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gutcheck and spellechecked.

DAUGHTERS OF THE CROSS

OR,

WOMAN'S MISSION.

BY DANIEL C. EDDY.

  "There are deeds which should not pass away,
  And names that must not wither."





PREFACE.




We have in this volume brought together the names of several of our most
distinguished female heroines, who have toiled and suffered on heathen
soil. They have been gathered from different denominations and sects, and
form a galaxy of names as dear to the heart of Christianity as can be drawn
from the records of earth.

The object is, to give a series of brief memoirs, in which the lives of
faithful Christians shall be unfolded; impart instruction in reference to
the cause of missions; inspire the heart of the reader with Christian zeal;
and do justice to the memory of those who deserve more honor than the
fallen warrior and the titled senator.

Most of the subjects of these sketches are well known and well
beloved--women whose deeds have been recorded in high places in
denominational history; and we deem it no impropriety to take them down,
unwind the peculiarity of sect, and weave these honored names in one sacred
wreath, that we may dedicate it to all who love the cause of missions.

The wreath may wither and fall apart, but the flowers which compose it will
not die; these sacred names shall live with immortal freshness while in the
world is found a _missionary church_.





CONTENTS




HARRIET NEWELL.

The Crusade.--Martin II.--Peter the Hermit.--Missionary Enterprise.
--Andover.--The young Men.--Congregational Association.--American
Board.--Harriet Atwood.--Bradford Academy.--Conversion.--Church in
Haverhill.--Death of her Father.--Samuel Newell.--Marriage.--Sailing.--The
Caravan.--Salem Harbor.--Calcutta,--Birth of the Babe,--Its Death.--Mrs.
Newell dies

ANN H. JUDSON.

Bradford.--Ann Hasseltine.--Harriet Atwood.--Conversion.--
Communion.--Marries Mr. Judson.--Sails for Calcutta.--Serampore.--Change
of Views.--Baptism.--First Child.--First Conversion.--Trials and
Suffering.--Judson's Imprisonment.--English Government.--Mrs. Judson
dies.--Amherst.--The Hopia Tree

ELIZABETH HERVEY.

Park Street Church.--Ordination.--Charge.--The Corvo.--Church in
Hadley.--Sermon.--Labor.--Death

HARRIET B. STEWART.

Sandwich Islands.--Opakakia.--Sabbath Scene.--Stamford, Connecticut.
--Marriage.--Laihaina.--Death of Mrs. Stewart.--Church building at Waiakea

SARAH L. SMITH.

Syria.--Norwich, Connecticut.--John Robinson.--New Heart.--Mohegan
Indians.--Brig George.--Malta.--Beyroot.--The Mediterranean.--
Jerusalem.--Sickness.--Death.--Burial Service

ELEANOR MACOMBER.

Lake Pleasant.--Ojibwas.--Dong-Yahn.--Mr. Osgood.--Zuagaben
Mountains.--Karens.--Rev. Mr. Stephens.--Church planted.--The Close

SARAH D. COMSTOCK.

The Burman Empire.--Brookline.--Baldwin Place Church.--Mr. Wade.--Dr.
Wayland's Address.--Mrs. Sigourney.--The Cashmere.--Kyouk Phyoo.--Mr.
Kincaid.--Six Men for Arracan.--"O Jesus, I do this for thee."--Last
Illness.--Lowly Sepulchres

HENRIETTA SHUCK.

China.--Rev. Addison Hall.--Kilmarnock.--Virginia Revivals.--
Baptism.--Death of her Mother.--Marriage to Mr. Shuck.--Sea Voyage.--Ah
Loo.--Henrietta Layton.--Premonitions.--The End of Earth

SARAH B. JUDSON.

Alstead.--Dr. Bolles.--George D. Boardman.--Poem.--Discovery and subsequent
union.--Calcutta.--Sarah Ann.--Robbery.--George.--Death of
Sarah.--Ko Thah-byu.--Rebellion.--Boardman's Death.--Marriage to Mr.
Judson.--Poems.--Death.--Ex Governor Briggs's Speech

MARY E. VAN LENNEP.

Rev. Dr. Hawes.--Childhood's happy Home.--Familiarity with the
Bible.--Missionary Interest.--Sabbath Schools.--Seminary.--Dr.
Fitch.--Longfellow.--Nature.--Mr. Van Lennep.--The union.--The
Stamboul.--Smyrna.--The Dardanelles.--Constantinople.--Last Sickness.--Mr.
Goodell.--Protestant Graveyard.--The American Ambassador.--The Watch of the
Bosphorus.





I.

HARRIET NEWELL, THE PROTO-MARTYR.




Several centuries ago, the idea of driving out of Jerusalem its infidel
inhabitants was suggested to a mad ecclesiastic. A shorn and dehumanized
monk of Picardy, who had performed many a journey to that fallen city, who
had been mocked and derided there as a follower of the Nazarene, whose
heart burned beneath the wrongs and indignities which had been so freely
heaped upon the head of himself and his countrymen, determined to arouse a
storm which should send its lightnings to gleam along the streets, and
roll its deep thunder to shake the hills which in speechless majesty stand
around the city of God.

Pope Martin II. entered into his daring scheme, convened a council of
bishops and priests, and gave the sanction of the church to the wild
enterprise. This council Peter addressed, and, with all the eloquence of
a man inspired by a mighty project, depicted the wrongs and grievances
of those who yearly sought, for holy purposes, the sepulchre wherein the
Savior of man reposed after his crucifixion. He was successful in inspiring
the people with his own wild enthusiasm. All Europe flew to arms; all ranks
and conditions in life united in the pious work; youthful vigor and hoary
weakness stood side by side; the cross was worn upon the shoulder and
carried on banners; the watchword, "_Deus Vult_," burst from ten thousand
lips; and the armies of Christendom precipitated themselves upon the holy
land with the awful war cry, "God wills it," echoing from rank to rank.

In later times a mightier, nobler enterprise was originated, and the great
system of American missions commenced. The object was a grand one, and
awfully important. It contemplated, not the subjection of a narrow kingdom
alone, but the complete overthrow of the dark empire of sin; not the
elevation of a human king, an earthly monarch, but the enthronement of an
insulted God, as the supreme object of human worship; not the possession of
the damp, cold sepulchre in which Jesus reposed after his melancholy death,
but the erection of his cross on every hillside, by every sea shore, in
vale and glen, in city and in solitude. It was a noble design, one full of
grandeur and glory, as far surpassing the crusade of Peter the Hermit as
the noonday sun surpasses the dim star of evening. Its purpose was to
obliterate the awful record of human sin, flash the rays of a divine
illumination across a world of darkness, and send the electric thrill of a
holy life throughout a universe of death.

At first, the missionary enterprise was looked upon as foolish and Utopian.
Good men regarded it as utterly impracticable, and bad men condemned
and denounced it as selfish and mercenary. The Christian church had not
listened to the wail of a dying world as it echoed over land and ocean and
sounded along our shores; she had not realized the great fact that every
darkened tribe constitutes a part of the universal brotherhood of man; her
heart had not been touched by the spirit of the great commission, "Go ye
into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature."

But the sun which ushered in the present century dawned upon a missionary
age and a missionary church. The tide of time has floated man down to a
region of light, and the high and holy obligations which rest upon the
ransomed of God are being recognized. The question is now asked, with deep
and serious earnestness,--

  "Shall we, whose souls are lighted
    By wisdom from on high,
  Shall we to man benighted
    The lamp of life deny?"

And the answer has been given. The church has felt, realized, and entered
into her obligation. By the cross she has stood, her heart beating with
kindly sympathy, her cheeks bathed in tears, and her lips vocal with
prayer. The Macedonian cry has been heard, and from every nave, and alcove,
and aisle, and altar of the great temple of Christianity has come the
response,--

  "Waft, waft, ye winds, the story,
    And you, ye waters, roll,
  Till, like a sea of glory,
    Light spreads from pole to pole."

In the early part of the year 1808 several young men, members of the
Divinity School at Andover, became impressed with the importance of a
mission to the heathen world. They first looked on the subject at a
distance, saw its dim and shadowy outlines, prayed that their visions of a
converted world might be realized, and wondered who would go forth the
first heralds of salvation. Ere long the impression came that _they_
were the men; and in two years the impression had deepened into a solemn
conviction, and they had determined on a life of labor, tears, and
sacrifice.

In 1810 they made known their plans to an association of Congregational
ministers assembled in Bradford. Although that body of holy men had many
fears and some doubts concerning the success of the enterprise, no attempt
was made to dampen the ardor of the young brethren who were resolved to
undertake the vast work. Many of the aged men composing that association
thought they could discern in the fervor and zeal of these young apostles
of missions the inspiration of the Holy Ghost. However many were their
fears and doubts, they dared not, as they loved the cross, place a single
obstacle in the way of the accomplishment of such a lofty purpose; and
when the question was asked by the sceptic, "Who is sufficient for these
things?" the awful response, "The sufficiency is of God," came up from many
hearts.

This movement on the part of Messrs. Judson, Newell, Nott, and their
associates, originated the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign
Missions--an organization which has its mission stations in almost every
part of the world, and which is expending, annually, the sum of two hundred
thousand dollars for the conversion of the heathen. The first missionaries
sent out were those above named, who, with two others, were ordained to the
work in the Tabernacle Church, in Salem, on the 6th of February, 1812.
The ordination scene is said to have been one of peculiar solemnity. The
spectacle was an unusual one, and a vast crowd collected together. The
spacious church, though filled to overflowing with excited and interested
people, was as silent as the chamber of death as instructions were given
to the young men who were to bid adieu to home and country. On the 19th of
February, a cold, severe day, the brig Caravan moved down the harbor of
Salem on an outward-bound voyage, bearing on her decks Messrs. Judson and
Newell, with their wives, the others having sailed from Philadelphia for
Calcutta the day previous. They went, not as the conqueror goes, with
fire and sword, flowing banners and waving plumes, but as the heralds of
salvation, having the gospel of life and peace to proclaim in the ears of
men who were strangers to its glory. To portray the character of one of
these devoted female missionaries, the wife of Samuel Newell, this sketch
will be devoted.

Harriet Atwood was born in the town of Haverhill, on the sloping banks of
the winding Merrimack, on the 10th of October, 1793. She was the daughter
of Moses Atwood, a merchant of that village, who was universally respected
and beloved. Though not rich, he was generous and benevolent; he was pious
without affectation, and in his heart cherished a longing desire to do
good. Her mother, who yet lives, was a woman of strong religious principle,
and well calculated to give right direction to the opening mind of her
child. Her piety, it is said, was of that kind which makes its impression
upon the heart and conscience, and leads the beholder to admire and love.
She was a fit mother to train such a daughter for her holy mission to a
world in ruins, and, by her judicious advice and counsel, lead on her child
to that high point of mental and moral advancement from whence she could
look abroad upon a fallen race and pity human woe.

Throughout life Harriet Newell bore the marks, and carried the impressions,
of childhood and youth, and her short but brilliant career was moulded and
fashioned by her missionary-hearted mother.

In 1805 she entered upon a course of study at the Bradford Academy, and
soon distinguished herself as a quick and ready scholar. One of her fellow
pupils remarks that "she seldom entered the recitation room unprepared. She
seemed to take peculiar pains in doing things _well_; and though much of
her time was spent in reading, her standing in her class was always more
than respectable." Though but a child at this time, she kept a diary which
would have done no discredit to a person of mature years, in which she
recorded the exercises of her own mind and the progress which she made in
mental discipline. The entries made in that diary give us an idea of the
superiority of her mind and the excellency of her heart.

While at Bradford, her heart was renewed by the grace of God. During a
revival which performed its holy work among the members of the school, she
was led to view herself as a sinner against the Almighty. The awful fact
that she must be born again uttered its solemn admonition. Though not so
deeply convicted as are some persons, she felt the terrible necessity of
regeneration. Reason, conscience, and Scripture proclaimed the same truth;
and after struggling against her better feelings for a while, she yielded
herself in sweet submission to the will of God. The account which she gives
of her own exercises of mind, while in this condition, furnishes us with a
view of her real character. Her religious experience was full of feelings
and acts characteristic of herself; and we may form our opinion of her
disposition and cast of mind from the peculiarity of her religious
emotions. In extreme youth she was fond of gayety and mirth, and spent much
time in dancing. According to her own account, she had but little remorse
of conscience for her thoughtless course. The fact that such amusements
were sinful, as well as dangerous, had never been impressed upon her mind.
She deemed them consistent with the highest state of moral and religious
enjoyment, and pursued the miserable phantom of human, earthly pleasure,
until aroused by the Spirit and made sensible of sin.

From early youth she had been accustomed to revere and study the word of
God and pray to her Father in heaven for the things which she needed. Her
pious parents had impressed the lessons of virtue on her young heart, and
she was accustomed, as she arose in the morning and rested her head at
night, to commend the keeping of her body and soul to the care of an
overruling, superintending Providence; but after commencing the practice
of dancing, and beginning to attend schools where this vain practice was
learned, she neglected the Bible, and thought but little of the place of
prayer. She found, after retiring at evening from the gay and fascinating
scenes of the dancing room, that prayer and meditation were dull and
tedious exercises, and concluded to give them up. Closing the Bible, she
laid it aside, and let it gather dust upon the shelf, while vain and
trifling volumes engaged her attention. The door of her closet was closed,
and she entered it not; and all thoughts of God were banished from her
mind, while the world employed all her time. But God, who orders all
things, was about to perform on her heart a work of mercy and grace. She
was a chosen vessel to bear the name of Jesus to a land of darkness and
despair.

When about thirteen years of age, she was sent by her parents to the
Academy at Bradford, to receive a systematic course of instruction. Shortly
after this a revival of religion commenced, and spread through the school,
and many were converted. The attention of Miss Atwood was arrested and
turned from vanity. "Must I be born again?" was the searching question
which she put to her own heart. The answer came to her, and she began to
seek the Savior. She seems not to have had deep conviction; her mind,
though agitated, was not overwhelmed, and the subject was contemplated
calmly. At length, with the melancholy fact that she was a sinner, and
endless condemnation before her, she was pointed to the cross of Christ.
The view was effectual. Jesus appeared the Savior of sinners, of whom she
was one, and faith gladly laid hold on him as the way of escape from an
awful death. A wonderful change took place: she lost her love of folly and
sin; prayer was sweet again; the Bible was drawn from its resting-place and
perused with new pleasure; from both Bible and closet she derived pleasure
such as she had never before experienced; and she passed from a state of
nature to a state of grace.

Writing to her friends while in this mood of mind, she is willing to admit
that she has not had such an overwhelming view of the nature of sin as some
have, nor of the ecstatic joy which some experience on conversion; but she
had what was as good--a calm hope in the merits of a crucified Savior, a
high estimate of religion and religious privileges, and an utter contempt
for the pleasures and vanities of the world. She had a holy love for all
things good, and was able to

  "Read her title clear
  To mansions in the sky."

At the time when Miss Atwood found this sweet and precious hope, the church
in Haverhill was in a low and languishing condition, disturbed by internal
divisions, and to a great extent destitute of the influences of the Holy
Spirit. In consequence of this state of the church she did not unite
herself with it, and at that time made no open profession of religion. This
neglect of a plain and obvious duty brought darkness upon her mind, and
shrouded her soul in gloom. God withdrew his presence from his wayward and
disobedient child, and left her in sadness: she had refused to confess her
Master openly and publicly in the midst of trials and discouragements; and,
grieved and wounded by her conduct, he turned from her, and hid his face.
Then was she in the condition of the man who took into his own house seven
spirits more wicked than himself. There was no rest for her soul, no relief
for her anguished spirit. She realized how bitter a thing it is to depart
from the counsel of her Maker, and found momentary comfort only in the
forgetfulness of what she had enjoyed. At this period conscience was awake,
and to drown its voice she plunged into sin, sought pleasure in all the
departments of worldly intercourse, and thought as little as possible of
God and sacred things. In this attempt to drive away serious inquiries she
succeeded, and became as thoughtless as before her conversion. Again was
the Bible laid aside, and the sickly novel and the wild romance substituted
in its place. The closet was neglected, and she loved not to retire and
commune with God. The flame of piety in her soul went out, and her
heart was dark and sad; she fearfully realized the truth of the divine
declaration, "The way of the transgressor is hard." In her diary she tells
of sleepless nights and anxious days; of the Savior wounded by her whom he
died to save; of the Spirit grieved, and almost quenched, yet lingering
around her, now reproving, now commanding, now pleading; at one time
holding up the terrors of a broken law, and then whispering in tones as
sweet and gentle as Calvary; of conscience holding up a mirror in which
she might discern the likeness of herself and contemplate her real moral
character. Thoughts of God and holiness, of Christ and Calvary, made her
gloomy and unhappy; and she entered the winding path of sin, that the
celestial light might not burst upon her. Like other sinners, she sought
happiness by forgetting what she was doing, and by an entire withdrawal
from all scenes which could awaken in her soul emotions of contrition and
repentance.

On the 28th of June, 1809, Miss Atwood listened to a discourse, which was
the instrument, in the hands of God, of again prostrating her at the foot
of the cross. Her carnal security gave way; her sins, her broken vows and
pledges, rose up before her in startling numbers; her guilt hung over her
like a dark mantle; she felt the awful pangs of remorse, and was induced to
return to that kind and compassionate Savior who had at first forgiven all
her faults. Peace was restored; the smile of God returned; and the bleeding
heart, torn and wounded by sin, had rest.

While in her fifteenth year, the subject of this sketch was called upon to
part with her father. What influence this sad event had upon her mind is
hardly known; but that it was an occasion of deep and thrilling anguish
cannot be doubted. Smarting under the hand of Providence, she writes
letters to several of her friends, which abound in words of holy and pious
resignation. The manner in which her sire departed, his calm exit from the
sorrows of the flesh, served to give her a more lofty idea of the power of
faith to sustain its subject in the hour of death. Though he had left nine
fatherless children and a broken-hearted widow, there was to Harriet a
melancholy pleasure in the idea that he had burst off the fetters of clay
and ascended to the skies. Though on earth deprived of his companionship,
his counsels, and his guidance, she looked forward to a meeting where
parting scenes will not be found, and where the farewell word will never be
spoken.

  "There is a world above,
    Where parting is unknown,
  A long eternity of love,
    Formed for the good alone;
  And faith beholds the dying here
  Translated to that glorious sphere."

Nor had she a single doubt that her father had reached that world. She knew
the sincerity, piety, and devotion of his life, and the sweet calmness of
his death. His coffin, his shroud, his grave, his pale form were reposing
in lonely silence beneath the bosom of the earth; but the spirit had
departed on its journey of ages, and she doubted not its perfect felicity.
As often as she repaired to the spot where he was interred, and kneeled by
his tomb and breathed forth her humble supplications, she found the sweet
assurance that beyond the grave she would see her earthly parent, and live
with him forever. Though divided by the realms of space, faith carried her
onward to the scenes of eternity and upward to the joys of heaven; and
though she roamed on earth, shedding many a tear of sorrow, her spirit held
communion with the spirit of her departed sire.

  "While her silent steps were straying
    Lonely through night's deepening shade,
  Glory's brightest beams were playing
    Bound the happy Christian's head."

In October, 1810, an event occurred which gave direction to the whole life
of Harriet Atwood. She became acquainted with Samuel Newell, one of the
enthusiastic apostles of missions. He made her familiar with his plans and
purposes, and asked her to accompany him as his colaborer and companion.
Long had she prayed that she might be a source of good to her
fellow-creatures; long had she labored to accomplish something for God
and his holy cause; but the idea of leaving mother and friends, home and
kindred, and going forth to preach salvation and tell of Jesus in wild
and barbarous climes, was new and strange. To the whole matter she gave a
careful and prayerful consideration. She divested the great subject as
far as possible from all romantic drapery, and looked upon it in its true
light. For a while her mind was in a state of perplexing doubt and fear,
and the thought of leaving her own land was terrible. While considering the
conflict in her mind, we should remember that the cause of missions was
in its infancy; that no one had ever gone forth from our shores to preach
salvation by grace in heathen countries; that those who were agitating
the subject were branded as fanatics, and the cause itself was subject to
unjust suspicions and contempt; consequently the subject had an importance
and awfulness which it does not now possess. The way has been broken, and
all good men acknowledge that the heroism of the missionary woman is grand
and sublime. The decision made by Harriet Atwood was different from that
made by others in after years, inasmuch as she had no example, no pattern.
She realized that the advice of friends, biased as it was by prejudice and
affection, could not be relied upon; and, driven to the throne of God, she
wrestled there until her course of action was decided and her mind fixed
intently upon the great work before her. Her resolution to go to India was
assailed on every side. Those to whom she had been accustomed to look for
advice and counsel, friends on whose judgment she had relied, shook their
heads and gave decided tokens of disapprobation. But the question was
finally settled. On one side were the gay world, her young associates,
her kind relatives, her own care and comfort. On the other side stood a
bleeding Savior and a dying world. To the question, "Lord, what wilt thou
have me to do?" she heard the response, "Go work to-day in my vineyard;"
and when she looked forth upon the harvest, white for the reaper's hand,
she hesitated not to consecrate on the altar of her God her services, her
time, her life.

When this decision was once made, she conferred not with flesh and blood.
Her reply was given to Mr. Newell in firm, decided language; and up to
the hour when her spirit took its flight from earth to heaven, we have
no evidence that she had one single regret that she had chosen a life of
self-sacrifice. Her language was,--

  "Through floods and flames, if Jesus lead,
    I'll follow where he goes."

Through duties and trials, through floods and flames, she passed, shrinking
from no danger and shunning no sacrifice. Conscious of right, she quailed
not before the tears of friends and the scorn of foes; but alike in duty
and in danger followed the footsteps of her Savior, until her wasting body
was decomposed and her spirit taken up to dwell with the just men made
perfect.

To a friend in Beverly she writes as follows: "How can I go and leave those
who have done so much for me, and who will be so sorry for my loss? How can
I leave my mother here while oceans roll between us? How can I go with
but little prospect of return? And how can I stay? We are under solemn
obligation to labor for God; and I must go to India at any sacrifice. I owe
something to my perishing fellow-men; I owe something to my Savior. He wept
for men--he shed tears over Jerusalem.

  'Did Christ o'er sinners weep?
    And shall our cheeks be dry?'"

At this time her letters to Mr. Newell breathe forth the most devoted
missionary spirit, and exhibit her firm determination to do her highest
duty and discharge her great mission at any sacrifice--at the cost of
separation, tears, and death. And required it, think you, no effort to
bring her mind into this godlike state? Cost it no toil to discipline the
heart to such sore trials? Most certainly it demanded toil and effort; and
many a visit to the cross was made, and many a view of the bleeding Savior
obtained, ere she could turn her back on home and all that the young heart
holds dear in this life, to labor and die far away over the rolling sea.

And we doubt if any other motive can be found so powerful as this to move
the Christian heart to obedience. There is an inexpressible efficacy in
the cross to bring all the various opposing elements into subjection, and
produce order in the place of discord and opposition. With the cross the
early disciples went forth, not as the crusaders went, with the sacred
symbol on banners, and badges, and weapons, but wearing the _spirit_ of
the cross like a garment, having its doctrines engraven on the heart, and
inspired and quickened into life by its mysterious energy. It was the cross
that induced the early disciples to brave danger and death to spread abroad
the new faith. The martyr at the stake, amid the curling flames, was
supported by it; the exile from home, banished to rude and savage wilds,
loved it; the prisoner in his chains, confined and scourged, tortured and
bleeding, turned to it, and found satisfaction for all his wrongs; the
laborer for God, amid wild men who had no sympathy for his vocation,
carried the cross, and fainted not in his anxious toil.

And such was the effect of the cross on the mind of Mrs. Newell. It sent
her forth in all the love of womanhood, and sustained her until the close
of life, It produced on her the impression that it made upon the dreamer
Bunyan, who saw it as he was escaping from the city of destruction. He came
to it with a heavy heart and a burdened soul; but as he saw it the burden
fell and rolled into the sepulchre, and his load was gone. He gazed with
rapture and delight; and the tears burst forth and flowed down his cheeks,
and joy and holy satisfaction filled his soul.

Here is the great moving motive, one which is above all others, one that is
more effective than all others; and by this our heroine was animated and
cheered in her missionary work.

Up to the time of her departure for India, the mind of Miss Atwood
continued to be exercised with contending feelings. At one time the
sacrifice, the toil, the labor, and self-denial of a missionary life would
rise up before her. She would feel how great the trial must be to leave
all the endeared scenes of youth and childhood, and go forth to toil, and
perhaps die, among strangers in a strange land. Dark visions would often
flit before her; and she felt how terrible it must be to sicken and expire
on shores where no mother's kind hand could lift her anguished head nor
smooth her fevered pillow. But at other times her spirit soared above the
toil and sorrow, and dwelt with rapture upon the bliss, of seeing some of
the poor, degraded heathen females converted to Christ. The glory of the
great enterprise presented itself; and she realized the blessedness of
those who leave father and mother, brother and sister, houses and land, for
the promotion of the kingdom of Christ. From these various struggles
she came forth purified, dead to the world, and alive unto Christ. Any
sacrifice she was willing to make, any toil endure. It was her meat
and drink to do the will of God and accomplish his work. After a full
investigation of all the privations and sacrifices of a missionary life,
after a solemn and prayerful estimate of all that was to be left behind and
all that would be gained, she formed her opinion and decided to go forth. A
feeble woman, just out of childhood, she linked her fate with an unpopular
and scorned enterprise, and cast in her lot with the dark-browed daughters
of India.

We have seen grand enterprises commenced and carried on; we have seen our
fellow-men gathering imperishable laurels; but never before did the world
witness so grand a spectacle, with so high an object to be accomplished
by mortals, as was given in the departure of Harriet Newell to teach the
lessons of Jesus in distant lands. We consider the career of Napoleon a
glorious one. We cannot look upon his successful marches and battles,
however much we disapprove his course, without something of admiration
mingled with our abhorrence. There was a gorgeous glory which gathered
around the character of that emperor of blood which hides his errors and
dazzles the eyes of the beholder. But the true glory which gathered over
that little band of missionaries, as they left the snow-covered, icebound
coast of America, to find homes and graves in distant India, far outshines
all the glitter of pomp and imperial splendor which ever shed its rays upon
the brilliant successes of the monarch of France, the conqueror of Europe.

True, they went forth alone. No weeping church followed them to the water
side; no crowded shore sent up its wail, or echoed forth the fervent
prayer; but in the homes of the people, in the heart of God, these holy men
and women were remembered. Had that beautiful hymn been composed for them,
it could not have been more appropriate; and as they stood upon the deck
of the wave-washed Caravan, it must have been the sentiments of all their
hearts.

  "Scenes of sacred grace and pleasure,
    Holy days and Sabbath bell,
  Richest, brightest, sweetest treasure,
    Can I say a last farewell?
      Can I leave you,
    Far in distant lands to dwell?

  Yes, I hasten from you gladly--
    From the scenes I loved so well;
  Far away, ye billows, bear me;
    Lovely, native land, farewell!
      Pleased I leave thee,
    Far in heathen lands to dwell.

  In the desert let me labor;
    On the mountain let me tell
  How he died--the blessed Savior--
    To redeem a world from hell;
      Let me hasten
    Far in heathen lands to dwell."

Miss Atwood was united in marriage to Mr. Newell on the 9th of February,
1812; and on the 19th the Caravan set sail, as before stated. The voyage
to Calcutta, though attended with many things to render it unpleasant to a
feeble American woman, was not a severe one. The weather most of the time
was pleasant; and only occasionally did the waves sweep across the decks of
the vessel, or flow through the windows into the cabin. Mrs. Newell spent
her time in writing letters to her American friends and preparing herself
for her missionary work. She now had leisure to examine her own heart and
descend into the hidden mysteries of her soul; she had ample space to view
the past and form plans for the future; she could try her motives by the
unerring word of God, and, by humble prayer and careful meditation, be
enabled to acquire strength which should prove equal to her trials. The
cabin of a wave-tossed vessel, the loneliness of a voyage across the
deep-green ocean, a separation from earth's homes and earth's hearts,
were all calculated to lift up the pious mind, and centre the soul's best
affections upon pure and worthy objects. Whatever of care and sorrow she
might have had, however much or however little of anxiety might have filled
her bosom, such circumstances were sufficient to bring her faith to the
most severe test.

The voyage must have been severe but healthy discipline, and doubtless from
it was learned many a lesson of grace and duty. As the snow-covered hills
of her own dear home disappeared; as the tall chimney at the entrance of
the harbor, from which the nightly flame burned forth a beacon to the
mariner to guide him amid the storm, was lost in the distance; as the first
night came on and darkness gathered over the wide waste of waters; as deep
shadows fell upon the form of the plunging ship,--the missionary cause
must have presented itself in a new light, and, to some extent, have been
clothed with sombre hues. And as time rolled on and the distance from home
increased, that sacred call of God, that holy mission on which she was
employed, must have appealed more strongly to the Christ-like heart of our
missionary sister. The vessel encountered storm and tempest, the usual
inconveniences of a sea voyage were endured, and danger in a thousand
threatening forms appeared; but the hand which formed the channels of the
sea preserved his servants, and amid storm and darkness guided the vessel
which bore them to homes and graves in the dark places of the earth.

On her passage, Mrs. Newell kept an interesting journal, not only of her
own feelings, but also of the incidents that rendered the voyage pleasant
or painful and checkered it with evil or good. And such incidents there are
always. When on the ocean, far from land, for the first time, the dullest
and most stupid mind cannot fail of being aroused to new and awful
emotions. Man learns of God at such an hour, and finds new proof of his
grandeur and glory in every dashing wave and every whistling blast. With
but a single inch between him and a watery death, he gazes from his narrow
deck upon the boundless expanse of tossing, foam-crested billows; while, as
far as his eye can stretch, not a foot of land appears. His vessel may be
on fire, she may fill with water, she may be riven by lightning; but there
is no friendly sail to which wrecked man may fly and be safe. His ship will
founder in mid ocean, while not a single form appears to lend the helping
hand, and not an eye is seen flowing with tears of pity; nothing is heard
but the moan of ocean; nothing is seen but the sweeping surge, as it passes
on, leaving no track of the submerged vessel.

Confined in towns and cities, enclosed in walls of stone and brick, chained
to the wheel of custom, the soul of man becomes contracted and dwarfed. All
around are monuments of human skill, and every thing as little as the human
mind. But when he steps beyond the crowds of life and embarks on the
bosom of the ocean, he begins to see Divinity in its most awful forms. He
realizes the insignificance of the creature and the majesty of the almighty
Maker.

So felt Mrs. Newell, as she stood upon the deck of her vessel and gazed
upon the wonders of the deep. Each wave, as it dashed against the sides of
the brig or rolled across her decks, seemed impressed by the hand of God;
and in these scenes she realized, more than ever before, the grandeur and
glory of Jehovah. She saw him mirrored out in the starry canopy above her
head, and in the liquid mountains which lifted up their forms, and anon
sunk into peaceful rest beneath her feet.

On the 17th of June the Caravan reached Calcutta and anchored in the
harbor. During the passage along the river the vessel was hailed by
boatloads of naked natives, who brought on board cocoa nuts, bananas, and
dates in great profusion; while others were seen on the banks reposing in
the sun, or bathing in the waters of the Ganges, or diving beneath the
surface for the shellfish which are found there; while beyond, the country
was seen in all the beauty of verdure and delight, as ever and anon the
Hindoo cottage and the white pagoda reared themselves amid the trees which
grew upon the shoreside.

On the arrival of the missionaries at Calcutta, they repaired to the
residence of Dr. Carey, where they found Mr. Marshman and Mr. Ward, all of
whom were connected with the English Baptist mission station at Serampore.
By invitation of Dr. Carey they visited the station, and were treated with
the greatest kindness. But their hopes of usefulness were destined to be
blasted. The East India Company was opposed to all attempts to Christianize
the natives, and threw all their influence against the divine cause of
missions. As soon as the government became apprised of the object of Mr.
Newell and his associates, orders were issued for them to leave the
country immediately. After a vast deal of parleying with the civil powers,
permission was obtained to reside at the Isle of France; and on the 4th of
August, 1812, Mr. and Mrs. Newell took passage on board the Gillespie
for that place. Sorrow and distress now began to roll upon them in deep,
sweeping waves. The crew of the vessel were profane and irreligious, the
weather boisterous and unpleasant; while the spirits of the missionaries
themselves were at a low ebb. For some time no progress was made, and the
frown of Providence seemed to rest upon them. What purpose God had in view
in surrounding them with such trials, they knew not; but with humble faith
in all his allotments they bore submissively, but sadly, this new trial of
their devotion. The delicate state of Mrs. Newell's health rendered their
sorrows doubly annoying to her sensitive and refined mind. She shrunk
from a contact with the rude beings around her, and in the society of
her husband alone found enjoyment; and even this was not free from
interruption. The morning and evening prayer was disturbed by the profane
jest or the blasphemous ribaldry of God-hating men, who viewed our
missionaries as deluded fanatics, justly deserving the contempt of all.
Even the respect due to the weaker sex was not wholly observed; and the
pious woman was often compelled to listen to expressions which would have
brought a blush to the cheek of the strong man. Sickness and sorrow found
but little sympathy; and the days seemed long and tedious, even to one who
had not learned to complain of the wise discipline of a Father's hand.

While on this voyage, about three weeks before their arrival at the place
of destination, she gave birth to a daughter, and became a mother. The
sweet infant lived but five days; "blushed into life and died." The day
before its death, the rite of the church, by which the little stranger into
this cold world was given to God, was performed. They called her by the
mother's name, and watched over her until she breathed her last breath upon
her mother's bosom, and then sunk the form into the cold waters of the
deep. As the corpse was lowered down over the side of the vessel, holy
voices sung the sweet and tender hymn,--

  "So fades the lovely, blooming flower,
  Frail, smiling solace of an hour;
  So soon our transient comforts fly,
  And pleasures only bloom to die."

Soon after the death of her babe, Mrs. Newell discovered symptoms of the
malady which soon carried her to an untimely grave. From the first, she had
no hope of recovery. Several of her friends had died of the same disease;
and when it fastened itself upon her system, she knew that her time had
come. The slow, wasting consumption was on her frame, and her days
were nearly run out. But the approach of death she viewed with perfect
composure. Though far from home, far from all the endeared scenes of youth,
from the roof which sheltered her in infancy, from the mother whose gentle
hand guided her up to womanhood, she was tranquil. Death was only a dark
shadow, which retreated before her as she advanced, and left her standing
in the light of a cloudless day.

While on her dying pillow she read through the book of Job, and derived
from its hallowed counsels much divine support and comfort. While
contemplating the sufferings of that godly man, her own trials dwindled
away, and she lost sight of her own anguish in the deeper woes, of another.
Often did she ask, as she remembered what others had endured and thought
what trials some had experienced,--

  "Shall I be carried to the skies
    On flowery beds of ease,
  While others fought to win the prize,
    And sailed through bloody seas?"

Sometimes she wondered why she should be thus early taken away. She had
left home and friends to labor for God in a heathen land; and why at the
very onset he should call her to the grave, she could not understand. The
great desire of her heart was to be the humble instrument in the conversion
of sinners. She wished to win souls to Christ--to turn the attention of the
dying heathen to the saving cross. Hence, when she found that, ere her work
had fairly commenced, she was to be summoned away to her reward, torn from
the arms of her husband, and removed beyond the province of toil, she
failed to read the purpose of her Maker. All was gloom, and in calm
submission she bowed her head to the coming storm. What was dark now she
hoped to understand when the secrets of all hearts are known, and trusted
that God was able to glorify himself as much in her death as in her life.

During her sickness she gave expression to the feelings of her heart, and
proved to all around her that death had lost dominion over her; that the
grave had secured no victory; and when she met the terrors of one and the
silence of the other, it was as the conqueror meets his smitten foe. Her
last words were, "How long, O Lord, how long?" and with this sentence on
her lips she passed away.

Mrs. Newell died on Monday, the 30th of November, 1812, at the Isle of
France, leaving her husband to labor alone for the conversion of the
heathen. After the death of his wife Mr. Newell removed to Ceylon, and from
thence to Bombay, where, after laboring a few years and doing his Master's
work in tears and sorrow, he went down to his grave on the 17th of May,
1821.

The scene now closes. We have followed a devoted servant of Christ from
youth to womanhood--from early childhood to an early grave. It is pleasant
to contemplate such an example, to shed tears of gratitude over such a
tomb. The name we pronounce deserves to be recorded in a more conspicuous
place in the book of fame than any name which has gathered gory laurels on
the wet field of carnage; she deserves a higher monument than rises over
the resting-place of earth's proudest conqueror--a monument not of marble,
nor of brass, nor of gold, but one which shall lift its summit until a halo
of eternal light shall gather about it and gild it with the beams of
glory. And such a monument she has. When the clouds and mists of earth are
dissipated we shall see it, sinking its base deep as the darkness of a
world of heathenism, and lifting its summit high as the throne of God.

Harriet Newell was the great proto-martyr of American missions. She fell
wounded by death in the very vestibule of the sacred cause. Her memory
belongs not to the body of men who sent her forth, not to the denomination
to whose creed she had subscribed, but to the church--to the cause of
missions. With the torch of Truth in her hand she led the way down into a
valley of darkness, through which many have followed. Her work was short,
her toil soon ended; but she fell, cheering, by her dying words and her
high example, the missionaries of all coming time. She was the first, but
not the only martyr. Heathen lands are dotted over with the graves of
fallen Christians; missionary women sleep on almost every shore; and the
bones of some are whitening in the fathomless depths of the ocean.

Never will the influence of the devoted woman whose life and death are here
portrayed be estimated properly until the light of an eternal day shall
shine on all the actions of men. We are to measure her glory, not by what
she suffered, for others have suffered more than she did. But we must
remember that she went out when the missionary enterprise was in its
infancy--when even the best of men looked upon it with suspicion. The tide
of opposition she dared to stem; and with no example, no predecessor from
American shores, she went out to rend the veil of darkness which gathered
over all the nations of the East.

Things have changed since then. Our missionaries go forth with the approval
of all the good; and the odium which once attended such a life is swept
away. It is to some extent a popular thing to be a missionary, although the
work is still one of hardship and suffering. It is this fact which gathers
such a splendor around the name of Harriet Newell, and invests her short,
eventful life with such a charm. She went when no foot had trodden out
the path, and was the first American missionary ever called to an eternal
reward. While she slumbers in her grave, her name is mentioned with
affection by a missionary church. And thus it should be. She has set us a
glorious example; she has set an example to the church in every land and
age; and her name will be mingled with the loved ones who are falling year
by year; and if, when the glad millennium comes and the earth is converted
to God, some crowns brighter than others shall be seen amid the throng of
the ransomed, one of those crowns will be found upon the head of HARRIET
NEWELL.





II.

ANN H. JUDSON, OF BURMAH.




Notoriety is one thing, and true glory is quite another thing. Many persons
have become notorious around whose lives no true glory or dignity has
appeared; and many men have been honorable in the highest sense who have
lived unknown to fame, and unheard of beyond a narrow boundary.

The world's estimate of glory is a false one. It attaches too much
importance to physical force, to noisy pomp, to the glitter and show of
conquest, and gives too little honor to the silent but majestic movements
of moral heroes.

Had any body of men labored long and suffered much to save poor human life
and draw from burning dwelling or sinking wreck some fellow-man, their
deeds would be mentioned in every circle; humane societies would award them
tokens of distinction and approbation; and they would be deemed worthy of
exalted honor. Nor would it be wrong thus to give them praise. The man who
risks his life to save another deserves a higher, prouder monument than
ever lifted itself above the tombs of fallen warriors who on the gory field
have slaughtered their thousands.

Nor will the deserved approbation of the great and good of earth long be
withheld from the heralds of salvation on heathen shores. The majesty
of the missionary enterprise is beginning to develop itself; success is
crowning the toil of years; and heathendom is assuming a new aspect. Under
the faithful labors of self-denying men, the wilderness is beginning to
blossom as the rose. Here and there, amid the sands of the wide desert once
parched by sin and consumed by the fiery blaze of heathenish cruelty,
the plants of grace are beginning to appear, and Christian churches are
springing up to spread themselves like green vines upon the broken ruins of
demolished idols.

It is too late now in the world's history, too late in the progress
of thought, to vindicate the course pursued by the two pioneer female
missionaries. When the Caravan sailed down the harbor of the "City of
Peace," there were enough to curl the lip and point the finger of scorn.
The devoted messengers of Jesus were charged with indelicacy, with a false
ambition, with a spirit of romance and adventure, with a desire for
ease and gain. As time rolled on, all these charges were withdrawn; the
characters, views, and feelings of these heroic women were raised above
suspicion, and now they are enveloped in a flood of glory.

  "They left not home to cross the briny sea
    With the proud conqueror's ambitious aim,
  To wrong the guiltless, to enslave the free,
    And win a bloodstained wreath of dreadful fame
    By deeds unworthy of the Christian name."

Their errand was to carry mercy to the perishing and hope to the
despairing; and in the name of their great Master they executed their high
commission. Depending alone on God, and inspired by his grace, they labored
on, amid all the doubts and sneers of others, until their holy lives and
correct deportment challenged the approbation of the most sceptical,--until
God honored their work by great success,--until men, hardened men, began to
yield.

  "And by degrees the blesséd fruits were seen
  In many a contrite and converted heart,
  Fruits which might cause unbidden tears to start
  From eyes unused to weep; because they told
  Faith was their polar star, and God's word their guide."

And future ages will honor them. When the names of Mary and Elizabeth,
of Joan of Arc with her wild enthusiasm, of De Staël and her literary
contemporaries, have all been lost, these will live as fresh as ever.

Ann H. Judson was born at Bradford, December 22, 1789. She was the daughter
of John and Rebecca Hasseltine, worthy inhabitants of that pleasant
village. Her childhood was passed within sight of the home which contained
the friends, and around which clustered the employments and pursuits, of
Harriet Newell. With only a narrow river rolling between them, these two
devoted servants of God passed through the period of youth, little thinking
how their names and fortunes were to be linked together in the holy cause
of human good. Like her beloved associate, Miss Hasseltine was early in
life a pupil at Bradford Academy, and made commendable progress in her
studies. There she was beloved by all. The teachers regarded her as an
industrious, dutiful, and talented scholar; her associates looked upon her
as a sincere, openhearted, cheerful companion. Unlike Mrs. Newell, who was
sedate and grave, exhibiting a seriousness almost beyond her years, Miss
Hasseltine was ardent, gay, and active. She loved amusement and pleasure,
and was found seeking enjoyment in all the avenues of virtuous life. One of
her schoolmates, speaking of her, says, "Where Ann is, no one can be
gloomy or unhappy. Her cheerful countenance, her sweet smile, her happy
disposition, her keen wit, her lively conduct, never rude nor boisterous,
will dispel the shades of care and hang the smiles of summer upon the
sorrows of the coldest heart." Her animation gave life to all around her,
and made her, at school, an unusual favorite; at home, the joy of her
father's dwelling. It was probably this cheerfulness of her natural
disposition which in after years enabled her to endure such protracted
sufferings, and, by the side of her missionary husband, smile amid clanking
fetters and gloomy dungeons. She loved to look upon the bright side of
every picture, and seldom spent an hour in tears over any imaginary sorrow.
On the front of evils she generally discerned signs of good; and often,
while others were in sorrow, her heart was glad. Her sedate parents looked
upon these exhibitions of cheerful disposition with some feelings of
regret, and often chided their child for what they deemed an uneasy and
restless spirit, little thinking that this very cheerfulness was to sustain
her under many a trial which would have bowed others to the earth with
crushed and broken spirits. God seemed to have adapted her to the very
position in which he designed to place her; and her whole after career gave
evidence of the wisdom of the divine arrangement. Had she been of different
mould, she would have sunk ere half her work was done, ere half her toils
were over.

While at Bradford Academy, Miss Hasseltine became a subject of renewing
grace. Her own account of her conversion, found in her published memoir and
elsewhere, is of the deepest and most thrilling interest to every pious
heart. During the first sixteen years of her life, she, according to her
own statement, had few convictions. She had been taught that she must be
moral and virtuous, and in this way avoid suffering and secure peace of
conscience. The awful necessity of being "born again" did not press itself
upon her attention. Light and vain amusements engrossed much of her time,
and employed many hours which should have been given to God and the
practice of holiness. The prayers which she learned in youth were now
forgotten, her Bible neglected, and her mind given up to vain and sinful
pleasure. She did not realize that she was immortal; that she was a
traveller to a long and unknown eternity; but the present hour, the present
moment, received all her care and engrossed all her attention. From this
state she was aroused by seeing in a little volume which she took up to
read on Sabbath morning, just before going to the house of God, this solemn
sentence: "She that liveth in pleasure is dead while she liveth." The words
sunk deep into her thoughtless heart. In vain she strove to banish them;
but they would return upon her memory, and linger there with tormenting
obstinacy. Vain was it that she mingled in scenes of gayety and mirth;
vainly did she become "the gayest of the gay." The conviction became
stronger, as each week rolled away, that she was _a lost sinner_. Under the
influence of divine truth she continued to become more deeply impressed
with the importance of giving her heart to God and being a new creature.
She herself says, "I lost all relish for amusements; felt melancholy and
dejected; and the solemn truth that I must obtain a new heart, or perish
forever, lay with weight upon my mind." At length her feelings-became so
overpowering that she could not confine them within her own bosom. God had
rolled such a weight of conviction on her mind that she was almost crushed
to the earth. How God could forgive _her_ sins, she could not see. How one
so guilty, so rebellious, so hardened, could obtain mercy, she did not
know. Instead, at this time, of giving her heart to God, she resorted to
other means to find relief from sin. She gave up many of the comforts
of life, locked herself into her room, and spent many weary hours in
self-imposed penance. Against the holy claims of God her heart soon
rebelled, and she longed to be taken out of her misery.

At length she attained a more scriptural view of the way of salvation; she
saw Christ as a vicarious sacrifice, and felt that, if saved at all, it
must be by his blood, and not by her own imperfect righteousness. This
view of Jesus was sweet and precious. He had become, not the Savior of the
world, but _her_ own Savior; he had died, not merely for the sins of the
race, but for _her_ sins; and in this sacred contemplation her soul found
sweet relief. The torturing load of fears was gone; one sight of Christ had
changed the heart and taken away its grief and sin. Like a liberated slave
she rejoiced in perfect freedom, and her happy soul went out in joyful
thanks to Him who had wrought the work.

With a heart changed by God, she seemed to pass from rapture to rapture,
from bliss to bliss. Beneath the operations of grace her mind and her heart
seemed to be enlarged, and to a wonderful extent she drank in the truth
of the inspired word. Doctrines which until now had been all shrouded in
darkness were readily comprehended. The great plan of salvation by the
cross excited her wonder and admiration, and she loved to dwell upon it as
the way in which she herself had been saved. All the energy of her soul
seemed to be aroused to action. She was in a new world, inspired by new
hopes, living a new life, a new creature.

The character of Miss Hasseltine's mind may be inferred from the nature
of the books which, at this period of her experience, she read with the
greatest eagerness. Instead of resorting to works of a superficial cast for
instruction, she selected the profound dissertations of our most learned
theologians, and read with much interest, as we are informed by her
biographer, "the works of Edwards, Hopkins, Bellamy, and Doddridge." In the
investigation of the deep and awful things of God she spent much of her
time, and, with a humble desire to know the truth and obey it, sought
wisdom from on high.

On the 14th of September, 1806, Miss Hasseltine made a public profession of
religion, and connected herself with the Congregational church in Bradford,
and for the first time partook with the company of believers of the broken
emblems of a Savior's infinite compassion. The observance of this ordinance
was full of blessing; at the table, according to her own testimony, she
renewed her covenant with her Maker, and more solemnly than ever gave
herself to the holy work of God. She felt how needful the assistance of a
higher power was to keep her from the snares into which young Christians
are so liable to fall.

After leaving the academy, Miss H. engaged as a teacher, and with
considerable success employed herself in her vocation, in Haverhill,
Salem, and Newbury. Teaching with her was not an ordinary employment; she
remembered that her pupils had souls as well as bodies; and while she was
striving to expand the youthful mind, she also endeavored to improve the
youthful heart, and impress upon the conscience those lessons of truth
which time could never efface. It was at the same conference in which the
acquaintance between Mr. and Mrs. Newell commenced that Mr. Judson was
introduced to the subject of this sketch. He was then in need of a
companion who would share his anxieties, his labors, and his sorrows; and
he fixed upon Miss Hasseltine as the one whose tastes and feelings most
accorded with his own. He was probably attracted by her ardent piety, her
brilliant intellect, and her joyous spirit. Having duly considered the
subject, he gave her an invitation to go out with him to distant India, and
be his companion in the brightest hour of his prosperity and in the darkest
moment of his adversity. To decide the question was not an easy matter. It
was connected with obligations which she did not hastily assume, and hence
it was several months ere she had resolved to go. She was at times fearful
that her disposition for what was in itself romantic and strange would bias
her judgment and lead her to pursue a course which she should regret when
too late to turn back. Hence she brought all her feelings and motives to a
severe test, and looked down deeply into the hidden mystery of her heart.
Before God she laid herself completely open, and sought, by humble
supplication, his divine direction. With no example but that of Harriet
Newell, who had just consecrated herself to the work, she decided to make
India her home, and suffering and privation her lot. Her letters upon this
subject, about this time, abound with passages of thrilling interest, and
give evidence that the subject of missions absorbed her whole attention and
pervaded her whole nature.

On the 5th of February, 1812, Mr. and Mrs. Judson were married at Bradford;
on the 16th Mr. Judson and his associates were ordained in Salem, and on
the 19th they sailed for Calcutta. While on the passage, a change occurred
in the feelings and views of Mr. Judson which materially changed his whole
course. He was aware that at Serampore the Baptists had established a
mission station which was in successful operation. He knew that he should
come in contact with the peculiar views of that denomination, and be under
the necessity of replying to the objections which would be urged against
his own sentiments. His own mind was at rest upon the subject; but he
wished to be fully armed against all the arguments which he should meet on
his arrival. To prepare himself for an encounter with Dr. Carey and his
associates, he commenced the diligent study of the word of God and such
works as he had in his possession. As he advanced in his investigation,
doubts began to thicken around him; his mind, instead of being more fully
convinced, began to waver; the arguments of Baptists he did not know how to
overcome. Thus it continued for a while, until, a short time after their
arrival, Mr. and Mrs. Judson threw aside their former views of baptism, and
adopted the sentiments of another denomination. The particulars of this
change are given by Mrs. Judson in a letter to her friends. By her we are
informed that for a long time her husband's new notions did not correspond
with her own. With woman's ingenuity and skill, she sought to dissuade him
from any public statement, and even from an investigation of the subject.
She well knew to what such a step would lead. The friends who had been
so kind to her, who were then supporting her, who were willing still to
support her, would be obliged to withdraw their aid. They could not, in
conscience, support a missionary who was promulgating what they deemed an
error, and consequently would recall her husband to America. Nor was this
the worst. She had many personal friends who would be unable to appreciate
her motives and understand her true position. They would be surprised,
grieved, and perhaps offended. And to be encountered, was the odium of
changing one's religious opinions, the charge of fickleness, and the
consequent loss of reputation. Besides, the change, if made, would be a
small one--simply a question of difference between the application to the
body of a few drops of water and an entire immersion. This, to her mind,
was a small change, which to her companion involved great consequences.
Hence she endeavored to have him give up the subject and quiet his mind
upon his previous opinions. Laughing, she told him, "if he became a
Baptist, she would not." But the examination had been commenced, and could
not be given up; and ere it was completed, she herself was a convert, That
she was sincere, we have no room to doubt; by the change she had every
thing to lose and nothing to gain. And it was made willingly, at last; when
her judgment was convinced, she hesitated not.

The brethren at Serampore knew nothing of the change of views until they
received a letter from Mr. Judson, asking baptism at their hands. That it
was to them an occasion of gladness, we need not state. Weary with toil,
they received this addition to their number as a gift of God, sent at this
time to stay up their hands and encourage their hearts. It gave them new
strength to meet the tide of opposition and bear up under the heavy load of
missionary care and anxiety.

They were baptized on the 6th day of September, in the Baptist chapel at
Calcutta, and shortly after Mr. Judson gave his reasons for the change in
a sermon which has already passed through several editions, and which is
regarded by his friends as a conclusive argument.

Whatever may be the opinion in regard to the correctness of Mr. J.'s new
views,--whatever may be the views entertained of the denomination to which
he united himself,--no godly man will regret the result to which it has
led. His change aroused to action the slumbering energies of the whole
Baptist section of our Zion, inspired that sect throughout the land with a
new and holy impulse, and originated the convention, which now, under the
name of the Missionary Union, is doing so much for a dying world. But
for the change of Judson's sentiments upon the question of baptism, a
denomination which is now contributing nearly two hundred thousand dollars
annually for missionary purposes might have, stood aloof from the holy work
for many years. The hand of God in this event is plainly seen--the hand of
God, touching the heart of a mighty party, and animating it with a true,
godlike missionary enthusiasm.

About the time of this change Mr. J. wrote a letter to Dr. Bolles, in which
he threw himself upon the Baptists of America for support and sympathy.
Previous to receiving a reply, he sailed with his companion for the Isle
of France, at which place Mrs. Newell had been buried previous to their
arrival. The desolate man met them on the shore, and with tearful eyes
described to them the dying scene and the solitude of his own heart, Mr.
Judson preached a while to the people and the soldiers who were stationed
at the Isle of France, where he was the instrument of much good.

Providence did not favor his remaining at that place, and he left it
for another field of labor, and at length, after many difficulties and
hardships, arrived at Rangoon, in Burmah, in July, 1813. At this place
several attempts had been made to establish a mission station, but all had
failed; and the last missionary, a son of Dr. Carey, had departed a short
time previous to the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Judson.

Our missionaries repaired to the house which Mr. C. had formerly occupied,
about half a mile from the town. Mrs. Judson, being feeble, was borne upon
the shoulders of the natives; and as she passed along, or as the bearers
stopped to rest, a crowd of people gathered around her. Some came to her
side and looked under her bonnet, and retired with boisterous merriment.
But all their little annoyances she suffered with patience, knowing that
here she was to find a home, and to these very people declare the word of
God.

The manner in which they acquired a knowledge of the language is somewhat
novel. They were unable to find any one who was acquainted with the English
language, and were obliged to select an agreeable and pleasant Burman,
who, to the best of his ability, instructed them in the principles of the
language of his country. They would point to houses, and trees, and the
various objects around them, and he would give their names in Burman. Thus
after a while they were able to make themselves understood, and, being
willing learners, they very soon made rapid progress--rapid, considering
the discouragements under which they labored--being without both grammar
and dictionary, or any other book which could materially assist them. Slow
and discouraging indeed, compared with the labor of learning some other
languages under different circumstances, was their advancement; but when
the circumstances under which they commenced and prosecuted the task of
learning the language of the Barman nation are considered, we should
imagine that almost any progress was rapid.

On the 11th of September, 1815, their first child was born. They gave him
the name of Roger Williams, in honor of one of the greatest advocates of
human liberty which the world has ever raised. Eight months they loved him
and watched over him, at the expiration of which he sickened and died. He
was buried in the garden of the mission house; and the tears of the weeping
parents, and a small company of kind-hearted but ignorant Burmans, watered
the little grave, in the silence of which the infant had found repose.

For a few years after the arrival of Mr. Judson at Rangoon, the officers
of government manifested towards the mission a friendly spirit. The
missionaries were invited to visit the viceroy and vicereine at their
royal residence, and received their visits in return. The mission was
accomplishing the object of its establishment, and from time to time was
reënforced. Even the bands of hostile robbers respected the property and
persons of the men of God; and they fondly dreamed that it would thus
continue.

In April, 1819, Mr. Judson commenced preaching the gospel in a building
erected for the purpose, called a zayat. Until this time he had not
attempted publicly to discourse after the manner of preaching in America.
His audience consisted of twelve or fifteen adults, besides a large number
of children. On the 27th of June, the first Burman convert was "buried with
Christ by baptism." It was to the devoted Judson and his companions a day
of pure and holy joy. The first fruits of their labors began to appear; and
when Moung Nau went down into the water, a burst of gratitude went up from
the deepest places of their hearts. The day was beautiful, the audience
quiet and attentive, as there, beneath the very shadow of Gaudama, in the
waters of a lake consecrated to the rites of heathenism, the new-born soul
gave outward signs of the inward change. With what feelings of interest the
missionary must have looked upon the first convert, we can only imagine.
For that day he had waited and toiled for years; and as he pronounced the
impressive formula, and in the name of the true God laid the dark son of
India beneath the yielding waves, the feelings which rushed upon him must
have been almost overpowering.

On the next Sabbath they sat down together at the communion table to
celebrate the death of Christ--to commemorate the scene of Calvary. What a
picture! The first offering of Burmah to the Lord; the first convert from
that great empire, with his pale teacher, kneeling at the same altar,
drinking of the same consecrated cup, and believing in "one Lord, one
faith, one baptism." The second baptism was ministered on the same spot to
two other converts. Amidst profound and holy stillness they descended into
the water, where, a short time previous, Moung Nau had witnessed a good
profession. The low and solemn tones of prayer were heard, the voice
suppressed, in fear of arousing the ferocious enemy. There was no sermon,
no address, no song; the record was on high, and angels looked down as
spectators of the thrilling event. Around them, in earth's homes and in
earth's hearts, there was no sympathy; but in heaven a chord was touched
which will vibrate forever.

Shortly after the baptism of the two converts, opposition to the mission
began to be manifested. Those who came to the mission house had evil in
their hearts. To shield themselves from all harm, and secure the protection
of the government, Mr. Judson and Mr. Coleman, who had been sent out in
company with Mr. Wheelock a short time previous, determined to visit Ava
and see the king. They did so, and with some difficulty obtained a hearing.
They took with them the Bible, which was in six large volumes, decorated
with gold, and well calculated to attract the attention of a heathen
monarch. They were introduced into the palace and seated among the nobles.
When the king appeared, the whole heathen throng prostrated themselves with
their faces to the earth; the missionaries alone remained erect. After some
conversation they presented their petition, and a tract on the being of
God. The proud monarch read the petition through, and coldly handed it
back to his minister. His eye then glanced over the little book; he read a
single sentence, and then dashed it to the ground. Without ceremony they
were hurried away from the palace, and, after various annoyances, were
allowed to return to the friendly shelter of their boat. Sadly did they go
back to the field of their labors to relate the story of their failure, and
to toil on again until some new interruption.

Under the labors and sufferings incident to such a station, the health of
Mrs. Judson began to fail rapidly, and it soon became evident that nothing
but a visit to America would restore it. Consequently, in August, 1821, she
started from Rangoon, and arrived in New York in September of the following
year, spending some time in Calcutta and in England on her way. While in
this country she accomplished a vast amount of good by her letters and
conversation, and succeeded in inspiring the friends of missions with a
deeper solicitude to see the heathen world converted to God.

In 1823, having regained her health, she returned to Burmah in company with
Mr. and Mrs. Wade, who were sent out by the board to reënforce the mission.
She arrived on the 5th of December, and found her husband in the midst of
his toils and surrounded with disappointments and difficulties.

It soon become evident that Mrs. Judson had returned only to pass through
scenes of unparalleled sufferings. On her arrival she found her husband
about to leave for Ava, and immediately started with him. On the passage
they encountered storms and dangers, and were, emphatically, in perils by
sea and perils by land. While stopping at the town of Tsen-pyoo-kyon, about
one hundred miles from the capital, they learned that the declaration
of war had been made, and that the Burmans and English were at open
hostilities. They reached Ava, and, without manifesting any fear or any
interest in the hostile movements of the people, proceeded to build there a
house and commence their operations. Soon the dreadful news came that the
British had taken Rangoon. This catastrophe incensed the court at Ava, and
Mr. Judson and Dr. Price were arrested as spies in the employ of England.

On the 8th of June, 1824, Mr. Judson was arrested at his own dinner table
by a party of officers, led by an executioner whose power was absolute, and
who held in his hand a black book, in which the names of his victims were
recorded. With scarcely a moment's notice they threw him on the floor, and
bound him with strong cords, and hurried him away. Mrs. Judson offered them
money to release her husband; but they repulsed her with rudeness, and
carried him, heedless of her tears and prayers, into the _death_ prison,
where he was loaded with three pairs of chains, and fastened to a long
pole, to prevent the moving of his body.

In this trying situation Mrs. Judson returned, a lone, desolate woman, to
her dwelling, and destroyed all her papers, journals, and writings of every
description, lest they should be examined and found to contain something
which would increase the sorrow of her husband. Her servants were taken
from her and confined in stocks, and a guard placed about the house, who
did their utmost to annoy and insult her. After some delay she procured
permission to go abroad, and daily, at the prison gate, prayed that she
might see the prisoners. Permission was at length given, and the fond wife
sought her husband. She found his condition more deplorable than she had
supposed. He was scarcely able to crawl to the door of his rude tenement;
and while he stood in conference with the highminded and noble woman
who had followed him beyond the seas, he was constantly annoyed by the
suspicious and watchful keepers, who listened to their conversation and
scrutinized every movement. So jealous were they, that, ere any arrangement
could be made by which Mr. Judson's release might be effected, they were
commanded to separate. In vain the wife urged her affection for her
husband--in vain she appealed to manly feelings and love of home--in vain
she exhibited the order of government by which she had been admitted--in
vain she clung to the neck of her chained and suffering companion. No
motive was strong enough to move the hard hearts of the cruel wretches, who
seemed to take exquisite pleasure in the miseries of others. So completely
does heathenism deaden the heart to all generous and elevated feelings
that those strong men could witness unmoved, ay, with delight, the intense
anguish of a feeble, weeping, broken-hearted woman. To every prayer she
offered and every plea she made, they gave back words of cruelty and scorn;
and when she entreated them, for the love of humanity, to allow her to
converse with Mr. J. a few minutes longer, they refused; and as she
hesitated, they cried, in angry tones, "_Depart, or we will drag you out_."

The admirable conduct of this heroic woman, under such trying
circumstances, we cannot too much applaud. Ceaselessly she labored for the
release of her husband. From one member of the royal family to another
she went, with prayers that they would intercede in her behalf.
Repulsed everywhere, she fainted not, but toiled night and day for the
accomplishment of her purpose.

After about a month's confinement, Mr. J. was violently beset with
fever, and the governor gave orders that he should be removed to a more
comfortable situation. He was accordingly placed in a little bamboo hut,
and his wife permitted to attend him. Here he remained three days, when the
English advancing upon the capital, the order was given for the removal of
the prisoners. They were hurried away without warning, and Mrs. Judson was
left in a state bordering on distraction. She soon found, on inquiry, the
direction which the prisoners had taken. With a single servant and two
Burman children, she started, with her babe, three months old, in her arms,
to find her companions in suffering. She overtook them at Oung-pen-la, and
found their condition to be wretched beyond description. Their journey was
over a rough, burning road, and, chained two by two, they were whipped
along like cattle bound to the place of slaughter. Their backs were
blistered by the sun, and their feet scorched by the ground, until every
step they took drew forth a groan of anguish, which their drivers answered
with yells of delight. One poor creature fell in the pathway, and was
dragged along until he expired.

To add to Mrs. Judson's distress, her assistant was taken with the small
pox the morning after she arrived at Oung-pen-la; and soon her daughter
Maria was reduced to the point of death by the same disease, and she
herself was afflicted with the malady in a modified form.

The prisoners had been sent to this place that they might be burned in the
old prison, in which, from the time of their arrival, they were confined,
being chained together in pairs. But God had otherwise ordained: Judson
was to live on. Soon an order for his release and return to Ava came; the
government hoping he might be of service to them in their difficulties with
the British. He was employed as interpreter and translator, and, as such,
treated with some degree of kindness.

Wearied with continued anxiety, Mrs. Judson was prostrated by sickness soon
after her return to Ava. Reason fled away; insanity took the place of calm
and deliberate action; and for seventeen days she was a raving maniac.
Absent from her husband, and dependent on the cold mercy of heathen women,
she was indeed an object of pity. But from the borders of the grave she was
raised up when all around thought her beyond the reach of hope. The hand of
God reached down to the borders of the grave and rescued her from death,
and placed her upon earth again, a fruitful laborer in the vineyard of her
Master.

Time and space will not permit us to follow these devoted missionaries
through all the suffering caused by this distressing war. Mr. Judson acted
as mediator between the English and the Burmans, and by his ingenuity and
skill, his eloquence and experience, saved a vast amount of bloodshed and
crime. He was the instrument in securing the release of all the English and
American prisoners who were confined in the dungeons of Ava, and restoring
some from hopeless servitude to the friends and companions of youth. He
conferred immense advantage on England, while he saved the capital of the
vast Burman empire from fire and sword. To him, more than to any other man,
is to be traced the amicable adjustment of the existing difficulties,
and the settlement of the trouble on terms so favorable to the English
residents of Ava.

One of the articles of the treaty then entered into provided that all the
foreigners at Ava should have permission to leave unmolested. Mr. and Mrs.
Judson availed themselves of this permission, and, on a beautiful evening
in March, left with their fellow-workers and fellow-sufferers, and sailed
down the Irrawaddy, bidding farewell to the golden city within whose walls
they had suffered so much and been sustained by God so long.

Nor was Mr. Judson the only one who won praise and glory during that awful
period. The companion of his toils was not idle. Her kindness to the
prisoners--her arduous labors to do them good--her appeals to the
government--her visits to the nobles--her ceaseless efforts--won for her
undissembled gratitude and immortal renown. Nor are the acts of Mrs. Judson
recorded alone on the records of Christian missions. The secular press of
our own and other lands ascribed to her the honor of materially assisting
in the adjustment of the existing difficulties, and, by her appeals and
persuasions, doing much to prevent bloodshed and crime.

She went where no person of the other sex would have dared to go, and
where, to any woman of less devotion and tireless perseverance, all
entrance would have been denied. Though her husband, at this trying time,
was the object of her peculiar care, yet she found time to do good to all
the other prisoners. Like a ministering angel she moved among them, giving
drink to the thirsty, food to the hungry, and clothing to the destitute.

A statement was drawn up by an English prisoner, and published in Calcutta
and in England, in which the thanks of the prisoners are given to this
estimable woman. The writer dwells upon the theme with the interest of one
who has experienced acts of kindness and is himself under obligation. He
ascribes to _her_, a feeble woman, the honor of having, under God, prepared
the Burman empire to seek terms of reconciliation and peace. From a full
heart he utters the tribute of his gratitude to the frail child of humanity
who forgot her own weariness, forgot her own sufferings, forgot her own
privations, sickness, and want, and sought out the wants of the victims of
imperial despotism.

Her daily walk was from the prison to the palace. To one place she went to
whisper words of kindness, to wipe away the tears of sorrow, to wet the
parched lips of the dying with cool water, to bathe the limbs bruised and
chafed by heavy irons, and to apply healing balm to both body and spirit;
the other place she visited to plead and argue with a proud court, and a
haughty, tyrannical, and overbearing monarch. She risked her own life at
every trial, but ceased not her perilous work until God crowned her labors
with success--until the stubborn court of Ava relented--until she saw the
fetters fall, and the prisoners again at liberty. The English nation owes
her a debt of gratitude; for she has done more for it than many of its most
illustrious warriors. Humanity is a debtor to her memory; for she was kind
to man, and, in his want and suffering, surpassed humanity to do him good.
Religion is her debtor; for she was one of its most devoted advocates, and
presented in her life a sublime illustration of the power of faith. From
Ava Mr. and Mrs. Judson removed to Amherst, a town which was founded at the
close of the war in that territory, and which, by the treaty, was ceded to
the English. It was at Amherst that Mrs. Judson was visited with the fatal
fever which terminated her existence on the 24th of October, 1826.

At the time of her death Mr. Judson was absent from home, in company with
Mr. Crawford, the British commissioner. Her sickness was short and painful.
During most of the time her reason was dethroned; but in her moments of
calmness she gave evidence that all was peace. Without the hand of her kind
companion to lift her aching head, or bathe her throbbing temples, she
died.

Mr. Judson returned, not to hear her voice, not to gaze upon her form, but
to weep over her grave, and with his motherless child to sit in sorrow on
the spot where she breathed her last. Such was the violence of her fever
that she said but little, and left her husband without many of those tokens
of kindness which surviving friends esteem of so much value.

They buried her at Amherst, under the shadow of a lofty hopia tree; and in
that lonely grave her form now reposes, heedless of what is passing on the
earth. Her child, which died shortly after she was buried, is laid by her
side; and on the sacred spot the traveller often pauses to think of one of
the most devoted and self-sacrificing women whose names have been mentioned
with gratitude by the virtuous and the good. A marble slab, presented
by the ladies of America, marks the grave, and points it out to every
stranger. On that slab is an inscription, a copy of which is on the
opposite page.

Here we pause. Such labors, such self-sacrifice, such sufferings need no
tongue to speak their merits. The worth of Mrs. Judson is engraved upon the
hearts of all who claim the Christian character. For her works' sake she is
beloved; and as long as the church endures, she will be remembered by all
its members. Like Mrs. Newell, her fame belongs

[Illustration:

              ERECTED TO THE MEMORY

                      of

                 ANN H. JUDSON,

                   MISSIONARY

                   _of the

    Baptist General Convention in the United States

                    to the_

                 BURMAN EMPIRE.

            She was born at Bradford,

 In the State of Massachusetts, North America,

               December 22, 1789.

    She arrived with her husband at Rangoon

                In July, 1813,

           And there commenced those

               MISSIONARY TOILS

        Which she sustained with such

 _Christian fortitude, decision, and perseverance_,

                Amid scenes of

    Civil commotion and personal affliction,

                As won for her

        Universal respect and affection.

                 She died at

            Amherst, October 24, 1826.]

not to one sect or party, but to all who love our Lord and Savior Jesus
Christ. Like her she went out when but few were ready to bid her "God
speed" or bestow their money for her support.

On the record of American missions we find the name of no female who
endured so much, who sacrificed so much, who accomplished so much. She fell
not when the first notes of the great enterprise were ringing on her ears;
but she made her grave amid the strife and confusion of the battle. She
lived long enough to see the fruits of missions--to gaze upon the converts
as they descended, one by one, into the baptismal wave--to see a door
opened wide enough to admit laborers from every department of the Christian
church. She mourned not, as did her sister martyr, that she was cut down
ere she had labored for God and seen the happy result. They were born
within sight of each other, in pleasant valleys, on the borders of the
silvery stream. They met the companions of their missionary toils at the
same time, and within a few days of each other decided to become the first
heroines of the missionary church. Together they sailed--as precious a
cargo as ever was tossed on the billowy sea. Together they landed on
heathen soil, with high hopes of doing good. But, though united in their
lives, they were divided in their deaths. Mrs. Judson lived on more than
a half score of useful years beyond her companion; and if life is to be
measured, not by the number of days and years, but by what is accomplished
in it, or what is suffered during its lapse, then she lived ages--ay, ages
of suffering, ages of labor, ages of virtue and piety--after Mrs. Newell
had descended to her grave.

And where are they now? Go ask the angel throng, as they tune their harps
to melodious songs on high, and they will point to two sister spirits, who
day and night in company present themselves before God; and as one rank
after another comes up from heathen lands to swell the chorus of the
redeemed and ascribe their conversion to the efforts of the early
missionary laborers who, under God, were made the humble instruments in the
great work, meekly will be heard from the spirit lips of Harriet Newell and
Ann H. Judson the reply, "Not unto us, not unto us, but unto the Lamb who
was slain, but who liveth forever."





III.

ELIZABETH HERVEY, OF BOMBAY.




In the year 1812 a little company of missionaries sailed from the port of
Boston for Bombay. They were sent out by the American Board to spread the
knowledge of Jesus in the dark places of the earth. They founded their
mission station--they labored long and cheerfully--they endured toil and
self-denial--and saw the blessed results in the tokens of enlightened mind
and regenerated heart.

On the evening of the first Sabbath in August, 1830, the windows of Park
Street Church gave out a cheerful light; and he who entered saw congregated
there an immense multitude of men and women. The pews, the aisles, the
choir, were all filled, and deep interest was on all countenances and in
all hearts. The occasion which drew this vast congregation was the setting
apart of three young men, with their wives, to the solemn work of missions.
William Ramsey, William Hervey, and Hollis Read were about to depart to
"the land and shadow of death;" and the Christian community had come
together to hear their voices, to see their countenances, for the last
time. Soon broke over that crowd of human beings the well-known hymn, sung
by a full choir and echoed by a responding people,--

  "Jesus shall reign where'er the sun
  Does his successive journeys run;
  His kingdom stretch from shore to shore,
  Till moons shall wax and wane no more."

Then was heard the solemn prayer of consecration, in which the missionaries
were commended to God and to the word of his power; the blessing of Heaven
was implored in their behalf; and to the care of Him who holds the winds,
and who guides the dashing waves, the servants of God, the messengers of
the church, were committed.

From the instructions given those beloved missionaries on that occasion we
give the following extract:--

"The time has arrived to which you have looked with expectation and desire,
when, with the partners of your lives, you are to bid farewell to your
native land, and to enter upon a course of evangelical labors for the
benefit of distant heathens.

"On such an occasion, it is obviously proper in itself, as well
as conformable to general usage, to address to you in public some
considerations, in the form of advice and instructions, from those who have
the superintendence of the mission with which you are to be connected. This
is to you a solemn and eventful hour; and if, as we hope and believe, you
have approached it with an earnest and truly benevolent desire to become
heralds of divine mercy to your perishing fellow-men, it will be an hour
always remembered with joy and gratitude in the future stages of your
existence. If you partake of that holy, self-denying spirit which brought
down the Son of God from heaven,--if you have any true sympathy with the
apostles, who considered it as a great calamity to themselves if they were
hindered in the work of preaching the gospel,--you will hereafter be able
to say, with pure and indescribable delight, There was a period in our
history when we publicly, in the house of God and in the presence of many
Christian friends, devoted our lives to the service of Christ among the
heathen. There was a time when the attachments to friends and country were
dissolved, under the influence of that love which seeketh not its own,
and which embraces, in its comprehensive regards, the suffering and the
destitute of every clime.

"Congratulating you, therefore, on the possession of a temper which, if
actually possessed, is of more value to you than all which this country or
this world can furnish, we proceed to offer the following directions and
remarks:--

"The vessel in which your passage is taken will, with the favor of
Providence, convey you to Calcutta, where you will probably have the
opportunity of conferring with some of those venerable men who led the way
in the missionary enterprises of the last forty years. They are known and
honored throughout the world; and honors will thicken and brighten around
their memory long after the mere politician, statesman, and warrior shall
have passed into oblivion.

"Without unnecessary loss of time, you will proceed to Bombay. Here a large
and most interesting field invites your labor--interesting, not so much
from any harvest which has been already gathered, nor because the precise
period of ingathering can now be foreseen by human vision, as from the
consideration that here the first mission of the Board was established;
that here a noble and successful effort was made by our missionaries in
pleading before governors the claims of the gospel; that here the first
messengers of our churches cheerfully labored, till most of them have
fallen asleep, their lives having been worn out by incessant exposure and
toil; and, finally, that here preparations have been made for future labor,
with a view to the wants of many millions, in whose language the message of
salvation is delivered and the Scriptures are printed and circulated, while
multitudes of children are trained up to read, reflect, and reason.

"The Christian community sends you forth, dear brethren, as messengers from
our churches to the heathen. In the name of our churches we bid you _God
speed_. The very act of our sending you forth in the name of the church
implies that we hold ourselves bound to the same cause. By these public
services we are solemnly pledged to regard you as a part of ourselves,
not the less dear certainly because distant, your very distance being
occasioned by your attachment to the common interests of the church.
You have a just claim upon your Christian brethren in America for their
prayers, their sympathies, and such a supply of your temporal necessities
as will enable you to prosecute your great work. We are confident that,
if all the members of our churches were convened in one place, they would
unanimously sustain us in expressing these reciprocal obligations.

"Still, brethren, you must be sensible that the manner in which these
pledges shall be redeemed will depend much upon the grace which is
vouchsafed from above. If the spirit of piety should become low in our
churches; if jealousy should divide their efforts; if professed Christians
should generally become more entangled with this world,--the missionary
enterprise of the country will be enfeebled. We would not distress you with
apprehensions of this kind further than is requisite to call forth your
earnest, constant, and importunate prayers that God would not leave our
churches to a retrograde movement, which, in the present circumstances of
the world, would be a most deplorable event.

"Confiding in that Savior who gave himself for the church and who loves it
with an everlasting love, we affectionately commend you to his protection
and blessing. When he, as the great Shepherd, shall gather his sheep
into one fold, may you, and we, and multitudes of heathens saved by your
instrumentality, be numbered among his chosen; and to him shall be glory
everlasting."

The next morning the missionaries, with their wives, embarked on board the
ship Corvo, for Calcutta. On the wharf the hymn was sung and the prayer
offered; and the vessel swung off from the wharf amid the prayers and tears
of the spectators. The vessel had a safe passage, and all the attention of
Captain Spaulding was given to render the voyage pleasant and cheerful.

Mrs. Elizabeth Hervey, the wife of Rev. William Hervey, was born in Hadley,
Massachusetts, and was the daughter of Deacon Jacob Smith, a beloved
Christian and an estimable citizen.

During her early years she was remarkable for a prevailing desire to do
good to others. Her young heart seemed set upon the work of benefiting her
fellow-creatures; and she would make any sacrifice to confer happiness upon
those around her. Though her heart had not been renewed and her mind made
acquainted with the high and holy motives of the gospel, yet she recognized
her obligations to others, and, while quite a child, endeavored faithfully
to discharge them.

When she became a Christian, this desire to do good assumed a new and
more divine form, and she exerted herself to lift up the race and adorn
humanity. Her pastor, under whose ministry she was converted, says, "Doing
good was her delight and her life. The subject of missions, years before
she saw Mr. Hervey, was the great theme of her soul. She was alive to it at
every point, and her memory will long be cherished here."

In the years 1815 and 1816 a sweet and gentle revival of religion
was enjoyed in Hadley. Devoid of much of the excitement, the outward
exhibitions of feeling, which such occasions bring, the living heart of the
people was touched, and in all the homes of the inhabitants was felt and
realized the heavenly results. In this revival Miss Smith became a child of
God. Though amiable and outwardly virtuous, she became convinced that she
needed a radical change such as she had never experienced. Still she made
the sinner's excuse and fled to the sinner's refuge. One useless habit
after another was given up, one sin abandoned, and one new step in
virtue taken; but the wounded spirit found no rest. At length the cross
appeared--the Savior's cross. She saw it--realized that by it she must be
saved, if saved at all. With all a dying soul's deep earnestness she fled
for safety and laid hold on the everlasting hope. The great salvation
became her life, and in firm hope she embraced the Lord Jesus Christ.

In 1816 she united with the Congregational church in Hadley, and during her
sojourn in this country maintained a consistent walk and conversation. She
was emphatically a growing Christian--one who advanced in holiness, as the
sun grows brighter when the day advances.

After her acquaintance with Mr. Hervey commenced, the question of a
missionary life was laid out before her. She had often pondered upon it and
prayed God to open the effectual door before her; and when the opportunity
was presented, her heart warmly responded to the call from Heaven. That
she had some trials and misgivings upon the subject cannot be doubted; but
these were swallowed up in the desire to do good to her fellow-creatures.
Though it required an effort to leave home and friends, she met the trial
with unshaken firmness and devotion. Not long before they sailed for Bombay
her husband preached a sermon, in which he gave expression to his own
desires to promote the glory of God. In these expressions his heroic
companion doubtless united; and though she could not publicly declare her
own determination, doubtless her heart was united with his, not only in the
social relations of life, but also in the firm and holy efforts for the
elevation of our race. In that sermon, which we believe to have been the
expression of the feelings of the fallen wife, Mr. Hervey says,--

"Besides the various objects in your own town and country which may have
a claim on your charity, there are many millions of your fellow-creatures
abroad who have a still stronger claim; stronger, because their woes are
deeper and their wants greater. I stand now to plead the cause of Christ,
not in behalf of the suffering bodies of a few poor saints at Jerusalem,
but in behalf of the undying souls of six hundred millions of poor,
benighted heathen. O for the eloquence of an angel, that I might exhibit to
you the unsearchable riches of Christ, and the inconceivable miseries of
men who are living and dying without a knowledge of him, in such a light
that every one of you should weep because you have not a thousand fold more
wealth to give, ten thousand hearts to pray, and twice ten thousand hands
to labor for their salvation! I have no doubt that such would be your
feelings, if you could now see things in the light in which you will see
them shortly. You would then see that the end of living in this world,
which was redeemed with the blood of the Son of God, and which is full of
sinners perishing for want of that gospel which you possess, was something
else than to heap together wealth to pamper 'the lusts of the flesh, the
lusts of the eye, and the pride of life.' But the riches of Christ eternity
will be too short to unfold; and I have neither time nor ability to present
to your minds any thing like an adequate conception of the miseries of the
heathen. That they are living and dying without the gospel, is enough to
give every believer in the Bible an affecting sense of their wretchedness.

"I have told you the story of the Lamb of God--pointed you to what he
left and what he submitted to in order to raise men to the riches of his
everlasting love. He has gone back to heaven and taken his throne again;
but he has left a cause on earth that is dear to him as the apple of
his eye, and all the attributes of his name stand pledged for its final
triumph. This cause he has intrusted, in a very important sense, to his
disciples--beings in whose nature he came and suffered; and without their
instrumentality it never did, and never will, go on.

"Thus he gives you all the privilege of being co-workers with him in saving
the heathen. If you are not permitted to go in person to carry them the
gospel, yet you may be perhaps equally useful by your prayers, and by
furnishing the means for sending those who shall preach to them the
unsearchable riches of Christ. If, then, you would elevate the degraded
heathen to the purity of Christians, send them the gospel. If you would
rescue them, not only from their present wretchedness, but from their
darker prospects in the world to come, and inspire them with the high hopes
of eternal salvation, send them the gospel. If you would see them at the
last day on the right hand of the Son of man, and hear their bursting
praises to God for your liberality and prayers, which helped to bring them
there, now show how high you value their souls by contributing to send them
the gospel, and by your fervent prayers that the blessing of the Lord may
accompany your bounty and make it the means of their salvation.

"If other motives than those which have been presented were necessary to
encourage you in this good work, I might prove to you that you will be the
richer for every sacrifice you make to promote the cause of Christ; if not
richer in temporal, yet certainly in spiritual blessings. I might say to
you, in the language of Him who cannot lie, who holds the elements in his
hand and can command them to spare or destroy your wealth, to bless or
blast the work of your hands, 'The liberal soul shall be made fat; and he
that watereth shall be watered also himself.' 'There is that scattereth,
and yet increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it
tendeth to poverty.' Or, in the words of Him who gave up all his wealth and
his life for us, 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.'

"I have chosen to rest the cause which the Lord has now permitted me to
plead in his name mainly on the one great argument in the text; for in the
whole compass of the universe there is not a motive to benevolent action so
commanding as that. And I am persuaded it has not been presented to your
minds in vain. No, I have been addressing those who know the grace of our
Lord Jesus Christ; who feel thankful for that grace; and whose hearts burn
within them to spread it abroad through the whole world.

"Is there one here who wishes to be excused from this work? Why, my
brother, would you be excused? Look again. Is it no _privilege_ to be
allowed to do something to promote that cause for which patriarchs,
prophets, apostles, and martyrs have prayed, and toiled, and died? Is it
no _privilege_ to help forward that cause which has engaged the hearts and
hands of all the wise and good of every age? Is it no _privilege_ to
be associated with the choicest spirits now on earth in promoting the
sublimest, the most benevolent, the most godlike cause that ever did or can
employ the hearts and hands of men? Is it no privilege to labor, and pray,
and give for the advancement of that cause which awakens the deepest
interest in the bosoms of all the heavenly host, and which is the occasion
of their loudest and loftiest songs of praise? Is it no privilege to do
something for Him 'who left the highest throne in glory for the cross of
deepest woe,' in order to give men a place in the mansions of his love? Is
it no privilege to be a coworker with the blessed God in rescuing souls
from a course of eternal sinning and suffering, and raising them to
everlasting holiness and happiness and glory? Is it no privilege to aid in
forwarding the only cause for which the world was made and for which all
nature stands? The man who does not esteem it a high privilege that he may
do something to promote such a cause may have the name, but cannot have the
heart, of a Christian. If, then, any one desires it, let him be excused.
The cause will go on. It has many friends, and is rapidly gaining more.
It has Omnipotence for its support. Jesus 'shall have the heathen for his
inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for his possession.' He
did not 'humble himself and become obedient unto death' for nought. 'He
shall see of the travail of his soul and be satisfied.' 'All the ends of
the earth shall see the salvation of our God.' 'The mouth of the Lord hath
spoken it.'

"There is a mighty stir among the nations. The melting appeals from among
the heathen have reached us from the four winds--'Come over and help us.'
The person who addresses you expects, in a short time, if the Lord will, to
preach the unsearchable riches of Christ to some of these distant heathen.
He feels for the destitute in his own beloved land; but while he knows
there are so many millions of immortal beings more destitute,--while he
is to act under the commission, 'Go ye into all the world, and preach the
gospel to every creature,' and while so few who are better qualified can
think it their duty to these unhappy beings,--he feels that 'woe will be
unto him if he preaches not the gospel unto them!'"

Inspired with such feelings, and cherishing such views, our sister went out
to declare the love of God on heathen soil. Like those who before her had
devoted themselves to the service of the Savior, she went forth not knowing
whither she went or through what scenes she would be called to pass.

But God in his divine providence was soon to call her home to glory; her
work was to be short, and her course quickly run. A few months only was she
permitted to do good as she desired ere death called her away to the rest
beyond the grave. She fell an early victim to her own self-sacrificing
disposition. Shortly after her arrival at Bombay she was prostrated by the
dysentery, which terminated her labors and her sorrows on the 3d of May,
1831.

Her lonely husband, writing to the father of his deceased companion, gives
the following account of her dying hours:--

"Before this reaches you I trust, you will have heard of the goodness of
the Lord in bearing us safely over all the dangers of the Atlantic and
Indian Seas, in providing us friends in Calcutta who spared no pains to
make our stay in that city agreeable and happy, and in bringing us in
safety to this, the destined field of our labors, our disappointments, our
difficulties, and, as we expected when we left the shores of our native
land, of our deaths. And although, since our arrival here, his afflicting
hand has been laid heavily upon me, still I would speak only of his
goodness. For when he afflicts and chastens his children, it is in loving
kindness and tender mercy. It is not for his pleasure, but for their
profit, that they may be partakers of his holiness. But if he has been good
to me, he has been doubly so to your and my dear Elizabeth. Yes, God has
made all his goodness to pass before her; for he has released her from all
her sins and sufferings, and taken her to himself. 'O,' said she, 'how
will the intelligence rend the hearts of my dear parents and sisters!' She
paused a moment, and then added, 'But they will be supported. They know
where to look for consolation.' Weep with me, my dear, dear parents, a
little moment, and then we will together review the painful but merciful
scene of her last sufferings.

"All that I have said above shows only the afflicting hand of God in this
dispensation, which has snatched from me thus early the dear companion of
my wanderings and toils, the tender partner of my joys and sorrows, the
beloved wife of my heart; but in what remains to be said, will be seen his
hand of _goodness_ and _mercy_. In all her sufferings she was never heard
to utter a single murmur or complaint, but was continually magnifying the
goodness of the Lord. 'I did hope,' said she, 'that I should be permitted
to do something towards elevating the miserable and degraded females
of India to a state of refinement and happiness; but since God decides
otherwise, his will be done. In this great conflict, some must fall as soon
as they enter the field.' She repeated more than once a sentence which Dr.
Woodbridge dropped in his address to her on the evening of our marriage,
in substance as follows: 'If we hear that, like Harriet Newell, you have
fallen a victim to the climate of India even before you have commenced your
labors there, still we say to you, Go.' 'Now,' said she, 'tell my friends,
tell my beloved pastor, tell the dear church in Hadley, that I do not, and
never have for a moment regretted that I came here. No; had I foreseen this
hour, and all I have endured since I left America, I should have decided
just as I did, if the path of duty had been as plain as it appeared to be.'
During her sickness she often spoke of the love she felt towards the people
of God. She was affected to tears at the kindness of her physicians and
others who attended her. She addressed the members of the mission who
called to see her on the importance of living to God and of being faithful
in his service. She expressed an earnest desire that God would make her
death the means of a revival of religion in all the members of the mission;
and said, if such should be the case, she should consider her early removal
a greater blessing to the mission and to India than many years of her poor
service could be. The day before she died she requested me to read to her
the twelfth chapter of Isaiah. 'Yes,' said she with emphasis, 'God is
my salvation.' As I read along she repeated after me the third verse,
emphasizing the word 'wells'--'with joy shall ye draw water out of the
_wells_ of salvation.' Some time afterward she wished me to read the
fourteenth chapter of John, which she said afforded her much comfort. She
repeated from time to time many striking texts of Scripture and parts of
hymns, which, as I could leave her only for a moment, I did not write down.
Twice she repeated, and seemed to feel the full force of, that beautiful
and sublime stanza of Watts,--

  'Jesus can make a dying bed
    Feel soft as downy pillows are;
  While on his breast I lean my head,
    And breathe my life out sweetly there.'

"One who stood near her said, 'O Death, where is thy sting? O Grave, where
is thy victory? The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the
law.' With animation she exclaimed, in addition, 'But thanks be to God,
which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.' Mr. Allen said
he hoped the Savior would be with her as she walked through the dark valley
of the shadow of death. 'If this,' she said, 'is the dark valley, it has
not a dark spot in it--all is _light_, LIGHT.'

"I said to her, 'My dear, your sufferings are great.' 'Don't,' said she,
'don't mention them; they have been nothing--nothing.' After a severe
spasm, that seemed to convulse her whole frame, she exclaimed, 'O the
pains, the groans, the dying strife! The spirit seems to be struggling and
fluttering to get free from this cumbersome body.' She had, during most of
her sickness, bright views of the perfections of God. 'His awful holiness,'
she said, 'appeared the most lovely of all his attributes.' At one time
she said she wanted words to express her views of the majesty and glory of
Christ. 'It seems,' she said, 'that if all other glory were annihilated,
and nothing left but his lone self, it would be enough--it would be a
universe of glory.'

"The day before her death she was asked if she wished to see her child.
'Not now,' said she; 'I am too much exhausted. I fear it would overcome me.
I will see him by and by.' After she had rested a while, she said now she
would see the babe. It was brought into the room. 'Let my husband,' she
said, 'bring him to me.' I carried the child to her. She took it in one
arm, and with the other embraced my neck. After a moment she looked up to
the spectators with a smile, and said, 'Here is my family--my treasure--my
earthly all. I cheerfully resign them into the hands of God.' On the
morning of the day she expired I asked if she wished to send any particular
message to any of her friends. She replied she did, and asked me to write
what she dictated.

"Thus, my dear parents, I have finished the account of our beloved
Elizabeth's last pains and joys in the flesh. Who can wish her back to
earth? If any other one has reason to cherish such a wish, I have more. But
severe as the stroke is upon me, I rejoice that her conflict with sin and
suffering is over, and she is with her Redeemer. To know that she departed
thus, triumphing in God her Savior, must afford you, as it does me, great
consolation in the midst of the affliction which the news of her death will
produce. But you, who knew her amiable disposition, her humble, prayerful,
self-denying, holy life, have a better testimony that it is well with her
now, than her dying deportment, whatever it might be, could give. She lived
unto the Lord, she died unto the Lord; and there can be no doubt that she
is now the Lord's.

"Last Sabbath evening Rev. Mr. Allen preached a sermon in the chapel, on
the occasion of her death, from Romans xiv. 8. Since then I have learned
that one careless man appears to have been awakened by the account that was
given of her peaceful and triumphant death. Perhaps her prayers are about
to be answered in a revival of religion here. The Lord grant that it may be
so!"

When a beloved fellow-laborer dies at home; when the place of some dear one
is vacated by death; when the hand of labor ceases to move and the heart
of sympathy ceases to beat,--all around are saddened by the event: gloom
covers the weeping church, and all who knew the fallen one bend in tearful
silence over the grave. But when a missionary dies we can form no opinion
of the feelings of those who are left in sorrow. Away from home and all
the endeared scenes of early life, they become more strongly and firmly
attached to each other. Between the members of the little band are formed
the most tender ties, the most hallowed relations; and when _one_ only
departs, all hearts grieve and bleed as if the dearest earthly object had
been removed.

Mrs. Hervey was buried near the scene of her labors--on heathen soil. The
solemn funeral service and the pang of death were calculated to deepen the
impression upon the minds of the converted and unconverted people; and the
hymn, as it sent its mournful echo along the borders of the field of graves
and sounded like the song of an angel amid the homes of the living, turned
many a thought forward to that haven where the saint shall break from the
repose of death, and come forth to the resurrection of the just, a new and
glorified form.

  "Why do we mourn departing friends,
    Or shake at death's alarms?
  Us but the voice that Jesus sends
    To call them to his arms."

Did we not have implicit confidence in the ways of God and in his special
providence,--did we not feel that he is too wise to err, too good to
be unkind,--our hearts would often faint as we hear of our devoted
missionaries falling into the grave ere they have been permitted to labor
to any considerable degree for the conversion of the heathen. Did we not
feel perfectly satisfied in relation to the wisdom and mercy of the great
Head of the church, we might well fold our hands and ask, "Will God be
angry forever?" But who does not know that Jehovah is able to accomplish
more by our deaths than _we_ are able to accomplish by our lives? Who does
not know that, from the very ashes of the tomb, he can send up a voice
which will echo amid the shades of night and thrill the cold hearts of
degraded men?

They who despond, as the tidings of woe come borne to us on almost every
breeze which sweeps across the ocean, have lost sight of Him who holds in
his hand the issues of life and the awful realities of death. These have
drawn their eyes from the immutable promises and the ever-present Helper,
and fixed them on the tomb, and the corpse, and the pale mementoes of
mortality. They have ceased to reason like Christian men, and look at God's
providence through the misty vision of scepticism and doubt.

Men admit that certain laws control the world of planets, the world of
animal life, the world of intellect and reason; but seem not to have the
idea that the providences are all under God's control, and regulated by
fixed and certain laws. The sparrow that flits from bush to tree, and the
mighty angel that wheels in everlasting circles around God's throne, are
alike under divine protection. The feeblest insect which creeps upon the
earth, and the highest archangel which ministers to God above, are equally
safe beneath the divine protection. The Being who holds the universe, who
keeps worlds in their places, is also employed to count the feathers of the
young raven's wing, and number the hairs which cluster upon the human head.

Nor will God allow the places of the dead to remain long vacant. The
conversion of the world is in accordance with his unalterable will and
purpose; it was an article in the grand treaty of Calvary; and by all
that God is has he pledged himself to give "the heathen to his Son for an
inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for a possession." Hence
when, in the accomplishment of his grand design, one after another who went
forth with high hope and joyful expectation is cut down, we may expect to
see others raised up ready to accomplish greater good than their fallen
predecessors.

The hearts of men are in Jehovah's hand. He moves upon the mind as he will,
and takes those whom we least expect to lead on his hosts to the victory
over sin.

Years ago the question was, "Who will go?" but now the question is being
asked, "Who will stay at home and let _me_ go?" "Who will resign his place
in the missionary ranks, and let us go forth to do battle for the truth?"
And we may expect this spirit to increase, until it shall be deemed the
highest glory of the Christian minister to be a missionary of the cross of
Christ.

Thanks be to God, the Church is arousing herself to her high duty, and
already many have gone forth. The places of Harriet Newell, of Ann H.
Judson, of Sarah D. Comstock, of Harriet B. Stewart, of Sarah L. Smith, of
Elizabeth Hervey, of Henrietta Shuck, of Sarah B. Judson, and of others who
are now quietly sleeping the long sleep of death, are filled. Others as
faithful have come on to do the work which they left unfinished, and to
stand around the moral plants which they began to cultivate,

And thus it will continue. When the faithful, laborious, successful
missionary women who are now the admiration of the church and the world
fall beneath the pressure of disease, toil, and time, a missionary Church
will send out her daughters, who are reposing at home, to take the places
of those who depart; and never will Burmah, Syria, Ceylon, Turkey, and
other dark places be deserted, until over all the earth shall echo the song
of the ransomed and the jubilee of the redeemed.





IV.

HARRIET B. STEWART, OF THE SANDWICH ISLANDS.




Harriet Bradford Stewart labored as a missionary at the Sandwich Islands.
Amid this beautiful cluster of green spots in the bosom of the sea her
efforts for human good were put forth; and here was the scene of her
success, though not of her death.

The origin of the mission to the Sandwich Islands is somewhat peculiar.
In 1809 two little boys shipped themselves on board of an American vessel
bound for New York. They arrived at the great city, and, after residing
there awhile, were taken to New Haven, Connecticut. They were fatherless,
motherless children, with none to care for them; and their destitute,
helpless condition soon drew the attention and won the sympathy of the
Christian public. In a short time one of these youths was converted to God.
Opukakia became a believer in the religion of Christ, and to the believers
of our own land gave evidence of having passed from death unto life.
Interest in these boys soon led to solemn inquiry into the condition of
their country. This inquiry resulted in the establishment of a school for
the instruction of heathen youth who were found in our land; and of the
privileges of this school these two boys gladly availed themselves.

Shortly after they were taken to Andover and made acquainted with a
class of young men who were about to graduate and go forth as heralds of
salvation. Two members of that class soon determined on a missionary life,
and selected these islands as the field of their labors. These young men
were Hiram Bingham, and his classmate, Mr. Thurston. Their services were
offered to the Board, and in 1819 were accepted. They were ordained at
Goshen, Connecticut, and, under very solemn and impressive services, set
apart to the work of the ministry.

On the 15th of October, 1819, in the vestry of Park Street Church, in
Boston, they, with others, were organized into a church of the Lord
Jesus. On the 23d of October this church set sail for the place of its
destination--to the field of labor in which it was to thrive and flourish.
Solemn was the scene, as on the wharf stood a company of beloved ones, who
were leaving home and all the dear associations of youth for a barbarous
nation. There, beneath the cool breath of autumn, they united in singing,--

  "When shall we all meet again?
  When shall we all meet again?
  Oft shall wearied love retire,
  Oft shall glowing hope expire,
  Oft shall death and sorrow reign,
  Ere we all shall meet again."

The voyagers were commended to the "God of ocean and storm" by Rev. Dr.
Worcester; the apostolic benediction was pronounced; and the vessel gayly
pursued her way down the harbor, and was soon lost from sight.

After the usual pleasures and annoyances of "a life on the ocean wave," the
company were made glad by beholding in the distance the green hills of the
islands on the soil of which they were to labor and pray. They found the
people, not as Judson and Newell found those to whom they were sent with
the torch of truth, but ready to believe and embrace the gospel. The
messengers they sent ashore were greeted with shouts of joy, and their
wondering eyes turned to consuming idols and demolished temples. They found
a nation without a religion, a government without a church, a court without
an ecclesiastic. The people seemed sunk in barbarism. They had no schools,
no books, no pens, no means of information. Gross darkness was over all the
people, and the land was enveloped in appalling gloom.

Undismayed by the gross ignorance and encouraged by the abolition of
idolatry, the servants of God went to work. They distributed themselves
through the islands, and every where preached Jesus and the cross. The
effects of their labors were so apparent that the American Board were
encouraged to send out repeated reinforcements; and in the progress of
time Mr. Stewart and his accomplished companion arrived at Hawaii on their
sacred mission. Perhaps there is no mission station on the globe, no scene
of missionary toil, where such glorious results have been accomplished, and
such wonderful changes wrought, as at the Sandwich Islands. Mr. Bingham,
speaking of the condition of the people at the time of his arrival among
them, says, "The nation had, on our arrival, neither books, pen, nor
pencil, for amusement or business, or for acquiring information or
communicating thought. They sat, like Turks or tailors, on mats spread on
the ground; dipped their fingers in the dish to eat their fish, poi, and
dog flesh, without knife, fork, or spoon. They stretched themselves at full
length on the mats to play cards or otherwise kill time. Their water they
drank from a gourd shell; and _awa_, the juice of a narcotic root, chewed
by others and mixed with water in the chewers' mouths, they drank, as their
fathers had done, from a cocoa-nut shell, for the same purpose that other
intoxicating drinks and liquors are taken."

That the nobles as well as the common people were thus degraded and
uncivilized, we are referred to a description, given by the same writer, of
the king, who, with the royal family, was invited on board the vessel which
conveyed out the missionaries, "They came off in their double canoes, with
waving _kahalis_ and a retinue of attendants. His majesty, according to the
taste of the times, having a _maio_, or narrow girdle, around his waist, a
green silken scarf over his shoulders, instead of coat, vest, and linen,
a string of beads on his otherwise naked neck, and a feather wreath, or
corona, on his head,--to say nothing of his being destitute of hat, gloves,
shoes, stockings, and pants,--was introduced to the first company of white
women whom he ever saw."

But the speedy change from drunkenness to sobriety, from ignorance to
comparative intelligence, from theft and falsehood to honesty and truth,
from shameless indecency to purity and chastity, from the violation of
the whole ten commandments to the sacred observance of these ten, from
barbarism to civilization and refinement, from brutish idolatry to the holy
service of God, was astonishing even to those through whose instrumentality
it was brought about.

Thirty years ago there was no church, no school house, no seminary of
learning, no regard for the Sabbath, no thought of the great Jehovah: now
all of these are found. The church tower lifts itself to heaven; the school
and the seminary are sending abroad their instructions; the Sabbath is
regarded by the mass of the people; and Jehovah is worshipped in spirit and
in truth by thousands. During the year 1840 there were four thousand one
hundred and seventy-nine additions to the church in the five islands; and
since then conversions have been multiplied and converts have increased.
The Bible has been printed, and edition after edition given to the
perishing inhabitants, until thousands of them are rejoicing in the hope
which it inspires. The whole temporal and spiritual condition of the people
has changed. Christianity has made men of beasts, and lifted up the whole
government in the scale of being.

Perhaps we can convey no better idea of the change which a few years' labor
produced in the Sandwich Islands than by giving an extract of a letter,
written by Rev. C. S. Stewart about the time of the death of his wife. It
is a beautiful and thrilling description of a Sabbath in an island where,
a few years before, was nothing but idol worship, heathen rites and
ceremonies, and ignorant superstitions.

"At an early hour of the morning, even before we had taken our breakfast on
board ship, a single person here and there, or a group of three or four,
enveloped in their large mantles of various hues, might be seen wending
their way among the groves fringing the bay on the east, or descending from
the hills and ravines on the north towards the chapel; and by degrees their
numbers increased, till in a short time every path along the beach and over
the uplands presented an almost unbroken procession of both sexes and of
every age, all pressing to the house of God.

"Even to myself it was a sight of surprise; not at the magnitude of the
population, but that the object for which they were evidently assembling
should bring together so great a multitude, when at this very place, only
four years ago, the known wishes and example of chiefs of high authority,
the daily persuasions of the teachers, added to motives of curiosity and
novelty, could scarce induce a hundred of the inhabitants to give an
irregular attendance on the services of the sanctuary. But now,--

  'Like mountain torrents pouring to the main,
  From every glen a living stream came forth:
  Prom every hill in crowds they hasten down
  To worship Him who deigns in humblest fane,
  On wildest shore, to meet the uprightin heart,'

"The scene, as looked on from our ship, in the stillness of a
brightly-gleaming Sabbath morning, was well calculated, with its
associations, to prepare the mind for strong impressions on a nearer view,
when the conclusion of our own public worship should allow us to go on
shore. Mr. Goodrich had apprised us that he found it expedient to hold the
services of the Sabbath, usually attended at all the other stations at nine
o'clock in the morning and at four in the afternoon, both in the fore part
of the day, that all might have the benefit of two sermons and yet reach
home before nightfall; for

                      'Numbers dwelt remote,
  And first must traverse many a weary mile
  To reach the altar of the God they love.'

"It was near twelve o'clock when we went on shore. Though the services
had commenced when we landed, large numbers were seen circling the doors
without; but, as we afterward found, from the impossibility of obtaining
places within. The house is an immense structure, capable of containing
many thousands, every part of which was filled except a small area in front
of the pulpit, where seats were reserved for us, and to which we made our
way in slow and tedious procession, from the difficulty of finding a spot
even to place our footsteps without treading on the limbs of the people,
seated on their feet as closely almost as they could be stowed.

"As we entered, Mr. G. paused in his sermon till we could be seated.
I ascended the pulpit beside him, from which I had a full view of the
congregation. The suspense of attention in the people was only of momentary
duration, notwithstanding the entire novelty of the laced coats, cocked
hats, and other appendages of naval uniform. I can scarce describe the
emotions experienced in glancing an eye over the immense number, seated
so thickly on the matted floor as to seem literally one mass of heads,
covering an area of more than nine thousand square feet. The sight was
most striking, and soon became, not only to myself, but to some of my
fellow-officers, deeply affecting.

"With the exception of the inferior chiefs having charge of the district
and their dependants, of two or three native members of the church and of
the mission family, scarce one of the whole multitude was in any other than
the native dress--the _maro_, the _kihee_, and the simple _tapa_, of their
primitive state. In this respect, and in the attitude of sitting, the
assembly was purely pagan; totally unlike those of the Society Islands; as
unlike as to one at home. But the breathless silence, the eager attention,
the half-suppressed sigh, the tear, the various feeling--sad, peaceful,
joyous--discoverable in the faces of many, all spoke the presence of an
invisible but omnipotent Power--the Power that can alone melt and renew the
heart of man, even as it alone brought it first into existence."

Turning from the changes which have been wrought in these islands,--on
which we have, perhaps, lingered too long already,--we turn to one through
whose efforts a part of this work has been accomplished.

Harriet B. Tiffany was a native of Stamford, Connecticut. She was born on
the 24th day of June, 1798. Her parents were honorably descended from an
illustrious line, and Harriet inherited many of the noble qualities of
her ancestors. Her youth was passed mostly in Stamford, Albany, and
Cooperstown, in which places she endeared herself by many acts of kindness
to all who knew her, and grew up to womanhood cherished and loved by all
who came within the circle of her influence. In 1819 she passed through
that mysterious change which is denominated regeneration. Repeated
afflictions, the death of friends, and her own sickness led her to feel the
need of a strong arm and a firm hope. Feeling the emptiness of earth, the
vanity of human life, even in its best estate, she turned to Him who can
give support to the soul in the hours of its dark night and guide it amid
the gloom. By faith she saw the crucified One, and rested her sorrows and
griefs on Him who was able to bear them. She was changed from darkness to
light, from sin to holiness, from death to life.

The great subject of a missionary life was presented to her view, connected
with a proposal to accompany Rev. C.S. Stewart to the Sandwich Islands as
his assistant and companion. With trembling anxiety she submitted the case
to the wise discretion of her Father in heaven: on earth she had none.
As may be supposed, it was no easy thing for a young lady of high and
honorable connections, who had always been surrounded with friends and
educated in the circle of refinement and luxury, to leave all these. There
were tender ties to be riven, fond associations to be broken up, dear
friends to part with, and a loved home to leave behind; and when the
momentous question was brought distinctly before her mind, it required a
strong faith, a firm dependence on God, an entire submission to his will to
induce her to take the solemn and important step; but, believing herself
called upon by God, she decided in his favor, and lost sight of the
sacrifice and self-denial of the undertaking.

She resolved to go--to go, though home was to be abandoned, friends to be
left, loved scenes deserted, and a life of toil to be endured. She resolved
to go--to go, though she might pass through a sea of tears, and at last
leave her enfeebled body upon a couch that would have no kind friends to
surround it when she died. She resolved to go, though she should find in
savage lands a lowly grave.

She was married to Mr. Stewart. in the city of Albany, on the 3d of June,
1822. Mr. Stewart had already been appointed as a missionary, and was to
go out to the Sandwich Islands under the care of the American Board. They
sailed in company with a large number of others who were destined for the
same laborious but delightful service. The sun of the 19th of November went
down on many homes from which glad spirits had departed on their errand of
mercy to a dying world; and on that day the eye of many a parent gazed
upon the form of the child for the last time. Nor could a vessel leave
our shores, having on her decks nearly thirty missionaries, without being
followed by the prayers of more than the relatives of those who had
departed. There was mingled joy and sorrow throughout the churches of New
England, as the gales of winter wafted the gospel-freighted vessel to her
distant destination.

They arrived, in April of the following year, at Honolulu; and, after a
residence of a few days, located themselves at Lahaina, a town containing
about twenty-five thousand inhabitants, who were mostly in a degraded
condition. Here they found but few of the conveniences of life, and were
obliged to live in little huts, which afforded but slight shelter from the
scorching heat or the pelting rain. In these miserable tenements did the
child of luxury and wealth reside, and in perfect contentment perform the
duties of her station. She suffered, but did not complain; she labored
hard, but was not weary; and, cheerful in her lot, smiled even at her
privations and sorrows.

In 1825 her health began to fail. Unable longer to labor for her perishing
heathen sisters, she sailed for England in order to enjoy medical advice
and care; but instead of improving by the voyage, she continued to decline,
until the hopelessness of her case became apparent. She embarked for
America in July, 1826, her residence of a few months in England having
rendered her no permanent benefit. In her low state the voyage was any
thing but agreeable; and she arrived among her friends the mere shadow of
what she was when, a few years before, she had gone forth in the flush of
youth and the vigor of health.

For a time after her arrival strong hopes were cherished that she
might recover. The balmy breezes of her own native valley, the kind
congratulations of friends, the interest and excitement of a return to the
scenes of youth gave color to her cheek and life to her step. But in the
early part of 1830 the prospect of returning health was dashed, and Death
appeared in all his terror. Long was her last sickness--so long that she
groaned to depart and be with Christ. For many months she suffered and
struggled on a weary bed, until the spirit call was heard, and golden gates
were opened, and the ransomed one entered in. During this sickness she was
sustained by the grace of God. Death found her ready, and led a _willing_
victim down into the sepulchre, who exclaimed, as she entered it, "O Death,
where is thy sting? O Grave, where is thy victory?"

Racked with pain and tortured by disease she murmured not, but, as each new
cup of sorrow was put to her lips, meekly replied, "The cup which my Father
hath mingled, shall I not drink it?" She was a remarkable instance of
Christian submission and resignation under sufferings, and left behind her,
to surviving friends, the joyful evidence that she had passed away to rest.

  "Spirit, leave thy house of clay;
    Lingering dust, resign thy breath;
  Spirit, cast thy cares away;
    Dust, be thou dissolved in death.
  Thus the mighty Savior speaks
    While the faithful Christian dies;
  Thus the bonds of life he breaks,
    And the ransomed captive flies."

Since the death of Mrs. Stewart at Cooperstown, the work of civilization
and reformation in the Sandwich Islands has been rapidly progressing. The
faith of the Church has been strong and confident, and she has exerted
herself to save those islands from barbarism and ignorance. In her holy
strength, and with her high commission, she has sent out her servants armed
with the whole Christian armor. These men and women have preached Jesus and
the cross with wonderful success. Struggling against the tide of obstacles
and the barriers which sin raised in their pathway, they have advanced
until they have caused an entire change in the customs and the religion of
the people.

Nor have the natives been unwilling to render their assistance. They have
cooperated with the missionaries, and nobly exerted themselves to bring the
islands under Christian influences. Their efforts to erect temples in which
they and their children may worship the only living and true God illustrate
the zeal with which they toiled to accomplish good. Speaking of the large
stone church at Honolulu,--a church which cost twenty thousand dollars,
and required the labor of many men for six long years to finish it,--Mr.
Bingham says, "In the erection of this stately edifice, the active men,
among about one thousand communicants of that church, having divided into
five companies, labored by rotation many days and weeks with patience and
zeal."

Of the labor given to the erection of a house of worship at Kealakekua, the
same work furnishes us with the following particulars:--

"The stones were carried upon the shoulders of men forty or fifty rods. The
coral for making the lime they procured by diving in two or three fathom
water and detaching blocks, or fragments. If these were too heavy for the
diver to bring up to his canoe with his hands, he ascended to the surface
to take breath, then descended with a rope, attached it to his prize, and,
mounting to his canoe, heaved up the mass from the bottom, and, when the
canoe was thus laden, rowed it ashore and discharged his freight. By this
process they procured about thirty cubic fathoms, or seven thousand seven
hundred and seventy-six cubic feet. To burn this mass, the church members
brought from the mountain side, upon their shoulders, forty cords of wood.
The lime being burned, the women took it in calabashes, or large gourd
shells, and bore it on their shoulders to the place of building; also sand
and water for making the mortar. Thus about seven hundred barrels each of
lime, sand, and water, making about two thousand barrels, equal to three
hundred and fifty wagon loads, were carried by women a quarter of a mile,
to assist the men in building the temple of the Lord, which they desired to
see erected for themselves and for their children--a heavy service, which
they, their husbands, fathers, sons, had not the means of hiring nor teams
to accomplish. The latter had other work far more laborious to perform for
the house. The sills, posts, beams, rafters, &c., which they cut in the
mountains, six to ten miles distant, they drew down by hand. The posts and
beams required the strength of forty to sixty men each. Such a company,
starting at break of day, with ropes in hand, and walking two or three
hours through the fern and underbrush loaded with the cold dew, made fast
to their timber, and, addressing themselves to their sober toil for the
rest of the day, dragged it over beds of lava, rocks, ravines, and rubbish,
reaching the place of building about sunset."

Mr. Conn gives the following amusing account of the industry and
willingness of the people in church building at Waiakea, Hilo: "I have
often gone with them to the forest, laid hold of the rope, and dragged
timber with them from morning to night. On such occasions we usually, on
our arrival at the timber to be drawn, unite in prayer, and then, fastening
to the stick, proceed to work. Dragging timber in this way is exceedingly
wearisome, especially if there be not, as is often the case, a full
complement of hands. But what is wanting in numbers is often supplied
in the tact and management of the natives, some of whom are expert in
rallying, stimulating, and cheering their comrades, by sallies of wit,
irony, and, if the expression is allowable, of good-natured sarcasm. The
manner of drawing is quite orderly and systematic. They choose one of their
number for a leader. This done, the leader proceeds to use his vocal powers
by commanding all others to put theirs to rest. He then arranges his men
on each side of the rope, like artillerists at the drag rope. Every man
is commanded to grasp the rope firmly with both hands, straighten it, and
squat down, inclined a little forward. The leader then passes from rear to
front, and from front to rear, reviewing the line to see that every man
grasps the rope. All is now still as the grave for a moment, when the
commander, or marshal of the day, roars out in a stentorian voice, '_Kauo_,
draw!' Every one then rises, and away dashes the timber, through thicket
and mud, over lava and streamlet, under a burning sun or amidst drenching
rain. No conversation is allowed except by the marshal, who seems to feel
it his privilege, during his incumbency, to make noise enough for all."

In this toilsome way most if not all the houses for the public worship of
God have been erected; and most of them being of enduring materials, they
will stand for many years as monuments of the devotion, self-sacrificing
industry, and sincere piety of the Sandwich Island Christians. A people
having this spirit, and animated with such a love for Christ and his
worship, could not fail in being successful while armed with gospel truth.
Before such noble workmen all obstacles will vanish, all barriers will
be broken down, all opposition will be overcome. Were the members of the
church in Christian lands willing to make such sacrifices and perform such
labors, a half century would not roll away ere the voice of the missionary
would be heard in every valley and on every hill top of the globe. Were the
Christians of one single denomination willing to lay hold upon the "drag
rope" of Christian missions, and emulate the conduct of the poor, degraded
Sandwich Islanders, in their efforts to build temples of worship, they
would see the car of salvation moving on gloriously, and, ere long, would
listen to the shout of a redeemed world.

The Christians of these islands seem to resemble the early disciples of
our dear Savior. Their simple and unostentatious piety, their firm, manly
devotion to truth, and steady resistance to error, their willingness to
leave all for Christ, reminds us of the disciples of Antioch and Rome, who
perilled life and happiness to prove their devotion to the cross. Perhaps
nowhere in our times have converts from heathenism to Christianity
displayed more of the primitive spirit, and developed more of the primitive
virtues, than the once despised, idolatrous, blinded inhabitants of the
Sandwich Islands. The language of each heart seems to be,--

  "Jesus, I my cross have taken,
    All to leave and follow thee;
  Naked, poor, despised, forsaken,
    Only thou my leader be."

In the language with which Mr. Bingham closes his full and valuable
history, we close this sketch of the Sandwich Islands and of one of the
most intelligent and gifted females ever sent to them:--

"A nation has been raised from blank heathenism to a rank among enlightened
nations, to the enjoyment of letters and laws, of Christianity and the hope
of heavenly glory. Whatever troubles may yet assail them, there is ground
to rejoice that the foundation of the spiritual temple of Jehovah has there
been firmly laid, and its superstructure commenced, which is to rise in
future generations. The builders there and elsewhere have many adversaries;
but the benignant Lamb shall overcome them. His servants must be
multiplied, and many a heart, constrained by the love of Christ, will be
found to say,--

  'The voice of my departed Lord, "Go teach all nations,"
  Comes on the night air, and awakes my ear.'

"If the American Board and its friends and laborers have not done too much
for that nation in a generation past,--and who will say they have toiled or
expended too much?--those who are on the Lord's side, grateful for what the
Lord has _wrought_ there, will be encouraged to attempt and expect the same
or 'greater things than these' for other nations, till in every tongue they
shall harmoniously hymn the Messiah's praise, and earth's ransomed millions
shall swell the strain which these converted islanders have recently
learned and gratefully adopted:--

  'E ke Ola, Lua ole!
  E ukuia kou make e:
  Lanakila kou aloha;
  Nau 'na mamo, e maha 'i:
  Make oe i mau ohua--
  Nou ko makou mau naau;
  Nou ka ikiaka;--Nou na uhane;--
  Nou ka nani oia mau.'

  'O Redeemer, matchless, glorious,
  Let thy anguish be repaid;
  Reigning, make thy love victorious;
  In thy seed be satisfied:
  Thou wast slain, blessed Lamb, to win us;
  Let us live and die for thee;
  Worthy thou of all within us;
  Thine shall endless glory be.'"





V.

SARAH L. SMITH, OF SYRIA.




There are some spots on earth more hallowed than others. There are
consecrated cities and towns, from which, as we approach them, we seem
to hear a voice, saying, "Put off thy shoes; for the spot whereon thou
treadest is holy ground."

Such are the places in which Christ our Savior lived, and preached,
and suffered while incarnate. Such are the places where his immediate
successors, the apostles and martyrs, contended so earnestly for the faith
delivered to the saints. Jerusalem, Bethany, Bethlehem, Corinth, Ephesus,
Antioch, and Rome will be associated forever, in the minds of Christians,
with the early progress and triumphs of our holy religion; and the pious
traveller will never visit those places without feeling his bosom thrill
with tender and intense emotions.

On this account the mission in Syria is one of peculiar interest. Founded
almost within sight of Calvary, it is surrounded with many scenes of dear
and hallowed interest; and it requires but little effort of the imagination
to recall the song of the infant church, as it arose from vale and glen,
vibrating on the air and echoing back from hoary Lebanon. It was with the
mission in this place that the amiable, talented, and beloved subject of
this article was connected.

Sarah Lanman Huntington was the daughter of Jabez Huntington, Esq. She
was born in Norwich, Connecticut, on the 18th of June, 1802, and in that
beautiful town passed through the period of childhood. She was educated
with missionary sympathies and feelings. All the circumstances under which
she was placed were calculated to invest the holy enterprise with sacred
pleasantness. In her father's house she never heard a word of reproach
breathed forth against the cause itself or the devoted men and women
engaged in it. She traced her descent from the famous John Robinson, of
Leyden, whose blood came flowing down through a long missionary line until
it coursed in her veins. Her grandfather was a member of the American Board
of Commissioners for Foreign Missions; and all her relatives on the side of
father and mother were active promoters of the work of God.

Under such influences Sarah grew up, believing that it was far more
honorable to do good to man, to be the means of reclaiming the wanderer
from the path of duty, or to bring a sinner back to God, than to found an
empire, or establish a throne, or conquer an army of steel-clad warriors,
or lead in triumph captive kings and princes. Before her conversion, she
was aware of the divine character of the work which had just commenced; and
doubtless her young heart responded to the appeals made by the death of
Harriet Newell and the life of Ann H. Judson.

During the first twelve years of her life there appears to be nothing
unusual in her history. She was like other thoughtful and pleasant girls
of her age, and spent her time in the amusements and pursuits of youth.
At school she was industrious, studious, but not remarkably rapid in her
progress; at home she was fondly loved and cherished; but in the minds of
her parents she never appeared to be a _prodigy_ or a _genius_.

At the age of twelve she became the subject of the Spirit's influence. Her
mind was drawn to divine things and her heart touched by the finger of
God. On the 10th of August, 1820, she realized for the first time the
blessedness of full and free forgiveness. The Savior was precious to her
soul, and holy duties were pleasant and delightful. She had passed from the
deep waters of conviction, and gladly placed her feet on the Rock of Ages,
where she stood immovable. Her joy knew no bounds. Liberated from sin, free
from the dreadful weight of guilt and condemnation, pardoned by God and
loved by Christ, she deemed no praises too exalted, no trials too severe to
endure in return. She immediately recognized the great principle that "we
are not our own," and acted upon it; and life became from that hour devoted
to holy employments and useful pursuits.

Writing to one of her friends about this time, she says, "All is changed.
I am in a new world of thought and feeling. I begin to live anew. Even our
beautiful Norwich has new charms, and, in sympathy with my joyousness,
wears a new, a lovelier, aspect."

The vows which she made, as she passed through the "strait gate" and
entered the kingdom of heaven, did not consist of words alone. They were
engraven on her heart and carried out in her life as well as recorded on
high. Ceaselessly she sought out ways in which she might do good to the
bodies and the souls of her fellow-creatures; and what her hands found
to do, she did with her might. In 1827 she formed a plan to benefit the
Mohegan Indians, who lived a few miles from Norwich. These Indians were the
remnant of a once mighty tribe; and the proud blood of some of their rude
chieftains of former times coursed through the veins of these tattered
and ragged descendants. From hut to hut she visited among these degraded
children of the forest; started a Sabbath school, of which she and another
young lady were the sole teachers; provided books for those who could read;
and in many ways conferred benefits upon them. Not satisfied with this, she
determined to build a church and secure the services of a missionary; and
for this purpose wrote to several of her influential friends, to secure
their coöperation and sympathy. For aid in her work of benevolence she also
applied to the legislature of Connecticut and to the general government.
To a considerable extent she was successful, and obtained the esteem and
gratitude of that forlorn and oppressed people.

The manner in which she visited among the people gives us an insight into
the character of the woman, and furnishes us with a clew to her future
success. She usually rode from Norwich on horseback, and, taking a little
girl with her into the saddle, passed from house to house, using the child
as guide, interpreter, and adviser. When she met in the road a few ragged
natives or a knot of men and women she would stop her horse and converse a
while with them, and slip a tract into the hand of each, and with a smile
pass on. In this way she gained the confidence and love of the poor people
who lived in ignorance and degradation within sight of the towers and
temples of New England towns and cities.

At times the mind of Miss H. was much exercised in relation to a mission
in the western part of our own country. The gathering thousands who were
pouring in from every quarter of the world, the future influence of the
west upon the nation, the wide field of usefulness there presented, were
all inducements for her to go forth and labor amid the mountains and on the
broad prairies which extend towards the shores of the Pacific Ocean.

The idea of laboring in the west was abandoned in 1833, during which year
she resolved to accompany Rev. Eli Smith to his field of toil in Syria.
The opportunity presented by the offer of Mr. Smith was what Miss H. most
earnestly desired. Her heart was set on doing good; and no spot on earth
could have been selected more in accordance with her tastes and feelings.
The long-cherished purpose could now be accomplished; and, after due
consultation with her friends, she was married on the 21st of July, in the
midst of her associates, at Norwich.

On the 29th of August the parting between child and parents took place, and
Mrs. Smith left the home of her infancy forever, and, after visiting the
friends of her husband in Boston, embarked from that place for Malta, on
the 21st of September, in the brig George, commanded by Captain Hallet.

The scene on board the vessel was peculiarly solemn. After the missionaries
had arrived and the people had assembled on the deck and on the wharf, all
united in singing that grand hymn,--

  "Roll on, thou mighty ocean;
    And, as thy billows flow,
  Bear messengers of mercy
    To every land below."

Rev. Dr. Jenks then led in prayer, commending the servants of God to the
gracious care of Him who sitteth on high; after which the brig was loosened
from her moorings and floated down the harbor, while the little cluster of
missionaries on board sung sweetly the beautiful hymn of Heber,--

  "From Greenland's icy mountains,
    From India's coral strand."

The sorrowful friends remained standing upon the wharf until the vessel
which contained the loved ones had faded from sight, and with its precious
freight was far out upon the deceptive ocean.

After a fine voyage of fifty-four days the missionaries landed at Malta,
and proceeded to Beyroot, via Alexandria. They arrived at Beyroot on the
28th of January, 1834. The sketch of their voyage, given by Mrs. Smith
herself and found in her published memoir, is of intense interest. The
objects of interest were so numerous, the mind of the voyager so well
prepared to appreciate them, that a journey on land could scarcely have
been more delightful. The heaving Atlantic; the calm, bright Mediterranean;
the Azore Islands; the long coast of Africa; the Straits of Gibraltar; the
stay at Malta; the visits to convents, temples, and other places of resort;
the city of Alexandria; the Mahometan Sabbath; the grave of Parsons; the
passage to Beyroot, and the safe arrival,--were all calculated to enlist
the feelings of such a woman, with such a mind, as Mrs. Smith, She arrived
at her new residence at Beyroot on the 28th of January, 1834. The town lies
at the foot of the "goodly mountain," Lebanon, and, to the approaching
traveller, presents a scene of beauty seldom equalled. Descending gently
from the south, the whole town seems like one vast garden, with houses half
covered by the thick foliage, and cottages of Oriental style, of brown or
yellow appearance, peeping through the overhanging trees, or standing in
the centre of a well-cultivated spot, like a temple in the heart of a city.
Away beyond is Lebanon, stretching its sunny ridges from north to south,
and lifting its peaks until they bathe their foreheads in the clouds. On
its sides are seen the cottage, and here and there a cluster of human
habitations, forming little villages, which delight the eye and give beauty
to the prospect. Every thing, to a native of Europe or America, is unique
and strange, and has an air of richness and productiveness which surprises
while it charms. The birds, the beasts, the insects are, to a lover of
natural beauty, sources of study and profit; and the refined mind could
scarcely find a more delightful spot as a field of missionary exertion.

The inhabitants did not correspond with the outward scenery. Though the
people kindly welcomed them, the missionaries found a wide difference in
the habits and customs of the European and the Arab; and brought into
connection with the latter, as they were every hour of the day, the
contrast was continually before the mind.

Besides this, the missionary cannot live on the same equality with the
people as can other classes of European or American residents. The _trader_
can close his doors and have his family circles sacred from the intrusion
of officious, meddlesome natives; but this course would defeat the very
object which the _missionary_ has in view. It would shut him out from the
confidence and sympathy of those whose hearts he wished to reach. It would
place between him and the heathen a barrier which would be insurmountable.
So our sister found it at Beyroot. She had no house which she could
properly call her own; for at times, while she was least prepared and while
visits were least desirable, her house would be invaded by a company of
five or six women, who would remain a long time, asking questions and
prying into a hundred things which did not concern them.

And yet Mrs. Smith felt that these annoyances must be endured with
cheerfulness; and when patience was almost wearied out, and time which
belonged to herself and her family was taken up by such persons, she
would console herself that such privations and trials were parts of the
missionary work, which must be endured cheerfully for the sake of Jesus.

The manners, customs, and dresses of the people at Beyroot served to remind
the Christian of the times of Christ, and led back the imagination
through the lapse of eighteen hundred years to the thrilling events which
transpired throughout the Holy Land.

So few are the improvements made in art and agriculture that one can easily
fancy himself in the middle of the first century, gazing upon the people
who from apostolic lips listened to the words of life and salvation; and
under this almost irresistible impression the solemnity of Gethsemane and
Calvary gathers over the soul, and throws a divine enchantment over the
life and labors of the men of God. So our sister felt, as the Oriental
costumes passed before her, as she looked out from her window upon the
sides of the snow-covered Lebanon.

The situation of Mrs. Smith was not at all like that of many other devoted
servants of God. She was not compelled to break up the fallow ground, or be
the first to drop the Seed into the soil. Others had preceded her--they had
prepared the way--they had erected the kindly shelter--they had opened the
heathen mind to receive light and truth. Hence, on her arrival, she found
all the comforts and conveniences of a civilized community--she found a
most beautiful and romantic residence, a land teeming with all the hallowed
associations of sacred history.

Called by God, not to the dungeons of Ava, not to the damp and
monster-covered banks of the Irrawaddy, but to a more congenial field of
labor, she toiled on in it with pleasure.

Mrs. Smith spent most of the time in her school, which was commenced soon
after her arrival, and for a while was "the only schoolmistress in all
Syria." The school house, which was erected upon a plan of her own, was
filled by a large number of children of Egyptian, Arabian, and Turkish
parents, who, under the care of their faithful teacher, made considerable
progress. To instruct the little, ignorant children, explain to them the
mysteries of science, and lead them upward to the God who made them, was a
task for which she was well adapted. Being an ardent lover of the beautiful
and grand in nature, she made the green fields, the blooming vineyards, the
high, towering mountain all subservient to the purposes of instruction. Her
residence among the Mohegans prepared her for her duties in Syria, and gave
her the advantage of an experience which she could have acquired nowhere
else. In the Sabbath school she was also most happily employed in
instructing the fifteen or twenty children who attended in the path of
holiness. Under her labors the school gradually and constantly increased,
and a visible change for good was observed among the pupils. Her kindness
and affection won the hearts even of the Moslem parents, who, in repeated
instances, disobeyed the direction of their priests, and kept their
children under her care after the school had been condemned.

One of the most pleasant circumstances connected with the missionary life
of Mrs. Smith was her visit to the Holy Land in 1835. From early childhood
she had regarded with a feeling of veneration the city of Jerusalem. That
was the city in which many of the Savior's miracles were done; there he had
healed the sick, cast out devils, raised the dead, and performed many other
wonderful works; there was the temple; there the scene of trial, and the
streets along which the cross was borne; there, near at hand, was the
Garden of Gethsemane, the Mount of Olives, and on the other side of
the city the Hill of Calvary on which the Savior was crucified. When,
therefore, she found herself on her journey to the most noted spot in the
wide world, emotions of solemn and pleasing interest crowded upon her mind.
As she passed along, one object of interest after another presented itself.
Tyre and Sidon were seen; and the spot whereon Sarepta once stood was
crossed. Her feet traversed the mountains of Galilee, and stood upon the
summit of Carmel, Gerizim, Tabor, Hermon, Lebanon, Olivet, and Calvary. She
visited the spots where tradition tells us the Savior perished and where
his sufferings were endured; and doubtless her imagination brought back
the scenes of the past, and she might have heard the low, silvery tones of
mercy and grace as they flowed from the lips of "Him who spake as never man
spake."

After visiting the prominent places of the Holy Land, our missionary
returned again to her station at Beyroot, where she labored with untiring
diligence until June, 1836, when, her health failing, she set sail with her
husband for Smyrna, with the delusive hope of regaining it. At this point
her sufferings commenced. The vessel in which they sailed was old and
uncomfortable; the crew and some of the passengers were any thing but
agreeable; and horrid profanity was heard instead of prayer and praise. The
fifth night after leaving Beyroot the vessel was wrecked on the north side
of the Island of Cyprus, and the voyagers escaped with their lives. After
many hardships and much danger they landed on a sandy shore in an almost
destitute condition, and, after continuing on the island some days,
obtained passage towards the place of their destination. The vessel on
board which they sailed was a Turkish lumberman, and in no way adapted to
the conveyance of passengers. But, submitting to stern necessity, they made
the best improvement of the circumstances under which they were placed. Of
the voyage Mr. Smith says, "The wind was high, and, being contrary to the
current, raised a cross and troublous sea. The vessel was terribly tossed,
and, being slightly put together, threatened to founder at almost every
plunge. Mrs. Smith, besides rolling to and fro for want of something to
support her against the motion, was writhing under violent seasickness,
which, instead of allaying, served only to increase her cough. She had some
fears that she should not survive the night; and for a time I did not know
what would be the end of her sufferings."

They arrived at Smyrna in thirty-three days after they left Beyroot. Here
her strength gradually failed. The consumption which was wasting her body
and drawing her down to the grave made visible advances; and on the 30th
of September, 1836, she died in the triumphs of faith, at Boojah, a quiet
little village about five miles from Smyrna.

In her sickness she gave the most cheering illustrations of the power of
the Christian faith to subdue fear and disarm death. Her mind was lifted up
above the sufferings of her lot, and she held constant intercourse with the
Savior of her soul. To a great extent she was free from pain, and enabled
to converse with her husband upon the prospect before her. She waited for
death with pleasure, and was ready at any hour to depart and be with Jesus.
To die was gain, unspeakable gain; and she knew it well. Hence, when her
physician and friends would whisper words of hope, she would plainly tell
them that her work was done, her mission fulfilled, and the sand of her
glass almost run out. It gave her more pleasure to look forward to a
meeting with the loved men and women who had departed than to contemplate
an existence on the earth, where storms will disturb the fairest prospect,
and clouds will shut out the rays of the noonday sun.

On the Sabbath before her death she sung, in company with her husband, the
hymn,--

  "Thine earthly Sabbaths, Lord, we love;
  But there's a nobler rest above;
  To that our longing souls aspire
  With cheerful hope and strong desire."

At twenty minutes before eight o'clock she died, with a countenance all
illuminated with smiles, which, after she ceased to speak, played upon
her features, and by their silent eloquence whispered to every beholder,
"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no
evil."

On the following day, as the tidings spread through Smyrna that the sainted
woman was at rest, the flags of the American vessels in the harbor were
seen lowering to half mast, and that upon the dwelling of the consul was
shrouded with the drapery of death.

On the 1st of October she was carried to the grave. The service of the
English church was read beside the corpse, and in one common grief the
people stood bending over it, while the beautiful hymn of Dr. Watts was
sung:--

  "Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb;
    Take this new treasure to thy trust;
  And give these sacred relics room
    To slumber in the silent dust."

The tidings came echoing across the deep, and in our homes the story of
death was told; and sadness filled the pious heart as the thought that
another servant of God, another heroine of the church, had fallen at her
post, a martyr in the cause of truth. The American Board of Commissioners
for Foreign Missions felt deeply the loss which had been sustained, and
mourned for one whose piety, intellect, and labors were abundant.

Here endeth the missionary toils of two years and four months; and,
uttering words of peace to the fallen, we bid farewell to her memory until
death shall call us to join the blessed throng of the ransomed whose names
are recorded on high.

  "Who would not wish to die like those
    Whom God's own Spirit deigns to bless?
  To sink into that soft repose,
    Then wake to perfect happiness."





VI.

ELEANOR MACOMBER, OF BURMAH.




Almost all the heroines who have gone forth from the churches of America
to dot heathen soil with their lowly graves have been attended by some
stronger arm than that of weak, defenceless woman. Many of them have had
husbands on whom they relied for support and protection, and to whom they
could turn with the assurance of sympathy in hours of anguish and gloom.

But Miss Macomber went out attended by no such kind companion. She resolved
on a missionary life, without the offer of marriage being connected with
it. No husband helped her decide the momentous question; and when she
resolved, it was to go _alone_. Impelled by the Christian's high and holy
motives, she determined on a course which would involve her in a thousand
perplexities and load her with a thousand cares. With none to share these
cares and perplexities, with no heart to keep time with the wild beatings
of her own, she crossed, a friendless woman, the deep, dark ocean, and on
soil never trodden by the feet of Christian men erected the banner of the
cross.

Eleanor Macomber was born at Lake Pleasant, Hamilton county, New York. Here
her childhood and youth were passed, and here was her mind prepared for
that career of usefulness which in after years made her an ornament to her
sex, to the church, and to the world.

From Lake Pleasant she removed to Albany, where her heart was brought into
subjection to the divine will and her mind impressed with the great truths
of revelation. She became a convert to the religion of the cross. She
became a convert to tears, to prayers, to self-denying labors, to a life
of sacrifice and devotion. Her piety was from henceforth of the highest
character, and all her daily deportment gave evidence of her love to the
Savior.

In 1830 she was sent out by the Missionary Board, of the Baptist
denomination, as a teacher among the Ojibwas, at Sault de Ste. Marie, in
Michigan. This was her first missionary work, and she continued engaged in
it nearly four years, when, in the mysterious providence of God, her health
failed, and she was obliged to return to her friends. But the great Head of
the church, in removing her from one field of labor, was only preparing her
for another. In 1836 she became connected with the Karen mission, and a
more extended field of usefulness was thrown open before her. She sailed
from this country in the ship Louvre, and arrived in Maulmain in the autumn
of the same year.

After her arrival she was stationed at Dong-Yahn, about thirty-five miles
from Maulmain. Here she lived and labored almost alone, doing the great
work which was assigned her. In the midst of discouragements she fainted
not, but performed labors and endured afflictions almost incredible. When
she arrived at the scene of her future labors her heart was affected at
what she saw. Vice and sin reigned triumphant. The most odious, disgusting,
and blasphemous crimes were committed. On every hand intemperance and
sensuality were observable. She immediately commenced in their midst the
worship of God. On the Sabbath the people were drawn together to hear
about the blessed Jesus; and the story of the cross was told with all the
sweetness of woman's piety. During the week her house was thrown open
for morning and evening prayers. A school was soon gathered under her
persevering labors: ten or twelve pupils gathered into it.

Mr. Osgood, who accompanied Miss Macomber from Maulmain to her field of
labor, and whose duty required him to leave her there, an unprotected
stranger, in the midst of a brutal, drunken community of heathen
barbarians, writes as follows of her place of toil and her feelings on her
arrival:--

"We ascended the Salwen River about twenty-five miles, and slept in our
boats the first night. On the morning of the next day, December 20, we
procured a guide and proceeded overland, following the line of the Zuagaben
Mountains, to the house of one of the chiefs, about ten miles. The chief
and most of the inhabitants were absent, attending the burning of a Burman
priest. I immediately despatched a messenger for him, and in the mean time
took up lodgings in his house, to wait his return. Two or three men and
several females and children spent the greater part of the afternoon and
evening with us, hearing sister M. read from the books which have already
been written in their language. We, however, soon found that we had arrived
in a most unpropitious time; for almost every man in the vicinity was in a
state of beastly intoxication.

"On the morning of the 21st, as the chief did not arrive, we concluded to
return about half way to the river, with a view to exploring the country,
and in hopes of meeting the chief on his return, and holding a conference
with him and several other principal men relative to the objects of the
mission. Having proceeded as far as we intended, and waited some time in
vain for his arrival, I concluded to go in person and endeavor to prevail
upon him to return, as my business would not allow of protracted absence
from home. On arriving at the place of the feast we found a large concourse
of people, consisting of Burmans, Peguans, Karens, and Toung-thoos, who
were assembled upon an extensive plain to pay the last tribute of respect
to a Burman priest that had been some months dead and was now to be burned.
The body was mounted upon an immensely large car, decorated according to
Burman custom, to which were attached ropes, made of grass, three or four
hundred feet long. With these the car was drawn about the plain, levelling,
in its course, every obstacle.

"After some little search we found the chief men, the objects of our
pursuit, but so completely drunk that all attempts to induce them to return
with us were entirely fruitless. We immediately returned to the house of
the chief where we had lodged the previous night. In the evening the chief
returned, but so intoxicated as to be entirely unfit for business.

"We rose early on the morning of the 22d to take advantage of the effect
of the night's rest upon our host, and obtained the privilege of a few
minutes' conversation. He gave us permission to build in any place we saw
fit to select; but before I had fixed upon a place he was again missing.
After selecting a place and making the necessary preparations for building,
I prepared to return to Maulmain. Until this time our dear sister Macomber
had borne the trials of the journey and the prospect of being left
alone without the least appearance of shrinking; but when the moment of
separation came, the thought of being left, without a friend in the midst
of a drunken people, and even in the house of a man completely besotted
with ardent spirits, and at a distance of thirty miles or more from any
civilized society, with scarcely a sufficient knowledge of the language to
make known her wants, was too much for the delicate feelings of a female
to endure; and she could only give vent to the emotions of her heart by
a flood of tears. She soon, however, recovered her self-possession, and
resolved to cast herself upon the merciful protection of her heavenly
Father, and to pursue what seemed to her to be the path of duty."

But the laborer did not long toil in vain. In less than one year, a church
of natives, converted through her instrumentality, was formed and placed
under the care of Rev. Mr. Stephens. The people changed beneath the
influence of divine grace. Intemperance, sensuality, and other vices
gradually disappeared; and morality, solemnity, virtue, and religion took
their places. The Sabbath day was respected; and in the jungle and thicket
the voice of prayer was often heard. Jesus and the cross received thought;
and the great idea of salvation by grace was pondered and believed.

In a few months the little church planted through her instrumentality
numbered more than twenty persons, who continued faithful in the duties
and practices of the disciples. Her feelings towards the little band of
Christians gathered by her in the very wilderness of sin are represented as
having been very strong and earnest. Her language was, when speaking of the
church,--

  "For her my tears shall fall,
    For her my prayers ascend,
  To her my toils and cares be given,
    Till toils and cares shall end."

She was an _intelligent_ missionary. Her mind was of superior order, and
reason held even balance. Her zeal for the truth was not a blind, headlong
enthusiasm, which sparkles, and glitters, and comes to an end, but a zeal
founded on the wants and woes of a perishing world. She measured the depths
of heathen degradation and estimated the worth of souls, and went to work
calmly, philosophically, and earnestly.

The faith which she carried forth was well studied and fully understood.
She had a reason to give for the hope which was in her and which she so
fondly cherished. She was able to defend it--to develop its glories--to
show its superiority to any and all the forms of heathenism. The kindness
of her own heart led her not only to appreciate the superior excellence of
the gospel, but also to feel most deeply for the degraded Karens. Towering
far above them in the majesty of intellect and the grandeur of thought, she
sought to inspire them with feelings kindred to her own. Her high ambition
was, to lift the race from its fallen position, save the people from
their prevalent vices, enlighten the minds of the young, and improve and
regenerate the hearts of all.

She thought it not inconsistent with her true dignity, as a woman
possessing a high order of intellect, to bring her mind into contact with
the most degraded of the human family, if by so doing she could be the
means of saving some and improving others. Hence she _studied_ to do
good. The energies of her mind were placed under contribution to furnish
arguments by which the heathen mind might be convinced and the heathen
heart subdued. She met the strongest objections to the new faith; she
answered the questions of the cavilling priest; she reasoned with the
common people from the law and the gospel, until enough were converted to
form a church of our Lord Jesus.

She was a _laborious_ missionary. All our missionaries are laborers. The
work itself compels toil; and it cannot be avoided. But few go into it with
an idea of ease and personal aggrandizement; and that few are disappointed.
The great enterprise is in itself a hardship; and however cheerfully it
may be borne for Jesus and a dying world, it cannot be carried on without
immense labor and sacrifice on the part of the missionaries.

But the noble woman of whom we write was in labors more abundant. She
even went beyond what was expected of a most faithful servant of God: she
exerted herself to an extent which but few others have done, and gathered
a reward in proportion to her labors. Others have suffered more and had
a more checkered life; but none have put forth greater exertions to
accomplish a given result.

Indeed, the spectacle of a weak, friendless, lone woman removing from
Maulmain to Dong-Yahn, and there, with no husband, no father, no brother,
establishing public worship, opening her house for prayer and praise, and
gathering schools in the midst of wild and unlettered natives, is one full
of moral grandeur. The idea of performing such a work alone, the idea of a
defenceless woman going into a besotted nation, among a drunken, sensual
people, and lifting them up to the privileges of a refined faith, a pure
religion, is an idea worthy of an angel. This idea entered the mind of our
subject, became a part of herself, and was carried out in her life.

Not content with sitting down and teaching all who came to her, she went
out to the surrounding tribes, and, for miles around, preached salvation
to the dying. In these excursions she was generally attended by one or two
converts, who formed her escort and guard, and performed that part of the
labor which could not be brought within the province of woman. In this
heroic and romantic manner she travelled from place to place, fording
rivers, crossing deep ravines, climbing high hills and mountains, entering
the dwellings of the poor, sitting beside the bed of the dying, rebuking
the sinful, and every where preaching the doctrines of salvation.

The spectacle was one which affected even the heathen heart; and this
estimable woman was respected and loved even by those who scorned the
gospel and hated Christ. She had "a more excellent way;" and that
excellence was exhibited in every step of her progress. As she approached
the towns and villages, on her excursions of mercy, she was often met by
enthusiastic crowds, who welcomed her with joy, and led her to the homes of
the dying, and besought her aid. Most females would have fainted under her
toils and turned back from the amount of work to be performed; but gifted
with wisdom and strength from on high, endowed with powers not her own,
she continued until a church was gathered and the foundation laid for a
prosperous mission.

She was a _pious_ missionary. Doubtless much of the success which crowned
the efforts of Miss Macomber must be attributed, not to the brilliancy
of her intellect, not to the vigor of her mind, not to the vast labor
performed, but to the _piety_ of her heart. It was this which induced her
to go out; she had no other motive in leaving home and all the joys of
kindred and native land. It was this that induced her to plant the cross
where the name of Jesus had not been preached; to go alone, a friendless
woman, in the midst of savages; to brave sickness, disease, and death
itself, in order to utter notes of salvation which should fall on dying
ears like strains from heaven. It was this which sent her, like an angel of
mercy, to the homes of the weary, to the abodes of sickness, to the hovels
of want, to dens of crime, to whisper rebuke in one place and consolation
in another.

She gave ample evidence that her heart had been baptized in the Holy
Spirit; that her mind had come into contact with the great truths of
revelation; that she had been to the cross and received an impulse from the
spectacle of death there witnessed; that her heart had bled at scenes of
woe which every where abound on heathen soil; that, in the majesty of
humble faith and trust in the Divinity, she had resolved to die in the holy
work to which God and the church had assigned her.

We not unfrequently behold the most lovely exhibitions of piety in
Christian communities. We see religion doing its holy work in the lives of
its professors; we contemplate instances of piety and devotion which seem
to be more of heaven than earth; but never can be witnessed in Christian
lands those sublime trophies of godliness which we find on shores which are
covered with heathen abomination. We must leave home, we must cross the
ocean, we must follow Harriet Newell through all her sufferings, until she
finds an early grave. We must follow Ann H. Judson to the dungeons of Ava,
to the damp, cold prisons of the East, to her home of suffering and
death. We must trace the course of Miss Macomber from Maulmain to her
new residence at Dong-Yahn; we must see her on her excursions into the
surrounding province, and listen to her teachings as around her a rude
group gather to hear of Jesus.

Here is piety in its most lovely form. Here is godliness in its most divine
attire. Here is pure religion, which is undefiled before God. In these
cases we see what cannot be witnessed at home, and what thousands of pious
women would shrink from as impracticable and impossible.

Amid such scenes as these Miss Macomber seems to rise above the measure of
a human being, and gain a likeness to Him who went about doing good. She
appears superior to the infirmities of humanity, because she was engaged in
an employment so nearly resembling that of her divine Master, and performed
it with so much of the excellence and beauty of his spirit and grace.

Perhaps no better description of Miss Macomber as a laborer in the vineyard
of her Lord can be given than she herself furnishes in her printed
letters, which are found scattered through the missionary magazines of the
denomination to which she belonged.

"DONG-YAHN, April 15, 1837.

"A line to you the last of December left me at this place, in the house
of a Karen chief, waiting the building of my own, and giving what little
religious instruction my knowledge of the language would admit. I have now
the happiness to inform you that the excitement, which I then attributed
wholly to novelty, proved to be a gracious influence of the Holy Spirit. A
number of these poor, dark heathen, who were then bound in Satan's double
chain, (idolatry and drunkenness,) have been liberated and brought into the
glorious liberty of the gospel of Christ, and are now rejoicing in hope of
the glory of God. Ten have been baptized, four men and six women; and a
number of others, I trust, will ere long seek the blessed privilege. Many
are still inquiring, and some, I trust, earnestly seeking. But many
are opposing, reviling, and persecuting; and a few are indifferent and
unconcerned.

"The progress of the work has been deeply interesting to all who have been
acquainted with it, and particularly so to myself. Never were the power
and mercy of God more manifestly displayed, and never did his saving grace
shine through a more feeble instrumentality. But God can work according to
his will; and, blessed be his name, the heathen shall be given to his Son.

"Our first baptism was on the 12th of January. Chung-pau, a man rather
advanced in years, but of a sound, good mind, and who has thus far
manifested a most devoted spirit, had from the first listened with uncommon
interest; and I think I shall never forget the sensations it gave me when
he would come and sit down by me, and, with a countenance which bespoke a
soul awakened to the interest of eternal realities, would ask, 'What is it
to believe? What can _I_ do to believe? I want to escape hell and obtain
heaven. I wish to trust in Jesus Christ. What shall I do?' O, what would I
have given in that moment for an easy use of the language! But I said what
I could; and the Spirit taught him as man could not.

"On the 21st of January brother Osgood came up again, and had the happiness
to baptize six more; viz., Ah-wah and wife, Bah-mee and wife, and Ko-pee
and wife; and Mr. Judson baptized three of the chief's daughters on the
16th of March, one only about twelve years old. All gave good evidence of a
gracious change, and have since manifested a growing devotion to the
cause. A number of others of the chief's children, I trust, have been made
partakers of divine grace, and will ere long enter the visible church. One
of those baptized was married; and although her husband made no objections
to her baptism, yet he immediately left her. She has two young children,
whom her father has added to his eleven; and it is truly interesting to see
the care he personally takes of them. Bah-mee has also been turned off by
his widowed mother without a spoonful of rice for his family, (wife and two
children;) and yet I hear not a hard or murmuring word. They seem to take
it as a thing of course, that, if they _will_ be disciples, they must
suffer persecution.

"When I consider these and many other things which these dear Christians
meet with, I cannot but admire the power of divine grace, and find new
cause to bless God for light and civilization.

"The men baptized all expressed a great desire to devote their future lives
to the service of God in making known his great salvation to those who were
ignorant of it. They have uniformly manifested the same spirit ever since,
and have been very useful so far as they knew. I have spared no pains in
giving them every opportunity in my power for religious instruction; and
their progress has been truly pleasing. The chief and Bah-mee both read
Peguan well, and Burman some; and have now learned to read and write
their own language. The former is about forty, of respectable talents and
considerable influence. Bah-mee, who I think is an uncommonly able man, is
about thirty; was in the priest's office three years, but left them some
years ago; and when I came here was fast pursuing the drunkard's road with
all the others. Ko-pee is but little over twenty, but has a wife and two
children. He knows nothing of letters, but possesses a quick, discerning
mind, and a lovely disposition. He is learning to read; and I am making
great efforts to have the old man (Chung-pau) learn to read. I hope to get
them all to Maulmain during the rains, that they may have better advantages
for religious instruction, and that those who can may get a good knowledge
of Burman books. They all understand considerable of the language; and it
will be long before there will be books to any extent in their own. It has
all the time seemed to me an indication of designs of great mercy towards
this people that men of such qualifications should be called just at the
commencement of labors amongst them; and I trust that God will so direct
that they may accomplish much for the salvation of their countrymen and the
glory of his name.

"I have had two or three Burman assistants constantly, who not only go out
in the vicinity, accompanied by some of the Karens, and preach daily,
but make excursions of four or five days in the villages, amongst the
mountains, preaching the gospel to Toung-thoos, Peguans, or Burmans, as
they happen to meet with them. I have made it my personal business to go
with some of them; so that I have visited all the families within six or
seven miles once or twice. I trust that these labors, though feeble, have
not been in vain. I can speak but little of the language; but keeping a
Karen with me, who is accustomed to my broken speeches, I give him ideas
which he explains; and have been comforted and happy in the work, though
attended with much fatigue and exposure.

"These things have not gone forward without opposition, as you will readily
suppose. Besides all that would be expected from a numerous and deeply
interested priesthood, we have had the fierce and violent opposition of a
young prophet, who started up just before my arrival, and is located about
a mile from me. He renounces a little of Boodhism and adds some other
things; is unlettered and of no marked character; and yet he has many very
devoted adherents. It is believed, however, by the best judges that he will
be of short continuance. He effectually evades every effort to make him
hear the gospel. His followers do not permit us to ascend the ladder into
his house; and I have been out sometimes two or three days in succession,
and have not been permitted to enter more than ten or twelve houses. It was
fatiguing and painful to be exposed to the sun or hot air so long, and
to find a seat as I could on the ground; but I was never comfortless or
unhappy, assured that I was going at the bidding of Him who exposed his
life unto death for a guilty world.

"We have had morning and evening worship from the first, and four or five
exercises on the Sabbath, usually in Peguan, interpreted into Karen.
I often ask questions at the close. A school has been sustained by my
teacher, who, though very incompetent, has done very well. We have about a
dozen scholars, as none will come who are opposed to us."

The following letter was written at Dong-Yahn February 5, 1838, and
published shortly afterwards in this country:--

"The work of God is still going on here. Three men requested baptism
last Sabbath, and a number more will soon come forward. This is the more
encouraging, as, just now, there is an unusual effort of the adversary to
put the cause down. It is the season for funeral festivals; and for fifteen
or twenty days they have been in constant celebration, which of course
attracts much attention. But the priests, not finding their coffers so well
filled as usual, have seemed to make an effort as for life; and there is no
end to the fog of worthless stuff which comes from them. It would seem that
there was very little else said or done than what their violence called
forth. No one of the Christians can go abroad but they hear from every
quarter '_Jesus Christ_,' by way of contempt; and all who attend our
meetings receive the same treatment unless they join the rabble. So that
when any of them decide to come out and face the whole, which to a heathen
is mountainous, there is strong evidence that divine grace has taken
possession of their hearts.

"One woman had made up her mind to come forward, but said she feared she
could not endure to be cast off, not only by her parents and relatives, but
by the whole village, as they had told her they would do. So she concluded
to wait and see how her mind was when the others were baptized.

"Have been absent considerably of late, wishing to visit all the villages
just about the mountain. Found ten or twelve places of some importance:
this, however, is the largest and most important, except Tun-pah-tine,
where we have one convert, and where I spent four days last week. There are
some encouraging indications there; but the chiefs will not yet consent
to my building a zayat. I am trying to get some of the converts to go and
build there; but they are so timid and deficient in energy that, if left to
themselves, I do not know that they would ever go out of their own village;
though they never hesitate to go wherever I direct them. But in this case I
wish them to take some responsibility.

"We have now an applicant for baptism from Puh-ong, a young man who has
some excellent qualifications for usefulness. There are also two or three
encouraging cases in Tun-loh, five or six miles distant, as also in some
other directions; but the future is unknown.

"Our meeting is beginning to attract more attention, so that our room is
often crowded; consequently I have engaged the chief to put on an addition
of a few feet, which will be done this week.

"All the Christians seem to be getting on well, Bah-mee is my principal
preacher. He certainly does admirably, considering what he was a year ago;
but I find it necessary to see him, look over every subject, and give him
all the ideas I wish to have advanced.

"There are constant rumors of robberies on the river, which of course
prevent our doing any thing here."

Under date of July 30, 1838, we find the following article:--

"I still find much comfort and encouragement in trying to lead Karens in
the path of knowledge and salvation. At the same time, I have constant
cause to mourn over their defects and errors, which require not a little
watchfulness and anxiety; but even in this I find a pleasure, having the
assurance that I am not _alone_.

"In regard to the state of things at Dong-Yahn, Ko My-at-yaw, whom I left
in charge, informs me that about all remain as when I left. The three or
four who were rather hopeful still seem to be inquiring; opposition is
about the same. There has been another attempt to burn the house, but
unsuccessful. I have very little expectation that it will stand till
my return; but this is but a secondary cause of anxiety. Their seeming
determination to go down to eternal death causes me, at times, exquisite
pain. O, when will they turn and live?

"The native Christians have generally, from the first, appeared remarkably
firm and steadfast; and although some cases have required discipline, yet
not one has had the appearance of contemplated or wilful sin. One poor
old man alone, twelve or fifteen miles off, was overcome, by the long
solicitation of a numerous family and under peculiar circumstances, so as
to eat in a feast made to appease evil spirits; but he immediately came
down here, confessed, and appeared truly humbled; said he did not forget
God any moment, or cease to love him; but to be at peace with friends, he
ate. I directed him to return and prove his sincerity by a future upright
walk, and when we all returned, at the close of the rains, we would consult
together on his case. There have been some other similar cases in regard to
drinking--an evil which I fear more than all others.

"Agreeably to our earnest prayer, there seems to be an opening amongst the
Pgwos at Bassein. I have prepared an assistant (Telaw) and family to go
over to Rangoon two or three times; but they have been providentially
prevented. We now wait with anxiety to hear from that quarter in regard to
political affairs."

In November of the same year she writes as follows: "I may have mentioned
that there had been attempts to burn the house and zayat at Dong-Yahn when
we were in it. Since the rains ceased the attempt has been again repeated
and considerable damage done; but I understand the chief thinks he can
repair it for the dry season with but little expense; and I expect to build
before another season, as the house was of the kind which usually lasts but
two years. I thought it probable that the first attempt was in consequence
of the increase of our number--brother and sister Brayton being then there;
but now believe it was owing to a settled enmity to the gospel of Christ.

"Should not the power of God be displayed in changing the hearts of the
perpetrators, or they be found out, I expect to be annoyed all the coming
season, and have but little hope of keeping a house standing. Still, the
cause is God's; the hearts of men are in his hands. He can subdue them; and
I believe he will, and that the gospel will yet triumph at Dong-Yahn. It
has already done wonders; and the time cannot be far distant when the enemy
will be put to silence. Two or three of the assistants have just returned
from there, and give the most cheering accounts of the attention of numbers
to the word. They say that the three or four inquirers appear well, and
talk of being baptized. The chief, who remains there constantly, is very
much encouraged, and appears truly devoted to the cause of Christ. Ko
My-at-yan is also there; rather old and feeble, but a faithful laborer.

"I am not a little comforted in seeing the zeal and increased efficiency
with which the natives go to their work since leaving school, (about six
weeks ago.) Ko Chung-paw, Telaw, and Bah-mee have been out in different
directions, and bring pleasing accounts. They spent three weeks in one town
on a branch of the Dah Gyieng. They say they every where met with Karens;
but they are very much scattered and very poor, having lately emigrated
from the Shyán country, three or four days over the mountains. The Karens,
to an individual, listened well, though Boodhists; and many expressed a
desire to receive further instruction, so as to become Christians. An aged
priest, highly esteemed among them, and who does not conform to all the
customs of the Burman priests, would not release them short of two days, so
anxious was he to hear. They left the Testament and other Burman books, and
Ko Chung-paw gave him his eyeglasses. The old priest sent me presents and
a request to visit them. I attempted to visit that region last season; but
reports of robberies on the rivers prevented. It is not more than four
or five tides from here. The assistants have just been sent to make them
another visit, and to tell them that, if they wish for instruction, they
must build a zayat."

At the close of the same year our laborious missionary gives to her
supporters and patrons the following summary view of the Dong-Yahn station,
with which she was connected, and in the prosperity of which she was so
much interested:--

"I shall ever rejoice in what I have witnessed of the power of divine grace
amongst the heathen. A number of precious souls have been rescued from
Satan's power; and one, I trust, has gone home to heaven, though not
permitted to join the church below.

"The native Christians here now number twenty-three, twelve of whom
have been baptized the present year. A few are still inquiring; but the
multitude are going on the broad way to eternal death.

"During the dry season the assistants visited, more than once, all the
villages about these mountains; and I think, from what I could judge by
spending most of the time with them, the truth was faithfully declared
and the way of life made plain. At Tunpuhtine and Puhaung some have been
gathered in; at Tunlopun are some hopeful cases, as well as at Pahleen and
Pompeah.

"Evening and morning worship has been kept up all the time, and worship on
the Sabbath, with Sabbath schools, &c.

"Bah-mee, whom I selected for the purpose from amongst the first converts,
and who has thus far justified my expectations, has been my principal means
of communication with the people. I have taken unwearied pains with
him, giving him every means in my power for instruction; and I am daily
comforted in seeing that it has not been in vain. He is much engaged about
the vicinity we lately visited, on a branch of the Dah Gyieng, and I trust
his labors there have been blessed. But experience has often shown that
natives, however efficient with teachers, are but children if left alone.

"Ko Chung-paw, two years ago, was fast going down the declivity of life in
all the darkness of heathenism; but a ray of heavenly light darted across
his path, arrested his attention, and soon kindled to a flame. Now, I may
say, he is a 'burning and a shining light;' one to whom we often point as a
witness of the power and purity of the religion of Jesus Christ."

Miss Macomber died in April, 1840. The closing scenes of her life were full
of sadness and full of glory. Her death was deeply lamented by those who
knew her worth; and many of the Dong-Yahn women came to her funeral,
crying, "The mamma is dead! the mamma is dead!" and with wails of sorrow
surrounded her grave. They had listened to her counsels, they had
experienced her kindness, they had partaken of her hospitality; and, though
many of them did not love the Savior, they mourned the fall of his servant.
Their nation had sustained an irreparable loss; and they came to pay their
last tribute of respect to the ashes of the departed. The last hours of
Miss Macomber are thus described by Rev. S. M. Osgood, who was at Maulmain
at the time of her death. The account, from the pen of one who witnessed
the whole scene, will be read with deep interest. Mr. Osgood says,--

"It becomes my painful duty to announce to you the death of our dear sister
E. Macomber, who died with jungle fever on the evening of the 16th instant,
after an illness of nine days aged thirty-nine years.

"On the 9th of March Miss Macomber came down from Dong-Yahn with brother
Stevens, and on the morning of the 10th left us again, with a view to visit
a body of Pgwo Karens, residing high up one of the rivers. She had also
a particular reference to spending the hottest part of the season on the
river, having suffered much from the extreme heat at Dong-Yahn during the
hot season last year. On the 4th instant she returned from this excursion,
having enjoyed excellent health and a peculiarly pleasant season in labor
for the good of the souls of the Karens, many of whom listened with much
interest, and were 'almost persuaded to be Christians.'

"She arrived here late in the evening, and appeared quite well, with the
exception of a slight cold, which she said she had taken that evening.
On Sunday, the 5th, she complained of headache, but not so severe as to
prevent her attendance upon the usual religious exercises of the day; and
on Monday, after spending some hours with me in the bazaar, she left,
and started on her return to Dong-Yahn. Before she arrived, however, her
illness grew more violent, and, though it subsequently abated for a time,
became again so decided that on the following Wednesday she was removed to
this place by Christian Karens for the purpose of obtaining medical aid.
Nothing remarkable or alarming was then discovered in her symptoms; and
Doctor Charlton, the medical gentleman who was called in, expressed the
fullest confidence that her disease would yield to the ordinary course of
treatment, and that she would soon be able to resume her labors. But she
thought otherwise; and although she did not express any conviction during
two or three of the first days that the disease would prove fatal, she
afterwards told me repeatedly that she had not from the first had the least
expectation of recovery.

"On Saturday, the 11th instant, she, with the greatest composure, attended
to the settlement of her temporal affairs, and then seemed to feel that
her work was done. Her mind was perfectly clear and calm to the last; and
during her whole illness she was a lovely example of Christian fortitude,
patience, and resignation. Her faith was unwavering; and consequently she
was enabled to look forward to the period of her dissolution with evident
pleasure, and with the fullest conviction that death was but the door to
endless bliss. I asked her if she felt any reluctance to die; and she
replied, 'I have not the least. It is a pleasure to think of dying. I shall
see much of what I have recently thought a little of--the glory of God and
the love of Christ. When I think of the dear Karen disciples I feel for
them, and would be willing to stay with them a little longer; but if it is
the Lord's will that I should leave them, I have nothing to say. Tell my
friends I am not sorry that I came to this country or that I came alone. I
have suffered for nothing which they could have supplied me with. I have
found kind friends to take care of me.' She appeared upon the whole rather
anxious to die, and to die soon. The morning before her death, although
none of us thought she was so near her end, she was heard to pray, 'O my
Master, take me to thyself this day.' While in the agony of death she said,
'Why cannot I be released?' But when one remarked, 'The Lord's time is the
best time,' she replied, 'Yes;' and after a few minutes more she quietly
fell asleep in Jesus.

"The dear Karen Christian disciples have suffered a great loss, which they
most deeply feel. Brother Stevens and I visited them a few days subsequent
to her death and found them overwhelmed with grief, but at the same time
resolved to trust in the Lord and go forward. They are a lovely band, and
apparently as well grounded in the principles of religion as could be
expected of any so recently converted from heathenism."

Thus parted with earth one of the most devoted servants of God. She has
gone up on high to receive her reward. By her death the heathen lost a most
faithful friend, the Missionary Union lost a most devoted laborer, and the
cause of Christ parted with a most zealous advocate.

And shall we weep? No; death has gained no victory. God and the Christian
have triumphed over death and the grave.

  "Well we know her living faith
  Had the power to conquer death;
  As a living rose may bloom
  By the borders of the tomb."

Her life was short, and her sun went down while it was yet day. But short
as her stay on earth was, she was enabled to do much good; and in eternity
many will rise up to call her blessed.





VII.

SARAH D. COMSTOCK, OF BURMAH.




The Burman empire has witnessed the death scene of some of the most
illustrious women who have ever lived. It is the graveyard in which their
bodies have been laid to rest after the spirits have departed. It will
continue to be a spot of melancholy interest as long as the ashes of
departed saints are deemed of value by the Christian world; and those
graves will remain the silent pledges that Burmah will never be abandoned,
as a field of missionary exertion, until missionary exertion shall be no
longer necessary. The soil in which such choice spirits find rest, the
groves in which they seek shelter, the flower which blossoms, and the tree
which waves its branches over them, are all sacred in the estimation of
those who love God and delight in the glory of his kingdom. Senseless as
they are, they assist in forming a shelter for honored dust, over which
monuments of marble, with letters of gold and silver, are not worthy to
rise. When Mrs. Comstock died another name was added to the glorious
catalogue of the fallen--not fallen, but ascended. Another grave was made,
from which, on the morning of the resurrection, will come forth a glorified
one, to shine in the crown of the Savior forever.

Sarah Davis Comstock was a native of Brookline, Massachusetts. She was the
daughter of Robert S. Davis, of the Baptist church in that place. In the
house of her father her youthful days were passed, and there she received
the mental and moral education which fitted her to labor for the souls of
the heathen. In early life she found the Savior, and during her residence
in America gave full evidence of a pious, self-denying spirit.

Previous to his sailing for the East, Mr. Comstock selected her for his
companion, and with a martyr spirit she determined to bear the sacrifice
and endure the toil. She was married to Mr. C., and in the act gave herself
not only to him, but to the cause of Christ--to all the sufferings incident
to a life in Burmah.

They, in company with several other elected missionaries, were publicly
consecrated to the work in June, 1834, and sailed immediately for their
field of labor. The services of consecration, on the 28th of June, occurred
in the Baldwin Place Church, in Boston, and were of thrilling interest.
Meetings had been held during the day in another church, at which Rev. Mr.
Wade and the converts from heathenism, Ko Chet-thing and Moung Sway-moung,
had spoken. Indeed, the whole of the previous week had been given to
missionary exercises and missionary sympathy; and when the evening of the
Sabbath came, the spacious church was densely crowded with an eager and
holy throng. Rev. Dr. Wayland delivered an eloquent address of more than an
hour's length; after which the missionaries were instructed by Dr. Bolles,
secretary of the American Baptist Board, under whose patronage they were to
be sent out. When their instructions had been given, Mr. Wade replied in
behalf of his brethren and sisters who were so soon to leave our shores.
The whole scene was one of deep interest; and many were the prayers offered
to God in behalf of that company of devoted Christians. In these delightful
services Dr. Comstock, father of Rev. Grover S. Comstock, one of the
missionaries, and Rev. Dr. Wisner, secretary of the American Board,
participated; and in the crowded house there were several missionaries
connected with other denominations, who looked on with thrilling interest
and satisfaction. One who witnessed the scene and heard the addresses which
were given speaks of the occasion as follows:--

"At seven o'clock, notwithstanding the weather, that spacious building was
crowded to excess, above and below; hundreds were _standing_ through the
whole service and hundreds retiring from the house because there was not
even a place to stand. To be present among those thousands on such an
occasion, once in a life, were to stamp that life with an impression to
which language is not equal. What, then, must have been felt by each of
these missionaries, by their relatives and friends, by those angels who
rejoice over one sinner that repenteth, and whose prophetic thoughts would
connect this preparatory hour with the repentance of myriads in a distant
clime, and age after age?

"We did not wonder, therefore, to hear Dr. Wayland's address open with a
confession of the inadequacy of speech to do justice to the thoughts and
feelings that fill the soul to overflowing at such an hour. And while
listening to his lofty, bold, beautiful, and we may add emphatically
_scriptural_ delineation of the objects, qualifications, and duties of
a Christian missionary,--a delineation that made every other object and
character than that of the Christian dwindle into utter insignificance in
the comparison,--we felt as did Peter on the mount of glorious vision: 'It
is good to be here.' And the thought more than once occurred to us, How
would the late venerable Baldwin have enjoyed this scene!

"We were struck by the remark of Mr. Wade, that, while he regarded the
prayers of Christians in this country as indispensable to the success of
the mission, he could not but fear that prayers _such as he had sometimes
heard_ would avail them or their offerers little. The fervor of love,
the expectancy of hope, and the persevering constancy of faith were the
spiritual qualities wanted. Could they not be obtained?

"In the farewell of Ko Chet-thing and Moung Sway-moung there was a
simplicity and pious warmth that went to the heart. They were grateful for
the unspeakable blessings of the gospel sent to them when in darkness, and
happy alike that they had been permitted of God to see the land where the
seed grew; that they were now about to return to plant and rear the tree
of the gospel in Burmah; and that they could hope hereafter to meet their
Christian friends of America in heaven."

The closing hymn, which was sung by the choir and congregation with fine
effect, was written for the occasion by one of the sweetest writers among
American poets.

  Native land!--in summer smiling,--
    Hill and valley, grove and stream;
  Home! whose nameless charms beguiling,
    Peaceful nursed our infant dream;
  Haunts! to which our childhood hasted,
    Where the earliest wild flowers grew;
  Church! where Christ's free grace we tasted,
    Graved on memory's page,--_Adieu_!

  Mother! who hast watched our pillow
    In thy tender, sleepless love,
  Lo, we dare the crosted billow;
    Mother, put thy trust above.
  Father! from thy guidance turning,
    O'er the deep our way we take;
  Keep the prayerful incense burning
    On thine altar, for our sake.

  Brothers! sisters! more than ever
    Are our fond affections twined,
  As that hallowed bond we sever
    Which the hand of Nature joined.
  But the cry of Burmah's anguish
    Through our inmost hearts doth sound;
  Countless souls in misery languish;
    We would fly to heal their wound.

  Burmah! we would soothe thy weeping;
    Take us to thy sultry breast;
  Where thy sainted dust is sleeping
    Let us share a kindred rest.
  Friends! this span of life is fleeting;
    Hark! the harps of angels swell;
  Think of that eternal meeting,
    Where no voice shall say, _Farewell_!
Mrs. L. H. Sigourney.

On the morning of Wednesday, July 2, the good ship Cashmere, Captain
Hallet, bore them from our shores, some of them to return no more. There
were on board Mr. and Mrs. Comstock, Mr. and Mrs. Dean, Mr. and Mrs.
Vinton, Mr. and Mrs. Howard, Mr. and Mrs. Wade, Mr. and Mrs. Osgood,
Miss Gardener and the Eastern converts, all belonging to the Baptist
denomination; together with Dr. Bradley and wife and Miss White, belonging
to the stations of the A.B.C.F.M.

The morning dawned in beauty and loveliness; and, as the sun rolled up the
sky, a crowd of people were seen assembling on the wharf. Soon from the
deck of the vessel was heard the melodious but firm voice of Rev. Dr.
Sharp, in prayer to God, pleading for those who were now to commit
themselves to the perils of the deep. Hymns were sung, kind words were
spoken, Christian greetings were exchanged, and farewell embraces given;
and, amid sobs, and tears, and prayers, the vessel swung off from her
moorings. As she floated out gently into the harbor the vast crowd on shore
commenced singing the hymn of Bishop Heber,--

  "From Greenland's icy mountains,
    From India's coral strand."

This hymn was scarcely finished, and the last echo was yet upon the air,
when from the ship was heard another song. Voices which seemed divine
united in another hymn, and, as holy stillness gathered over the people,
they heard repeated by the departing missionaries the lines of Rev. S.F.
Smith:--

  "Yes, my native land, I love thee;
    All thy scenes, I love them well."

_Such_ hymns, sung under _such_ circumstances, by _such_ men and women,
must have produced joy and rapture among the ransomed spirits on high; and
doubtless Jesus, man's ascended Savior, looked down upon his followers with
divine approval.

The Cashmere anchored before Amherst on the 5th of December, and the
missionaries were warmly greeted by Dr. Judson and his associates. After
remaining awhile at Amherst and Maulmain, Mr. Comstock and wife proceeded
to the province of Arracan, which was to be the field of their labors; and
on the 26th of February, 1835, it being the Sabbath, they performed their
first missionary duty in Arracan. On the 4th of March they arrived at Kyouk
Phyoo, from which place Mr. Comstock writes an interesting letter, giving a
description of the field of labor in which he and his companion were to be
engaged. The interest of this sketch will be increased by a perusal of that
description in the language of the author himself:--

"As this province is a new field of labor, perhaps a short account of it
will not be uninteresting. It is situated on the eastern shore of the Bay
of Bengal, and extends from 15 deg. 54' to 20 deg. 51' north latitude. Its
width is very variable. At the northern part of the province it is about
ninety miles wide, while the width at the extreme southern point is but two
or three miles. Probably the average width is something less than fifty
miles. It is bounded on the north by the Province of Chittagong, on the
east by the Burman empire, and on the south and west by the Bay of Bengal.
An extensive range of mountains is the boundary between Arracan and Burmah,
over which are several passes--one to Ava, one to Prome, another to
Bassein, &c. Only the _first_ is very much travelled. By this we are only
six or eight days' journey from Ava. A good deal of this province is
mountainous, and much of the rest is jungle or uncultivated land. The
people live in small villages, which are scattered over the whole province.
The population, according to the government census, I do not exactly know;
but it must be something less than two hundred and fifty thousand. It is
very difficult, however, to ascertain the population, as the people will
deceive all they can, to avoid taxes, which were very oppressive under the
Burman government, and are not very light now. A great deal of itinerant
labor must be performed here, as the inhabitants are so scattered; and much
must be done by tracts. Two or three laborers besides brother Simons
and myself should enter this field as soon as may be. The province is
subdivided into four subordinate jurisdictions, called districts. The
northern one, Akyab, is the largest. Here is brother Fink, with his native
church; and here, I believe, brother Simons intends to settle. The Ramree
district is the next in size. It consists of Ramree Island, about forty
miles long, and on an average about fifteen wide, extending from 18 deg.
51' to 19 deg. 24' north latitude of Cheduba Island, lying a short distance
to the south-west of Ramree, which is eighteen miles long and fourteen
wide, and of several smaller islands. There are in the district three
hundred and seventy-four villages and about seventy thousand inhabitants.
This is the field of labor I occupy. Kyouk Phyoo is on the northern point
of Ramree Island; and, though not as central or as large as some other
places, is, on some accounts, a very desirable station."

In his labors Mr. C. found a valuable help in Mrs. C., who with unreserved
diligence devoted herself to the duties of her station in different parts
of Arracan. Though not exposed to the trials and dangers which attended
the efforts of the first missionaries, yet in labors abundant and faith
unwavering she certainly was.

There is mentioned of her a most beautiful incident which occurred when
about to part with her children, who were to visit America to commence a
course of instruction not to be obtained in Burmah. When the vessel was
about to sail, and Mr. Kincaid, who was to conduct them to this country,
was ready to go on board, Mrs. Comstock took her two children and led them
forth towards the ocean which would soon part her from them forever, and,
kissing the cheek of each, committed them to the care of Him who holds the
storms in his hand and controls the tempests as he will. It cost a struggle
such only as a mother's heart can feel and realize; and, as she kissed them
for the last time and gave them to her husband, she turned her streaming
eyes to heaven and exclaimed, _"O Jesus, I do this for thee!"_

It was the last time. The vessel spread her canvas to the gales of heaven,
and the children of the devoted woman were wafted from her, to see her face
no more; and when next they meet, it will be before the great white throne,
where the secrets of all hearts will be revealed, and where the Savior will
place upon the head of his servant a crown of glory, and declare, in the
hearing of an assembled world, _"This, beloved disciple, I do for thee!"_

It will be a delightful recompense for all the trials, inflictions, and
sufferings of a missionary life, and will more than compensate the most
self-sacrificing of all earth's children for the most toilsome labors, the
most severe trials. Far happier will be he whose brow is encircled with
such a crown than he who in this life is hailed as a royal emperor and led
in chains of gold from throne to throne, from kingdom to kingdom.

One of our poets has thrown this beautiful incident into rhyme. One verse
of his poem we repeat:--

  "One burning kiss, one wild good by;
    Put off, put off from shore!
  In mercy to the mother fly,
  And swiftly waft them from her eye,
    For she can bear no more!
  She knelt and cried, as o'er the sea
    Faded their forms like sunset ray,
  '_O Savior, I do this for thee!_'
    And, sobbing, turned away."

The faith of Mrs. Comstock was strong. She believed that the efforts of
Christian philanthropy would be attended by the desired blessing, and that
Arracan would lift up its hands to God and implore the love of Jesus upon
her prostrate sons. In a letter from Ramree, written only a few months
before her death, she wrote as follows: "I believe these hills and vales
of Arraean will yet leap at the 'sound of the church-going bell,' and the
hundreds and thousands of her children will be seen coming up from every
city, village, and hamlet, with united heart and voice, to the worship of
the great Jehovah. It may not be in my day; but my children _may_ see it.
God grant that they may be privileged in hastening it on. We see but little
fruit of our labors, i.e., so far as converts are concerned, but see the
seed germinating. It is not dead--it will yet spring up; yes, this very
seed we are now sowing will spring up and yield a glorious harvest."

With this confident expectation she labored on until the hand of death came
to close her labors and lead her away to her infinite reward. In whatever
part of Arracan she was, she was zealous to do the will of her Master, and
seemed governed by a firm determination to glory in nothing but the cross
of Jesus. Whether at Kyouk Phyoo, at Akyab, or at Ramree, or any of the
other spots of toil and denial, she was _faithful_ to the great work
assigned her. She never lost sight of the object to accomplish which she
had been sent out to a heathen land.

She departed this life on the 28th of April, 1843. Her disease was the
malignant dysentery, which is peculiar to the climate. Her two children,
lovely little boys, followed her to the grave; and in three months they
were laid to rest by her side. About two hundred inhabitants of the Ramree
district attended her funeral; and when the disconsolate husband had gone
to his deserted home they remained and poured forth their sorrow over the
new-made grave. Her death exerted a deep and powerful influence on the
minds of the natives; and some were led to prepare to meet God by seeking
the mercy of his Son.

The touching account of the death of his companion we give in Mr. C.'s
own words: "For several months past Mrs. Comstock had been blessed with
unusually good health; and we had repeatedly spoken with gratitude of the
goodness of God in granting us so long an exemption from sickness. We
hoped, too, that we should be permitted to labor more vigorously and
uninterruptedly for the good of the heathen than we had been able to do.
She had just completed a Book for Mothers, which, I think, was greatly
needed, and will, I trust, prove very useful. She was contemplating a work
for children, and had begun to inquire for scholars to attend during the
rains, just at hand. We had, too, already decided to spend a month or two
early in the cold season at Cheduba, and then take a tour of a month to Ava
and the villages on the way thither. Our prospects for the future appeared
to be unusually encouraging; and we fondly hoped that we should be
permitted to see many turning unto the Lord in Arracan. We did not,
however, forget that death might destroy all our plans, and often conversed
together freely on the probability that one of us might be called speedily
into eternity. She had no fear of death nor any anxiety as to the time
or manner of her departure, but only spoke of it as affecting our future
course.

"She was taken ill on Saturday, April 22. Our English doctor was then
absent from Ramree; but, had he been here, we should not, probably, have
thought it necessary to call him, as Mrs. C. had prescribed for many
similar cases with entire success. On Monday I saw that her disease was
very severe and obstinate, and asked her if I had not better call the
Mussulman doctor who is left in charge here when the English one is absent.
He came Tuesday morning. He prescribed for her, but wished the English
doctor sent for; and I despatched a messenger for him. He arrived early on
Wednesday morning, and faithfully and assiduously tried every remedy to
arrest the disease, but in vain. On Friday evening, the 28th, at eight
o'clock, she very suddenly expired. Occasionally there were slight symptoms
of amendment; and I fondly hoped, to the very last, that she might recover.
A minute or two before her death she took some nourishment, and remarked
that she thought she should soon regain her strength. I trusted that it
might be so, and stepped on to the veranda to say to the native Christians
that there was still a little reason to hope. I heard her speak, and
hastened to her just in time to see her sink back upon her pillow, and.
without a struggle or even a gasp, breathe her last.

"The body was immediately surrounded by weeping and wailing heathen women,
who felt that they had lost a friend. Such indeed was the case; for Mrs.
C. truly pitied and loved the women of Arracan, and was never happier than
when telling them of the Savior. On the day after her death, as the news
spread in the town, men, women, and children (more of the last two) began
to crowd to my house; and it was estimated that about two thousand were
here during the day. Their expressions of attachment to my dear wife and of
sorrow for her loss were deeply affecting. 'How kindly she always spoke to
me when she met me!' 'She always gave us medicine when we were sick.' 'She
was truly a good woman.' 'She came here to die, far from her native land,
with no mother or sister near her, because she pitied us.' Expressions
similar to these were made and listened to with many tears. I remarked
once, 'What crowds are pressing to the house! Are _all_ from the town?' A
bystander replied, 'Yes; as the news spreads all will be here, for she
was greatly beloved.' Another added, 'Many tears will be shed in Ramree
to-day.'

"I was surprised and deeply affected to witness such manifestations of
feeling among the heathen towards a Christian missionary. They more firmly
convinced me that she had not lived in vain, but had exerted an extensive
and salutary influence, which, I doubt not, will be powerfully felt in
preparing the way of the Lord here. Her labors, too, I trust, will prove
the means of salvation to many souls. She was a most conscientious and
laborious missionary. The rains before last she had a school, to which
she devoted a good deal of time; translated the Scripture Catechism,
administered medicine to the sick, conversed with the women who were daily
calling at the house, and taught her own children, besides attending to
household duties. She was from daylight till nine o'clock at evening
constantly engrossed with labors and cares. As far as her own feelings were
concerned, she would have delighted uniformly to be as active and busy as
she then was.

"She was not, however, always called to such constant and severe labor, but
uniformly did what she could. Whenever women came to the house she felt it
her duty to leave all and go and tell them of the Savior; and I recollect
that in a few instances, when she was so engaged that she could not at once
go to them, and they left without hearing of Christ, she was very much
grieved on account of it. If I was not at hand, she conversed with the
men, too. Towards evening, when she could be out, she might often be
found seated on a rice mortar, with half a dozen women around her, in the
adjoining villages. Attention to the sick, also, demanded a good deal
of her time and thought. I have known her to give medicine to twenty
applicants in a day. She was always anxious to accompany me in my tours to
the villages during the cold season; but circumstances usually prevented
it. She would have prepared more works for the press but for a feeling
of extreme self-depreciation, which led her to think that she was not
competent to prepare a book fit to be printed. The Scripture Catechism and
Mother's Book are both, I think, calculated to do much good. She not only
labored faithfully, but prayed fervently, and with tears, for the salvation
of the heathen. She has, however, entered into her rest; her labors and
prayers have ceased; and I am left alone to train my children up for God
and to do what I can to win the heathen to Christ. The Lord has thus
decided; and he does all things well. I am enabled to say, in sincerity
I trust, 'Thy will be done.' I have lost a most affectionate and amiable
wife, my children have lost a kind and faithful mother, and a prayerful and
diligent laborer is lost to the cause of missions; but I will not repine or
murmur. The Lord is as rich in mercy as he is infinite in wisdom; and let
him do what seemeth good in his sight. I need not ask the sympathy and
prayers for the members of the Board and other friends, for I feel assured
that I shall have them. Pray, not only that my affliction may be greatly
sanctified to my spiritual good and to the good of other friends and other
missionaries, but also that the death of my dear wife may be made the means
of life to many souls in Arracan. Several appear tender, and seem to recall
the instructions she has given them."

Mr. Comstock did not long survive her. In about one year from the time his
wife was taken from her toils his earthly joys and sorrows closed, and he
went up on high. Borne down by anxiety, care, and affliction, he died April
24, 1844. He was the third son of Rev. Oliver C. Comstock, of Michigan.
He graduated at Hamilton Institution in 1827. For a while he studied
and practised law in the city of Rochester, where he was becoming very
successful as a counsellor. But God had another station for him to
occupy--a wide field of usefulness for him to fill. In the winter of 1831
he was led to view himself as a sinner and embrace Jesus as his Savior.
He became a member of the First Baptist Church, and was baptized by his
venerated father. Soon he became convinced that the Christian ministry
demanded his exertions and powers. He soon removed to Hamilton and entered
the theological class, and at once commenced preparing himself for
labors in Burmah, and soon went forth to do the will of God in wild and
uncultivated regions. But his afflictions were many--his toils great--his
years few. He died ere the desire of his heart had been realized. He
ascended to heaven ere the field given him to cultivate was seen blossoming
as the rose.

Called by God, he left the path to earthly honor and distinction and
entered the scorned and despised service of the crucified One, and in that
service found an early grave. He saw his beloved companion go down to the
tomb; he saw two darling babes laid beside her; and, panting for the loved
ones, he himself went down into the sepulchre.

Here ends the record of a family sacrificed on the altar of Christian
benevolence; a record written with tears of sorrow and anguish, yet
gleaming with signs of glory; a record which even the cold cynic might
respect, and the stoic read with emotions of wonder and admiration.

  "Patriots have toiled, and in their country's cause
  Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they deserve,
  Receive proud recompense. We give in charge
  Their names to the sweet lyre. The Historic Muse,
  Proud of the treasure, marches with it down
  To latest times; and Sculpture, in her turn,
  Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass
  To guard them and immortalize her trust.
  But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid,
  To those who, posted at the shrine of Truth,
  Have fallen in her defence."





VIII.

HENRIETTA SHUCK, OF CHINA.




The Celestial empire has become an object of great interest. Its vast
extent, its swarming inhabitants, its peculiar customs, its steady
resistance of modern inventions, and its obstinate defiance of
Christianity, all draw upon it the gaze of the Christian world. The time
was when China was barred and bolted against the truth; when on her soil
could be found no teacher of the true faith; when a high wall separated
the ignorant inhabitants from the rest of the world. But the wall has been
thrown down; the obstacles in the way of Christianity have in many cases
been removed; and China is open to the footsteps of the man of God.

Following the leadings of divine Providence, good men of various
denominations have planted mission stations within the hallowed enclosures
of the proud monarch of that great empire, and in the midst of superstition
and abomination planted the saving cross.

The station to which Mrs. Shuck belonged was under the control of the
Baptist Missionary Convention. It was at Macao, a beautiful peninsula, four
miles in length, peopled with about forty thousand Chinese and Portuguese.
Mrs. Shuck describes the climate as delightful and the situation of
the place beautifully romantic. Though destitute of many of the dear
associations connected with stations in and about Palestine, yet to a mind
like that of Mrs. S. there was much in the wild beauty of the scenery and
the strange customs of the people to interest and please; and all her
letters give evidence that in that spot she found a home where she could
labor with pleasure to herself and profit to others around her.

But she was not destined to spend all her days at Macao. The providence of
God soon suggested a removal to Hong Kong, forty miles east of Macao. Her
own health seemed to require such a step, as the unprotected state of the
peninsula was fast wearing her into the grave. Certain advantageous offers
were also made, and a prospect of increased usefulness presented to her
husband; and in 1842 Mr. Shuck bade farewell to his old field of labor, and
entered upon one where the prospect of success was much more abundant.

The maiden name of Mrs. Shuck was Henrietta Hall. Her father was Rev.
Addison Hall, a faithful, devoted minister of the gospel. Her mother was
daughter of Colonel Elias Edmonds, of Virginia. They were both remarkable
for intelligence and piety, and were universally esteemed. They were
members of the Moratico Baptist Church, having been received by Rev. S. L.
Straughan.

On the 28th of October, 1817, Henrietta was born in the beautiful little
village of Kilmarnock, but a few miles from the rolling waves of Chesapeake
Bay. Her early days were spent near this beautiful spot, where she was
known as a frank, amiable, kind-hearted girl. Her youth was passed with her
parents, who exerted themselves to expand her mind and improve her heart.
To the fond hearts of the parents she was an object of tender solicitude
and care, and they longed to see her brought to the feet of the Lord Jesus.

In 1831 extensive revivals were enjoyed throughout the country, and in
these revivals Virginia largely shared. It was during this year that Miss
Hall was converted. A camp meeting was being held near her birthplace, in
which her father was much interested; and feeling that moral and religious
training was much more important than intellectual culture, he sent for his
daughter, who was attending school at Fredericksburg, to return home and
enjoy the privileges of the work of grace. She came, not thinking of the
change which was soon to take place in her moral character. Young and
happy, she put far off the evil day; and the awful conviction that she was
a sinner had not produced any serious impression upon her mind. But God's
hand was in her timely return, and his grace had marked her as one of its
choicest subjects. She no sooner commenced attending the meeting than she
began to feel the force of truth and hear the voice of the Spirit and the
monitions of the Holy Ghost. Under the solemn presentation of the sinner's
lost condition, young Henrietta began to realize that she was lost without
a Savior. The fact was before her mind day and night, and she found no
rest. True, she had lived on earth but a short time, and, when compared
with others, had committed but few sins; but these few were aggravated and
overwhelming. God she had not loved; Christ she had not embraced. She had
violated the wise and holy law of the universe, and, to complete the work
of woe, had rejected the blood of the Son of God. She had a view of sin as
God presents, it in his word; and when she saw _herself_ as a sinner, the
contemplation was crushing and terrible. But these feelings of deep anguish
did not long continue. God heard her cries of penitence, and for the sake
of Christ forgave all the past, and caused joy, like a deep, strong tide,
to flow into her soul. Her rapture was as ecstatic as her sorrow had been
oppressive; and on the listening ear of her sister penitents she poured the
story of her change from death to life.

She was baptized on the 2nd of September, 1831, by Rev. J. B. Jeter. It was
a holy spectacle. The youthful candidate for the sublime ordinance was not
yet fourteen years of age; and, as she descended the bank and entered the
flood, a deep and awful silence gathered over the crowded shores. The voice
of mirth and profanity was hushed; and to many a heart came the spirit
tone, "This is the way; walk ye in it." As she came up out of the water a
cheerful smile was seen playing upon her countenance, which told of sweet
and precious peace and delightful communion with her Maker. The pastor
who administered the ordinance, the church which received her to its
fellowship, the anxious parents, have had no reason to regret the important
step then taken; and though they must have seen her baptized with fear and
trembling lest she should in her youth be deceived and eventually return to
the cold and heartless service of the world, yet they commended her to that
Being who is able and faithful to keep all who are committed to his care.
Nor did the world with its curling lip and contemptuous tone ever tell how
the youthful disciple witnessed a good profession and afterwards denied it.

A few months after her baptism Henrietta was called to part with her
beloved mother, who died in December of the same year. To the young
Christian this bereavement was full of sorrow and full of blessing. While
it deprived her of a mother's counsels and prayers, while it took from her
one to whom she had looked for maternal sympathy and encouragement, it
taught her the uncertainty of life, threw her more upon herself and on her
Savior, placed a greater weight of care upon her, and thus fitted her for
the duties which she afterwards performed so faithfully as a missionary of
the cross.

In the early part of 1835, or the latter part of the year preceding, Miss
Hall became acquainted with her future husband, who had recently decided to
become a missionary in the East. He made, with an offer of marriage, the
proposal of a missionary life. She had not then reached her eighteenth
year, and was a young, freehearted girl, who knew but little of toil or
anxiety. Her extreme youth caused her to hesitate; and she accepted the
proposal only when it appeared to be a solemn and imperious duty. Her
mind wandered forward to the parting with her dear parent and other fond
friends; to the tender farewell at sailing; to long years of labor, perhaps
of suffering, in China; to a rude home there, and perhaps a grave. Then
followed the prospect of usefulness; the hope of saving souls from death
and doing a work of benevolence on soil not before cultivated by the
Christian laborer. And perhaps with these were some vague and romantic
notions about a missionary life and a missionary home. Youth is fond of
new and strange objects; and our heroine doubtless became attracted by the
novelty and romance of the life she was to live. Strange were it not so in
the ardor and inexperience of youthful piety; and the fact that romance
casts its sombre shadow over the pious missionary female, as she leaves
home and native land, detracts but little from the admiration with which we
gaze upon her lofty career. The oldest, most prudent, man seldom fails of
being interested in such enterprises by their novelty; and should we cast
away all around whom it gathers its strange witchery, few would be left to
toil for human good. He who moves above all such motives must have a mind
perfectly trained and a heart perfectly alive to the glory of God. After a
due consideration of the subject, Miss Hall decided to go forth a servant
of her Master. She was married to Rev. J. Lewis Shuck on the 8th of
September, 1835. The service was performed by Rev. H. Keeling, in the city
of Richmond. On the 10th Mr. S. and Rev. R. D. Davenport were consecrated
to the work of God in one of the Baptist churches in the same city, and
soon after embarked for Boston, one to sail for China and the other for
Siam. The vessel in which passage had been engaged for Mr. and Mrs. Shuck
was the Louvre, which was to carry out a large delegation of missionaries.
They sailed on the 22d of September, a beautiful day, on which Nature
seemed to have bestowed her charms in profusion. On board were eleven
ordained ministers, who were leaving, home to do good in distant lands.
Among these was Rev. Howard Malcom, D. D., who went out at the request of
the Baptist Triennial Convention to visit the stations of that denomination
and advise and encourage the toilers in the East. The large number of
ministers on board, one of them having long been an esteemed pastor of a
flourishing church, drew together an immense crowd of pious people, who
came to exchange parting tokens and give the parting hand to the faithful
brethren and sisters who were about to fulfil the command of our ascended
Savior--"Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature."
The wharf was crowded with people; and the rigging of vessels in the harbor
was filled with strong men, who looked with strange feelings upon a sight
the like of which is seldom witnessed. The hour arrived. The ship swung off
from her moorings and floated down the harbor. One sail after another was
thrown out to the breath of heaven; and in beautiful style the vessel was
borne onward and soon lost from sight. The spectators slowly and sadly
returned to their homes, praying the God of ocean and storm to keep the
precious cargo safe from danger.

To Mrs. S. the voyage was not a pleasant one. A violent seasickness
commenced as soon as she left the Harbor of Boston and continued a long
time. This was succeeded by sickness of other kinds, and the whole voyage
was spent in suffering. In her published letters to her friends she gives
thrilling descriptions of her sorrow, and declares that while she did not
dream of half the suffering which she had experienced, yet the same voyage
would she take again, were there no other way to reach her field of labor.
Admirable woman! Worn down with sickness and scarcely able to hold the
pen, she writes the sentence at a time when we would suppose she would be
shrinking back and ready to faint.

On the 4th of February, 1836, anchor was cast at Kedgeree, nearly a hundred
miles below Calcutta. At night they all disembarked and for the first time
slept on heathen soil. From Kedgeree they sailed along to Amherst, where
sleep the forms of Mrs. Judson and her babe in the silence of the grave.
What were the feelings of Mrs. Shuck as she stood there over the spot so
dear to every pious heart, or plucked a small branch of the "hopia tree" to
send home to her sire, we do not know; but doubtless her mind was filled
with sad forebodings and awful thoughts. "Am I to sleep in such a grave? be
buried away from home, with such a tree as this to wave over me?" "Am I to
fall in China, and see my friends no more? Have I looked upon the shores of
America for the last time?" Questions like these must have been suggested
to her as she stood with her husband beside the grave of Burmah's
proto-martyr.

After stopping a while at Maulmain and Singapore, the missionaries arrived
at Macao in November, 1836, and here commenced immediate preparation to
engage in the gospel work. Their first son was born shortly before their
arrival at Macao. They called him Lewis, for his father. On the 29th of
October the second son was born, who was named Ryland Keeling. With these
two babes around her, the labor of the mother was materially increased and
essentially changed. Her own family required more of her care, and gave her
less time and opportunity to do good abroad. Yet, with her family as
it was, she is said to have found much time for the usual purposes of
missionary life, and was zealously engaged in plans for the spiritual
improvement of those around her.

While at Macao her heart was cheered by hearing that God was pouring out
his Spirit in her own dear land; that he was converting sinners, and among
them some who had been her intimate friends. Her own sisters were led to
give their hearts to God; and when the intelligence crossed the deep,
and was told in the hearing of the sad and perhaps almost discouraged
missionary, her joy knew no bounds. It was as a cup of cold water to one
dying with thirst; and the letter which brought the tidings was read over
and over again, and frequently bathed in tears of joy. Her letters to her
sisters express her deep interest in their spiritual welfare. She pleads
with them by the love of Jesus that they be faithful to the Savior of their
souls and walk worthy of Him who has bought them with his own blood. To
do this, she urges them to study the word of God, and be constant in the
closet, and meditate much upon spiritual things, and watch and guard
the heart from temptation and sin. Nor does she forget to recommend the
cultivation of a missionary spirit, but, with all the eloquence of a
sister's love, urges them to do good as they have opportunity.

In January, 1837, Mr. Shuck baptized the first man who had been converted
through his agency. His name was Ah Loo. [+] For about a year previous
[Footnote +: The baptism of Ah Loo is thus described by Mr. Shuck: "At
seven o'clock this evening we repaired to the water; and although the
natural sun was not permitted to attest this first baptismal scene in
China, yet the effulgence of the Sun of Righteousness shone upon us; and if
ever we felt his genial rays, it was then. Contrary to our expectations, we
did not go half so far as we anticipated, but stopped upon the beach at a
suitable place, within a few rods-of a large Portuguese fort with mounted
ramparts. Here, in broken sentences, we united our hearts in prayer to God
that he would forgive--our weakness and many imperfections, and grant us
his smile and heavenly grace now and during our whole lives. Then handing
my cap and cane to Mrs. Shuck, who stood on the bank, the only earthly
witness of the joyful event, I had the privilege of burying with Christ in
baptism this willing convert from heathenism, being the first Chinese that
was ever baptized within the confines of this vast and idolatrous empire."]
to his baptism he lived as cook in the mission family. During the year
he became greatly attached to those whom he served, and would let no
opportunity pass without showing his gratitude. They, of course, instructed
him in the principles of the Christian religion. He was a willing learner,
and soon gave evidence of being a changed, regenerated man. Yet the
missionary was cautious, and for a long time held back his disciple; but at
length, convinced of the genuineness of his conversion, led him down into
the flowing tide and baptized him. This event was an occasion of great joy
to our sister, who, with her husband, had done so much to enlighten the
poor idolatrous Chinaman. Ah Loo maintained a constant walk for a long
time; but at length, temptation proving too powerful for him, he was
overcome, and sinned against God. This fall was full of sorrow to the
missionaries, as his conversion had been full of joy and hope; and when the
news came that he had disgraced his high profession and wronged his blessed
Savior, they bowed their hearts in sadness, and prayed to Heaven that the
wanderer might yet be restored and the straying child brought back to the
Father's arms.

In 1841 Mrs. Shuck gave birth to a beautiful little daughter, who was
called Henrietta Layton, for her mother, and a family by the latter name
who had been exceeding kind to them during all their residence at Macao. To
justify her course in conferring this name instead of one selected from her
numerous friends in America, she relates numberless instances of kindness
on the part of the family alluded to; instances of kindness without which
the missionary family would have been put to considerable inconvenience
and perhaps acute suffering. In 1842 Mr. Shuck removed to Hong Kong. The
providence of God clearly indicated this as the path of duty; and though
the separation with pleasant acquaintances at Macao was trying, the step
was cheerfully taken. A beautiful spot was selected for a chapel, and money
raised with which to erect it; and the divine blessing manifestly attended
every step. To complete the work, Mr. Shuck made great sacrifices and
practised great self-denial. He employed his own funds, expended his own
means, to complete the work; and deemed it no sacrifice, though he was
often deprived of the comforts of life. He was well aware that God would
prosper him; and though he knew not how, he rested in the confident hope
that he would ultimately receive at the hand of God far more than he had
expended in his service,

The health of Mrs. S., instead of improving, seemed to fail at Hong Kong,
and no means which were taken could restore it. Physicians were consulted
and journeys made, but all to no purpose. The hand of disease was laid
heavily upon her sinking system; and day by day her eye became more dim and
her cheek more bloodless. Still she labored on, and counted it her meat and
drink to do the will of her divine Master. Her language was,--

  "Shall I be carried to the skies
    On flowery beds of ease,
  While others fought to win the prize
    And sailed through bloody seas?"

Mrs. S., according to her biographer, seemed to have premonitions of
her death. For a whole year previous to the occurrence of the event the
conviction was deepening in her mind that her race was well nigh run and
her days nearly finished. The idea that _something_ was soon to arrive, and
that something to be of importance to her, weighed upon her mind. Filled
with emotions which such a presentiment was calculated to produce, she made
preparation for the grave. She endeavored to have her family arrangements
made so that she could depart at a moment's notice. She was also led
to prayer and self-consecration; and her heart, as well as her family
arrangements, was in order. The premonitions which many persons suppose
they have are generally the results of an excited fancy, and as often prove
false as true. Every person may find in his or her daily life many events
which appear mysterious; and should importance be attached to them, we
should be rendered miserable. Many are alarmed at the breaking of a mirror
the crowing of a bird at midnight, the sudden extinguishing of a lamp by
the wind, and other things equally as simple. These common occurrences are
to them omens of approaching evil, and they allow them to have all the
influence of reality. Whether they prove true or false, they are sources
to the superstitious of unhappiness. With Mrs. S. there appeared to be an
indefinable impression, which might have arisen from the precarious state
of her health and from the fact that the period of her fifth confinement
was rapidly hastening, and it was doubtful if she could endure the trials
of such an occurrence in her weak and debilitated condition. But, whatever
may have been the cause of her forebodings, they were acted upon as facts:
and had she known of her death with absolute certainty, she could not have
made more temporal and spiritual preparation for it.

At three o'clock on the morning of the 27th of November, 1844, she died.
The evening previous to her death was spent in prayer with her husband and
children. Early on the night of the 26th, the long-expected and dreaded
event announced itself by the premonitory symptoms. The physician was
summoned, and the dear friends anxiously awaited the result. But nature was
unable to sustain the fearful burden imposed upon it, and gradually gave
way until the hour mentioned, when the spirit was released and all was
over.

  "Vital spark of heavenly flame,
  Quit, O, quit this mortal frame;
  Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
  O, the pain, the bliss, of dying!
  Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife,
  And let me languish into life."

It was hard for the husband to give up his companion under such trying
circumstances, and harder still to have her die without the utterance of a
single expression; but who that knew her life would doubt the character of
the thoughts which crowded thick and fast upon her mind as the time of
her departure was at hand? Religion was her life; and the last words she
uttered were of high and holy import. A few hours before she died she
called her husband to her couch and asked him to kneel in prayer. He did
so, and to every expression of love to Jesus she responded by the warm
pressure of his hand. We cannot doubt the evidence which such a saint
gives; and though the last hour may be spent in a silence which nothing
disturbs but the sobs of friends, we can leave the cold clay in the tomb,
with the sweet consolation of _knowing_ that the ransomed spirit has fled
to a land of holy rest. We can say,--

  "How blest the righteous when she dies,
    When sinks a weary soul to rest!
  How mildly beam the closing eyes!
    How gently heaves th' expiring breast!"

The funeral of Mrs. Shuck was attended from her late home, and she was
borne to the grave by the European police corps, who volunteered their
services for the occasion. There have been cases in which missionary women
have died and had only _one_ to follow them to the grave. On some occasions
the husband has prepared the shroud, made the coffin, dug the grave, and
followed the corpse to the tomb, accompanied only by a weeping, motherless
child, or by the unseen One, who said, "Lo, I am with you always, even unto
the end." But on this occasion there were many mourners. A large company
followed to the grave in which her remains were placed. The religious
service on the occasion was performed by Rev. Mr. Devan. At the grave Rev.
Mr. Brown offered prayer and made appropriate remarks to the crowd who
assembled.

Thus mysteriously departed on the passage of death a most worthy and
beloved wife, a fond mother, and a faithful Christian. There were many
circumstances connected with her death to make it a sad one. Her husband
was not the only sufferer by the dreadful bereavement. Five motherless
children were left among strangers in a strange land; and from many who
had experienced her kindness went up a wail of lamentation over her early
grave.

One who knew her well, and who labored for Jesus and the dying heathen
in the same land, [Footnote: Rev. William Dean.] writes of her as
follows: "She was married to Rev. Mr. Shuck in 1835, and in September of
the same year sailed with her husband, in company with a large number of
missionaries, for the East. They remained in Singapore four months,
where their eldest son was born, and in September, 1836, arrived in
China. They remained in Macao till March, 1842, when they removed to
Hong Kong. While at Macao they were allowed to prosecute the study of
language, the instruction of youth, and teaching the people. On their
arrival at Hong Kong they were prepared to renew their labors on an
enlarged scale and without restraint. Chapels were erected, assemblies
collected, and schools gathered from the Chinese; and while her husband
labored among the former, Mrs. Shuck instructed the latter. She
possessed considerable knowledge of the written language, and still
greater familiarity with the colloquial of the Chinese, and devoted
joyfully and successfully her acquirements, time, and talents to the
interests of the mission. During the last year of her life a new school
house had been erected and a school gathered under her care of twenty
Chinese boys and six girls, besides her own four children; making, in
all, thirty under her supervision. In this work she took the greatest
interest, and all the time and strength which could be spared from the
care of her family and the culture of her own children were joyfully
devoted to the instruction of the children of the heathen. Her prospects
of usefulness had never been greater, and her heart had never been more
encouraged, than during the last year of her life. But in the midst of
her highest hopes, while children were seeking instruction, the heathen
were inquiring the way to Christ, and the general prospects of the
mission were brightening, and herself in comfortable health and active
life, she was cut down in a single night, and her family overwhelmed
with grief and the mission again overshadowed with gloom.

"Under the influence of a secret conviction that her end was near, she had
'set her house in order,' and was prepared for the event; while, at
the same time, she prosecuted her daily duties with her accustomed
cheerfulness, and laid out plans for labor which would have required a long
life to perform.

"It is a matter of devout gratitude to the wise Disposer of all events,
that, just before the death of Mrs. Shuck, her particular friends, Dr.
and Mrs. Devan, should become members of her family; and now the five
motherless children may find in Mrs. Devan one so well qualified and
so sincerely desirous of supplying, to the extent of her power, their
irreparable loss. Mrs. D. will also act as the superintendent of the school
for Chinese children. The friends of the mission will unite their prayers
that life may be preserved and health and grace may be adequate to the
responsibilities and duties of the station she is by such a mysterious and
painful providence so unexpectedly called to occupy.

"Mrs. Shuck left her father's house and native land in her eighteenth year,
and, by thus giving the freshness of her youth to the cause of Christ and
the good of the heathen, has left us the best proof of the purity of her
faith and the sincerity of her piety. During her eight years' residence
in China she has done much for the happiness of her family and to aid her
husband in his work, besides giving much direct instruction to those
around her. Her house was ever open to the stranger, and her heart ever
sympathized with the needy and afflicted, and her hands were diligently
employed in acts of kindness and charity."

Let us now draw the veil over the scene, and bow our hearts to the superior
wisdom of Him who cannot err; and, while we lament for the early fallen,
may we pray the Lord of the harvest to send forth new laborers into his
vineyard. The heathen are not yet converted, the world is not yet redeemed,
the throne of Satan is not yet overturned.

  "O'er the realms of pagan darkness
    Let the eye of pity gaze;
  See the kindreds of the people
    Lost in sin's bewildering maze!
      Darkness brooding
    O'er the face of all the earth."

Impressed by the terrible aspect of the world, let the contemplation of
missionary biography urge us on to missionary labors and missionary piety,
until the voice of joy and praise shall resound from pole to pole.





IX.

SARAH B. JUDSON, OF BURMAH.




Ralph and Abiah Hall lived in quiet Alstead, New Hampshire. On the morning
of November 4, 1803, their first child was born. They named her Sarah, in
memory of a deceased relative. While in her youth the parents removed from
New Hampshire to Massachusetts, and established themselves in Salem, where
the younger days of our subject were spent. Of her childhood but little
can be said. She was like other children, and spent her time in a childish
manner; and connected with her early years were but few circumstances of
any special interest.

Up to her sixteenth year she seems to have had but few convictions of sin.
The great subject of the soul's salvation, if presented at all, made slight
impression upon her mind and heart. The warnings and invitations of the
gospel were alike unheeded, and she lived until this period in sinful
thoughtlessness. In 1820 she found hope in the Savior, and on the 4th of
June made a public profession of religion, and in the presence of a great
congregation gave herself away to God and to his people. The solemn, awful
step she fully realized; and when she was led down into her baptismal
sepulchre, and buried there, her heart was fully given up to God. The
venerable and departed Dr. Bolles administered the ordinance, and received
her by the impressive rite of "fellowship" to the First Baptist Church in
Salem, of which he was then pastor.

At that time the missionary spirit was beginning to pervade the churches of
America and exert its holy influence upon the minds of the members. Young
Sarah Hall caught the holy enthusiasm. Just converted, fresh from the
public vows of consecration, the anxious question, "Lord, what wilt thou
have me to do?" upon her lips, she was in the exact frame of mind best
adapted to be moulded by holy zeal for a dying race.

The feelings which struggled in her soul found utterance through the
columns of the Christian Watchman in various prose and poetic effusions.
These articles do not exhibit any extraordinary poetic merit. They hardly
do credit to her real abilities. Bearing the marks of haste, these early
productions never gave any peculiar pleasure to the authoress; but for deep
feeling and pathos they are remarkable. They seem to be the outgushings of
a soul stirred up with holy enthusiasm and flowing out in channels of its
own formation. She evidently wrote, not for the severity of the critic, but
for the warm heart of the Christian; not to awaken feelings of admiration,
but to kindle up the flame of divine animation; not to win fame for
herself, but to inspire others with love for the perishing.

One of these poems was the instrument in bringing her into an acquaintance
with George D. Boardman, her future husband. The poem was upon the death
of Coleman, whose fall in a distant land, ere he had buckled the armor on,
produced feelings of sadness in the hearts of all American Christians.
Boardman saw it, and his soul was moved by it. Who the writer was he did
not know, but determined to discover, if possible, what heart kept time
with the wild beatings of his own. The first verse of that poem runs as
follows:--

  "'Tis the voice of deep sorrow from India's shore;
    The flower of our churches is withered, is dead!
  The gem that shone brightly will sparkle no more,
    And the tears of the Christian profusely are shed.
  Two youths of Columbia, with hearts glowing warm,
    Embarked on the billows far distant to rove,
  To bear to the nations all wrapped in thick gloom
    The lamp of the gospel--the message of love.
  But Wheelook now slumbers beneath the cold wave;
  And Coleman lies low in the dank, cheerless grave:

    Mourn, daughters of Arracan, mourn!
    The rays of that star, clear and bright,
  That so sweetly on Chittagong shone,
    Are shrouded in black clouds of night;
      For Coleman is gone!"

Mr. Boardman at once determined to discover the writer of these thrilling
lines, and in a short time was enabled to trace them to the pen of Miss
Hall. Ere he had seen her who was to be the companion of his arduous
labors, the sharer of his success, and the attendant of his dying bed, he
seems to have sought for the youthful authoress with a kind of intuition
that God had fitted her to be his companion. Nor was he disappointed on an
acquaintance with his young friend. He found her in possession of an active
mind, a warm heart, and an agreeable person. He made proposals to her
immediately, and requested her company to the heathen world. To such
an enterprise all her friends were averse. To Mr. Boardman they had no
objection; but the idea of sending out the flower of their family to wither
and die on heathen soil they could not endure. The parents were oppressed
with sorrow at what they considered the wild and romantic notions of their
child, and for a long time withheld all consent, and steadfastly resisted
every movement towards a missionary life. And when the daughter did gain
their permission, it came like water wrung from the solid rock. These pious
people did not understand the claim which God has upon the services of all
his children; they did not understand the honor and glory of having a child
in heathen lands laboring for the salvation of the dying; they did not know
what a halo of light would in after years be thrown around the name of her
who was about to embark on the perilous voyage; and when she left them they
looked upon her as buried out of their sight.

Probably much of Miss Hall's enthusiasm in the missionary work was caught
from Mrs. Judson, who visited this country in 1823. They became acquainted
shortly after the arrival of Mrs. J., and continued correspondence as long
as she remained in America; and when she sailed forth again, to return no
more, no prayer of greater fervency was offered for her safety and success
than was breathed forth by young Sarah Hall, who was so soon to follow her
illustrious example in scenes of trial and self-devotion.

George D. Boardman and Sarah Hall were married in Salem, by Rev. Lucius
Bolles, D.D., on the 3d day of July, 1825. Her personal appearance was
good. Though not positively handsome, her countenance was agreeable and
prepossessing. She usually wore a pleasant smile; and an air of frankness
and ingenuous openness was a peculiar characteristic. She was affable and
courteous, with sufficient dignity and grace. We may, however, suppose her
husband to have been more attracted by her intellect and heart than by the
outward ornament of person.

The vessel which conveyed Mr. and Mrs. Boardman to the "shades of moral
death" sailed from Boston in 1825; and in due time the missionaries arrived
in Calcutta. Here they remained nearly two years, employed in missionary
work and doing good as they had opportunity. On the 17th of April, 1827,
they entered Amherst, and found there the grave of Ann H. Judson and the
bending form of her bereaved husband. That good man's trials were not at an
end. His dear daughter Maria was dying; and Boardman's own hand formed her
little coffin, and dug her grave, and supported the trembling form of the
father, when his child, the daughter of the sainted mother and wife, was
laid to rest.

While at Calcutta, the union of husband and wife was cemented by the birth
of the first child--a daughter, whom they called Sarah Ann. The occurrence
of this event, while it withdrew the devoted mother from the labors and
toils of her missionary life, awakened in her bosom feelings which had
never been stirred there before. A new world of thought and action was
before her mind; and, to use her own language, she "was another creature."
On his arrival at Amherst Boardman conferred with the other missionaries,
who, after mature deliberation, advised him to commence labors at Maulmain,
about twenty-five miles from Amherst, to which place he proceeded with his
little family. Soon a bamboo house was erected for him, and his work of
self-denial and suffering commenced. They were annoyed in various ways by
the natives, and several times were plundered by the hordes of robbers that
descended from the mountains at night and assaulted every dwelling which
promised considerable booty. Their house was pillaged in this manner but a
short time after they arrived at Maulmain. One night they went to sleep as
usual, after committing themselves to the care of Him whose eyes are never
closed to sleep. Awaking at midnight, Mrs. B. found the lamp, which had
been left burning, extinguished, and in the dim moonlight the furniture of
the room appeared to be in confusion. To light the lamp was but the work of
a moment, on which a fearful scene was presented. Every thing of value had
been taken away, and all that remained was in terrible confusion. During
this robbery Mr. Boardman was painfully awake to every thing which
transpired; while his wife, wearied with toil, slept as sweetly as if the
villains who had caused such havoc had been kind attendants on errands of
mercy. And providential was it that she did not awake. While some were
carrying away the property, others stood over the prostrate forms of the
sleeping family, ready to murder them if they awoke. Boardman knew it
all--he knew that fierce eyes were watching him--that the uplifted weapon
was ready to drink his blood. A single movement on the part of the sleepers
would have brought down that weapon and hurried them from the scene of
their labors to the bar of Him who had sent them forth to do his work,
declaring, "Lo, I am with you alway."

In the early part of 1828 it was deemed advisable for Mr. Boardman to
remove to Tavoy, about one hundred and fifty miles south of Maulmain; and,
in accordance with certain instructions from the Board, he took up his
residence there in April. On his arrival he found the "whole city given to
idolatry." On every hand were the melancholy evidences of heathen worship,
heathen superstition, and heathen cruelty. Gaudama was worshipped by all
the people, and upwards of two hundred priests ministered at the various
temples. The faithful missionary commenced his labors immediately on his
arrival: his zayat went up within sight of the great pagoda, and daily he
sat at the door to instruct the passing population. While at Tavoy, Mrs.
Boardman was employed with her domestic duties, and with the instruction of
the children who could be gathered into the school, which was commenced on
their arrival. We deem the cares of one's own family enough to employ all
the time of a female in this country; but the labors of Mrs. B., in her
feeble state of health, were augmented, not merely by the children of the
boarding school, but also by the care and instruction of the school itself.
Uncomplainingly she performed her arduous labors, while day after day her
health grew poorer and her cheek paler. It was at Tavoy that Ko Thah-byu
was "buried with Christ by baptism." In his early days he had been a very
wicked man. His path was stained with blood, and to all around he gave
evidence of his ferocious, bloodthirsty nature. He was converted at
Maulmain, and removed with Mr. B. to Tavoy. After his baptism he was a most
faithful and devoted laborer. His nature seemed to be entirely changed.
From being one of the most ferocious and dreadful tyrants, he became
gentle, humble, forgiving, and merciful. His case presents us with a
wonderful instance of what the gospel can do to soften the savage nature
and bring even the most stubborn heart into sweet and willing subjection to
our dear Redeemer. He was made a preacher of the gospel which had performed
such wonders on his heart, and to the day of his death continued a faithful
and devoted minister of the Lord Jesus.

While at Tavoy, a second child was born to this missionary family. They
called him George, for his father. He yet lives--perhaps to bear the gospel
forth to those who swarm around his father's grave.

At Tavoy, too, little Sarah died, when nearly three years old. This child,
the first born, seems to have twined its affections sweetly and tenderly
around the mother's heart. She was indeed a lovely child. "Her bright-blue
eyes and rosy cheeks," her amiable disposition and obedient deportment,
won the kindness of all around her. She inherited the warm heart of her
missionary mother, and fond hopes were cherished that she might live to
fill her mother's place on heathen ground. But God's ways are not as our
ways. He removed the lovely flower, and blasted in an hour all the fond
expectations of her parents. In his infinite wisdom he saw the hinderance
the little one would be to his laboring servant, and in kindness took her
to his own arms.

When children die in this loved land they depart in the midst of tears and
sighs; kind friends sympathize and pray; the voice of sorrow is heard along
the line of many dwellings; and in many families is uttered the voice of
grief. At such times and under such circumstances the hand of friendship
and benevolence will be stretched out to assist and perform the little acts
of charity which at such an hour come with sweet fragrance to the parting
and weary spirit. But when little Sarah closed her eyes in death but few
tears were seen, but few hands of sympathy held out. The broken-hearted
mother herself washed the cold form of the dead child and arrayed the pale
body in its little shroud.

On the mind of Mrs. Boardman this affliction exerted a most salutary
influence. She had admired and adored her child. She loved the precious
gift more than the gracious Being who had bestowed it, and, wrapped up in
its possession, imagined it could not be taken from her arms. But when
God removed the loved and lovely one she began to feel how deeply she had
erred, and forthwith restored her supreme affection to the great Creator.
Her attention was called from the vain and transitory things of earth; she
saw the narrow limit of human life more plainly than ever; she learned the
lessons of mortality; and her sad bereavement became to her torn heart an
inestimable blessing. Besides this, the idea that their little family had a
representative in heaven was unutterably precious; and she feared less that
hour when her own labors would be done and that reward entered upon which
is prepared for all who obey God and love his Son Jesus Christ.

To Mrs. Boardman another child was also given, which was called Judson
Wade Boardman--a trio of as illustrious names as ever were engraved on the
records of the church militant. He lived but a short time, descending to
the grave leaving another vacant place in the mother's heart.

In 1828 Mr. Boardman determined to leave Tavoy for a while and visit the
Karen villages in the interior. He was accompanied by Ko Thah-byu and some
other converted Karens. They had heard of him by means of persons who had
visited Tavoy for business and pleasure, and religious books and tracts had
been distributed among the people who had never heard a sermon or seen the
pale face of the missionary. As he passed through their villages he was
every where met with kindness. Food was brought and many valuable presents
given him. At one village they found a zayat which the people had put up
for them; and here they tarried and preached and explained the gospel
several days. Many were converted; God's Spirit was poured out; and ere Mr.
B. left the place several came and requested the ordinance of baptism. This
matter, however, was prudently deferred, that the converts might "learn the
way of the Lord more perfectly." He found the people in gross darkness: he
left them with beams of light from the cross strong upon them. He found
them without the word of God--without the Sabbath--without the way of
salvation: he left them in the possession of all these good gifts, and at
the end of nine days returned to his family at Tavoy, again to labor and
suffer in the cause of his Master.

One of the most exciting incidents which occurred at Tavoy during the stay
of Mr. B. was a rebellion, which commenced on the 9th of August, 1829. The
English had withdrawn most of their soldiers from Tavoy and quartered them
at Maulmain. Almost the whole force at the former place consisted of a
hundred Sepoys, commanded by a man who, at the moment of the revolt, was,
believed to be in the agonies of death. On the 9th, at midnight, the
missionary family were aroused by horrid cries around their rude dwelling.
Boardman sprang from his bed, and, bending his ear to the open window,
heard the cry, "Teacher, Tavoy is in arms! Tavoy is in arms!" In an instant
the ready mind of the missionary comprehended the difficulty and the
danger. He at once aroused his family, and began to prepare for resistance
or flight as the case might require. After a time the insurgents were
repulsed, and, retiring to a distance, took refuge in rear of the mission
buildings; consequently the station was placed between the two contending
parties; and over the heads of the little band the balls whistled, carrying
death to hated foes. In the morning the Sepoys were driven from the city
and took refuge in the Government House, to which place the missionary
family repaired, seizing for this a momentary quiet. Their situation here
was terrible. The house was crowded with women and children: soon it became
unsafe, and the whole party retired to a vacant building, having six rooms,
on the margin of the river. Into this house, containing more than a hundred
barrels of powder, were three hundred persons crowded together; while
without were heard the wild and frantic yells of the savages, thirsting for
blood. On the morning of the 13th Mr. Burney, the civil superintendent, who
was away at the time of the outbreak, returned. To him the whole people
were indebted for their safety and their lives. Under his management the
Sepoys rallied and advanced upon the city, and, after several desperate
conflicts, succeeded in driving the insurgents from it and capturing
several of the leaders in the revolt. The overwhelming number of the foe
was not proof against the superior skill of the English; and when the
vessel which had been sent to Maulmain for help returned, Major Burney was
in quiet possession of the town.

Mrs. Boardman immediately embarked for Maulmain; to which place her husband
soon followed her, taking with him all the scholars in the school who were
willing to go. They remained at M. until the mission house was repaired and
quiet restored.

From this period up to the time of her husband's last sickness we find but
little in the history of Mrs. Boardman of a marked character. She labored
on under discouragements and difficulties and amid sickness and sorrow.
Often did her own system give way; and more often did her child utter the
wail of sickness and distress, and plead for rest and quiet which could not
be granted. During this interval Mr. B. made repeated journeys from Tavoy
to Maulmain, and was busily engaged in the great object of his life. He saw
to some extent the fruits of his toil; and on his abundant labors Heaven
placed the broad seal of divine approbation. One after another yielded to
the force of truth and bowed in homage to the cross of Christ. He did not
die, like Coleman and Wheelock, ere he had seen the heathen eye overflow
with tears, the heathen heart burst with rapture into life, and the heathen
knees bowing, not before Gaudama, but before Jehovah.

During the year 1830 it became evident to all that Mr. Boardman must die.
The disease contracted in consequence of sleeping on the cold ground and
being exposed to the damp fogs of night came on slowly but surely, and
all hope of recovery took its flight. Feeling himself that he should soon
depart, he called the converts around him and instructed them in the way of
life. Others who had not been baptized he prepared for the ordinance.
Three days were devoted to the examination, and eighteen were accepted as
candidates for the holy service. The missionary was unable to rise from his
bed; and many of the questions which he desired to put to these persons
were first given to his wife, who, sitting on the bed beside him, put her
ear to his lips and caught the sound as it struggled for utterance. On the
20th of December the baptism took place under circumstances of thrilling
interest. The candidates, with the administrator, and the sick teacher,
borne on a little cot upon the shoulders of the Karens, passed along to a
fine lake, into which Moung Ing descended and immersed the young disciples.
It was a sight of interest to God and angels; and doubtless they bent over
the scene with holy satisfaction. As they went to the place and as they
returned the wicked idolaters jeered and scoffed, and heaped their
maledictions upon the head of the dying Boardman, who in a short time was
to be far beyond the reach of injury and insult.

The administration of the Lord's supper followed the baptismal service, to
which the little church of twenty-seven members sat down, eighteen of them
for the first time. The bread was broken by the trembling, dying hand of
Mr. Boardman, who was performing the deed for _the last_ time.

In January, 1831, Mr. and Mrs. Mason arrived at Tavoy, having been sent out
to reënforce the mission, and were immediately conducted to the residence
of their dying fellow-laborer. The meeting of the two devoted men and their
wives must have been of deep and solemn interest. One was fresh from the
land of his birth, ready to engage with zeal in the Master's work; the
other had fought the fight, had kept the faith, had finished the course,
and was about to receive the robe of victory and the crown of glory.

Wishing to make one more effort in the cause of his Savior, Mr. Boardman
determined to visit the village where a short time before he had preached
several days and where several persons had been converted. These he wished
to gather into the fold, and, ere his departure, see them buried in the
liquid grave. He went forth with his newly-arrived associates and his own
family. A company of Karens carried Mr. Boardman on a bed and Mrs. B. in a
chair. After a journey of three days they arrived at the place and found
the villagers in anxious expectation. They had erected a church on the
banks of a lovely stream and prepared accommodations for the missionaries.
After the converts had been properly instructed, they were baptized by Mr.
Mason. Thirty-four submitted to the ordinance and were added to the little
band of believers. The journey and the effort made to commune with the
people were too much for the exhausted frame, and the good man began to
sink rapidly. Carefully they took him up to remove him to the boat which
was to convey him to the river; but as they passed along, the anxious wife,
who watched the countenance of her husband, saw a change. Death had stamped
his signet on those pale features; and, when they arrived at the water
side, all that remained of Boardman was a cold, inanimate corpse. The
voyage down the river was a sorrowful one. Every cheek was flowing down
with tears and every heart was bleeding with anguish.

At Tavoy they were met by the sad disciples, headed by Moung Ing, the
converted Burman. Slowly they bore forward the dead body of the man of God,
and laid it down in the mission house in which he had so often discoursed
of Jesus. Around him in that hallowed spot gathered a company more precious
to God than ever assembled around the bier of a fallen emperor; there went
up to heaven a wail of sorrow as heartfelt as ever was uttered over the
grave of son or sire; and the death was as full of sadness and importance
as could have been the demise of a laurelled chieftain or a titled senator.
True, the throng who came out to see that pale form and marble brow were
not gathered from the proud and great of earth. No king came weeping to the
house of death; no noble _cortége_ came in sackcloth and stood as mourners
there; but the elect of God, the fruits of missionary labor on heathen
soil, the converted sons and daughters of darkness, were the sincere,
humble, faithful mourners.

They buried him in lowly pomp--_the pomp of death_. All the European
residents of the place and crowds of natives to whom he had endeared
himself followed him to his burial. They laid him down on the right side of
his first born, and returned home to weep, and many to _forget_. But there
was one who could never forget--no, never. The object of her early love
had been stricken down, and in lonely widowhood she was left to bewail
his loss. But, though cast down, she was not forsaken. The Savior was her
portion; and in this hour of trial she leaned on him. In her terrible
visitation she saw the traces of Jehovah's care; and, committing herself
and her fatherless child to him, her soul rested in hope.

During the time which elapsed between the death of Mr. Boardman and her
marriage with Dr. Judson the afflicted widow labored with all her might to
do the will of her Master. Not content with instructing the lisping child
and tender youth, she travelled from village to village with her little
boy and a few attendants. Wherever she went she was met with kindness. The
death of the white teacher had unsealed even the wild heart of heathenism;
and the widow was an object of universal interest. It is doubtful if at
any period of her life she exhibited more lovely traits of character, or
accomplished a greater amount of good in an equal space of time, than while
moving along her tearful way from the grave of one husband to the marriage
chamber of another.

After having remained a widow four years, Mrs. B. was, in April, 1834,
united in marriage to Dr. Judson. The parties were well acquainted with
each other, and both understood the wants and privations of a missionary
life. This new marriage was a new proof of devotion to Christ and his
cause; and when Mrs. B. a second time gave herself to a missionary husband,
it was a new and sublime token of her determination to live a missionary
life. Had she been so disposed, she might have returned to the home and
friends of her youth; but, with a full conception of all that would await
her, she again gave herself, for life, to Jesus and the perishing heathen.

Her little George, who had been to her torn and lacerated heart such a
source of comfort, began to fail; and his mother determined to send him to
America. But how could she part with her darling one? How could she behold
him borne away to a distant land, to see her face no more? But with the
same submission which she had ever manifested she bowed to this new
bereavement, and kissed the cheek of her child and sent him away. It was a
trial for which she had prepared herself; and it proved almost equal to
any which had preceded it. But, knowing the importance of the step, she
cheerfully acquiesced with the fortitude of a Christian.

It was not alone on heathen minds that Mrs. Judson produced a pleasant
influence. The English residents at Tavoy, Maulmain, and Calcutta remember
her with affectionate interest. Many of them have in their houses or about
their persons the tokens of her kindness; and not a few can look back to
hours of sickness and affliction when a gentle hand smoothed the pillow and
a kind voice whispered in the ear words of hope and heaven. Often did she
meet in the praying circle with those who, like her, were far from home,
and exhort them to love and serve God; and in obedience to her kind
instructions many sought and found the Savior. For a prayer meeting of
mothers she wrote a beautiful hymn, which appeared in a journal in our
country, which is truly touching and beautiful. It is as follows:--

  "Lamb of God, enthroned on high,
  Look on us with pitying eye
  While we raise our earnest cry
    For our babes to thee.

  Once thy followers infants spurned;
  But thy bosom o'er them yearned,
  Nor from Canaan's daughters turned
    Thy all-pitying eye.

  Thou didst give our spirits rest,
  "When with sin and grief oppressed,
  In thy gentle, loving breast:
    Shelter, then, our babes.

  Breath divine they breathe, and wear
  God's own image; yet they bear
  Sin and guilt a fearful share:
    Pity them, we pray.

  Guide and guard them here below,
  As through dangerous paths they go;
  Be their joy'mid earthly woe--
    Thou, their heavenly Friend.

  When, to call thy children home,
  Robed in glory thou shalt come,
  For these little ones make room,
    Lamb of God, we pray."

Her union with Dr. Judson was a happy one. Four little babes were born unto
them ere the mother was called to try the realities of that world where
there are no separations. In the care and culture of these much of her time
was necessarily spent; and so excessive and fatiguing were her labors that
she soon began to sink under them. After the birth of her last child, which
was born in December, 1844, it became evident to her husband that he was
soon to be left alone. The wasting disease made its appearance, and the
pale form bowed beneath it. Her kind and experienced physicians, as a last
resort, recommended a voyage to America; and, after much consideration and
prayer, she determined to turn her back on Burmah and once more visit the
land of her nativity. A passage to this country was immediately secured;
and, in company with her husband, she set sail in the early part of 1845.
They had no sooner embarked than her health began to amend; and when they
reached the Isle of France Dr. Judson determined to return to his
labors, and leave his companion to visit America alone. They made their
arrangements to part--the one to labor and faint, the other to greet kind
friends in an often-remembered land. On the Isle of France the beautiful
poem, commencing,--

  "We part on this green islet, love,"--

was written--a poem as affecting and heart-touching, when the circumstances
are recounted, as any one ever written.

But, on putting out to sea again, the disease returned with new symptoms
of alarm, and continued to increase until September 1, 1845, when she died
within sight of the rocky Island of St. Helena.

Thus a second time was the venerable Judson bereaved of his dear companion,
and in the midst of strangers called upon to surrender up the remains of
the loved one to corruption and decay. They buried her where the hero of
Lodi and Austerlitz slept, and a long train of mourners followed her to the
tomb. The flags of the vessels in the harbor were seen waving at half mast,
and signs of woe were observed in all directions.

She died in holy triumph, feeling that her labors were done, her toils
finished, her race ended, and her warfare accomplished. To the husband who
sat beside her when her last breath was drawn she said, just before she
expired, "I ever love the Lord Jesus;" and with her hand in his, her soul
leaning for support on the almighty arm, she sunk to rest. The sight which
St. Helena saw that day was a sad one--more sad than when the leader of the
defeated armies of France was laid to rest beneath its soil.

Perhaps this sketch of Mrs. J. cannot be brought to a close more
appropriately than by the introduction of a beautiful extract from an
address made by a distinguished statesman of New England at a missionary
convention in Philadelphia--an address which contains a beautiful reference
to the fallen missionary, to the labors of those who are now on heathen
soil, and to the sufferings of our Lord Jesus Christ while on earth
performing his labor of love and fulfilling his mission of grace to fallen
man:--

"It is undoubtedly true that you are sometimes called upon to make
sacrifices in your work of love. You sometimes feel that you are making
sacrifices. It may be comparatively so; but really, if you look at it as
it is, you will find it no very great sacrifice. Here are our brethren
who have left their homes and friends, who have gone among strangers and
heathens. We have heard the story of their deprivations, of their labors,
of their sorrows, of their chains, and of their imprisonment. Many of them
mourn over departed happiness; many of them have fallen in the great work,
and now sleep in heathen lands; many of them have gone down to the bottom
of the great deep, where the seaweed is their winding sheet, the coral
their only tombstone. One sleeps in Helena till the sound of the last
trumpet arouse her; and when she comes up she will be attended by a retinue
ten thousand times more pompous and more splendid than ever surrounded the
maddened emperor who had his grave in that island. His tomb was there,
and after a few years, when it was opened, his military dress was wrapped
around him as when he was laid there; but the star upon his bosom, the
emblem of his glory, the pride of his life,--it was corroded and black,
a true representation of human glory, of the glory of a conqueror and an
imperial murderer. But when the grave shall open, and that loved sister
Judson shall come forth, there will be no corroded stars over that heart.
But those who are there, as I said before, have certainly made sacrifices
compared with us, with the brethren and friends they left behind; but when
they look in another direction, when they turn their eyes to the great
field, they feel fully compensated. They may live upon rice and milk, and
often not have enough of that. Their frail tenements are broken down by the
storms; and they are exposed to the roaming tigers, who may spring upon and
rush through the thin walls of their habitations. They may be imprisoned
for a while and racked by the chains of tyranny. Yet never have they been
compelled to exclaim, as did that Savior who came to his own and his own
received him not, when a Pharisee proposed to be his follower, 'The birds
of the air have nests and the foxes have holes; but the Son of man hath not
where to lay his head.' Think of that, ye heralds of the cross,--think of
that, brethren in foreign lands,--the Being who made the world, while here
in the flesh, declaring that the birds which he had made had nests, and
the foxes he had created had holes, where they could rest and sleep in
security, but no place on this earth he had made where he could quietly lay
that majestic, godlike head! Sometimes you feel as though your friends had
forsaken you. Go to Gethsemane; see there that Master who but a short
time before, with the twelve surrounding the table, had told them of the
approaching trials and dangers: urged to rashness, the unthinking Peter had
declared that, although all others might forsake him, he would not. He goes
into that lonely garden, separating himself from his disciples; but he
takes Peter, with two others, and asks them to watch here a while, while
he goes yonder and prays. And then that traitor Judas had gone to make his
bargain; and the Savior knew the bands were hunting him. O, think of that
hour and that garden! Think of the agony of that Savior's heart, which made
him say, 'My heart is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death'! Think of
the agony, when the blood from the pores of his skin dropped down on
Gethsemane's garden, and when he came up to the judgment hall the noisy
rabble insulting him; his followers abandoning him; the man who two short
hours before had said to him, 'that though all others forsake thee, I will
not,' uttering curses in his hearing and denying that he ever knew him;
then the scarlet robe and that crown of thorns! O, has earth ever witnessed
such a spectacle as that? And then that cowardly Roman governor, though he
knew he was innocent, yielded him up to the hands of a vociferous, noisy,
and infuriated mob; and he was by him condemned to an ignominious death. In
the service of such a Master, who of his followers would talk of sacrifice?
And then the consummation upon the cross, when all the powers of darkness
on earth and hell were defeated! Three days, and on the morning of the
first day of the week that buffeted, that down-trodden, and crucified
Savior burst the shackles of the tomb, laid the monster Death at his feet,
and rose a triumphant conqueror over the grave."





X.

MARY E. VAN LENNEP, OF TURKEY.




The maiden name of Mrs. Van Lennep was Mary Elizabeth Hawes. She was born
in the beautiful city of Hartford, Connecticut, April 16, 1821. She was the
daughter of Rev. Dr. Hawes, who has so long and so honorably filled one of
the pulpits of that place, and who, with all his contributions for human
good, has given no richer treasure to a fallen world than the one he
resigned in the person of his lovely and accomplished child.

Born of gifted parents, Mary Elizabeth inherited much of her father's
penetration and judgment, and much of the virtue and excellence of her
mother, under whose training hand she grew up to womanhood.

In the memoir prepared by that mother something like justice is done the
virtues and labors of her child; while the part she performed in the early
culture of the mind and heart is modestly omitted. While the fair portrait
of female excellence, as seen in the life of her daughter, is drawn with
great distinctness, we are not told who laid the basis of that excellence,
and who with ceaseless vigilance guarded the young mind from error and sin.
We are hardly reminded, in the whole volume, of a mother's solicitude,
tears, prayers, warnings, and counsels. It shall be ours to say, that all
the daughter was reflects back with mild and gentle light upon the mother's
memory.

The childhood of Mary E. was spent mostly in Hartford, where her advantages
were great. Her parents were qualified, mentally and morally, to give her
suitable instruction. Favored by God with literary and pecuniary ability,
they lavished both upon their child, and brought her under all those
wholesome influences which were so well adapted to cultivate her abilities
and expand her mind. Besides this, the company with which she mingled in
her father's house was of the highest order. Her home was the centre of
delightful associations. She met there the minister of God, the missionary
from heathen shores, the gifted and the good, and from all these obtained
many lessons of wisdom. Perhaps she could not have been placed under more
favorable circumstances for the development of an amiable and lovely
character than those which clustered around her early years. Unlike some
young people who are obliged to struggle against adverse and unpropitious
circumstances, and who urge their way to usefulness and happiness under the
heavy pressure of want and embarrassment, Miss Hawes had every current in
her favor, and the whole tide of circumstances conspired to make her what
she afterwards became.

In early youth she was distinguished for numerous traits of character which
adorn and elevate the young man or woman and render them deserving of
esteem. While yet a child she was remarkable for her veracity and honesty.
Her mind seemed to dread a wicked or deceitful thing; and in all her
intercourse with her parents and her young associates there was a noble
frankness which opened to her the hearts of all. The earliest lessons of
her childhood were calculated to impress her mind with the enormity of all
falsehood and the value of truth; and as she grew up to womanhood she was
distinguished for this endearing virtue.

Gentleness of disposition was another characteristic of Miss Hawes. She
seemed formed to weep with those who weep, to sympathize with those who
were distressed, to administer consolation to the torn heart of affliction.
When by the bedside of the dying, or in the homes of bereavement and
sorrow, her hand was gentle and her voice mild and musical. There was a
sweet and unobtrusive kindness of manner, a mild and touching sympathy,
which won the heart of the sufferer and introduced her at once to the inner
temple of the wounded spirit.

She early became familiar with the Holy Bible. Time which many young
persons give to foolish and vain reading was spent over the book of God;
and, when young in life, she was more familiar with the history and poetry
of the Old Testament than are many persons at an advanced age. Her young
mind seemed to enter with intense interest and delight into the scenes
described by patriarchs and prophets and so beautifully discoursed upon by
the sweet singers of Israel.

While in her tenth year Mary E. was called to part with a brother younger
than herself. Notwithstanding her extreme youth, she received this
affliction with all the philosophic calmness of mature life. While her
father and mother were weeping around the bedside of the dying boy, while
their hearts were almost broken by this new stroke of divine Providence,
the little daughter clung around them, and in their ears whispered words of
peace and hope. The hymns of consolation which they had taught her to sing
she now rehearsed to them; and many a word of confidence in God which they
had uttered in bar hearing she now called up from the depths of memory, to
comfort their hearts and mitigate their sorrows. Her conduct at such an
hour was a restoring cordial to the wounded hearts of the parents, who
found in the heavenly mindedness of one child consolation for the loss of
another.

Shortly after the death of this brother Mary became in heart and life a
Christian. She passed through that mysterious change which some denominate
"regeneration;" which she described by the expression, "I have found God."
The cautious father waited long ere he advised his child to make a public
profession of the religion of Christ. She was very young, and liable to be
deceived; and he wished her to examine well the foundation of her hope,
and see whereon it was built. He could not endure the idea that she should
enter the church without a saving, evangelical change, and substitute the
sprinkling of water for the baptism of blood. Hence from time to time he
deferred the subject until his doubts all vanished; until the correct,
consistent deportment of his child subdued the fears of parental fondness;
until the world became impressed with the religious character of the young
disciple. Then he led her to the altar, broke to her the bread of life, and
welcomed her to the tribes of God.

From this time her life was one of true, consistent piety. That cautious
father never to the day of her death had occasion to regret the union
formed between her and the people of God. To her young Christian associates
she was a pattern of excellence, and to her many an eye was turned for a
good and faithful example. Nor were the expectations formed of her at all
disappointed. She lived no dubious life; hers was not a strange, erratic
piety. Brighter and brighter grew her sun, until it set, _at noon_, in a
flood of light and glory.

No sooner Was she a member of the church than she began to feel the
importance of being a faithful laborer in the vineyard of God. The false
views which so many have of the church relation she did not cherish. She
did not regard the church as a place of rest and repose--a spot where she
would be free from temptation, trials, and toils. On the contrary, she
clearly saw the obligations which are laid upon a servant of God, and
determined to discharge them to the best of her ability. To her young
friends she stated her own feelings, and urged them to love the same Savior
and embrace the same religion. With all the ardor of a young convert, and
all the enthusiasm of a soul inspired by the hopes of heaven, she presented
to their minds the value of faith in Christ and the necessity of a new
heart, and, by all the arguments and motives within her reach, besought
them to love and serve God.

Nor was she satisfied with this alone. She labored with her hands and
contributed of her money to advance the glory of God. Impressed with the
importance of missions, she formed a society among her young associates to
sew and knit for the purpose of providing clothing for the families who
were abroad. For this circle of children, which convened from time to time,
she prepared work and furnished employment until a box was ready, and,
under the direction of older friends, sent to a missionary who was laboring
for God in distant China.

As she grew older, her missionary interest increased. The claims of a dying
world were spread out before her, and her heart burned to be on heathen
soil where the gospel had never been preached and where the story of Christ
had never been told. She felt for dying men as she saw them, in all the
degradation of heathenism, bowing down to wood and stone and worshipping
the lifeless images which can neither see nor speak. The sunken condition
of heathen females, denied their legal and moral rights, deprived of the
advantages which elevate the other sex, drew her attention and claimed her
sympathy. The missionary concert was regularly attended; the Missionary
Herald was regularly read; the missionary contribution was regularly paid.

In the Sabbath school she was a devoted and successful laborer. Her place
in the class was occupied except in cases of necessity; and for the
children committed to her trust she felt deep and anxious solicitude. Often
in her closet and in the place of social prayer did she commend them to the
gracious care of God and pray that they might all be members of the fold of
Christ.

There were two circumstances which had powerful influence upon her
religious life and character, and which, to some extent, seem to have given
a direction to after years.

The _first_ was a season of sickness by which Miss H. was brought to the
borders of the grave. This occurred in the summer of 1841. The season of
sickness became an inestimable blessing. It gave her time for reflection
such as she seldom obtained, and led her to feel the vanity of human life
and the emptiness of earthly pleasures and joys. She saw in her own wasting
form and pallid cheek the evidences of mortality, and, realized the
necessity of securing treasure in the heavens, where sickness and death
will never disturb the visions of peace.

The _second_ circumstance was the revival which occurred in the
congregation with which she was connected in the same year of her illness.
That revival was deep, powerful, all-pervading. The Church fell upon her
bended knees before the throne of God; the wayward disciple came, with
tears and penitence, and besought forgiveness of God and the Church. The
old man, with his white locks and streaming eyes, asked, "What shall I do
to be saved?" The, young and gay were turned from sin and vanity and led
to seek an interest in the world's only Savior. The whole city felt the
influence of the work of grace; and the sceptic, in amazement, asked, "What
do these things mean?"

On one communion occasion about one hundred united with that one church,
most of whom were young in years and strong in heart. The prayers of God's
people were answered; the labors of the church were crowned with the divine
blessing; and a season such as causes joy in heaven among the angelic hosts
was enjoyed.

This revival was like a purifying fire to our subject. As a matter of
course, she became deeply interested in its progress and results. Led to
prayer and effort, she realized the worth of souls, the value of religion,
the bliss of heaven, and the horror of despair; and, as one young associate
after another gave her heart to God, the young disciple was full of joy.

In 1843 Miss Hawes was called seriously to decide upon a missionary life.
She well knew the trials of such a life. In her father's house she had
often met with those who had tried "the life of danger and death," and
had returned broken down with disease and sorrow. She had listened to the
narration of their labors, their sufferings, and their success, and was
better prepared to judge of the privations and pain to be experienced than
most who depart on such errands of mercy.

But the decision was soon made. When it became evident to her mind that she
could be more useful in Turkey than in America, when it was settled that
duty to God and a dying world required her to leave home and native land,
when Jesus seemed to beckon her away, the question was soon settled, and
settled in such a manner as to involve a separation from loved friends and
a removal from all the enjoyments of a civilized country.

On the 4th of September, 1843, Miss Hawes was married to Rev. Henry J. Van
Lennep: and, amid familiar scenes and countenances, the father gave his
daughter to her missionary husband, to the toils and sacrifices of a
missionary life. The pious and happy couple immediately started on a short
pleasure tour previous to sailing for the East, where they were to labor
and die. The time which intervened between the joyful marriage service and
the sad departure was crowded with incidents of a thrilling character; and
the month was one of excitement, anxiety, and care.

Mr. Van Lennep was a missionary under the patronage of the American Board
of Commissioners for Foreign Missions. He was destined for Turkey, to which
Oriental clime he was about to take his fair companion. In him Miss Hawes
found a tender and devoted husband, who, when her sickness came and weary
hours were appointed unto her, watched over her with the most considerate
attention, and deprived himself of rest and sleep that he might cheer his
sick and dying companion, whom he had taken from a home of plenty, ease,
refinement, and luxury, and removed to a cheerless and lonely spot, to
labor with him for the perishing.

It required no slight effort for Mrs. Van Lennep to part with so many
familiar scenes and go forth to return no more. There was her mother, whom
she tenderly loved, and whose declining years she had hoped to comfort and
cheer. How could she leave that parent? How could she say "Farewell,"
and do it with the consciousness that she should gaze upon that mild
countenance and that loved form no more? How could she take that hand which
had led her up to womanhood,--a hand which wiped her brow when sick and
suffering, and wet her throbbing temples when pained with fever,--how
could she grasp it for the last time?

Then there was her Sabbath school class, over which she had prayed and
wept, and to the members of which she had imparted instruction so often and
so tenderly.

There was also the house of God, in which she had so often heard the music
of a father's voice; the Sabbath bell, which had so often called her to the
temple and the place of prayer; the organ, whose tones had often thrilled
her soul as she sat with the worshipping assembly, chanting the praise of
God. How could she leave all these? The separation cost an effort such as
those only know who have made the trial.

She sailed from Boston, in company with her husband and father, in the bark
Stamboul, on the 11th of October, 1843. The Stamboul was a fine vessel; and
our missionaries were well accommodated on board. The gentlemanly officers
and crew omitted nothing which could render the situation of the female
voyager pleasant and comfortable as a "life on the ocean wave" would allow.
Besides this, the kindness of friends had provided every little comfort and
convenience which could be needed; and the trunks and boxes of Mrs. Van
Lennep were stored with articles which her Hartford and Boston friends had
gathered for her use. She went out, not as Mrs. Newell went, on a cold,
severe day, with but few comforts, with but few conveniences, with but few
friends to: bid her farewell, with no sermon, no song, no prayer on the
deck; but every thing which money could purchase or the ingenuity of
friends devise was brought forward to add to her comfort. Before the
Stamboul sailed a service was held on board, which was attended by
deeply-interested friends. The missionaries, the passengers, the crew were
committed to the care of God. The parting hymn rose on the breeze, echoed
over the waves, and its sad strains died away on the hearts of the
listeners. The parting hand was given; and as kind friends left the deck
the ropes were loosed, and in noble style the vessel swept out into the
harbor, and the mother and child gazed upon each other for the last time.

  "Ye who, forsaking all,
  At your loved Master's call,
    Comforts resign,
  Soon will your work be done;
  Soon will the prize be won;
  Brighter than yonder sun
    Ye soon shall shine."

Most of the voyage was spent by Mrs. Van Lennep in preparing herself for
future usefulness and in the study of those languages which she would most
need. She enjoyed the passage more than any other lady on board, and was on
deck in some scenes of peril which made even the hearts of strong men to
tremble.

More than any thing else did our subject miss the privileges of the
Sabbath. The daughter of a clergyman, she had been reared beneath the
shadow of the Christian temple, and taught from infancy to love and revere
the day of rest. And though upon shipboard she heard the song of praise,
the solemn prayer, and the interesting discourse from the same lips which
led the devotions at home, yet the church-going bell, the pealing organ,
and the countenances of early associates were not found on the ocean. All
was strange and wild as the tempest itself.

On the Sabbath day, November 5th, the eyes of the voyagers were greeted
with a view of that noble monument which rises from the blue waters of the
Mediterranean-the Rock of Gibraltar. They looked upon it as the rising sun
glanced lines of light all around it and painted it with gorgeous beauty,
making even its very barrenness appear, attractive.

Whoever has sailed along the shores of the Mediterranean Sea will remember
the many objects of interest which present themselves on every side. There
are seen convents which have stood for ages, braving change and time, from
whose turrets the vesper bell has sounded forth over the waters, calling
the ghostly father and the young recluse from the cell and the cloister to
mingle in the devotions imposed by the Holy Mother Church; castles frowning
from bare and beaten rocks, reminding one of other days, when feudal strife
and knightly warfare demanded such monuments of barbarism to prove that
"might makes right;" beautiful gondolas, with richly-dressed Orientals,
manned with slaves, and propelled by the broad, flat paddle, reminding one
of the songs which cast their witchery around the knights of yore, and from
the blue bosom of the sea gave back the melodious echo; the highlands,
clad in beauty and arrayed in all the verdure of perpetual summer; villas
standing amid groves of trees in full blossom, and cultivated slopes
which extend to the very billows of the sea; ruined temples, monasteries,
convents, cathedrals, standing like some relics of the past, fit emblems of
the decaying faith once taught within them.

About the 1st of December, the Stamboul, with its precious freight, arrived
at Smyrna; and when the new year with all its hallowed emotions came,
they were comfortably located in their new home, surrounded with every
circumstance to make them happy. Their home stood near the sea shore, and
from its verandas they could look far out upon the waters and behold the
passing vessels as on the busy voyage they sped to and fro. In the garden
sweet roses bloomed, and the orange and lemon gave delicious fragrance and
more delicious fruit.

They here found the former associates of Mr. Van Lennep, who received them
with the greatest kindness; and their residence in Smyrna soon became
delightfully pleasant. One who loved the wonders of Nature, and could
appreciate the goodness of God in the works of his hands, the scenes of
natural beauty every where spread out, could not fail to be attracted by
so many displays of divine wisdom and power. To go from our cold, austere
climate, our bare fields and rock-ribbed mountains, to dwell amid the
luxurious vineyards and gardens of the south of Europe, seems like being
transported from a cheerless desert to a blooming paradise. Our beautiful
things are not connected with our climate or our unproductive fields, but
with our free institutions, our systems of education, our public morality,
our well-regulated government, our well-administered laws, and the
industry, intelligence, and religious habits of the people. Our fields and
vineyards, our rich groves and beautiful scenes, are our churches, our
schools, our colleges, our asylums for the poor, for the blind, for the
insane. These constitute the pride and glory of the land of the Pilgrims.
The glory of the East arises from the natural beauty of the country; from
the adornments of Nature; from the skill and care of God.

Early in August, 1844, she was afflicted with dysentery, which increased
upon, her gradually until all hope of life was taken away. Finding that she
could not live, she gave her time to meditation and prayer. The idea of
leaving earth and parting with her husband, and being buried in a strange
land, though terrible in some respects, did not alarm her. She wished to
live for her husband, for Jesus, for the souls of sinners; but if it was
the will of God she was ready--ready to die at anytime and be buried in any
place. During her sickness, her husband, alarmed at the prospect of his
loss, used all means to restore her wasting health; he remained by her
bedside, and with the most tender care endeavored to mitigate her sorrows
and lift her soul above the pains of sickness. He could not endure the idea
of a separation at the moment when she seemed most useful and best prepared
to labor with success. He had taken her from home, from loved scenes, to
die amid strangers; and the responsibility of his position made him, in
that period of anguish, a most tender nurse and a most faithful watcher.

Her last hours were spent in a manner which gave the brightest evidence of
her future bliss to all who saw her. With a firm hope in the merits of the
crucified One, she descended into the waters of the dark, deep Jordan,
whose billows broke upon the shores of human life with such melancholy
moanings. There was no fear; her soul was stayed on God; and a divine hand
lifted her heart in the last conflict.

About one o'clock, September 27, she breathed her last, and the spirit took
its everlasting flight from the abodes of flesh and the tenements of men.
Her last words were, "O, how happy!" and earth was exchanged for heaven.
She felt the tender and confiding spirit of that beautiful and touching
hymn of Wesley, and repeated it with dying voice and a countenance all
radiant with smiles:--

  "Jesus, lover of my soul,
    Let me to thy bosom fly."

THE END.