  for he was not so forward to hear my petitions when any difficulty
  occurred as he formerly had been. When Maria was nearly two months
  old, her father one morning sent me word that he and all the white
  prisoners were put into the inner prison, in five pairs of fetters
  each, that his little room had been torn down, and his mat, pillow,
  etc., been taken by the jailers. This was to me a dreadful shock, as I
  thought at once it was only a prelude to greater evils.

  “I should have mentioned before this the defeat of Bandoola, his
  escape to Danooyboo, the complete destruction of his army and loss of
  ammunition, and the consternation this intelligence produced at court.
  The English army had left Rangoon, and were advancing toward Prome,
  when these severe measures were taken with the prisoners.

  “I went immediately to the governor’s house. He was not at home, but
  had ordered his wife to tell me, when I came, not to ask to have the
  additional fetters taken off or the prisoners released, for _it could
  not be done_. I went to the prison gate, but was forbidden to enter.
  All was as still as death—not a white face to be seen, or a vestige of
  Mr. Judson’s little room remaining. I was determined to see the
  governor, and know the cause of this additional oppression, and for
  this purpose returned into town the same evening at an hour I knew he
  would be at home. He was in his audience-room, and, as I entered,
  looked up without speaking, but exhibited a mixture of shame and
  affected anger in his countenance. I began by saying, ‘Your lordship
  has hitherto treated us with the kindness of a father. Our obligations
  to you are very great. We have looked to you for protection from
  oppression and cruelty. You have in many instances mitigated the
  sufferings of those unfortunate though innocent beings committed to
  your charge. You have promised me particularly that you would stand by
  me to the last, and though you should receive an order from the king,
  you would not put Mr. Judson to death. What crime has he committed to
  deserve such additional punishment?’ The old man’s hard heart was
  melted, for he wept like a child. ‘I pity you, Tsa-yah-ga-dau’—a name
  by which he always called me; ‘I knew you would make me feel; I
  therefore forbade your application. But you must believe me when I say
  I do not wish to increase the sufferings of the prisoners. When I am
  ordered to execute them, the least that I can do is to put them out of
  sight. I will now tell you,’ continued he, ‘what I have never told you
  before—that three times I have received intimations from the queen’s
  brother to assassinate all the white prisoners privately; but I would
  not do it. And I now repeat it, though I execute all the others, I
  will never execute your husband. But I can not release him from his
  present confinement, and you must not ask it.’ I had never seen him
  manifest so much feeling, or so resolute in denying me a favor, which
  circumstance was an additional reason for thinking dreadful scenes
  were before us.

  “The situation of the prisoners was now distressing beyond
  description. It was at the commencement of the hot season. There were
  above a hundred prisoners shut up in one room, without a breath of air
  excepting from the cracks in the boards. I sometimes obtained
  permission to go to the door for five minutes, when my heart sickened
  at the wretchedness exhibited. The white prisoners, from incessant
  perspiration and loss of appetite, looked more like the dead than the
  living. I made daily applications to the governor, offering him money,
  which he refused; but all that I gained was permission for the
  foreigners to eat their food outside, and this continued but a short
  time.

  “It was at this period that the death of Bandoola was announced in the
  palace. The king heard it with silent amazement, and the queen, in
  Eastern style, smote upon her breast, and cried, ‘Ama! ama!’ (alas!
  alas!) Who could be found to fill his place? Who would venture, since
  the invincible Bandoola had been cut off? Such were the exclamations
  constantly heard in the streets of Ava. The common people were
  speaking _low_ of a rebellion, in case more troops should be levied.
  For as yet the common people had borne the weight of the war; not a
  tical had been taken from the royal treasury. At length the
  pakan-woon, who a few months before had been so far disgraced by the
  king as to be thrown into prison and irons, now offered himself to
  head a new army that should be raised on a different plan from those
  which had hitherto been raised, and assured the king, in the most
  confident manner, that he would conquer the English, and restore those
  places that had been taken in a very short time. He proposed that
  every soldier should receive a hundred ticals in advance, and he would
  obtain security for each man, as the money was to pass through his
  hands. It was afterward found that he had taken, for his own use, ten
  ticals from every hundred. He was a man of enterprise and talents,
  though a violent enemy to all foreigners. His offers were accepted by
  the king and Government, and all power immediately committed to him.
  One of the first exercises of his power was to arrest Lanciego and the
  Portuguese priest, who had hitherto remained unmolested, and cast them
  into prison, and to subject the native Portuguese and Bengalees to the
  most menial occupations. The whole town was in alarm lest they should
  feel the effects of his power; and it was owing to the malignant
  representations of this man, that the white prisoners suffered such a
  change in their circumstances as I shall soon relate.

  “After continuing in the inner prison for more than a month, your
  brother was taken with a fever. I felt assured he would not live long,
  unless removed from that noisome place. To effect this, and in order
  to be near the prison, I removed from our house, and put up a small
  bamboo room in the governor’s enclosure, which was nearly opposite the
  prison gate. Here I incessantly begged the governor to give me an
  order to take Mr. Judson out of the large prison, and place him in a
  more comfortable situation; and the old man, being worn out with my
  entreaties, at length gave me the order in an official form, and also
  gave orders to the head jailer to allow me to go in and out, all times
  of the day, to administer medicines, etc. I now felt happy indeed, and
  had Mr. Judson instantly removed into a little bamboo hovel, so low
  that neither of us could stand upright—but a palace in comparison with
  the place he had left.

  “Notwithstanding the order the governor had given for my admittance
  into prison, it was with the greatest difficulty that I could persuade
  the under-jailer to open the gate. I used to carry Mr. Judson’s food
  myself, for the sake of getting in, and would then remain an hour or
  two, unless driven out. We had been in this comfortable situation but
  two or three days, until, one morning, having carried in Mr. Judson’s
  breakfast, which, in consequence of fever, he was unable to take, I
  remained longer than usual, when the governor, in great haste, sent
  for me. I promised to return as soon as I had ascertained the
  governor’s will, he being much alarmed at this unusual message. I was
  very agreeably disappointed when the governor informed me that he only
  wished to consult me about his watch, and seemed unusually pleasant
  and conversable. I found afterward that his only object was to detain
  me until the dreadful scene about to take place in the prison was
  over. For when I left him to go to my room, one of the servants came
  running, and, with a ghastly countenance, informed me that all the
  white prisoners were carried away. I would not believe the report, and
  instantly went back to the governor, who said he had just heard of it,
  but did not wish to tell me. I hastily ran into the street, hoping to
  get a glimpse of them before they were out of sight, but in this was
  disappointed. I ran first into one street, then another, inquiring of
  all I met; but no one would answer me. At length an old woman told me
  the white prisoners had gone toward the little river; for they were to
  be carried to Amarapoora. I then ran to the banks of the little river,
  about half a mile, but saw them not, and concluded the old woman had
  deceived me. Some of the friends of the foreigners went to the place
  of execution, but found them not. I then returned to the governor, to
  try to discover the cause of their removal, and the probability of
  their future fate. The old man assured me that he was ignorant of the
  intention of Government to remove the foreigners till that morning;
  that, since I went out, he had learned that the prisoners were to be
  sent to Amarapoora, but for what purpose he knew not. ‘I will send off
  a man immediately,’ said he, ‘to see what is to be done with them. You
  can do nothing more for your husband,’ continued he; ‘_take care of
  yourself_.’ With a heavy heart I went to my room, and having no hope
  to excite me to exertion, I sank down almost in despair. For several
  days previous, I had been actively engaged in building my own little
  room, and making our hovel comfortable. My thoughts had been almost
  entirely occupied in contriving means to get into prison. But now I
  looked toward the gate with a kind of melancholy feeling, but no wish
  to enter. All was the stillness of death; no preparation of your
  brother’s food, no expectation of meeting him at the usual dinner
  hour; all my employment, all my occupations, seem to have ceased, and
  I had nothing left but the dreadful recollection that Mr. Judson was
  carried off, I knew not whither. It was one of the most insupportable
  days I ever passed. Toward night, however, I came to the determination
  to set off the next morning for Amarapoora, and for this purpose was
  obliged to go to our house out of town.

  “Never before had I suffered so much from fear in traversing the
  streets of Ava. The last words of the governor, “Take care of
  yourself,” made me suspect there was some design with which I was
  unacquainted. I saw, also, he was afraid to have me go into the
  streets, and advised me to wait till dark, when he would send me in a
  cart, and a man to open the gates. I took two or three trunks of the
  most valuable articles, together with the medicine chest, to deposit
  in the house of the governor; and after committing the house and
  premises to our faithful Moung Ing and a Bengalee servant, who
  continued with us, though we were unable to pay his wages, I took
  leave, as I then thought probable, of our house in Ava forever.

  “On my return to the governor’s, I found a servant of Mr. Gouger, who
  happened to be near the prison when the foreigners were led out, and
  followed on to see the end, who informed me that the prisoners had
  been carried before the lamine-woon, at Amarapoora, and were to be
  sent the next day to a village he knew not how far distant. My
  distress was a little relieved by the intelligence that our friend was
  yet alive; but still I knew not what was to become of him. The next
  morning I obtained a pass from Government, and with my little Maria,
  who was then only three months old, Mary and Abby Hasseltine, two of
  the Burman children, and our Bengalee cook, who was the only one of
  the party that could afford me any assistance, I set off for
  Amarapoora. The day was dreadfully hot; but we obtained a covered
  boat, in which we were tolerably comfortable, till within two miles of
  the Government house. I then procured a cart; but the violent motion,
  together with the dreadful heat and dust, made me almost distracted.
  But what was my disappointment, on my arriving at the court-house, to
  find that the prisoners had been sent on two hours before, and that I
  must go in that uncomfortable mode four miles farther with little
  Maria in my arms, whom I held all the way from Ava. The cartman
  refused to go any further; and after waiting an hour in the burning
  sun, I procured another, and set off for that never-to-be-forgotten
  place, Oung-pen-la. I obtained a guide from the governor, and was
  conducted directly to the prison yard. But what a scene of
  wretchedness was presented to my view! The prison was an old,
  shattered building, without a roof; the fence was entirely destroyed;
  eight or ten Burmese were on the top of the building, trying to make
  something like a shelter with leaves; while under a little low
  projection outside of the prison sat the foreigners, chained together
  two and two, almost dead with suffering and fatigue. The first words
  of your brother were, ‘Why have you come? I hoped you would not
  follow, for you can not live here.’ It was now dark. I had no
  refreshment for the suffering prisoners, or for myself, as I had
  expected to procure all that was necessary at the market of
  Amarapoora, and I had no shelter for the night. I asked one of the
  jailers if I might put up a little bamboo house near the prison; he
  said, ‘No; it is not customary.’ I then begged he would procure me a
  shelter for the night, when on the morrow I could find some place to
  live in. He took me to his house, in which there were only two small
  rooms—one in which he and his family lived; the other, which was then
  half full of grain, he offered to me; and in that little filthy place
  I spent the next six months of wretchedness. I procured some
  half-boiled water, instead of my tea, and, worn out with fatigue, laid
  myself down on a mat spread over the paddy, and endeavored to obtain a
  little refreshment from sleep. The next morning your brother gave me
  the following account of the brutal treatment he had received on being
  taken out of prison.

  “As soon as I had gone out at the call of the governor, one of the
  jailers rushed into Mr. Judson’s little room, roughly seized him by
  the arm, pulled him out, stripped him of all his clothes excepting
  shirt and pantaloons, took his shoes, hat, and all his bedding, tore
  off his chains, tied a rope round his waist, and dragged him to the
  court-house, where the other prisoners had previously been taken. They
  were then tied two-and-two, and delivered into the hands of the
  lamine-woon, who went on before them on horseback, while his slaves
  drove the prisoners, one of the slaves holding the rope which
  connected two of them together. It was in May, one of the hottest
  months in the year, and eleven o’clock in the day, so that the sun was
  intolerable indeed. They had proceeded only half a mile, when your
  brother’s feet became blistered; and so great was his agony, even at
  this early period, that as they were crossing the little river, he
  ardently longed to throw himself into the water to be free from
  misery. But the sin attached to such an act alone prevented. They had
  then eight miles to walk. The sand and gravel were like burning coals
  to the feet of the prisoners, which soon became perfectly destitute of
  skin; and in this wretched state they were goaded on by their
  unfeeling drivers. Mr. Judson’s debilitated state, in consequence of
  fever, and having taken no food that morning, rendered him less
  capable of bearing such hardships than the other prisoners. When about
  half-way on their journey, as they stopped for water, your brother
  begged the lamine-woon to allow him to ride his horse a mile or two,
  as he could proceed no farther in that dreadful state. But a scornful,
  malignant look was all the reply that was made. He then requested
  Captain Laird, who was tied with him, and who was a strong, healthy
  man, to allow him to take hold of his shoulder, as he was fast
  sinking. This the kind-hearted man granted for a mile or two, but then
  found the additional burden insupportable. Just at that period, Mr.
  Gouger’s Bengalee servant came up them, and, seeing the distresses of
  your brother, took off his headdress, which was made of cloth, tore it
  in two, gave half to his master, and half to Mr. Judson, which he
  instantly wrapped round his wounded feet, as they were not allowed to
  rest even for a moment. The servant then offered his shoulder to Mr.
  Judson, who was almost carried by him the remainder of the way. Had it
  not been for the support and assistance of this man, your brother
  thinks that he should have shared the fate of the poor Greek, who was
  one of their number, and, when taken out of prison that morning, was
  in perfect health. But he was a corpulent man, and the sun affected
  him so much that he fell down on the way. His inhuman drivers beat and
  dragged him until they themselves were wearied, when they procured a
  cart, in which he was carried the remaining two miles. But the poor
  creature expired in an hour or two after their arrival at the
  court-house. The lamine-woon, seeing the distressing state of the
  prisoners, and that one of their number was dead, concluded they
  should go no farther that night; otherwise they would have been driven
  on until they reached Oung-pen-la the same day. An old shed was
  appointed for their abode during the night, but without even a mat or
  pillow, or anything to cover them. The curiosity of the lamine-woon’s
  wife induced her to make a visit to the prisoners, whose wretchedness
  considerably excited her compassion, and she ordered some fruit,
  sugar, and tamarinds for their refreshment; and the next morning, rice
  was prepared for them and, poor as it was, it was refreshing to the
  prisoners, who had been almost destitute of food the day before. Carts
  were also provided for their conveyance, as none of them were able to
  walk. All this time, the foreigners were entirely ignorant of what was
  to become of them; and when they arrived at Oung-pen-la, and saw the
  dilapidated state of the prison, they immediately, all as one,
  concluded that they were there to be burned, agreeably to the report
  which had previously been in circulation at Ava. They all endeavored
  to prepare themselves for the awful scene anticipated; and it was not
  until they saw preparations making for repairing the prison, that they
  had the least doubt that a cruel, lingering death awaited them. My
  arrival was in an hour or two after this.[31]

  “The next morning I arose, and endeavored to find something like food.
  But there was no market, and nothing to be procured. One of Dr.
  Price’s friends, however, brought some cold rice and vegetable curry
  from Amarapoora, which, together with a cup of tea from Mr. Lanciego,
  answered for the breakfast of the prisoners; and for dinner we made a
  curry of dried salt fish, which a servant of Mr. Gouger had brought.
  All the money I could command in the world I had brought with me,
  secreted about my person; so you may judge what our prospects were, in
  case the war should continue long. But our heavenly Father was better
  to us than our fears; for, notwithstanding the constant extortions of
  the jailers during the whole six months we were at Oung-pen-la, and
  the frequent straits to which we were brought, we never really
  suffered for the want of money, though frequently for want of
  provisions, which were not procurable. Here at this place my personal
  bodily sufferings commenced. The very morning after my arrival, Mary
  Hasseltine was taken with the small-pox, the natural way. She, though
  very young, was the only assistant I had in taking care of little
  Maria. But she now required all the time I could spare from Mr.
  Judson, whose fever still continued, in prison, and whose feet were so
  dreadfully mangled that for several days he was unable to move. I knew
  not what to do, for I could procure no assistance from the
  neighborhood, or medicine for the sufferers, but was all day long
  going backward and forward from the house to the prison with little
  Maria in my arms.

  “You will recollect I never had the small-pox, but was vaccinated
  previously to leaving America. In consequence of being for so long a
  time constantly exposed, I had nearly a hundred pustules formed,
  though no previous symptoms of fever, etc. The jailer’s children
  having had the small-pox so lightly, in consequence of inoculation, my
  fame was spread all over the village, and every child, young and old,
  who had not previously had it, was brought for inoculation. And
  although I knew nothing about the disorder, or the mode of treating
  it, I inoculated them all with a needle, and told them to take care of
  their diet—all the instructions I could give them. Mr. Judson’s health
  was gradually restored, and he found himself much more comfortably
  situated than when in the city prison.

  “The prisoners were at first chained two and two; but as soon as the
  jailers could obtain chains sufficient, they were separated, and each
  prisoner had but one pair. The prison was repaired, a new fence made,
  and a large, airy shed erected in front of the prison, where the
  prisoners were allowed to remain during the day, though locked up in
  the little close prison at night. All the children recovered from the
  small-pox; but my watchings and fatigue, together with my miserable
  food, and more miserable lodgings, brought on one of the diseases of
  the country, which is almost always fatal to foreigners. My
  constitution seemed destroyed, and in a few days I became so weak as
  to be hardly able to walk to Mr. Judson’s prison. In this debilitated
  state I set off in a cart for Ava, to procure medicines and some
  suitable food, leaving the cook to supply my place. I reached the
  house in safety, and for two or three days the disorder seemed at a
  stand; after which it attacked me so violently that I had no hopes of
  recovery left; and my only anxiety now was, to return to Oung-pen-la,
  to die near the prison. It was with the greatest difficulty that I
  obtained the medicine chest from the governor, and then had no one to
  administer medicine. I, however, got at the laudanum, and by taking
  two drops at a time for several hours, it so far checked the disorder
  as to enable me to get on board a boat, though so weak that I could
  not stand, and again set off for Oung-pen-la. The last four miles was
  in that painful conveyance, the cart, and in the midst of the rainy
  season, when the mud almost buries the oxen. You may form some idea of
  a Burmese cart, when I tell you their wheels are not constructed like
  ours, but are simply round thick planks with a hole in the middle,
  through which a pole, that supports the body, is thrust.

  “I just reached Oung-pen-la when my strength seemed entirely
  exhausted. The good native cook came out to help me into the house;
  but so altered and emaciated was my appearance, that the poor fellow
  burst into tears at the first sight. I crawled on to the mat in the
  little room, to which I was confined for more than two months, and
  never perfectly recovered until I came to the English camp. At this
  period, when I was unable to take care of myself, or look after Mr.
  Judson, we must both have died had it not been for the faithful and
  affectionate care of our Bengalee cook. A common Bengalee cook will do
  nothing but the simple business of cooking; but he seemed to forget
  his caste, and almost his own wants, in his efforts to serve us. He
  would provide, cook, and carry your brother’s food, and then return
  and take care of me. I have frequently known him not to taste of food
  till near night, in consequence of having to go so far for wood and
  water, and in order to have Mr. Judson’s dinner ready at the usual
  hour. He never complained, never asked for his wages, and never for a
  moment hesitated to go anywhere, or to perform any act we required. I
  take great pleasure in speaking of the faithful conduct of this
  servant, who is still with us, and I trust has been well rewarded for
  his services.

  “Our dear little Maria was the greatest sufferer at this time, my
  illness depriving her of her usual nourishment, and neither a nurse
  nor a drop of milk could be procured in the village. By making
  presents to the jailers, I obtained leave for Mr. Judson to come out
  of prison, and take the emaciated creature around the village, to beg
  a little nourishment from those mothers who had young children. Her
  cries in the night were heart-rending, when it was impossible to
  supply her wants. I now began to think the very afflictions of Job had
  come upon me. When in health, I could bear the various trials and
  vicissitudes through which I was called to pass. But to be confined
  with sickness, and unable to assist those who were so dear to me, when
  in distress, was almost too much for me to bear; and had it not been
  for the consolations of religion, and an assured conviction that every
  additional trial was ordered by infinite love and mercy, I must have
  sunk under my accumulated sufferings. Sometimes our jailers seemed a
  little softened at our distress, and, for several days together,
  allowed Mr. Judson to come to the house, which was to me an
  unspeakable consolation. Then, again, they would be as iron-hearted in
  their demands as though we were free from sufferings, and in affluent
  circumstances. The annoyance, the extortions, and oppressions to which
  we were subject during our six months’ residence in Oung-pen-la, are
  beyond enumeration or description.

  “It was some time after our arrival at Oung-pen-la that we heard of
  the execution of the pakan-woon, in consequence of which our lives
  were still preserved. For we afterward ascertained that the white
  foreigners had been sent to Oung-pen-la for the express purpose of
  sacrificing them; and that he himself intended witnessing the horrid
  scene. We had frequently heard of his intended arrival at Oung-pen-la,
  but we had no idea of his diabolical purposes. He had raised an army
  of fifty thousand men (a tenth part of whose advance pay was found in
  his house), and expected to march against the English army in a short
  time, when he was suspected of high treason, and instantly executed,
  without the least examination. Perhaps no death in Ava ever produced
  such universal rejoicings as that of the pakan-woon. We never, to this
  day, hear his name mentioned but with an epithet of reproach or
  hatred. Another brother of the king was appointed to the command of
  the army now in readiness, but with no very sanguine expectations of
  success. Some weeks after the departure of these troops, two of the
  woon-gyees were sent down for the purpose of negotiating. But not
  being successful, the queen’s brother, the _acting king_ of the
  country, was prevailed on to go. Great expectations were raised in
  consequence; but his cowardice induced him to encamp his detachment of
  the army at a great distance from the English, and even at a distance
  from the main body of the Burmese army, whose headquarters were then
  at Maloun. Thus he effected nothing, though reports were continually
  reaching us that peace was nearly concluded.

  “The time at length arrived for our release from the dreary scenes of
  Oung-pen-la. A messenger from our friend, the governor of the north
  gate of the palace, informed us that an order had been given, the
  evening before, in the palace, for Mr. Judson’s release. On the same
  evening an official order arrived; and, with a joyful heart, I set
  about preparing for our departure early the following morning. But an
  unexpected obstacle occurred, which made us fear that _I_ should still
  be retained as a prisoner. The avaricious jailers, unwilling to lose
  their prey, insisted that, as my name was not included in the order, I
  should not go. In vain I urged that I was not sent there as a
  prisoner, and that they had no authority over me; they still
  determined I should not go, and forbade the villagers from letting me
  a cart. Mr. Judson was then taken out of prison and brought to the
  jailers’ house, where, by promises and threatenings, he finally gained
  their consent, on condition that we would leave the remaining part of
  our provisions we had recently received from Ava. It was noon before
  we were allowed to depart. When we reached Amarapoora, Mr. Judson was
  obliged to follow the guidance of the jailer, who conducted him to the
  governor of the city. Having made all necessary inquiries, the
  governor appointed another guard, which conveyed Mr. Judson to the
  court-house in Ava, at which place he arrived some time in the night.
  I took my own course, procured a boat, and reached our house before
  dark.

  “My first object, the next morning, was to go in search of your
  brother; and I had the mortification to meet him again in prison,
  though not the death-prison. I went immediately to my old friend the
  governor of the city, who now was raised to the rank of a woon-gyee.
  He informed me that Mr. Judson was to be sent to the Burmese camp, to
  act as translator and interpreter; and that he was put in confinement
  for a short time only till his affairs were settled. Early the
  following morning I went to this officer again, who told me that Mr.
  Judson had that moment received twenty ticals from Government, with
  orders to go immediately on board a boat for Maloun, and that _he_ had
  given him permission to stop a few moments at the house, it being on
  his way. I hastened back to the house, where Mr. Judson soon arrived,
  but was allowed to remain only a short time, while I could prepare
  food and clothing for future use. He was crowded into a little boat,
  where he had not room sufficient to lie down, and where his exposure
  to the cold, damp nights threw him into a violent fever which had
  nearly ended all his sufferings. He arrived at Maloun on the third
  day, where, ill as he was, he was obliged to enter immediately on the
  work of translating. He remained at Maloun six weeks, suffering as
  much as he had at any time in prison, excepting he was not in irons,
  nor exposed to the insults of those cruel jailers.

  “For the first fortnight after his departure, my anxiety was less than
  it had been at any time previously since the commencement of our
  difficulties. I knew the Burmese officers at the camp would feel the
  value of Mr. Judson’s services too much to allow their using any
  measures threatening his life. I thought his situation, also, would be
  much more comfortable than it really was; hence my anxiety was less.
  But my health, which had never been restored since that violent attack
  at Oung-pen-la, now daily declined, till I was seized with the spotted
  fever, with all its attendant horrors. I knew the nature of the fever
  from its commencement; and from the shattered state of my
  constitution, together with the want of medical attendants, I
  concluded it must be fatal. The day I was taken with the fever, a
  Burmese nurse came and offered her services for Maria. This
  circumstance filled me with gratitude and confidence in God; for,
  though I had so long and so constantly made efforts to obtain a person
  of this description, I had never been able; when at the very time I
  most needed one, and without any exertion, a voluntary offer was made.
  My fever raged violently, and without any intermission. I began to
  think of settling my worldly affairs, and of committing my dear little
  Maria to the care of a Portuguese woman, when I lost my reason, and
  was insensible to all around me. At this dreadful period, Dr. Price
  was released from prison, and hearing of my illness, obtained
  permission to come and see me. He has since told me that my situation
  was the most distressing he had ever witnessed, and that he did not
  then think I should survive many hours. My hair was shaved, my head
  and feet covered with blisters, and Dr. Price ordered the Bengalee
  servant who took care of me to endeavor to persuade me to take a
  little nourishment, which I had obstinately refused for several days.
  One of the first things I recollect was seeing this faithful servant
  standing by me, trying to induce me to take a little wine and water. I
  was, in fact, so far gone that the Burmese neighbors, who had come in
  to see me expire, said, ‘She is dead; and if the King of Angels should
  come in, He could not recover her.’

  “The fever, I afterward understood, had run seventeen days when the
  blisters were applied. I now began to recover slowly, but it was more
  than a month after this before I had strength to stand. While in this
  weak, debilitated state, the servant who had followed your brother to
  the Burmese camp came in, and informed me that his master had arrived,
  and was conducted to the court-house in town. I sent off a Burman to
  watch the movements of Government, and to ascertain, if possible, in
  what way Mr. Judson was to be disposed of. He soon returned with the
  sad intelligence that he saw Mr. Judson go out of the palace-yard
  accompanied by two or three Burmans, who conducted him to one of the
  prisons, and that it was reported in town that he was to be sent back
  to the Oung-pen-la prison. I was too weak to bear ill tidings of any
  kind; but a shock so dreadful as this almost annihilated me. For some
  time I could hardly breathe, but at last gained sufficient composure
  to dispatch Moung Ing to our friend the governor of the north gate,
  and begged him to make _one more effort_ for the release of Mr.
  Judson, and prevent his being sent back to the country prison, where I
  knew he must suffer much, as I could not follow. Moung Ing then went
  in search of Mr. Judson; and it was nearly dark when he found him, in
  the interior of an obscure prison. I had sent food early in the
  afternoon; but being unable to find him, the bearer had returned with
  it, which added another pang to my distresses, as I feared he was
  already sent to Oung-pen-la.

  “If ever I felt the value and efficacy of prayer, I did at this time.
  I could not rise from my couch; I could make no efforts to secure my
  husband; I could only plead with that great and powerful Being who has
  said, ‘Call upon me in the day of trouble, and _I will hear_, and thou
  shalt glorify me,’ and who made me at this time feel so powerfully
  this promise that I became quite composed, feeling assured that my
  prayers would be answered.

  “When Mr. Judson was sent from Maloun to Ava, it was within five
  minutes’ notice, and without his knowledge of the cause. On his way up
  the river, he accidentally saw the communication made to Government
  respecting him, which was simply this: ‘We have no further use for
  Yoodthan; we therefore return him to the golden city.’ On arriving at
  the court-house, there happened to be no one present who was
  acquainted with Mr. Judson. The presiding officer inquired from what
  place he had been sent to Maloun. He was answered, from Oung-pen-la.
  ‘Let him, then,’ said the officer, ‘be returned thither’; when he was
  delivered to a guard and conducted to the place above mentioned, there
  to remain until he could be conveyed to Oung-pen-la. In the meantime,
  the governor of the north gate presented a petition to the high court
  of the empire, offered himself as Mr. Judson’s security, obtained his
  release, and took him to his house, where he treated him with
  considerable kindness, and to which I was removed as soon as returning
  health would allow.

  “The advance of the English army toward the capital at this time threw
  the whole town into the greatest state of alarm, and convinced the
  Government that some speedy measures must be taken to save the golden
  city. They had hitherto rejected all the overtures of Sir Archibald
  Campbell, imagining, until this late period, that they could in some
  way or other drive the English from the country. Mr. Judson and Dr.
  Price were daily called to the palace and consulted; in fact, nothing
  was done without their approbation. Two English officers, also, who
  had lately been brought to Ava as prisoners, were continually
  consulted, and their good offices requested in endeavoring to persuade
  the British general to make peace on easier terms. It was finally
  concluded that Mr. Judson and one of the officers above mentioned
  should be sent immediately to the English camp in order to negotiate.
  The danger attached to a situation so responsible, under a Government
  so fickle as the Burmese, induced your brother to use every means
  possible to prevent his being sent. Dr. Price was not only willing,
  but desirous of going; this circumstance Mr. Judson represented to the
  members of Government, and begged he might not be compelled to go, as
  Dr. Price could transact the business equally as well as himself.
  After some hesitation and deliberation Dr. Price was appointed to
  accompany Dr. Sandford, one of the English officers, on condition that
  Mr. Judson would stand security for his return, while the other
  English officer, then in irons, should be security for Dr. Sandford.
  The king gave them a hundred ticals each to bear their expenses
  (twenty-five of which Dr. Sandford generously sent to Mr. Gouger,
  still a prisoner at Oung-pen-la), boats, men, and a Burmese officer to
  accompany them, though he ventured no farther than the Burman camp.
  With the most anxious solicitude the court waited the arrival of the
  messengers, but did not in the least relax in their exertions to
  fortify the city. Men and beasts were at work night and day, making
  new stockades and strengthening old ones, and whatever buildings were
  in their way were immediately torn down. Our house, with all that
  surrounded it, was levelled to the ground, and our beautiful little
  compound turned into a road and a place for the erection of cannon.
  All articles of value were conveyed out of town and safely deposited
  in some other place.

  “At length the boat in which the ambassadors had been sent was seen
  approaching, a day earlier than was expected. As it advanced toward
  the city, the banks were lined by thousands, anxiously inquiring their
  success. But no answer was given; the Government must first hear the
  news. The palace gates were crowded, the officers at the lut-d’hau
  were seated, when Dr. Price made the following communication: ‘The
  general and commissioners will make no alteration in their terms,
  except the hundred lacks [a lack is a hundred thousand] of rupees may
  be paid at four different times; the first twenty-five lacks to be
  paid within twelve days, or the army will continue their march.’ In
  addition to this, the prisoners were to be given up immediately. The
  general had commissioned Dr. Price to demand Mr. Judson, and myself,
  and little Maria. This was communicated to the king, who replied:
  ‘They are not English; they are my people, and shall not go.’ At this
  time I had no idea that we should ever be released from Ava. The
  Government had learned the value of your brother’s services, having
  employed him the last three months; and we both concluded they would
  never consent to our departure. The foreigners were again called to a
  consultation, to see what could be done. Dr. Price and Mr. Judson told
  them plainly that the English would never make peace on any other
  terms than those offered, and that it was in vain to go down again
  without the money. It was then proposed that a third part of the first
  sum demanded should be sent down immediately. Mr. Judson objected, and
  still said it would be useless. Some of the members of Government then
  intimated that it was probable the teachers were on the side of the
  English, and did not try to make them take a smaller sum; and also
  threatened, if they did not make the English comply, they and their
  families should suffer.

  “In this interval, the fears of the Government were considerably
  allayed by the offers of a general, by name Layar-thoo-yah, who
  desired to make one more attempt to conquer the English, and disperse
  them. He assured the king and Government that he could so fortify the
  ancient city of Pugan as to make it impregnable, and that he would
  there defeat and destroy the English. His offers were heard; he
  marched to Pugan with a very considerable force, and made strong the
  fortifications. But the English took the city with perfect ease, and
  dispersed the Burmese army; while the general fled to Ava, and had the
  presumption to appear in the presence of the king and demand new
  troops. The king, being enraged that he had ever listened to him for a
  moment, in consequence of which the negotiation had been delayed, the
  English general provoked, and the troops daily advancing, ordered the
  general to be immediately executed. The poor fellow was soon hurled
  from the palace, and beat all the way to the court-house, when he was
  stripped of his rich apparel, bound with cords, and made to kneel and
  bow toward the palace. He was then delivered into the hands of the
  executioners, who, by their cruel treatment, put an end to his
  existence before they reached the place of execution.

  “The king caused it to be reported that this general was executed in
  consequence of disobeying his commands ‘_not to fight the English_.’

  “Dr. Price was sent off the same night, with part of the prisoners,
  and with instructions to persuade the general to take six lacks
  instead of twenty-five. He returned in two or three days, with the
  appalling intelligence that the English general was very angry,
  refused to have any communication with him, and was now within a few
  days’ march of the capital. The queen was greatly alarmed, and said
  the money should be raised immediately, if the English would only stop
  their march. The whole palace was in motion; gold and silver vessels
  were melted up; the king and queen superintended the weighing of a
  part of it, and were determined, if possible, to save their city. The
  silver was ready in the boats by the next evening; but they had so
  little confidence in the English, that, after all their alarm, they
  concluded to send down six lacks only, with the assurance that, if the
  English would stop where they then were, the remainder should be
  forthcoming immediately.

  “The Government now did not even ask Mr. Judson the question whether
  he would go or not; but some of the officers took him by the arm, as
  he was walking in the street, and told him he must go immediately on
  board the boat, to accompany two Burmese officers, a woon-gyee and
  woon-douk, who were going down to make peace. Most of the English
  prisoners were sent at the same time. The general and commissioners
  would not receive the six lacks, neither would they stop their march;
  but promised, if the sum complete reached them before they should
  arrive at Ava, they would make peace. The general also commissioned
  Mr. Judson to collect the remaining foreigners, of whatever country,
  and ask the question, before the Burmese Government, whether they
  wished to go or stay. Those who expressed a wish to go should be
  delivered up immediately, or peace would not be made.

  “Mr. Judson reached Ava at midnight, had all the foreigners called the
  next morning, and the question asked. Some of the members of
  Government said to him, ‘You will not leave us; you shall become a
  great man if you will remain.’ He then secured himself from the odium
  of saying that he wished to leave the service of his majesty, by
  recurring to the order of Sir Archibald, that whoever wished to leave
  Ava should be given up, and that I had expressed a wish to go, so that
  he of course must follow. The remaining part of the twenty-five lacks
  was soon collected; the prisoners at Oung-pen-la were all released,
  and either sent to their houses, or down the river to the English; and
  in two days from the time of Mr. Judson’s return, we took an
  affectionate leave of the good-natured officer who had so long
  entertained us at his house, and who now accompanied us to the
  waterside, and we then left forever the banks of Ava.

  “It was on a cool, moonlight evening, in the month of March, that with
  hearts filled with gratitude to God, and overflowing with joy at our
  prospects, we passed down the Irrawaddy, surrounded by six or eight
  golden boats, and accompanied by all we had on earth. The thought that
  we had still to pass the Burman camp would sometimes occur to damp our
  joy, for we feared that some obstacle might there arise to retard our
  progress. Nor were we mistaken in our conjectures. We reached the camp
  about midnight, where we were detained two hours; the woon-gyee and
  high officers insisting that _we_ should wait at the camp, while Dr.
  Price, who did not return to Ava with your brother, but remained at
  the camp, should go on with the money, and first ascertain whether
  peace would be made. The Burmese Government still entertained the idea
  that, as soon as the English had received the money and prisoners,
  they would continue their march, and yet destroy the capital. We knew
  not but that some circumstance might occur to break off the
  negotiations. Mr. Judson therefore strenuously insisted that he would
  not remain, but go on immediately. The officers were finally prevailed
  on to consent, hoping much from Mr. Judson’s assistance in making
  peace.

  “We now, for the first time for more than a year and a half, felt that
  we were free, and no longer subject to the oppressive yoke of the
  Burmese. And with what sensations of delight, on the next morning, did
  I behold the masts of the steamboat, the sure presage of being within
  the bounds of civilized life! As soon as our boat reached the shore,
  Brigadier A. and another officer came on board, congratulated us on
  our arrival, and invited us on board the steamboat, where I passed the
  remainder of the day; while your brother went on to meet the general,
  who, with a detachment of the army, had encamped at Yandabo, a few
  miles farther down the river. Mr. Judson returned in the evening, with
  an invitation from Sir Archibald to come immediately to his quarters,
  where I was the next morning introduced, and received with the
  greatest kindness by the general, who had a tent pitched for us near
  his own, took us to his own table, and treated us with the kindness of
  a father, rather than as strangers of another country.

  “We feel that our obligations to General Campbell can never be
  cancelled. Our final release from Ava, and our recovering all the
  property that had there been taken, was owing entirely to his efforts.
  His subsequent hospitality, and kind attention to the accommodations
  for our passage to Rangoon, have left an impression on our minds which
  can never be effaced. We daily received the congratulation of the
  British officers, whose conduct toward us formed a striking contrast
  to that of the Burmese. I presume to say that no persons on earth were
  ever happier than we were during the fortnight we passed at the
  English camp. For several days this single idea wholly occupied my
  mind—that we were out of the power of the Burmese Government, and once
  more under the protection of the English. Our feelings continually
  dictated expressions like this: _What shall we render to the Lord for
  all His benefits toward us?_

  “The treaty of peace was soon concluded, signed by both parties, and a
  termination of hostilities publicly declared. We left Yandabo after a
  fortnight’s residence, and safely reached the mission-house in Rangoon
  after an absence of two years and three months.

  “A review of our trip to and adventures in Ava often excites the
  inquiry, Why were we permitted to go? What good has been effected? Why
  did I not listen to the advice of friends in Bengal, and remain there
  till the war was concluded? But all that we can say is, _It is not in
  man that walketh to direct his steps_. So far as my going round to
  Rangoon, at the time I did, was instrumental in bringing those heavy
  afflictions upon us, I can only state that, if I ever acted from a
  sense of duty in my life, it was at that time; for my conscience would
  not allow me any peace when I thought of sending for your brother to
  come to Calcutta, in prospect of the approaching war. Our society at
  home have lost no property in consequence of our difficulties; but two
  years of precious time have been lost to the mission, unless some
  future advantage may be gained in consequence of the severe discipline
  to which we ourselves have been subject. We are sometimes induced to
  think that the lesson we found so very hard to learn will have a
  beneficial effect through our lives, and that the mission may, in the
  end, be advanced rather than retarded.

  “We should have had no hesitation about remaining in Ava if no part of
  the Burmese empire had been ceded to the British. But as it was, we
  felt it would be an unnecessary exposure, besides the missionary field
  being much more limited in consequence of intoleration. We now
  consider our future missionary prospects as bright indeed; and our
  only anxiety is to be once more in that situation where our time will
  be exclusively devoted to the instruction of the heathen.

  “From the date at the commencement of this long letter you see, my
  dear brother, that my patience has continued for two months. I have
  frequently been induced to throw it aside altogether; but feeling
  assured that you and my other friends are expecting something of this
  kind, I am induced to send it, with all its imperfections. This
  letter, dreadful as are the scenes herein described, gives you but a
  faint idea of the awful reality. The anguish, the agony of mind,
  resulting from a thousand little circumstances impossible to be
  delineated on paper, can be known by those only who have been in
  similar situations. Pray for us, my dear brother and sister, that
  these heavy afflictions may not be in vain, but may be blessed to our
  spiritual good and the advancement of Christ’s cause among the
  heathen.”

Should the reader desire still further to explore the secrets of Mr.
Judson’s prison-house, he is referred to the book entitled “Personal
Narrative of Two Years’ Imprisonment in Burmah,” by Henry Gouger. Mr. G.
views the subject, not from the stand-point of a missionary, nor of a
minister, nor of an American, but from that of an enterprising English
merchant, so that we are indebted to him for a strong cross-light shed
upon Mr. Judson’s experiences. The reader’s attention is also directed
to a sketch called “The Kathayan Slave,” from the pen of Mrs. E. C.
Judson.[32] “I wrote,” says Mrs. J., “under my husband’s eye, and he
read and approved it, so that it is perfectly reliable.”

Further information concerning the imprisonment at Ava and Oung-pen-la
is afforded by the reminiscences which were gathered by Mrs. E. C.
Judson from conversations with Mr. Judson.

  “During the first seven months of Mr. Judson’s imprisonment, there was
  but little change. The white men all wore three pairs of fetters; but
  they were suffered to walk about the prison-yard, as well as they
  could with their ankles only a few inches apart, and always followed
  by keepers. They were from time to time subjected to almost
  innumerable annoyances, vexations, and extortions; and they were
  obliged to be the witnesses of wanton cruelties which they could not
  prevent, and of intense sufferings which they could not alleviate. For
  the most of the time, through Mrs. Judson’s continual exertions, and
  by help of occasional presents, they were allowed to spend the day in
  the open shed in the yard, and Mrs. Judson was even permitted to build
  a little bamboo shelter for her husband, where he could be, some
  portion of the time, by himself. Mr. Judson was exceedingly nice in
  his personal habits, nice even to a fault; and this herding together,
  even if he had been permitted to choose his associates, would have
  been exceedingly unpleasant to him. They were not all, belonging as
  they did to five different nations, educated in his notions of
  cleanliness, and even he was often, from necessity, offensive to
  himself. Sometimes he was denied the use of water, and sometimes the
  admission of clothing was forbidden; and the act of dressing, with the
  ankles made fast by fetters, proved to be no simple art. With all his
  efforts, and the care taken by his wife of his wardrobe, he was
  sometimes in a very forlorn state. His food was such as Mrs. Judson
  could provide. Sometimes it came regularly, and sometimes they went
  very hungry. Sometimes, for weeks together, they had no food but rice,
  savored with ngapee—a certain preparation of fish, not always
  palatable to foreigners. But once, when a term of unusual quiet gave
  her time for the softer and more homely class of loving thoughts, Mrs.
  Judson made a great effort to surprise her husband with something that
  should remind him of home. She planned and labored, until, by the aid
  of buffalo beef and plantains, she actually concocted a mince pie.
  Unfortunately, as she thought, she could not go in person to the
  prison that day; and the dinner was brought by smiling Moung Ing, who
  seemed aware that some mystery must be wrapped up in that peculiar
  preparation of meat and fruit, though he had never seen the
  well-spread boards of Plymouth and Bradford. But the pretty little
  artifice only added another pang to a heart whose susceptibilities
  were as quick and deep as, in the sight of the world, they were
  silent. When his wife had visited him in prison, and borne taunts and
  insults with and for him, they could be brave together; when she had
  stood up like an enchantress, winning the hearts of high and low,
  making savage jailers, and scarcely less savage nobles, weep; or
  moved, protected by her own dignity and sublimity of purpose, like a
  queen along the streets, his heart had throbbed with proud admiration;
  and he was almost able to thank God for the trials which had made a
  character so intrinsically noble shine forth with such peculiar
  brightness. But in this simple, homelike act, this little unpretending
  effusion of a loving heart, there was something so touching, so unlike
  the part she had just been acting, and yet so illustrative of what she
  really was, that he bowed his head upon his knees, and the tears
  flowed down to the chains about his ankles. What a happy man he might
  have been had this heavy woe been spared them! And what was coming
  next? Finally the scene changed, and there came over him a vision of
  the past. He saw again the home of his boyhood. His stern, strangely
  revered father, his gentle mother, his rosy, curly-haired sister, and
  pale young brother were gathered for the noonday meal, and he was once
  more among them. And so his fancy revelled there. Finally he lifted
  his head. O, the misery that surrounded him! He moved his feet, and
  the rattling of the heavy chains was as a death-knell. He thrust the
  carefully prepared dinner into the hand of his associate, and as fast
  as his fetters would permit, hurried to his own little shed.

  “Mr. Judson was not naturally of an even temperament. Hopeful and
  earnest he was, beyond most men, and withal very persevering; but at
  this period of his life, and up to a much later time, he was subject
  to a desponding reaction, from which his faith in God, the ruling
  principle of his later years, was not now sufficiently ripe to set him
  entirely free. His peculiar mental conformation was eminently active;
  so that the passive suffering of his prison discipline was more
  galling than to a mind differently constituted. So long as he could
  contend with difficulties, he was appalled by nothing; but whatever he
  might have been in after-life, he was at this time better fitted to
  _do_ than to _endure_. For some time previous to the birth of poor
  little Maria, he had been filled with the gloomiest forebodings; and
  not without cause. His wife, from the peculiar customs of this land of
  semi-civilization, was more alone than she would have been among the
  wild Indian women of an American forest; and he could do nothing for
  her. When the dreaded crisis was past, and a pale, puny infant of
  twenty days was brought to his prison, no person not thoroughly
  conversant with the secret springs of feeling which made his the
  richest heart that ever beat in human bosom, would be at all able to
  appreciate the scene. His first child slept beneath the waters of the
  Bay of Bengal, a victim to Anglo-Indian persecution, a baby-martyr,
  without the martyr’s conflict; the second, his ‘meek, blue-eyed
  Roger,’ had his bed in the jungle graveyard at Rangoon; and here came
  the third little wan stranger, to claim the first parental kiss from
  the midst of felon chains.

  “Mrs. Judson had long previous to this adopted the Burmese style of
  dress. Her rich Spanish complexion could never be mistaken for the
  tawny hue of the native; and her figure, of full medium height,
  appeared much taller and more commanding in a costume usually worn by
  women of inferior size. But her friend, the governor’s wife, who
  presented her with the dress, had recommended the measure as a
  concession which would be sure to conciliate the people, and win them
  to a kindlier treatment of her. Behold her, then—her dark curls
  carefully straightened, drawn back from her forehead, and a fragrant
  cocoa-blossom, drooping like a white plume from the knot upon the
  crown; her saffron vest thrown open to display the folds of crimson
  beneath; and a rich silken skirt, wrapped closely about her fine
  figure, parting at the ankle, and sloping back upon the floor. The
  clothing of the feet was not Burman, for the native sandal could not
  be worn except upon a bare foot. Behold her standing in the doorway
  (for she was never permitted to enter the prison), her little
  blue-eyed blossom wailing, as it almost always did, upon her bosom,
  and the chained father crawling forth to the meeting!

[Illustration:

  _N. Rogers Pinx^r_                         _Alex Cameron Sc._

  _Ann H Judson_

  _Ob^t Oct. 24^{th} 1826._
]

  “The following verses, of which the writer says, ‘They were composed
  in my mind at the time, and afterward written down,’ commemorate this
  meeting:

     _Lines addressed to an Infant Daughter, twenty days old, in the
                        condemned Prison at Ava._

                 “‘Sleep, darling infant, sleep,
                     Hushed on thy mother’s breast;
                 Let no rude sound of clanking chains
                     Disturb thy balmy rest.

                 “‘Sleep, darling infant, sleep;
                     Blest that thou canst not know
                 The pangs that rend thy parents’ hearts,
                     The keenness of their woe.

                 “‘Sleep, darling infant, sleep;
                     May Heaven its blessings shed,
                 In rich profusion, soft and sweet,
                     On thine unconscious head!

                 “‘Why ope thy little eyes?
                     What would my darling see?
                 Thy sorrowing mother’s bending form?
                     Thy father’s agony?

                 “‘Wouldst view this drear abode,
                     Where fettered felons lie,
                 And wonder that thy father here
                     Should as a felon sigh?

                 “‘Wouldst mark the dreadful sights,
                     Which stoutest hearts appal—
                 The stocks, the cord, the fatal sword,
                     The torturing iron mall?

                 “‘No, darling infant, no!
                     Thou seest them not at all;
                 Thou only mark’st the rays of light
                     Which flicker on the wall.

                 “‘Thine untaught infant eye
                     Can nothing clearly see;
                 Sweet scenes of home and prison scenes
                     Are all alike to thee.

                 “‘Stretch, then, thy little arms,
                     And roll thy vacant eye,
                 Reposing on thy mother’s breast
                     In soft security.

                 “‘Why ope thy paly lips?
                     What would my darling say?
                 “My dear papa, why leave us thus?
                     Why thus in prison stay?

                 “‘“For poor mamma and I
                     All lonely live at home,
                 And every day we watch and wait,
                     And wish papa would come?”

                 “‘No; all alike to thee
                     Thy mother’s grief or mirth;
                 Nor know’st thou one of all the ills
                     Which mark thy mournful birth.

                 “‘Thy lips one art alone,
                     One loving, simple grace,
                 By nature’s instinct have been taught;
                     Seek, then, thy nestling-place!

                 “‘Spread out thy little hand;
                     Thy mother’s bosom press,
                 And thus return, in grateful guise,
                     Her more sincere caress.

                 “‘Go, darling infant, go;
                     Thine hour has passed away;
                 The jailer’s harsh, discordant voice
                     Forbids thy longer stay.

                 “‘God grant that we may meet
                     In happier times than this,
                 And with thine angel mother dear
                     Enjoy domestic bliss.

                 “‘But should the fearful clouds,
                     Which Burmah’s sky o’erspread,
                 Conduct the threatened vengeance down
                     On thy poor father’s head—

                 “‘Where couldst thou shelter find?
                     Oh, whither wouldst thou stray?
                 What hand would guide my darling’s steps
                     Along their dangerous way?

                 “‘There is a God on high,
                     The glorious King of kings;
                 ’Tis He to whom thy mother prays,
                     Whose love she sits and sings.

                 “‘That glorious God, so kind,
                     Has sent His Son to save
                 Our ruined race from sin and death,
                     And raise them from the grave.

                 “‘And to that gracious God
                     My darling I commend;
                 Be Thou the helpless orphan’s stay,
                     Her Father and her Friend.

                 “‘Inspire her infant heart
                     The Saviour’s love to know,
                 And guide her through this dreary world,
                     This wilderness of woe.

                 “‘Thou sleep’st again, my lamb,
                     Nor heed’st nor song nor prayer:
                 Go, sleeping in thy mother’s arms,
                     Safe in a mother’s care.

                 “‘And when, in future years,
                     Thou know’st thy father’s tongue,
                 These lines will show thee how he felt,
                     How o’er his babe he sung.

  ‘To Maria Eliza Butterworth Judson, born at Ava, January 26, 1825.’”

The following versification of the Lord’s Prayer was composed a few
weeks later. It illustrates the nature of the subjects which occupied
the thoughts of the missionary during this long-protracted agony. It is
comprised in fewer words than the original Greek, and contains only two
more than the common translation:

                   “Our Father God, who art in heaven,
                     All hallowed be Thy name;
                   Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done
                     In earth and heaven the same.

                   “Give us, this day, our daily bread;
                     And, as we those forgive
                   Who sin against us, so may we
                     Forgiving grace receive.

                   “Into temptation lead us not;
                      From evil set us free;
                   The kingdom, power, and glory, Lord,
                      Ever belong to Thee.

      “Prison, Ava, March, 1825.”

  “The foreigners had spent about seven months in prison, when suddenly
  a change came. One day a band of men rushed into the prison-yard, and
  while some seized the white prisoners, and added two more pairs of
  fetters to the three they already wore, others began tearing down Mrs.
  Judson’s little bamboo room, snatching up pillows and mattresses, and
  whatever other articles came within their reach. At last the
  prisoners, after having half the clothing torn from their persons,
  were thrust into the common prison, and, with a bamboo between their
  legs, again stretched upon the bare floor. Here were more than a
  hundred miserable wretches, shut from every breath of air except such
  as could find its way between the crevices in the boards, groaning
  with various tortures, and rattling their chains, as they groped in
  the gray light, and writhed and twisted themselves, as much as was in
  their power, from side to side, in the vain endeavor to obtain some
  ease by change of position. It was the commencement of the hot season,
  and the heat was not lessened by the fevered breaths of that crowd of
  sufferers, nor the close air purified by the exhalations which arose
  from their bodies. Night came, but brought with it no rest. A whisper
  had passed around the prison, whether through malice or accident, that
  the foreigners would be led out to execution at three in the morning;
  and the effect on the little band was not so much in accordance with
  natural temperament as the transforming principle of faith. Bold men
  were cowards, and weak men grew strong. At first Mr. Judson felt a
  pang of regret that he was to go at last without saying farewell to
  his unsuspecting wife and child. But gradually the feeling changed,
  and he would not have had it different if he could. She had left him
  in comparative comfort that day; she would come the next, and find him
  beyond her care. It would be a terrible shock at first; but she would
  be spared much anxious suffering, and he could almost fancy that she
  would soon learn to rejoice that he was safe in glory. As for herself,
  the Burmans had always treated her with some respect; she seemed to
  have gained immunity from personal insult, while her intrepidity had
  won their admiration; and he did not believe that even the rudest of
  them would dare to do her harm. No; fruitful in resources as she had
  proved herself, she would get an appointment to carry some message of
  peace to the English, and so place herself under their protection. It
  would be a blessing to her and to his child if he was removed from
  them; and he thanked God that his time was so near at hand. He felt
  thankful, too, that the execution was to take place in the morning. He
  should pass his own door on the way. There he might breathe his silent
  farewell, while she was spared the parting agony. He thought of
  Burmah, too, even then. The English would most likely be conquerors;
  and then there would be nothing to hinder the propagation of
  Christianity. He even recollected—so calm and dispassionate were his
  thoughts—some passages in his translation capable of a better
  rendering; and then he speculated on the pillow he had lost that day,
  weighing the probabilities of its ever falling into his wife’s hands,
  so that the manuscript would be recovered. And then he imagined that
  she did not find it, and went off into a visionary scene of its being
  brought to light years afterward, which he smiled at when he gave a
  sketch of these emotions, and did not fully describe. At length the
  fatal hour drew nigh. They had no means of ascertaining it precisely,
  but they knew that it could not be very far distant. They waited with
  increased solemnity. Then they prayed together, Mr. Judson’s voice for
  all of them, and then he, and probably each of the others, prayed
  separately. And still they waited, in awful expectancy. The hour
  passed by—they felt it _must_ be passed—and there was no unusual
  movement in the prison. Still they expected and waited, till finally
  there woke a glimmering of hope, a possibility that they had been
  deceived. And so, hoping, and doubting, and fearing, they lingered on,
  till the opening of the door assured them of what they had long
  suspected. It was morning. Then the jailer came; and, in answer to
  their questions, chucked them mockingly under the chin, and told then,
  Oh, no; he could not spare his beloved children yet, just
  after—kicking the bamboo as he spoke, till all the chains rattled, and
  the five rows of fetters dashed together, pinching sharply the flesh
  that they caught between them—just after he had taken so much trouble
  to procure them fitting ornaments.

  “I ought to have stated before that the keeper, to whose share Mr.
  Judson’s old pillow fell on the day they were so unceremoniously
  thrust into the inner prison, had afterward exchanged it for a better
  one, wondering, no doubt, at the odd taste of the white man. When he
  was again robbed of his clothes and bedding, on the day he was driven
  away to Oung-pen-la, one of the ruffians deliberately untied the mat
  which was used as a cover to the precious pillow, and threw the
  apparently worthless roll of hard cotton away. Some hours after, Moung
  Ing, stumbling upon this one relic of the vanished prisoners, carried
  it to the house as a token; and, several months from that time, the
  manuscript which now makes a part of the Burmese Bible was found
  within, uninjured.

  “They remained at Oung-pen-la six months, when Mr. Judson was, for the
  first time, released from his irons, to be employed as translator and
  interpreter to the Burmans. From the first, he had been particularly
  careful not to take any part in political affairs; for, however the
  war might end, he did not wish the Burmans to receive an impression
  that he was in the interests of the English. He felt that it would be
  wrong to endanger his influence as a religious teacher by taking any
  step which would be likely to render him obnoxious even to a conquered
  people. But now he had no choice. His own wishes in the matter were
  not consulted, any more than they had been when he was first thrown
  into prison. He was probably selected for the office because there was
  no one who could be better trusted, although it was evident that not
  the slightest confidence was reposed in him. He was carried to Ava
  under guard, kept in prison two days, and then, without being
  permitted to visit his own house but a few moments, was sent to
  Maloun. Here he remained about six weeks, when, in consequence of the
  advance of the English from Prome, he was hurriedly sent back to Ava.
  It was late in the night when he arrived, and he was taken through the
  streets directly past his own door. A feeble light glimmered within,
  assuring him that it was not altogether deserted; but yet what might
  not have occurred in those six weeks! He entreated permission to enter
  but for five minutes; he threatened, he bribed, he appealed to their
  humanity, for he knew that even they, hard as they seemed, must have
  humanity somewhere; but all without success. His conductors, with some
  show of feeling, assured him that they had orders to take him directly
  to the court-house, and that they dared not disobey. He crouched down
  in an outbuilding until morning, when, after a slight examination, he
  was placed under guard in an out-of-the-way shed, which served as a
  temporary prison. At night of the same day, Moung Ing found him in
  this obscure place, where he had been all day without food. While
  conversing with the faithful Burman, Mr. Judson once or twice fancied
  there was something in his words or manner, or perhaps both, a little
  puzzling; but the impression was only momentary, and the very sight of
  this messenger from his wife relieved him of a burden of apprehension.
  He immediately dispatched Moung Ing to the friendly governor, for aid
  in his new difficulties, instructing him carefully as to his words and
  behavior, and, in the joy of his heart, bade him tell the
  _tsayah-ga-dau_ to keep up courage one day more; it was almost certain
  he should be with her on the next. As soon as the messenger was gone,
  Mr. Judson’s thoughts immediately recurred to the singularity of his
  behavior, scarcely observable at the time, but now assuming much
  importance. His wife was doubtless well, though Moung Ing had
  certainly not been very explicit when inquired of; she _must_ be well,
  for had she not sent several messages, and herself suggested the
  application to the governor? The child, too, was well; he had said
  that unhesitatingly. Why had he hesitated in the other case? Could it
  be, could it really be, that anything serious had befallen her, and
  they had concealed it from him? But no; those messages! He remembered,
  however (it all came to him too clearly now), how ostentatiously the
  good-natured Burman had paraded one of those messages whenever he
  asked a question; and yet, think as he would, they all resolved
  themselves into two—she longed to see him, and she recommended an
  application to the governor. The messenger had certainly behaved
  strangely, and he had been strangely blinded. These two simple phrases
  had been repeated so often, and in such variety of style, that they
  had been made to appear a dozen, and to contain a world of meaning;
  and for the time he was fully satisfied. ‘She must be living,’ he
  repeated to himself; ‘there is ample proof of that.’ ‘She must _have
  been_ living,’ answered a withering doubt within, ‘when she gave the
  directions to Moung Ing.’ After that one thought, he had no
  disposition to sleep. The tedious night at length dragged itself away;
  and, though the governor sent for him as early as could reasonably be
  expected in the morning, a strange, vague apprehension seemed to
  concentrate whole ages in those few early hours. The kind old man had
  become his security with the Government, and set him free. With a step
  more fleet than for the last two years he had practiced, and in spite
  of the maimed ankles, which sometimes almost refused their office, he
  hurried along the street to his beloved home. The door stood
  invitingly open, and, without having been seen by any one, he entered.
  The first object which met his eye was a fat, half-naked Burman woman,
  squatting in the ashes beside a pan of coals, and holding on her knees
  a wan baby, so begrimed with dirt that it did not occur to the father
  it could be his own. He gave but one hasty look, and hurried to the
  next room. Across the foot of the bed, as though she had fallen there,
  lay a human object, that, at the first glance, was scarcely more
  recognizable than his child. The face was of a ghastly paleness, the
  features sharp, and the whole form shrunken almost to the last degree
  of emaciation. The glossy black curls had all been shorn from the
  finely-shaped head, which was now covered by a close-fitting cotton
  cap, of the coarsest and—unlike anything usually coming in contact
  with that head—not the cleanest kind. The whole room presented an
  appearance of the very extreme of wretchedness, more harrowing to the
  feelings than can be told. There lay the devoted wife, who had
  followed him so unweariedly from prison to prison, ever alleviating
  his distresses, without even common hireling attendance. He knew, by
  the very arrangement of the room, and by the expression of sheer
  animality on the face of the woman who held his child, that the
  Bengalee cook had been her only nurse. The wearied sleeper was
  awakened by a breath that came too near her cheek. Perhaps a falling
  tear might have been added; for, steady as were those eyes in
  difficulties, dauntless in dangers, and stern when conscience frowned,
  they were well used to tender tears.

         .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .

  “One evening several persons at our house were repeating anecdotes of
  what different men in different ages had regarded as the highest type
  of sensuous enjoyment; that is, enjoyment derived from outward
  circumstances. ‘Pooh!’ said Mr. Judson; ‘these men were not qualified
  to judge. I know of a much higher pleasure than that. What do you
  think of floating down the Irrawaddy, on a cool, moonlight evening,
  with your wife by your side, and your baby in your arms, free—all
  free? But _you_ can not understand it, either; it needs a twenty-one
  months’ qualification; and I can never regret my twenty-one months of
  misery, when I recall that one delicious thrill. I think I have had a
  better appreciation of what heaven may be ever since.’ And so, I have
  no doubt, he had.

  “The reception of a lady was an incident in the English camp; and Mrs.
  Judson’s fame had gone before her. No one better than a true-born
  Englishman can discern precisely the measure of attention grateful to
  a woman in her situation; and there were innumerable minute touches in
  General Campbell’s conduct which fixed her gratitude, and more still
  that of her husband on her account. It was not that his son was sent
  with the staff officers who came to escort her from the steamer; nor
  that unexpected honors, in military guise, waited her on the shore,
  where she was received by Sir Archibald in person; nor that her tent
  was larger and more commodious than his own, with the very agreeable
  addition of a veranda; but it was a certain fatherly kindness and
  genuine heart interest, which made her feel as though she was
  receiving all these favors from a friend.

  “An incident that occurred a few days after the landing of the
  prisoners is perhaps worthy of notice. General Campbell was to give a
  dinner to the Burmese commissioners, and he chose to make it an affair
  of some pomp and magnificence. At a given order, almost as by magic,
  the camp was turned into a scene of festivity, with such a profusion
  of gold and crimson, and floating banners, as is thought most pleasing
  to an Oriental eye. When the dinner hour arrived, the company marched
  in couples, to the music of the band, toward the table, led by the
  general, who walked alone. As they came opposite the tent with the
  veranda before it, suddenly the music ceased, the whole procession
  stood still, and while the wondering Burmans turned their eager eyes
  in every direction, doubtful as to what would be the next act in the
  little drama, so curious to them as strangers, the general entered the
  tent. In a moment he reappeared with a lady on his arm—no stranger to
  the conscious commissioners—whom he led to the table, and seated at
  his own right hand. The abashed commissioners slid into their seats
  shrinkingly, where they sat as though transfixed by a mixture of
  astonishment and fear. ‘I fancy these gentlemen must be old
  acquaintances of yours, Mrs. Judson,’ General Campbell remarked,
  amused by what he began to suspect, though he did not fully understand
  it; ‘and, judging from their appearance, you must have treated them
  very ill.’ Mrs. Judson smiled. The Burmans could not understand the
  remark, but they evidently considered themselves the subject of it,
  and their faces were blank with consternation.

  “‘What is the matter with yonder owner of the pointed beard?’ pursued
  Sir Archibald; ‘he seems to be seized with an ague fit.’

  “‘I do not know,’ answered Mrs. Judson, fixing her eyes on the
  trembler, with perhaps a mischievous enjoyment of his anxiety, ‘unless
  his memory may be too busy. He is an old acquaintance of mine, and may
  probably infer danger to himself from seeing me under your
  protection.’

  “She then proceeded to relate how, when her husband was suffering from
  fever in the stifled air of the inner prison, with five pairs of
  fetters about his ankles, she had walked several miles to this man’s
  house to ask a favor. She had left home early in the morning; but was
  kept waiting so long that it was noonday before she proffered her
  request, and received a rough refusal. She was turning sorrowfully
  away, when his attention was attracted by the silk umbrella she
  carried in her hand, and he instantly seized upon it. It was in vain
  that she represented the danger of her walking home without it; told
  him she had brought no money, and could not buy anything to shelter
  her from the sun; and begged that, if he took that, he would at least
  furnish her with a paper one, to protect her from the scorching heat.
  He laughed, and, turning the very suffering that had wasted her into a
  jest, told her it was only stout people who were in danger of a
  sunstroke—the sun could not find such as she; and so turned her from
  the door.

  “Expressions of indignation burst from the lips of the listening
  officers; and, try to restrain them as they would, indignant glances
  did somewhat detract from that high tone of courtesy which it is an
  Englishman’s, and especially an English officer’s, pride, to preserve
  in all matters of hospitality. The poor Burman, conscience-taught,
  seemed to understand everything that was passing, and his features
  were distorted with fear; while his face, from which the perspiration
  oozed painfully, appeared, through his tawny skin, of a deathly
  paleness. It was not in a woman’s heart to do other than pity him; and
  Mrs. Judson remarked softly, in Burmese, that he had nothing to fear,
  and then repeated the remark to Sir Archibald. The conversation
  immediately became general, and every means was taken to reassure the
  timorous guests, but with little success. There sat the lady, whom all
  but one of them had personally treated with indignity, at the right
  hand of power, and her husband, just released from his chains, close
  beyond; and they doubtless felt conscious that if they and their lady
  wives were in such a position they would ask the heads of their
  enemies, and the request would be granted.

  “‘I never thought I was over and above vindictive,’ remarked Mr.
  Judson, when he told the story; ‘but really it was one of the richest
  scenes I ever beheld.’

  “A British officer, Major Calder Campbell, describing ‘an adventure in
  Ava’ in the year 1826, gives a beautiful and affecting description of
  Mrs. Judson. Major Campbell, then a lieutenant, when descending the
  Irrawaddy River in a canoe manned by Burmans, was attacked in the
  night, while asleep, by his faithless boatmen, and severely wounded
  and robbed. When waiting on the beach with much anxiety and distress
  for the passage of some friendly bark, a row-boat was seen
  approaching.

  “Signals of distress were made, and a skiff sent to his assistance.
  The following is the language of the writer:

  “‘We were taken on board. My eyes first rested on the thin, attenuated
  form of a lady—a white lady! the first white woman I had seen for more
  than a year! She was standing on the little deck of the row-boat,
  leaning on the arm of a sickly-looking gentleman with an intellectual
  cast of countenance, in whom I at once recognized the husband or the
  brother.

  “‘His dress and bearing pointed him out as a missionary. I have said
  that I had not beheld a white female for many months; and now the
  soothing accents of female words fell upon my ears like a household
  hymn of my youth.

  “‘My wound was tenderly dressed, my head bound up, and I was laid upon
  a sofa bed. With what a thankful heart did I breathe forth a blessing
  on these kind Samaritans! With what delight did I drink in the mild,
  gentle sounds of that sweet woman’s voice, as she pressed me to
  recruit my strength with some of that beverage “which cheers but not
  inebriates!” She was seated in a large sort of swinging chair, of
  American construction, in which her slight, emaciated, but graceful
  form appeared almost ethereal. Yet, with much of heaven, there were
  still the breathings of earthly feeling about her, for at her feet
  rested a babe, a little, wan baby, on which her eyes often turned with
  all a mother’s love; and gazing frequently upon her delicate features,
  with a fond yet fearful glance, was that meek missionary, her husband.
  Her face was pale, very pale, with that expression of deep and serious
  thought which speaks of the strong and vigorous mind within the frail
  and perishing body; her brown hair was braided over a placid and holy
  brow; but her hands—those small, lily hands—were quite beautiful;
  beautiful they were, and very wan; for ah, they told of disease—of
  death—death in all its transparent grace—when the sickly blood shines
  through the clear skin, even as the bright poison lights up the
  Venetian glass which it is about to shatter. That lady was Mrs.
  Judson, whose long captivity and severe hardships amongst the Burmese
  have since been detailed in her published journals.

  “‘I remained two days with them; two delightful days they were to me.
  Mrs. Judson’s powers of conversation were of the first order, and the
  many affecting anecdotes that she gave us of their long and cruel
  bondage, their struggles in the cause of religion, and their
  adventures during a long residence at the court of Ava, gained a
  heightened interest from the beautiful, energetic simplicity of her
  language, as well as from the certainty I felt that so fragile a
  flower as she in very truth was, had but a brief season to linger on
  earth.

  “’Why is it that we grieve to think of the approaching death of the
  young, the virtuous, the ready? Alas! it is the selfishness of human
  nature that would keep to itself the purest and sweetest gifts of
  Heaven, to encounter the blasts and the blights of a world where we
  _see_ them, rather than that they should be transplanted to a happier
  region, _where we see them not_.

  “‘When I left the kind Judsons, I did so with regret. When I looked my
  last on her mild, worn countenance, as she issued some instructions to
  my new set of boatmen, I felt my eyes fill with prophetic tears. They
  were not perceived. We parted, and we never met again; nor is it
  likely that the wounded subaltern was ever again thought of by those
  who had succored him. Mrs. Judson and her child died soon after the
  cessation of hostilities.’”

-----

Footnote 28:

  Gouger’s “Narrative of Imprisonment in Burmah.”

Footnote 29:

    Mr. Gouger, a fellow-prisoner with Mr. Judson, thus describes this
    pathetic meeting: “It so happened, that at the moment of their
    interview outside the wicket-door, I had to hobble to the spot to
    receive my daily bundle of provisions, and the heart-rending scene
    which I there beheld was one that it is impossible to forget. Poor
    Judson was fastidiously neat and cleanly in his person and apparel,
    just the man to depict the metamorphosis he had undergone in these
    two wretched days in its strongest contrast. When Mrs. Judson had
    parted from him he was in the enjoyment of these personal comforts,
    whereas now none but an artist could describe his appearance. Two
    nights of restless torture of body and anxiety of mind had imparted
    to his countenance a haggard and death-like expression, while it
    would be hardly decent to advert in more than general terms to his
    begrimed and impure exterior. No wonder his wretched wife, shocked
    at the change, hid her face in her hands, overwhelmed with grief,
    hardly daring to trust herself to look upon him. Perhaps the part I
    myself sustained in the picture may have helped to rivet it on my
    memory, for though more than thirty-five years have since passed
    away, it reverts to me with all the freshness of a scene of
    yesterday.”

Footnote 30:

    Maria Elizabeth Butterworth Judson, who was born in Ava, January 26,
    1825.

Footnote 31:

    The miseries of the first night in the jail at Oung-pen-la are thus
    described by Mr. Gouger: “When it became dark we were motioned
    inside and submitted our feet to the stocks as expected. We had gone
    to _bed_ (I can not restrain a smile while I write the word, the
    bare plank being our resting-place) with stomachs uncomfortably
    light, and with minds anything but placid. The jail-guard was
    stationed below us in a little apartment resembling a veranda,
    formed by a continuation of the roof, on a plan which the builders
    called a ‘lean to.’ As all became still we began to compose our
    thoughts as well as we could, in the hope of obtaining a little
    sleep, when, to our astonishment, we felt the stocks gradually and
    slowly moving upward, as if by magic, for there was no one in the
    room to put them in motion. At first we were so taken by surprise,
    that we did not know what to make of it. Was it going up to the
    roof? Was it some new species of torture? Its movement was
    majestically slow, and gave us a little time to think before it
    reached the height at which it rested, when a very short time
    discovered the trick. It was certainly very creditable to the
    ingenuity of the rogues, and was, no doubt, looked upon by them as a
    prodigy of mechanical contrivance—as I could hear them outside
    enjoying the fun. There was a kind of crank outside which had
    escaped our notice, so contrived as to raise or depress the stocks,
    at the will of the operator. When he had worked them to a sufficient
    height, he fixed them, and left us depending, in the fashion of a
    bamboo at the Let-ma-yoon. And now began, what I before hinted at,
    the attack of mosquitoes, which swarmed in from the stagnant water
    of the rice-field, settling unresisted on our bare feet. We could
    not reach to drive them off, and a rich repast they no doubt enjoyed
    on our flayed soles. At last it became insupportable and we lustily
    bawled out for pity from our guard below. I must do them the credit
    to believe they knew not the extent of the torture they were
    inflicting, as before midnight they mitigated it by lowering the
    stocks, when we could hold the enemy at bay.”

Footnote 32:

    See Appendix E.




                             CHAPTER VIII.
                            LIFE IN AMHERST.
                               1826-1827.


The treaty of peace was signed by the British and Burmese Commissioners
on the 24th of February, 1826. On the sixth of the following month, Mr.
and Mrs. Judson, with the infant Maria, left the English army encamped
at Yan-ta-bo. They sailed down the Irrawaddy in a British gun-boat, and
arrived at Rangoon March 21, 1826. Having at last emerged from the long
nightmare of Oriental imprisonment, Mr. Judson turned to his life-work
with undiminished ardor. The English desired to retain his valuable
services as interpreter, and offered him a salary equivalent to three
thousand dollars. But the offer was declined. Like the late Professor
Agassiz, he had “no time to make money.” He writes:

  “I feel a strong desire henceforth to know nothing among this people
  but Jesus Christ and Him crucified; and under an abiding sense of the
  comparative worthlessness of all worldly things, to avoid every
  secular occupation, and all literary and scientific pursuits, and
  devote the remainder of my days to the simple declaration of the
  all-precious truths of the Gospel of our great God and Saviour Jesus
  Christ.”

Mrs. Judson had rapidly recovered, and was now in perfect health.

  “Even little Maria,” he writes, “who came into the world a few months
  after my imprisonment, to aggravate her parents’ woes, and who has
  been, from very instinct, it would seem, a poor, sad, crying thing,
  begins to brighten up her little face, and be somewhat sensible of our
  happy deliverance.”

Dr. Price had been left behind at Ava. He had entered the service of the
Burman king. He thought it his duty to live and die in the capital city;
and proposed to open a school for teaching several branches of useful
learning, such as geography, astronomy, chemistry, etc. And he thought
that “in a few years, perhaps twenty, the whole system of Burman
religion, founded as it was on false astronomy and geography, would be
completely undermined and subverted.”

When Mr. Judson arrived at Rangoon, he found that his little mission,
the result of ten years of hard work, was completely broken up. He had
left the Wades and Houghs in charge, but the war had driven them to
Calcutta. At the very beginning of the campaign, before advancing up the
Irrawaddy River, the English army had, of course, captured Rangoon,
situated at its mouth—Burmah’s great seaport. Rangoon offered but little
resistance to the foreign invader. The missionaries, however, narrowly
escaped with their lives. As the English fleet approached the town, Mr.
Hough and Mr. Wade were arrested, imprisoned, and even put in irons. It
was in vain for them to remonstrate, saying that “they were Americans
and not English,” for Burmans were not disposed to make any such nice
distinctions. The prison-guard were ordered to massacre them upon the
discharge of the first British gun. The executioners sharpened the
instruments of death, and brandished them about the heads of the
missionaries, to show with what dexterity and pleasure they would
execute the fatal orders. The floor was strewn with sand to receive
their blood. At this moment the foundations of the prison were shaken by
a heavy broadside from Her Majesty’s ship _Liffey_, and a
thirty-two-pound shot passed with a tremendous noise directly over the
prison. The executioners, stricken with panic, threw down their knives
and fled from the prison, fastening the door, however, behind them. Soon
other Burmans came and dragged the prisoners to the place of execution.
They were forced to kneel down. The executioner, with a large knife, was
ordered to proceed. He had just lifted it to strike off the head of the
prisoner nearest him, when Mr. Hough begged permission to speak to the
officer in charge. He proposed that one or two of the prisoners be sent
to the English ships, and assured the cowardly Burman that the firing
would then cease directly. At that moment another broadside came from
the _Liffey_, and the Burman officers and men again forsook their
prisoners, and took refuge under the banks of a neighboring tank.

During all this time Mrs. Hough and Mrs. Wade had been exposed to the
greatest danger, from which they had escaped by disguising themselves as
Burman women. Over their own clothes they had put the garments of their
servants; had dressed their heads in the Burman style and blackened
their hands and faces. Meanwhile Sir Archibald Campbell had sent a
message to the governor of Rangoon: “If the Burmans shed a drop of white
blood, we will lay the whole country in ruins and give no quarter.”

The Burman officials who had been frightened from their victims by the
discharges of artillery, again seized them, and proceeded to confine
them in a brick building. Here they were at last discovered, and rescued
by the advancing British troops. Having thus narrowly escaped martyrdom,
Mr. Hough and Mr. Wade, with their wives, embarked for Calcutta, where
they thought it best to remain until the close of the war. So when Mr.
Judson returned to Rangoon he was without a missionary associate. Mr.
Wade was ready to join him as soon as he should decide as to the best
place for renewed operations; while Mr. Hough soon after entered the
service of the British Government.

But missionary reinforcements had already come from America. Mr. Wade,
while waiting in Calcutta for the war to close, was joined by George
Dana Boardman, whose brief and saintly career was destined to make his
name peculiarly fragrant to American Christians. He seemed an ideal
missionary, so completely was he fitted for his work by his scholarly
tastes, affectionate disposition, and fervent piety. He had taken up a
newspaper a little while before, and had seen a notice of Colman’s
untimely death in Arracan. In the twinkling of an eye there flashed
through his mind the question and answer: “Who will go to fill his
place?” “_I_ will go.”

He had married Sarah Hall, a native of Salem, Massachusetts. Those who
knew her speak of “faultless features, moulded on the Grecian model,
beautiful transparent skin, warm, meek blue eyes, and soft hair, brown
in the shadow and gold in the sun.” She was pronounced by her English
friends in Calcutta to be “the most finished and faultless specimen of
an American woman that they had ever known.” From her earliest years she
had possessed an enthusiasm for missions. When ten years old, she wrote
a poem upon the death at Rangoon of Mrs. Judson’s infant Roger. Little
did the child dream that many years after she was to take the place of
the ideal heroine of her childhood, who, worn out with the prolonged
horrors of Ava and Oung-pen-la, lay down to rest beneath the hopia-tree
at Amherst.

Mr. Wade and Mr. Boardman waited anxiously in Calcutta for news from the
Judsons. They did not, however, wait in idleness. They were learning the
Burman language, as best they could, and preaching in English in the
Circular Road Baptist chapel, where they were permitted to see, as a
result of their labors, many persons converted and baptized. When news
came at last from Mr. Judson, they were ready to join him and labor
wherever he should think it best.

But to return to Mr. Judson in Rangoon. Not only did he find that the
white teachers and their wives had been driven away by the war, but the
native church membership was much reduced. He had left a church of
eighteen disciples. He found on his return only four. With the exception
of two, none, however, had disgraced their holy profession.

The learned teacher, Moung Shwa-gnong, had gone into the interior of the
country, and soon afterward died of the cholera. The only four whom Mr.
Judson could muster after the war had swept over Rangoon were Moung
Shwa-ba, who had remained at the mission-house; Moung Ing, who with such
fidelity served Mrs. Judson through all her long, bitter experiences at
Ava; and two faithful women, Mah-men-la and Mah-doke, who had been
living in boats at Prome, the half-way place between Rangoon and Ava,
and who instantly resolved to accompany the Judsons to Rangoon. These
four faithful disciples were ready to follow their white teacher
wherever he should think it best to establish a mission.

It was out of the question to think of remaining at Rangoon. The English
were only holding the place temporarily, until the Burmans should pay
their war debt. Indeed, at the close of the year, the English army did
vacate Rangoon, and the Burmans resumed possession of their chief
seaport. Should the missionaries therefore remain in Rangoon, they would
still be under the cruel sway of Burman despotism. In addition, the
monarch at Ava was peculiarly exasperated with his subjects in the
southern part of the empire, because they had put themselves under the
benignant protection of the English; many of the peaceful inhabitants
were no doubt to be massacred by the royal troops. A state of anarchy
followed the war. A famine succeeded, in which beasts of prey became
proportionally bold. Tigers began to infest the suburbs of Rangoon, and
carry off cattle and human beings. A tiger was killed even in the
streets of the city. All these circumstances impelled the missionaries
to leave Rangoon.

It was now no longer necessary for them to remain there in order to
reach the native Burmans. One of the results of the war was that the
British had wrested from the Burmans a large part of their sea-coast.
The Tenasserim provinces had been ceded to the British. These embraced a
strip of country along the sea, 500 miles long, and from 40 to 80 miles
wide.[33] This country was peopled with Burmans, and the cruelty of the
despot at Ava was sure to cause a large overflow of the population of
Burmah proper into it. Here the Judsons might teach the new religion
unmolested, under the protection of the British flag.

But where upon this long strip of ceded territory should the mission be
established? Just at this time Mr. Judson was invited by Mr. Crawfurd,
the British Civil Commissioner of the new province, to accompany him on
an exploring expedition. The purpose of the expedition was to ascertain
the best location for a town, which was to be the capital of the new
territory—the seat of government and the headquarters of the army. Mr.
Judson’s acquaintance with the language of the Burmans made him an
invaluable assistant in such an enterprise, and finally Mr. Judson and
Mr. Crawfurd selected as the site for the new city the promontory where
the waters of the Salwen empty themselves into the sea. “The climate was
salubrious, the land high and bold to the seaward, and the view of the
distant hills of Ballou Island very captivating.” The town, in honor of
the Governor-General of India, was named Amherst. The proclamation
issued at the founding is quite characteristic of the state of society
at that time in Burmah:

  “The inhabitants of the towns and villages who wish to come, shall be
  free from molestation, extortion, and oppression. They shall be free
  to worship as usual, temples, monasteries, priests, and holy men. The
  people shall go and come, buy and sell, do and live as they please,
  conforming to the laws. In regard to slavery, since all men, common
  people or chiefs, are by nature equal, there shall be under the
  English Government no slaves. Whoever desires to come to the new town
  may come from all parts and live happy, and those who do not wish to
  remain, may go where they please without hindrance.”

On July 2, 1826, Mr. and Mrs. Judson began their missionary life in
Amherst. They had the four faithful Rangoon converts as the nucleus of a
native church, and expected soon to be joined by Mr. and Mrs. Wade, and
Mr. and Mrs. Boardman. They were among the first settlers, and made
their home right in the very jungle. There was a prospect that the new
town would have a very rapid growth. Three hundred Burmans had just
arrived, and reported that three thousand more were on their way in
boats. It would not seem strange if in two or three years a city of
twenty or thirty thousand inhabitants should spring up on this
salubrious, wooded promontory.

But before missionary operations were fairly begun, Mr. Judson was
compelled reluctantly to visit Ava, the scene of his imprisonment. The
English Government desired to negotiate a commercial treaty with the
Burman king; and Mr. Crawfurd, the Civil Commissioner of the newly-ceded
provinces, was appointed envoy. He invited Mr. Judson to accompany him
as a member of the embassy. The missionary’s profound knowledge of the
Burman language and character well qualified him for the delicate and
difficult task of treating with the court at Ava. At first he firmly
declined. He had no relish for diplomatic occupation, and he longed to
plunge again into his own work. But when he was assured that, if he
would go as an English ambassador, every effort would be made to secure
the insertion of a clause in the treaty granting religious liberty to
the Burmans, so that the whole country would be thrown open to the
Gospel, he reluctantly consented. The stubborn intolerance of the native
Government had hitherto been the chief obstacle in his missionary work,
and religious freedom for the Burmese was a blessing for which he had
long prayed and striven in vain.

This step, which proved to be a most unfortunate one, was, however, the
result of the most mature deliberation. Mr. Judson with the English
embassy arrived in Ava September 30, 1826, and remained there about two
months and a half. This period embraces one of the saddest episodes of
his life. He was forced to witness the scene of his prolonged sufferings
in prison, and yet was separated from the wife and babe who had shared
with him those horrible experiences. He was engaged in the tedious and
uncongenial task of wrestling as a diplomat with the stupidity and
intolerance of the Burmese court. He soon learned that the king would on
no terms agree to a clause in the treaty granting his subjects freedom
of worship. And to crown his sorrows, on the 4th of November there was
placed in his hands a sealed letter, containing the intelligence that
Mrs. Judson was no more!

After the departure of her husband for Amherst, she had begun her work
with good heart. She built a little bamboo dwelling-house and two
school-houses. In one of these she gathered ten Burman children who were
placed under the instruction of faithful Moung Ing; while she herself
assembled the few native converts for public worship every Sunday. At
one time she writes:

  “My female school will, I trust, soon be in operation. Then you shall
  hear from me constantly.”

And again:

  “After all the impediments which have retarded the progress of our
  mission, after all our sufferings and afflictions, I can not but hope
  that God has mercy and a blessing in store for us. Let us strive to
  obtain it by our prayers and holy life.”

But in the midst of these sacred toils she was smitten with fever. Her
constitution, undermined by the hardships and sufferings which she had
endured, could not sustain the shock, and on October 24, 1826, in the
37th year of her age, she breathed her last. The hands so full of holy
endeavors were destined to be suddenly folded for rest. She died apart
from him to whom she had given her heart in her girlhood, whose
footsteps she had faithfully followed for fourteen years, over land and
sea, through trackless jungles and strange crowded cities, sharing his
studies and his privations, illumining his hours of gloom with her
beaming presence, and with a heroism and fidelity unparalleled in the
annals of missions, soothing the sufferings of his imprisonment. He whom
she had thus loved, and who, from his experience of Indian fever, might
have been able to avert the fatal stroke, was far away in Ava. No
missionary was with her when she died, to speak words of Christian
consolation. The Burman converts like children gathered helplessly and
broken-heartedly about their _white mamma_. The hands of strangers
smoothed her dying pillow, and their ears received her last faint
wandering utterances. Under such auspices as these her white-winged
spirit took its flight to the brighter scenes of the new Jerusalem.

In a letter to the Corresponding Secretary, Rev. Dr. Bolles, Mr. Judson
wrote:

  “So far, therefore, as I had a view to the attainment of religious
  toleration in accompanying the embassy, I have entirely failed. I feel
  the disappointment more deeply on account of the many tedious delays
  which have already occurred, and which we anticipate during our
  return; so that, instead of four or five months, I shall be absent
  from home seven or eight.

  “But, above all, the news of the death of my beloved wife has not only
  thrown a gloom over all my future prospects, but has forever
  embittered my recollections of the present journey, in consequence of
  which I have been absent from her dying bed, and prevented from
  affording the spiritual comfort which her lonely circumstances
  peculiarly required, and of contributing to avert the fatal
  catastrophe which has deprived me of one of the first of women, the
  best of wives.

  “I commend myself and motherless child to your sympathy and prayers.”

But when writing to the mother of his beloved wife, he describes still
more fully the sorrowful experience through which he passed:

                 _To Mrs. Hasseltine, of Bradford, Mass._

                                           “AVA, _December_ 7, 1826.

  “DEAR MOTHER HASSELTINE: This letter, though intended for the whole
  family, I address particularly to you; for it is a mother’s heart that
  will be most deeply interested in its melancholy details. I propose to
  give you, at different times, some account of my great, irreparable
  loss, of which you will have heard before receiving this letter.

  “I left your daughter, my beloved wife, at Amherst, the 5th of July
  last, in good health, comfortably situated, happy in being out of the
  reach of our savage oppressors, and animated in prospect of a field of
  missionary labor opening under the auspices of British protection. It
  affords me some comfort that she not only consented to my leaving her,
  for the purpose of joining the present embassy to Ava, but uniformly
  gave her advice in favor of the measure, whenever I hesitated
  concerning my duty. Accordingly I left her. On the 5th of July I saw
  her for the last time. Our parting was much less painful than many
  others had been. We had been preserved through so many trials and
  vicissitudes, that a separation of three or four months, attended with
  no hazards to either party, seemed a light thing. We parted,
  therefore, with cheerful hearts, confident of a speedy reunion, and
  indulging fond anticipations of future years of domestic happiness.
  After my return to Rangoon, and subsequent arrival at Ava, I received
  several letters from her, written in her usual style, and exhibiting
  no subject of regret or apprehension, except the declining health of
  our little daughter, Maria. Her last was dated the 14th of September.
  She says, ‘I have this day moved into the new house, and, for the
  first time since we were broken up at Ava, feel myself at home. The
  house is large and convenient, and if you were here I should feel
  quite happy. The native population is increasing very fast, and things
  wear rather a favorable aspect. Moung Ing’s school has commenced with
  ten scholars, and more are expected. Poor little Maria is still
  feeble. I sometimes hope she is getting better; then again she
  declines to her former weakness. When I ask her where papa is, she
  always starts up and points toward the sea. The servants behave very
  well, and I have no trouble about anything, excepting you and Maria.
  Pray take care of yourself, particularly as it regards the
  intermittent fever at Ava. May God preserve and bless you, and restore
  you in safety to your new and old home, is the prayer of your
  affectionate Ann.’

  “On the 3d of October, Captain F., civil superintendent of Amherst,
  writes, ‘Mrs. Judson is extremely well.’ Why she did not write herself
  by the same opportunity, I know not. On the 18th, the same gentleman
  writes, ‘I can hardly think it right to tell you that Mrs. Judson has
  had an attack of fever, as before this reaches you she will, I
  sincerely trust, be quite well, as it has not been so severe as to
  reduce her. This was occasioned by too close attendance on the child.
  However, her cares have been rewarded in a most extraordinary manner,
  as the poor babe at one time was so reduced that no rational hope
  could be entertained of its recovery; but at present a most favorable
  change has taken place, and she has improved wonderfully. Mrs. Judson
  had no fever last night, so that the intermission is now complete.’
  The tenor of this letter was such as to make my mind quite easy, both
  as it regarded the mother and the child. My next communication was a
  letter with a black seal, handed me by a person, saying he was sorry
  to have to inform me of the death of the child. I know not whether
  this was a mistake on his part, or kindly intended to prepare my mind
  for the real intelligence. I went into my room, and opened the letter
  with feelings of gratitude and joy, that at any rate the mother was
  spared. It was from Mr. B., assistant superintendent of Amherst, dated
  the 26th of October, and began thus:

  “‘MY DEAR SIR: To one who has suffered so much, and with such
  exemplary fortitude, there needs but little preface to tell a tale of
  distress. It were cruel indeed to torture you with doubt and suspense.
  To sum up the unhappy tidings in a few words, _Mrs. Judson is no
  more_.’

  “At intervals I got through with the dreadful letter, and proceed to
  give you the substance as indelibly engraven on my heart:

  “‘Early in the month she was attacked with a most violent fever. From
  the first she felt a strong presentiment that she should not recover,
  and on the 24th, about eight in the evening, she expired. Dr. R. was
  quite assiduous in his attentions, both as friend and physician.
  Captain F. procured her the services of a European woman from the 45th
  regiment; and be assured all was done to comfort her in her
  sufferings, and to smooth the passage to the grave. We all deeply feel
  the loss of this excellent lady, whose shortness of residence among us
  was yet sufficiently long to impress us with a deep sense of her worth
  and virtues. It was not until about the 20th that Dr. R. began
  seriously to suspect danger. Before that period the fever had abated
  at intervals; but its last approach baffled all medical skill. On the
  morning of the 23d, Mrs. Judson spoke for the last time. The disease
  had then completed its conquest, and from that time up to the moment
  of dissolution, she lay nearly motionless, and apparently quite
  insensible. Yesterday morning I assisted in the last melancholy office
  of putting her mortal remains in the coffin, and in the evening her
  funeral was attended by all the European officers now resident here.
  We have buried her near the spot where she first landed, and I have
  put up a small, rude fence around the grave, to protect it from
  incautious intrusions. Your little girl, Maria, is much better. Mrs.
  W. has taken charge of her, and I hope she will continue to thrive
  under her care.’

  “Two days later, Captain Fenwick writes thus to a friend in Rangoon:

  “‘I trust that you will be able to find means to inform our friend of
  the dreadful loss he has suffered. Mrs. Judson had slight attacks of
  fever from the 8th or 9th instant, but we had no reason to apprehend
  the fatal result. I saw her on the 18th, and at that time she was free
  from fever, scarcely, if at all, reduced. I was obliged to go up the
  country on a sudden business, and did not hear of her danger until my
  return on the 24th, on which day she breathed her last, at 8 P.M. I
  shall not attempt to give you an account of the gloom which the death
  of this most amiable woman has thrown over our small society. You, who
  were so well acquainted with her, must feel her loss more deeply; but
  we had just known her long enough to value her acquaintance as a
  blessing in this remote corner. I dread the effect it will have on
  poor Judson. I am sure you will take every care that this mournful
  intelligence may be opened to him as carefully as possible.’

  “The only other communication on this subject that has reached me, is
  the following line from Sir Archibald Campbell to the envoy: ‘Poor
  Judson will be dreadfully distressed at the loss of his good and
  amiable wife. She died the other day at Amherst, of remittent fever,
  eighteen days ill.’

  “You perceive that I have no account whatever of the state of her
  mind, in view of death and eternity, or of her wishes concerning her
  darling babe, whom she loved most intensely. I hope to glean some
  information on these points from the physician who attended her, and
  the native converts who must have been occasionally present.

  “I will not trouble you, my dear mother, with an account of my own
  private feelings—the bitter, heart-rending anguish, which for some
  days would admit of no mitigation, and the comfort which the Gospel
  subsequently afforded—the Gospel of Jesus Christ, which brings life
  and immortality to light. Blessed assurance—and let us apply it afresh
  to our hearts,—that, while I am writing and you perusing these lines,
  her spirit is resting and rejoicing in the heavenly paradise,—

                “‘Where glories shine, and pleasures roll
                That charm, delight, transport the soul;
                And every panting wish shall be
                Possessed of boundless bliss in Thee.’

  And there, my dear mother, we also shall soon be, uniting and
  participating in the felicities of heaven with her for whom we now
  mourn. ‘Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus.’”

                                       “AMHERST, _February_ 4, 1827.

  “Amid the desolation that death has made, I take up my pen once more
  to address the mother of my beloved Ann. I am sitting in the house she
  built, in the room where she breathed her last, and at a window from
  which I see the tree that stands at the head of her grave, and the top
  of the ‘small rude fence’ which they have put up ‘to protect it from
  incautious intrusion.’

  “Mr. and Mrs. Wade are living in the house, having arrived here about
  a month after Ann’s death; and Mrs. Wade has taken charge of my poor
  motherless Maria. I was unable to get any accounts of the child at
  Rangoon; and it was only on my arriving here, the 24th ultimo, that I
  learned she was still alive. Mr. Wade met me at the landing-place, and
  as I passed on to the house one and another of the native Christians
  came out, and when they saw me they began to weep. At length we
  reached the house; and I almost expected to see my love coming out to
  meet me, as usual. But no; I saw only in the arms of Mrs. Wade a poor
  little puny child, who could not recognize her weeping father, and
  from whose infant mind had long been erased all recollection of the
  mother who had loved her so much.

  “She turned away from me in alarm, and I, obliged to seek comfort
  elsewhere, found my way to the grave. But who ever obtained comfort
  there? Thence I went to the house in which I left her, and looked at
  the spot where we last knelt in prayer and where we exchanged the
  parting kiss.

  “The doctor who attended her has removed to another station, and the
  only information I can obtain is such as the native Christians are
  able to communicate.

  “It seems that her head was much affected during her last days, and
  she said but little. She sometimes complained thus: ‘The teacher is
  long in coming; and the new missionaries are long in coming; I must
  die alone, and leave my little one; but as it is the will of God, I
  acquiesce in His will. I am not afraid of death, but I am afraid I
  shall not be able to bear these pains. Tell the teacher that the
  disease was most violent, and I could not write; tell him how I
  suffered and died; tell him all that you see; and take care of the
  house and things until he returns.’ When she was unable to notice
  anything else, she would still call the child to her, and charge the
  nurse to be kind to it, and indulge it in everything, until its father
  shall return. The last day or two she lay almost senseless and
  motionless, on one side, her head reclining on her arm, her eyes
  closed; and at eight in the evening, with one exclamation of distress
  in the Burman language, she ceased to breathe.

  “_February 7._ I have been on a visit to the physician who attended
  her in her illness. He has the character of a kind, attentive, and
  skillful practitioner; and his communications to me have been rather
  consoling. I am now convinced that everything possible was done, and
  that, had I been present myself, I could not have essentially
  contributed to avert the fatal termination of the disease. The doctor
  was with her twice a day, and frequently spent the greater part of the
  night by her side. He says that, from the first attack of the fever,
  she was persuaded she could not recover; but that her mind was
  uniformly tranquil and happy in the prospect of death. She only
  expressed occasional regret at leaving her child and the native
  Christian schools before her husband, or another missionary family,
  could arrive. The last two days she was free from pain. On her
  attention being roused by reiterated questions, she replied, ‘I feel
  quite well, only very weak.’ These were her last words.

  “The doctor is decidedly of opinion that the fatal termination of the
  fever is not to be ascribed to the localities of the new settlement,
  but chiefly to the weakness of her constitution, occasioned by the
  severe privations and long-protracted sufferings she endured at Ava.
  O, with what meekness, and patience, and magnanimity, and Christian
  fortitude she bore those sufferings! And can I wish they had been
  less? Can I sacrilegiously wish to rob her crown of a single gem? Much
  she saw and suffered of the evil of this evil world, and eminently was
  she qualified to relish and enjoy the pure and holy rest into which
  she has entered. True, she has been taken from a sphere in which she
  was singularly qualified, by her natural disposition, her winning
  manners, her devoted zeal, and her perfect acquaintance with the
  language, to be extensively serviceable to the cause of Christ; true,
  she has been torn from her husband’s bleeding heart and from her
  darling babe; but infinite wisdom and love have presided, as ever, in
  this most afflicting dispensation. Faith decides that it is all right,
  and the decision of faith eternity will soon confirm.

  “I have only time to add—for I am writing in great haste, with very
  short notice of the present opportunity of sending to Bengal—that poor
  little Maria, though very feeble, is, I hope, recovering from her long
  illness. She began indeed to recover while under the care of the lady
  who kindly took charge of her at her mother’s death; but when, after
  Mr. Wade’s arrival, she was brought back to this house, she seemed to
  think that she had returned to her former home, and had found in Mrs.
  Wade her own mother. And certainly the most tender, affectionate care
  is not wanting to confirm her in this idea.”

Mr. Judson returned to Amherst January 24, 1827. The native Christians
greeted him with the voice of lamentation, for his presence reminded
them of the great loss they had sustained in the death of Mrs. Judson.
His hearth was desolate. His motherless babe had been tenderly cared for
by Mrs. Wade. Mr. and Mrs. Wade had arrived from Calcutta about two
months before, and with them Mr. Judson made his temporary home. Two
months later Mr. and Mrs. Boardman arrived, so that the missionary force
was increased to five. The little native church of four members was,
however, reduced by the departure of Moung Ing. This poor fisherman, who
had been Mrs. Judson’s faithful companion at Ava, had, of his own
accord, conceived the purpose of undertaking a missionary excursion to
his late fishing-grounds, Tavoy and Mergui, towns south of Amherst,
situated on the Tenasserim coast. He was henceforth to be a fisher of
men.

Mr. Boardman, in speaking of his first meeting with Mr. Judson, said,
“He looks as if worn out with sufferings and sorrows.” He did not,
however, neglect his missionary work. He met the Burmans for public
worship on Sunday, and each day at family worship new inquirers stole in
and were taught the religion of Christ. He was also busily employed in
revising the New Testament in several points which were not
satisfactorily settled when the translation was made; for his besetting
sin was, as he himself described it, “a lust for finishing.” He
completed two catechisms for the use of Burman schools, the one
astronomical, the other geographical, while his sorrowful heart sought
comfort in commencing a translation of the Book of Psalms.

Little Maria was the solace of his studies. But she, too, was taken from
him. “On April 24, 1827,” he writes, “my little daughter Maria breathed
her last, aged two years and three months, and her emancipated spirit
fled, I trust, to the arms of her fond mother.”

Mr. Boardman, who had only just arrived from Calcutta, constructed a
coffin, and made all the preparations for the funeral. At nine o’clock
the next day little Maria was placed by her mother’s side beneath the
hopia-tree. “After leaving the grave,” Mr. Boardman writes, “we had a
delightful conversation on the kindness and tender mercies of our
heavenly Father. Brother Judson seemed carried above his grief.”

And so at the age of thirty-nine he found himself alone in the world,
bereft of his wife and two children.

To Mrs. Hasseltine he wrote:

                                         “AMHERST, _April_ 26, 1827.

  “My little Maria lies by the side of her fond mother. The complaint to
  which she was subject several months proved incurable. She had the
  best medical advice; and the kind care of Mrs. Wade could not have
  been, in any respect, exceeded by that of her own mother. But all our
  efforts, and prayers, and tears could not propitiate the cruel
  disease; the work of death went forward, and after the usual process,
  excruciating to a parent’s heart, she ceased to breathe on the 24th
  instant, at 3 o’clock P.M., aged two years and three months. We then
  closed her faded eyes, and bound up her discolored lips, where the
  dark touch of death first appeared, and folded her little hands on her
  cold breast. The next morning we made her last bed in the small
  enclosure that surrounds her mother’s lonely grave. Together they rest
  in hope, under the hope-tree (_hopiá_), which stands at the head of
  the graves; and together, I trust, their spirits are rejoicing after a
  short separation of precisely six months.

  “And I am left alone in the wide world. My own dear family I have
  buried; one in Rangoon, and two in Amherst. What remains for me but to
  hold myself in readiness to follow the dear departed to that blessed
  world,

                “‘Where my best friends, my kindred dwell,
                Where God, my Saviour, reigns.’”

The time had now come when the little mission established at Amherst,
with such doleful omens, was to be broken up. Amherst was being rapidly
eclipsed by the town of Maulmain, situated on the coast about
twenty-five miles farther north, at the very mouth of the Salwen.
Maulmain was also a new town, the settlers building their houses right
in a thick jungle. But within a year of the first settlement, while the
number of houses in Amherst amounted to two hundred and thirty, and the
population to twelve hundred, the population of Maulmain had rapidly
swelled to twenty thousand. The reason for this growth was an
unfortunate misunderstanding between the Civil Commissioner, Mr.
Crawfurd, and the Commander-in-Chief, Sir Archibald Campbell.

The latter made Maulmain instead of Amherst the headquarters of his
army. He regarded Maulmain as a more strategical position. The harbor,
too, of Amherst, though spacious, and capable of accommodating ships of
large burden, was difficult of access, and, being farther out from the
mouth of the Salwen than Maulmain, was dangerous during the southwest
monsoon. The presence of the commander-in-chief and of his army at
Maulmain, naturally attracted emigration thither, and it soon became
apparent that this town instead of Amherst was to be the metropolis of
the ceded provinces of Tenasserim. Accordingly it seemed best to
transfer the mission to Maulmain. On May 28, 1827, Mr. and Mrs. Boardman
removed thither from Amherst, and took possession of a frail bamboo
mission-house, situated about a mile south of the cantonments of the
English army. The site for the mission had been presented by Sir
Archibald Campbell. “It was a lonely spot, and the thick jungle close at
hand was the haunt of wild beasts whose howls sounded dismally on their
ears in the nighttime.”

On the 10th of August Mr. Judson left Amherst, and the little enclosure,
the hope-tree, and the graves which contained the mouldering remains of
all that were dearest to him on earth. He joined the Boardmans at
Maulmain, and on the 14th of November was followed by Mr. and Mrs. Wade,
and the native Christians, together with thirteen native school
children. Mah-men-la, however, the first female convert among the
Burmans, had already been laid to rest by the side of her _white mamma_.
The following pathetic description of her death is from Mr. Judson’s
journal:

  “She was taken ill before I left Amherst. When her case became
  dangerous, she was removed to the mission-house, after which she
  indulged but little hope of recovery. She therefore made her will, and
  gave up every worldly care. In her will she bequeathed fifty rupees to
  her brother, the husband of Mah Doke, one hundred and fifty to the
  missionaries, and the remainder (two hundred, perhaps,) to her two
  adopted boys. She has left the boys in our charge, most earnestly
  desiring and praying that they may be brought up in the Christian
  religion. No one influenced her to give us any part of her little
  property, nor had we the least idea that she intended to do so until
  she desired Moung Shwa-ba to write an article to that effect.

  “When her will was written, she said, ‘Now I have done with all
  worldly things.’ Since that, she has enjoyed great peace of mind. She
  does not express a doubt that her name is written in heaven, and that
  she is hastening to a blissful immortality. She suffers considerable
  pain with much patience, and, in order to fortify her mind, often
  compares her sufferings to those of her divine Master. She is not
  inclined to converse much; but how delighted _you_ would be to hear
  her, now and then, talk of entering heaven, and _of meeting Mrs.
  Judson_, and other pious friends! The other day, after having dwelt
  for some time on the delightful subject, and mentioned the names of
  all the friends she should rejoice to meet, not omitting _dear little
  Maria_, she stopped short and exclaimed, ‘But first of all, I shall
  hasten to where my Saviour sits, and fall down, and worship and adore
  Him, for His great love in sending the teachers to show me the way to
  heaven.’ She says that she feels a choice in her mind to die now
  rather than to be restored to health, but desires that the will of God
  may be done. She was much gratified with your letter to-day, and more
  reconciled to the idea of not seeing you again on earth. I feel it a
  pleasure to do anything for her, she is so grateful and affectionate.”

Sorrows do not come as single spies, but by battalions. Six months
intervened between the deaths of Mrs. Judson and little Maria, and
within three months of the burial of the latter, even before leaving
Amherst, Mr. Judson heard of the death of his venerable father, who
departed this life at Scituate, Massachusetts, November 26, 1826, in the
seventy-fifth year of his age. Mr. Judson writes these words of comfort
to the beloved ones in the distant homestead at Plymouth:

                                     “MAULMAIN, _December_ 13, 1827.

  “MY DEAR MOTHER AND SISTER: Yours of the 5th February last reached me
  a few days ago, and gave me the particulars of that solemn event which
  has laid the venerable head of our family in the silent dust. ‘Death,
  like an over-flowing stream, sweeps us away’ into the ocean of
  eternity. You have heard, from my letters of December 7, ’26, and May
  3, ’27, of the ravages which death has made in my own dear family. I
  am left alone in this wide wilderness, to wait all the days of my
  appointed time, till my own change come. I pray earnestly that you may
  both enjoy much of the divine presence, in your solitary, bereaved
  circumstances, and that both you and I may be preparing, under the
  repeated strokes of our heavenly Father’s hand, to follow the dear
  departed ones, and enter upon the high enjoyment of everlasting life.”

-----

Footnote 33:

  See Map II.




                              CHAPTER IX.
                           LIFE IN MAULMAIN.
                               1827-1831.


Before proceeding directly to consider Mr. Judson’s life in Maulmain, it
may be well to describe a peculiar phase of his mental and spiritual
experience, which has been termed _Guyonism_. He seemed at one time to
be inclined to embrace the mystical tenets of Thomas à Kempis, Fénélon,
and Madame Guyon, and it was feared that he was leaning toward those
monkish austerities which belong peculiarly to the spirit of the Roman
Church. Certainly there are passages here and there in his writings
which point in this direction. And yet, often in these extracts it can
be discerned with what cautious and stealthy steps he trod the perilous
pathway leading toward monastic asceticism. On the occasion of sending a
gift of money to his sister in America, he writes:

  “But I give it on the express condition that you appropriate part of
  it to purchase for yourself the life of Lady Guyon ... and I hope you
  will read it diligently, and endeavor to emulate that most excellent
  saint so far as she was right.”

Again, he wrote to a fellow-missionary:

  “As to the other matter, the land of Beulah lies beyond the valley of
  the shadow of death. Many Christians spend all their days in a
  continual bustle, doing good. They are too busy to find either the
  valley or Beulah. Virtues they have, but are full of the life and
  attractions of nature, and unacquainted with the paths of
  mortification and death. Let us die as soon as possible, and by
  whatever process God shall appoint. And when we are dead to the world,
  and nature, and self, we shall begin to live to God.”

Again, to the missionaries at Maulmain he wrote:

  “Particularly I would exhort brother Bennett to remember, among other
  things, the example of the Abbé de Paris, who, after having tried
  various modes of self-denial, in order to subdue his spirit, and gain
  the victory over the world, at length selected a crazy man to be the
  inmate of his miserable hovel. Now, though I am doubtful about
  self-inflicted austerities, I am quite sure that evangelical
  self-denial eminently consists in bearing patiently and gratefully all
  the inconveniences and pain which God in His providence, brings upon
  us, without making the least attempt to remove them, unless
  destructive of life or health, or, in one word, capacity for
  usefulness.”

The same pietistic vein may be found in the following resolutions,
bearing date May 14, 1829:

  “1. Observe the seven seasons of secret prayer every day.

  “2. ‘Set a watch before my mouth, and keep the door of my lips.’

  “3. See the hand of God in all events, and thereby become reconciled
  to His dispensations.

  “4. Embrace every opportunity of exercising kind feelings, and doing
  good to others, especially to the household of faith.

  “5. Consult the internal monitor on every occasion, and instantly
  comply with his dictates.

  “6. Believe in the doctrine of perfect sanctification attainable in
  this life.”

It is also true that during this period of his life Mr. Judson withdrew
himself from general society. When not directly engaged in missionary
work, he spent many of his waking hours alone in a bamboo hermitage,
built in the jungle far from humankind among the haunts of tigers. Here
in his endeavor to crucify his passionate love of life he had a grave
dug, and “would sit by the verge of it and look into it, imagining how
each feature and limb would appear, days, months, and years after he had
lain there.”

But concerning all these traces of a morbid inclination toward the
monastic quietism of the Romish Church, there can be no more just and
discriminating judgment than that expressed after his death by the
tender and faithful companion of his latest years:

  “About _Guyonism_ I only wish the papers were more numerous. There was
  no error of heart—scarcely one of judgment in it, but a peculiar
  mental organization, driven by suffering on suffering, by such
  bereavement as can never be appreciated in a land like this, and
  intensity of devotion, to a morbid development. A mind of less
  strength or a heart of less truthfulness and sincerity would have been
  wrecked, as many a noble one has been.... Strong enthusiasm of
  character often drove him into peculiar positions, but his sound
  judgment and elevated piety always carried him through triumphantly,
  turning often the natural temperament to good account.”

These excesses of self-mortification were the outcome of a transient and
superficial mood rather than of his real and underlying character. The
slow torture of the twenty-one months at Ava and Oung-pen-la had left
behind a residuum of temporary enfeeblement. His strong mental vision
was for a time beclouded by the mists which arose from his shattered
physical constitution. The loss of wife and child at Amherst trod close
upon the sufferings at Ava, and these gloomy views and practices were
born during the long ensuing domestic solitude. The deep shadow of this
loneliness lies athwart many of his letters.

                          _To Mrs. Hasseltine._

                 “THE SOLITARY’S LAMENT.
                 “‘Together let us sweetly live,
                   Together let us die,
                 And hand in hand those crowns receive
                   That wait us in the sky.’

                 “Thus Ann and I, for many a year,
                   Together raised our prayer;
                 One-half reached Heaven’s propitious ear
                   One-half was lost in air.

                 “She found a distant, lonely grave,
                   Her foreign friends among;
                 No kindred spirit came to save,
                   None o’er her death-bed hung.

                 “Her dying thoughts we fain would know;
                   But who the tale can tell,
                 Save only that she met the foe,
                   And where they met she fell.

                 “And when I came, and saw her not
                   In all the place around,
                 They pointed out a grassy spot,
                   Where she lay under ground.

                 “And soon another loved one fled,
                   And sought her mother’s side;
                 In vain I stayed her drooping head;
                   She panted, gasped, and died.

                 “Thus one in beauty’s bright array,
                   And one all poor and pale,
                 Have left alike the realms of day,
                   And wandered down the vale—

                 “The vale of death, so dark and drear,
                   Where all things are forgot;
                 Where lie they whom I loved so dear;
                   I call—they answer not.

                 “O, bitter cup which God has given!
                   Where can relief be found?
                 Anon I lift my eyes to heaven.
                   Anon in tears they’re drowned.

                 “Yet He who conquered death and hell
                   Our Friend at last will stand;
                 And all whom He befriends shall dwell
                   In Canaan’s happy land—

                 “Shall joyful meet, no more to part,
                   No more be forced to sigh.
                 That death will chill the warmest heart.
                   And rend the closest tie.

                 “Such promise throws a rainbow bright
                   Death’s darkest storm above,
                 And bids us catch the heaven-born light,
                   And praise the God of love.

  “MY DEAR MOTHER HASSELTINE: I wrote the above lines some time ago, and
  intended to add a longer postscript; but find myself pressed for time
  at the present moment.

  “It is a long time since I had a line from any of your family. I hope
  you will not quite forget me, but believe me ever,

                                          Yours most affectionately,
                                                         “A. JUDSON.

  “_August 17, 1829._”

                      _To the Bennetts in Rangoon._

  “... I never had a _tighter fit_ of low spirits than for about a week
  after you had gone. I sometimes went, after dinner, to take a solitary
  walk in the veranda, and sing, with my _harmonious_ voice, ‘Heartless
  and hopeless, life and love all gone.’ However, I am rallying again,
  as the doctors say. But I have not yet got the steam up in the Old
  Testament machine. ‘Toil and trouble,’ etc. Heaven must be sweet after
  all these things. I have no more to say.... I hope you will pray for
  me, for you have not such inveterate habits to struggle with as I have
  contracted through a long course of religious sinning. O, my past
  years in Rangoon are spectres to haunt my soul; and they seem to laugh
  at me as they shake the chains they have riveted on me. I can now do
  little more than beg my younger brethren and sisters not to live as I
  have done, until the Ethiopian becomes so black that his skin can not
  be changed. And yet I have sometimes sweet peace in Jesus, which the
  world can neither give nor take away. O, the freeness, the richness of
  divine grace, through the blood of the cross!

                              “Your affectionate, unworthy brother,
                                                        “A. JUDSON.”

To the sisters of his wife he wrote as follows:

                                      “MAULMAIN, _October_ 24, 1828.

  “MY DEAR SISTERS M. AND A.: You see from the date that it is the
  second anniversary of the triumph of death over all my hopes of
  earthly bliss. I have this day moved into a small cottage, which I
  have built in the woods, away from the haunts of men. It proves a
  stormy evening, and the desolation around me accords with the desolate
  state of my own mind, where grief for the dear departed combines with
  sorrow for present sin, and my tears flow at the same time over the
  forsaken grave of my love and over the loathsome sepulchre of my own
  heart.”

                                                “_October 24, 1829._

  “And now the third anniversary returns, and finds me in the same
  cottage, except it has been removed nearer the mission-house, to make
  way for a Government building. I live alone. When I wish to be quite
  so, Mrs. W. sends me my food; at other times I am within the sound of
  a bell that calls me to meals.

                    “‘Blest who, far from all mankind,
                    This world’s shadows left behind,
                    Hears from heaven a gentle strain,
                    Whispering love, and loves again.’

  But O, that strain I have hitherto listened in vain to hear, or rather
  have not listened aright, and therefore can not hear.

  “Have either of you learned the art of real communion with God, and
  can you teach me the first principles? God is to me the Great Unknown.
  I believe in Him, but I find Him not.”

And to his own mother and sister:

  “I still live alone, and board with some one of the families that
  compose the mission. After the Wades left, I boarded with the
  Bennetts. After the Bennetts left for Rangoon, I boarded with the
  Cutters. After the Cutters left for Ava, I boarded with the Hancocks,
  where I now am. I have no family or living creature about me that I
  can call my own, except one dog, Fidelia, which belonged to little
  Maria, and which I value more on that account. Since the death of her
  little mistress, she has ever been with me; but she is now growing
  old, and will die before long; and I am sure I shall shed more than
  one tear when poor Fidee goes.”

The sadness of this period was also intensified by the slowness of
American Christians in sending on reinforcements. He often felt that he
had been left out on the skirmish line almost alone. He writes to the
Corresponding Secretary:

  “I am startled and terrified to find that, by several unexpected
  moves, I am left, as it were, alone; there being not another foreigner
  in all the country that can preach the Gospel to the perishing
  millions, north and south, or feed the infant churches, except,
  indeed, Mrs. Bennett, who has begun to take the management of the
  female meetings. My prayers to God and my entreaties to my brethren at
  home seem to have equal efficacy. Since the last missionaries left
  home, I perceive no further signs of life. All seem to have gone to
  slumbering and sleeping.”

In acknowledging a gift of fifty dollars from the Rev. Mr. Grow, of
Thompson, Connecticut, he wrote:

  “The fact is, that we are very weak, and have to complain that
  hitherto we have not been well supported from home. It is most
  distressing to find, when we are almost worn out, and are sinking, one
  after another, into the grave, that many of our brethren in Christ at
  home are just as hard and immovable as rocks; just as cold and
  repulsive as the mountains of ice in the polar seas. But whatever they
  do, we can not sit still and see the dear Burmans, flesh and blood
  like ourselves, and like ourselves possessed of immortal souls, that
  will shine forever in heaven, or burn forever in hell—we can not see
  them go down to perdition without doing our very utmost to save them.
  And thanks be to God, our labors are not in vain. We have three lovely
  churches, and about two hundred baptized converts, and some are in
  glory. A spirit of religious inquiry is extensively spreading
  throughout the country, and the signs of the times indicate that the
  great renovation of Burmah is drawing near. O, if we had about twenty
  more versed in the language, and means to spread schools, and tracts,
  and Bibles, to any extent, how happy I should be! But those rocks and
  those icy mountains have crushed us down for many years.”

And at the close of an imploring appeal for new men, he says:

  “May God forgive all those who desert us in our extremity. May He save
  them all. But surely, if any sin will lie with crushing weight on the
  trembling, shrinking soul, when grim death draws near; if any sin will
  clothe the face of the final Judge with an angry frown, withering up
  the last hope of the condemned, in irremediable, everlasting despair,
  it is the sin of turning a deaf ear to the plaintive cry of ten
  millions of immortal beings, who, by their darkness and misery, cry,
  day and night, ‘_Come to our rescue, ye bright sons and daughters of
  America_, COME AND SAVE US, FOR WE ARE SINKING INTO HELL.’”

A letter written after his death, by his surviving widow, shows how
intense was his longing for the sympathy and co-operation of his
brethren at home. “I can not regret that Dr. Judson has gone. I believe
it would have broken his heart to see Burmah open, and such a lack of
missionary spirit. God spared him the trial, and though it has left me
so very desolate, I feel a sort of gladness too, when I think of it. I
suppose he sees it there, but he can understand it better.”

After all, it was his intense piety that carried him into these extremes
of self-denial. His was a great religious nature, wrestling for
Christ-likeness. A small and weak nature always keeps within limit. Soil
that is too thin for grain, never produces weeds. From the time that Mr.
Judson gave his heart to God at Andover, he was possessed with a
consuming zeal to be made holy. On this point, Mrs. E. C. Judson says:
“I was first attracted by the freshness, the _originality_, if I may so
call it, of his goodness.”... “His religion mingled in his letters
generally, and in his conversation—a little silver thread that it is
impossible to disentangle.”

He was a man of prayer. His habit was to walk while engaged in private
prayer. One who knew him most intimately says that “His best and freest
time for meditation and prayer was while walking rapidly in the open
air. He, however, attended to the duty in his room, and so well was this
peculiarity understood that when the children heard a somewhat heavy,
quick, but well-measured tread, up and down the room, they would say,
‘Papa is praying.’”

“His was the life,” one writes, “of what the English would call ‘a good
fellow,’ elevated and purified and beautified by religion.” Though he
was a most brilliant and genial companion, yet, in his mind, every
social relation was a tie by which men might be drawn heavenward. When
Sir Archibald Campbell, the hero of the first Burman war, was on the eve
of setting sail for his native land, crowned with the laurels of
victory, he received from the lips of the humble and faithful ambassador
of the cross, whom he had befriended, the following tender and solemn
words of Christian admonition:

                                       “MAULMAIN, _January_ 8, 1829.

  “MY DEAR SIR: A few days ago I heard of your intention to leave this
  place on your return home.

  “When I reflect on your many kindnesses to me and my beloved wife,
  now, I trust, in heaven, from the time I first saw you at Yebbay to
  the present moment, and on the many pleasant interviews with which I
  have been honored, it is natural that I should feel a desire to
  express my gratitude for your goodness, and my regret at your
  departure. But, besides that desire, I have, for a few days, had an
  impression on my mind which I can not avoid, and dare not counteract.
  I would fain say a few words to you on a subject which you have
  probably never had a friend faithful enough to present plainly to your
  mind. I feel that I write under the influence of a higher power; and I
  beg that if my words offend you, you will still have the charity to
  believe that I am influenced by none other than the most
  disinterested, affectionate, and respectful sentiments. And though you
  should at first be displeased, I can not but hope that you will
  sometimes suffer the question to intrude on your most retired moments,
  whether the words I speak are not the words of eternal truth.

  “But why should I proceed with hesitation and fear? Why give way to an
  unbelieving heart? He who inclines me to write will incline your heart
  to receive my words. If even a heathen monarch appointed one of his
  courtiers to accost him every morning with the warning salutation,
  ‘Philip, thou must die,’ surely Sir Archibald Campbell, of a Christian
  country and Christian habits, will be willing, for a moment, to turn
  away his ear from the voice of flattery, and listen to the monitory
  voice of sober truth.

  “And yet true religion is a very different thing from all that you
  have probably been acquainted with. True religion is seldom to be
  found among mitred prelates and high dignitaries. It consists not in
  attachment to any particular church, nor in the observance of any
  particular forms of worship. Nor does it consist in a mere abstinence
  from flagrant crimes, a mere conformity to the rules of honesty and
  honor. True religion consists in a reunion of the soul to that great,
  omnipresent, infinite Being, from whom we have all become alienated in
  consequence of the fall. In our natural state, we spend our days in
  seeking the wealth and honors of this life, which we yet know to be
  but short and transitory, and we become too forgetful of that awful
  eternity to which we are rapidly hastening. So great is the blinding
  influence of sin, so successful are the fatal machinations of the god
  of this world, that when we can not stay the near approach of death
  and eternity, we still endeavor to quiet our conscience and pacify our
  fears by vague and indefinite ideas of the mercy of God, and by the
  hope that it will be well with us hereafter, though the still voice
  within whispers that all is wrong; and thus we are apt to suffer year
  after year to pass away, while we drink the intoxicating draught of
  pleasure, or climb the height of human ambition. O, Sir Archibald, the
  glittering colors of this world will soon fade away; the bubbles of
  life will soon burst and disappear; the cold grave will soon close
  upon our, worldly enjoyments, and honors, and aspirings; and where
  then will our souls be?

  “God’s own eternal Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, came down from heaven
  to rescue us from the delusion of this world, the power of sin, and
  the doom of the impenitent. But ‘unless we have the spirit of Christ,
  we are none of His.’ His own divine lips have declared, ‘Except a man
  be born again, he can not see the kingdom of God.’ And the ambassador
  of Christianity must not hesitate to declare this solemn truth,
  plainly and fearlessly, to the king and the beggar, the rich and the
  poor, if he would clear his own conscience, and manifest true love to
  their souls.

  “Allow me, then, to say to thee, Sir Archibald: Turn away thine eye
  from the fleeting shadows, and thine ear from the empty sounds of
  earth. Open the eye of thy mind to the uncreated beauties of that
  divine Being who is ever with thee, and ever waiting to be gracious.
  Listen to the call of His Holy Spirit. Give thine heart to the Friend
  and Lover of man, who hung and died on the cross to redeem us from
  eternal woe, and thou shalt find such peace and sweetness as thou hast
  never yet conceived of. Thou wilt be astonished that thou couldst have
  lived so many years ignorant of such transcendent beauty, insensible
  to those excellences which fill heaven with rapture, and in some
  instances make a heaven of earth. But if thou wilt not give thy heart
  to God, thou wilt never find true happiness here, thou wilt never see
  His face in peace.

  “I do not suppose that, amid your present hurry, you will find leisure
  to pay any attention to the topic I now present. But perhaps when
  oceans have intervened between us, when resting in the bosom of your
  own native land, the truths of this letter may, through the divine
  blessing, find their way to your heart.

  “Farewell, Sir Archibald, and while all around you flatter and praise,
  while the plaudits of your king and country sound in your ears,
  believe that there is one person, humble and unknown, who prays in his
  retirement for your immortal soul; whose chief desire is to see you on
  the great day invested, not with the insignia of earthly monarchs, but
  with the glorious crown of eternal life, and who desires ever to
  subscribe himself,

        “With heartfelt affection and respect,
                          “Your sincere friend and faithful servant,
                                                     “A. JUDSON.”

In the “Threefold Cord,”[34]—a letter written by Mr. Judson to a young
convert,—and in the following “_Pencilled Fragments_” and “_Rules of
Life_,” it may be seen with what strong and eager wing-beats of
aspiration his soul struggled to mount into the serene atmosphere of a
pure and holy life.

                   PENCILLED FRAGMENTS, WITHOUT DATE.

                     _Topics to Encourage Prayer._

“Wrestling Jacob.

“Friend at midnight.

“The unjust judge.

“Satan fights neither with small nor great, save only with the spirit of
prayer.

“An effort made in aridity, in wandering of thought, under a strong
tendency to some other occupation, is more pleasing to God, and helps
the soul forward in grace more than a long prayer without temptation.

“Whatever others do, let my life be a life of prayer.

“Get the King’s daughter, and you get all; the grace of devotion is the
daughter of God.”

                        _Points of Self-denial._

“1. The passion for neatness, uniformity, and order in arrangement of
things—in dress, in writing, in grounds.

“2. A disposition to suffer annoyance from little improprieties in the
behavior and conversation of others.

“3. A desire to appear to advantage, to get honor and avoid shame.
‘_Come shame_, come sorrow,’ etc.

“4. A desire for personal ease and comfort, and a reluctance to suffer
inconvenience.

“5. Unwillingness to bear contradiction.”

                            _Rules of Life._

“Rules adopted on Sunday, April 4, 1819, the era of commencing public
ministrations among the Burmans; revised and re-adopted on Saturday,
December 9, 1820, and on Wednesday, April 25, 1821:

“1. Be diligent in secret prayer, every morning and evening.

“2. Never spend a moment in mere idleness.

“3. Restrain natural appetites within the bounds of temperance and
purity. ‘Keep thyself pure.’

“4. Suppress every emotion of anger and ill will.

“5. Undertake nothing from motives of ambition or love of fame.

“6. Never do that which, at the moment, appears to be displeasing to
God.

“7. Seek opportunities of making some sacrifice for the good of others,
especially of believers, provided the sacrifice is not inconsistent with
some duty.

“8. Endeavor to rejoice in every loss and suffering incurred for
Christ’s sake and the Gospel’s, remembering that though, like death,
they are not to be wilfully incurred, yet, like death, they are great
gain.

“Re-adopted the above rules, particularly _the 4th, on Sunday, August
31, 1823_.

“Re-adopted the above rules, particularly _the 1st, on Sunday, October
29, 1826_, and adopted the following minor rules:

“1. Rise with the sun.

“2. Read a certain portion of Burman every day, Sundays excepted.

“3. Have the Scriptures and some devotional book in constant reading.

“4. Read no book in English that has not a devotional tendency.

“5. Suppress every unclean _thought_ and _look_.

“Revised and re-adopted all the above rules, particularly the second of
the first class, on Sunday, March 11, 1827.

“God grant me grace to keep the above rules, and ever live to His glory,
for Jesus Christ’s sake.

                                                         A. JUDSON.”

                                                  “_August 9, 1842._

  “1. Be more careful to observe the seasons of secret prayer.

  “2. Never indulge resentful feelings toward any person.

  “3. Embrace every opportunity of exercising kind feelings, and doing
  good to others, especially to the household of faith.

  “4. Sweet in temper, face, and word,
      To please an ever-present Lord.

  “Renewed December 31, 1842.

  “_December 31, 1842._ Resolved to make the desire to please Christ the
  grand motive of all my actions.”

It may be well to glance at some of the forms of excessive
self-mortification which this great religious nature assumed under the
stress of sickness, sorrow, and solitude. He was reared in the sound
common-sense views of New England. He knew the value of money and the
necessity of providing for the future by thrifty habits and close
economy. Now all this he felt it his duty to give up. His advice to
young men who were coming out as missionaries was, “Never lay up money
for yourselves or your families. Trust in God from day to day, and
verily you shall be fed.” He was allowed by the Governor-General of
India five thousand two hundred rupees,[35] in consideration of his
services at the treaty of Yandabo and as a member of the embassy to Ava.
Besides this, the presents he received while at Ava amounted to two
thousand rupees.[36] All this money he paid into the treasury of the
mission. Nor did he regard this as a donation. His view was that
whatever a missionary might earn by such necessary and incidental
outside work belonged, in the nature of the case, to the Board by which
he was employed. But not only did he cheerfully give up these
perquisites, but at a single stroke he transferred to the mission all of
his private property, the slow accumulation of many years of thrift. He
thus wrote to the Corresponding Secretary:

                                          “MAULMAIN, _May_ 31, 1828.

  “REV. AND DEAR SIR: When I left America, I brought with me a
  considerable sum of money, the avails of my own earnings and the gifts
  of my relatives and personal friends. This money has been accumulating
  at interest for many years under the management of a kind friend to
  the mission, and occasionally receiving accessions from other
  quarters, particularly at the close of the late war, until it amounts
  to twelve thousand rupees. I now beg leave to present it to the Board,
  or rather to Him ‘who loved us and washed us from our sins in His own
  blood.’ I am taking measures to have the money paid to the agent of
  the Board, and the payment will, I trust, be effected by the end of
  this year.

  “I would suggest, lest a temporary suspension of the necessity of
  remitting money should occasion some relaxation of the usual efforts
  made to meet the current expenses of the mission, whether it may not
  be advisable to invest a sum equivalent to that which I now pay the
  agent, viz., six thousand dollars, as part of a permanent fund. But
  this I leave entirely to the discretion of the Board.

                                        “Yours, faithfully,
                                                      “A MISSIONARY.

  “P. S.—It is not from an affected desire of concealment that the
  writer has subscribed himself ‘A Missionary.’ He is sensible that the
  tenor of the letter will, to those who are acquainted with the state
  of the mission, sufficiently betray him. But this is not the case with
  the public in general; and so far as it may be thought desirable not
  to throw away the influence of example, it is quite sufficient to tell
  the public that the money is given by a missionary, without specifying
  the individual.”

And not only so, but he and Mr. Wade proposed to relinquish a twentieth,
and conditionally, even a tenth of their respective salaries, and
afterward he desired to have his own salary lessened by one-quarter.

                _Letters to the Corresponding Secretary._

                                     “MAULMAIN, _September_ 1, 1828.

  “REV. AND DEAR SIR: Since it is to be ascribed to the want of money,
  rather than to that of men, that the Baptists in the United States of
  America make such feeble efforts to send the Gospel through the world,
  inasmuch as the want of money prevents the managers of missions from
  presenting those invitations and encouragements which would be gladly
  embraced by many young men who are waiting the call of Providence, we
  feel the importance of recurring practically to the golden rule, _that
  every individual do his duty_ in furnishing those means which are
  absolutely necessary to carry on the great war with the prince of
  darkness and his legions in this fallen world. Feeling, also, that
  missionaries and ministers are under peculiar obligations, beyond any
  other classes of Christians, _to take the lead in contributing of
  their substance_, and encouraged by our Saviour’s commendation of the
  poor widow in the Gospel, we have entered on a course of living which
  will, we hope, enable us to offer our two mites; and we propose,
  therefore, to relinquish annually one-twentieth of the allowance which
  we receive from the Board of Missions.

  “We respectfully suggest that a similar proposal be made to the
  Baptist ministers in the United States; and we engage that, as soon as
  it shall appear that one hundred ministers, including ourselves, have
  resolved to transmit annually to the treasurer of the American Baptist
  Board of Foreign Missions one-twentieth of all their regular income,
  whether derived from their salaries or estates, we will relinquish a
  second twentieth of our allowance, that is, one-tenth of the whole.

  “And lest it be said that we now receive high allowances, and can,
  therefore, afford to make some retrenchment, we state, not by way of
  ostentation, but merely to meet the remark, that, considering our
  allowances cover all our personal expenses except building or house
  rent, conveyance on mission business, and charges for medical
  attendance, we receive less than any English missionaries of any
  denomination, in any part of the East, and as little as any American
  missionaries in those parts, notwithstanding the expense of living on
  this coast is probably greater than at a majority of other stations.

                                   We remain, yours faithfully,
                                                         “A. JUDSON,
                                                         “J. WADE.”

                                         “MAULMAIN, _June_ 19, 1829.

  “MY DEAR SIR: I propose, from this date, to lessen my usual allowance
  by one-quarter, finding, from experience, that my present mode of
  living will admit the retrenchment; this arrangement not to interfere
  with the proposals made under date of September last, concerning the
  one-twentieth and one-tenth.

                                             Yours faithfully,
                                                        “A. JUDSON.”

But love of money was not the only worldly appetite which he nailed to
the cross. He cut to the quick that passion for fame which was an inborn
trait, and which had been inordinately stimulated by his parents during
his earliest childhood. His overweening ambition received its first
mortal wound, as he often remarked, when he became a Baptist. He
declined the honorary degree of Doctor of Divinity conferred upon him by
the corporation of Brown University in 1823, and in May, 1828, wrote as
follows to the editor of the _Missionary Magazine_:

  “DEAR SIR: I beg to be allowed the privilege of requesting my
  correspondents and friends, through the medium of your magazine, no
  longer to apply to my name the title which was conferred on me in the
  year 1823 by the corporation of Brown University, and which, with all
  deference and respect for that honorable body, I hereby resign.

  “Nearly three years elapsed before I was informed of the honor done
  me, and two years more have been suffered to pass, partly from the
  groundless idea that it was too late to decline the honor, and partly
  through fear of doing what might seem to reflect on those who have
  taken a different course, or be liable to the charge of affected
  singularity, or superstitious preciseness. But I am now convinced that
  the commands of Christ and the general spirit of the Gospel are
  paramount to all prudential considerations, and I only regret that I
  have so long delayed to make this communication.

                                    “Yours, etc.,        A. JUDSON.”

The difficulty of writing his biography is enhanced by the fact that he
destroyed, as far as possible, all his correspondence, including a
letter of thanks for his services from the Governor-General of India,
and other papers of a similar kind. He seemed determined that his
friends should have no material with which to construct eulogiums. He
wanted to do his work and then forget all about it, and have every one
else also forget it. He was like a bee that flies into the hive with her
load of pollen, and depositing it there, flies away again, without
looking behind, leaving it for the other bees to pack it away in the
cell. How little to the taste of his sister must it have been to receive
from her brother, of whom she was so justly proud, such a commission as
this:

                                          “MAULMAIN, _May_ 28, 1829.

  “MY DEAR SISTER: Yours of October 16th last arrived yesterday. In
  regard to the quitclaim, it is impossible for me to ascertain, at this
  distance, what particular forms are required by the laws of the United
  States. But if you, or brother, or any person will send me such an
  instrument as the case requires, I will complete and return it. I am
  rather glad, however, that the first did not answer, because I have
  now a request to make which I doubt whether you would comply with, if
  I did not make your compliance a condition of my returning you the
  said instrument. My request is, that you will entirely destroy all my
  old letters which are in your and mother’s hands, unless it be three
  or four of the later ones, which you may wish to keep as mementoes.
  There are several reasons for this measure, which it would take too
  much time to detail. Suffice it to say, that I am so very desirous of
  effecting a complete destruction of all my old writings, that you must
  allow me to say positively (as the only means of bringing you to
  terms) that I can not send you the instrument you desire until I have
  an assurance, under your hand, that there is nothing remaining, except
  as mentioned above.”

Again, Mr. Judson had a very strong relish for literature and linguistic
research. One can not fail to observe the poetic gems, original and
quoted, scattered through his correspondence. The Burman literature,
with its Buddhistic books and its fascinating poetry, was a vast mine
unexplored. He was tempted to trace the winding paths which were ever
opening before his scholarly mind, and to search this great and ancient
treasure-vault. Might he not translate into English some beautiful
fragments of this literature, and so enkindle in some of the
highly-organized minds of the Western world a greater interest in
foreign missions? But no. He turned resolutely away from the alluring
prospect. He was determined not to know anything among the Burmans save
Jesus Christ and Him crucified. As a missionary he was unwilling to
disperse his mental forces over the wide surface of literary and
philosophical pursuit, but insisted on moving along the narrow and
divinely-appointed groove of unfolding the word of God and meting it out
to suit the wants of perishing man.

But perhaps the severest sacrifice of all was the denial of his social
instincts. It was not because he was unendowed with social sensibility
that he so cut himself off from the State or conventional dinner and
from a fashionable intercourse with Sir Archibald Campbell, and other
cultivated Englishmen, as to incur the stigma of being called “odd.” He
did not withdraw to his hermitage in the jungle because he was a fierce
and sullen fanatic. On the contrary, one who knew him most intimately
says that “Perhaps his most remarkable characteristic to a superficial
observer was the extent and thoroughly genial nature of his
sociableness.” Indeed, there was a spice of truth in the remark
sneeringly made by a fashionable woman that “Judson abstained from
society not from principle, but from cowardice—he was like the drunkard
who was afraid to taste lest he should not know when to stop.” “His
ready humor,” Mrs. Judson writes, “his aptness at illustration, his free
flow of generous, gentlemanly feeling made his conversation peculiarly
brilliant and attractive, and such interchanges of thought and feeling
were his delight.” “He was not,” she adds, “a born angel, shut without
the pale of humanity by his religion.” His was not the stern, unæsthetic
nature of the great reformer and theologian who, though he lived his
life on the Lake of Geneva, nowhere betrays, in his voluminous writings,
that he was at all conscious of the beautiful panorama spread out before
him. He was, as has been said of another, “a creature who entered into
every one’s feelings, and could take the pressure of their thought
instead of urging his own with iron resistance.” He was, in truth,

            “... Not too bright or good
            For human nature’s daily food;
            For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
            Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.”

The author, among his own scanty childhood recollections of his father,
well remembers the tenderness with which he nursed his sick boy; and a
missionary associate says, “He had a peculiarly fascinating way of
endearing himself to everybody whose hearts were open to his kindness.”
Mrs. E. C. Judson writes:

  “He was always planning pleasant little surprises for his family and
  neighbors, and kept up through his married life those little
  lover-like attentions which I believe husbands are apt to forget.
  There was, and always must have been, a kind of _romance_ about him
  (you will understand that I use the word italicized for want of a
  better) which prevented every-day life with him from ever being
  commonplace. If he went out before I was awake in the morning, very
  likely some pretty message would be pinned to my mosquito-curtain. If
  he was obliged to stay at a business-meeting, or any such place,
  longer than he thought I expected (and often when he did not stay over
  the time), some little pencilled line that he could trace without
  attracting attention, would be dispatched to me. And often when he sat
  at his study-table, something droll or tender or encouraging or
  suggestive of thought, pencilled on a broken scrap of paper, sometimes
  the margin of a newspaper, was every little while finding its way to
  my room.... He was always earnest, enthusiastic, sympathizing, even in
  the smallest trifles, tender, delicate, and considerate—_never moody_,
  as he has sometimes been described, but equally communicative, whether
  sad or cheerful.... He was always, even in his playfulness,
  intellectual; and the more familiar, the more elevated.”

The little thoughtful attentions which he was continually paying to his
fellow-missionaries, betrayed with what heartiness he entered into all
their joys and sorrows. His friends, the Bennetts, had sent their
children to America. One day Mr. Judson surprised them with a present of
the portraits of their absent little ones, for which he had himself sent
to this country. His genial appreciation of the kindness of others beams
from this little card that found its way into the missionary magazine:

  “A. Judson desires to present, through the _American Baptist
  Magazine_, his thanks to the many kind friends of himself and the
  mission, who have sent him, by the hands of brother and sister Wade,
  and their associates, various donations of wearing apparel, books,
  stationery, etc. Some of the articles are of great value, and all of
  them are very acceptable, being such as he requires for daily use. The
  faces of the donors he knows not; but many of their names he has
  marked, and the notes and letters accompanying the presents have
  repeatedly called forth the tear of gratitude and love. The
  acquaintance thus commenced, though not personal, he expects will be
  perfected in that world where there is no sea to separate friends, no
  barrier to impede the interchange of mutual love. And he rejoices in
  the belief that every distant expression and recognition of fraternal
  affection here below will form an additional tie, binding heart to
  heart, in the world above; that every cup of cold water given to a
  disciple will become a perennial stream, flowing on from age to age,
  and swelling the heavenly tide of life and gladness.”

He had a remarkable gift for comforting people, and was indeed a son of
consolation. A lady to whom he paid a visit of condolence upon the death
of her mother wrote to her friend, “He must have been peculiarly
sympathetic himself, or he could not have entered into every one’s
sorrows so easily.” To this trait in his character the wife who survived
him bears eloquent testimony:

  “Before Sir Archibald Campbell left the provinces, he took his stand
  and never attended a fashionable dinner afterward. He gradually, too,
  broke off from intimate association with the missionaries, partly,
  perhaps, from a lack of congeniality of thought, partly from his sense
  of the worth of time. If any one was in trouble, however, he was sure
  to be there, and his power to soothe I have never seen equalled. Every
  tone of his voice seemed calculated to touch the innermost chord of a
  troubled heart.”

How exquisitely soothing are the words with which he strives to comfort
a heart-broken mother, weeping in her room after her husband has gone on
board ship with her little girls, about to sail for America.

                   “Sovereign love appoints the measure
                     And the number of our pains,
                   And is pleased when we take pleasure
                     In the trials He ordains.”

  “Infinite love, my dear sister, in the person of the Lord Jesus, is
  even now looking down upon you, and will smile if you offer Him your
  bleeding, breaking heart. All created excellence and all ardor of
  affection proceed from Him. He loves you far more than you love your
  children; and He loves them also, when presented in the arms of faith,
  far more than you can conceive. Give them up, therefore, to His tender
  care. He will, I trust, restore them to you under greater advantages,
  and united to Himself; and you, who now sow in tears, shall reap in
  joy. And on the bright plains of heaven they shall dwell in your arms
  forever, and you shall hear their celestial songs, sweetened and
  heightened by your present sacrifices and tears.

                                   “Yours,               A. JUDSON.”

Again he writes to the same bereaved lady:

  “What a miserable world is this! No sooner does the heart’s pulse
  begin to take a little hold, than snap it goes. How many times more
  shall I have to sing that melancholy ditty—

                    “‘Had we never loved so kindly,
                    Had we never loved so blindly,
                    Never met, or never parted,
                    We had ne’er been broken-hearted!’

  Even those poor culprits, Elsina and Mary, do so frequently squeeze
  out the tear, that it is painful to think of them. I don’t wonder that
  you say your heart is ready to break. I almost wonder how you can
  breathe. And I don’t think that Mrs. Wade’s sweet, but cruel letters
  have helped the matter at all. But be patient, poor soul! Heaven will
  be sweeter for all this, though you may be unwilling to believe it.
  And we have every reason to pray and to hope that the dear absent ones
  will be with you to all eternity.”

From what has been written on the subject of _Guyonism_, it can easily
be seen how near at one period of his life, under the stress of grief
and physical enfeeblement, Mr. Judson approached the perilous verge of
fanaticism. He, however, soon recovered his mental and spiritual
equilibrium, and in the busy whirl of missionary activity, and later in
the formation of new social and domestic relations, threw off whatever
excesses may temporarily have characterized his views and practices of
self-denial. We subjoin a fragment, probably a scrap torn from the close
of a letter:

  “Leaving one party to prove that the standard of Christian morality is
  lowered since the days of the apostles, and another party to assert
  and expect the restoration of miraculous powers, let us adopt a middle
  course, the golden medium—HOLY AS THE APOSTLES, WITHOUT THEIR
  POWER—and then ‘the glory of this latter house shall be greater than
  that of the former.’”

Having thus turned aside to study the peculiar phase of spiritual
experience through which Mr. Judson passed, that we might catch as
through a window a glimpse of the very interior of his character, we now
resume the narrative of his incessant toils. We left him by the
freshly-made graves of his wife and child at Amherst. Amherst and
Maulmain, situated about twenty-five miles apart upon the coast of a
newly-settled province, were competing for the honor of being the
metropolis of British Burmah.[37] They were both planted in the jungle,
dependent for their growth upon the tide of population which kept
streaming away from the oppressions of Burman despotism toward the
enlightened and liberal English rule that prevailed throughout the
Tenasserim provinces. The scale, as has already been stated, was turned
in favor of Maulmain, by the fact that Sir Archibald Campbell had chosen
it as the headquarters of his army. It consequently grew into a large
city with marvellous rapidity, while Amherst dwindled into
insignificance.

The missionaries at first thought it best to have two stations, one at
Amherst and the other at Maulmain—the Wades to hold the ground in the
former place, and the Boardmans in the latter, while Mr. Judson should
move backward and forward between the two points. But they soon decided
not to attempt to keep their hold on Amherst, but to concentrate all
their forces in Maulmain. This town was situated at the mouth of the
Salwen, on its western bank. It consisted principally of one street
which extended along the river-front about two miles. Behind the city
was a long range of hills, dotted here and there with the graceful
pagoda. In front swept the broad swift Salwen, “in which an English
sloop-of-war was lying at anchor, and curiously-shaped Indian boats were
passing to and fro with each changing tide.” Directly across the river
lay the province of Martaban, still under Burman rule, the secure haunt
of robbers and pirates; while far off to the seaward one could catch a
glimpse of the high hills of Ballou Island.

The Boardmans were the first to remove to Maulmain, and were soon
followed by the Wades, while Mr. Judson came last. We find in Mr.
Boardman’s journal, under date of August 12, 1827, the following minute:

  “The Burman merchant to whom I gave the books called on me yesterday,
  for further information on some point which he did not fully
  understand. While he was here, the head man of the village also came;
  and these two together, with our Burman teacher, who seems to be
  inquiring, entered into some particular discussion of the Christian
  history and doctrine. In the midst of this discussion, how great was
  my joy on beholding Mr. Judson approaching the house. It is now
  probable that we shall all be settled together at this place.”

The mission-house had been erected by the Boardmans at the expense of
the mission, upon ground given by Sir Archibald Campbell. It was
situated about a mile south of the English barracks, on a gentle
westerly and southerly declivity, so that it commanded a view of the
river and the sea. It contained three rooms fifteen feet square, and a
veranda on all sides, but enclosed on three sides for a study,
store-room, dressing-room, etc. The General had offered the missionaries
a site within the cantonments, but they chose rather to be where they
could come into closer and more direct contact with the natives. This,
however, exposed them landward to tigers, and riverward to robbers from
Martaban. Their perilous situation is thus described in a letter from
Mrs. Boardman to an intimate friend in Salem:

  “MY VERY DEAR FRIEND: I have hitherto refrained from letting you know
  the extreme loneliness of our condition, and the constant danger to
  which we have been exposed.... Maulmain, the place of our residence,
  is separated from the Burman province of Martaban only by the river.
  The opposite side is the refuge of robbers, who come over in parties
  twenty or thirty in number, armed with muskets, spears, knives, etc.
  Thus equipped, they break into houses in the most daring manner, seize
  everything valuable, and retreat immediately with their booty to the
  other side of the river, where they are entirely beyond the reach of
  British authority. They have in one or two instances surprised and
  destroyed whole villages that were left unguarded; and in one place
  they even attacked a guard of Sepoys.... Thus surrounded by dangers,
  we live alone, in a house of such frail materials that it could be cut
  open in any part with a pair of scissors, in the midst of a desolate
  wood, and at some little distance from even a Burman neighbor.... The
  military cantonments are about a mile distant, and we are the only
  Europeans living outside.... We came to this place, wishing, I trust,
  to spend and be spent among this people, and trusting in an Almighty
  arm for protection. Be assured, my dear friend, we felt happy in our
  decision. We saw this wretched, deluded people perishing in their
  ignorance of the Gospel; we thought of the love of the Saviour to
  precious souls; we cast a glance toward Gethsemane and Calvary, and
  that was sufficient. Shall we consult our own ease and comfort, we
  said, or shall we be willing to take joyfully the spoiling of our
  goods? This was the question, and, I trust, the grace of God enabled
  us to choose the latter.”

And they were soon called upon to endure the spoiling of their goods.
The description is given in the words of Mrs. E. C. Judson:

  “On the evening of the fourth day, as it deepened into night, the
  books of study were thrown aside, and the book of God taken in their
  stead; then the prayer was raised to heaven, and the little family
  went to rest. Feeble were the rays of the one pale lamp, close by the
  pillow of the young mother, scarce throwing its light upon the infant
  resting in her bosom, and penetrating into the remote darkness, but by
  feeble flickerings. So sleep soon brooded over the shut eyelids, and
  silence folded its solemn wings about the little habitation.

  “The infant stirred, and the mother opened her eyes. Why was she in
  darkness? and what objects were those scattered so strangely about her
  apartment, just distinguishable from the gray shadows? The lamp was
  soon relighted, and startling was the scene which it revealed. There
  lay, in odd confusion, trunks, boxes, and chests of drawers, all
  rifled of their contents; and strewed carelessly about the floor, were
  such articles as the marauders had not considered worth their taking.
  While regarding in consternation, not appreciable by those who have
  access to the shops of an American city, this spoiling of their goods,
  Mrs. Boardman chanced to raise her eye to the curtain, beneath which
  her husband had slept, and she thought of the lost goods no more. Two
  long gashes, one at the head and the other at the foot, had been cut
  in the muslin; and there had the desperate villains stood, glaring on
  the unconscious sleeper with their fierce, murderous eyes, while the
  booty was secured by their companions. The bared, swarthy arm was
  ready for the blow, and the sharp knife or pointed spear glittered in
  their hands. Had the sleeper opened his eyes, had he only stirred, had
  but a heavy, long-drawn breath startled the cowardice of guilt—ah, had
  it! But it did not. The rounded limbs of the little infant lay
  motionless as their marble counterfeit; for if the rosy lips had moved
  but to the slightest murmur, or the tiny hand crept closer to the
  loved bosom in her baby dreams, the chord in the mother’s breast must
  have answered, and the death-stroke followed. But the mother held her
  treasure to her heart and slept on. Murderers stood by the bedside,
  regarding with callous hearts the beautiful tableau; and the husband
  and father _slept_. But there was one Eye open—the Eye that never
  slumbers; a protecting wing was over them, and a soft, invisible hand
  pressed down their sleeping lids.

  “Nearly every article of value that could be taken away had
  disappeared from the house; and though strict search was made
  throughout the neighborhood, no trace of them was ever discovered.
  After this incident, Sir Archibald Campbell furnished the house with a
  guard of Sepoys during the night; and as the rapid increase of the
  population soon gave it a central position in the town, the danger of
  such attacks was very much lessened.”

It was at this exposed spot that the Judsons, the Boardmans, and the
Wades mustered their forces, and stood prepared to take advantage of the
inflowing tide of Burmese population. They took with them from Amherst
their whole little flock of native converts and inquirers, namely, Moung
Shwa-ba, Moung Ing, Moung Myat-poo, Mah Doke, with her husband, Moung
Dwah, and Moung Thah-byoo, who afterward became the apostle to the
Karens. Seventeen of the female scholars also accompanied them, besides
the two little boys left motherless by the lamented Mah Men-la.

The missionaries and their converts at once began _zayat_ work. There
were soon in Maulmain four widely-separated centres of Gospel influence,
namely: the mission-house where Mr. Boardman labored; Mr. Judson’s
_zayat_, about two miles and a half north of the mission premises, in a
very populous part of the town (“a little shed projecting into one of
the dirtiest, noisiest streets of the place”); Mr. Wade’s _zayat_, out
in the country, about half a mile south of the mission-house; and,
besides, a reading _zayat_, where Moung Shwa-ba and Moung Ing
alternately read the Scriptures to all the passers-by. At each of these
stations public worship was held, followed by close personal
conversation with any who desired to become acquainted with the new
religion. Nor did the word thus preached return void. They soon had the
happiness of baptizing Moung Dwah, one of the inquirers who had
accompanied them from Amherst, and others speedily followed his example.

Some of the most stubborn cases yielded, little by little, to Mr.
Judson’s solemn and gentle persuasion. He describes a certain Moung Bo
as follows:

  “I noticed once in the annals of the Rangoon mission a man of the
  first distinction in point of talents, erudition, general information,
  and extensive influence. His progress has been so slow that I have not
  mentioned him before; but he has attended me ever since the _zayat_
  was opened, his house being on the opposite side of the street. He was
  an intimate friend of Moung Shwa-gnong, and has apparently been going
  through a process similar to what my dear brother, now, I trust, in
  heaven, experienced. He has relinquished Buddhism, and got through
  with Deism and Unitarianism, and now appears to be near the truth.
  Many a time, when contemplating his hard, unbending features, and
  listening to his tones of dogmatism and pride, I have said in my
  heart, ‘Canst thou ever kneel, a humble suppliant, at the foot of the
  cross?’ But he has lately manifested some disposition to yield, and
  assures me that he does pray in secret.”

Although the English rule prevented the application of the Burman iron
mall, yet the young converts did not escape persecution.

  “Ko Myat-kyau is,” Mr. Judson writes, “a brother of the first native
  chief in the place, nearly fifty years of age, of most respectable
  rank in society, more so than any other that has been baptized,
  possessed of a clear mind, considerable native eloquence, and an
  uncommon degree of mental and bodily activity. His literary
  attainments are scanty; but he has command of handsome language,
  particularly that which is current in the higher classes of society.
  He has been an inquirer after truth many years, and has diligently
  investigated the systems of Buddh, of Brahma, and of Mahomet. At
  length he embraced the religion of Jesus Christ with all his heart and
  soul, manifesting more zeal and ardor than commonly characterize his
  cool, considerate countrymen. He has suffered as much persecution as
  can be openly inflicted under British government. All his relations
  and friends joined in a most appalling cry against him; his wife
  commenced a suit for divorce; and his brother publicly declared that,
  if he had the power of life and death, he would instantly wipe out
  with his blood the disgrace brought upon the family. Our friend bore
  it all with the meekness of a lamb, and conducted himself with such
  forbearance and Christian love that the tide has begun to turn in his
  favor. His wife has relinquished her suit, and begins to listen to the
  word; his brother has become silent; and some few of the relatives
  begin to speak in our favor.”

Women, too, did not shrink from suffering persecution on behalf of their
newly-found Lord. Describing a baptism, Mr. Judson says:

  “We made up a small female party, consisting of Mah See, Mah Gatee,
  and Mah Kyan, all decided and hearty in the cause, amid a torrent of
  threatening and abuse. The first is the wife of Moung San-lone,
  second; but her elder brother, and her priest, and other acquaintance
  are all alive on the occasion. The husbands of the other two are both
  opposers, and have threatened their wives with everything bad if they
  enter the new religion. They expect to suffer as soon as their
  husbands hear of the deeds of this day. We feel most for Mah Kyan, who
  has a child at her breast, an only child; and her husband has declared
  that he will not only turn her off, but take the child away from her,
  and provide it another nurse. After they were baptized, they said that
  their minds were very happy; come life, come death; they were
  disciples of the Lord Jesus Christ for life and forever.”

Again, he tells the story of a lady eighty years of age, mother-in-law
of a petty chief who was one of the bitterest opposers:

  “She commenced her inquiries,” he writes, “several months ago with a
  great deal of timidity. And though she has acquired a little courage,
  and is a person of considerable presence, she almost trembles under a
  sense of the great responsibility of changing her religion. Such being
  her character, the promptness with which she answered our questions,
  before the church, affected us even to tears. ‘How old are you,
  mother?’ ‘Eighty years.’ ‘Can you, at such an age, renounce the
  religion that you have followed all your life long?’ ‘I see that it is
  false, and I renounce it all.’ ‘Why do you wish to be baptized into
  the religion of Jesus Christ?’ ‘I have very, very many sins; and I
  love the Lord, who saves from sin.’ ‘Perhaps your son-in-law, on
  hearing that you have been baptized, will abuse you, and turn you out
  of doors.’ ‘I have another son-in-law, to whom I will flee.’ ‘But he
  also is an opposer; suppose that you should meet with the same
  treatment there?’ ‘You will, I think, let me come and live near you.’
  We made no reply, willing that she should prove her sincerity by
  bearing the brunt alone. Her name is Mai Hlah. Behold this venerable
  woman, severing, at her time of life, all the ties which bind her to a
  large circle of connections and friends, hazarding the loss of a
  comfortable, respectable situation, the loss of character, the loss of
  a shelter for her gray head, throwing herself on the charity of
  certain foreigners, and all for the sake of ‘the Lord who saves from
  sin.’ O, blessed efficacy of the love of Christ!”

But not only was the _zayat work_ crowned with success; the _school
work_ was not less effective. The school of girls which had been
transplanted from Amherst increased in size and efficiency under the
superintendence of Mrs. Wade and Mrs. Boardman, who not only taught the
children, but imparted religious instruction to the Burman women. The
tireless Boardman also opened a school for boys. Mr. Judson speaks
joyously of an incipient revival in the girls’ school, “similar to those
glorious revivals which distinguish our own beloved land.” He baptized
Mah-ree (Hasseltine) about twelve years ago, one of the two Burman
girls[38] whom his departed Ann had watched over during his own long
imprisonment at Ava.

  “Two other girls, younger than those that have been baptized, appear
  to have obtained light and hope in Christ. ‘Out of the mouth of babes
  and sucklings Thou hast perfected praise.’ One of them, Mee Youk,
  about eight years old, gives as clear, satisfactory evidence of real
  conversion as any of the older girls. The other, Mee Kway, like our
  departed Mee Shway-ee, was rescued at Amherst from miserable slavery.
  She has hitherto given us very little pleasure, but is now led to see
  that she has been an uncommonly wicked child, and to feel a humble,
  penitent disposition.”

But even these babes in Christ were not exempt from suffering
persecution. Mee Tan-goung had just been baptized. Her eldest sister,
after having experienced real and pungent convictions of divine truth,
had at length been induced by her mother’s alternate promises and
threatenings deliberately to reject the Saviour.

  “Mee Tan-goung’s mother came early,” writes Mr. Judson, “before any of
  us were up, and having made her elder daughter, Mee Lau, open the door
  of the school _zayat_, she fell upon her younger daughter, abusing and
  beating her, until, fearing that she should alarm the house, she went
  off. Soon after, however, she came again, and finding her daughter
  outside, she beat her on the head with an umbrella, and threatened to
  sell her for a slave. She then went into town, and after raising a
  tumult in the market-place, and declaring that her daughter had
  entered into a religion which prevented her lying and cheating, so
  that she was quite lost to all purposes of trade, she carried the
  alarming tale to the mothers of the other two girls who were baptized
  yesterday. One of them, the mother of Mee Nen-mah, who has been most
  violent heretofore, came in a rage to Mrs. Wade (brother Wade and
  myself being absent at our _zayats_), and after using as bad language
  as she dared, she ran down to the schoolroom, seized her daughter by
  the hair, and dragged her outdoors toward a pile of wood, where she
  would soon have armed herself with a weapon, had not Mrs. Wade
  interfered, and rescued the victim; upon which the mother went off,
  muttering vengeance. The girls bore all this abuse in silent
  submission, and really manifested something of the spirit of martyrs.
  All three are taken into the house for the present, lest their
  infuriated relatives should make an assault upon them by night.”

Poor little Mee Aa, who had been baptized, was living in great fear. She
daily expected her mother from Amherst, and knew that she would take her
away instantly, and would use all the means in her power to make her
renounce the Christian religion. But Mee Aa was to be pleasantly
disappointed. Instead of being remanded by her mother to the shadows of
heathenism, she was permitted to lead that mother into the light of the
Gospel.

  “Soon after that date, Mee Aa came trembling, one morning, to Mrs.
  Wade, with the alarming news that her mother had just arrived at the
  landing-place, with the intention, doubtless, of taking her away by
  force; and what should she do? She was told to go and meet her mother,
  and to pray as she went. But the poor girl need not have been alarmed.
  She had been incessantly praying for her mother ever since she had
  learned to pray for herself; and God had heard her prayers, and
  softened her mother’s heart. So when she heard that her daughter was
  actually baptized, she only made up a queer face, like a person
  choking, and said, ‘It was _so_, was it not? I hear that some quite
  die under the operation.’ This speech we all considered encouraging.
  And, accordingly, she soon settled down among us, drank in the truth
  from her daughter’s lips, and then followed her example.”

But the most pathetic story of all is that of Mee Shway-ee, a little
child, whom the missionaries rescued from the barbarities of heathenism.
They brought her with them from Amherst. When they first heard of her
she was a slave-girl, five years old. Her master was a Moor. He
afterward turned out to be her own brother, who had formed the
diabolical project of killing her by inches. Mr. Judson got possession
of the little girl by threatening her master with all the penalties of
the English law. Her wretched condition is thus described in Mrs. Wade’s
journal:

  “Her little body was wasted to a skeleton, and covered from head to
  foot with the marks of a large rattan, and blows from some sharp-edged
  thing which left a deep scar. Her master in a rage one day caught her
  by the arm, and gave it such a twist as to break the bone, from which
  her sufferings were dreadful. Besides, she had a large and very
  dreadful burn upon her body, recently inflicted.... She had been
  tortured so long that her naturally smiling countenance was the very
  picture of grief and despair..... Almost the first words which the
  poor little sufferer said to me were, ‘Please to give your slave a
  little rice, for I am very hungry.’ She was asked if she had not had
  her breakfast; to which she replied: ‘Yes, but I got very little, so
  that I am hungry all the day long.’”

The poor little Mee Shway-ee had suffered too much ever to recover. She
survived her release from her master only a few months. She died in the
glad triumphs of the Christian faith. “I am dying,” she said, “but I am
_not afraid_ to die, for Christ will call me up to heaven. He has taken
away all my sins, and I wish to die now, that I may go and see Him.”

Her cruel master received his just deserts. He was thrown into prison,
where, after waiting trial for several months, he was condemned to a
further confinement of four years in irons, and hard labor on the public
works. This dreary prospect broke his spirit, and he managed to put an
end to his wretched life by taking arsenic.

                           MEE SHWAY-EE.[39]

               “In the tropic land of Burmah,
                 Where the sun grows never old;
               And the regal-browed Palmyra
                 Crowns her head with clouds of gold;
               On a strange, wild promontory,
                 Close beside the rushing sea,
               Listening ever to the billows,
                 Dwelt poor little Mee Shway-ee.

               “But along the sandy sea-shore.
                 Or amid the foliage green,
               Stringing rows of crimson berries,
                 Was the maiden never seen;
               Never twined she her black tresses
                 With the golden mazalee;
               For a wild and woe-marked slave-child
                 Was poor little Mee Shway-ee.

               “And when in the hush of twilight
                 Rose a startling eldritch cry,
               Answered by the gray-winged osprey,
                 Plunging seaward from the sky;
               Then the village wives and maidens,
                 As they glanced from roof to sea,
               Whispered of a human osprey,
                 And poor writhing Mee Shway-ee.

               “But a messenger of Jesus—
                 Him who, centuries ago,
               Bared His bosom to the arrow
                 Winged by human guilt and woe,
               And then said, ‘Go preach my Gospel!
                 Lo! I’m evermore with thee’—
               One who served this blessed Jesus,
                 Found poor trembling Mee Shway-ee.

               “Found her wan, and scarred, and bleeding,
                 Mad with agony and sin;
               So love’s arms were opened widely,
                 And the sufferer folded in;
               Tender fingers soothed and nursed her,
                 And ’twas wonderful to see
               How the winning glance of pity
                 Tamed the elf-child, Mee Shway-ee.

               “For, beneath those drooping eyelids
                 Shone a human spirit now,
               And the light of thought came playing
                 Softly over lip and brow;
               But her little footstep faltered,—
                 Beamed her eye more lovingly,—
               And ’twas known that death stood claiming
                 Gentle, trusting Mee Shway-ee.

               “But to her he came an angel,
                 Throned in clouds of rosy light;
               Came to bear her to that Saviour
                 Who had broke her weary night;
               And with smiles she sought his bosom;
                 So, beside the rushing sea,
               ’Neath the weeping casuarina,
                 Laid they little Mee Shway-ee.”

But amid the cares and toils of beginning a missionary enterprise in
Maulmain, Mr. Judson did not remit his literary labors. The odd moments
of time left from _zayat work_ and _school work_ were filled with the
_work of translation_. Even before leaving Amherst he had embarked upon
the prodigious task of translating the Old Testament into Burmese. He
had begun with the Psalms. After the death of his wife and child his
sorrowful heart instinctively turned for consolation to “the prayers of
David the son of Jesse.” He had hardly been in Maulmain two years when
he makes this record in his journal:

  “_November_ 29, 1829. Since my last, we have finished revising the New
  Testament and the Epitome of the Old—a work in which we have been
  closely engaged for above a year. We have also prepared for the press
  several smaller works, viz.:

  “1. The Catechism of Religion. This has already passed through two
  editions in Burmese. It has also been translated and printed into
  Siamese, and translated into Taling or Peguan.

  “2. The View of the Christian Religion, thoroughly revised for a
  fourth edition in Burmese. It has also been translated into Taling and
  Siamese.

  “3. The Liturgy of the Burman Church.

  “4. The Baptismal Service.

  “5. The Marriage Service.

  “6. The Funeral Service; the last three consisting chiefly of extracts
  from Scripture.

  “7. The Teacher’s Guide; or, a Digest of those parts of the New
  Testament which relate to the Duty of Teachers of Religion, designed
  particularly for Native Pastors.

  “8. A Catechism of Astronomy.

  “9. A Catechism of Geography.

  “10. A Table of Chronological History; or a Register of principal
  Events from the Creation to the present Time.

  “11. The Memoir of Mee Shway-ee.

  “12. The Golden Balance; or, the Christian and Buddhist Systems
  Contrasted. This has been translated into Taling.

  “The Gospel of St. Matthew was also translated into Siamese by Mrs.
  Judson, and is now being translated into Taling by Ko Man-poke, our
  assistant in that department.”

While thus absorbed in the work of preaching and teaching and
translating at Maulmain, he was not forgetful of the smouldering
camp-fires he had left behind him at Rangoon and Amherst. At Rangoon
especially, where he had first unfurled the banner of the Christ, and
whence he had been rudely driven by the intolerant spirit of the king of
Ava, a native church was speedily reorganized under a Burman pastor, Ko
Thah-a. It seems that this man was one of the original Rangoon converts.

  “At the close of the war,” according to Mr. Judson’s narrative, “he
  spent a few months at a large village in the neighborhood of
  Shwa-doung, and there, devoting himself to the preaching of the word,
  he produced a very considerable excitement. Several professed to
  believe in the Christian religion; and three of the most promising
  received baptism at his hands. Some others requested the same favor;
  but he became alarmed at his own temerity, and declined their repeated
  applications. The villagers, in time, returned to the vicinity of
  Rangoon, whence they had fled at the commencement of the war. He also
  returned to Rangoon, his former residence, and continued to
  disseminate the truth, but in a more cautious and covert manner.”

Ko Thah-a visited Mr. Judson at Maulmain in order to be instructed as to
what he should do with those whom he had persuaded to accept of Christ,
and who wished to be baptized. It was thought best to ordain him as
pastor of the church in Rangoon.

What a stubborn vitality there is in that seminal divine idea, a local
church! Mr. and Mrs. Judson formed such a church, when, in 1813, they
made their home at the mouth of the Irrawaddy, and all by themselves
shared in that Holy Supper which was instituted to commemorate the
Saviour’s dying love. The church of two slowly grew into a church of
twenty. Then came the war, and the long imprisonment of the pastor at
Ava. The church was hewed to the ground. Only four members could be
found, and these were transplanted to Amherst. More than two years later
Ko Thah-a, who had been lost sight of in the interior of the country,
makes his appearance in Maulmain. He has all along been secretly
preaching the good news, and now he wants to go back to Rangoon and
baptize the converts whom he has won. Out of the stump of the tree cut
down there springs a shoot which has bloomed and flourished even to the
present time. The Rangoon mission of 1881 now embraces eighty-nine
churches and thirty-seven hundred members. “There shall be a handful of
corn in the earth upon the top of the mountains; the fruit thereof shall
shake like Lebanon.”

Ko Thah-a, the first Christian pastor among the Burmans, proved to be an
able minister. Of him Mr. Judson wrote:

  “His age (fifty-seven), his steadiness and weight of character, his
  attainments in Burman literature, which, though not, perhaps,
  necessary, seem desirable in one who is taking up arms against the
  religion of his country, and his humble devotedness to the sacred
  work, all conspire to make us acquiesce with readiness and gratitude
  in the divine appointment.”

Again and again he sent to Maulmain the cheering news of conversions and
baptisms; and when, a year and a half after his ordination, Mr. Judson
visited him at Rangoon and invited him to go on a missionary tour up the
country, he declined, “on account of having so many irons in the
fire”—that is, hopeful inquirers—that he must stay to bring forward and
baptize. And Mr. Judson adds, “He is as solicitous and busy as a hen
pressing about her chickens. It is quite refreshing to hear him talk on
the subject, and see what a nice, careful old shepherd he makes. The
Lord bless his soul and the souls of his flock!”

Neither did Mr. Judson forget the deserted mission-field at Amherst,
where lay the precious dust of his wife and child. Like the Apostle
Paul, he felt the deepest solicitude for the spiritual welfare of the
converts whom he had left along the track behind him. Moung Ing was
ordained and sent to be pastor of the disciples at Amherst.

  “The church,” Mr. Judson writes, “consisted of three—Mah Loon-byay,
  who was baptized while we lived there, and has never left the place;
  Mah Kai, and her daughter, Mee A, who have lately moved thither. To
  these are now added pastor Moung Ing and his wife, Mah Lan. May the
  five become five hundred. May the seed formerly sown in weakness and
  tears yet spring up and bear fruit. May the last efforts of the one we
  have lost, whose setting rays sunk in death beneath the hope-tree,
  prove not to have been in vain; and may the prayers which ascended
  from her dying bed be yet heard and answered in blessings upon
  Amherst.”

Moung Ing, however, though diligent and faithful, and extremely desirous
of doing good, seems to have proved rather a failure as a minister. The
prospects at Amherst darkened; and Mr. Judson sadly wrote:

  “Moung Ing has had no success at all, though he has not been wanting
  in diligence and faithfulness. At length we advised him to remove to
  Tavoy. He, however, preferred Rangoon, and is now co-operating with Ko
  Thah-a. His wife remained behind. Her conduct has been very
  exceptionable since her baptism, and soon after her husband’s
  departure she became openly vicious. She is now suspended from
  communion—the first case of church discipline that has occurred among
  the native members.”

One feels his heart drawn out toward the poor fisherman, Moung Ing, one
of the very earliest Burman converts, Mrs. Judson’s only dependence at
Ava and Oung-pen-la—the first bearer of the Gospel to the Tavoyans, and
yet a man whose mission in this world, in spite of zeal, fidelity, and
untiring industry, seemed to be ever to fail. In a subsequent letter of
Mr. Judson’s, there occurs a pathetic account of his death. His humility
and disinterestedness shone forth with a steady ray even in his latest
hours.

  “During the last year of his life, Ko Ing was supported from the
  donations of Mr. Colgate, of New York. But at the close of October,
  1833, he wrote that, on account of his unworthiness and want of
  success, he declined receiving any further allowance; that his wife—of
  whose conversion he had been the means—was able, by keeping a small
  shop, to support the family; but that he intended, however, to devote
  himself the same as before to the work to which he had been called.
  Accordingly, the same letter reports his labors and states his plans
  for future operations. Such communications he continued to make till
  his death. In order, however, to square our accounts, we requested him
  to receive the usual allowance for the remaining two months of that
  year. He did so, and in acknowledging the receipt of the money, said
  that he regarded it as a special gift from heaven. We then determined
  that, though he declined any stated allowance, we would occasionally
  make him presents; and brother Mason has sent him money two or three
  times, amounting, I believe, to about one-third of his usual
  allowance. The following is an extract from the letter of a pious
  sergeant in the detachment stationed at Mergui, dated December 7,
  1834:

  “‘I was with Ko Ing several times during his illness, and commonly
  took an interpreter with me; but on account of his extreme weakness
  and deafness, I could say but little to him. Being anxious, however,
  to know his experience, I asked him a few questions, as follows: _Q._
  Do you wish to die or not? _Ans._ I wish to die, if it is the will of
  God. _Q._ Why do you wish to die? _Ans._ I shall go to heaven and be
  happy. _Q._ How do you know that you shall go to heaven? _Ans._ I have
  read in the word of God that those who serve Him will go there, and my
  own breast tells me of it (placing his hand on his breast and looking
  up). _Q._ How have you served God? _Ans._ By forsaking my wicked ways,
  and praying to Him for forgiveness. _Q._ Do you think all this will
  take you to heaven? _Ans._ Jesus Christ came down from above, and died
  for sinners; and those that are sorry for and forsake their sins shall
  be saved, because Christ died for them. _Q._ You don’t think, then,
  that your works and your own goodness will take you to heaven? _Ans._
  No. All my works are but filthy rags. He was so much exhausted that I
  asked him no more questions. I think I told you in a former letter
  that he had his coffin made some days before his death; that our lads
  carried him to the grave; and I read the funeral service over him.’”

But the time had now come when this little company of missionaries at
Maulmain had to be broken up. Judson, Boardman, and Wade—an illustrious
triumvirate—could not long expect to work together in the same place.
This would be too great a concentration of forces at one point. The
Gospel light must be more widely dispersed through the thick gloom of
Paganism. The Boardmans were the first to go, though the parting with
their missionary associates was attended with the keenest suffering.
Besides, they had originated the mission at Maulmain, and it was at a
peculiar sacrifice that they pressed into the regions beyond. They chose
Tavoy as their field of work. It seemed out of the question to assail
Burmah proper; and on the long coast of the ceded provinces, Amherst
having dwindled into insignificance, Tavoy was the only important point
within a hundred and fifty miles. If they went to Arracan, British
territory situated on the other side of Burmah proper,[40] they would be
too far away to meet with the other missionaries for such occasional
consultation and concert of prayer as seemed advisable to the Board at
home. Accordingly, on the 29th of March, 1828, when the missionaries had
experienced for only seven months the joy of laboring together in
Maulmain, Mr. and Mrs. Boardman with their little family set sail for
Tavoy. They were accompanied by a young Siamese convert, Moung
Shway-pwen, by a Karen, Ko Thah-byoo—subsequently the renowned apostle
to the Karens—and by four of the native school-boys. With this little
group of disciples, Mr. Boardman began that brief and heroic campaign
among the Karens which has made his name so illustrious in the annals of
missions.

On the 15th of December, 1829, Mr. Judson received news of the death at
Washington of his brother Elnathan, with whom he had prayed so many
years before by the roadside on his way from Plymouth to Boston.[41] The
letter that brought him these sad tidings assured him also that the
wayside prayer had been answered. He wrote the following letter of
comfort to his distant sister:

                                     “MAULMAIN, _December_ 21, 1829.

  “I have just received yours of May 25 last, giving an account of
  Elnathan’s death, and also Dr. Sewall’s detail of his dying exercises.
  Perhaps you have not seen Dr. Sewall’s letter. It closes thus: ‘A few
  hours before his death, and when he was so low as to be unable to
  converse or to move, he suddenly raised himself up, and clasping his
  hands, with an expression of joy in his countenance, cried, “_Peace,
  peace!_” and then he sunk down, without the power of utterance. About
  ten minutes before he expired, it was said to him, “If you feel the
  peace of God in your soul, open your eyes.” He opened his eyes, and
  soon after expired, and, as we believe, in the triumphs of faith.’
  When I read this account, I went into my little room, and could only
  shed tears of joy, my heart full of gratitude and my tongue of praise.
  I have felt most anxious about him for a long time; to hear at last
  that there is some good reason to conclude that he has gone to heaven
  is enough. So we are dying, one after another. We shall all be there,
  I trust, before long. I send you and mother a little tract, which I
  beg you will study prayerfully. Let me urge you frequently to
  re-examine the foundation of your hope. O, it is a solemn thing to
  die—an awful thing to go into eternity, and discover that we have been
  deceiving ourselves! Let us depend upon it that nothing but real faith
  in Christ, _proved to be genuine by a holy life_, can support us at
  last. That faith which consists merely in a correct belief of the
  doctrines of grace, and prompts to no self-denial,—that faith which
  allows us to spend all our days in serving self, content with merely
  refraining from outward sins, and attending to the ordinary duties of
  religion,—is no faith at all. O, let me beg of you to look well into
  this matter! And let me beg my dear mother, in her old age, and in
  view of the near approach of death and eternity, to examine again and
  again whether her faith is of the right kind. Is it that faith which
  gives her more enjoyment in Jesus, from day to day, than she finds in
  anything else?

  “May God bless you both, is the fervent prayer of your affectionate
  brother.”

On the arrival at Maulmain of two new missionaries, the printer, Mr.
Cephas Bennett, and his wife, it seemed best that the policy of
dispersion should be still more rigorously pursued. Mr. Judson never
approved of the huddling of missionaries together at any one station. A
few years later he wrote:

  “Formerly, having spent many years alone, I felt desirous of
  missionary society, and was disposed to encourage a few to stay
  together, not doubting but that we should all find enough to do. But I
  have now learned that one missionary standing by himself, feeling his
  individual responsibility, and _forced to put forth all his efforts_,
  is worth half a dozen cooped up in one place, while there are
  unoccupied stations in all directions, and whole districts, of
  thousands and hundreds of thousands, perishing in the darkness of
  heathenism. You will perhaps wonder that I am frequently writing in
  this strain. But when I think of seven families,—eight when the ——s
  are here, which will probably be every rainy season,—my spirit groans
  within me. I feel that I can not spend my time to better purpose than
  in endeavoring to effect some change in our present arrangements. I
  can truly say that all the real missionary work done by all the
  sisters at this station, from day to day, might and would be done by
  any two of them, if left to themselves; and this not because they are
  disposed to indolence or self-indulgence, but simply because there are
  so many together. Place any one of them in a station by herself, with
  her husband, and she would become a new creature.”

He also believed in multiplying the centres of light. It might be well
for a new missionary upon his first arrival to be kept in training at
some long-established post in association with experienced laborers, but
then his ultimate aim should be to plunge alone into the thicket of
heathenism.

Besides, the time had now come to make a new attempt to enter Burmah
proper. Accordingly on February 21, 1830, Mr. and Mrs. Wade removed to
Rangoon, Mr. Judson’s old field, where the newly-ordained Moung Thah-a
and Moung Ing were laboring. The pain of parting was alleviated by the
hope which Mr. Judson cherished of joining them again at Rangoon, with
the purpose of once more penetrating the valley of the Irrawaddy in the
direction of Ava. In a confidential letter, written to the Corresponding
Secretary two years and a half before, he had thus described the four
beloved coadjutors from whom it was now his duty to be separated:

  “Brother Wade is a steady, correct, judicious, persevering,
  heavenly-minded man. He is much better than he seems on first
  appearance or a slight acquaintance. I have learned that his advice is
  safe, and I confide in his judgment more than my own. He is getting a
  thorough knowledge of the language, and both he and Mrs. Wade speak it
  very well. In regard to Mrs. Wade I can truly say, that among all my
  living acquaintances I do not know a single woman who is superior to
  her in sterling excellence of missionary character. Brother and sister
  Boardman I am not much acquainted with, and am unable to delineate
  their distinguishing characteristics. He appears to have a mind well
  disciplined and readily stirred. She is a truly lovely and estimable
  woman. Of all the four, I know not which I _esteem_ most. The Wades I
  _love_ most because I know them best.”

But Mr. Judson could not remain content at Maulmain. He was not
satisfied with founding two or three missions on the outermost edge of
British Burmah. He longed to penetrate Burmah proper again, and
establish a line of mission stations in the Irrawaddy valley, that
arterial channel through which the tide of Burmese population surged.
Mr. Wade had gone before simply as an _avant coureur_. His going to
Rangoon was only a part of a more general movement. Leaving Maulmain in
charge of Mr. Boardman, who had been temporarily recalled from Tavoy,
Mr. Judson parted with him and the new-comers, Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, on
April 26, 1830, and set sail for Rangoon, where he arrived six days
later. Before leaving Maulmain, he writes in his journal:

  “Our re-entering Burmah is an experiment which we are making with fear
  and trembling. Accounts from brother and sister Wade are rather
  encouraging. They both give it as their decided opinion that I ought
  to join them immediately; not merely with a view to Rangoon, but to
  the neighboring towns, and to all that are afar off, even as many as
  the Lord our God shall render accessible.”

He spent only a few days with Mr. Wade in Rangoon. Then, in the company
of five native disciples, he proceeded by boat to Prome, an ancient city
situated on the Irrawaddy about one hundred and seventy miles from the
mouth. He writes from Rangoon:

  “Every day deepens the conviction in my mind that I am not in the
  place where God would have me be. It was to the interior, and not to
  Rangoon, that my mind was turned long before I left Maulmain; and
  while I feel that brother and sister Wade are in the right place, I
  feel that I am called elsewhere. Under these impressions, I am about
  proceeding up the river, accompanied by Moung Ing, Moung En, Moung
  Dway, Moung Dan, baptized April 4, and little Moung Like, mentioned
  April 18, not yet baptized. The boat on which we embark will take us
  to Prome, the great half-way place between this and Ava, and there I
  hope and pray that the Lord will show us what to do.”

This brave effort, however, to plant Christianity at Prome, in the very
interior of the Burman empire, the half-way place between Rangoon and
Ava, proved a complete failure. Mr. Judson preached the Gospel and
distributed tracts all the way up the river, and for three months he and
his disciples labored faithfully in Prome. He occupied daily an old
tumble-down _zayat_ at the foot of the great pagoda, Shway Landau, and
thousands heard the Gospel from his lips. But suddenly the _zayat_ was
deserted. He met with cold and rude treatment in the streets. The dogs
were allowed to bark at him unmolested. It was rumored that the king at
Ava was displeased that the Burman religion should be assailed in the
very heart of his empire, and that he had given orders that Mr. Judson
should be required to depart from Burmah. It subsequently transpired
that the king himself was, in reality, kindly disposed toward Mr.
Judson. He had inquired some time before where Mr. Judson was, and when
told that he was in Maulmain, he said: “Why does he not come here? He is
a good man and would, if he were here, teach and discipline my ministers
and make better men of them.” The ejection of Mr. Judson from Burmah was
a trick on the part of these very prime ministers. They hated all
foreign intrusion, and represented to Major Burney, the English
ambassador at Ava, that the king was very much displeased with Mr.
Judson’s attempt to introduce Christianity into the empire. Major Burney
writes:

                                          “AVA, _September_ 1, 1830.

  “The ministers requested my advice as to the measures which they ought
  to pursue with respect to Dr. Judson, who, they said, is come up to
  Prome, and is there distributing tracts among the inhabitants, and
  abusing the Burmese religion, much to the annoyance of the king. I
  told them that Dr. Judson is now exclusively devoted to missionary
  pursuits; that I possess no power or authority over him, but that I
  know him to be a very pious and good man, and one not likely to injure
  the Burmese king or Government in any manner. The ministers replied
  that the king is much vexed with Dr. Judson for the zeal with which he
  is distributing among the people writings in which the Burmese faith
  is held forth to contempt, and that his majesty is anxious to remove
  him from Prome. I said that the Burmese king and Government have
  always enjoyed a high reputation among civilized nations for the
  toleration which they have shown to all religious faiths; that there
  are thousands, in Europe and America, who would be much hurt and
  disappointed to hear of any change in the liberal policy hitherto
  observed by the king of Ava, and that I hope the ministers would not
  think of molesting or injuring Dr. Judson, as such a proceeding would
  offend and displease good men of all nations. They replied that it was
  for this reason, to avoid hurting Dr. Judson, that they had consulted
  me; and they propose that I should write and advise Dr. Judson of the
  king’s sentiments toward him. I reiterated my assurances that Dr.
  Judson is in no way connected with me or my Government, and that I can
  issue no orders to him; and I begged the ministers to leave him alone,
  which, however, they said they could not, as his majesty had expressed
  himself much displeased with his conduct. I consented at last to write
  to Dr. Judson, but I told the ministers to recollect that I had no
  right to interfere with him, who would, notwithstanding any letter he
  might receive from me, act in whatever manner his own judgment and
  conscience might dictate. The ministers begged of me only to recommend
  Dr. Judson to return to Rangoon, and confine his missionary labors
  within that city.”

And so Mr. Judson was forced sadly and reluctantly to abandon his
project of carrying the Gospel into Central Burmah. The thrilling
narrative of his experiences in Prome and of his return to Rangoon is
best told in his own words:

              _To the Missionaries at Rangoon and Maulmain._

                                            “PROME, _June_ 26, 1830.

  “DEAR BRETHREN AND SISTERS: To-day I have taken possession of the old
  _zayat_ allowed me by Government. Part of it we have inclosed in
  rooms, and the other part we have left open for the reception of
  company. Several people accosted us as they passed. ‘So you have
  moved, have you? We shall come and see you before long.’ There are at
  present no hopeful inquirers; but some visitors from Men-dai and
  Men-yoo-ah approximate toward that character.

  “_July 2._ A great change has taken place in the minds of Government
  people toward me. Satan has industriously circulated a report that I
  am a spy in pay of the British. Last night the deputy governor sent to
  inquire my name and title. This morning I waited on him, and on the
  lady governess, but met with a very cold reception at both places. The
  deputy governor is probably reporting me to Ava, and what the
  consequences will be I know not. Several visitors, who began to listen
  with some favorable disposition, have suddenly fallen off. To-day I
  have had no company at all.

  “_July 3._ Pastor Ing returned from a visit to Men-yoo-ah. He says
  that the same suspicion is spreading all over the country. Even the
  women mentioned in my last were afraid to have any communication with
  him. By forcing his way, he managed to sleep two nights at the house
  of the Toung-dwen teacher, and had some conversation with him and his
  people on the subject of religion. But the teacher, though not a
  regular Buddhist, feels his consequence, as the head of a sect, and is
  perhaps as far from candid consideration as the most bigoted priest.
  Pastor Ing says that the country is full of villages, and there is
  some disposition to listen to religion, but that in the present state
  of the public mind, if I should make the tour of those parts, as I had
  some intention of doing, there is not a house where the owner would
  dare to ask me to sit down at the entrance of the door.

  “Feel extremely dejected this evening. Never so heartily willing to
  enter into my rest, yet willing to offer, and I do, with some peculiar
  feelings, offer, my poor life to the Lord Jesus Christ, to do and to
  suffer whatever He shall appoint, during my few remaining days. My
  followers feel some courage yet; for they have, I hope, a little
  faith, and they know, also, that whatever storm comes, it will beat
  upon their teacher first.

  “_July 4. Lord’s day._ Another Burman day of worship, and a great day,
  being the first day of Lent, a season which continues three months.
  After usual worship, took a stroll through the place. All smiles and
  looks of welcome are passed away; people view me with an evil eye, and
  suffer their dogs to bark at me unchecked. Near Shway San-dau, the
  _zayats_ were crowded with devout-faced worshippers. I found a vacant
  place under a shed built over a large brick idol, and, sitting down on
  the ground, I held converse with small parties, who came around in
  succession. Some company, also, morning and evening, at home. I can
  not but hope that two persons have this day obtained some discovery of
  the way of salvation through a crucified Saviour. But it is really
  affecting to see a poor native when he first feels the pinch of truth.
  On one side he sees hell; on the other side, ridicule, reproach,
  confiscation of goods, imprisonment, and death.

  “_July 7._ Moung A, one of the persons last mentioned, comes every
  day. He seems to be quite taken with the Christian religion, but says
  he can not think of embracing it until the learned and the great lead
  the way.

  “_July 8._ Many visitors through the day, in consequence of a festival
  held in the vicinity. Moung A begins to speak decidedly for Christ.

  “_July 9._ Having agreed that two or three of our number shall go out
  every day, in different directions, and preach the Gospel, whether the
  people will hear or forbear, my lot fell in a public _zayat_, about a
  mile from home, near Shway San-dau, where I had an uninterrupted
  succession of hearers from morning till night. Pastor Ing and Moung
  Dway were successfully engaged in another quarter, and Moung En had
  some company at home. I presume that a hundred and fifty people have
  this day heard the Gospel intelligibly, who never heard it before.

  “_July 10._ The same as yesterday, except that, being ill, I left the
  _zayat_ about noon. Moung A was with me in the afternoon. His case is
  becoming extremely interesting. He is a bright young man, with a small
  family, formerly belonged to Cæsar’s household, and bore a
  considerable title, which was forfeited through false accusation. He
  began last night to pray to the eternal God.

  “_July 11. Lord’s day._ Several came in during worship, and behaved
  decently, though they would not put themselves into a devotional
  posture, or join in the responses. One man, in particular, professed
  to be excessively delighted with the new and wonderful things which he
  heard. Moung A present at evening worship, but he remains in a very
  critical state. No wine to be procured in this place, on which account
  we are unable to unite with the other churches, this day, in partaking
  of the Lord’s supper.

  “_July 12._ A Burman day of worship. In the morning, received private
  information that the deputy governor, as I conjectured, did actually
  report me to Ava. If any order be given immediately, whether favorable
  or unfavorable, it may be expected in the course of a fortnight. Felt
  rather dejected, but endeavored to put my trust in God, and resolve to
  work while the day lasts. The _zayats_ being all full of worshippers,
  I took my seat on a brick under the shed over the great idol, and,
  from morning till night, crowd succeeded crowd. Some became
  outrageously angry, and some listened with delight. Some said, ‘He is
  a good man’; but others said, ‘Nay, he deceiveth the people.’ About
  noon, heard Moung Dway’s voice on the other side of the idol. Pastor
  Ing was busy in another quarter. At home, Moung En received a visit
  from Myat-pyoo, one of the two persons mentioned on the 4th. He is
  sixty-nine years old, a little deaf, very timid and retiring. My
  expectations of him are not disappointed. He says that he thinks this
  is the true religion, and the only one that provides a way of escape
  from hell, of which he is exceedingly afraid, in consequence of his
  many, many sins.

  “_July 13._ Took up my position at my favorite _zayat_. It stands at
  the crossing of two great roads, the one leading from the river-side
  to Shway San-dau, and the other from the town to the place of burying,
  or rather burning, the dead. Several funeral processions pass every
  day, and many of the followers, in going or returning, stop at my
  _zayat_ to rest. To-day there was a funeral of distinction, and all
  the officers of Government, with their respective suites, attended. In
  consequence of this, the crowd around me was greater than ever before.
  But they were not hearers of the right stamp. Most of them, being
  adherents of Government, were rude, insolent, and wicked in the
  extreme. A few considerate persons remained till night, particularly
  one man, on whose account I also remained, though dreadfully
  exhausted. He has been with me two days, and I have a little hope that
  he begins to feel the force of truth.

  “_July 14._ Another day of hard conflict. The enemy begins to be
  alarmed, and his forces come on fresh and fierce, while we, few in
  number, have to sustain the combat without any human reinforcement.
  The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. At night, felt an entire
  prostration of strength, so much so that I was unable to go through
  with the evening service as usual.”

                              _To the same._

                                          “PROME, _August_ 23, 1830.

  “DEAR BRETHREN AND SISTERS: Tired of minuting down the events of each
  day, I have written nothing since my last date, July 16. My time has
  been spent in the same way as stated in the first part of that month.
  At one period the whole town seemed to be roused to listen to the news
  of an eternal God, the mission of His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, and
  the way of salvation through His atonement. A considerable proportion
  of the hearers became favorably disposed. At length the enemy assumed
  a threatening aspect; the poor people became frightened; many sent
  back the tracts they had received; and there was a general falling off
  at the _zayats_. I was summoned to undergo a long examination at the
  court-house, not, however, on the subject of religion, but concerning
  all my past life since I have been in Burmah. The result was forwarded
  to Ava. The magistrates still preserve a perfect neutrality, in
  consequence of the absence of the governor. At Ava I have been
  regarded as a suspicious character ever since I deserted them at the
  close of the war, and went over to the British. I know not what
  impressions the governor of this place will there receive, or how he
  will feel toward me when he is informed of the noise I have made in
  Prome during his absence.

  “On hearing of the declining health of brother Boardman, and brother
  Wade’s intention of leaving Rangoon for Maulmain, I had some thoughts
  of returning immediately to Rangoon. But, on further consideration and
  prayer, I feel that I must work while the day lasts at Prome. I have
  some company at the _zayats_ every day, and crowds on days of worship.
  Most of the hearers are opposers; but I observe in distant corners
  those who listen with eagerness. There are five persons who have, I
  trust, obtained a little grace; but in the present dark time, they
  give no satisfactory evidence.

  “August 30. Since my last letters from Rangoon, I think continually of
  brother Boardman, and the great loss we are threatened with. May the
  Lord direct and support him and our dear sister.”

        .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

       _Letter to the Missionaries at Rangoon and Maulmain, and the
                              Corresponding
                       Secretary in Boston, U. S._

                                 “BELOW PROME, _September_ 18, 1830.

  “Afloat on my own little boat, manned by none other than my three
  disciples, I take leave of Prome and her towering god Shway Lan-dau,
  at whose base I have been laboring, with not the kindest intentions,
  for the last three months and a half. Too firmly founded art thou, old
  pile, to be overthrown just at present; but the children of those who
  now plaster thee with gold will yet pull thee down, nor leave one
  brick upon another.

  “The Government writer, Moung Kywet-nee, who recommenced visiting us a
  few days ago, has been hanging about us for two hours, lamenting our
  departure; and he is now sitting alone at the water’s edge, looking
  after our boat as it floats down the stream. ‘Mark me as your
  disciple; I pray to God every day; do you also pray for me; as soon as
  I can get free from my present engagements, I intend to come down to
  Rangoon,’ are some of his last expressions.

  “The sun is just setting. We could not get our boat ready earlier in
  the day; and, as it is Saturday evening, we intend to proceed as far
  as Men-dai, in order to spend the Lord’s day there. There is no period
  of my missionary life that I review with more satisfaction, or,
  rather, with less dissatisfaction, than my sojourn in Prome. This city
  was founded several hundred years before the Christian era. Through
  how many ages have the successive generations of its dark inhabitants
  lived and died, without the slightest knowledge of the Great Eternal,
  and the only way of salvation which He has provided! At length, in the
  year 1830, it was ordered that a missionary of the cross should sit
  down in the heart of the city, and from day to day, for above three
  months, should pour forth divine truth in language which, if not
  eloquent and acceptable, was at least intelligible to all ranks. What
  a wonderful phenomenon must this have been to celestial beings, who
  gaze upon the works and dispensations of God in this lower world! It
  was necessary to the accomplishment of the divine purpose, that, after
  so many centuries of darkness, there should be such an exhibition of
  light as has been made, and no more. Thousands have heard of God who
  never, nor their ancestors, heard before. Frequently, in passing
  through the streets, and in taking my seat in the _zayats_, I have
  felt such a solemnity and awe on my spirits as almost prevented me
  from opening my lips to communicate the momentous message with which I
  was charged. How the preacher has preached, and how the hearers have
  heard, the day of judgment will show. Oh, how many will find their
  everlasting chains more tight and intolerable on account of the very
  warnings and entreaties they have received from my lips! But what more
  can be done than has been done? Though warned and entreated, they have
  wilfully, obstinately, and blasphemously refused to listen. But,
  blessed be God, there are some whose faces I expect to see at the
  right hand of the great Judge. The young man just mentioned, the
  carpenter, Moung Shway-hlah, a poor man, by name Moung Oo, in addition
  to some others mentioned in former letters, give us reason to hope
  that they have received the truth in good and honest hearts. Many also
  there are who have become so far enlightened that I am sure they never
  can bow the knee to Shway Lan-dau, without a distressing conviction
  that they are in the wrong way. Farewell to thee, Prome! Willingly
  would I have spent my last breath in thee and for thee. But thy sons
  ask me not to stay; and I must preach the Gospel to other cities also,
  for therefore am I sent. Read the five hundred tracts that I have left
  with thee. Pray to the God and Saviour that I have told thee of. And
  if hereafter thou call me, though in the lowest whisper, and it reach
  me in the very extremities of the empire, I will joyfully listen, and
  come back to thee.”

                                           “MEN-DAI, _September 19_.

  “Spent the day in the _zayat_ which I formerly occupied. The crowds
  were very noisy, but some listened with attention. Distributed nearly
  a hundred tracts. Mai Goo came from her village with two other women,
  one of whom appears to have grace. But Mah Wen-yo and Mah Ping were
  not seasonably apprised of our arrival. Just at night, dropped down to
  a small village below Men-dai, that we might have a little evening
  worship by ourselves.”

                                      “NEAR RANGOON, _September 24_.

  “We have distributed four hundred tracts between this and Men-dai,
  having touched at many of the principal places, and spent an hour or
  two, or a night, as we could make it convenient. We should have
  stopped oftener and stayed longer had not our stock of tracts become
  exhausted. My people, also, began to be impatient at the restless
  nights we were obliged to spend, on account of the insufferable
  annoyance of mosquitoes on the banks of the river in the lower country
  at this season of the year.

  “_September 25._ Came in sight of my old acquaintance, Shway Da-gong;
  landed once more in Rangoon; found letters from Maulmain, saying that
  brother Boardman is considerably better, for which I desire to thank
  God; repaired to the house lately occupied by brother Wade. Since his
  departure, I find that some efforts have been made to check the
  progress of religious inquiry. At one time men were stationed at a
  little distance, on each side of the house, to threaten those who
  visited the place, and take away the tracts they had received. Reports
  were circulated that Government was about to make a public example of
  heretics; the crowds that used to come for tracts all disappeared, and
  Pastor Thah-a, who continued to occupy the house, became intimidated,
  and retreated to his own obscure dwelling. Things are, therefore, at a
  very low ebb; but we trust in God that the tide will flow again in its
  own appointed time.”

  “_October 8._ Have just received intelligence that about the 1st of
  September the king issued an order that I should be removed from
  Prome, ‘being exceedingly annoyed that I was there, in the interior of
  the country, distributing papers, and abusing the Burmese religion.’
  The woon-gyees, being unwilling to proceed to extremities, made
  application to Major Burney, the British resident at Ava, who assured
  them that he had no control over me; that I was in no way connected
  with the British Government, but employed exclusively in the duties of
  my profession; and he begged them not to proceed to adopt a measure
  which would be condemned as intolerant by good men of all countries.
  They said, however, that his majesty’s order was peremptory, and that
  it was necessary for me to confine my labors within the limits of
  Rangoon. Major Burney then consented to write me on the subject.”

Although Mr. Judson was foiled in this effort to carry the Gospel into
the interior of Burmah, yet he did not withdraw immediately to Maulmain,
but remained for almost a year laboring at Rangoon, situated just within
the gate of the empire. He retreated only step by step from before
Burman intolerance, disputing every inch of the ground.

Just at this time the whole land seemed peculiarly pervaded by a spirit
of religious thirst. Everybody was curious to know about this new
religion. The people seemed to catch eagerly at every scrap of
information relating to Christianity. The ears of the heathen, to use
their own vivid expression, had become _thinner_. Mr. Judson’s house was
thronged with inquirers. While he was not permitted in person to preach
in the interior of the country, yet in Rangoon he freely distributed
tracts, and translations of the Scriptures, which sped on their way far
up the Irrawaddy toward Ava. He thought it wise to take advantage of
this flood-tide of eager curiosity. A nation has its moods as well as an
individual. Wasteful indolence might indeed substitute the lavish and
indiscriminate use of printer’s ink for the personal preaching of the
Gospel by the living voice. But, carefully watching the pulse of Burman
life, he believed that at last the time had come when the printed page
might be made a mighty engine for good, and could not be too freely
used. Hence, to Mr. Bennett, the printer, and to the other missionaries
at Maulmain, he sent those agonizing appeals for more tracts, the echoes
of which were wafted even to our own land.

       _To the Missionaries at Maulmain, particularly Mr. Bennett._

                                      “RANGOON, _November_ 13, 1830.

  “DEAR BRETHREN: I wrote you lately by Ko Ing, since which I have
  received yours by Moung En. We continue to distribute about forty
  tracts a day, and should gladly double the number if we could depend
  on a supply from Maulmain. By tracts I mean not the single sheets or
  handbills,[42] containing merely a scrap of Scripture, which, being
  wholly inadequate to give any full idea of the Christian religion, it
  is impossible to mock any poor soul with, when he holds out his hand
  for such spiritual food as his case requires. They do well enough
  among the converts, and if you find they are useful in your parts, I
  shall be happy to send you back those I have on hand, for there is no
  demand for that article here in the present state of the mission....
  But by tracts I mean the View, the Catechism, the Balance, and the
  Investigator. I earnestly beg the brethren to wake up to the
  importance of sending a regular supply of all these articles. How long
  we shall be allowed a footing in Rangoon is very uncertain. While a
  missionary is here, a constant stream ought to be poured into the
  place. Rangoon is the key of the country. From this place tracts go
  into every quarter. I could write sheets on the subject, but I trust
  that it is unnecessary. Six weeks have elapsed since I wrote for the
  Balance, and for a few only, as I did not wish to distress any one,
  and though it was then out of print, it is not yet put to press. And
  why? Because the Epitome has been in the way. I am glad the Epitome is
  printed; but after all, we shall not give away one a week of that
  article. The state of things does not immediately require it. But of
  the Balance I shall give away one hundred a week. There are daily
  calls for it. During the last six weeks I should have given away one
  thousand of the Balance, and they would now be circulating all over
  the country. I found twenty in the house on my arrival, and have been
  dealing them out like drops of heart’s blood. There are few left. I
  did expect some by Moung En; but alas! out popped two bundles of
  _scrippets_.[43] The _book_ of Scripture Extracts, however, I am
  thankful for. I do not write this with any disposition to find fault.
  I am sure you have done all for the best; and I feel for brother
  Bennett in his labors at the press. I only blame myself that I have
  not been more explicit, and written more urgently on the subject.”

                            _To Mr. Bennett._

                                       “RANGOON, _February_ 7, 1831.

  “DEAR BROTHER BENNETT: I wrote lately by Moung San-lone, saying that
  the great festival falls on the 25th instant, and begging that, until
  that time, no tracts might be circulated in your quarter, but that
  everything that could be got ready should be sent hither. If you
  listen to that petition, well; if not, to repeat it, with all the
  urgency of a dying man, would be of no use. We were giving away at the
  rate of three to four hundred per day, until I became alarmed, and
  reduced the allowance to two hundred. We are just, therefore, keeping
  our heads above water. But we have no hopes of being ready for the
  festival unless you pour in fifteen or twenty thousand more between
  this time and that. We have had none since the arrival of Moung En. He
  and A brought good supplies; but, alas! no Views, and but few Balances
  and Investigators. O when will the time come that I shall have as much
  as I want, and _of the right kind_! I have labored to very great
  disadvantage ever since I came down from Prome, for want of the _right
  kind_ of supply. If, instead of printing such a variety, the brethren
  had aimed only at furnishing a sufficient supply of the necessaries of
  life, how much better it would have been! I should not then have been
  left for months without the Balance, or any equivalent, nor be left,
  as I now am, month after month, without the View—the staple commodity.
  How distressing it is when the poor people come crying for the
  elements of the Christian religion, to be obliged to give them one of
  the small numbers of the Scripture Extracts, which singly can give
  them no idea! By the way, I beg you will send no more of No. 8: it is
  just good for nothing in the present state of things. I do not write
  thus by way of finding fault with my brethren; I am quite sure that
  you have meant all for the best. I have made too many mistakes, and
  criminal ones too, all my life long, to allow me to find fault with
  others. I only hope that things will now be kept in such a train as to
  prevent my being reduced again to the straits I have been in for
  several months. When you have made “arrangements to insure a supply of
  the _four standard articles_, so that we can always have as many of
  such kind, and of all the kinds, as the state of the market requires,
  I would recommend to the brethren to issue a small edition of three
  thousand of the First Epistle of John. I once thought of Luke; but if
  you take hold of that we shall be left to starve again for want of the
  necessaries of life. You say that there are fourteen hundred of the
  Scripture Extracts remaining; and these, stitched together, or in two
  parts, will answer to give in cases where something more than the four
  standards is required. As to the Septenary, I would suggest that it is
  to be kept for special cases, and not distributed promiscuously, for
  you will not want to print another edition immediately. It was not
  intended for general circulation, but to be kept on hand for the
  converts and hopeful inquirers. As to your plan of printing the
  Catechism and View _together_, it is most excellent. You can not
  furnish too many of that article. As to the Balance, it is now all the
  rage, particularly with _the cut_. I suppose you can not clap the cut
  on the covers of those that have it not. It doubles the value. I
  presume that from fifty to one hundred per day inquire particularly
  for the Balance, and we are obliged to turn them off with something
  very inadequate to their exigency. Is not this most awful? Only
  contrast the countenance of one who has No. 8 forced upon him instead
  of the Balance, and goes away feeling very ‘gritty’ with the
  countenance of another who seizes upon the desired article, gloats
  upon the interesting _Bennett cut_, and goes away almost screaming and
  jumping for joy.

  “I see, on reperusing your letter, that you speak of a second edition
  of the Septenary. I have no objection, provided it does not deprive us
  again of the necessaries of life. I hope, however, you will not
  abandon the study of the language. The proverb of the ‘cat and her
  skin’ I do not like. I have a much better one from the first
  authority. ‘My son,’ said the head jailer of the death-prison at Ava
  to an under-jailer, who was complaining that they could get no more
  out of a poor fellow whom they had been tormenting for several days,
  his wife and house being completely stripped—‘my son’ said the
  venerable old man, ‘be sure you have never wrung a rag so dry but that
  another twist will bring another drop.’”....

                    _To a Minister in Thompson, Conn._

                                          “RANGOON, _March_ 4, 1831.

  “The great annual festival is just past, during which multitudes come
  from the remotest parts of the country to worship at the great Shway
  Da-gong pagoda in this place, where it is believed that several real
  hairs of Gaudama are enshrined. During the festival I have given away
  nearly ten thousand tracts, giving to none but those who ask. I
  presume there have been six thousand applications at the house. Some
  come two or three months’ journey, from the borders of Siam and
  China—‘Sir, we hear that there is an eternal hell. We are afraid of
  it. Do give us a writing that will tell us how to escape it.’ Others
  come from the frontiers of Kathay, a hundred miles north of Ava—‘Sir,
  we have seen a writing that tells about an eternal God. Are you the
  man that gives away such writings? If so, pray give us one, for we
  want to know the truth before we die.’ Others come from the interior
  of the country, where the name of Jesus Christ is a little known—‘Are
  you Jesus Christ’s man? Give us a writing that tells about Jesus
  Christ.’ Brother Bennett works day and night at the press; but he is
  unable to supply us, for the call is great at Maulmain and Tavoy as
  well as here, and his types are very poor, and he has no efficient
  help.”

But while thus striving to satisfy the thirst of the Burmans for
religious knowledge, he did not intermit his long and laborious task of
translating the Scriptures. He shut himself up in the garret of the
mission-house, leaving his Burman associates to deal with the inquirers
below, only referring to him the more important cases. In his seclusion,
he made such long strides in his work that, at the close of his stay at
Rangoon, he wrote in his journal, “1831, July 19, finished the
translation of Genesis, twenty chapters of Exodus, Psalms, Solomon’s
Song, Isaiah, and Daniel.” An English lady who visited Rangoon in 1830,
and who ventured to penetrate his seclusion, thus describes the interior
of his study:

                   _A Visit to Mr. Judson in 1830._[44]

  “Being unexpectedly in Rangoon in the autumn of 1830, and hearing that
  the justly-celebrated American missionary, good Mr. Judson, was still
  there, with indefatigable zeal prosecuting his ‘labor of love’ in the
  conversion of the Burmese, I was extremely anxious to see him; and,
  having informed ourselves that a visit from English travellers would
  not be deemed a disagreeable intrusion, the captain, his wife, and
  myself immediately proceeded to Mr. Judson’s house.

  “It was a Burman habitation, to which we had to ascend by a ladder;
  and we entered a large, low room through a space like a trap-door. The
  beams of the roof were uncovered, and the window-frames were open,
  after the fashion of Burman houses. The furniture consisted of a table
  in the centre of the room, a few stools, and a desk, with writings and
  books neatly arranged on one side. We were soon seated, and were most
  anxious to hear all that the good man had to say, who, in a resigned
  tone, spoke of his departed wife in a manner which plainly showed that
  he had set his affections ‘where alone true joy can be found.’ He
  dwelt with much pleasure on the translation of the Bible into the
  Burman language. He had completed the New Testament, and was then as
  far as the Psalms in the Old Testament, which having finished, he said
  he trusted it would be the will of his heavenly Father to call him to
  his everlasting home.

  “Of the conversions going on amongst the Burmese he spoke with
  certainty, not doubting that when the flame of Christianity did burst
  forth, it would surprise even him by its extent and brilliancy. As we
  were thus conversing, the bats, which frequent the houses at Rangoon,
  began to take their evening round, and whirled closer and closer till
  they came in almost disagreeable contact with our heads; and the flap
  of the heavy wings so near us interrupting the conversation, we at
  length reluctantly took our leave and departed. And this, thought I,
  as I descended the dark ladder, is the solitary abode of Judson, whom
  after-ages shall designate, most justly, the great and the good. It is
  the abode of one of whom the world is not worthy; of one who has been
  imprisoned, chained, and starved, and yet who dares still to prosecute
  his work in the midst of the people who have thus treated him. America
  may indeed be proud of having given birth to so excellent and
  admirable a man, who, amidst the trials, sufferings, and bereavements
  with which it has pleased Heaven to afflict him, still stands with his
  lamp brightly burning waiting his Lord’s coming.

  “If there be any man of whom we may without presumption feel assured
  that we will hear the joyful words, ‘Well done, thou good and faithful
  servant,’ it is certainly the pious Judson, the great and persevering
  founder of Christianity in a land of dark idolatry and superstition.”

It was about this time that the Mission Board in this country sent him
an earnest and affectionate invitation to revisit his native land. He
was about forty-two years old, and had been absent from America eighteen
years. His health was shattered. His family he had laid in the grave. He
said several years later that he had never seen a ship sail out of the
port of Maulmain bound for England or America without an almost
irrepressible inclination to get on board and visit again the home of
his boyhood. And yet in reply to this urgent invitation from his
brethren, he wrote:

                    _To the Corresponding Secretary._

                                      “RANGOON, _December_ 20, 1830.

  “REV. AND DEAR SIR: I am happy to inform the Board that my health,
  which was rather impaired some time ago, is now quite good; so that I
  should not feel justified in accepting their invitation to return
  home.

  “At the same time, the kind feeling which dictated the invitation, and
  the affection, though undeserved, which breathes in every line, have
  made an indelible impression on my heart. I must confess that, in
  meditating on the subject, I have felt an almost unconquerable desire
  to become personally acquainted with my beloved patrons and
  correspondents, the members of the Board, as well as to rove once more
  over the hills and valleys of my own native land, to recognize the
  still surviving companions of my youth, and to witness the widespread
  and daily-increasing glories of Immanuel’s kingdom in that land of
  liberty, blessed of Heaven with temporal and spiritual blessings above
  all others.

  “However, I anticipate a happier meeting, brighter plains, friends the
  same, but more lovely and beloved; and I expect soon to witness, yea,
  enjoy, that glory in comparison of which all on earth is but a shadow.
  With that anticipation I content myself, assured that we shall not
  then regret any instance of self-denial or suffering endured for the
  Lord of life and glory.”

And yet he was so forgetful of self, cared, with almost womanly
tenderness, for the health and comfort of his associates in missionary
toil.

                    _To the Missionaries in Maulmain._

                                          “RANGOON, _March_ 3, 1831.

  “DEAR BRETHREN AND SISTERS: I am grieved that sister Wade, after
  running down to Amherst, and deriving a little benefit during a few
  days’ stay, thinks she must return, and probably has by this time
  returned, because sister Bennett is quite worn out, ‘having everything
  to do.’ Now, it appears to me that the better way to have remedied
  that evil would have been for sister Bennett to run away from all her
  cares and take the air at Amherst too.

  “Mrs. Jones, I hear, is also ill, and Mrs. Kincaid has not, I believe,
  much health to spare. Now, as you have two months of very trying
  weather to sustain, I earnestly beg that you will all take into
  serious consideration the propriety of repairing Landale’s house
  forthwith, or some other, and placing one or two of the ladies, by
  turns, to keep the post, until the rainy season sets in. Mrs. Wade, I
  humbly conceive, ought to be immediately apprehended and sent back as
  a deserter. And certainly no one ought to hesitate a moment at leaving
  mission or domestic cares for the preservation of health. When our
  best beloved are once laid in the cold grave, no cries, or tears, or
  remorse will bring them back. Many faithful servants and handmaids of
  the Lord might have been spared many years, had they only relaxed
  before they made their last effort.

  “If you have a house at Amherst during the hot season, some of the
  brethren, too, may be benefited by an excursion thither. Brother
  Bennett will certainly need a week’s relaxation there or somewhere
  else.... However, I only submit these hasty thoughts for your
  consideration. You are on the spot, and know better than I what is
  necessary and proper. May God preserve your precious lives many years;
  for, though the prospect of death may not be grievous, but joyous,
  ‘the harvest is plenteous, and the laborers are few.’”

While in Rangoon he received the heavy tidings that the beloved Boardman
had died in the jungles back of Tavoy.

He thus wrote to the Corresponding Secretary:

  “One of the brightest luminaries of Burmah is extinguished; dear
  brother Boardman has gone to his eternal rest. I have heard no
  particulars, except that he died on returning from his last expedition
  to the Karen villages, within one day’s march of Tavoy. He fell
  gloriously at the head of his troops, in the arms of victory;
  thirty-eight wild Karens having been brought into the camp of King
  Jesus since the beginning of the year, besides the thirty-two that
  were brought in during the two preceding years. Disabled by mortal
  wounds, he was obliged, through the whole of his last expedition, to
  be carried on a litter; but his presence was a host, and the Holy
  Spirit accompanied his dying whispers with almighty influence. Such a
  death, next to that of martyrdom, must be glorious in the eyes of
  Heaven. Well may we rest assured that a triumphal crown awaits him on
  the great day, and ‘Well done, good and faithful Boardman, enter thou
  into the joy of thy Lord.” I have great confidence in sister Boardman,
  that she will not desert her husband’s post, but carry on the work
  which he has gloriously begun.”

Sorrow had come upon the Boardman household in quick and uninterrupted
succession. Mrs. Boardman wrote:

  “In our domestic relation, the hand of the Lord has been very heavy
  upon us. About a year and a half ago we lost our eldest child, a
  lovely daughter, two years and eight months old; four months since, we
  buried our youngest, a sweet little boy of eight months and a half.”

The death of the eldest child is thus pathetically described by Mrs.
Boardman’s biographer:

  “‘Sarah is as plump and rosy-cheeked as we could wish. Oh! how
  delighted you would be to see her, and hear her prattle!’ Thus wrote
  the mother in her happiness; and, in a little more than two weeks
  after, she saw her darling, speechless and motionless, in her little
  shroud. ‘I knew all the time,’ says the bereaved parent, ‘that she was
  very ill; but it did not once occur to me that she might die, till she
  was seized with the apoplexy, about three hours before she closed her
  eyes upon us forever. Oh! the agony of that moment!’ And in that
  agonized moment, as the shadow of eternity fell upon the spirit of the
  little sufferer, and a vista, which her eye could not discern, but
  from which her failing nature instinctively recoiled, opened before
  her, she looked with anxious alarm into her mother’s face, and
  exclaimed: ‘I frightened! mamma! I frightened!’ What a strange thing
  is death. The tender nursling, who, in moments of even imagined ill,
  had clung to the mother’s bosom, and been sheltered in her arms, now
  hovered over a dark, unfathomed gulf, and turned pleadingly to the
  same shield—but it had failed. The mother’s arm was powerless; her
  foot could not follow; and the trembling babe passed on alone, to find
  her fears allayed on an angel’s bosom.”

Little Sarah’s death was soon followed by the revolt of Tavoy, and
during this brief uprising of the Burmans against their masters, Mr.
Boardman had been subjected to an exposure and hardship such as his
consumptive habit was ill able to endure. From that time he visibly
declined. To use Mrs. E. C. Judson’s words: “His cheeks were a little
more hollow, and the color on them more flickering; his eyes were
brighter, and seemingly more deeply set beneath the brow, and
immediately below them was a faint, indistinct arc of mingled ash and
purple like the shadow of a faded leaf; his lips were sometimes of a
clayey pallor, and sometimes they glowed with crimson; and his fingers
were long, and the hands of a partially transparent thinness.”

The newly-appointed missionary to the Karens, Mr. Mason, arrived in
Tavoy June 3, 1831. “On the jetty,” he wrote, “reclining helplessly in
the chair which had served the purpose of a carriage, a pale, worn-out
man, with the characters of death in his countenance, waited to welcome
his successor.” Mr. Boardman was preparing to take a tour into the
jungle in order to baptize some recent Karen converts. His emaciated
form was to be carried on a litter several days’ journey into the
wilderness. Remonstrance was unavailing; for he had set his heart upon
accomplishing his purpose. Besides, it was thought that the change of
air might do him good. Even after setting out, he was advised to return;
but his reply was: “The cause of God is of more importance than my
health, and if I return now, our whole object will be defeated. I want
to see the work of the Lord go on.” The closing scene of his life is
thus described by Mrs. Boardman:

  “On Wednesday evening thirty-four persons were baptized. Mr. Boardman
  was carried to the water-side, though so weak that he could hardly
  breathe without the continual use of the fan and the smelling-bottle.
  The joyful sight was almost too much for his feeble frame. When we
  reached the chapel, he said he would like to sit up and take tea with
  us. We placed his cot near the table, and having bolstered him up, we
  took tea together. He asked the blessing, and did it with his right
  hand upraised, and in a tone that struck me to the heart. It was the
  same tremulous, yet urgent, and I had almost said, unearthly voice,
  with which my aged grandfather used to pray. We now began to notice
  that brightening of the mental faculties which I had heard spoken of
  in persons near their end.

  “After tea was removed, all the disciples present, about fifty in
  number, gathered around him, and he addressed them for a few moments
  in language like the following: ‘I did hope to stay with you till
  after Lord’s day, and administer to you once more the Lord’s supper.
  But God is calling me away from you. I am about to die, and shall soon
  be inconceivably happy in heaven. When I am gone, remember what I have
  taught you; and O, be careful to persevere unto the end, that when you
  die we may meet one another in the presence of God, never more to
  part. Listen to the word of the new teacher and the teacheress as you
  have done to mine. The teacheress will be very much distressed. Strive
  to lighten her burdens, and comfort her by your good conduct. Do not
  neglect prayer. The eternal God to whom you pray is unchangeable.
  Earthly teachers sicken and die, but God remains forever the same.
  Love Jesus Christ with all your hearts, and you will be forever safe.’
  This address I gathered from the Karens, as I was absent preparing his
  things for the night. Having rested a few minutes, he offered a short
  prayer, and then, with Mr. Mason’s assistance, distributed tracts and
  portions of Scripture to them all. Early the next morning we left for
  home, accompanied by nearly all the males and some of the females, the
  remainder returning to their homes in the wilderness. Mr. Boardman was
  free from pain during the day, and there was no unfavorable change,
  except that his mouth grew sore. But at four o’clock in the afternoon
  we were overtaken by a violent shower of rain, accompanied by
  lightning and thunder. There was no house in sight, and we were
  obliged to remain in the open air, exposed to the merciless storm. We
  covered him with mats and blankets, and held our umbrellas over him,
  all to no purpose. I was obliged to stand and see the storm beating
  upon him, till his mattress and pillows were drenched with rain. We
  hastened on, and soon came to a Tavoy house. The inhabitants at first
  refused us admittance, and we ran for shelter into the out-houses. The
  shed I happened to enter proved to be the ‘house of their gods,’ and
  thus I committed an almost unpardonable offence. After some persuasion
  they admitted us into the house, or rather veranda, for they would not
  allow us to sleep inside, though I begged the privilege for my sick
  husband with tears. In ordinary cases, perhaps, they would have been
  hospitable; but they knew that Mr. Boardman was the teacher of a
  foreign religion, and that the Karens in our company had embraced that
  religion.

  “At evening worship, Mr. Boardman requested Mr. Mason to read the
  thirty-fourth Psalm. He seemed almost spent, and said, ‘This poor
  perishing dust will soon be laid in the grave; but God can employ
  other lumps of clay to perform His will as easily as He has this poor
  unworthy one.’ I told him I should like to sit up and watch by him,
  but he objected, and said in a tender, supplicating tone, ‘Can not we
  sleep together?’ The rain still continued, and his cot was wet, so
  that he was obliged to lie on the bamboo floor. Having found a place
  where our little boy could sleep without danger of falling through
  openings in the floor, I threw myself down, without undressing, beside
  my beloved husband. I spoke to him often during the night, and he said
  he felt well, excepting an uncomfortable feeling in his mouth and
  throat. This was somewhat relieved by frequent washings with cold
  water. Miserably wretched as his situation was, he did not complain;
  on the contrary, his heart seemed overflowing with gratitude. ‘O,’
  said he, ‘how kind and good our Father in heaven is to me; how many
  are racked with pain, while I, though near the grave, am almost free
  from distress of body. I suffer nothing, _nothing_ to what you, my
  dear Sarah, had to endure last year, when I thought I must lose you.
  And then I have you to move me so tenderly. I should have sunk into
  the grave ere this, but for your assiduous attention. And brother
  Mason is as kind to me as if he were my own brother. And then how
  many, in addition to pain of body, have anguish of soul, while my mind
  is sweetly stayed on God.’ On my saying, ‘I hope we shall be at home
  to-morrow night, where you can lie on your comfortable bed, and I can
  nurse you as I wish,’ he said, ‘I want nothing that the world can
  afford but my wife and friends; earthly conveniences and comforts are
  of little consequence to one so near heaven. I only want them for your
  sake.’ In the morning we thought him a little better, though I
  perceived, when I gave him his sago, that his breath was very short.
  He, however, took rather more nourishment than usual, and spoke about
  the manner of his conveyance home. We ascertained that by waiting
  until twelve o’clock we could go the greater part of the way by water.

  “At about nine o’clock his hands and feet grew cold, and the
  affectionate Karens rubbed them all the forenoon, excepting a few
  moments when he requested to be left alone. At ten o’clock he was much
  distressed for breath, and I thought the long-dreaded moment had
  arrived. I asked him if he felt as if he was going home,—‘Not just
  yet,’ he replied. On giving him a little wine and water he revived.
  Shortly after, he said, ‘You were alarmed without cause just now,
  dear—I know the reason of the distress I felt, but am too weak to
  explain it to you.’ In a few moments he said to me, ‘Since you spoke
  to me about George, I have prayed for him almost incessantly—more than
  in all my life before.’

  “It drew near twelve, the time for us to go to the boat. We were
  distressed at the thought of removing him, when evidently so near the
  last struggle, though we did not think it so near as it really was.
  But there was no alternative. The chilling frown of the iron-faced
  Tavoyan was to us as if he was continually saying, ‘Be gone.’ I wanted
  a little broth for my expiring husband, but on asking them for a fowl
  they said they had none, though at that instant, on glancing my eye
  through an opening in the floor, I saw three or four under the house.
  My heart was well-nigh breaking.

  “We hastened to the boat, which was only a few steps from the house.
  The Karens carried Mr. Boardman first, and as the shore was muddy, I
  was obliged to wait till they could return for me. They took me
  immediately to him; but O, the agony of my soul when I saw the hand of
  death was on him! He was looking me full in the face, but his eyes
  were changed, not dimmed, but brightened, and the pupils so dilated
  that I feared he could not see me. I spoke to him—kissed him—but he
  made no return, though I fancied that he tried to move his lips. I
  pressed his hand, knowing that, if he could, he would return the
  pressure; but, alas! for the first time, he was insensible to my love,
  and forever. I had brought a glass of wine and water already mixed,
  and a smelling-bottle, but neither was of any avail to him now.
  Agreeably to a previous request, I called the faithful Karens, who
  loved him so much and whom he had loved unto death, to come and watch
  his last gentle breathings, for there was no struggle.

  “Never, my dear parents, did one of our poor fallen race have less to
  contend with in the last enemy. Little George was brought to see his
  dying father, but he was too young to know there was cause for grief.
  When Sarah died, her father said to George, ‘Poor little boy, you will
  not know to-morrow what you have lost to-day.’ A deep pang rent my
  bosom at the recollection of this, and a still deeper one succeeded
  when the thought struck me, that though my little boy may not know
  to-morrow what he has lost to-day, yet when years have rolled by, and
  he shall have felt the unkindness of a deceitful, selfish world, _he
  will know_.”

                         DEATH OF BOARDMAN.[45]

                 “Pale with sickness, weak and worn,
                 Is the Christian hero borne
                 Over hill, and brook, and fen,
                 By his band of swart, wild men,
                 Dainty odors floating back
                 From their blossom-crushing track.

                 “Through the jungle, vast and dim,
                 Swells out Nature’s matin hymn:
                 Bulbuls ’mid the berries red,
                 Showers of mellow music shed;
                 Thrushes ’neath their crimson hoods
                 Chant their loves along the woods;

                 “And the heron, as he springs
                 Up, with startled rush of wings,
                 Joins the gorgeous peacock’s scream;
                 While the gushing of the stream
                 Gives sweet cadence to the hymn,
                 Swelling through the jungle dim.

                 “So they bear him on his way,
                 Till the sunless sky is gray;
                 Then within some lone _zayat_
                 Gentle fingers spread the mat;
                 And a watcher, sad and wan,
                 Bends above him till the dawn.

                 “Up and on! The tangled brake
                 Hides the deadly water-snake;
                 And the tiger, from his lair
                 Half up-springing, snuffs the air,
                 Doubtful gazing where they pass,
                 Trailing through the long wet grass.

                 “Day has faded—rosy dawn
                 Blushed again o’er wood and lawn;
                 Day has deepened—level beams
                 Light the brook in changeful gleams,
                 Breaking in a golden flood
                 Round strange groupings in the wood.

                 “There, where mountains wild and high
                 Range their peaks along the sky,
                 Lo! they pause. A crimson glow
                 Burns upon that cheek of snow;
                 And within the eyes’ soft blue
                 Quiver tears like drops of dew.

                 “Upward, from the wooded dell,
                 High the joyous greetings swell,
                 Peal on peal; then circling round,
                 Turbaned heads salute the ground,
                 While upon the dewy air
                 Floats a faint, soft voice in prayer.

                 “With the fever on his cheek,
                 Breathing forth his teachings meek,
                 Long the Gospel-bearer lies,
                 Till the stars have climbed the skies,
                 And the young moon’s slender rim
                 Hides behind the mountain grim.

                 “’Twas for this sweet boon he came,
                 Crushing back Death’s eager claim;
                 Yet a few more lambs to fold,
                 Ere he mingles with the mold—
                 Lambs with torn and crimsoned fleece,
                 Wildered in this wilderness.

                 “Once again the golden day
                 Drops her veil of silver gray;
                 And that dark-eyed mountain band
                 Print with bare, brown feet the sand,
                 Or the crystal wave turn back,
                 Rippling from their watery track.

                 “Meekly down the river’s bed
                 Sire and son alike are led,
                 Parting the baptismal flood,
                 As of old in Judah’s wood;
                 While throughout the sylvan glen
                 Rings the stern, deep-voiced Amen.

                 “With the love-light in his eyes,
                 Mute the dying teacher lies.
                 It is finished. Bear him back!
                 Haste along the jungle track!
                 See the lid uplifting now—
                 See the glory on his brow.

                 “It is finished. Wood and glen
                 Sigh their mournful, meek Amen.
                 ’Mid that circle, sorrow spanned,
                 Clasping close an icy hand,
                 Lo! the midnight watcher wan,
                 Waiting yet another dawn.”

When Mrs. Boardman with her son George, about two years and a half old,
were thus suddenly left in all the perplexity and desolation of
widowhood and fatherlessness, she received from Mr. Judson the following
words of tenderest consolation and counsel:

                           _To Mrs. Boardman._

                                          “RANGOON, _March_ 4, 1831.

  “MY DEAR SISTER: You are now drinking the bitter cup whose dregs I am
  somewhat acquainted with. And though, for some time, you have been
  aware of its approach, I venture to say that it is far bitterer than
  you expected. It is common for persons in your situation to refuse all
  consolation, to cling to the dead, and to fear that they shall too
  soon forget the dear object of their affections. But don’t be
  concerned. I can assure you that months and months of heartrending
  anguish are before you, whether you will or not. I can only advise you
  to take the cup with both hands, and sit down quietly to the bitter
  repast which God has appointed for your sanctification. As to your
  beloved, you _know_ that all his tears are wiped away, and that the
  diadem which encircles his brow outshines the sun. Little Sarah and
  the other have again found their father, not the frail, sinful mortal
  that they left on earth, but an immortal saint, a magnificent,
  majestic king. What more can you desire for them? While, therefore,
  your tears flow, let a due proportion be tears of joy. Yet take the
  bitter cup with both hands, and sit down to your repast. You will soon
  learn a secret, that there is sweetness at the bottom. You will find
  it the sweetest cup that you ever tasted in all your life. You will
  find heaven coming near to you, and familiarity with your husband’s
  voice will be a connecting link, drawing you almost within the sphere
  of celestial music.

  “I think, from, what I know of your mind, that you will not desert the
  post, but remain to carry on the work which he gloriously began. The
  Karens of Tavoy regard you as their spiritual mother; and the dying
  prayers of your beloved are waiting to be answered in blessings on
  your instructions.

  “As to little Georgie, who has now no earthly father to care for him,
  you can not, of course, part with him at present. But if you should
  wish to send him home, I pledge myself to use what little influence I
  have in procuring for him all those advantages of education which your
  fondest wishes can desire. Or if you should be prematurely taken away,
  and should condescend, on your dying bed, to commit him to me, by the
  briefest line or verbal message, I hereby pledge my fidelity to
  receive and treat him as my own son, to send him home in the best time
  and way, to provide for his education, and to watch over him as long
  as I live. More than this I can not do, and less would be unworthy of
  the merits of his parents.”

-----

Footnote 34:

  See Appendix C.

Footnote 35:

  About $2,600.

Footnote 36:

  About $1,000.

Footnote 37:

  See Map II.

Footnote 38:

  “The other, Abby,” Mrs. E. C. Judson says in one of her private
  letters, “died young—a most happy, rejoicing death.”

Footnote 39:

  By Mrs. E. C. Judson.

Footnote 40:

  See Map II.

Footnote 41:

  See page 35.

Footnote 42:

  Two-page tracts of Scripture extracts.

Footnote 43:

  The two-page tracts mentioned above.

Footnote 44:

  By Miss Emma Roberts, author of “Scenes and Characteristics of
  Hindostan.”

Footnote 45:

  By Mrs. E. C. Judson.




                               CHAPTER X.

                     LIFE IN MAULMAIN (CONTINUED).
                               1831-1845.


It now became Mr. Judson’s duty to return to Maulmain. He had been
absent thirteen months. The first part of that time had been spent in
the futile effort to establish a mission at Prome, and the last part he
had labored alone with native converts at Rangoon, distributing tracts,
preaching the Gospel and translating the Scriptures. Mr. and Mrs. Wade
had repaired to Rangoon soon after his return from Prome; but Mrs.
Wade’s health had so completely broken down that it was thought best for
her and her husband to take a voyage to America. The ship in which the
Wades sailed was driven out of its course by violent gales, and at last
put into a port on the coast of Arracan. Here Mrs. Wade’s health was so
much improved that the idea of going to America was given up, and they
returned to Maulmain instead. But, in the meantime, Mr. Judson’s
presence seemed indispensable there. A new party of missionaries had
arrived from America, including Mr. and Mrs. Mason, Mr. and Mrs.
Kincaid, and Mr. and Mrs. Jones. The Masons had gone to Tavoy. Mr. Jones
went to Rangoon to take Mr. Judson’s place, and the Kincaids were still
staying at Maulmain.

When he returned to Maulmain, he saw much to delight his heart. The
little church had been enlarged by the baptism of many Burmese, Karens,
and Talings. Two millions of pages of tracts and translations of
Scripture had been printed. The missionaries had also made repeated
journeys into the jungle, where a church of fourteen members had been
organized at a place called Wadesville, in honor of the missionary who
had first preached the Gospel there. At the close of 1831, Mr. Judson
reported on behalf of the Burman mission two hundred and seventeen
persons as baptized during the year; one hundred and thirty-six at
Maulmain, seventy-six at Tavoy, and five at Rangoon.

Soon after returning from Rangoon to Maulmain, he entered upon a new
field of operations. Whenever his close confinement to the work of
translation necessitated a change of air and scene, it was his custom to
take a tour among the wild Karen tribes occupying the jungle back of
Maulmain. His restless spirit was always longing to press into the
interior of the country, and the great Irrawaddy valley being closed to
him, there was nothing left but to penetrate Burmah by the Salwen and
its tributaries, which constitute the second of the river systems by
which the land is drained.

The Karens, as their very name indicates, were _wild_ men. They are
distributed throughout Burmah, Siam, and parts of China, and number from
two hundred thousand to four hundred thousand. They are, perhaps, the
remnants of an aboriginal and subjugated race. They are looked down upon
by the Burmese as inferiors. They speak a different language, and have
distinct race characteristics. Mr. Boardman, who was their first
missionary, thus describes them:

  “The Karens are the simplest children of nature I have ever seen. They
  have been compared to the aborigines of America, but they are as much
  inferior, both in mental and physical strength, as a puny effeminate
  Hindoo is inferior to a sturdy Russian, or a British grenadier. Of all
  people in the world, the Karens, I believe, are the most timid and
  irresolute. And the fable, that when some superior being was
  dispensing written languages and books to the various nations of the
  earth, a surly dog came along and drove away the Karens and carried
  away their books, agrees better with their indolent and timid
  character, than half the other fables in vogue among the wise and
  learned Burmans do with truth or common sense. These artless people
  seem contented, and not unhappy in their native forests, treading the
  little paths their fathers trod before them. It is surprising to see
  how small a portion of worldly goods satisfies their wants and limits
  their pursuits. A box of betel, often no other than the joint of a
  bamboo, a little heap of rice, a bamboo basket for each member of the
  family to carry burdens in, a cup, a rice and a curry-pot, a
  spinning-wheel of most simple structure, a knife and an axe, a change
  of simple garments, a mat of leaves, half a dozen water-buckets of
  bamboo joints, and a movable fire-place, are nearly all their frail
  houses contain to administer to their comfort. With these
  accommodations they are more free from worldly cares than the owners
  of farms and stalls, and folds, and games, and ships, and stores.
  Their only worldly care is to raise a little money to pay their taxes,
  under which they groan. Although indolent in the extreme, they are so
  remote from the city that they are, I believe, less wicked than most
  heathen nations. They have no hopes in a future life, and generally
  disdain all allegiance to the prevailing religion of the country. They
  are, in general, as careless about the future as about the present,
  except those who have heard the Gospel, and those who have been
  encouraged by the Burmans to build kyoungs and pagodas, in the hope of
  avoiding in the next world the state of hogs, and dogs, and snakes,
  and worms. They are too idle to be quarrelsome or ambitious, and too
  poor to gamble, or eat, or drink to very great excess. Their minds are
  vacant and open for the reception of whatever contains a relish, and
  it is not a little gratifying to see so many of them finding that
  relish in religion.”

The Karens are peculiarly accessible to the Christian religion. They are
devoid of the pride and dogmatism which characterize the Burmans.
Besides they had a hoary tradition that white messengers would come from
the sea to teach them. When Mr. Boardman first came among them, he found
that they had in their possession a mysterious book.

  “On returning from the _zayat_, I found my house thronged with Karens,
  and was informed that the Karen teacher had arrived with his much
  venerated book. After tea, I called them up, and inquired what they
  wished. The teacher stood forward and said, ‘My lord, your humble
  servants have come from the wilderness, to lay at your lordship’s feet
  a certain book, and to inquire of your lordship whether it is good or
  bad, true or false. We, Karens, your humble servants, are an ignorant
  race of people; we have no books, no written language, we know nothing
  of God or His law. When this book was given us, we were charged to
  worship it, which we have done for twelve years. But we knew nothing
  of its contents, not so much as in what language it is written. We
  have heard of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and are persuaded of its
  truth, and we wish to know if this book contains the doctrine of that
  Gospel. We are persuaded that your lordship can easily settle the
  question, and teach us the true way of becoming happy.’ I requested
  them to produce the book, when the old man opened a large basket, and
  having removed fold after fold of wrappers, he handed me an old
  tattered duodecimo volume. It was none other than the ‘Book of Common
  Prayer with the Psalms,’ published at Oxford, England. ‘It is a good
  book,’ said I, ‘but it is not good to worship it. You must worship the
  God it reveals.’ We spent the evening instructing these simple
  foresters in some of the first principles of the Gospel. They listened
  with much attention; but the old teacher, who, it seems, is a kind of
  sorcerer, appeared disappointed at the thought that he had obtained no
  claim to heaven by worshipping the book so many years.

  “_September 9, 1828._ The Karens left us for their native forest. It
  was a source of regret to us all, that Ko-thah-byoo was not present to
  facilitate our intercourse by interpreting for us. Just before
  leaving, the old sorcerer put on his jogar’s dress, given him, he
  said, nearly twenty years ago, and assumed some self-important airs,
  so that one of our native Christians felt it his duty to administer a
  gentle reproof, and told him there was no good in wearing such a
  dress, and advised him to lay it aside altogether. ‘If,’ said the
  sorcerer, ‘God will not be pleased with this dress, I am ready to send
  it afloat on yonder stream.’ He then presented his reprover with his
  wand, saying he had no further use for it.”

Mr. Boardman was afterward informed that the teacher, on his way home,
tore his jogar’s dress to pieces, and threw it into a brook.

While the Burmans lived in towns and cities, the Karens, like our
Indians, occupied villages far back in the jungle by the side of
mountain streams. Mr. Judson’s attention was first called to them in
Rangoon. “They formed small parties of strange, wild-looking men, clad
in unshapely garments, who from time to time straggled past his
residence.”

He was told that they were as untamable as the wild cow of the
mountains; that they seldom entered a town except on compulsion. They
were nomadic in their habits. A British officer[46] gives a singular
instance of their wildness:

  “An officer was lying on his bed in a little room inside the stockaded
  police post, which had a narrow gate with an armed sentry on guard;
  the Hillman, with the minimum of clothing, was introduced by a smart
  sergeant, who coaxed him to approach. He cautiously and distrustfully,
  and with great persuasion, advanced stooping to the bed; when close to
  it, he gave one long, steady look at the white man; suddenly, with a
  yell, threw himself up straight, turned round, dashed out of the room,
  through the gate, upsetting the armed sentry, rushed across a little
  stream at the bottom of the stockade, and, clambering like a monkey
  sheer up the side of the opposite mountain, never stopped till he was
  lost to sight in the forest.”

In order to secure permanent churches among the Karens, the first step
of the missionaries was to persuade them to settle down in one place and
form large and well-ordered villages. It was in this way that the town
of Wadesville, before mentioned, sprang into existence. Christianity has
thus proved a powerful agent in civilizing the Karens, and a Christian
village is easily distinguished from a heathen one, not only by its
size, but by its clean, regular streets.

That Mr. Judson’s tours in the Karen jungles were attended with great
fatigue and danger, may be inferred from Mr. Boardman’s “Historical
Sketch of the Karens”:

  “The paths which lead to their settlements are so obscurely marked, so
  little trodden, and so devious in their course, that a guide is needed
  to conduct one from village to village, even over the best part of the
  way. Not unfrequently the path leads over precipices, over cliffs and
  dangerous declivities, along deep ravines, frequently meandering with
  a small streamlet for miles, which we have to cross and recross, and
  often to take it for our path, wading through water ankle deep for an
  hour or more. There are no bridges, and we often have to ford or swim
  over considerable streams, particularly in the rainy season; when,
  however, the difficulties of travelling are so great as to render it
  next to impossible. Sometimes we have to sleep in the open air in the
  woods, where, besides insects and reptiles, the tiger, the rhinoceros,
  and the wild elephant render our situation not a little uncomfortable
  and dangerous. I have never met with either of these dangerous animals
  in the wilderness, but have very frequently seen their recent
  footsteps and their haunts, while others meet them. It is but seldom
  they do hurt, but it is in their power, and sometimes they have the
  disposition. And when, after having encountered so many difficulties,
  and endured not a little fatigue in travelling, and been exposed to so
  many dangers, we come to a village, we find, perhaps, but twenty or
  thirty houses, often only ten, and not unfrequently only one or two
  within a range of several miles.”

On these jungle trips he was always accompanied by a band of associates.
He would take with him eight or ten disciples and dispatch them right
and left up the tributaries of the Salwen. Two by two they would
penetrate the wilderness, and meeting their teacher a few days later,
would report to him the results of their labor. The Oriental, under good
leadership, makes a faithful and intrepid follower. And Mr. Judson’s
magnetism of character held his assistants to him with hooks of steel.
He had the gift of getting work, and their best work, out of the
converted natives. Promising boys and young men he took under his own
instruction and qualified them to become teachers and ministers. His
wise and far-reaching views on this primitive and indispensable kind of
ministerial education may be learned from his letters to the
Corresponding Secretary. His example might profitably be followed by
ministers even in our own Christian land:

                                       “MAULMAIN, _January_ 3, 1835.

  ... “My ideas of a seminary are very different from those of many
  persons. I am really unwilling to place young men, that have just
  begun to love the Saviour, under teachers who will strive to carry
  them through a long course of study, until they are able to unravel
  metaphysics, and calculate eclipses, and their souls become as dry as
  the one and as dark as the other. I have known several promising young
  men completely ruined by this process. Nor is it called for in the
  present state of the Church in Burmah. I want to see our young
  disciples thoroughly acquainted with the Bible from beginning to end,
  and with geography and history, so far as necessary to understand the
  Scriptures, and to furnish them with enlarged, enlightened minds. I
  would also have them carried through a course of systematic theology,
  on the plan, perhaps, of Dwight’s. And I would have them well
  instructed in the art of communicating their ideas intelligibly and
  acceptably by _word_ and by _writing_. So great is my desire to see
  such a system in operation, that I am strongly tempted, as nobody else
  is able to do anything just now, to make a beginning; and perhaps
  after brother Wade, who is excellently well capacitated for this
  department, has settled the Karen language with brother Mason, he will
  carry on what I shall begin, having both Karen and Burmese students
  under his care.”...

                                         “MAULMAIN, _April_ 7, 1835.

  “As to the subject of schools, and the preparation of young men for
  the ministry, my views are the same with those you have expressed. But
  I doubt the practicability of a ‘seminary’ all of a sudden. In looking
  at the subject in its various bearings for a considerable time, I see
  but one way; and I would respectfully propose that instructions be
  issued to every missionary, at every station, to collect around him a
  few boys and young men who may appear promising, and give them such
  instruction as may be consistent with his other duties; with a view of
  obtaining, in the course of a year or two, a contribution from each
  station of at least two or three students, who shall be sent to
  Maulmain, or Tavoy, or some other station, and thus gradually form a
  seminary, which shall continue to be sustained by supplies from the
  several stations, in the same way it was commenced.”

He had a characteristic way of paying his assistants, as may be learned
from a letter of advice which he sends to Mr. Mason, who had just taken
Mr. Boardman’s place at Tavoy:

  “But I can assure you, from long experience, that you can seldom, if
  ever, satisfy Burmans, Talings, or Karens, by giving them stated,
  specified, known wages. However much it be, they will soon be
  murmuring for ‘more ’bacco,’ like their betters. Few of the natives
  that I pay know how much they get. No word on the subject ever passes
  between me and them. I contrive, at unequal intervals, to pop a paper
  of rupees—five, ten, or fifteen—into their hands, in the most
  arbitrary way, and without saying a word. But I take accurate note of
  every payment, and at the end of the year, or of the period for which
  they are employed, I manage to have paid them such a sum as amounts to
  so much per month, the rate agreed upon with my brethren. This plan
  occasions less trouble than one is apt to think at first; at any rate,
  not so much trouble as to be in hot water all the time about their
  ‘_wages_’. However, I only show you my anvil. Hammer your tools on it,
  or on another of your own invention, as you like.”

The following extracts from Mr. Judson’s journal describe his life in
the jungle. They relate to his second tour among the Karens:

                                     “WADESVILLE, _January_ 1, 1832.

  “We set out from Maulmain, as purposed in my last, and leaving the
  Salwen on the west, and the Ataran on the east, we followed the Gyne
  and the Dah-gyne, as it is termed above its confluence with the
  Houng-ta-rau, which falls in from the east, and in three days reached
  this place, the distance being, by conjecture, above eighty miles.
  Accounts, on first arriving, are rather unfavorable.

  “_January 11._ Continued to work our way up the river, frequently
  impeded by the trees which had fallen across the water, and through
  which we were obliged to cut a passage for the boat. At night, came to
  a small cluster of houses, where we found an elderly woman, who with
  her daughter formerly applied for baptism, but was advised to wait.
  She now received us joyfully, and united with her daughter and
  son-in-law in begging earnestly that their baptism might be no longer
  delayed. I directed them to meet me at Kwan-bee, about a mile distant,
  where I formerly baptized nine disciples, most of them from Tee-pah’s
  village, a few miles to the west.

  “_January 12._ Proceeded to Kwan-bee. A few people came together on
  the beach to stare at us, and we had a little meeting for worship
  before breakfast. We then proceeded to investigate the case of
  Loo-boo, who was reported to have joined, when his child was extremely
  ill, in making an offering to a nat (demon) for its recovery. We at
  first thought of suspending him from the fellowship of the church; but
  he made such acknowledgments and promises that we finally forgave him,
  and united in praying that God would forgive him. We do not hear of
  any other case of transgression; but, on the contrary, in two
  instances of extreme illness, the disciples resisted all the
  importunities of their friends to join in the usual offerings to
  propitiate the demons who are supposed to rule over diseases. In one
  instance, the illness terminated in death; and I have to lament the
  loss of Pan-mlai-mlo, who was the leader of the little church in this
  quarter, and the first of these northern Karens who, we hope, has
  arrived safe in heaven. I ought, perhaps, to except the case of a man
  and wife near the head of the Patah River, who, though not baptized,
  and _never seen by any foreign missionary_, both died in the faith;
  the man enjoining it on his surviving friends to have the ‘View of the
  Christian Religion’ laid on his breast and buried with him.

  “Some of the disciples have gone to Tee-pah’s village to announce my
  arrival; and while others are putting up a small shed on the bank, I
  sit in the boat and pen these notices.

  “In the evening, held a meeting in the shed, at which several of the
  villagers were present.

  “_January 13._ My people returned from Tee-pah’s village, bringing
  with them several disciples, and one woman, the wife of Loo-boo, who
  presented herself for baptism, with twelve strings of all manner of
  beads around her neck, and a due proportion of ear, arm, and leg
  ornaments! and, strange to say, she was examined and approved, without
  one remark on the subject of her dress. The truth is, we quite forgot
  it, being occupied and delighted with her uncommonly prompt and
  intelligent replies. In the afternoon, sent the boat back to Maulmain,
  with directions to proceed up the Salwen, having concluded to cross
  thither by land. In the evening, had a pretty full shed; but the
  inhabitants of the place do not appear very favorably inclined.

  “_January 14._ The three persons mentioned on the 11th presented
  themselves, with the decorated lady of yesterday. Being formerly
  prevented by illness from animadverting on female dress in this
  district, as I did in the Dah-gyne, I took an opportunity of ‘holding
  forth’ on that subject before breakfast; and it was truly amusing and
  gratifying to see the said lady, and another applicant for baptism,
  and a Christian woman who accompanied them, divest themselves on the
  spot of every article that could be deemed merely ornamental; and this
  they did with evident pleasure, and good resolution to persevere in
  adherence to the plain dress system. We then held a church-meeting,
  and having baptized the four applicants, crossed the Leing-bwai on a
  bridge of logs, and set out for Tee-pah’s village, accompanied by a
  long train of men, women, children, and dogs. Toward night we arrived
  at that place, and effected a lodgment in Tee-pah’s house. In the
  evening, had a pretty full assembly.

  “_January 15. Lord’s day._ In the forenoon I held a meeting for the
  disciples only, and, as I seldom see them, endeavored to tell them all
  I knew. Had more or less company through the day. In the evening, a
  crowded house. Tee-pah’s father, a venerable old man, came forward,
  and witnessed a good confession. Some others, also, begin to give
  evidence that they have received the truth into good and honest
  hearts.

  “_January 16._ In the morning Tee-pah’s mother joined the party of
  applicants for baptism, and her younger daughter-in-law, whose husband
  was formerly baptized. But Tee-pah himself, though convinced of the
  truth, and giving some evidence of grace, can not resolve at once on
  entire abstinence from rum, though he has never been in the habit of
  intoxication. In the course of the forenoon we held a church-meeting,
  and unanimously received and baptized eight individuals from this and
  a small village two miles distant.

  “Took an affectionate leave of the people, and prosecuted our journey
  toward the Salwen. Came to Zat-kyee’s small village, where one man and
  his wife embraced the truth at first hearing; and the man said, that
  as there was no suitable place for baptizing at that village, he would
  follow on, until he could say, ‘See, here is water,’ etc. I gave him
  leave to follow, not with that view, but to listen further to the
  blessed Gospel. At night, reached Shway-bau’s village, where they
  afforded us a shelter rather reluctantly. In the evening, however, had
  an interesting, though small assembly.

  “_January 17._ Pursued our way, and soon came in sight of the Salwen,
  the boundary between the British and Burmese territories. Arrived at
  Poo-ah’s small village, consisting of three houses, not one of which
  had a leaf of covering. No one welcomed our arrival, so we sat down on
  the ground. Presently the preaching of one of the Karen disciples so
  wrought upon one of the householders, a Burman with a Karen wife, that
  he invited me to sit on his floor; and my people spread a mat
  overhead, which, with my umbrella, made me quite at home. The
  householder, in the interval of his work, and one of the neighbors,
  began to listen, and were present at evening worship.

  “_January 18._ Shway-hlah, the man who followed us from the village
  day before yesterday, appearing to be sincere in his desire to profess
  the Christian religion, we held a meeting, though four disciples only
  could be present; and on balloting for his reception, there was one
  dissentient vote, so that I advised him to wait longer. He appeared to
  be much disappointed and grieved; said that he should perhaps not live
  to see me again, and have an opportunity of being initiated into the
  religion of Jesus Christ; and after a while the two Karen disciples
  insisting that he should be re-examined, we gave him a second trial,
  when, on cross-questioning him in the Burman language, which he
  understood pretty well (for we began to suspect the Karen interpreters
  of being a little partial to their countrymen), some circumstances
  leaked out which turned the scale in his favor, and he gained a clear
  vote. After his baptism, he went on his way rejoicing, resolving to
  tell all his neighbors what ‘great things the Lord had done for him.’
  At morning worship, our host and the neighbor mentioned above,
  appeared to be very near the kingdom of heaven, but the other people
  of this village decidedly reject the Gospel.

  “_January 24._ Set out for Bau-nah’s village, two days’ journey; but
  after travelling an hour over dreadful mountains and in the bed of a
  rivulet, where the water was sometimes knee-deep, and full of sharp,
  slippery rocks, when my bare feet, unaccustomed to such usage, soon
  became so sore that I could hardly step; and having ascertained that
  such was the only road for many miles, I felt that I had done all that
  lay in my power toward carrying the Gospel farther in this direction,
  and therefore relinquished the attempt, and reluctantly returned to
  Chanbau’s village. Not so many present at evening worship as
  yesterday. The seed sown here appears, in some instances, to have
  fallen on good ground; but our short stay deprives us of the pleasure
  of seeing fruit brought to perfection.

  “_January 27._ This little village may be said to have embraced the
  Gospel. At one time we had eight applicants for baptism; but two only
  were finally received, Ko Shway and his wife Nah Nyah-ban. They both
  understood the Burmese language pretty well; and the woman possesses
  the best intellect, as well as the strongest faith, that I have found
  among this people. I invited them, though rather advanced in life, to
  come to Maulmain, and learn to read, promising to support them a few
  months; and they concluded to accept the invitation next rainy season.
  They followed us all the way to the boat, and the woman stood looking
  after us until we were out of sight.

  “In the afternoon, arrived again at the Yen-being River, and sent some
  of my people to a neighboring village two miles distant. The villagers
  listened a while, and then sent a respectful message, saying that they
  believed the religion of Jesus Christ, that it was most excellent,
  etc., but begged that the teacher would go about his business, and not
  come to disturb them.

  “_January 30._ In the morning, held a church meeting by the
  river-side, and received the last two applicants. The chief of the
  village, Yet-dau’s father, and several other persons, are very
  favorably impressed. Not a word of opposition to be heard. Took an
  affectionate leave of this little church, now consisting of six
  members, and went down the river on the west side of Kanlong Island,
  having come up on the east side from Poo-ah’s village. Entered the
  Mai-zeen rivulet, in Burmese territory, and landed at Thah-pe-nike’s
  village, where we spent the day. In the evening had a noisy assembly.
  Some professed to believe, but pleaded the fear of Government as an
  excuse for not prosecuting their inquiries. One young man, Kah-lah by
  name, drank in the truth, and promised to come to Maulmain as soon as
  he could get free from some present engagements.

  “_January 31._ Continued our course down the river, and landed on the
  west side, at Ti-yah-ban’s village. The chief is said to be very much
  in favor of the Christian religion, but, unfortunately, had gone up
  the river, and his people did not dare to think in his absence. In the
  afternoon came to the ‘upper village,’ the first we found on Kanlong.
  They listened well, but, about sunset, took a sudden turn, and would
  give us no further hearing. We removed, therefore, to Yai-thah-kau’s
  village. Some of my people went ashore. The chief was absent, and the
  principal remaining personage, a Buddhist Karen, said that when the
  English Government enforced their religion at the point of the sword,
  and he had seen two or three suffer death for not embracing it, he
  would begin to consider, and not before; that, however, if the teacher
  desired to come to the village, he could not be inhospitable, but
  would let him come. I sent back word that I would not come, but, as he
  loved falsehood and darkness, I would leave him to live therein all
  his days, and finally go the dark way; and all my people drew off to
  the boat. While we were deliberating what to do, something touched the
  old man’s heart; we heard the sound of footsteps advancing in the
  dark, and presently a voice. ‘My lord, please to come to the village.’
  ‘Don’t call me lord. I am no lord, nor ruler of this world.’ ‘What
  must I call you? Teacher, I suppose.’ ‘Yes, but not your teacher, for
  you love to be taught falsehood, not truth.’ ‘Teacher, I have heard a
  great deal against this religion, and how can I know at once what is
  right and what is wrong? Please to come and let me listen attentively
  to your words.’ I replied not, but rose and followed the old man. He
  took me to his house, spread a cloth for me to sit on, manifested
  great respect, and listened with uncommon attention. When I prepared
  to go, he said, ‘But you will not go before we have performed an act
  of worship and prayer?’ We accordingly knelt down, and, during prayer,
  the old man could not help, now and then, repeating the close of a
  sentence with emphasis, seeming to imply that, in his mind, I had not
  quite done it justice. After I was gone, he said that it was a great
  thing to change one’s religion; that he stood quite alone in these
  parts; but that, if some of his acquaintance would join him, he would
  not be behind.

  “_February 2._ Went round the northern extremity of Kanlong, and up
  the eastern channel, to Poo-ah’s village, where we found the two
  disciples whom we sent away on the 21st ultimo. They have met with a
  few hopeful inquirers. Some who live near are expected here to-morrow.
  In the meantime, went down the river a few miles, to Poo-door’s
  village. My people preceded me, as usual, and about noon I followed
  them. But I found that the village was inhabited chiefly by Buddhist
  Karens, and, of course, met with a poor reception. After showing
  myself and trying to conciliate the children and dogs, who cried and
  barked in concert, I left word that, if any wished to hear me preach,
  I would come again in the evening, and then relieved the people of my
  presence, and retreated to the boat. At night the disciples returned,
  without any encouragement. One of them, however, accidentally met the
  chief, who said that if I came he would not refuse to hear what I had
  to say. On this half invitation I set out, about sunset, and never met
  with worse treatment at a Karen village. The chief would not even
  invite us into his house, but sent us off to an old deserted place,
  where the floor was too frail to support us; so we sat down on the
  ground. He then invited us nearer, and sat down before us, with a few
  confidential friends. He had evidently forbidden all his people to
  approach us, otherwise some would have come, out of curiosity. And
  what a hard, suspicious face did he exhibit! And how we had to coax
  him to join us in a little regular worship! It was at least an hour
  before he would consent at all. But in the course of worship his
  features softened, and his mind ‘crossed over,’ as he expressed it, to
  our religion; and I returned to the boat inclined to believe that all
  things are possible with God.

  “_February 3._ Some of my people who slept at the village returned
  with the report that the place is divided against itself. Some are for
  and some against us. The opposition is rather violent. One man
  threatens to turn his aged father out of doors if he embraces the
  Christian religion. Perhaps this is not to be regretted. Satan never
  frets without cause. Turned the boat’s head again to the north, and
  retraced our way to Poo-ah’s village, where we spent the rest of the
  day. But the two hopeful inquirers that I left here on the 29th have
  made no advance.

  “_February 9._ Visited Wen-gyan, Pah-len, and Zong-ing, Taling
  villages, where we found a few Karens. At the latter place, collected
  a small assembly for evening worship. A few professed to believe;
  others were violent in opposing.

  “_February 10._ Visited several Taling villages in succession. In the
  afternoon, reached the confluence of the Salwen and the Gyne, upon
  which we turned into the latter, and went up to Taranah, where Ko Shan
  resides, as mentioned December 29. The inhabitants of this place, like
  the Talings in general, are inveterately opposed to the Gospel, and Ko
  Shan has had very little success. Two or three individuals, however,
  appear to be favorably impressed; but the opposition is so strong that
  no one dares to come forward.

  “_February 11._ Left Ko Shan, with the promise of sending him aid as
  soon as possible, and in the afternoon reached Maulmain, after an
  absence of six weeks, during which I have baptized twenty-five, and
  registered about the same number of hopeful inquirers. I find that
  brother and sister Jones have arrived from Rangoon, brother Kincaid
  having concluded to take their place.”

But this second tour among the Karens was soon followed by a third, of
which a brief account is given in Mr. Judson’s words:

  “_February 29, 1832._ Left Maulmain for the Karen villages on the
  Salwen, accompanied by Ko Myat-kyau, who speaks Karen, three other
  Taling disciples, and the two Karen assistants, Panlah and Chet-thing.
  The other Karen assistant, Tau-nah, I expect to meet at Chummerah,
  according to the arrangement of February 4. At night, reached
  Tong-eing, and found that the few Karens near the place had concluded
  to reject the Gospel.

  “_March 1._ Touched at the village above Nengyan, and found that the
  inhabitants have come to the same conclusion, ‘till the next rainy
  season.’ Passed by all the Taling towns, and touched at the village
  below Rajah’s, where we found that the people still adhere to the new
  Karen prophet, Aree-maday. Moung Zuthee unfortunately encountered a
  very respectable Burman priest, with a train of novices, who, not
  relishing his doctrine, fell upon him, and gave him a sound beating.
  The poor man fled to me in great dismay, and, I am sorry to say, some
  wrath, begging leave to assemble our forces and seize the aggressor,
  for the purpose of delivering him up to justice. I did assemble them;
  and, all kneeling down, I praised God that He had counted one of our
  number worthy to suffer a little for His Son’s sake; and prayed that
  He would give us a spirit of forgiveness, and our persecutors every
  blessing, temporal and spiritual; after which we left the field of
  battle with cool and happy minds. Reached Rajah’s late at night. He
  remains firm, though not followed by any of his people. His wife,
  however, and eldest daughter, after evening worship, declared
  themselves on the side of Christ.

  “_March 2._ Spent the forenoon in instructing and examining the wife
  and daughter. The former we approved, but rejected the latter, as not
  yet established in the Christian faith. After the baptism, Rajah and
  his wife united in presenting their younger children, that I might lay
  my hands on them and bless them. The elder children, being capable of
  discerning good from evil, came of their own accord, and held up their
  folded hands in the act of homage to their parents’ God, while we
  offered a prayer that they might obtain grace to become true
  disciples, and receive the holy ordinance of baptism. At noon, left
  this interesting family, and proceeded up the river, stopping
  occasionally, and preaching wherever we could catch a listening ear.
  Entered the Mai-san, and landed at the village above Rai-ngai’s, which
  Ko Myat-kyau has formerly visited. In the evening, had two very
  attentive hearers.

  “_March 3._ The two attentive hearers were up nearly all night,
  drinking in the truth. One of them became urgent for baptism; and on
  hearing his present and past experience, from the time he first
  listened to the Gospel, we concluded to receive him into the
  fellowship of the church. His wife is very favorably disposed, but not
  so far advanced in knowledge and faith. Returned to the Salwen, and
  made a long pull for Poo-door’s village; but late in the evening,
  being still at a considerable distance, were obliged to coil ourselves
  up in our small boat, there being no house in these parts, and the
  country swarming with tigers at this season, so that none of us
  ventured to sleep on shore.

  “_March 4. Lord’s day._ Uncoiled ourselves with the first dawn of
  light, and soon after sunrise took possession of a fine flat log, in
  the middle of Poo-door’s village, a mile from the river, where we held
  forth on the duty of refraining from work on this the Lord’s day, and
  attending divine worship. Some listened to our words; and in the
  forenoon we succeeded in collecting a small assembly. After worship,
  the old man mentioned formerly, whose son threatened to turn him out
  of doors, came forward, with his wife; and having both witnessed a
  good confession, we received them into our fellowship. Poo-door
  himself absent on a journey; but his wife ready to become a Christian.

  ”_March 10._ Went on to the mouth of the Yen-being, and as far as the
  great log, which prevents a boat from proceeding farther.
  Providentially met with Wah-hai, of whom I have heard a good report
  for some time. He was happy to see us, and we were happy to examine
  and baptize him. We then visited the village, whence they formerly
  sent a respectful message, desiring us to go about our business, and
  found some attentive listeners.

  “_March 11. Lord’s day._ Again took the main river, and soon fell in
  with a boat, containing several of the listeners of yesterday, among
  whom was one man who declared his resolution to enter the new
  religion. We had scarcely parted with this boat when we met another,
  full of men, coming down the stream; and, on hailing to know whether
  they wished to hear the Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ, an elderly
  man, the chief of the party, replied that he had already heard much of
  the Gospel, and there was nothing he desired more than to have a
  meeting with the teacher. Our boats were soon side by side, where,
  after a short engagement, the old man struck his colors, and begged us
  to take him into port, where he could make a proper surrender of
  himself to Christ. We accordingly went to the shore, and spent several
  hours very delightfully, under the shade of the overhanging trees, and
  the banner of the love of Jesus. The old man’s experience was so
  clear, and his desire for baptism so strong, that, though
  circumstances prevented our gaining so much testimony of his good
  conduct since believing as we usually require, we felt that it would
  be wrong to refuse his request. A lad in his company, the person
  mentioned January 30, desired also to be baptized. But, though he had
  been a preacher to the old man, his experience was not so decided and
  satisfactory; so that we rejected him for the present. The old man
  went on his way, rejoicing aloud, and declaring his resolution to make
  known the eternal God and the dying love of Jesus, all along the banks
  of the Yoon-za-len, his native stream.

  “The dying words of an aged man of God, when he waved his withered,
  death-struck arm, and exclaimed, ‘_The best of all is, God is with
  us_,’ I feel in my very soul. Yes, the great Invisible is in these
  Karen wilds. That mighty Being who heaped up these craggy rocks, and
  reared these stupendous mountains, and poured out these streams in all
  directions, and scattered immortal beings throughout these deserts—He
  is present by the influence of his Holy Spirit, and accompanies the
  sound of the Gospel with converting, sanctifying power. ‘_The best of
  all is, God is with us._’

                    “‘In _these_ deserts let me labor,
                      On _these_ mountains let me tell
                    How he died—the blessed Saviour,
                      To redeem a world from hell.’

  “_March 12._ Alas! how soon is our joy turned into mourning! Mah
  Nyah-ban, of whom we all had such a high opinion, joined her husband,
  not many days after their baptism, in making an offering to the demon
  of diseases, on account of the sudden, alarming illness of their
  youngest child; and they have remained ever since in an impenitent,
  prayerless state! They now refuse to listen to our exhortation, and
  appear to be given over to hardness of heart and blindness of mind. I
  was therefore obliged, this morning, to pronounce the sentence of
  suspension, and leave them to the mercy and judgment of God. Their
  case is greatly to be deplored. They are quite alone in this quarter,
  have seen no disciples since we left them, and are surrounded with
  enemies, some from Maulmain, who have told them all manner of lies,
  and used every effort to procure and perpetuate their apostasy. When I
  consider the evidence of grace which they formerly gave, together with
  all the palliating circumstances of the case, I have much remaining
  hope that they will yet be brought to repentance. I commend them to
  the prayers of the faithful, and the notice of any missionary who may
  travel that way. In consequence of the advantage which Satan has
  gained in this village, the six hopeful inquirers whom we left here
  have all fallen off, so that we are obliged to retire with the
  dispirited feelings of beaten troops.

  “I respectfully request and sincerely hope that this article may be
  neither suppressed nor polished. The principle of ‘double selection,’
  as it is termed, that is, one selection by the missionary and another
  by the publishing committee, has done great mischief, and contributed
  more to impair the credit of missionary accounts than anything else.
  We in the East, knowing how extensively this principle is acted on, do
  scarcely give any credit to the statements which appear in some
  periodicals, and the public at large are beginning to open their eyes
  to the same thing. It is strange to me that missionaries and
  publishing committees do not see the excellency and efficacy of the
  system pursued by the inspired writers—that of exhibiting the good and
  the bad alike. Nothing contributes more to establish the authenticity
  of the writing. A temporary advantage gained by suppressing truth is a
  real defeat in the end, and therefore μονη θυτεον αληθεια.

  “_March 27._ Ran down the river without touching at any place by the
  way. At night reached Maulmain, after an absence of nearly a month,
  during which I have baptized nineteen, making eighty Karen Christians
  in connection with the Maulmain station, of whom one is dead and two
  are suspended from communion. Am glad, yet sorry, to find that brother
  Bennett arrived a fortnight ago from Calcutta, with a complete font of
  types, and yesterday sent a boat to call me, which, however, passed us
  on the way. Must I, then, relinquish my intention of making another
  trip up the river before the rains set in? Must I relinquish for many
  months, and perhaps forever, the pleasure of singing as I go,—

                    “‘In these deserts let me labor,
                      On these mountains let me tell’?

  Truly, the tears fall as I write.”

At the close of the year 1832 Mr. Judson reported one hundred and
forty-three baptisms: three at Rangoon, seventy at Maulmain, sixty-seven
at Tavoy, and three at Mergui. This made five hundred and sixteen who
had been baptized since his arrival in Burmah, only seventeen of whom
had been finally excluded.

On the first day of the new year a party of new missionaries arrived in
Maulmain from America. These reinforcements seem to have come in
response to a stirring appeal for help sent by the missionaries nearly a
year before:

         _To the American Baptist Board for Foreign Missions._

                                         “MAULMAIN, _March_ 4, 1832.

  “RESPECTED FATHERS AND BRETHREN: At our monthly concert this morning,
  it was unanimously agreed that a joint letter should be addressed to
  you on the importance of sending out more missionaries to this part of
  the heathen world. Being, every one of us, exceedingly pressed for
  want of time, we can not stop to prepare an elaborate statement, but
  must come at once to the point in hand.

  “We are in distress. We see thousands perishing around us. We see
  mission stations opening on every side, the fields growing whiter
  every day, and no laborers to reap the harvest. If each one of us
  could divide himself into three parts, happy would he be, not only to
  take leave of his native land and beloved connections at home, but of
  still nearer and more intimate connections. We want instantly to send
  aid to the Tavoy station, where brother Mason is laboring, almost
  alone. We want instantly to send a missionary to Mergui, a pleasant,
  healthful town, south of Tavoy, where a small church has been raised
  up, and left in charge of a native pastor. Our hearts bleed when we
  think of poor Mergui and the Karens in that vicinity, many of whom are
  ready to embrace the Gospel and be saved. But how can we allow
  ourselves to think of that small place, when the whole kingdom of Siam
  lies in our rear, and the city of Bangkok, at once a port for ships
  and the seat of imperial government? We want instantly to dispatch one
  of our number to Bangkok. One? There ought, at this moment, to be
  three, at least, on their way to that important place. Another ought
  to be on his way to Yah-heing, a large town east of Maulmain, from
  which there is a fine river leading down to Bangkok; there are many
  Karens at Yah-heing. The Christian religion is creeping that way by
  means of our Karen disciples. North of Yah-heing and the Thoung-yen
  River, the boundary of the British territory on that side, lies the
  kingdom or principality of Zenmai. There have been several
  communications between the Government of Maulmain and Lah-bong, the
  present capital of that country. Moung Shway-bwen, one of our
  disciples, formerly with brother Boardman at Tavoy, is a nephew of the
  prince, or deputy prince, of that country, and is anxious to return
  thither. But how can we send him, a very young man, without a
  missionary? If we had a spare missionary, what a fine opportunity for
  introducing the Gospel into that central nation! It would open the way
  to other neighboring nations, not even mentioned in foreign
  geographies, and even to the borders of China and Tartary. Between
  Maulmain and Zenmai are various tribes of Karens, Toung-thoos,
  Lah-wahs, etc. The former are literally crying out aloud for a written
  language, that they may read in their own tongue the wonderful works
  of God. From the banks of the Yoon-za-len, on the north-west, the
  celebrated prophet of the Karens has repeatedly sent down messages and
  presents to us, begging that we would come and instruct his people in
  the Christian religion. But how can we think of supplying that
  quarter, when the old kingdom of Arracan, now under British rule, and
  speaking the same language with the Burmese, is crying, in the whole
  length and breadth of her coast, for some one to come to her rescue?
  In that country are one or two hundred converts, and one country-born
  missionary, from the Serampore connection, who is laboring without any
  prospect of reinforcement from Bengal, and desirous that one of us
  should join him. Kyouk Phyoo, lately established by the English, is
  esteemed a healthy place. The commandant is disposed to welcome a
  missionary, and afford him every facility. Our hearts bleed when we
  think of Kyouk Phyoo, and the poor inquirers that one of our number
  lately left there, ready to embrace the Christian religion, if he
  would only promise to remain or send a successor. From Kyouk Phyoo the
  way is open into the four provinces of Arracan, namely, Rek-keing.
  Chedubah, Ramree, and Sandoway; and what a grand field for our tracts,
  and the New Testament, now in press! Of all the places that now cry
  around us, we think that Kyouk Phyoo cries the loudest. No; we listen
  again, and the shrill cry of golden Ava rises above them all. Oh, Ava!
  Ava! with thy metropolitan walls and gilded turrets, thou sittest a
  lady among these Eastern nations; but our hearts bleed for thee! In
  thee is no Christian church, no missionary of the cross.

  “We have lately heard of the death of poor Prince Myen Zeing. He died
  without any missionary or Christian to guide his groping soul on the
  last dark journey. Where has that journey terminated? Is he in the
  bright world of Paradise, or in the burning lake? He had attained some
  knowledge of the way of salvation. Perhaps, in his last hours, he
  turned away his eye from the gold and silver idols around his couch,
  and looked to the crucified Saviour. But those who first taught him
  were far away; so he died, and was buried like a heathen. It is true
  that the one of our number who formerly lived at Ava would not be
  tolerated during the present reign; but another missionary would,
  doubtless, be well received, and, if prudent, be allowed to remain.
  Two missionaries ought, at this moment, to be studying the language
  _in Ava_.

  “O God of mercy, have mercy on Ava, and Chageing, and A-ma-ra-poo-ra.
  Have mercy on Pugan and Prome (poor Prome!), on Toung-oo, on the port
  of Bassein, and on all the towns between Ava and Rangoon. Have mercy
  on old Pegu and the surrounding district. Have mercy on the four
  provinces of Arracan. Have mercy on the inhabitants of the banks of
  the Yoon-za-len, the Salwen, the Thoung-yen, and the Gyne. Have mercy
  on all the Karens, the Toung-thoos, the Lah-wahs, and other tribes,
  whose names, though unknown in Christian lands, are known to Thee.
  Have mercy on Zen-mai, on Lah-bong, Myeing-yoon-gyee, and Yay-heing.
  Have mercy on Bangkok, and the kingdom of Siam, and all the other
  principalities that lie on the north and east. Have mercy on poor
  little Mergui, and Pah-lan, and Yay, and Lah-meing, and Nah-zaroo, and
  Amherst, and the Island of Ba-loo, with its villages of Talings and
  Karens. Have mercy on our mission stations at Tavoy, Maulmain, and
  Rangoon, and our sub-stations at Mergui, Chummerah, and Newville. Pour
  out Thine Holy Spirit upon us and our assistants, upon our infant
  churches and our schools. Aid us in the solemn and laborious work of
  translating and printing Thine holy, inspired word in the languages of
  these heathen. Oh, keep our faith from failing, our spirits from
  sinking, and our mortal frames from giving way prematurely under the
  influence of the climate and the pressure of our labors. Have mercy on
  the Board of Missions; and grant that our beloved and respected
  fathers and brethren may be aroused to greater effort, and go forth
  personally into all parts of the land, and put in requisition all the
  energies of Thy people. Have mercy on the churches in the United
  States; hold back the curse of Meroz; continue and perpetuate the
  heavenly revivals of religion which they have begun to enjoy; and may
  the time soon come when no church shall dare to sit under Sabbath and
  sanctuary privileges without having one of their number to represent
  them on heathen ground. Have mercy on the theological seminaries, and
  hasten the time when one-half of all who yearly enter the ministry
  shall be taken by Thine Holy Spirit, and _driven_ into the wilderness,
  feeling a sweet necessity laid on them, and the precious love of
  Christ and of souls constraining them. Hear, O Lord, all the prayers
  which are this day presented in all the monthly concerts throughout
  the habitable globe, and hasten the millennial glory, for which we are
  all longing, and praying, and laboring. Adorn Thy beloved one in her
  bridal vestments, that she may shine forth in immaculate beauty and
  celestial splendor. Come, O our Bridegroom; come, Lord Jesus; come
  quickly. Amen and Amen.

            “(Signed),

                                                 “C. BENNETT,
                                                 “OLIVER T. CUTTER,
                                                 “JOHN TAYLOR JONES,
                                                 “A. JUDSON,
                                                 “J. WADE.”

A letter from one of the new-comers[47] to her parents gives us an
interesting glimpse of our missionary’s personal habits:

  “Our intercourse with Mr. Judson is of a very pleasing nature, and we
  feel happy to be permitted in the least degree to take off the edge of
  his loneliness. It is affecting to hear his petitions for a long life,
  to labor among the heathen, mingled as they are with panting
  aspirations after heaven. He seems uniformly seriously cheerful. His
  days and nights are spent in a room adjoining the native chapel, where
  he spends all his time, except that devoted to meals (twice a day) and
  exercise, and generally he has a sort of social conversation with some
  one of the mission families in the evening. He is confining himself as
  closely as possible to the completion of his translation of the
  Scriptures. His exhortations to us all to exercise, are practically
  enforced by his own example. He walks very early in the morning, rain
  or shine; also after sunset. He told me that he had no doubt that so
  much loss of health and life to foreigners in this climate is
  principally due to their negligence on this point.”

But the time had at last come when Mr. Judson’s long domestic solitude
was to end. Under date of April 10, 1834, we find in his journal the
following important entry:

  “Was married to Mrs. Sarah H. Boardman, who was born at Alstead, New
  Hampshire, November 4, 1803, the eldest daughter of Ralph and Abiah O.
  Hall—married to George D. Boardman, July 4, 1825—left a widow February
  11, 1831, with one surviving child, George D. Boardman, born August
  18, 1828.”

Nearly eight years of loneliness had passed since he laid his beloved
Ann beneath the hopia-tree. He had arrived at the age of forty-six, when
he married Mrs. Boardman. He found in her a kindred spirit. She had
spent the three years of her widowhood in heroic toil among the Karens
at Tavoy, and had turned persistently away from the urgent appeals of
her friends in America to return home for her own sake and the sake of
her little boy. She had resolved to continue her husband’s labors alone,
and thus wrote concerning her purpose:

  “As to my future walk, I feel, I trust, a desire to be guided by
  unerring Wisdom. I have never been able to think of abandoning forever
  the cause in which my beloved husband rejoiced to wear out his feeble
  frame and sink into a premature grave. The death-bed scene has
  inspired me with a fortitude, or I would hope, faith unknown before,
  and encircled the missionary enterprise with a glory not until then
  perceived.”

And again she says:

  “When I first stood by the grave of my husband, I thought that I must
  go home with George. But these poor, inquiring, and Christian Karens,
  and the school-boys, and the Burmese Christians, would then be left
  without any one to instruct them; and the poor, stupid Tavoyans would
  go on in the road to death, with no one to warn them of their danger.
  How then, oh, how can I go? We shall not be separated long. A few more
  years, and we shall all meet in yonder blissful world, whither those
  we love have gone before us.”

And so for three years this beautiful and intrepid woman continued her
husband’s work. She was the guiding spirit of the mission. She pointed
out the way of life to the Karen inquirers who came in from the
wilderness. She conducted her schools with such tact and ability that
when, afterward, an appropriation was obtained from the English
Government for schools throughout the provinces, it was expressly
stipulated that they should be “conducted on the plan of Mrs. Boardman’s
schools at Tavoy.” She even made long missionary tours into the Karen
jungles. With her little boy carried by her followers at her side, she
climbed the mountain, traversed the marsh, forded the stream, and
threaded the forest. On one of these trips she sent back a
characteristic message to Mrs. Mason at Tavoy: “Perhaps you had better
send the chair, as it is convenient to be carried over the streams when
they are deep. You will laugh when I tell you that I have forded all the
smaller ones.”

Mrs. E. C. Judson relates the following incident concerning her:[48]

  “A single anecdote is related by Captain F——, a British officer,
  stationed at Tavoy; and he used to dwell with much unction on the
  lovely apparition which once greeted him among those wild, dreary
  mountains. He had left Tavoy, accompanied by a few followers, I think
  on a hunting expedition, and had strolled far into the jungle. The
  heavy rains, which deluge this country in the summer, had not yet
  commenced; but they were near at hand, and during the night had sent
  an earnest of their coming, which was anything but agreeable. All
  along his path hung the dripping trailers, and beneath his feet were
  the roots of vegetables, half-bared, and half-imbedded in mud; while
  the dark clouds, with the rain almost incessantly pouring from them,
  and the crazy clusters of bamboo huts, which appeared here and there
  in the gloomy waste, and were honored by the name of village, made up
  a scene of desolation absolutely indescribable. A heavy shower coming
  up as he approached a _zayat_ by the wayside, and far from even one of
  those primitive villages, he hastily took refuge beneath the roof.
  Here, in no very good humor with the world, especially Asiatic jungles
  and tropic rains, he sulkily ‘whistled for want of thought,’ and
  employed his eyes in watching the preparations for his breakfast.

  “‘Uh! what wretched corners the world has, hidden beyond its oceans
  and behind its trees!’

  “Just as he had made this sage mental reflection, he was startled by
  the vision of a fair, smiling face in front of the _zayat_, the
  property of a dripping figure, which seemed to his surprised
  imagination to have stepped that moment from the clouds. But the party
  of wild Karen followers which gathered round her had a very human air;
  and the slight burdens they bore, spoke of human wants and human
  cares. The lady seemed as much surprised as himself; but she
  courtesied with ready grace, as she made some pleasant remark in
  English; and then turned to retire. Here was a dilemma. He could not
  suffer the lady to go out into the rain, but—his miserable
  accommodations, and still more miserable breakfast! He hesitated and
  stammered; but her quick apprehension had taken in all at a glance,
  and she at once relieved him from his embarrassment. Mentioning her
  name and errand, she added, smiling, that the emergencies of the
  wilderness were not new to her; and now she begged leave to put her
  own breakfast with his, and make up a pleasant morning party. Then
  beckoning to her Karens, she spoke a few unintelligible words, and
  disappeared under a low shed—a mouldering appendage of the _zayat_.
  She soon returned with the same sunny face, and in dry clothing; and
  very pleasant indeed was the interview between the pious officer and
  the lady-missionary. They were friends afterward; and the
  circumstances of their first meeting proved a very charming
  reminiscence.”

Soon after their marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Judson were compelled to part
with little George Boardman. He was but six years old, and yet had
reached an age when a child begins to be, in a peculiar sense, the
companion of his parents. But the children of Anglo-Saxon residents in
the East have to be sent at an early age toward the setting sun;
otherwise they are in danger of death under the debilitating influence
of the Oriental climate; or if they get their growth at all, are liable
to feebleness of mind and body. Such a separation between parent and
child can not but be peculiarly distressing to the missionary. He
devotes himself for life and expects to die on the field, and thus the
parting bids fair to be final. Other Europeans and Americans are merely
temporary residents in the East, and though also compelled to send their
children home, may reasonably hope to clasp them in their arms once more
after a short separation. The missionary’s child, on the other hand,
must be permanently consigned to the care of distant strangers. This is,
perhaps, the keenest suffering that falls to his lot. Who can fail to
drop a tear over the scene of the Comstocks parting with their children
as thus described by Dr. Kincaid:

  “I shall never forget the parting scene of brother Comstock and his
  wife with their children, when we sailed from the shores of Arracan.
  They had made up their minds to entrust us with their two children, on
  account of the difficulty of educating them in a heathen land. We were
  together one day, at their house, when word came that the ship was
  ready to sail, and we must prepare to embark immediately. Upon the
  arrival of this message, which we had been expecting, Mrs. Comstock
  arose from her seat, took her two children, one in each hand, and
  walked with them toward a grove of tamarind trees near the house. When
  she had walked some little distance, she paused a moment, looked at
  each of her children with all a mother’s love, and imprinted an
  affectionate kiss upon the forehead of each. She then raised her eyes
  to heaven, silently invoked a blessing on their heads; returned to the
  house, and delivering her children into my hands, said, ‘Brother
  Kincaid, _this I do for my Saviour_.’

  “Brother Comstock then took his two children by the hand, and led them
  from the house toward the ship, while that tender mother gazed upon
  them, as they walked away, _for the last time_. She saw them no more
  on earth. God grant that she may meet them in heaven! Brother Comstock
  accompanied his two children to the ship, which lay about two miles
  off in the bay. When we had descended to the cabin, he entered one of
  the state-rooms with his children. There he knelt with them in prayer,
  laid his hands upon their heads, and bestowed a father’s blessing upon
  them—the tears, all the while, streaming down his cheeks. This
  affecting duty over, he resumed, at once, his usual calmness. He took
  leave of me with a gentle pressure of the hand, and I followed him to
  the side of the vessel, as he descended into the small boat which lay
  alongside, and which was to convey him to the shore. Never shall I
  forget the words, or the tone in which those words were uttered, as he
  turned up his face, still bedewed with tears, and exclaimed, as the
  boat moved away, ‘REMEMBER, BROTHER KINCAID, SIX MEN FOR ARRACAN!’

  “I never saw brother or sister Comstock after that. The very day that
  we took a pilot on board off Sandy Hook, April 28, 1843, was the day
  that sister Comstock died, and in one year afterward, lacking three
  days, that is, on the 25th of April, 1844, brother Comstock followed
  her. Now they sleep side by side in the grave-yard at Ramree, under
  the tamarind trees.”

It was a heavy day for Mrs. Judson when her husband carried to the ship
_Cashmere_ the child[49] who had been the sharer of all her sufferings
and griefs at Tavoy. It was well for her that a veil hid from her eyes
the immediate future, else she might have seen the boy’s hairbreadth
escape from pirates and the tortures of terror to which the shrinking
child was subjected on board the ship which was bearing him away from
his mother’s side.

While in Maulmain, Mr. Judson completed the Burman Bible. It was about
the time of his marriage to Mrs. Boardman that he finished the first
rough draft. Seventeen years before in Rangoon, all he had to offer of
the precious Scriptures to the first Burman inquirer was two half sheets
containing the first five chapters of Matthew.[50] From that time on,
beneath all his toils and sufferings and afflictions, there moved the
steady undercurrent of this great purpose and labor of Bible
translation. It was a task for which he had little relish. He much
preferred dealing with the Burmans individually, and persuading them,
one by one, of the truth of the Gospel. In a letter which states his
purpose of relinquishing for many months the pleasure of laboring in the
Karen jungles in order to shut himself up to the work of translation, he
says, “The tears flow as I write.” Alluding to this same labor of
translation, he writes to the Corresponding Secretary, “And so, God
willing and giving us life and strength, we hope to go on, but we hope
still to be allowed to feel that our great work is to preach the Gospel
_viva voce_, and build up the glorious kingdom of Christ among this
people.”

And when, the Bible being finished, the Board at home pressed him to
undertake the Dictionary, he sorrowfully exclaims:

  “How can I think of leaving this population to perish before me, while
  I am poring over manuscripts and proof-sheets? I must not do it; I can
  not do it, unless the Board expressly order it; and then I will obey,
  believing that _vox senatus vox Dei_. But before they order the only
  preaching missionary in the place to spend his time in making books,
  and above all a dictionary, I beg they will deeply consider the
  propriety of appointing him a preaching colleague.”

But the translation of the Bible was essentially necessary to the
permanent establishment of Christianity in Burmah, and no other living
man was qualified for the work. And so, in the brief intervals of
preaching, and teaching, and imprisonment, and jungle travel, secluding
himself in the garret at Rangoon, and afterward in the little room
attached to the mission-house at Maulmain, he quietly wrought at this
prodigious task, until, at last, he could write on January 31, 1834, at
the age of fifty-six:

  “Thanks be to God, I can _now_ say I have attained. I have knelt down
  before Him, with the last leaf in my hand, and imploring His
  forgiveness for all the sins which have polluted my labors in this
  department, and His aid in future efforts to remove the errors and
  imperfections which necessarily cleave to the work, I have commended
  it to His mercy and grace; I have dedicated it to His glory. May He
  make His own inspired word, now complete in the Burman tongue, the
  grand instrument of filling all Burmah with songs of praise to our
  great God and Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.”

Some of the peculiar ideas that controlled him in the work of
translation, and some of the special difficulties he encountered, are
disclosed in his letters:

  “My ideas of translating are very different from those of some
  missionaries, better men than myself, but mistaken, I think, in this
  particular. I consider it the work of a man’s whole life to procure a
  _really good_ translation of even the New Testament in an untried
  language. I could write much on this subject, but I have neither time
  nor disposition. I would only say that, in many instances, missionary
  labor has been dreadfully misdirected, and hundreds of thousands most
  foolishly thrown away. As to us, we wish to proceed _slow_ and _sure_,
  and to see to it that whatever we do, in regard to the inspired word,
  is _well done_. About four months ago, being convinced that the New
  Testament, notwithstanding all my labor upon it, was still in a very
  imperfect state, brother Wade and myself undertook a thorough
  revision. We have now done one-quarter of it; and I have some hope
  that by the time the printer and press arrive, we shall be able to
  warrant the whole. After that, we propose to work and rework at the
  precious book of Psalms, until we can venture to warrant that also.
  And so, God willing, and giving us life and strength, we hope to go
  on.... Allow me to suggest whether the exegetical works of Stuart,
  Robinson, Stowe, Ripley, Bush, Noyes, and such like, with some of the
  best German works, ought not to be sent out to the library, as soon as
  they come from the press, without waiting for an application to be
  made for them. I frequently see a sterling work on the cover of the
  _Herald_ or _Magazine_, and am ready to scream, with some variations,
  ‘The book, the book! my kingdom for the book!’ Yes, a kingdom, if the
  same ship which brought the notice had brought the work too; whereas I
  have to wait for letters to cross the ocean twice or three times, at
  least, and thus two or three years’ use of the book is lost, during
  which time I am, perhaps, working upon that very portion of Scripture
  which that book is intended to illustrate.”

Again he writes to the Rev. Dr. Sharp:

                                         “MAULMAIN, _June_ 28, 1833.

  “I ought to have written you long ago; but necessity has no law. I
  have lately entered upon a plan by which I hope to finish the
  translation of the Old Testament in two years. I find by experience
  that I can dispose of twenty-five or thirty verses per day, by giving
  all my time to the work. One-third of the whole is already done. You
  may, perhaps, wonder why I make such a tedious work of translating,
  when some persons dispatch the whole New Testament, and perhaps part
  of the Old, within a year or two after entering their field of labor.
  There are two ways of translating—the one original, the other
  second-hand. The first must be adopted by a missionary whose lot falls
  in a section of the globe where there is no translation of the
  Scriptures in any cognate language, or in any language known to the
  learned men of the country. In that case, he must spend some years in
  reading a great many books, and in acquiring a competent stock of the
  language; that, like as the spider spins her web from her own bowels,
  he may be able to extract the translation from his own brain. The
  other mode may be advantageously adopted by a missionary who has in
  his hand the Bible, already translated into some language known by
  learned natives in the country. In that case, he has only to get a
  smattering of their vernacular, enough to superintend their
  operations, and then parcel out the work, and it is done by steam.
  There have been but few original translations. That by Ziegenbalg and
  his associates, in Tamil, has served for all the dialects in the south
  of India. That by Carey and his associates, in Sanscrit and Bengalee,
  has been the basis of all the other translations which they have
  conducted. Morrison’s Chinese translation will probably be transferred
  into all the cognate languages; and the Taling, Karen, and Lah-wah,
  together with the Siamese, and other Shan translations, will be
  obtained more or less directly from the Burman. I mention the above as
  specimens merely; not intending to imply that they are the only
  _original_ translations that have been made. Nor would I be understood
  to speak disparagingly of second-hand translations. If the partners
  employed are faithful, a second-hand translation may be superior to an
  original one. At any rate, it will probably be more idiomatic, and in
  all cases, when practicable, it ought undoubtedly to be attempted as a
  first essay; and as the missionary advances in the language, he can
  gradually raise it to any degree of perfection.

  “But I sadly fear that, if I prolong this letter, it will leave my
  to-day’s task of twenty verses in the rear.”

The work of translating was done thoroughly and conscientiously. Every
Hebrew and Greek word was turned as far as possible into its exact
Burmese equivalent. The Greek word for baptism was justly translated
into Burmese, _Ya-kneat mengalah_, that is, the water-bathing or
immersing religious rite. But it is taking a long step to infer from
this that Mr. Judson approved of a new version in English, which should
discard the thoroughly acclimated English word _baptize_, and substitute
the word _immerse_. His death occurring just as a new project of such a
version was appearing on the horizon, he has, of course, left behind no
autographic testimony on this subject. That his name can not be claimed
as on the side of such a version may be learned from a hitherto
unpublished letter written by his widow within three years of his death:

  “There is one thing that annoys me a good deal—the New Bible
  Versionists claim Dr. J., and I know (though I do not feel brave
  enough to oppose my bare assertion to the ‘weight of testimony’ they
  would hurl at my head) that nobody could disapprove of a new English
  version of the Scriptures more heartily and entirely than he. He was
  very strenuous about his Burmese version, and would no doubt have
  persevered in his translation if the whole world had been against him.
  He considered _baptize_ an English word, in virtue of its long use,
  and thought that it had no complete synonym in the language. It would
  be a new word to introduce into the Burmese, and would only add to the
  peculiar mystic importance which always attaches to the ordinance in a
  heathen mind; and, besides, it was perfectly translatable. The
  _ya-kneat mengalah_ (literally, the _water-bathing_, or immersing
  _religious rite_) of the Burmans is definite and dignified, and
  without an equivalent in meaning in English. The circular of the new
  society reached Maulmain a month too late; but previous to that he had
  spoken to me in terms of strong reprobation of the movements of the
  New Versionists. He was a strong, thorough Baptist; he admired the
  Baptist principle and policy, well carried out; despised all
  imitations of other denominations, and thought the Baptists ought to
  be willing to stand for what they really are—the only true
  representatives of religious freedom in the world. But the abandonment
  of a word in common use for centuries, and so slightly equivocal in
  its meaning, he would have regarded as the very extreme of
  childishness. I have no doubt that Dr. —— and others are honest in
  claiming him; and I do not know but he may have said and written many
  things, especially when so deeply interested in the issue of his
  Burmese version, not difficult for them to appropriate; but I do know
  that he never contemplated a new English version for general
  circulation, and that what he heard of the new movements caused him
  deep pain.”

Great as was the task of thus scrupulously translating the Bible, the
revision was still more laborious. Seven years were spent in revising
the first work. It was a mental peculiarity of Mr. Judson’s never to
leave a thing alone while it could possibly be improved. His besetting
sin was, in his own expressive words, alluded to before, a _lust for
finishing_, and it was not until 1840 that he could say:

  “On the 24th of October last, I enjoyed the great happiness of
  committing to the press the last sheet of the new edition of the
  Burmese Bible. It makes about twelve hundred pages quarto. We are
  sending you several copies by the present conveyance....

  “As for myself, I have been almost entirely confined to the very
  tedious work of revising the Old Testament. The revision of about
  one-half is completed, and the books from 1st Samuel to Job,
  inclusive, have been printed in an edition of two thousand. We should
  have put the first volume to press some time ago, had we not been
  obliged to wait for paper, the London paper not matching the American;
  and now, though paper has arrived, brother Hancock contemplates going
  to America for new fonts of type, in several languages, and brother
  Cutter has gone on another visit to Ava, so that we shall not probably
  recommence printing the Old Testament till his return. I am the more
  satisfied with this arrangement from having just received a complete
  set of Rosenmüller on the Old Testament, and some other valuable
  works, in studying which I am very desirous of going over the whole
  ground once more.... I thought that I had finished the revision of the
  New Testament above a month ago; but there is no end to revising while
  a thing is in the press; so I continued working at it until I went to
  Dong-yan, and even later; for it was not until the 22d instant that
  the last proof-sheet went to press....

  “The work was finished—that is, the revision and printing—on the 24th
  October last, and a happy day of relief and joy it was to me. I have
  bestowed more time and labor on the revision than on the first
  translation of the work, and more, perhaps, than is proportionate to
  the actual improvement made. Long and toilsome research among the
  biblical critics and commentators, especially the German, was
  frequently requisite to satisfy my mind that my first position was the
  right one.”

In the glow of enthusiasm that attended the completion of this task of
twenty-four years, and believing that the Burmans at that time were
especially thirsty for the Word of Life, Mr. Judson advocated the almost
wholesale distribution of the Bible throughout the land with a warmth
and earnestness which he afterward saw good reasons for tempering.

  “The Bible cause in this country is now at a very low ebb. I once
  indulged the hope that I should live to see a complete copy of the
  whole Bible (bound in one volume, so as not to be liable to be
  scattered) deposited in every town and village throughout Burmah and
  Arracan. It is true that many thousand copies would be requisite;
  great hardships would be incurred and some sturdy perseverance would
  have to be put in requisition. But the work once accomplished, there
  would be seed sown throughout the country that, with the blessing of
  God, would spring up in abundant fruit to His glory. From the habits
  of the people who frequently assemble in large or small parties at the
  house of the schoolmaster, or chief person in the village, to listen
  to some one reading from a religious book, it appears to me that to
  deposit the Bible at the principal place of resort in every village is
  the least we can do for Burmah; and that such a plan will tell more
  effectually than any other to fill the country with the knowledge of
  divine truth.”

These views he greatly modified in his later years, as we learn from the
following interesting passage in one of Mrs. E. C. Judson’s letters to
Dr. Wayland:

  “I do not know whether I ought to try to give Dr. J.’s opinion of the
  Old Testament, for two reasons: first, I do not know how much _he_
  would have thought it best to express; and secondly, I can not be very
  positive what his opinions were. He was very fond of speculation, and
  had a habit, in private, of thinking aloud, so that although it was
  easy enough to learn his real views by asking, a mere listener would
  be liable to mistakes. My impression, drawn from many a long talk, is
  that he considered the Old Testament as the Scriptures given to the
  Jews especially, and, as a whole, applicable to them and them only. He
  did not like the distinction commonly drawn between the moral and
  ceremonial law, and sometimes spoke, with an earnestness amounting to
  severity, of the constant use made of the Ten Commandments by
  Christians. He thought the Old Testament very important, as
  explanatory and corroborative of the New—as a portion of the
  inspiration which came from God, etc., but binding on Christians only
  so far as repeated in the New Testament. He used to speak of the
  Mosaic law as fulfilled in Christ, and so having no further power
  whatever; and to say that we had no right to pick out this as moral
  and therefore obligatory, and the other as ceremonial, and so no
  longer demanding obedience. _Practically_ we had nothing to do with
  the Old Testament laws.

  “I think he was of the opinion that the Bible, as a whole, without the
  living teacher, was of but little use, at least that it never ought to
  be regarded as a substitute. In the power of the Gospels to make their
  way among the heathen he had more faith. He had reason; for a great
  many Burmans owed their awakening, if not their conversion, to the
  Gospel of Matthew, though not more, perhaps, than to the ‘View’ and
  the ‘Golden Balance.’[51]

  “I recollect, too, some remarks that he once made in this country
  about lazy Christians evading the obligation to preach the Gospel, or
  do good personally, by placing a Bible in the hands of those who would
  never read it; which compared very well with my impression of his
  views afterward. Perhaps you will recollect a remark in one of the
  letters to Mr. Hough, expressing a fear ‘that the Scriptures will be
  out of the press before there will be any church to read them.’

  “In comparing what he has written, what I have heard him say, and the
  course he pursued, I am led to the conclusion that, though he regarded
  the Old Testament Scriptures as much more important while engaged in
  translating and revising, than afterward, the very study, the
  prayerful as well as critical examination necessary to the
  accomplishment of the work, led him by degrees to what some might
  consider a comparatively extravagant estimate of the New
  Testament—especially the Gospels. He preached almost exclusively from
  the teachings of Christ, during his last years; and when I once
  introduced some lessons from the Old Testament into my Bible-classes,
  he compared it to groping among shadows, when I might just as well
  have the noonday sun.

  “He spoke also of his favoring the distribution of so many Bibles,
  after his revision, as the greatest mistake he ever made; though he
  said he was betrayed into it by Mr. ——’s wonderful reports and his own
  subsequent impression, that all Burmah was crying for books. He once
  said, in relation to a man who had stumbled on the Old Testament, and
  apostatized: ‘It is the last thing such a fellow as he ought even to
  have touched. I am more than ever convinced that _our_ business is to
  propagate the _Gospel_, scatter the good news of salvation, and let
  everything else alone.’

  “With all this, he has told me that he felt, when making his
  translation, an almost overpowering sense of the awfulness of his
  work, and an ever-present conviction that every word was as from the
  lips of God.”

In regard to the merits of his Burman Bible, Mr. Judson’s estimate was
very modest. He writes:

  “The _beau ideal_ of translation, so far as it concerns the poetical
  and prophetical books of the Old Testament, I profess not to have
  attained. If I live many years, of which I have no expectation, I
  shall have to bestow much more labor upon those books. With the New
  Testament I am rather better satisfied, and the testimony of those
  acquainted with the language is rather encouraging. At least, I hope
  that I have laid a good foundation for my successors to build upon....

  “As to the merits of the translation, I must leave others to judge. I
  can only say that, though I have seldom done anything to my own
  satisfaction, I am better satisfied with the translation of the New
  Testament than I ever expected to be. The language is, I believe,
  simple, plain, intelligible; and I have endeavored, I hope
  successfully, to make every sentence a faithful representation of the
  original. As to the Old Testament, I am not so well satisfied. The
  historical books are, perhaps, done pretty well; but the poetical and
  prophetical books are doubtless susceptible of much improvement, not
  merely in point of style, but in the rendering of difficult passages,
  about which the most eminent scholars are not yet agreed.”

How far his own humble view falls short of doing justice to the
excellence of his monumental task, may be gathered from the following
statement by the late Dr. Wayland:

  “From the incidental allusions to it in Dr. Judson’s letters and
  journals, we may form some conception of the labor which he spent upon
  this work. He had enjoyed the best opportunities which this country
  then afforded for the study of interpretation; and his progress in
  this department of knowledge had awakened the highest expectations of
  his future success as a translator. He had made himself familiar with
  the Burmese language to a degree never before attained by a foreigner.
  He determined, if it were possible, to transfer the ideas of the Holy
  Scriptures, from their original languages, into Burman, in such a
  manner that his work should need as little revision as possible by his
  successors. He had an intense desire for rendering perfect every labor
  which he undertook; indeed, he said of himself, that one of his
  failings was ‘a lust for finishing.’ Hence he availed himself of all
  the means of information which the progress of biblical science,
  either in Germany or America, placed within his reach. As early as the
  visit of Mrs. Ann Judson to this country, his demand for books was
  large, and it was all for the very best, the foundation books. I well
  remember the pleasure with which I stripped my library of what I
  considered some of its choicest treasures, to supply a part of his
  most urgent necessities. Thus he continued until he had surrounded
  himself with a most valuable apparatus for carrying on his work in the
  manner which its importance deserved.

  “While, however, he thus sought for aid from all the sources of modern
  and ancient learning, it is manifest from the whole of his
  correspondence that he used them all with the discretion of a master
  mind. It was not in his power to substitute the working of other
  intellects for the working of his own. He weighed, with critical
  caution, every recension of the text. He adopted no interpretation
  unless either convinced of its truth, or else sure that it was the
  nearest approximation to the truth that could be made in the present
  state of our knowledge. In order to reach this result, no labor was
  too great, and no investigation too protracted. United with all this
  that was intellectual, there was, in his case, a mind deeply impressed
  with its own fallibility, and turning with unutterable longing to the
  Holy Spirit for guidance and illumination. The importance of his work
  to millions of immortal souls was ever present to his view. He had
  been called by the providence of God to unfold to a whole nation, in
  their own language, the revelation of the Most High. He conceived it
  to be a momentous undertaking; and a heavy weight would have rested on
  his soul if a single idea in the Scriptures had been obscurely
  rendered in consequence of haste, impatience, negligence, or culpable
  ignorance on the part of the translator.

  “But after he had satisfied himself as to the meaning of the original,
  a most difficult labor yet remained to be accomplished. It must be now
  transferred into a language peculiar and strongly idiomatic, and,
  moreover, a language destitute of terms in which to express the
  elementary and peculiar ideas of the New Testament. To furnish himself
  in this respect was the daily labor of his life. He read Burmese prose
  and poetry wherever he could find it. He was always surrounded by
  Burmese assistants and transcribers. As fast as his missionary
  brethren became acquainted with the language, he was incessantly
  calling upon them for corrections. They cheerfully aided him in this
  respect to the utmost of their power. Every correction or emendation
  he examined with the minutest care. Many—I think he says most—of them
  he adopted; and none of them were rejected without the most careful
  and diligent inquiry.

  “The result of this able and indefatigable labor was such as might
  have been expected. Competent judges affirm that Dr. Judson’s
  translation of the Scriptures is the most perfect work of the kind
  that has yet appeared in India. On this subject it will not be
  inappropriate to introduce a few sentences from the pen of a gentleman
  high in rank in India, himself a distinguished linguist, and a
  proficient in the Burmese language:

  “‘To Judson it was granted, not only to found the spiritual Burman
  Church of Christ, but also to give it the entire Bible in its own
  vernacular, thus securing that Church’s endurance and ultimate
  extension; the instances being few or none, of that word, after it has
  once struck root in any tongue, being ever wholly suppressed. Divine
  and human nature alike forbid such a result; for, when once it has
  become incorporated in a living tongue, holiness and love join hands
  with sin and weakness to perpetuate that word’s life and dominion. We
  honor Wickliffe and Luther for their labors in their respective mother
  tongues; but what meed of praise is due to Judson for a translation of
  the Bible, _perfect as a literary work_, in a language so foreign to
  him as the Burmese? Future ages, under God’s blessing, may decide this
  point, when his own forebodings, as he stood and pondered over the
  desolate, ruinous scene at Pugan, shall be fulfilled.

  “‘One and twenty years after his first landing at Rangoon, Judson
  finished his translation of the whole Bible; but, not satisfied with
  this first version, six more years were devoted to a revision of this
  great work; and on the 24th of October, 1840, the last sheet of the
  new edition was printed off. The revision cost him more time and labor
  than the first translation; for what he wrote in 1823 remained the
  object of his soul: “I never read a chapter without pencil in hand,
  and Griesbach and Parkhurst at my elbow; and it will be an object to
  me through life to bring the translation to such a state that it may
  be a standard work.” The best judges pronounce it to be all that he
  aimed at making it, and also, what with him never was an object, an
  imperishable monument of the man’s genius. We may venture to hazard
  the opinion that as Luther’s Bible is now in the hands of Protestant
  Germany, so, three centuries hence, Judson’s Bible will be the Bible
  of the Christian churches of Burmah.’

  “The following extract from a letter written in November, 1852, by a
  missionary in Burmah, expresses very fully the estimation in which
  this version is held by those who are daily in the habit of using it,
  and of commending it to the natives:

  “‘The translation of the Holy Scriptures into the Burman language by
  the late Dr. Judson is admitted to be the best translation in India;
  that is, the translation has given more satisfaction to his
  contemporaries and successors than any translation of the Bible into
  any other Eastern language has done to associate missionaries in any
  other parts of India. It is free from all obscurity to the Burmese
  mind. It is read and understood perfectly. Its style and diction are
  as choice and elegant as the language itself, peculiarly honorific,
  would afford, and conveys, doubtless, the mind of the Spirit as
  perfectly as can be.’

  “Judson might well have adopted the words of the blessed Eliot, the
  apostle to the Indian tribes, when he had finished his translation of
  the Scriptures into their dialect—‘Prayer and pains, with the blessing
  of God, can accomplish anything.’”

Having diverged in order to give the reader a general idea of this work
of translating the Bible into Burmese, we again take up the thread of
Mr. Judson’s life at the point where he has just finished the first
rough draft in 1834.[52] He entered with ardor upon the work of revision
without neglecting, however, his favorite employments of teaching and
preaching. A letter from Mrs. Judson to her husband’s mother shows his
ceaseless, every-day activity:

  “Mr. Judson preaches _every_ Lord’s day to a crowded assembly, and
  _every evening_ to a congregation averaging thirty. We find our old
  chapel too small, and are about having a new one erected. The native
  assistants go about the town every day preaching the Gospel, and Mr.
  Judson holds a meeting with them every morning before breakfast, when
  he listens to their reports, prays with them, gives them instruction,
  etc. Besides this, the care of the Burman Church, ninety-nine in
  number, devolves upon him, as does all the revision, superintendence
  of the press, etc., etc., etc. He has lately baptized eighteen
  persons—seven English soldiers, five Indo-Britons, three Burmans, one
  Hindoo, one Arracanese, and one Mahometan. The latter is faithful old
  _Koo-chil_, the Hindoo cook mentioned in Mrs. Judson’s ‘Narrative.’
  The poor old man resisted long and stubbornly the truth, and we were
  sometimes almost discouraged about him. But divine grace was too
  mighty for him, and on last Lord’s day we saw him bow beneath the
  Salwen’s yielding wave, and rise, I trust, to ‘newness of life.’ Two
  others have applied for baptism, and there are many hopeful inquirers
  both among European and natives.”

The Rev. Dr. Malcolm, who visited Burmah in 1836, gives a glimpse of the
interior of Mr. Judson’s _zayat_:

  “Our first Sabbath in this dark land was, of course, full of interest.
  In the morning we worshipped with the Burman congregation in the
  _zayat_. About seventy were present, nearly all Christians. Seldom
  have I seen so attentive and devout an audience. They sat, of course,
  on the floor, where mats, made of bamboo, were spread for their
  accommodation, a large bamboo, about eighteen inches from the floor,
  serving as a rest to the back. In prayer the Americans all knelt, and
  the rest leaned forward on their elbows, putting their palms together,
  and at the close of the petition, all responded an audible _Amen_. Mr.
  J. preached with much apparent earnestness, and all listened with rapt
  attention. Several inquirers were present, some of whom applied for
  baptism.”

The same observant traveller has drawn a word-picture of Mr. Judson’s
personal appearance at this time:

  “As my eye rested on this loved little company, it was sweet to
  contemplate the venerable founder of the mission, sitting there to
  rejoice in the growth of the cause he had so assiduously and painfully
  sustained. His labors and sufferings for years; his mastery of the
  language; his translation of the whole Word of God; and his being
  permitted now to be the pastor of a church containing over a hundred
  natives, make him the most interesting missionary now alive. What a
  mercy that he yet lives to devote to his people his enlarged powers of
  doing good! And we may hope he will very long be spared. His age is
  but forty-seven; his eye is not dim; not a gray hair shows itself
  among his full auburn locks; his moderate-sized person seems full of
  vigor; he walks almost every evening a mile or two at a quick pace;
  lives with entire temperance and regularity, and enjoys, in general,
  steadfast health. May a gracious God continue to make him a blessing
  more and more.”

From this point on, our narrative naturally assumes a more domestic
character; and we are permitted to see Mr. Judson’s deep tenderness as a
husband and a father. Some of the greatest objects of his life having
been achieved, and his health beginning to decline, his restless spirit
turned instinctively to family life for repose. On October 31, 1835, his
heart was cheered by the birth of a daughter, whose name, Abby Ann,[53]
associates her with his only sister, from whom he had parted so many
years before, and also with her whom he left sleeping beneath the
hopia-tree. While writing to his mother and sister, he mentions the
birth of his child and betrays with what delight the care-wearied man,
after his prolonged solitude, turned for rest to the amenities of home:

                                      “MAULMAIN, _November_ 1, 1835.

  “Since I have attained, in some measure, the great objects for which I
  came out to the East, and do not find it necessary to be so
  exclusively and severely engrossed in missionary labors as I have been
  for a long course of years, my thoughts and affections revert more
  frequently, of late, to the dear home where I was born and brought up;
  and now especially, after having been childless many years, the birth
  of a daughter, and the revival of parental feelings, remind me afresh
  of the love with which my dear mother watched over my infancy, and of
  all the kindness with which she led me up from youth to man. And then
  I think of my earliest playmate, my dear sister, and delight to
  retrace the thousand incidents which marked our youthful intercourse,
  and which still stand, in the vista of memory, tokens of reciprocated
  brotherly and sisterly affection. Surely, I should have to call myself
  a most ungrateful son and brother, had I abandoned you forever in this
  world, as I have done, for any other cause than that of the kingdom of
  the glorious Redeemer.

  “It is a great comfort, however, that, though separated in this world,
  we are all interested in the covenant love of that Redeemer, and can
  therefore hope that we shall spend our eternity together, in His
  blissful presence. It is my particular object, in writing at the
  present time, to engage your prayers for our little Abigail, that she
  may become early interested in the same divine love, and be one of our
  happy number in the bright world above. Her mother and myself both
  hope that the little circumstance of her being your namesake will tend
  to bring her more frequently to your remembrance at the throne of
  grace, and secure your prayers in her behalf.

  “I alluded above to the attainment of the great objects of my
  missionary undertaking. I used to think, when first contemplating a
  missionary life, that, if I should live to see the Bible translated
  and printed in some new language, and a church of one hundred members
  raised up on heathen ground, I should anticipate death with the
  peaceful feelings of old Simeon. The Bible in Burmese will, I expect,
  be out of the press by the end of this year; and—not to speak of
  several hundred Burmans and Karens baptized at different stations—the
  Burmese church in Maulmain, of which I am pastor, contains ninety-nine
  native members, and there will doubtless be several more received
  before the end of the year. Unite with me, my dear mother and sister,
  in gratitude to God, that He has preserved me so long, and,
  notwithstanding my entire unworthiness, has made me instrumental of a
  little good.”

In a letter to his step-son, who had by this time arrived in America, he
alludes to the infant Abigail, and encloses a child’s prayer in verse:

                                       “MAULMAIN, _August_ 23, 1836.

  “I send you a little idol, that you may not forget what sort of gods
  they worship in this country, and your mother is sending you another.
  But, what is better, I send you a little book, called the ‘Only Son,’
  which I took so much pleasure in reading that I want to have you read
  it through two or three times. I am afraid you will forget how much
  your mother loves you. This book will help you to remember. I am not
  much afraid that you will ever become like poor Jonah, whose history
  you will find in the book. But when any companions shall attempt to
  persuade you to join them in doing some bad thing, remember poor
  Jonah, and remember his poor mother, and remember how dreadfully your
  own mother would suffer, and how she would go down to the grave in
  sorrow, if you should become a bad boy. You can not tell how much she
  loves you. She talks about you every day; and we never pray together
  without praying for you. And though it can not be that I should love
  you as much as your mother does, yet I love you very much, my dear
  George. And I am always sorry that I was so closely engaged in study,
  that I was able to spend but very little time with you, after we came
  up from Tavoy. When I think of that last pleasant, sad afternoon I
  carried you down to Amherst, and left you on board, the _Cashmere_, I
  love you very much, and want to see you again. Perhaps we shall live
  to see you come out a minister of the Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ.
  We sometimes pray that, if it be the will of God, it may be so.

  “Your little sister Abigail is a sweet, fat baby. You would love her
  very much if you were here. Pray for her, that she may live, and may
  become a child of God.”

                      _Prayer for Little George._

                “Remember, Lord, my mother dear,
                  Who lives in distant heathen land;
                By day and night wilt Thou be near,
                  To guard her with Thy powerful hand.

                “And since another babe has come,
                  To fill the place which once was mine,
                In mother’s arms to find a home,
                  And soft on mother’s breast recline,

                “O, listen to me from Thy throne,
                  And let a brother’s prayer prevail,
                To draw the choicest blessings down
                  On little sister Abigail.”

When his son, Adoniram Brown Judson,[54] born April 7, 1837, was almost
a year old, Mr. Judson wrote to his own mother and sister a letter in
which, with playful tenderness, he alludes to both his children:

                                        “MAULMAIN, _March_ 16, 1838.

  “I remember you in my prayers every day, and hope that you do not
  forget me, my wife, and dear little Abby and Adoniram. Yours of
  October 15, 1837, I received on the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Stevens in
  the _Rosabella_, the 19th of last month. They gave me an account of
  their visit to Plymouth, and their interview with you both, and how
  you looked and what you said, and he remembered the exhortation to
  ‘preach the three R’s.’ He remarked, that my mother was the very
  picture of the venerable, and _she_ observed that everything about the
  house was kept in remarkably nice order. And they both thought that,
  from your appearance and remarks, you were in the enjoyment of much
  religious feeling. How I wish I could see you once more! I send you a
  copy of the Burman New Testament, which may be a gratifying curiosity,
  if nothing more.

  “We have just carried Adoniram through the small-pox by inoculation.
  He had it very lightly, and is now quite recovered. He is one of the
  prettiest, brightest children you ever saw. His mother says he
  resembles his uncle Elnathan. Abby is growing fast. She runs about,
  and talks Burman quite fluently, but no English. I am not troubled
  about her not getting English at present, for we shall have to send
  her home in a few years, and then she will get it of course. She
  attends family and public worship with us, and has learned to sit
  still and behave herself. But Fen, or Pwen, as the natives call him,
  when he is brought into the chapel, and sees me in my place, has the
  impudence to roar out Bah (as the Burmans call father), with such a
  stentorian voice, that his nurse is obliged to carry him out again.

  “Many thanks, dear sister, for your last present of fifty dollars,
  which I have received. I am obliged to look after the rupees a little
  more carefully now than when I had no little ones to provide for.

  “I suppose you take the _Magazine_; so I do not introduce missionary
  affairs into my private letters.”

But Mr. Judson’s iron purposes were not melted in the ease and quiet of
home life. He did not cease his efforts to save his poor Burmans. A few
weeks after the birth of his son, he wrote:

  “My days are commonly spent in the following manner: the morning in
  reading Burman; the forenoon in a public _zayat_ with some assistant,
  preaching to those who call; the afternoon in preparing or revising
  something for the press, correcting proof-sheets, etc.; the evening in
  conducting worship in the native chapel, and conversing with the
  assistants or other native Christians or inquirers.”

With what genuine satisfaction must such a worker have looked back upon
his work of a quarter of a century in Burmah!

                                                   “_July_ 20, 1838.

  “I have lately,” he writes, “had the happiness of baptizing the first
  Toung-thoo that ever became a Christian. I hope he will be the
  first-fruits of a plentiful harvest. God has given me the privilege
  and happiness of witnessing and contributing a little, I trust, to the
  conversion of the first Burmese convert, the first Peguan, the first
  Karen, and the first Toung-thoo. Three of them I baptized. The Karen
  was approved for baptism; but just then, brother Boardman removing to
  Tavoy, I sent the Karen with him, and he was baptized there.

  “There are now above a thousand converts from heathenism, formed into
  various churches throughout the country. And I trust that the good
  work will go on, until every vestige of idolatry shall be effaced, and
  millennial glory shall bless the whole land. The thirteenth day of
  this month finished a quarter of a century that I have spent in
  Burmah; and on the eighth of next month, if I live, I shall complete
  the fiftieth year of my life. And I see that mother, if living, will
  enter on her eightieth year next December. May we all meet in heaven.”

Upon the completion of the fiftieth year of his life, and of his
twenty-fifth year in Burmah, it is not strange that even his wiry
physique should begin to give way beneath the strain. Disease fastened
first upon his lungs, entailing loss of voice and intense pain.
Allusions in his letters at this time indicate his declining health:

             “ON PASSAGE FROM MAULMAIN TO CALCUTTA, _March_ 3, 1839.

  “I had been subject to a cough several months, and some kind of
  inflammation of the throat and lungs, which, for a time, almost
  deprived me of the use of my voice; and lest the complaint should
  become confirmed consumption, I was advised to try a voyage to sea....
  _March 11._ For two days I have had a return of soreness, accompanied
  with some cough. I fear that the atmosphere of this place, loaded with
  dust and smoke, will bring on a relapse.

  “My last informed you that I was on a passage to Calcutta for my
  health, by the direction of a physician and the recommendation of the
  brethren at the station. I derived great benefit from the voyage; and
  my health continued generally to improve during my stay in Calcutta of
  three weeks, and on the return voyage, until the Sunday preceding my
  arrival here, when I made trial of my voice, by attempting to conduct
  Burmese worship in my cabin, with the only native convert on board.
  And though the effort was very small, I was dismayed to find, in the
  course of the afternoon, the old soreness of lungs and tendency to
  cough come on; and for three days I was rather worse than I had been
  for six weeks. Being at sea, however, I partially recovered from the
  relapse before I reached home, but am not so well as at my last date.
  It is a great mercy that I am able to use my voice in common
  conversation without much difficulty; but when I shall be able to
  preach again I know not. The approaching rainy season will probably
  decide whether my complaint is to return with violence, or whether I
  am to have a further lease of life. I am rather desirous of living,
  for the sake of the work and of my family; but He who appoints all our
  times, and the bounds of our habitation, does all things well; and we
  ought not to desire to pass the appointed limits.... My throat
  complaint, which seemed to be nearly removed by a voyage to Calcutta,
  has returned with fresh violence since the commencement of the rains,
  three days ago. Some advise me to take another voyage, as before; but
  I have no heart to do so, thinking that the benefit will be but
  temporary. Others suggest a voyage home to America, and a residence
  there for a year or two; but to this course I have strong objections.
  There are so many missionaries going home for their health, or for
  some other cause, that I should be very unwilling to do so, unless my
  brethren and the Board thought it a case of absolute necessity. I
  should be of no use to the cause at home, not being able to use my
  voice. And lastly, I am in my fifty-first year. I have lived long
  enough. I have lived to see accomplished the particular objects on
  which I set my heart when I commenced a missionary life. And why
  should I wish to live longer? I am unable to preach; and since the
  last relapse, the irritation of my throat is so very troublesome that
  I can not converse but with difficulty, or even sit at the table, as I
  have done to-day, and prepare copy for the press. My complaint, it is
  said, is very much like that of which the late Mrs. Osgood died—not
  common pulmonary consumption, but something in the throat, which
  puzzled even her attending physicians, one of whom maintained, till
  near her death, that she was not in a consumption, and would recover.

  “My present expectation is, to use medicinal palliatives, and endeavor
  to keep along for a few months, until I see the present edition of the
  Bible completed, and then be ready to rest from my labors. But the
  very thought brings joy to my soul. For, though I am a poor, poor
  sinner, and know that I have never done a single action which can
  claim the least merit or praise, glory is before me, interminable
  glory, through the blood of the Lamb, the Lamb for sinners slain. But
  I shrink back again, when I think of my dear wife and darling
  children, who have wound round my once widowed, bereaved heart, and
  would fain draw me down from heaven and glory. And then I think, also,
  of the world of work before me. But the sufficient answer to all is,
  _The Lord will provide_.”

The voyage to which allusion is made in the foregoing extracts was begun
February 19, 1839; it was thought that a trip to Calcutta would restore
his health. After an absence of nearly two months, during which he had a
delightful visit with the English Baptists of Calcutta and Serampore, he
returned to Maulmain, his health somewhat improved. The sadness of this
separation from the faithful wife and mother, whom he left behind at
Maulmain, was intensified by the apprehension that he might die on the
voyage. Mrs. Judson writes:

“As soon as you left the house, I ran to your dressing-room, and watched
you from the window. But you did not look up—oh, how I wished you would!
Then I hastened to the back veranda, and caught one last glimpse of you
through the trees; ... and I gave vent to my feelings in a flood of
tears.

“Then the children came around me, asking to go to the wharf, and the
women _looked_ their wishes; and though I said ‘no’ to the little ones,
I could not deny the others. After they were gone, I took all three of
our darlings into your own little room, told them why you had gone away,
and asked Abby Ann and Adoniram if they wished me to ask God to take
care of papa, while he was gone. They said ‘yes’; and so I put Elnathan
down on the floor to play, and, kneeling beside the other two, committed
you and ourselves to the care of our heavenly Father.... How sweet is
the thought that, when you go into the presence of God, you always pray
for me, and for our dear children. We have family worship mornings in
the sleeping-room. Abby and Pwen[55] kneel, one on each side of me, and
after I have read and prayed I teach them the Lord’s prayer. I make them
repeat it distinctly, only two or three words at a time. They both sit
at the table with me, Pwen occupying his beloved father’s place. But
these things do not beguile my loneliness. Oh, when shall I see you
again, here, in your old seat?

“Your little daughter and I have been praying for you this evening. She
is now in bed, and I am sitting by my study-table, where I spend all my
time after evening worship, except what is devoted to the children. I
wish, my love, that you would pray for one object in particular—that I
may be assisted in communicating divine truth to the minds of these
little immortals.... At times the sweet hope that you will soon return,
restored to perfect health, buoys up my spirit; but perhaps you will
find it necessary to go farther, a necessity from which I can not but
shrink with doubt and dread; or you may come back only to die with me.
This last agonizing thought crushes me down in overwhelming sorrow. I
hope I do not feel unwilling that our heavenly Father should do as He
thinks best with us; but my heart shrinks from the prospect of living in
this sinful, dark, friendless world without you. But I feel that I do
wrong to anticipate sorrows. God has promised strength only for
_to-day_; and, in infinite mercy, He shuts the future from our view. I
know that there is small ground for hope; few ever recover from your
disease; but it may be that God will restore you to health, for the sake
of His suffering cause. _I_ do not deserve it; and I have often wondered
that I should have been so singularly blessed as to possess that heart,
which is far more precious than all the world beside. But the most
satisfactory view of our condition is to look away to that blissful
world, where separations are unknown. There, my beloved Judson, _we_
shall surely meet each other; and we shall also meet those loved ones
who have gone before us to that haven of rest.

“After worship at the chapel, several of the native Christians came in;
and we all mingled our tears together. They each in turn committed their
absent pastor (father, they called you) to God, and prayed for your
restoration to health, and speedy return to us, with a fervor which I
felt at the time must prevail.”

   VERSES WRITTEN BY MR. JUDSON FOR HIS CHILDREN DURING THIS VOYAGE.

                           _Prayer to Jesus._

                 “Dear Jesus, hear me when I pray,
                 And take this naughty heart away;
                 Teach me to love Thee, gracious Lord,
                 And learn to read Thy holy word.”

                               _Another._

                 “Come, dearest Saviour, take my heart,
                 And let me ne’er from Thee depart;
                 From every evil set me free,
                 And all the glory be to Thee.”

                            _For Abby Ann._

                 “Look down on little brother dear,
                 Safe may he sleep while Thou art near,
                 Preserve his life to know Thy love,
                 And dwell at last in heaven above.”

                          _A Morning Prayer._

                 “My waking thoughts I raise to Thee,
                 Who through the night hast guarded me;
                 Keep me this day from every ill,
                 And help me, Lord, to do Thy will.”

                           _Duty to Others._

                   “Love others as you love yourself;
                     And as you would that they
                   Should do to you, do you to them,
                     That is the golden way.”

                           _The Dying Child._

             “‘O, grant that Christ and heaven be mine:
               What can I want beside?
             Hark! hear ye not that voice divine?
               “My daughter, Christ and heaven are thine!”
             And see! the glorious portals shine!’
               She sweetly sang, and died.”

In a letter written to his mother and sister after his return to
Maulmain, he betrays the fact that he was still far from perfect
convalescence:

                                        “MAULMAIN, _August_ 9, 1839.

  “On this day I enter my fifty-second year. Fifty-one years have rolled
  over my head, twenty-six of which have been spent in this heathen
  land. I believe I write you more frequently than I used to. I am not
  so much driven in my studies as formerly, and the weakness and
  irritability of my lungs, though much better, do not yet suffer me to
  use my voice in public. Add to which that I have a family of young
  children growing up around me, so that my mind has become more
  domesticated, and returns with more readiness and frequency to the
  scenes of my own childhood. Twenty-seven years and a half have passed
  since we parted in Plymouth and in Boston, during which time my father
  and brother, and his family, and my first family, have all been swept
  away by death. You two only remain, and my present family, whom you
  have never seen. I sometimes feel concerned for my three little
  children, from the fact that I was advanced in life when they were
  born, and can not, therefore, expect to live to see them grown up and
  happily settled before I shall be removed. Even if my present
  complaint should not terminate in consumption, I can hardly expect to
  hold out many more years in this climate; so that I have the prospect
  of leaving them fatherless in the very bloom of youth, when they will
  especially need a father’s support and care. However, I endeavor daily
  to commend them to God, and trust that, when I come to die, I shall be
  enabled to avail myself of the command and promise, ‘Leave thy
  fatherless children; I will preserve them alive; and let thy widows
  trust in me’ (Jer. xlix. 11).

  “Abby Ann has begun to go to school with Julia Osgood to Mrs. Simons,
  who, with her husband, is here from Rangoon, expecting a war with
  Burmah, and has set up an English school. Abby attends every forenoon,
  and just begins to read words of one syllable. Adoniram says, ‘I want
  go school’; but he stays at home, and deports himself like a little
  man. Elnathan has been very ill. We thought we should lose him; but he
  is now better, and begins to be bright and playful.

  “I do wish you could call in and make us a visit. We would try to make
  you so comfortable that you would not wish to return to old Plymouth.
  However, it is of little consequence where we spend the short remnant
  of life. Heaven is before us. Let us pray much, and live devoted to
  God, and we shall soon be united in that happy world where there is no
  dividing sea.

  “Can’t you give me some account of your house, and furniture, and
  neighbors, and street, so that I can form a little idea how you are
  situated? I have tried to glean some particulars from the Stevenses;
  but transient passers can not be expected to give much satisfactory
  information. And when you write, leave a good place for the wafer of
  your letter, as you see I do; otherwise there are sometimes words
  which I can not make out. I shall be glad when any of the little ones
  shall be able to conjure out a scrawl to their grandmother and aunt.
  Pray for them, that they may be early converted to God. Perhaps mother
  will add a line with her own hand when you write. Dear mother, I wish
  I could make you some return for all the trouble I once gave you.

                                     Yours ever,         A. JUDSON.”

The native Christians at Maulmain were glad enough, after an interval of
ten months, to hear again the voice of their beloved teacher, though he
still spoke in feeble accents.

Mrs. Judson writes to his mother:

  “I have during the past year suffered deep anxiety and gloomy
  foreboding on account of my dear husband’s health. But God has been
  merciful beyond our fears, and so far restored him that he was able to
  preach last Lord’s day, the first time for about ten months. His
  discourse was short, and he spoke low. I felt exceedingly anxious
  respecting his making the attempt, but he has experienced no ill
  effects from it as yet. How pleased you would have been to see the joy
  beaming from the countenances of the dear native Christians as they
  saw their beloved and revered pastor once more take the desk! He
  applies himself very closely to study, though he is still far from
  well. He takes cold very easily, and still feels a slight uneasiness
  in the chest and left side. But he is so much better than he was, that
  I am comforted with the hope that he will soon be entirely restored to
  health.”

In a letter to a fellow-missionary he refers playfully to the birth of
another son at the close of 1839. “Master Henry[56] came into notice the
last day of the year; but there was no earthquake or anything,” and he
alludes to the infant Henry in a letter of affectionate counsel to
George, who was now twelve years old:

  “Your letter of January 9 gave us great pleasure, as it furnished
  proof of your proficiency in learning and of affectionate remembrance.
  Truly we remember you every day, especially in our prayers. Every
  morning we come around the family altar, your mother and myself, your
  sister Abby Ann, and your brothers Adoniram and Elnathan—Henry is too
  young to attend—and it is our earnest prayer that all our children may
  _early_ become partakers of divine grace. I hope you will never
  neglect the duty of _secret prayer_. Never let a morning or evening
  pass without going into some room or place by yourself, and kneeling
  down and spending five or ten minutes at least in praying to God, in
  the name of Jesus Christ. Pray earnestly that you may have a new
  heart, and become a child of God, and that you may have satisfactory
  evidence that such is your happy state.

  “You observe in your letter that you are sometimes disturbed by
  frightful dreams, and we hear in other ways that your health is rather
  delicate. I warmly recommend you to rise every morning between light
  and sunrise, and take a quick walk of a mile or more, and to the top
  of some hill, if there be one in the vicinity that will suit your
  purpose; and in the winter, when you may not be able to walk, get some
  equivalent exercise in cutting wood or some other work. This is the
  course that, with some intermissions and with various modifications, I
  have pursued for thirty-five years; and to this, under God, I ascribe
  the good health and the long life I have enjoyed in this unpropitious
  climate. Your mother frequently accompanies me over the Maulmain
  hills, and she enjoys much better health than she did at Tavoy, where
  she took no exercise, scarcely. Do, my dear George, take this matter
  into serious consideration. You may not like it at first. You will,
  perhaps, feel tired and sleepy for a few days, but when you become a
  little used to it, you will enjoy it exceedingly. You will find your
  appetite improving, your health becoming firm, and your repose by
  night undisturbed. I have now given you the two best pieces of advice
  in my power. The first relates to your soul, the second to your body.
  Follow them, and be virtuous and happy. I hope to hear that you have
  professed religion, and devoted yourself to the ministry. Who knows
  but that I shall live to introduce you into missionary work in this
  country, where your own father labored, and where his remains are
  entombed. Follow your father, my dear George; and we will all, ere
  long, be so happy in heaven together, even in the presence of the
  dear, lovely, glorious Saviour, the Friend of sinners, who died for
  us.”

Mrs. Judson’s health also began to fail. She was attacked by the disease
which finally terminated her life at St. Helena. The children, too, were
all sick, so that a sea voyage was needed for the very preservation of
the family. Mr. Judson reluctantly decided to embark with his wife and
four children for Calcutta. The imperative reasons for the voyage he
states to the Corresponding Secretary:

  “I have been in great distress for several months, and think I have
  not written a letter to America, except one to my mother and sister,
  since the beginning of the year. Early in March, Mrs. Judson fell into
  a decline, and became quite confined to her bed. Three of the children
  had been, for some months, ill; and the two eldest were repeatedly at
  the point of death. The physicians, missionary brethren, and all my
  friends in Maulmain, became clamorous that I should try a voyage, as
  the only remaining means of saving the lives of the greater part of my
  family. But, extremely reluctant to incur the expense and encounter
  the breaking up which a voyage would occasion, I suffered myself to be
  beguiled by transient symptoms of convalescence, until, having lost
  two opportunities, and seeing most of my family in absolutely
  desperate circumstances, I consented to embrace the present
  opportunity, and embarked on the 26th ultimo.”

The voyage was short, but boisterous.

  “We had been out only four days,” says Mrs. Judson,“ when we struck on
  shoals, and for about twenty minutes were expecting to see the large,
  beautiful vessel a wreck; and then all on board must perish, or at
  best take refuge in a small boat, exposed to the dreary tempests. I
  shall never forget my feelings, as I looked over the side of the
  vessel that night, on the dark ocean, and fancied ourselves with our
  poor sick, and almost dying children, launched on its stormy waves.
  The captain tacked as soon as possible, and the tide rising at the
  time, we were providentially delivered from our extreme peril.”

When the family arrived at Serampore, just above Calcutta, they hired “a
nice, dry house on the very bank of the river.” But though the sea air
had naturally revived the invalids, as soon as they came fairly under
the hot climate of Bengal they all suffered a relapse. What was to be
done? They met at Calcutta a pious Scotch sea captain whose vessel was
going to the Isle of France, and from thence to Maulmain. He made the
kind proposal to take the whole family on such terms that this
circuitous course would cost them no more than to go directly to
Maulmain. They dreaded the voyage in the month of August, which is a
very dangerous month in the Bay of Bengal, but there seemed to be no
other alternative. So Mr. Judson accordingly accepted Captain Hamlin’s
kind offer, and decided to set sail for that island, to which he had
repaired nearly thirty years before when he had been driven from Bengal
by the East India Company. But before leaving Serampore the fond parents
were compelled to lay in the grave the form of little Henry, their
youngest child. Mr. Judson thus describes this mournful event in a
letter to his mother and sister:

                                       “SERAMPORE, _August_ 1, 1841.

  “I wrote you on the 24th ultimo. Perhaps this letter will go by the
  same conveyance. Wife went down to Calcutta, for a few days, to do a
  little business, leaving the two younger children with me. On the 27th
  dear little Henry’s disorder took an unfavorable turn. He had derived
  less benefit from the voyage and change than the other children, being
  too young to have his mind engaged and diverted, which greatly
  contributes to bodily recovery; and being considered less dangerously
  ill than the others, had, perhaps, less attention paid him than was
  desirable. His disorder had continued to hold on, though at times
  greatly mitigated. On the 28th he grew worse, and I wrote down for his
  mother, and in the evening began to despair of his life. On the 29th
  the doctor gave him up; and my only prayer was, that he might not die
  before his mother arrived. Oh, what heavy hours now passed! She
  arrived with the other children in the night, about two o’clock, and
  sprang to the cradle of the little sufferer, and could not think that
  he was really in a dying state. I let her take her own way, and she
  contrived to give him a little wine and water, which, however, could
  be of no avail; and when morning came, the marks of death on the
  countenance were too visible for even the unwilling mother to refuse
  to acknowledge. We spent the day hanging over our dying babe, and
  giving him some liquid, for which he was always calling, to relieve
  his burning thirst. When I said, ‘Henry, my son,’ he would raise his
  sinking eyelids, and try to stretch out his little arms for me to take
  him; but he could not bear to be held more than a moment before he
  would cry to be laid down again. Oh, how restless did he spend his
  last day, rolling from side to side, and crying out, ‘_Nahnee_,’ his
  imperfect pronunciation of _naughty_, by which term he was in the
  habit of expressing his disapprobation or dissatisfaction. In the
  afternoon he became convulsed for a few moments, and our hearts were
  rent to witness the distortion of his dear little mouth and face.
  After that he was more quiet; but toward evening he probably had some
  violent stroke of death, for he suddenly screamed out in great pain.
  In the evening he had another turn of convulsion. His mother lay down
  by his side, and, worn out with fatigue, fell fast asleep. About nine
  o’clock I had gone into another room, and was lying down, when a
  servant called me. He began to breathe loud, indicative of the closing
  scene. I let the mother sleep—sat down by his side, and presently
  called, as usual, ‘Henry, my son’; upon which he opened his eyes, and
  looked at me more intelligently and affectionately than he had been
  able to do for some time; but the effort was too great, and he ceased
  to breathe. I instantly awoke his mother; he then gave two or three
  expiring gasps, and it was all over. I stripped the little emaciated
  body, and washed it, while his mother, with the help of a servant,
  made a suitable gown; and by eleven o’clock he was laid out in the
  same cradle in which he died. For a few days Elnathan had been ill
  with a severe cough and fever, and my attention had been divided
  between the two. After poor Henry was quiet, we turned all our
  attention to the others. The two elder children were much better. Next
  morning we had a coffin made, in which we placed our dear child; and
  sometimes, when other avocations permitted, looked at him through the
  day. And oh, how sweet was his dead face! though there was an
  expression of pain lurking in some of the features. At night a few of
  our friends came together, and we carried the coffin to the mission
  burial-ground, where, after a prayer by Mr. Mack, the body was
  deposited in its final resting-place. Farewell, my darling son Henry.
  While thy little body rests in the grave, I trust that thy spirit,
  through the grace of Jesus Christ, is resting in Paradise. We intend
  to order a small monument erected with this inscription: ‘The grave of
  Henry Judson, youngest son of the Rev. A. Judson, of Maulmain, who
  died July 30, 1841, aged one year and seven months.’

  “Elnathan was very ill last night, and is not much better to-day. We
  tremble for him. The vessel in which we are going to the Isle of
  France, we hear, is to remain a few days longer, so that I will add a
  further line before leaving.

  “CALCUTTA, _August 6_. We have come down to this place with a view to
  embarking; but the vessel is still detained. Elnathan appears to be
  very ill, with a complication of complaints. We are in great distress
  about him. The two elder children continue better.

                               “In haste, yours affectionately,
                                                          A. JUDSON.

  “_August 13._ We are still waiting the moving of the vessel, but shall
  positively go on board the 16th. Elnathan is much better, so that we
  hope the danger of losing him is past. The other children continue to
  improve. Farewell for the present.

  “P. S.—I enclose a small lock of poor dear Henry’s hair. We are very
  sad whenever we think of that bright, sweet boy. It was the will of
  God that he should be taken from us; so we must be resigned, and I
  hope that he is now waiting to welcome us to the Paradise where, we
  trust, he has safely arrived. Two vessels have just come in from
  America, but we have got nothing from you. Perhaps there may be a
  letter or some box which will be forwarded to Maulmain.”

Bidding farewell to the newly-made grave, Mr. and Mrs. Judson, with
their sick children, embarked on board the _Ramsay_, Captain Hamlin. The
voyage to the Isle of France occupied about six weeks, and as the
monsoon was drawing to a close, the storms were very frequent, sudden
and severe. Mr. Judson writes under date of August 22, 1841:

  “DEAR MRS. H.: We are on board the _Ramsay_, pitching most fearfully.
  We have been lying several days waiting for the weather, and have now
  got up anchor, so that I am writing a line or two to send back by the
  pilot.”

And Mrs. Judson thus records their experience:

  “Could you now look on our dismasted vessel you would indeed say, she
  is a ‘ship in distress.’ For the last three days we have had the most
  frightful squalls I ever experienced; and yesterday two top-masts, a
  top-gallant mast, and the jib-boom, with all their sails, were torn
  away, causing a tremendous crash. For the last two nights I have not
  closed my eyes to sleep, and I find it quite impossible to sleep now.
  I have, therefore, taken my pen, though the vessel rolls so that I
  fear my writing will be quite illegible. Do not infer from anything I
  have said that I am suffering from terror; my wakefulness has been
  occasioned only by bodily discomfort, arising from the violent tossing
  of the vessel. I thank God that I feel perfectly calm and resigned;
  and I can leave myself and my dear family in His hands, with a feeling
  of perfect peace and composure.”

But this voyage, severe as it was, proved very beneficial to the
invalids, and, after spending a month in Port Louis, they returned to
Maulmain, where they arrived on December 10, in greatly improved health.

Captain Hamlin declined to receive any compensation for the passage from
Calcutta to Maulmain _via_ the Isle of France, although a fair charge
for the double voyage would have been two thousand rupees, or about one
thousand dollars. The four hundred rupees which Mr. Judson sent him,
merely as an expression of his gratitude, were returned, the noble
sailor saying that he considered it a privilege to have been able to
show some kindness to the servants of Christ. Mr. Judson wrote at once
to the Board, suggesting that they should send to the captain a formal
letter of thanks, together with a present, “say of a set of the
‘Comprehensive Commentary,’” to be addressed to Captain Thomas Hamlin,
Jr., Greenock, Scotland. The following interesting incidents relating to
this voyage found their way into a pamphlet, compiled by “John Simpson,
Minister of the Gospel, Greenock”:

  “After remaining about four weeks in Bombay, the _Ramsay_ sailed for
  Maulmain, in Burmah, and from thence to Calcutta. During these
  passages some favorable impressions seemed to have been produced in
  the minds of the crew; and on their arrival at Calcutta they conducted
  themselves with greater propriety than at any of the former ports;
  here they regularly attended the floating chapel. Whilst the ship was
  at Calcutta, the captain paid a visit to the Baptist missionary
  establishment at Serampore. There he fell in with the indefatigable
  missionary, Dr. Judson, from Burmah, who was at Serampore with his
  family for the improvement of their health. As the _Ramsay_ was
  shortly to sail for the Island of Mauritius, and from thence to
  Maulmain—Dr. Judson’s residence—Captain Hamlin kindly offered them a
  passage, in the hope that it would be conducive to the object they had
  in view. Having accepted the offer thus generously made to him and his
  family, Dr. Judson felt a strong desire to be useful to the seamen, in
  whose dangers he was about to share. He made it a matter of prayer to
  God that he might be instrumental in turning some of them from the
  error of their ways; and, before going on board, expressed a
  conviction that God Had heard him, and that He would answer him in
  communicating His grace to some, if not to all, of the crew. After
  putting to sea, worship was conducted by Dr. Judson and the captain
  alternately; but on the Sabbaths the whole of the services were
  conducted by the doctor. Possessing all his mental vigor, and his
  ardent love for souls having suffered no abatement, he availed himself
  of these opportunities, in addition to private instruction, to promote
  the great end he had in view, and for which he had so earnestly
  prayed, previously to his embarking on board the _Ramsay_. His manner
  of address was of the most touching description, and seldom failed in
  making the big tear roll down the weather-beaten cheeks of his hardy
  auditors. It soon became apparent that he was not laboring in vain,
  nor spending his strength for nought. Before their arrival at the
  Mauritius, three of the seamen gave pleasing evidence of being
  converted to God. During their stay at the Mauritius, public worship
  was held on board every Sabbath, and was well attended, both by seamen
  and landsmen. Religion was in a languid state amongst the inhabitants
  generally. There were, however, a few who seemed concerned for the
  advancement of Christ’s kingdom, and by them it had been in
  contemplation to fit up a seaman’s chapel. They had even gone so far
  as to make application to the late benevolent governor, Sir Lionel
  Smith, for the use of an old ship lying there, belonging to
  Government; the application had been favorably received; still nothing
  had been done toward effecting the object they had in view, till the
  captain of the _Ramsay_, hearing how matters stood, set about raising
  subscriptions toward fitting up the said vessel as a Bethel; he
  likewise presented another memorial to the governor, but was obliged
  to leave at this time, without seeing the work accomplished.

  “Leaving the Island of Mauritius, their next port of destination was
  Maulmain, in Burmah. On the passage, the usual religious services were
  attended to; and, in addition to the ordinary meetings, an extra one,
  for prayer and exhortation, was held every Wednesday evening, and
  conducted by the seamen who had professed the name of Christ. This
  meeting was the means of effecting much good. Amongst other things
  which came before their minds was the subject of baptism. By a
  diligent perusal of the word of God, and the instructions of Dr.
  Judson, the new converts were convinced that baptism by immersion was
  the Scriptural mode, and that it was their duty, as believers in
  Christ, to be baptized in His name. Hence they determined, with the
  captain—who had doubts regarding the truth of infant baptism, before
  his leaving home—to be baptized on the first convenient opportunity
  after reaching Maulmain. Accordingly, on the first Sabbath after their
  arrival, the captain, mate, and two of the seamen, together with a
  Burmese female, were ‘buried with Christ by baptism,’ in presence of a
  large assemblage of natives and others, who appeared to take a deep
  interest in all the solemn services that were attended to. The
  ordinance was administered by Dr. Judson.

  “At Maulmain there are two Baptist churches—one for the natives, which
  is supplied by Dr. Judson; the other for Europeans, etc., which is
  supplied by assistant missionaries. Both churches were in a
  flourishing condition. The missionary work was being zealously
  prosecuted, and many of the heathen were renouncing their idols and
  embracing the Saviour. The labors of the missionaries had been
  eminently successful among the Karen tribe. Whilst at Maulmain, the
  captain and mate paid a visit to one of the villages of these
  interesting people. On their arrival they found the chief—who acts
  also as their spiritual teacher—with nearly the whole of the
  villagers, busily engaged in their rice-fields. On the _gong_ being
  sounded, which was the signal for the arrival of the missionaries,
  they flocked into the native chapel; and, after greeting
  affectionately their teachers, they turned to the captain and mate,
  and asked their chief, ‘Do these men love Christ?’ Being answered in
  the affirmative, they received them with much cordiality, and, on
  their departure, loaded their boat with fruit, etc., etc.

  “The _Ramsay_ remained at Maulmain eight weeks, during which time the
  intercourse of the crew with the Christians on shore was of the most
  pleasing description. The evening before they sailed from this place,
  Dr. Judson delivered a farewell address on board the _Ramsay_, which
  produced a deep and solemn impression. All were melted into tears, as
  was the case with Dr. Judson himself. He alluded to the providential
  manner in which he had been brought amongst them, the many happy and
  profitable hours he had spent in their society, the converting grace
  of God which they had all been privileged to witness, and some to
  experience; and those who professed the faith he exhorted ‘that with
  purpose of heart they would cleave unto the Lord’; and those who had
  still held out against the entreaties of melting mercy he besought to
  be reconciled to God. After engaging in solemn prayer for all on
  board, and giving them his parting blessing, he retired, whilst, like
  Paul’s Christian brethren at Ephesus, ‘they sorrowed most of all for
  the words which he spake, that they should see his face no more.’”

Soon after Mr. and Mrs. Judson and their three children returned to
Maulmain, Henry Hall Judson[57] was born July 8, 1842. He was named
after the little boy whom they had left in his lonely grave at
Serampore.

About this time Mr. Judson heard of the death of his venerable mother,
who departed this life at Plymouth, Mass., in the eighty-third year of
her age. His father and brother Elnathan had died before; and his sister
Abigail was now left alone at Plymouth.

And now there was pressed upon Mr. Judson a great task, and one from
which he had long shrank. The Board at home urgently desired him to
undertake the compilation of a Burman dictionary. His heart longed to be
engaged in direct individual work, winning souls to Christ. He had no
relish for the seclusion which the work of translation required. Years
before, he had written:

  “In regard to a dictionary, I do not see how I can possibly undertake
  it. And if you consider my situation a moment, you will, I am
  persuaded, be of my opinion.... Must this population of twenty
  thousand be left to perish without any effort to save them, except
  what is made by a few very inefficient native assistants? Ought there
  not to be a preaching missionary in this great, growing place?”

But no one else seemed qualified for this task, and the failure of his
voice imperatively forbade his preaching. And so, with the utmost
reluctance, he turned toward a work which was to occupy a large part of
his time during the rest of his life. Under date of April 17, 1843, he
writes, “I am chiefly occupied in the Burman dictionary, at the repeated
suggestion of the Board,” and he addressed the following letter to the
Corresponding Secretary:

                                         “MAULMAIN, _July_ 13, 1843.

  “I never think without some uneasiness of the infrequency of my
  communications to the Board; and if I had not an apology at hand, I
  should feel self-condemned. A person employed in direct missionary
  work among the natives, especially if his employ is somewhat
  itinerant, can easily make long and interesting journals. The first
  epithet, at least, may be applied to some of my earlier
  communications. But it has been my lot, for many years past, to spend
  most of my time over the study-table; and my itinerating has scarcely
  extended beyond the limits of my morning walks and the precincts of
  the mission inclosure. Several years were spent in translating the
  Bible, and several more in revising it and carrying the last edition
  through the press. After which, in May last year, I commenced a
  dictionary of the language, a work which I had resolved and
  re-resolved never to touch. But it is not in man that walketh to
  direct his steps. The Board and my brethren repeatedly urged me to
  prepare a dictionary, the one printed in 1826 being exceedingly
  imperfect; and as Burmah continued shut against our labors, and there
  were several missionaries in this place, I concluded that I could not
  do better than to comply.

  “We are apt to magnify the importance of any undertaking in which we
  are warmly engaged. Perhaps it is from the influence of that
  principle, that, notwithstanding my long-cherished aversion to the
  work, I have come to think it very important; and that, having seen
  the accomplishment of two objects on which I had set my heart when I
  first came out to the East, the establishment of a church of converted
  natives and the translation of the Bible into their language, I now
  beguile my daily toil with the prospect of compassing a third, which
  may be compared to a causeway, designed to facilitate the transmission
  of all knowledge, religious and scientific, from one people to the
  other.

  “It was my first intention to make a single work, Burmese and English;
  but as I proceeded, I discovered many reasons for constructing a
  double work, in two parts, the first English and Burmese, the second
  Burmese and English. I hope, by daily, uninterrupted labor, to have
  the whole ready for the press by the end of 1845. Not, indeed, that I
  count on living so long. Above thirty years spent in a tropical
  climate—to-day is the twenty-ninth anniversary of my arrival in
  Burmah—leaves but little ground to build future plans upon. But I feel
  it my duty to plod on, while daylight shall last, looking out for the
  night, and ready to bequeath both the plodding and the profit to any
  brother who shall be willing to carry on and complete the work when I
  shall have obtained my discharge.”

-----

Footnote 46:

  Forbes, in his “British Burmah.”

Footnote 47:

  Mrs. Webb.

Footnote 48:

  The reader is referred to Mrs. E. C. Judson’s charming memoir of Mrs.
  Sarah B. Judson.

Footnote 49:

  George Dana Boardman, D.D., Pastor of the First Baptist Church,
  Philadelphia.

Footnote 50:

  See page 110.

Footnote 51:

    Burman tracts.

Footnote 52:

  See page 405.

Footnote 53:

  Now the principal of a ladies’ school in Minneapolis.

Footnote 54:

  Now a physician in New York City.

Footnote 55:

  Pwen, a flower. A name given to Adoniram by the natives.

Footnote 56:

  The child died shortly afterward at Serampore.

Footnote 57:

  At present living in Plymouth, Mass.




                              CHAPTER XI.
                           VISIT TO AMERICA.
                               1845-1846.


While thus plodding on in his gigantic task of compiling a Burman
dictionary, Mr. Judson found it necessary to embark on a voyage to his
native land. Thirty-two years had elapsed since the memorable nineteenth
of February, 1812, when he and Mrs. Judson had stood on the deck of the
brig _Caravan_, and watched the rocky shores of New England fade out of
their sight. The young man of twenty-four had become a veteran of
fifty-seven. Again and again he had been invited by the Board to revisit
his beloved native land and recruit his wasting forces, but he had
steadily declined. More than five years before, he had received the
following urgent invitation from the Corresponding Secretary:

             “BAPTIST MISSIONARY ROOMS, BOSTON, _December_ 18, 1839.

  “MY DEAR BROTHER: At the meeting of the Board on the 2d instant, your
  letter to Mr. Lincoln, of May 1, having been read, it was unanimously
  resolved to invite you to revisit this country, with a view to the
  restoration of your health. The invitation was intended to extend to
  your wife and children, should you judge it advisable for them to
  accompany you.

  “This resolution, it gives me much pleasure to add, was adopted not
  only with great cordiality, but with many expressions of the kindest
  interest and sympathy, and with the universal desire that, if your
  health should continue as it was at the date of your letter, you would
  comply with it by the earliest opportunity. It is due not only to you,
  but to us, and to the general cause of missions, that all suitable
  means be employed to re-establish your health, and no considerations
  of expense or obloquy, incurred by the frequent return of
  missionaries, should deter you from adopting them.

  “You will perceive that, in making this proposal, the Board have no
  respect to the good which might result from your personal intercourse
  with them, or others who are interested in missions, but which, they
  trust, would be of great service to them and to the cause at large.
  The _main_ object would be gained if, by a double voyage, your health
  should be so far restored as to enable you to continue your labors at
  the desk, and for at least a few years longer supervise the
  publication of the Scriptures and such other works as your knowledge
  of Burman and of the Burmese character peculiarly qualify you to
  prepare.

  “May the God of missions guide you by His good Spirit in all your way,
  and of His great goodness restore and preserve your health and
  usefulness for a long time yet to come.

                        “Affectionately and truly yours,
                                                “S. PECK, For. Sec.”

Nevertheless the faithful missionary had worked patiently on, refusing
to leave his field. At last, however, a return to America became
imperative in order to preserve Mrs. Judson’s life. After the birth of
two children, Charles,[58] born December 18, 1843, and Edward, born
December 27, 1844, her health rapidly declined. She had taken several
short journeys along the coast without receiving any permanent benefit.
On one of these trips she was accompanied by her eldest child, Abby, who
was about ten years old, and also by the little invalid, Charlie. Mr.
Judson with his four boys, Adoniram, Elnathan, Henry, and the infant
Edward, were left behind at Maulmain. A glimpse of the missionary’s
home-life is afforded in a letter which Abby received on this occasion
from her absent father:

                                         “MAULMAIN, _March_ 9, 1845.

  “MY DEAR DAUGHTER: Your letters to me and your brothers, together with
  the shells from Mergui, arrived this afternoon in the Burmese box,
  which mamma sent by the steamer. The boys are delighted with the
  shells, and Henry has picked out some for his own; and they have
  agreed to give me for my share the large coral shell. They have
  already written some letters to you, and mamma, and Charlie, which I
  shall send by return of steamer; and perhaps they will add some more,
  as this is such a favorable opportunity. It is now between eight and
  nine o’clock in the evening. I have had a little meeting with Adoniram
  and Elnathan, and now they are asleep. Edward has become a fat little
  fellow; I am sure you would not know him again. He begins to look
  pleased when he is played with. But he has not yet made any inquiries
  about his absent mother and sister. Indeed, I doubt much whether he is
  aware that he has any such relatives. Or if he ever exercises his mind
  on such abstruse topics, perhaps he fancies that black Ah-mah is his
  mother, since she nurses him, and does not know what a fair,
  beautiful, fond mother he has at Mergui, who thinks of him every day.
  However, when he gets larger, we will tell him all about these
  matters.

  “I am getting the carpenters to make a new cot for you, longer than
  your old one. That I have given to Adoniram, and his to Elnathan. Both
  the kittens are dead, and the old yellow cat has been missing for
  several days. She was very thin, and apparently very ill, when we last
  saw her. So I suppose she crept away into some secret place and lay
  down and died. Alas! poor pussy!

  “I pray every day that somewhere during your travels with dear mamma
  you may receive a blessing from God, so that you will return a true
  Christian, and set such an example before your brothers as will induce
  them to try to follow your steps. Think of the dear Saviour every day,
  and frequently lift up your heart in fervent prayer to God, that He
  will give you His converting, sanctifying grace, and make you His own
  child. Try to subdue every evil passion, and avoid all bad conduct.
  _If you trust in the Saviour and try to be good, He will make you
  good._ In your daily deportment and intercourse with others, remember
  these two lines:

                 “‘Sweet in _temper_, _face_, and _word_,
                   To please an ever-present Lord.’

                                          “Your affectionate father.

  “Love to dear Charlie.”

But, as has already been stated, these short trips along the Tenasserim
coast[59] proved quite unavailing. Mrs. Judson’s condition was almost
desperate, and the only hope of saving this precious life lay in a
voyage to America. Her husband writes sadly to the Corresponding
Secretary:

  “The hand of God is heavy upon me. The complaint to which Mrs. Judson
  is subject has become so violent that it is the unanimous opinion of
  all the medical men, and indeed of all our friends, that nothing but a
  voyage beyond the tropics can possibly protract her life beyond the
  period of a few weeks, but that such a voyage will, in all
  probability, insure her recovery. All medical skill has been
  exhausted. She has spent six weeks with our commissioner and his lady
  in a trip down the coast, touching at Tavoy and Mergui, and returned
  weaker and nearer the grave than when she set out. She is willing to
  die, and I hope I am willing to see her die, if it be the Divine will;
  but though my wife, it is no more than truth to say that there is
  scarcely an individual foreigner now alive who speaks and writes the
  Burmese tongue so acceptably as she does; and I feel that an effort
  ought to be made to save her life. I have long fought against the
  necessity of accompanying her; but she is now so desperately weak, and
  almost helpless, that all say it would be nothing but savage
  inhumanity to send her off alone. The three younger children, the
  youngest but three months and a half old, we must leave behind us,
  casting them, as it were, on the waters, in the hope of finding them
  after many days. The three elder, Abby Ann, Adoniram, and Elnathan, we
  take with us, to leave in their parents’ native land. These rendings
  of parental ties are more severe, and wring out bitterer tears from
  the heart’s core, than any can possibly conceive who have never felt
  the wrench. But I hope I can say with truth that I love Christ above
  all; and I am striving, in the strength of my weak faith, to gird up
  my mind to face and welcome all His appointments. And I am much helped
  to bear these trials by the advice and encouragement of all my dear
  brethren and sisters of the mission.

  “It is another great trial to leave my dear church and people. I never
  knew till now how much I loved them, and how much they loved me.

                  “‘And ’tis to love, our farewells owe
                    All their emphasis of woe.’

  “But I leave them in the hands of my dear brethren, and there are no
  persons in the world to whom I should be so willing to commit so dear
  a charge....

  “Another great trial, not so much as it regards feeling as it regards
  the anticipated result of long-protracted labor, is the interruption
  which the heavy work of the Burmese dictionary, in which I have been
  engaged for two or three years, must sustain; and such is the state of
  my manuscripts, that if I should die before this work is completed, or
  at least carried forward to a much more advanced stage, all my
  previous labor would be nearly or quite lost. But I am endeavoring to
  obviate this difficulty in some degree, by taking with me my two
  assistants in that department, whose hearts God has graciously
  inclined to leave their families and accompany me. They are both
  Christians, the one a settled character, a convert of long standing,
  formerly a Government writer in Rangoon; the other a nephew of the
  late premier of the court of Ava, a person of noble extraction, and
  though not a tried Christian, I hope a sincere one. And it is my
  purpose to devote some hours every day, whether on the sea or land, to
  the work mentioned. I shall be induced to persevere in this purpose
  while in America, from the fact that I am unable to travel about the
  country as an agent and preach in the English language. The course
  that I have uniformly pursued, ever since I became a missionary, has
  been rather peculiar. In order to become an acceptable and eloquent
  preacher in a foreign language, I deliberately abjured my own. When I
  crossed the river, I burned my ships. For thirty-two years I have
  scarcely entered an English pulpit or made a speech in that language.
  Whether I have pursued the wisest course, I will not contend; and how
  far I have attained the object aimed at, I must leave for others to
  say. But whether right or wrong, the course I have taken can not be
  retraced. The burned ships can not now be reconstructed. From long
  desuetude, I can scarcely put three sentences together in the English
  language.[60] I must therefore beg the Board to allow me a quiet
  corner, where I can pursue my work with my assistants undisturbed and
  unknown.

  “This request I am induced to urge from the further consideration that
  my voice, though greatly recovered from the affection of the lungs,
  which laid me aside from preaching nearly a year, is still so weak
  that it can only fill a small room; and whenever I attempt to raise it
  above the conversational tone, the weak place gives way, and I am
  quite broken down again for several weeks. I hope, therefore, that no
  one will try to persuade me to be guilty of such imprudence while in
  America; but since there are thousands of preachers in English, and
  only five or six Burmese preachers in the whole world, I may be
  allowed to hoard up the remnant of my breath and lungs for the country
  where they are most needed.”...

On April 26, 1845, Mr. and Mrs. Judson, with the three elder children,
Abby, Adoniram, and Elnathan, embarked on the ship _Paragon_ bound for
London. They were accompanied by two Burman assistants, as it was Mr.
Judson’s purpose to spend a portion of each day upon the Burman
dictionary. The three younger children, Henry, Charles, and Edward, as
has been said, were left behind in the tender care of the missionaries
at Maulmain. The first part of the voyage was so rough that the vessel
sprang aleak, and the captain determined to put in at the Isle of
France; and on July 5th the ship, with its precious freight, arrived at
Port Louis. Mrs. Judson had so far improved in health that the two
missionaries formed the purpose of separating, as it was thought that
Mrs. Judson would now be able to continue the voyage to America alone,
while Mr. Judson should return to his work in Maulmain. It would be hard
to find a parallel for this instance of heroic self-sacrifice. Of these
two returning missionaries, one was a poor, shattered invalid,
consenting to forego her beloved husband’s society and to take the long
westward journey in solitude; the other relinquishing the prospect of
again seeing his native land after an absence of thirty-three years, and
leaving the side of his sick wife the moment his presence seemed no
longer indispensable, that he might resume his labors among the
perishing Burmans. It was under these circumstances that Mrs. Judson
wrote the pathetic lines which shall be recited for a memorial of her
wheresoever the Gospel shall be preached in the whole world:

                “We part on this green islet, love,—
                  Thou for the eastern main,
                I for the setting sun, love,
                  O, when to meet again!

                “My heart is sad for thee, love,
                  For lone thy way will be;
                And oft thy tears will fall, love,
                  For thy children and for me.

                “The music of thy daughter’s voice
                  Thou’lt miss for many a year;
                And the merry shout of thine elder boys
                  Thou’lt list in vain to hear.

                “When we knelt to see our Henry die,
                  And heard his last, faint moan,
                Each wiped the tear from other’s eye;
                  Now each must weep alone.

                “My tears fall fast for thee, love;
                  How can I say, Farewell!
                But go; thy God be with thee, love,
                  Thy heart’s deep grief to quell.

                “Yet my spirit clings to thine, love;
                  Thy soul remains with me,
                And oft we’ll hold communion sweet
                  O’er the dark and distant sea.

                “And who can paint our mutual joy,
                  When, all our wanderings o’er,
                We both shall clasp our infants three
                  At home, on Burmah’s shore!

                “But higher shall our raptures glow,
                  On yon celestial plain,
                When the loved and parted here below
                  Meet, ne’er to part again.

                “Then gird thine armor on, love,
                  Nor faint thou by the way.
                Till Buddh shall fall, and Burmah’s sons
                  Shall own Messiah’s sway.”

The two native assistants were therefore sent back to Maulmain, and Mr.
Judson expected to follow them as soon as he had seen Mrs. Judson fairly
on board ship for America. But she experienced a severe relapse, which
reduced her strength lower than ever before; and Mr. Judson was soon
convinced that it would be impossible for him to leave her, and,
although he bitterly regretted the loss of his assistants, he felt
obliged, after spending three weeks in the Isle of France, to re-embark
with Mrs. Judson. They took passage with Captain Codman, of the ship
_Sophia Walker_, which was bound directly for the United States. On the
25th of July they sailed from Port Louis, and after a time Mrs. Judson
again appeared to be recovering. But the appearance proved deceptive.
There came another dreadful relapse, which soon terminated in death.

  “In the cold weather off the Cape of Good Hope,” Mr. Judson writes,
  “my hopes became again very sanguine. But she never really recovered
  from her last prostration, and, though sometimes better, continued, on
  the whole, to decline, until we neared St. Helena, when I gave up all
  hope of her recovery. She lingered a few days, while the vessel was
  detained in port, until the 1st instant, when, at three o’clock in the
  morning, she obtained her release from further suffering, and entered,
  I trust, into the joy of her Lord. She was buried in the afternoon of
  the same day; and in the evening we were again at sea.”

Fuller details of this mournful event are given in the appended letter
and obituary notice written by Mr. Judson in a letter to a friend at
Port Louis:

                   “ON PASSAGE FROM ST. HELENA, _September_ 2, 1845.

  “MY DEAR FRIEND: I shall have no opportunity of sending this till
  after my arrival in the United States; so that you will probably have
  heard of Mrs. Judson’s death before receiving this line. I was so
  overwhelmed with my distress while at St. Helena, that it never
  occurred to me to write a line to any of my friends. My dear wife
  continued to decline after leaving the Isle of France. Neither the
  best medical advice, nor the most careful nursing on my part, nor any
  change of climate, seemed to have much salutary effect. When we
  reached St. Helena I had given up all hope of her recovery. That took
  place on the 26th of August. The vessel remained a few days. She
  lingered along till the first, that is, yesterday, at three o’clock in
  the morning, when her spirit took its final flight. The body was
  carried on shore in the afternoon, and interred in the public
  burial-ground, by the side of Mrs. Chater, long a missionary at
  Ceylon, who died on her passage home. The funeral was attended by a
  crowd of friends, though we were entire strangers in the place. We
  were surprised to find several pious persons under the pastoral care
  of the Rev. Mr. Bertram, an excellent, zealous missionary. They took
  me and the children to their houses and their hearts, and their
  consoling conversation and sympathizing prayers, in the hour of my
  distress, afforded wonderful relief. Would you believe that these
  pious friends and the captain of our ship defrayed all the expenses of
  the funeral? They even had mourning suits made for the children, and
  sent off to the ship! But I was obliged to leave them all the same
  evening; and this morning, the rock of the ocean, where reposes all
  that is mortal of my dear, dear wife, was out of sight. And O, how
  desolate my cabin appears, and how dreary the way before me! But I
  have the great consolation that she died in peace, longing to depart
  and be with Christ. She had some desire, being on her passage home, to
  see her parents, and relatives, and friends, after twenty years’
  absence; but the love of Christ sustained her to the last. When near
  dying, I congratulated her on the prospect of soon beholding the
  Saviour in all His glory; and she eagerly replied, ‘What can I want
  beside?’... May we who remain have grace to follow those who, through
  faith, inherit the promises.”

                  _Obituary of Mrs. Sarah B. Judson._

  “Sarah Boardman Judson was born at Alstead, in the State of New
  Hampshire, November 4, 1803. She was the eldest child of Ralph and
  Abiah Hall. While Sarah was but a child, her parents removed from
  Alstead to Danvers, and subsequently to Salem, in the State of
  Massachusetts. In the latter place she received her education, and
  continued to reside until she was married to the Rev. George Dana
  Boardman, July 4, 1825, with whom she embarked in the same month for
  the East Indies, to join the American missionaries in Burmah. After
  residing some time at Calcutta and at Maulmain, they settled at Tavoy,
  April 1, 1828. During her residence in Calcutta and Tavoy she had
  three children, of whom one only, George Dana Boardman, Jr., born
  August 18, 1828, survives her. She lost her husband February 11, 1831,
  and was married again to Adoniram Judson, of Maulmain, April 10, 1834.
  At Maulmain she became the mother of eight children, of whom five
  survive her. After the birth of her last child, in December, 1844, she
  was attacked with chronic diarrhœa, from which she had suffered much
  in the early part of her missionary life. When, in the progress of the
  disease, it became evident that nothing but a long voyage and an
  entire change of climate could save her life, she embarked, with her
  husband and three elder children, for the United States, April 26,
  1845. The voyage was at first attended with encouraging results, but
  finally proved unavailing, and she departed this life on shipboard, in
  the port of St. Helena, September 1, 1845.

  “Like multitudes in the highly-favored land of her nativity, she was
  blessed with early religious advantages, and in her youth became the
  subject of serious impressions. When about sixteen years of age,
  during a revival of religion in Salem, she entertained a hope,
  received baptism at the hands of her pastor, the Rev. Dr. Bolles, and
  became a member of his church. Her religious attainments, however,
  were not of a distinguished order, and though her amiable disposition
  and her deep interest in missions, especially after her acquaintance
  with Mr. Boardman, gave her an elevated tone of character, she
  subsequently felt that at that period she hardly deserved the name of
  a sincere Christian. And it was not until she was called to part with
  her eldest child, at Tavoy, in 1829, and to pass through scenes of
  great danger and suffering during the Tavoy rebellion, that she was
  enabled to live a life of faith on the Son of God.

                  “‘Sweet affliction, sweet affliction,
                    That brings near to Jesus’ feet.’

  “In regard to her missionary qualifications and labors, I may state
  that she applied herself with great assiduity to the study of the
  Burmese language, in which, in conversation, prayer, and writing, she
  acquired an uncommon degree of correctness, fluency, and power. She
  was in the habit of conducting a prayer-meeting of the female members
  of the church every week, and also another meeting for the study of
  the Scriptures. Her acquaintance with, and attachment to, the Burmese
  Bible were rather extraordinary. She professed to take more pleasure
  and derive more profit from the perusal of that translation than from
  the English, and to enjoy preaching in the native chapel more than in
  any other. Her translation of the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ part first,
  into Burmese, is one of the best pieces of composition which we have
  yet published. Her translation of Mr. Boardman’s ‘Dying Father’s
  Advice’ has become one of our standard tracts; and her hymns in
  Burmese, about twenty in number, are probably the best in our ‘Chapel
  Hymn Book’—a work which she was appointed by the mission to edit.
  Besides these works, she published four volumes of Scripture
  questions, which are in constant use in our Sabbath-schools. The last
  work of her life, and one which she accomplished in the midst of
  overwhelming family cares, and under the pressure of declining health,
  was a series of Sunday cards, each accompanied with a short hymn,
  adapted to the leading subject of the card.

  “Besides her acquaintance with the Burmese language, she had, in past
  years, when there was no missionary in the Peguan department, acquired
  a competent knowledge of that language, and translated, or
  superintended the translation of the New Testament and the principal
  Burmese tracts into Peguan. But when a missionary was appointed to
  that department, she transferred her work to him, and gladly confined
  herself to the Burmese.

  “Something, also, might be said with regard to her labors in the Karen
  wilderness east of Tavoy, especially during the years of her
  widowhood, when she made toilsome journeys among the mountains,
  sometimes amid drenching rains, and always with many privations, and
  where, notwithstanding that she was wholly opposed to the principle of
  females acting the part of ministers, she was frequently obliged to
  conduct worship in the Karen assemblies.

  “Her bereaved husband is the more desirous of bearing this testimony
  to her various attainments, her labors, and her worth, from the fact
  that her own unobtrusive and retiring disposition always led her to
  seek the shade, as well as from the fact that she was often brought
  into comparison with one whose life and character were uncommonly
  interesting and brilliant. The memoir of his first beloved wife has
  been long before the public. It is, therefore, most gratifying to his
  feelings to be able to say, in truth, that the subject of this notice
  was, in every point of natural and moral excellence, the worthy
  successor of Ann H. Judson. He constantly thanks God that he has been
  blessed with two of the best of wives; he deeply feels that he has not
  improved these rich blessings as he ought, and it is most painful to
  reflect that, from the peculiar pressure of the missionary life, he
  has sometimes failed to treat those dear beings with that
  consideration, attention, and kindness which their situation in a
  foreign heathen land ever demanded.

  “But, to show the forgiving and grateful disposition of the subject of
  this brief sketch, and somewhat to elucidate her character, he would
  add that, a few days before her death, he called her children to her
  bedside, and said, in their hearing, ‘I wish, my love, to ask pardon
  for every unkind word or deed of which I have ever been guilty. I feel
  that I have, in many instances, failed of treating you with that
  kindness and affection which you have ever deserved.’ ‘O,’ said she,
  ‘you will kill me if you talk so. It is I that should ask pardon of
  you; and I only want to get well that I may have an opportunity of
  making some return for all your kindness, and of showing you how much
  I love you.’

  “This recollection of her dying bed leads me to say a few words
  relative to the closing scenes of her life. After her prostration at
  the Isle of France, where we spent three weeks, there remained but
  little expectation of her recovery. Her hope had long been fixed on
  the Rock of Ages, and she had been in the habit of contemplating death
  as neither distant nor undesirable. As it drew near, she remained
  perfectly tranquil. No shade of doubt, or fear, or anxiety, ever
  passed over her mind. She had a prevailing preference to depart and be
  with Christ. ‘I am longing to depart,’ and ‘What can I want beside?’
  quoting the language of a familiar hymn, were the expressions which
  revealed the spiritual peace and joy of her mind; yet, at times, the
  thought of her native land, to which she was approaching, after an
  absence of twenty years, and a longing desire to see once more her son
  George, her parents, and the friends of her youth, drew down her
  ascending soul, and constrained her to say, ‘I am in a strait betwixt
  two—let the will of God be done.’

  “In regard to her children she ever manifested the most surprising
  composure and resignation, so much so that I was once induced to say,
  ‘You seem to have forgotten the little ones we have left behind.’ ‘Can
  a mother forget?’ she replied, and was unable to proceed. During her
  last days she spent much time in praying for the early conversion of
  her children. May her living and her dying prayers draw down the
  blessing of God on their bereaved heads.

  “On our passage homeward, as the strength of Mrs. Judson gradually
  declined, I expected to be under the painful necessity of burying her
  in the sea. But it was so ordered by divine Providence, that, when the
  indications of approaching death had become strongly marked, the ship
  came to anchor in the port of St. Helena. For three days she continued
  to sink rapidly, though her bodily sufferings were not very severe.
  Her mind became liable to wander; but a single word was sufficient to
  recall and steady her recollection. On the evening of the 31st of
  August she appeared to be drawing near to the end of her pilgrimage.
  The children took leave of her, and retired to rest. I sat alone by
  the side of her bed during the hours of the night, endeavoring to
  administer relief to the distressed body and consolation to the
  departing soul. At two o’clock in the morning, wishing to obtain one
  more token of recognition, I roused her attention, and said, ‘Do you
  still love the Saviour?’ ‘O, yes,’ she replied, ‘I ever love the Lord
  Jesus Christ.’ I said again, ‘Do you still love me?’ She replied in
  the affirmative, by a peculiar expression of her own. ‘Then give me
  one more kiss’; and we exchanged that token of love for the last time.
  Another hour passed, life continued to recede, and she ceased to
  breathe. For a moment I traced her upward flight, and thought of the
  wonders which were opening to her view. I then closed her sightless
  eyes, dressed her, for the last time, in the drapery of death, and
  being quite exhausted with many sleepless nights, I threw myself down
  and slept. On awaking in the morning, I saw the children standing and
  weeping around the body of their dear mother, then, for the first
  time, inattentive to their cries. In the course of the day a coffin
  was procured from the shore, in which I placed all that remained of
  her whom I had so much loved; and after a prayer had been offered by a
  dear brother minister from the town, the Rev. Mr. Bertram, we
  proceeded in boats to the shore. There we were met by the colonial
  chaplain, and accompanied to the burial-ground by the adherents and
  friends of Mr. Bertram, and a large concourse of the inhabitants. They
  had prepared the grave in a beautiful, shady spot, contiguous to the
  grave of Mrs. Chater, a missionary from Ceylon, who had died in
  similar circumstances on her passage home. There I saw her safely
  deposited, and in the language of prayer, which we had often presented
  together at the throne of grace, I blessed God that her body had
  attained the repose of the grave and her spirit the repose of
  Paradise. After the funeral, the dear friends of Mr. Bertram took me
  to their houses and their hearts; and their conversation and prayers
  afforded me unexpected relief and consolation. But I was obliged to
  hasten on board ship, and we immediately went to sea. On the following
  morning no vestige of the island was discernible in the distant
  horizon. For a few days, in the solitude of my cabin, with my poor
  children crying around me, I could not help abandoning myself to
  heart-breaking sorrow. But the promises of the Gospel came to my aid,
  and faith stretched her view to the bright world of eternal life, and
  anticipated a happy meeting with those beloved beings whose bodies are
  mouldering at Amherst and St. Helena.

  “I exceedingly regret that there is no portrait of the second, as of
  the first Mrs. Judson. Her soft blue eye, her mild aspect, her lovely
  face, and elegant form have never been delineated on canvas. They must
  soon pass away from the memory even of her children, but they will
  remain forever enshrined in her husband’s heart.

  “To my friends at St. Helena I am under great obligation. I desire to
  thank God for having raised up in that place a most precious religious
  interest. The friends of the Redeemer rallied around an evangelical
  minister immediately on his arrival, and within a few months several
  souls were added to their number. Those dear, sympathizing, Christian
  friends received the body of the deceased from my hands as a sacred
  deposit, united with our kind captain, John Codman, Jr., of
  Dorchester, in defraying all the expenses of the funeral, and promised
  to take care of the grave, and see to the erection of the gravestones
  which I am to forward, and on which I propose to place the following
  inscription:

  “‘Sacred to the memory of Sarah B. Judson, member of the American
  Baptist mission to Burmah, formerly wife of the Rev. George D.
  Boardman, of Tavoy, and lately wife of the Rev. Adoniram Judson, of
  Maulmain, who died in this port, September 1, 1845, on her passage to
  the United States, in the forty-second year of her age, and in the
  twenty-first of her missionary life.

          “‘She sleeps sweetly here, on this rock of the ocean,
            Away from the home of her youth,
          And far from the land where, with heartfelt devotion,
            She scattered the bright beams of truth.’”

                      “Mournfully, tenderly,
                        Bear onward the dead,
                      Where the Warrior has lain,
                        Let the Christian be laid;
                      No place more befitting,
                        Oh, Rock of the sea!
                      Never such treasure
                        Was hidden in thee!

                      “Mournfully, tenderly,
                        Solemn and slow.—
                      Tears are bedewing
                        The path as ye go;
                      Kindred and strangers
                        Are mourners to-day;
                      Gently—so, gently—
                        Oh, bear her away.

                      “Mournfully, tenderly,
                        Gaze on that brow;
                      Beautiful is it
                        In quietude now!

                      One look—and then settle
                       The loved to her rest,
                      The ocean beneath her,
                       The turf on her breast.

                      “So have ye buried her—
                        Up!—and depart,
                      To life and to duty,
                        With undismayed heart!
                      Fear not; for the love
                        Of the stranger will keep
                      The casket that lies
                        In the Rock of the deep.

                      “Peace, peace to thy bosom,
                        Thou servant of God!
                      The vale thou art treading
                        Thou hast before trod:
                      Precious dust thou hast laid
                        By the Hopia-tree,
                      And treasure as precious
                        In the Rock of the sea.”[61]

                           ------------------

                                   I.

[Illustration: Fac-Simile of Mrs. Sarah B. Judson’s Handwriting.]

                                  II.

[Illustration: FAC-SIMILE OF MRS. SARAH B. JUDSON’S HANDWRITING.]

As there is no portrait in existence of Mrs. SARAH B. JUDSON, the above
fac-smile of her handwriting may interest the reader. These verses, from
Moore, were written by her on the fly-leaf of a small volume of
devotional poems, published at Philadelphia in 1828, presented by her to
her husband. Many of the poems in this little book bear the marks of Mr.
Judson’s pencil as being of peculiar interest to him. Among those marked
is the following:

                             ＋ THE REFUGE.

               Art thou oppressed or reviled?
               Then act but like a simple child,
               Who does not dare the point contest,
               But hastens to its mother’s breast;
               Bows in submission to her laws,
               And leaves her to support its cause.
               Thus to thy blessed Saviour flee;
               Stand still! thy God shall fight for thee.

[Illustration:

  FAC-SIMILE OF MR. JUDSON’S HANDWRITING.

  The above inscription was written by Mr. Judson on the fly-leaf of a
    volume of Burmese Hymns, compiled by Mrs. Sarah B. Judson, and
    presented by him to a lady in New York.
]

                           ------------------

The _Sophia Walker_, with Mr. Judson and his three children on board,
arrived at Boston October 15, 1845. The missionary who had been so long
absent from his native land felt considerable anxiety before going on
shore as to where he should secure suitable lodgings in the city. He
little dreamed that every home would be thrown open to him, and that
soon his progress from city to city would almost assume the proportions
of a triumphal march. He was ill prepared for such an enthusiastic
greeting. He naturally shrank from observation. He was in exceedingly
delicate health. His pulmonary difficulty prevented his speaking much
above a husky whisper. He had so long used a foreign tongue that it was
hard work for him to form sentences in English. He could address an
audience only at second-hand, whispering his words to a speaker at his
side, who would convey them to the ears of the hearers. Naturally humble
and shy, he found it exceedingly distasteful to be publicly harangued
and eulogized. On one occasion, an eye-witness[62] relates that while
the returned missionary was listening to words of eloquent praise
addressed to him in the presence of a great concourse of people, “his
head sank lower and lower until the chin seemed to touch his breast.” He
wrote to the Corresponding Secretary: “My chief object in writing is to
beg that I may be excused from attending any more such meetings until I
get a little better. I expect to be in Boston to-morrow, and shall want
two or three days for some necessary business, and propose to go to
Worcester on Friday or Saturday; and if I could spend next Sabbath alone
in some chamber, I should feel it a great privilege, both as a
refreshment to the soul and a relief to the body.”

He had come home to find that his native country was almost a strange
land. The railroad system had sprung into existence during his absence.
He entered the cars at Worcester one day, and had just taken his seat,
when a boy came along with the daily newspapers.[63] He said to Mr.
Judson, “Do you want a paper, sir?” “Yes, thank you,” the missionary
replied, and taking the paper began to read. The newsboy stood waiting
for his pay until a lady passenger, occupying the same seat with Mr.
Judson, said to him, “The boy expects to be paid for his paper.” “Why,”
replied the missionary, with the utmost surprise, “I have been
distributing papers gratuitously in Burmah so long that I had no idea
the boy was expecting any pay.”

He often disappointed public assemblies by declining to relate his own
adventures, telling instead the old story of the cross. A lady thus
describes an address which he made in the little country church in
Eaton, New York:

  “After the usual sermon was over, he spoke for about fifteen minutes,
  with singular simplicity, and, as I thought, with touching pathos, of
  the ‘precious Saviour,’ what He has done for us, and what we owe to
  Him. As he sat down, however, it was evident, even to the most
  unobservant eye, that most of the listeners were disappointed. After
  the exercises were over, several persons inquired of me, frankly, why
  Dr. Judson had not talked of something else; why he had not told a
  story, etc., etc.; while others signified their disappointment by not
  alluding to his having spoken at all. On the way home, I mentioned the
  subject to him.

  “‘Why, what did they want?’ he inquired; ‘I presented the most
  interesting subject in the world, to the best of my ability.’

  “‘But they wanted something different—a story.’

  “‘Well, I am sure I gave them a story—the most thrilling one that can
  be conceived of.’

  “‘But they had heard it before. They wanted something new of a man who
  had just come from the antipodes.’

  “‘Then I am glad to have it to say, that a man coming from the
  antipodes had nothing better to tell than the wondrous story of Jesus’
  dying love. My business is to preach the Gospel of Christ, and when I
  can speak at all, I dare not trifle with my commission. When I looked
  upon those people to-day, and remembered where I should next meet
  them, how could I stand up and furnish food to vain curiosity—tickle
  their fancies with amusing stories, however decently strung together
  on a thread of religion? That is not what Christ meant by preaching
  the Gospel. And then, how could I hereafter meet the fearful charge,
  “I gave you one opportunity to tell them of me—you spent it in
  describing your own adventures!”’”

The following reminiscence of Mr. Judson’s preaching in Plymouth has
been kindly contributed by the Rev. Dr. D. W. Faunce, now of Washington,
D. C.:

  “The old church was crowded, and I was able to find a seat only in a
  corner of the gallery. Shall I confess my disappointment, at first,
  when a slim, worn man, with a weary voice, rose in the pulpit after
  the pastor had conducted the opening exercises, and gave out his text,
  ‘_These are they that follow the Lamb_.’

  “Trained in a religious household, where missionary names, and
  especially those of Judson and Rice, were familiar words, somehow, in
  my boyish fancy I had thought of him as a great orator, with a loud
  voice and commanding tones, who would sweep down all before him with a
  resistless eloquence. Hence my disappointment. But as he went on, in
  simple language, to unfold his thought, and repeated over and over
  again his one theme, _pleasing Jesus_, somehow I forgot all about
  eloquence. There stole over me, a boy convert of only a few months’
  standing, a great tenderness. Was this venerated man influenced in all
  he had done by the simple thought of _pleasing Jesus_? Well, then,
  might not I, boy as I was, strive to please Jesus also? My eyes began
  to fill, and my heart was in my throat. Was there anything I could do
  to please Jesus? A hundred times since, the single simple thought of
  that sermon has come to me, and the memory of that summer afternoon in
  the corner of the gallery, and the scene and the words have been an
  inspiration. And if that is eloquence which gets its thought written
  imperishably upon the heart of an auditor, then the simple, almost
  childlike words of that hour were truly eloquent.”

Mr. Judson’s movements in this country were chronicled alike by the
secular and religious newspapers. His toils and sufferings had made his
name a household word among all Christians, and wherever he went, the
churches were crowded with people who desired to see and to hear
America’s pioneer missionary. On the evening of the second day after his
arrival, a meeting was held in the Bowdoin Square church, Boston. The
following words of welcome were spoken by Dr. Sharp:

  “There are some feelings,” said Dr. Sharp, “which are too sacred for
  public utterance. There are sentiments of respect and regard which,
  when whispered to the ear, or spoken in the privacy of confidential
  intercourse, are pleasant and refreshing as the breath of spring, but
  which lose their fragrance in the atmosphere of a public assembly.
  Were I to express my own feelings toward yourself—my admiration, my
  confidence, my gratitude, my regard—I should say many things that in
  this assembly would seem out of place. I may, however, without
  violating Christian propriety, speak _in behalf_ of the public in the
  _presence_ of the public.

  “I may say, without the semblance of flattery or adulation, the
  denomination have cherished a deep, and affectionate, and grateful
  interest in your labors. They have wondered at your steady and
  unfaltering perseverance; they have admired your disinterested and
  self-denying course; and they have tenderly sympathized with you, and
  prayed for you, when they heard of your personal sufferings, your
  imprisonment, and loss of personal liberty, and when they have heard
  of those greater losses, to which, in the death of loved and cherished
  ones, you have been subjected. And they have rejoiced with you, not,
  indeed, that _all_ your work was done, but that a glorious work was
  done, when, in humble prostration before the beneficent Author of
  revelation, you devoutly thanked Him that you had completed the
  translation of the Holy Scriptures in the Burman language. That was a
  memorable day, not only in the history of your own life, but in the
  history of missions.

  “We can only pray, dear brother, that, after a still more extended and
  critical knowledge of the Burman language, the result of patient and
  laborious study and research, your life may be prolonged to revise and
  amend your translation of those soul-sanctifying and soul-comforting
  truths which tell with wondrous power in any language in which a
  version of them is given. Your prosecution of that other great work,
  to which your mind, and pen, and days are given—a Burman dictionary—at
  the completion of which you may well rest from your labors, will aid
  you greatly in giving your last correcting touch to the Burman
  Scriptures. Our prayer will be, in submission to God’s will, that you
  may live until you have sent out to the world the volumes which will
  not only shed their radiant light on the Scriptures, but will quicken
  and elevate the common mind of India.

  “And now, dear brother, withdrawn as you have been, by an afflictive
  dispensation of Providence, from your chosen and loved labors, allow
  me to say, in behalf of your ministering brethren, and other brethren
  and friends: We welcome you to your native land; we welcome you to the
  scenes of your early and manly youth; we welcome you to our
  worshipping assemblies; we welcome you to our hearts. As the
  representative of the ministers and private Christians present, I give
  to you this hand of cordial welcome, of sympathy, of approbation, and
  of love. And I believe, could all our denomination be collected in one
  vast assembly, they would request and empower some one to perform this
  service for them; or, rather, each one would prefer to give this
  significant token of love, and respect, and good wishes, for himself.
  Were it possible, and could your strength hold out, and your hand bear
  the grasp and the cordial shake of so many, I could wish that every
  one who loves the Bible and missions might be his own representative,
  and give to you, as I do, the hand of an honest, unchanging, and
  cordial good-will.”

And at the close, Mr. Judson rose to reply, Dr. Hague standing at his
side and interpreting to the multitude these whispered utterances:

  “Through the mercy of God I am permitted to stand before you here this
  evening a pensioner of your bounty. I desire to thank you for all your
  sympathy and aid, and I pray God’s blessing to rest upon you.... All
  that has been done in Burmah has been done by the churches, through
  the feeble and unworthy instrumentality of myself and my brethren....
  It is one of the severest trials of my life not to be able to lift up
  my voice, and give free utterance to my feelings before this
  congregation; but repeated trials have assured me that I can not
  safely attempt it. And I am much influenced by the circumstance that
  it was a request of my wife, in her dying hour, that I would not
  address public meetings on my arrival.... I will only add, that I beg
  your prayers for the brethren I have left in Burmah; for the feeble
  churches we have planted there; and that the good work of God’s grace
  may go on until the world shall be filled with His glory.”

When he had finished, Dr. Hague continued to address the audience in an
eloquent strain until the thread of his address was strangely
interrupted. A man had pressed his way through the crowded aisles and
had ascended the pulpit. He and Mr. Judson embraced each other with
tears of joy and affection. It was Samuel Nott, Jr., the only survivor,
except Mr. Judson, of that group of seminary students who had conceived
the stupendous idea of American foreign missions. He was one of the five
who had first gone to India, but had been compelled to return to America
on account of ill health, and now, after a separation of thirty-three
years, was permitted to meet his former fellow-student under these
circumstances of thrilling interest. Mr. Nott addressed the meeting,
with much emotion, and said:

  “More than thirty years ago he gave his brother the right hand of
  fellowship, and when he became a Baptist it was not withdrawn. One
  reflection most solemnly impressed him—of the five who went out to
  India, three are dead. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth, but the
  word of our God shall stand forever. In a little while they would all
  be gone, and every agency now employed pass away; but God’s word will
  stand fast, and prevail over all the earth. He then referred to the
  small beginning of the American Board, as well as the Baptist, their
  trust in God, and the present great and glorious work which is
  exhibited to us in contrast. The missionary movement in this country
  originated simultaneously in different hearts; the spirit of the Most
  High, and not human influence, gave it birth. He deemed it a very
  trifling question whether Adoniram Judson or Samuel J. Mills was the
  originator of foreign missions. Samuel Nott, Jr., certainly was not.
  They were all mere boys, but with God’s blessing on their puerile
  efforts, they had begun an influence which is spreading over the
  world.”

In November Mr. Judson visited Providence, the seat of Brown University,
where he had been graduated about forty years before, with the highest
honors. A public meeting was held in the old First Baptist church, which
was filled to overflowing. Prayer was offered by Dr. Granger, the pastor
of the church, and Dr. Wayland made an address. Mr. Judson then said a
few words, which were interpreted to the audience by Dr. Caswell:

  “The first wish of his heart was to express, in behalf of himself and
  his missionary brethren, his deep sense of gratitude to the church
  usually worshipping in that house, as one of the foremost of the
  Baptist churches in the work of missions, and especially for their
  contributions to the support of the pastor of the native church in
  Rangoon. In the early part of his residence in Rangoon, a Burman
  philosopher, attended by his pupils, on their way to a neighboring
  pagoda, was wont to pass the place where he lived and from which he
  instructed the people. On one occasion the philosopher was stopped by
  the crowd gathered about him, and his eye accidentally fell upon the
  first tract that was published in the Burmese language, the opening
  words of which announced the existence of a _living, eternal God_.
  These significant words arrested his whole attention, and he stood a
  long time, as in profound thought, his whole soul absorbed with the
  great truth which they taught. To himself, as well as the whole
  nation, this was a new idea, and it led to a long course of study and
  investigation, which finally resulted in the renunciation of the
  religion of his country, and the adoption of Christianity.

  “He was baptized, and commenced a course of zealous labor as a
  Christian teacher. He soon became obnoxious to the Government, and was
  tried and condemned to death. But before the day of execution came on,
  he effected his escape, and fled from the city. Since that time he had
  never seen him, nor learned any particulars of his life, but had
  frequently heard of him through persons who came a long distance from
  the interior in search of tracts and Bibles, having been awakened to
  inquiry, and converted to the Christian faith, by his instructions.
  The native pastor, to whom reference had been made, was once a pupil
  of this Burman philosopher, and afterward his disciple in the better
  school of Christian truth. After this interesting allusion to this
  signal instance of the effect of Christian missions, Dr. Judson
  observed that for more than thirty-three years he had been living in
  the midst of a people of practical atheists, whose sole object of
  worship was the image of a being called Gaudama, who had lived some
  two thousand years ago.

  “The image of this being they were taught to worship from their
  earliest infancy; mothers bringing to it their little children in
  their arms, and teaching them to clasp it with the affection of
  infantile devotion. Through the blessing of God much good had been
  done, multitudes converted, and churches formed; and nothing but the
  toleration of Government seemed wanting to give the blessings of
  Christianity to the whole nation. On returning to his native land
  after so long an absence, he saw on all sides much to admire and love;
  but he must confess that the conversion of one immortal soul on those
  heathen shores awakened within him deeper emotion than all the beauty
  of this glorious land. The greatest favor he could ask of his
  Christian friends was, to permit him to return as soon as possible to
  his home on the banks of the Salwen; those banks from which he had led
  so many happy converts into the baptismal waters; those banks which
  had so often resounded with the notes of a baptismal song, composed by
  her whom he had so lately lost, who had now left her task of making
  hymns on earth for the higher and better one of singing with angels
  and ransomed spirits that ‘new song of Moses and the Lamb.’ ‘May it be
  ours,’ were the last words of the speaker, ‘to meet her there at last,
  and join that holy throng whom no man can number, who rest not day and
  night, saying, Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty!’”

The missionary organization which had sustained Mr. Judson in Burmah for
so many years, opened its triennial convention in New York city on the
19th of November, 1845. The occasion was one never to be forgotten.
Services were held in the Baptist Tabernacle, and Mr. Judson was
present. Dr. Cone offered some appropriate resolutions of sympathy and
welcome, and then, taking Mr. Judson by the hand, he introduced him to
Dr. Wayland, the President of the Convention, as _Jesus Christ’s man_.
In the presence of the vast and deeply-affected concourse, Dr. Wayland
gave the veteran missionary a most impressive welcome:

  “It is with no ordinary feelings, my beloved brother, that I rise to
  discharge the duty imposed upon me by the resolution which you have
  this moment heard. My own heart assures me that language is inadequate
  to express the sentiments of your brethren on the present occasion.

  “Thirty-three years since, you and a few other servants of the most
  high God, relying simply upon His promises, left your native land to
  carry the message of Christ to the heathen. You were the first
  offering of the American churches to the Gentiles. You went forth amid
  the sneers of the thoughtless, and with only the cold and reluctant
  consent of many of your brethren. The general voice declared your
  undertaking fanatical, and those who cowered under its rebuke drew
  back from you in alarm. On the voyage your views respecting Christian
  ordinances became changed, and this change gave rise to the convention
  now in session before you.

  “When at length you arrived in India, more formidable obstacles than
  those arising from paganism were thrown in your path. The mightiest
  empire that the world has ever seen, forbade every attempt to preach
  Christ to the countless millions subjected to her sway, and ordered
  you peremptorily from her shores. Escaping from her power, you took
  refuge in the Isle of France, and at last, after many perils, arrived
  at Rangoon, where, out of the reach of Christian power, you were
  permitted to enter upon your labors of love.

  “After years of toil you were able to preach Christ to the Burmans,
  and men began to inquire after the eternal God. The intolerance of the
  Government then became apparent, and you proceeded to Ava to plead the
  cause of toleration before the emperor. Your second attempt was
  successful, and permission was granted to preach the Gospel in the
  capital itself. But how inscrutable are the ways of Providence! Your
  labors had just commenced when a British army took possession of
  Rangoon, and you and your fellow-laborer, the late Dr. Price, were
  cast into a loathsome dungeon, and loaded with chains. For nearly two
  years you suffered all that barbarian cruelty could inflict; and to
  the special interposition of God alone is it to be ascribed that your
  imprisonment was not terminated by a violent death. On you, more than
  any other missionary of modern times, has been conferred the
  distinction of suffering for Christ. Your limbs have been galled with
  fetters, and you have tracked with bleeding feet the burning sands
  between Ava and Oung-pen-la.

  “With the apostle of the Gentiles you may say, ‘Henceforth let no man
  trouble me; I bear in my body the scars of the Lord Jesus,’ Yet, even
  here God did not leave you comfortless. He had provided an angel to
  minister to your wants, and when her errand was accomplished, took her
  to Himself, and the hopia-tree marks the spot whence her spirit
  ascended. From prison and from chains, God, in His own time, delivered
  you, and made your assistance of special importance in negotiating a
  treaty of peace between these two nations, one of whom had driven you
  from her shores, and the other had inflicted upon you every cruelty
  but death.

  “Since this period, the prime of your life has been spent in laboring
  to bless the people who had so barbarously persecuted you. Almost all
  the Christian literature in their language has proceeded from your
  pen; your own hand has given to the nation the oracles of God, and
  opened to the millions now living, and to those that shall come after
  them to the end of time, the door of everlasting life. That mysterious
  Providence which shut you out from Burmah proper has introduced you to
  the Karens—a people who seem to have preserved, from remote antiquity,
  the knowledge of the true God, and who were waiting to receive the
  message of His Son. To them you, and those who have followed in your
  footsteps, have made known the Saviour of the world, and they by
  thousands have flocked to the standard of the cross.

  “After years spent in unremitted toil, the providence of God has
  brought you to be present with us at this important crisis. We
  sympathize with you in all the sorrows of your painful voyage. May God
  sustain you in your sore bereavement, and cause even this mysterious
  dispensation to work out for you a far more exceeding and eternal
  weight of glory.

  “How changed is the moral aspect of the world since you first entered
  upon your labors! Then no pagan nation had heard the name of Christ
  from American lips; at present churches of Christ, planted by American
  benevolence, are springing up in almost every heathen nation. The
  shores of the Mediterranean, the islands of the sea, the thronged
  cities and the wild jungles of India, are resounding with the high
  praises of God, in strains first taught by American missionaries. The
  nation that drove you from her shores has learned to foster the
  messenger of the cross with parental solicitude. You return to your
  native land, whence you were suffered to depart almost without her
  blessing, and you find that the missionary enterprise has kindled a
  flame that can never be quenched in the heart of the universal Church,
  and that every Christian, and every philanthropist comes forward to
  tender to you the homage due to the man through whose sufferings,
  labors, and examples these changes have, to so great a degree, been
  effected. In behalf of our brethren, in behalf of the whole Church of
  Christ, we welcome you back to the land of your fathers. God grant
  that your life may long be preserved, and that what you have seen may
  prove to be but the beginning of blessing to our churches at home and
  to the heathen abroad.”

Mr. Judson, who had been warned by his physicians against speaking in
public, could only express his thankfulness in a few simple and touching
words. Subsequently, in the course of the convention, the proposition
was made to abandon the mission in Arracan. This brought him to his
feet. “Though forbidden to speak by my medical adviser, I must say a few
words. I must protest against the abandonment of the Arracan mission.”
These opening words were audible to all present. Then his voice sunk
into a whisper as he stated the reasons why the mission should not be
given up. His closing words were: “If the convention think my services
can be dispensed with in finishing my dictionary, I will go immediately
to Arracan; or if God should spare my life to finish my dictionary, I
will go there afterward and labor there and die, and be buried there.”
It would be impossible to describe the thrilling effect upon the
audience of these broken words, uttered in a low whisper, and reproduced
by Dr. Cone. The Arracan mission was saved.

While Mr. Judson was visiting Bradford, the native town of his beloved
Ann, he learned of the death of Charlie, one of the little ones whom he
had left behind in Burmah. He conveys the sad intelligence to his sons
Adoniram and Elnathan, and adds:

  “So it appeared that Charlie died twenty-six days before his mother,
  and he was ready to welcome her at the gates of Paradise. They must
  have had a very happy meeting. As he was her favorite child on account
  of being long ill, how happy she must have been to take him in her
  arms in that state where there is no more sickness or death! O that we
  may all meet them and be so happy together!”

A few of the addresses which Mr. Judson delivered while in this country
have been preserved, and the reader may be interested in the appended
extracts.

_Address at a Missionary Meeting in Philadelphia._

  “Be ye imitators of me, as I am of Christ, is a divine command. There
  is one Being in the universe who unites in Himself all the excellences
  of the human and divine nature—that being is Jesus Christ. To become
  like Jesus Christ, we must be like Him, not only in spirit and
  character, but in the whole course and conduct of life; and to become
  like Him ought to be our whole aim. In order to this, it is necessary
  to ascertain the leading characteristics of that glorious Being. It
  appears from the inspired writings, that one leading characteristic of
  Christ was, that ‘He went about doing good.’ To be like Him, we must
  go about—not merely _stay_ and do good, but _go_ and do good. There is
  another characteristic which we should consider. He led the life of a
  missionary. In order, therefore, to be like Him in this particular, we
  must endeavor, as far as possible, to lead the life of missionaries.
  Before my arrival in Burmah, there were about seven millions of men,
  women, and children, who had no knowledge of the true God, and of
  salvation through Jesus Christ. They did not believe in the existence
  of an eternal God. They believed that when they died they would be
  changed into beasts, or be annihilated. Their only object in worship
  was to obtain some mitigation of suffering. They never expected to
  meet their friends again after death. Imagine yourselves, my Christian
  friends, in their state without a knowledge of God. Suppose, while in
  that state, you heard that in some isle of the sea were those who had
  received a revelation, informing them that God had sent His own Son to
  open a way to everlasting life; would you not rejoice, if some one
  should come to show you that way to heaven? Would not some of you
  believe? Would you not leap with joy, and kiss the feet of those who
  brought you the good tidings? Would you not, under these
  circumstances, desire that a messenger should come to you? ‘As ye
  would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.’ I should
  rejoice to address the assembly at large, but my physicians have
  forbidden me, and I must commit this duty to others who are to follow.
  But allow me to say, that I regard the office of the missionary as a
  most glorious occupation, because the _faithful_ missionary is engaged
  in a work which is like that of the Lord Jesus Christ; and a
  missionary who is _unfaithful_ sinks the lowest of his species in
  guilt and ignominy. Happy are they who can in this respect follow
  Christ. But the Lord Jesus is not now a missionary. He has retired
  from this employment, and now employs Himself in sustaining His
  missionaries, with the promise, ‘Lo, I am with you alway, even to the
  end.’ If you can not, therefore, become a missionary, sustain by your
  prayers, your influence, and your property, those who are. In these
  ways Jesus Christ now sustains them. By His _prayers_, as Advocate and
  Intercessor with the Father; by His _influence_, as He is vested with
  all power in heaven and earth; by His _property_, by pouring out fresh
  supplies of His Spirit, and opening the hearts of His children to
  contribute. In order, therefore, to be like Christ, _go about_ doing
  good; and if it is not in your power to give yourselves to this work,
  give your prayers, your influence, and your property. So far as we are
  like Christ in this world, so far shall we be like Him through
  eternity. So far as we sustain this cause, which is peculiarly the
  cause of God, so far shall we be happy through endless ages.”

At a meeting in Washington, D. C., he said:

  “When he first visited Burmah, the idea of an eternal God was not
  believed nor entertained by any of the Burmans; and nothing more than
  this idea was entertained by the Karens; but now the former had in
  their own language the whole Word of God; and the New Testament, and
  parts of the Old, had been translated, by American missionaries, into
  several other languages of the East. He spoke of our missions as
  _expensive_, as requiring much for the outfit of missionaries, and for
  sustaining them in that field; but sacrifices of a _pecuniary_
  character were not the only or the greatest ones to be encountered.
  There was the sacrifice of domestic and social comforts here enjoyed,
  and the sacrifice of life. He remarked that the average life of
  American missionaries to the East was only about five years. But we
  must have men and money for this work; and we must all co-operate and
  make sacrifices together. If men were found willing to go, the Church
  at home should feel willing to send them out, and support them, that
  they might give themselves wholly to their work. Dr. Judson said that
  his heart was full, and it was a great privation to him that he was
  not able to speak out, and unburden himself, to the satisfaction of
  himself and of the audience; but this the providence of God prevented
  him from doing, and he must submit.”

And at a meeting in Utica, N. Y.:

  “When mingling in scenes like the present, and like that in which he
  participated on the preceding evening, at which he believed some then
  listening to him were present, he was led into trains of meditation
  which excited the most deep and subduing emotions. At such times he
  involuntarily recalled many spots memorable in his history. One of
  these was the prison at Ava, to which allusion had already been made.
  In that gloomy place, on one night when he was more heavily fettered
  and was enduring more suffering than usual, he rose from the painful
  posture in which he reclined to lean, for an interval, against the
  wall. As he cast his eyes around upon the mass of wretchedness before
  him, he was able, by the dim light which was always kept burning in
  the prison, to observe the condition of the miserable beings among
  whom he was confined. It was an appalling sight. About a hundred
  condemned felons were before him, some sentenced for murder, all for
  atrocious crimes. While looking on that spectacle, he felt that if
  ever, by God’s mercy, he should obtain his freedom, he would endeavor
  to bear without repining the ills he might be called to endure.
  Another spot brought to his recollection was that where he stood to
  witness the worship of the Bengalee Juggernaut—not the great
  Juggernaut of Orissa—for there are several in India—but one in the
  province of Bengal. The idol car moved onward. Before him, extending
  as far as the eye could reach, was a vast expanse, a sea of human
  heads. The whole concourse of deluded worshippers were shouting as
  with one voice. Again his mind reverted to a scene that fell under his
  observation, not many years since, in the Karen jungles. It was one of
  the festivals of the Karens. He saw three hundred persons, prostrate
  upon the earth, men, women, and children, promiscuously mingled,
  covered with filth, in a state of brutal intoxication—a spectacle not
  to be described to a Christian audience. Scenes like these forced
  themselves upon his recollection, in view of our places of worship and
  happy homes. When coming among us, and seeing the contrasted comfort,
  elegance, and refinement, that make our dwellings so inviting and
  their inmates so happy, the question spontaneously arose, What is the
  cause of all this difference? O, it is the Gospel—the Gospel! While
  surrounded with these manifold blessings, we could but very
  imperfectly appreciate the sole cause of them all.

  “It was to a world suffering under such wretchedness as had been
  spoken of, that the Lord Jesus Christ, in compassion for mankind,
  descended in the reign of the despotic and abandoned Herod. Amid such
  scenes He mingled, till He expired on the cross. If His Gospel is able
  to effect all that we have seen, to transform the ignorant, sensual,
  and degraded heathen, and to elevate a nation to such a height of
  dignity and enjoyment, and all this in a world still so full of sin,
  how will its power appear in the world to which we are advancing? If
  here, where sin yet reigns, so great a contrast can be wrought, how
  much greater the contrast between this imperfect state and heaven,
  free from every defilement!

  “In Burmah, after all that has been done, there is still the same
  prison at Ava, with its manacled convicts. The same Bengalee
  Juggernaut is still surrounded by its countless worshippers. The same
  orgies are still celebrated in the Karen jungles; and scenes
  innumerable, as revolting as these, are witnessed in all heathen
  lands. O, let us pray for the millions who know nothing of a God or a
  Saviour, a heaven or a hell.”

Before the Boardman Missionary Society at Waterville College he spoke as
follows:

  “Upon an occasion like this, dear brethren, a multitude of thoughts
  crowd upon me, so that I know not where to begin or what to select.
  Probably many of you have the ministry in view, and some perhaps look
  forward to a missionary life. You will expect me to speak of missions
  and missionary life. I have seen so much of the trials and
  responsibility of missionary labors that I am unwilling to urge any
  one to assume them. _The urging must come from a higher source._ One
  important thought just occurs to me. You have but _one_ life to live
  in which to prepare for eternity. If you had four or five lives, two
  or three of them might be spent in carelessness. But you have one
  only. Every action of that one life gives coloring to your eternity.
  How important, then, that you spend that life so as to please the
  Saviour, the blessed Saviour, who has done everything for you!

  “If any of you enter the Gospel ministry in this or other lands, let
  not your object be so much to ‘do your duty,’ or even to ‘save souls,’
  though these should have a place in your motives, as to _please the
  Lord Jesus_. Let this be your ruling motive in all that you do. Now,
  do you ask, _how_ you shall please Him? How, indeed, shall we know
  what will please Him but by _His commands_? Obey these commands and
  you will not fail to please Him. And there is that ‘last command,’
  given just before He ascended to the Father, ‘Go ye into all the
  world, and preach the Gospel to every creature.’ It is not _yet_
  obeyed as it should be. Fulfil that, and you will please the Saviour.

  “Some one asked me, not long ago, whether _faith_ or _love_ influenced
  me most in going to the heathen. I thought of it a while, and at
  length concluded that there was in me but _little of either_. But in
  thinking of what _did_ influence me, I remembered a time, out in the
  woods back of Andover Seminary, when I was almost disheartened.
  Everything looked dark. No one had gone out from this country. The way
  was not open. The field was far distant, and in an unhealthy climate.
  I knew not what to do. All at once that ‘last command’ seemed to come
  to my heart directly from heaven. I could doubt no longer, but
  determined on the spot to obey it at all hazards, for the sake of
  pleasing the Lord Jesus Christ.

  “Now, my dear brethren, if the Lord wants you for missionaries, He
  will set that command home to your hearts. If He does so, _you neglect
  it at your peril_.”

And thus to the students at Hamilton, N. Y.:

  “Brethren, look to Jesus. This sight will fill you with the greatest
  consolation and delight. Look to Him on the cross; so great is His
  love that, if He had a thousand lives, He would lay them all down for
  your redemption. Look to Him on the throne; His blessed countenance
  fills all heaven with delight and felicity. Look to Him in affliction;
  He will strengthen you. Look to Him in temptation; He will succor you.
  Look to Him in death; He will sustain you. Look to Him in the
  judgment; He will save you.”

But Mr. Judson did not belong exclusively to any one city or section of
the country. Not only in New England and in the Northern States was his
name revered. His memory was most warmly cherished by Southern hearts.
The eminent Dr. Jeter, in a meeting held at Richmond, Va., on the 8th of
February, 1846, welcomed Mr. Judson in an eloquent and affectionate
address, the closing words of which are appended:

  “But I must close my remarks. Brother Judson, we are acquainted with
  your history. We have marked your labors, have sympathized in your
  various sufferings, have shed many a tear at the foot of the
  ‘hopia-tree’; have gone, in fancy, on mournful pilgrimage to the rocky
  Island of St. Helena; have rejoiced in your successes and the
  successes of your devoted associates, and have long and fervently
  wished to see your face in the flesh. This privilege we now enjoy.
  Welcome, thrice welcome are you, my brother, to our city, our
  churches, our bosoms. I speak as the representative of Southern
  Baptists. We love you for the truth’s sake, and for your labors in the
  cause of Christ. We honor you as the father of American missions.

  “One thought pains us. To-morrow morning you will leave us. We shall
  see your face no more. You will soon return to Burmah, the land of
  your adoption. There you will continue your toils, and there,
  probably, be buried. But this separation is not without its solace.
  Thank God, it is as near from Burmah to heaven as from Richmond, or
  any other point on the globe. Angels, oft commissioned to convey to
  heaven the departing spirits of pious Burmans and Karens, have learned
  the way to that dark land. When dismissed from your toils and
  sufferings, they will be in readiness to perform the same service for
  you. God grant that we may all meet in that bright world. There sin
  shall no more annoy us, separations no more pain us, and every power
  will find full and sweet employ in the service of Christ.

  “And now, my brother, I give my hand in token of our affection to you,
  and of your cordial reception among us.”

Mr. Judson’s reply attested his capacity for taking a broad and catholic
view of the religious situation at a time when the country was agitated
by disturbing sectional jealousies:

  “I congratulate the Southern and Southwestern churches,” he said, “on
  the formation of the Southern Baptist Convention for Foreign Missions.
  I congratulate the citizens of Richmond that the Board of that
  Convention is located here. Such an organization should have been
  formed several years ago. Besides other circumstances, the extent of
  the country called for a separate organization. I have read with much
  pleasure the proceedings of the Convention at Augusta, Ga., and
  commend the dignified and courteous tone of the address sent forth by
  that body. I am only an humble missionary of the heathen, and do not
  aspire to be a teacher of Christians in this enlightened country; but
  if I may be indulged a remark, I would say, that if hereafter the more
  violent spirits of the North should persist in the use of irritating
  language, I hope they will be met, on the part of the South, with
  dignified silence.”

It was his desire to go further South, but his frail health imperatively
forbade him, and so after visiting Baltimore, where he was welcomed at a
most enthusiastic missionary meeting, he turned northward again.

While on this tour through the country, everywhere kindling missionary
enthusiasm, he met, during a visit in Philadelphia, a young lady, Miss
Emily Chubbuck, who, under the _nom de plume_ of Fanny Forester, had
achieved a wide literary reputation. The acquaintance culminated in
marriage. This lady, who was to take the place at his side left
successively vacant by Ann Hasseltine and Sarah Boardman, had been
disciplined in the hard school of poverty. She was born August 22, 1817,
at Eaton, a little town in Central New York, and near a stream which,
with its fringe of alders, murmurs here and there in her prose and
poetry under the name of Alderbrook. Her parents, Charles Chubbuck and
Lavinia Richards, had moved to Eaton from New Hampshire. Her childhood
days were spent in a little house which can still be seen on the road
from Eaton to West Eaton, perched against a hill so close beneath the
road that, as she says, one would feel half disposed “to step from the
road where you stood to the tip of the chimney.”[64] Her parents were
very poor, and she thus describes a winter she passed when she was about
thirteen years old:

  “We suffered a great deal from cold this winter, though we had plenty
  of plain food. Indeed, we _never_ were reduced to hunger. But the
  house was large and unfinished, and the snow sometimes drifted into it
  in heaps. We were unable to repair it, and the owner was unwilling.
  Father was absent nearly all the time, distributing newspapers; and
  the severity of the winter so affected his health that he could do but
  little when he was at home. Mother, Harriet, and I were frequently
  compelled to go out into the fields, and dig broken wood out of the
  snow, to keep ourselves from freezing. Catherine and I went to the
  district school as much as we could.”

Again she wrote:

  “_November, 1830._ Father’s attempt at farming proved, as might have
  been expected, an entire failure, and for want of a better place he
  determined to remove to the village. He took a little old house on the
  outskirts, the poorest shelter we ever had, with only two rooms on the
  floor, and a loft, to which we ascended by means of a ladder. We were
  not discouraged, however, but managed to make the house a little
  genteel as well as tidy. Harriet and I used a turn-up bedstead,
  surrounded by pretty chintz curtains, and we made a parlor and
  dining-room of the room by day. Harriet had a knack at twisting
  ribbons and fitting dresses, and she took in sewing; Catherine and
  Wallace went to school; and I got constant employment of a little
  Scotch weaver and thread-maker at twisting thread. Benjamin returned
  to his old place, and Walker was still in the printing-office.”

Her little hands very early learned to contribute to the support of the
family. When eleven years old she earned a dollar and twenty-five cents
a week splicing rolls in a woolen factory. She says of this period: “My
principal recollections are of noise and filth, bleeding hands and
aching feet, and a very sad heart.” Little did the residents of Eaton
then dream that this little factory-girl was afterward to become such an
honor to their humble village. Subsequently, when she first applied for
the position of teacher in the district school, a young farmer who was
acting trustee replied, “Why, the scholars will be bigger than their
teacher.” But the little schoolmistress made her teaching a success, and
before she was twenty years of age had contributed to the village
newspaper poems of great literary merit. About this time she attracted
the attention of the Misses Sheldon, who were conducting a well-known
ladies’ school at Utica. They offered her gratuitous instruction for a
single term, and subsequently proposed to complete her education without
present charge. This afforded her an excellent opportunity for
self-improvement. Her health, however, had been shattered by the
hardship and labors of her earlier years, and it was through great
weakness and suffering that she pressed toward higher literary
excellence. She was continually spurred on by her desire to secure a
home for her aged parents. It was for this purpose that she wrote those
charming stories in which grace and strength of style are combined with
the purest moral tone. It was under such circumstances as these that she
sent to the press the stories for children, entitled “The Great Secret,”
“Effie Maurice,” “Charles Linn,” “Allen Lucas,” “John Frink,” and also
the fascinating tales for older readers, which were afterward gathered
together, under the name of “Alderbrook.” Her biographer[65] relates the
following incident:

  “As Miss Sheldon was at one time passing near midnight through the
  halls, a light streaming from Emily’s apartment attracted her
  attention, and, softly opening the door, she stole in upon her vigils.
  Emily sat in her night-dress, her papers lying outspread before her,
  grasping with both hands her throbbing temples, and pale as a marble
  statue. Miss S. went to her, whispered words of sympathy, and gently
  chided her for robbing her system of its needed repose. Emily’s heart
  was already full, and now the fountain of feeling overflowed in
  uncontrollable weeping. ‘Oh, Miss Sheldon,’ she exclaimed, ‘I _must_
  write, I _must_ write; I must do what I can to aid my poor parents.’”

While making a visit in New York during the month of June, 1847, Miss
Chubbuck wrote a letter to the _Evening Mirror_, which at that time was
an exceedingly popular magazine, edited by George P. Morris and N. P.
Willis. In a graceful and sportive vein she offered her literary
services to this periodical:

  “You know the shops in Broadway are very tempting this spring. _Such_
  beautiful things! Well, you know (no, you don’t know that, but you can
  guess) what a delightful thing it would be to appear in one of those
  charming, head-adorning, complexion-softening, hard-feature-subduing
  neapolitans; with a little gossamer veil dropping daintily on the
  shoulder of one of those exquisite _balzarines_, to be seen any day at
  Stewart’s and elsewhere. Well, you know (this you _must_ know) that
  shop-keepers have the impertinence to demand a trifling exchange for
  these things even of a lady; and also that some people have a
  remarkably small purse, and a remarkably small portion of the yellow
  ‘root’ in that. And now, to bring the matter home, _I_ am one of that
  class. I have the most beautiful little purse in the world, but it is
  only kept for show; I even find myself under the necessity of
  counterfeiting—that is, filling the void with tissue paper in lieu of
  bank-notes, preparatory to a shopping expedition.

  “Well, now to the point. As Bel and I snuggled down on the sofa this
  morning to read the _New Mirror_ (by the way, Cousin Bel is never
  obliged to put tissue paper in her purse), it struck us that you would
  be a friend in need, and give good counsel in this emergency. Bel,
  however, insisted on my not telling what I wanted the money for. She
  even thought that I had better intimate orphanage, extreme suffering
  from the bursting of some speculative bubble, illness, etc., etc.; but
  did not I know you better? Have I read the _New Mirror_ so much (to
  say nothing of the graceful things coined ‘under a bridge,’ and a
  thousand other pages flung from the inner heart), and not learned who
  has an eye for everything pretty? Not so stupid, Cousin Bel; no, no!

  “However, this is not quite the point, after all; but here it is. I
  have a pen—not a gold one, I don’t think I could write with one, but a
  nice, little, feather-tipped pen, that rests in the curve of my finger
  as contentedly as in its former pillow of down. (Shocking! how that
  line did run down hill! and this almost as crooked! dear me!) Then I
  have little messengers racing ‘like mad’ through the galleries of my
  head; spinning long yarns, and weaving fabrics rich and soft as the
  balzarine which I so much covet, until I shut my eyes and stop my ears
  and whisk away, with the ‘wonderful lamp’ safely hidden in my own
  brown braids. Then I have Dr. Johnson’s dictionary—capital London
  edition, etc., etc.; and after I use up all the words in that, I will
  supply myself with Webster’s wondrous quarto, appendix and all. Thus
  prepared, think you not I should be able to put something in the shops
  of the literary caterers? something that, for once in my life, would
  give me a real errand into Broadway? May be you of the _New Mirror_
  PAY for acceptable articles—may be not. _Comprenez-vous?_

  “O, I _do_ hope that beautiful balzarine like Bel’s will not be gone
  before another Saturday! You will not forget to answer me in the next
  _Mirror_; but pray, my dear Editor, let it be done very cautiously,
  for Bel would pout all day if she should know what I had written. Till
  Saturday,

                            “Your anxiously-waiting friend,
                                                   “FANNY FORESTER.”

This letter attracted the attention of Mr. Willis, and drew from him a
characteristic reply:

  “Well, we give in! On _condition_ that you are under twenty-five, and
  that you will wear a rose (recognizably) in your bodice the first time
  you appear in Broadway with the hat and balzarine, we will pay the
  bills. Write us thereafter a sketch of Bel and yourself, as cleverly
  done as this letter, and you may ‘snuggle down’ on the sofa, and
  consider us paid, and the public charmed with you.”

Mr. Willis at once introduced her through his columns to the American
public, and, though they never saw each other but once, he became from
this time on her life-long literary adviser and friend. And so, after
the long struggle with poverty and ill-health, this woman, by dint of an
imperious will and an unmistakable genius, began to take her place among
the foremost literary characters of America. We quote from her
biographer, Dr. Kendrick, who is well qualified by his intellectual
acumen and fine poetic nature to judge of the quality of her mind:

  “Those who now turn over the stories of Alderbrook will, I think, be
  at no loss to explain the popularity which they attained. They will
  find in them a truth to nature—a freshness and raciness of thought and
  diction—a freedom from the hackneyed conventionalisms of ordinary
  story-telling, a descriptive and dramatic power, which lend to them an
  unfailing charm. The language is ever plain and simple. They never
  affect ‘big’ words, nor deck themselves out in fripperies of
  expression. If there are occasional conceits of thought—and such are
  almost inevitable in a young woman’s first converse with the
  public—the style is almost wholly free from them. It delights in that
  plain Anglo-Saxon that comes freighted with home associations to every
  heart; and yet this simple style, under her delicate handling, has all
  the grace of ornament.

  “Another source of the popularity of her sketches is found in the
  spirit and vivacity of her descriptions—showing a clear and close eye
  for the observation of nature—and in the lifelike truthfulness of her
  character-drawing. Her personages are not mere pegs on which to hang a
  story—a train of external incidents: they are themselves the story.
  They are not mere labelled embodiments of the virtues and vices of the
  Decalogue, but actual men and women, brought by a few simple but
  effective touches livingly before the eye, and, even in her lightest
  sketches, sharply individualized. Thus the interest of her stories is
  emphatically a human interest. It is not what the actors _do_, but
  what they _are_, that rivets our attention, and chains us to her
  fascinating pages. As might be inferred from this, she possesses
  extraordinary dramatic power. The _dramatis personæ_ live and breathe
  and move through the story. The author transports herself into the
  scene; identifies herself with her characters; and instead of
  conducting her narration by cold, second-hand details, makes it gush
  warmly and livingly from the lips of the speakers. Not unfrequently
  nearly the whole story is unfolded by dialogue, natural, racy, and
  spirited, and that which in its mere outward details would be but a
  trivial incident, under this warm, dramatic handling, and imbedded in
  human passion, is impregnated with life and interest. Equally happy,
  too, is Emily in the conduct of her narrative—in the management of the
  plot—in so seizing upon the hinging-points, the _nodes_ and crises of
  the story, and so coloring, and grouping, and contrasting them, as to
  give them their utmost effect. With the instinctive eye of genius, she
  separates the incidental from the essential, and strikes to the inmost
  core of her subject.

  “And finally—and here perhaps was pre-eminently the secret of Emily’s
  power—she was drawing from her own life, ‘coloring from her own
  heart.’ With every stroke of her pen she daguerreotyped herself upon
  the page before her. The trials of her youth—her own harsh
  experiences—quivered through her bright and glittering fancies, and
  compelled many a tear from hearts unknowing of the cause. She was
  unconsciously obeying the dictum of the great Master; she moved others
  because she had first been moved herself. The tear that trembled in
  their eye answered to that which had first glistened in her own. The
  emotion that swelled their bosoms was responsive to that which had
  throbbed in her own breast. True to herself, she was true to the
  universal elements of humanity.

  “And yet she was far from being the mere recorder; she dealt not in
  the mere statistics of experience. Her power of fancy was equal to her
  power of feeling. The germ of her conception sprung from the actual,
  but it developed itself in the realm of the ideal. When fancy supplied
  the groundwork, her feelings insensibly blended themselves with it,
  giving it genuineness and vitality. When she started from experience,
  fancy instantly stood as its servitor, ready to invest the creation
  with her bright and glittering hues. Thus her heart and
  life-experiences were so transfigured and idealized that she did not
  obtrude herself indelicately or painfully before the public. ‘Grace
  Linden,’ ‘Lilias Fane,’ ‘Dora,’ ‘Nora Maylie,’ ‘Ida Ravelin,’ even,
  were all born in he depths of her own nature, all embodied a certain
  portion of her spiritual essence; yet all were so wrought and moulded,
  so blended with imaginative elements, that she for whom they really
  stood ‘passed in music out of sight.’ So amidst the deeper emotions of
  later life her power of imagination kept pace with her power of
  passionate emotion. ‘My Bird,’ ‘Watching,’ ‘My Angel Guide,’ are
  beautifully idealized, and it is only perhaps in ‘Sweet Mother’ that
  the bleeding, agonizing heart of the stricken wife and daughter comes
  nakedly before the public. And with all this, there breathes through
  all her pages a tenderness and delicacy of sentiment which impart to
  them a nameless charm.

  “In this slight analysis I am not claiming for ‘Fanny Forester’s’
  sketches the highest order of genius. They are a woman’s production,
  and are thoroughly womanly. They aspire to no heights of masculine
  eloquence, no depths of philosophical teaching. They deal with the
  heart, the fancy, and the imagination. Nor in mere vigor and grasp of
  intellect is she, perhaps, to be classed with Joanna Bailie, Mrs.
  Browning, and Miss Bronté; although looking at _all_ which she did, I
  am satisfied that she approaches much nearer to them in intellectual
  vigor than they do to her in womanly delicacy and softness. It is one
  of her high excellences that she never compromises her womanhood; and
  yet to her who could write the ‘Madness of the Missionary Enterprise,’
  and render such contributions as she did to the memoir of her husband,
  is to be assigned no mean rank among the intellects of the world. Mr.
  Willis, Dr. Griswold, and Mr. H. B. Wallace, than whom our country has
  produced no more competent literary critics, estimated her genius as
  of a very high order, and regarded her true sphere as that not of
  popularity, but of fame.”

But, besides her intellectual gifts, Miss Chubbuck had an intensely
religious nature. She was the child of pious parents, and was subject to
very early religious impressions. She writes:

  “The first event of any importance which I remember is the conversion
  of my sister Lavinia, when I was about seven years of age. My little
  cot was in her room; and as she grew worse after her baptism, the
  young members of the church were in the habit of spending the night
  with her, partly in the character of watchers, partly because of a
  unity of interest and feeling. She and her visitors spent the greater
  part of the night in conversation and prayer, without any thought of
  disturbing so sound a sleeper as I seemed to be, I was a silent,
  sometimes tearful listener when they talked; and when they prayed I
  used to kneel down in my bed, and with hands clasped and heart
  uplifted, follow them through to the end. I can not recall my
  exercises with any degree of distinctness; but I remember longing to
  go to heaven, and be with Christ; some moments of ecstasy, and some of
  deep depression on account of my childish delinquencies. My sister
  used often to converse with me on religious subjects; and I remember
  on one occasion her going to the next room and saying to my mother,
  ‘That child’s talk is wonderful! I believe, if there is a Christian in
  the world, she is one.’ For a moment I felt a deep thrill of joy, and
  then I became alarmed lest I should have deceived them. The effect was
  to make me reserved and cautious.”

In subsequent life she dated her conversion as occurring when she was
eight years old. She used to attend all the religious services in the
neighborhood. She writes:

  “Indeed, I believe my solemn little face was almost ludicrously
  familiar to worshippers of every denomination, for I remember a
  Presbyterian once saying to me, as I was leaving the chapel, after
  having, as usual, asked prayers: ‘What! this little girl not converted
  yet! How do you suppose we can waste any more time in praying for
  you?’”

Indeed, she seems from her earliest years to have been haunted by the
conviction that she was, some time or other, to be a missionary to the
heathen; but she was always striving to rid herself of this irksome
thought. She said to a friend:

  “I have felt, ever since I read the memoir of Mrs. Ann H. Judson when
  I was a small child, that I must become a missionary. I fear it is but
  a childish fancy, and am making every effort to banish it from my
  mind; yet the more I seek to divert my thoughts from it, the more
  unhappy I am.”

It was by a strange coincidence that this gifted woman, who had been
from childhood so deeply impressed by the story of Ann Hasseltine,
should meet Mr. Judson in January, 1846. It was at the house of Dr.
Gillette in Philadelphia, Mr. Judson had been invited to come from
Boston, and Dr. Gillette had gone there to bring him on. The journey was
long and cold, and an accident caused a delay of three or four hours.
Dr. Gillette saw in the hands of a friend a collection of light sketches
called “Trippings,“ by Fanny Forester. He borrowed it, and handed it to
Mr. Judson that he might read it, and so while away the tedious and
uncomfortable hours of delay. Mr. Judson read portions of the book, and
recognizing the power with which it was written, expressed a regret that
a person of such intellectual gifts should devote them to the writing of
light literature. “I should be glad to know her,“ he remarked. “The lady
who writes so well ought to write better. It’s a pity that such fine
talents should be employed on such eesubjects.”

Dr. Gillette answered that he would soon have the pleasure of meeting
her, because she was at that time a guest in his own house. Upon their
arrival, Mr. Judson was entertained at the residence of Mr. Robarts, and
the next morning called at Dr. Gillette’s. His first meeting with Miss
Chubbuck is thus described by Dr. Kendrick:

  “Promptly on the next day he came over to Mr. Gillette’s. Emily (in
  her morning-dress) was submitting to the not very poetical process of
  vaccination. As soon as it was over, Dr. Judson conducted her to the
  sofa, saying that he wished to talk with her. She replied half
  playfully that she should be delighted and honored by having him talk
  to her. With characteristic impetuosity he immediately inquired how
  she could reconcile it with her conscience to employ talents so noble
  in a species of writing so little useful or spiritual as the sketches
  which he had read. Emily’s heart melted; she replied with seriousness
  and candor, and explained the circumstances which had drawn her into
  this field of authorship. Indigent parents, largely dependent on her
  efforts—years of laborious teaching—books published with but little
  profit, had driven her to still new and untried paths, in which at
  last success unexpectedly opened upon her. Making this employment
  purely secondary, and carefully avoiding everything of doubtful
  tendency, she could not regard her course as open to serious
  strictures. It was now Dr. Judson’s turn to be softened. He admitted
  the force of her reasons, and that even his own strict standard could
  not severely censure the direction given to filial love. He opened
  another subject. He wished to secure a person to prepare a memoir of
  his recently deceased wife, and it was partly, in fact, with this
  purpose that he had sought Emily’s acquaintance. She entertained the
  proposition, and the discussion of this matter naturally threw them
  much together during the ensuing few days.”

[Illustration:

  _Alex. Cameron, Eng.^r_

  Emily C Judson
]

Mr. Judson and Emily Chubbuck were married in Hamilton, N. Y., on the 2d
of the following June.

The marriage was pleasing neither to the literary nor to the religious
world. The one thought that the brilliant Fanny Forester was throwing
herself away in marrying “an old missionary“; the other feared that the
moral grandeur of the missionary cause was compromised by an alliance
between its venerable founder and a writer of fiction.

These conflicting opinions made, however, but a slight impression upon
Mr. Judson’s mind. He was not dependent for his happiness and well-being
upon the opinion of others. He had long before learned to think and to
act independently, otherwise he would never have become a missionary,
least of all a Baptist. He wrote to his betrothed:

  “I have been so cried down at different periods of my life—especially
  when I became a Baptist—and lost all—all but Ann—that I suppose I am a
  little hardened. But I feel for you, for it is your first field.
  Whatever of strength or shield is mine, or I can draw down from
  heaven, is yours.”

But the missionary’s heart kept turning toward the field of his labors
far across the sea. If his two Burmese assistants had been with him, he
might have contented himself a little longer in this country, for he
could then have worked more effectively on his dictionary.

The following poem (by Mr. H. S. Washburn, of Boston) seems to gather up
and express that longing for his Burman home which impelled him to
re-embark even before he had been nine months in the United States. The
author of these stanzas read them to Mr. Judson while he was busy
packing his boxes for the voyage, and found that they seemed exactly to
voice the desire of his heart:

                 _Judson Longing for his Burman Home._

                “A stranger in my native land!
                  O home beyond the sea,
                How yearns with all its constant love,
                  This weary heart for thee.

                “I left thee, when around my hearth
                  Was gathering thickest gloom,
                And gentle ones have since that hour
                  Descended to the tomb.

                “A flower has withered on thy breast,
                  Thou wilt that treasure keep;
                And sweet her rest, whose grave is made
                  Away upon the deep.

                “I once trod lightly on the turf
                  That I am treading now;
                The flush of hope was on my cheek.
                  And youth was on my brow—

                “But time hath wrought a wondrous change
                  In all I loved—and _me_!
                I prize thee, native land—but more,
                  My home beyond the sea.

                “O Burmah! shrouded in the pall
                  Of error’s dreadful night!
                For wings—for wings once more to bear
                  To thy dark shores the light:

                “To rear upon thy templed hills.
                  And by thy sunny streams,
                The standard of the Cross, where now
                  The proud Pagoda gleams.

                “One prayer, my God! Thy will be done—
                  One only boon I crave:
                To finish well my work,—and rest
                  Within a Burman grave!”

Less than six weeks intervened between his marriage to Miss Chubbuck and
his embarkation. Many tender farewells had to be spoken. He well knew
that the dear ones from whom he was parting would probably never be seen
again on earth. He thus wrote to his boys, Adoniram and Elnathan, whom
he left with Dr. and Mrs. Newton at Worcester, and to his daughter Abby,
whom he had committed to the care of his only sister at Plymouth:

                                           “BOSTON, _July_ 10, 1846.

  “MY DEAR SONS: Farewell. We embark to-morrow about noon. Many a time I
  shall look at your likenesses, and weep over them, and pray that you
  may early become true Christians. Love your brother George, and your
  uncle and aunt Newton. Pray every morning and evening. Your new mamma
  sends you her best love. Forget not

                                       “Your affectionate father,
                                                        “A. JUDSON.”

                                           “BOSTON, _July_ 10, 1846.

  “MY DEAR DAUGHTER: Farewell. We embark to-morrow about noon. I think
  the likenesses taken of your face very good. I shall take one with me,
  and shall many a time look at it, and weep over it, and pray that you
  may early become a Christian. The other I shall give to George, to
  keep a while at Worcester, and finally give to your aunt Judson when
  he visits Plymouth.

  “Love your dear aunts and cousins, with whom you live; pray every
  morning and evening, and may we meet again on earth, and if not, O,
  may we meet in heaven, and be happy together. Your new mamma sends her
  best love.

                                    “Your affectionate father,
                                                         “A. JUDSON.

  “Write me once in three months.”

To his only sister, also, the fond playmate of his childhood, the sole
survivor of the dear family group that had clung to him so tenderly
when, many years before, with the flush of youth on his cheek, he had
set his face toward the rising sun, he speaks the parting word:

                                           “BOSTON, _July_ 10, 1846.

  “DEAR SISTER: Farewell. We embark to-morrow about noon. I have two
  likenesses of Abby Ann. One I take myself, The other I hand to George,
  that he may take it to Worcester, and keep it with the boys, until he
  visits Plymouth, in about a month or six weeks, when he is to give it
  to you. I left Abby Ann at Bradford yesterday forenoon; gave the
  twenty dollars, which they will place to your credit. Take care of
  yourself, dear sister, and spare no expense that is necessary for your
  health and comfort.

  “Emily sends her best love. Every blessing rest upon you, until we
  meet in heaven.

                                  “Ever most affectionately,
                                                        “A. JUDSON.”

The following is his last public utterance in America:

  “My friends are aware that it is quite impossible for me, without
  serious injury to myself, to sustain my voice at such a height as to
  reach this large assembly, except for a few sentences. I have,
  therefore, taken the liberty of putting some thoughts on paper, which
  the Rev. Mr. Hague will do me the honor of reading to you.

  “I wish, however, in my own voice, to praise God for the deep interest
  in the cause of missions manifested by the friends of the Redeemer in
  this city and the vicinity, and to thank them for all their
  expressions and acts of kindness toward me during my brief sojourn
  among them. I regret that circumstances have prevented my spending
  more time in this city, and forming a more intimate acquaintance with
  those whom a slight acquaintance has taught me so much to love.

  “It is as certain as any future event can be, that I shall never again
  revisit the shores of my native land; that, after a few days, your
  beautiful city, this great and glorious country, will be forever shut
  from my view. No more shall I enter your places of worship; no more
  shall I behold your faces, and exchange the affectionate salutations
  of Christian love.

  “The greatest favor we can bestow on our absent friends is to bear
  them on our hearts at the throne of grace. I pray you, dear friends,
  remember me there, and my missionary associates, and our infant
  churches, and the poor heathen, among whom we go to live. And though
  we do meet no more on earth, I trust that our next meeting will be in
  that blessed world where ‘the loved and the parted here below meet
  ne’er to part again.’”

                               _Address._

  “There are periods in the lives of men who experience much change of
  scene and variety of adventure, when they seem to themselves to be
  subject to some supernatural illusion, or wild, magical dream; when
  they are ready, amid the whirl of conflicting recollection, to doubt
  their own personal identity, and, like steersmen in a storm, feel that
  they must keep a steady eye to the compass and a strong arm at the
  wheel. The scene spread out before me seems, on retrospection, to be
  identified with the past, and at the same time to be reaching forward
  and foreshadowing the future. At one moment the lapse of thirty-four
  years is annihilated; the scenes of 1812 are again present; and this
  assembly—how like that which commended me to God on first leaving my
  native shores for the distant East! But, as I look around, where are
  the well-known faces of Spring, and Worcester, and Dwight? Where are
  Lyman, and Huntington, and Griffin? And where are those leaders of the
  baptized ranks who stretched out their arms across the water, and
  received me into their communion? Where are Baldwin and Bolles? Where
  Holcombe, and Rogers, and Staughton? I see them not. I have been to
  their temples of worship, but their voices have passed away. And where
  are my early missionary associates, Newell, and Hall, and Rice, and
  Richards, and Mills? But why inquire for those so ancient? Where are
  the succeeding laborers in the missionary field for many years, and
  the intervening generation who sustained the missions? And where are
  those who moved amid the dark scenes of Rangoon, and Ava, and Tavoy?
  Where those gentle, yet firm spirits, which tenanted forms—delicate in
  structure, but careless of the storm—now broken, and scattered, and
  strewn, like the leaves of autumn, under the shadow of overhanging
  trees, and on remote islands of the sea?

  “No, these are not the scenes of 1812; nor is this the assembly that
  convened in the Tabernacle of a neighboring city. Many years have
  elapsed; many venerated, many beloved ones have passed away to be seen
  no more. ‘They rest from their labors, and their works do follow
  them.’ And with what words shall I address those who have taken their
  places, the successors of the venerated and the beloved, the
  generation of 1812?

  “In that year American Christians pledged themselves to the work of
  evangelizing the world. They had but little to rest on, except the
  command and promise of God. The attempts then made by British
  Christians had not been attended with so much success as to establish
  the practicability, or vindicate the wisdom of the missionary
  enterprise. For many years the work advanced but slowly. One
  denomination after another embarked in the undertaking; and now
  American missionaries are seen in almost every clime. Many languages
  have been acquired; many translations of the Bible have been made; the
  Gospel has been extensively preached; and churches have been
  established containing thousands of sincere, intelligent converts. The
  obligation, therefore, on the present generation, to redeem the pledge
  given by their fathers, is greatly enhanced. And it is an animating
  consideration, that, with the enhancement of the obligation, the
  encouragement to persevere in the work, and to make still greater
  efforts, is increasing from year to year. Judging from the past, what
  may we rationally expect during the lapse of another thirty or forty
  years? Look forward with the eye of faith. See the missionary spirit
  universally diffused, and in active operation throughout this country;
  every church sustaining, not only its own minister, but, through some
  general organization, its own missionary in a foreign land. See the
  Bible faithfully translated into all languages; the rays of the lamp
  of heaven transmitted through every medium, and illuminating all
  lands. See the Sabbath spreading its holy calm over the face of the
  earth, the churches of Zion assembling, and the praises of Jesus
  resounding from shore to shore; and, though the great majority may
  still remain, as now in this Christian country, without hope and
  without God in the world, yet the barriers in the way of the descent
  and operations of the Holy Spirit removed, so that revivals of
  religion become more constant and more powerful.

  “The world is yet in its infancy; the gracious designs of God are yet
  hardly developed. Glorious things are spoken of Zion, the city of our
  God. She is yet to triumph, and become the joy and glory of the whole
  earth. Blessed be God that we live in these latter times—the latter
  times of the reign of darkness and imposture. Great is our privilege,
  precious our opportunity, to co-operate with the Saviour in the
  blessed work of enlarging and establishing His kingdom throughout the
  world. Most precious the opportunity of becoming wise, in turning many
  to righteousness, and of shining, at last, as the brightness of the
  firmament, and as the stars, forever and ever.

  “Let us not, then, regret the loss of those who have gone before us,
  and are waiting to welcome us home, nor shrink from the summons that
  must call us thither. Let us only resolve to follow them who, through
  faith and patience, inherit the promises. Let us so employ the remnant
  of life, and so pass away, that our successors will say of us, as we
  of our predecessors, ‘Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord. They
  rest from their labors, and their works do follow them.’”

At Boston, July 11, 1846, Mr. and Mrs. Judson, in company with the
newly-appointed missionaries, Miss Lillybridge, the Beechers, and the
Harrises, embarked on the _Faneuil Hall_, Captain Hallett, bound for
Maulmain. Many friends mingled in that farewell scene. He was leaving
behind him fragrant memories. In many a household his prayers are
cherished as a “precious benediction.” He had been entertained in the
house of his friend, Gardner Colby, of Boston, and at the family altar
he thus prayed for the family of his host: “May they, and their
children, and their children’s children, in every generation to the end
of time, follow each other in uninterrupted succession through the gates
of glory,”[66] a prayer that has borne fruitage from that time until
now. The Colbys came to the ship to bid him good-bye, and the Lincolns,
and the Gillettes, and Mrs. Judson’s bosom friend, Miss Anna Maria
Anable, with, among others, and dearer than all the rest, a slender
youth of eighteen, the child of her who had been laid at rest at St.
Helena, George Dana Boardman. But how, even at that hour, Mrs. Judson’s
thoughts must have wandered again and again to the humble roof at
Hamilton, beneath which her aged parents were commending their departing
daughter to the heavenly Father’s merciful care!

                            _To my Father._

              “A welcome for thy child, father,
                A welcome give to-day;
              Although she may not come to thee
                As when she went away;
              Though never in her olden nest
                Is she to fold her wing,
              And live again the days when first
                She learned to fly and sing.

              “Oh, happy were those days, father,
                When gathering round thy knee,
              Seven sons and daughters called thee sire—
                We come again but three;
              The grave has claimed thy loveliest ones,
                And sterner things than death
              Have left a shadow on thy brow,
                A sigh upon thy breath.

              “And one—one of the three, father,
                Now comes to thee to claim
              Thy blessing on another lot,
                Upon another name.
              Where tropic suns forever burn,
                Far over land and wave,
              The child, whom thou hast loved, would make
                Her hearthstone and her grave.

              “Thou’lt never wait again, father,
                Thy daughter’s coming tread;
              She ne’er will see thy face on earth—
                So count her with thy dead;
              But in the land of life and love,
                Not sorrowing as now,
              She’ll come to thee, and come, perchance,
                With jewels on her brow.

              “_Perchance_;—I do not know, father,
                If any part be given
              My erring hand, among the guides
                Who point the way to heaven;
              But it would be a joy untold
                Some erring foot to stay;
              Remember this, when, gathering round,
                Ye for the exile pray.

              “Let nothing here be changed, father,
                I would remember all,
              Where every ray of sunshine rests,
                And where the shadows fall.
              And now I go; with faltering foot
                I pass the threshold o’er.
              And gaze, through tears, on that dear roof,
                My shelter nevermore.”

-----

Footnote 58:

  Died in infancy.

Footnote 59:

  See Map II.

Footnote 60:

  In public speech.

Footnote 61:

  By H. S. Washburn, Boston.

Footnote 62:

  Mr. Thomas Nickerson, of Newton Centre.

Footnote 63:

  I am indebted for this reminiscence to Mr. H. S. Washburn, of Boston.

Footnote 64:

  The road has since been changed and now passes below the house.

Footnote 65:

  The reader is referred to Dr. Kendrick’s Memoir of Mrs. E. C. Judson.

Footnote 66:

  See the graceful sketch of “The Life and Character of Gardner Colby,”
  by his son, the Rev. Henry F. Colby.




                              CHAPTER XII.
                              LAST YEARS.
                               1846-1850.


More than four months elapsed after Mr. and Mrs. Judson parted from
their friends in Boston before they arrived at Maulmain. The passage,
though long, was pleasant. Under date of November 27, 1846, Mr. Judson
writes to his friend, Mr. Gardner Colby:

  “One hundred and thirty-nine days from Boston, and the mountains of
  Burmah appear in the horizon. None ever had a pleasanter passage than
  we have been favored with, though rather long, from the prevalence of
  head-winds. The _Faneuil Hall_ was a good sailer, an excellent
  sea-boat, and furnished with the best accommodations. The table was
  well supplied, and the captain endeared himself to us, not only by
  unremitting kindness, but by the interchange of congenial sentiments
  and feelings on the subject of religion. Two services on Lord’s days,
  the one a Bible-class in the saloon, and the other, public worship on
  deck with the crew, together with evening worship every day, have
  given the character of a Bethel to our floating home.

  “In regard to my studies, I have not much to boast of. Not having my
  native assistants with me, I have not ventured _to go forward_ in the
  dictionary, but have employed myself in revising and transcribing for
  the press the first half of the English and Burmese part, that had
  been previously sketched out. This work I had hardly completed when
  the cry of Land, ho! saluted my ears.”

In passing the Island of St. Helena, his thoughts dwelt tenderly upon
her who, like Rachel of old, had died “on the way, when it was but a
little way to go unto Ephrath.”

  “The precipitous, rocky cliffs, however, that form the outline of that
  spot on the ocean, the narrow ravine winding between them and leading
  to the walled mansion of the dead, the low, overshadowing tree, and
  the swelling turf, marked, perhaps, by the white gravestones, are all
  distinctly before me. And, did the misty mythology of antiquity still
  obtain, I could fancy the spirit of the departed sitting on one of the
  cloud-wrapped peaks that overhang her grave, and pensively observing
  the _Faneuil Hall_ on her circuitous route to the south-east. ‘Why are
  you wheeling away at such a distance from me and my lonely dwelling?
  The dear little ones that I left in your charge, where are they? And
  who—what slender form is that I see at your side, occupying the place
  that once was mine?’ But the mistiness and darkness of pagan mythology
  have been dispelled by beams of light from those higher heights where
  she is really sitting. And thence, if departed spirits take cognizance
  of things on earth, she sees, with satisfaction, that I am _hastening_
  back to the field of our common labors. She sees, with delight and
  gratitude to God, that all her children are situated in precise
  accordance with her last wishes and prayers. And glad she is to see me
  returning, not unattended.

  “Farewell, rock of the ocean. I thank thee that thou hast given me a
  ‘place where I might bury my dead.’ Blessings on the dear friends of
  the Saviour who dwell there. And, if any of the surviving children of
  the departed should ever enjoy the privilege, which is denied me, of
  visiting and shedding a tear over her grave, may a double portion of
  her heavenly spirit descend and rest upon them.”

When off the Isle of France, he wrote:

  “About thirty-three years ago I went with my dear wife to the populous
  city of the dead in Port Louis, on the adjacent island, to visit the
  new-made grave of Harriet Newell, the first American missionary who
  left this world for heaven. It has been my privilege, twice since, to
  make a pilgrimage to the same spot. The last time, my second departed
  one expected to find her resting-place by the side of Mrs. Newell; but
  the grave was digging in another island. It is a thought that presses
  on me at this moment, how little the missionary who leaves his native
  land can calculate on his final resting-place. Out of twenty-five
  missionaries, male and female, with whom I have been associated, and
  who have gone before me, five or six only found their graves in those
  places to which they were first sent. Strangers and pilgrims, they had
  no abiding-place on earth; they sought a permanent abode beyond the
  skies; and they sought to show the way thither to multitudes who were
  groping in darkness, and saw it not.

  “At last the promontory of Amherst loomed into sight. And now, on the
  green bank just beyond, I discern, with a telescope, the small
  enclosure which contains the sleeping-place of my dear Ann and her
  daughter Maria. Like my missionary associates, the members of my own
  family are scattered far and wide; for the mounds that mark their
  graves stud the burial-places of Rangoon, Amherst, Maulmain,
  Serampore, and St. Helena. What other place shall next be added to the
  list?

  “Above eighteen months ago I sailed from these shores with a heavy
  heart, distressed at leaving my friends and my work, and appalled at
  the prospect of impending death. With mingled emotions I now return.
  But these things suit rather the eye and the ear of private friends. I
  will only add my fervent wish that the Heaven-blessed land where I
  have been so warmly received during my late brief visit may pour forth
  her representatives, her wealth, and her prayers, to enlighten and
  enrich this my adopted land, whose shores are just now greeting my
  eyes.”

On the 30th of November he arrived at Maulmain, and clasped once more in
his arms his little children, Henry and Edward, from whom he had parted
more than eighteen months before. But, alas! one little wan face was
missing.

He wrote to his sister:

  “I have set up housekeeping in my old house; and it seems like home,
  notwithstanding the devastation that death and removal have made.
  Emily makes one of the best wives and kindest mothers to the children
  that ever man was blessed with. I wish you were here to make one of
  the family; but I suppose that can not be. I shall now go on with the
  dictionary and other missionary work as usual. Your likeness is an
  excellent one. I keep that and the children’s by me constantly. Shall
  I ever forget that last parting in Boston? No, never, till we meet in
  heaven.”

And in a fond letter to his boys in America, he gives a glimpse of the
little home in Maulmain from which unbending necessity had exiled them
forever:

                                     “MAULMAIN, _December_ 20, 1846.

  “I can hardly realize that I am sitting in the old house, where we all
  lived together so long; and now your mamma, yourselves, your sister
  Abby Ann, and little Charlie are gone. It is now evening. I am writing
  in the hall where I used to sit and study, when your mamma had gone
  down the coast with Captain and Mrs. Durand. Your new mamma has just
  put your little brothers, Henry and Edward, to bed. They lie in the
  room where you used to sleep before you removed to the corner room.
  Henry is singing and talking aloud to himself; and what do you think
  he is saying? Your new mamma has just called me to listen. ‘My own
  mamma went away, away in a boat. And then she got wings and went up.
  And Charlie, too, went up, and they are flying above the moon and the
  stars.’ I preach in the chapel, as I used to do, but have not yet
  begun to work at the dictionary; for we have been very busy seeing
  company and getting our house and things in order. Everything looks as
  it used to do when you were here.... We found Henry in this place,
  when we arrived. My dear boys, I don’t know when I shall see you
  again. If I ever should, you will not be the dear little fellows I
  left at Worcester. But I hope that as you grow larger, and change the
  features that are now so deeply engraven on my heart, you will also
  grow wiser and better, and become more worthy of my fondest love. That
  you will give your hearts to the Saviour is my most earnest desire.
  Love your dear uncle and aunt Newton. Mind all they say, and ever try
  to please them.”

Upon his return Mr. Judson found that the mission had flourished during
his absence, and was able to send an encouraging report to the
Corresponding Secretary.

  “The native church, under the care of brother Stevens, is not much
  enlarged, but it is much improved, in consequence of the exclusion of
  several unworthy members, and the admission of more promising
  characters, chiefly from among the children of the converts. Brother
  Howard’s school has greatly improved both in numbers and in
  qualifications. Brother Binney’s school, which was just beginning when
  I left, has attained a high degree of respectability and usefulness.
  The Karen missionaries and their disciples are mostly absent from
  Maulmain at this season; but I understand that prospects in that
  department of the mission were never more encouraging. The
  printing-office and the secular business of the mission are managed by
  brother Ranney with promptitude and efficiency. Brother Haswell
  resides here at present, superintending the printing of the New
  Testament in the Peguan, and is preaching on all occasions. Brother
  Stilson is also here, making and superintending the printing of
  elementary books for schools in the Burman—a work for which he has a
  peculiar tact and _penchant_.”

But for himself he still ardently cherished the purpose to enter Burmah
proper. His eye was upon his old field, Rangoon. To be sure, the new
Burman king was a bigoted Buddhist, and therefore bitterly opposed to
the propagation of the Christian religion. But in Maulmain there were
laborers enough; while in Rangoon he would be favorably situated for
completing the dictionary, as he would there have access to learned men,
and also to books not to be found in Maulmain. Moreover, he hoped that
Burman intolerance might at last yield, and he was eager to press into
the interior of the empire and establish a mission in Ava, the scene of
his sufferings.

Even before leaving America he had written to the Corresponding
Secretary on this point:

  “The accounts of the late revolution in Burmah are so contradictory,
  and the prospect of more toleration so indefinite, that no certain
  expectation can well be entertained. It is possible, however, that, on
  my arriving in Maulmain, there may be an opening for me to proceed to
  Ava. There is sometimes a tide in affairs which, once lost, returns
  not again. Have the Board sufficient confidence in me to authorize me,
  by an overland dispatch which shall meet me on arriving in Maulmain,
  to attempt a mission at Ava, without waiting for further permission,
  or being under the necessity of debating the matter with other
  missionaries, who may demur, for want of something express from the
  Board?

  “The dictionary would not be done _so soon_, if I should go to Ava;
  but it would be done _much better_, by means of the aids which the
  capital would furnish.”

Impelled by these motives Mr. and Mrs. Judson, taking with them their
two little boys, embarked at Maulmain for Rangoon on February 15, 1847.

Only two months and a half had passed since their return from America.
They might have been pardoned had they remained longer in the society of
their missionary associates in Maulmain. But it was not their purpose to
seek their own pleasure. They willingly left the twilight of Maulmain,
in order to penetrate the dense darkness of Rangoon, although, as Mr.
Judson wrote, “it seemed harder for him to leave Maulmain for Rangoon
than to leave Boston for Maulmain.”

After a voyage of five days they and their two children arrived in
Rangoon. Mr. Judson had previously made a visit there alone, in order
“to ascertain the state of things in Burmah more definitely before
making an attempt to settle there.” He had on that occasion hired, for
fifty rupees[67] a month, the upper part of a large brick house, which
Mrs. Judson subsequently named “Bat Castle.” He describes it as—

  “A place dreary indeed, and destitute of almost all outward comforts,
  but one which will afford an opportunity of building up the feeble
  church by private efforts, and of seizing the first opening for more
  public efforts that God in His providence may present, in answer to
  the prayers of His people in beloved, far-distant America.”

Before engaging the house he wrote to Mrs. Judson: “The place looks as
gloomy as a prison.... I shrink at taking you and the children into such
a den, and fear you would pine and die in it.” It was into this
forbidding abode that Mr. Judson introduced the lady to whom he had been
so recently married. He wrote:

  “We have had a grand bat hunt yesterday and to-day—bagged two hundred
  and fifty, and calculate to make up a round thousand before we have
  done. We find that, in hiring the upper story of this den, we secured
  the lower moiety only, the upper moiety thereof being preoccupied by a
  thriving colony of vagabonds, who flare up through the night with a
  vengeance, and the sound of their wings is as the sound of many
  waters, yea, as the sound of your boasted Yankee Niagara; so that
  sleep departs from your eyes, and slumber from our eyelids. But we are
  reading them some lessons which we hope will be profitable to all
  parties concerned.”

But we are indebted to Mrs. Judson’s pen, in a letter to her younger
sister, for a still more vivid portraiture of “Bat Castle”:

                            “BAT CASTLE (Rangoon), _March_ 15, 1847.

  “DEAR KITTY: I write you from walls as massive as any you read of in
  old stories and a great deal uglier—the very eyeball and heart-core of
  an old white-bearded Mussulman. Think of me in an immense brick house
  with rooms as large as the entire ‘loggery’ (our centre room is twice
  as large, and has _no_ window), and only one small window apiece. When
  I speak of windows, do not think I make any allusion to glass—of
  course not. The windows (holes) are closed by means of heavy board or
  plank shutters, tinned over on the outside, as a preventive of fire.
  The bamboo houses of the natives here are like flax or tinder, and the
  foreigners, who have more than the one cloth which Burmans wrap about
  the body, and the mat they sleep on, dare live in nothing but brick.
  Imagine us, then, on the second floor of this immense den, with nine
  rooms at our command, the smallest of which (bathing-room and a kind
  of pantry) are, I think, quite as large as your dining-room, and the
  rest very much larger. Part of the floors are of brick, and part of
  boards; but old ‘Green Turban’ whitewashed them all, with the walls,
  before we came, because the Doctor told him, when he was over here,
  that he must ‘make the house shine for madam.’ He did make it shine
  with a vengeance, between whitewashing and greasing. They oil
  furniture in this country, as Americans do mahogany; but all his doors
  and other woodwork were fairly dripping, and we have not got rid of
  the smell yet; nor, with all our rubbing, is it quite safe to hold too
  long on the door. The partitions are all of brick, and very thick, and
  the door-sills are _built up_, so that I go over them at three or four
  steps, Henry mounts and falls off, and Edward gets on all-fours, and
  accomplishes the pass with more safety. The floor overhead is quite
  low, and the beams, which are frequent, afford shelter to thousands
  and thousands of bats, that disturb us in the daytime only by a little
  cricket-like music, but in the night—oh, if you could only hear them
  carouse! The mosquito curtains are our only safeguard; and getting up
  is horrible. The other night I awoke faint, with a feeling of
  suffocation; and without waiting to think jumped out on the floor. You
  would have thought ‘Old Nick’ himself had come after you, for, of
  course, you believe these firm friends of the _ladies of the
  broomstick_ incipient imps. If there is nothing wickeder about them
  than about the little sparrows that come in immense swarms to the same
  beams, pray what do they do all through the hours of darkness, and why
  do they circle and whizz about a poor mortal’s head, flap their
  villainous wings in one’s face, and then whisk away, as if
  _snickering_ at the annoyance? We have had men at work nearly a week
  trying to thin them out, and have killed a great many hundreds; but I
  suppose their little demoniac souls come back, each with an attendant,
  for I am sure there are twice as many as at first. Everything, walls,
  tables, chairs, etc., are stained by them. Besides the bats, we are
  blessed with our full share of cockroaches, beetles, spiders, lizards,
  rats, ants, mosquitoes, and bed-bugs. With the last the woodwork is
  all alive, and the ants troop over the house in great droves, though
  there are scattering ones beside. Perhaps twenty have crossed my paper
  since I have been writing. Only one cockroach has paid me a visit, but
  the neglect of these gentlemen has been fully made up by a company of
  black bugs about the size of the end of your little finger—nameless
  adventurers.”...

The Judsons were scarcely settled in these forbidding quarters when they
learned that the house in Maulmain, where they had deposited their best
clothing and most valuable goods—many of them presents from dear friends
whom they were to see no more—had taken fire and had been burned to the
ground with all its contents. They had brought but a few articles with
them, not being willing to trust the most valuable part of their
personal effects to the rapacious Government at Rangoon. They had
thought it best to draw their supplies from Maulmain, and now the
precious consignment of articles which they had brought with them from
their dear native land had been consumed in the flames. But Mr. Judson
had long since mastered the science of contentment. He had been
instructed both “to be full and to be hungry; both to abound and to
suffer need.” He wrote to the Rev. E. A. Stevens, a beloved
fellow-sufferer in this calamity:

                                          “RANGOON, _March_ 2, 1847.

  “‘The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away; _blessed be the name of
  the Lord_.’ My heart overflows with gratitude, and my eyes with tears,
  as I pen these precious inspired words. There are some other lines,
  quaint in garb, but rich in core, that are worth more than all your
  house and contents:

                      “‘Blessed be God for all,
                        For all things here below;
                      For every loss and every cross
                        To my advantage grow.’

  “But I sympathize with you and dear sister Stevens. Brother Bullard
  has also sustained a heavy loss. Brother Brayton’s will not, on the
  whole, be any great loss. As to me—the leeks and onions that were
  packed up in those two valuable boxes, worth about seven or eight
  hundred rupees, were very bright to the eye and soft to the feel; and
  many of them we shall greatly need if we live a year or two longer;
  but they have gone to dust and ashes, where I have seen many bright,
  dear eyes go, to rescue any pair of which I would have given those
  boxes ten times over.

  “I am glad and thankful that the New Testament and the manuscripts are
  not wholly lost, though some are. And I am glad that so much interest
  has been excited in the Christian community at Maulmain. I am glad,
  also, that my house was empty, and ready to afford you immediate
  shelter.

  “We arrived here the Saturday after leaving Maulmain, and got our
  things through the custom-house on the next Monday, a week ago
  yesterday. We now begin to feel a little settled, and are about
  commencing a routine of study, and, I may add, missionary labor; for
  though the Burmese converts are few and timid, the Karens flock in
  from different parts, and occupy a good deal of my time. All the men
  understand Burman pretty well, and I have had some interesting
  meetings among them....

  “I have recommenced the work of the dictionary, which has been
  suspended nearly two years. Why has this grievous interruption been
  permitted, and all this precious time lost? And why are our houses and
  property allowed to be burned up? And why are those most dear to us,
  and most qualified to be useful in the cause, torn from our arms and
  dashed into the grave, and all their knowledge and qualification with
  them? Because infinite wisdom and love will have it so. Because it is
  best for us, and best for them, and best for the cause, and best for
  the interests of eternity, that it should be so. And blessed be God,
  we know it, and are thankful, and rejoice, and say, Glory be to God.”

Missionary operations in Rangoon were obstructed from the very outset by
the intolerance of the Burmese Government. It must be remembered that
the missionaries were no longer under the protection of the English
flag, as they had been at Maulmain. They were exposed to the barbarities
of a bigoted and unlimited despotism. The Burman monarch and his younger
brother, the heir apparent, were both rigid Buddhists. And the
administration of the Government, though more friendly to strangers, had
become more doggedly intolerant of Christianity than that of the late
king Tharawadi. Buddhism was in full force throughout the empire, and
the prospects of a missionary were never darker. The vice-governor of
Rangoon, who was at that time acting-governor, is described by Mr.
Judson as being the most ferocious, bloodthirsty monster he had ever
known in Burmah. His house and court-yard resounded day and night with
the screams of people under torture.

  “Even foreigners,” Mr. Judson wrote, “are not beyond his grasp. He
  lately wreaked his rage on some Armenians and Mussulmans, and one of
  the latter class died in the hands of a subordinate officer. His crime
  was quite a venial one; but in order to extort money, he was tortured
  so barbarously that the blood streamed from his mouth, and he was dead
  in an hour.”

It must be remembered that Mr. Judson had been received and patronized
by the Government, not as a missionary or propagator of religion, but as
the priest of a foreign religion, ministering to the foreigners in the
place.

Missionary operations, accordingly, had to be conducted with the utmost
secrecy. Any known attempt at proselyting would have been instantly
amenable at the criminal tribunal, and would probably have been punished
by the imprisonment or death of the proselyte, and the banishment of the
missionary. Nothing but a wholesome fear of the British Government kept
these bloodthirsty wretches from the throat of the missionary himself.
Every step was cautious—every movement slow. Mrs. Judson quietly pursued
the two tasks of learning the language and writing a Memorial of Mrs.
Sarah Boardman Judson, which was finished during this trying period at
Rangoon. Mr. Judson kept at work on the dictionary, while he gathered
for secret worship the few scattered members of the native church, and
the inquirers who, at the risk of imprisonment and death, visited him by
night. He thus wrote to the Hon. Heman Lincoln and family:

  .... “From this land of darkness and intolerance I address a line to
  you, my dear, very dear friends, in blessed America, in bright,
  beautiful Boston and vicinity. It seems like an Elysian vision, that I
  have so lately seen your happy dwellings and elegant surroundings—a
  vision, however, dispelled instantly by a crushing nightmare feeling,
  on looking round upon the wretched habitations, the rude, filthy
  population, the towering pagodas, and the swarms of well-fed priests
  which everywhere here pain the eye and the heart. Buddhism has come
  out in full bloom. The few traces of Christianity discoverable in the
  early stages of the mission seem almost obliterated. The present king
  and his brother, the heir presumptive, are devoted Buddhists,
  especially the latter. He begs his elder brother to allow him to turn
  priest, that he may gratify his pious propensities; and on being
  refused, he does, poor man! all that he can. He descends from his
  prince-regal seat, pounds and winnows the rice with his own hands,
  washes and boils it in his own cook-house, and then, on bended knees,
  presents it to the priests. This strong pulsation at the heart has
  thrown fresh blood throughout the once shrivelled system of the
  national superstition; and now every one vies with his neighbor in
  building pagodas and making offerings to the priests. What can one
  poor missionary effect, accompanied by his yet speechless wife, and
  followed by three men and one woman from Maulmain, and summoning to
  his aid the aged pastor of Rangoon and eight or ten surviving members
  of the church? But as the Mussulman says, _God is great_. He sitteth
  on the heavens, he setteth His foot on the earth, and the inhabitants
  are as grasshoppers before Him. He dwelleth also in the humble and
  contrite soul; and the rays of indwelling glory appear more
  resplendent, gleaming through the chinks of the humble tenement. O for
  that humility and contrition, O for that simplicity of faith, which
  will secure the indwelling glory! May such sinners as we are hope for
  such a blessing? O help us with your prayers, ye who sit under the
  droppings of the sanctuary, and are sometimes allowed to approach the
  presence; O Thou that hearest prayer, help Thou our unbelief!

  “Last Sabbath was our stated communion season, occurring once in four
  months. No alcoholic liquor can be procured in this place, the
  importation of all such being strictly forbidden. Our wine was a
  decoction of raisins, the unadulterated juice of the grape. Ten
  Burmans, one Karen, and two Americans came around the lowly, glorious
  board. To-day I had about the same number of disciples, and several
  listeners, two of whom remained long after worship, and, with two
  others whom I have found since arriving here, make up the small number
  of _four hopeful inquirers_. But all our operations are conducted in
  secrecy. I have been introduced to the Government, not as a
  missionary—though the governor and the vice-governor both knew me well
  from old acquaintance—but as a minister of a foreign religion,
  ministering to foreigners in the place, and as a lexicographer,
  laboring to promote the literature of both nations! In one room,
  therefore, of the upper story of the brick house—for which upper story
  I am obliged to pay fifty rupees a month—will the Christian public
  bear me out in this extra expense?—I have paraded my lexicographical
  apparatus, and commenced hammering at the anvil of the dictionary,
  which has hardly resounded with my blows for two years past; two
  years, alas! lost, lost, in tossing on the sea, closing dear eyes,
  digging graves, rending heartstrings, and feeling about for new ones.
  Thanks be to God, I have a sweet little family around me once more—F.
  F., Harry, and Eddy. God is not only ‘great,’ but good. God is love.
  And He can change our hard, selfish hearts, and make them full of
  love. Do I not love you, dear friends? Shall I see you no more? Yes,
  in heaven, whither we are fast hastening.”

The condition of the missionaries in Rangoon was made still more
distressing by sickness. The great brick house became a hospital. One
member of the family after another was prostrated by disease. Their
maladies were also aggravated by the want of nourishing food.

Mrs. Judson gives an interesting reminiscence of this doleful episode in
Rangoon:

  “In the meantime the rainy season set in; and it proved a season of
  unusual sickliness, even for that sickly place. To add still more to
  the uncomfortableness of our situation, the season for the Buddhistic
  Lent, which continues several months, came round; and, probably for
  the first time in fifty years, foreigners were so far compelled to
  observe it as to abstain from eating flesh or fowl. If we had known of
  the prohibition in season, we could have been prepared; but it took us
  quite by surprise. A few fish were exhibited in the bazaar; but it was
  so disreputable to trade, even in these, that they could scarcely be
  found, except in a half-putrid state. The only baker in town left soon
  after our arrival; and we were forced to live almost exclusively on
  boiled rice and fruits. To the former I unfortunately took an
  unconquerable disgust; and the latter proved unwholesome to all of us.
  One child was seized with erysipelas; the other with a complication of
  diseases brought on, as we supposed, by the meagre diet, and exposure
  to the damp winds; and Dr. Judson himself had a most violent attack of
  dysentery, which kept him from his study-table six weeks. For myself,
  my appetite had failed in proportion to the means of gratifying it;
  so, without being ill, I was so reduced in strength as often, in
  walking across the room, to fall, or rather slide, down on the floor,
  not from faintness, but sheer physical weakness. One of the assistants
  also took the fever; and the nurse I brought from Maulmain, the only
  woman besides myself in the household, became seriously ill. Of course
  we had no medical adviser; and if we had desired it ever so much, we
  could not get away, as the monsoon was now at its height, and the
  small native vessels in the harbor were not only without
  accommodations for invalids, but too frail to be trusted with the
  freight of human lives.”

And thus again to her friends in America she wrote:

                                          “RANGOON, _June_ 16, 1847.

  “Trouble on trouble—trouble on trouble! You could scarce imagine, dear
  aunt Cynthia, people in a worse condition than we are now. Last
  Saturday evening Dr. J. came into my room with red eyes and a voice
  all tremulous with weeping. ‘We must be at the worst now,’ he said;
  ‘and in all my troubles in this dreadful country, I never before
  looked on so discouraging a prospect. We are hunted down here like
  wild beasts; watched by Government and plotted against by Catholic
  priests. The churches at home have made no provision for our going to
  Ava, the governor is importuned to send us out of the country, the
  monsoon is raging, and we could not go to Maulmain if we wished, and
  you are failing every day—it seems to me dying before my eyes—without
  the possibility of obtaining either medicines or a physician.”...

To what straits the family was reduced for food may be seen in the
following sketch from Mrs. Judson’s pen:

  “Our milk is a mixture of buffaloes’ milk, water, and something else
  which we can not make out. We have changed our milk-woman several
  times, but it does no good. The butter we make from it is like lard
  with flakes of tallow. But it is useless to write about these
  things—you can get no idea. I must tell you, however, of the grand
  dinner we had one day. ‘You must contrive and get something that mamma
  can eat,’ the doctor said to our Burmese purveyor; ‘she will starve to
  death.’ ‘What shall I get?’ ‘Anything.’ ‘Anything?’ ‘Anything.’ Well,
  we did have a capital dinner, though we tried in vain to find out by
  the bones what it was. Henry said it was _touk-tahs_, a species of
  lizard, and I should have thought so too, if the little animal had
  been of a fleshy consistence. Cook said he _didn’t know_, but he
  grinned a horrible grin which made my stomach heave a little,
  notwithstanding the deliciousness of the meat. In the evening we
  called Mr. Bazaar-man. ‘What did we have for dinner to-day?’ ‘Were
  they good?’ ‘Excellent.’ A tremendous explosion of laughter, in which
  the cook from his dish-room joined as loud as he dared. ‘What were
  they?’ ‘_Rats!_’ A common servant would not have played such a trick,
  but it was one of the doctor’s assistants who goes to bazaar for us.
  You know the Chinese consider rats a great delicacy, and he bought
  them at one of their shops.”

But amid all the discouragements and sufferings of his life in Rangoon,
Mr. Judson did not lapse into despondency. He wrote to a friend:

  “My sojourn in Rangoon, though tedious and trying in some respects, I
  regard as one of the brightest spots, one of the greenest oases in the
  diversified wilderness of my life. May God make me thankful for all
  the blessings which have hitherto fallen to my lot, and for the hope
  of those richer blessings which are just concealed by the cloud of
  sense from our spiritual vision. If this world is so happy, what must
  heaven be? And as to trials, let us bear up under them, remembering
  that if we suffer for Christ’s sake, with Him we shall reign.”

At last, however, the intolerance of the Government became so fierce
that there was no hope of retaining a foothold in Rangoon, without going
to Ava in order to secure the favor of the royal court.

  “One Saturday morning,” says Mrs. Judson, “we were startled by some
  private intimations that the bloody ray-woon, as one of the
  vice-governors was called, had his eye on us; and a little before
  evening the hints were fully confirmed. We learned from an undoubted
  source that a police guard had been stationed in the vicinity of our
  house, with orders to seize every native, not known to be a servant of
  the house, seen coming out of it. We inferred that their policy was
  not to disturb _us_ at present, but the blow was first to fall on the
  poor Christians. Several Karens were stopping with us, and in addition
  to our usual company of worshippers quite a number of invited friends
  and strangers had promised to be with us on the next day. The church
  had been making individual efforts to enlarge the congregation. I
  shall never forget the expression of my husband’s face, as though
  really piercing to the invisible, when he exclaimed, ‘I tell you, if
  we had but the power to see them, the air above us is thick with
  contending spirits—the good and the bad, striving for the mastery. I
  know where final victory lies, but the struggle may be a long one.’
  There was not much time for talking, however. He communicated the
  state of things, as far as he thought expedient, to his two native
  assistants, and sent them out to warn the nearer worshippers. In this,
  great caution was necessary, in order to prevent a panic; and I
  suppose that the Rangoon Christians have never, to this day, known the
  extent of their danger. As the assistants, by an especial arrangement,
  did not return till after our landlord’s hour for closing the gate,
  Dr. Judson, with some difficulty, got the key into his own possession;
  and so, in the first gray of the morning, the Karens were guided out
  of town, and advised to return to the jungle. The last place to which
  the assistants carried their warning, on Sunday morning, was a little
  village five miles from Rangoon, where they remained till toward
  evening. Dr. Judson was afraid of compromising the Christians by going
  to any of their houses that day; but he had advised them, through the
  assistants, how to hold worship, and we knew of several places where
  little knots of men and women were gathered for prayer.

  “These demonstrations on the part of Government were followed up by a
  series of petty annoyances and insults, which effectually precluded
  the possibility of accomplishing much good. The governor was friendly,
  but weak and cowardly; and we soon found that his protection was
  really worthless, except as he could hold the petty officers in awe.
  The bloody ray-woon laughed at his authority, and once actually
  assembled the troops against him, when the poor governor yielded. Both
  Christians and inquirers, however, still came to us in private; and
  many a man, who refused to take even a book from the teacher’s hands,
  would watch his opportunity, when going out, to snatch one from a box
  placed near the door for that purpose, and hide it in his dress,
  congratulating himself, no doubt, that he was unsuspected even by us.”

Under these circumstances, the only hope lay in a visit to Ava. Mr.
Judson’s heart was set upon this. He believed that it was the only way
by which the Gospel could be established in Burmah proper; besides, in
the completion of his dictionary, he desired to avail himself of the
help of the scholars and the literature to be found only at the capital.
And bitter indeed was his disappointment when the policy of retrenchment
at home not only prevented his pushing on to Ava, but also compelled him
to retreat from Rangoon. It was with an almost broken heart that this
wise and intrepid leader, after this last fruitless effort to break the
serried ranks of Burman intolerance, returned to Maulmain in obedience
to the timid and narrow policy of his brethren in America. He wrote:

  “I am persuaded, as I have been for years past, that the only way to
  keep footing in Rangoon is to obtain some countenance at Ava. My
  principal object in coming hither was to ascertain the practicability
  and probable advantage of proceeding to the capital. The present
  governor has given his permission, and the season favorable for going
  up the river is not far distant. But at the approaching crisis, I find
  myself destitute of the requisite means. The Board have approved the
  measure, but have not been able to accompany their approval with the
  needful remittance. On the contrary, I learn from my last letters from
  Maulmain, that the annual appropriation for the Burman mission is ten
  thousand rupees less than the current expenses require. The brethren
  have been obliged to retrench in every department, instead of being
  able to make an appropriation for a new enterprise. My extra expense
  in Rangoon for assistants and house-rent is eighty-six rupees a month,
  and they have been able to allow me seventeen and a half only. The
  Mission Secretary writes me that for anything beyond that sum I must
  look, not to their treasury, but to the Board. Instead, therefore, of
  entering on a new and expensive undertaking, I find myself unable to
  remain in Rangoon. But no; I might hope that an appeal home would
  provide the means for remaining here; but in present circumstances,
  unable to remain to any advantage without making friends at Ava, and
  having no hope that the Board will be able to commence a new station,
  or even sustain the old ones much longer, there remains nothing for me
  but to fall back upon Maulmain.

  “It is my growing conviction that the Baptist churches in America are
  behind the age in missionary spirit. They now and then make a
  spasmodic effort to throw off a nightmare debt of some years’
  accumulation, and then sink back into unconscious repose. Then come
  paralyzing orders to re-trench; new enterprises are checked in their
  very conception, and applicants for missionary employ are advised to
  wait, and soon become merged in the ministry at home. Several cases of
  that sort I encountered during my late visit to the United States.
  This state of things can not last always. The Baptist missions will
  probably pass into the hands of other denominations, or be temporarily
  suspended; and those who have occupied the van will fall back into the
  rear. Nebuchadnezzar will be driven out from men, to eat grass like an
  ox, until seven times pass over him. But he will, at length, recover
  his senses, and be restored to the throne of his kingdom, and reign
  over the whole earth.”

And how deeply his heroic nature mourned over the signal to retreat may
be seen in the description of the situation at Rangoon, as given by her
who shared-with him this bitter experience:

  “Dr. Judson, when he could keep down his groans, used to speak of our
  position as ‘the pass of the Splugen,’ and say he had no doubt we
  should find sunny vales and fruited vineyards the other side. The
  Government was certainly very bad, and our prospects, at the best,
  misty; yet as soon as his health and the children’s began to amend,
  our courage revived. We could not bear, now we had gone so far, and
  been through so much, to think of retreating, without an effort to get
  to Ava. For myself, as I believe is natural to the practical minds of
  women, I sat down to examine the worst features of the case in detail.
  We should of course be subjected to inconceivable annoyances, but we
  must trust Providence to give us wise thoughts. We very likely might
  be banished; but we could always hold ourselves in readiness to go,
  and the loss of the few goods we had would not be much. Possibly we
  should be imprisoned; but I did not think that very likely, and we
  should always have means of informing our friends in Maulmain. Death
  was the worst. We _must_ endure it some time. If it came a little
  earlier, it would be in a good cause; and there would be faithful
  Christians about us, who would never rest till they had taken the
  children to Maulmain. The way seemed clear to me. Dr. Judson said it
  was scarcely possible for us to encounter the complication of troubles
  that we had already passed through in Rangoon. Ava, he said, was
  always better governed than Rangoon; and this starving of people
  during Lent had never occurred before in all his missionary-life, and
  was not likely to occur again; besides, the rains were less heavy, and
  consequently the rainy season less sickly. In addition to this, he had
  a friend at court—a Burman of rank, who loved him, and was exerting
  himself to the utmost to gain respect for the ‘wise man,’ and to
  explain that Americans were not Englishmen. The plan of going to Ava
  really seemed, on the whole, feasible. Accordingly Dr. Judson used his
  first returning strength to call on the governor, to obtain permission
  to go. Not that we could not go without permission; but it was polite
  and conciliatory to ask, and in the permission would be an implied
  exemption from annoyance in getting away, and protection—probably that
  of a Government flag or official umbrella—on the river. The Lent was
  not yet over; but what with boxes of biscuit from Maulmain, bribing a
  Mussulman—a rascally fellow, who afterward came and robbed us of our
  dearly-bought treasure—to obtain fowls for us secretly, and the
  improved health of some of us, we began to be quite valorous. As Dr.
  Judson expressed it, ‘our faces began to shine.’ Indeed, we had not
  been very desponding any of the time. Never, except during an
  occasional hour, when his illness was most alarming, did his courage
  falter. It was delightful to be so directly in the hands of God. Then,
  we had not expected much when we left Maulmain. The church in Rangoon
  had been aroused, a few baptisms had taken place, and several more
  hopeful conversions; and the _way_ to Ava, if not the golden city
  itself, was open before us.

  “The letter from Maulmain with no appropriation for our contemplated
  expedition, and giving us only twenty rupees to cover the eighty-six
  rupees we were even then monthly expending, came upon us like a sudden
  tornado in a sunny day. Oddly enough, it had not once occurred to us
  that the _money_ could be wanting. You will readily appreciate the one
  broad feature of the case, which would have made the blow heavy to any
  sincere Christian having much of the missionary spirit; but to my
  husband there was additional bitterness in the manner of his
  disappointment, and in the hands from which it came. ‘I thought they
  loved me,’ he would say, mournfully, ‘and they would scarcely have
  known it if I had died.’ ‘All through our troubles, I was comforted
  with the thought that my brethren in Maulmain, and in America, were
  praying for us, and they have never once thought of us.’ At other
  times he would draw startling pictures of missionaries abandoning the
  spirit of their mission, and sacrificing everything to some darling
  project; and at others he would talk hopelessly of the impulsive
  nature of the home movements, and then pray, in a voice of agony, that
  these sins of the children of God might not be visited on the heathen.
  This was an unnatural state of excitement—for _him_ peculiarly
  unnatural—and he was not long in recovering from it. He very soon
  began to devise apologies for everybody, and said we must remember
  that so far as _we_ were concerned, or the missionary cause itself,
  God had done this thing, and done it, as He always does, for good. It
  was not His will that we should go to Ava then, and we had no right to
  complain of the means He made use of to prevent it. He insisted, too,
  that our obedience was not to be yielded grudgingly; that it must be a
  cheerful acquiescence in all that God had done, and a sincere, careful
  study of the indications of His providence afterward, without any
  suspicion that our ways were hedged by anything harder or thornier
  than His love and mercy. By the time he had an opportunity to send
  letters to Maulmain and Boston, his mind was restored to its usual
  serenity. My impression, however, is, that his first letter to the
  Board was written in a slightly discouraged tone. He wrote more
  hopefully to Maulmain, but I have sometimes thought that his
  generosity took the point from his letter, and that his meaning was
  not understood in saying that it was _for the best_. I think now that
  they mistook resignation to God for a personal willingness to abandon
  the enterprise.”

Two years afterward, only a few months before his death, he received
permission from the Board to go to Ava. It was couched in the following
resolutions:

  1. “That the Executive Committee accede to the proposition of Dr.
  Judson to visit Ava, for the purpose of perfecting his Burman
  dictionary.

  2. “That the sum of one thousand rupees be appropriated to defray the
  expense of said visit.

  3. “That the Foreign Secretary be requested to assure Dr. Judson of
  the earnest wish of the Committee, that he should carefully avoid all
  that may jeopard his life, or interfere with his invaluable labors.”

But this permission came too late. The opportunity of penetrating Burmah
proper had passed, and the aid of an excellent Burmese scholar, once a
priest at Ava, had been secured at Maulmain, and then the toiling
translator replied to the resolutions as follows:

  “Considering, therefore, the uncertainty of life, and the state of my
  manuscripts, so effaced by time, or so erased and interlined as to be
  illegible to any other person but myself, I have thought it was my
  duty to forego, for the present, what I can not but regard as an
  interesting expedition, in order to drive forward the heavy work of
  the dictionary in the most satisfactory manner, and without increasing
  the hazard of any serious interruption.”

Thus after spending half a year of toil and suffering at Rangoon, he was
compelled to fall back upon Maulmain. He arrived there with his family
on September 5, 1847.

From the time of his return to Maulmain until his last sickness, he
worked steadily at the dictionary. Again and again in his letters he
alludes to this colossal undertaking.

  “Since my return from America, with the exception of a visit of a few
  months at Rangoon, I have been occupying my old stand, engaged chiefly
  in preparing a Burmese dictionary, which is now in the press; that is,
  the English and Burmese part. The Burmese and English part will, I
  hope, be ready for the press in the course of another year. They will
  make two quarto volumes of five or six hundred pages each.... I am
  still hard at work on the dictionary, and shall be for above a year to
  come, if I live so long. The work will make two volumes quarto,
  containing above a thousand pages. No one can tell what toil it has
  cost me. But I trust it will be a valuable and standard work for a
  long time. It sweetens all toil to be conscious that we are laboring
  for the King of kings, the Lord of lords. I doubt not we find it so,
  whether in Maulmain or in Philadelphia.”...

  “I have taken shelter in the house lately occupied by brother Simons,
  though remote from missionary operations, where I intend to make an
  effort to finish the dictionary.”

His wife, in one of her letters, thus describes his indefatigable
industry:

                                                   “_July 18, 1849._

  .... “‘The goodman’ works like a galley slave; and really it quite
  distresses me sometimes, but he seems to get fat on it, so I try not
  to worry. He walks—or rather _runs_—like a boy over the hills, a mile
  or two every morning; then down to his books, scratch-scratch,
  puzzle-puzzle, and when he gets deep in the mire, out on the veranda
  with your humble servant by his side, walking and talking (kan-ing we
  call it in the Burman) till the point is elucidated, and then down
  again—and so on till ten o’clock in the evening. It is this _walking_
  which is keeping him out of the grave.”

At the same time he took a general oversight of the mission work in
Maulmain, being, in the nature of the case, a guiding and inspiring
force. He preached occasionally in the native chapel, “one sermon at
least every Lord’s day.” When his beloved fellow-missionary, Mr.
Haswell, was compelled to return home for a short visit on account of
his ill health, the whole care of the native church devolved on him.

These literary and pastoral labors were, however, lightened by social
and domestic pleasures. Though he had come to the ripe age of sixty, he
had within him the fresh heart of a boy. It has been truly said of him
that his spirit was intensely, unconquerably youthful. He loved to romp
with his children, and early in the morning to brush

                    “With hasty steps the dew away.”

In a life of self-sacrifice he had discovered the perennial fountain of
joy. While he followed the narrow path of stern duty, the butterfly
pleasure which the worldling chases from flower to flower, had flown
into his bosom. Byron, on his thirty-ninth birthday, breathed the sigh:

               “My days are in the yellow leaf,
                 The flower and fruits of life are gone;
               The worm, the canker, and the grief
                 Are mine alone.”

How different Judson’s words uttered on his death-bed:

  “I suppose they think me an old man, and imagine it is nothing for one
  like me to resign a life so full of trials. But I am not old—at least
  in that sense; you know I am not. Oh, no man ever left the world with
  more inviting prospects, with brighter hopes, or warmer
  feelings—warmer feelings.”

We are indebted for the following description of his personal appearance
at this time to Dr. Wayland’s Memoir:

  “In person, Dr. Judson was of about the medium height, slenderly
  built, but compactly knitted together. His complexion was in youth
  fair; but residence in India had given him the sallow hue common to
  that climate. His hair, when in this country, was yet of a fine
  chestnut, with scarcely a trace of gray. The elasticity of his
  movement indicated a man of thirty, rather than of nearly sixty years
  of age. His deportment was, in a remarkable degree, quiet and
  self-possessed, and his manner was pointed out as perfectly well bred,
  by those who consider the cultivation of social accomplishments the
  serious business of life. A reviewer writes on this subject as
  follows:

  “‘A person overtaking Judson in one of his early morning walks, as he
  strode along the pagoda-capped hills of Maulmain, would have thought
  the pedestrian before him rather under-sized, and of a build showing
  no great muscular development; although the pace was good and the step
  firm, yet there was nothing to indicate great powers of physical
  endurance, in the somewhat slight and spare frame tramping steadily in
  front of the observer. The latter would scarcely suppose that he had
  before him the man who, on the 25th of March, 1826, wrote, “Through
  the kind interposition of our heavenly Father, our lives have been
  preserved in the most imminent danger from the hand of the
  executioner, and in repeated instances of most alarming illness during
  my protracted imprisonment of one year and seven months; nine months
  in three pairs of fetters, two months in five, six months in one, and
  two months a prisoner at large.” Illness nigh unto death, and three or
  five pairs of fetters to aid in weighing down the shattered and
  exhausted frame, seemed a dispensation calculated for the endurance of
  a far more muscular build. But meet the man, instead of overtaking
  him, or, better still, see him enter a room and bare his head, and the
  observer at once caught an eye beaming with intelligence, a
  countenance full of life and expression. Attention could scarce fail
  of being riveted on that head and face, which told at once that the
  spiritual and intellectual formed the man; the physical was wholly
  subordinate, and must have been borne through its trials by the more
  essential elements of the individual, by the _feu sacre_ which
  predominated in his disposition. Nor was this impression weakened by
  his conversation. Wisdom and piety were, as might be expected in such
  a man, its general tone; but there was a vivacity pervading it which
  indicated strong, buoyant, though well, it may be said very severely,
  disciplined animal spirits. Wit, too, was there, playful, pure, free
  from malice, and a certain quiet Cervantic humor, full of benignity,
  would often enliven and illustrate what he had to say on purely
  temporal affairs. His conversation was thus both very able and
  remarkably pleasing.’”

His reputation had extended through the whole of India, and he was held
in the highest esteem even by eminent Buddhists, as may be seen in the
following letter addressed to him by his Royal Highness, the Crown
Prince of Siam, who subsequently became king:

                                                   “_August, 1849._”

  .... “I put together with my box, comprising a few artificial flowers,
  two passion flower, one mogneyet, or surnamed flower, and three roses,
  manufactured by most celebrated princess the daughter of late second
  king, or sub-king, who was my royal uncle, for your memorial, but are,
  indeed, that I don’t know what would be in your necessity from me, beg
  to let me know without hesitation, I shall endeavor for your desire
  how my power would allow.

  “If you desire to visit Siam some time, don’t come by land, as the
  strangers are prohibited to come by northern way from command of his
  majesty, and you would be tributed for coming by way of three pagodas,
  though traveling of strangers by it was allowed by political
  authority. It would be best if you embark on board the steamer for
  Singapore, and lodge little while at residence of my beloved friend
  Tan Tock Sing, whom I can request to comfort or make attention to you
  respectfully, and take passage by Siamese vessels that visit the
  Singapore almost every month to our country, and on your ascending and
  descending to and fro between this post and Singapore you need not
  expend any of your own, as I can pay or request the owners of ships
  for you if you let me be aware.

  “Whenever do you please to send me packet or letters, or to certain of
  your friend herein, you shall send by sea to Singapore with the
  direction thus:

  “_To His Royal Highness, T. V. Chaufa Mongkut, of Bangkok, Siam._ Kind
  care of Tan Tock Sing, of Singapore.

  “If you have opportunity to send by land, you shall send by hand of
  Rahany messengers, or credible traveling trademen of the same, for
  care of my friend the Rahany chief governor, with Siamese characters
  in direction as follows [here is inserted the direction in Siamese],
  because there is none interpreter of English. I am not pleasing the
  Peguen, or Pegunese, or Mons messenger, who were dignified and
  appointed to visit Maulmein once for a year from our court, as they
  generally are proud in vain and ignorant of foreign custom, and
  wondering or surprising themselves that they are embassadors from the
  king improper to carry letters from others. I think if you commit your
  letter or pack to them, lest they might say or do any laughable.

  “All white race at Bangkok, both clergymen and merchant, are well
  during time of cholera, as the missionaries were generally prevented
  themselves from filling of disease by using of drinking the dissolved
  mixture of calomel and opium with some spirit and oil put in water,
  and others by generally use of brandy.

  “On the ninth day of the current month, eight of Roman Catholic French
  priests disputed away from Siamese kingdom, on account of disagreement
  with the king, for ordinance the annual taxes, which were ordained
  upon all inhabitants of district of Bangkok. You will hear exactly
  from letters, perhaps, of your friends. I have no time to write you
  more.

  “I wrote you so long to fulfill your desire to hear from again as you
  had requested, in your addressed, as I am seeming to be, your curious
  but little as I was just studied of some way of English 4 years ago,
  commencing June, 1845, during one less of which I learned from mouth
  of my teacher, and on rest but by reading only.

                  “I have the honour to be your friend,
                                             “T. Y. CHAUFA MONGKUT.”

To his fellow-missionaries his wide experience and affectionate
disposition made him an invaluable adviser and friend. When they found
themselves in trouble and sorrow they were sure to receive from his lips
words of comfort and counsel. To Mrs. Moore, of Maulmain, who had lost
her child, he wrote:

  “DEAR SISTER: I do sympathize with you while suffering under the loss
  of your little babe. It is true that it breathed the breath of life a
  day or two only; but your heart—a _mother’s_ heart—feels anguish never
  before conceived of; and as the coffin-lid shuts out the sweet face
  from your longing gaze, and bars all further maternal care, the tears
  you shed will be, O, so bitter!

  “You need not my suggestion that God has done this thing in infinite
  wisdom and love. While, therefore, you mourn, be thankful. A part of
  yourself has gone before you to heaven. Yours is the early privilege
  of furnishing a little seraph to occupy its place in Paradise. There
  it will wait to welcome its mother’s arrival. The prayers you have
  frequently offered for the little creature will yet all be answered;
  the warm affections now apparently crushed in the bud will expand and
  bloom in heavenly glory; and every succeeding age of eternity will
  heighten your song of praise to God for making you the mother of a
  little immortal, and then, for some special purpose, bearing it away
  thus early to the grave, and to heaven.

                           “Your sympathizing friend and brother,
                                                        “A. JUDSON.”

And to his afflicted fellow-laborer, the Rev. Mr. Osgood, he sends these
words of comfort:

  “So the light in your dwelling has gone out, my poor brother, and it
  is all darkness there, only as you draw down by faith some faint
  gleams of the light of heaven; and coldness has gathered round your
  hearth-stone; your house is probably desolate, your children
  scattered, and you a homeless wanderer over the face of the land. We
  have both tasted of these bitter cups once and again; we have found
  them bitter, and we have found them sweet too. Every cup stirred by
  the finger of God becomes sweet to the humble believer. Do you
  remember how our late wives, and sister Stevens, and perhaps some
  others, used to cluster around the well-curb in the mission compound
  at the close of day? I can almost see them sitting there, with their
  smiling faces, as I look out of the window at which I am now writing.
  Where are ours now? Clustering around the well-curb of the fountain of
  living water, to which the Lamb of heaven shows them the way—reposing
  in the arms of infinite love, who wipes away all their tears with His
  own hand.

  “Let us travel on and look up. We shall soon be there. As sure as I
  write or you read these lines, we shall soon be there. Many a weary
  step we may yet have to take, but we shall surely get there at last.
  And the longer and more tedious the way, the sweeter will be our
  repose.”

The great pressure of his public cares and other labors did not make him
moody or absent-minded at home. His love for his children was deep and
tender. To his daughter Abby, who was living at Bradford in the old
homestead of the Hasseltine family, he wrote as follows:

  .... “We are a deliciously happy family; but we think much of the
  three dear absent ones, and my tears frequently fall for your dear,
  dear mother in her lone bed at St. Helena. And any time I enter the
  burial-place here, I see the white gravestone of poor little
  black-eyed Charlie. Ah, we had to leave the poor little fellow to die
  in the arms of Mrs. Osgood. It was hard, but we could not help it.
  God’s will be done. He is now happy with his mother. If you should
  die, would you go to them too? O that I could hear of your and your
  brothers’ conversion!

  “You can never know how much I want to see you, how much I think of
  you, how much I pray for you, always when I pray for myself. O my dear
  daughter, my motherless daughter, meet me at the throne of grace; meet
  me in the bosom of Jesus, and we shall live in His blessed presence on
  high, together with your dear mother, lost to us for a time, but not
  forever; whose spirit ever watches over you, and will rejoice with joy
  yet unfelt, when you turn to the Saviour and give your heart to Him.

                                     “Your longing, hoping father,
                                                         A. JUDSON.”

Nor does he forget his boys who are pursuing their studies in Worcester:

  “Is it possible that I have letters from you at last? I had waited so
  long that I began to think it would never be. And I am so glad to hear
  of your welfare, and especially that you have both been under
  religious impressions, and that Elnathan begins to entertain a hope in
  Christ! O, this is the most blessed news. Go on, my dear boys, and not
  rest until you have made your calling and election sure. I believe
  that you both and Abby Ann will become true Christians, and meet me in
  heaven; for I never pray without praying for your conversion, and I
  think I pray in faith. Go to school, attend to your studies, be good
  scholars, try to get a good education; but, O, heaven is all. Life,
  life, eternal life! Without this, without an interest in the Lord of
  life, you are lost, lost forever. Dear Adoniram, give your heart at
  once to the Saviour. Don’t go to sleep without doing it. Try, try for
  your life. Don’t mind what anybody may say to the contrary, nor how
  much foolish boys may laugh at you. Love the dear Saviour, who has
  loved you unto death. Dear sons, so soon as you have a good hope in
  Christ that your sins are pardoned, and that Christ loves you, urge
  your pastor and the church to baptize and receive you into communion.
  They will hold back, thinking you are too young, and must give more
  evidence. But don’t be discouraged. Push on. Determine to do it.
  _Determine to stand by Christ, come what will._ That is the way to get
  to heaven.... Will Elnathan tell me what little book it was that was
  so much blessed to him? I have forgotten what I sent him. I have sent
  you copies of your mother’s Memoir. You will be delighted to read it,
  so beautifully and so truthfully is it written. Ever love to cherish
  the memory of your own dear mother—how much she loved you to the last
  gasp—and prepare to follow her to heaven.

                                         “Your fond father,
                                                         A. JUDSON.”

And the two little boys who formed a part of the family group at
Maulmain, often found in their father an ardent companion in their play.
One of them well remembers how his father used to come into his room in
the morning and greet him upon his first awakening with a delicious
piece of Burmese cake, or with the joyful tidings that a rat had been
caught in a trap the night before! He wrote to Mr. Stevens in Rangoon:

  “I have to hold a meeting with the rising generation every evening,
  and that takes time. Henry can say, ‘Twinkle, twinkle,’ all himself,
  and Edward can repeat it after his father! Giants of genius! paragons
  of erudition!”

On December 24, 1847, Emily Frances Judson[68] was born at Maulmain. The
happy mother addressed to her infant the following exquisite lines,
which have been since treasured in so many hearts in many lands:

                               _My Bird._

                “Ere last year’s moon had left the sky,
                  A birdling sought my Indian nest.
                And folded, O, so lovingly!
                  Her tiny wings upon my breast.

                “From morn till evening’s purple tinge
                  In winsome helplessness she lies;
                Two rose leaves, with a silken fringe,
                  Shut softly on her starry eyes.

                “There’s not in Ind a lovelier bird;
                  Broad earth owns not a happier nest;
                O God, Thou hast a fountain stirred,
                  Whose waters never more shall rest!

                “This beautiful, mysterious thing,
                  This seeming visitant from heaven—
                This bird with the immortal wing,
                  To me—to me. Thy hand hath given.

                “The pulse first caught its tiny stroke,
                  The blood its crimson hue, from mine;—
                This life, which I have dared invoke,
                  Henceforth is parallel with thine.

                “A silent awe is in my room;
                  I tremble with delicious fear;
                The future with its light and gloom,—
                  Time and Eternity are here.

                “Doubts—hopes, in eager tumult rise;
                  Hear, O my God! one earnest prayer:
                Room for my bird in Paradise,
                  And give her angel-plumage there!”

But dark shadows began to gather around the path of the missionary. Soon
after the birth of Emily, Mrs. Judson’s health began to decline. Mr.
Judson thus wrote to her friend, Miss Anable:

  “A crushing weight is upon me. I can not resist the dreadful
  conviction that dear Emily is in a settled and rapid decline. For
  nearly a year after the birth of baby, she enjoyed pretty good health,
  and I flattered myself that she would be spared for many years. But
  three or four months ago her appetite almost entirely failed her. Soon
  after, baby was taken very ill, and in the midst of it our usual help
  left us, and she was obliged to undergo a great deal of severe
  fatigue; and I see now that she has been declining ever since. She
  soon became unable to take our usual walks, and I procured a pony for
  her, and she tried riding, but without any good effect. I next sent
  her to Tavoy in a steamer, on a visit to the missionaries there. She
  was gone ten days, and returned thinner in flesh and weaker than ever.
  I now take her out every morning in a chaise, and this is all the
  exercise she can bear. She is under the care of a very skilful doctor,
  who appears to be making every possible effort to save her; but the
  symptoms are such that I have scarcely any hope left. She is thinner
  than she has ever been; strength almost gone; no appetite; various
  pains in the region of the lungs; a dry cough, which has hung on
  pertinaciously for two or three months. She was preparing some
  ‘Notes,’ to append to the Memoir, but has been obliged to leave them
  unfinished, being unable to write, or even read, without aggravating
  her pains. I look around in despair. If a change to any place promised
  the least relief, I would go anywhere. But we are here in the
  healthiest part of India, and in the dry, warm season; and she suffers
  so much at sea that a voyage would hardly be recommended for itself.
  My only hope is, that the doctor declares that her lungs are not
  seriously affected, and that as soon as her system is fairly brought
  under the influence of the course of medicine he is pursuing—digitalis
  being a principal ingredient—there will be a favorable result. I shall
  dissuade her from writing by this month’s mail, though she has
  mentioned that she wants to write to you and her family. Nor does she
  know that I am writing to you. Her family I don’t want to distress at
  present. She may get better. But I suffer so much myself, that I felt
  it would be some relief to sit down and tell you all about it.... When
  she was at Tavoy, she made up her mind that she must die soon, and
  that is now her prevailing expectation; but she contemplates the event
  with composure and resignation. Within a few months she has grown much
  in devotional feelings, and in longing desires to be wholly conformed
  to the will of Christ. She had formerly some doubts about the
  genuineness of her early conversion, but they have all left her; and
  though she feels that in her circumstances prolonged life is
  exceedingly desirable, she is quite willing to leave all at the
  Saviour’s call. Praise be to God for His love to her.”

Little did he imagine while he cherished these doleful forebodings,
that, in the journey through the valley of the shadow of death, he was
to precede his wife by several years. In November, 1849, only a few
months after he wrote the above lines, he was attacked by the disease,
which, after a period of a little over four months, culminated in his
death. One night, while sharing with Mrs. Judson the care of one of the
children who had been taken suddenly ill, he caught a severe cold. This
settled on his lungs and produced a terrible cough with some fever.
After three or four days, he was attacked with dysentery, and before
this was subdued a congestive fever set in, from which he never
recovered. A trip down the coast of Mergui afforded only partial relief.
He tried the sea air of Amherst, but only sank the more rapidly, and
then hastened back to Maulmain. The following is his last communication
to the Board:

                    _To the Corresponding Secretary._

                                     “MAULMAIN, _February_ 21, 1850.

  “MY DEAR BROTHER: I can not manage a pen; so please to excuse pencil.
  I have been prostrated with fever ever since the latter part of last
  November, and have suffered so much that I have frequently remarked
  that I was never ill in India before. Through the mercy of God, I
  think I am convalescent for the last ten days; but the doctor and all
  my friends are very urgent that I should take a sea voyage of a month
  or two, and be absent from this a long time. May God direct in the
  path of duty. My hand is failing; so I will beg to remain

                                       “Yours affectionately,
                                                        “A. JUDSON.”

His only hope now lay in a long sea voyage. He was never so happy as
when upon the deep. The ocean breezes had never failed to invigorate
him. But it was a sore trial to part with his wife and children when
there was but little prospect of ever seeing them again. There was,
however, no alternative. A French barque, the _Aristide Marie_, was to
sail from Maulmain on the 3d of April. The dying missionary was carried
on board by his weeping disciples, accompanied only by Mr. Ranney, of
the Maulmain mission. There were unfortunate delays in going down the
river; so that several days were lost. Meantime that precious life was
ebbing rapidly away. It was not until Monday, the 8th, that the vessel
got out to sea. Then came head winds and sultry weather, and after four
days and nights of intense agony, Mr. Judson breathed his last on the
12th of April, and on the same day his body was buried in the sea. He
died within a week from the time that he parted with his wife, and
almost four months of terrible suspense elapsed before she learned of
his death. The tidings were sent to her by the Rev. Dr. Mackay, a Scotch
Presbyterian minister of Calcutta. Who can fathom her experience of
suffering during those weary months of waiting! On the 22d of April,
within three weeks of the time when she said farewell to her husband,
exactly ten days after his body without her knowledge had found its
resting-place in the sea, she gave birth to her second child, whom she
named Charles, for her father. But the same day his little spirit, as
though unwilling to linger amid such scenes of desolation, took its
upward flight to be forever united with the parent who had entered the
gates of Paradise only a little in advance. The same lyre that had
echoed such glad music upon the birth of Emily, breathed the following
soft, pensive strains of sorrow:

                            _Angel Charlie._

                “He came—a beauteous vision—
                  Then vanished from my sight,
                His wing one moment cleaving
                  The blackness of my night;
                My glad ear caught its rustle,
                  Then sweeping by, he stole
                The dew-drop that his coming
                  Had cherished in my soul.

                “Oh, he had been my solace
                  When grief my spirit swayed,
                And on his fragile being
                  Had tender hopes been stayed;
                Where thought, where feeling lingered
                  His form was sure to glide,
                And in the lone night-watches
                  ’Twas ever by my side.

                “He came; but as the blossom
                  Its petals closes up,
                And hides them from the tempest,
                  Within its sheltering cup,
                So he his spirit gathered
                  Back to his frightened breast,
                And passed from earth’s grim threshold,
                  To be the Saviour’s guest.

                “My boy—ah, me! the sweetness,
                  The anguish of that word!—
                My boy, when in strange night-dreams
                  My slumbering soul is stirred;
                When music floats around me,
                  When soft lips touch my brow,
                And whisper gentle greetings,
                  Oh, tell me, is it thou?

                “I know, by one sweet token,
                  My Charlie is not dead;
                One golden clue he left me,
                  As on his track he sped;
                Were he some gem or blossom
                  But fashioned for to-day,
                My love would slowly perish
                  With his dissolving clay.

                “Oh, by this deathless yearning,
                  Which is not idly given;
                By the delicious nearness
                  My spirit feels to heaven;
                By dreams that throng my night sleep,
                  By visions of the day,
                By whispers when I’m erring,
                  By promptings when I pray;—

                “I know this life so cherished,
                  Which sprang beneath my heart,
                Which formed of my own being
                  So beautiful a part;
                This precious, winsome creature,
                  My unfledged, voiceless dove,
                Lifts now a seraph’s pinion
                  And warbles lays of love.

                “Oh, I would not recall thee,
                  My glorious angel boy!
                Thou needest not my bosom,
                  Rare bird of light and joy;
                Here dash I down the tear-drops,
                  Still gathering in my eyes;
                Blest—oh! how blest!—in adding
                  A seraph to the skies!”

The following account of the closing scenes in Dr. Judson’s life was
communicated to his sister by Mrs. Judson:

                                    “MAULMAIN, _September_ 20, 1850.

  “MY DEAR SISTER: Last month I could do no more than announce to you
  our painful bereavement, which, though not altogether unexpected,
  will, I very well know, fall upon your heart with overwhelming weight.
  You will find the account of your brother’s last days on board the
  _Aristide Marie_, in a letter written by Mr. Ranney, from Mauritius,
  to the Secretary of the Board; and I can add nothing to it, with the
  exception of a few unimportant particulars, gleaned in conversations
  with Mr. Ranney and the Coringa servant. I grieve that it should be
  so—that I was not permitted to watch beside him during those days of
  terrible suffering; but the pain which I at first felt is gradually
  yielding to gratitude for the inestimable privileges which had
  previously been granted me.

  “There was something exceedingly beautiful in the decline of your
  brother’s life—more beautiful than I can describe, though the
  impression will remain with me as a sacred legacy until I go to meet
  him where suns shall never set, and life shall never end. He had been,
  from my first acquaintance with him, an uncommonly spiritual
  Christian, exhibiting his richest graces in the unguarded intercourse
  of private life; but during his last year, it seemed as though the
  light of the world on which he was entering had been sent to brighten
  his upward pathway. Every subject on which we conversed, every book we
  read, every incident that occurred, whether trivial or important, had
  a tendency to suggest some peculiarly spiritual train of thought, till
  it seemed to me that, more than ever before, ‘Christ was all his
  theme.’ Something of the same nature was also noted in his preaching,
  to which I then had not the privilege of listening. He was in the
  habit, however, of studying his subject for the Sabbath, audibly, and
  in my presence, at which time he was frequently so much affected as to
  weep, and sometimes so overwhelmed with the vastness of his
  conceptions as to be obliged to abandon his theme and choose another.
  My own illness at the commencement of the year had brought eternity
  very near to us, and rendered death, the grave, and the bright heaven
  beyond it, familiar subjects of conversation. Gladly would I give you,
  my dear sister, some idea of the share borne by him in those memorable
  conversations; but it would be impossible to convey, even to those who
  knew him best, the most distant conception of them. I believe he has
  sometimes been thought eloquent, both in conversation and in the
  sacred desk; but the fervid, burning eloquence, the deep pathos, the
  touching tenderness, the elevation of thought, and intense beauty of
  expression, which characterized those private teachings, were not only
  beyond what I had ever heard before, but such as I felt sure arrested
  his own attention, and surprised even himself. About this time he
  began to find unusual satisfaction and enjoyment in his private
  devotions, and seemed to have new objects of interest continually
  rising in his mind, each of which in turn became special subjects of
  prayer. Among these, one of the most prominent was the conversion of
  his posterity. He remarked that he had always prayed for his children,
  but that of late he had felt impressed with the duty of praying for
  their children and their children’s children down to the latest
  generation. He also prayed most fervently that his impressions on this
  particular subject might be transferred to his sons and daughters, and
  thence to their offspring, so that he should ultimately meet a long,
  unbroken line of descendants before the throne of God, where all might
  join together in ascribing everlasting praises to their Redeemer.

  “Another subject, which occupied a large share of his attention, was
  that of brotherly love. You are, perhaps, aware that, like all persons
  of his ardent temperament, he was subject to strong attachments and
  aversions, which he sometimes had difficulty in bringing under the
  controlling influence of divine grace. He remarked that he had always
  felt more or less of an affectionate interest in his brethren, as
  brethren, and some of them he had loved very dearly for their personal
  qualities; but he was now aware that he had never placed his standard
  of love high enough. He spoke of them as children of God, redeemed by
  the Saviour’s blood, watched over and guarded by His love, dear to His
  heart, honored by Him in the election, and to be honored hereafter
  before the assembled universe; and he said it was not sufficient to be
  kind and obliging to such, to abstain from evil speaking, and make a
  general mention of them in our prayers; but our attachment to them
  should be of the most ardent and exalted character; it would be so in
  heaven, and we lost immeasurably by not beginning now. ‘As I have
  loved you, so ought ye also to love one another,’ was a precept
  continually in his mind, and he would often murmur, as though
  unconsciously, ‘“As I have loved you,”—“as I have loved you,”’—then
  burst out with the exclamation, ‘O, the love of Christ! the love of
  Christ!’

  “His prayers for the mission were marked by an earnest, grateful
  enthusiasm, and in speaking of missionary operations in general, his
  tone was one of elevated triumph, almost of exultation; for he not
  only felt an unshaken confidence in their final success, but would
  often exclaim, ‘What wonders—O, what wonders God has already wrought!’

  “I remarked that during this year his literary labor, which he had
  never liked, and upon which he had entered unwillingly and from a
  feeling of necessity, was growing daily more irksome to him; and he
  always spoke of it as his ‘heavy work,’ his ‘tedious work,’ ‘that
  wearisome dictionary,’ etc., though this feeling led to no relaxation
  of effort. He longed, however, to find some more spiritual employment,
  to be engaged in what he considered more legitimate missionary labor,
  and drew delightful pictures of the future, when his whole business
  would be but to preach and to pray.

  “During all this time I had not observed any failure in physical
  strength; and though his mental exercises occupied a large share of my
  thoughts when alone, it never once occurred to me that this might be
  the brightening of the setting sun; my only feeling was that of
  pleasure, that one so near to me was becoming so pure and elevated in
  his sentiments, and so lovely and Christ-like in his character. In
  person he had grown somewhat stouter than when in America; his
  complexion had a healthful hue, compared with that of his associates
  generally; and though by no means a person of uniformly firm health,
  he seemed to possess such vigor and strength of constitution, that I
  thought his life as likely to be extended twenty years longer, as that
  of any member of the mission. He continued his system of morning
  exercise, commenced when a student at Andover, and was not satisfied
  with a common walk on level ground, but always chose an up-hill path,
  and then frequently went bounding on his way with all the exuberant
  activity of boyhood.

  “He was of a singularly happy temperament, although not of that even
  cast which never rises above a certain level, and is never depressed.
  Possessing acute sensibilities, suffering with those who suffered, and
  entering as readily into the joys of the prosperous and happy, he was
  variable in his moods; but religion formed such an essential element
  in his character, and his trust in Providence was so implicit and
  habitual, that he was never gloomy, and seldom more than momentarily
  disheartened. On the other hand, being accustomed to regard all the
  events of this life, however minute or painful, as ordered in wisdom,
  and tending to one great and glorious end, he lived in almost constant
  obedience to the apostolic injunction, ‘Rejoice evermore!’ He often
  told me that although he had endured much personal suffering, and
  passed through many fearful trials in the course of his eventful life,
  a kind Providence had also hedged him round with precious, peculiar
  blessings, so that his joys had far outnumbered his sorrows.

  “Toward the close of September of last year, he said to me one
  evening, ‘What deep cause have we for gratitude to God! Do you believe
  there are any other two persons in the wide world so happy as we are?’
  enumerating, in his own earnest manner, several sources of happiness,
  in which our work as missionaries, and our eternal prospects, occupied
  a prominent position. When he had finished his glowing picture, I
  remarked—I scarcely know why, but there was a heavy cloud upon my
  spirits that evening—‘We are certainly very happy now, but it can not
  be so always. I am thinking of the time when one of us must stand
  beside the bed, and see the other die.’

  “‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that will be a sad moment; I felt it most deeply a
  little while ago, but now it would not be strange if your life were
  prolonged beyond mine—though I should wish, if it were possible, to
  spare you that pain. It is the one left alone who suffers, not the one
  who goes to be with Christ. If it should only be the will of God that
  we might go together, like young James and his wife! But He will order
  all things well, and we can safely trust our future to His hands.’

  “That same night we were roused from sleep by the sudden illness of
  one of the children. There was an unpleasant, chilling dampness in the
  air, as it came to us through the openings in the sloats above the
  windows, which affected your brother very sensibly; and he soon began
  to shiver so violently that he was obliged to return to his couch,
  where he remained under a warm covering until morning. In the morning
  he awoke with a severe cold, accompanied by some degree of fever; but
  as it did not seem very serious, and our three children were all
  suffering from a similar cause, we failed to give it any especial
  attention. From that time he was never well, though in writing to you
  before, I think I dated the commencement of his illness from the month
  of November, when he laid aside his studies. I know that he regarded
  this attack as trifling; and yet one evening he spent a long time in
  advising me with regard to my future course, if I should be deprived
  of his guidance, saying that it is always wise to be prepared for
  exigencies of this nature. After the month of November, he failed
  gradually, occasionally rallying in such a manner as to deceive us
  all, but at each relapse sinking lower than at the previous one,
  though still full of hope and courage, and yielding ground only inch
  by inch, as compelled by the triumphant progress of disease. During
  some hours of every day he suffered intense pain; but his naturally
  buoyant spirits and uncomplaining disposition led him to speak so
  lightly of it, that I used sometimes to fear that the doctor, though a
  very skilful man, would be fatally deceived.

  “As his health declined, his mental exercises at first seemed
  deepened; and he gave still larger portions of his time to prayer,
  conversing with the utmost freedom on his daily progress, and the
  extent of his self-conquest. Just before our trip to Mergui, which
  took place in January, he looked up from his pillow one day with
  sudden animation, and said to me earnestly, ‘I have gained the victory
  at last. I love every one of Christ’s redeemed, as I believe He would
  have me love them—in the same manner, though not probably to the same
  degree, as we shall love one another in heaven; and gladly would I
  prefer the meanest of His creatures, who bears His name, before
  myself.’ This he said in allusion to the text, ‘In honor preferring
  one another,’ on which he had frequently dwelt with great emphasis.
  After further similar conversation, he concluded: ‘And now here I lie
  at peace with all the world, and what is better still, at peace with
  my own conscience. I know that I am a miserable sinner in the sight of
  God, with no hope but in the blessed Saviour’s merits; but I can not
  think of any particular fault, any peculiarly besetting sin, which it
  is now my duty to correct. Can you tell me of any?’

  “And truly, from this time no other word would so well express his
  state of feeling as that one of his own choosing—_peace_. He had no
  particular exercises afterward, but remained calm and serene, speaking
  of himself daily as a great sinner, who had been overwhelmed with
  benefits, and declaring that he had never in all his life before had
  such delightful views of the unfathomable love and infinite
  condescension of the Saviour as were now daily opening before him. ‘O,
  the love of Christ! the love of Christ!’ he would suddenly exclaim,
  while his eye kindled, and the tears chased each other down his
  cheeks; ‘we can not understand it now—but what a beautiful study for
  eternity!’

  “After our return from Mergui, the doctor advised a still further
  trial of the effects of sea air and sea bathing; and we accordingly
  proceeded to Amherst, where we remained nearly a month. This to me was
  the darkest period of his illness—no medical adviser, no friend, at
  hand, and he daily growing weaker and weaker. He began to totter in
  walking, clinging to the furniture and walls, when he thought he was
  unobserved (for he was not willing to acknowledge the extent of his
  debility), and his wan face was of a ghastly paleness. His sufferings,
  too, were sometimes fearfully intense, so that, in spite of his
  habitual self-control, his groans would fill the house. At other times
  a kind of lethargy seemed to steal over him, and he would sleep almost
  incessantly for twenty-four hours, seeming annoyed if he were aroused
  or disturbed. Yet there were portions of the time when he was
  comparatively comfortable, and conversed intelligently; but his mind
  seemed to revert to former scenes, and he tried to amuse me with
  stories of his boyhood, his college days, his imprisonment in France,
  and his early missionary life. He had a great deal also to say on his
  favorite theme, ‘the love of Christ’; but his strength was too much
  impaired for any continuous mental effort. Even a short prayer, made
  audibly, exhausted him to such a degree that he was obliged to
  discontinue the practice.

  “At length I wrote to Maulmain, giving some expression of my anxieties
  and misgivings, and our kind missionary friends, who had from the
  first evinced all the tender interest and watchful sympathy of the
  nearest kindred, immediately sent for us—the doctor advising a sea
  voyage. But as there was no vessel in the harbor bound for a port
  sufficiently distant, we thought it best, in the meantime, to remove
  from our old dwelling, which had long been condemned as unhealthy, to
  another mission-house, fortunately empty. This change was, at first,
  attended with the most beneficial results; and our hopes revived so
  much, that we looked forward to the approaching rainy season for
  entire restoration. But it lasted only a little while; and then both
  of us became convinced that, though a voyage at sea involved much that
  was exceedingly painful, it yet presented the only prospect of
  recovery, and could not, therefore, without a breach of duty, be
  neglected.

  “‘O, if it were only the will of God to take me now—to let me die
  here!’ he repeated over and over again, in a tone of anguish, while we
  were considering the subject. ‘I can not, can not go! This is almost
  more than I can bear! Was there ever suffering like our suffering?’
  and the like broken expressions, were continually falling from his
  lips. But he soon gathered more strength of purpose; and after the
  decision was fairly made, he never hesitated for a moment, rather
  regarding the prospect with pleasure. I think the struggle which this
  resolution cost injured him very materially; though probably it had no
  share in bringing about the final result. God, who saw the end from
  the beginning, had counted out his days, and they were hastening to a
  close. Until this time he had been able to stand, and to walk slowly
  from room to room; but as he one evening attempted to rise from his
  chair, he was suddenly deprived of his small remnant of muscular
  strength, and would have fallen to the floor but for timely support.

  “From that moment his decline was rapid. As he lay helplessly upon his
  couch, and watched the swelling of his feet, and other alarming
  symptoms, he became very anxious to commence his voyage, and I felt
  equally anxious to have his wishes gratified. I still hoped he might
  recover; the doctor said the chances of life and death were, in his
  opinion, equally balanced. And then he always loved the sea so dearly!
  There was something exhilarating to him in the motion of a vessel, and
  he spoke with animation of getting free from the almost suffocating
  atmosphere incident to the hot season, and drinking in the fresh sea
  breezes. He talked but little more, however, than was necessary to
  indicate his wants, his bodily sufferings being too great to allow of
  conversation; but several times he looked up to me with a bright
  smile, and exclaimed, as heretofore, ‘O, the love of Christ! the love
  of Christ!’

  “I found it difficult to ascertain, from expressions casually dropped
  from time to time, his real opinion with regard to his recovery; but I
  thought there was some reason to doubt whether he was fully aware of
  his critical situation. I did not suppose he had any preparation to
  make at this late hour, and I felt sure that, if he should be called
  ever so unexpectedly, he would not enter the presence of his Maker
  with a ruffled spirit; but I could not bear to have him go away
  without knowing how doubtful it was whether our next meeting would not
  be in eternity; and perhaps, too, in my own distress, I might still
  have looked for words of encouragement and sympathy to a source which
  had never before failed.

  “It was late in the night, and I had been performing some little
  sick-room offices, when suddenly he looked up to me, and exclaimed,
  ‘This will never do! You are killing yourself for me, and I will not
  permit it. You must have some one to relieve you. If I had not been
  made selfish by suffering, I should have insisted upon it long ago.’

  “He spoke so like himself, with the earnestness of health, and in a
  tone to which my ear had of late been a stranger, that for a moment I
  felt almost bewildered with sudden hope. He received my reply to what
  he had said with a half-pitying, half-gratified smile; but in the
  meantime his expression had changed—the marks of excessive debility
  were again apparent, and I could not forbear adding, ‘It is only a
  little while, you know.’

  “‘Only a little while,’ he repeated mournfully; ‘this separation is a
  bitter thing, but it does not distress me now as it did—I am too
  weak.’ ‘You have no reason to be distressed,’ I answered, ‘with such
  glorious prospects before you. You have often told me it is the one
  left alone who suffers, not the one who goes to be with Christ.’ He
  gave me a rapid, questioning glance, then assumed for several moments
  an attitude of deep thought. Finally, he slowly unclosed his eyes, and
  fixing them on me, said in a calm, earnest tone, ‘I do not believe I
  am going to die. I think I know why this illness has been sent upon
  me; I needed it; I feel that it has done me good; and it is my
  impression that I shall now recover, and be a better and more useful
  man.’

  “‘Then it is your wish to recover?’ I inquired. ‘If it should be the
  will of God, yes. I should like to complete the dictionary, on which I
  have bestowed so much labor, now that it is so nearly done; for though
  it has not been a work that pleased my taste, or quite satisfied my
  feelings, I have never underrated its importance. Then after that come
  all the plans that we have formed. O, I feel as if I were only just
  beginning to be prepared for usefulness.’

  “‘It is the opinion of most of the mission,’ I remarked, ‘that you
  will not recover.’ ‘I know it is,’ he replied; ‘and I suppose they
  think me an old man, and imagine it is nothing for one like me to
  resign a life so full of trials. But I am not old—at least in that
  sense; you know I am not. O, no man ever left this world, with more
  inviting prospects, with brighter hopes or warmer feelings—warmer
  feelings,’ he repeated, and burst into tears.[69] His face was
  perfectly placid, even while the tears broke away from the closed
  lids, and rolled, one after another, down to the pillow. There was no
  trace of agitation or pain in his manner of weeping, but it was
  evidently the result of acute sensibilities, combined with great
  physical weakness. To some suggestions which I ventured to make, he
  replied: ‘It is not that—I know all that, and feel it in my inmost
  heart. Lying here on my bed, when I could not talk, I have had such
  views of the loving condescension of Christ, and the glories of
  heaven, as I believe are seldom granted to mortal man. It is not
  because I shrink from death that I wish to live, neither is it because
  the ties that bind me here, though some of them are very sweet, bear
  any comparison with the drawings I at times feel toward heaven; but a
  few years would not be missed from my eternity of bliss, and I can
  well afford to spare them, both for your sake and for the sake of the
  poor Burmans. I am not tired of my work, neither am I tired of the
  world; yet when Christ calls me home, I shall go with the gladness of
  a boy bounding away from his school. Perhaps I feel something like the
  young bride, when she contemplates resigning the pleasant associations
  of her childhood for a yet dearer home—though only a very little like
  her, for _there is no doubt resting on my future_.’ ‘Then death would
  not take you by surprise,’ I remarked, ‘if it should come even before
  you could get on board ship?’ ‘O, no,’ he said, ‘death will never take
  me by surprise—do not be afraid of that—I feel _so strong in Christ_.
  He has not led me so tenderly thus far, to forsake me at the very gate
  of heaven. No, no; I am willing to live a few years longer, if it
  should be so ordered; and if otherwise, I am willing and glad to die
  now. I leave myself entirely in the hands of God, to be disposed of
  according to His holy will.’

  “The next day some one mentioned, in his presence, that the native
  Christians were greatly opposed to the voyage, and that many other
  persons had a similar feeling with regard to it. I thought he seemed
  troubled, and after the visitor had withdrawn, I inquired if he still
  felt as when he conversed with me the night previous. He replied, ‘O,
  yes; that was no evanescent feeling. It has been with me, to a greater
  or less extent, for years, and will be with me, I trust, to the end. I
  am ready to go _to-day_—if it should be the will of God, this very
  hour; but I am not _anxious_ to die; at least when I am not beside
  myself with pain.’

  “‘Then why are you so desirous to go to sea? I should think it would
  be a matter of indifference to you.’ ‘No,’ he answered quietly, ‘my
  judgment tells me it would be wrong not to go; the doctor says
  _criminal_. I shall certainly die here; if I go away I may possibly
  recover. There is no question with regard to duty in such a case; and
  I do not like to see any hesitation, even though it springs from
  affection.’

  “He several times spoke of a burial at sea, and always as though the
  prospect were agreeable. It brought, he said, a sense of freedom and
  expansion, and seemed far pleasanter than the confined, dark, narrow
  grave, to which he had committed so many that he loved. And he added,
  that although his burial-place was a matter of no real importance, yet
  he believed it was not in human nature to be altogether without a
  choice.

  “I have already given you an account of the embarkation, of my visits
  to him while the vessel remained in the river, and of our last sad,
  silent parting; and Mr. Ranney has finished the picture. You will
  find, in this closing part, some dark shadows that will give you pain;
  but you must remember that his present felicity is enhanced by those
  very sufferings; and we should regret nothing that serves to brighten
  his crown in glory. I ought also to add, that I have gained pleasanter
  impressions in conversation with Mr. Ranney than from his written
  account; but it would be difficult to convey them to you; and, as he
  whom they concern was accustomed to say of similar things, ‘you will
  learn it all in heaven.’

  “During the last hour of your sainted brother’s life, Mr. Ranney bent
  over him, and held his hand, while poor Panapah stood at a little
  distance weeping bitterly. The table had been spread in the cuddy, as
  usual, and the officers did not know what was passing in the cabin,
  till summoned to dinner. Then they gathered about the door, and
  watched the closing scene with solemn reverence. Now—thanks to a
  merciful God!—his pains had left him; not a momentary spasm disturbed
  his placid face, nor did the contraction of a muscle denote the least
  degree of suffering; the agony of death was passed, and his wearied
  spirit was turning to its rest in the bosom of the Saviour. From time
  to time he pressed the hand in which his own was resting, his clasp
  losing in force at each successive pressure; while his shortened
  breath—though there was no struggle, no gasping, as if it came and
  went with difficulty—gradually grew softer and fainter, until it died
  upon the air—and he was gone. Mr. Ranney closed the eyes, and composed
  the passive limbs; the ship’s officers stole softly from the door, and
  the neglected meal was left upon the board untasted.

Of these days, Mr. Ranney thus wrote to the Corresponding Secretary:

  “Dr. Judson was carried on board the French barque _Aristide Marie_,
  bound for the Isle of Bourbon, with the reluctant assent of his
  friends, his physician having recommended such a voyage as the only
  possible means of restoration. It being desirable to get to sea as
  soon as practicable, application was made to the commissioner of the
  provinces, to permit the barque to be towed out of the river by the
  steamer _Proserpine_, which was that morning to proceed southward with
  troops. Permission was granted, and on Wednesday, April 3, by the
  kindness of Captain Lawford, commandant of artillery, a palanquin and
  bearers took Dr. Judson, then too weak to stand, and carried him on
  board. There they learned, with surprise and sorrow, that the steamer
  would not take them in tow. The commander of the troops claimed that,
  while employed as a military transport, the vessel was not subject to
  the commissioner’s order, and on the ground that it might endanger the
  lives of the soldiers, declined to comply with it. The consequence of
  this collision of authorities was, that, instead of getting to sea in
  twenty-four hours, they were five days in reaching Amherst, and it was
  six days before the pilot left the vessel. How much was thus lost it
  is impossible to conjecture.

  “The delay permitted Mrs. Judson (who would gladly have accompanied
  her husband, though at the hazard of her life, if he had consented),
  and Mr. Stilson, and Mr. and Mrs. Stevens to visit him repeatedly, and
  minister to his comfort. He bore the fatigue of embarkation very well,
  and on Thursday took more refreshment than for several days previous.
  This gave hope of a favorable change; but on Friday he was not as
  well, and his two Burmese assistants, Ko En and Ko Shway Doke,
  disciples of many years’ standing, who remained on board till the
  pilot left the vessel, requested that he might be taken back to
  Maulmain. They were confident he was near his end, and could not
  endure the thought of his burial in the ocean; they wanted his grave
  to be made where they and the other disciples could look upon it.[70]
  But any attempt to do this would have proved fatal, and there was no
  choice but to fulfil their original purpose, Mr. Stilson reminding the
  affectionate disciples of the death and unknown burial-place of Moses.

  “On Saturday he was perceptibly weaker. Such was his pain that he said
  he would willingly die if he could. On Sunday, being more calm and
  free from pain, he conversed freely and more at length than he had
  been able to do, describing somewhat minutely the causes of his pain.
  He said that no one could conceive the intensity of his sufferings.
  Death would have been a glad relief. The idea of death caused no
  peculiar emotion of either fear or transport. His mind was so affected
  by suffering that he could not think, or even pray. Nay, he could not
  think of his wife and family. He had bitter sorrow in parting with
  them at first; but in Mrs. Judson’s subsequent visit, speech had been
  almost denied him; and when they parted the day before, perhaps the
  last time on earth, it was without a word, and almost without a
  thought, so entirely had pain absorbed every faculty. Yet he felt he
  had nothing to complain of. He knew it was the will of God, and
  therefore right. Alluding to the swelling of his feet, he said: ‘The
  natives are frightened when they see this. They regard it as a sure
  sign of approaching death; but I do not. I have talked with the doctor
  about this, and have myself remarked, at different times, the swelling
  and subsiding. I still feel that there is so much of life in me that I
  shall recover.’

  “On Monday, the 6th, at half-past three o’clock P.M., the pilot, with
  the two assistants above named, and Moung Shway-moung, of the Amherst
  church, left the ship. At the request of Dr. Judson, Mr. Ranney wrote
  to Mrs. Judson his opinion of himself, that ‘he went out to sea with a
  strong feeling that he should recover.’ But on the same day the
  violence of his pains returned, and his left side was swollen much,
  from which he gained partial relief. On Tuesday morning, the
  Tenasserim coast being yet visible, they enjoyed a fresh and
  invigorating breeze; but a violent thunder-storm came on, followed by
  a calm. For a short time Dr. Judson suffered less pain; but a hiccough
  increased upon him. He said, ‘This hiccough is killing me; can you
  think of anything to do for it?’ He afterward slept considerably, and
  took some slight refreshment; but in the afternoon a new symptom
  appeared, which continued to the last—frequent vomiting and an
  inability to retain anything upon his stomach.

  “During the night and the next day the weather was exceedingly hot.
  Dr. Judson refused all nourishment, and inclined to sleep, probably on
  account of the laudanum and ether administered. He said he should
  weary them but little longer. The captain gave several prescriptions
  without effect; on which he said, ‘It is of but little consequence. I
  do not wish any one to think I died because all was not done that
  could be done for me. Medicine is of no use. The disease will take its
  course.’ While suffering the acute pain which invariably preceded
  vomiting, he said, ‘O that I could die at once, and go immediately
  into Paradise, where there is no pain.’

  “On the evening of Wednesday, as Mr. Ranney was sitting by his
  bedside, he said, ‘I am glad you are here. I do not feel so abandoned.
  You are my only kindred now—the only one on board who loves Christ, I
  mean; and it is a great comfort to have one near me who loves Christ.’
  ‘I hope,’ said Mr. Ranney, ‘you feel that Christ is now near,
  sustaining you.’ ‘O, yes,’ he replied, ‘_it is all right there_. I
  believe He gives me just so much pain and suffering as is necessary to
  fit me to die—to make me submissive to His will.’ The captain—who
  spoke but little English, but took unwearied pains to make himself
  understood by a frequent resort to a French and English dictionary,
  and was a pattern of kindness and benevolence—offered another
  prescription; but Dr. Judson thanked him, and declined. He spoke of
  the invigorating influence of the wind, and expressed a fear that they
  would lose it during the night; which proved true. After midnight
  there was a dead calm, and a very oppressive atmosphere. At two
  o’clock his breathing became very difficult; but afterward he breathed
  more freely.

  “On Thursday morning his eyes had a dull appearance, remained
  half-closed while sleeping, and seemed glassy and death-like. His
  stomach rejected all refreshment. At ten and twelve o’clock he took
  some ether, which he said did him good. After vomiting, with the
  suffering which preceded it, he said, ‘O, how few there are who suffer
  such great torment—who die so hard!’ During all the night his
  sufferings increased, so that it was inexpressibly painful to behold
  his agony—sometimes calling for water, which gave relief only while he
  was drinking it, to be followed by the pain of ejecting it. At
  midnight he said his fever had returned. His extremities were cold,
  his head hot. It was the fever of death. His weakness was such that he
  now seldom spoke, except to indicate some want, which he more
  frequently did by signs.

  “During the forenoon of Friday, the 12th, his countenance was that of
  a dying man. About noon he showed some aberration of mind; but it was
  only transient. At three o’clock he said, in Burman, to Panapah, a
  native servant, ‘It is done; I am going.’ Shortly after, he made a
  sign with his hand downward, which was not understood; drawing Mr.
  Ranney’s ear close to his mouth, he said, convulsively, ‘Brother
  Ranney, will you bury me? bury me?—quick! quick!’ These words were
  prompted, perhaps, by the thought of burial in the sea crossing his
  mind. Mr. Ranney here being called out for a moment, Dr. Judson spoke
  to the servant in English, and also in Burman, of Mrs. Judson, bidding
  him ‘take care of poor mistress’; and at fifteen minutes past four
  o’clock he breathed his last. ‘His death,’ says Mr. Ranney, ‘was like
  falling asleep. Not the movement of a muscle was perceptible, and the
  moment of the going out of life was indicated only by his ceasing to
  breathe. A gentle pressure of the hand, growing more and more feeble
  as life waned, showed the peacefulness of the spirit about to take its
  homeward flight.’

  “It was first determined to keep the body until Saturday for burial;
  but Mr. Ranney was admonished of the necessity of immediate
  preparations. A strong plank coffin was soon constructed; several
  buckets of sand were poured in to make it sink; and at eight o’clock
  in the evening the crew assembled, the larboard port was opened, and
  in perfect silence, broken only by the voice of the captain, all that
  was mortal of Dr. Judson was committed to the deep, in latitude
  thirteen degrees north, longitude ninety-three degrees east, nine days
  after their embarkation from Maulmain, and scarcely three days out of
  sight of the mountains of Burmah.”

[Illustration:

  MRS. EMILY C. JUDSON AND HER FAMILY.
  _From an Ambrotype taken at Hamilton, N. Y., in 1853._
]

The record of these last days may be fittingly closed, by a poem written
by Mrs. Judson after her husband’s departure from Maulmain:

                            _Sweet Mother._

             “The wild south-west monsoon has risen,
               On broad gray wings of gloom,
             While here from out my dreary prison
             I look as from a tomb—alas!
               My heart another tomb.

             “Upon the low thatched roof the rain
               With ceaseless patter falls:
             My choicest treasures bear its stain,
             Mould gathers on the walls—would Heaven
               ’Twere _only_ on the walls!

             “Sweet mother, I am here alone,
               In sorrow and in pain;
             The sunshine from my heart has flown,
             It feels the driving rain—ah, me!
               The chill, and mould, and rain.

             “Four laggard months have wheeled their round
               Since love upon it smiled,
             And everything of earth has frowned
             On thy poor stricken child,—sweet friend;
               Thy weary, suffering child.

             “I’d watched my loved one night and day,
               Scarce breathing when he slept,
             And as my hopes were swept away,
             I’d in his bosom wept.—O God!
               How had I prayed and wept!

             “They bore him from me to the ship
               As bearers bear the dead;
             I kissed his speechless, quivering lip,
             And left him on his bed—alas!
               It seemed a coffin bed.

             “Then, mother, little Charlie came,
               Our beautiful, fair boy,
             With my own father’s cherished name,—
             But O, he brought no joy,—my child
               Brought mourning and no joy.

             “His little grave I can not see,
               Though weary months have fled
             Since pitying lips bent over me,
             And whispered, ‘He is dead.’—Ah, me!
               ’Tis dreadful to be dead!

             “I do not mean for one like me,
               So weary, worn, and weak,—
             Death’s shadowy paleness seems to be
             Even now upon my cheek,—his seal
               On form, and brow, and cheek.

             “But for a bright-winged bird like him,
               To hush his joyous song,
             And prisoned in a coffin dim,
             Join death’s pale phantom throng,—my boy
               To join that grisly throng!

             “O mother, I can scarcely bear
               To think of this to-day:
             It was so exquisitely fair,
             That little form of clay,—my heart
               Still lingers by his clay.

             And when for one loved far, far more
               Come thickly-gathering tears,
             My star of faith is clouded o’er,
             I sink beneath my fears,—sweet friend,
               My heavy weight of fears.

             O but to feel thy fond arms twine
               Around me once again!
             It almost seems those lips of thine
             Might kiss away the pain—might soothe
               This dull, cold, heavy pain.

             “But, gentle mother, through life’s storms
               I may not lean on thee;
             For helpless, cowering little forms,
             Cling trustingly to me.—Poor babes!
               To have no guide but me.

             “With weary foot and broken wing,
               With bleeding heart and sore,
             Thy dove looks backward sorrowing
             But seeks the ark no more—thy breast
               Seeks never, never more.

             “Sweet mother, for the exile pray,
               That loftier faith be given;
             Her broken reeds all swept away,
             That she may rest in heaven—her soul
               Grow strong in Christ and heaven.

             “All fearfully, all tearfully,
               Alone and sorrowing,
             My dim eye lifted to the sky—
             Fast to the cross I cling—O Christ!
               To Thy dear cross I cling.”

-----

Footnote 67:

  About twenty-five dollars.

Footnote 68:

  Now the wife of the Rev. T. A. T. Hanna, of Plantsville, Conn.

Footnote 69:

    “There is nothing outside of inspiration more touchingly and
    sublimely beautiful; nothing which, in its blending of the gushing
    tenderness of the man, with the hallowed raptures of the saint,
    gives a juster conception of the real elements of heaven.”—_Dr.
    Kendrick’s “Life and Letters of Emily C. Judson._”

Footnote 70:

  Mr. Judson’s departure caused the deepest sorrow among the disciples
  whom he left behind. The following story is told concerning Ko Dwah,
  one of the deacons in the native church at Maulmain: “This man was
  devotedly attached to Dr. Judson. Both were taken sick at nearly the
  same time, so that during their illness they met but once, and the old
  deacon could not, with the other disciples, accompany the dying pastor
  to the wharf. As soon as Dr. Judson removed, the house which he
  occupied, and which had long been condemned by Dr. Morton for its
  unhealthiness, was removed. Ko Dwah was not aware of the circumstance,
  though living in the vicinity, until the spot was left bare. He then
  insisted upon leaving his bed to look upon the ruin. He hobbled on his
  staff across the road, ascended the chapel steps with great
  difficulty, and then sitting down, rested his chin on his palms, and
  burst into a loud, wild sort of lamentation, like the wailing at a
  funeral. Neither mind nor body ever recovered from the shock, though
  he lingered on for some time longer.”




                             CHAPTER XIII.
                         POSTHUMOUS INFLUENCE.


Mr. Judson did not live to complete the Burmese dictionary. He finished
the English and Burmese part, but the Burmese and English was left in an
unfinished state. In accordance with his desire, expressed only a few
days before his death, Mrs. Judson transmitted his manuscripts to his
friend and associate in missionary toil, Mr. Stevens, upon whom
accordingly the task of completing the work devolved. Mrs. Judson thus
wrote to Mr. Stevens:

                                     “MAULMAIN, _September_ 4, 1850.

  “MY DEAR MR. STEVENS: Parting with the manuscripts which were every
  day before my eyes during three happy years, almost carries me back to
  that sad morning in April when _he_ passed from the door never again
  to return. But I well know that my heavenly Father is ordering all
  these things, and I have nothing to do but submit—nothing to say but
  ‘Thy will, O God, be done!’

  “A few days before Mr. Judson went away, he told me, if he should
  never return, to place the dictionary papers in your hands, and it is
  in compliance with that request that I now send them. I suppose that
  he would not have improved the English and Burmese part very
  essentially while carrying it through the press; and the second part,
  the Burmese and English, is, as far as he had advanced, equally
  complete. The last word he defined was ——, and the corresponding
  initial vowel ——.

  “The only request he made was that there might be some distinct mark,
  both in the dictionary and grammar, to indicate where his work ended
  and yours commenced. The grammar was intended to preface the Burmese
  and English portion of the dictionary, but is complete only as far as
  through the cases of nouns—thirty-two manuscript pages. I believe this
  grammar was on a somewhat different plan from the old ‘Grammatical
  Notices’; but I send a printed copy of that, in which he has marked
  several errors, as it may be of some service to you. In addition to
  the finished parts of the dictionary, you will find the two old
  manuscript volumes which he had in use ever after his first arrival in
  Burmah; and these I beg to have returned to me when the work is
  completed. Interlined and erased as they are, you will have great
  difficulty in deciphering them, and will no doubt find some parts
  quite illegible. I think I mentioned to you the plan of having Moung
  Shway-loo make out, from the old printed dictionary and his own
  memory, a list of words more or less synonymous, and I send the books,
  which, although not to be implicitly relied on, are, I believe, quite
  valuable.

  “There is one bound volume which I do not recollect having seen
  before; but I think it must be a vocabulary arranged from an original
  Burmese one, as I have heard Mr. J. speak of having such a work. The
  remaining papers, consisting of two or three little vocabularies, and
  the like, are, I suppose, of no great value; but I thought it best to
  send everything in any way connected with defining words. I also put
  in with the rest the old proof-sheets, as he sometimes had occasion to
  refer to them.

  “And now, may the blessing of God rest upon this work—on you, or
  whoever else may finish it—on all who, for Christ’s sake, study it,
  and upon poor Burmah, in whose behalf so much time and labor have been
  expended.

                        “Very affectionately, your sister,
                                                  “EMILY C. JUDSON.”

During the long winter of our Northern States, sometimes a mass of snow
accumulates, little by little, in the corner of the farmer’s meadow.
Under the warm rays of the spring sun the dazzling bank gradually melts
away, but leaves upon the greensward which it has sheltered a
fertilizing deposit. It now remains for us to ask what stimulating
residuum this great life which we have attempted to describe left behind
it upon the surface of human society.

Mr. Judson’s achievements far transcended the wildest aspirations of his
youth. During the early years in Rangoon, when the mighty purpose of
evangelizing Burmah began to take definite shape in his mind; even
before the first convert, Moung Nau, was baptized; when indeed the young
missionary was almost forgotten by his fellow-Christians at home, or
merely pitied as a good-hearted enthusiast—the outermost limit reached
by his strong-winged hope was that he might, before he died, build up a
church of a hundred converted Burmans and translate the whole Bible into
their language. But far more than this was accomplished during the ten
years in Rangoon, the two years in Ava, and the twenty-three years in
Maulmain. At the time of his death, the native Christians (Burmans and
Karens publicly baptized upon the profession of their faith) numbered
over seven thousand. Besides this, hundreds throughout Burmah had died
rejoicing in the Christian faith. He had not only finished the
translation of the Bible, but had accomplished the larger and the more
difficult part of the compilation of a Burmese dictionary. At the time
of his death there were sixty-three churches established among the
Burmans and Karens. These churches were under the oversight of one
hundred and sixty-three missionaries, native pastors, and assistants. He
had laid the foundations of Christianity deep down in the Burman heart
where they could never be washed away.

This achievement is the more startling when we consider that all divine
operations are slow in the beginning, but rush to the consummation with
lightning speed. Many long days elapse while the icy barriers are being
slowly loosened beneath the breath of spring. But at last the freshet
comes, and the huge frozen masses are broken up and carried rapidly to
the sea. The leaves slowly ripen for the grave. Though withered, they
still cling to the boughs. But finally a day comes in the autumn when
suddenly the air is full of falling foliage. It takes a long time for
the apple to reach its growth, but a very brief time suffices for the
ripening. Tennyson’s lark

                 “Shook his song together as he neared
                 His happy home, the ground.”

Nature is instinct with this law, and we may well believe that though
the processes are slow and inconspicuous by which the ancient structures
of false religions are being undermined, yet the time will come when
they will tumble suddenly into ruins, when a nation shall be converted
in a day, when, “As the earth bringeth forth her bud, and as the garden
causeth the things that are sown in it to spring forth, so the Lord will
cause righteousness and praise to spring forth before all the nations.”
In the baptism of ten thousand Telugus in India within a single year, do
we not already see the gray dawn of such an era of culmination?

                   “We are living, we are dwelling
                     In a grand and awful time,
                   In an age on ages telling;
                     To be living is sublime.
                   Hark! the waking up of nations,
                     Gog and Magog to the fray.
                   Hark! what soundeth? ’Tis creation
                     Groaning for its latter day.”

But it was Mr. Judson’s lot to labor in the hard and obscure period of
the first beginnings. And not only so, but he undertook the task of
planting Christianity not among a people, like the Sandwich Islanders,
without literature and without an elaborate religious system, but rather
in a soil already preoccupied by an ancient classical literature and by
a time-honored ritual which now numbers among its devotees one-third of
the population of our globe. The difficulties of such an attempt are
well described in one of his sermons, from which Mrs. Stevens has
preserved a striking illustration:

  .... “In comparing labors among a people without a national religion
  to labors among idolaters or Mussulmans, Dr. Judson used a figure
  which ought to be published in the _Macedonian_ in reply to some
  things which have appeared there and elsewhere, to the import that
  difference of success among Burmans and Karens is owing to difference
  of labor performed among them. He supposed a man offering to fill two
  jars, one of which stands empty, the other filled with earth oil. Now,
  the force of the illustration will not appear to you as to us, because
  we are so familiar with this oil; and you are not, as we are, obliged
  to make frequent use of it; but you can judge of its character by a
  translation of the Burman name for it, ‘stinking water.’ The smell of
  it can not be extracted from a jar which has been emptied of it,
  except by burning. I should never think of using a vessel which had
  once contained it for any other purpose. To return to the
  illustration. A man goes to the owner of the empty jar, and asks if he
  may fill it with pure and sweet water. ‘O, yes, I shall consider it a
  favor.’ So the Sandwich Islander, so the Karen receives the truth, the
  benefits of a written language, and instruction in books, and the
  elevation that follows, as favors conferred; and as there are no
  stains of ancient superstitions, they are better Christians than
  converts from heathenism. When I say _no_ stains, of course
  comparatively is meant.

  “Let the missionary next go to the owner of the jar filled with earth
  oil. He must first empty it, which the owner considers robbery. He
  would say, ‘You are taking away my property; this is my merit, which I
  have been many years gathering. You wish to deprive me of my
  offerings. I will apply to the king and priests to uphold me in
  clinging to my property.’ But the missionary says, ‘If you drink that
  oil it will be poison to you; let me give you water, which will insure
  life eternal.’ ‘O, my ancestors have all drunk of this, and I wish to
  do the same; this is good for me, and yours for you. My books are good
  for me, and my religion, and so yours for you.’ But, after long
  argument and persuasion, he gains the man’s consent to give up his
  earth oil, and he labors through the process of dipping it out, and
  cleansing the jar; he rubs and washes; the man all the while begging
  him not to deprive him of _all_ of it; to allow him some of his former
  customs, and some of the practices of his worldly neighbors and
  relatives; and often so much of the oil is left, that the water is
  very offensive, and by-standers say, ‘We do not perceive that the
  water is any sweeter than the oil.’ Sometimes the man himself joins
  in, and says he does not know but the smell is as bad as before, and
  the change has been of no use; so he upsets the jar and apostatizes.”

When these considerations are taken into account, the tangible results
which Mr. Judson left behind at his death seem simply amazing. But these
are only a small part of what he really accomplished. Being dead, he yet
speaketh. The Roman Church has preserved an old legend that John, the
beloved disciple, “did not die at all, but is only slumbering, and
moving the grave mound with his breath until the final return of the
Lord.”[71] And in a sense it is true that a great man does not die at
all. You can not bury a saint so deep that he will not sway the lives of
those who walk over his grave. The upheavals of society are mainly due
to the breath of those who have vanished from the surface of the earth
and lie beneath its bosom.

The early actions of Mr. Judson and his fellow-students at Andover
resulted in the formation of the American Board of Commissioners for
Foreign Missions. This society, representing the Congregationalists of
this country, may justly claim to be the mother of American foreign
missionary bodies. It was organized for the support of certain young men
while they were engaged in the work to which the Lord had called them.
Societies do not call men into being, but men create societies. The
society is only a convenient vehicle through which the Christian at home
can send bread to the missionary abroad, whose whole time is devoted to
feeding the heathen with the bread of life.

In the year 1880, the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign
Missions received and expended over six hundred thousand dollars. It is
conducting successful missionary operations in Africa, Turkey, India,
China, Japan, Micronesia, Mexico, Spain, and Austria, as well as in our
own western land. In these different countries it has two hundred and
seventy-two churches, over seventeen thousand church members, and
sixteen hundred and eighty-five missionaries, native pastors, and
assistants.

The change in Mr. Judson’s views on the subject of Baptism led almost
immediately to the formation of a Baptist Missionary Society, now known
as the American Baptist Missionary Union. In the year 1880, there passed
through the treasury of this Board nearly three hundred thousand
dollars, given by the Baptists of the United States for the
evangelization of the heathen. This society is at work in Burmah, Siam,
India, China, Japan, and also in the countries of Europe, and it reports
nine hundred and eight native churches, eighty-five thousand three
hundred and eight church members, and twelve hundred and fourteen
missionaries and native preachers.

A few years after Mr. Judson’s departure from this country, and the
organization of these two societies, the Episcopalians and also the
Methodists of America organized themselves for the work of foreign
missions. For many years the Presbyterians joined hands with the
Congregationalists, and poured their contributions into the treasury of
the American Board. But in 1836 they organized a society of their own,
now known as the Board of Foreign Missions of the Presbyterian Church.
Its fields of operation are Syria, Persia, Japan, China, Siam, India,
Africa, South America, Mexico, and the Indian tribes, with an annual
expenditure of nearly six hundred thousand dollars. It supports ten
hundred and ninety-nine missionaries and lay missionaries, and reports
fourteen thousand five hundred and eighty-eight communicants, with
eighteen thousand two hundred and sixty scholars in the native schools.

All these vigorous Christian societies sustained by the missionary
conviction of the churches in America, with their vast army of
missionaries and native communicants now pressing against the systems of
heathenism at a thousand points, when they come to tell the story of
their origin, do not fail to make mention of the name of Adoniram
Judson. His life formed a part of the fountain-head from which flow
these beneficent streams which fringe with verdure the wastes of
paganism.

Not only in this country has Mr. Judson’s career of heroic action and
suffering stimulated Christian activity among all denominations, but his
influence has been an inspiration everywhere. Just as a steamer in its
course along a river generates a wave which will lash the shore long
after the disturbing force has passed, so the words and behavior of a
good man will sometimes set in motion streams of influence in the most
unlooked-for places. How many by his life and his labor have been
spurred to missionary endeavor we know not now, but shall know
hereafter. But an interesting instance of the wide-reaching character of
this influence has been preserved by Dr. Wayland. Mr. Judson had been
deeply interested in establishing a mission among the Jews of Palestine,
but to his great disappointment the enterprise proved a failure.

  “It, however, pleased an all-wise Providence to render His servant
  useful to the children of Abraham in a manner which he little
  expected. Two or three days before he embarked on his last voyage, not
  a fortnight before his death, Mrs. Judson read to him the following
  paragraph from the _Watchman and Reflector_:

  “‘There[72] we first learned the interesting fact, which was mentioned
  by Mr. Schauffler, that a tract had been published in Germany, giving
  some account of Dr. Judson’s labors at Ava; that it had fallen into
  the hands of some Jews, and had been the means of their conversion;
  that it had reached Trebizond, where a Jew had translated it for the
  Jews of that place; that it had awakened a deep interest among them;
  that a candid spirit of inquiry had been manifested; and that a
  request had been made for a missionary to be sent to them from
  Constantinople. Such a fact is full of meaning, a comment on the word
  of inspiration: “In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening
  withhold not thine hand; thou knowest not which shall prosper, this or
  that.”’”

Mrs. Judson, in her relation of these facts, continues:

  “His eyes were filled with tears when I had done reading, but still he
  at first spoke playfully, and in a way that a little disappointed me.
  Then a look of almost unearthly solemnity came over him, and, clinging
  fast to my hand, as though to assure himself of being really in the
  world, he said, ‘Love, this frightens me. I do not know what to make
  of it.’ ‘What?’ ‘Why, what you have just been reading. I never was
  deeply interested in any object, I never prayed sincerely and
  earnestly for anything, but it came; at some time—no matter at how
  distant a day—somehow, in some shape—probably the last I should have
  devised—it came. And yet I have always had so little faith! May God
  forgive me, and, while He condescends to use me as His instrument,
  wipe the sin of unbelief from my heart.’

  “‘If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye
  will, and it shall be done unto you.’”

Indeed there are very few of those who have gone from this country as
missionaries to the heathen who are not indebted to Mr. Judson for
methods and inspiration. The writer will not soon forget a scene he
witnessed at Saratoga in May, 1880. The General Assembly of the
Presbyterian Church was in session. Dr. Jessup, an eminent missionary in
Syria, then on a visit to this country, had been elected moderator. When
the session of the Assembly had ended, he entered the Convention which
the Baptists were then holding also in Saratoga. As an honored guest he
was invited to speak. There was a breathless silence through the house
as the veteran missionary arose, and with inspiring words urged the
prosecution of the missionary enterprise. He closed by saying that when
he should arrive in heaven, the first person whose hand he desired to
grasp next to the Apostle Paul would be Adoniram Judson.

A life which embodies Christ’s idea of complete self-abnegation can not
but become a great object-lesson. A man can not look into the mirror of
such a career without becoming at once conscious of his own selfishness
and of the triviality of a merely worldly life. A New York merchant in
his boyhood read Wayland’s “Life of Judson,” and laying the book down
left his chamber, went out into a green meadow belonging to his father’s
farm, and consecrated his young life to the service of God. How many
unknown souls have been attracted to Christ by the same magnetism! How
many others have been lifted out of their self-love! How many have been
drawn toward the serener heights of Christian experience by the example
of him whose strong aspirings after holiness are depicted in “The
Threefold Cord!”[73] O that some young man might rise from the reading
of these memoirs and lay down his life in all its freshness and strength
upon the altar of God, so that he might become, like Paul of old, a
chosen vessel of Christ to bear His name before the Gentiles and kings
and the children of Israel!

The memory of Mr. Judson’s sufferings in Ava will never cease to nerve
missionary endeavor. They appeared at the time unnecessary and
fruitless. He himself, upon emerging from them, spoke of them as having
been “unavailing to answer any valuable missionary purpose unless so far
as they may have been silently blessed to our spiritual improvement and
capacity for future usefulness.” But the spectacle of our missionary
lying in an Oriental prison, his ankles freighted with five pairs of
irons, his heroic wife ministering to him like an angel during the long
months of agony, has burned itself into the consciousness of Christendom
and has made retreat from the missionary enterprise an impossibility. It
is God’s law that progress should be along the line of suffering. The
world’s benefactors have been its sufferers. They “have been from time
immemorial crucified and burned.”[74] It seems to be a divine law that
those who bestow roses must feel thorns. The sufferings of Mr. Judson’s
life were as fruitful of blessing as the toils.

The graves of the sainted dead forbid retreat from the ramparts of
heathenism. It is said that the heart of the Scottish hero Bruce was
embalmed after his death and preserved in a silver casket. When his
descendants were making a last desperate charge upon the serried columns
of the Saracens, their leader threw this sacred heart far out into the
ranks of the enemy. The Scots charged with irresistible fury in order to
regain the relic. Christianity will never retreat from the graves of its
dead on heathen shores. England is pressing into Africa with redoubled
energy since she saw placed on the pavement of her own Westminster Abbey
the marble tablet in memory of him who was “brought by faithful hands,
over land and sea, David Livingstone, missionary, traveller,
philanthropist.” Until that day shall come when every knee shall bow and
every tongue confess the name of Jesus, Christian hearts will not cease
to draw inspiration from the memory of those who found their last
resting-place under the hopia-tree at Amherst, on the rocky shore of St.
Helena, and beneath the waves of the Indian Ocean.

-----

Footnote 71:

  Schaff’s “History of the Christian Church,” Vol. I., p. 79.

Footnote 72:

  At the house of Mr. Goodell, in Constantinople.

Footnote 73:

  See Appendix C.

Footnote 74:

  Goethe.




                               APPENDIX.

                             --------------

                                   A.

              AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL RECORD OF DATES AND EVENTS.

                        -----------------------

                             BY A. JUDSON.


  ADONIRAM JUDSON, sen., was born at Woodbury, Conn., June, 1752, the
    youngest son of Elnathan and Mary Judson, and was married Nov. 23,
    1786, to Abigail Brown, who was born at Tiverton R. I., Dec. 15,
    1759, the eldest daughter of Abraham and Abigail Brown.

  1788, Aug. 9, Adoniram Judson, jun., was born at Malden, Mass.

  1791, March 21, Abigail Brown Judson was born at Malden, Mass.

  1793, Jan. 10, the family removed to Wenham, Mass.

  1794, May 28, Elnathan Judson was born at Wenham.

  1796, Feb. 18, Mary Ellice Judson was born at Wenham.

  1796, Sept. 12, Mary Ellice Judson died, aged 6 months and 24 days.

  1800, May 22, the family removed to Braintree, Mass.

  1802, May 11, removed to Plymouth, Mass.

  1804, Aug 17, A. J., jun., entered Providence College, subsequently
    Brown University, one year in advance.

  1807, Feb. 23, closed a school of thirty pupils, taught six weeks in
    Plymouth.

  1807, April 30, received the highest appointment in the ensuing
    commencement exercises of the class—an appointment to pronounce the
    last English oration, and the _valedictory addresses_.

  1807, Sept. 2, received the degree of Bachelor of Arts.

  1807, Sept. 17, opened a private academy in Plymouth.

  1808, Feb. 25, completed “The Elements of English Grammar.”

  1808, July 28, completed “The Young Lady’s Arithmetic.”

  1808, Aug. 9, closed the “Plymouth Independent Academy.”

  1808, Aug. 15, set out on a tour through the Northern States.

  1808, Sept. 22, returned to Plymouth.

  1808, Sept. 29, became an assistant teacher in a private academy in
    Boston.

  1808, Oct. 12, entered the Theological Institution at Andover, Mass.,
    one year in advance.

  1808, Nov., began to entertain a hope of having received the
    regenerating influences of the Holy Spirit.

  1808, Dec. 2, made a solemn dedication of himself to God.

  1809, May 28, made a public profession of religion, and joined the
    Third Congregational Church in Plymouth.

  1809, June, received an appointment to a tutorship in Brown
    University, but declined it.

  1809, Sept., read Buchanan’s “Star in the East,” and began to consider
    the subject of missions.

  1810, Feb., resolved on becoming a missionary to the heathen.

  1810, May 17, received a license to preach from the Orange Association
    of Ministers in Vermont.

  1810, June 28, united with Messrs. Nott, Newell, and Mills, in
    submitting to the General Association of Ministers, convened at
    Bradford, Mass., a statement of views and desires on the subject of
    missions, which originated the American Board of Commissioners for
    Foreign Missions.

  1810, July 28, commenced an acquaintance with Ann Hasseltine.

  1810, Sept. 5, received the degree of Master of Arts from Brown
    University.

  1810, Sept. 24, completed my course of study at the Theological
    Institution.

  1811, Jan. 11, embarked at Boston on the ship _Packet_, bound to
    Liverpool, to visit the London Missionary Society.

  1811, Feb. 2, the ship was taken by the French privateer,
    _L’Invincible Napoleon_, and myself, passengers and crew transferred
    to the privateer.

  1811, Feb. 15, put in at Le Passage, in Spain.

  1811, Feb. 23, was conveyed to Bayonne, in France, where, after a
    short imprisonment, I was permitted to remain at large.

  1811, April 16, arrived in Paris.

  1811, May 3, crossed the English Channel from Morlaix to Dartmouth.

  1811, May 6, arrived in London.

  1811, May, June, visited the Missionary Seminary at Gosport.

  1811, June 18, embarked at Gravesend, on the ship _Augustus_, bound to
    New York.

  1811, Aug. 7, arrived in New York.

  1811, Sept. 19, was appointed by the American Board of Commissioners a
    missionary to the East, in company with Messrs. Nott, Newell, and
    Hall.

  1812, Feb. 3, took a final leave of my parents in Plymouth.

  1812, Feb. 5, was married to Ann Hasseltine, born at Bradford, Mass.,
    Dec. 22, 1789, the youngest daughter of John and Rebecca Hasseltine.

  1812, Feb. 6, received ordination at Salem, in company with Messrs.
    Nott, Newell, Hall, and Rice, from the Rev. Drs. Spring, Worcester,
    Woods, Morse, and Griffin.

  1812, Feb. 7, took a final leave of my sister and brother in Boston.

  1812, Feb. 19, embarked at Salem, with Mrs. J. and Mr. and Mrs.
    Newell, on the brig _Caravan_, Capt. Heard, bound to Calcutta.

  1812, June 17, arrived in Calcutta.

  1812, Aug. 8, Messrs. Nott, Hall, and Rice, with Mrs. Nott, arrived in
    the ship _Harmony_, from Philadelphia.

  1812, Sept. 1, announced to the Secretary of the A. B. C. F. M. my
    change of sentiment on the subject of baptism.

  1812, Sept. 6, was baptized in Calcutta, with Mrs. J., by the Rev. Mr.
    Ward.

  1812, Nov. 1, Mr. Rice, on a similar change of sentiment, received
    baptism.

  1812, Nov. 30, fled from the arrest of the East India Company’s
    government, and embarked privately with Mrs. J. and Mr. Rice, on the
    ship _Belle Creole_, bound to Port Louis, Isle of France.

  1813, Jan. 17, arrived in Port Louis.

  1813, March 15, Mr. Rice took passage for America.

  1813, April 1, completed the sermon on “Christian Baptism.”

  1813, May 7, embarked at Port Louis with Mrs. J. on the ship _Countess
    of Harcourt_, bound to Madras.

  1813, June 4, arrived in Madras.

  1813, June 22, embarked with Mrs. J. on the ship _Georgiana_, bound to
    Rangoon, in Burmah.

  1813, July 13, arrived in Rangoon, and joined the mission conducted by
    Felix Carey.

  1814, Aug. 20, Mr. Carey and family removed to Ava, and soon after
    seceded from the mission.

  1815, Jan. 25, Mrs. J. embarked for Madras, to obtain medical advice.

  1815, April 13, returned with Emily Vansomeren, to be brought up in
    the family.

  1815, Sept. 5, received information of the establishment of the
    American Baptist Board of Foreign Missions in March, 1814, and their
    appointment of me their missionary.

  1815, Sept, 11, Roger Williams Judson was born in Rangoon.

  1816, May 4, Roger Williams Judson died, aged 7 months and 23 days.

  1816, July 13, completed “Grammatical Notices of the Burman Language.”

  1816, July 20, completed Tract No. 1 in Burman, being a view of the
    Christian Religion, in three parts, Historical, Didactic,
    Preceptive.

  1816, Oct. 15, Mr. Hough and family arrived and joined the mission.

  1817, May 20, completed a Burman translation of the Gospel of Matthew.

  1817, May 22, began to compile a Burman dictionary.

  1817, Aug., wrote “A Letter to the 3d Church in Plymouth, Mass.,” on
    the subject of baptism.

  1817, Dec. 24, embarked at Rangoon, on the ship _Two Brothers_, bound
    to Chittagong.

  1818, Jan. 26, the ship’s destination was changed from Chittagong to
    Madras.

  1818, March 18, landed at Masulipatam.

  1818, April 8, arrived in Madras by land—distance 300 miles.

  1818, July 20, left Madras.

  1818, Aug. 4, arrived in Rangoon.

  1818, Sept. 19, Messrs. Colman and Wheelock and wives arrived and
    joined the mission.

  1818, Nov. 1, Mr. Hough and family departed from Bengal.

  1819, April 4, commenced public worship in the Burman language.

  1819, April 25, commenced occupying a public zayat.

  1819, May, wrote “A Letter Relative to the Formal and Solemn
    Reprimand.”

  1819, June 27, baptized Moung Nau, the first Burman convert.

  1819, July 29, completed a revision and enlargement of Tract No. 1,
    and a revision of Tract No. 2, being a Catechism in Burman by Mrs.
    J.

  1819, August 7, Mr. and Mrs. Wheelock departed for Bengal.

  1819, Nov. 30, completed a revision of the sermon on Christian
    Baptism, for fourth edition.

  1819, Dec. 21, left Rangoon on a visit to Ava, in company with Mr.
    Colman.

  1820, January 27, appeared before the king, and was refused liberty to
    propagate religion in his dominions.

  1820, Feb. 18, returned to Rangoon.

  1820, March 27, Mr. and Mrs. Colman embarked for Arracan.

  1820, July 18, baptized the tenth Burman convert.

  1820, July 19, embarked with Mrs. J. for Calcutta.

  1820, Aug. 18, arrived in Calcutta.

  1820, Nov. 23, embarked with Mrs. J. for Rangoon.

  1821, Jan. 5, arrived in Rangoon.

  1821, Aug. 21, Mrs. J. and Emily embarked for Bengal, and ultimately
    America.

  1821, Dec. 13, Dr. Price and family arrived and joined the mission.

  1822, Jan. 20, Mr. Hough and family returned.

  1822, May 2, Mrs. Price died.

  1822, Aug. 21, baptized the eighteenth Burman convert.

  1822, Aug. 28, left Rangoon on a visit to Ava, in company with Dr.
    Price.

  1822, Sept. 27, arrived in Ava.

  1823, Feb. 2, returned to Rangoon.

  1823, July 12, completed the translation of the New Testament in
    Burmese, together with an epitome of the Old.

  1823, Dec. 5, Mrs. J. returned to Rangoon.

  1823, Dec. 13, left Rangoon for Ava, in company with Mrs. J.

  1824, Jan. 23, arrived in Ava.

  1824, June 8, was fettered and imprisoned by the king’s order, in
    consequence of war with Bengal.

  1825, Jan. 26, Maria Elizabeth Butterworth Judson was born in Ava.

  1825, May 2, was removed from the king’s prison in Ava to the prison
    in Oung-pen-la, a few miles distant.

  1825, Nov. 5, was taken out of irons and reconducted to Ava.

  1825, Nov. 7, was sent under guard to Maloon, the headquarters of the
    Burmese army, to act as interpreter.

  1825, Dec. 17, was sent away from Maloon, in consequence of the
    advance of the British army from Prome.

  1825, Dec. 29, reached Ava and was recommitted to prison.

  1825, Dec. 30, was released from prison and put under charge of the
    North Commandant of the palace.

  1826, Feb. 21, left Ava, with Mrs. J. and Maria, for the British camp
    at Yantabo.

  1826, Feb. 24, the treaty of peace was signed by the British and
    Burman Commissioners.

  1826, March 6, left Yantabo for Rangoon on the _Irrawaddy_ gun-boat.

  1826, March 21, arrived in Rangoon.

  1826, March 31, left Rangoon, on a visit to Martaban, with the Civil
    Commissioner, Mr. Crawford.

  1826, April 6, landed at Hyaikamee, where the Commissioner selected
    the site of a new town to be called Amherst.

  1826, April 10, arrived in Rangoon from Amherst.

  1826, June 29, embarked with Mrs. J. and family on the _Phœnix_, bound
    to Amherst.

  1826, July 2, arrived in Amherst.

  1826, July 5, left Mrs. J. and family at Amherst, and re-embarked on
    the _Phœnix_ for Rangoon.

  1826, July 9, arrived in Rangoon.

  1826, Sept. 1, left Rangoon for Ava with the Envoy, Mr. Crawford.

  1826, Sept. 30, arrived in Ava.

  1826, Oct. 28, the Embassy removed to Chagaing.

  1826, Nov. 24, heard the news of Mrs. J.’s death at Amherst, Oct. 24,
    1826, in the 37th year of her age.

  1826, Dec. 12, left Chagaing on return to Rangoon and Amherst.

  1827, Jan. 24, arrived in Amherst, and joined the family of Mr. and
    Mrs. Wade, who arrived Nov. 23, 1826.

  1827, April 17, Mr. and Mrs. Boardman arrived in Amherst.

  1827, April 24, Maria died at Amherst, aged 2 years and 3 months.

  1827, May 28, Mr. and Mrs. Boardman removed to Maulmain.

  1827, July 11, heard of the death of my father, Rev. Adoniram Judson,
    sen., at Scituate, Mass., Nov. 25, 1826, in the 75th year of his
    age.

  1827, August 10 and 11, left Amherst and joined the Boardmans at
    Maulmain.

  1827, Nov. 14, Mr. and Mrs. Wade also and the native Christians
    removed to Maulmain.

  1827, Dec. 28, finished translating thirty psalms, begun July 16.

  1828, Jan. 11, commenced occupying a public _zayat_ in Maulmain.

  1828, March 29, Mr. and Mrs. Boardman removed to Tavoy.

  1828, May 9, renounced the title of D.D., conferred on me by the
    corporation of Brown University, Sept., 1823.

  1828, May 29, gave away my private property to the Board.

  1828, Oct. 24, removed to the Hermitage.

  1829, Feb., wrote “The Threefold Cord” in English.

  1829, March, wrote “The Golden Balance,” Tract No. 3, in Burmese.

  1829, Nov. 14, finished revising the New Testament, the epitome of the
    Old, and the Septenary, or Seven Manuals, in Burmese.

  1829, Dec. 15, heard of the death of my brother, Dr. Elnathan Judson,
    at Washington, D. C., May 8, 1829, aged 35 years.

  1830, Jan. 14, Mr. and Mrs. Bennett arrived in Maulmain.

  1830, Feb. 21, Mr. and Mrs. Wade removed to Rangoon.

  1830, April 26, left Maulmain.

  1830, May 2, arrived in Rangoon.

  1830, June 11, arrived in Prome.

  1830, Sept. 25, returned to Rangoon.

  1831, July 19, finished the translation of Genesis, twenty chapters of
    Exodus, Psalms, Solomon’s Song, Isaiah and Daniel.

  1831, July 31, arrived in Maulmain from Rangoon.

  1831, Oct., wrote the Letter on Female Dress.

  1832, May 21, retired to the rooms adjoining the native chapel, with a
    view to prosecuting the translation of the Old Testament.

  1832, Nov. 27, Mr. and Mrs. Wade sailed for America.

  1832, Dec. 15, sent to press the last sheet of the New Testament in
    Burmese.

  1833, Jan. 1, Mr. and Mrs. Hancock and others arrived from America.

  1833, Sept. 8, baptized the one hundredth Karen convert north of
    Maulmain, the first fourteen of whom were baptized by Mr. Wade.

  1834, Jan. 31, finished the translation of the Old Testament.

  1834, April 1, left Maulmain for Tavoy.

  1834, April 10, was married to Mrs. Sarah H. Boardman, who was born at
    Alstead, N. H., Nov. 4, 1803, the eldest daughter of Ralph and Abiah
    O. Hall; married to George D. Boardman, July 4, 1825, left a widow
    Feb. 11, 1831, with one surviving child, George D. Boardman, born
    Aug. 18, 1828.

  1834, April 16, arrived in Maulmain from Tavoy.

  1834, Dec. 7, the _Cashmere_ arrived from America, with Mr. and Mrs.
    Wade, Mr. and Mrs. Osgood, and several other new missionaries.

  1834, Dec. 13, George D. Boardman embarked on the _Cashmere_ for
    America.

  1835, Jan. 4, the Wades removed from Maulmain to Tavoy.

  1835, Sept. 26, finished the revision of the Old Testament.

  1835, Oct. 31, Abby Ann Judson was born in Maulmain.

  1835, Nov. 29, baptized the one hundredth member of the Burman Church
    in Maulmain.

  1835, Dec. 29, sent to press the last sheet of the Old Testament.

  1836, Feb. 21, the _Louvre_ arrived from America with Mr. Malcom,
    agent of the Board, and several new missionaries.

  1836, May 23, moved into the new chapel.

  1836, Nov., visited the Tavoy station in company with Mrs. J. and Mrs.
    Vinton.

  1837, Jan. 31, finished a new revision of the New Testament.

  1837, March 22, sent to press the last sheet of the revised New
    Testament.

  1837, April 7, Adoniram Brown Judson was born in Maulmain.

  1837, April 30, Mr. and Mrs. Howard arrived from Rangoon, and joined
    the Maulmain station.

  1837, Nov. 18, finished “A Digest of Scripture,” in Burmese.

  1837, Nov. 27, the Hancocks removed from Maulmain to Mergui.

  1838, Feb. 19, Mr. and Mrs. Stevens arrived from America, and joined
    the Maulmain station.

  1838, July 15, Elnathan Judson was born in Maulmain.

  1839, Feb. 19, embarked for Calcutta.

  1839, March 9, arrived in Calcutta.

  1839, March 30, embarked for Maulmain.

  1839, April 13, arrived in Maulmain.

  1839, Oct. 27, began to preach in the native chapel, after an interval
    of ten months.

  1839, Dec. 31, Henry Judson was born in Maulmain.

  1840, Oct. 24, finished the revision of the quarto edition of the
    Burmese Bible.

  1841, March 8, Luther Judson was still-born.

  1841, June 26, embarked with Mrs. J. and family for Bengal, on account
    of their health.

  1841, July 11, arrived in Bengal.

  1841, July 30, Henry Judson died at Serampore, aged 1 year, 27 months.

  1841, Aug. 16, embarked with my family on the _Ramsay_, Capt. Hamlin,
    bound to the Isle of France.

  1841, Oct. 1, arrived at Port Louis.

  1841, Nov. 1, re-embarked on the _Ramsay_ for Maulmain.

  1841, Dec. 10, arrived in Maulmain.

  1842, Feb. 21, moved into the new house.

  1842, July 8, Henry Hall Judson was born in Maulmain.

  1842, Aug. 29, heard of the death of my mother at Plymouth, Mass.,
    Jan. 31, 1842, in the eighty-third year of her age.

  1843, Dec. 18, Charles Judson was born in Maulmain.

  1844, Dec. 27, Edward Judson was born in Maulmain.

  1845, Feb. 15, Mrs. J. left Maulmain on a voyage down the coast, for
    the benefit of her health.

  1845, April 3, Mrs. Judson returned.

  1845, April 26, embarked with Mrs. J. and the three elder children on
    the _Paragon_, bound to London.

  1845, May 3, sailed from Amherst.

  1845, July 5, arrived from Port Louis in the Isle of France.

  1845, July 23, embarked on the _Sophia Walker_, Capt. Codman, bound to
    the United States.

  1845, July 25, sailed from Port Louis.

  1845, Aug. 26, arrived at St. Helena.

  1845, Sept. 1, Mrs. J. died at 3 A.M., was buried at 6 P.M., and we
    sailed from St. Helena in the evening.

  1845, Oct. 15, arrived in Boston.

  1845, Nov. 13, parted with my children, leaving Adoniram and Elnathan
    at Worcester, and sending Abby Ann to Plymouth.

  1845, Nov. 28, heard of the death of little Charlie at Maulmain,
    August 5, 1845, aged 1 year and 7½ months.

  1846, Jan. 5, commenced an acquaintance with Emily Chubbuck.

  1846, April 6, removed Abby Ann from Plymouth to Bradford.

  1846, June 2, was married at Hamilton, N. Y., to Emily Chubbuck, born
    at Eaton, N. Y., Aug. 22, 1817, the daughter of Charles and Lavinia
    Chubbuck.

  1846, July 4, took leave of Adoniram and Elnathan at Worcester.

  1846, July 9, took leave of Abby Ann at Bradford.

  1846, July 11, took leave of George D. Boardman, the Lincoln families,
    the Colbys, the Gillettes, Anne Maria Anable, and numberless other
    friends, and embarked with Mrs. Judson, Miss Lillybridge, the
    Beechers, and the Harrises, on the ship _Faneuil Hall_, Capt.
    Hallet, bound to Maulmain.

  1846, Nov. 30, arrived in Maulmain.

  1847, Feb. 15, embarked with my family for Rangoon.

  1847, June 1, Mrs. J. finished the memoir of the late Mrs. J.

  1847, Aug. 31, re-embarked for Maulmain.

  1847, Sept. 5, arrived in Maulmain.

  1847, Dec. 24, Emily Frances Judson was born in Maulmain.

  1848, Feb. 25, removed into the old house.

  1849, Jan. 24, finished the English and Burmese dictionary.

                               ----------

                                   B.

               MR. JUDSON’S FIRST TRACT FOR THE BURMANS.

There is one Being who exists eternally; who is exempt from sickness,
old age, and death; who was, and is, and will be, without beginning, and
without end. Besides this, the true God, there is no other God. The true
God is diverse from all other beings. Uniting three in one, God the
Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, these three are one God.
God is a spirit, without bodily form. Although omnipresent, it is above
the heavens that he clearly discovers his glory. His power and wisdom
are infinite. He is pure and good, and possessed of everlasting
felicity. Before this world was made, God remained happy, surrounded by
the pure and incorporeal sons of heaven. In order to display his
perfections, and make creatures happy, God created the heavens, the sun,
moon, and all the stars, the earth, the various kinds of brute
creatures, and man. The first man and woman, at their original creation,
were not liable to sickness or death; they were exempt from every kind
of evil, and their mind was upright and pure. Afterwards, because, by
violating the command of God, they transgressed against their
Benefactor, the sum of all perfections, beyond compare, the light of the
divine countenance disappeared, and those two, together with all their
posterity, became darkened, and unclean, and wicked; they became
subject, in the present state, to sickness, death, and all other evils;
and they became deserving of suffering, in the future state, the
dreadful punishment of hell. Above four thousand years after mankind was
thus destroyed, God, being moved with compassion for man involved in
misery, sent to the earth, the abode of man, God the Son, the second
yadana among the three _yadanas_ [anything superlatively excellent—in
the present application it conveys no additional idea, but is requisite
in Burman to the intelligibility of the sentence]. The circumstances of
his being sent were thus:—God the Son, uniting the divine and the human
natures, without destroying or confounding them, in the land of Israel,
and country of Judea, in the womb of a virgin, was conceived by the
divine power, and was born. This God-man, who is named Jesus Christ,
being man, endured in our stead severe sufferings and death, the
punishment due to our sins; and being God, is able by virtue of having
endured those sufferings, to deliver all his disciples from the
punishment of hell, redeeming them with his own life, and to instate
them in heaven. On the third day after Jesus Christ suffered death, his
soul re-entered his body, and he lived again. For the space of forty
days he remained, giving instruction to his disciples, after which he
commissioned them thus—“Go ye into all countries on earth, and proclaim
the glad news to all men. He that believeth in me, and is baptized,
shall be saved; he that believeth not shall be damned, or shall suffer
endless punishment in hell.” Then, in the presence of many of his
disciples, he ascended to heaven, and took up his abode in the place
where God displays his glory. According to the final command of Jesus
Christ, his disciples, beginning with Judea, travelled about through
various countries and kingdoms, and proclaimed the glad news; and many
believed, and became disciples of Jesus Christ. The true religion
afterwards spread into the countries of the west; and now to this
country of Burmah, among the countries of the east, a teacher of
religion, from the country of America, has arrived, and is beginning to
proclaim the glad news. About one or two hundred years hence the
religion of Boodh, of Brahma, of Mahomet, and of Rome, together with all
other false religions, will disappear and be lost, and the religion of
Christ will pervade the whole world; all quarrels and wars will cease,
and all the tribes of man will be like a band of mutually loving
brothers. [_End of Part 1._]

A disciple of Jesus Christ is one that is born again; the meaning of
which is, that the old nature, which is successively inherited from the
first man and woman, begins to be destroyed, and the new nature, which
is implanted by the Holy Spirit, is obtained. The unrenewed man loves
himself supremely, and seeks his own private interest. The renewed man
loves the true God supremely, and desires that the divine glory may be
promoted. He loves all others, also, as himself, and seeks their
interest as his own. The desire of the unrenewed man is to enjoy sensual
pleasure, worldly wealth, fame, and power. The renewed man contemns
sensual pleasure, etc. His desire is to be pure in mind, to be replete
with grace, to be useful to others, to promote the glory of God, and to
enjoy the pure and perpetual happiness of heaven. The unrenewed man,
influenced by pride, hates the humbling religion of Jesus Christ. When
seized with alarm, he endeavors to perform meritorious deeds in order to
make atonement for his sins, and obtain salvation. The renewed man,
knowing surely that man, having sinned against God, and contracted great
guilt, can not perform meritorious deeds, firmly fixes in his mind that
it is on account of the God-man, Jesus Christ alone, that sin can be
expiated, and the happiness of heaven obtained; and therefore, through
supreme love to Jesus Christ, and a desire to do his will, endeavors to
avoid evil deeds, and to perform good deeds only, according to the
divine commands. Sometimes, when through the assaults of the remaining
old nature he slides and transgresses the divine commands, he repents
that he has sinned against his superlatively excellent and lovely Lord,
and, trusting only in the death of Christ, he humbly confesses the sin
he has committed, and begs pardon of God. He who is unrenewed, and
therefore is not a disciple of Christ, in the present life obtains no
true wisdom; his sins are numerous and heavy. And because he has no
regard to the Lord, who can deliver from sin, he will, in the present
life, obtain no refuge or resting place; but soul and body will fall
into hell, as his sins deserve; and having transgressed against an
eternal God, he must accordingly forever suffer eternal misery. He who
is renewed and becomes a disciple of Jesus Christ, in the present life,
is acquainted with true wisdom, and attains the state of a _Thautahpan_
[one that has acquired a new and excellent nature, which will issue in
final salvation]. And when he changes worlds, his soul having obtained
the pardon of sin through the death of Christ, will, through the grace
of God, enter into the divine presence. The body, also, though it be
burnt with fire, or consumed in the earth, and thus destroyed for a
time, will, at the end of the world, by the power of God, with whom
nothing is impossible, live again; and thus, soul and body united, will
forever enjoy eternal happiness in the presence of God. [_End of Part
2._]

The commands of Jesus Christ are as follow:—Repent, or be changed in
mind; that is, extirpate the old nature, and cultivate the new. Have
faith in the Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ. Love God supremely. Love
others as yourself. Set not your heart on worldly goods and riches; but
look forward to, and long for, those riches which are free from
defilement, and eternal in the heavens. Suppress haughtiness, pride, and
insolence, and cherish an humble, meek, and lowly mind. Return not evil
for evil, but have a disposition to forgive the faults of others, and to
bear injury with patience. Love your enemies, and pray for them. Be
compassionate to the poor and needy, and give alms. Covet not the
property of others; therefore, take not by violence; steal not; defraud
not in trade; trespass in no manner on the property of others. Speak no
falsehood. Bear not false witness. Without being invested with
governmental authority, take not the life of man. Drink not intoxicating
liquor to excess. Despise not marriage, whether of a teacher of
religion, a ruler, or a private person. Beside your own husband or wife,
have no desire for any other man or woman. Honor parents, and willingly
assist and support them, according to your ability. Listen reverently to
the instructions of religious teachers, and make offerings for their
support. In regard to rulers, whether disciples of Christ or not, honor
them, pay them tribute, pray for them, and obey their lawful commands.
Pray to God always. On the first day in seven, assemble to worship God,
and hear his word. On becoming a disciple of Jesus Christ, receive
baptism in water. Afterwards, in memory of his flesh and blood, which he
gave for the sake of his disciples, reverently, from time to time, eat
bread and drink wine. Use all diligence that your relations, and
neighbors, and countrymen, who are not disciples of Christ, may be
converted. With a compassionate mind, use all diligence that the
inhabitants of towns, and countries, and kingdoms, that are in darkness,
not having obtained the light of the knowledge of the true God, may
become disciples of Christ. The above are commands of Jesus Christ.
[_End of Part 3._]

The teacher who composed this writing, seeing the great evil which is
coming on the Burmans, left his own country from compassion, and from an
immense distance has arrived, by ship, to this, the country of Burmah.
He desires neither fame nor riches. Offerings and gifts he seeks not.
The disciples of Christ in his own country, moved with compassion for
the Burmans, make offerings sufficient for his use. He has no other
motive but this: Being a disciple of Christ, and therefore seeking the
good of others as his own, he has come, and is laboring that the Burmans
may be saved from the dreadful punishment of hell, and enjoy the
happiness of heaven.

In the year of Christ, 1816; in the Burman year, 1178; in the 967th day
of the lord of the Saddan elephant, and master of the Sakyah weapon; and
in the 33d year of his reign; in the division Pashoo; on Tuesday, the
12th day of the wane of the moon Wahgoung, after the double beat, this
writing, entitled, _The Way to Heaven_, was finished. _May the reader
obtain light. Amen._


                               ----------


                                   C.

                          THE THREEFOLD CORD.

                            ECCLES. iv. 12.

                  _Written by a Missionary in Burmah._

YOU hope, my dear brother, that you have repented of sin, and put your
trust in the Lord Jesus Christ. You now desire, above all things, to
grow in grace, and attain the perfect love and enjoyment of God. But you
find yourself perplexed about the way, amidst the various directions of
various classes of the Christian world; and you ask for a short manual
of advice, plain to the understanding and convincing to the heart. I
present you, therefore, with _the threefold cord_. Lay hold of it with
the hand of faith, and be assured that it will draw thy soul to God and
to heaven.

The first is the cord of _Secret Prayer_. Without this the others have
no strength. Secret prayer is commonly considered a duty which must be
performed every morning and evening, in order to keep a conscience void
of offence. But do not, my dear brother, entertain an opinion so
defective. Consider secret prayer as one of the three great works of thy
life. Arrange thy affairs, if possible, so that thou canst leisurely
devote two or three hours every day, not merely to devotional exercises,
but to the very act of secret prayer and communion with God. Endeavor,
seven times a day, to withdraw from business and company, and lift up
thy soul to God in private retirement. Begin the day by rising after
midnight, and devoting some time, amid the silence and darkness of the
night, to this sacred work. Let the hour of opening dawn find thee at
the same work; let the hours of nine, twelve, three, six, and nine at
night witness the same. Be resolute in this course. Make all practicable
sacrifices to maintain it. Consider that thy time is short, and that
business and company must not be allowed to rob thee of thy God. At
least, remember the morning, noon, and night seasons, and the season
after midnight, if not detrimental to thy health.

Dost thou ask how to pray? There is One who is able and willing to teach
thee. Whenever thou intendest to pray, draw towards Calvary; kneel at
the foot of the mount; lift up thine eyes, tremblingly and in tears, to
thine incarnate God and Saviour dying on the cross; confess that thou
art the guilty cause; implore his forgiveness; and, believe me, my dear
brother, that the Holy Spirit will quickly come and teach thee how to
pray.

The second is the cord of _Self-denial_—rough, indeed, to the hand of
sense, and so abused in the Roman Catholic church that Protestants have
become afraid of it, and thrown it away. But lay hold, my brother, with
the hand of faith. It is one of the three; and without it the other two,
although they may do some service, will not have firmness and
consistency.

It is an acknowledged principle, that every faculty of the body and
mind is strengthened and improved by use, weakened and impaired by
disuse. It is needless to produce proofs or illustrations; they are to
be met with in every day’s experience. Self-love, or the desire of
self-gratification in the enjoyment of the riches, the honors, and the
pleasures of this world, is the ruling principle of fallen man. In the
new-born soul this principle, though wounded to death, still lives.
And the more it is indulged, the stronger it becomes. But

                “The love of God flows just as much
                  As that of ebbing self subsides;
                Our hearts, their scantiness is such,
                  Can not sustain two rival tides.
                Both can not govern in one soul;
                  Then let self-love be dispossessed;
                The love of God deserves the whole,
                  Nor will she dwell with such a guest.”

And the way to dispossess self-love is to cease indulging it; to regard
and treat self as an enemy, a vicious animal, for instance, whose
propensities are to be thwarted, whose indulgences are to be curtailed,
as far as can be done consistently with his utmost serviceableness; or,
in the language of Scripture, to deny self and take up the cross daily;
to keep under the body, and bring it into subjection; to mortify the
members which are upon the earth; to cease from loving the world and the
things of the world.

Alas for those whose days are spent in pampering their bodies, under the
idea of preserving their life and health; who toil to lay up treasures
upon earth, under the idea of providing for their children; who conform
to the fashions of the world, under the idea of avoiding pernicious
singularity; who use every means to maintain their character, and extend
their reputation, under the idea of gaining more influence, and thereby
capacity for serving the cause! How can such enter the kingdom of
heaven? “Strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, that leadeth unto
life; and few there be that find it.” Wouldst thou, my brother, belong
to the happy few? Wouldst thou subdue that inordinate self-love which
has hitherto shut out the love of God from thy heart, and impeded thy
progress in the heavenly way? Adopt a course of daily, habitual
self-denial. Cease gratifying thy appetite; be content with the plainest
diet; reject what most pampers the palate; fast often; keep thy body
under. Cease adorning thy person; dress in coarse and poor apparel;
discard all finery; cut off the supplies of vanity and pride. Occupy a
poor habitation; suffer inconveniences, yea, prefer them ever to
slothful ease and carnal indulgence. Allow no amusements; turn away
thine eyes from the pleasant sights, and thine ears from the pleasant
sounds, of this vain world. Engage in no conversation, read no book,
that interrupts thy communion with God; nor indeed any that has not a
devotional tendency, unless it be necessary in thy calling. Get rid of
the encumbrance of worldly property; sell what thou hast, and give to
the poor, especially those who are in spiritual poverty. As to
character, that last idol and most deadly tyrant of poor fallen man,
follow the advice of that eminent saint, Archbishop Leighton: “Choose
always, to the best of thy skill, what is most to God’s honor, and most
like unto Christ and his example, and most profitable to thy neighbor,
and most against thy own proper will, and least serviceable to thy own
praise and exaltation.” And again: “Not only be content, but desirous,
to be unknown, or, being known, to be contemned and despised of all men,
yet without thy faults or deservings, as much as thou canst.”[75]
Finally, renounce all terms with this world, which lieth in the arms of
the wicked one; renounce all thy worldly projects and pursuits, except
what is absolutely necessary for thine own sustenance and that of those
dependent on thee; avoid, as much as possible, the contaminating touch
of worldly things; and by shutting the avenues of thy soul against the
solicitations of the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the
pride of life, endeavor to weaken that deadly and tremendous influence
which the world has gained over thee, and of which thou art scarcely
suspicious.[76] And when thou hast done all thou canst, remember that on
account of the hesitation with which thou didst admit the light; the
reluctance with which thou didst enter on thy duty; the carnal
reasonings which at every step thou hast indulged; the readiness which
thou hast sometimes felt to give up the effort; and the unfaithfulness
which has marred, the sin which has polluted thy best performances—thou
deservest nothing but hell.

Art thou ready, on reading these pages, to say in despair, Alas for me!
bound by a thousand chains, and loaded with a thousand burdens, how can
I ever live a holy life of self-denial? Remember that there is One who
is able and willing to help thee. It is commonly, if not always, the
case with young converts, that the Holy Spirit draws them towards the
path of self-denial. We can all, perhaps, remember the time when we had
such a sense of our unworthiness that we were desirous of denying
ourselves of every indulgence; when we had such a sense of the danger of
temptation, and the dreadful power of sin, that we were willing to
renounce all things in order to live a holy life. But in the Protestant
church we were frightened by the phantoms of Romish austerities,
self-inflicted mortifications, overmuch righteousness, religious
enthusiasm, etc.; we shut our eyes to the dawning light, turned away our
ears from the heavenly call, the Spirit ceased to strive, and we have
been swept away with the tide.

Return, O mistaken soul, to thy first love. God is still waiting to be
gracious. Dost thou not feel a latent impulse, as thou readest these
lines? a secret conviction that this is the truth? an incipient desire
to comply? Yield thyself to the heavenly influence. Make an immediate
beginning. Wait not till thou seest the whole path clearly illumined;
expect not meridian brightness, while thy sun is yet struggling with the
dark, malignant vapors which rest on thy earthly horizon, the confines
of a still darker world. The path of self-denial is, to carnal eyes, a
veiled path, a mystery of the divine kingdom. While thou hesitatest at
the first sacrifice required, expect no further admonition, no further
light. But if thou wilt do what thy hands find to do this hour, if thou
wilt, in childlike simplicity and humble obedience, take the first step,
thou shalt see the second, which now thou seest not; and as thou
advancest, thou shalt find the path of self-denial open most wonderfully
and delightfully before thee; thou shalt find it sweet to follow thy
dear Lord and Saviour, bearing the cross, and shalt soon be enabled to
say,—

                 “Sweet is the cross, above all sweets,
                 To souls enamored with thy smiles.”

The third is the cord of _Doing good_. This imparts beauty and utility
to the rest. It is written of the Lord Jesus that _he went about doing
good_. Art thou his disciple? Imitate his example, and go about doing
good. DO GOOD. Let this be thy motto. Do good—all the good in thy
power—of every sort—and to every person. Regard every human being as
thine own brother; look with eyes of love on every one thou meetest, and
hope that he will be thy loving and beloved companion in the bright
world above. Rejoice in every opportunity of doing him any good, either
of a temporal or spiritual kind. Comfort him in trouble; relieve his
wants; instruct his ignorance; enlighten his darkness; warn him of his
danger; show him the way of salvation; persuade and constrain him to
become thy fellow-traveller in that blessed way. Follow him with all
offices of kindness and love, even as thou wouldst be pleased to have
another do to thee. Bear with all his infirmities. Be not weary in well
doing. Remember that thy Saviour bore long with thee, and is still
bearing with thee, beyond all conception, and covering thy pollution
with the robe stained with his own blood, that the wrath of God may not
strike thee. And when he thus forgives thine immense debt, canst thou
not bear with thy fellow-debtor?

Do good to the Lord thy Saviour. Is he far beyond thy reach? True, he
reigns on high; but still he lives in all his members. “Inasmuch as ye
have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it
unto me.” As thou hast, therefore, opportunity, do good unto all men,
especially unto them who are of the household of faith. As a true
follower of Christ, seek not thine own profit, but the profit of many,
that they may be saved. Since Christ has suffered, that whosoever
believeth on him should not perish, but have eternal life, extend thy
good wishes to earth’s remotest bounds; and wherever a human being
exists, let thy prayers and thine efforts combine to bring down eternal
blessings on his beloved soul. But let the members of the household of
faith, whatever be their language, country, or religious denomination,
share in thy warmest love. Regard each one as a part of thine own dear
Saviour; and be as happy to wash his feet as if they were the feet of
thy Lord himself. Remember that, notwithstanding present imperfections,
ye are hastening to be united to one another, and to God, in a manner
most ineffable, even as God is in Christ, and Christ in God; that the
bosom of infinite love is even now opening to receive you all, and that
ye will all bathe together, for endless ages, in “that sea of life and
love unknown, without a bottom or a shore.”

By practising self-denial, thou weakenest the debasing principle of
inordinate self-love; and by doing good, thou cherishest and
strengthenest the heavenly principle of holy benevolence. Let these
exercises, then, quickened and sanctified by secret prayer, be the
regular work of each day of thy life.

Thus I present thee, my brother, with the threefold cord—the three grand
means of growing in grace—of gaining the victory over the world, the
flesh, and the devil—of drawing the soul from earth to heaven. Means, I
say; for I speak not now of faith, the living operative principle
within—the hand, with which thou must lay hold of the threefold cord.
Wilt thou accept my present? Art thou inclined to lay hold? Cherish the
Heaven-born inclination. It is worth more to thee than all the treasures
of the earth. Go into thy place of prayer, stretch out the hand of
faith, and implore the Holy Spirit, who is even now hovering over thee,
to strengthen thee to lay hold for life. Dost thou hesitate? O my
brother, do not, I beseech thee. O, do not grieve the Holy Spirit.
Disappoint not the fond hopes of thy longing Saviour. Renounce the
world, renounce thyself, and flee into his loving arms, which are open
to receive and embrace thee. Angels will rejoice over thy second
conversion, as they did over thy first. Thou wilt soon find such
sweetness as thou hast never yet conceived. Thou wilt begin to live in a
new world, to breathe a new atmosphere, and to behold the light of
heaven shining around thee; and thou wilt begin to love the Lord thy God
in a new manner, when he is “pacified towards thee, for all that thou
hast done.”

                             _Postscript._

In taking leave of thee, my brother, the thought occurs, that,
notwithstanding thy prevailing hope, thou mayst yet have fearful doubts
about thy spiritual state, and mayst think that thou hast not yet the
hand of faith, with which to lay hold of what I send thee. And I fancy I
hear thee cry, What shall I do? Art thou _sensible_ of thy maimed state?
Then there is some hope. _Do what thou canst_: stretch out what thou
hast, however maimed or withered, and try to lay hold. Try to pray in
faith, to practice self-denial, and to do good. And be assured, my
brother, that thou wilt quickly find the hand of faith where thou
thoughtest it was not. There is one near thee whom yet thou knowest
not—He who gave sight to blind Bartimeus, and said to the deaf man,
Ephphatha, Be opened; He who heareth the young ravens when they cry, and
much more, the cry of man, the dearest of all his creatures; He, who is
ever moved with the yearning feelings of a tender parent, when he sees,
at a distance, his poor prodigal son returning, famished and forlorn,
from the far country.

MIZAR, _February, 1829_.

-----

Footnote 75:

  See _Rules and Instructions for a Holy Life_, a piece which, though
  not elaborately finished, contains the very marrow of true religion.
  Study also Law’s _Treatise upon Christian Perfection_, and Kempis’s
  _Imitation of Christ_.

Footnote 76:

  To guard against extremes, take the two following short rules: 1st.
  Avoid such privations and severities as do really injure thy bodily
  health. 2d. Avoid affected singularities in dress and deportment,
  which only cherish pride; and while thou aimest to be poor and
  mortified in all outward things, still retain the garb and costume of
  thy country, and respect those national usages which are common to the
  high and the low, the rich and the poor, unless there be some special
  reason for a change.


                               ----------


                                   D.

                    ADVICE TO MISSIONARY CANDIDATES.

  _To the Foreign Missionary Association of the Hamilton Literary and
                    Theological Institution, N. Y._

                                          MAULMAIN, _June_ 25, 1832.

  DEAR BRETHREN: Yours of November last, from the pen of your
  Corresponding Secretary, Mr. William Dean, is before me. It is one of
  the few letters that I feel called upon to answer, for you ask my
  advice on several important points. There is, also, in the sentiments
  you express, something so congenial to my own, that I feel my heart
  knit to the members of your association, and instead of commonplace
  reply, am desirous of setting down a few items which may be profitable
  to you in your future course. Brief items they must be, for want of
  time forbids my expatiating.

  In commencing my remarks, I take you as you are. You are contemplating
  a missionary life.

  _First_, then, let it be a missionary _life_; that is, come out for
  life, and not for a limited term. Do not fancy that you have a true
  missionary spirit, while you are intending all along to leave the
  heathen soon after acquiring their language. Leave them! for what? To
  spend the rest of your days in enjoying the ease and plenty of your
  native land?

  _Secondly._ In choosing a companion for life, have particular regard
  to a good constitution, and not wantonly, or without good cause, bring
  a burden on yourselves and the mission.

  _Thirdly._ Be not ravenous to do good on board ship. Missionaries have
  frequently done more hurt than good, by injudicious zeal, during their
  passage out.

  _Fourthly._ Take care that the attention you receive at home, the
  unfavorable circumstances in which you will be placed on board ship,
  and the unmissionary examples you may possibly meet with at some
  missionary stations, do not transform you from living missionaries to
  mere skeletons before you reach the place of your destination. It may
  be profitable to bear in mind, that a large proportion of those who
  come out on a mission to the East die within five years after leaving
  their native land. Walk softly, therefore; death is narrowly watching
  your steps.

  _Fifthly._ Beware of the reaction which will take place soon after
  reaching your field of labor. There you will perhaps find native
  Christians, of whose merits or demerits you can not judge correctly
  without some familiar acquaintance with their language. Some
  appearances will combine to disappoint and disgust you. You will meet
  with disappointments and discouragements, of which it is impossible to
  form a correct idea from written accounts, and which will lead you, at
  first, almost to regret that you have embarked in the cause. You will
  see men and women whom you have been accustomed to view through a
  telescope some thousands of miles long. Such an instrument is apt to
  magnify. Beware, therefore, of the reaction you will experience from a
  combination of all these causes, lest you become disheartened at
  commencing your work, or take up a prejudice against some persons and
  places, which will embitter all your future lives.

  _Sixthly._ Beware of the greater reaction which will take place after
  you have acquired the language, and become fatigued and worn out with
  preaching the gospel to a disobedient and gainsaying people. You will
  sometimes long for a quiet retreat, where you can find a respite from
  the tug of toiling at native work—the incessant, intolerable friction
  of the missionary grindstone. And Satan will sympathize with you in
  this matter; and he will present some chapel of ease, in which to
  officiate in your native tongue, some government situation, some
  professorship or editorship, some literary or scientific pursuit, some
  supernumerary translation, or, at least, some system of schools;
  anything, in a word, that will help you, without much surrender of
  character, to slip out of real missionary work. Such a temptation will
  form the crisis of your disease. If your spiritual constitution can
  sustain it, you recover; if not, you die.

  _Seventhly._ Beware of pride; not the pride of proud men, but the
  pride of humble men—that secret pride which is apt to grow out of the
  consciousness that we are esteemed by the great and good. This pride
  sometimes eats out the vitals of religion before its existence is
  suspected. In order to check its operations, it may be well to
  remember how we appear in the sight of God, and how we should appear
  in the sight of our fellow-men, _if all were known_. Endeavor to let
  all be known. Confess your faults freely, and as publicly as
  circumstances will require or admit. When you have done something of
  which you are ashamed, and by which, perhaps, some person has been
  injured (and what man is exempt?), be glad not only to make
  reparation, but improve the opportunity for subduing your pride.

  _Eighthly._ Never lay up money for yourselves or your families. Trust
  in God from day to day, and verily you shall be fed.

  _Ninthly._ Beware of that indolence which leads to a neglect of bodily
  exercise. The poor health and premature death of most Europeans in the
  East must be eminently ascribed to the most wanton neglect of bodily
  exercise.

  _Tenthly._ Beware of genteel living. Maintain as little intercourse as
  possible with fashionable European society. The mode of living adopted
  by many missionaries in the East is quite inconsistent with that
  familiar intercourse with the natives which is essential to a
  missionary.

  There are many points of self-denial that I should like to touch upon;
  but a consciousness of my own deficiency constrains me to be silent. I
  have also left untouched several topics of vital importance, it having
  been my aim to select such only as appear to me to have been not much
  noticed or enforced. I hope you will excuse the monitorial style that
  I have accidentally adopted. I assure you, I mean no harm.

  In regard to your inquiries concerning studies, qualifications, etc.,
  nothing occurs that I think would be particularly useful, except the
  simple remark, that I fear too much stress begins to be laid on what
  is termed a thorough classical education.

  Praying that you may be guided in all your deliberations, and that I
  may yet have the pleasure of welcoming some of you to these heathen
  shores, I remain

                                  Your affectionate brother,
                                                          A. JUDSON.


                                   E.

                          THE KATHAYAN SLAVE.

AT the commencement of the English and Burmese war of 1824, all the
Christians (called “hat-wearers,” in contradistinction from the turbaned
heads of the Orientals) residing at Ava were thrown unceremoniously into
the death-prison. Among them were both Protestant and Roman Catholic
missionaries; some few reputable European traders; and criminals
shadowed from the laws of Christendom “under the sole of the golden
foot.” These, Americans, English, Spanish, Portuguese, Greek, and
Armenian, were all huddled together in one prison, with villains of
every grade—the thief, the assassin, the bandit, or all three in one;
constituting, in connection with countless other crimes, a blacker
character than the inhabitant of a civilized land can picture. Sometimes
stript of their clothing, sometimes nearly starved, loaded with heavy
irons, thrust into a hot, filthy, noisome apartment, with criminals for
companions and criminals for guards, compelled to see the daily torture,
to hear the shriek of anguish from writhing victims, with death, death
in some terribly detestable form, always before them, a severer state of
suffering can scarcely be imagined.

The Burmese had never been known to spare the lives of their
war-captives; and though the little band of foreigners could scarcely be
called prisoners of war, yet this well-known custom, together with their
having been thrust into the death-prison, from which there was no
escape, except by a pardon from the king, cut off nearly every
reasonable hope of rescue. But (quite a new thing in the annals of
Burmese history), although some died from the intensity of their
sufferings, no foreigner was wantonly put to death. Of those who were
claimed by the English at the close of the war, some one or two are yet
living, with anklets and bracelets which they will carry to the grave
with them, wrought in their flesh by the heavy iron. It may well be
imagined that these men might unfold to us scenes of horror, incidents
daily occurring under their own shuddering gaze, in comparison with
which the hair-elevating legends of Ann Radcliff would become simply
fairy tales.

The death-prison at Ava was at that time a single large room, built of
rough boards, without either window or door, and with but a thinly
thatched roof to protect the wretched inmates from the blaze of a
tropical sun. It was entered by slipping aside a single board, which
constituted a sort of sliding-door. Around the prison, inside the yard,
were ranged the huts of the under-jailers, or _Children of the Prison_,
and outside of the yard, close at hand, that of the head-jailer. These
jailers must necessarily be condemned criminals, with a ring, the sign
of outlawry, traced in the skin of the cheek, and the name of their
crime engraved in the same manner upon the breast. The head-jailer was a
tall, bony man, with sinews of iron; wearing, when speaking, a malicious
smirk, and given at times to a most revolting kind of jocoseness. When
silent and quiet, he had a jaded, care-worn look; but it was at the
torture that he was in his proper element. Then his face lighted
up—became glad, furious, demoniac. His small black eyes glittered like
those of a serpent; his thin lips rolled back, displaying his toothless
gums in front, with a long, protruding tusk on either side, stained
black as ebony; his hollow, ringed cheeks seemed to contract more and
more, and his breast heaved with convulsive delight beneath the fearful
word—MAN-KILLER. The prisoners called him _father_, when he was present
to enforce this expression of affectionate familiarity; but among
themselves he was irreverently christened the _tiger-cat_.

One of the most active of the Children of the Prison was a short,
broad-faced man, labelled THIEF, who, as well as the Tiger, had a
peculiar talent in the way of torturing; and so fond was he of the use
of the whip, that he often missed his count, and zealously exceeded the
number of lashes ordered by the city governor. The wife of this man was
a most odious creature; filthy, bold, impudent, cruel, and, like her
husband, delighting in torture. Her face was not only deeply pitted with
small-pox, but so deformed with leprosy, that the white cartilage of the
nose was laid entirely bare; from her large mouth shone rows of
irregular teeth, black as ink; her hair, which was left entirely to the
care of nature, was matted in large black masses about her head; and her
manner, under all this hideous ugliness, was insolent and vicious. They
had two children—little vipers, well loaded with venom; and by their
vexatious mode of annoyance trying the tempers of the prisoners more
than was in the power of the mature torturers.

As will readily be perceived, the security of this prison was not in the
strength of the structure, but in the heavy manacles, and the living
wall. The lives of the jailers depended entirely on their fidelity; and
fidelity involved strict obedience to orders, however ferocious. As for
themselves, they could not escape; they had nowhere to go; certain death
awaited them everywhere, for they bore on cheek and breast the
ineffaceable proof of their outlawry. Their only safety was at their
post; and there was no safety there in humanity, even if it were
possible for such degraded creatures to have a spark of humanity left.
So inclination united with interest to make them what they really
were—demons.

The arrival of a new prisoner was an incident calculated to excite but
little interest in the hat-wearers, provided he came in turban and
waistcloth. But one morning there was brought in a young man, speaking
the Burmese brokenly, and with the soft accent of the north, who at once
attracted universal attention. He was tall and erect, with a mild,
handsome face, bearing the impress of inexpressible suffering; a
complexion slightly tinted with the rich brown of the east; a fine,
manly carriage, and a manner which, even there, was both graceful and
dignified.

“Who is he?” was the interpretation of the inquiring glances exchanged
among those who had no liberty to speak; and then eye asked of eye,
“What can he have done?—he so gentle, so mild, so manly, that even these
wretches, who scarcely know the name of pity and respect, seem to feel
both for him?” There was, in truth, something in the countenance of the
new prisoner which, without asking for sympathy, involuntarily enforced
it. It was not amiability, though his dark, soft, beautiful eye was full
of a noble sweetness; it was not resignation; it was not apathy; it was
hopelessness, deep, utter, immovable, suffering hopelessness. Very
young, and apparently not ambitious or revengeful, what crime could this
interesting stranger have committed to draw down “the golden foot” with
such crushing weight upon his devoted head? He seemed utterly
friendless, and without even the means of obtaining food; for, as the
day advanced, no one came to see him; and the officer who brought him
had left no directions. He did not, however, suffer from this neglect,
for Madam Thief (most wonderful to relate!) actually shared so deeply in
the universal sympathy as to bring him a small quantity of boiled rice
and water.

Toward evening the Woon-bai, a governor, or rather Mayor of the city,
entered the prison, his bold, lion-like face as open and unconcerned as
ever, but with something of unusual bustling in his manner.

“Where is he?” he cried, sternly; “where is he? this son of Kathay? this
dog, villain, traitor! where is he? Aha! only one pair of irons? Put on
five! do you hear? five!”

The Woon-bai remained till his orders were executed, and the poor
Kathayan was loaded with five pairs of fetters; and then he went out,
frowning on one and smiling on another; while the Children of the Prison
watched his countenance and manner, as significant of what was expected
of them. The prisoners looked at each other, and shook their heads in
commiseration.

The next day the feet of the young Kathayan, in obedience to some new
order, were placed in the stocks, which raised them about eighteen
inches from the ground; and the five pairs of fetters were all disposed
on the outer side of the plank, so that their entire weight fell upon
the ankles. The position was so painful that each prisoner, some from
memory, some from sympathetic apprehension, shared in the pain when he
looked at the sufferer.

During this day, one of the missionaries, who had been honored with an
invitation, which it was never prudent to refuse, to the hut of the
Thief, learned something of the history of the young man, and his crime.
His home, it was told him, was among the rich hills of Kathay, as they
range far northward, where the tropic sun loses the intense fierceness
of his blaze, and makes the atmosphere soft and luxurious, as though it
were mellowing beneath the same amber sky which ripens the fruits, and
gives their glow to the flowers. What had been his rank in his own land,
the jailer’s wife did not know. Perhaps he had been a prince, chief of
the brave band conquered by the superior force of the Burmans; or a
hunter among the spicy groves and deep-wooded jungles, lithe as the
tiger which he pursued from lair to lair, and free as the flame-winged
bird of the sun that circled above him; or perhaps his destiny had been
a humbler one, and he had but followed his goats as they bounded
fearlessly from ledge to ledge, and plucked for food the herbs upon his
native hills. He had been brought away by a marauding party, and
presented as a slave to the brother of the queen. This _Men-thah-gyee_,
the Great Prince, as he was called, by way of pre-eminence, had risen,
through the influence of his sister, from the humble condition of a
fishmonger, to be the Richelieu of the nation. Unpopular from his mean
origin, and still more unpopular from the acts of brutality to which the
intoxication of power had given rise, the sympathy excited by the poor
Kathayan in the breasts of these wretches may easily be accounted for.
It was not pity or mercy, but hatred. Anywhere else, the sufferer’s sad,
handsome face, and mild, uncomplaining manner, would have enlisted
sympathy; but here, they would scarcely have seen the sadness, or
beauty, or mildness, except through the medium of a passion congenial to
their own natures.

Among the other slaves of Men-thah-gyee, was a young Kathay girl of
singular beauty. She was, so said Madam the Thief, a bundle of roses,
set round with the fragrant blossoms of the champac tree; her breath was
like that of the breezes when they come up from their dalliance with the
spicy daughters of the islands of the south; her voice had caught its
rich cadence from the musical gush of the silver fountain, which wakes
among the green of her native hills; her hair had been braided from the
glossy raven plumage of the royal edolius; her eyes were twin stars
looking out from cool springs, all fringed with the long, tremulous
reeds of the jungle; and her step was as the free, graceful bound of the
wild antelope. On the subject of her grace, her beauty, and her wondrous
daring, the jailer’s wife could not be sufficiently eloquent. And so
this poor, proud, simple-souled maiden, this diamond from the rich hills
of Kathay, destined to glitter for an hour or two on a prince’s bosom,
unsubdued even in her desolation, had dared to bestow her affections
with the uncalculating lavishness of conscious heart-freedom. And the
poor wretch, lying upon his back in the death-prison, his feet fast in
the stocks and swelling and purpling beneath the heavy irons, had
participated in her crime; had lured her on, by tender glances and by
loving words, inexpressibly sweet in their mutual bondage, to
irretrievable destruction. What fears, what hopes winged by fears, what
tremulous joys, still hedged in by that same crowd of fears, what
despondency, what revulsions of impotent anger and daring, what weeping,
what despair must have been theirs! Their tremblings and rejoicings,
their mad projects, growing each day wilder and more dangerous—since
madness alone could have given rise to anything like hope—are things
left to imagination; for there was none to relate the heart-history of
the two slaves of Men-thah-gyee. Yet there were some hints of a first
accidental meeting under the shadow of the mango and tamarind trees,
where the sun lighted up, by irregular gushes, the waters of the little
lake in the centre of the garden, and the rustle of leaves seemed
sufficient to drown the accents of their native tongues. So they looked,
spoke, their hearts bounded, paused, trembled with soft
home-memories—they whispered on, and they were lost. Poor slaves!

Then at evening, when the dark-browed maidens of the golden city
gathered, with their earthen vessels, about the well, there, shaded by
the thick clumps of bamboo, with the free sky overhead, the green earth
beneath, and the songs and laughter of the merry girls ringing in their
ears, so like their own home, the home which they had lost forever—oh,
what a rare, sweet, dangerous meeting-place for those who should not,
and yet must be lovers!

Finally came a day fraught with illimitable consequences; the day when
the young slave, not yet admitted to the royal harem, should become more
than ever the property of her master. And now deeper grew their agony,
more uncontrollable their madness, wilder and more daring their hopes,
with every passing moment. Not a man in Ava but would have told them
that escape was impossible; and yet, goaded on by love and despair, they
attempted the impossibility. They had countrymen in the city, and, under
cover of night, they fled to them. Immediately the minister sent out his
myrmidons—they were tracked, captured, and brought back to the palace.

“And what became of the poor girl?” inquired the missionary, with much
interest.

The woman shuddered, and beneath her scars and the swarthiness of her
skin, she became deadly pale.

“There is a cellar, Tsayah,” at last she whispered, still shuddering, “a
deep cellar, that no one has seen, but horrible cries come from it
sometimes, and two nights ago, for three hours, three long hours—such
shrieks! Amai-ai! what shrieks! And they say that he was there, Tsayah,
and saw and heard it all. That is the reason that his eyes are blinded
and his ears benumbed. A great many go into that cellar, but none ever
come out again—none but the doomed like him. It is—_it is like the West
Prison_,” she added, sinking her voice still lower, and casting an
eager, alarmed look about her. The missionary, too, shuddered, as much
at the mention of this prison as at the recital of the woman; for it
shut within its walls deep mysteries, which even his jailers, accustomed
as they were to torture and death, shrank from babbling of.

The next day a cord was passed around the wrists of the young Kathayan,
his arms jerked up into a position perpendicular with his prostrate
body, and the end of the cord fastened to a beam overhead. Still, though
faint from the lack of food, parched with thirst, and racked with pain,
for his feet were swollen and livid, not a murmur of complaint escaped
his lips. And yet this patient endurance seemed scarcely the result of
fortitude or heroism; an observer would have said that the inner
suffering was so great as to render that of the mere physical frame
unheeded. There was the same expression of hopelessness, the same
unvarying wretchedness, too deep, too real, to think of giving itself
utterance on the face as at his first entrance into the prison; and
except that he now and then fixed on one of the hopeless beings who
regarded him in silent pity, a mournful, half-beseeching, half-vacant
stare, this was all.

That day passed away as others had done; then came another night of
dreams, in which loved ones gathered around the hearth-stone of a dear,
distant home; dreams broken by the clanking of chains, and the groans of
the suffering; and then morning broke. There still hung the poor
Kathayan; his face slightly distorted with the agony he was suffering,
his lips dry and parched, his cheek pallid and sunken, and his eyes wild
and glaring. His breast swelled and heaved, and now and then a sob-like
sigh burst forth involuntarily. When the Tiger entered, the eye of the
young man immediately fastened on him, and a shiver passed through his
frame. The old murderer went his usual rounds with great nonchalance;
gave an order here, a blow there, and cracked a malicious joke with a
third; smiling all the time that dark, sinister smile, which made him so
much more hideous in the midst of his wickedness. At last he approached
the Kathayan, who, with a convulsive movement, half raised himself from
the ground at his touch, and seemed to contract like a shrivelled leaf.

“Right! right, my son!” said the old man, chuckling. “You are expert at
helping yourself, to be sure; but then you need assistance. So—so—so!”
and giving the cord three successive jerks, he succeeded, by means of
his immense strength, in raising the Kathayan so that but the back of
his head, as it fell downward, could touch the floor. There was a quick,
short crackling of joints, and a groan escaped the prisoner. Another
groan followed, and then another—and another—a heaving of the chest, a
convulsive shiver, and for a moment he seemed lost. Human hearts glanced
heavenward. “God grant it! Father of mercies, spare him farther agony!”
It could not be. Gaspingly came the lost breath back again, quiveringly
the soft eyes unclosed; and the young Kathayan captive was fully awake
to his misery.

“I can not die so—I can not—so slow—so slow—so slow!” Hunger gnawed,
thirst burned, fever revelled in his veins; the cord upon his wrists cut
to the bone; corruption had already commenced upon his swollen, livid
feet; the most frightful, torturing pains distorted his body, and wrung
from him groans and murmurings so pitiful, so harrowing, so full of
anguish, that the unwilling listeners could only turn away their heads,
or lift their eyes to each other’s faces in mute horror. Not a word was
exchanged among them—not a lip had power to give it utterance.

“I can not die so! I can not die so! I can not die so!” came the words,
at first moaningly, and then prolonged to a terrible howl. And so passed
another day, and another night, and still the wretch lived on.

In the midst of their filth and smothering heat, the prisoners awoke
from such troubled sleep as they could gain amid these horrors; and
those who could, pressed their feverish lips and foreheads to the
crevices between the boards to court the morning breezes. A lady with a
white brow, and a lip whose delicate vermilion had not ripened beneath
the skies of India, came with food to her husband. By constant
importunity had the beautiful ministering angel gained this holy
privilege. Her coming was like a gleam of sunlight—a sudden unfolding of
the beauties of this bright earth to one born blind. She performed her
usual tender ministry and departed.

Day advanced to its meridian; and once more, but now hesitatingly, and
as though he dreaded his task, the Tiger drew near the young Kathayan.
But the sufferer did not shrink from him as before.

“Quick!” he exclaimed, greedily. “Quick! give me one hand and the
cord—just a moment, a single moment—this hand with the cord in it—and
you shall be rid of me forever!”

The Tiger burst into a hideous laugh, his habitual cruelty returning at
the sound of his victim’s voice.

“Rid of you! not so fast, my son; not so fast. You will hold out a day
or two yet. Let me see!” passing his hand along the emaciated, feverish
body of the sufferer. “Oh, yes; two days at least, perhaps three; and it
may be longer. Patience, my son; you are frightfully strong! Now these
joints—why, any other man’s would have separated long ago; but here they
stay just as firmly—” As he spoke with a calculating sort of
deliberation, the monster gave the cord a sudden jerk, then another, and
a third, raising his victim still farther from the floor, and then
adjusting it about the beam, walked unconcernedly away. For several
minutes the prison rung with the most fearful cries. Shriek followed
shriek, agonized, furious, with scarcely a breath between; bellowings,
howlings, gnashings of the teeth, sharp, piercing screams, yells of
savage defiance; cry upon cry, cry upon cry, with wild superhuman
strength, they came; while the prisoners shrank in awe and terror,
trembling in their chains. But this violence soon exhausted itself, and
the paroxysm passed, giving place to low, sad moans, irresistibly
pitiful. This was a day never to be forgotten by the hundred wretched
creatures congregated in the gloomy death-prison. The sun had never
seemed to move so slowly before. Its setting was gladly welcomed, but
yet the night brought no change. Those piteous moans, those agonized
groanings seemed no nearer an end than ever.

Another day passed—another night—again day dawned and drew near its
close; and yet the poor Kathayan clung to life with frightful tenacity.
One of the missionaries, as a peculiar favor, had been allowed to creep
into an old shed, opposite the door of the prison; and here he was
joined by a companion, just as the day was declining towards evening.

“Oh, will it ever end?” whispered one.

The other only bowed his head between his hands—“Terrible! terrible!”

“There surely can be nothing worse in the West Prison.”

“Can there be anything worse—can there be more finished demons in the
pit?”

Suddenly, while this broken conversation was conducted in a low tone, so
as not to draw upon the speakers the indignation of their jailers, they
were struck by the singular stillness of the prison. The clanking of
chains, the murmur and the groan, the heavy breathing of congregated
living beings, the bustle occasioned by the continuous uneasy movement
of the restless sufferers, the ceaseless tread of the Children of the
Prison, and their bullying voices, all were hushed.

“What is it?” in a lower whisper than ever, and a shaking of the head,
and holding their own chains to prevent their rattle, and looks full of
wonder, was all that passed between the two listeners. Their amazement
was interrupted by a dull, heavy sound, as though a bag of dried bones
had been suddenly crushed down by the weight of some powerful foot.
Silently they stole to a crevice in the boards, opposite the open door.
Not a jailer was to be seen; and the prisoners were motionless and
apparently breathless, with the exception of one powerful man, who was
just drawing the wooden mallet in his hand for another blow on the
temple of the suspended Kathayan. It came down with the same dull,
hollow, crushing sound; the body swayed from the point where it was
suspended by wrist and ankle, till it seemed that every joint must be
dislocated; but the flesh scarcely quivered. The blow was repeated, and
then another, and another; but they were not needed. The poor captive
Kathayan was dead.

The mallet was placed away from sight, and the daring man hobbled back
to his corner, dangling his heavy chain as though it had been a
plaything, and striving with all his might to look unconscious and
unconcerned. An evident feeling of relief stole over the prisoners; the
Children of the Prison came back to their places, one by one, and all
went on as before. It was some time before any one appeared to discover
the death of the Kathayan. The old Tiger declared it was what he had
been expecting, that his living on in this manner was quite out of rule;
but that those hardy fellows from the hills never would give in while
there was a possibility of drawing another breath. Then the poor
skeleton was unchained, dragged by the heels into the prison-yard, and
thrown into a gutter. It did not, apparently, fall properly, for one of
the jailers altered the position of the shoulders by means of his foot;
then clutching the long black hair, jerked the head a little farther on
the side. Thus the discolored temple was hidden; and surely that
emaciated form gave sufficient evidence of a lingering death. Soon
after, a party of government officers visited the prison-yard, touched
the corpse with their feet, without raising it; and, apparently
satisfied, turned away, as though it had been a dead dog that they cared
not to give farther attention.

Is it strange that, if one were there with a human heart within him, not
brutalized by crime, or steeled by passive familiarity with suffering,
he should have dragged his heavy chain to the side of the dead, and
dropped upon his sharpened, distorted features the tear, which there was
none who had loved him to shed? Is it strange that tender fingers should
have closed the staring eyes, and touched gently the cold brow, which
throbbed no longer with pain, and smoothed the frayed hair, and composed
the passive limbs decently, though he knew that the next moment rude
hands would destroy the result of his pious labor? And is it strange
that when all which remained of the poor sufferer had been jostled into
its sackcloth shroud, and crammed down into the dark hole dug for it in
the earth, a prayer should have ascended, even from that terrible
prison? Not a prayer for the dead; he had received his doom. But an
earnest, beseeching, upheaving of the heart for those wretched beings
that, in the face of the pure heavens and the smiling earth, confound,
by the inherent blackness of their natures, philosopher, priest, or
philanthropist, who dares to tickle the ears of the multitude with fair
theories of “Natural religion,” and “The dignity of human nature.”

                                   F.

                           WAYSIDE PREACHING.

                         BY MRS. E. C. JUDSON.


THE sunlight fell aslant upon the fragile framework of a Burman zayat;
but though it was some hours past midday, the burning rays were not yet
level enough to look too intrusively beneath the low projecting eaves.
Yet the day was intensely hot, and the wearied occupant of the one
bamboo chair in the centre of the building, looked haggard and
care-worn. All day long had he sat in that position, repeating over and
over again, as he could find listeners, such simple truths as mothers
are accustomed to teach the infant on their knees; and now his head was
aching, and his heart was very heavy. He had met some scoffers, some who
seemed utterly indifferent, but not one sincere inquirer after the
truth.

In the middle of the day, when the sun was hottest, and scarcely a
European throughout all India was astir, he had received the greatest
number of visitors; for the passers-by were glad of a moment’s rest and
shelter from the sun. The mats were still spread invitingly upon the
floor; but though persons of almost every description were continually
passing and repassing, they seemed each intent on his own business, and
the missionary was without a listener. He thought of his neglected
study-table at home; of his patient, fragile wife, toiling through the
numerous cares of the day alone; of the letters his friends were
expecting, and which he had no time to write; of the last periodicals
from his dear native land, lying still unread; and every little while,
between the other thoughts, came real pinings after a delicious little
book of devotion, which he had slid into his pocket in the morning,
promising it his first moment of leisure. Then he was naturally an
active man, of quick, ardent temperament, and with such views of the
worth of time as earnest American men can scarcely fail to gain; and it
went to his heart to lose so many precious moments. If he could only do
something to fill up these tedious intervals! But no; this was a work to
which he must not give a divided mind. He was renewing a half-tested
experiment in wayside preaching, and he would not suffer his attention
to be distracted by anything else. While his face was hidden by his
book, and his mind intent on self-improvement, some poor passer-by might
lose a last, an only opportunity, of hearing the words of life. To be
sure, his own soul seemed very barren, and needed refreshing; and his
body was weary—wearied well-nigh to fainting, more with the dull,
palsying inanity of the day’s fruitless endeavors, than with anything
like labor. Heavily beat down the hot sun, lighting up the amber-like
brown of the thatch as with a burning coal; while thickly in its broad
rays floated a heavy golden cloud of dust and motes, showing in what a
wretched atmosphere the delicate lungs were called to labor. Meantime a
fever-freighted breeze, which had been, all the hot day, sweeping the
effluvia from eastern marshes, stirred the glossy leaves of the orange
tree across the way, and parched the lip, and kindled a crimson spot
upon the wan cheek of the weary missionary.

“God reigns,” he repeated, as though some reminder of the sort were
necessary. “God Almighty reigns; and I have given myself to him, soul
and body, for time and for eternity. His will be done!” Still, how long
the day seemed! How broad the space that blistering sun had yet to
travel, before its waiting, its watching, and its laboring would be
ended! Might he not indulge himself just one moment? His hand went to
his pocket, and the edge of a little book peeped forth a moment, and
then, with a decided push, was thrust back again. No; he would not
trifle with his duty. He would be sternly, rigidly faithful; and the
blessing would surely come in time. Yet it was with an irrepressible
yawn that he took up a little Burman tract prepared by himself, of which
every word was as familiar as his own name, and commenced reading aloud.
The sounds caught the ear of a coarsely-clad water-bearer, and she
lowered the vessel from her head, and seated herself afar off, just
within the shadow of the low eaves. Attracted by the foreign accent of
the reader, few passed without turning the head a few moments to listen;
then, catching at some word which seemed to them offensive, they would
repeat it mockingly and hasten on.

Finally the old water-bearer, grinning in angry derision till her
wrinkled visage became positively hideous, rose, slowly adjusted the
earthen vessel on her head, and passed along, muttering as she went,
“Jesus Christ!—no Nigban!—ha, ha, ha!” The heart of the missionary sunk
within him, and he was on the point of laying down the book. But the
shadow of another passer-by fell upon the path, and he continued a
moment longer. It was a tall, dignified looking man, leading by the hand
a boy, the open mirthfulness of whose bright, button-like eyes was in
perfect keeping with his dancing little feet. The stranger was of a
grave, staid demeanor, with a turban of aristocratic smallness, sandals
turning up at the toe, a silken robe of somewhat subdued colors, and a
snow-white tunic of gentlemanlike length and unusual fineness.

“Papa, papa!” said the boy, with a merry little skip, and twitching at
the hand he was holding, “Look, look, papa! _there_ is Jesus Christ’s
man. _Amai!_ how shockingly white!”

“Jesus Christ’s man” raised his eyes from the book which he could read
just as well without eyes, and bestowed one of his brightest smiles upon
the little stranger, just as the couple were passing beyond the corner
of the zayat, but not too late to catch a bashfully pleased recognition.
The father did not speak nor turn his head, but a ray of sunshine went
down into the missionary’s heart from those happy little eyes; and he
somehow felt that his hour’s reading had not been thrown away. He had
remarked this man before in other parts of the town; and had striven in
various ways to attract his attention, but without success. He was
evidently known, and most probably avoided; but the child, with that
shy, pleased, half-confiding, roguish sort of smile, seemed sent as an
encouraging messenger. The missionary continued his reading with an
increase of earnestness and emphasis. A priest wrapped his yellow robes
about him and sat down upon the steps, as though for a moment’s rest.
Then another stranger came up boldly, and with considerable ostentation,
seated himself on the mat. He proved to be a philosopher, from the
school then recently disbanded at Prome; and he soon drew on a brisk,
animated controversy.

The missionary did not finish his day’s work with the shutting up of the
zayat. At night, in his closet, he remembered both philosopher and
priest; pleaded long and earnestly for the scoffing old water-bearer;
and felt a warm tear stealing to his eye, as he presented the case of
the tall stranger, and the laughing, dancing ray of sunshine at his
side.

Day after day went by, as oppressively hot, as dusty, and bringing as
many feverish winds as ever; but the hours were less wearisome, because
many little buds of hope had been fashioned, which might yet expand into
perfect flowers. But every day the tall stranger carried the same
imperturbable face past the zayat; and every day the child made some
silent advance towards the friendship of the missionary, bending his
half-shaven head, and raising his little nut-colored hand to his
forehead, by way of salutation, and smiling till his round face dimpled
all over like ripples in a sunny pool. One day, as the pair came in
sight, the missionary beckoned with his hand, and the child, with a
single bound, came to his knee.

“Moung-Moung!” exclaimed the father in a tone of surprise blended with
anger. But the child was back again in a moment, with a gay colored
Madras handkerchief wound around his head; and with his bright lips
parted, his eyes sparkling, and dancing with joy, and his face wreathed
with smiles, he seemed the most charming thing in nature. “_Tai
hlah-the!_” (very beautiful) said the child, touching his new turban,
and looking into his father’s clouded face, with the fearlessness of an
indulged favorite.

“_Tai hlah-the!_” repeated the father, involuntarily. He meant the
child.

“You have a very fine boy there, sir,” said the missionary, in a tone
intended to be conciliatory. The stranger turned with a low salaam. For
a moment he seemed to hesitate, as though struggling between his native
politeness and his desire to avoid an acquaintance with the proselyting
foreigner. Then taking the hand of the little boy who was too proud and
happy to notice his father’s confusion, he hastened away.

“I do not think that zayat a very good place to go to, Moung-Moung,”
said the father, gravely, when they were well out of hearing. The boy
answered only by a look of inquiry strangely serious for such a face as
his.

“These white foreigners are——.” He did not say what, but shook his head
with mysterious meaning. The boy’s eyes grew larger and deeper, but he
only continued to look up into his father’s face in wondering silence.

“I shall leave you at home to-morrow, to keep you from his wicked
sorceries.”

“Papa!”

“What, my son?”

“I think it will do no good to leave me at home.”

“Why?”

“He has done something to me.”

“Who? the _Kalah-byoo_?”

“I do not think he has hurt me, papa; but I can not—keep—away—no—oh,
no!”

“What do you mean, Moung-Moung?”

“The sorcerer has done something to me—put his beautiful eye on me. I
see it _now_.” And the boy’s own eyes glowed with a strange, startling
brilliancy.

“_’Mai, ’mai!_ what a boy! _He_ is not a sorcerer, only a very provoking
man. His eye—whish! It is nothing to my little Moung-Moung. I was only
sporting. But we will have done with him; you shall go there no more——”

“If I can help it, papa!”

“Help it! Hear the foolish child! What strange fancies!”

“Papa!”

“What, my son?”

“You will not be angry?”

“Angry!” The soft smile on that stern, bearded face was a sufficient
answer.

“Is it true that she—my mother——?”

“Hush, Moung-Moung!”

“Is it true that she ever _shikoed_ to the Lord Jesus Christ?”

“Who dares to tell you so?”

“I must not say, papa; the one who told me said it was as much as life
is worth to talk of such things to _your_ son. Did she, papa?”

“What did he mean? Who could have told such a tale?”

“Did she, papa?”

“That is a very pretty _goung-boung_ the foreigner gave you.”

“Did she?”

“And makes your bright eyes brighter than ever.”

“Did my mother _shiko_ to the Lord Jesus Christ?”

“There, there, you have talked enough, my boy,” said the father,
gloomily; and the two continued their walk in silence. As the
conversation ceased, a woman who, with a palm-leaf fan before her face,
had followed closely in the shadow of the stranger—so closely, indeed,
that she might have heard every word that had been spoken—stopped at a
little shop by the way, and was soon seemingly intent on making
purchases.

“Ko Shway-bay!” called out the missionary. A man bearing a large
satchel, which he had just newly filled with books, appeared at the door
of an inner apartment of the zayat.

“_’Ken-payah!_”

“Did you observe the tall man who just passed, leading a little boy?”

“I saw him.”

“What do you know about him?”

“He is a writer under government—a very respectable
man—haughty—reserved——”

“And what else?”

“He hates—Christians, _Tsayah_.”

“Is he very bigoted, then?”

“No, _Tsayah_; he is more like a _päramät_ than a Boodhist. Grave as he
appears, he sometimes treats sacred things very playfully, always
carelessly. But does the teacher remember—it may be now three, four—I do
not know how many years ago—a young woman came for medicine——?”

The missionary smiled. “I should have a wonderful memory, Shway-bay, if
I carried all my applicants for medicine in it.”

“But this one was not like other women. She had the face of a
_nät-thamee_” [goddess or angel], “and her voice—the teacher _must_
remember her voice—it was like the silvery chimes of the pagoda bells at
midnight. She was the favorite wife of the _Sah-ya_, and this little
boy, her only child, was very ill. She did not dare ask you to the
house, or even send a servant for the medicine, for her husband was one
of the most violent persecutors——”

“Ay, I do recollect her, by her distress and her warm gratitude. So this
is her child! What has become of the mother?”

“Has the teacher forgotten putting a Gospel of Matthew in her hand, and
saying that it contained medicine for _her_, for that she was afflicted
with a worse disease than the fever of her little son; and then lifting
up his hands and praying very solemnly?”

“I do not recall the circumstance just now. But what came of it?”

“They say,” answered the Burman, lowering his voice, and first casting
an investigating glance around him—“they say that the medicine cured
her.”

“Ah!”

“She read the book nights, while watching by her baby, and then she
would kneel down and pray as the teacher had done. At last the _Sah-ya_
got the writing.”

“What did he do with it?”

“Only burnt it. But she was a tender little creature, and could not bear
his look; so, as the baby got out of danger, she took the fever—”

“And died?” asked the missionary, remarking some hesitation in the
manner of his narrator.

“Not of the fever altogether.”

“What then? Surely, _he_ did not—”

“No, _Tsayah_! it must have been an angel-call. The _Sah-ya_ was very
fond of her, and did everything to save her; but she just grew weaker,
day after day, and her face more beautiful; and there was no holding her
back. She got courage as she drew near Paradise, and begged the _Sah-ya_
to send for you. He is not a hard-hearted man, and she was more than
life and soul to him; but he would not send. And so she died, talking to
the last moment of the Lord Jesus Christ, and calling on everybody about
her to love him, and worship none but him.”

“Is this true, Shway-bay?”

“I know nothing about it, _Tsayah_; and it is not very safe to know
anything. The _Sah-ya_ has taken an oath to destroy every body having
too good a memory. But,”—and the man again looked cautiously around
him—“does the teacher think that little Burman children are likely to
run into the arms of foreigners without being taught?”

“Aha! say you so, Shway-bay?”

“I say nothing, _Tsayah_.”

“What of the child?”

“A wonderful boy, _Tsayah_. He seems usually as you have seen him; but
he has another look—so strange! He must have caught something from his
mother’s face just before she went up to the golden country.”

The missionary seemed lost in thought; and the assistant, after waiting
a moment to be questioned further, slung his satchel over his shoulder,
and proceeded up the street.

The next day the missionary remarked that the _Sah-ya_ went by on the
other side of the way, and without the little boy; and the next day, and
the next the same. In the meantime, the wrinkled old water-bearer had
become a sincere inquirer. “The one shall be taken and the other left,”
sighed the missionary, as he tried to discern the possible fate of his
bright-eyed little friend.

The fourth day came. The old water-bearer was in an agitated state of
joy and doubt—a timid but true believer. The self-confident philosopher
had almost ceased to cavil. Fresh inquirers had appeared, and the
missionary’s heart was strengthened. “It is dull work,” he said to
himself, though without any expression of dullness in his face; “but it
is the Saviour’s own appointed way, and the way the Holy Spirit will
bless.” Then his thoughts turned to the stern _Sah-ya_ and his little
boy; and he again murmured, with more of dejection in his manner than
when he had spoken of the dullness of the work, “And the other left—the
other left!”

The desponding words had scarcely passed his lips when, with a light
laugh, the very child who was in his thoughts, and who somehow clung so
tenaciously to his heart, sprang up the steps of the zayat, followed by
his grave, dignified father. The boy wore his new Madras turban,
arranged with a pretty sort of jauntiness, and above its showy folds he
carried a red lacquered tray with a cluster of golden plantains on it.
Placing the gift at the missionary’s feet, he drew back with a pleased
smile of boyish shyness, while the man, bowing courteously, took his
seat upon the mat.

“Sit down, Moung-Moung, sit down,” said the father, in the low tone that
American parents use when reminding careless little boys of their hats;
for, though Burmans and Americans differ somewhat in their peculiar
notions of etiquette, the children of both races seem equally averse to
becoming learners.

“You are the foreign priest,” he remarked civilly, and more by way of
introduction than inquiry.

“I am a missionary.”

The stranger smiled, for he had purposely avoided the offensive epithet,
and was amused and conciliated by the missionary’s frank use of it. “And
so you make people believe in Jesus Christ?”

“I try to.”

The visitor laughed outright; then, as if a little ashamed of his
rudeness, he composed his features, and with his usual courtesy resumed,
“My little son has heard of you, sir; and he is very anxious to learn
something about Jesus Christ. It is a pretty story that you tell of that
man—prettier, I think, than any of our fables; and you need not be
afraid to set it forth in its brightest colors; for my Moung-Moung will
never see through its absurdity, of course.”

The missionary threw a quick, scrutinizing glance on the face of his
visitor. He saw that the man was ill at ease, that his carelessness was
entirely assumed, and that underneath all, there was a deep, wearing
anxiety, which he fancied was in some way connected with his boy. “Ah!
you think so? To what particular story do you allude?”

“Why, that of the strange sort of being you call Jesus Christ—a _nät_,
or prince, or something of that sort—dying for us poor fellows and
so—ha, ha! The absurdity of the thing makes me laugh; though there is
something in it beautiful, too. Our stupid _pongyees_ would never have
thought out anything one half so fine; and the pretty fancy has quite
enchanted little Moung-Moung here.”

“I perceive you are a _pâramät_,” said the missionary.

“No—oh, no; I am a true worshipper of Lord Gaudama; but of course
neither you nor I subscribe to all the fables of our respective
religions. There is quite enough that is honest and reasonable in our
Boodhistic system to satisfy me, but my little son” (here the father
seemed embarrassed, and laughed again, as though to cover his confusion)
“is bent on philosophical investigation—eh, Moung-Moung?”

“But are you not afraid that my teachings will do the child harm?”

The visitor looked up with a broad smile of admiration, as though he
would have said, “You are a very honest fellow, after all;” then
regarding the child with a look of mingled tenderness and apprehension,
he said softly, “Nothing can harm little Moung-Moung, sir.”

“But what if I should tell you I do believe everything I preach, as
firmly as I believe you sit on the mat before me; and that it is the one
desire of my life to make everybody else believe it—you and your child
among the rest?”

The _Sah-ya_ tried to smile, tried to look unconcerned; but his easy
nonchalance of manner seemed utterly to forsake him in his need; and
finally abandoning the attempt to renew his former tone of banter, he
answered quietly, “I have heard of a writing you possess, which, by your
leave, I will take home and read to Moung-Moung.”

The missionary selected a little tract from the parcel on the table
beside him, and extended it to his visitor. “_Sah-ya_,” said he,
solemnly, “I herewith put into your hands the key to eternal life and
happiness. This active, intelligent soul of yours, with its exquisite
perception of moral beauty and loveliness,” and he glanced toward the
child, “cannot be destined to inhabit a dog, a monkey, or a worm, in
another life. God made it for higher purposes; and I hope and pray that
I may yet meet you, all beautiful, and pure, and glorious, in a world
beyond the reach of pain or death, and above all, beyond the reach of
sin.”

Up to this time the boy had sat upon his mat like a statue of silence;
his usually dancing eyes fixed steadfastly upon the speakers, and
gradually dilating and acquiring a strange, mystic depth of expression,
of which they seemed at first incapable. At these words, however, he
sprang forward.

“Papa! papa! hear him! Let us both love the Lord Jesus Christ! My mother
loved him; and in the golden country of the blest she waits for us.”

“I must go,” said the _Sah-ya_ hoarsely, and attempting to rise.

“Let us pray!” said the missionary, kneeling down.

The child laid his two hands together, and placing them against his
forehead, bowed his head to the mat; while the father yielded to the
circumstances of the case so far as to re-seat himself. Gradually, as
the fervent prayer proceeded, his head drooped a little; and it was not
long before he placed his elbows on his knees, and covered his face with
his hands. As soon as the prayer was ended, he rose, bowed in silence,
took his child by the hand, and walked away.

Day after day went by, the _Sah-ya_, as he passed the zayat, always
saluting its occupant respectfully, but evincing no disposition to
cultivate his acquaintance farther. He was accompanied by the boy less
often than formerly; but, from casual opportunities, the missionary
remarked that a strange look of thoughtfulness had crept into the
childish face, softening and beautifying, though scarcely saddening it.
And when occasionally the little fellow paused for a moment, to ask for
a book, or exchange a word of greeting, the gay familiarity of his
manner seemed to have given place to a tender, trustful affection,
somewhat tinctured with awe.

Meanwhile that terrible scourge of Eastern nations, the cholera, had
made its appearance, and it came sweeping through the town with its
usual devastating power. Fires were kindled before every house, and kept
burning night and day; while immense processions continually thronged
the streets with gongs, drums, and tom-toms, to frighten away the evil
spirits, and so arrest the progress of the disease. The zayat was closed
for lack of visitors; and the missionary and his assistants busied
themselves in attending on the sick and dying.

It was midnight when the over-wearied foreigner was roused from his
slumbers by the calls of the faithful Ko Shway-bay.

“Teacher, teacher, you are wanted!”

“Where?”

The man lowered his voice almost to a whisper; but, putting his hands to
each side of his mouth, sent the volume of sound through a crevice in
the boards. “At the _Sah-ya’s_.”

“Who?”

“I do not know, _Tsayah_. I only heard that the cholera was in the
house, and the teacher was wanted, and so I hurried off as fast as
possible.”

In a few minutes the missionary had joined his assistant, and they
proceeded on their way together. As they drew near the house, the Burman
paused in the shadow of a bamboo hedge.

“It is not good for either of us, that we go in together; I will wait
you here, _Tsayah_.”

“No, you need rest; and I shall not want you—go!”

The verandah was thronged with relatives and dependents; and from an
inner room came a wild, wailing sound, which told that death was already
there. No one seemed to observe the entrance of the foreigner; and he
followed the sound of woe till he stood by the corpse of a little child.
Then he paused in deep emotion.

“He has gone up to the golden country, to bloom forever amid the royal
lilies of Paradise,” murmured a voice close to his ear.

The missionary, a little startled, turned abruptly. A middle-aged woman,
holding a palm-leaf fan to her mouth, was the only person near him.

“He worshipped the true God,” she continued, suffering the individuality
of her voice to glide away and mingle the wail of the mourners, and
occasionally slurring a word which she dared not pronounce with
distinctness; “he worshipped the true God, and trusted in the Lord our
Redeemer—the Lord Jesus Christ, he trusted in Him. He called and he was
answered, he was weary, weary and in pain; and the Lord who loved him,
He took him home to be a little golden lamb in His bosom forever.”

“How long, since, did he go?”

“About an hour, _Tsayah_.” Then joining in the wail again, “An hour amid
the royal lilies; and his mother—his own beautiful mother—she of the
starry eyes and silken hand——”

“Was he conscious?”

“Conscious and full of joy.”

“What did he talk of?”

“Only of the Lord Jesus Christ, whose face he seemed to see!”

“And his father?”

“His father—oh, my master! my noble master! he is going, too! Come and
see. _Tsayah!_”

“Who sent for me?”

“Your handmaid, sir.”

“Not the _Sah-ya_?”

The woman shook her head. “The agony was on him—he could not have sent,
if he would.”

“But how dared _you_?”

There was a look such as might have been worn by the martyrs of old upon
the woman’s face as she expressly answered, “God was here!”

In the next apartment lay the fine figure of the _Sah-ya_, stretched
upon a couch, evidently in the last stage of the fearful disease—his
pain all gone.

“It grieves me to meet you thus, my friend,” remarked the visitor, by
way of testing the dying man’s consciousness.

The _Sah-ya_ made a gesture of impatience. Then his fast stiffening lips
stirred, but they were powerless to convey a sound; there was a feeble
movement, as though he would have pointed at something, but his
half-raised finger wavered and sunk back again; and a look of
dissatisfaction amounting to anxiety passed over his countenance.
Finally renewing the effort, he succeeded in laying his two hands
together, and with some difficulty lifted them to his forehead; and then
quietly and calmly closed his eyes.

“Do you trust in Lord Gaudama in a moment like this?” inquired the
missionary, uncertain for whom the act of worship was intended. There
was a quick tremor in the shut lids, and the poor _Sah-ya_ unclosed his
eyes with an expression of mingled pain and disappointment; while the
death-heavy hands slid from their position back upon the pillow.

“Lord Jesus, receive his spirit,” exclaimed the missionary, solemnly.

A bright, joyous smile flitted across the face of the dying man, parting
the lips, and even seeming to shed light upon the glazed eyes; a
sigh-like breath fluttered his bosom for a moment; the finger which he
had before striven to lift, pointed distinctly upward, then fell heavily
across his breast; and the disembodied spirit stood in the presence of
its Maker.

The thrilling death-wail commenced with the departure of the breath; for
although several who had been most assiduous in their attentions, glided
away when it was ascertained that he who would have awarded their
fidelity was gone; there were yet many who were prevented, some by real
affection, some by family pride, from so far yielding to their fears, as
to withhold the honors due to the departed.

“You had better go now,” whispered the woman, “you can do no further
good, and may receive harm.”

“And who are you that you have braved the danger to yourself of bringing
me here?”

“Pass on, and I will tell you.”

They drew near the body of the child, which, by the rush to the other
apartment, had been left, for a moment, alone.

“See!” said the woman, lifting the cloth reverently. A copy of the
Gospel of Matthew lay on his bosom.

“Who placed it there?”

“He did, with his own dear little hand—_Amai! amai-ai!_” and the woman’s
voice gave expression to one swell of agony, and then died away in a low
wail, like that which proceeded from the adjoining room. Presently she
resumed, “I was his mother’s nurse. She got this book of you, sir. We
thought my master burned it, but he kept, and maybe studied it. Do you
think that he became a true believer?”

“To whom did he _shiko_ at the last moment, _Mah-aa_?”

“To the Lord Jesus Christ—I am sure of that. Do you think the Lord would
receive him, sir?”

“Do you ever read about the thief who was crucified with the Saviour?”

“Oh, yes; I read it to Moung-Moung this very day. He was holding his
mother’s book when the disease smote him; and he kept it in his hand,
and _went up_, with it lying on his bosom. Yes, I remember.”

“The Lord Jesus Christ is just as merciful now as he was then.”

“And so they are all——oh, _’ken-payah_! it is almost too much to
believe!”

“When did you first become acquainted with this religion, _Mah-aa_?”

“My mistress taught me, sir; and made me promise to teach her baby when
he was old enough; and to go to you for more instruction. But I was
alone, and afraid. I sometimes got as far as the big banyan tree on the
corner, and crawled away again so trembling with terror, that I could
scarcely stand upon my feet. At last I found out Ko Shway-bay, and he
promised to keep my secret; and he gave me books, and explained their
meaning, and taught me how to pray, and I have been getting courage ever
since. I should not much mind now, if they did find me out and kill me.
It would be very pleasant to go up to Paradise. I think I should even
like to go to-night, if the Lord would please to take me.”

It was two or three weeks before the missionary resumed his customary
place in the zayat by the wayside. His hearers were scattered widely; in
the neighboring jungles, in far-off towns, and in that other place from
whence “no traveller returns.”

Where was his last hopeful inquirer?

Dead.

Where the priest?

Dead.

Where the philosopher?

Fled away, none knew whither.

And the poor old water-bearer?

Dead—died like a dog in its kennel; and but that some pitying Christian
had succeeded in discovering her at the last moment, without a human
witness. But—and the missionary’s heart swelled with gratitude to God as
he thought of—there were other witnesses, nobler, tenderer, dearer to
that simple, lone old creature, than all the earthly friends that ever
thronged a death-bed; and these had been her bright, rejoicing convoy to
the Saviour’s presence.

Oh! how full of awe, how fearfully laden with the solemn interests of
eternity, appeared this wondrous work of his! And how broad and clear
seemed his sacred commission, as though at that moment newly traced by
the finger of Jehovah!

[Illustration: _FINIS_]

------------------------------------------------------------------------

                           Transcriber’s Note

On p. 65, there is an unmatched opening double quotation mark. There
does not seem to be a clear place to close it, and were it removed, the
following words (“he himself heard him mutter...”) make better sense.

The final line on p. 244 seems to end a paragraph (‘...to open the
gate.’). However, the first line on the following page begins in
mid-sentence (‘...used to carry’). It is apparent that p. 244 should end
with ‘I’, which we have adopted.

Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and
are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.

  33.17    [‘/“]having prepared myself                    Replaced.
  65.30    [“]just before the drop fell                   Removed.
  98.36    How do you know[?] that?                       Removed.
  113.20   [n/m]ust be briefly mentioned                  Replaced.
  134.13   mentioned Moung Thah[-]lah                     Inserted.
  230.19   with a dozen Burmans[./,]                      Replaced.
  227.3    who will do the work better.[’]”               Inserted.
  244.30   to open the gate. [I] used to carry            Added.
  256.34   He could not recover her.[”/’]                 Replaced.
  287.8    a strip of country along the[ the ]sea         Removed.
  303.24   [‘]Virtues they have                           Removed.
  314.14   In the “Threefold Cord,[”]                     Added.
  324.37   with which he striv[ /e]s to comfort           Restored.
  328.19   spears, knives, etc[,/.]                       Replaced.
  383.12   [‘]_wages_’                                    Added.
  453.17   the translation of[,] the New Testament        Removed.
  513.7    over the whole earth[’/”]                      Replaced.
  555.42   composed the passive limbs decent[ /l]y        Restored.
  595.22   become a sincere inquirer[,/.]                 Replaced.
  598.29   I shall not want you—go![”]                    Added.
  598.30   The ver[a]ndah was thronged                    Restored.
  600.2    receive his spirit[’/”],                       Replaced.