Adoniram Judson:

A Missionary of the Apostolic School

by Horatius Bonar

Table of Contents

PREFATORY NOTE

CHAPTER I: CHILDHOOD—YOUTH—MISSIONARY RESOLUTIONS. 1788–1810

CHAPTER II: APPOINTMENT AS MISSIONARY—ARRIVAL AT BURMAH. 1810–1813

CHAPTER III: STUDY OF THE LANGUAGE—FIRST EFFORTS. 1813–1818

CHAPTER IV: THE GOSPEL PREACHED—FIRST-FRUITS. 1819–1820

CHAPTER V: FIRST VISIT TO AVA—THE TENTH BURMAN BAPTIZED. 1819–1820

CHAPTER VI: SECOND VISIT TO AVA—INTENTION OF FORMING A STATION THERE. 1820–1824

CHAPTER VII: DR. JUDSON'S IMPRISONMENT. 1824–1826

CHAPTER VIII: DEATH OF MRS. JUDSON AT AMHERST—SETTLEMENT AT MAULMAIN. 1826–1830

CHAPTER IX: VISITS TO PROME, RANGOON, AND KAREN VILLAGES. 1830–1831

CHAPTER X: LIFE AMONG THE KARENS—COMPLETION OF THE BURMAN BIBLE. 1832–1834

CHAPTER XI: MISSIONARY AND FAMILY LETTERS—DECLINING HEALTH. 1835–1840

CHAPTER XII: BURMESE DICTIONARY—DOMESTIC SORROW. 1841–1845

CHAPTER XIII: VISIT TO AMERICA—LABOURS AT RANGOON AND MAULMAIN. 1845–1849

CHAPTER XIV: GRADUAL DECLINE—DEATH. 1849–1850

CHAPTER XV: RETROSPECT—CHARACTERISTIC ANECDOTES

APPENDIX

I. LINES ADDRESSED TO AN INFANT DAUGHTER, TWENTY DAYS OLD, IN THE CONDEMNED PRISON AT AVA

II. MRS. ANN JUDSON

III. EXPEDIENCY OF ENGLISH TEACHING AMONG THE NATIVES OF INDIA

IV. MRS. SARAH JUDSON

V. ADDRESS TO THE SOCIETY FOR MISSIONARY INQUIRY IN BROWN UNIVERSITY

VI. EXTRACT FROM ADDRESS AT WATERVILLE COLLEGE

POEMS BY MRS. E. C. JUDSON

I. A TRIBUTE TO S. B. J.

II. MY BIRD

III. ANGEL CHARLIE

IV. SWEET MOTHER

V. MY ANGEL GUIDE

PREFATORY NOTE

THIS Memoir of Dr. Judson has been prepared, under my superintendence, by my daughter. It is a careful condensation of Wayland's two volumes, with occasional matter from other quarters. It is, in most parts, quite a new biography.

If any man in these later days has more than another deserved the appellation of a missionary of the apostolic school, it is Adoniram Judson. Noble, daring, self-denied, successful beyond most, he wrought a work which remains, and will remain. The Apostle of Burmah was no common man, and wrought no common work.

THE GRANGE, EDINBURGH,

December 1870.

CHAPTER I

CHILDHOOD—YOUTH—MISSIONARY RESOLUTIONS

1788–1810

ADONIRAM JUDSON, missionary to Burmah, was born in Malden, Massachusetts, on the 9th of August 1788. He was the eldest son of Adoniram and Abigail Judson. His father was then pastor of a church at Malden, but afterwards moved to Plymouth.

Young Judson was taught to read by his mother when only three years old. His father had gone from home on a short journey, and she, wishing to surprise her husband, took this opportunity to teach the child to read. He learned so rapidly that he was able to give his father a chapter of the Bible on his return.

Dr. Judson's sister remembers that, at the age of four years, little Adoniram used to collect the children of the neighbourhood about him, and mounting a chair, go through the exercises of the pulpit with singular earnestness. His parents never forgot that the hymn usually given out on these occasions was the one commencing, 'Go preach my gospel, saith the Lord.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He entered college at sixteen, a year in advance; and having lost his fifteenth year by illness, he was obliged to devote himself very closely to his studies, and seldom gave himself any respite, even during the vacations. He was ambitious to excel; and a classmate says of him, he has 'no recollection of his ever failing, or even hesitating, in recitation.' He had a powerful rival in his friend Bailey, and this probably added zest to his ambition. When he received the highest appointment in the commencement exercises, his delight knew no bounds. He hurried to his room, and wrote, 'Dear father, I have got it. Your affectionate son, A. J.' He then took a circuitous route to the post-office, that he might quiet the beatings of his heart, and appear with propriety before his classmates, and especially before his rival friend.

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

In August 1808, having closed a school which he had been engaged in teaching at Plymouth, Judson set out on a tour through the Northern States. After visiting some of the New England States, he left his horse with an uncle in Sheffield, Connecticut, and proceeded to Albany to see the wonder of the world, the newly-invented 'Robert Fulton' steamer. She was about proceeding on her second trip to New York, and he gladly took passage in her. The magnificent scenery of the Hudson had then excited comparatively little attention, and its novelty and sublimity could not fail to make a deep and lasting impression on one of Judson's ardent and adventurous spirit. Indeed, during his last illness, he described it with all the enthusiasm that he might have done in his youth. His name was frequently mistaken for that of Johnson; and it occurred to him that, in the novel scenes before him, he might as well use this convenient disguise, in order to see as deeply into the world as possible. He therefore, without actually giving out the name with distinctness, or ever writing it down, became Mr. Johnson. He had not been long in New York before he contrived to attach himself to a theatrical company, not with the design of entering upon the stage, but partly for the purpose of familiarizing himself with its regulations, in case he should enter upon his literary projects, and partly from curiosity and love of adventure.

Before setting out upon his tour, he had unfolded his infidel sentiments to his father, and had been treated with the severity natural to a masculine mind that has never doubted, and to a parent who, after having made innumerable sacrifices for the son of his pride and his love, sees him rush recklessly on his own destruction. His mother was not less distressed, and she wept, and prayed, and expostulated. He knew his superiority to his father in argument; but he had nothing to oppose to his mother's tears and warnings, and they followed him now wherever he went. He knew that he was on the verge of such a life as he despised. For the world, he would not see a young brother in his perilous position; but 'I,' he thought, 'am in no danger. I am only seeing the world—the dark side of it, as well as the bright; and I have too much self-respect to do anything mean or vicious.' After seeing what he wished of New York, he returned to Sheffield for his horse, intending to pursue his journey westward. His uncle, Rev. Ephraim Judson, was absent, and a very pious young man occupied his place. His conversation was characterized by a godly sincerity, a solemn but gentle earnestness, which addressed itself to the heart, and Judson went away deeply impressed.

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

Mr. Judson removed to Andover on 12th October 1808. He was at first admitted as a special student; that is, he was permitted to attend the various courses of instruction in the seminary; but, having made no profession of religion, he could not be received as a member in full standing. As he entered at once upon the studies of the second year, he must already have made considerable proficiency in the languages of the Old and New Testaments.

At this period he had not found forgiveness through Christ. He had become dissatisfied with the views of life which he had formerly cherished. Aware of his personal sinfulness, and conscious that he needed some great moral transformation, he yet doubted the authenticity of revealed religion, and clung to the deistical sentiments which he had lately imbibed. His mind did not readily yield to the force of evidence. This is by no means an uncommon case; nor is it at all difficult of explanation. A deeply-seated dislike to the humbling doctrines of the cross, frequently assumes the form of inability to apply the common principles of evidence to the case of revealed religion. Men of unusual strength of will, and a somewhat too confident reliance on the decisions of their individual intellect, are peculiarly liable to fall into this error.

Mr. Judson's moral nature was, however, thoroughly aroused, and he was deeply in earnest on the subject of religion. The professors of the Theological Seminary encouraged his residence at the institution, wisely judging that so diligent an inquirer must soon arrive at the truth. The result justified their anticipations. In the calm retirement of Andover, guided in his studies by men the praise of whose learning and piety is in all the churches, with nothing to distract his attention from the great concerns of eternity, light gradually dawned upon his mind, and he was enabled to surrender his whole soul to Christ as his atoning Saviour. This event occurred in November, about six weeks after his removal to Andover. On the 2d of December 1808, as he has recorded, he made a solemn dedication of himself to God. On the 28th of May 1809, he made a public profession of religion, and joined the Third Congregational Church in Plymouth, of which his father was then pastor.

The change in Mr. Judson's religious character was not attended by those external indications of moral excitement which are frequently observed. The reformation wrought in him was, however, deep and radical. With unusual simplicity of purpose, he yielded himself up once and for ever to the will of God, and, without a shadow of misgiving, relied upon Christ as his all-sufficient Saviour. From the moment of his conversion, he seems never, through life, to have been harassed by a doubt of his acceptance with God.

In September of the same year he read, for the first time, Buchanan's Star in the East. It was this that led him to reflect upon the personal duty of devoting his life to the cause of Missions. The subject occupied his prayerful attention until February 1810, when he finally resolved, in obedience to what he believed to be the command of God, to become a missionary to the heathen.

The following extracts from letters will give some idea of Mr. Judson's religious character during his preparation for the ministry.

Miss Mary Hasseltine, the sister of Mrs. Ann H. Judson, gives her reminiscences of this period:—

'My recollections of his youthful efforts as a preacher are, that he was solemn, impassioned, logical, and highly scriptural, without much of the hortatory, with no far-fetched figure, or studied ornament of phrase. I can see his erect, commanding figure in the sacred desk, his manly countenance glowing with celestial fire, labouring intensely to excite in his hearers an interest in those high and holy themes that so fill his own vision. Methinks I hear his strains of eloquence as he proceeds: "See you that Christless youth, a scorner of God and goodness? His steps take hold on death, his vicious career hastens him onward to the verge of time. At this dread moment 'terrors take hold on him as waters, as a storm hurleth him out of his place.' He drops into those dark abodes where hope never comes; his affrighted spirit shrieks out, How long am I to stay in this place of torment? From every part of those doleful shades is reverberated, For ever, for ever, for ever!"

'His first introduction to our family was in the summer of 1810, at the General Association of Massachusetts, which met at Bradford. But we had no acquaintance with him until the succeeding autumn. He was then in all the ardour of his first love. It may literally be said that he was a man of one idea, and that was, love to Jesus, and a desire to manifest it in all its varied forms. He was by nature ardent, impetuous, and ambitious, with the most unshaken confidence in his own judgment, irrespective of the advice of his seniors. Of these propensities he was fully conscious, and against them continually warred.'

He thus writes to Miss A. Hasseltine:—

'… I am persuaded that the chief reason why we do not enjoy religion is, that we do not try to enjoy it. We are not like a good man who resolved that he would grow in grace. We pervert the doctrine of our dependence to indulging indolence and sinful ease. I have enjoyed some religion to-day, and I think by means of resolving in the morning that I would avoid everything displeasing to God. I have some hope that I shall be enabled to keep this in mind, in whatever I do: Is it pleasing to God? To assist my memory, I have used the expedient of inscribing it on several articles which frequently meet my sight. Is it not a good plan? But, after all, it will be of no use unless I resolve, in divine strength, instantly to obey the decision of conscience.'

'It is now half after nine, and I have been sitting fifteen minutes with my pen in hand thinking how to begin. I have this day attained more than ever to what I suppose Christians mean by the enjoyment of God. I have had pleasant seasons at the throne of God. God is waiting to be gracious, and is willing to make us happy in religion, if we would not run away from Him. We refuse to open the window shutters, and complain that it is dark. We grieve the Holy Spirit by little sins, and thus lose our only support. Perhaps the secret of living a holy life is to avoid everything which will displease God and grieve the Spirit, and to be strictly attentive to the means of grace. God has promised that He will regard the man that is of a broken and contrite spirit, and trembleth at His word. He has promised that they that wait upon Him shall renew their strength. The Almighty, the immutably faithful, has made this promise. He is not a man that He should lie, and His arm is not of flesh. Wait, then, upon the Lord. Of how much real happiness we cheat our souls by preferring a trifle to God! We have a general intention of living religion; but we intend to begin to-morrow, or next year. The present moment we prefer giving to the world. "A little more sleep, a little more slumber." Well, a little more sleep, and we shall sleep in the grave. A few days, and our work will be done. And when it is once done, it is done to all eternity. A life once spent is irrevocable. It will remain to be contemplated through eternity. If it be marked with sins, the marks will be indelible. If it has been a useless life, it can never be improved. Such it will stand for ever and ever. The same may be said of each day. When it is once past, it is gone for ever. All the marks which we put upon it, it will exhibit for ever. It will never become less true that such a day was spent in such a manner. Each day will not only be a witness of our conduct, but will affect our everlasting destiny. No day will lose its share of influence in determining where shall be our seat in heaven. How shall we then wish to see each day marked with usefulness!'

A friend, writing of this period, says:

'I have often heard Dr. Judson speak of his introduction to Andover, and of the state of utter darkness, and almost despair, in which he was at the time. I have also heard him tell of the gradual change which came over him; but there was nothing sufficiently striking in it to fasten on the memory.

'There was none of his characteristic impetuosity exhibited in his conversion; and he had none of those overpowering, Bunyan-like exercises, either before or after, that would be looked for in a person of his ardent temperament. He was prayerful, reflective, and studious of proofs; and gradually faith, trust in God, and finally a hope through the merits of Christ, took possession of his soul, he scarcely knew how; and from the moment that he fully believed, I think he never doubted. He said he felt as sure that he was an entirely new creature, actuated by new motives, and governed by new principles, as he was sure of his own existence. His old habits of thought and feeling to some extent clung to him, but they were made subservient to higher purposes; and though he might still have his objects of ambition, they could never again be of the first moment.

'His missionary views were always of the most comprehensive and engrossing character; and his remarks in our monthly concerts, and more especially at the close of a day's work in private, were characterized by a high-wrought enthusiasm seldom found in persons of his maturity of years and judgment. He devoured with great greediness every scrap of information concerning Eastern countries, and it was finally Colonel Syme's "Embassy to Ava" which first turned his thoughts to Burmah. These glowing and overwrought pictures were peculiarly congenial to his romantic spirit; but it is remarkable that the interest thus excited was never lost,—that, on the contrary, it grew stronger and deeper as the brilliant fancy colours faded. He did not think exclusively of Burmah however, though his predilections for that country were strong. His heart from the first turned entirely to the East, and he was impatient of anything short of a life devotement.

'He spent the winter vacation 1810 at Plymouth, and attended a meeting at Old Dedham, where there was a great revival. Up to this time his parents had not been made acquainted with his missionary views. He felt an exceedingly great reluctance to break the matter to his father, whose ambitious views with regard to him he very well knew, and who was not likely, he thought, to fall in with a plan of this sort. One evening his father threw out some hints of splendid prospects in the future, and his mother and sister showed by smiling innuendoes that they were in the secret. Adoniram became alarmed, and begged his father to explain himself, as their views with regard to the future might not coincide, and it was desirable to have an understanding on the subject. His father was very sure there would be no difference of opinion, and then proceeded to explain that the Rev. Dr. Griffin had proposed his son as his colleague in "the largest church in Boston." "And you will be so near home!" added his mother. His heart seemed bursting, and he could not answer either of them. But soon his sister joined in the conversation, and to her he replied: "No, sister, I shall never live in Boston. I have much farther than that to go." Steadily and calmly, but most fervidly, he proceeded to describe the course which he had marked out for himself; and though it occasioned his mother and sister very many tears, his father scarcely offered a word of opposition.'

The preceding letters show that, from the time of his self-consecration to the missionary service, he became in the highest sense a man of one idea. He offered up himself a living sacrifice on the altar, and seemed to look forward with pleasure to suffering and affliction for Christ.

It has already been mentioned, that in September 1809 Mr. Judson first began to consider his personal duty in relation to missions. In February 1810 he resolved to become a missionary to the heathen. In the interval between these two dates, several young men, whose names have now become familiar to us as household words, joined Andover Seminary from Williams College. Among them were Samuel J. Mills, jun., James Richards, and Luther Rice. They had already formed a Missionary Society in college, the object of which was to train themselves for the work of missions to the heathen.

Mr. Judson gladly joined them, and the little circle was afterwards increased by the entrance of a few others. These young men, in whom the same impulse had been kindled by the same Spirit, prayed and conversed together, and, while waiting till the way should be made plain for them, laboured earnestly both to nourish the spirit of devotion in their own hearts, and to kindle missionary zeal in the college and in the surrounding churches.

CHAPTER II

APPOINTMENT AS MISSIONARY—ARRIVAL AT BURMAH

1810–1813

AT this time the cause of Missions was in its infancy in America. There was no society to which these young men, who purposed to devote their lives to labour among the heathen, could turn for support and direction. They, however, laid their views before a conference of the leading Congregational ministers, which met at Bradford in June 1810, asking whether they might expect help from them, or whether they must place themselves under the direction of some European society. The result was the formation of a Mission Board from among the assembled ministers. Still, as it was feared that the infant society might not immediately be able to provide for all, it was resolved that Mr. Judson should go to London to confer with the London Missionary Society.

The packet in which Mr. Judson sailed for England was captured by a French privateer. Mr. Judson was, with the exception of two Spanish merchants, the only passenger, and being thus friendless, and without a word of French, he was confined in the hold along with the common sailors. The rough society and close atmosphere, together with excessive sea-sickness, tried him severely. His courage for the first time almost failed him, and his thoughts went back sorrowfully, and with something like misgiving, to his dear Plymouth home,—to Bradford, and the Boston church, whose pastor he might have been. But he recognised the temptation that assailed him in this state of feeling, and prayed earnestly against it, seeking to bear this first hardship, as he might hereafter have to bear many more, in the strength of God. He soon regained his cheerfulness, and, finding his Hebrew Bible, he managed to amuse himself by translating mentally from Hebrew to Latin, for the light was too dim to allow of his reading continuously. One day the physician who visited him found him thus engaged, and thought of addressing him in Latin, and, after a little conversation, procured for him admittance to the upper cabin, and a seat at the captain's table.

Two days after this partial relief, hopes of complete release were excited by the appearance of a stranger vessel, which seemed bearing down on the privateer. Mr. Judson could hardly repress shouts of joy, and when ordered below, passed a night of sleepless expectation. But when morning light came, not a mote was seen upon the horizon. After some cruising about, the prisoners were conveyed to Bayonne. There Mr. Judson was obliged to march along with the crew to prison, where he might have suffered more severely than before, had he not succeeded, while passing through the streets, in attracting the attention, of a countryman by clamouring loudly in English. After explaining his situation in a few words, and obtaining a promise of assistance, he was obliged to follow the rest, which he did quietly enough, now that he had gained his object. His new friend did not forget him, but succeeded in procuring his release that night. He was detained in France for some time on parole, and spent some weeks in Bayonne and in Paris, where he made the most of this unexpected opportunity of gaining information and practical knowledge.

He was allowed to proceed to England in May 1811. He met with a most kind reception on all hands. His appearance at that time must have created a very favourable impression. He was small, and exceedingly delicate in figure, with a round, rosy face, which gave him the appearance of extreme youthfulness. His hair and eyes were of a dark shade of brown, in his French passport described as chestnut. His voice, however, usually took his listeners by surprise. An instance of this occurred in London. He sat in the pulpit with a clergyman somewhat distinguished for his eccentricity, and at the close of the sermon was requested to read a hymn. When he had finished, the clergyman arose, and introduced his young brother to the congregation as a person who purposed devoting himself to the conversion of the heathen, adding, 'And if his faith is proportioned to his voice, he will drive the devil from all India.'

Mr. Judson received a promise of support from the London Society in case of failure on the part of the American Board, and returned home in August. But before long it was found that foreign aid was not required; the first difficulties were safely overcome, and the American Board appointed Mr. Judson and his colleagues to labour in some Asiatic field,—India or Burmah, according as future providential guidance might determine.

Mr. Judson was not to go alone to the unknown scene of his labours.

While attending the meetings of the General Association at Bradford the previous summer, he had met Ann Hasseltine for the first time. The acquaintance formed soon ripened into a closer intimacy, and he asked her to be his companion on the mission-field. She was indeed well suited to take her share in his unreserved sacrifice of all for Christ, and to be the first American woman who resolved to leave friends and country behind her to teach His name to the heathen.

Hers was a most remarkable and very early developed Christian character. In her early girlhood, when, with a most ardent and lively disposition, and a power of enjoying life to the full, she seemed entangled in worldly pleasures, Christ stepped in and drew all the energies of her young heart to Himself. In her fifteenth year, she tells us, the words struck her conscience, 'She that liveth in pleasure is dead while she liveth.' But she put them away from her,—the more so, as at that time she knew nothing of the love and grace of Christ, and had been taught to think of religion chiefly as a course of fulfilment of duty and avoidance of sin which might gain for her a title to heaven.

Nearly two years later, when the Spirit was working in many hearts in Bradford, the thought took hold of her with overwhelming power, that she must either obtain a new heart or perish for ever. For a time she kept her anxiety secret, but a conversation with a relative, who was herself impressed, broke down her reserve, and brought her to such a point, that 'I resolved,' she says in her journal, 'to give up everything and seek to be reconciled to God. I was willing now that the whole universe should know that I felt myself to be a lost sinner.' Entering her father's house after making this resolution, she found a large party of her young companions assembled to spend the evening, whom she felt she could not leave without extreme rudeness. But her second thought was, 'If I lose ray soul, I lose my all.' After merely speaking to one or two, she went to her room and remained there alone. But she knew not the way of peace. For some weeks she shut herself up, denied herself every gratification, and spent her days in reading and crying for mercy, which she thought her penitence and self-denial would surely win from God. But as time passed on, and no comfort visited her, she wondered that God did not notice her prayers and repentance, and rebellious thoughts began to rise in her heart. She began to discover in herself a deeper sinfulness than she had thought, and a wider separation from God, whose perfect purity and holiness now occasioned her chief distress. But she was not left long in this state. She writes: 'I began to discover a beauty in the way of salvation by Christ. He appeared to be just such a Saviour as I needed. I saw how God could be just, in saving sinners through Him. I committed my soul into His hands, and besought Him to do with me what seemed good in His sight. When I was thus enabled to commit myself into the hands of Christ, my mind was relieved from that distressing weight which had borne it down for so long a time. I did not think I had obtained the new heart, but felt happy in contemplating the character of Christ, and particularly that disposition which led Him to suffer so much for the sake of doing the will and promoting the glory of His heavenly Father.' From day to day she found that thoughts of God and His holiness were become her chief joy instead of her terror; and she began to hope that she had passed from death to life.

Henceforth, her whole life ran in a new channel. She says: 'Sin in myself and others appeared as that abominable thing which a holy God hates, and I earnestly strove to avoid sinning,—not because I was afraid of hell, but because I feared to displease God, and grieve His Holy Spirit. I attended my studies in school with far different feelings and motives from what I had ever done before. I felt my obligation to improve all I had to the glory of God.' She tried, by conversation or by letters, to win her companions to Christ, and to seize every opportunity of usefulness that might be offered. Of one effort to do good she writes: 'On being lately requested to take a small school for a few months, I felt very unqualified to have the charge of little immortal souls; but the hope of doing them good, and the obligation I feel to try to be useful, have induced me to comply. I was enabled to open the school with prayer. Though the cross was very great, I felt constrained by a sense of duty to take it up. The little creatures seemed astonished at such a beginning. Probably some of them had never heard a prayer before. Oh may I have grace to be faithful in instructing these little immortals in such a way as shall be pleasing to my heavenly Father!'

Mr. Judson's proposal of marriage was not accepted without much prayer and heart-searching. Many things combined to make her decision no easy one. She had no example to guide her, and no prospect at this time of having any female companion in the mission-field. While a few of her friends stedfastly encouraged her, most opposed her undertaking as wild and visionary. She realized fully the many sacrifices that she would be called to make. Indeed Mr. Judson himself had taken pains that all concerned should know the extent of the sacrifice they were making. To her father he wrote in the following strain:—'I have now to ask whether you can consent to part with your daughter early next spring, to see her no more in this world? whether you can consent to her departure to a heathen land, and her subjection to the hardships and sufferings of a missionary life? whether you can consent to her exposure to the dangers of the ocean; to the fatal influence of the southern climate of India; to every kind of want and distress; to degradation, insult, persecution, and perhaps a violent death? Can you consent to all this, for the sake of Him who left His heavenly home and died for her and for you; for the sake of perishing, immortal souls; for the sake of Zion and the glory of God? Can you consent to all this, in hope of soon meeting your daughter in the world of glory, with a crown of righteousness brightened by the acclamations of praise which shall redound to her Saviour from heathens saved, through her means, from eternal woe and despair?'

But it was not the thought of all this suffering that mainly kept Ann Hasseltine from making an immediate decision. It was the fear lest she should accept so difficult and honourable a position from an earthly motive, without being fully assured that God Himself had called her to it, and would prepare her for it. In her journal she writes,—

'Sept. 10, 1810.—For several weeks past my mind has been greatly agitated. An opportunity has been presented to me of spending my days among the heathen, in attempting to persuade them to receive the gospel. Were I convinced of its being a call from God, and that it would be more pleasing to Him for me to spend my life in this way than in any other, I think I should be willing to relinquish every earthly object, and, in full view of dangers and hardships, give myself up to His great work.'

The departure of the missionaries was delayed till the spring of 1812. On the 3d of February, Mr. Judson took a final leave of his parents, and on the 5th, he and Ann Hasseltine were married at Bradford. Next day he was ordained along with his brother missionaries, Messrs. Nott, Newell, Hall, and Rice.

On the 19th, Mr. and Mrs. Judson and Mr. and Mrs. Newell embarked at Salem, in the brig Caravan, Captain Heard, bound for Calcutta. They had been some time waiting for a fair wind; and on the 18th, the long-expected change in the weather took place, and the passengers were in haste summoned on board. The brig remained, however, at anchor during the night, and on the following morning set sail with a favourable breeze.

The embarkation was sudden, and but few of their friends were aware of the time of their departure. Every comfort which kindness, could suggest, had, however, been previously provided. The captain was an intelligent and amiable gentleman, and they commenced their voyage under the most auspicious circumstances. The passage was pleasant, and on the 17th of June they arrived in Calcutta. Messrs. Nott, Hall, and Rice, who sailed about the same time in the Harmony from Philadelphia, did not arrive until the 8th of the following month.

They were met by the venerable Dr. Carey, who invited them warmly to reside at Serampore with himself and his fellow-labourers, Messrs. Marshman and Ward, until the other missionaries who had sailed in the Harmony should arrive. They had been there about ten days, when a Government order required them immediately to leave the country and return to America. The East India Company was at this time bitterly opposed to the introduction of Christianity among the natives of India, and its proceedings were often most disgraceful to a Christian nation. Happily, only a year later, an alteration in its charter, limiting its power in this respect, was obtained through the zealous exertions of Wilberforce and others. The missionaries petitioned in vain for leave to settle in any part of India. Accounts from Burmah had been so discouraging, that they had renounced the idea of going there, and therefore applied for leave to go to the Isle of France. This was granted, and Mr. and Mrs. Newell sailed thither on the 1st of August; but as the vessel could only carry two passengers, the Judsons were obliged to wait at Calcutta, uncertain when another opportunity might offer itself.

Another cause of anxiety and trial arose out of the changed views with respect to baptism which Mr. and Mrs. Judson had been led to entertain since leaving America. This change began during the voyage, and in the September following they were re-baptized in Calcutta. Many consequences of this step could not but be very painful. They knew that many of the friends they had left would look coldly on them because of it; and, besides, it severed their connection with the Society which had sent them out. They felt all this most keenly.

Mr. Judson writes about this time:—

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

And again:

'With the advice of the brethren at Serampore, I am contemplating a mission on one of the eastern islands. At present Amboyna seems to present the most favourable opening. Fifty thousand souls are there perishing without the means of life; and the situation of the island is such that a mission there established might, with the blessing of God, be extended to the neighbouring islands in those seas.

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

'ADONIRAM JUDSON, JUN.'

They had resided in Calcutta about two months, waiting for a passage, when they received a peremptory order to proceed to England in one of the Company's ships. A petty officer accompanied Messrs. Judson and Rice to their place of residence, and requested them not to leave it without permission. Their names were inserted in the daily papers in a list of passengers of the ship in which they were ordered to sail. A vessel was then found about to proceed to the Isle of France, but they were forbidden to take passage in her. They communicated to the captain their circumstances, and asked if he would venture to take them without a pass. He replied that he would he neutral: there was his ship, and they might do as they pleased.

They succeeded in getting on board the ship without being discovered, and the vessel sailed. After they had proceeded down the river for two days, they were overtaken by a Government despatch forbidding the pilot to go farther, as the vessel contained passengers who had been ordered to England.

They were thus obliged to leave the ship. Every effort was made to procure a remission of the order, but in vain. An attempt to procure a passage to Ceylon failed. At last, after several days of fruitless effort, and when every hope had failed, a letter was put into Mr. Judson's hand containing a pass from the magistrate for a passage in the Creole, the vessel which they had left. To whose kindness they were indebted for this favour they never ascertained. It was three days since the Creole had left them, and there was every reason to suppose that she had gone to sea. They, however, immediately set out in pursuit of her. After twenty-four hours of rowing and sailing, they reached Saugur, where they found the Creole at anchor, and were taken on board. The passage was long and tempestuous. There were four passengers besides the missionaries, but none of them manifested any interest in religion. On the 17th of January they arrived at Port Louis.

They here met with a heavy affliction. Mrs. Newell, the intimate friend and first missionary associate of Mrs. Judson, had finished her course on the 30th of the preceding November. This event affected the whole company very deeply, and taught them, more emphatically than their wandering loneliness, that here they had no continuing city.

Mr. Rice soon after returned to America, for the purpose of exciting the interest of the Baptist churches in that country. It may be added here, that these churches warmly responded to the appeal made to them, so that not only were our missionaries relieved from all anxiety, but from this small beginning sprang a wide-spread and active interest in the cause of Missions.

The Judsons were thus left alone, and in much perplexity, in the Isle of France. They resolved to attempt a mission at Penang or Prince of Wales Island, but were obliged to visit Madras, as the only way of obtaining a passage thither. But their expectation was disappointed. They found no vessel at Madras bound for Penang. Their arrival was reported to Government; and their only safety appeared to consist in leaving it before the dreaded order to proceed to England should arrive. The only vessel which would sail immediately was one bound for Rangoon; and in it they took passage. Thus, by a wonderful series of providential occurrences, they were impelled, contrary to their expectations and plans, to the Burman Empire. The account of the voyage, and their arrival at Rangoon, may be given in Mr. Judson's own words:

'A mission to Rangoon we had been accustomed to regard with feelings of horror. But it was now brought to a point: we must either venture there or be sent to Europe. All other paths were shut up. And thus situated, though dissuaded by all our friends at Madras, we commended ourselves to the care of God, and embarked the 22d of June. It was a crazy old vessel; the captain was the only person on board that could speak our language; and we had no other apartment than what was made by canvas. Our passage was very tedious. Mrs. Judson was taken dangerously ill, and continued so, until, at one period, I came to experience the awful sensation which necessarily resulted from the expectation of an immediate separation from my beloved wife, the only remaining companion of my wanderings. About the same time, the captain being unable to make the Nicobar Island, where it was intended to take in a cargo of cocoa-nuts, we were driven into a dangerous strait, between the Little and Great Andamans, two savage coasts, where the captain had never been before, and where, if we had been cast ashore, we should, according to all accounts, have been killed and eaten by the natives. But as one evil is sometimes an antidote to another, so it happened with us. Our being driven into this dangerous but quiet channel brought immediate relief to the agitated and exhausted frame of Mrs. Judson. And, in the event, we were safely conducted over the black rocks which we sometimes saw in the gulf below, and on the eastern side of the islands found favourable winds, which gently wafted us forward to Rangoon. But on arriving here other trials awaited us.

'We had never before seen a place where European influence had not contributed to smooth and soften the rough features of uncultivated nature. The prospect of Rangoon, as we approached, was quite disheartening. I went on shore, just at night, to take a view of the place and the mission-house; but so dark and cheerless and unpromising did all things appear, that the evening of that day, after my return to the ship, we have marked as the most gloomy and distressing that we ever passed. Instead of rejoicing, as we ought to have done, in having found a heathen land from which we were not immediately driven away, such were our weaknesses, that we felt we had no portion left here below, and found consolation only in looking beyond our pilgrimage, which we tried to flatter ourselves would be short, to that peaceful region where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest. But if ever we commended ourselves sincerely, and without reserve, to the disposal of our heavenly Father, it was on this evening; and after some recollection and prayer, we experienced something of the presence of Him who cleaveth closer than a brother; something of that peace which our Saviour bequeathed to His followers,—a legacy which we know from this experience endures when the fleeting pleasures and unsubstantial riches of the world are passed away. The next day Mrs. Judson was carried into the town, being unable to walk; and we found a home at the mission-house, though Mr. Carey was absent at Ava.' This was on the 13th of July 1813.

CHAPTER III

STUDY OF THE LANGUAGE—FIRST EFFORTS

1813–1818

MR. JUDSON'S previous hesitation to cast his lot in Burmah had arisen from fear of the cruel tyranny of its government. And though, at the Master's call, he had cast away this fear, it was not because the difficulty and danger diminished on nearer view. It needed no common faith to hope for the spread of the gospel among a people of slaves, each of whom held his life and property at the absolute disposal of the supreme ruler, and each of whom knew that the religion of his fathers was the only one permitted to him. Despotic rule everywhere kept down the spirit of the people. Under the emperor, each province has its viceroy, who possesses the same unlimited power in his territory. These governors live by the most rapacious exactions from all subject to them, so that the popular name for them is 'eaters of the provinces.'

In other respects Burmah is, on the whole, not an unattractive country. From its great variety of elevation, its scenery, soil, and climate are very diversified, but it is generally healthful and fertile. Its abundant produce, of the most various sorts, and its noble rivers, would mark it out as a great commercial country, if enterprise of any kind could flourish under its government. Its people are usually intelligent and thoughtful, and less indolent than the Hindoos. A large proportion of the male population can read; and though the women are treated as inferiors, they are not kept in seclusion. There is no caste. The priests are men who have voluntarily devoted themselves to a course of religious austerity, and to the instruction of the young.

Buddhism strikes one as hardly so much a religion as a system of philosophy,—cold, heartless, comfortless beyond measure. In the sense of an eternal Being who rules His creatures, it owns no God at all. The Buddh whom they worship is but a man who has raised himself through all the ranks of men and demigods by his virtues, and has attained the reward of rest, and security from further change, in a state of dreamy inactivity, which by Burman philosophers can hardly be distinguished from annihilation. He is a name to be revered, not a being to be loved or obeyed. He is neither creator nor preserver. The real ruler of all things is a blind, inexorable necessity, before which gods and men lie helpless. The moral code of Buddhism is remarkably pure and strict. Every sin entails its own punishment in a future state. But there is no way of repentance, no atonement, no appeal from the decree of fate. On the other hand, by self-torture and the extinction of every human desire or passion, the devotee may merit a reward; and his hope at last is nothing better than to cease from the endless labour of living. It need hardly be said that this dreary creed can have no hold on the conscience, and that all its terrible threatenings are powerless to render the Burmans truthful, or moral, or just.

Rangoon, on an arm of the Irrawadi, is an important seaport of Burmah. A mission had already been set on foot there by the London Missionary Society, but it had made little progress. Mr. Carey, a son of Dr. Carey of Serampore, was the only missionary in the country at the time of Mr. Judson's arrival, and he had been summoned to Ava by the order of the king. No native had ever yet embraced the religion of Jesus.

Before the missionaries could proclaim the message of life to this perishing people, they knew they must spend a long time of drudgery in learning the language. They had few helps in their study. Mr. Carey's translation of the Gospel of Matthew and part of a grammar were their only books. No dictionary and no interpreter existed. They succeeded in finding an intelligent teacher; but their only way of communicating with him, and of acquiring information concerning the language, was to point to various objects, the names of which he pronounced in Burman. Their progress was necessarily very slow at first, and often discouraging.

The standard of attainment which Mr. Judson had set before himself was a high one. The Burmans are a reading people. They have their own religious books, and would naturally expect our Scriptures to be put into their hands that they might judge for themselves. He therefore laboured to acquire all the familiarity and accuracy necessary to give them an exact translation of the Word of God. He succeeded so well, that, four years afterwards, a Burman governor, who received one of his books, utterly refused to credit that it could be written by a foreigner who had been only a short time in the country. Besides his Bible, his grammar for the use of missionaries, will smooth the way for all who follow.

To gain the ease and elegance which he aimed at in the language, he was obliged to study the native literature very extensively. He was naturally fond of linguistic researches, and the half-fabulous antiquities which lay round him had a great charm for him. At one time he had visions of enriching English literature from the curious stores of Burman anecdote and poetry; but though he was able to repeat the latter by the hour, he never committed a line to paper. He had no time for any work but that to which he had given his life, and was ever on the watch lest any fascinations, whether of a new language and literature, or of the scientific study of a country and race, or of friendly and congenial society, should tempt him to swerve from his great object for a moment. He used sometimes to say that he looked on a missionary as consecrated to a peculiar and most important work, which could only be successfully carried on by consecrating to it the entire energy of body and soul. Like Howard at Rome, he had no time for the monuments while the prisoners were un succoured.

Their first home was in the English mission-house, outside the walls of the town, and situated in the midst of large and pleasant gardens. But they soon found it necessary to remove into the town, both for the sake of closer intercourse with the natives, and on account of the alarming robberies which were of frequent occurrence. Their isolation from all Christian society may be judged from the following note in Mrs. Judson's journal:

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

Another extract gives an interesting account of Mrs. Judson's reception at the government house:

'December 11.—To-day, for the first time, I have visited the wife of the viceroy. When we arrived, she was not up, and we had to wait some time. But the inferior wives of the viceroy diverted us much by their curiosity in minutely examining everything we had on, and by trying on our gloves, bonnets, etc. At last her: Highness made her appearance, richly dressed, with a long silver pipe at her mouth, smoking. At her appearance all the other wives took their seats at a respectful distance, and sat in a crouching position, without speaking. She received me very politely, took me by the hand, seated me upon a mat, and herself by me. She excused herself for not coming in sooner, saying she was unwell. She was very inquisitive whether I had a husband and children; whether I was my husband's first wife,—meaning by this, whether I was the highest among them, supposing that my husband, like the Burmans, had many wives; and whether I intended staying long in the country.

'When the viceroy came in, I really trembled, for I never before beheld such a savage-looking creature. His long robe and enormous spear not a little increased my dread. He spoke to me, however, very condescendingly. When I rose to go, her Highness again took my hand, told me she was happy to see me; that I must come to see her every day, for I was like a sister to her.'

Writing to Mr. Newell, April 23, 1814, Mrs. Judson says:

'We have no society, no dear Christian friends; and with the exception of two or three sea captains, who now and then call on us, we never see a European face. When we feel a disposition to sigh for the enjoyments of our native country, we turn our eyes on the miserable objects around. We behold some of them labouring hard for a scanty subsistence, oppressed by an avaricious government, which is ever ready to seize what industry had hardly earned; we behold others sick and diseased, daily begging for a few grains of rice, and with no other habitation to screen them from the burning sun, or chilly rains, than what a small piece of cloth raised on four bamboos under a tree can afford. While we behold these scenes, we feel that our temporal cup of blessing is full, and runneth over. But oh! how infinitely superior our spiritual blessings! When we have a realizing sense of these things, my dear brother, we forget our native country and former enjoyments, feel contented and happy with our lot, with but one wish remaining,—that of being instrumental of leading these Burmans to partake of the same source of happiness with ourselves.

'Our progress in the language is slow, as it is peculiarly hard of acquisition. We can, however, read, write, and converse with tolerable ease, and frequently spend whole evenings very pleasantly in conversing with our Burman friends.'

At another time she says:

'God grant that we may live and die among the Burmans, though we should never do anything more than smooth the way for others.'

Mr. Judson writes, Jan. 7, 1814:

'Our situation is much more comfortable than we expected it would be in such a country. We enjoy good health; and though deprived of all congenial Christian society, we are very happy in each other, and think we frequently enjoy His presence, whose smile can turn the darkest night to day, and whose favour is the fountain of all happiness. "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you." '

At another time, when Mrs. Judson was absent for medical advice at Madras, he writes:

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

Mrs. Judson happily returned with restored health. She gives the following glimpse into their daily life:

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

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

The following extract from Mr. Judson's journal presents a view of the notions of intelligent Burmans on the subject of religion:—

'September 30, 1815.—Had the following conversation with my teacher, as nearly as I can recollect it. This man has been with me about three months, and is the most sensible, learned, and candid man that I have ever found among the Burmans. He is forty-seven years of age, and his name is Oo Oungmen. I began by saying, Mr. J—— is dead. Oo. I have heard so. J. His soul is lost, I think. Oo. Why so? J. He was not a disciple of Christ. Oo. How do you know that? You could not see his soul. J. How do you know whether the root of that mango-tree is good? You cannot see it; but you can judge by the fruit on its branches. Thus I know that Mr. J—— was not a disciple of Christ, because his words and actions were not such as indicate a disciple. Oo. And so all who are not disciples of Christ are lost? J. Yes, all, whether Burmans or foreigners. Oo. This is hard. J. Yes, it is hard indeed. Otherwise I should not have come all this way, and left parents and all, to tell you of Christ. He seemed to feel the force of this, and after stopping a little he said, How is it that the disciples of Christ are so fortunate above all men? J. Are not all men sinners, and deserving of punishment in a future state? Oo. Yes, all must suffer in some future state for the sins they commit. The punishment follows the crime as surely as the wheel of the cart follows the footsteps of the ox. J. Now, according to the Burman system, there is no escape. According to the Christian system, there is. Jesus Christ has died in the place of sinners, has borne their sins; and now those who believe on Him, and become His disciples, are released from the punishment they deserve. At death they are received into heaven, and are happy for ever. Oo. That I will never believe. My mind is very stiff on this one point, namely, that all existence involves in itself principles of misery and destruction. The whole universe is only destruction and reproduction. It therefore becomes a wise man to raise his desires above all things that exist, and aspire to nigban, the state where there is no existence. J. Teacher, there are two evil futurities, and one good. A miserable future existence is evil, and annihilation, or nigban, is an evil, a fearful evil. A happy future existence is alone good. Oo. I admit that is best, if it could be perpetual; but it cannot be. Whatever is, is liable to change, and misery, and destruction. Nigban is the only permanent good, and that good has been attained by Gautama, the last deity. J. If there be no eternal being, you cannot account for anything. Whence this world, and all that we see? Oo. Fate. I must say that my mind is very decided and hard; and unless you tell me something more to the purpose, I shall never believe.

'January 1, 1816.—The greater part of my time for the last six months has been occupied in studying and transcribing the dictionary of the Pali language. With the close of the year I have brought this tedious work to a close, and find that the number of Pali words collected amounts to about 4000. It has grieved me to spend so much time on the Pali, but the constant occurrence of Pali terms in every Burman book made it absolutely necessary.

'January 16, 1816.—I just now begin to see my way forward in this language, and hope that two or three years more will make it somewhat familiar; but I have met with difficulties that I had no idea of before I entered on the work. When we take up a western language, the similarity in the characters, in very many terms, in many modes of expression, and in the general structure of sentences, its being in fair print (a circumstance we hardly think of), and the assistance of grammars, dictionaries, and instructors, render the work comparatively easy; but when we take up a language spoken by a people on the other side of the earth, whose very thoughts run in channels diverse from ours, and whose modes of expression are consequently all new and uncouth; when we find the letters and words all totally destitute of the least resemblance to any language we had ever met with, and these words not fairly divided and distinguished, as in western writing, by breaks, and points, and capitals, but run together in one continuous line, a sentence or paragraph seeming to the eye but one long word; when, instead of clear characters on paper, we find only obscure scratches on dried palm-leaves strung together and called a book; when we have no dictionary and no interpreter to explain a single word, and must get something of the language before we can avail ourselves of the assistance of a native teacher,—

"Hoc opus, hic labor est."

Notwithstanding my present incompetency, I am beginning to translate the New Testament, being extremely anxious to get some parts of Scripture at least into an intelligible shape, if for no other purpose than to read, as occasion offers, to the Burmans I meet with.'

On the 11th of September 1815 their loneliness was cheered by the birth of a son. The blessing was, however, short-lived; for eight months afterwards they were called upon to consign him to an early grave. Mrs. Judson wrote to her parents: 'Our hearts were bound up in this child; we felt he was our earthly all, our only source of innocent recreation in this heathen land. But God saw it was necessary to remind us of our error, and to strip us of our only little all. O may it not be in vain that He has done it! May we so improve it that He will stay His hand, and say, "It is enough." '

Mr. Judson wrote to Mr. Rice, August 3, 1816: 'If they ask us what prospect of ultimate success is there, tell them, as much as that there is an almighty and faithful God, who will perform His promises, and no more. If this does not satisfy them, beg them to let me stay and try it, and to let you come, and to give us our bread; or if they are unwilling to risk their bread on such a forlorn hope as has nothing but the WORD OF GOD to sustain it, beg of them at least not to prevent others from giving us bread; and, if we live some twenty or thirty years, they may hear from us again.

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

Mr. Judson's progress in the language and in translation was almost stopped for several months by distressing weakness, and pain in the head and eyes, occasioned by excessive study. It was thought that a sea voyage was the only means of relief, and he was on the point of embarking, when the joyful news reached him that Mr. and Mrs. Hough, who had been sent out to join them by the American Society, had arrived in India. He resolved to remain and await their arrival in Rangoon; and possibly the hope of Christian support and fellowship was the refreshment which he really needed, for he soon regained his usual health.

Mr. Hough brought with him a valuable gift from the Serampore missionaries,—a printing-press, with Burman types. The time had at last come when these things could be made use of. Mr. Judson had completed his View of the Christian Religion, a tract adapted to give to Burmans their first ideas of Christ and a way of salvation. Before long, 2000 copies of this tract, and 3000 of a small catechism, were thrown off, and were ready to be put into the hands of any who might visit the mission-house. The Gospel of Matthew was next commenced. Much had been accomplished since the Judsons had set foot on Burman soil, not four years previously; and though the scattered seed had not yet borne fruit, many tokens encouraged them to hope. Mrs. Judson at this time met every Sabbath with a class of from fifteen to twenty Burman women. She found them attentive and interested while she read the Scriptures, and tried to tell them about the true God.

In February 10, 1817, Mr. Judson writes to a friend: 'I have time only to accompany the enclosed tracts with a line or two.

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

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

'March 7.—I have this day been visited by the first inquirer after religion that I have ever seen in Burmah. For, although in the course of the last two years I have preached the gospel to many, and though some have visited me several times, and conversed on the subject of religion, yet I have never had much reason to believe that their visits originated in a spirit of sincere inquiry.

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

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

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

About the same time he writes to the Rev. Dr. Baldwin:—'I am at present wholly absorbed in the dictionary. I hope to have it finished by the time that Brother Rice arrives. The rains make it difficult for me to go out much; and for the same reason we have not many Burman visitors in our insulated situation. Even those who have visited us frequently, and acquired some knowledge of our religion, and manifested some spirit of inquiry, are deterred from prosecuting their inquiries by fear of persecution. The two most hopeful persons suddenly discontinued their visits two months ago, and we have not seen them since. We suppose, from the circumstances, that they became fearful of being suspected. Sometimes persons who have been conversing with me on religion have been surprised by others, on which I have observed that they were disconcerted, remained silent, and got off as soon as possible. They all tell me that it would ruin a Burman to adopt the new religion.… It may be thought best for one of us to go up to Ava, and introduce the matter gradually and gently to the knowledge of the emperor. I am fully persuaded that he has never yet got the idea that an attempt is making to introduce a new religion among his slaves. How the idea will strike him it is impossible to foresee. He may be enraged, and order off the heads of all concerned. The urbanity, however, with which he treats all foreigners, and his known hatred of the present order of Buddhist priests, render such a supposition improbable. And if he should only be indifferent, should discover no hostility, especially if he should treat the missionaries with complacency, it would be a great point gained.

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

The next step in advance was to begin the public preaching of the gospel, and this Mr. Judson longed to do. But a period of trial was to intervene. In December 1817, he left Rangoon on a visit to Chittagong, in Arracan, for the benefit of his health, and also to procure one of the native Christians there to assist him in preaching. The voyage was expected to take only ten or twelve days; but the vessel was detained by contrary winds, and, becoming unmanageable in the difficult navigation along the coast, the captain changed her destination, and made sail for Madras. At the end of three months they were still trying in vain to reach land. Their provisions had run short, so that mouldy rice, which they could pick up in small quantities from native vessels, and a limited supply of water, had been their sole sustenance for many weeks. Mr. Judson's wardrobe had been long since exhausted, and, being attacked by slow fever, he lay alone in his berth, amidst filth, pain, and starvation, in a state of passive and monotonous suffering, begging continually for water, water, without obtaining enough to quench his devouring thirst for a moment. At length the little vessel came to anchor, not at Madras, but in the road of Masulipatam, three miles from the low beach. When the captain came to inquire if he would be taken on shore, he was so low that he could hardly take any interest in, or even credit the report of land. It seemed only one of his many fitful dreams. After some urging, he became sufficiently roused to pencil a note, which he addressed to 'any English resident of Masulipatam,' begging only for a place on shore to die. After a little while one of the men came below to tell him that a boat was approaching from the shore. He now succeeded in crawling to the window of his cabin, from which he distinguished in the rapidly moving boat both the red coat of the military and the white jacket of the civilian. In a thrill of awakened hope and pleasure, he threw himself on his knees and wept. Before his new friends were fairly on board, he had in some measure regained his self-control; but he used to say to Mrs. Judson, 'The white face of an Englishman never looked to me so beautiful, so like my conception of what angel faces are, as when those strangers entered my cabin.' They were very much shocked at his visible wretchedness. He was haggard, unshaven, dirty, and so weak he could scarcely support his own weight. One of the officers took him to his own house, and supplied all his wants with a cordial generosity never forgotten by him. But he was now 300 miles from Madras, the only port whence he could hope for a safe return to Rangoon. He was obliged to perform this journey over land, by means of a palanquin, as soon as his health would permit. At Madras he was obliged to wait month after month for a vessel, and all the kindness of Christian friends could hardly make the delay supportable, while thoughts of the orphaned mission, and the agonizing suspense which Mrs. Judson must be enduring, tortured him.

He writes from Madras, May 28, 1818:—'I have scarcely heard from Rangoon since I left, or been able to transmit any intelligence thither by a conveyance to be depended on. The weakness of my eyes prevents my application to study, or attempt at any exertion. I am making no progress in missionary work; I am distressed by the appalling recollection of the various business which was pressing on me at Rangoon, and made me very reluctant to leave home for the shortest time. Now I have been detained twice as long as I anticipated, and have withal wholly failed in my undertaking. Where, my rebellious heart is ready to cry, where is the wisdom of all this? But it is wise, though blindness cannot apprehend. It is best, though unbelief is disposed to murmur. Be still, my soul, and know that He is God!'

He did not obtain a vessel till July, and reached Rangoon on the 2d of August, after an absence of more than seven months.

During most of this time Mrs. Judson heard nothing of her husband, except the alarming news that neither he nor his vessel had been heard of at their destined port. Meanwhile events were occurring which had nearly destroyed the infant mission; and, indeed, nothing but God's special providence, and Mrs. Judson's heroic firmness, prevented the abandonment of Rangoon as a mission station. The local government assumed a threatening aspect towards the missionaries. Mr. Hough was summoned to the court-house to give an account of himself, where he was subjected to much annoyance, and told that a royal order had arrived commanding the banishment of all foreign teachers. Although it was afterwards found that this order had been issued only with reference to some Portuguese priests who had excited the king's displeasure, and that the object of the officers had been merely to extort money, still the alarm made them feel how entirely they were dependent on the caprice of those in power. They knew not to whom to appeal, for the friendly viceroy had been recalled, and as his successor had no wife with him, it was considered improper for a lady to present herself at court. As, however, Mrs. Judson was the only one of the party who could speak Burman, she ventured to go and present an address in person. She was well received, and obtained redress.

Though the danger was ended, the effects of this alarm were visible in the seriously diminished number of those who dared to visit the mission-house and accept Christian books. At the same time cholera raged fearfully in the town, and reports were current of war between Burmah and Great Britain. So imminent did the danger appear, that all English vessels hastened to leave the harbour. At last but one remained. It was six months since anything had been heard of Mr. Judson, and hope of his return was nearly extinct. Amid so many unfavourable circumstances, it seemed impossible to carry on the mission; and if war were declared, the missionaries would be shut out from all communication with the civilised world, at the mercy of a despotic authority. Mr. Hough thought they ought not to lose the opportunity of leaving the country. Mrs. Judson was disposed to remain; but at last she consented to take passage in the last vessel bound for Calcutta. She engaged the Burman teacher to accompany her, that she and Mr. Judson, if alive, might continue their studies. This man at last refused to fulfil his engagement; and this, with other circumstances, so much increased her disinclination to go, that she took advantage of the detention of the ship a little way down the river to leave it and return to Rangoon alone.

She writes:—'I reached town in the evening, spent the night at the house of the only Englishman remaining in the place, and to-day have come out to the mission-house, to the great joy of all the Burmans left on our premises. I know I am surrounded by dangers on every hand, and expect to feel much anxiety and distress; but at present I am tranquil, intend to make an effort to pursue my studies as formerly, and leave the event with God.'

On the 16th of July the first glimmering of hope broke upon the darkness. The vessel in which Mr. Judson had sailed for Chittagong arrived in the harbour, and Mrs. Judson then heard of his landing at Masulipatam. It also appeared that the prospect of immediate hostilities between Great Britain and Burmah was less imminent than had been supposed. Mr. and Mrs. Hough returned to the mission-house, the ship in which they embarked not being able to proceed for some weeks. Under date of August 2, 1818, she wrote: 'How will you rejoice with me, my dear parents, when I tell you that I have this moment heard that Mr. Judson has arrived at the mouth of the river! This joyful intelligence more than compensates for the months of dejection and distress which his long absence has occasioned. Now I feel ashamed of my repinings, my want of confidence in God and resignation to His will.'

Mr. and Mrs. Hough did finally proceed to Bengal, carrying with them the printing apparatus for security. Their place was soon supplied.

Mr. Judson writes: 'The brethren Colman and Wheelock, and their wives, arrived about six weeks after my return. We had, I can truly say, a most joyful meeting. They are four lovely persons, in every sense of the word, and appear to have much of a humble, prayerful spirit. Such being their interesting appearance, we regret more deeply to find that the health of the brethren is so feeble.

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

'The examination which Brother Hough sustained during my absence, and the persecution of the Roman Catholic padres, have made us feel more deeply than ever the precarious situation of this mission, and the necessity of proceeding with the utmost caution. One malicious intimation to the king would occasion our banishment; and banishment, as the Burmans tell us, is no small thing, being attended with confiscation of all property, and such various abuses as would make us deem ourselves happy to escape with our lives.'

CHAPTER IV

THE GOSPEL PREACHED—FIRST-FRUITS

1819–1820

FROM this time the history of the mission deepens in interest; for we have no longer to tell only of the preparing of weapons to be used in the attack upon idolatry, but of the hand-to-hand conflict itself. Mr. Judson had gained the vantage-ground he sought,—the power of bringing the gospel to bear upon the idolaters around him, and he longed to preach it openly. Few men have ever wielded the sword of the Spirit with a more brave and simple faith in its power than he. He had no indirect plans for sapping and mining the foundations of superstition, but was prepared to attack its strongholds at once. He left to others the task of educating and civilising Burmah: his aim was to bring in the gospel, not to pave the way for it. He did not turn to the young as the chief hope of the missionary; he had no need to do so, for he never despaired of the conversion of men grown old in sin. He remembered that Christ and His apostles had made their appeals directly to the consciences of the most hardened. He knew that one thing is as easy as another to Omnipotence; and so he went on, as far as lay in his power, to obey the command, 'Preach the gospel to every creature.'

As the situation of the mission-house was too retired to attract notice, Mr. Judson resolved to erect what the Burmans call a zayat, or place of public resort, to which passers-by would be likely to turn in. It was built on a much-frequented road leading to one of the principal pagodas, yet not far from the mission-house. The front division of this building was left entirely open to the road; and there Mr. Judson sat all day long ready with his message for all who, from curiosity or interest, stopped to hear it. A second large airy room was fitted up for public worship; and a third, used for smaller classes, communicated through a garden with the mission-house.

Mr. Judson's journal from this time becomes more close and regular, as every day furnishes matter of fresh interest. As many extracts will be given from it as our space will permit.

'April 4, 1819.—To-day the building of the zayat being sufficiently advanced for the purpose, I called together a few people that live around us, and commenced public worship in the Burman language.

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

'April 6.—This evening I went, for the second time, to hear a popular Burman preacher. On our arrival we found a zayat, in the precincts of one of the most celebrated pagodas, lighted up, and the floor spread with mats. In the centre was a frame raised about eighteen inches from the ground, where the preacher, on his arrival, seated himself. He appeared to be about forty-five years old, of very pleasant countenance and harmonious speech. He was once a priest, but is now a layman. The people, as they came in, seated themselves on the mats, the men on one side of the house, and the women on the other. It was an undistinguished day, and the congregation was very small, not more than one hundred. When we entered, some said, "There come some wild foreigners." But when we sat down properly, and took off our shoes, they began to say, "No, they are not wild; they are civilised." Some recognised me, and said to one another, "It is the English teacher,"—a name by which I am commonly known. The preacher soon took notice of us, entered into some conversation, invited us to visit him, and so on; but on learning that I was a missionary, or, in their idiom, a religion-making teacher, his countenance fell, and he said no more. The people being now convened, one appointed for the purpose called three times for silence and attention. Each one then took the flowers and leaves which had been previously distributed, and, placing them between his fingers, raised them to his head, and in that respectful posture remained motionless until the service was closed. This ceremony we of course declined. When all things were properly adjusted, the preacher closed his eyes, and commenced the exercise, which consisted in repeating a portion from their sacred writings. His subject was the conversion of the two prime disciples of Gautama, and their subsequent promotion and glory. His oratory I found to be entirely different from all that we call oratory. At first he seems dull and monotonous; but presently his soft, mellifluent tones win their way into the heart, and lull the soul into that state of calmness and serenity, which, to a Burman mind, somewhat resembles the boasted perfection of their saints of old. His discourse continued about half an hour; and at the close the whole assembly burst out into a short prayer, after which all rose and retired. This man exhibits twice every evening in different places. Indeed, he is the only popular lay preacher in the place. As for the priests, they preach on special occasions only, when they are drawn from their seclusion and inactivity by the solicitations of their adherents.

'April 28.—Encountered a bitter opposer. He had visited Bengal, and some foe to missions had poisoned his mind. He manifested a most virulent spirit. I felt that he would most gladly be foremost in destroying us. But, through divine grace, I was enabled to treat him with meekness and gentleness, and he finally left me politely. He appeared to be rich, and had several followers. In the evening there were some hopeful appearances in Mrs. Judson's female meeting, which she has recommenced since public worship has been set up in the zayat.

'April 29.—A precious case has just occurred. A young man of twenty-four, by name Moung Koo, happened to stroll in last Sunday, and was present at worship. He appeared to be rather wild and noisy, though his manners were respectful. He took a tract, and went away. This morning he made his appearance again, and has been with me about two hours. I have been enabled, through divine assistance, to give him a great deal of truth, and especially to expatiate with some feeling on the love and sufferings of the Saviour. The truth seems to have taken hold of his mind. And though he is quick and sensible, and has some savage fire in his eye, he is very docile, and ready to drink in the truth, without the numberless cavils and objections which are so common among the Burmans. He engaged to come next Sunday, promised to pray constantly, and gave me his name, that I might pray for him that he might be a disciple of Christ, and be delivered from hell. I feel considerable attachment to this young man, and my heart goes forth to the mercy-seat in behalf of his precious soul.

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

This 30th of April is a memorable day in the history of the mission, for on it, Moung Nau, the first convert, paid his first visit to the zayat. He was then silent and reserved, and excited little attention or hope. But the next day, and on several succeeding days, he repeated his visits, and it soon became evident that the last would be first.

The journal goes on:

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

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

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

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

'May 8.—Poor Moung Koo, who appeared so forward at first,—alas! too forward,—has quite discontinued his visits.

'May 9, Lord's Day.—Only two or three of all I conversed with yesterday came again. Had, however, an assembly of thirty. After worship, some warm disputation. I begin to feel that the Burmans cannot stand before the truth. In the course of the conversation, Moung Nau declared himself a disciple of Christ in presence of a considerable number.

'May 10.—Early in the morning Moung Nau came to take leave, being obliged to go to a distance after timber, his usual occupation. I took him alone and prayed with him, and gave him a written prayer to help him in his private devotion. He received my parting instructions with great attention and solemnity; said he felt that he was a disciple of Christ; hoped that he should be kept from falling; desired the prayers of us all; expressed a wish that, if he held out some time after his return, we would allow him to profess Christ in baptism: and so he departed. The Lord Jesus go with him and bless him. He is poor. I felt a great desire to give him something, but thought it safer to put no temptation in his way. If, on his return, he still cleaves to Christ, his profession will be more satisfactory than it would be if he had any expectations from us.

'May 11.—Had more or less company from morning till night. Several appear pretty well satisfied that the Buddhist religion has no foundation. Conversation was very animated, and somewhat encouraging; but I wanted to see more seriousness, and more anxiety to be saved from sin.

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

'May 13.—Had company all day without intermission. About noon Moung Nau came in, having given up his journey on account of the unfaithfulness of his employer. He regrets the want of a believing associate, but declares his determination of adhering to Christ though no Burman should ever join him.

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

'May 23, Lord's Day.—The Kyaikasan villager, Moung Nyo, mentioned last Sunday, came again with three companions. He stayed the whole day, and appears to be in the same state of mind as Moung A. Both say they are convinced that there is an eternal God; that having denied Him all their lives, and of course lived contrary to His commands, their sins are great; and that the news of salvation, through the death of the Son of God, is good news.'

Moung Nau about this time refused an advantageous offer to go to Ava, in the employ of a boat-owner, from desire to keep near Mr. and Mrs. Judson, and they, knowing his poverty, took him to live with them, employing him in copying and other work for the mission, in return for a small salary.

'June 6, Lord's Day.—Had two interesting visitors. They were present at worship, and stayed till dark, certain they should come again—but will they?

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

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

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

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

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

'June 20, Lord's Day.—Concluded to postpone Moung Nau's baptism till the viceroy be gone. Several, whom I have particularly mentioned, have discontinued their visits, though I am satisfied that they are convinced of the falsity of the Burman religion and of the truth of the Christian. I cannot possibly penetrate their motives. Whether, after several visits, they meet with some threatening suggestion, that awakens their fears of persecution, or whether, at a certain stage in their inquiries, they get such an insight into the gospel as rouses the enmity of the carnal heart, I am not able, from my experience hitherto, to ascertain.

'June 21.—The town is in the utmost anxiety and alarm. Order after order has reached our viceroy to hasten his return to Ava with all the troops under arms. Great news are whispered. Some say there is a rebellion; some say the king is sick; some that he is dead. But none dare to say this plainly. It would be a crime of the first magnitude; for the "lord of land and water" is called immortal.'

Next day the news came that 'the immortal king, wearied with the fatigues of royalty, had gone up to amuse himself in the celestial regions.' The danger of a contested succession, which had alarmed the country, quickly passed over, though not till the murder of two uncles and their adherents had established the young king on his throne.

'June 23.—Had some encouraging conversation with Moung Thahlah, a young man who has been living in our yard several months. He has lately made me several visits at the zayat, and appeared very thoughtful and teachable. To-day, on being asked the state of his mind, he replied, with some feeling, that he and all men were sinners, and exposed to future punishment; that according to the Buddhist system there was no way of pardon, but that according to the religion which I taught, there was not only a way of pardon, but a way of enjoying endless happiness in heaven; and that, therefore, he wanted to believe in Christ.

'In the female evening meeting, his sister, Ma Baik, manifested considerable feeling, especially when Mrs. Judson prayed with her alone, and expressed strong desire to obtain an interest in the Saviour.

'June 27, Lord's Day.—There were several strangers present at worship. After the usual course, I called Moung Nau before me, read and commented on an appropriate portion of Scripture, asked him several questions concerning his faith, hope, and love, and made the baptismal prayer. We then proceeded to a large pond in the vicinity, the bank of which is graced with an enormous image of Gautama, and there administered baptism to the first Burman convert. Oh, may it prove the beginning of a series of baptisms in the Burman Empire which shall continue in uninterrupted succession to the end of time!

'July 4, Lord's Day.—We have had the pleasure of sitting down, for the first time, to the Lord's table with a converted Burman; and it was my privilege—a privilege to which I have been looking forward with desire for many years—to administer the Lord's Supper in two languages.

'July 6.—At night a large company came in, all disposed to condemn, and ridicule, and persecute, influenced by one very virulent opposer, who has been here before.

'Heard that several of the people who live about us, and commonly attend worship, had privately gone to the pagoda and made an offering. All these circumstances conspire to make us feel desolate, and to put our trust in God alone.

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

'July 12.—Moung Thahlah appears to be really earnest in his desires to become a disciple of Christ. His sister, Ma Baik, who was lately drawn into a high quarrel with a neighbour, expresses much sorrow, and says that the circumstance has convinced her more than ever of the evil of her heart, and the necessity of getting a new nature before she can be a disciple.

'July 29.—Finished revising the tract for a new edition. We intend sending the manuscript to Serampore, with a request to Brother Hough that he will get it printed in a large edition of five thousand copies. The first edition of one thousand is nearly exhausted. Such, indeed, is the demand for it since the opening of the zayat, that we should have given away all the copies long ago, had we not been doubtful about a fresh supply.

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

'August 20.—Several Mohammedans came in, having heard, as they said, that I denounced all religions but the Christian. We had a long debate on the divine Sonship of Jesus Christ. They appeared to be somewhat desirous of knowing what is truth; said they should come again, and must either convert me to Mohammedanism, or themselves become converted to Christianity.

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

'August 22, Lord's Day.—Two of the adherents of the Mangen teacher, the popular teacher that I mentioned some time ago, were present at worship. I had much conversation with them, in the course of which I so clearly refuted their system in two or three instances, that they could not refrain from an involuntary expression of assent and approbation. They directly said, however, that it was impossible for them to think of embracing a new religion. I never saw more clearly the truth of our Saviour's words, "Ye will not come unto me."

'After worship, had another conversation with Moung Thahlah. He hopes that he is a disciple of Jesus Christ in heart, but wants to know whether a profession of religion is indispensable to salvation. He fears the persecution that may hereafter come on those who forsake the established religion of the empire.

'His sister, Ma Baik, is in a very similar state. She has been particularly attentive and solemn in her appearance for some time past. In such cases it is a great consolation to reflect that the tender, compassionate Saviour will not break the bruised reed, or quench the smoking taper. He will strengthen and restore the one, and the other He will light up with His own celestial fire.

'August 26.—Was visited by Moung Shwa-gnong, a teacher of considerable distinction. He appears to be half deist and half sceptic, the first of the sort I have met with among the Burmans.

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

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

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

'September 5, Lord's Day.—A very dull day—not one stranger present at worship. In the evening, Moung Thahlah was a spectator of our partaking of the Lord's Supper. Moung Ing could not be present. He lives at some distance, and is getting ready to go to sea, pursuant to his purpose before he became acquainted with us.

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

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

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

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

'September 15.—Moung Thahlah spent the evening with me in asking several questions on difficult passages in Matthew. At the close I asked him whether he yet loved Christ more than his own life. He understood my meaning, and replied that he purposed to profess the Christian religion, and began to think seriously of being baptized. His sister Ma Baik appears to have lost her religious impressions.'

Mr. Judson says:

'September 19, Lord's Day.—The teacher is in many respects a perfect enigma; but, just before he left, a slight hope began to spring up in our minds that his proud heart was yielding to the cross. He confessed that he was constrained to give up all dependence on his own merits and his literary attainments; that he had sinned against God all his life long, and that, therefore, he deserved to suffer hell. And then he asked, with some feeling, how he could obtain an interest in the merits and salvation of Jesus Christ. He appears to have a considerable share of that serious solemnity which I have observed to characterize the few who persevere in their religious inquiries, and which has been wanting in every instance of mere temporary promise. Oh that he may be brought in, if it is not too great a favour for this infant mission to receive!

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

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

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

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

'November 6.—The two candidates for baptism again presented their urgent petition that they might be baptized, not absolutely in private, but about sunset, away from public observation. We were convinced that they were influenced rather by desires of avoiding unnecessary exposure than by that sinful fear which would plunge them into apostasy in the hour of trial; and when they assured us that, if actually brought before Government, they could not think of denying their Saviour, we could not conscientiously refuse their request.

'November 7, Lord's Day.—We had worship as usual, and the people dispersed. About half an hour before sunset, the two candidates came to the zayat, accompanied by three or four of their friends; and after a short prayer, we proceeded to the spot where Moung Nau was formerly baptized. The sun was not allowed to look upon the humble, timid profession. We felt, on the banks of the water, as a little, feeble, solitary band. But perhaps some hovering angels took note of the event with more interest than they witnessed the late coronation. Perhaps Jesus looked down on us, pitied and forgave our weaknesses, and marked us for His own. Perhaps, if we deny Him not, He will acknowledge us, another day, more publicly than we venture at present to acknowledge Him.

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

'November 10.—This evening is to be marked as the date of the first Burman prayer-meeting that was ever held. None present but myself and the three converts. Two of them made a little beginning, such as must be expected from the first essay of converted heathens. We agreed to meet for this purpose every Tuesday and Friday evening, immediately after family worship.

'November 14, Lord's Day.—Have been much gratified to find that this evening the THREE CONVERTS REPAIRED TO THE ZAYAT, AND HELD A PRAYER-MEETING OF THEIR OWN ACCORD.

'November 26.—On taking our usual ride this morning to bathe in the mineral tank, we were accosted on one of the pagoda roads by the Mangen teacher, and peremptorily forbidden to ride there in future, on pain of being beaten. The viceroy's order is quite unprecedented in Rangoon, and indicates a state of feeling on the subject of religion very unfavourable to our missionary designs. Since the death of the old king, who was known to be in heart hostile to religion, people have been more engaged than ever in building pagodas, making sacred offerings, and performing the public duties of their religion. They are just now engaged in new gilding the great pagoda, called Shwaa Dagón, which is considered the most sacred in the country, on account of its containing six or eight hairs of Gautama.

'Ever since the affair of Moung Shwa-gnong, there has been an entire falling off at the zayat. I sometimes sit there whole days without a single visitor, though it is the finest part of the year, and many are constantly passing. We and our object are now well known throughout Rangoon. None wish to call, as formerly, out of curiosity, and none dare to call from a principle of religious inquiry. And were not the leaders in ecclesiastical affairs confident that we shall never succeed in making converts, I have no doubt we should meet with direct persecution and banishment.

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

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

CHAPTER V

FIRST VISIT TO AVA—THE TENTH BURMAN BAPTIZED

1819–1820

SO far, the success given to the missionaries had surpassed their utmost expectations. Three Burmans had openly confessed Christ; a fourth, the absent Moung Ing, was known to be equally in earnest, though not yet baptized; and even the perverse yet interesting Moung Shwa-gnong was perhaps to be counted among the disciples. Many more had carried with them to their homes words which they could never forget, and which would never let their confidence in their old religion be the same as before.

But it seemed as if here the work was likely to stop; for the growing fear of persecution checked inquiry, and thus deprived the missionaries of the opportunity of even sowing the good seed.

There was some hope that the emperor's real sentiments might turn, out to be, like those of his grandfather, opposed to Boodhism, and therefore the missionaries thought it worth while to lay their case before him, and request his protection. On the 21st of December 1819, Mr. Judson and Mr. Colman set out for Ava, leaving their families behind them. Their journey, which lay up the Irrawadi all the way, was taken in a boat which they had been obliged to buy and fit out for the purpose. Their party consisted of ten rowers and several servants, of whom their faithful Moung Nau acted as cook or steward to the company. They took with them some valuable presents for members of the Government; and for the emperor, a Bible in six volumes, covered with gold leaf, and each enclosed in a rich wrapping.

The last thing they saw, as they left Rangoon, was the tall form of the teacher standing on the wharf and waving farewell. He had declined to accompany them, and had therefore been ashamed to show himself for some days; but he could not refrain from this last look, and gazed after the boat till it disappeared round a point of land. The Irrawadi was infested with robbers, and they heard of frightful attacks on boats only a few days before; but they were mercifully preserved from harm. On the 17th of January they landed to see the ruins of the famous city of Pugan. It was the seat of an old dynasty, and the spot where, 300 years before, the first apostle of Boodh taught. As they looked on its splendid pagodas and monuments, now crumbling into dust, they rejoiced to think that the day would come when all should be overthrown, and the praise of the living God sound in the city of the false god. On the 25th of January they passed Old Ava, and about noon landed at New Ava, or Amarapoora. There they found their old friend Mya-day-men, former viceroy of Rangoon. Through him they were introduced to one of the chief ministers of state, who undertook to present them to the king.

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

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

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

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

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

'January 28.—We went to the house of Moung Zah, some way beyond the palace. He received us with great coldness and reserve. We ascertained beyond a doubt, that the policy of the Burman Government, in regard to the toleration of any foreign religion, is precisely the same with the Chinese; that it is quite out of the question, whether any subjects of the emperor who embrace a religion different from his own will be exempt from punishment; and that we, in presenting a petition to that effect, had been guilty of a most egregious blunder, an unpardonable offence.

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

"Some natural tears we dropped, but wiped them soon;

The world was all before us, where to choose

Our place of rest, and Providence our guide."

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

'January 31.—Mr. R. related the following story, with the substance of which we were previously acquainted:—

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

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

The missionaries did not give up hope till they had tried every means in vain. Among other attempts, an English gentleman who was in favour at court presented a tract in Mr. Judson's name to Moung Zah, and got it read to him. The minister listened attentively to the whole, and then committed it to an attendant to keep, saying, 'The doctrines and commands are very good; but it will be a very long time before Burmans can be convinced that there is a God and Saviour.' The same friend interceded for them with the king, but in vain. The passport was not procured till after some delay, and by means of daily presents to the authorities. At last they held in their hand the pointed palm-leaf which assured their safety, and set out on their swift course down the river.

At Pyee, 250 miles from Ava, they met, to their surprise, the teacher Moung Shwa-gnong, who was there on a visit to a sick friend. 'We told him,' says Mr. Judson, 'our adventures at court, and the present danger of propagating or professing the religion of Christ, and wound off with the story of the iron mall. He appeared to be less affected and intimidated by the relation than we could have expected. Indeed, his language was rather too high for the occasion. I therefore told him that it was not for him that we were concerned, but for those who had become disciples of Christ. When they were accused and persecuted, they could not worship at the pagodas, or recant before the Mangen teacher. He felt the force of the reflection, and tried to explain his past conduct. "Say nothing," said I; "one thing you know to be true, that, when formerly accused, if you had not in some way or other satisfied the mind of the Mangen teacher, your life would not now be remaining in your body." "Then," said he, "if I must die, I shall die in a good cause. I know it is the cause of truth." He then repeated with considerable emphasis the most prominent points of his faith, and said "Perhaps you may not remember that, during one of my last visits, you told me that I was trusting in my own understanding rather than the divine word. From that time I have seen my error, and endeavoured to renounce it. You explained to me also the evil of worshipping at pagodas, though I told you that my heart did not partake in the worship. Since you left Rangoon, I have not lifted up my folded hands before a pagoda. It is true, I sometimes follow the crowd, on days of worship, in order to avoid persecution; but I walk up one side of the pagoda, and walk down the other. Now you say that I am not a disciple. What lack I yet?" I was now satisfied that he had made a little advance since our last interview, and replied, "Teacher, you may be a disciple of Christ in heart, but you are not a full disciple. You have not faith and resolution enough to keep all the commands of Christ, particularly that which requires you to be baptized, though in the face of persecution and death. Consider the words of Jesus, just before He returned to heaven, 'He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved.' " He received this communication in profound silence, and with that air which I have observed to come upon him when he takes a thing into serious consideration. Soon after I hinted our intention of leaving Rangoon, since the emperor had virtually prohibited the propagation of the Christian religion, and no Burman under such circumstances would dare to investigate, much less to embrace it. This intelligence evidently roused him, and showed us that we had more interest in his heart than we thought. "Say not so," said he; "there are some who will investigate, notwithstanding; and rather than have you quit Rangoon, I will go myself to the Mangen teacher, and have a public dispute. I know I can silence him. I know the truth is on my side." "Ah!" said I, "you may have a tongue to silence him, but he has a pair of fetters and an iron mall to tame you." '

The missionaries thought it would be necessary to leave Rangoon for a time, and proposed to go to a tract of country between Bengal and Arracan, belonging to the former, where a language resembling Burman was spoken, and where there were a few converts, the fruits of a former mission. As soon as they arrived in Rangoon they called the native Christians together, to ask them it they were prepared to accompany them. They feared their courage would be much damped by the news of the result of their journey. But the behaviour of the disciples at this crisis amazed and cheered them.

Mr. Judson writes:

'We thought that, if one out of the three remained firm, it was as much as we could reasonably hope for. But they all, to a man, appeared immoveably the same; yea, rather advanced in zeal and energy. They vied with each other in trying to explain away difficulties, and to convince us that the cause was not yet quite desperate. We asked them severally what they would do. Moung Nau had previously told us that he would follow us to any part of the world. He was only afraid that he should be a burden to us; for, not being acquainted with another language, he might not be able to get his living in a strange land. "As for me," said Moung Thahlah, "I go where preaching is to be had." Moung Byaa was silent and thoughtful. At last he said, that as no Burman woman is allowed to leave the country, he could not, on account of his wife, follow the teachers. "But," continued he, with some pathos, "if I must be left here alone, I shall remain performing the duties of Jesus Christ's religion; no other shall I think of." This interview with the disciples rejoiced our hearts, and caused us to praise God for the grace which He has manifested to them.

'February 24.—This evening Moung Byaa came up with his brother-in-law Moung Myat-yah. "Teacher," said he, "my mind is distressed; I can neither eat nor sleep since I find you are going away. I have been around among those who live near us, and I find some who are even now examining the new religion. Brother Myat-yah is one of them, and he unites with me in my petitions." Here Myat-yah assented that it was so. "Do stay with us a few months. Do stay till there are eight or ten disciples; then appoint one to be the teacher of the rest; I shall not be concerned about the event. Though you should leave the country, the religion will spread of itself; the emperor himself cannot stop it. But if you go now, and take the two disciples that can follow, I shall be left alone. I cannot baptize those who may wish to embrace this religion. What can I do?" Moung Nau came in, and expressed himself in a similar way. We could not restrain our tears at hearing all this; and we told them, that as we lived only for the promotion of the cause of Christ among the Burmans, if there was any prospect of success in Rangoon, we had no desire to go to another place, and would therefore reconsider the matter.

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

'We felt that it was impossible for us all to leave these people, and came to the conclusion that Brother Colman should proceed immediately to Chittagong, collect the Arracanese converts, and form a station to which I may ultimately flee, with those of the disciples that can leave the country, when we find that persecution renders it useless and rash to remain in Rangoon.

'March 10.—Moung Shwa-gnong and Oo Yan have been with me several hours, but the interview has afforded very little encouragement. The former said but little on his own account, appearing chiefly desirous of convincing and persuading his friend that he might gain, as I secretly suspected, some companion of his own rank in life before he embraced the new religion. The latter acted on the defensive, and spent all his time in raising objections. He was ready to admit that the atheistic system of the Boodhists was not tenable, but endeavoured to fortify himself on a middle system between that and the Christian,—the very system in which Moung Shwa-gnong formerly rested. Its fundamental doctrine is, that divine wisdom, diffused throughout the universe, and partaken in different degrees by various intelligences, and in a very high degree by the Boodhs, is the true and only God. This poor system, which is evidently guilty of suicide, Oo Yan made every possible effort to keep alive; but I really think that in his own mind he felt the case to be hopeless. His mode of reasoning is, however, soft, insinuating, and acute; and so adroitly did he act his part, that Moung Shwa-gnong, with his strong arm, and I with the strength or truth, were scarcely able to keep him down.

'March 13.—The teacher and Oo Yan, with two of their friends, came and spent several hours. The former stayed later than the others, and attended evening worship. I asked him whether there was any point in the Christian system on which he had not obtained satisfaction. He replied that he was not yet satisfied as to the propriety of God's appointing one particular day in the week for assembling together, in distinction from all other days. I saw at once why he has always been so remiss in attending worship on the Lord's day. I descanted on the point to his apparent satisfaction; but let us see whether he will come next Lord's day.

'March 15.—Another visit from the teacher, accompanied by his wife and child. Again discussed the necessity of assembling on the Lord's day. Found that the sacraments of baptism and the supper are, in his mind, liable to similar objections. Forsook, therefore, all human reasoning, and rested the merits of the case on the bare authority of Christ. "Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you." Notwithstanding the remains of his deistical spirit, however, I obtained during this visit more satisfactory evidence of his real conversion than ever before. He said that he knew nothing of an eternally existing God before he met with me; that, on hearing that doctrine, he instantly believed it; but that it was a long time before he closed with Christ. "Can you recollect the time?" said I. "Not precisely," he replied; "but it was during a visit, when you discoursed concerning the Trinity, the divine worship of Jesus, and the great sufferings which He, though truly God, endured for His disciples." He afterwards spoke with much Christian feeling on the preciousness of the last part of the sixth chapter of Matthew, which he heard me read the day before yesterday at evening worship.

'March 21.—Moung Thahlah introduced one of his relations, by name Moung Shwa-ba, as desirous of considering the Christian religion. Spent an hour or two in conversing with him. He was afterwards present at evening worship, and stayed to converse after the rest had retired.

'March 22.—Another conversation with Moung Shwa-ba. He appears to be under deep religious impressions. His language and his looks evince an uncommon solemnity of spirit, an earnest desire to be saved from the wrath to come. After praying with him, I left him in company with Moung Thahlah.

'March 23.—In the morning, Moung Thahlah informed me that he and his friend had sat up the greater part of the night in the zayat, reading, and conversing, and praying. In the afternoon, Moung Shwa-ba came in himself. His expressions are very strong; but I have no reason to doubt his sincerity. It only seems strange to us that a work of grace should be carried on so rapidly in the soul of an ignorant heathen. He presented a writing, containing a statement of his faith, and an urgent request to be baptized next Lord's day.

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

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

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

'April 14.—The women mentioned 26th March spent most of the day with Mrs. Judson. They regularly visit her about once a week. I mention the visit of to-day, because it has afforded pretty satisfactory evidence that the principal one of the company, by name Mah Men-la, has experienced divine grace. Her husband is one of the visitors who came with Oo Yan.

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

Of this man Mr. Judson writes a little later:—'Moung Shwa-ba has very correct ideas of the gospel system, and communicates truth to the inquirers with much feeling and animation. In zeal for the extension of the Redeemer's kingdom, he surpasses the older disciples. This is the man who, from not knowing that there was a God, became a speculative believer, a penitent, a hopeful recipient of grace, and a candidate for baptism, all in the space of three days. Thus diverse are the operations of the Holy Spirit.

'April 16.—Moung Shwa-gnong came in after a month's absence. He admitted that his objections to positive commands were removed, and that it was his desire to be a full disciple; but, when urged closely on the subject, he intimated that his wife and friends were opposed to his taking any decided step, and that if he did, he was, moreover, exposed to imminent danger of persecution and death. He mentioned these things with so much feeling, and such evident consciousness of simple weakness, as completely disarmed me. My heart was wrung with pity. I could not deny the truth of what he said, but gently hinted, As thy day is, thy strength shall be; and proposed the example of the apostles and martyrs, the glory of suffering for Christ, etc. But the thought of the iron mall, and a secret suspicion that, if I were in his circumstances, I should perhaps have no more courage, restrained my tongue. We parted with much solemnity, understanding one another better than ever before. I shall not probably see him again very soon; for it is too dangerous for a man of his distinction to be seen coming frequently to the mission-house.

'April 20.—Mah Men-la and her friends have been with Mrs. Judson all day. She gives increasing evidence of being a real disciple, but is extremely timid, through fear of persecution. One of her remarks deserves notice, as a natural expression of true Christian feeling. "I am surprised," said she, "to find this religion has such an effect on my mind as to make me love the disciples of Christ more than my dearest natural relations."

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

'April 30.—Oo Yan, after having searched out all the difficult points of religion, came to-day to the ne plus ultra—How are sin and eternal misery reconcilable with the character of an infinitely holy, wise, and powerful God? He at length obtained such satisfaction that he could not restrain laughing, from pure mental delight, and kept recurring to the subject, and repeating my remarks to those around him. All the visitors to-day are semi-atheists, despisers of Gautama and the established religion of the land. Moung Shwa-gnong has disseminated this heresy in Rangoon for several years; but since he has become acquainted with us, he frequently tells his adherents, "I know nothing; if you want true wisdom, go to the foreign teacher, and there you will find it." I have reason to believe that this heresy is not confined to Rangoon, but is taking root in various parts of the country, and preparing the way for the Christian religion. Oh for toleration—a little toleration! We will be content to baptize in the night, and hold worship in private; but we do pray that we may not be utterly banished from the land—that we may not be cut up root and branch. Oh that these poor souls, who are groping in the dark, feeling after the truth, may have time and opportunities to find the precious treasure which will enrich them for evermore! We are all looking with anxiety towards the golden feet. Our viceroy has gone thither on a visit; and it is doubtful whether he will return, or his rival, Mya-day-men. If the latter, there is some reason to hope that we shall keep footing in Rangoon, at least during his administration.

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

'May 8.—Moung Thah-a, the friend of Moung Myat-lah, has spent most of the day with me, and given equally good evidence of being a true disciple. He was formerly an officer under government, and amassed considerable property, which he mostly spent in building pagodas and making offerings. But he obtained no satisfaction, found no resting-place for his soul, until he became acquainted with the religion of Jesus.

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

'May 12.—The three visitors from Nan-dau-gong have been with us part of the day. One characteristic trait in these people is a particular love for the Scriptures. They almost quarrel with one another for the only copy of the Ephesians which I have given them, and I therefore determine to spare them another as soon as it is done. They say that the translation of this epistle is plainer, and more easily understood, than that of Matthew, which is very encouraging to me, as I made it without the assistance of any person, not even a Burman teacher.

'May 18.—Mah Myat-lah and Mah Doke, who have frequently accompanied their relation Mah Men-la, came to-day by themselves. They appear to be under solemn religious impressions, sensible of their sin and danger, and anxious to obtain an interest in the Saviour, but are yet unenlightened in regard to the way. Mah Baik also, sister of Moung Thahlah, who formerly afforded us some encouragement, but afterwards fell off, has recommenced visiting us. We hope that during several months' confinement she has not in vain meditated on the truths she formerly heard. She says that her mind is changed, that she loves the Saviour, and trusts in Him alone for salvation from sin and hell, and desires to become His disciple in full by receiving baptism.'

Mrs. Judson became so alarmingly ill during the summer, that Mr. Judson was obliged to go with her to Bengal. On the eve of their departure two disciples proffered their request for baptism, but Mr. Judson suggested that they had better wait till his return. He writes of them:—

'July 16.—This morning they came up in much trouble. They stated that, as they had fully embraced the Christian religion in their hearts, they could not remain easy without being baptized, according to the command of Christ; that no man could tell whether I should ever return or not; and that it was their earnest petition, that if I could possibly find time, and thought them worthy of the ordinance, I would administer it to them before I went away. Moung Gway said that, though he was very ignorant, he knew enough of this religion to love it sincerely, and to trust in Christ for salvation from all his sins. I re-examined them both, stated to them the great danger of professing a foreign religion, etc., and, on their urging their request, told them I would baptize them in the evening.

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

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

'July 18.—At night I called in two or three of the disciples, read the account of the baptism of the eunuch, made the baptismal prayer, and then proceeded with the teacher to the accustomed place, went down into the water, and baptized him.

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

'On returning to the house she said, "Now I have taken the oath of allegiance to Jesus Christ, and I have nothing to do but to commit myself, soul and body, into the hands of my Lord, assured that He will never suffer me to fall away.'

'July 19.—In the morning we all met for worship. After I had prayed, Moung Thahlah and Moung Shwa-ba both prayed with much propriety and feeling. In the course of the forenoon, Mah Men-la's husband, and Moung Thah-a, and the doctor, and several others, came in, so that we had quite a house full. At noon we set out for the river, followed by near a hundred people, the women crying aloud in the Burman manner, and almost all deeply affected.'

CHAPTER VI

SECOND VISIT TO AVA—INTENTION OF FORMING A STATION THERE

1820–1824

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

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

'The most important event remains to be mentioned. Soon after Mya-day-men assumed the government of this province, all the priests and officers of the village where Moung Shwa-gnong lives entered into a conspiracy to destroy him. They held daily consultations, and assumed a tone of triumph, while poor Moung Shwa-gnong's courage began to flag; and though he does not like to own it, he thought he must flee for his life. At length one of the conspiracy, a member of the supreme court, went into the presence of the viceroy; and in order to sound his disposition, complained that the teacher Moung Shwa-gnong was making every endeavour to turn the priests' rice-pot bottom upwards. "What consequence?" said the viceroy. "Let the priests turn it back again." This sentence was enough. The hopes of the conspiracy were blasted, and all the disciples felt that they were sure of toleration under Mya-day-men. But his administration will not probably continue many months.

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

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

'February 19.—Spent several pleasant hours with Moung Ing. During his residence at Bike he was not satisfied with being a solitary disciple, but undertook to dispute with both Portuguese and Burmans, and found two or three who were disposed to listen to him. He is to return thither within a fortnight, but wishes to be baptized previously.

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

'March 4, Lord's Day.—Moung Ing received baptism immediately after worship in the afternoon.

'March 11.—Moung Ing took leave, for the purpose of returning to Bike. He is laden with various writings, in Burman and Portuguese, for distribution among the people of that place.

'May 15.—Received a visit from a brother-in-law to Moung Shwa-ba, accompanied by one Moung Thah-ee, an intractable, furious creature, noted for browbeating and silencing every antagonist. He professes to be a strict Boodhist, without the least doubt on the subject of religion; but having heard of my object in coming to this country, wishes to give me an opportunity of making him doubt. I found him extremely difficult to manage, and finally told him that he must get a humble mind, and pray to the true God, or he would never attain true wisdom. This threw him into a passion. He said he would have me to know that he was no common man. He could dispute with governors and kings, etc. I then gave him a tract, which he affected to disdain, but finally received it and went away.

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

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

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

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

'I have this day taken Moung Shwa-ba into the service of the mission. He bids fairer than any other member of the church to be qualified in due time for the ministry. The principal trait of character which distinguishes him from the rest, and affords considerable evidence that he is called by higher authority than that of man to the Christian ministry, is his humble and persevering desire for that office,—a desire which sprang up in his heart soon after his conversion, and has been growing ever since. I intend to employ him at present as an assistant in the zayat, on a small allowance of seven or eight rupees a month. In that situation he will have an opportunity of improving in those qualifications which are requisite to fit him to be a teacher of religion among his fellow-countrymen.

'June 14.—It is a fact that, except in our own private circle, it is not known that a single individual has actually renounced Boodhism, and been initiated into the Christian religion.

'Mah Myat-lah informs us that the news of her intended baptism has been rumoured among her neighbours, and excited a great uproar. She is not, however, disheartened, but rather wishes that her baptism may not be deferred till Sunday, lest some measures be taken to prevent it.

'July 3.—Moung Thahlah was married to a woman resident in our yard, a usual attendant on public worship; the event somewhat noticeable, as being probably the first Christian marriage ever performed between persons of pure Burman extraction.

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

"Who is faithful to His promises,

And faithful to His Son."

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

Mr. Judson finally came to the resolution of sending Mrs. Judson to America for two years, as the only hope of preserving her life. It was a great trial for him to part from her for such a period; the more so, as during the first months of her absence he was again left quite alone in the mission. His solitary hours were chiefly employed in translation; for a fresh alarm of persecution nearly emptied the zayat for some time. Moung Shwa-gnong was obliged to flee for his life.

Mr. Judson writes to his wife:—

'I wish I could always feel as I did last evening, and have this morning. At first, on hearing Moung Shwa-gnong's story, I felt much disheartened; but I fled to Jesus, and all such thoughts soon passed away. Life is short. Happiness consists not in outward circumstances. Millions of Burmans are perishing. I am almost the only person on earth who has attained their language to such a degree as to be able to communicate to them the way of salvation. How great are my obligations to spend and be spent for Christ! What a privilege to be allowed to serve Him in such interesting circumstances, and to suffer for Him! Let us pray especially for one another's growth in grace. Let me pray that the trials which we respectively are called to endure may wean us from the world, and rivet our hearts on things above. Soon we shall be in heaven. Oh, let us live as we shall then wish we had done. Let us be humble, unaspiring, indifferent equally to worldly comfort and the applause of men, absorbed in Christ, the uncreated fountain of all excellence and glory.'

In December he was joined by Dr. Price, a medical missionary, and in the following January Mr. and Mrs. Hough returned. Before the close of the summer, eighteen native Burmans had been baptized. Dr. Price's success in several operations, particularly in cases of cataract, became known to the emperor, and only seven months after his arrival he was summoned to Ava. Mr. Judson was obliged to accompany him as interpreter, most unwillingly leaving his New Testament, which was completed, all except the Epistle to the Romans. Their reception was better than last time.

Mr. Judson writes:—

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

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

'October 21.—I ventured to ask Prince M. whether Burman subjects who should consider and embrace the Christian religion would be liable to persecution. He replied, "Not under the reign of my brother. He has a good heart, and wishes all to believe and worship as they please."

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

'After giving the prince a succinct account of my religious experience, I ventured to warn him of his danger, and urge him to make the Christian religion his immediate personal concern. He appeared for a moment to feel the force of what I said, but soon replied, "I am yet young—only twenty-eight. I am desirous of studying all the foreign arts and sciences. My mind will then be enlarged, and I shall be capable of judging whether the Christian religion be true or not." "But suppose your highness changes worlds in the meantime?" His countenance again fell. "It is true," said he, "I know not when I shall die." I suggested that it would be well to pray to God for light, which, if obtained, would enable him at once to distinguish between truth and falsehood; and so we parted.'

Besides this prince, Mr. Judson had conversations with many of the chief ministers and officers at court, and many of them appeared to be at least intellectually interested in the new doctrines.

'December 25.—I had one noticeable interview with the king. Brother Price and two English gentlemen were present. The king appeared to be attracted by our number, and came towards us; but his conversation was directed chiefly to me. He again inquired about the Burmans who had embraced my religion. "Are they real Burmans? Do they dress like other Burmans?" etc. I had occasion to remark that I preached every Sunday. "What! in Burman?" "Yes." "Let us hear how you preach." I hesitated. An a-twen-woon repeated the order. I began with a form of worship which first ascribes glory to God, and then declares the commands of the law and the gospel; after which I stopped. "Go on," said another a-twen-woon. The whole court was profoundly silent. I proceeded with a few sentences, declarative of the perfections of God, when his majesty's curiosity was satisfied, and he interrupted me. In the course of subsequent conversation, he asked what I had to say of Gautama. I replied, that we all knew he was the son of King Thog-dan-dah-nah; that we regarded him as a wise man and a great teacher, but did not call him God. "That is right," said Moung K. N., an a-twen-woon who has not hitherto appeared very friendly to me. And he proceeded to relate the substance of a long communication which I lately made to him, in the privy council-room, about God and Christ, etc. And this he did in a very clear and satisfactory manner, so that I had scarcely a single correction to make in his statement. Moung Zah, encouraged by all this, really began to take the side of God before his majesty, and said, "Nearly all the world, your majesty, believe in an eternal God, all except Burmah and Siam, these little spots!" His majesty remained silent, and after some other desultory inquiries he abruptly rose and retired.

'January 22.—Took leave of Prince M. He desired me to return soon, and bring with me all the Christian Scriptures, and translate them into Burman. "For," said he, "I wish to read them all."

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

'February 2, Lord's Day.—At one o'clock in the morning reached Rangoon, seven days from Ava.

'The Nan-dau-gong disciples soon came over from Dah-lah, on the opposite side of the river, whither they and the Pah-tsooan-doung disciples and inquirers have taken refuge, to escape the heavy taxations, and the illegal harassments of every kind, allowed under the new viceroy of Rangoon. Others of the disciples have fled elsewhere, so that there is not a single one remaining in Rangoon, except three or four with us. The Nan-dau-gong disciples' house has been demolished, and their place taken by government, at the instigation of their neighbours, who hate them on account of religion. Mah Myat-lah died before the removal. Her sister gave me the particulars of her death. Some of her last expressions were, "I put my trust in Jesus Christ; I love to pray to Him; am not afraid of death; shall soon be with Christ in heaven." '

Part of a letter written by Moung Shwa-ba to the Rev. Dr. Baldwin of Boston, and translated by Mr. Judson, is here given:—

'BELOVED ELDER BROTHER,—Though in the present state the places of our residence are very far apart, and we have never met, yet by means of letters, and of the words of Yoodthan, who has told me of you, I love you, and wish to send you this letter. When the time arrives in which we shall wholly put on Christ,—Him, in loving whom we cannot tire, and in praising whom we can find no end,—and shall be adorned with those ornaments which the Lord will dispense to us out of the heavenly treasure-house that He has prepared, then we shall love one another more perfectly than we do now.

'Formerly I trusted in my own merits; but now, through the preaching and instruction of teacher Yoodthan, I trust in the merit of the Lord Jesus Christ. The teacher, therefore, is the tree; we are the blossoms and fruit. He has laboured to partake of the fruit, and now the tree begins to bear. The bread of life he has given, and we eat. The water from the brook which flows from the top of Mount Calvary, for the cleansing of all filth, he has brought, and made us bathe and drink. The bread of which we eat will yet ferment and rise. The water which we drink and bathe in, is the water of an unfailing spring; and many will yet drink and bathe therein. Then all things will be regenerated and changed. Now we are strangers and pilgrims; and it is my desire, without adhering to the things of this world, but longing for my native abode, to consider and inquire how long I must labour here, to whom I ought to show the light I have obtained, when I ought to put it up, and when disclose it.

'The inhabitants of this country of Burmah, being in the evil practice of forbidden lust, erroneous worship, and false speech, deride the religion of Christ. However, that we may bear patiently derision, and persecution, and death, for the sake of the Lord Jesus Christ, pray for us. I do thus pray. For, elder brother, I have to bear the threatenings of my own brother, and my brother-in-law, who say, "We will beat, and bruise, and pound you; we will bring you into great difficulty; you associate with false people; you keep a false religion; and you speak false words." However, their false religion is the religion of death. The doctrine of the cross is the religion of life, of love, of faith. I am a servant of faith. Formerly I was a servant of Satan. Now I am a servant of Christ. And a good servant cannot but follow his master. Moreover, the divine promises must be accomplished.

'In this country of Burmah are many strayed sheep. Teacher Yoodthan, pitying them, has come to gather them together, and to feed them in love. Some will not listen, but run away. Some do listen, and adhere to him; and that our numbers may increase, we meet together, and pray to the great Proprietor of the sheep.

'Thus I, Moung Shwa-ba, a disciple of teacher Yoodthan, in Rangoon, write and send this letter to the great teacher Baldwin, who lives in Boston, America.'

During Mr. Judson's visit to Ava, he had suffered much from the unwholesomeness of the dwelling assigned to him by the king. It was a mere shed, insufficient to keep out the heavy rains. A great part of his time in the capital was spent in trying to get building ground. One suitable place, which was granted him by the king, was afterwards withdrawn, on the plea that it was sacred. At last the chief woon gave him a small enclosure, refusing payment, 'lest it should become American territory.' On this Dr. Price was to build a mission-house for future use. But the fever and ague caught in the little shed seemed to have rooted itself so deeply in Mr. Judson's constitution, that after his return to Rangoon he almost despaired of regaining his strength. On February 11 he wrote: 'I wish I could live to finish the New Testament, and I should be happy to see a little church raised up in Ava, as there has been in Rangoon. But the ways of God are not as the ways of man. He doeth all things well.' In the following August, however, he was able to tell not only of the completion of the New Testament, but of the writing of an epitome of the principal historical facts and most important prophecies of the Old.

It was in this year that Mr. Judson became known in America as Dr. Judson, although he did not hear of his change of title till many years afterwards, and then protested against it without effect.

Meanwhile Mrs. Judson had visited England and America, and was on her way back with renewed health, and in company with two new and valuable missionaries, Mr. and Mrs. Wade. Dr. Judson awaited their coming, intending then to go to settle in Ava, leaving the new labourers, along with Mr. and Mrs. Hough, at Rangoon. Everything seemed ripe for the formation of a station at Ava. The king had himself inquired many times the reason of his delay in coming, and the queen had expressed great curiosity to see the female teacher. Dr. Judson longed to preach the gospel in that new field where Christ had not yet been confessed.

Preparations for the voyage were nearly complete, when Mrs. Judson arrived on December 5; and seven days after, they were on their way to Ava.

Mrs. Judson writes thence, February 10, 1824:—

'MY DEAR PARENTS AND SISTERS,—After two years and a half wandering, you will be pleased to hear that I have at last arrived at home, so far as this life is concerned, and am once more quietly and happily settled with Mr. Judson. When I retrace the scenes through which I have passed, the immense space I have traversed, and the various dangers, seen and unseen, from which I have been preserved, my heart is filled with gratitude and praise to that Being who has at all times been my Protector, and marked out all the way before me. Surely no one was ever more highly favoured, no being was ever under greater obligations to make sacrifices for the promotion of God's glory, than I am at this moment. And I think I feel more than ever the importance of being spiritual and humble, and so cherishing the influences of the Holy Spirit, that in the communication of divine truth powerful impressions may be made, and that I may no more wander from Him who is deserving of all my services and affections.

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

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

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

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

'My female school has already commenced with three little girls, who are learning to read, sew, etc. Two of them are sisters, and we have named them Mary and Abby Hasseltine. They are fine children, and improve as rapidly as any children in the world. Their mother is deranged, and their father gave them to me to educate, so that I have been at no expense for them, excepting their food and clothes. I have already begun to make inquiries for children, and doubt not we shall be directed in regard to our school.

'I have not yet been at the palace, the royal family all being absent. They returned to Amarapoora a day or two after our arrival, where they will remain till the new palace in this city is finished, when they will take possession in the usual form, and Ava in future will be their residence. My old friend, the lady of the viceroy at Rangoon, who died in my absence, came to the boat to see me immediately on being informed of my arrival. All her power and distinction ceased at the death of her husband, and she is now only a private woman. She is, however, a very sensible woman, and there is much more hope of her attending to the subject of religion now than when in public life. I intend to visit her frequently, and make it an object to fix her attention to the subject. In consequence of war with the Bengal government, foreigners are not so much esteemed at court as formerly. I know not what effect this war will have on our mission; but we must leave the event with Him who has hitherto directed us.'

CHAPTER VII

DR. JUDSON'S IMPRISONMENT

1824–1826

DR. and Mrs. Judson were not long left to work in peace in their new home. The letter with which the preceding chapter concludes was the last which Mrs. Judson wrote for two years. These two years form a history of suffering such as has seldom been told.

Before coming to Ava at all, the missionaries had had some anxiety as to the possibility of war between Burmah and England; but the danger seemed an uncertain one, and they committed their way to God, and went. On their way up the river, they passed a large armament on its way to attack the British province of Chittagong. The Bengal government did not wait to receive this blow, but anticipated it by landing an army at Rangoon. The missionaries there were placed in ward during the bombardment of the town, and threatened with death if the English did not stop firing. The panic of their keepers, however, saved them, and they were relieved in a few hours. A longer and more fiery trial fell upon those at Ava. The history of that period is given in a long letter written by Mrs. Judson to her brother-in-law, after their deliverance and return to Rangoon. Its date is May 26, 1826:—

'The first certain intelligence we received of the declaration of war by the Burmese was on our arrival at Tsen-pyoo-kywon, about a hundred miles this side of Ava, where part of the troops under the command of the celebrated Bandoola had encamped. As we proceeded on our journey, we met Bandoola himself, with the remainder of his troops, gaily equipped, seated on his golden barge, and surrounded by a fleet of golden war-boats, one of which was instantly despatched from the other side of the river to hail us, and make all necessary inquiries. We were allowed to proceed quietly on, when we had informed the messenger that we were Americans, not English, and were going to Ava in obedience to the command of his majesty.

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

'I dare not attempt a description of that splendid day, when majesty, with all its attendant glory, entered the gates of the golden city, and amid the acclamations of millions, I may say, took possession of the palace. The saupwars of the provinces bordering on China, all the viceroys and high officers of the kingdom, were assembled on the occasion, dressed in their robes of state, and ornamented with the insignia of their office. The white elephant, richly adorned with gold and jewels, was one of the most beautiful objects in the procession. The king and queen alone were unadorned, dressed in the simple garb of the country; they, hand in hand, entered the garden in which we had taken our seats, and where a banquet was prepared for their refreshment. All the riches and glory of the empire were on this day exhibited to view. The number and immense size of the elephants, the numerous horses, and great variety of vehicles of all descriptions, far surpassed anything I have ever seen or imagined.

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

'On the 23d of May 1824, just as we had concluded worship at the doctor's house—the other side of the river—a messenger came to inform us that Rangoon was taken by the English. The intelligence produced a shock, in which was a mixture of fear and joy. Mr. Gouger, a young merchant residing at Ava, was then with us, and had much more reason to fear than the rest of us.

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

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

'In examining the accounts of Mr. Gouger, it was found that Mr. Judson and Dr. Price had taken money of him to a considerable amount. Ignorant as were the Burmese of our mode of receiving money by orders on Bengal, this circumstance, to their suspicious minds, was a sufficient evidence that the missionaries were in the pay of the English, and very probably spies. It was thus represented to the king, who in an angry tone ordered the immediate arrest of the "two teachers."

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

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

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

'The next morning I sent Moung Ing to ascertain the situation of your brother, and give him food if still living. He soon returned with the intelligence that Mr. Judson and all the white foreigners were confined in the death-prison, with three pairs of iron fetters each, and fastened to a long pole to prevent their moving! The point of my anguish now was, that I was a prisoner myself, and could make no efforts for the release of the missionaries. I begged and entreated the magistrate to allow me to go to some member of government to state my case; but he said he did not dare to consent, for fear I should make my escape. I next wrote a note to one of the king's sisters, with whom I had been intimate, requesting her to use her influence for the release of the teachers. The note was returned with this message,—she "did not understand it,"—which was a polite refusal to interfere. The day dragged heavily away, and another dreadful night was before me. The idea of your brother being stretched on the bare floor in irons and confinement haunted my mind like a spectre, and prevented my obtaining any quiet sleep, though nature was almost exhausted.

'On the third day I sent a message to the governor of the city, who has the entire direction of prison affairs, to allow me to visit him with a present. The governor received me pleasantly, and asked me what I wanted. I stated to him the situation of the foreigners, and particularly that of the teachers, who were Americans, and had nothing to do with the war. He told me it was not in his power to release them from prison or irons, but that he could make their situation more comfortable. There was his head officer, with whom I must consult relative to the means. The officer, whose countenance presented the most perfect assemblage of all evil passions, took me aside, and endeavoured to convince me that I, as well as the prisoners, was entirely at his disposal, and that our future comfort must depend on my liberality. "What must I do," said I, "to obtain a mitigation of the present sufferings of the two teachers?" "Pay to me," said he, "two hundred ticals (about a hundred dollars), two pieces of fine cloth, and two pieces of handkerchiefs." I had taken money with me in the morning; our house being two miles from the prison, I could not easily return. This I offered to the officer, and begged he would not insist on the other articles, as they were not in my possession. He hesitated for some time, but, fearing to lose the sight of so much money, he concluded to take it, promising to relieve the teachers from their most painful situation.

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

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

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

'As soon as they had finished their search and departed, I hastened to the queen's brother to hear what had been the fate of my petition, when, alas! all my hopes were dashed by his wife coolly saying, "I stated your case to the queen, but her majesty replied, The teachers will not die; let them remain as they are." My expectations had been so much excited, that this sentence was like a thunder-clap to my feelings. For the truth at one glance assured me that it the queen refused assistance, who would dare to intercede for me?

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

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

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

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

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

'My prevailing opinion was, that my husband would suffer a violent death, and that I should, of course, become a slave, and languish out a miserable though short existence in the tyrannic hands of some unfeeling monster. But the consolations of religion in these trying circumstances were neither "few nor small." It taught me to look beyond this world to that rest, that peaceful, happy rest, where Jesus reigns, and oppression never enters.

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

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

'From this time we gave up all idea of being released from prison till the termination of the war; but I was still obliged to visit constantly some of the members of government with little presents, particularly the governor of the city, for the purpose of making the situation of the prisoners tolerable. I generally spent the greater part of every other day at the governor's house, giving him minute information relative to American manners, customs, government, etc.

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

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

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

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

'It was at this period that the death of Bandoola was announced in the palace. The king heard it with silent amazement, and the queen, in Eastern style, smote upon her breast, and cried, "Ama! ama!" (alas! alas!) Who could be found to fill his place? Who would venture since the invincible Bandoola had been cut off? At length the pakan-woon, who a few months before had been so far disgraced by the king as to be thrown into prison and irons, offered himself to head a new army, and assured the king in the most confident manner that he would conquer the English. His offers were accepted by the king and government, and all power immediately committed to him. The whole town was in alarm lest they should feel the effects of his power; and it was owing to the malignant representations of this man that the white prisoners suffered such a change in their circumstances, as I shall soon relate.

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

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

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

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

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

'The next morning I arose, and endeavoured to find something like food. But there was no market, and nothing to be procured. One of Dr. Price's friends, however, brought some cold rice and vegetable curry from Amarapoora, which, together with a cup of tea from Mr. Lanciego, answered for the breakfast of the prisoners; and for dinner we made a curry of dried salt fish, which a servant of Mr. Gouger had brought. All the money I could command in the world I had brought with me, secreted about my person; so you may judge what our prospects were in case the war should continue long. But our heavenly Father was better to us than our fears; for, notwithstanding the frequent straits to which we were brought, we never really suffered for the want of money, though frequently for want of provisions, which were not procurable. Here at this place my personal bodily sufferings commenced. While your brother was confined in the city prison, I had been allowed to remain in our house, in which I had many conveniences left, and my health had continued good beyond all expectation. But now I had not a single article of convenience,—not even a chair or seat of any kind, excepting a bamboo floor. The very morning after my arrival Mary Hasseltine was taken with the small-pox. She, though very young, was the only assistant I had in taking care of little Maria; but she now required all the time I could spare from Mr. Judson, whose fever still continued, in prison, and whose feet were so dreadfully mangled, that for several days he was unable to move. I knew not what to do, for I could procure no assistance from the neighbourhood, nor medicine for the sufferers, but was all day long going backwards and forwards from the house to the prison with little Maria in my arms. Sometimes I was greatly relieved by leaving her for an hour when asleep by the side of her father, while I returned to the house to look after Mary, whose fever ran so high as to produce delirium. My poor little Maria caught it of Mary. She was then only three months and a half old, and had been a most healthy child; but it was above three months before she perfectly recovered from the effects of this dreadful disorder.

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

'I just reached Oung-pen-Ia when my strength seemed entirely exhausted. The good native cook came out to help me into the house, but so altered and emaciated was my appearance, that the poor fellow burst into tears at the first sight. I crawled on to the mat in the little room, to which I was confined for more than two months, and never perfectly recovered until I came to the English camp. At this period, when I was unable to take care of myself, or look after Mr. Judson, we must both have died, had it not been for the faithful and affectionate care of our Bengalee cook. He never complained, never asked for his wages, and never for a moment hesitated to go anywhere, or to perform any act we required.

'Our dear little Maria was the greatest sufferer at this time,—my illness depriving her of her usual nourishment, and neither a nurse nor a drop of milk could be procured in the village. By making presents to the gaolers, I obtained leave for Mr. Judson to come out of prison and take the emaciated creature around the village, to beg a little nourishment from those mothers who had young children. Her cries in the night were heart-rending, when it was impossible to supply her wants. I now began to think the very afflictions of Job had come upon me. To be confined with sickness, and unable to assist those who were so dear to me, was almost too much for me to bear. Sometimes our gaolers seemed a little softened at our distress, and for several days together allowed Mr. Judson to come to the house, which was to me an unspeakable consolation. Then again they would be as iron-hearted in their demands as though we were free from sufferings and in affluent circumstances. The annoyance, the extortions, and oppressions to which we were subject during our six months' residence in Oung-pen-la are beyond enumeration or description.

'It was some time after our arrival at Oung-pen-la that we heard of the execution of the pakan-woon, in consequence of which our lives were still preserved; for we afterwards ascertained that the white foreigners had been sent to Oung-pen-la for the express purpose of sacrificing them, and that he himself intended witnessing the horrid scene. He had raised an army of 50,000 men (a tenth part of whose advance pay was found in his house), and expected to march against the English army in a short time, when he was suspected of high treason, and instantly executed, without the least examination. Perhaps no death in Ava ever produced such universal rejoicings as that of the pakan-woon. We never, to this day, hear his name mentioned but with an epithet of reproach or hatred. Another brother of the king was appointed to the command of the army now in readiness, but with no very sanguine expectations of success.

'The time at length arrived for our release from the dreary scenes of Oung-pen-la. A messenger from our friend the governor of the north gate of the palace informed us that an order had been given for Mr. Judson's release. On the same evening an official order arrived; and with a joyful heart I set about preparing for our departure early the following morning. But an unexpected obstacle occurred which made us fear that I should still be retained as a prisoner. The avaricious gaolers, unwilling to lose their prey, insisted that as my name was not included in the order, I should not go. It was noon before we were allowed to depart. When we reached Amarapoora, Mr. Judson was obliged to follow the guidance of the gaoler, who conducted him to the governor of the city. Having made all necessary inquiries, the governor appointed another guard, which conveyed Mr. Judson to the court-house in Ava. I took my own course, procured a boat, and reached our house before dark.'

Mrs. Judson found that her husband was to be sent to the Burmese camp as translator and interpreter. She goes on:

'For the first fortnight after his departure my anxiety was less than it had been at any time previously since the commencement of our difficulties; but my health, which had never been restored since that violent attack at Oung-pen-la, now daily declined, till I was seized with the spotted fever, with all its attendant horrors. I knew the nature of the fever from its commencement; and, from the shattered state of my constitution, together with the want of medical attendants, I concluded it must be fatal. I began to think of settling my worldly affairs, and of committing my dear little Maria to the care of a Portuguese woman, when I lost my reason, and was insensible to all around me. At this dreadful period Dr. Price was released from prison, and, hearing of my illness, obtained permission to come and see me. He has since told me that my situation was the most distressing he had ever witnessed, and that he did not then think I should survive many hours. My hair was shaved off, my head and feet covered with blisters, and Dr. Price ordered the Bengalee servant who took care of me to endeavour to persuade me to take a little nourishment, which I had obstinately refused for several days. One of the first things I recollect was seeing this faithful servant standing by me, trying to induce me to take a little wine and water. I was, in fact, so far gone that the Burmese neighbours, who had come in to see me expire, said, "She is dead; and if the King of angels should come in, He could not recover her."

'I began to recover slowly, but it was more than a month after this before I had strength to stand. While in this weak state, the servant who had followed your brother to the Burmese camp came in and informed me that his master had arrived and was conducted to the court-house in town. It was reported in town that he was to be sent back to the Oung-pen-la prison. I was too weak to bear ill tidings of any kind, but a shock so dreadful as this almost annihilated me. For some time I could hardly breathe, but at last gained sufficient composure to despatch Moung Ing to our friend the governor of the north gate, and begged him to make one more effort for the release of Mr. Judson, and prevent his being sent back to the country prison. Moung Ing then went in search of Mr. Judson, and it was nearly dark when he found him, in the interior of an obscure prison. I had sent food early in the afternoon, but, being unable to find him, the bearer had returned with it, which added another pang to my distresses, as I feared he was already sent to Oung-pen-la.

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

In the terror into which the capital was thrown by the steady advance of the English, Mr. Judson was far too necessary a man to be sent back to prison. He and Dr. Price were consulted about every new measure, and sent back and forward to the English camp to arrange terms of peace. The English general promised to stop his march on receiving a certain sum of money, together with all the English and American captives. It was long before the Burmans could be convinced that the proposal was made in good faith. They thought the conquerors would merely accept their gift, and press on as before to the city now lying helpless and trembling before them. At last, more as a sort of desperate venture than with any hope, they complied with the conditions. As the result of these negotiations, the Judsons were sent down the river to the English camp. Great was their joy and thankfulness to be once more in the midst of friends.

Mrs. Judson continues:—

'We now, for the first time for more than a year and a half, felt that we were free.… We feel that our obligations to General Campbell can never be cancelled. Our final release from Ava, and our recovering all the property that had there been taken, was owing entirely to his efforts. His subsequent hospitality, and kind attention to the accommodations for our passage to Rangoon, have left an impression on our minds which can never be effaced. We daily receive the congratulation of the British officers, whose conduct towards us formed a striking contrast to that of the Burmese. I presume to say that no persons on earth were ever happier than we were during the fortnight we passed at the English camp. For several days this single idea wholly occupied my mind,—that we were out of the power of the Burmese government, and once more under the protection of the English. Our feelings continually dictated expressions like this: "What shall we render to the Lord for all His benefits towards us?"

'The treaty of peace was soon concluded, signed by both parties, and a termination of hostilities publicly declared, We left Yandabo, after a fortnight's residence, and safely reached the mission-house in Rangoon, after an absence of two years and three months.

'A review of our trip to and adventures in Ava often excites the inquiry, Why were we permitted to go? What good has been effected? Why did I not listen to the advice of friends in Bengal, and remain there till the war was concluded? But all that we can say is, It is not in man that walketh to direct his steps.'

In a concluding paragraph, dated Amherst, July 27, Mrs. Judson adds:—'From the date at the commencement of this long letter, you see, my dear brother, that my patience has continued for two months. I have frequently been induced to throw it aside altogether; but, feeling assured that you and my other friends are expecting something of this kind, I am induced to send it, with all its imperfections. This letter, dreadful as are the scenes herein described, gives you but a faint idea of the awful reality. The anguish, the agony of mind, resulting from a thousand little circumstances impossible to be delineated on paper, can be known by those only who have been in similar situations. Pray for us, my dear brother and sister, that these heavy afflictions may not be in vain, but may be blessed to our spiritual good, and the advancement of Christ's cause among the heathen.'

Some further accounts of this dreadful time have been gathered chiefly from Dr. Judson's conversation:—

The death-prison was constructed of boards, and was rather stronger than a common Burman dwelling-house, though but little confidence was reposed in its strength; hence the array of stocks and shackles, and the dreaded surveillance of insulting keepers. There were no windows, nor other means of admitting the air, except by such crevices as always exist in a simple board house, and only one small outer door. The common prison was crowded with occupants. The worst of criminals were huddled down beside the highest of state officers,—perhaps the very judges who sat upon their crime the day before. It is well understood that all who are cast into the death-prison are under the condemnation of death, though they may yet be saved by the clemency of the sovereign. Prisoners were continually dying of disease, as well as by violent treatment, and yet the place was always full. They came from the palace and from the robber's den; from the shop of the handicraftsman, whose power of execution had fallen short of his monarch's conception; and from the more aspiring roof of the merchant, sacrificed to his reputed wealth. Several sepoys, and occasionally English soldiers, swelled the lists of the miserable. These poor creatures, having no regular supply of food, were often brought to the very verge of starvation; and then, on some worship day, the women would come, as a religious duty, to the prison with rice and fruit, and the miserable sufferers, maddened by starvation, would eat and die. 'Oh, I dare not tell you,' said Mr. Judson to me one day, 'half the horrors I have seen and felt. They haunt me when I am ill or sad even now, and the simplest relation of them would do no good to either of our dreams.'

The keepers of the prison were all branded criminals: some wearing the name of their crime burned into the flesh of their foreheads or breasts; others with a dark ring upon the cheek, or about the eye; and others still with mutilated noses, blind of an eye, or with their ears quite cut away. They are called 'children of the prison,' and form a distinct class, quite out of the way of reputable people, intermarrying only among themselves, and so perpetuating vice, while they are shut, both by their sentence and the horror with which they are regarded by all classes, without the pale of virtue. Their vicious inclinations are rendered indelible by constant familiarity with every species of human torture, until these creatures seem really to be actuated by some demoniac spirit. The head gaoler, called by the prisoners the tiger-cat, and branded in the breast loo-that, or murderer, was one of the most hideous and disgusting of his fraternity. He affected great jocularity, and was facetious even in the commission of his worst cruelties, bringing down his hammer with a jest when fastening manacles, putting his hated arms affectionately around the prisoners, and calling them his beloved children, to get a better opportunity to prick or pinch them, and withal studying torture as the most comical of arts.

One of the first things Mr. Judson inquired after, as soon, as he and Mrs. Judson were allowed to meet and speak together in English, was the manuscript translation of the New Testament. Part of it had been printed, but there was a large portion, together with important emendations of the printed part, still in manuscript. Mrs. Judson had secreted it, with her silver and a few other articles of value, in the earth under the house. It was now the rainy season, and if the paper remained in this place any considerable length of time, it would be ruined by the mould. They concluded to sew the manuscript up in a pillow, so mean in its appearance, and so hard and uncomfortable withal, that even the avarice of a Burman would not covet it, while Mr. Judson himself should undertake the guardianship of the treasure. In reply to a remark afterwards made to him with regard to it, he said, 'When people are loaded with chains, and sleep half the time on a bare board, their senses become so obtuse that they do not know the difference between a hard pillow and a soft one.'

During the first seven months of Mr. Judson's imprisonment there was but little change. The white men all wore three pairs of fetters; but they were suffered to walk about the prison-yard as well as they could with their ankles only a few inches apart, and always followed by keepers. They were from time to time subjected to almost innumerable annoyances, vexations, and extortions; and they were obliged to be the witnesses of wanton cruelties which they could not prevent, and of intense sufferings which they could not alleviate. For the most of the time, through Mrs. Judson's continual exertions, and by help of occasional presents, they were allowed to spend the day in the open shed in the yard, and Mrs. Judson was even permitted to build a little bamboo shelter for her husband, where he could be some portion of the time by himself. Mr. Judson was exceedingly nice in his personal habits,—nice even to a fault,—and this herding together, even if he had been permitted to choose his associates, would have been exceedingly unpleasant to him. They were not all, belonging as they did to five different nations, educated in his notions of cleanliness, and even he was often from necessity offensive to himself. Sometimes he was denied the use ot water, and sometimes the admission of clothing was forbidden; and the act of dressing with the ankles made fast by fetters proved to be no simple art. With all his efforts, and the care taken by his wife of his wardrobe, he was sometimes in a very forlorn state. His food was such as Mrs. Judson could provide. Sometimes it came regularly, and sometimes they went very hungry. Sometimes for weeks together they had no food but rice, savoured with ngapee,—a certain preparation of fish, not always palatable to foreigners. But once, when a term of unusual quiet gave her time for the softer and more homely class of loving thoughts, Mrs. Judson made a great effort to surprise her husband with something that should remind him of home. She planned and laboured, until, by the aid of buffalo beef and plantains, she actually concocted a mince-pie. She could not go in person to the prison that day, and the dinner was brought by smiling Moung Ing, who seemed aware that some mystery must be wrapped up in that peculiar preparation of meat and fruit, though he had never seen the well-spread boards of Plymouth and Bradford. But the pretty little artifice only added another pang to a heart whose susceptibilities were as quick and deep, as, in the sight of the world, they were silent. When his wife had visited him in prison, and borne taunts and insults with and for him, they could be brave together; when she had stood up like an enchantress, winning the hearts of high and low, making savage gaolers, and scarcely less savage nobles, weep; or moved, protected by her own dignity and sublimity of purpose, like a queen along the streets, his heart had throbbed with proud admiration, and he was almost able to thank God for the trials which had made a character so intrinsically noble shine forth with such peculiar brightness. But in this simple, homelike act, this little unpretending effusion of a loving heart, there was something so touching, so unlike the part she had just been acting, and yet so illustrative of what she really was, that he bowed his head upon his knees, and the tears flowed down to the chains about his ankles. What a happy man he might have been had this heavy woe been spared them! And what was coming next? Finally the scene changed, and there came over him a vision of the past. He saw again the home of his boyhood. His stern, strangely revered father, his gentle mother, his rosy, curly-haired sister, and pale young brother, were gathered for the noonday meal, and he was once more among them. And so his fancy revelled there. He lifted his head. Oh the misery that surrounded him! He moved his feet, and the rattling of the heavy chains was as a death-knell. He thrust the carefully prepared dinner into the hand of his associate, and, as fast as his fetters would permit, hurried to his own little shed.

Mr. Judson was not naturally of an even temperament. Hopeful and earnest he was beyond most men, and withal very persevering, but at this period of his life, and up to a much later time, he was subject to a desponding reaction, from which his faith in God, the ruling principle of his later years, was not now sufficiently ripe to set him entirely free. His peculiar mental conformation was eminently active. So long as he could contend with difficulties he was appalled by nothing; but whatever he might have been in after life, he was at this time better fitted to do than to endure. For some time previous to the birth of poor little Maria he had been filled with the gloomiest forebodings, and not without cause. His wife, from the peculiar customs of this land of semi-civilisation, was more alone than she would have been among the wild Indian women of an American forest, and he could do nothing for her. When the dreaded crisis was past, and a pale, puny infant of twenty days was brought to his prison, no person not thoroughly conversant with the secret springs of feeling which made his the richest heart that ever beat in human bosom would be at all able to appreciate the scene. His first child slept beneath the waters of the Bay of Bengal, a victim to Anglo-Indian persecution, a baby-martyr, without the martyr's conflict; the second, his 'meek, blue-eyed Roger,' had his bed in the jungle graveyard at Rangoon; and here came the third little wan stranger to claim the first parental kiss from the midst of felon chains.

Mrs. Judson had long previous to this adopted the Burmese style of dress. Her rich Spanish complexion could never be mistaken for the tawny hue of the native; and her figure, of full medium height, appeared much taller and more commanding in a costume usually worn by women of inferior size. But her friend, the governor's wife, who presented her with the dress, had recommended the measure as a concession which would be sure to conciliate the people, and win them to a kindlier treatment of her. Behold her, then,—her dark curls carefully straightened, drawn back from her forehead, and a fragrant cocoa blossom drooping like a white plume from the knot upon the crown; her saffron vest thrown open to display the folds of crimson beneath; and a rich silken skirt, wrapped closely about her fine figure, parting at the ankle and sloping back upon the floor. The clothing of the feet was not Burman, for the native sandal could not be worn except upon a bare foot. Behold her standing in the doorway, her little blue-eyed blossom wailing, as it almost always did, upon her bosom, and the chained father crawling forth to the meeting!

The foreigners had spent about seven months in prison, when suddenly a change came. One day a band of men rushed into the prison-yard, and while some seized the white prisoners, and added two more pairs of fetters to the three they already wore, others began tearing down Mrs. Judson's little bamboo room, snatching up pillows and mattresses, and whatever other articles came within their reach. At last the prisoners, after having half the clothing torn from their persons, were thrust into the common prison, and, with a bamboo between their legs, again stretched upon the bare floor. Here were more than a hundred miserable wretches, shut from every breath of air except such as could find its way between the crevices in the boards, groaning with various tortures, and rattling their chains, as they groped in the grey light, and writhed and twisted themselves, as much as was in their power, from side to side, in the vain endeavour to obtain some ease by change of position. It was the commencement of the hot season, and the heat was not lessened by the fevered breaths of that crowd of sufferers, nor the close air putrefied by the exhalations which arose from their bodies. Night came, but brought with it no rest. A whisper had passed around the prison, whether through malice or accident, that the foreigners would be led out to execution at three in the night. At first Mr. Judson felt a pang of regret that he was to go at last without saying farewell to his unsuspecting wife and child, but gradually the feeling changed, and he would not have had it different if he could. She had left him in comparative comfort that day; she would come the next, and find him beyond her care. It would be a terrible shock at first, but she would be spared much anxious suffering; and he could almost fancy that she would soon learn to rejoice that he was safe in glory. As for herself, the Burmans had always treated her with some respect,—she seemed to have gained immunity from personal insult, while her intrepidity had won their admiration,—and he did not believe that even the rudest of them would dare to do her harm. There he might breathe his silent farewell, while she was spared the parting agony. He thought of Burmah, too, even then. The English would most likely be conquerors, and then there would be nothing to hinder the propagation of Christianity. He even recollected—so calm and dispassionate were his thoughts—some passages in his translation capable of a better rendering; and then he speculated on the pillow he had lost that day, weighing the probabilities of its ever falling into his wife's hands, so that the manuscript would be recovered. And then he imagined that she did not find it, and went off into a visionary scene of its being brought to light years afterwards, which he smiled at when he gave a sketch of these emotions. At length the fatal hour drew nigh. They had no means of ascertaining it precisely, but they knew that it could not be very far distant. They waited with increased solemnity. Then they prayed together, Mr. Judson's voice for all of them, and then he, and probably each of the others, prayed separately. And still they waited, in awful expectancy. The hour passed by,—they felt it must be past,—and there was no unusual movement in the prison. Still they expected and waited, till finally there woke a glimmering of hope, a possibility that they had been deceived. And so, hoping, and doubting, and fearing, they lingered on till the opening of the door assured them of what they had long suspected. It was morning. Then the gaoler came, and in answer to their questions chucked them mockingly under the chin, and told them, Oh, no; he could not spare his beloved children yet, just after—kicking the bamboo as he spoke till all the chains rattled, and the five rows of fetters dashed together pinched sharply the flesh that they caught between them—just after he had taken so much trouble to procure them fitting ornaments.

After Mr. Judson had been about a month in the loathsome inner prison, he was attacked by a slow fever, which threatened to destroy his life. About this time the poor sufferers were astonished by a most singular accession to their numbers. Before the commencement of the war the king had received a present of a lion, which had been a particular favourite with him; but it was now whispered about that the English bore a lion upon their standard. The disgraceful defeat of Bandoola, his alarming final fall, and the utter inefficiency of the hardiest Burman troops before these charmed warriors, were matters of grave conference, and strange glances were cast towards the king's noble pet; but for a time no one dared to speak. The queen's brother was positive that the English had a demoniac ally in the palace, in the shape of this regal-looking beast, which had entirely won the heart of the king. The king at last consented to the animal's being sent to the death-prison, though he expressly stipulated that it should not be slain without his order. The queen's brother, however, gave secret directions to the keepers not to furnish the animal with food; and so merciless was he well known to be in the execution of his vengeance, that they dared not disobey him, even to please the king. The cage, all newly ironed and barricaded, as though some unusual resistance was expected, was placed in the prison-yard, close against the principal building. And now commenced a new and fearful scene of misery. The unhappy prisoners thought they had gained a fearful familiarity with every species of wretchedness; but there was something almost supernatural in this new horror—a gradually starving lion! Day after day the noble beast writhed in the pangs of hunger, parched with thirst, and bruised and bleeding with his fearful struggles, while his roarings seemed to shake the prison to its foundations, and sent a thrill of indescribable terror to the hearts of the occupants. The gaoler said it was the British lion in effectually struggling against the conquering Burmans; though even his facetious features were somewhat elongated by superstitious fears. Sometimes a compassionate woman would steal to the cage after dark, and thrust a morsel of food between the bars; but it was necessarily a trifle to the powerful beast, and served only to increase his ravings. At other times one of the keepers would throw pails of water over him, which would be greeted with almost human shrieks of pleasure, though it only served to lengthen for a little the terrible term of suffering. At last the scene was over. The skeleton ot the poor beast was dragged from its cage, and buried with more care than many a poor human skeleton had been before.

The next time Mrs. Judson came to the prison door, and her husband crawled to meet her,—crawled with the upper part of his body, having his feet still attached to the moveless bamboo,—he had a new plan to broach. He told her of the empty lion's cage—what a comfortable retreat it might be made for him while the fever lasted, and begged her intercession with the governor; for he had entreated the comic gaoler in vain: the 'cat' refused to listen for a moment to such an insult to royalty. Mrs. Judson's application was successful; and, with feelings of deep gratitude to God for such a mercy, the sick man was removed from his loathsome quarters to the better accommodations of the lion's cage.

Mr. Judson still had possession of his precious pillow. It fell to the share of the keeper on the day when they were so unceremoniously thrust into the inner prison, but he had afterwards exchanged it for a better one, wondering, no doubt, at the odd taste of the white man. When he was again robbed of his clothes and bedding, on the day he was driven away to Oung-pen-la, one of the ruffians deliberately untied the mat which was used as a cover to the precious pillow, and threw the apparently worthless roll of hard cotton away. Some hours after, Moung Ing, stumbling upon this one relic of the vanished prisoners, carried it to the house as a token, and, several months from that time, the manuscript which now makes a part of the Burmese Bible, was found within uninjured.

They remained at Oung-pen-la six months, when Mr. Judson was for the first time released from his irons, to be employed as translator and interpreter to the Burmans. From the first he had been particularly careful not to take any part in political affairs; for, however the war might end, he did not wish the Burmans to receive an impression that he was in the interests of the English. He felt that it would be wrong to endanger his influence as a religious teacher by taking any step which would be likely to render him obnoxious even to a conquered people. But now he had no choice. He was carried to Ava under guard, kept in prison two days, and then, without being permitted to visit his own house but a few moments, was guarded like a prisoner to the boat. Mrs. Judson had hastily prepared a few such articles as she thought necessary to his comfort; but, either through the malice, or cupidity, or carelessness of his keepers, nothing but his mattress, pillow, and one blanket could be found. The boat was very small, without a cover, and so crowded that he had not room to lie down. He remained here three days, exposed to the scorching sun by day and the heavy November dews by night, with no sustenance but a bag of refuse rice, broken and mildewed, for which he was expected to evince the highest gratitude. When he arrived at Maloun, he was so ill as to be almost helpless. The banks of the Irrawadi are bordered with beds of white, glittering sand, which assumes in the sunlight an intense metallic glare, and reflects such heat as might come from a burning furnace. On this sand, half-way between the river and the camp, a small bamboo hovel had been erected for the reception of the still carefully watched and guarded translator. There was no aperture for the admittance of air, and he could not roll up the matting which composed the sides of his little shelter without admitting that intolerable white glitter; while the heat reflected from the burning sand penetrated the fragile bamboo braids, and aided in a more alarming development of the fever contracted in his passage down the river. It was in vain that he represented his condition to the officers who came to summon him to the presence of the Burman general. They chose to consider him stubborn, and told him that means would be used to make him obedient to their master's call, and make him work, too, in spite of his pretences. But, when they found that he really could not move, they brought papers to his floorless hovel, and insisted on an explanation; while he writhed beneath the torture, and wished himself back to Ava in his chains, or that the fever which was searing his brain would only make him quite mad. The last wish was mercifully granted; for he finally became unconscious of everything except a coming and going of sandalled feet, the solemn entrance of a shaven crown and yellow robe, and a very indistinct impression that he was being conveyed from the prison at Oung-pen-la to be burned alive. When his consciousness returned, he was lying alone in a little room made by suspending a mat from the projecting eaves of a cook-house, whither he had been removed, less, probably, from compassion than selfish interest. With the cessation of intense physical suffering, even before strength had begun to return, there came a feeling of intellectual vigour and activity characteristic of his nature; and, long before even his persecutors thought him fit for labour, he had been busy in arranging his plans for the future. His thorough appreciation of the Burmese character made it very easy to see the mortal terror that the military leaders at Maloun were in; and he resolved by degrees to accustom their thoughts to such concessions as he knew they would soon be called on to make. The native mind, treacherous and suspicious in the main, has yet a fine vein of truth and honesty running through it; and he believed that they would be able in time to distinguish him, true friend as he really was, from the designing agent of the enemy which they supposed him to be.

In the meantime, papers were occasionally brought to his bed for advice or explanation; and so he had time to win a large share of confidence before he was able to enter fully upon the duties of a translator. These duties, with those of interpreter and adviser, he soon found to be sufficiently arduous; for the suspicious Burmans obstinately withheld all confidence in the integrity of their conquerors, and, moreover, invested every newspaper paragraph from Calcutta with the dignity of a state document. It was a difficult task to set forth to unaccustomed ears and hearts those high principles of honour which actuate civilised nations; and the attempt usually won more admiration for the speaker than confidence in the truth of his subject. He was often interrupted by such remarks as, 'That is noble,' 'That is as it should be;' but the exclamation would be immediately followed by an incredulous shake of the head, and, 'But the teacher dreams; he has a celestial spirit, and so he thinks himself in the land of the celestials.'

In the meantime he was far from being overwhelmed by physical comforts. His allowance, with the utmost economy, was exhausted in a month. He had long since become accustomed to the Burmese style of cookery; but his recent illness rendered the crude vegetable diet, with its pungent acids and spices, more than usually unsuited to him. The nights, too, were very cold; and the heavy fog which rested on the river till nine in the morning seemed, under cover of the darkness, to assume the chilliness of ice. At last he was driven to the necessity of begging a blanket. He was presented, as a special mark of esteem,—because, as he was assured, it had been ascertained that he was a true friend to Burmah,—with a thick cotton rug, about large enough to cover a child of six years. Taking some bamboo twigs for thread, and a penknife for a needle, he stitched his new acquisition to the centre of his blanket, and so, by dint of frequent shiftings from side to side, alternate drawings up of the feet and crouchings of the shoulders, and other little ingenious contrivances for lessening his bulk, he managed to keep half of his person at a time in a state of tolerable warmth. Here he remained about six weeks, when, in consequence of the advance of the English from Prome, he was hurriedly sent back to Ava. It was late in the night when he arrived, and he was taken through the streets directly past his own door. A feeble light glimmered within, assuring him that it was not altogether deserted; but yet what might not have occurred in those six weeks! He entreated permission to enter but for five minutes. He threatened, he bribed, he appealed to their humanity,—for he knew that even they, hard as they seemed, must have humanity somewhere,—but all without success. His conductors, with some show of feeling, assured him that they had orders to take him directly to the court-house, and that they dared not disobey. He crouched down in an outbuilding until morning, when, after a slight examination, he was placed under guard in an out-of-the-way shed, which served as a temporary prison. At night of the same day, Moung Ing found him in this obscure place, where he had been all day without food. While conversing with the faithful Burman, Mr. Judson once or twice fancied there was something in his words or manner, or perhaps both, a little puzzling; but the impression was only momentary, and the very sight of this messenger from his wife relieved him of a burden of apprehension. He immediately despatched Moung Ing to the friendly governor for aid in his new difficulties, instructing him carefully as to his words and behaviour, and in the joy of his heart bade him tell the isayah-ga-dau to keep up courage one day more; it was almost certain he should be with her on the next. As soon as the messenger was gone, Dr. Judson's thoughts immediately recurred to the singularity of his behaviour, scarcely observable at the time, but now assuming much importance. His wife was doubtless well, though Moung Ing had certainly not been very explicit when inquired of. She must be well, for had she not sent several messages, and herself suggested the application to the governor? The child, too, was well; he had said that unhesitatingly. Why had he hesitated in the other case? Could it be, could it really be, that anything serious had befallen her, and they had concealed it from him? But no; those messages! He remembered, however (it all came to him too clearly now), how ostentatiously the good-natured Burman had paraded one of those messages whenever he asked a question; and yet, think as he would, they all resolved themselves into two—she longed to see him, and she recommended an application to the governor. 'She must be living,' he repeated to himself; 'there is ample proof of that.' 'She must have been living,' answered a withering doubt within, 'when she gave the directions to Moung Ing.' After that one thought he had no disposition to sleep. The tedious night at length dragged itself away; and though the governor sent for him as early as could reasonably be expected in the morning, a vague apprehension seemed to concentrate whole ages in those few early hours. The kind old man had become his security with the government, and set him free. With a step more fleet than for the last two years he had practised, and in spite of the maimed ankles, which sometimes almost refused their office, he hurried along the street to his beloved home. The door stood invitingly open, and, without having been seen by any one, he entered. The first object which met his eye was a fat, half-naked Burman woman, squatting in the ashes beside a pan of coals, and holding on her knees a wan baby, so begrimed with dirt that it did not occur to the father it could be his own. He gave but one hasty look, and hurried to the next room. Across the foot of the bed, as though she had fallen there, lay a human object, that at the first glance was scarcely more recognisable than his child. The face was of a ghastly paleness, the features sharp, and the whole form shrunken almost to the last degree of emaciation. The glossy black curls had all been shorn from the finely-shaped head, which was now covered by a close-fitting cotton cap, of the coarsest and—unlike anything usually coming in contact with that head—not the cleanest kind. The whole room presented an appearance of the very extreme of wretchedness, more harrowing to the feelings than can be told. There lay the devoted wife, who had followed him so unweariedly from prison to prison, ever alleviating his distresses, without even common hireling attendance. He knew by the very arrangement of the room, and by the expression of sheer animality on the face of the woman who held his child, that the Bengalee cook had been her only nurse. The wearied sleeper was awakened by a breath that came too near her cheek. Perhaps a falling tear might have been added; for steady as those eyes were in difficulties, dauntless in dangers, and stern when conscience frowned, they were well used to tender tears.

'One evening,' says one, 'several persons at our house were repeating anecdotes of what different men in different ages had regarded as the highest type of sensuous enjoyment,—that is, enjoyment derived from outward circumstances. "Pooh!" said Mr. Judson; "these men were not qualified to judge. I know of a much higher pleasure than that. What do you think of floating down the Irrawadi, on a cool, moonlight evening, with your wife by your side, and your baby in your arms, free—all free? But you cannot understand it either; it needs a twenty-one months' qualification; and I can never regret my twenty-one months of misery when I recall that one delicious thrill. I think I have had a better appreciation of what heaven may be ever since." '

A few days after the arrival of the prisoners in the English camp, General Campbell was to give a dinner to the Burmese commissioners, and he chose to make it an affair of some pomp and magnificence. At a given order, almost as by magic, the camp was turned into a scene of festivity, with such a profusion of gold and crimson, and floating banners, as is thought most pleasing to an Oriental eye. When the dinner-hour arrived, the company marched in couples, to the music of the band, toward the table, led by the general, who walked alone. As they came opposite the tent with the verandah before it, suddenly the music ceased, the whole procession stood still, and, while the wondering Burmans turned their eager eyes in every direction, doubtful as to what would be the next act in the little drama, so curious to them as strangers, the general entered the tent. In a moment he reappeared with a lady on his arm,—no stranger to the conscious commissioners,—whom he led to the table, and seated at his own right hand. The abashed commissioners slid into their seat shrinkingly, where they sat as though transfixed by a mixture of astonishment and fear. 'I fancy these gentlemen must be old acquaintances of yours, Mrs. Judson,' General Campbell remarked, amused by what he began to suspect, though he did not fully understand it; 'and, judging from their appearance, you must have treated them very ill.' Mrs. Judson smiled. The Burmans could not understand the remark, but they evidently considered themselves the subject of it, and their faces were blank with consternation.

'What is the matter with yonder owner of the pointed beard?' pursued Sir Archibald. 'He seems to be seized with an ague-fit.'

'I do not know,' answered Mrs. Judson, fixing her eyes on the trembler, with perhaps a mischievous enjoyment of his anxiety, 'unless his memory may be too busy.'

She then told how she had walked several miles to this man's house to ask a favour. She had been kept waiting till noon, and when, after a rough refusal, she was turning sorrowfully away, his attention was attracted by the silk umbrella she carried in her hand, and he instantly seized upon it. In vain she represented the danger of her walking home without it; told him she had brought no money, and could not buy anything to shelter her from the sun; and begged that, if he took that, he would at least furnish her with a paper one to protect her from the scorching heat. He laughed, and, turning the very suffering that had wasted her into a jest, told her it was only stout people who were in danger of a sunstroke,—the sun could not find such as she; and so turned her from the door.

Expressions of indignation burst from the lips of the listening officers. The poor Burman, conscience-taught, seemed to understand everything that was passing, and his features were distorted with fear. It was not in a woman's heart to do other than pity him; and Mrs. Judson remarked softly in Burmese that he had nothing to fear, and then repeated the remark to Sir Archibald. Every means was taken to reassure the timorous guests, but there sat the lady, whom all but one of them had personally treated with indignity, at the right hand of power, and her husband, just released from his chains, close beyond; and they doubtless felt conscious that if they and their lady wives were in such a position, they would ask the heads of their enemies, and the request would be granted.

Major Calder Campbell tells how, after being severely wounded and robbed on the Irrawadi, he was rescued by an English boat. He writes:—

'My eyes first rested on the thin, attenuated form of a lady—a white lady! the first white woman I had seen for more than a year! She was standing on the little deck of the row-boat, leaning on the arm of a sickly-looking gentleman with an intellectual cast of countenance, in whom I at once recognised the husband or the brother.

'My wound was tenderly dressed, my head bound up, and I was laid upon a sofa-bed. With what a thankful heart did I breathe forth a blessing on these kind Samaritans! With what delight did I drink in the mild, gentle sounds of that sweet woman's voice, as she pressed me to recruit my strength with some of that beverage "which cheers, but not inebriates!" She was seated in a large sort of swinging chair, of American construction, in which her slight, emaciated, but graceful form, appeared almost ethereal. Yet, with much of heaven, there was still the breathing of earthly feeling about her; for at her feet rested a babe,—a little, wan baby,—on which her eyes often turned with all a mother's love; and, gazing frequently upon her delicate features, with a fond yet fearful glance, was that meek missionary, her husband. Her face was pale, very pale, with that expression of deep and serious thought which speaks of the strong and vigorous mind within the frail and perishing body; her brown hair was braided over a placid and holy brow; but her hands—those small lily hands—were quite beautiful; beautiful they were, and very wan; for ah! they told of disease—of death—death in all its transparent grace—when the sickly blood shines through the clear skin, even as the bright poison lights up the Venetian glass which it is about to shatter.

'I remained two days with them,—two delightful days they were to me. Mrs. Judson's powers of conversation were of the first order, and the many affecting anecdotes that she gave us of their long and cruel bondage, their struggles in the cause of religion, and their adventures during a long residence at the court of Ava, gained a heightened interest from the beautiful energetic simplicity of her language, as well as from the certainty I felt that so fragile a flower as she in very truth was, had but a brief season to linger on earth.'

It was probably only the brave and loving care of his wife that kept Dr. Judson from sinking under his captivity as so many did. Indeed, all who survived that fearful time spoke of her as their guardian angel, walking about the hostile city unharmed and respected, supplying them often with food and clothing, and by her unwearied applications wringing some mercy for them even from their cruel oppressors.

CHAPTER VIII

DEATH OF MRS. JUDSON AT AMHERST—SETTLEMENT AT MAULMAIN

1826–1830

THE war had thrown affairs in Rangoon into the utmost confusion. The converts were almost all scattered, and there seemed no prospect of security for some time to come. Dr. Judson therefore looked about for some other field of labour, and fixed upon Amherst, a new British settlement at the mouth of the Salwen river. The boards of the old zayat were brought there and set up, with many prayers that the old blessing might still attend it. It was with deep thankfulness that the missionaries found themselves under British rule, and saw a handful of their Rangoon acquaintances gathering round them, with none to make them afraid. Their bitterest trials seemed at an end. And when Dr. Judson, having settled his family comfortably, was obliged to return to Ava, to try to get some security for religious toleration in the treaty then pending, the parting with Mrs. Judson seemed a light thing after all they had passed through. Their only anxiety was about the delicate baby, who had been nursed amid so much trouble.

On the 14th of September Mrs. Judson wrote to her husband:—'I have this day moved into the new house, and for the first time since we were broken up at Ava feel myself at home. I have no trouble about anything except you and Maria. May God preserve and bless you, and restore you in safety to your new and old home, is the prayer of your affectionate Ann.'

This was the last letter which Mr. Judson received from her, but, instead, he received the news of her death. Her constitution had been much more shattered by her past sufferings than either of them knew, and she was seized with a fever, which, though not at first violent, baffled all medical skill, and under which she quickly sank. Dr. Judson had the comfort of knowing that she was nursed with kind and thoughtful care; but still she died among strangers, except, indeed, for the attached native Christians who attended her. To them she had sometimes complained thus:—'The teacher is long in coming; and the new missionaries are long in coming. I must die alone, and leave my little one; but as it is the will of God, I acquiesce in His will. I am not afraid of death, but I am afraid I shall not be able to bear these pains. Tell the teacher that the disease was most violent, and I could not write. Tell him all that you see; and take care of the house and things until he returns.' When she was unable to notice anything else, she would still call the child to her, and charge the nurse to be kind to it, and indulge it in everything until its father's return. The last day or two she lay almost senseless and motionless on one side, her head reclining on her arm, her eyes closed; and at eight in the evening, with one exclamation of distress in the Burman language, she ceased to breathe.

The doctor who attended her, afterwards told Dr. Judson that from the first attack she was persuaded she should not recover, but that her mind was uniformly tranquil and happy. She only expressed occasional regret at leaving her child, and the native Christian schools, before her husband, or another missionary family, could arrive. The last two days she was free from pain. On being roused by reiterated questions, she said, 'I feel quite well, only very weak.'

Mrs. Judson died in her thirty-seventh year. It is not necessary to spend words in praise of one whose character has shone out so forcibly from the story of her life, yet the description given of her by one who met her during her visit to the United States may be interesting here:—

'I do not remember ever to have met a more remarkable woman. To great charms of intellect, large powers of comprehension, and intuitive female sagacity, ripened by the constant necessity of independent action, she added that heroic disinterestedness which naturally loses all consciousness of self in the prosecution of a great object. These elements, however, were all held in reserve, and hidden by a veil of unusual feminine delicacy. To an ordinary observer she would have appeared simply a self-possessed, well-bred, and very intelligent gentlewoman. A more intimate acquaintance would soon discover her to be a person of profound religious feeling, which was ever manifesting itself in efforts to press upon others the importance of personal piety. The resources of her nature were never unfolded until some occasion occurred which demanded delicate tact, unflinching courage, and a power of resolute endurance, even unto death.'

It was several months before Dr. Judson could reach his desolate home. He writes, January 24, 1827:—'Arrived at Amherst. As I passed from the landing-place to the house, the native Christians came out to meet me, and welcomed me with the voice of lamentation, for my presence reminded them of the great loss they had sustained.'

He found that Mr. and Mrs. Wade had arrived before him. The latter was taking charge of his motherless little one. All their care, however, could not keep her here; and three months later Dr. Judson had to write:—

'DEAR MOTHER HASSELTINE,—My little Maria lies by the side of her fond mother. We made her last bed in the small enclosure which surrounds her mother's lonely grave. Together they rest in hope, under the hope-tree (hopiā) which stands at the head of the graves; and together, I trust, their spirits are rejoicing, after a short separation of exactly six months. And I am left alone in the wide world. My own dear family I have buried,—one in Rangoon, and two in Amherst. What remains for me but to hold myself in readiness to follow the dear departed to that blessed world,

"Where my best friends, my kindred dwell,

Where God my Saviour reigns?" '

The work so prosperously commenced in Rangoon had now to be done over again. There were only four converts at this time in Amherst; many had been dispersed, and some were dead. Among others, the teacher Moung Shwa-gnong had died of cholera.

Amherst, however, did not appear so suitable a field as had been expected. Its population declined steadily instead of increasing. Maulmain, a town farther up the river, seemed more promising. Mr. and Mrs. Boardman, who had recently joined the mission, settled at Maulmain, and thither the rest of the missionaries and converts followed them, before the close of the year. During this short residence at Amherst, one entry in Dr. Judson's journal records the setting apart of Moung Ing, by his own desire, as a preacher of the gospel. He was sent on a missionary excursion to Tavoy and Mergui. Another day the baptism of a woman is recorded, and many cases of hopeful inquiry occur from time to time. During a visit to Maulmain, Dr. Judson writes:

'September 16.—This morning, heard of the death of our excellent sister, Mah Men-la, at Amherst, an event which we have been expecting for several days. She was taken ill before I left Amherst with a species of dropsy. When her case became dangerous, she was removed to the mission-house; "after which," says a letter dated September 3, "she indulged but little hope of recovery. She therefore made her will, and gave up every worldly care. In her will she bequeathed fifty rupees to her brother, the husband of Mah Doke, one hundred and fifty to the missionaries, and the remainder (two hundred perhaps) to her two adopted boys, with the exception of a few articles to a niece in Rangoon, and a few other articles to be given away in charity. She has left the boys in our charge, most earnestly desiring and praying that they may be brought up in the Christian religion. No one influenced her to give us any part of her little property, nor had we the least idea that she intended to do so, until she desired Moung Shwa-ba to write an article to that effect.

' "When her will was written, she said, 'Now I have done with all worldly things.' Since that she has enjoyed great peace of mind. She does not express a doubt that her name is written in heaven, and that she is hastening to a blissful immortality. She suffers considerable pain with much patience, and, in order to fortify her mind, often compares her sufferings to those of her divine Master. She is not inclined to converse much; but how delighted you would be to hear her, now and then, talk of entering heaven, and of meeting Mrs. Judson and other pious friends! The other day, after having dwelt for some time on the delightful subject, and mentioned the names of all the friends she should rejoice to meet, not omitting dear little Maria, she stopped short, and exclaimed, 'But, first of all, I shall hasten to where my Saviour sits, and fall down and worship and adore Him, for His great love in sending the teachers to show me the way to heaven.' She says that she feels a choice in her mind to die now, rather than to be restored to health, but desires that the will of God may be done. She was much gratified with your letter to-day, and now seems more reconciled to the idea of not seeing you again on earth. I feel it a pleasure to do anything for her, she is so grateful and affectionate." Letters received this morning add, "While the funeral procession is moving towards the house appointed for all living, I sit down to inform you that last evening, about nine o'clock, Mah Men-la's happy spirit took its flight to her native skies. Her departure was quiet and serene, without a groan or sigh, or even a gasp, to distort her smiling countenance. She had often said that to her death had no terrors, and, though insensible at last, she seemed to bid him welcome. A large concourse of people attended the funeral services; and we have been much gratified by this general respect shown to our departed sister."

'October 2.—We have been lately clearing up part of our ground contiguous to the road, and removing some of the native houses, with a view to building a house for brother Wade and myself, as we have now concluded to abandon Amherst altogether, with the little enclosure, the hope-tree, and the graves which contain the mouldering remains of all that were dearest to me on earth.'

At Maulmain Dr. Judson and Mr. Wade erected zayats in different parts of the town, and each made the vivâ voce preaching of the gospel his chief occupation. Mr. Boardman began a school for boys, while Mrs. Wade and Mrs. Boardman conducted the female school which had been begun by Mrs. Judson. The new plan of a reading zayat now first occurred to Dr. Judson, and was immediately carried out.

'December 11,—Moung Noo, another of our neighbours, came in last Sunday, and, after hearing some plain truths, he stayed during evening worship, and paid uncommon attention. This morning he came again, and this evening again. After worship he inquired with feeling, "What shall I do to be saved?" "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ." "I do believe; I do believe. This religion is right. I have been all wrong. What shall I now do?" "If you have begun to believe, let your faith increase. Attend worship. Keep the Lord's day. Become the Saviour's servant. Do all His will. Give yourself, soul and body, into His hands. Will you do so?" "I will, I will. But I do not know all His will." "Read the Scriptures." "I can read Talaing only, not Burman." "Come then and we will read to you. Come every day to worship; and at all times of day, and we will instruct you."

'The case of this poor man is the case of a large majority of the population of these parts. They understand the Scriptures in Burman when read, but cannot read themselves; and I felt the necessity of having the Scriptures constantly read in some public place,—in a word, of setting up a reading zayat, to be occupied by one of the native Christians.

'December 12.—Conversed with Moung Shwa-ba on the project of a reading zayat, and he entered into it with some interest. We concluded, therefore, to put up a shed on the wayside, in the vicinity of the house, and employ him on account of the mission half of the time, the other half of his time being devoted to the female school. Moung Ing is to be continued in the service of the mission exclusively, as an itinerant throughout the place, and an assistant to brother Wade in the preaching zayat, which he is about setting up.

'December 16, Lord's Day.—Moung Shwa-ba commenced his operations in the reading zayat, and had several listeners. In the course of the day had several opportunities of preaching the gospel to a great many. In an excursion through the north part of the place, met Moung Ing engaged in the same way.'

Many encouraging tokens soon showed themselves. About twenty, including children, assembled every evening at family worship, and the Sabbath attendance sometimes rose to seventy. The days were occupied in conversing with the passers-by, who dropped into the zayats, and, as at Rangoon, one after another became deeply interested in the truth. Occasionally Dr. Judson was cheered by meeting old neighbours from Rangoon, who told how the word, once heard with indifference or bitter hatred, had rankled for years in their hearts, and had at last forced them to come and seek further instruction. One bright young man of twenty said that, when a mere child, fourteen years before, he had heard the gospel at the zayat, and had now come resolved to attain the one thing needful.

Among the inquirers were found people of all ranks and classes. There was the poor ignorant Karen, Ko Thah-byoo, one of the first baptized at Maulmain. There was the man of talent and learning, of whom Dr. Judson writes: 'Moung Bo was an intimate friend of Moung Shwa-gnong, and has apparently been going through a process similar to what my dear brother, now, I trust, in heaven, experienced. He has relinquished Boodhism, and got through with Deism and Unitarianism, and now appears to be near the truth. Many a time, when contemplating his hard, unbending features, and listening to his tones of dogmatism and pride, I have said in my heart, "Canst thou ever kneel, a humble suppliant, at the foot of the cross?" But he has lately manifested some disposition to yield, and assures me that he does pray in secret.'

There was the self-righteous devotee, who could hardly bring himself to renounce the merits of thirty-seven years of austerity. There was the man of rank, of whom Dr. Judson says: 'Ko Myat-kyau is a brother of the first native chief in the place, nearly fifty years of age, of most respectable rank in society, possessed of a clear mind, considerable native eloquence, and an un common degree of mental and bodily activity. He has been an inquirer after truth many years, and has diligently investigated the systems of Boodh, and of Brahma, and of Mohammed. At length he embraced the religion of Jesus Christ with all his heart and soul. He has suffered as much persecution as can be openly inflicted under British government. All his relations and friends joined in a most appalling cry against him; his wife commenced a suit for divorce; and his brother publicly declared that, if he had the power of life and death, he would instantly wipe out with his blood the disgrace brought upon the family. Our friend bore it all with the meekness of a lamb, and conducted himself with such forbearance and Christian love, that the tide has begun to turn in his favour. His wife has relinquished her suit, and begins to listen to the word; his brother has become silent; and some few of the relatives begin to speak in our favour.

'It ought to be added that Ko Myat-kyau has given up all worldly business, and devoted himself to assisting us in our missionary work. For this he is particularly fitted by his undissembled humility. It gives us great pleasure to see him sometimes sitting on a level with some poor beggar woman, endeavouring, in language intelligible to her dark mind, to communicate some idea of the mysteries of redeeming love.'

Some were led gently to Christ by the influence of converted relatives; others had to bear the storm of family persecution. Two old women, above eighty, are mentioned, both of whom met with bitter opposition from their nearest relatives.

'June 7, 1829.—Several applications for baptism have lately been refused. To-day, however, a clear case occurred,—an old lady, mother-in-law of a petty chief, who is one of our bitterest opposers. She commenced her inquiries several months ago, with a great deal of timidity. And although she has acquired a little courage, she almost trembles under a sense of the great responsibility of changing her religion. Such being her character, the promptness with which she answered our questions before the church affected us even to tears. "How old are you, mother?" "Eighty years." "Can you, at such an age, renounce the religion that you have followed all your life long?" "I see that it is false, and I renounce it all." "Why do you wish to be baptized into the religion of Christ?" "I have very, very many sins, and I love the Lord who saves from sin." "Perhaps your son-in-law will abuse you, and turn you out of doors." "I have another son-in-law to whom I will flee." "But he is also an opposer; suppose you should meet with the same treatment there?" "You will, I think, let me come and live near you." We made no reply, willing that she should prove her sincerity by bearing the brunt alone.'

During a time of revival in Mrs. Wade's school, several of the girls were converted. On July 28, 1828, Mary Hasseltine, a girl of twelve, the daughter of Moung Shwa-ba, and the only survivor of Mrs. Judson's school, was received into the church along with another child of the same age. A week after, three other little girls were admitted, standing firm in spite of much persecution.

'August 3.—Mee Tan-goung's mother came early in the morning, before any of us were up, and having made her elder daughter open the door of the school zayat, she fell upon her younger daughter, abusing and beating her, until, fearing that she should alarm the house, she went off. Soon after, however, she came again, and finding her daughter outside, she beat her on the head with an umbrella, and threatened to sell her for a slave. She then went into town, and after raising a tumult in the market-place, and declaring that her daughter had entered into a religion which prevented her lying and cheating, so that she was quite lost to all purposes of trade, she carried the alarming tale to the mothers of the other two girls who were baptized yesterday. One of them, the mother of Mee Nen-mah, who has been most violent heretofore, came in a rage to Mrs. Wade (Brother Wade and myself being absent at our zayats), and after using as bad language as she dared, she ran down to the schoolroom, seized her daughter by the hair, and dragged her out-doors towards a pile of wood, where she would soon have armed herself with a weapon, had not Mrs. Wade interfered and rescued the victim; upon which the mother went off muttering vengeance. The girls bore all this abuse in silent submission, and really manifested something of the spirit of martyrs. All three are taken into the house for the present, lest their infuriated relatives should make an assault upon them by night.

'Poor Mee Aa, baptized Sunday before last, lives in great fear. She is daily expecting her mother from Amherst, who will no doubt take her away instantly, and use all the means in her power to make her renounce the Christian religion.

'August 10.—Two other girls, younger than those that have been baptized, appear to have obtained light and hope in Christ. "Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings Thou hast perfected praise." One of them, Mee Youk, about eight years old, gives as clear, satisfactory evidence of real conversion as any of the older girls. The other, Mee Kway, was rescued at Amherst from miserable slavery. She has hitherto given us very little pleasure, but is now led to see that she has been an uncommonly wicked child, and to feel a humble, penitent disposition.

'August 24, Lord's Day,—Mee Youk received baptism, though her brother, a young man, threatens to beat her to death.'

It is interesting to know that when the mother of whom Mee Aa was so much afraid came to Maulmain, she did not take her away, but settled down beside her, drank in the truth from her lips, and then followed her example.

As might be expected, the progress of the work stirred up much opposition. Dr. Judson writes:—'I gave up study, and spent nearly a year in a little shed, projecting into one of the dirtiest, noisiest public streets of the place. Brother Wade did the same in another quarter. The consequence has been, that as God owns the truth, though preached by the most unworthy creatures, a considerable impression has been made on the place: a small church has been collected; the number of inquirers is increasing, and the opposition is most outrageous. I never saw anything like it in Rangoon, for there we did nothing in public. The mass of the population, particularly in parts where converts have been made, show all the rage of chained wild beasts.'

In the year 1828 alone, thirty members were received into the church. In 1829 the number in Maulmain was not so large, but, including those in other districts, the total that year was fifty-three. Some of these were Hindoo settlers in Burmah, and some were English soldiers, who had found a Saviour in that distant land.

A very active part in all this was taken by the native converts, several of whom were ordained as preachers. The case of Moung Thah-a is most interesting. At the close of the war he had gone to a large village in the neighbourhood of Shwa-doung, and his preaching produced considerable interest there. At length three inquirers received baptism at his hands; but when others requested the same favour, he became alarmed at his own temerity, and declined their repeated applications. The villagers, in time, returned to Rangoon, whence they had fled at the commencement of the war. He also returned to Rangoon, and continued to spread the truth continually. At one time he wrote of thirteen men and three women who were disciples in secret. At length he came to Maulmain to inquire what he should do with those who wished to be baptized. 'He says he cannot stay long,' writes Dr. Judson; 'for, when he came away, the converts and inquirers begged him to return soon, and his heart is evidently with his little flock which he has left in yonder wilderness. Let us pray for Ko Thah-a, and the remnant in Rangoon; for, though the tree seemed for a time cut down, "the stump of the roots was left in the earth, with a band of iron and brass, in the tender grass of the field."

'January 4, 1829, Lord's Day.—We commence this year with an auspicious event,—the ordination of Ko Thah-a as pastor of the church in Rangoon, to which place he expects to depart by an early conveyance. He has been, so evidently called of God to the ministry, that we have not felt at liberty to hesitate or deliberate about the matter. But if it had been left to us to select one of all the converts to be the first Christian pastor among his countrymen, Ko Thah-a is the man we should have chosen.'

'November 29, 1829.—Moung Ing is now co-operating with Ko Thah-a. His wife remained behind. Her conduct has been very exceptionable, and soon after her husband's departure she became openly vicious. She is now suspended from communion,—the first case of church discipline that has occurred among the native members.'

It is remarkable that no previous case of this kind should have occurred, among a people just rescued from the vilest degradation. The Burman character has a sobriety and constancy not often found in Oriental nations. Dr. Judson expresses this when he says of one inquirer: 'He is a pretty fair specimen of a cautious Burman, who turns a thing over and over ten thousand times before he takes it; but when once he has taken it, holds it for ever.'

Dr. Judson's life at Maulmain was a peculiarly retired one. His intense devotion to his work would of itself have kept him from mingling with the English society which now sometimes offered itself. But added to this was the pressure of recent sorrow, a deepening sense of sin, and growing yearning for deeper communion with God. He used often to live alone for days in a little cottage far in the woods, spending the time in fasting and prayer, and seeing only those who came to him for religious instruction. His state of mind at this time verged on the morbid. But it seems to have been a crisis in his spiritual history through which he passed to clearer light and more unwavering faith. If space permitted, many extracts might be given, breathing deep self-abasement, and longing for a more entirely consecrated life, very touching from the much-tried man of God. In a letter to Mrs. Bennet, dated from Rangoon at a somewhat later period, he says:—'I thank you for your kind letter, and wish I had time and grace to make a more worthy return. I hope you will pray for me, for you have not such inveterate habits to struggle with as I have contracted through a long course of religious sinning. Oh, my past years in Rangoon are spectres to haunt my soul; and they seem to laugh at me as they shake the chains they have riveted on me! I can do little more than beg my younger brothers and sisters not to live as I have done, until the Ethiopian becomes so black that his skin cannot be changed. And yet I have sometimes sweet peace in Jesus, which the world can neither give nor take away. Oh, the freeness, the richness of divine grace, through the blood of the cross!'

Dr. Judson's concern for souls never slept, and extended to all who by any possibility might come within reach of his influence. Notwithstanding his jealousy of interruptions to his proper work, he held occasional evening meetings for the benefit of the English regiments. A long and earnest letter to Sir Archibald Campbell, the general for whose kindness he was so grateful, bears witness how much the interests of his soul pressed upon him, and were remembered at the mercy-seat; while, in writing to friends in America, he could not let slip the opportunity of entreating them either to decide for Christ or to follow Him more fully.

It was about this time that he gave up to the funds of the Mission Board his whole patrimonial estate, and also relinquished one-twentieth of his yearly salary. His sole desire was that more labourers might be sent into the harvest.

CHAPTER IX

VISITS TO PROME, RANGOON, AND KAREN VILLAGES

1830–1831

THE arrival of additional missionaries at Maulmain left Dr. Judson leisure to fulfil a scheme which he had much at heart, of again attempting to penetrate into the heart of Burmah. He first visited Rangoon, where the Wades had already gone, and where the progress of the work was most encouraging, but he did not feel at ease there. The thought of whole districts that had never heard the name of Christ pressed upon his soul.

He wrote from Rangoon, May 25, 1830:—

'Every day deepens the conviction in my mind that I am not in the place where God would have me be. It was to the interior, and not to Rangoon, that my mind was turned long before I left Maulmain; and while I feel that Brother and Sister Wade are in the right place, I feel that I am called elsewhere. Under these impressions, I am about proceeding up the river, accompanied by Moung Ing, Moung En, Moung Dway, Moung Dan, and little Moung Like. The boat on which we embark will take us to Prome, the great half-way place between this and Ava, and there I hope and pray that the Lord will show us what to do.

'I asked Pastor Thah-a to go, but he thinks it quite impossible, on account of having so many irons in the fire,—that is, hopeful inquirers that he must stay to bring forward and baptize. And he is as solicitous and busy as a hen pressing about her chickens. It is quite refreshing to hear him talk on the subject, and see what a nice, careful old shepherd he makes. The Lord bless his soul, and the souls of his flock!'

On his way up the river Dr. Judson frequently landed; and the hours of sunset or early morning often found him preaching and distributing tracts to inquisitive crowds. His account of his journey is given in a letter intended to circulate among friends both in Burmah and America, dated Prome, June 15, 1830.

'It is my way,' he writes, 'to produce a few tracts or catechisms, and after reading and talking a little, and getting the company to feel kindly, I offer one to the most attentive auditor present; and on showing some reluctance to give to every person, and on making them promise to read attentively, and consider, and pray, they get furious to obtain a tract, many hands are eagerly stretched out, and "Give me one! give me one!" resounds from all sides.

'The night of the 6th of June we spent at Yay-gen, a pretty large village. Immediately on landing I went through the place, but without any success, and was just coming off, when I descried Moung Ing with half a dozen about him. I drew near, and very soon had a large and respectable assembly, to whom I held forth, and distributed about thirty tracts and catechisms. Several pursued us to the boat, and begged very hard; and we continued to give away to small parties who came in succession, and occupied an empty boat which lay between us and the shore, till late in the evening, when our captain pushed off into the river to get rid of the annoyance. However, it would not answer; for they came to the shore, and called out, "Teacher, are you asleep? We want a writing to get by heart." And on being promised one if they would come and get it, they contrived to push off a long canoe which lay between us and the said empty boat, and got so near that they could reach a paper stuck in the end of a long pole. This continued till nine o'clock at night. Once during the evening our captain went on shore, and he said that in almost every house there was some one at a lamp reading aloud one of our papers.

'At Kyee-thai, a pretty large place, I went on shore, and got the start of the boat by about an hour, which time I improved under a shed, in the midst of an attentive crowd. I gave away several tracts. Some of the people followed me to the boat, begging the captain to stay all night. And after we had pushed off, a little boat pursued us, with a small offering of rice and beans, begging another tract. It was quite dark when we arrived at Shwa-doung, one of the most populous places in the country. Above Shwa-doung, we came to the flourishing villages of Pyouk-tsik and Men-dai, divided by a small creek. The latter is our captain's home, and he wished to stay a day or two before going to Prome, which is only a few miles distant. The people at Men-dai seemed disposed to cavil, and some of them treated me rather uncivilly. I gave away not many tracts. Moung Ing went out to Men-yoo-ah, and in that neighbourhood found our old friend Mah Zoo, baptized formerly in Rangoon. The next morning she came to the boat, accompanied by the widow of Moung Long, the one-eyed metaphysician formerly mentioned in the annals of the Rangoon mission, who now declares herself a Christian, and one Mah Ping, a very hopeful inquirer. These women all begged me to stop one day, while they could return and consult their male relations whether it would not be better to invite me to come to their village at once, without proceeding to Prome. So I consented, and they went off. In the afternoon of that day I had a crowded zayat on shore. One man appeared to be impressed; but there were many cavillers, and some discouraging signs. At night the women came back, and with many tears said that the chief men of the village were afraid to entertain a foreigner, lest, in case of war with the English, they should be involved. The next morning, the wife of the governor in these parts, having heard of me, sent to the boat for a tract. Several other people also came on the same errand, until we left the place, which we did about noon, and at night we reached Prome. I landed, and found Mr. M., the only European residing here; and he invited me to stay with him a few days, until I could get settled. The next morning I left the boat, and repaired to his house. He immediately took me to the governess of the town, whose husband has lately been summoned to Ava. In her presence I found the deputy-governor and a number of people. I read and preached to them. They applauded my style of reading, but seemed to be more taken with the sound than the sense. The governess, however, was evidently impressed. She begged for the tract that she might get it copied. I presented it to her, and she received it thankfully. Thence I proceeded to various places in search of a house to be let, but was unsuccessful. The people are afraid to have any connection with a foreigner. The very face of a white man spreads general alarm.

'Failing in my attempt to hire a house, I went in search of a vacant spot to build on. Found, in the heart of the town, an old dismantled zayat, in front of a pagoda, with a little vacant ground around it. Went to the deputy-governor, and requested leave to repair the old zayat. He was disposed to be kind; but, fearing to do anything on his own responsibility, said that he would bring forward my business in the court-house the next day, before the assembled authorities of the place.

'Notwithstanding this promise, however, nothing was done the next day; and it being Lord's day, I stayed at home, had usual worship with my people, and tried to study patience and Thomas à Kempis in the shattered house that Mr. M. occupies, with the rain beating in on every side.

'Yesterday I went myself to the court-house, and found the magistrates assembled. After considerable conversation, it was agreed that I should be permitted to take possession of the old zayat, and repair it for my present residence. From the court-house I went to survey my new estate. I find it to be forty-five feet long and twenty wide. The posts and the main parts of the roof and floor being of teak, are still extant; but it is all overgrown with wild creepers, and makes, on the whole, a pretty venerable ruin. This morning I am sending out people to beg materials and engage work men to make the place habitable as soon as possible.

'How much I love you all, dear brethren and sisters, and disciples, I cannot tell. And did I not expect soon to meet you in heaven, and be happy with you for ever, I should be quite unwilling to live an exile, far from you, in this dark land.'

At first the people heard with some attention, but this hopeful state of things did not continue long.

'July 2.—A great change has taken place in the minds of government people towards me. Satan has industriously circulated a report that I am a spy in pay of the British. Last night the deputy-governor sent to inquire my name and title. This morning I waited on him, and on the lady governess, but met with a very cold reception at both places. The deputy-governor is probably reporting me to Ava, and what the consequences will be I know not. Several visitors, who began to listen with some favourable disposition, have suddenly fallen off. To-day I have had no company at all.

'July 3.—Pastor Ing returned from a visit to Men-yoo-ah. He says that the same suspicion is spreading all over the country. He says the country is full of villages, and there is some disposition to listen to religion; but that in the present state of the public mind, if I should make the tour of those parts, there is not a house where the owner would dare to ask me to sit down at the entrance of the door.

'Feel extremely dejected this evening. Never so heartily willing to enter into my rest, yet willing to offer my poor life to the Lord Jesus Christ, to do and to suffer whatever He shall appoint during my few remaining days. My followers feel some courage yet; for they have, I hope, a little faith, and they know, also, that whatever storm comes, it will beat upon their teacher first.

'July 4, Lord's Day.—Another Burman day of worship, and a great day, being the first day of Lent, a season which continues three months. After usual worship, took a stroll through the place. All smiles and looks of welcome are passed away; people view me with an evil eye, and suffer their dogs to bark at me unchecked. Near Shway San-dau the zayats were crowded with devout-faced worshippers. I found a vacant place under a shed built over a large brick idol, and, sitting down on the ground, I held converse with small parties, who came around in succession. Some company also, morning and evening, at home. I cannot but hope that two persons have this day obtained some discovery of the way of salvation through a crucified Saviour. But it is really affecting to see a poor native when he first feels the pinch of truth. On one side he sees hell; on the other side, ridicule, reproach, confiscation of goods, imprisonment, and death.

'July 13.—To-day there was a funeral of distinction, and all the officers of government, with their respective suites, attended. In consequence of this, the crowd around me was greater than ever before. But they were not hearers of the right stamp. Most of them were rude, insolent, and wicked in the extreme. A few considerate persons remained till night, particularly one man, on whose account I also remained, though dreadfully exhausted. He has been with me two days, and I have a little hope that he begins to feel the force of truth.

'July 14.—Another day of hard conflict. The enemy begins to be alarmed, and his forces come on fresh and fierce, while we, few in number, have to sustain the combat without any human reinforcement. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. At night, felt an entire prostration of strength, so much so that I was unable to go through with the evening service as usual.

'August 23.—On hearing of the declining health of Brother Boardman, and Brother Wade's intention of leaving Rangoon for Maulmain, I had some thoughts of returning immediately to Rangoon. But, on further consideration and prayer, I feel that I must work while the day lasts at Prome. I have some company at the zayats every day, and crowds on days of worship. Most of the hearers are opposers; but I observe in distant corners those who listen with earnestness. There are five persons who have, I trust, obtained a little grace; but in the present dark time they give no satisfactory evidence.

'September 18.—Afloat on my own little boat, manned by none other than my three disciples, I take leave of Prome and her towering god Shway San-dau, at whose base I have been labouring, with not the kindest intentions, for the last three months and a half. Too firmly founded art thou, old pile, to be overthrown just at present; but the children of those who now plaster thee with gold will yet pull thee down, nor leave one brick upon another.

'The government writer, who recommenced visiting us a few days ago, has been hanging about us for two hours, lamenting our departure; and he is now sitting alone at the water's edge, looking after our boat as it floats down the stream. "Mark me as your disciple. I pray to God every day; do you also pray for me. As soon as I get free from my present engagements, I intend to come down to Rangoon," are some of his last expressions.

'The sun is just setting. We could not get our boat ready earlier in the day; and as it is Saturday evening, we intend to proceed as far as Men-dai, in order to spend the Lord's day there. There is no period of my missionary life that I review with more satisfaction than my sojourn in Prome. This city was founded several hundred years before the Christian era. Through how many ages have the successive generations of its dark inhabitants lived and died, without the slightest knowledge of the Great Eternal, and the only way of salvation which He has provided! At length, in the year 1830, it was ordered that a missionary of the cross should sit down in the heart of the city, and from day to day, for above three months, should pour forth divine truth in language which, if not eloquent and acceptable, was at least intelligible to all ranks. What a wonderful phenomenon must this have been to celestial beings, who gaze upon the works and dispensations of God in this lower world! Frequently, in passing through the streets, and in taking my seat in the zayats, I have felt such a solemnity and awe on my spirits as almost prevented me from opening my lips to communicate the momentous message with which I was charged. Farewell to thee, Prome! Willingly would I have spent my last breath in thee and for thee. But thy sons ask me not to stay; and I must preach the gospel to other cities also, for therefore am I sent. Read the five hundred tracts that I have left with thee. Pray to the God and Saviour that I have told thee of. And if hereafter thou call me, though in the lowest whisper, and it reach me in the very extremities of the empire, I will joyfully listen, and come back to thee.

'September 25.—Came in sight of my old acquaintance Shway Da-gong; landed once more in Rangoon; found letters from Maulmain, saying that Brother Boardman is considerably better, for which I desire to thank God. Repaired to the house lately occupied by Brother Wade. Since his departure, I find that some efforts have been made to check the progress of religious inquiry. At one time men were stationed at a little distance on each side of the house, to threaten those who visited the place, and take away the tracts they had received. Reports were circulated that government was about to make a public example of heretics. The crowds that used to come for tracts all disappeared, and Pastor Thah-a, who continued to occupy the house, became intimidated, and retreated to his own obscure dwelling. Things are therefore at a very low ebb; but we trust in God that the tide will flow again in its own appointed time.'

In spite of government opposition, the demand for tracts soon became so great, that it was almost impossible for the press at Maulmain to keep pace with it.

Dr. Judson wrote to the Maulmain missionaries from Rangoon, November 13:

'DEAR BRETHREN,—We continue to distribute about forty tracts a day, and should gladly double the number if we could depend on a supply from Maulmain. By tracts I mean not the single sheets or handbills containing merely a scrap of Scripture, which, being wholly inadequate to give any full idea of the Christian religion, it is impossible to mock any poor soul with, when he holds out his hand for such spiritual food as his case requires. They do well enough among the converts; and if you find they are useful in your parts, I shall be happy to send you back those I have on hand. But by tracts I mean the View, the Catechism, the Balance, and the Investigator. I earnestly beg the brethren to wake up to the importance of sending a regular supply of all these articles. How long we shall be allowed a footing in Rangoon is very uncertain. While a missionary is here, a constant stream ought to be poured into the place. Rangoon is the key of the country. From this place tracts go into every quarter. During the last six weeks I should have given away one thousand of the Balance, and they would now be circulating all over the country. I found twenty in the house on my arrival, and have been dealing them out like drops of heart's blood.

'November 16.—We were obliged to give away ninety-five tracts and Scriptures yesterday, besides refusing several. This morning I took twenty in my hand, as usual, and though I avoided streets, and kept to the jungle, and walked as fast as possible, yet, notwithstanding every precaution, they fleeced me of fifteen by sunrise. We shall not be able to stand it longer than fifteen or twenty days at this rate. They come from all parts of the country, and the thing is spreading and increasing every day. I am more and more convinced that Burmah is to be evangelized by tracts and portions of Scripture. They are a reading people beyond any other in India. Every pull of Brother Bennett at the press sends another ray of light through the darkness of the empire. I write in a hurry, for I am in the middle of the 65th Psalm; and though I keep snug in the garret, I have had within an hour one man from Mad-dee-yah, who has come for tracts, having heard the gospel from one of the disciples at Prome, a writer from Kyouk-mau, brought hither by your inquirer Moung Louk, a disciple from An-au-len, and Moung Hming, from Pan-ta-nau, who requests baptism, and brings also a message and request for tracts from Nah-kau-dau, who says he heard about Jesus Christ from a foreigner at Prome. And here come at this moment a priest and his followers. So farewell.

'November 21.—Since my return to this place, I have chiefly confined myself to the garret of the house we occupy, in order to get a little time to go on with the translation of the Psalms, which was begun three years ago, but has been hitherto postponed for more important missionary work which was ever pressing upon us. Some of the disciples occupy the front part of the house below, and receive company and distribute tracts and portions of Scripture. The more hopeful visitors are shown the way up-stairs. But, notwithstanding this arrangement, I am interrupted above half my time. People find their way to me from all parts of the country; and some, I trust, return with that light in their heads, and that love in their hearts, and that truth in their hands, which will operate as a little leaven, until the whole mass is leavened.

'Two have been lately added to the Church in Rangoon,—one of them the husband of a female disciple, whom he formerly persecuted for her religion, but whose example he has now followed; the other an old woman of seventy-four, who has met with violent opposition from a host of children and grandchildren, who for a time confined her lest she should be baptized, and at last she was baptized by stealth. On her return from the water, in wet clothes, she suddenly met three of her sons, grown men, who, it seems, were suspecting some mischief. At first she thought of avoiding them; but, feeling very happy that she was now a full disciple, life and death, praise and abuse, became at the moment indifferent to her. She met them courageously, and to their rude question, "What have you been about, mother?" she mildly and promptly replied, "I have been baptized into the religion of the Lord Jesus Christ, to the entire renunciation of the religion of our ancestors." The young men appeared to be astonished, and, contrary to her fears, refrained from all abusive treatment, and suffered her to proceed home quietly, as if nothing had happened. There are a few others who seem to be near the kingdom of heaven; but weakness of faith and the fear of men keep them back.

'Ko Ing left me a few days ago, on an excursion to Tavoy and Mergui. I hope that he will accompany Brother Boardman in his proposed return to the former place, and assist him in baptizing several Karens who are waiting there to profess the Christian religion. Moung En has returned from Maulmain and taken Ko Ing's place; and of all the disciples I have yet employed, he seems to be the best qualified to receive promiscuous company. He was, when I first knew him, extremely irritable. He was frequently betrayed into a passion at the Goung-zay-gyoon zayat. But now he bears with imperturbable composure and a smiling countenance the floods of contradiction and abuse which sometimes pour upon him. Nor is he ever so much in his element as when surrounded by a large company, some contradicting and some approving. Moung Mo also, one of Ko Thah-a's converts, has been on a visit to the villages on the other side of the river. He was absent ten days, and distributed three hundred tracts. From his account, the fields in that quarter also are quite ready for the harvest.

'February 5, 1831.—The most prominent feature in the mission at present is the surprising spirit of inquiry that is spreading everywhere, through the whole length and breadth of the land. I sometimes feel alarmed, like a person who sees a mighty engine beginning to move, over which he knows he has no control. Our house is frequently crowded with company; but I am obliged to leave them to Moung En, one of the best of assistants, in order to get time for the translation. Is this right? Happy is the missionary who goes to a country where the Bible is translated to his hand.

'February 28.—One of the brightest luminaries of Burmah is extinguished: dear Brother Boardman has gone to his eternal rest. I have heard no particulars, except that he died on returning from his last expedition to the Karen villages, within one day's march of Tavoy. He fell gloriously at the head of his troops, in the arms of victory,—thirty-eight wild Karens having been brought into the camp of King Jesus since the beginning of the year, besides the thirty-two that were brought in during the two preceding years. Disabled by mortal wounds, he was obliged through the whole of his last expedition to be carried on a litter; but his presence was a host, and the Holy Spirit accompanied his dying whispers with almighty influence. Such a death, next to that of martyrdom, must be glorious in the eyes of Heaven.

'March 4.—The great annual festival is just past, during which multitudes come from the remotest parts of the country to worship at the great Shway Da-gong pagoda in this place, where it is believed that several real hairs of Gautama are enshrined. I have given away nearly ten thousand tracts, giving to none but those who ask. I presume there have been six thousand applications at the house. Some come two or three months' journey, from the borders of Siam and China: "Sir, we hear that there is an eternal hell. We are afraid of it. Do give us a writing that will tell us how to escape it." Others come from the frontiers of Kathay, a hundred miles north of Ava: "Sir, we have seen a writing that tells about an eternal God. Are you the man that gives away such writings? If so, pray give us one, for we want to know the truth before we die." Others come from the interior of the country, where the name of Jesus Christ is a little known: "Are you Jesus Christ's man? Give us a writing that tells about Jesus Christ." Brother Bennett works day and night at the press, but he is unable to supply us; for the call is great at Maulmain and Tavoy, as well as here, and his types are very poor, and he has no efficient help. The fact is, that we are very weak, and have to complain that hitherto we have not been well supported from home. It is most distressing to find, when we are almost worn out, and are sinking one after another into the grave, that many of our brethren in Christ at home are just as hard and immovable as rocks; just as cold and repulsive as the mountains of ice in the polar seas. But whatever they do, we cannot sit still and see the dear Burmans, flesh and blood like ourselves, and, like ourselves, possessed of immortal souls, that will shine for ever in heaven, or burn for ever in hell—we cannot see them go down to perdition without doing out very utmost to save them. And, thanks be to God, our labours are not in vain. We have three lovely churches, and about two hundred baptized converts; and some are in glory. A spirit of religious inquiry is extensively spreading throughout the country; and the signs of the times indicate that the great renovation of Burmah is drawing near. Oh, if we had about twenty more versed in the language, and means to spread schools, and tracts, and Bibles, to any extent, how happy I should be! However, I must not leave my work to write letters. It is seldom that I write a letter home, except my journal, and that I am obliged to do. I took up my pen merely to acknowledge your kindness, and behold I have scratched out a long letter, which I hope you will excuse.

'June 6.—I hear that three more natives, and three Europeans, have joined the church in Maulmain. But, at the same time, I am distressed to hear that Mrs. Wade is rapidly sinking, and that nothing can save her life but a long voyage. Brother Wade is to accompany her, partly on account of his own health, which is daily getting worse.

'I have also written to the brethren to know what I shall do with myself in the meantime. I know not whether they can keep the press moving without me. And though they can, what will become of the native flock in Maulmain? What of the Karens? What of all the people in the ceded provinces, from Tenasserim to the frontiers of China? What of all the people from Rangoon to Ava? I am startled and terrified to find that, by several unexpected moves, I am left as it were alone, there being not another foreigner in all the country that can preach the gospel to the perishing millions, north and south, or feed the infant churches, except, indeed, Mrs. Bennett, who has begun to take the management of the female meetings.'

Dr. Judson returned to Maulmain on the 11th of August. In September, he set out to visit some Karen villages, where an interest in Christianity had been awakened through the preaching of Mr. Wade, the lamented Boardman, and some native evangelists. In these scattered hamlets he found many inquirers, who eagerly welcomed fuller teaching; many who had long made up their minds to confess Christ by baptism, but had never before had the opportunity; and little churches, where two or three kept faithful to their Saviour, though without an earthly shepherd.

A week or two only was spent in this way, when an attack of jungle fever forced Dr. Judson to return to Maulmain. During this short tour, however, he had arranged for the reception of two or three families of Karen converts at Maulmain, where old and young alike were to be taught enough to enable them to read the Scriptures in their own tongue, and to carry back the precious knowledge to their native wilds.

'October 20.—We baptized Moung Zah, a pure Burman from that favoured district below Ava, which is blessed with a genuine impression in stone of the foot of Gautama! The opposition in this place was never more steady and strong. The priests have all taken a most decided stand, and the people seem to have resolved to stand or fall with the priests. When any person is known to be considering the new religion, all his relations and acquaintances rise en masse, so that to get a new convert is like pulling out the eye-tooth of a live tiger.'

CHAPTER X

LIFE AMONG THE KARENS—COMPLETION OF THE BURMAN BIBLE

1832–1834

ALTHOUGH the statistics of the outward results of a mission are not the surest test of its real success, yet the list of the numbers of those baptized in Burmah since Dr. Judson first touched its shores is well worth noticing.

Previous to the war, only eighteen natives in all had professed Christ. In the year succeeding, three were baptized; the next year, only one. In 1828 twenty-nine were admitted; the following year, thirty-nine; and the year after, forty-two—the highest number yet attained. But in 1831 the number rose to 128—almost as many as had been the whole fruits of the mission hitherto. Of these, however, only nineteen were Burmans; the others were Karens, who, from their wildernesses, were stretching out their hands to God, and literally flocking into the kingdom.

The following account pf this strange race, whose manners, language, and worship are quite distinct from those of the Burmans, is taken from Mrs. Emily C. Judson's Life of Mrs. Sarah B. Judson:—

'They are a rude, wandering race, drawing their principal support from the streams that flow through their valleys, and from the natural products of their native mountains. They migrate in small parties, and, when they have found a favourable spot, fire the under-brush, and erect a cluster of three or four huts on the ashes. In the intervals of procuring food, the men have frequent occasion to hew out a canoe or weave a basket; and the women manufacture a kind of cotton cloth, which furnishes materials for the clothing of the family. Here they remain until they have exhausted the resources of the surrounding forest, when they seek out another spot, and repeat the same process.

'The Karens are a meek, peaceful race, simple and credulous, with many of the softer virtues, and few flagrant vices. Though greatly addicted to drunkenness, extremely filthy and indolent in their habits, their morals in other respects are superior to many more civilised races. Their traditions, like those of several tribes of American Indians, are a curious medley of truth and absurdity; but they have some tolerably definite ideas of a Great Being who governs the universe, and many of their traditionary precepts bear a striking resemblance to those of the gospel. They have various petty superstitions; but, with the exception of a small division, they have never adopted Boodhism,—the oppressive treatment which they have received at the hands of their Burmese rulers probably contributing to increase their aversion to idolatry.

'Soon after the arrival of the first Burmese missionary in Rangoon, his attention was attracted by small parties of strange, wild-looking men, clad in unshapely garments, who from time to time straggled past his residence. He was told that they were called Karens; that they were more numerous than any similar tribe in the vicinity, and as untameable as the wild cow of the mountains. He was further told that they shrunk from association with other men, seldom entering a town, except on compulsion; and that, therefore, any attempt to bring them within the sphere of his influence would prove unsuccessful. His earnest inquiries, however, awakened an interest in the minds of the Burmese converts; and one of them finding, during the war, a poor Karen bond-servant in Rangoon, paid his debt, and thus became, according to the custom of the country, his temporary master. When peace was restored, he was brought to the missionaries on the Tenasserim coast, and instructed in the principles of the Christian religion. He eventually became the subject of regenerating grace, and proved a faithful and efficient evangelist. Through this man, who will be recognised as Ko Thah-byoo, access was gained to others of his countrymen, and they listened with ready interest. They were naturally docile; they had no long-cherished prejudices and time-honoured customs to fetter them; and their traditions taught them to look for the arrival of white-faced foreigners from the west, who would make them acquainted with the true God. The missionaries, in their first communications with the Karens, were obliged to employ a Burmese interpreter; and, notwithstanding the disadvantages under which they laboured, the truth spread with great rapidity. Soon, however, Messrs. Wade and Mason devoted themselves to the acquisition of the language, and the former conferred an inestimable blessing on the race by reducing it to writing. This gave a fresh impetus to the spread of Christianity. The wild men and women, in their mountain homes, found a new employment, and they entered upon it with enthusiastic avidity. They had never before supposed their language capable of being represented by signs, like other languages; and they felt themselves, from being a tribe of crushed, down trodden slaves, suddenly elevated into a nation, with every facility for possessing a national literature. This had a tendency to check their roving propensities; and, under the protection of the British government, they began to cultivate a few simple arts, though the most civilised among them still refuse to congregate in towns, and it is unusual to find a village that numbers more than five or six houses. Their first reading-books consisted of detached portions of the Gospel; and the Holy Spirit gave to the truth thus communicated regenerating power. Churches sprang up, dotting the wilderness like so many lighted tapers; and far back among the rocky fastnesses of the mountains, where foreign foot has never trod, the light is already kindled, and will continue to increase in brilliancy, till one of the darkest corners of the earth shall be completely illuminated.'

In the beginning of the year 1832 Dr. Judson made a second tour to the Karen wildernesses. Before leaving Maulmain, he had anxiously to plan how best to dispose of the scanty missionary forces at his command.

He took with him several assistants and interpreters, for he was unacquainted with the Karen language. Two native preachers were left at Maulmain. Others were sent, generally two and two, to different stations throughout the land,—'all good men and true,' he says, at the conclusion of a pretty long list. Yet, trusty and devoted as they were, he knew that their characters could not have the stability which belongs to those born in a Christian country, and he would willingly have had a missionary accompany each couple, had it been possible. But though the Wades had returned from their voyage, and were labouring at Mergui, and though Tavoy and Rangoon were supplied, many important stations were left unoccupied. Mrs. Bennett was the only representative of the mission at Maulmain who had acquired the language. She, with the charge of her own young family, the female inquirers, and the girls' school, was quite overtasked. An attempt to devolve the school work upon competent native assistants had offended the strong prejudices of the parents in favour of white teachers, and many of them had withdrawn their daughters. Truly the labourers, though they had received many additions since the first lonely missionary had entered the field, were sadly weak and few for the great work in which they were engaged.

After three days' journey from Maulmain, up one of the numerous streams which intersect the country, Dr. Judson arrived, on January 1st, 1832, at Wadesville, a place which had been nameless till it had been so called from the baptism there of the first Karens by Mr. Wade. The natives of his party, whom he sent to scour the neighbouring country, gathered in twenty-seven baptized disciples, with whom he had a pleasant meeting. They had stood fast since his last visit, in spite of much opposition among their neighbours, on account of which, perhaps, no fresh inquirer dared to profess Christ at this time.

'January 11.—Continued to work our way up the river, frequently impeded by the trees which had fallen across the water, and through which we were obliged to cut a passage for the boat. At night came to a small cluster of houses, where we found an elderly woman, who, with her daughter, formerly applied for baptism, but was advised to wait. She now received us joyfully, and united with her daughter and son-in-law in begging earnestly that their baptism might be no longer delayed. I directed them to meet me at Kwan-bee, about a mile distant.

'January 12.—Proceeded to Kwan-bee. A few people came together on the beach to stare at us, and we had a little meeting for worship before breakfast. We then proceeded to investigate the case of Loo-boo, who was reported to have joined, when his child was extremely ill, in making an offering to a nat (demon) for his recovery. We at first thought of suspending him from the fellowship of the Church; but he made such acknowledgments and promises that we finally forgave him, and united in praying that God would forgive him. We do not hear of any other case of transgression; but, on the contrary, in two instances of extreme illness, the disciples resisted all the importunities of their friends to join in the usual offerings to propitiate the demons who are supposed to rule over diseases. In one instance the illness terminated in death, and I have to lament the loss of the leader of the little church in this quarter, and the first of these northern Karens who, we hope, has arrived safe in heaven. I ought, perhaps, to except the case of a man and wife near the head of the Patah River, who, though not baptized, and never seen by any foreign missionary, both died in the faith,—the man enjoining it on his surviving friends to have the View of the Christian Religion laid on his breast and buried with him.

'January 13.—My people returned from Tee-pah's village, bringing with them several disciples and one woman, the wife of Loo-boo, who presented herself for baptism, with twelve strings of all manner of beads around her neck, and a due proportion of ear, arm, and leg ornaments; and, strange to say, she was examined and approved, without one remark on the subject of her dress! The truth is, we quite forgot it, being occupied and delighted with her uncommonly prompt and intelligent replies.

'January 14.—The three persons mentioned on the 11th presented themselves, with the decorated lady of yesterday. Being formerly prevented by illness from animadverting on female dress in this district, I took an opportunity of "holding forth" on that subject before breakfast; and it was truly amusing and gratifying to see the said lady, and another applicant for baptism, and a Christian woman who accompanied them, divest themselves, on the spot, of every article that could be deemed merely ornamental; and this they did with evident pleasure, and good resolution to persevere in adherence to the plain-dress system. We then held a church meeting, and having baptized the four applicants, crossed the Laing-bwai on a bridge of logs, and set out for Tee-pah's village, accompanied by a long train of men, women, children, and dogs. Towards night we arrived at that place, and effected a lodgment in Tee-pah's house. In the evening had a pretty full assembly.

'January 17.—Pursued our way, and soon came in sight of the Salwen, the boundary between the British and Burmese territories. Arrived at Poo-ah's small village, consisting of three houses, not one of which had a leaf of covering. No one welcomed our arrival, so we sat down on the ground. Presently the preaching of one of the Karen disciples so wrought upon one of the householders, a Burman with a Karen wife, that he invited me to sit on his floor; and my people spread a mat overhead, which, with my umbrella, made me quite at home. The householder, in the interval of his work, and one of the neighbours, began to listen, and were present at evening worship.

'January 24.—Set out for Bau-nah's village, two days' journey; but, after travelling an hour over dreadful mountains and in the bed of a rivulet, where the water was sometimes knee-deep, and full of sharp, slippery rocks, when my bare feet, unaccustomed to such usage, soon became so sore that I could hardly step, and having ascertained that such was the only road for many miles, I felt that I had done all that lay in my power towards carrying the gospel farther in this direction, and therefore relinquished the attempt, and reluctantly returned to Chanbau's village. Not so many present at evening worship as yesterday. The seed sown here appears, in some instances, to have fallen on good ground; but our short stay deprives us of the pleasure of seeing fruit brought to perfection.

'January 27.—This little village may be said to have embraced the gospel. At one time we had eight applicants for baptism; but two only were finally received, Ko Shway and his wife Nah Nyah-ban. They both understand the Burmese language pretty well; and the woman possesses the best intellect, as well as the strongest faith, that I have found among this people. I invited them, though rather advanced in life, to come to Maulmain and learn to read, promising to support them a few months; and they concluded to accept the invitation next rainy season. They followed us all the way to the boat, and the woman stood looking after us until we were out of sight.

'In the afternoon, arrived again at the Yen-being river, and sent some of my people to a neighbouring village two miles distant. The villagers listened a while, and then sent a respectful message, saying that they believed the religion of Jesus Christ, that it was most excellent, etc., but begged that the teacher would go about his business, and not come to disturb them.

'January 31.—We removed to Yai-thah-kau's village. Some of my people went ashore. The chief was absent, and the principal remaining personage, a Boodhist Karen, said that when the English government enforced their religion at the point of the sword—and he had seen two or three suffer death for not embracing it—he would begin to consider, and not before; that, however, if the teacher desired to come to the village, he could not be inhospitable, but would let him come. I sent back word that I would not come; but, as he loved falsehood and darkness, I would leave him to live therein all his days, and finally go the dark way. And all my people drew off to the boat. While we were deliberating what to do, something touched the old man's heart; we heard the sound of footsteps advancing in the dark, and presently a voice, "My lord, please to come to the village." "Don't call me lord. I am no lord, nor ruler of this world." "What must I call you—teacher, I suppose?" "Yes, but not your teacher; for you love to be taught falsehood, not truth." "Teacher, I have heard a great deal against this religion, and how can I know at once what is right and what is wrong? Please to come, and let me listen attentively to your words." I replied not, but rose and followed the old man. He took me to his house, spread a cloth for me to sit on, manifested great respect, and listened with uncommon attention. When I prepared to go, he said, "But you will not go before we have performed an act of worship and prayer?" We accordingly knelt down, and during prayer the old man could not help now and then repeating the close of a sentence with emphasis, seeming to imply that, in his mind, I had not quite done it justice. After I was gone, he said that it was a great thing to change one's religion; that he stood quite alone in these parts; but that if some of his acquaintance would join him, he would not be behind.

'February 2.—Never met with worse treatment at a Karen village. The chief would not even invite us into his house, but sent us off to an old deserted place, where the floor was too frail to support us; so we sat down on the ground. He then invited us nearer, and sat down before us with a few confidential friends. He had evidently forbidden all his people to approach us, otherwise some would have come out of curiosity. And what a hard, suspicious face did he exhibit! And how we had to coax him to join us in a little regular worship! It was at least an hour before he would consent at all. But in the course of worship his features softened, and his mind "crossed over," as he expressed it, to our religion; and I returned to the boat inclined to believe that all things are possible with God.

'February 3,—Some of my people who slept at the village returned with the report that the place is divided against itself. Some are for, and some against us. The opposition is rather violent. One man threatens to turn his aged father out of doors if he embraces the Christian religion. Perhaps this is not to be regretted. Satan never frets without cause.

'February 8.—Rajah made a formal request to be admitted into the Christian Church, and we had no hesitation in complying. He is the first Karen chief baptized in these parts. His people show a strange aversion. Not one of them would accompany us to the water, though he gave them an invitation. They seem to take side with his eldest son, a grown man, who has been a Boodhist priest, and is still strongly attached to that religion.'

Dr. Judson also visited some villages of Thoungthoos and Talings, but he found them in general bitterly opposed to the gospel. Indeed, no Thoungthoo had ever yet yielded to Christ. Having baptized twenty-five Karens during an absence of six weeks, he returned to Maulmain, but, finding his presence not immediately required, he renewed his wanderings in the jungles.

'March 1.—Touched at the village above Nengyan, and found that the inhabitants have come to the same conclusion, "till the next rainy season." Passed by all the Taling towns, and touched at the village below Rajah's, where we found that the people still adhere to the new Karen prophet, Areemaday. Moung Zu-thee unfortunately encountered a very respectable Burman priest, with a train of novices, who, not relishing his doctrine, fell upon him and gave him a sound beating. The poor man fled to me in great dismay, and, I am sorry to say, some wrath, begging leave to assemble our forces and seize the transgressor, for the purpose of delivering him up to justice. I did assemble them, and, all kneeling down, I praised God that He had counted one of our number worthy to suffer a little for His Son's sake, and prayed that He would give us a spirit of forgiveness, and our persecutors every blessing, temporal and spiritual; after which we left the field of battle with cool and happy minds. Reached Rajah's late at night. He remains firm, though not followed by any of his people. His wife, however, and eldest daughter, after evening worship, declared themselves on the side of Christ.

'March 11, Lord's Day.—Again took the main river, and soon fell in with a boat containing several of the listeners of yesterday, among whom was one man who declared his resolution to enter the new religion. We had scarcely parted with this boat when we met another, full of men, coming down the stream; and, on hailing to know whether they wished to hear the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ, an elderly man, the chief of the party, replied that he had already heard much of the gospel, and there was nothing he desired more than to have a meeting with the teacher. Our boats were soon side by side, where, after a short engagement, the old man struck his colours, and begged us to take him into port, where he could make a proper surrender of himself to Christ. We accordingly went to the shore, and spent several hours very delightfully, under the shade of the overhanging trees, and the banner of the love of Jesus. The old man's experience was so clear, and his desire for baptism so strong, that, though circumstances prevented our gaining so much testimony of his good conduct since believing as we usually require, we felt that it would be wrong to refuse his request. He went on his way, rejoicing aloud, and declaring his resolution to make known the eternal God, and the dying love of Jesus, all along the banks of the Yoon-za-len, his native stream.

'The dying words of an aged man of God, when he waved his withered, death-struck arm, and exclaimed, "The best of all is, God is with us" I feel in my very soul. Yes, the great Invisible is in these Karen wilds. That mighty Being, who heaped up these craggy rocks, and reared these stupendous mountains, and poured out these streams in all directions, and scattered immortal beings throughout these deserts—He is present by the influence of His Holy Spirit, and accompanies the sound of the gospel with converting, sanctifying power. "The best of all is, God is with us."

'March 12.—Alas, how soon is our joy turned into mourning! Mah Nyah-ban, of whom we all had such a high opinion, joined her husband, not many days after their baptism, in making an offering to the demon of diseases, on account of the sudden, alarming illness of their youngest child; and they have remained ever since in an impenitent, prayerless state! They now refuse to listen to our exhortations, and appear to be given over to hardness of heart and blindness of mind. I was therefore obliged this morning to pronounce the sentence of suspension, and leave them to the mercy and judgment of God. Their case is greatly to be deplored. They are quite alone in this quarter, have seen no disciples since we left them, and are surrounded with enemies, some from Maulmain, who have told them all manner of lies, and used every effort to procure and perpetuate their apostasy. When I consider the evidence of grace which they formerly gave, together with all the palliating circumstances of the case, I have much remaining hope that they will yet be brought to repentance. I commend them to the prayers of the faithful, and the notice of any missionary who may travel that way. In consequence of the advantage which Satan has gained in this village, the six hopeful inquirers whom we left here have all fallen off, so that we are obliged to retire with the dispirited feelings of beaten troops.

'I respectfully request, and sincerely hope, that this article may be neither suppressed nor polished. It is strange to me that missionaries and publishing committees do not see the excellency and efficacy of the system pursued by the inspired writers,—that of exhibiting the good and the bad alike.

'March 27.—Ran down the river without touching at any place by the way. At night reached Maulmain, after an absence of nearly a month, during which I have baptized nineteen, making eighty Karen Christians in connection with the Maulmain station, of whom one is dead, and two are suspended from communion. Am glad, yet sorry, to find that Brother Bennett arrived a fortnight ago from Calcutta, with a complete fount of types, and yesterday sent a boat to call me, which, however, passed us on the way. Must I then relinquish my intention of making another trip up the river before the rains set in? Must I relinquish for many months, and perhaps for ever, the pleasure of singing as I go,—

"In these deserts let me labour,

On these mountains let me tell?"

Truly the tears fall as I write.

'June 25.—Brother Wade, having had a violent attack of disease, has been obliged to come hither in haste for medical aid; and I have succeeded in persuading him to stay, for the following reason:—Finding that I should be confined to this place for several months, for the purpose of superintending the printing of the New Testament, I was led to turn my attention again to the Old, one-third only of which is yet done; and on making a calculation, I found that I could finish the whole in two years if I confined myself exclusively to the work; otherwise it would hang on four years or more. Considering the uncertainty of life, and the tenor of numerous letters lately received from home, I concluded that it was my duty to adopt the former course, in order to which, however, it was necessary that one of my brethren, acquainted with the language, should be stationed here to take charge of the church and people of Maulmain, and the Karens in this region. On stating these things to Brother and Sister Wade, they concluded to remain, though nothing was further from their minds when they first came round. I have therefore retired to a room, which I had previously prepared, at the end of the native chapel, where I propose, if life be spared, to shut myself up for the next two years; and I beg the prayers of my friends that, in my seclusion, I may enjoy the presence of the Saviour, and that special aid in translating the inspired Word which I fully believe will be vouchsafed in answer to humble, fervent prayer.

'January 1, 1833.—Brother Simons and friends have just arrived, and brought us a multitude of letters and most interesting publications from our own beloved native land. On many topics I could write all day and night from a full heart, but must employ myself in more pressing work. I will only say, May God bless the temperance societies! May He bless the tract societies! May He bless the efforts made to save the valley of the Mississippi, and the efforts made to restore the poor Africans to the land of their forefathers, and to settle the tribes of American Indians together, and unite them in the bond of Christian love! But where shall I stop? May God bless every soul that loves the Lord Jesus Christ; and may we all labour, to our latest breath, in making known that love to all who know it not, that ere long the whole earth may be filled with the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea!

'Maulmain, April 12.—I left this on the 18th of January, and returned on the 9th instant. The intervening time I have spent at Chummerah, three days' journey up the Salwen, where we had previously built a zayat and rooms for the occasional residence of any of the mission who might visit that place, which is our principal station among the Karens north of Maulmain. According to a determination made some time ago, to suffer nothing to interrupt the translation of the Old Testament until it was done, I took my books with me, and sat down to my studies the same as if I had been in this place. I have therefore done but little for the poor people, beside conducting daily evening worship and the usual Lord's day worship through interpreters. Eight only have been baptized, and at the same time eight stand suspended out of ninety-one. A spirit of solid inquiry is extending through the whole wilderness, but no signs of a great change are yet visible. The boarding-school for teaching them to read and write their own language, according to the elements given them by Brother Wade, has averaged about twelve, chiefly adults and young people, not small children. Several have learned to read, and left school to make way for others.'

Concerning some of the Karen assistants, Dr. Judson wrote to the Bennetts at Rangoon, November 29, 1833:

'DEAR SISTER,—Here are Pallah, Tau-nah, Pah-boo-to, and Pah-boo. If Mr. Bennett wants any more, let him say so. I hope you will take good care of these disciples. They are all good creatures. Pah-boo-to has improved very much of late. Pah-boo is a fine steady fellow, and an excellent scholar. Mah Tee and Mah Heen are inquiring about a passage in the same vessel, but it is doubtful whether they go.… Great care ought to be taken in receiving the first Karen converts in any place. The best outward test is to have refrained from rum, nat-worship, etc., and to have kept the Lord's day, and all this for a few months, on the testimony of their Christian neighbours. And perhaps it is best to make them ask for baptism several times. The first time asking they may not know their own minds. In all these matters Boardman has proceeded more wisely and judiciously than I. He has laid a safer foundation. The consequence is, there are fewer suspensions in that quarter, and his successors will have much less trouble than mine.

'December 9.—I have taken old Rajah, the evangelist of the said village, into the number of the Karen assistants. He is full of the matter, and intends to march forthwith upon the north pole, and clear away all the intervening darkness. Too-no will probably compose his tail. We have nobody to send back with Aunt Sarah except Ko Myat-kyau, who also wants to act the comet.'

At another time he writes:

'If Thah-byoo is refractory, and threatens to perpetrate any enormities, such as baptizing and the like, his allowance must be cut off. This will make him exceedingly reasonable. If the Karens will not come to Rangoon to be baptized, they may stay at home. Ko Thah-a must never be allowed to go to their villages and baptize by the dozen, nor must he baptize in Rangoon, except on the conditions specified in my letters to him.'

Writing to Mr. Mason, Dr. Judson gives an amusing bit of experience as to his money arrangements with the natives:

'I can assure you, from long experience, that you can seldom, if ever, satisfy Burmans, Talings, or Karens, by giving them stated wages. However much it be, they will soon be murmuring for "more bacco," like their betters. Few of the natives that I pay know how much they get. No word on the subject ever passes between me and them. I contrive, at unequal intervals, to pop a paper of rupees—five, ten, or fifteen—into their hands, in the most arbitrary way. But I take accurate note of every payment; and, at the end of the year, I manage to have paid them such a sum as amounts to the rate agreed on by my brethren. This plan occasions much less trouble than one is apt to think at first; at any rate, not so much trouble as to be in hot water all the time about their wages. However, I only show you my anvil. Hammer your tools on it, or on another of your own invention, as you like.'

On the last day of the year 1833 Dr. Judson wrote to the corresponding secretary of the Board:

'I did hope at one time to have been able to insert, under this date, a notice of the completion of the Old Testament; but though I have long devoted nearly all my time to that work, I have found it so heavy, and my health (as usual this season) so poor, that, though near the goal, I cannot yet say that I have attained.'

A postscript is added. 'January 31, 1834.—Thanks be to God, I can now say that I have attained. I have knelt down before Him, with the last leaf in my hand, and, imploring His forgiveness for all the sins which have polluted my labours in this department, and His aid in future efforts to remove the errors and imperfections which necessarily cleave to the work, I have commended it to His mercy and grace; I have dedicated it to His glory. May He make His own inspired Word, now complete in the Burman tongue, the grand instrument of filling all Burmah with songs of praise to our great God and Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.'

His time was, however, still considerably taken up in superintending the press of his Bible; and years afterwards still found him revising and re-revising, and bringing to bear upon it all the results of fresh experience or reading.

In order not to break the thread of the foregoing narrative, many of Dr. Judson's familiar letters have been omitted, and only a few of those glimpses into his loving heart and tender domestic nature can now be given.

A letter to Mrs. Boardman, in her widowhood, lets out much of his own deep experience of sorrow:

'March 4, 1831.—MY DEAR SISTER,—You are now drinking the bitter cup whose dregs I am somewhat acquainted with. And though for some time you have been aware of its approach, I venture to say that it is far bitterer than you expected. It is common for persons in your situation to refuse all consolation, to cling to the dead, and to fear that they shall too soon forget the object of their affections. But don't be concerned. I can assure you that months and months of heart-rending anguish are before you, whether you will or not. I can only advise you to take the cup with both hands, and sit down quietly to the bitter repast which God has appointed for your sanctification. As to your beloved, you know that all his tears are wiped away, and that the diadem which encircles his brow now out shines the sun. Little Sarah and the other have again found their father,—not the frail, sinful mortal that they left on earth, but an immortal saint, a majestic king. What more can you desire for them? Yet take the bitter cup with both hands, and sit down to your repast. You will soon learn a secret, that there is sweetness at the bottom; you will find it the sweetest cup you ever tasted in all your life. You will find heaven coming near to you, and familiarity with your husband's voice will be a connecting link, drawing you almost within the sphere of celestial music. I think, from what I know of your state of mind, that you will not desert the post, but remain to carry on the work which he gloriously began. The Karens of Tavoy regard you as their spiritual mother; and the dying prayers of your beloved are waiting to be answered in blessings on your instructions.'

The following note was written to Mrs. Bennett, while weeping in her room after parting with her two children, who were to sail for America:—

'Infinite love, my dear sister, in the person of the Lord Jesus, is even now looking down upon you, and will smile if you offer Him your bleeding, breaking heart. All created excellence, and all ardour of affection, proceed from Him. He loves you far more than you love your children; and He loves them also, when presented in the arms of faith, far more than you can conceive. Give them up, therefore, to His tender care. He will, I trust, restore them to you under greater advantages, and united to Himself; and you, who now sow in tears, shall reap in joy. And on the bright plains of heaven they shall dwell in your arms for ever, and you shall hear their celestial songs, sweetened and heightened by your present sacrifices and tears.'

He wrote to the Bennetts in Rangoon: 'I never had a tighter fit of low spirits than for about a week after you had gone. I sometimes went, after dinner, to take a solitary walk in the verandah, and sing, with my harmonious voice, "Heartless and hopeless, life and love all gone." However, I am rallying again, as the doctors say; but I have not yet got the steam up in the Old Testament machine, "Toil and trouble," etc. Heaven must be sweet after all these things.'

And again to Mrs. Bennett: 'I thank you for your good long letter, which I am going to repay with a poor short one, as you see from the paper I have taken. But it is near ten o'clock, and I am worn out with the day's work. I really think I felt as much relieved to hear your head was better as if it had been my own. I had a somewhat remarkable case of divine guidance last Friday in a private case of conscience which had troubled me for some time. It was as if I had seen with my bodily eyes my own adorable Saviour pointing out the particular passage, and shedding a flood of light on the sacred page. And yet, alas! must I add, that though I retain that guidance, and trust I shall through life, I am in other respects the same prayerless, heartless creature as ever. There was one time, however, since you left here, when I prayed a few moments for Elsina and Mary, and I thought it was the only time that I had ever been enabled to pray for them, and I had a momentary feeling that they would receive some saving impression before they reached home.… May you both be blessed in body and soul, and be burning and shining lights in Rangoon and throughout Burmah; and you will be, if you venture to follow Christ throughout, and be holy, as He is holy.'

He wrote to his mother and sister, December 29, 1833:—'I have just received yours, mentioning Mrs. Wade's visit to Plymouth. There is hardly a person in the world whom I love so much as Mrs. Wade. You could not know her many excellencies in so short an interview.… Mrs. Wade's letter brought many things fresh to my mind, and made me long once more to visit Plymouth and the old mansion-house, and the only near and dear relations that remain to me in this world. But the sea is too wide, and my work too great and pressing to be relinquished or deferred for any worldly consideration.

'I still live alone, and board with some one of the families that compose the mission. I have no family or living creature about me that I can call my own, except one dog, Fidelia, which belonged to little Maria, and which I value more on that account. Since the death of her little mistress, she has ever been with me; but she is now growing old, and will die before long, and I am sure I shall shed more than one tear when poor Fidee goes.'

During Dr. Judson's many years of labour, he had often been pressed, both by his family and by the members of the Missionary Association, to revisit America for the rest and refreshment he had so well earned. As long as his health, though often broken, still permitted him to work, he steadily rejected all such proposals; yet, in answer to one of them, he says, 'I must confess that I have felt an almost unconquerable desire to become personally acquainted with my friends and patrons, the members of the Board, as well as to rove once more over the hills and valleys of my own native land, to recognise the still surviving companions of my youth, and to witness the wide-spread and daily increasing glories of Immanuel's kingdom in that land of liberty, blessed with temporal and spiritual blessings above all others.'

We wish it were possible to quote entire a long and most heart-stirring letter, containing the joint appeal of the missionaries at Maulmain to Christians at home to come over and help. It is dated Maulmain, March 4, 1832. 'We are in distress. We see thousands perishing around us. We see mission stations opening on every side, the fields growing whiter every day, and no labourers to reap the harvest. If each one of us could divide himself into three parts, happy would he be, not only to take leave of his native land and beloved connections at home, but of still nearer and more intimate connections. We want instantly to send aid to the Tavoy station, where Brother Mason is labouring almost alone. We want instantly to send a missionary to Mergui, a pleasant, healthful town, south of Tavoy, where a small church has been raised up, and left in charge of a native pastor. Our hearts bleed when we think of poor Mergui and the Karens in that vicinity, many of whom are ready to embrace the gospel and be saved. But how can we allow ourselves to think of that small place, when the whole kingdom of Siam lies in our rear?' And then follows a long list of towns and territories perishing for want of the gospel, of wild tribes in the jungles, and nations on the borders of China and Tartary, of the four provinces of Arracan, accessible because under British rule, yet unprovided for. Referring to a town of Arracan, where one of their number had lately left some inquirers ready to embrace the Christian religion, if he could only promise to remain, or send a successor, the missionaries write:

'Of all the places that now cry around us, we think that Kyouk Phyoo cries the loudest. No—we listen again, and the shrill cry of golden Ava rises above them all. O Ava! Ava! with thy metropolitan walls and gilded turrets, thou sittest a lady among these Eastern nations, but our hearts bleed for thee! In thee is no Christian church, no missionary of the cross!

'We have lately heard of the death of poor Prince Myen Zeing. He died without any missionary or Christian to guide his groping soul on the last dark journey. Where has that journey terminated? Is he in the bright world of paradise, or in the burning lake? He had attained some knowledge of the way of salvation. Perhaps, in his last hours, he turned away his eye from the gold and silver idols around his couch, and looked to the crucified Saviour. But those who first taught him were far away, so he died and was buried like a heathen.

'O God of mercy, have mercy on Ava, and Chageing, and A-ma-ra-poo-ra.' 'Have mercy on the churches in the United States; hold back the curse of Meroz; continue and perpetuate the heavenly revivals of religion which they have begun to enjoy; and may the time soon come when no Church shall dare to sit under Sabbath and sanctuary privileges, without having one of their number to represent them on heathen ground. Have mercy on the theological seminaries, and hasten the time when one-half of all who yearly enter the ministry shall be taken by Thine Holy Spirit, and driven into the wilderness, feeling a sweet necessity laid on them, and the precious love of Christ and of souls constraining them.'

On April 10, 1834, Dr. Judson was married to Mrs. Sarah H. Boardman. His journal contains this note:

'Tavoy, April 10.—I arrived here on the evening of the 6th. Am delighted with this station, and everything about it. The few native Christians whom I have seen, and the schools, appear excellently well. But the glory of this station, the two hundred Karen converts, and their village of Mah-tah-myu, I found myself not at leisure to visit. Indeed, I have hardly found time to step out of the mission enclosure since my arrival; and to-day, having received the benediction of the Rev. Mr. Mason, I embark for Maulmain, accompanied by Mrs. Judson and the only surviving child of the beloved founder of the Tavoy station. Once more farewell to thee, Boardman, and thy long-cherished grave! May thy memory be ever fresh and fragrant, as the memory of the other beloved, whose beautiful, death-marred form reposes at the foot of the hopia tree! May we, the survivors, so live as to deserve and receive the smiles of those sainted ones who have gone before us! And at last, may we all four be reunited before the throne of glory, and form a peculiarly happy family, our mutual loves all purified and consummated in the bright world of love!'

CHAPTER XI

MISSIONARY AND FAMILY LETTERS—DECLINING HEALTH

1835–1840

HEARING at one time that the Board proposed sending out a missionary for a limited time, Dr. Judson wrote in terms of strong remonstrance:

'As to lessening the trials of the candidate for missions, and making the way smooth for him, that is just what ought not to be done. Missionaries need more trials on their first setting out, instead of less. The motto of every missionary, whether preacher, printer, or schoolmaster, ought to be, "Devoted for life." A few days ago Brother Kincaid was asked by a Burmese officer of government how long he intended to stay. "Until all Burmah worships the eternal God," was the prompt reply. If the limited-term system gain the ascendency, it will be the death-blow of missions, and retard the conversion of the world a hundred years.'

The views of a man like Dr. Judson respecting the conduct of mission work possess peculiar interest; for not only was he a man 'devoted for life' to the cause,—not only was his fiery zeal united to a mature judgment and long experience given to few,—but he was emphatically a man of large heart, and range of vision that extended over the whole heathen world. While his task as translator often bound him to a narrow sphere, his sympathies and prayers went out to the most distant regions, his eye was watching every little spot of light, and his heart yearned over the vast tracts where darkness still reigned unbroken. He was constantly devising new schemes of usefulness, and stimulating others to do what he could not himself accomplish. His opinions were very decided as to two points,—first, that missions ought to be dispersed, not concentrated; and secondly, that native agency is all-important in the evangelization of a country. He was sometimes almost importunate in his unselfish entreaties to his brethren, specially those whom he prized most highly, and whose society was sweetest to him, to leave him, and go to occupy new or deserted stations. 'Not where Christ is named, lest I should build on another man's foundation,' was the principle which he believed should actuate missionaries.

He knew, too, that while strangers may carry the gospel to a nation, and establish its first churches, yet they alone can never reach the mass of the people, nor supply a permanent ministry among them. He possessed a peculiar facility for calling into service the gifts of native Christians, and always kept several of the most promising employed under him, advising the adoption of the same plan by missionaries at the different stations. Thus his own efficiency was greatly multiplied, while his wise guidance and prayerful influence were moulding a well-instructed and well-proved race of pastors for Burmah.

Among other letters which express the views referred to, is one to the corresponding secretary, dated February 10, 1834:—'There is a strange, unaccountable reluctance among my missionary brethren to leave this place. Not a soul will look towards Tavoy, though poor Mrs. Mason has been here imploring our aid. Not a soul will look towards Arracan.… The general reply which I get from the brethren is, "We must stay, and get the language," But look at dear Boardman. In eleven months after landing at Amherst he was in Tavoy; and what a light he kindled up daring his short life! With the New Testament in hand, and tracts and prayers all prepared, a young missionary can begin to preach and exhort very soon. He can live by retailing stock furnished by others. But to instruct a seminary, a man must be able to create his own stock. How much better for a young missionary to dash into Toung-oo, or some other place, get the language from the living sounds, build up a church, kindle up a bright light that will never go out! How much better than to be rusting here in Maulmain!

'As I shall be under the necessity, for a few years, of being more or less about this place, chiefly with a view to writing and printing work, any attempt to urge my brethren to a distance comes with a very bad grace from me. It is like saying to them, "I wish to get rid of your company." But indeed there is not a single one I want to get rid of—not one that it would not cost me a bitter pang to have to consign to the grave. May God safely bring back my dearest, best-beloved Brother and Sister Wade!'

And again, May 6, 1835: 'Formerly, having spent many years alone, I felt desirous of missionary society, and was disposed to encourage a few to stay together, not doubting but that we should all find enough to do. But I have now learned that one missionary, standing by himself, feeling his individual responsibility, and forced to put forth all his efforts, is worth half-a-dozen cooped up in one place, while there are unoccupied stations in all directions, and whole districts of thousands and hundreds of thousands perishing in the darkness of heathenism.… I have now five native assistants, who spend an hour with me every morning in reporting the labours of the preceding day, in receiving instructions, and in praying together. These men penetrate every lane and corner of this place and the neighbouring villages; and since I have adopted this plan, there have been some very encouraging appearances. Now, ten such persons, half students, half assistants, cost no more than one missionary family, and for actual service they are certainly worth a great deal more. This is the way in which I think missions ought to be conducted. One missionary, or two at most, ought to be stationed in every important central place, to collect a church and an interest around him, to set the native wheels to work, and to keep them at work. Very few native assistants will hold out well, unless well instructed, and kept under rigid supervision. An additional missionary would doubtless do good, but nearly all the good he would do would probably be done if he were away, labouring in some other place, which, but for him, would be unoccupied, and where, of course, all that he should effect would be so much net gain to the cause. If it be thought best for the rest to remain here, pray let me remove. If no one else is willing to go to Arracan, I am. It is true there are some plans which I should like to carry into execution at this place, where I have my work before me, and some things that I should be glad to prepare for the press; but other brethren will, in time, be competent to do these things. I am therefore ready to obey orders, and may God give the Board wisdom to direct aright!'

Again, January 3, 1835: 'My ideas of a seminary are very different from those of many persons. I am really unwilling to place young men that have just begun to love the Saviour under teachers who will strive to carry them through a long course of study, until they are able to unravel metaphysics, and calculate eclipses, and their souls become as dry as the one, and as dark as the other. I have known several promising young men completely ruined by this process. Nor is it called for in the present state of the Church in Burmah. I want to see our young disciples thoroughly acquainted with the Bible from beginning to end, and with geography and history, so far as necessary to understand the Scriptures, and to furnish them with enlarged, enlightened minds. I would also have them carried through a course of systematic theology, on the plan perhaps of Dwight's; and I would have them well instructed in the art of communicating their ideas intelligibly and acceptably by word and writing. So great is my desire to see such a system in operation, that I am strongly tempted, as nobody else is able to do anything just now, to make a beginning; and perhaps after Brother Wade, who is excellently well capacitated for this department, has settled the Karen language with Brother Mason, he will carry on what I shall begin, having both Karen and Burmese students under his care.'

Dr. Judson did not much value schools as a means of introducing the gospel among a heathen people. His schools did not so much develope into churches, as grow out of the necessities of the churches when once established. The mission could not have the children of its converts to grow up in ignorance, nor could they be sent to the Burman schools, to be instructed by priests in the falsehoods of Boodhism. Along with such children many poor orphans were educated, and rescued from both bodily and spiritual slavery. Many heathen parents also sent their children, although they were always frankly told that the main object of their teachers would be to lead them to Jesus. Those schools were much blessed. The power of the Spirit was often felt in them, and parents and children often brought together to love their God and Saviour. Still Dr. Judson always spoke of them with caution, as institutions liable to abuse, and presenting temptations to the missionary to enter too much into secular work. With characteristic candour he writes to the Bennetts: 'I have been in an error on this subject. The mismanagement and little success of schools have led me too hastily to condemn the system altogether. What if you should both think of things generally, and particularly, and abstractly, and conjointly, and all other ways?' And again to Mr. Haswell at Amherst: 'You inquire about the advisableness of setting up a school at Amherst. If practicable, everything in that line is to be encouraged, taking care, however, to avoid the rock that many missionaries have split upon,—suffering school-keeping to eat up all their time and energies.'

The following letters show what were the means on which he chiefly relied:—

'Maulmain, December 21, 1838.—Modern missions have been distinguished from the Roman Catholic, and indeed from all former missions since apostolic times, by honouring the word of God. And I do believe that those missions which give the highest place to the divine word will be the most owned of God and blessed. There is only one book in the world which has descended from heaven, or, as I tell the Burmans, there is one golden lamp which God has suspended from heaven to guide us thither. Shall we missionaries throw a shade around it, or do aught to prevent the universal diffusion of its life-giving rays? Oh that one complete volume of the Bible, and not merely the New Testament, were safely deposited in every village where the language is understood! Burmah is now shut against us, but it will not be so always; and where there is a will there is a way. And Arracan, with her two thousand villages or more, is open for the reception and deposit of two or three thousand Bibles. I would not be understood to depreciate the preaching of the gospel,—the grand means instituted by Christ for the conversion of the world,—but all our preaching must be based on the written word; and when the voice of the living preacher is passed away from the villages, the inspired volume may still remain to convict and to edify. I would say, therefore, that the preached gospel and the written word are the two arms which are to pull down the kingdom of darkness, and build up the Redeemer's. Let us not cut off one of these arms; for the other will be by itself comparatively powerless, as the history of the Church in every age will testify.'

'Jan. 16, 1840.—DEAR BROTHER MASON,—Brother Wade will tell you that, so long ago as when we were living together, we made sundry resolutions to preach the gospel, and not anti-Boodhism, and to persuade our assistants to do the same. But I have found it exceedingly difficult to keep such resolutions, either in regard to myself or others. I rather think that it is a sound principle in missions, that the degree of success is proportionate to the quantity of gospel preached.'

At the close of a letter detailing the system of church discipline adopted, he says: 'After all, one touch of the Spirit of God is worth more than all our plans and contrivances for the promotion of church order,—

"Come, Holy Spirit, heavenly Dove."

Yet we must not only partake of the feasts which Jesus prescribes, but gather up the fragments, that nothing be lost.'

But to return from this digression to a more consecutive record of events, Dr. Judson writes, looking back over the year 1834:

'The Chummerah station has been left vacant by the lamented death of dear Sister Cummings. The Mergui station has also been left vacant by the death of Pastor Ing, one of our most faithful, most beloved assistants. Though Ko Ing was faithful and laborious until death, it did not please the Lord to give him any present success. Mergui, however, has been well sown with gospel seed, and I have no doubt the seed will spring up and contribute to the abundance of some future harvest, and the mutual joy of all the labourers, when the sower and the reaper shall rejoice together.

'At the close of October 1833, Ko Ing wrote that, on account of his unworthiness and want of success, he declined receiving any further allowance; that his wife, of whose conversion he had been the means, was able, by keeping a small shop, to support the family; but that he intended to devote himself the same as before to the work to which he had been called. We determined that, though he declined any stated allowance, we would occasionally make him presents; and Brother Mason has sent him money two or three times, amounting, I believe, to about one-third of his usual allowance. The following is an extract from the letter of a pious sergeant in the detachment stationed at Mergui, dated December 7, 1834:

' "I was with Ko Ing several times during his illness, and commonly took an interpreter with me; but on account of his extreme weakness and deafness I could say but little to him. Being anxious, however, to know his experience, I asked him a few questions, as follows: Q. Do you wish to die or not? A. I wish to die, if it is the will of God. Q. Why do you wish to die? A. I shall go to heaven and be happy. Q. How do you know that you shall go to heaven? A. I have read in the word of God, that those who served Him will go there, and my own breast tells me of it (placing his hand on his breast and looking up). Q. How have you served God? A. By forsaking my wicked ways, and praying to Him for forgiveness. Q. Do you think all this will take you to heaven? A. Jesus Christ came down from above and died for sinners; and those that are sorry for and forsake their sins shall be saved, because Christ died for them. Q. You don't think, then, that your works and your own goodness will take you to heaven? A. No; all my works are but filthy rags. He was so much exhausted that I asked him no more questions." '

To his sister he wrote, Jan. 6, 1835:

'You will have heard of my marriage to Mrs. Boardman of Tavoy. She says she remembers seeing you in Salem, when she was Miss Hall. Perhaps you will remember her. She saw our father a little before he died, and he took her by the hand and talked to her some time. I am very happy with her. She is possessed of a very affectionate, amiable, pious spirit, is well acquainted with the Burmese language, and is a great help to me in all respects. We keep house by ourselves, and shall probably remain in Maulmain for the present, perhaps all the rest of our lives. I have a church of eighty-four converted natives under my care, and am also revising and superintending the printing of the Old Testament. Brother and Sister Wade and Miss Gardner have gone to Tavoy. The other new ones and some of the old ones are gone or going in different directions. You may have heard of the death of Dr. Carey and of Dr. Morrison. There are now only three missionaries in the East who have been out longer than myself,—Marshman, Robinson, and Moore. One after another fills up, as a hireling, his day, and then passes away in the darkness of the night of death, thence to emerge and ascend to the bright regions of everlasting day. I am always glad to get a letter from you, and hope you will write often; and if mother would add a line or two, it would be great gratification to me. At any rate, we can pray for one another. Let us continue to do so as long as we live.'

'June 11.—My heart leaps for joy, and swells with gratitude and praise to God, when I think of Brother Jones at Bangkok, in the southern extremity of the continent, and Brother Brown at Sadiya, in Assam, on the frontiers of China,—immensely distant points,—and of all the intervening stations, Ava, Rangoon, Kyouk Phyoo, Maulmain, and Tavoy, and the churches and schools which are springing up in every station, and throughout the Karen wilderness. Happy lot, to live in these days! Oh, happy lot, to be allowed to bear a part in the glorious work of bringing an apostate world to the feet of Jesus! Glory, glory be to God!'

'November 1.—DEAR MOTHER AND SISTER,—My thoughts and affections revert more frequently of late to the dear home where I was born and brought up; and now especially, after having been childless for many years, the birth of a daughter, and the revival of parental feelings, remind me afresh of the love with which my dear mother watched over my infancy, and of all the kindness with which she led me up from youth to man. And then I think of my earliest playmate, my dear sister, and delight to retrace the thousand incidents which marked our youthful intercourse, and which still stand, in the vista of memory, tokens of reciprocated brotherly and sisterly affection. Surely I should have to call myself a most ungrateful son and brother had I abandoned you for ever in this world, as I have done, for any other cause than that of the kingdom of the glorious Redeemer.

'It is a great comfort, however, that though separated in this world, we are all interested in the covenant love of that Redeemer, and can therefore hope that we shall spend our eternity together in His blissful presence. It is my particular object, in writing at the present time, to engage your prayers for our little Abigail, that she may become early interested in the same divine love, and be one of our happy number in the bright world above. Her mother and myself both hope that the little circumstance of her being your namesake will tend to bring her more frequently to your remembrance at the throne of grace, and secure your prayers in her behalf.

'I used to think, when first contemplating a missionary life, that if I should live to see the Bible translated and printed in some new language, and a church of one hundred members raised up on heathen ground, I should anticipate death with the peaceful feelings of old Simeon. The Bible in Burmese will, I expect, be out of the press by the end of this year; and—not to speak of several hundred Burmans and Karens baptized at different stations—the Burmese church in Maulmain, of which I am pastor, contains ninety-nine native members, and there will doubtless be several more received before the end of the year. Unite with me, my dear mother and sister, in gratitude to God that He has preserved me so long, and, notwithstanding my entire unworthiness, has made me instrumental of a little good.'

'December 31.—During the last six months we have received into the native church in this place nine by baptism, and two by removal from Rangoon, and lost one by death, so that the present number is one hundred and two. Among the number baptized is Koo-chil, the Mohammedan servant who was so faithful to us at Ava during the late war. He came from Bengal with the first Mrs. Judson, on her return to this country in the year 1823, and since that time has been in the employ of some one of the mission families. Though a faithful, good servant, he persisted for years in rejecting all religious instruction, and maintained his allegiance to the false prophet. His wife, a Burmese woman, was baptized a year and a half ago, and that circumstance probably combined with all he saw and heard to bring his mind over to the Christian religion. But the process was slow, the struggle strong. He felt deeply the responsibility of changing his religion; and when he made his formal request for baptism, he trembled all over. Poor old man! he is above sixty. His cheeks are quite fallen in; his long beard is quite grey. He has probably but a short time to live. May he prove to be a brand plucked out of the fire at the eleventh hour! He affectionately remembers his old mistress, and frequently sheds tears when speaking of the scenes of Ava and Amherst, where he saw her suffer and die. I hope now that they will have the pleasure of meeting again, and of renewing the old acquaintance under happier auspices.

'More preaching has been done in Maulmain and the vicinity during the past year than all the previous years together which we have spent in the place. Five or six native assistants have been kept constantly at work. They have brought in several converts, and excited more religious inquiry and disposition favourable to the reception of truth than we have ever known before. Thousands and thousands of tracts, also, have been distributed through the town, chiefly by some of the newly-arrived brethren during their morning walks.'

'August 23, 1836.—VERY DEAR GEORGE,—I send you a little idol, that you may not forget what sort of gods they worship in this country; and your mother is sending you another. But, what is better, I send you a little book, called the Only Son, which I took so much pleasure in reading that I want to have you read it through two or three times. I am afraid you will forget how much your mother loves you. This book will help you to remember. I am not much afraid that you will ever become like poor Jonah, whose history you will find in the book; but when any companions shall attempt to persuade you to join them in doing some bad thing, remember poor Jonah, and remember his poor mother, and remember how dreadfully your own mother would suffer, and how she would go down to the grave in sorrow, if you should become a bad boy. You cannot tell how much she loves you. She talks about you every day, and we never pray together without praying for you. And though it cannot be that I should love you as much as your mother does, yet I love you very much, my dear George; and I am always sorry that I was so closely engaged in study that I was able to spend but very little time with you after we came up from Tavoy. When I think of that last pleasant, sad afternoon I carried you down to Amherst, and left you on board the Cashmere, I love you very much, and want to see you again. Perhaps we will live to see you come out a minister of the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ. We sometimes pray that, if it be the will of God, it may be so.

'Your little sister Abigail is a sweet, fat baby. You would love her very much if you were here. Pray for her, that she may live and may become a child of God.

'PRAYER FOR LITTLE GEORGE.

'Remember, Lord, my mother dear,

Who lives in distant heathen land:

By day and night wilt Thou be near

To guard her with Thy powerful hand.

'And since another babe is come

To fill the place which once was mine,

In mother's arms to find a home,

And soft on mother's breast recline;

'Oh, listen to me from Thy throne,

And let a brother's prayer prevail,

To draw the choicest blessings down

On little sister Abigail.'

'March 16, 1838.—EVER DEAR MOTHER AND SISTER,—I remember you in my prayers every day, and hope that you do not forget me, my wife, and dear little Abby and Adoniram. Yours of October 15, 1837, I received on the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Stevens in the Rosabella, the 19th of last month. They gave me an account of their visit to Plymouth, and their interview with you both, and how you looked, and what you said.

'Adoniram is one of the prettiest, brightest children you ever saw. His mother says that he resembles his uncle Elnathan. Abby is growing fast. She runs about, and talks Burman quite fluently, but no English. I am not troubled about her not getting English at present, for we shall have to send her home in a few years, and then she will get it of course. She attends family and public worship with us, and has learned to sit still and behave herself. But Fen, or Pwen, as the natives call him, when he is brought into the chapel, and sees me in my place, has the impudence to roar out Bah (as the Burmans call father) with such a stentorian voice, that his nurse is obliged to carry him out again.'

'June 30.—The church is slowly increasing. About twelve a year is the small allowance which God grants us; and this, I suppose, must be taken as the measure of our scanty faith. Lord, increase our faith! I am sorry to have to add that we have no less than eight members excluded from communion; and some of them will probably come to be excluded from the church altogether. Several have been dismissed to join other churches; so that the whole number of communicants at present is one hundred and eighteen, including five foreigners.'

'July 20.—I have lately had the happiness of baptizing the first Toung-thoo that ever became a Christian. I hope he will be the first-fruits of a plentiful harvest. God has given me the privilege and happiness of witnessing and contributing a little, I trust, to the conversion of the first Burmese convert, the first Peguan, the first Karen, and the first Toung-thoo. Three of them I baptized. The Karen was approved for baptism; but just then, Brother Boardman removing to Tavoy, I sent the Karen with him, and he was baptized there.

'There are now above a thousand converts from heathenism, formed into various churches throughout the country. And I trust that the good work will go on until every vestige of idolatry shall be effaced, and millennial glory shall bless the whole land. The thirteenth day of this month finished a quarter of a century that I have spent in Burmah; and on the eighth of next month, if I live, I shall complete the fiftieth year of my life. And I see that mother, if living, will enter on her eightieth year next December. May we all meet in heaven!'

To the corresponding secretary, Rev. S. Peck, he writes:

'January 5, 1839.—I wish it was in my power to make more copious and more interesting communications for the Magazine; but what can be expected from a man who spends his days at a study-table, poring over Hebrew and Greek, and Gesenius and Rosenmüller, etc. etc., and Burmese manuscripts interlined to illegibility?

'I warded off the translation of the Bible for several years, thinking it would fall to Boardman, or Jones, or some other; but the providence of God at length laid it upon me. And seeing how some eminent missionaries divided their attention among several objects, at the risk of doing nothing well, I thought it incumbent on me, with less capacity, to aim at more singleness of object. And I now feel that it is one main duty of the remnant of my life to study and labour to perfect the Burmese translation of the Bible.'

'January 21.—MY DEAR SIR,—Allow me to suggest whether the exegetical works of Stuart, Robinson, Stowe, Ripley, Bush, Noyes, and such-like, with some of the best German works, ought not to be sent out to the library as soon as they come from the press, without waiting for an application to be made for them. I frequently see a sterling work on the cover of the Herald or Magazine, and am ready to scream, with some variations, "The book, the book! my kingdom for the book!" Yes, a kingdom, if the same ship which brought the notice had brought the work too; whereas I have to wait for letters to cross the ocean twice or three times at least, and thus two or three years' use of the book is lost, during which time I am perhaps working upon that very portion of Scripture which that book is intended to illustrate.

'Could a very small portion of the funds contributed to the Bible cause be better spent than in sending such works as the above, without the least delay, to the several mission libraries where translations of the Scriptures are in progress? Individuals might send at their leisure for such of the works for their private use as they could afford to purchase.'

Hitherto, although Dr. Judson had often suffered from the effects of over-work and exposure, and from yearly attacks of the fever prevalent on the coast, his constitution had not been materially impaired; but now symptoms appeared of that pulmonary disease, from which he was never afterwards entirely free. Its most trying effect to him was the weakness of voice, which for ten months debarred him from preaching altogether, and made it necessary for him always to avoid over-exertion in this much-loved work. During a voyage which he took for health to Calcutta, he thus wrote to Mrs. Judson:

'Near Amherst, February 20, 10 o'clock A.M. 1839.—MY DEAR LOVE,—I have felt but little disposition to cough since I have been on board; but as we are not yet out of the river, I cannot expect any special change. I conform myself to all the habits of the people on board in regard to eating and drinking, except that I do not take beer or wine. Tea did not at all prevent my sleeping. My cot is very comfortable, and my cabin, though small, answers every purpose. I think I was never, on shipboard, situated so comfortably in all respects. I spent this morning in sorting all my things, and found it as good exercise as going up the hill. There is a little lid-table at the side of the cabin, used formerly as a washing-stand, on which I have placed the writing-desk, and the chair stands between that and the cot, and just fills up the place, so that I am quite snug and secure in case the vessel rolls; and you can judge from this arrangement of the size of the cabin. Right before me, and over the said table, is a long shelf, on which I have arranged my library and other utensils. The trunks that I don't use are stored under the cot; and the green box, containing things for the voyage, is placed at my feet by the side of the table. Now I think you can look in and see me pretty clearly. I only wish you were sitting in another chair, for which there is just room, or lolling on the cot. I now turn my head around, and fancy how it would seem if I could see you there, and the dear children, over whom my feelings yearn. My love to Mrs. Howard, and tell her I commenced operations on her cakes last evening, and found them most excellent. Particular love to dear Brother and Sister Stevens, and sweet little Edward. Tell Moung En that I remember him, and all the Christians, as occasion may offer, and ask them to pray for me. I hope that you and the children will enjoy health, and that we shall all live to meet again. You know I love you more than all the world beside.

'March 7.—A pilot came on board last night. We are not far from Saugur. The fourth and fifth I had some cough. Yesterday none, nor this morning. I feel well in body, but very low in spirits. It is sad, dull work to go to a place which you have no wish to see, and where you have no object scarcely to obtain. I hope to be on my return before long. The bosom of my family is almost the only bright spot that remains to me on earth.'

'Calcutta, March 9, 1839.—My cough has not returned on shore, as I feared it would. The soreness remains about the same. I expect to return in the same ship, which will stay here a fortnight or three weeks, so that you will probably see me as soon as this letter. But as we know not what a day may bring forth, I shall occasionally minute down my adventures, that, if you should not see me again, you may get some shadow of me. And then I take a greater pleasure in writing to you than in anything else.

"Where'er I roam, whatever realms I see,

My heart, untravelled, fondly turns to thee,"—

thee, my most beloved wife, and you, my dear children, Abby Ann, Adoniram, and Elnathan.'

'March 14.—Early in the morning your precious letter of five sheets was brought in. I was just dressed, and sat down to the feast before breakfast. How much I enjoyed it, and how much I loved you during the perusal, I cannot stop to detail. No one can tell the value of such a letter but an absent husband and father, whose heart is wrapped up in his family. I will only say that I rejoiced in your narrow escape from fire, and that I entirely approve of your invitation to the Hancocks.

'Took a palanquin and went into town. Called on Mr. Roberts and Captain Spain. The Snipe is to sail on the 25th. Came home, put your letter in my pocket, and called at Yates's, Thomas's, etc. They all knew that I was expecting a letter and was disappointed last night; gave them a peep at the five sheets. Showed some of the sisters the Burman writing, and explained a little what the children said. They all thought that you must be a wonderful woman to make books as you do; and they all say, particularly Mrs. Ellis, how sorry they are that you did not come with me. I almost think that if I had known all things, and what good accommodations we could have had in this house, we should have come together. I should have been so happy to have had you with me. If such exquisite delights as we have enjoyed with those now in paradise, and with one another, are allowed to sinful creatures on earth, what must the joys of heaven be! Surely there is not a single lawful pleasure the loss of which we shall have to regret there. What high and transporting intercommunion of souls we may therefore anticipate, and that to all eternity!—intercommunion between one another and between the Bridegroom and the Bride, of which wedded love on earth is but a type and shadow. "Thanks be unto God for His unspeakable gift."

'I forgot to mention yesterday, that no sooner had I left the shores of Calcutta than my soreness of lungs and cough fled away. I was quite well all day, and have continued pretty well to-day, but have a little relapse this evening, on which account I am staying at home while the rest have gone to the chapel.'

'March 22, Friday.—This morning saw a notice in a newspaper that the Snipe was loading for Mauritius. Was more miserable for an hour than since I left Maulmain. But having written immediately to Captain Spain, got the following joyful intelligence:—"The Snipe will leave town on Tuesday for Maulmain. Let me know if you take the same cabin back." I am so well now, that I do not hesitate about returning in the same vessel. How joyfully do I hope to embark! How joyfully retrace my way, and at length see the hills of Amherst and Maulmain rising in the distant perspective! And how joyfully do I hope to see your dear face, and take you to my longing arms, and find again "that home is home!" '

After his return to Maulmain, he wrote to a friend, May 1, 1839:

'On the arrival of the Apthorp a few days ago, I received the india-rubber pantaloons, and felt much obliged to you for your kindness; but they have probably come too late for me, and I hardly expect to use them. My throat complaint, which seemed to be nearly removed by a voyage to Calcutta, has returned with fresh violence since the commencement of the rains three days ago. Some advise me to take another, as before; but I have no heart to do so, thinking that the benefit will be but temporary. Others suggest a voyage home to America, and a residence there for a year or two; but to this course I have strong objections. There are so many missionaries going home for their health, or for some other cause, that I should be very unwilling to do so, unless my brethren and the Board thought it a case of absolute necessity. I should be of no use to the cause at home, not being able to use my voice. And, lastly, I am in my fifty-first year. I have lived long enough. I have lived to see accomplished the particular objects on which I set my heart when I commenced a missionary life; and why should I wish to live longer? I am unable to preach; and, since the last relapse, the irritation of my throat is so very trouble some that I cannot converse but with difficulty, or even sit at the table, as I have done to-day, and prepare copy for the press.

'My present expectation is, to use medicinal palliatives, and endeavour to keep along for a few months, until I see the present edition of the Bible completed, and then be ready to rest from my labours. But the very thought brings joy to my soul. For though I am a poor, poor sinner, and know that I have never done a single action which can claim the least merit or praise, glory is before me, interminable glory, through the blood of the Lamb, the Lamb for sinners slain. But I shrink back again when I think of my dear wife and darling children, who have wound round my once widowed, bereaved heart, and would fain draw me down from heaven and glory. And then I think also of the world of work before me. But the sufficient answer to all is, The Lord will provide.'

Mrs. Sarah Judson writes to Dr. Judson's mother:

'Maulmain, October 30, 1839.—MY DEAR MOTHER,—I have, during the past year, suffered deep anxiety and gloomy foreboding on account of my dear husband's health. But God has been, merciful beyond our fears, and so far restored him that he was able to preach last Lord's day, the first time for about ten months. His discourse was short, and he spoke low. I felt exceedingly anxious respecting his making the attempt, but he has experienced no ill effects from it as yet. How pleased you would have been to see the joy beaming from the countenances of the dear native Christians, as they saw their beloved and revered pastor once more take the desk! He applies himself very closely to study, though he is still far from well. He takes cold very easily, and still feels a slight uneasiness in the chest and left side. But he is so much better than he was, that I am comforted with the hope that he will soon be entirely restored to health. He is now revising the Scriptures for a second edition, quarto. They have already proceeded in printing as far as Psalms. He revises as they print, and often finds himself closely driven. But God gives him strength equal to his day.'

Extract from a letter of Mrs. Stevens:

'Maulmain, May 12, 1840.—We had a pleasant visit last evening from Mr. and Mrs. Judson. Mr. Judson feels sadly about the state of the church,—many of the young members falling into open sin, and the older ones cold and negligent of religious duties. He is desirous of doing something for its improvement, and has thought of several plans. He has framed a covenant of eight items, taken from the New Testament, which all must sign. The quarto Bible is now complete, a copy of which Mr. Judson intends to present to each head of a family, in rather a formal manner, carrying it himself to the house, and there solemnly enjoining its daily perusal, and the habit of morning and evening family worship, which has been much neglected by the church. He intends having henceforth three services for the natives on the Sabbath, which will probably supersede the brethren's prayer-meeting at Mr. Osgood's.'

'Maulmain, December 24, 1840.—MY DEAR GEORGE,—Your letter of 9th January gave us great pleasure, as it furnished proof of your proficiency in learning, and of your affectionate remembrance. Truly we remember you every day, especially in our prayers. Every morning we come around the family altar, your mother and myself, your sister Abby Ann, and your brothers Adoniram and Elnathan—Henry is too young to attend—and it is our earnest prayer that all our children may early become partakers of divine grace. I hope you will never neglect the duty of secret prayer. Never let a morning or evening pass without going into some room or place by yourself, and kneeling down and spending five or ten minutes at least in praying to God, in the name of Jesus Christ. Pray earnestly that you may have a new heart, and become a child of God, and that you may have satisfactory evidence that such is your happy state.

'You observe in your letter that you are sometimes disturbed by frightful dreams, and we hear in other ways that your health is rather delicate. I warmly recommend you to rise every morning between light and sunrise, and take a quick walk of a mile or more, to the top of some hill, if there be one in the vicinity that will suit your purpose; and in the winter, when you may not be able to walk, get some equivalent exercise in cutting wood or some other work. This is the course that, with some intermissions, I have pursued for thirty-five years; and to this, under God, I ascribe the good health and the long life I have enjoyed in this unpropitious climate.'

'December 25.—DEAR BROTHER CONE,—I send copies of the new edition of the Burmese Bible. The work was finished—that is, the revision and printing—on the 24th October last, and a happy day of relief and joy it was to me. I have bestowed more time and labour on the revision than on the first translation of the work, and more, perhaps, than is proportionate to the actual improvement made. Long and toilsome research among Biblical critics and commentators, especially the German, was frequently requisite to satisfy my mind that my first position was the right one. Considerable improvement, however, has been made, I trust, both in point of style and approximation to the real meaning of the original. But the beau ideal of translation, so far as it concerns the poetical and prophetical books of the Old Testament, I profess not to have attained. If I live many years, of which I have no expectation, I shall have to bestow much more labour upon those books. With the New Testament I am rather better satisfied; and the testimony of those acquainted with the language is rather encouraging. At least I hope that I have laid a good foundation for my successors to build upon.

'We are now about to shut up our printing-office, having a sufficient supply of books on hand, so long as Burmah is closed against missionary operations.'

Dr. Judson once remarked of himself, that one of his failings was 'a lust for finishing.' To this characteristic, which had kept him for so many years patiently sifting every word of his precious translation, and which made him feel, even now, that his beau ideal had not been reached, Burmah no doubt owes much of the completeness of her Bible. Speaking of this work, one who was well fitted to pronounce a judgment, says:

'To Dr. Judson it was granted, not only to found the spiritual Burman Church of Christ, but also to give it the entire Bible in its own vernacular, thus securing that Church's endurance and ultimate extension,—the instances being few or rare, of that word, after it has once struck root in any tongue, being ever wholly suppressed. We honour Wickliffe and Luther for their labours in their respective mother-tongues, but what meed of praise is due to Judson for a translation of the Bible, perfect as a literary work, in a language so foreign to him as the Burmese? The best judges pronounce it to be all that he aimed at making it, and also, what with him never was an object, an imperishable monument of the man's genius. We may venture to hazard the opinion that, as Luther's Bible is now in the hands of Protestant Germany, so, three centuries hence, Judson's Bible will be the Bible of the Christian churches of Burmah.'

'Prayer and pains, with the blessing of God, can accomplish anything,' said another missionary pioneer and translator. In a similar spirit, Dr. Judson once wrote: ' "Nothing is impossible to industry," said one of the seven sages of Greece. For industry, put persevering prayer, and the motto will be more Christian, and worthy of universal adoption.' No meaner motto, surely, could have sustained Dr. Judson through the twenty-seven long years which had elapsed since his first landing in Rangoon. Then, the two great objects set before him as his life-work had been the founding of a church, and the translating of the Scriptures. Now, both were attained, and still many years of useful life lay before him; and though with bodily frame somewhat worn, yet with spirit as youthful as ever, he could look round on the result of his labours, and, without a pause, again ask of his heavenly Master, 'What wouldst Thou have me to do?'

Looking round on the unrealized hopes and broken purposes which make up the lives of most men, we cannot help pausing to wonder at this rare instance of completeness, and desire fulfilled, even in this world. Yet, is not Judson's lot rare and marvellous only because so few set their hearts upon objects of high and holy ambition such as his, and fewer still have faith and patience to hold on to the end, and prove the promise fully, 'Delight thyself in the Lord, and He shall give thee the desires of thine heart?'

CHAPTER XII

BURMESE DICTIONARY—DOMESTIC SORROW

1841–1845

ALTHOUGH Dr. Judson had been obliged, in God's providence, to spend much of his life in the work of translation, he always regarded the direct preaching of the gospel as his chief and most honourable calling. When, for a few days or weeks, he could be spared from the desk, he turned with a sense of freedom and delight to his chosen fields, the jungle and the zayat. And it must have been a severe trial for him to find that, now when leisure was his, strength failed him to throw himself as fully as he would have liked into his much-loved work.

To fill up his spare time, he began a work which he had often before refused to undertake, and for which he had at first little spirit or love,—the compilation of a Burmese dictionary. To one of the friends who had urged him to this task he wrote:

'Maulmain, June 1, 1841.—I am ever and anon subject to some ailment, and every cold I take touches the sore place and breaks down my voice. I have begun to dabble at the dictionary, as you advised, for want of ability to do something better; but it is such a chaotic affair, and seems to me so unmissionary, that I am constantly hoping that something will turn up to relieve me from the work.'

Time in some measure reconciled him to the task, for in 1843 he writes:

'In May last year I commenced a dictionary of the language, a work which I had resolved and re-resolved never to touch. But it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps. The Board and my brethren repeatedly urged me to prepare a dictionary, the one printed in 1826 being exceedingly imperfect; and as Burmah continued shut against our labours, and there were several missionaries in this place, I concluded that I could not do better than to comply.

'We are apt to magnify the importance of any undertaking in which we are warmly engaged. Perhaps it is from the influence of that principle that, notwithstanding my long-cherished aversion to the work, I have come to think it very important; and that, having seen the accomplishment of two objects on which I set my heart when I first came out to the East,—the establishment of a church of converted natives, and the translation of the Bible into their language,—I now beguile my daily toil with the prospect of compassing a third, which may be compared to a causeway designed to facilitate the transmission of all knowledge, religious and scientific, from one people to the other.'

In 1841 Mrs. Judson and several of the children became dangerously ill, and Dr. Judson's missionary duties were often laid aside sometimes for watching by the sick,—and few could nurse so tenderly as he,—sometimes for mourning over the grave.

Dr. Judson's letters to his mother and sister contain the record of these family trials:—

'Serampore, July 24, 1841.—DEAR MOTHER AND SISTER,—We have suffered a great deal of sickness since I wrote you last in April. Wife was confined to her bed for a long time, and appeared to be in a decline. Abby Ann, Adoniram, and Henry became worse with chronic dysentery, until the two eldest were, at different times, considered past recovery. When they were very ill, no one could take care of them but me, so that I was up every hour of the night, and sometimes scarcely lay down the whole night. The doctors then ordered us to sea, as the only means of saving life; and all my brethren and friends were very urgent to have us go, though no one hardly hoped that we could all get on board ship alive. How I managed to break up house keeping, and pack up, and get my sick family and all the things aboard, I can hardly tell now it is past. But it was done somehow, and the children were stowed away in a range of berths I had made on one side of the cabin, and wife on the other, while I occupied a moveable cot between the parties. The motion of the vessel and the sea air soon had a good effect on all the invalids. I left off giving medicines, and they daily improved. We embarked on the 26th of June, and arrived before Culcutta the 11th of July. But as soon as we came within the influence of the hot climate of Bengal we began to relapse; and though we came up to this comparatively healthy place, and hired a nice dry house on the very bank of the river, at forty rupees a month, I soon began to despair of attaining any radical and permanent recovery by remaining here. While looking about and considering what to do next, a pious captain called on us, with whom we had some acquaintance at Maulmain, whose vessel was going to the Isle of France, and thence to Maulmain; and he made us such a kind proposal, that we thought we could go the circuitous voyage at no more expense than we had calculated it would cost to return direct. We should then have the benefit of being at sea two months or more, and a few weeks' residence at the Isle of France, the most healthy part of the East. We expect to break up once more and embark in the course of ten days. Thus we are tossed about when we would fain be at our work; but God orders all things for the best. I dread going to sea next month in the Bay of Bengal, it being a very dangerous month, but there seems to be no alternative.'

'August 1.—Wife went down to Calcutta for a few days to do a little business, leaving the two younger children with me. On the 27th dear little Henry's disorder took an unfavourable turn; and my only prayer was that he might not die before his mother arrived. Oh, what heavy hours now passed! She arrived with the other children in the night, about two o'clock, and sprang to the cradle of the little sufferer, and could not think that he was really in a dying state. I let her take her own way, and she contrived to give him a little wine and water, which, however, could be of no avail; and, when morning came, the marks of death on the countenance were too visible for even the unwilling mother to refuse to acknowledge. We spent the day hanging over our dying babe, and giving him some liquid, for which he was always calling, to relieve his burning thirst. When I said, "Henry, my son," he would raise his sinking eyelids, and try to stretch out his little arms for me to take him; but he could not bear to be held more than a moment before he would cry to be laid down again. Oh, how restlessly did he spend his last day! rolling from side to side, and crying out, "Nahnee," his imperfect pronunciation of naughty, by which term he was in the habit of expressing his disapprobation or dissatisfaction. In the afternoon he became convulsed for a few moments, and our hearts were rent to witness the distortion of his dear little mouth and face. After that he was more quiet; but towards evening he probably had some violent stroke of death, for he suddenly screamed out in great pain. In the evening he had another turn of convulsion. His mother lay down by his side, and, worn out with fatigue, fell fast asleep. About nine o'clock I had gone into another room, and was lying down, when a servant called me. He began to breathe loud, indicative of the closing scene. I let the mother sleep, sat down by his side, and presently called, as usual, "Henry, my son," upon which he opened his eyes and looked at me more intelligently and affectionately than he had done for some time. But the effort was too great, and he ceased to breathe. I awoke his mother; he then gave two or three gasps, and it was all over. Farewell, my darling son Henry! Thy little body rests in the grave; thy spirit, through the grace of Jesus Christ, is resting in paradise. We intend to have a small monument with this inscription: "The grave of Henry Judson, son of the Rev. A. Judson, of Maulmain, who died July 30, 1841, aged one year and seven months."

This time of sorrow was succeeded by a few years of comparative health and prosperity, during which the work went on quietly at Maulmain. The iron hand of intolerance still kept shut those parts of Burmah which Dr. Judson most longed to visit. The history of the Maulmain church is not so eventful in its steady progress as it was in its first struggle for existence; and Dr. Judson's dictionary labours furnish still fewer materials for incident. Two more babes were added to the family, one of them named after the little one lying in the Serampore churchyard. But Mrs. Judson's health, never fully established, again declined. In the spring of 1845 she took a trip to the coast, touching at Tavoy and Mergui, but returned weaker than when she set out.

To his little daughter Dr. Judson wrote:

'Maulmain, March 9, 1845.—MY DEAR DAUGHTER,—Your letters to me and your brothers, together with the shells from Mergui, arrived this afternoon in the Burmese box, which mamma sent by the steamer. The boys are delighted with the shells, and Henry has picked out some for his own; and they have agreed to give me for my share the large coral shell. They have already written some letters to you, and mamma, and Charlie, which I shall send by return of steamer; and perhaps they will add some more, as this is such a favourable opportunity. It is now between eight and nine o'clock in the evening. I have had a little meeting with Adoniram and Elnathan, and now they are asleep. Edward has become a fat little fellow; I am sure you would not know him again. He begins to look pleased when he is played with. But he has not yet made any inquiries about his absent mother and sister. Indeed, I doubt much whether he is aware that he has any such relatives; or if he ever exercises his mind on such abstruse topics, perhaps he fancies that black Ah-mah is his mother, since she nurses him, and does not know what a fair, beautiful, fond mother he has at Mergui, who thinks of him every day. However, when he gets larger, we will tell him all about these matters.

'I am getting the carpenters to make a new cot for you, longer than your old one. That I have given to Adoniram, and his to Elnathan. Both the kittens are dead, and the old yellow cat has been missing for several days. She was very thin, and apparently very ill, when we last saw her. So I suppose she crept away into some secret place, and laid down and died. Alas, poor pussy!

'I pray every day that somewhere during your travels with dear mamma you may receive a blessing from God, so that you will return a true Christian, and set such an example before your brothers as will induce them to try to follow your steps. Think of the dear Saviour every day, and frequently lift up your heart in fervent prayer to God that He will give you His converting, sanctifying grace, and make you His own child. Try to subdue every evil passion, and avoid all bad conduct. If you trust in the Saviour, and try to be good, He will make you good. In your daily deportment and intercourse with others, remember these two lines;

"Sweet in temper, face, and word,

To please an ever-present Lord." '

It was at last pronounced by Mrs. Judson's medical advisers that nothing but a voyage to a cold climate could prolong her life more than a few weeks, yet they held out hopes that such a voyage would ensure her complete recovery. Great as was his reluctance to leave his post in Burmah, Dr. Judson therefore prepared to accompany her to America.

He thus announced his resolution to the corresponding secretary of the Board:—

'I have long fought against the necessity of accompanying her, but she is now so desperately weak, and almost helpless, that it would be nothing but savage inhumanity to send her off alone. The three younger children, the youngest but three months and a half old, we must leave behind us, casting them, as it were, on the waters, in the hope of finding them after many days. The three elder, Abby Ann, Adoniram, and Elnathan, we take with us, to leave in their parents' native land. These rendings of parental ties are more severe, and wring out bitterer tears from the heart's core, than any can possibly conceive who have never felt the wrench. But I hope I can say with truth that I love Christ above all; and I am striving, in the strength of my weak faith, to gird up my mind to face and welcome all His appointments. And I am much helped to bear these trials by the advice and encouragement of all my dear brethren and sisters of the mission.

'It is another great trial to leave my dear church and people. I never knew till now how much I loved them, and how much they loved me.

"And 'tis to love our farewells owe

All their emphasis of woe."

'But I leave them in the hands of my dear brethren, and there are no persons in the world to whom I should be so willing to commit so dear a charge.

'Another great trial, less as it regards feeling than as it regards the anticipated result of long-protracted labour, is the interruption which the heavy work of the Burmese dictionary, in which I have been engaged for two or three years, must sustain; and such is the state of my manuscripts, that if I should die before this work is completed, or at least carried forward to a much more advanced stage, all my previous labour would be nearly or quite lost. But I am endeavouring to obviate this difficulty in some degree, by taking with me my two assistants in that department, whose hearts God has graciously inclined to leave their families and accompany me. They are both Christians,—the one a settled character, a convert of long standing, formerly a government writer in Rangoon; the other a nephew of the late premier of the court of Ava, a person of noble extraction, and, though not a tried Christian, I hope a sincere one. And it is my purpose to devote some hours every day, whether on the sea or land, to the work mentioned. I shall be induced to persevere in this purpose while in America, from the fact that I am unable to travel about the country as an agent, and preach in the English language. The course that I have uniformly pursued, ever since I became a missionary, has been rather peculiar. In order to become an acceptable and eloquent preacher in a foreign language, I deliberately abjured my own. When I crossed the river, I burned my ships. For thirty-two years I have scarcely entered an English pulpit, or made a speech in that language. Whether I have pursued the wisest course I will not contend, and how far I have attained the object aimed at I must leave for others to say. But whether right or wrong, the course I have taken cannot be retraced. The burned ships cannot now be reconstructed. From long desuetude, I can scarcely put three sentences together in the English language. I must therefore beg the Board to allow me a quiet corner, where I can pursue my work with my assistants undisturbed and unknown.

'My voice, though greatly recovered from the affection of the lungs, which laid me aside from preaching nearly a year, is still so weak that it can only fill a small room; and whenever I attempt to raise it above the conversational tone, the weak place gives way, and I am quite broken down again for several weeks. I hope, therefore, that no one will try to persuade me to be guilty of such imprudence while in America; but since there are thousands of preachers in English, and only five or six Burmese preachers in the whole world, I may be allowed to hoard up the remnant of my breath and lungs for the country where they are most needed.'

Another letter to the same gentleman tells of disappointed hopes, and death:

'Barque Sophia Walker, at Sea, September 1845.—The first part of the voyage was very rough. We suffered a good deal from sea-sickness, and my time was much occupied in taking care of Mrs. Judson. Having my assistants, however, I endeavoured to make some progress in my work, though under great disadvantages. During the second month, Mrs. Judson began to improve, and I had the most sanguine hopes of her recovery. After crossing the line, the ship sprung a leak, and the captain determined to put in at the Isle of France. Before reaching the island, Mrs. Judson became so decidedly convalescent that it appeared clearly to be my duty to return to Maulmain, and leave her to proceed alone. On our arrival, we found a vessel bound to Maulmain; and though I was unwilling to leave her until I should see her fairly on her way, I was so sure of returning myself, that I sent off the assistants by that vessel, and partially engaged my own passage in another, which would sail for Calcutta in two or three weeks.

'But all our plans were frustrated by an unforeseen event. Mrs. Judson experienced a dreadful relapse, which reduced her lower than ever before, and soon convinced me that it would be impossible for me to leave her; so that, though I bitterly regretted the loss of my assistants, I felt obliged, after having remained three weeks at Port Louis, to re-embark with her, and we finally sailed on the 25th of July. After a time she again appeared to be recovering, and in the cold weather off the Cape of Good Hope my hopes became again very sanguine. But she never really recovered from her last prostration, and, though sometimes better, continued on the whole to decline until we neared St. Helena, when I gave up all hope of her recovery. She lingered a few days, while the vessel was detained in port, until the 1st instant, when, at three o'clock in the morning, she obtained her release from further suffering, and entered, I trust, into the joy of her Lord. She was buried in the afternoon of the same day; and in the evening we were again at sea.'

In an obituary notice of Mrs. Sarah B. Judson the following interesting passages occur:—

'Like multitudes in the highly-favoured land of her nativity, the subject of this notice was blessed with early religious advantages, and in her youth became the subject of serious impressions. When about sixteen years of age, during a revival of religion in Salem, she entertained a hope, received baptism at the hands of her pastor, the Rev. Dr. Bolles, and became a member of his church. Her religious attainments, however, were not of a distinguished order; and though her amiable disposition, and her deep interest in missions, especially after her acquaintance with Mr. Boardman, gave her an elevated tone of character, she subsequently felt that at that period she hardly deserved the name of a sincere Christian. And it was not until she was called to part with her eldest child at Tavoy in 1829, and to pass through scenes of great danger and suffering during the Tavoy rebellion, that she was enabled to live a life of faith on the Son of God.

'She applied herself with great assiduity to the study of the Burmese language, in which, in conversation, prayer, and writing, she acquired an uncommon degree of correctness, fluency, and power. She was in the habit of conducting a prayer-meeting of the female members of the church every week, and also another meeting for the study of the Scriptures. Her acquaintance with and attachment to the Burmese Bible were rather extraordinary. She professed to take more pleasure and derive more profit from the perusal of that translation than from the English, and to enjoy preaching in the native chapel more than in any other. Her translation of the Pilgrim's Progress, part first, into Burmese, is one of the best pieces of composition which we have yet published. Her translation of Mr. Boardman's Dying Father's Advice has become one of our standard tracts; and her hymns in Burmese, about twenty in number, are probably the best in our chapel Hymn-Book,—a work which she was appointed by the mission to edit. Besides these works, she published four volumes of Scripture questions, which are in constant use in our Sabbath schools. The last work of her life, and one which she accomplished in the midst of overwhelming family cares, and under the pressure of declining health, was a series of Sunday cards, each accompanied with a short hymn adapted to the leading subject of the card.

'She had, in past years, when there was no missionary in the Peguan department, acquired a competent knowledge of that language, and translated, or superintended the translation of, the New Testament and the principal Burmese tracts into Peguan. But when a missionary was appointed to that department, she transferred her work to him, and gladly confined herself to the Burmese.

'Something also might be said with regard to her labours in the Karen wilderness east of Tavoy, especially during the years of her widowhood, when she made toilsome journeys among the mountains, sometimes amid drenching rains, and always with many privations, and where, notwithstanding that she was wholly opposed to the principle of females acting the part of ministers, she was frequently obliged to conduct worship in the Karen assemblies.

'After her prostration at the Isle of France, where we spent three weeks, there remained but little expectation of her recovery. Her hope had long been fixed on the Rock of Ages, and she had been in the habit of contemplating death as neither distant nor undesirable. As it drew near she remained perfectly tranquil. No shade of doubt, or fear, or anxiety, ever passed over her mind. She had a prevailing preference to depart and be with Christ. "I am longing to depart," and "What can I want beside?" quoting the language of a familiar hymn, were the expressions which revealed the spiritual peace and joy of her mind; yet at times the thought of her native land to which she was approaching, after an absence of twenty years, and a longing desire to see once more her son George, her parents, and the friends of her youth, drew down her ascending soul, and constrained her to say, "I am in a strait betwixt two: let the will of God be done."

'In regard to her children she ever manifested the most surprising composure and resignation, so much so that I was once induced to say, "You seem to have forgotten the little ones we have left behind!" "Can a mother forget?" she replied, and was unable to proceed. During her last days she spent much time in praying for the early conversion of her children. May her living and her dying prayers draw down the blessing of God on their bereaved heads!

'On our passage homeward, as the strength of Mrs. Judson gradually declined, I expected to be under the painful necessity of burying her in the sea. But it was so ordered by Divine Providence that, when the indications of approaching death had become strongly marked, the ship came to anchor in the port of St. Helena. For three days she continued to sink rapidly, though her bodily sufferings were not very severe. Her mind became liable to wander, but a single word was sufficient to recall and steady her recollection. On the evening of the 31st of August she appeared to be drawing near to the end of her pilgrimage. The children took leave of her, and retired to rest. I sat alone by the side of her bed during the hours of the night, endeavouring to administer relief to the distressed body, and consolation to the departing soul. At two o'clock in the morning, wishing to obtain one more token of recognition, I roused her attention, and said, "Do you still love the Saviour?" "Oh yes," she replied, "I ever love the Lord Jesus Christ." I said again, "Do you still love me?" She replied in the affirmative by a peculiar expression of her own. "Then give me one more kiss;" and we exchanged that token of love for the last time. Another hour passed, life continued to recede, and she ceased to breathe. For a moment I traced her upward flight, and thought of the wonders which were opening to her view. I then closed her sightless eyes, dressed her, for the last time, in the drapery of death, and, being quite exhausted with many sleepless nights, I threw myself down and slept. On awaking in the morning, I saw the children standing and weeping around the body of their dear mother, then, for the first time, inattentive to their cries. In the course of the day, a coffin was procured from the shore, in which I placed all that remained of her whom I had so much loved; and after a prayer had been offered by a dear brother minister from the town, the Rev. Mr. Bertram, we proceeded in boats to the shore. There we were met by the colonial chaplain, and accompanied to the burial-ground by the adherents and friends of Mr. Bertram, and a large concourse of the inhabitants. They had prepared the grave in a beautiful, shady spot, contiguous to the grave of Mrs. Chater, a missionary from Ceylon, who had died in similar circumstances on her passage home. There I saw her safely deposited, and in the language of prayer, which we had often presented together at the throne of grace, I blessed God that her body had attained the repose of the grave, and her spirit the repose of paradise. After the funeral, the dear friends of Mr. Bertram took me to their houses and their hearts, and their conversation and prayers afforded me unexpected relief and consolation. But I was obliged to hasten on board ship, and we immediately went to sea. On the following morning no vestige of the island was discernible in the distant horizon. For a few days, in the solitude of my cabin, with my poor children crying around me, I could not help abandoning myself to heart-breaking sorrow. But the promises of the gospel came to my aid, and faith stretched her view to the bright world of eternal life, and anticipated a happy meeting with those beloved beings whose bodies are mouldering at Amherst and St. Helena.

'I exceedingly regret that there is no portrait of the second, as of the first Mrs. Judson. Her soft blue eye, her mild aspect, her lovely face and elegant form, have never been delineated on canvas. They must soon pass away from the memory even of her children, but they will remain for ever enshrined in her husband's heart.'

To the editor of the Mother's Journal Dr. Judson wrote as follows:

'I send you the accompanying lines by my late beloved wife, written on board ship near the Isle of France, when she was so decidedly convalescent that it appeared to be my duty to return to Maulmain, and leave her to prosecute the voyage alone. After we arrived, however, at the island, she became worse, and I was obliged to relinquish my first purpose. She continued to decline until we reached St. Helena, when she took her departure, not for the "setting sun," but the Sun of glory that never sets, and left me to pursue a different course, and under very different circumstances from those anticipated in the lines:—

'We part on this green islet, love,—

Thou for the Eastern main,

I for the setting sun, love,—

Oh, when to meet again?

'My heart is sad for thee, love,

For lone thy way will be;

And oft thy tears will fall, love,

For thy children and for me.

'The music of thy daughter's voice

Thou'lt miss for many a year,

And the merry shout of thine elder boys

Thou'lt list in vain to hear.

'When we knelt to see our Henry die,

And heard his last faint moan,

Each wiped the tear from other's eye,—

Now each must weep alone.

'My tears fall fast for thee, love,

How can I say, Farewell!

But go, thy God be with thee, love,

Thy heart's deep grief to quell.

'Yet my spirit clings to thine, love,—

Thy soul remains with me;

And oft we'll hold communion sweet

O'er the dark and distant sea.

'And who can paint our mutual joy,

When, all our wanderings o'er,

We both shall clasp our infants three

At home, on Burmah's shore!

'But higher shall our raptures glow,

On yon celestial plain,

When the loved and parted here below

Meet, ne'er to part again.

'Then gird thine armour on, love,

Nor faint thou by the way,

Till Boodh shall fall, and Burmah's sons

Shall own Messiah's sway.

'And so, God willing, I will endeavour yet to do; and while her prostrate form finds repose on the rock of the ocean, and her sanctified spirit enjoys sweeter repose on the bosom of Jesus, let me continue to toil on, all my appointed time, until my change, too, shall come.'

CHAPTER XIII

VISIT TO AMERICA—LABOURS AT RANGOON AND MAULMAIN

1845–1849

IN October 1845, Dr. Judson landed on his native shores, after an absence of nearly thirty-four years. During that time, father, mother, all of his family except one sister, had passed away; and, among the thousand voices that were ready to welcome him, he could discern few that had bid him God-speed on his errand, long ago. But while changes such as these must have saddened him, other and better changes had passed over America since he left it. The apathy towards missions, which he and his comrades had been among the first to break, had given place to a warm enthusiasm; and he who went forth a wild adventurer in the eyes even of many Christian people, returned honoured and loved by all the Churches, as a labourer who needed not to be ashamed.

Personally, the enthusiastic reception which he received was more a surprise than a pleasure to him. Any amount of fervour for the cause he could sympathize with, but the flame of admiration which burst forth toward the poor human instrument he could not understand. So little did he suspect, before landing at Boston, that his name had become a household word, and that hundreds of hearts and homes were open to him, that he was troubled with concern as to where he should find a lodging. And when he found crowds eager to look into his face, and to catch a word from his lips, he was simply amazed. He seemed to himself to have done nothing remarkable,—nothing beyond what any missionary to whom God had granted his term of life and health would have done. The work had been laid upon him; he dared not have done otherwise; and most unfeignedly he could say, 'We are all unprofitable servants, we have done that which was our duty to do.' Hence all the praises showered upon him only sent him in deeper self-abasement to the foot of the cross. Ambition, which once had been one of the most prominent features of his character, seemed to have been utterly quenched in the love of God. The heartfelt humility of the man of God forms a strange contrast to the day-dreams of the aspiring and self-confident boy, whose visions of some future pinnacle of fame were only spoilt by the intrusion of the bitter words, 'Not unto us, but unto Thy name be the glory,'—words not now jarring or grievous, but the glad and habitual utterance of his inmost heart.

Public speaking, of late years always trying to Dr. Judson, was rendered even more so by the unaccustomed cold of the climate, and his heart-stirring addresses were often delivered through the medium of a friend, who either read from his MS., or repeated his sentences as they fell, almost in a whisper, from his lips. He spent only nine months in America. A longer stay might have confirmed his health, but he could not rest away from his life's work.

The way in which he met Miss Emily Chubbuck, whom he married before leaving the country, was rather singular. He was anxious to find a suitable biographer to undertake a memoir of his late wife. One day, during a tedious railway detention, a friend put into his hand a little book of tales, written by a young lady, who, under the assumed name of 'Fanny Forester,' was fast becoming famous in the literary circles of America. But the story is best told in the words of Mrs. E. Judson's biographer:

'He hesitatingly took it, the title not promising a work specially to his taste, but soon found his attention riveted by the grace of the style, and the truth and sprightliness of the narrative. He inquired who was the author of the book, adding that it was written with great beauty and power. He asked if the lady was a Christian, and being informed that she was, said, "I should be glad to know her. A lady who writes so well ought to write better. It is a pity that such fine talents should be employed upon such subjects." Mr. Gillette replied that he would soon be able to make her acquaintance, as she was then an inmate of his own house. Arriving at Philadelphia, he was next day introduced to Miss Emily Chubbuck. He seated himself on the sofa beside her, saying that he wished to talk with her. She replied, half playfully, that she should be delighted and honoured by having him talk to her. With characteristic impetuosity, he immediately inquired how she could reconcile it with her conscience to employ talents so noble in a species of writings so little useful or spiritual as the sketches which he had read. Emily's heart melted. She replied with seriousness and candour, and explained the circumstances which had drawn her into this field of authorship. Indigent parents, largely dependent on her efforts, years of laborious teaching, books published with but little profit, had driven her to still new and untried paths, in which at last success unexpectedly opened upon her. Making this employment purely secondary, and carefully avoiding anything of doubtful tendency, she could not regard her course as open to serious strictures. It was now Dr. Judson's turn to be softened. He admitted the force of her reasons, and that even his own strict standard could not severely censure the direction given to filial love. He opened another subject. He wished to secure a person to prepare a memoir of his recently deceased wife, and it was partly, in fact, with this purpose that he had sought Emily's acquaintance. She entertained the proposition, and the discussion of this matter naturally threw them much together during the ensuing few days. They became mutually interested. Dr. Judson discovered in her not only rare intellectual powers, but a warm heart, an enthusiastic and richly endowed nature, that throbbed in sympathetic unison with his own. That she was not in the exercise of that living piety, those high spiritual graces so essential in the missionary, and scarcely less in the missionary's wife, he saw with pain; but detecting in her experiences the undoubted germs of genuine faith, he soon conceived the idea of her not only writing the life, but taking the place, of the sainted deceased. Having reached this conclusion, he pressed the subject upon her with all the energy of his impassioned and most truthful character. He painted to her the glories and the deformities of the Orient,—its moral desert in a wilderness of luxuriant beauty. He set forth the toils and privations of the missionary's lot, and over against this the privilege of being a reaper in the great moral harvest of the world; the blessedness of those who turn many to righteousness; the glory of that coming world, whence faith already draws many a presaging token of bliss.

'Dr. Judson was now fifty-seven. But one needed only to look into his dark eye, beaming with benignity and flashing with intelligence, and to listen to him when, in his moments of unreserve, he poured forth the exuberance of his joyous spirit, to see that age had passed lightly over him, and that the dew of youth was yet fresh upon his soul. That Dr. Judson, at this age, could love with the ardour, and almost with the romance of a first affection, instead of being just matter of scepticism or reproach, is in fact a beautiful tribute alike to the native largeness of his soul, and to the power of that piety which keeps the heart green and youthful.'

The following extracts are from Dr. Judson's correspondence with Miss Chubbuck:—

'Washington, January 25, 1846.—MY DEAREST LOVE,—Since closing my last, I have attended an evening meeting, and had a most interesting time. All passed off well, except that the most appalling praises were poured out on me, so that I felt obliged to get up and disclaim the praise, confess my sins, and beg the people to join me in praying for pardon. But they will not understand me; they will take everything the wrong way, and I cannot help it. As to you, I am afraid you will find me out too soon, and understand me too well. And perhaps you will go to the other extreme, as is frequently the case; and—though it would be no more than just retribution—how could I bear to see your scanty sources of happiness in distant Burmah so grievously curtailed? I can only promise to try to alleviate your disappointment by being as kind to you as my poor nature will permit. But I beg you will endeavour to rest your happiness on a better foundation than my love. There is, you know, One that loves you infinitely more than I do. His love is unchanging and endless; for with Him is no variableness nor shadow of turning. When He has once set His love upon a soul, He will ever draw that soul to Himself. Have you not found this to be true from the day you first loved the Saviour, though your love may have been low and dim, and subject to occasional fluctuations and eclipses? Yet have you not found that the magnetic influence would never leave you, and that you can truly say,

' "As, true to the star of its worship, though clouded,

The compass points steadily o'er the dim sea,

So, dark as I rove through this wintry world shrouded,

The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee,—

True, fond, trembling to Thee?"

'… I have been praying for every blessing to rest on you that I think you need; especially that your mind may be gradually drawn from everything that is dubious, or barely good, to the better and the best; and that, in pursuing "the more excellent way," you may not be repelled or deterred by the company you may occasionally meet on that way. Christ went about doing good. May it be our glory to imitate His example; and in order to this, we must do good to the evil and the unthankful. Herein is true glory, as the light of eternity will show.—Thine ever,

A. JUDSON.'

'Boston, April 7, 1846.—I have just been having a good cry here alone, in Mr. Colby's chamber, about my poor dear children. I left the two boys yesterday, crying as they set off in the cars for Worcester. Abby Ann I took on to Bradford, and this morning I left her, crying, at the Hasseltines'. And thoughts of the children bear my mind to their departed mother, and I review the scenes on board the Sophia Walker and at St. Helena. And then I stretch away to my two little forsaken orphans in Burmah; and then I turn to you, whom I love not less, though but a recent acquaintance. What a strange thing is the human heart! Oh, if all our severe trials and our sweet enjoyments are but sanctified to us, it will be well!'

Christian society was a good deal surprised at Dr. Judson's choice; worldly society wondered equally at that of Miss Chubbuck. But the sensitive, lively, gifted 'Fanny Forester' made a good and true missionary's wife. Her early aspirations after a missionary life had been overlaid, not quenched; and she entered bravely and joyfully on a path which in many respects was a dark one, yet lighted up by love to her husband, and deeper love to her Saviour.

A year afterwards, when quite alone with Dr. Judson in Rangoon, she says of him, 'I never met with any man who could talk so well, day after day, on every subject,—religious, literary, scientific, political, and—nice baby-talk. He has a mind which seems exhaustless; and so, even here in Rangoon, where all the English I hear from week's end to week's end is from him, I never think of wanting more society.'

Remarking the rare versatility of Dr. Judson's nature, which comes out more than ever at this period of his life, we cannot forbear quoting again from Professor Kendrick's biography:—

'The world will never appreciate, until the revelations of the judgment, the sacrifices of this remarkable man. What a wealth of endowments and susceptibilities, what exquisite tenderness, what exuberant vivacity and humour, what capabilities and aspirations after every form of worldly excellence, he cheerfully offered upon the altar of the world's evangelization! Not that his case is peculiar, except in degree. The intellectually halt, and blind, and feeble, have not been the Church's chief sacrifices at the shrine of missionary zeal. Those who have led the van in the assaults on the gigantic systems of paganism have been generally fully as rich in all the elements of culture, fully as susceptible to the refinements and comforts on which they turned their backs, as those who have stayed at home.'

Dr. and Mrs. Judson left America in July 1846. On the 28th of November they anchored off Amherst. On this occasion, Mrs. Judson tells: 'We were scarcely anchored this morning, when a boat of six or seven men came bounding toward us, who, by the fluttering of gay silks, and the display of showy jackets and turbans, were judged to be something above mere boatmen. As they drew near, one of our number, who had been for some time silently watching them from the side of the vessel, leaned far over for a moment, gazing at them intently, and then sent forth a glad, wild hail. In a moment the glancing of oars ceased, a half-dozen men sprang to their feet, to the imminent peril of the odd nut-shell in which they floated, and a wilder, longer, and if possible more joyous cry, showed that the voice of the salutation was recognised. C—— beckoned me to his side. "They are our Amherst friends," he said: "The dear, faithful fellows!" And these were some of the Christians of Burmah!'

A few hours brought them to Maulmain, where two little boys were all that remained of Dr. Judson's former household there. One little one had been taken away during his absence. To his elder sons in America he writes from Maulmain:

'December 20.—I can hardly realize that I am sitting in the old house, where we all lived together so long; and now your mamma, yourselves, your sister Abby Ann, and little Charlie, are gone. It is now evening. I am writing in the hall where I used to sit and study when your mamma had gone down the coast. Your new mamma has just put your little brothers, Henry and Edward, to bed. They lie in the room where you used to sleep before you removed to the corner room. Henry is singing and talking aloud to himself; and what do you think he is saying? Your new mamma has just called me to listen. "My own mamma went away, away in a boat. And then she got wings and went up. And Charlie, too, went up, and they are flying above the moon and the stars." I preach in the chapel, as I used to do, but have not yet begun to work at the dictionary; for we have been very busy seeing company and getting our house and things in order. Everything looks as it used to when you were here. My dear boys, I don't know when I shall see you again. If I ever should, you will not be the dear little fellows I left at Worcester. But I hope that, as you grow larger, and change the features that are now so deeply engraven on my heart, you will also grow wiser and better, and become more worthy of my fondest love. That you will give your hearts to the Saviour is my most earnest desire. Love your dear uncle and aunt Newton. Mind all they say, and ever try to please them. I enclose a hymn that I found with Elnathan's name upon it.'

To his sister he wrote:

'January 1, 1847.—Edward, my youngest, is just now sitting in a little chair to keep him still. He is just two years old.… A day or two ago I went out to the graveyard, and erected the gravestones that I procured in Boston, in memory of poor little Charlie,—the last act of duty and kindness that I can ever do for him.

'Emily loves the children as if they were her own. We should be very happy here, but the interests of the mission seem to require that we should remove to Rangoon, and endeavour to gain some footing in Burmah proper. We are now making arrangements for such a removal, and expect to leave this before long. It seems to me harder to leave Maulmain for Rangoon, than to leave Boston for Maulmain. But here there are several missionaries, not one there; and doubtless there are some inquiring souls who need a missionary to take them by the hand and guide them into the paths of truth and salvation. How long we shall be tolerated there, under a despotic government, we know not; but we desire to commit our future destiny into the hands of our heavenly Father, with full confidence that He will order all things well.'

The church at Maulmain was at this time in a very prosperous state. But Dr. Judson could not forget the millions of Burmah proper, where for long no missionary had obtained a footing. He therefore resolved once more to make an attempt on Rangoon. Circumstances were not encouraging, for jealousy of British influence had made the government more intolerant than ever; but he hoped that, while quietly prosecuting his dictionary work, he might be able to rescue a few of the perishing souls around.

Having made the best arrangements he could for the comfort of his family, he brought them to Rangoon in February 1847. These arrangements were uncomfortable enough; for while Maulmain enjoyed all the benefits of English civilisation, Rangoon was as barbarous as of old. The conveniences of their new home—a large, dilapidated Moslem house—may be guessed from the following amusing scraps, the first from a letter of Dr. Judson's, the second from the still more lively pen of his wife:—

'Rangoon, March 2.—We have had a grand bat hunt yesterday and to-day,—bagged two hundred and fifty, and calculate to make up a round thousand before we have done. We find that, in hiring the upper storey of this den, we secured the lower moiety only, the upper moiety thereof being preoccupied by a thriving colony of vagabonds, who flare up through the night with a vengeance; and the sound of their wings is as the sound of many waters, yea, as the sound of your boasted Yankee Niagara, so that sleep departs from our eyes, and slumber from our eyelids. But we are reading them some lessons which we hope will be profitable to all parties concerned.'

'Bat Castle, Rangoon, March 15,1847.—DEAR KITTY,—I write to you from walls as massive as any you read of in old stories, and a great deal uglier,—the very eyeball and heart-core of an old white-bearded Mussulman. Think of me in an immense brick house, with rooms as large as the entire "loggery," and only one small window apiece! When I speak of windows, do not think I make any allusion to glass—of course not. The windows (holes) are closed by means of heavy board or plank shutters, tinned over on the outside, as a preventive of fire. The bamboo houses of the natives here are like flax or tinder; and the foreigners, who have more than the one cloth which Burmans wrap about the body, and the mat they sleep on, dare live in nothing but brick. Imagine us, then, on the second floor of this immense den, with nine rooms at our command, the smallest of which (bathing-room and a kind of pantry) are, I think, quite as large as your dining-room, and the rest very much larger. Part of the floors are of brick, and part of boards; but old "Green Turban" whitewashed them all, with the walls, before we came, because the doctor told him, when he was over here, that he must "make the house shine for madam." He did make it shine with a vengeance, between whitewashing and greasing. They oil furniture in this country as Americans do mahogany; but all his doors and other wood-work were fairly dripping, and we have not got rid of the smell yet, nor, with all our rubbing, is it quite safe to hold too long on the door. The partitions are all of brick, and very thick; and the door-sills are built up, so that I go over them at three or four steps; Henry mounts, and falls off; and Edward gets on all-fours, and accomplishes the pass with more safety. The floor overhead is quite low, and the beams, which are frequent, afford shelter to thousands and thousands of bats, that disturb us in the day-time only by a little cricket-like music, but in the night—oh, if you could only hear them carouse!' …

In addition to all these discomforts, they heard that a fire had destroyed their most valuable goods, which for safety they had left at Maulmain, expecting to draw supplies as they required them. In spite of difficulties, alarms, and privations of many kinds, Dr. Judson persevered hopefully for seven months, cherishing all the time the further project of being able to penetrate to Ava.

Mrs. Judson gives the following account of this last effort of Dr. Judson's to reach the heart of Burmah, and its sorrowful abandonment, when news reached him that funds were wanting to meet the expenses of the proposed expedition:—

'When we arrived at Maulmain, we found quite a little missionary coterie gathered there, and every department well filled. An overland letter from the Board awaited us, with permission to go to Rangoon; and so we went. Dr. Judson seemed to think that he was under no obligation to ask of any human government permission to preach the gospel of Christ, having probably changed his mind after his first visit to Ava; but, as a matter of courtesy, and to invite protection as a resident, he did ask permission to take a house and bring his family. The matter of the dictionary was also mentioned, and received with great respect; but the propriety of his ministering to the religious wants of foreigners settled in Rangoon was rather tenaciously insisted on by the governor.… It was perfectly understood by the lookers-on that the foreign teacher would be protected in his character of scholar and foreign priest, but that, if he attempted the conversion of Burmans to his religion, he at once became lawful prey. He had scarcely expected more. He had known the kind governor, however, in years gone by; and there was something in the friendly glance of the old man's eye which promised as much as, in the precarious state of his own affairs, could reasonably be expected.

'The first business of my husband on arriving in Rangoon was to collect the Christians together; but so scattered was the little flock, and so doubtful their state, that he was obliged to re-organize the church, commencing with about a dozen members. For a time everything went prosperously with us. Frequent meetings were held at our house, and regular worship on the Sabbath. Gradually the congregation enlarged to twenty, to thirty, and still upward, until it attracted the attention of government. It must not be supposed that these men were so imprudent as to come in of a morning, or leave the house after worship, in a company. They came at all hours between daylight and ten o'clock, and dispersed as gradually. Some brought parcels, some dishes of fruit, some came with their robes tucked up like coolies, and some, scorning concealment, or believing it unavailing, appeared in their usual dress, as though on a matter-of-course visit to the foreigner. When they were assembled, the outer door was barred, and it was with great difficulty that any one could gain admittance afterwards. Dr. Judson sometimes smiled at these precautions; but he considered that this was the first time since the war that any missionary had been stationed in Burmah without the protection of an English resident at Ava, and was assured that there never had been a time of such intolerance throughout the land as under the new king. Meantime the Karens had been apprised of our arrival, and they came down from the jungle in parties of three, four, or half-a-dozen, remaining at our house till one of the Burmese assistants could procure them passports thence to Maulmain. All this coming and going attracted attention to our house, and would have done so much earlier, but that it chanced to be in a Mussulman street.

'One Saturday morning we were startled by some private intimations that the bloody Ray-woon, as one of the vice-governors was called, had his eye on us; and a little before evening the hints were fully confirmed. We learned that a police guard had been stationed in the vicinity of our house, with orders to seize every native, not known to be a servant of the house, seen coming out of it. We inferred that their policy was not to disturb us at present, but the blow was first to fall on the poor Christians. Several Karens were stopping with us, and, in addition to our usual company of worshippers, quite a number of invited friends and strangers had promised to be with us on the next day. The church had been making individual efforts to enlarge the congregation. I shall never forget the expression of my husband's face, as though really piercing to the invisible, when he exclaimed, "I tell you, if we had but the power to see them, the air above us is thick with contending spirits—the good and the bad—striving for the mastery. I know where final victory lies, but the struggle may be a long one." There was not much time for talking, however. He communicated the state of things, as far as he thought expedient, to his two native assistants, and sent them out to warn the nearer worshippers. In this great caution was necessary, in order to prevent a panic; and I suppose that the Rangoon Christians have never, to this day, known the extent of their danger. As the assistants, by an especial arrangement, did not return till after our landlord's hour for closing the gate, Dr. Judson, with some difficulty, got the key into his own possession; and so, in the first grey of morning, the Karens were guided out of town, and advised to return to the jungle. The last place to which the assistants carried their warning, on Sunday morning, was a little village five miles from Rangoon, where they remained till towards evening. Dr. Judson was afraid of compromising the Christians by going to any of their houses that day; but he had advised them, through the assistants, how to hold worship, and we knew of several places where little knots of men and women were gathered for prayer.

'These demonstrations on the part of government were followed up by a series of petty annoyances and insults, which precluded the possibility of accomplishing much good. The governor was friendly, but weak and cowardly; and we soon found that his protection was really worthless, except as he could hold the petty officers in awe. The bloody Ray-woon laughed at his authority, and once actually assembled the troops against him, when the poor governor yielded. Both Christians and inquirers, however, still came to us in private; and many a man, who refused to take even a book from the teacher's hands, would watch his opportunity, when going out, to snatch one from a box placed near the door for that purpose, and hide it in his dress, congratulating himself, no doubt, that he was unsuspected even by us.

'In the meantime the rainy season set in; and it proved a season of unusual sickliness, even for that sickly place. To add still more to the uncomfortableness of our situation, the season for the Boodhistic Lent, which continues several months, came round; and, probably for the first time in fifty years, foreigners were so far compelled to observe it as to abstain from eating flesh or fowl. If we had known of the prohibition in season, we could have been prepared; but it took us quite by surprise. A few fish were exhibited in the bazaar; but it was so disreputable to trade even in these, that they could scarcely be found, except in a half-putrid state. The only baker in town left soon after our arrival; and we were forced to live almost exclusively on boiled rice and fruits. To the former I unfortunately took an unconquerable disgust; and the latter proved unwholesome to all of us. One child was seized with erysipelas, the other with a complication of diseases, brought on, as we supposed, by the meagre diet and exposure to the damp winds; and Dr. Judson himself had a most violent attack of dysentery, which kept him from his study-table six weeks. For myself, my appetite had failed in proportion to the means of gratifying it; so, without being ill, I was so reduced in strength, as often, in walking across the room, to fall, or rather slide, down on the floor, not from faintness, but sheer physical weakness. One of the assistants also took the fever; and the nurse I brought from Maulmain, the only woman besides myself in the household, became seriously ill. Of course we had no medical adviser; and if we had desired it ever so much, we could not get away, as the monsoon was now at its height, and the small native vessels in the harbour were not only without accommodation for invalids, but too frail to be trusted with the freight of human lives.

'With all the rest, the police regulations of the city were in the worst condition possible, and nightly robberies were taking place all over the city, often in our immediate vicinity. We learned afterwards that the captains of the band were the Ray-woon and a nephew of the governor, and that the old governor himself winked at the wickedness,—facts of which we were happily ignorant at the time. Dr. Judson, when he could keep down his groans, used to speak of our position as "the Pass of Splugen," and say he had no doubt we should find sunny vales and fruited vineyards the other side. The government was certainly very bad, and our prospects at the best misty; yet as soon as his health and the children's began to amend, our courage revived. We could not bear, now we had gone so far, and been through so much, to think of retreating without an effort to get to Ava. Dr. Judson said it was scarcely possible for us to encounter the complication of troubles that we had already passed through in Rangoon. Ava, he said, was always better governed than Rangoon. He had a friend at court, a Burman of rank, who loved him, and was exerting himself to the utmost to gain respect for the "wise man," and to explain that Americans were not Englishmen. The plan of going to Ava really seemed, on the whole, feasible. Lent was not yet over; but what with boxes of biscuit from Maulmain, bribing a Mussulman—a rascally fellow, who afterwards came and robbed us of our dearly bought treasure—to obtain fowls for us secretly, and the improved health of some of us, we began to be quite valorous. As Dr. Judson expressed it, "our faces began to shine." Indeed, we had not been very desponding any of the time. Never, except during an occasional hour when his illness was most alarming, did his courage falter. It was delightful to be so directly in the hands of God. Then, we had not expected much when we left Maulmain. The church in Rangoon had been aroused, a few baptisms had taken place, and several more hopeful conversions; and the way to Ava, if not the golden city itself, was open before us.

The letter from Maulmain, with no appropriation for our contemplated expedition, and giving us only twenty rupees to cover the eighty-six rupees we were even then monthly expending, came upon us like a sudden tornado in a sunny day. Oddly enough, it had not once occurred to us that the money could be wanting. To my husband there was additional bitterness in the manner of his disappointment, and in the hands from which it came. "I thought they loved me," he would say mournfully, "and they would scarcely have known it if I had died." "All through our troubles I was comforted with the thought that my brethren in Maulmain and in America were praying for us, and they have never once thought of us." He would talk hopelessly of the impulsive nature of the home movements, and then pray, in a voice of agony, that these sins of the children of God might not be visited on the heathen. This was an unnatural state of excitement,—for him peculiarly unnatural,—and he was not long in recovering from it. He very soon began to devise apologies for everybody, and said we must remember that so far as we were concerned, or the missionary cause itself, God had done this thing, and done it, as He always does, for good. It was not His will that we should go to Ava then, and we had no right to complain of the means He made use of to prevent it. He insisted, too, that our obedience was not to be yielded grudgingly; that it must be a cheerful acquiescence in all that God had done, and a sincere, careful study of the indications of His providence afterwards, without any suspicion that our ways were hedged by anything harder or thornier than His love and mercy. By the time he had an opportunity to send letters to Maulmain and Boston, his mind was restored to its usual serenity.'

'If I were sitting by you I could give you some personal experience,' writes Mrs. Judson again. 'I would tell you of a time when we were hungry for want of palatable food, etc … But my first real missionary trial was when, amidst sufferings such as I have described, a letter came telling of retrenchments. Schools, with the life already pressed out of them, must be cramped still more; assistants must be cut off; the workmen's hands must be tied a little tighter; and then, if they could succeed in making bricks without straw, the churches at home were ready to rejoice in their success. This intelligence of course reared a wall directly across our own path; for how could we carry out our plan of going to Ava while we lacked even the means of remaining where we were? There was nothing left us but to retrace our steps; so we came back to good, comfortable, pleasant Maulmain, making a decided gain in the Egyptian "leek and onion." line. I think if some of our rich American Baptists could occupy our point of vision for a little while, it would plant a most salutary thorn in their consciences.'

Dr. Judson never ceased to cherish the hope that, through British instrumentality, Burmah would ere long be opened to missionary effort. So eagerly did he watch for the first tokens of such an opening, that he never after this time allowed himself to be entangled in regular pastoral work at Maulmain, but kept himself in readiness to move the moment the signal should come. Mrs. Judson says: 'He regarded his residence in Maulmain as a mere temporary arrangement, and said his future prospects looked to him as Abraham's must have appeared, when he went out, not knowing whither he went. But expressions like the following were constantly dropping from his lips: "We must look up for direction." "If we only please Christ, no matter for the rest." "If God has a work for us to do, He will arrange all the little particulars." The way he learned the will of God was prayerfully to look for the manifestations of it, not in any wonderful way, but as an affectionate child almost intuitively knows what will please a parent'

The opening Dr. Judson longed for never came in his lifetime. Two years passed away at Maulmain,—years, though chequered with trials and anxiety, yet perhaps among the serenest and happiest of Dr. Judson's whole life. His peace with God, flowing in, fuller and fuller to the end, seemed to increase his natural power of intense enjoyment, both in the greater blessings which satisfied his Christian and missionary desires, and in every little flower which blossomed in his path. To his daughter he wrote: 'November 26, 1848.—We are a deliciously happy family; but we think much of the three dear absent ones; and my tears frequently fall for your dear, dear mother in her lone bed at St. Helena. And any time I enter the burial-place here, I see the white gravestone of poor little black-eyed Charlie. He is happy now with his mother. If you should die, would you go there too? Oh that I could hear of your and your brother's conversion! You can never know how much I want to see you, how much I think of you, how much I pray for you,—always when I pray for myself. Oh, my dear daughter! my motherless daughter! meet me at the throne of grace; meet me in the bosom of Jesus; and we shall live in His blessed presence on high, together with your dear mother, lost to us for a time, but not for ever, whose spirit ever watches over you, and will rejoice with joy yet unfelt, when you turn to the Saviour and give your heart to Him.—Your longing, hoping father, A. JUDSON.'

'December 18.—MY VERY DEAR FRIENDS,—Have I written you since the birth of little Emily Frances? The little thing will be one year old on the 24th instant. She is a great pet of her brothers, Henry and Edward; and her mother has taken to the two boys as if they were her own; so that we are a very happy family,—not a happier, I am sure, on the broad earth. For a few months we have been occupying the same house that my late family occupied. I have the same church and chapel. I am sitting at the same study table. And I can hardly realize that I have been through such a whirl: that the strange American dream has intervened; that I am writing to certain persons of whom, before I had that dream, I had never heard, but whom I now have in my heart; and their house, and the way to the "publication office," and that office, and the Gillettes, and Philadelphia, are all before my eye, as plain as if I saw them again; and that cold winter, and your gas-lights, and little Mary rigged out to go to school through the snow—ah! the snow, that curious article, drifting in at the slightest opening of a window, and that broken pane that I bumped my unlucky head against, I see it looking at me reproachfully. Oh, wouldn't I give something to be able to walk into your house, and spend a day or two with you once more! But that can never be.

'The work of the Lord is going forward in every direction, though much slower than we desire. Scarcely a month elapses without witnessing the baptism of some Burmans, or Peguans, or Karens, or descendants of Europeans, in some of our churches in this place and vicinity. And beside the actual evident conversions, we believe that the truth is spreading and gaining ground through the country; and we expect to meet many in heaven whom we never met on earth. And we are endeavouring to labour, not only for the present generation, but for all future generations; and for this purpose are preparing a great variety of elementary books, in the various departments of science and religion.

' "Cheerly, cheerly ply the lever;

Pause not, faint not, falter never;"

is our song, and in that chorus we all join with joyful hearts. Even the "young romance-writer" has made a little book, completing her predecessor's series of Scripture questions on the historical parts of the New Testament; and she manages to conduct a Bible class and native female prayer-meetings; so that I hope she will yet come to some good. Pray for us, my dear friends; and may we all be prepared to meet in heaven!'

'We don't need a comic almanac to make us laugh,' wrote Mrs. Judson. 'You know we are neither of us sad people, perhaps not sad enough; but I believe that work which goes on merrily, and without groaning, is quite as acceptable to God as the other. The bearer of glad tidings should not carry a face to spoil his news,—a fact of which the natives are quite aware.'

Mrs. Judson's delicate health was for a time the one dark cloud on their horizon. But the symptoms which, in the beginning of 1849, led her husband to fear a rapid decline, passed away. Dr. Judson's own health was remarkably good. Mrs. Judson wrote: 'June 2, 1849.—Mr. Judson is looking much younger than he did in America, and is so well as to be a proverb among Europeans.' And again: 'July 18.—"The goodman" works like a galley slave; and really it quite distresses me sometimes. But he seems to get fat on it, so I try not to worry. He walks, or rather runs, like a boy, over the hills, a mile or two every morning; then down to his books—scratch, scratch, puzzle, puzzle; and when he gets deep in the mire, out on the verandah with your humble servant by his side, walking and talking till the point is elucidated, and then down again; and so on till ten o'clock in the evening. It is this walking which is keeping him out of the grave.'

Concerning the work so vigorously prosecuted, Dr. Judson writes:

'September 23, 1848.—The preparation of the English and Burmese part of my dictionary is so far advanced, that I hope to commence printing a small edition next month, preparatory to a larger and uniform edition of both parts, when the Burmese and English part is completed. But as I advance in the latter part, I feel more deeply the desirableness and importance of making a visit to Ava, and availing myself of the learned men and the literary works that are to be found at the capital alone. The government interpreter of Rangoon, who greatly befriended me during my visit to that place last year, lately wrote me that he hoped I would bear in mind the necessity of going to Ava before I printed the work, and that if I did not, it would be impossible for me to make it what it ought to be. But the difficulty of penetrating into the country, and staying long enough to improve the dictionary, is very great; while the importance of the undertaking will appear still greater, if some view be had to the welfare of the scattered church, and the necessity of conciliating the government, and obtaining, if possible, some religious toleration.

'When last in Rangoon, I lost a favourable opportunity, such as may not occur once in a hundred years. The governor of Rangoon was the very last of all my old court acquaintances; and he was ready to clear my way to Ava, by a letter of introduction, into the very presence of the king. But I had no money to buy a boat, pay the boatmen, and defray the other inevitable expenses of the undertaking, nor even to pay my house rent in Rangoon; and so I was obliged to return to this place. The committee have since kindly defrayed the debt contracted on the latter account; but that is all. I suppose they thought with me, that such a good opportunity would never occur again, and that no benefit would result from lamenting over the past, or providing for the future—a future so utterly improbable. There is, however, at the present moment a small prospect in the horizon, which may in a few months disclose an open path to Ava.'

'August 20, 1849.—Just as I had finished the English and Burmese part of the dictionary at the close of last year, and was about commencing the Burmese and English part, Providence sent me, without my seeking, an excellent Burmese scholar, once a priest at Ava, and recommended by a gentleman quite competent to appreciate his qualifications, since deceased, as "the most profound scholar he had ever met with." I took him at once into my employ, and his aid, united with that of my two other assistants, proves to be invaluable, and, in my opinion, obviates much of the necessity of going to Ava, so far as the dictionary is concerned.'

Again he beautifully writes, October 21:

'I am still hard at work on the dictionary, and shall be for above a year to come, if I live so long. The work will make two volumes quarto, containing above a thousand pages. No one can tell what toil it has cost me. But I trust it will be a valuable and standard work for a long time. It sweetens all toil to be conscious that we are labouring for the King of kings, the Lord of lords. I doubt not we find it so, whether in Maulmain or in Philadelphia.'

And again:

'Let us travel on and look up. We shall soon be there. As sure as I write, or you read these lines, we shall soon be there. Many a weary step we may yet have to take, but we shall surely get there at last. And the longer and more tedious the way, the sweeter will be our repose.'

CHAPTER XIV

GRADUAL DECLINE—DEATH

1849–1850

WE shall soon be there,' Dr. Judson had written. It was the most joyful of all thoughts to him,—the end of his long day's work, the entering into rest with his Saviour! Yet the veteran was still full of life and vigour, and as buoyant in spirit as ever. Plans of work stretched out before him, and he did not dream how near was the falling of the shadow. Nor could any of those who watched with wondering love his increasing ripeness for glory, suspect that only six months of pain and weakness lay between him and its fulness. Yet so it proved.

The following account of these closing months was written by Mrs. Judson to his sister after all was over:—

'There was something exceedingly beautiful in the decline of your brother's life,—more beautiful than I can describe, though the impression will remain with me as a sacred legacy until I go to meet him, where suns shall never set, and life shall never end. He had been, from my first acquaintance with him, an uncommonly spiritual Christian, exhibiting his richest graces in the unguarded intercourse of private life; but during his last year it seemed as though the light of the world on which he was entering had been sent to brighten his upward pathway. Every subject on which we conversed, every book we read, every incident that occurred, whether trivial or important, had a tendency to suggest some peculiarly spiritual train of thought, till it seemed to me, that more than ever before, "Christ was all his theme." Something of the same nature was also noted in his preaching, to which I then had not the privilege of listening. He was in the habit, however, of studying his subject for the Sabbath audibly, and in my presence, at which time he was frequently so much affected as to weep, and sometimes so overwhelmed with the vastness of his conceptions as to be obliged to abandon his theme and choose another. My own illness at the commencement of the year had brought eternity very near to us, and rendered death, the grave, and the bright heaven beyond it, familiar subjects of conversation. Gladly would I give you, my dear sister, some idea of the share borne by him in those memorable conversations; but it would be impossible to convey, even to those who knew him best, the most distant conception of them. I believe he has sometimes been thought eloquent, both in conversation and in the sacred desk; but the fervid, burning eloquence, the deep pathos, the touching tenderness, the elevation of thought, and intense beauty of expression, which characterized those private teachings, were not only beyond what I had ever heard before, but such as I felt sure arrested his own attention, and surprised even himself. About this time he began to find unusual satisfaction and enjoyment in his private devotions, and seemed to have new objects of interest continually rising in his mind, each of which in turn became special subjects of prayer. Among these, one of the most prominent was the conversion of his posterity. He remarked that he had always prayed for his children, but that of late he had felt impressed with the duty of praying for their children and their children's children, down to the latest generation. He also prayed most fervently that his impressions on this particular subject might be transferred to his sons and daughters, and thence to their offspring, so that he should ultimately meet a long, unbroken line of descendants before the throne of God, where all might join together in ascribing everlasting praises to their Redeemer.

'Another subject which occupied a large share of his attention was that of brotherly love. Like all persons of his ardent temperament, he was subject to strong attachments and aversions, which he sometimes had difficulty in bringing under the controlling influence of divine grace. He remarked that he had always felt more or less of an affectionate interest in his brethren as brethren, and some of them he had loved very dearly for their personal qualities; but he was now aware that he had never placed his standard of love high enough. He spoke of them as children of God, redeemed by the Saviour's blood, watched over and guarded by His love, dear to His heart, honoured by Him in the election, and to be honoured hereafter before the assembled universe. And he said it was not sufficient to be kind and obliging to such, to abstain from evil speaking, and make a general mention of them in our prayers, but our attachment to them should be of the most ardent and exalted character; it would be so in heaven, and we lost immeasurably by not beginning now. "As I have loved you, so ought ye also to love one another," was a precept continually in his mind; and he would often murmur, as though unconsciously, "As I have loved you,—as I have loved you," then burst out with the exclamation, "Oh, the love of Christ! the love of Christ!"

'His prayers for the mission were marked by an earnest, grateful enthusiasm. And, in speaking of missionary operations in general, his tone was one of elevated triumph, almost of exultation; for he not only felt an unshaken confidence in their final success, but would often exclaim, "What wonders! oh, what wonders God has already wrought!"

'I remarked that during this year his literary labour was growing daily more irksome to him, and he always spoke of it as his "heavy work," his "tedious work," that "wearisome dictionary," though this feeling led to no relaxation of effort. He longed, however, to find some more spiritual employment, to be engaged in what he considered more legitimate missionary labour, and drew delightful pictures of the future, when his whole business would be but to preach and to pray.

'During all this time I had not observed any failure in physical strength; and though his mental exercises occupied a large share of my thoughts when alone, it never once occurred to me that this might be the brightening of the setting sun. My only feeling was that of pleasure, that one so near to me was becoming so pure and elevated in his sentiments, and so lovely and Christ-like in his character. In person he had grown somewhat stouter than when in America; his complexion had a healthful hue compared with that of his associates generally; and though by no means a person of uniformly firm health, he seemed to possess such vigour and strength of constitution, that I thought his life as likely to be extended twenty years longer as that of any member of the mission.

'He was of a singularly happy temperament, although not of that even cast which never rises above a certain level, and is never depressed. Possessing acute sensibilities, suffering with those who suffered, and entering as readily into the joys of the prosperous and happy, he was variable in his moods; but religion formed such an essential element in his character, and his trust in Providence was so implicit and habitual, that he was never gloomy, and seldom more than momentarily disheartened. On the other hand, being accustomed to regard all the events of this life, however minute or painful, as ordered in wisdom, and tending to one great and glorious end, he lived in almost constant obedience to the apostolic injunction, "Rejoice evermore." He often told me, that although he had endured much personal suffering, and passed through many fearful trials in the course of his eventful life, a kind Providence had also hedged him round with precious, peculiar blessings, so that his joys had far outnumbered his sorrows.

'Towards the close of September of last year, he said to me one evening, "What deep cause have we for gratitude to God! Do you believe there are any other two persons in the wide world so happy as we are?" enumerating, in his own earnest manner, several sources of happiness, in which our work as missionaries, and our eternal prospects, occupied a prominent position. When he had finished his glowing picture, I remarked,—I scarcely know why, but there was a heavy cloud upon my spirits that evening,—"We are certainly very happy now, but it cannot be so always. I am thinking of the time when one of us must stand beside the bed and see the other die."

' "Yes," he said, "that will be a sad moment. I felt it most deeply a little while ago, but now it would not be strange if your life were prolonged beyond mine, though I should wish, if it were possible, to spare you that pain. It is the one left alone who suffers, not the one who goes to be with Christ. If it should only be the will of God that we might go together, like young James and his wife! But He will order all things well, and we can safely trust the future to His hands."

'That same night we were roused from sleep by the sudden illness of one of the children. There was an unpleasant, chilling dampness in the air, as it came to us through the openings in the sloats above the windows, which affected your brother very sensibly; and he soon began to shiver so violently, that he was obliged to return to his couch, where he remained under a warm covering until morning. He awoke with a severe cold, accompanied by some degree of fever; but as it did not seem very serious, and our three children were all suffering from a similar cause, we failed to give it any especial attention. From that time he was never well, though, in writing to you before, I think I dated the commencement of his illness from the month of November, when he laid aside his studies. I know that he regarded this attack as trifling; and yet one evening he spent a long time in advising me with regard to my future course, if I should be deprived of his guidance, saying that it is always wise to be prepared for exigencies of this nature. After the month of November he failed gradually, occasionally rallying in such a manner as to deceive us all, but at each relapse sinking lower than at the previous one, though still full of hope and courage, and yielding ground only inch by inch, as compelled by the triumphant progress of disease. During some hours of every day he suffered intense pain; but his naturally buoyant spirits and uncomplaining disposition led him to speak so lightly of it, that I used sometimes to fear that the doctor, though a very skilful man, would be fatally deceived.

'As his health declined, his mental exercises at first seemed deepened, and he gave still larger portions of his time to prayer, conversing with the utmost freedom on his daily progress, and the extent of his self-conquest. Just before our trip to Mergui, which took place in January, he looked up from his pillow one day with sudden animation, and said to me earnestly, "I have gained the victory at last. I love every one of Christ's redeemed, as I believe He would have me love them,—in the same manner, though not probably to the same degree, as we shall love one another in heaven; and gladly would I prefer the meanest of His creatures who bears His name before myself." This he said in allusion to the text, "In honour preferring one another," on which he had frequently dwelt with great emphasis. After further similar conversation, he concluded, "And now here I lie at peace with all the world, and, what is better still, at peace with my own conscience. I know that I am a miserable sinner in the sight of God, with no hope but in the blessed Saviour's merits, but I cannot think of any particular fault, any peculiarly besetting sin, which it is now my duty to correct Can. you tell me of any?"

'And truly from this time no other word would so well express his state of feeling as that one of his own choosing, peace. He had no particular exercises afterwards, but remained calm and serene, speaking of himself daily as a great sinner, who had been overwhelmed with benefits, and declaring that he had never in all his life before had such delightful views of the unfathomable love and infinite condescension of the Saviour as were now daily opening before him. "Oh, the love of Christ! the love of Christ!" he would suddenly exclaim, while his eye kindled, and the tears chased each other down his cheeks. "We cannot understand it now, but what a beautiful study for eternity!"

'After our return from Mergui, the doctor advised a still further trial of the effects of sea-air and sea-bathing; and we accordingly proceeded to Amherst, where we remained nearly a month. This to me was the darkest period of his illness,—no medical adviser, no friend at hand, and he daily growing weaker and weaker. He began to totter in walking, clinging to the furniture and walls when he thought he was unobserved (for he was not willing to acknowledge the extent of his debility), and his wan face was of a ghastly paleness. His sufferings, too, were sometimes fearfully intense, so that, in spite of his habitual self-control, his groans would fill the house. At other times a kind of lethargy seemed to steal over him, and he would sleep almost incessantly for twenty-four hours, seeming annoyed if he were aroused or disturbed. Yet there were portions of the time when he was comparatively comfortable, and conversed intelligently; but his mind seemed to revert to former scenes, and he tried to amuse me with stories of his boyhood, his college days, his imprisonment in France, and his early missionary life. He had a great deal also to say on his favourite theme, "the love of Christ;" but his strength was too much impaired for any continuous mental effort. Even a short prayer made audibly exhausted him to such a degree, that he was obliged to discontinue the practice.'

A long voyage held out the only hope of recovery. As, however, the result of this step was uncertain, and as it was impossible for Mrs. Judson to accompany him, it was exceedingly painful for them both to come to a decision.

' "Oh, if it were only the will of God to take me now,—to let me die here!" he repeated over and over again in a tone of anguish, while we were considering the subject. "I cannot, cannot go! This is almost more than I can bear! Was there ever suffering like our suffering?" and the like broken expressions, were continually falling from his lips. But he soon gathered more strength of purpose; and, after the decision was fairly made, he never hesitated for a moment, rather regarding the prospect with pleasure. I think the struggle which this resolution cost injured him very materially, though probably it had no share in bringing about the final result. God, who saw the end from the beginning, had counted out his days, and they were hastening to a close. Until this time he had been able to stand, and to walk slowly from room to room; but, as he one evening attempted to rise from his chair, he was suddenly deprived of his small remnant of muscular strength, and would have fallen to the floor but for timely support.

'From that moment his decline was rapid. As he lay helplessly upon his couch, and watched the swelling of his feet, and other alarming symptoms, he became very anxious to commence his voyage, and I felt equally anxious to have his wishes gratified. I still hoped he might recover. The doctor said the chances of life and death were, in his opinion, equally balanced. And then he always loved the sea so dearly! There was something exhilarating to him in the motion of a vessel, and he spoke with animation of getting free from the almost suffocating atmosphere incident to the hot season, and drinking in the fresh sea-breezes. He talked but little more, however, than was necessary to indicate his wants, his bodily sufferings being too great to allow of conversation; but several times he looked up to me with a bright smile, and exclaimed as heretofore, "Oh, the love of Christ! the love of Christ!"

'I found it difficult to ascertain, from expressions casually dropped from time to time, his real opinion with regard to his recovery; but I thought there was some reason to doubt whether he was fully aware of his critical situation. I did not suppose he had any preparation to make at this late hour, and I felt sure that, if he should be called ever so unexpectedly, he would not enter the presence of his Maker with a ruffled spirit, but I could not bear to have him go away without knowing how doubtful it was whether our next meeting would not be in eternity; and perhaps, too, in my own distress, I might still have looked for words of encouragement and sympathy to a source which had never before failed.

'It was late in the night, and I had been performing some little sick-room offices, when suddenly he looked up to me and exclaimed, "This will never do! You are killing yourself for me, and I will not permit it. You must have some one to relieve you. If I had not been made selfish by suffering, I should have insisted upon it long ago."

'He spoke so like himself, with the earnestness of health, and in a tone to which my ear had of late been a stranger, that for a moment I felt almost bewildered with sudden hope. He received my reply to what he had said with a half-pitying, half-gratified smile; but in the meantime his expression had changed,—the marks of excessive debility were again apparent, and I could not forbear adding, "It is only a little while, you know."

' "Only a little while," he repeated mournfully. "This separation is a bitter thing, but it does not distress me now as it did,—I am too weak." "You have no reason to be distressed," I answered, "with such glorious prospects before you. You have often told me it is the one left alone who suffers, not the one who goes to be with Christ." He gave me a rapid, questioning glance, then assumed for several moments an attitude of deep thought. Finally, he slowly unclosed his eyes, and, fixing them on me, said in a calm, earnest tone, "I do not believe I am going to die. I think I know why this illness has been sent upon me. I needed it. I feel that it has done me good. And it is my impression that I shall now recover, and be a better and more useful man."

' "Then it is your wish to recover?" I inquired. "If it should be the will of God, yes. I should like to complete the dictionary, on which I have bestowed so much labour, now that it is so nearly done; for though it has not been a work that pleased my taste or quite satisfied my feelings, I have never under-rated its importance. Then after that come all the plans that we have formed. Oh, I feel as if I were only just beginning to be prepared for usefulness!"

' "It is the opinion of most of the mission," I remarked, that you will not recover." "I know it is," he replied; "and I suppose they think me an old man, and imagine it is nothing for one like me to resign a life so full of trials. But I am not old—at least in that sense; you know I am not. Oh, no man ever left this world with more inviting prospects, with brighter hopes or warmer feelings,—warmer feelings," he repeated, and burst into tears. His face was perfectly placid, even while the tears broke away from the closed lids, and rolled, one after another, down to the pillow. There was no trace of agitation or pain in his manner of weeping, but it was evidently the result of acute sensibilities, combined with great physical weakness. To some suggestions which I ventured to make, he replied, "It is not that; I know all that, and feel it in my inmost heart. Lying here on my bed, when I could not talk, I have had such views of the loving condescension of Christ, and the glories of heaven, as I believe are seldom granted to mortal man. It is not because I shrink from death that I wish to live, neither is it because the ties that bind me here, though some of them are very sweet, bear any comparison with the drawings I at times feel towards heaven; but a few years would not be missed from my eternity of bliss, and I can well afford to spare them, both for your sake and for the sake of the poor Burmans. I am not tired of my work, neither am I tired of the world; yet when Christ calls me home, I shall go with the gladness of a boy bounding away from his school. Perhaps I feel something like the young bride when she contemplates resigning the present associations of her childhood for a yet dearer home,—though only a very little like her, for there is no doubt resting on my future." "Then death would not take you by surprise," I remarked, "if it should come even before you could get on board ship?" "Oh, no," he said, "death will never take me by surprise, do not be afraid of that; I feel so strong in Christ. He has not led me so tenderly thus far to forsake me at the very gate of heaven. No, no. I am willing to live a few years longer, if it should be so ordered; and if otherwise, I am willing and glad to die now. I leave myself entirely in the hands of God, to be disposed of according to His holy will."

'The next day some one mentioned in his presence that the native Christians were greatly opposed to the voyage, and that many other persons had a similar feeling with regard to it. I thought he seemed troubled; and, after the visitor had withdrawn, I inquired if he still felt as when he conversed with me the night previous. He replied, "Oh, yes; that was no evanescent feeling. It has been with me to a greater or less extent for years, and will be with me, I trust, to the end. I am ready to go to-day, if it should be the will of God,—this very hour; but I am not anxious to die; at least, when I am not beside myself with pain."

' "Then why are you so desirous to go to sea? I should think it would be a matter of indifference to you." "No," he answered quietly; "my judgment tells me it would be wrong not to go; the doctor says, criminal. I shall certainly die here; if I go away, I may possibly recover. There is no question with regard to duty in such a case; and I do not like to see any hesitation, even though it springs from affection."

'He several times spoke of a burial at sea, and always as though the prospect were agreeable. It brought, he said, a sense of freedom and expansion, and seemed far pleasanter than the confined, dark, narrow grave, to which he had committed so many that he loved.'

As soon as a suitable vessel was found, about ten days after the alarming prostration of strength mentioned in Mrs. Judson's narrative, he was carried, in a state of utter helplessness, on board a French barque bound for the Mauritius. Mr. Ranney, the mission printer, and a faithful Bengalee servant, accompanied him. As the barque made slow progress down the river, Mrs. Judson spent several days on board with him, during which he continued to sink, till very little hope remained. Of this sad parting between them Mrs. Judson writes to his children in America:

'April 11, 1850.—He was carried on board a week ago yesterday, in a litter, and placed on a nice easy cot, made purposely for him. I stayed on board with him all day, and at dark came home to stay with the children. The next day I found that the vessel had only dropped down a little distance, and so I took a boat and followed. I expected this would certainly be the last day with him, but it was not. Friday I went again, and though he did not appear as well as on the previous days, I was forced to take, as I then supposed, a final leave of him. But when morning came, I felt as though I could not live throughout the day without knowing how he was. So I took a boat again, and reached the vessel about two o'clock P.M. He could not speak, except in whispers, but seemed very glad that I came. The natives that I had sent to fan him till he should get out of the river came to me, and begged to have him taken ashore again; and so small was my hope of his recovery, that my heart pleaded on their side, though I still thought it duty to do as the doctor had ordered. I came away at dark, and though his lips moved to say some word of farewell, they made no sound. I hope that you, my dear boys, will never have cause to know what a heavy heart I bore back to my desolate home that night. The vessel got out to sea about four o'clock on Monday, and last night the natives returned, bringing a letter from Mr. Ranney. Your precious papa had revived again, spoke aloud, took a little tea and toast, said there was something animating in the touch of the sea-breeze, and directed Mr. Ranney to write to me that he had a strong belief that it was the will of God to restore him again to health. I feel encouraged, but dare not hope too much.

'And now, my dear boys, it will be three, perhaps four long months before we can hear from our loved one again, and we shall all be very anxious. All that we can do is to commit him to the care of our heavenly Father; and if we never see him again in this world, pray that we may be prepared to meet him in heaven.'

It was on Wednesday, April 3d, that he embarked. On Saturday Mrs. Judson took leave of him. That was a day of awful suffering. Next day, when able to speak again, he said that no one could conceive the intensity of his sufferings then. So entirely had pain absorbed every faculty, that the idea of death excited no feeling either of fear or joy. He could neither think nor pray, and had hardly strength left even to think of his wife and family, or to grieve when she parted from him. Yet he said it was the will of God, and therefore right. On Monday, feeling a little revived, he sent that strange message, 'I feel too much life in me to believe that I shall die at present.' But his pain soon returned with double violence, forcing from him the cry, 'Oh that I could die at once, and go immediately into paradise, where there is no pain!'

One day, as Mr. Ranney was sitting by his bedside, he said, 'I am glad you are here, I do not feel so abandoned. You are my only kindred now,—the only one on board who loves Christ, I mean; and it is a great comfort to have one near me who loves Christ.' 'I hope,' said Mr. Ranney, 'you feel that Christ is now near, sustaining you?' 'Oh, yes,' he replied; 'it is all right there. I believe He gives me just so much pain and suffering as is necessary to fit me to die, to make me submissive to His will.' On Thursday his sufferings increased. For some days he had been able to retain no food, and all that night it was inexpressibly painful to behold his agony; sometimes calling for water, which gave relief only while he was drinking it, to be followed by the pain of ejecting it. At midnight his fever returned. His extremities were cold, his head hot. It was the fever of death. His weakness was so great that he now seldom spoke, except to indicate some want, which he more frequently did by signs.

On Friday his countenance was that of a dying man. His mind occasionally wandered for a few moments. At three o'clock he said, in Burman, to his servant, 'It is done; I am going;' and a little after spoke of Mrs. Judson, bidding him 'take care of poor mistress.' About an hour after this he fell asleep, and that very evening was buried in the ocean, scarcely three days out of sight of the mountains of Burmah.

Alluding to Mr. Ranney's account, Mrs. Judson wrote: 'You will find in this closing part some dark shadows; but we should regret nothing that serves to brighten his crown in glory. I have gained pleasanter impressions in conversation with Mr. Ranney than from his written account, but it would be difficult to convey them to you; and, as he whom they concern was accustomed to say, "you will learn it all in heaven." During the last hour of your sainted brother's life, Mr. Ranney bent over him and held his hand, while poor Panapah stood at a little distance, weeping bitterly. The officers did not know what was passing in the cabin till summoned to dinner. Then they gathered about the door, and watched the closing scene with solemn reverence. Now,—thanks to a merciful God!—his pains had left him; not a momentary spasm disturbed his placid face, nor did the contraction of a muscle denote the least degree of suffering. The agony of death was past, and his wearied spirit was turning to its rest in the bosom of the Saviour. From time to time he pressed the hand in which his own was resting, his clasp losing in force at each successive pressure; while his shortened breath,—though there was no struggle, no gasping, as if it came and went with difficulty,—gradually grew softer and fainter, until it died upon the air, and he was gone. Mr. Ranney closed the eyes and composed the passive limbs; the ship's officers stole softly from the door, and the neglected meal was left upon the board untasted.'

CHAPTER XV

RETROSPECT—CHARACTERISTIC ANECDOTES

WE cannot but feel that, in the preceding pages, we have not merely been following a great and good man through the events of his earthly career. We have been tracing the rise and progress of a most marvellous and extensive work of God.

Seldom, indeed, since the days of apostles or reformers, has a history so full of spiritual wonders as that of the spread of Christianity in Burmah lain within the compass of a single man's life,—and that not a very long one. More rare still is it to find that it is mainly owing to this one man's efforts and intercessions that such a history comes to be written at all.

If Dr. Judson had never done more than give to the Burman people the Bible in their own language, without seeing a single conversion, it would have been a work worth living and dying for. But he left to Burmah a richer legacy than even that,—the word of God written in the hearts of tens of thousands, who, through him, had turned from their idols to worship the living God. Many of these had received the gospel directly from his lips, many more from tracts or portions of the Bible sent out by him. Besides, who can tell how much of success, in which he, personally, had no share, was the result of his unwearied pleadings with God, and with the churches at home, to send out more labourers, and the bright example which incited others to follow in his steps, so that, long before his own prayers and efforts had ceased, the once neglected field was occupied by devoted native pastors or American missionaries? And when at last he passed into his Saviour's presence, many a redeemed Burman and Karen were doubtless there before him, waiting to add to the joy of his welcome. All these, too, from a land which, when he first set foot on it thirty-seven years before, had never heard of an eternal God at all!

But, passing from the consideration of what Dr. Judson achieved, to what he was, we find the history of another work, not less a miracle of God's power and grace than the other, because it was more secret and unobtrusive, and because it baffles even more all our attempts to estimate and record it aright. The foundations of all his missionary labours were laid in a still deeper work in his own soul, in consecration to God, in daily self-abasement because of sin, and daily struggles to subdue everything within him more and more thoroughly to the obedience of Christ. Perhaps, if we knew all, we should find that every triumph he gained over the evil of a dark world around was but the fruit of a victory, more hardly won, and more glorifying to God, over sin in his own heart.

Dr. Judson had naturally not less to contend with than others,—perhaps more. He possessed that mingling of apparently opposite qualities, which, rightly guided, form a character of peculiar completeness and richness, but which, if unrestrained by grace, furnish only so many various avenues for temptation to enter. The very strength of his whole nature must have given deep root to the evil as well as to the good in it.

With a clear, discriminating judgment, he combined ardent enthusiasm and deep tenderness of feeling. Added to great talents, he had steady perseverance and great tenacity of purpose. Indeed, his powerful will seemed to dominate his whole physical and intellectual nature, so that it is said of him, that his great genius lay, not in excelling in any one thing, but in his ability to accomplish anything, and excel in anything he chose. He possessed exquisite refinement and sensibility, and an innate love of beauty and order,—not always convenient to him in his missionary life. Combined with all, was that healthful elasticity of temperament, whose spring, though often bent, was never broken to the end.

In youth, his most prominent faults sprang from ambition, love of precedence, and extreme confidence in his own opinions. When first he conceived the design of becoming a missionary, he showed little patience for any views that did not fall in with his own, and could not bear the slightest check or delay. This ill-regulated zeal occasioned some temporary disagreement with the Board which sent him out. Take, as a contrast to this, the testimony of the Baptist Board, that they had sent out no missionary who yielded more implicitly to their control; and, remembering how many Christian men of strong and ardent natures like him have failed in this particular, shall we not see in this a wonderful triumph of grace?

This is but one of many such triumphs, some of which have been brought to light in the course of the previous narrative, but which we have not now time to dwell on.

But we cannot help remarking how wondrously the power of the Spirit can purify, without in the slightest degree destroying the original elements of a character. As Dr. Judson advanced in the Christian life, he seemed also to gain in the qualities which distinguished him from other men. His strong will, though bowed meekly to the faintest indications of the divine pleasure, still presented a wall of adamant to obstacles, or disappointments, or pain. His early love of fame seemed to have lost all power even to tempt him, and yet through life he aimed high. A love of the highest attainable stamped all his views of Christian duty, and impelled him to rest nowhere short of perfection, whether in the deep things of God, or in the common tasks of daily life. He no longer sought the pre-eminence; yet the bold spirit which prompted him to undertake what others could not or dared not do, made him the first to volunteer in any forlorn hope on the mission field. Always found in the most perilous or most laborious posts, his whole life was spent in unconscious fulfilling of the command, 'He that is greatest among you, let him be servant of all.' His enthusiasm, instead of leading to impatience and rashness, bore him with unwearied patience through years of self-sacrificing and often monotonous labour. He learned, by a course of long and severe discipline, both how to abound and to suffer hunger. Yet the sanguine temperament, which in youth often failed him in the hour of greatest need, seemed but to brighten as it leant on a support stronger than itself; and, while joy in God became the steady habit of his soul, his vivacity and cheerfulness must often have relieved overburdened Christian hearts, as well as attracted wanderers to the cross.

The mellow beauty which shone out in Dr. Judson's later Christian character was not reached by a short or easy path. It was the fruit of sore outward trials and deep inward conflicts; the fruit also of much stern resolve and self-discipline, and of much prayer. From the time of his conversion, his most earnest longing was for holiness and closer communion with God, and his greatest fear, lest in any way he should dishonour that name which he preached to others. Those feelings seem to have grown in intensity at the time of his imprisonment in Ava, and the bereavements which followed. After that long and fiery trial, he could, less than ever, be content to live at a low level of Christian experience, or wage a feeble warfare against sin, uncertain whether ground were being lost or won. Few have ever applied themselves with more intense earnestness to discover and subdue the evil lurking within their hearts. His life was a conflict, face to face, and to the death, with every known sin, and an unceasing endeavour to lay aside every weight, whether sinful in itself or not, which might hinder his progress towards the goal.

Among Dr. Judson's papers are found several sets of rules or resolutions, drawn up at different times for the regulation of his life, and which show how strictly he watched over himself. One of these is, 'Resolved to deny self at every turn.' Among inclinations calling for the exercise of self-denial he notes, 'The passion for neatness, uniformity, order; the disposition to suffer annoyance from little improprieties in the behaviour and conduct of others; the desire to appear to advantage,—to get honour, and avoid shame; the desire for ease and comfort, and reluctance to suffer inconvenience; and unwillingness to bear contradiction.' At another time he resolves 'to seek opportunities of making sacrifices for others, especially for Christians;' and 'to endeavour to rejoice in loss and suffering incurred for Christ's sake, remembering that, like death, they are great gain.' A remarkable resolution is this: 'Embrace every opportunity of preaching the gospel to every soul;' while the mainspring of the whole is found here: 'Resolved to make the desire to please Christ the grand motive of all my actions.'

Dr. Judson's way of attacking his besetting sins was remarkably practical. When he found any affection or inclination coming between him and God, he set himself at once to deny himself specially in that particular, even when gratification would, in other circumstances, have been innocent. Thus, to conquer his natural desire for human applause, he systematically destroyed, as far as lay in his power, every line of his writings that could minister to this failing. If he thought worldliness and love of ease were ensnaring him, he would retire to some solitary place, till fasting and prayer had given him the victory. He often expressed himself most thankful for providential crosses and contradictions in his daily life, which he felt helped him to curb his selfishness.

All this was not the self-denial of an ascetic. No man ever drank in the simple and pure pleasures of life with greater enjoyment than he, when these fell into their proper place of harmony with the one true and constant source of his gladness. And even his sternest self-discipline was rooted, not in doubt, but in full assurance of God's favour to him. From the time of his conversion to the end, he seems never to have had a misgiving as to his position as a child of God. His deepest anguish was for sin against a reconciled Father, and his fear was lest he should come short of the privileges which he knew a Saviour's blood had purchased for him.

The hope of coming rest and glory was constantly his, cheering and strengthening him. The way might be long and toilsome, but no cloud rested on his welcome home at the end. Or, in the words which he wrote on the inside cover of a book which he used constantly while compiling his dictionary,

'In joy or sorrow, health or pain,

Our course be onward still;

We sow on Burmah's barren plain,

We reap on Zion's hill.'

His trust in the divine promises was remarkably direct and simple, both for his own soul and as regarded the results of his labours for the heathen. Prayer was with him a child-like asking, that he might receive. It was a common thing for him to continue pleading for some special blessing until he received the conscious assurance that his request was granted. In preaching, he had little confidence in human methods, but boundless faith in the power of the Spirit promised to accompany the word. He had no great schemes of missionary work. His one plan, from his first landing on the desolate shore at Rangoon, was to obey the command, 'Preach the gospel to every creature,' by bringing the word of God, spoken or written, to bear on each darkened heart around him as quickly as possible. That done, he had no doubt of the final result. It might be long delayed; there might possibly be twenty, or even thirty years of unrequited labour before him, he thought; but he believed the time of fruit would come at last. When asked, 'Do you think the prospects bright for the conversion of the heathen?' his reply was, 'As bright as the promises of God.'

Dr. Judson's whole heart was in the cause of missions. Sacrifice, in any form, was nothing to him, if that could be promoted. Ease, comforts, and early friends, he left behind him without a backward glance. Burmah was henceforth his home, not America; and a single visit of nine months was all he could spare for his native land after he had once left it. All his private property was handed over to the funds of the mission, and he never would accept from them more than barely enough to support himself and his family. Without grudging, he could hazard health and life, ay, and even the lives of those dear to him, that Christ's name might be glorified among the heathen.

His style of preaching was exceedingly simple, yet powerful,—fitted to rivet the attention by appropriate illustrations, to convince the reason by close logical argument, and to melt the heart by impassioned entreaties to the hearers to be reconciled to God. It is said that only those who heard him preach in English could have no conception of his power over a Burman assembly; while even strangers who heard him preach in Burmese, without understanding a word, came away awed by the intense earnestness of the speaker in every tone and look, and by the breathless eagerness with which the audience hung upon his lips.

Mrs. Judson gives the following account of the manner in which he prepared for the pulpit: 'He used to rise somewhat earlier on Sunday mornings than on other days,—I speak now of the time when he was able to preach only once a day,—and take his usual walk over the hill. He occupied his walking time generally in devotion, and after his return spent some time in prayer in his study. He would then call me, and we would walk up and down the verandah together until breakfast, occupying in this manner from an hour to an hour and a half. His text was sometimes selected on the previous evening, and sometimes in the morning before he went out; but oftener several texts occurred to him while walking, and the first business on the verandah was to choose between them. Then arose a quick, animated discussion, if that can be called a discussion which has the wisdom all on one side. These Sunday morning walks in the verandah were very profitable to me, for there was always matter for a dozen sermons in the suggestions of the hour. He was rather fond of speculation on these occasions, but never introduced anything of this kind into the pulpit. He did not plan his sermon during the morning walks, but disentangled and sifted the text, making himself familiar with all its bearings, and possible as well as obvious applications. Afterwards the topics chosen were adapted to the congregation before him; and, before I understood the language, I used to take great interest in ascertaining, by his manner and the faces of his auditors, the peculiar train of thought which he had followed out. He preached with great fervour and earnestness; but, besides this, there was a touching simplicity in the matter and language which it was long before I could appreciate. His figures, which I understood sooner, were drawn from immediately surrounding objects. Of these, in accordance with Eastern taste, he made great use. He often remarked that "Christ was the model preacher, and He never preached great sermons." '

In person Dr. Judson was about the medium height, slenderly built, but compactly knitted together. There was nothing in his appearance to indicate the wonderful powers of physical endurance which bore him through unexampled sufferings, and left him youthful in appearance, as in spirit, almost to the last. When in America, it was observed that, though an Indian sun had robbed him of his once fair complexion, his chestnut hair had hardly a trace of grey, and the elasticity of every movement was like that of a man of thirty. His manner was remarkably quiet, self-possessed, and courteous. His dress, always plain, and often made in the oddest fashion by some bungling Bengalee tailor, was scrupulously clean and neat. In his studying apparatus, which consisted of two long narrow boxes, mounted on a teak table, there was the same mixture of plainness with neatness and order, and, what was rather conspicuous in all his arrangements, 'a wonderful capacity for convenience.' No one ever dusted his books but himself, and he could have laid his hand on any one of them in the darkest night. Of his conversation it is said, that while wisdom and piety were its general tone, there was a vivacity pervading it which indicated strong, buoyant, though well disciplined animal spirits, and a quiet humour, which would often enliven and illustrate what he had to say.

In domestic life he was peculiarly tender. He had the qualities of a good sick-nurse in perfection. A lady who knew him intimately remarks, 'I never saw a husband so entirely devoted to a wife as dear Judson. Many are loving enough in their way, who would not sacrifice an hour's ease to relieve a wife of care, or attend her in sickness. Judson would allow nobody but himself to relieve his wife in any way.'

The following anecdotes, told by Mrs. E. Judson, are illustrative of many interesting points in his character:—

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

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

'One of the native assistants, speaking of Dr. Judson's knowledge of Burmese character, said that it was particularly impossible to conceal a sin from him; and, while a culprit was exulting in fancied security, he would suddenly find an eye fixed upon him that was perfectly irresistible, and would be obliged, in spite of himself, to go to the teacher and confess. He also said that Dr. Judson never accused except upon an absolute certainty, never insinuated a suspicion, and never placed any reliance on a mere hearsay. He always interrupted any communication of one Christian against another with, "Have you told him his fault between you and him alone?" "He knew us," the man continued, "through and through, much better than we know ourselves. If we had done anything amiss, he called us pleasantly, talked so,"—taking up, by way of illustration, a toy that lay upon the floor beside him, and passing his finger gently around the rim,—"talked, and talked, and talked, till suddenly, before we knew it, he pounced upon us there,"—striking his finger violently on the centre of the toy,—"and held us breathless till we had told him everything. Ah, no one will ever know us poor Burmans so again!" added the poor man mournfully.'

Speaking of the visits of soldiers and Europeans, which, if unduly prolonged, would have made serious inroads on Dr. Judson's time, Mrs. Judson writes:—

'He had one invariable rule. He appeared, as he felt, glad to see them, made a few inquiries as to their temporal welfare, ascertained in the same manner their spiritual state, read a half-dozen suitable verses from the Bible, made a short but singularly appropriate prayer, and, with a cordial shake of the hand, dismissed the well-pleased visitor, without a single moment having been wasted.

'A pious officer called on Dr. Judson one day, just as his fever was coming on. "Why, I can't do him any good. Must I see him?" he said, with a deprecatory smile. "Well, show him in."

'I soon discovered, however, that my husband was suffering intense pain, as he very often did during the hours of his fever, and was about to repair my mistake as well as I could, when the visitor chanced to mention the name of a common friend. Dr. Judson's countenance instantly brightened. "You knew Major ——, then?" he exclaimed with warmth. "Yes, one of nature's own noblemen, is he not?" "The nobility of nature, or grace, do you consider it?" asked Dr. Judson. And then both of them smilingly agreed that there was something of both in their friend. "I loved him like a brother," continued Dr. Judson, rather sadly; "but,—poor fellow!—many are the tears I have shed for him of late." "Indeed!" exclaimed the visitor, in amazement. "I suppose you know he has taken to certain wild courses?" "Impossible!" "Both possible and true. You know something of the Plymouth Brethren, of course?" Our visitor's features relaxed, though his colour was very manifestly heightened,—a demonstration which I understood, but was afraid my husband did not. "Well, they got hold of poor Major ——," he continued, "and have utterly ruined him,—that is, his usefulness in this world. I believe his eternal salvation is secure." "Then you have no very high opinion of the doctrines of the Plymouth Brethren?" "Most assuredly not. They do not believe the promises of God to His people; and their influence goes to discourage and paralyse all missionary enterprise. They do not believe in church organizations; and so the poor ignorant soldiery, and Protestant half-castes, coming under their influence, are scattered as sheep without a shepherd." "But there seem to me to be many good, spiritually-minded Christians among them." "Have you never observed that, when seekers after sanctification attain to a certain degree of spirituality, they are peculiarly liable to fall into errors of form? Why, it is in this way that the wildest impostors have sometimes gained their most deluded and unquestioning followers. Men long for what they have not; and, instead of sitting down at the Saviour's feet and drinking in His words, they go away to furnish themselves with swimming bladders, the work of their own invention." "This cannot, however, be said of the Plymouth Brethren. They are especially opposed to forms." "That is, they throw away the forms of every other sect, and adopt a new set, peculiar to themselves." "I see," said the visitor, good-humouredly, "that you have no mercy." Dr. Judson smiled. "Shall I tell you, my dear ——, at the risk of being written down a bigot, what my real, candid opinion is in the matter? When the arch-enemy of souls finds a Christian so weaned from the world as to be inaccessible to all the grosser modes of temptation, he just dons this sheep's clothing of Plymouth Brethrenism, and, in despair of getting this particular soul, puts a veto on the man's usefulness, to the serious detriment of hundreds and thousands of others."

' "Did you know," I inquired, as soon as the visitor had withdrawn, "that —— is said to have a strong bias towards Plymouth Brethrenism;—so much so that his best friends are trembling for his stability?" "Of course I know it," came a faint voice up from the pillow, where the tired invalid had sunk down in utter exhaustion. "You do not fancy me so overburdened with strength as to throw away any in warning men who are not in danger?"

' "People will call it a strange providence," Dr. Judson remarked one day, "if I do not live to finish my dictionary. But to me it will be a strange providence if I do. Men almost always leave some work, that they or their friends consider vastly important, unfinished. It is a way God has of showing us what really worthless creatures we are, and how altogether unnecessary, as active agents, in the working out of His plans."

'Some ladies were conversing one day on the subject of sailors' superstitions with regard to missionaries, and added, it was remarkable that, among all the missionaries our Board had sent out, not one had been lost at sea. "And so you incline to the opposite superstition, I presume?" Dr. Judson said, smilingly. "I think that God exercises a peculiar care over His people," was the rejoinder. "True," said he, with one of those beaming looks which usually broke forth and passed away with the expression of some characteristic sentiment;—"true; so, 'though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him,' not because I have wrought myself into an unwarrantable belief that He will carry me over smooth waters. He may cast us in a burning fiery furnace, or precipitate us to the lowest depths of the sea, but His care, His tenderness, His love, are still the same."

'The news of the loss of Dr. and Mrs. James, of the Southern Board, in the China seas, struck us with consternation. Dr. Judson had met young James in America, and he entertained for him a tender personal regard. He was much affected, and I think wept at the intelligence, but never spoke of it as anything that was in the least difficult to be understood. When some one remarked that this event was likely to chill the ardour of the patrons of missions, he repelled the suggestion with great earnestness at first; and when finally compelled to admit the possibility of such a result, he remained in sad silence for some time. "Oh when will Christians learn," he at length broke forth, "that their puny, polluted offerings of works are not necessary to God? He permits them to work as a favour, in order to do them good personally, because He loves them and desires to honour them, not because He needs them. The withdrawal of any man from His harvest-field, however learned, and wise, and good, however well prepared, even by a lifelong discipline, for that particular part of the field, is no loss to Him. As though the omnipotent God had so few weapons in His armoury that we must tremble and faint at the loss of one! I have thought for years," he added, "that God, in His dealings with us, aims particularly at our individual development and growth, with the ultimate object of fitting each one of us personally for the life to come; and when, in His infinite wisdom, He sees that the re-cast of our original natures is so filed and rasped and polished as to be ready for the position He designs us to occupy, He graciously removes us thither."

'Dr. Judson used often to speak of God's having honoured him, through the Saviour's worthiness, with a commission to the Burmans; of Christ's having permitted him to do a little work in His name, and be the means of saving a few souls; and he always prayed most fervently, both in his own behalf and that of his children, for a long life of labour and self-denial.

'Dr. Judson was not at all given to admonishing people not connected with him, or indeed those that were, much; but there were some things that he seldom allowed to pass without attention. If I said I disliked a person, he would inquire, "Is she a Christian?" If he got one answer, the conclusion would be, "Poor creature! you ought to pity her too much for dislike;" and if the other, he would say, "Then Christ loves her,—cannot you?"

'I recollect one day showing my husband two different newspaper articles, in one of which he was compared to the Apostle Paul, and in the other spoken of as the "beloved John." Instead of being amused, as I had expected, at the contradiction, he exclaimed, with a sorrowfulness which made me regret having called his attention to the subject, "Oh, how little,—how little do they know me! 'Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?' " I believe he was not in the least aware of whose words he had used; and I had ample reason for wishing to divert his thoughts, for he was not strong enough to indulge in deep emotions. "It is very evident," I said carelessly, "that they do not know you. One day you are Peter, or Paul, or Luther, and the next, gentle John, or mild Melancthon." "And I do not want to be like any of them," he said energetically,—"Paul, nor Apollos, nor Cephas, nor any other mere man. I want to be like Christ. We have a great many aids and encouragers along the Christian path, but only one perfectly safe Exemplar,—only One who, tempted like as we are in every point, is still without sin. I want to follow Him only, copy His teachings, drink in His spirit, place my feet in His footprints, and measure their shortcomings by these, and these alone. It is not safe to take any man, not even an inspired apostle, for a pattern. Oh to be more like Christ!"

'A short time before Dr. Judson left this country, he took considerable pains to visit my native village, and the church with which I first united. As the house was small, he had consented to address the congregation; and this brought together a dense crowd. After the usual sermon was over, he spoke for about fifteen minutes, with singular simplicity, and, as I thought, with touching pathos, of the "precious Saviour," what He has done for us, and what we owe to Him. As he sat down, however, it was evident even to the most unobservant eye that most of the listeners were disappointed. After the exercises were over, several persons inquired of me frankly why Dr. Judson had not talked of something else,—why he had not told a story; while others signified their disappointment by not alluding to his having spoken at all. On the way home I mentioned the subject to him. "Why, what did they want?" he inquired. "I presented the most interesting subject in the world to the best of my ability." "But they wanted something different,—a story." "Well, I am sure I gave them a story,—the most thrilling one that can be conceived of." "But they had heard it before. They wanted something new of a man who had just come from the antipodes." "Then I am glad they have it to say that a man coming from the antipodes had nothing better to tell than the wondrous story of Jesus' dying love. My business is to preach the gospel of Christ; and when I can speak at all, I dare not trifle with my commission. When I looked upon those people to-day, and remembered where I should next meet them, how could I stand up and furnish food to vain curiosity,—tickle their fancies with amusing stories, however decently strung together on a thread of religion? That is not what Christ meant by preaching the gospel. And then how could I hereafter meet the fearful charge, 'I gave you one opportunity to tell them of me;—you spent it in describing your own adventures?' "

'Dr. Judson could never bear to hear missions spoken of as having accomplished but little, even by the best friends of the cause, who sometimes will complain with the best intentions.'

To a lady in India, who remarked with some severity on the character of missionary meetings at home, where she thought people met for exultation and 'mutual admiration speeches,' when they had more cause to mourn that so little was done, he said, ' "I am always glad to see Christians so much awake to the importance of extending the Master's kingdom as to rejoice, even though it be in the conversion of but a single soul. 'There is joy in heaven;' why not among the redeemed of earth? Look here!" He turned suddenly to a little map of the world, lying on his study-table, and, passing his finger rapidly from town to town, and from one continent to another, exclaimed, "See how the gospel light is girdling the world! It is base ingratitude to be blind to all these wonders.' "

Dr. Judson felt a deep interest in the Jews; and about the year 1832 he collected a sum of money, with the hope of inducing the Baptist Society to support a mission to Palestine. The scheme failed, however, and his intense desire to be made the means of blessing to Israel seemed most unlikely to be accomplished.

Not a fortnight before his death, Mrs. Judson read to him a newspaper paragraph, which told how a tract, containing an account of his labours in Ava, had been blessed to the conversion of some Jews in Germany. It had also reached Trebizond, where a Jew had translated it for his brethren there, and where it had awakened such a spirit of interest and inquiry among many of them, that they had sent to Constantinople to request that a missionary might be sent to them. Mrs. Judson, relating these facts, continues,—'His eyes were filled with tears when I had done reading; but still he at first spoke playfully, and in a way that a little disappointed me. Then a look of almost unearthly solemnity came over him, and, clinging fast to my hand, as though to assure himself of being really in the world, he said, "Love, this frightens me! I do not know what to make of it." "What?" "Why, what you have just been reading. I never was deeply interested in any object,—I never prayed sincerely and earnestly for anything,—but it came. At some time, no matter at how distant a day,—somehow, in some shape, probably the last I should have devised,—it came. And yet I have always had so little faith! May God forgive me, and, while He condescends to use me as His instrument, wipe the sin of unbelief from my heart!' "

'IF YE ABIDE IN ME, AND MY WORDS ABIDE IN YOU, YE SHALL ASK WHAT YE WILL, AND IT SHALL BE DONE UNTO YOU.'

APPENDIX

I.—PAGE 170

LINES ADDRESSED TO AN INFANT DAUGHTER, TWENTY DAYS OLD, IN THE CONDEMNED PRISON AT AVA

By Dr. Judson.

Sleep, darling infant, sleep,

Hushed on thy mother's breast;

Let no rude sound of clanking chains

Disturb thy balmy rest.

Sleep, darling infant, sleep,

Blest that thou canst not know

The pangs that rend thy parents' hearts,

The keenness of their woe.

Sleep, darling infant, sleep;

May Heaven its blessings shed

In rich profusion, soft and sweet,

On thine unconscious head!

Why ope thy little eyes?

What would my darling see?

Thy sorrowing mother's bending form;

Thy father's agony?

Wouldst view this drear abode,

Where fettered felons lie,

And wonder that thy father here

Should as a felon sigh?

Wouldst mark the dreadful sights,

Which stoutest hearts appal,—

The stocks, the cord, the fatal sword,

The torturing iron mall?

No, darling infant, no!

Thou seest them not at all;

Thou only mark'st the rays of light

Which flicker on the wall.

Thine untaught infant eye

Can nothing clearly see;

Sweet scenes of home and prison scenes

Are all alike to thee.

Stretch, then, thy little arms,

And roll thy vacant eye,

Reposing on thy mother's breast

In soft security.

Why ope thy paly lips?

What would my darling say?

'My dear papa, why leave us thus?

Why thus in prison stay?

'For poor mamma and I

All lonely live at home,

And every day we watch and wait,

And wish papa would come?'

No; all alike to thee

Thy mother's grief or mirth;

Nor know'st thou one of all the ills

Which mark thy mournful birth.

Thy lips one art alone,

One loving, simple grace,

By nature's instinct have been taught:

Seek, then, thy nestling-place!

Spread out thy little hand;

Thy mother's bosom press,

And thus return, in grateful guise,

Her more sincere caress.

Go, darling infant, go;

Thine hour has passed away;

The gaoler's harsh, discordant voice

Forbids thy longer stay.

God grant that we may meet

In happier times than this,

And with thine angel mother dear

Enjoy domestic bliss!

But should the fearful clouds,

Which Burmah's sky o'erspread,

Conduct the threatened vengeance down

On thy poor father's head,

Where couldst thou shelter find?

Oh, whither wouldst thou stray?

What hand would guide my darling's steps

Along their dangerous way?

There is a God on high,

The glorious King of kings;

'Tis He to whom thy mother prays,

Whose love she sits and sings.

That glorious God, so kind,

Has sent His Son to save

Our ruined race from sin and death,

And raise them from the grave.

And to that gracious God,

My darling I commend;

Be Thou the helpless orphan's stay,

Her Father and her Friend!

Inspire her infant heart

The Saviour's love to know,

And guide her through this dreary world,

This wilderness of woe.

Thou sleep'st again, my lamb,

Nor heed'st nor song nor prayer:

Go, sleeping in thy mother's arms,

Safe in a mother's care.

And when, in future years,

Thou know'st thy father's tongue,

These lines will show thee how he felt,

How o'er his babe he sung.

II.—PAGE 189

MRS. ANN JUDSON

The life of Ann H. Judson affords a beautiful example of the union of Christian heroism with the most attractive female excellence. She is known to the world through her brilliant and striking traits of character; but there are a few hearts in which her softer and more retiring virtues have reared a no less enviable mausoleum. Two ladies, who knew her intimately, were once describing her as a person of queenly presence, when one of them (Mrs. Wade) added, 'But it was not for that, nor for her superior dignity, that I loved her so dearly. With all her dignity, she was simple, affable, and affectionate; and, young and inexperienced as I was, she treated me, during the long passage out, and ever after, not only with the kind consideration of an endeared friend, but with the sympathizing tenderness of a sister.'

During the early part of her residence in Rangoon, she discovered by the river side a poor family, with a sick and suffering child. Of the parents, who were Anglo-Indians, she knew nothing, except that they were strangers in a foreign port, and in distress; but it needed no more to enlist her ever-active sympathies in their behalf. The house was a mile from the mission premises, yet she walked to and fro daily, and watched over her little charge with the patient, tender solicitude of a mother. But, with all her care, the poor child died. She dressed it in its little shroud, accompanied it to the grave, and returned to her home, followed by the blessings of the bereaved parents. Close by the house of the poor East Indian, two English ship-captains had a temporary residence, and they watched her movements in wondering admiration,—one of them, as was afterward reported, frequently exclaiming, 'That is strange! that is wonderful! that must be true religion!' Shortly after this, it was necessary for Mrs. Judson to go to Madras. The person applied to for a passage proved to be one of the neighbours of the bereaved Indian. He waited only to hear the name of his proposed passenger, when he burst forth in an enthusiastic panegyric, concluding with, 'Most gladly will I take her, but without any charges, my vessel is only too much honoured by carrying freight like that.'

As a wife, few have had opportunities to exhibit such unwavering devotion, through scenes of indescribable peril and suffering. But even here one phase only of her character is visible; and, with such evidences of heroism before our eyes, we can scarcely think of her as the gentle, confiding wife she really was. In looking over some old papers, I have found a touchingly tender letter addressed to her husband during his first considerable absence, in which occur the following lines, evidently an impromptu:

'As the frail ivy twines around

The firm and stately tree,

So you, my love, too late I've found,

Have been the elm to me.

'As shines the moon, serene and high,

In borrowed light arrayed,

So you the sun have been, while I

Have but your light displayed.'

E. C. J.

III.—PAGE 250

Dr. Judson held rather strong views against the expediency of English teaching among the natives of India. One of his last letters upon this subject contains the following statements:—

'The propriety of bestowing much missionary labour and expense upon country-born children is very questionable,—that class of the population being found throughout India to have less influence on the population at large than any other. Their influence, for obvious reasons, is generally confined to themselves. The propriety of teaching English to the natives, to the exclusion and depreciation of their own vernacular, is still more questionable. I am more and more convinced that English preaching, English teaching, and English periodicals, are the bane of missions at the East. There are several missionaries,—more, it is true, from Great Britain than from America,—who never acquire the languages, except a mere smattering of them, of the countries to which they are sent, but beguile their time and expend their labours among their own countrymen and the country-born population, under the fallacious idea that through them the Christian religion will gradually reach the masses of the native population. There are, however, some symptoms of an approaching change in public sentiment throughout the East in regard to the mode of conducting missionary operations. It begins to be found that popular English schools, containing hundreds of pupils, and instructed by great and powerful men, but men ignorant of all native languages, will never convert the millions of the heathen.'

IV.—PAGE 290

MRS. SARAH JUDSON

A wonderful fragrance lingers round the memory of Mrs. Sarah Judson. Lovely both in natural gifts and in the beauty of holiness, a silent influence followed her wherever she moved, which perhaps spoke more powerfully for Christ than even her many labours of love. Her disposition was gentle and retiring, full of unselfish consideration, and warm, clinging affection. As a mother, it is said, she shone peculiarly by her wise and loving upbringing, as well as by her unceasing prayerfulness for her children. The domestic circle seemed her native sphere; and it might have been thought that she was hardly fit to bear the blasts of a rough world alone. Yet when, as Sarah Boardman, she was left in widowhood, she shrank from neither toil, nor hardship, nor insult, but with no companions but her native followers and her baby George, she ventured among men and women, wilder than their jungles and streams, to carry on among them the glorious work which her husband had begun.

She seldom spoke of those labours. Little was ever known of them, except that the light in the Karen villages, instead of being extinguished, burned brighter than ever. It seemed natural to her to slip into any post from which a labourer was missing, and, when, she was no longer needed, to glide away from it as quietly as though she had done nothing. It was in this spirit that she toiled for years at the Peguan language, merely to supply an exigency, and then, when another was ready to take her place, gladly returned to her more familiar labours among the Burmese. In all that she did, she was so unobtrusive and humble, that even those around her hardly knew what a great work she was doing, except by its fruits.

One beautiful incident is told of fruit found after the sower had passed away. While her memoir was in course of preparation, Mrs. E. C. Judson relates that 'a middle-aged man, of sober aspect and respectable appearance, came to the pastor of the church to ask for baptism. He spoke the Burmese imperfectly, and it was soon ascertained that he was a Peguan, from the vicinity of Bangkok, in Siam.

' "Why do you wish to be baptized?" inquired the pastor. "I believe in the Lord Jesus Christ; and I wish to enter His religion and obey His commands." "How do you know that this is one of His commands?" "I have read about it in the Book of truth." "How did you first become acquainted with the religion of Jesus Christ?" "Before I came to this region, a countryman of mine chanced to mention a wonderful little book, which a foreign teacher at Bangkok had given him, and I had the curiosity to procure and read it. I have never worshipped an idol since." "Indeed! What book was it?" "The Golden Balance."

'The conversation for several moments ceased; for the wheel of time was thrown back too suddenly to admit of any concealment of emotion. The translation of the Golden Balance was one of the earliest of Mrs. Judson's efforts in the Peguan; and the stranger, unconsciously, sat beneath the very roof where she had toiled for his salvation. There had the fingers, now mouldering in a distant grave, given wings to the precious seed, which floated away over vale and mountain, river and woodland, to drop into the soil prepared for it by the Holy Spirit.

'After due examination, the man was admitted to baptism; and the ordinance was administered close beside her former home. The Peguan translator she so often mentions, now a thin, pale, stooping old man, appearing always in russet tunic and sombre-hued waist-cloth, looked on at the scene; and the duty was performed by the hands she would have chosen above all others for administering this sacred rite to one of her spiritual children; but she, who would have been the most joyful of all the spectators, was not there. The bristling pines of the north shake their tasselled branches above the snows of her father's home; and the crested hoopoo bird, seeking the golden banana and white-flowering cocoa of the south, wings its way across her children's graves; while far away from either scene, upon a rock-bound island, which never felt the pressure of her tread, she is left to her lonely sleep. But by the labour of her hand and pen, by the labour of her lips, engraved on many a throbbing heart, by her prayers, and by the fragrance that clings about her memory, she is living and labouring still.'

V.—PAGE 292

ADDRESS BY DR. JUDSON TO THE SOCIETY FOR MISSIONARY INQUIRY IN BROWN UNIVERSITY

MY DEAR YOUNG BRETHREN,—There is one, and only one, right path for every man, for each one of you, to follow, in order to insure the full approbation of God, and the greatest success in your efforts to do good and glorify Him. Seek that one path. There may indeed be some other path, not very far from the right one, in which you can accomplish something for the cause of truth; but nowhere can you do so much as in that one. Do not, my brethren, content yourselves with anything short of finding the one path marked out for you by the will of Heaven; and when you have found it, walk in it, straight forward, and let nothing turn you aside.

But to find that path,—that is the question, and one not to be settled without diligent inquiry. To determine this point in your own case, in the first place, try all your schemes by the unerring word of God. Reject at once whatever has not a firm basis there. Let this blessed word be to you the golden lamp of heaven, hung out to guide you into and along the pathway of duty, and do not for a moment turn your backs upon this glorious light, to follow the feeble tapers of your own lighting. But you are not to suppose that this of itself, independent of all other considerations, will decide you to your particular sphere of labour. Next, then, look for the developments of God's providence in your own characters, and in the circumstances in which you are placed. Watch for the expression of His will in the opinions and advice of your most pious and judicious brethren respecting you, and by all means humbly and earnestly pray for guidance from above.

Finally, seek for a deep and abiding conviction of duty. Do not act from the impulse of mere feeling. Feelings often mislead us. Good men sometimes mistake transient impressions, or the whisperings of their own vain imaginations, for a sense of duty, and follow some Satanic influence, instead of the Spirit of truth. You must be very cautious here. I well recollect when I and other young men stood before the Association in Bradford, to petition that body for aid in prosecuting our missionary scheme. Inquiry was made respecting the motives which prompted us to engage in this work. Samuel J. Mills replied with great emphasis, 'I feel myself impelled to go; yea, woe is me if I preach not the gospel to the heathen.' It is this settled conviction of duty to Christ,—a feeling that necessity is laid upon him,—and this only, that will sustain a man under the severe trials and labours of the missionary life. Without this he will soon be discouraged, and faint by the way. But with the assurance that, having humbly submitted himself to the divine teaching, he has the approval of Christ, he is prepared for any event. With this he can labour; by this he can die. If brought into difficulties, from which there seems no escape, he feels that he has gone thus far in obedience to his Lord's commands; that he is doing his Master's work; and that, whatever befalls him, all is well: it is the will of Christ.

If you can have this unwavering conviction, my dear brethren, that God requires you to go as missionaries to the heathen, go. But do not go without it. It is indispensable to your success. I have known more than one missionary break down for want of this assurance.

If it be the will of God, may many of you go, constrained by the love of Christ, and lead many more to love Him; and when our work is done on earth, may we all be raised to heaven, where we shall know more of His love to us, and love Him more!

VI

EXTRACT FROM ADDRESS AT WATERVILLE COLLEGE

If any of you enter the gospel ministry in this or other lands, let not your object be so much to 'do your duty,' or even to 'save souls,' though these should have a place in your motives, as to please the Lord Jesus. Let this be your ruling motive in all that you do. Now, do you ask how you shall please Him? How, indeed, shall we know what will please Him, but by His commands? Obey these commands, and you will not fail to please Him. And there is that 'last command,' given just before He ascended to the Father, 'Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature.' It is not yet obeyed as it should be. Fulfil that, and you will please the Saviour.

Some one asked me, not long ago, whether faith or love influenced me most in going to the heathen. I thought of it a while, and at length concluded that there was in me but little of either. But in thinking of what did influence me, I remembered a time, out in the woods back of Andover Seminary, when I was almost disheartened. Everything looked dark. No one had gone out from this country. The way was not open. The field was far distant, and in an unhealthy climate. I knew not what to do. All at once that 'last command' seemed to come to my heart directly from heaven. I could doubt no longer, but determined on the spot to obey it at all hazards, for the sake of pleasing the Lord Jesus Christ.

Now, my dear brethren, if the Lord wants you for missionaries, He will send that command home to your hearts. If He does so, you neglect it at your peril!

POEMS BY MRS. E. C. JUDSON

A TRIBUTE. [TO S. B. J.]

Off St. Helena, September 1846

BLOW softly, gales! a tender sigh

Is flung upon your wing;

Lose not the treasure as ye fly;

Bear it where love and beauty lie

Silent and withering.

Flow gently, waves! a tear is laid

Upon your heaving breast;

Leave it within yon dark rock's shade,

Or weave it in an iris braid

To crown the Christian's rest.

Bloom, ocean-isle! lone ocean-isle!

Thou keep'st a jewel rare;

Let rugged rock and dark defile

Above the slumbering stranger smile,

And deck her couch with care.

Weep, ye bereaved! a dearer head

Ne'er left the pillowing breast;

The good, the pure, the lovely fled,

When, mingling with the shadowy dead,

She meekly went to rest.

Mourn, Burmah, mourn! a bow which spanned

Thy cloud has passed away;

A flower has withered on thy sand,

A pitying spirit left thy strand;

A saint has ceased to pray.

Angels, rejoice! another string

Has caught the strains above;

Rejoice, rejoice! a new-fledged wing

Around the throne is hovering,

In sweet, glad, wondering love.

Blow, blow, ye gales! wild billows, roll!

Unfurl the canvas wide;

On! where she laboured lies our goal;

Weak, timid, frail, yet would my soul

Fain be to hers allied.

MY BIRD

[To Emily Frances, her First Child.]

ERE last year's moon had left the sky,

A birdling sought my Indian nest,

And folded,—oh, so lovingly!—

Her tiny wings upon my breast.

From morn till evening's purple tinge,

In winsome helplessness she lies;

Two rose leaves, with a silken fringe,

Shut softly on her starry eyes.

There's not in Ind a lovelier bird;

Broad earth owns not a happier nest;

O God, Thou hast a fountain stirred,

Whose waters never more shall rest!

This beautiful, mysterious thing,

This seeming visitant from heaven,

This bird with the immortal wing,

To me,—to me! Thy hand has given.

The pulse first caught its tiny stroke,

The blood its crimson hue, from mine;

This life, which I have dared invoke,

Henceforth is parallel with Thine.

A silent awe is in my room;

I tremble with delicious fear;

The future with its light and gloom,—

Time and eternity are here.

Doubts, hopes, in eager tumult rise;

Hear, O my God! one earnest prayer:

Room for my bird in paradise,

And give her angel-plumage there!

ANGEL CHARLIE

HE came,—a beauteous vision,—

Then vanished from my sight,

His wing one moment cleaving

The blackness of my night.

My glad ear caught its rustle,

Then, sweeping by, he stole

The dew-drop that his coming

Had cherished in my soul.

Oh, he had been my solace

When grief my spirit swayed;

And on his fragile being

Had tender hopes been stayed.

Where thought, where feeling lingered,

His form was sure to glide,

And in the lone night watches

'Twas ever by my side.

He came; but as the blossom

Its petals closes up,

And hides them from the tempest,

Within its sheltering cup;

So he his spirit gathered

Back to his frightened breast,

And passed from earth's grim threshold,

To be the Saviour's guest.

My boy,—ah me! the sweetness,

The anguish of that word!—

My boy, when in strange night dreams,

My slumbering soul is stirred;

When music floats around me,

When soft lips touch my brow,

And whisper gentle greetings,

Oh, tell me, is it thou?

I know, by one sweet token,

My Charlie is not dead;

One golden clue he left me,

As on his track he sped.

Were he some gem or blossom,

But fashioned for to-day,

My love would slowly perish

With his dissolving clay.

Oh, by this deathless yearning,

Which is not idly given;

By the delicious nearness

My spirit feels to heaven;

By dreams that throng my night sleep,

By visions of the day,

By whispers when I'm erring,

By promptings when I pray;—

I know this life so cherished,

Which sprang beneath my heart,

Which formed of my own being

So beautiful a part;

This precious, winsome creature,

My unfledged, voiceless dove,

Lifts now a seraph's pinion,

And warbles lays of love.

Oh, I would not recall thee,

My glorious angel boy!

Thou needest not my bosom,

Rare bird of light and joy!

Here dash I down the tear-drops,

Still gathering in my eyes;

Blest,—oh, how blest!—in adding

A seraph to the skies!

SWEET MOTHER

[Written while in suspense as to her Husband's Fate.]

THE wild south-west monsoon has risen

On broad grey wings of gloom,

While here, from out my dreary prison

I look as from a tomb,—alas!

My heart another tomb.

Upon the low thatched roof the rain

With ceaseless patter falls:

My choicest treasures bear its stain,

Mould gathers on the walls;—would Heaven

'Twere only on the walls!

Sweet mother, I am here alone,

In sorrow and in pain;

The sunshine from my heart has flown,

It feels the driving rain,—ah me!

The chill, and mould, and rain.

Four laggard months have wheeled their round

Since love upon it smiled,

And everything of earth has frowned

On thy poor stricken child,—sweet friend,

Thy weary, suffering child.

I'd watched my loved one night and day,

Scarce breathing when he slept,

And as my hopes were swept away,

I'd in his bosom wept.—O God!

How had I prayed and wept!

They bore him from me to the ship,

As bearers bear the dead;

I kissed his speechless, quivering lip,

And left him on his bed,—alas!

It seemed a coffin bed.

Then, mother, little Charlie came,

Our beautiful, fair boy,

With my own father's cherished name;

But oh, he brought no joy!—my child

Brought mourning and no joy.

His little grave I cannot see,

Though weary months have fled

Since pitying lips bent over me,

And whispered, 'He is dead,'—ah me!

'Tis dreadful to be dead!

I do not mean for one like me,

So weary, worn, and weak:

Death's shadowy paleness seems to be

Even now upon my cheek,—his seal

On form, and brow, and cheek.

But for a bright-winged bird, like him,

To hush his joyous song,

And, prisoned in a coffin dim,

Join Death's pale phantom throng,—my boy

To join that grisly throng!

O mother, I can scarcely bear

To think of this to-day!

It was so exquisitely fair,

That little form of clay,—my heart

Still lingers by his clay.

And when, for one loved far, far more,

Come thickly gathering tears,

My star of faith is clouded o'er,

I sink beneath my fears,—sweet friend,

My heavy weight of fears.

O but to feel thy fond arms twine

Around me once again!

It almost seems those lips of thine

Might kiss away the pain,—might soothe

This dull, cold, heavy pain.

But, gentle mother, through life's storms,

I may not lean on thee;

For helpless cowering little forms

Cling trustingly to me,—poor babes!

To have no guide but me.

With weary foot and broken wing,

With bleeding heart and sore,

Thy dove looks backward sorrowing,

But seeks the ark no more,—thy breast

Seeks never, never more.

Sweet mother, for the exile pray,

That loftier faith be given;

Her broken reeds all swept away,

That she may rest in heaven,—her soul

Grow strong in Christ and heaven.

All fearfully, all tearfully,

Alone and sorrowing,

My dim eye lifted to the sky,—

Fast to the cross I cling,—O Christ!

To Thy dear cross I cling.

MY ANGEL GUIDE

I GAZED down life's dim labyrinth,

A wildering maze to see,

Crossed o'er by many a tangled clue,

And wild as wild could be;

And as I gazed in doubt and dread,

An angel came to me.

I knew him for a heavenly guide;

I knew him even then,

Though meekly as a child he stood

Among the sons of men,—

By his deep spirit-loveliness

I knew him even then.

And as I leaned my weary head

Upon his proffered breast,

And scanned the peril-haunted wild

From out my place of rest,

I wondered if the shining ones

Of Eden were more blest.

For there was light within my soul,

Light on my peaceful way,

And all around the blue above

The clustering starlight lay;

And easterly I saw upreared

The pearly gates of day.

So, hand in hand, we trod the wild,—

My angel love and I;—

His lifted wing all quivering

With tokens from the sky.

Strange, my dull thought could not divine

'Twas lifted,—but to fly!

Again down life's dim labyrinth

I grope my way alone,

While wildly through the midnight sky

Black, hurrying clouds are blown,

And thickly, in my tangled path,

The sharp, bare thorns are sown.

Yet firm my foot, for well I know

The goal cannot be far;

And ever, through the rifted clouds

Shines out one steady star;

For when my guide went up, he left

The pearly gates ajar.

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MONERGISM BOOKS

Adoniram Judson: A Missionary of the Apostolic School, by Horatius Bonar, Copyright © 2021

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Table of Contents

PREFATORY NOTE

CHAPTER I: CHILDHOOD—YOUTH—MISSIONARY RESOLUTIONS. 1788–1810

CHAPTER II: APPOINTMENT AS MISSIONARY—ARRIVAL AT BURMAH. 1810–1813

CHAPTER III: STUDY OF THE LANGUAGE—FIRST EFFORTS. 1813–1818

CHAPTER IV: THE GOSPEL PREACHED—FIRST-FRUITS. 1819–1820

CHAPTER V: FIRST VISIT TO AVA—THE TENTH BURMAN BAPTIZED. 1819–1820

CHAPTER VI: SECOND VISIT TO AVA—INTENTION OF FORMING A STATION THERE. 1820–1824

CHAPTER VII: DR. JUDSON'S IMPRISONMENT. 1824–1826

CHAPTER IX: VISITS TO PROME, RANGOON, AND KAREN VILLAGES. 1830–1831

CHAPTER X: LIFE AMONG THE KARENS—COMPLETION OF THE BURMAN BIBLE. 1832–1834

CHAPTER XI: MISSIONARY AND FAMILY LETTERS—DECLINING HEALTH. 1835–1840

CHAPTER XII: BURMESE DICTIONARY—DOMESTIC SORROW. 1841–1845

CHAPTER XIII: VISIT TO AMERICA—LABOURS AT RANGOON AND MAULMAIN. 1845–1849

CHAPTER XIV: GRADUAL DECLINE—DEATH. 1849–1850

CHAPTER XV: RETROSPECT—CHARACTERISTIC ANECDOTES

APPENDIX

I. LINES ADDRESSED TO AN INFANT DAUGHTER, TWENTY DAYS OLD, IN THE CONDEMNED PRISON AT AVA

II. MRS. ANN JUDSON

III. EXPEDIENCY OF ENGLISH TEACHING AMONG THE NATIVES OF INDIA

IV. MRS. SARAH JUDSON

V. ADDRESS TO THE SOCIETY FOR MISSIONARY INQUIRY IN BROWN UNIVERSITY

VI. EXTRACT FROM ADDRESS AT WATERVILLE COLLEGE

POEMS BY MRS. E. C. JUDSON

I. A TRIBUTE TO S. B. J.

II. MY BIRD

III. ANGEL CHARLIE

IV. SWEET MOTHER

V. MY ANGEL GUIDE