CHAPTER XVIII.

INFLUENCE OF THESE DISASTERS ON THE MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE.--TESTIMONIALS

TO MRS. JUDSON'S HEROIC CONDUCT.--LETTER FROM MR. JUDSON--HIS ACCEPTANCE

OF THE POST OF INTERPRETER TO CRAWFORD'S EMBASSY.--MRS. JUDSON'S

RESIDENCE AT AMHERST.--HER ILLNESS AND DEATH--DEATH OF HER INFANT.

Mrs. Judson concludes her long, melancholy, but most interesting letter

to her brother, as follows: "A review of our trip to and adventures in

Ava, suggests 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 till the war was concluded? But all that we can say is--_It

is not in man that walketh to direct his steps_.--So far as my going

round to Rangoon at the time I did, was instrumental in bringing those

heavy afflictions upon us, I can only state that if ever I acted from a

sense of duty in my life, it was at that time; for my conscience would

not allow me any peace, when I thought of sending for your brother to

Calcutta, in prospect of the approaching war. Our society at home have

lost no property on account of our difficulties; but two years of

precious time have been lost to the mission unless some future

advantage may be gained, in consequence of the severe discipline to

which we ourselves have been subject. We are sometimes induced to think

that the lesson we have found so very hard to learn will have a

beneficial effect through our lives; and that the mission may in the

end, be advanced rather than retarded."

In reference to this timid and hesitating hope of some benefit which

_might possibly_ accrue to the cause of missions, from her terrible

experience, the remarks of Dr. Dowling in a recent work, are so

appropriate, that we will introduce them here. "Previous to the

commencement of these sufferings, though a few American Baptists were

partially awake to the salvation of the heathen, ... yet the

contributions for the mission were meagre, and the interest it had

excited was comparatively small. Something of a thrilling, exciting

character was needed to arouse the churches from their indifference and

lethargy; something that should touch their hearts, by showing them

somewhat of the nature and extent of the sacrifices made by those

devoted missionaries whom they were called upon to sustain by their

benefactions and their prayers.

"Such a stimulus was afforded, when after two years of painful suspense,

during which it was not known whether the missionaries were dead or

alive, the touching recital of their unparalleled sufferings for

Christ's sake, and of their wonderful deliverance, at length burst like

an electric shock upon the American churches. And that shock has not yet

spent its force, as we have recently seen in the effect produced by the

simple, silent presence, in the assemblies of the saints, of the

venerated man of God, who can say with an Apostle--'I bear in my body

the scars of the Lord Jesus!'"[4]

That worn veteran had but to arise in a Christian assembly, and a thrill

of sympathy was sent through the audience, and thousands upon thousands

of dollars were pledged on the spot to that cause which his silent

presence so powerfully advocated.

Another consequence of the war, was to secure British toleration and

protection to a large territory, hitherto almost inaccessible to the

missionaries. Of this we shall speak more fully hereafter.

Mrs. Judson proceeds: "We should have had no hesitation about remaining

at Ava, if no part of the Burman empire had been ceded to the British.

But as it was, we felt that it would be unnecessary exposure, besides

the missionary field being more limited in consequence of intoleration.

We now consider our future missionary prospects as bright indeed, and

our only anxiety is to be once more in that situation when our time

will be exclusively devoted to the instruction of the heathen.

... "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 delineate

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 Church among the heathen."

* * * * *

The following is extracted from a tribute to Mrs. Judson which appeared

in a Calcutta paper, after the war. It was written by a fellow-prisoner

of Mr. J.

"Mrs. Judson was the author of those eloquent and forcible appeals to

the government, which prepared them by degrees for submission to terms

of peace, never expected by any who knew the haughtiness and inflexible

pride of the Burman court.

"And while on this subject, the overflowings of grateful feelings on

behalf of myself and fellow-prisoners, compel me to add a tribute of

public thanks to that amiable and humane female, who, though living at a

distance of two miles from our prison, without any means of conveyance,

and very feeble in health, forgot her own comfort and infirmity, and

almost every day visited us, sought out and administered to our wants,

and contributed in every way to alleviate our misery.

"When we were all left by the government destitute of food, she, with

unwearied perseverance by some means or other, obtained for us a

constant supply.

... "When the unfeeling avarice of our keepers confined us inside, or

made our feet fast in the stocks, she, like a ministering angel, never

ceased her applications to the government, until she was authorized to

communicate to us the grateful news of our enlargement, or of a respite

from our galling oppressions.

"Besides all this, it was unquestionably owing, in a chief degree, to

the repeated eloquence and forcible appeals of Mrs. Judson, that the

untutored Burman was finally made willing to secure the welfare of his

country by a sincere peace."

Well may Professor Gammell write of her: "History has not recorded,

poetry itself has seldom portrayed a more affecting exhibition of

Christian fortitude, of female heroism, and of all the noble and

generous qualities which constitute the dignity and glory of woman. In

the midst of sickness and danger, and every calamity which can crush the

human heart, she presented a character equal to the sternest trial, and

an address and a fertility of resources which gave her an ascendency

over the minds of her most cruel enemies, and alone saved the

missionaries and their fellow-captives from the terrible doom which

constantly awaited them."

We will conclude this account of the terrible _two years_, by an extract

from a letter of Mr. Judson dated Rangoon, March 25, 1826. "Through the

kind interposition of our Heavenly Father, we have been preserved in the

most imminent danger, from the hand of the executioner, and in repeated

instances of most alarming illness, during my protracted imprisonment of

one year and seven months, nine months in three pairs of fetters, two

months in five, six months in one, and two months a prisoner at

large.... The disciples and inquirers have been dispersed in all

directions. Several are dead; Moung-Shwa-ba has been in the

mission-house through the whole, and Moung Ing with Mrs. Judson at

Ava.... I long for the time when we shall enjoy once more the stated

worship and ordinances of the Lord's house."

"One result of the Burman war, was the acquisition by the British of

several provinces previously under the government of the King of Burmah.

Thus a safe asylum was provided for the missionaries, and for the

Christian natives where they might worship God in peace, under the

shelter of the English government." One of these provinces was fixed

upon as the seat of the mission, and the new town of Amherst was to be

the residence of the missionaries. Native Christian families began to

assemble there, and Mrs. Judson made vigorous preparations to open a

school. Mr. Crawford of the British Embassy after long solicitation,

succeeded in persuading Mr. Judson, that by accompanying him in the

capacity of interpreter to the court of Ava he might secure to the

mission certain advantages he had long had greatly at heart, and he

reluctantly consented to go. Leaving Mrs. Judson and her infant daughter

in the house of the civil superintendent at Amherst, he proceeded to the

Burman capital. The journey was every way unfortunate; attended with

long delays, and in its result, as far as Mr. Judson was concerned,

quite unsuccessful. But it was chiefly disastrous because it detained

him from the sick and dying bed of that devoted wife to whom he was

bound by every tie that can attach human hearts to each other; and

compelled her to end her troubled pilgrimage _alone_. That God who

"moves in a mysterious way," had ordered it that she who had lived

through appalling dangers and threatening deaths until her mission of

love toward those she had cherished so fondly was accomplished, was--now

that her trials seemed nearly ended, and the hopes of her heart

seemingly in a train of accomplishment--suddenly called from the scene

of her labors to that of her "exceeding great reward." It was as if a

noble ship after encountering storms and tempests, after being often

nearly wrecked, and as often saved almost by miracle, should when

already in port and in sight of anxious spectators, suddenly sink

forever.

In a letter to the corresponding secretary, dated Ava, Dec. 7, 1826, Mr.

Judson writes: "The news of the death of my beloved wife, has not only

thrown a gloom over all my future prospects, but has forever embittered

the recollection of the present journey, in consequence of which I have

been absent from her dying bed, and prevented from affording the

spiritual comfort which her lonely circumstances peculiarly required,

and of contributing to avert the fatal catastrophe, which has deprived

me of one of the first of women, and best of wives. I commend myself and

motherless child to your sympathy and prayers."

From a letter from Mr. Judson to Mrs. Hasseltine we learn, that when he

parted from his wife, she was in good health and comfortably situated,

with happy prospects of a new field of missionary labor, and the

expectation of seeing her husband again in three or four months at

farthest. His last letter from her was dated the 14th of September. She

says, "I have this day moved into the new house, and for the first time

since we were broken up at Ava, feel myself at home. The house is large

and convenient, and if you were here I should feel quite happy.... Poor

little Maria is still feeble.... When I ask her where Papa is, she

always starts up and points toward the sea. The servants behave very

well, and I have no trouble about anything except you and Maria. Pray

take care of yourself.... May God preserve and bless you, and restore

you again to your new and old home is the prayer of your affectionate

Ann." Another letter from a friend confirmed the statement with regard

to his wife's health, though it spoke unfavorably of that of the child.

"But," continues Mr. Judson, "my next communication was a letter with a

black seal, handed me by a person, saying he was sorry to inform me of

the death of the child. I know not whether this was a mistake on his

part, or kindly intended to prepare my mind for the real intelligence. I

went to my room, and opened the letter with a feeling of gratitude and

joy, that at any rate the mother was spared. It began thus: 'My dear

Sir,--To one who has suffered so much and with such exemplary fortitude,

there needs but little preface to tell a tale of distress. It were cruel

indeed to torture you with doubt and suspense. To sum up the unhappy

tidings in a few words--_Mrs. Judson is no more_.' At intervals,"

continues Mr. Judson, "I got through the dreadful letter and proceed to

give you the substance, as indelibly engraven on my heart." After

adding that her disease was a violent fever, which baffled the skill of

the physicians and after eighteen days carried her to the grave, he

continues: "You perceive I have no account whatever of the state of her

mind in view of death and eternity, or of her wishes concerning her

darling babe, whom she loved most intensely. I will not trouble you, my

dear mother, with an account of my own private feelings--the bitter,

heart-rending anguish, which for some days would not admit of

mitigation, and the comfort which the Gospel subsequently afforded, the

Gospel of Jesus Christ which brings life and immortality to light."

After his return to Amherst, Mr. Judson writes: "Amid the desolation

that death has made, I take up my pen to address once more the mother of

my beloved Ann. I am sitting in the house she built--in the room where

she breathed her last--and at a window from which I see the tree that

stands at the head of her grave.... Mr. and Mrs. Wade are living in the

house, having arrived here about a month after Ann's death, and Mrs. W.

has taken charge of my poor motherless Maria.... When I arrived Mr. Wade

met me at the landing-place, and as I passed on to the house, one and

another of the native Christians came out, and when they saw me they

began to weep. At length we reached the house; and I almost expected to

see my love coming out to meet me as usual, but no, I only saw in the

arms of Mrs. Wade, a poor puny child, who could not recognize her

father, and from whose infant mind had long been erased all recollection

of the mother who loved her so much. She turned away from me in alarm,

and I, obliged to seek comfort elsewhere, found my way to the grave, but

who ever obtained comfort there? Thence I went to the house in which I

left her; and looked at the spot where last we knelt in prayer, and

where we exchanged the parting kiss....

"It seems that her head was much affected and she said but little. She

sometimes complained thus: 'The teacher is long in coming, and the

missionaries are long in coming, I must die alone and leave my little

one, but as it is the will of God, I acquiesce in his will. I am not

afraid of death, but I am afraid I shall not be able to bear these

pains. Tell the teacher that the disease was most violent, and I could

not write; tell him how I suffered and died; tell him all you see.'...

When she could not 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 till its father should 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."

From the physician who attended her he afterwards learned that the fatal

termination of her disease, was chiefly owing to the weakness of her

constitution occasioned by the severe privations, and long-protracted

sufferings which she endured at Ava. "And oh!" adds her husband, "With

what meekness, patience magnanimity and Christian fortitude, she bore

those sufferings; and can I wish they had been less? Can I

sacriligiously wish to rob her crown of a single gem? Much she saw and

suffered of the evils of this evil world; and eminently was she

qualified to relish and enjoy the pure and holy rest into which she has

entered. True she has been taken from a sphere in which she was

singularly qualified, by her natural disposition, her winning manners,

her devoted zeal, and her perfect acquaintance with the language, to be

extensively serviceable to the cause of Christ; true she has been torn

from her husband's bleeding heart and from her darling babe; but

infinite wisdom and love have presided, as ever, in this most afflicting

dispensation. Faith decides that all is right."

To show that Mrs. Judson was already appreciated as she deserved by the

European society in Amherst, we will subjoin part of a letter from

Captain F. of that place to a friend in Rangoon: "I shall not attempt to

give you an account of the gloom which the death of this amiable woman

has thrown over our little society, you who were so well acquainted with

her, will feel her loss more deeply; but we had just known her long

enough to value her acquaintance as a blessing in this remote corner. I

dread the effect it will have on poor Judson. I am sure you will take

every care that this mournful intelligence may be opened to him as

carefully as possible."

In the _Calcutta Review_ of 1848, we find this noble tribute to her

memory: "Of Mrs. Judson little is known in the noisy world. Few

comparatively are acquainted with her name, few with her actions, but if

any woman since the first arrival of the white strangers on the shores

of India, has on that great theatre of war, stretching between the mouth

of the Irrawady and the borders of the Hindoo Kush, rightly earned for

herself the title of a heroine, Mrs. Judson has, by her doings and

sufferings, fairly earned the distinction--a distinction, be it said,

which her true woman's nature would have very little appreciated. Still

it is right that she should be honored by the world. Her sufferings were

far more unendurable, her heroism far more noble, than any which in more

recent times have been so much pitied and so much applauded; but she was

a simple missionary's wife, an American by birth, and she told her tale

with an artless modesty--writing only what it became her to write,

treating only of matters that became a woman. Her captivity, if so it

can be called, was voluntarily endured. She of her own free will shared

the sufferings of her husband, taking to herself no credit for anything

she did; putting her trust in God, and praying to him to strengthen her

human weakness. She was spared to breathe once again the free air of

liberty, but her troubles had done the work of death on her delicate

frame, and she was soon translated to heaven. She was the real heroine.

The annals in the East present us with no parallel."

On the 26th of April, Mr. Judson writes, "My sweet little Maria lies by

the side of her fond mother. Her complaint proved incurable. The work of

death went forward, and after the usual process, excruciating to a

parent's feelings, she ceased to breathe on the 24th inst., at 3 o'clock

P.M., aged 2 years and 3 months. We then closed her faded eyes, and

bound up her discolored lips, and folded her little hands--the exact

pattern of her mother's--on her cold breast. The next morning we made

her last bed, under the hope tree, (Hopia,) in the small enclosure which

surrounds her mother's lonely grave."

Many months later he wrote; "You ask many questions about our sufferings

at Ava, but how can I answer them now? There would be some pleasure in

reviewing those scenes if she were alive; now I can not. The only

reflection that assuages the anguish of retrospection is, that she now

rests far away, where no spotted-faced executioner can fill her heart

with terror; where no unfeeling magistrate can extort the scanty

pittance which she had preserved through every risk to sustain her

fettered husband and famishing babe; no more exposed to lie on a bed of

languishment, stung with the uncertainty what would become of her poor

husband and child when she was gone. No, she has her little ones around

her, I trust, and has taught them to praise the source whence their

deliverance flowed. Her little son, his soul enlarged to angel's size,

was perhaps first to meet her at heaven's portals, and welcome his

mother to his own abode--and her daughter followed her in six short

months." ... "And when we all meet in Heaven--when all have arrived, and

we find all safe, forever safe, and our Saviour ever safe and glorious,

and in him all his beloved--oh shall we not be happy, and ever praise

him who has endured the cross to wear and confer such a crown!"

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 4: Alluding to Dr. Judson's visit to America.]

PART II.

THE LIFE OF SARAH B. JUDSON.

SECOND WIFE OF

REV. ADONIRAM JUDSON, D.D.

(_Extract of a Letter from Mr. Judson._)

"I exceedingly regret that there is no portrait of the second as of the

first Mrs. Judson. Her soft blue eyes, her mild aspect, her lovely face

and elegant form, have never been delineated on canvass. They must soon

pass away from the memory even of her children, but they will remain

forever enshrined in her husband's heart."

CHAPTER I.

BIRTH AND EDUCATION.--POETICAL TALENT.

In an article in the _North American Review_ of 1835, we find the

following admirable sentiments: "It is impossible to peruse the written

life of any man or woman who has manifested great intellectual or moral

power, whether in a holy cause or an unholy one, without a strong

admiration and a deep sympathy, and a powerful impulse toward imitation.

The soul is awakened, the active powers are roused, the contemplation of

high achievement kindles emulation; and well would it be were the

character of those leading minds, which thus draw after them the mass of

mankind, always virtuous and noble. But in the vast majority of

instances, the leaders of mankind, are individuals whose principles and

motives the Christian must condemn, as hostile to the spirit of the

gospel. More precious therefore, is the example of that pious few who

have devoted themselves with pure hearts fervently, to the glory of God,

and the good of man, and whose energy of purpose, and firmness of

principle, and magnanimity in despising difficulty and danger, and

suffering and death, in the accomplishment of a noble end, rouse into

active admiration all who contemplate their glorious career."

Such a 'glorious career' was that of the honored missionary whose life

has been sketched in the former part of this volume; and such too was

hers who forms the subject of the present memoir. Sarah B. Hall was the

eldest of thirteen children. Her parents were Ralph and Abiah Hall, who

removed during her infancy from Alstead, New Hampshire, the place of her

birth, to Salem, in the State of Massachusetts. Her parents not being

wealthy, she was early trained to those habits of industry,

thoughtfulness and self-denial which distinguished her through life.

Children so situated are sometimes pitied by those who consider

childhood as the proper season for careless mirth and reckless glee; but

they often form characters of solid excellence rarely possessed by those

to whom fortune has been more indulgent. Their struggle with obstacles

in the way of improvement, and final triumph over them, is an invaluable

preparation for the rude conflicts of life; their ingenuity is quickened

by the hourly necessity of expedients to meet emergencies, and the many

trials which are unavoidable in their circumstances, and which must be

met with energy and resolution, give habits of patient endurance, and

noble courage.

From all the accounts which we have of her, Sarah must have been a most

engaging child. Gentle and affectionate in disposition, and persuasive

and winning in manners, there was yet an ardor and enthusiasm in her

character, combined with a quiet firmness and perseverance, that ensured

success in whatever she attempted, and gave promise of the lofty

excellence to which she afterwards attained. All who have sketched her

character notice one peculiarity--and it is one which commonly attends

high merit--her modest unobtrusiveness.

She was very fond of little children, and easily won their affections;

but showed little disposition even in childhood, to mingle in the sports

of those of her own age. This arose from no want of cheerfulness in her

bosom; but from a certain thoughtfulness, and fondness for intellectual

exercises which were early developed in her character.

Her principle, as well as her fondness for her mother, led her never to

shrink from what are termed domestic duties, but her heart was not in

them as it was in study and meditation. An illustration of this trait

was recently related by her brother. Sarah was repeating some lines on

the death of Nancy Cornelius, which attracted the attention of her

mother, who asked her where she had learned them. With some hesitation

the child confessed that she had composed them the day before, while

engaged in some domestic avocation, during which her unusual

abstracedness had been noticed. Her early poetical attempts evince

uncommon facility in versification; and talent, that if cultivated might

have placed her high in the ranks of those who have trod the flowery

paths of literature; but hers was a higher vocation; and poetry, which

was the delightful recreation of her childhood, and never utterly

neglected in her riper years, was never to her anything _more_ than a

recreation.

Her effusions at the age of thirteen are truly remarkable, when we

consider the circumstances under which they were written. One, which is

given by her biographer as it was probably amended by the 'cultivated

taste of later years,' now lies before me as it was first written; and

the improved copy, though greatly superior in beauty to the first, seems

to me to lack the vigor and energy, which more than atone for the many

blemishes of the other. Our readers shall judge. We insert the

_childish_ composition; the other is to be found in her graceful memoir

by 'Fanny Forrester.' She calls it "a Versification of David's lament

over Saul and Jonathan."

The 'beauty of Israel' forever is fled,

And low lie the noble and strong;

Ye daughters of music encircle the dead,

And chant the funereal song.

O never let Gath know their sorrowful doom,

Nor Askelon hear of their fate;

Their daughters would scoff while we lay in the tomb,

The relics of Israel's great.

As strong as young lions were they in the field;

Like eagles they never knew fear;

As dark autumn clouds were the studs of their shield,

And swifter than wind flew their spear.

My brother, my friend, must I bid _thee_ adieu!

Ah yes, I behold thy deep wound--

Thy bosom, once warm as my tears that fast flow,

Is colder than yonder clay mound.

Ye mountains of Gilboa, never may dew

Descend on your verdure so green;

Loud thunder may roar, and fierce lightning may glow

But never let showers be seen.

Your verdure may scorch in the bright blazing sun,

The night-blast may level your wood;

For beneath it, unhallowed, were broken and thrown

The arms of the chosen of God.

Ye daughters of Israel, snatch from your brow

Those garlands of eglantine fair;

Let cypress and nightshade, the emblems of woe.

Be wreathed in your beautiful hair.

Approach, and with sadness encircle the dead

And chant the funereal song--

The 'beauty of Israel' forever is fled,

And low lie the noble and strong.

Some other effusions, probably of a later date, we will here insert,

not only for their merit, but to show what those powers were which she

sacrificed, when she turned from the cultivation of her fancy to that of

her higher and nobler faculties.

ENCAMPMENT OF ISRAELITES AT ELIM.

"Slowly and sadly, through the desert waste,

The fainting tribes their dreary pathway traced;

Far as the eye could reach th' horizon round,

Did one vast sea of sand the vision bound.

No verdant shrub, nor murmuring brook was near,

The weary eye and sinking soul to cheer;

No fanning zephyr lent its cooling breath,

But all was silent as the sleep of death;

Their very footsteps fell all noiseless there

As stifled by the moveless, burning air;

And hope expired in many a fainting breast,

And many a tongue e'en Egypt's bondage blest.

Hark! through the silent waste, what murmur breaks?

What scene of beauty 'mid the desert wakes?

Oh! 'tis a fountain! shading trees are there.

And their cool freshness steals out on the air!

With eager haste the fainting pilgrims rush,

Where Elim's cool and sacred waters gush;

Prone on the bank, where murmuring fountains flow,

Their wearied, fainting, listless forms they throw,

Deep of the vivifying waters drink,

Then rest in peace and coolness on the brink,

While the soft zephyrs, and the fountain's flow,

Breathe their sweet lullaby in cadence low.

Oh! to the way-worn pilgrim's closing eyes,

How rare the beauty that about him lies!

Each leaf that quivers on the waving trees,

Each wave that swells and murmurs in the breeze,

Brings to his grateful heart a thrill of bliss,

And wakes each nerve to life and happiness.

When day's last flush had faded from the sky,

And night's calm glories rose upon the eye,

Sweet hymns of rapture through the palm-trees broke,

And the loud timbrels deep response awoke;

Rich, full of melody the concert ran,

Of praise to God, of gratitude in man,

While, as at intervals, the music fell,

Was heard, monotonous, the fountain's swell,

That in their rocky shrines, flowed murmuring there,

And song and coolness shed along the air;

Night mantled deeper, voices died away,

The deep-toned timbrel ceased its thrilling sway;

And there, beside, no other music gushing,

Were heard the solitary fountains rushing,

In melody their song around was shed,

And lulled the sleepers on their verdant bed."

"COME OVER AND HELP US."

"Ye, on whom the glorious gospel,

Shines with beams serenely bright,

Pity the deluded nations,

Wrapped in shades of dismal night;

Ye, whose bosoms glow with rapture,

At the precious hopes they bear;

Ye, who know a Saviour's mercy,

Listen to our earnest prayer!

See that race, deluded, blinded,

Bending at yon horrid shrine;

Madness pictured in their faces,

Emblems of the frantic mind;

They have never heard of Jesus,

Never to th' Eternal prayed;

Paths of death and woe they're treading,

Christian! Christian! come and aid!

By that rending shriek of horror

Issuing from the flaming pile,

By the bursts of mirth that follow,

By that Brahmin's fiend-like smile

By the infant's piercing cry,

Drowned in Ganges' rolling wave;

By the mother's tearful eye,

Friends of Jesus, come and save!

By that pilgrim, weak and hoary,

Wandering far from friends and home

Vainly seeking endless glory

At the false Mahomet's tomb;

By that blind, derided nation,

Murderers of the Son of God,

Christians, grant us our petition,

Ere we lie beneath the sod!

By the Afric's hopes so wretched,

Which at death's approach shall fly

By the scalding tears that trickle

From the slave's wild sunken eye

By the terrors of that judgment,

Which shall fix our final doom;

Listen to our cry so earnest;--

Friends of Jesus, come, oh, come

By the martyrs' toils and sufferings,

By their patience, zeal, and love;

By the promise of the Mighty,

Bending from His throne above;

By the last command so precious,

Issued by the risen God;

Christians! Christians! come and help us,

Ere we lie beneath the sod!"

Sarah, from her earliest years took great delight in reading. At four

years, says her brother, she could read readily in any common book. Her

rank in her classes in school was always high, and her teachers felt a

pleasure in instructing her. On one occasion, when about thirteen, she

was compelled to signify to the principal of a female seminary, that her

circumstances would no longer permit her to enjoy its advantages. The

teacher, unwilling to lose a pupil who was an honor to the school, and

who so highly appreciated its privileges, remonstrated with her upon her

intention, and finally prevailed on her to remain. Soon after she

commenced instructing a class of small children, and was thus enabled to

keep her situation in the seminary, without sacrificing her feelings of

independence.

Her earliest journals, fragmentary as they are, disclose a zeal and

ardor in self-improvement exceedingly unusual. "My mother cannot spare

me to attend school this winter, but I have begun to pursue my studies

at home." Again: "My parents are not in a situation to send me to school

this summer, so I must make every exertion in my power to improve at

home." Again, in a note to a little friend, "I feel very anxious to

adopt some plan for our mutual improvement." How touching are these

simple expressions! How severely do they rebuke the apathy of thousands

of young persons, who allow golden opportunities of improvement to slip

away from then forever--opportunities which to Sarah Hall and such as

she, were of priceless value! Yet it is not one of the least of the

_compensations_ with which the providence of God abounds, that the very

lack of favorable circumstances is sometimes _most_ favorable to the

development of latent resources. Thus it was with Sarah. Her whole

career shows that her mind had been early trained and disciplined in

that noblest of all schools, the school of adverse fortune.

CHAPTER II.

CONVERSION.--BIAS TOWARD A MISSIONARY LIFE.--ACQUAINTANCE WITH MR.

BOARDMAN.

Amiable as she was, and conscientious in a degree not usual, Sarah knew

that "yet one thing she lacked;" and this knowledge often disquieted

her. But her first deep and decided convictions of sin, seem to have

been produced, about the year 1820, under the preaching of Mr.

Cornelius. Her struggles of mind were fearful, and she sunk almost to

the verge of despair; but hope dawned at last, and she was enabled to

consecrate her whole being to the service of her Maker. She soon after

united with the first Baptist church in Salem, under the care of Dr.

Bolles.

The missionary spirit was early developed in her heart. Even before her

conversion, her mind was often exercised with sentiments of

commiseration for the situation of ignorant heathen and idolaters; and

after that event it was the leading idea of her life.

The cause of this early bias is unknown, but it was shown in her

conversations, her letters and notes to friends, and in her early

poetical effusions. She even tremblingly investigated her own fitness

to became a vessel of mercy to the far off, perishing heathen; and then,

shrinking from what seemed to her the presumptuous thought, she gave

herself with new zeal to the work of benefitting these immediately

around her. "Shortly after her conversion," says her brother, "she

observed the destitute condition of the children in the neighborhood in

which she resided. With the assistance of some young friends as

teachers, she organized and continued through the favorable portions of

the year, a Sunday-school, of which she assumed the responsibility of

superintendent; and at the usual annual celebrations, she with her

teachers and scholars joined in the exercises which accompany that

festival."

"It is my ardent desire," she writes to a friend, "that the glorious

work of reformation may extend till _every knee_ shall bow to the living

God. For this expected, this promised era, let us pray earnestly,

unceasingly, and with faith. How can I be so inactive, when I know that

thousands are perishing in this land of grace; and millions in other

lands are at this very moment kneeling before senseless idols!"

And in her journal--"Sinners perishing all around me, and I almost

panting to tell the far _heathen_ of Christ! Surely this is wrong. I

will no longer indulge the vain foolish wish, but endeavor to be useful

in the position where Providence has placed me. I can _pray_ for

deluded idolaters, and for those who labor among them, and this is a

privilege indeed."

This strong bias of her mind toward a missionary life, was well known to

her mother, who still remembers with a tender interest an incident

connected with it. Sarah had been deeply affected by the death of

Colman, who in the midst of his labors among the heathen, had suddenly

been called to his reward. Some time afterward she returned from an

evening meeting, and with a countenance radiant with joy,

announced--what her pastor had mentioned in the meeting--that a

successor to Colman had been found; _a young man in Maine named

Boardman_ had determined to raise and bear to pagan Burmah the standard

which had fallen from his dying hand. With that maternal instinct which

sometimes forebodes a future calamity however improbable, her mother

turned away from her daughter's joyous face, for the thought flashed

involuntarily through her mind, that the young missionary would seek as

a companion of his toils, a kindred spirit; and where would he find one

so congenial as the lovely being before her?

Her fears were realized. Some lines written by "the enthusiastic Sarah"

on the death of Colman, met the eye of the "young man in Maine," who was

touched and interested by the spirit which breathes in them, and did

not rest till he had formed an acquaintance with their author. This

acquaintance was followed by an engagement; and in about two years

Sarah's ardent aspirations were gratified--she was a missionary to the

heathen.

But we are anticipating events; and will close this chapter with

extracts from the "Lines on the death of Colman," of which we have

spoken.

"'Tis the voice of deep sorrow from India's shore

The flower of our churches is withered, is dead,

The gem that shone brightly will sparkle no more,

And the tears of the Christian profusely are shed

Two youths of Columbia, with hearts glowing warm

Embarked on the billows far distant to rove,

To bear to the nations all wrapp'd in thick gloom,

The lamp of the gospel--the message of love.

But Wheelock now slumbers beneath the cold wave,

And Colman lies low in the dark cheerless grave.

Mourn, daughters of India, mourn!

The rays of that star, clear and bright,

That so sweetly on Arracan shone

Are shrouded in black clouds of night,

For Colman is gone!

* * * * *

Oh Colman! thy father weeps not o'er thy grave;

Thy heart riven mother ne'er sighs o'er thy dust;

But the long Indian grass o'er thy far tomb shall wave,

And the drops of the evening descend on the just.

Cold, silent and dark is thy narrow abode--

But not long wilt thou sleep in that dwelling of gloom,

For soon shall be heard the great trump of our God

To summon all nations to hear their last doom;

A garland of amaranth then shall be thine,

And thy name on the martyrs' bright register shine.

O what glory will burst on thy view

When are placed by the Judge of the earth,

The flowers that in India grew

By thy care, in the never-pale wreath

Encircling thy brow!

CHAPTER III.

ACCOUNT OF GEORGE DANA BOARDMAN.

We need offer no apology for turning aside from the immediate subject of

our narrative, in order to introduce to our readers one, who must

henceforth share with her our sympathy and our affection; we mean George

Dana Boardman--the successor to Colman spoken of in the last chapter.

He was the son of a Baptist clergyman in Livermore, Maine, and was born

in 1801. Though feeble in body, he had an ardent thirst for knowledge,

which often made him conceal illness for fear of being detained from

school. At a suitable age, he was sent to an academy in North Yarmouth,

where he became distinguished for ardor in the pursuit of learning, and

fine mental powers. It is related, that he went through the Latin

grammar with surprising rapidity, and then expected to be allowed to use

the Lexicon, but was told he must go through the grammar once or twice

more. Disappointed, he returned to his seat, and in an hour or two was

called up to recite, when he repeated verbatim sixteen pages of the

grammar. His preceptor inquired if he had got more; he answered yes; and

on being asked how much, replied, "I can recite the whole book, sir, if

you wish!" He afterwards manifested equal power in mathematics. At

sixteen, he engaged in school-teaching, in order to obtain means for a

collegiate course--the great object of his ambition--and in this

employment he manifested a knowledge of human nature and of the

influences which control it, truly wonderful. The most turbulent and

disorderly schools, became, in his hands, models of system and

regularity.

In 1819, when 18 years old, he entered Waterville College, Maine. He was

at this time a youth of good principles, inflexible purpose, strong

affections, and independent opinions, but had hitherto given no evidence

of piety. "But in this institution his thoughts were directed by a

variety of circumstances, to a consideration of the vast and important

topics of evangelical religion. His room-mate was a very pious and most

warm-hearted man. The officers of the college did all in their power to

elevate his thoughts and affections. In short, every external influence

with which a young man could be surrounded, was calculated to lead his

mind heavenward. Under the operation of these causes, he was by the

Spirit of God, induced to consecrate himself, soul, body, and spirit, to

religion; and in 1820, he made a public profession of his belief and

was baptized."[5]

From his letters and journals, we find that he soon turned his thoughts

to the subject of missions. "In the winter of 1820," he says, "the

thought occurred to me that I could take my Bible, and travel through

new settlements where the Gospel was seldom or never heard, and _without

sustaining the name of a preacher_, could visit from hut to hut, and

tell the story of Jesus' dying love. Then in imagination, I could

welcome fatigue, hunger, cold, solitude, sickness and death, if I could

only win a few cottagers to my beloved Saviour."

When the news of the death of Mr. Judson's fellow missionary, Colman,

reached America, his soul was filled with desire to supply the place of

that beloved laborer in the Burman field. Still his chief aim was to

leave the _place_ of his labors entirely to the guidance of Providence.

On graduating at college, he accepted the office of tutor in it for one

year, and so great was the promise of his future eminence, that the good

president predicted that he would, at a future day, preside over the

institution. But his heart was fixed on other labor, and as soon as his

engagement was completed, he hastened to offer his services to the Board

of Foreign Missions, and was at once accepted as a missionary.

The parting scene between Boardman and his religious friends in

Waterville, who had assembled to bid him farewell is said by one present

on that occasion, to have been exceedingly touching. "The eye of

Boardman was alone undimmed by a tear. In a tender and yet unfaltering

tone he addressed a few words to his brethren. We all knelt down in

prayer together for the last time. On arising, Boardman passed round the

room, and gave to each his hand for the last time. His countenance was

serene, his mild blue eye beamed with benignity, and though there was in

his manner a tenderness which showed he had a heart to feel, yet there

was no visible emotion till he came to his room-mate. As he took _him_

by the hand, his whole frame became convulsed, his eye filled, and the

tears fell fast, as if all the tender feelings of his spirit, till now

imprisoned, had at this moment broken forth--'farewell!' he faltered;

and then smiling through his tears, said, as he left the room, 'we shall

meet again in Heaven.'"

He had expected immediately to leave America for Burmah, in the same

ship which was to take Mrs. Judson back to that country, but the Board

decided to detain him some time in this country for further preparation.

In June, 1823, he entered on theological studies in the seminary at

Andover, and employed all his leisure hours in reading those books in

the library which treated of the manners, customs, and religions of

heathen countries.

In the spring of 1825 he was called to bid his country farewell. Natural

affection was strong, but the call of duty was stronger still. In a

letter he says, "If tenderness of feeling--if ardor of affection--if

attachment to friends, to Christian society and Christian privileges--if

apprehension of toil and danger in a missionary life--if an overwhelming

sense of responsibility could detain me in America, I should never go to

Burmah." And in his journal--"Welcome separations and farewells; welcome

tears; welcome last sad embraces; welcome pangs and griefs; only let me

go where my Saviour calls and goes himself; welcome toils,

disappointments, fatigues and sorrows; WELCOME AN EARLY GRAVE!"

* * * * *

It is easy to imagine that the sympathy and affection between two souls

constituted like Miss Hall's and Mr. Boardman's, both of whom were

warmed by the same zeal for the cause of Christ and the welfare of the

heathen, would be unusually strong; and indeed there is every evidence,

that from the time they became fully acquainted, the most tender

attachment subsisted between them. "You know," she wrote long afterward

to her mother, "how tenderly I loved him;" and to an intimate friend, he

said in a private conversation, "It was not the superiority of her

personal charms, though these were by no means small, but it was her

intrinsic excellence, heightened by her modest, unobtrusive spirit, that

endeared her to my heart."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 5: North American Review.]

CHAPTER IV.

MARRIAGE OF MISS HALL AND MR. BOARDMAN.--THEY SAIL FOR INDIA.--LETTERS

FROM MR. B.--LETTERS FROM MRS. B.--ANOTHER LETTER FROM MR. B.

It was to no slight sacrifice that the parents of Sarah Hall were

summoned, when called to consent to her departure for Burmah. The eldest

of a large family--arrived at an age when she could not only share her

mother's duties and labors, but be to her a sympathizing

friend--possessed of every quality which could endear her to her

parents' hearts--emphatically their joy and pride--how could they resign

her--especially how could they consent to her life-long exile from her

native land; to end perchance in a cruel martyrdom on a heathen shore?

Can we wonder that the mother clinging to her daughter's neck,

exclaimed, "I cannot, cannot part with you!" or that the moment of

departure must arrive, before she could falter, "My child, _I hope_ I am

willing?"

Her own feelings on leaving the home of her youth with him who was

henceforth to supply to her the place of all other friends, are

breathed in these graceful lines.

"When far from those whose tender care

Protected me from ills when young;

And far from those who love to hear

Affection from a sister's tongue;

When on a distant heathen shore,

The deep blue ocean I shall see;

And know the waves which hither bore

Our bark, have left me none but thee;

Perhaps a thought of childhood's days

Will cause a tear to dim my eye;

And fragments of forgotten lays

May wake the echo of a sigh.

Oh! wilt thou then forgive the tear?

Forgive the throbbings of my heart?

And point to those blest regions, where

Friends meet, and never, never part!

And when shall come affliction's storm,

When some deep, unexpected grief

Shall pale my cheek, and waste my form,

Then wilt thou point to sweet relief?

And wilt thou, then, with soothing voice,

Of Jesus' painful conflicts tell?

And bid my aching heart rejoice,

In these kind accents--'_All is well?_'

When blooming health and strength shall fly

And I the prey of sickness prove,

Oh! wilt thou watch with wakeful eye,

The dying pillow of thy love?

And when the chilling hand of death

Shall lead me to my house in heaven

And to the damp, repulsive earth,

In cold embrace, this form be given;

Oh, need I ask thee, wilt thou then,

Upon each bright and pleasant eve,

Seek out the solitary glen,

To muse beside my lonely grave?

And while fond memory back shall steal,

To scenes and days forever fled;

Oh, let the veil of love conceal

The frailties of the sleeping dead.

And thou may'st weep and thou may'st joy,

For 'pleasant is the joy of grief;'

And when thou look'st with tearful eye

To heaven, thy God will give relief.

Wilt thou, then, kneel beside the sod

Of her who kneels with thee no more,

And give thy heart anew to God,

Who griefs unnumbered for thee bore?

And while on earth thy feet shall rove,

To scenes of bliss oft raise thine eye,

Where, all-absorbed in holy love,

I wait to hail thee to the sky."

On the 3d of July, 1825, the marriage took place, Miss Hall being then

21 years old, and Mr. Boardman 24. His slender figure, and transparent

complexion, even then seemed to indicate that his mission on earth might

soon be fulfilled, but both he and his bride were young and sanguine,

and no misgivings for the future disturbed their happiness in each

other. Indeed the grief of parting with all they had ever loved and

cherished, though chastened by submission to what they believed the

Divine call, was sufficient to merge all lighter causes of anxiety.

On the day following their marriage they left Salem for the place of

embarkation. They were to sail first to Calcutta, and if on reaching

there the troubles in Burmah should prevent their going at once to that

country, they were to remain in Calcutta, and apply themselves to the

acquisition of the Burman language.

In expectation of their speedy departure, meetings for special prayer

were held at Boston, Salem, New York, and Philadelphia. The spirit which

animated these meetings, and breathed in all the supplications offered,

was indicative of deep interest in the mission, and of united and

determined resolution, by the grace of God to support it. Mr. and Mrs.

B. were everywhere received with the utmost kindness, and nothing was

withheld which could contribute to animate them in their arduous

undertaking, and render their future voyage pleasant and healthful. The

captain and other officers of the ship Asia in which they were to sail,

made the most ample provision for their comfort and accommodation, and

rendered them every attention in a manner most grateful to their

feelings. At a concert of prayer in Philadelphia, Mr. Boardman was

called upon to give a brief account to the audience of the motives which

had induced him to devote his life to the missionary service. In his

reply, he took occasion in the first place to acknowledge the goodness

of God to him through his whole life. When he entered Waterville

College--the first student ever admitted there not hopefully pious--his

fellow-students, impressed with this fact, solemnly engaged with each

other, unknown to him, to remember him in their supplications, until

their prayers for his conversion should be answered. Six months from

that time he found peace in believing, and his first prayer was that God

would make him useful. His mind was so impressed with the condition of

our Indian tribes, that he felt inclined to carry to them the message of

salvation. But his venerable father, whom he consulted as to his duty,

advised him "to wait on God, and He would conduct him in the right way."

After some time, his choice was decided in favor of the Burman mission

by such indications, that he considered his call to this service

distinctly and plainly marked. He adverted in a very tender manner to

some peculiar indications of Providence, especially to the manner in

which his parents received the knowledge of his determination. Their

remark was, _It has long been our desire to do something for the

mission; and if God will accept our son, we make the surrender with

cheerfulness_.[6]

In reading this account, do we not feel emotions of moral sublimity in

contemplating these tender and aged parents, who, "moved with love for a

benevolent God, and for their fellow-creatures, surrender their son

bright with talents and virtues, rich in learning and in the respect of

all who knew him, but feeble and sickly in body, to the missionary

labor--whose certain and speedy end is death?"[7]

Mrs. Boardman with her husband took her final leave of her beloved

native land on the 16th of July, 1825. To her sister, when two weeks out

at sea, she writes: "We think we never enjoyed better health. That

beneficent Parent, who is ever doing us good, has bestowed upon us, in

the officers of the ship, obliging and affectionate friends....

Everything regarding our table, is convenient and agreeable as we could

enjoy on shore. Our family consists of the captain, two mates, two

supercargoes, a physician, Mrs. Fowler, and ourselves. Mr. Blaikie, the

chief supercargo, is not only a gentleman, but is decidedly pious, and

strictly evangelical in his sentiments.... It is a great comfort to each

of us to find one who is ever ready to converse upon those subjects

which relate to the extension of the Redeemer's kingdom. It is most

grateful to my own feelings, but I am even more rejoiced for the sake of

Mr. B. Religious society has ever been to him a source of much real

gratification. You know very well the love he has ever manifested for

social intercourse. When in America amidst our beloved friends, as I

have seen him enter with all his heart into conversation--have seen joy

beam from his eyes when engaged in this delightful employment--I would

sigh, and say to myself, dear Mr. B. how sad you will be when far

removed from those whose words now so often cheer your heart. What will

you do when this favorite rill of pleasure ceases to flow? But God is

infinitely good, he is far better to us than our fears. He bestows upon

us every blessing essential to our happiness and usefulness. It is not

the _want_ of privileges that I need lament, but the _misimprovement_ of

them."

In another letter, she expresses her mature conviction that the

missionary life if entered upon with right feelings may be more

favorable than any other to the promotion of spiritual growth. And

certain it is, that trials, and even persecution often develop the power

of Christian principle, and the strength of religious faith; while ease

and outward prosperity seem to lull the souls of believers into an

unworthy sloth and a sinful conformity with the world around them. The

soldier of Christ must maintain a warfare; and when will he be more

likely to be constantly awake to his duty, than when surrounded by the

open and avowed enemies of his Master?

From Chitpore four miles above Calcutta, Mr. Boardman writes: "It gives

me much pleasure to write you from the shores of India. Through the

goodness of God we arrived at Sand-Heads on the 23d ult., after a

voyage of 127 days. We were slow in our passage up the Hoogly, and did

not arrive in Calcutta until the 2d inst. We had a very agreeable

voyage,--religious service at meals, evening prayers in the cabin, and

when the weather allowed, public worship in the steerage on Lord's day

morning ... allow me to add that we entertain a hope that one of the

sailors was converted on the passage.

"The report of our being at Sand-Heads reached Calcutta several days

before we did, and our friends had made kind preparations to receive us.

Soon after coming in sight of the city, we had the pleasure of welcoming

on board the Asia, the Rev. Mr. Hough. He informed us, that the Burmese

war was renewed after an armistice of several weeks, and that no

well-authenticated accounts had been received from our dear friends

Judson and Price at Ava. It is generally supposed that they are

imprisoned with other foreigners, and have not the means of sending

round to Bengal.

"At noon, Dec. 2d, we came on shore, ... and were received very kindly

by the English Missionaries. We found Mrs. Colman waiting with a

carriage to bring us out to this place. The cottage we occupy was

formerly the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Eustace Carey. Mr. and Mrs. Wade,

Mrs. Colman, Mrs. Boardman and myself, compose a very happy American

family.... But we long to be laboring in Burmah. We are not yet

discouraged by the dark cloud that hangs over our prospects there. We

still hope and trust, _we firmly believe_, that eventually this war will

tend to advance the cause of Christ in Burmah. We hope our friends at

home will not be discouraged, but will continue to pray for us."

In another letter he says, "And now, my dear parents, I wish you could

make a visit at Chitpore. You would find your two fond children sitting

together very happily, and engaged in writing letters to their beloved

American friends. Our mansion, to be sure, is but a bamboo cottage, with

a thatched roof, but is a palace compared with most of the native huts

around us. But you know a large house is by no means essential to

happiness. Food and clothing sufficient, with the presence of God, are

all that is absolutely necessary. Could a man have in addition, one

confidential friend, who sympathized in all his joys and sorrows, and

with whom he could enjoy all the endearments of social life, he might be

happy indeed--and such a friend, such a wife I have, in my beloved

Sarah. I fear I shall never be able to discharge the obligations I feel

toward you for conferring on me so great a blessing."

Mrs. B. also writes to some acquaintances, "Unite with me, my respected

friends, in gratitude to God, that he has preserved us through the

dangers of a long voyage, and permitted us to land upon a heathen shore.

Oh may this renewed assurance of his kind care, teach me confidence in

his promises, and fill me with ardent desires to be constantly employed

in his service.

"Our voyage was remarkably pleasant, our suffering from sea-sickness was

much lighter than we had anticipated; our accommodations, though by no

means handsome, convenient and comfortable as we could desire. Our table

was well furnished with the necessaries, and many of the luxuries of

life. Capt. Sheed, and the other gentlemen on board, treated us with the

greatest kindness, and appeared solicitous to make our situation

agreeable. In the society of Mr. Blaikie, the supercargo, we took much

delight. He is a gentleman of eminent piety, belonging to the

Presbyterian denomination. We had evening devotions in the cabin, ...

when the weather allowed we had divine service between decks on the

Sabbath. A precious privilege!

"While at sea, my time was spent in a very agreeable, and I hope not

unprofitable manner.... The principal books I read besides the Bible,

were the life of Parsons, Lowth's lectures on Hebrew poetry, part of

Fuller's works, and of Jones' Church History. Supposing the study of the

word of God well calculated to prepare my mind for the missionary work,

I directed my chief attention to that. We had one very interesting

exercise,--during the week several of us collected as many passages of

scripture as we were able, upon a subject previously named; and on

Sabbath eve, we compared our separate lists, and conversed freely upon

the doctrine or duty concerning which we had written. In this manner we

discussed many of the most important doctrines and duties contained in

Scripture.

As we drew near Calcutta, our anxiety respecting the fate of our dear

missionaries at Ava, increased. We trembled when we thought of the

disturbances in Burmah, and there was only one spot where we could find

peace and serenity of mind. That sweet spot was the throne of grace.

Thither we would often repair and lose all anxiety and fear respecting

our dear friends, our own future prospects, and the Missionary cause in

Burmah. It was sweet to commit all into the hands of God. If not

deceived, we felt the importance of constantly pleading for a suitable

frame of mind, to receive whatever intelligence was for us; and for a

disposition to engage in the service of God, at any time, and in any

place he might direct. We considered it our duty to supplicate for grace

to support us in the hour of trial, and for direction in time of

perplexity, rather than to employ our minds in anticipating the nature

of future difficulties, and in fancying how we should conduct in an

imagined perplexity. This is still our opinion."

Then follows an account of their arrival, which we have already given in

Mr. Boardman's letter, and she adds: "Imagine, dear Mrs. B. our joy at

meeting those with whom we hope to be employed in labors of love among

the poor Burmans. I shall not attempt to describe the emotions of my

heart when I entered the little bamboo cottage we now occupy. Were I

skilled in perspective drawing, I would send you a picture of the

charming landscape seen from our verandah. In a little hut near us

reside two Christian converts from heathenism. Oh, how your bosom would

glow with grateful rapture to hear their songs of praise, and listen to

their fervent prayers. We prefer living in this retired spot with dear

Mr. and Mrs. Wade and Mrs. Colman, to a situation in Calcutta; we can

pursue our studies with less interruption, and also have the advantage

of Mr. Wade's assistance.

"The war in Burmah still continues, and there is at present very little

prospect of our going to Rangoon soon. We still look to Burmah as our

earthly home, and daily pray that we may be permitted ere long to enter

that field of labor. We rejoice that we can commence the study of the

language here. We have not for an instant regretted that we embarked in

the undertaking."

In another letter of a later date she writes from Calcutta: "In

compliance with the advice of our friends, we are now residing in a

pleasant little house in Calcutta. I regretted exceedingly to leave the

peaceful, retired shades of Chitpore for the noise and commotion of a

city, but duty appeared to require it"--(the climate at Chitpore is

insalubrious in the hot months) "and we all cheerfully submitted. I

feel, my dear friend, that we are wanderers. I can look to no place as

my earthly home, but Burmah.... We have not yet heard from the brethren

at Ava. Oh that our Father in Heaven may prepare our hearts for whatever

intelligence we may receive.

"On Monday last, I attended the examination of Mrs. Colman's schools.

Imagine my feelings at seeing ninety-two little Bengallee girls, (whose

mothers are kept in the most degraded ignorance and superstition,)

taught to read the Scriptures.... This was only one division of the

schools. The whole number belonging to this Society is nearly four

hundred. There are also many other interesting schools in Calcutta.

"Mr. and Mrs. Wade with Mr. B. and myself still compose our family; we

are very happy in each other, are blessed with excellent health, enjoy

facilities for learning the language, and in short, possess all we could

desire. We feel our want of ardent piety.... Pray for us, for we are

weak and sinful."

A letter to one of her own family of about the same date, shows that

her zeal for the conversion of the heathen, did not at all weaken her

desire that her own kindred might be true followers of Jesus. After

mentioning that a Burman teacher had been procured for them, &c., she

says, "I often imagine myself in the midst of that dear family, where

the happy hours of childhood flew away. Sometimes I fancy myself

entering the room in the morning, and seeing you all kneeling around the

family altar. My brother, have you a heart to pray to God? Have you

repented and turned to him? Or are you all careless and indifferent

respecting your precious soul? No, I cannot believe this is the case.

Indulged as you are with hearing the gospel and other means of grace,

you cannot be indifferent. The time is coming when the religion of Jesus

will be indispensable to your peace of mind. You must pass through the

valley of death. How can you endure that gloom without the light of

God's countenance? you must stand before a righteous God at the judgment

day. What will be the state of your soul if Jesus is not your friend?

_Think of this._"

A letter from Mrs. Wade written in the spring following, speaks with

enthusiasm of the pleasure they have enjoyed in the society of Mr. and

Mrs. B, and, like theirs, breathes ardent wishes to be able to go to

Burmah. These wishes were soon to be realized. A letter from Mr.

Boardman dated Calcutta, April 12th, 1826, commences: "My dear

Brother,--The joyful news of peace with Ava, and of the safety of our

friends Dr. and Mrs. Judson, and Dr. Price, you will doubtless receive

from other sources. We can only say that the preservation of our friends

both at Rangoon and at Ava, seems to us one of the most striking and

gracious displays of God's special care of his people and his cause,

which has been experienced in modern times.

"Brother Wade and myself, with our beloved companions, expect to leave

Calcutta in six or eight weeks, to join brother Judson. As Rangoon is

not retained by the British, we do not think it best to recommence the

work there, but rather to settle in some of the towns which are by

treaty ceded to the British.... The members of the church in Rangoon are

collecting and will probably go with us. We need divine direction.

"We have great reason to be thankful for the health we enjoy. We long to

proceed to Burmah and engage in the delightful work before us. May God's

strength be made perfect in our weakness."

But his cherished enterprise was still longer delayed. By the

solicitation of the English missionaries, and the appointment of the

American Board, he was induced to remain in Calcutta a while, and preach

in Circular Road Chapel, recently vacated by the death of Mr. Lawson.

Mr. Wade and his wife reached Rangoon on the 9th of November, and found

there the desolate and heart-stricken Mr. Judson, and his feeble babe,

of whom Mrs. Wade was able for a brief period to supply the place of a

mother.

The place fixed upon as the seat of government in the newly acquired

British territory in Burmah, was Amherst, on the Martaban river, about

75 miles eastward of Rangoon. This place had been laid out by British

engineers under Mr. Judson's direction, and in an incredibly short time,

became a city numbering in thousands of houses. In southern India,

houses are built almost in a day, and the population fluctuates from

place to place with a facility surprising to Europeans. It is only

necessary to make a clearing in the jungle, and erect barracks for a few

soldiers, and--as water rushes at once into hollows scooped in the damp

sea-sand--so do the natives of India swarm into the clearing, and create

a city.' To this new city of Amherst Mr. and Mrs. Boardman came in the

spring of 1827, and joined Mr. and Mrs. Wade and Mr. Judson. It was

bitterly painful to them to learn that the wife of the latter, that

noble and beloved woman whose life had been preserved as if by miracle

in a thousand dangers, and from whose society and intercourse they had

hoped and expected the greatest pleasure and profit, was the tenant of a

lowly grave beneath the hopia-tree; and even more immediately

distressing to find that her heart-broken husband was just about to

consign to the same dreary bed the only relic remaining to him of his

once lovely family, 'the sweet little Maria.' One of Mr. Boardman's

first labors in Burmah was to make a coffin for the child with his own

hands! and to assist in its burial. Poor babe! 'so closed its brief,

eventful history.' An innocent sharer in the terrible sufferings of its

parents, in the midst of which indeed it came into the world; like its

mother, it had survived through countless threatening deaths, and

reached what seemed a haven of security, only to wring its father's

heart with an intenser pang, by its unexpected and untimely death. Truly

the ways of God 'are past finding out,' and 'his judgments are a great

deep!'

From a short poem full of sympathy and pious sentiment which was written

by Mrs. Boardman on this occasion, we select some passages.

"Ah this is death, my innocent! 'tis he

Whose chilling hand has touched thy tender frame.

* * * * *

Thou heed'st us not; not e'en the bursting sob

Of thy dear father, now can pierce thine ear.

* * * * *

Thy mother's tale replete with varied scenes,

Exceeds my powers to tell; but other harps

And other voices, sweeter far than mine,

Shall sing her matchless worth, her deeds of love,

Her zeal, her toil, her sufferings and her death.

But all is over now. She sweetly sleeps

In yonder new-made grave; and thou, sweet babe,

Shalt soon be pillowed on her quiet breast.

Yes, ere to-morrow's sun shall gild the west,

Thy father shall have said a long adieu

To the last lingering hope of earthly joy;

For thou, Maria, wilt have found thy rest.

Thy flesh shall rest in hope, till that great day

When He who once endured far greater woes

Than mortal man can know; who when on earth

Received such little children in his arms,

Graciously blessing them, shall come again;

Then like the glorious body of thy Lord

Who wakes thy dust, this fragile frame shall be.

Then shalt thou mount with him on angels' wings

Be freed from sorrow, sickness, sin and death.

And in his presence find eternal bliss."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 6: Baptist Magazine, 1825.]

[Footnote 7: North American Review.]

CHAPTER V.

STATIONED AT MAULMAIN.--ATTACK OF BANDITTI.--MISSIONARY

OPERATIONS.--DANGER FROM FIRE.

On consultation it was determined that Mr. and Mrs. Wade should remain

in Amherst, and that Mr. and Mrs. Boardman should proceed to Maulmain, a

town 25 miles up the river, which had sprung into being in the same

manner as Amherst, and was nearly as populous; and that Mr. Judson

should divide his time between the two stations.

In pursuance of this plan Mr. Boardman removed his family, which had

been increased by the addition of a lovely daughter, now about five

months old, to the new city of Maulmain. On the evening of May 28th Mr.

Boardman makes this entry in his journal. "After nearly two years of

wanderings without any certain dwelling-place, we have to-day become

inhabitants of a little spot of earth, and have entered a house which we

call our earthly home. None but those who have been in similar

circumstances can conceive the satisfaction we now enjoy." ... "The

population of the town is supposed to be 20,000. _One year ago it was

all a thick jungle, without an inhabitant_!"

While at Amherst, Mrs. Boardman had experienced an alarming attack of a

disease incident to the climate, and had to be carried to the boat which

conveyed her to her new home on a litter. On her arrival there, although

she shared her husband's joy that at length they had a home on the long

_promised land_ of Burmah, still her woman's nature, enfeebled by

suffering, could not but have trembled at the idea of living in a lonely

spot, (for the mission-house was nearly a mile from the barracks,) with

the neighboring jungle swarming with "serpents that hiss, and beasts of

prey that howl." In addition to this cause of alarm, there was opposite

them, on the Burman side of the river, the old decayed city of Martaban;

which was the refuge of a horde of banditti, who, armed with knives and

swords, would often sally forth in bands of 30 or 40, urge their light

and noiseless boats across the river, satiate themselves with plunder

and murder in the British town, and return with their spoils to their

own territory, where they were secure from British retaliation. The

English general, knowing the insecurity of the mission-house, had urged

Mr. B. to remove with his family to the protection of the fort; but his

object was to benefit the _Burmans_, and to do that, he must live among

them.

In their little bamboo hut, therefore, so frail that it could be cut

open, as Mrs. Boardman says, with a pair of scissors, they prosecuted

their study of the language under a native teacher, and even ventured to

talk a little with the half-wild natives around them, and for a few

weeks were unmolested. Their courage and confidence had revived, and

with Mrs. B., restored health brought happiness. June 20th she writes,

"We are in excellent health, and as happy as it is possible for human

beings to be upon earth. It is our earnest desire to live, labor and die

among this people." With such feelings, they had probably retired to

rest on the night of the 24th of June, but awaking towards morning, and

perceiving that the lamp which they always kept burning through the

night was extinguished, they suspected mischief; and on relighting it,

they found to their consternation that their house had been entered by

the lawless plunderers mentioned above, and robbed of nearly every

valuable article it contained; but how was their horror increased, by

finding two large cuts in the moscheto curtains about their bed, through

which the murderers had watched their slumbers, ready to stab them to

the heart had they offered the slightest resistance, or even had they

waked to consciousness. But He who "giveth his beloved sleep," had

kindly steeped their senses in slumbers so profound and peaceful, that

not even the infant stirred, or opened its eyes which would have

instantly been sealed again,--in death.--Every trunk, box and bureau was

rifled, looking-glass, watch, spoons, keys, were gone; and yet as the

parents gazed at those rent curtains, and thought how the death-angel

had grazed them with his wing as he passed by, their hearts rose in

gratitude and praise to their Heavenly deliverer. But Mrs. Boardman's

feelings are best told in her own expressive words. She says, "After the

first amazement had a little subsided, I raised my eyes to the curtains

surrounding our bed, and to my indescribable emotion saw two large holes

cut, the one at the head, and the other at the foot of the place where

my dear husband had been sleeping. From that moment, I quite forgot the

stolen goods, and thought only of the treasure that was spared. In

imagination I saw the assassins with their horrid weapons standing by

our bedside, ready to do their worst had we been permitted to wake. Oh

how merciful was that watchful Providence which prolonged those powerful

slumbers of that night, not allowing even the infant at my bosom to open

its eyes at so critical a moment. If ever gratitude glowed in my bosom,

if ever the world appeared to me worthless as vanity, and if ever I

wished to dedicate myself, my husband, my babe, my _all_, to our great

Redeemer, it was at that time.

"To this day not a trace of our goods has been found; leaving no doubt

that they were taken immediately over the river to Martaban. Since our

loss, we have received many kind presents from our friends, so that we

now find ourselves comfortable, and we are contented and happy. Yes, my

beloved friend, I think I can say, that notwithstanding our alarms,

never did five months of my life pass as pleasantly as the last five

have done. The thought of being among this people whom we have so long

desired to see, and the hope that God would enable me to do some little

good to the poor heathen, has rejoiced and encouraged my heart. I

confess that once or twice my natural timidity has _for a moment_ gained

ascendancy over my better feelings,--and at the hour of midnight, when

the howlings of wild beasts have been silenced by the report of a musket

near us, we would say to each other, perhaps the next attack will be

made upon _us_, and the next charge may be aimed at our bosoms. Then I

have been almost ready to exclaim, Oh for one little, _little_ room of

such materials, that we could, as far as human means go, sleep in

safety. But these fears have been transitory, and we have generally been

enabled to place our confidence in the Great Shepherd of Israel who

never slumbers or sleeps, assured that he would protect us.... And we

have also felt a sweet composure in the reflection that God has marked

out our way; and if it best accord with his designs that we fall a prey

to these blood-thirsty monsters, _all will be right_."

The English, hearing of this robbery, stationed a guard at the

Mission-house of two sepoys or native soldiers. As one of these was

sitting in the verandah, a wild beast from the jungle sprang furiously

upon him, but he was frightened away before the man was much injured.

Such occurrences however were rare, and did not make Mrs. Boardman

desire, all things considered, to change her residence She was in the

place of her choice, the country of her adoption, she had a faithful and

loving husband, and a lovely and almost idolized babe; their house,

though small and insecure, was beautifully situated with everything in

the natural landscape around to charm her cultivated eye and

taste,--these were her _earthly_ comforts. Besides, even the insecurity

of their habitation was daily diminishing; for houses were constantly

springing up around them, and more and more of the jungle was cleared

and cultivated. But what gave its chief zest to her life and that of her

spiritually minded husband, was the fact that they found here a field of

_usefulness_ in the only work that seemed to them worth living for. From

various motives the natives began to visit them constantly, and in

increasing numbers, to inquire concerning the new religion. Mr. B. held

a religious service on the Sabbath, and opened a school for boys: Mrs.

Boardman, one for girls, and both conversed as well as they were able

with their numerous visitors, and employed all their leisure in

mastering the language. On the 22d of July they commemorated together

the Saviour's dying love, in the sacrament of the Lord's supper,--a

solitary pair--yet not so, for the Master of the feast was there to

bless the "two" who thus "gathered together in his name."

The population at Maulmain was now increasing, and that at Amherst

diminishing so rapidly, that Mr. Judson and Mr. and Mrs. Wade thought

best to remove from the latter station to the former, and arrived at

Maulmain in October. Two houses of public worship were erected during

the year, where Messrs. Judson and Wade were daily employed in

proclaiming religious truth, and such was their success, that within a

few months they admitted to the church several native members. As many

native converts with their families had removed with the Missionaries

from Amherst to Maulmain, Mrs. Wade and Mrs. Boardman united their

schools into one, which was attended with the most gratifying success.

Moung Shwa-ba and Moung Ing, who have often been mentioned in the former

memoir, read the Scriptures and other religious books to all who would

hear, at a sort of _reading zayat_, built for the purpose.

In March, 1828, our friends were delivered from a danger not unknown in

our own country. One evening, they were startled by a roaring like that

of flame, and on going to the door, discovered the whole jungle to the

eastward of them enveloped in sheets of flame, which was rapidly

approaching their frail cottage. Seeing no hope that their house could

escape, they rapidly collected a few valuables, and with their infant

prepared to flee towards the river, though in much terror lest their

path should be beset by leopards, tigers, and other animals, driven from

their haunts by the fire. But when within a few feet of the houses, the

flames were arrested by a sudden change of the wind, and the dwellings

were unhurt. "Thus again are we preserved," says Mr. B. "when no human

arm could have saved us!" Truly,

"The hosts of God encamp around

The dwellings of the just."

Truly "the Lord knoweth how to deliver the godly."

CHAPTER VI.

REMOVAL TO TAVOY.--IDOLATRY OF THE PEOPLE.--LETTER FROM MRS. B.--BAPTISM

OF A KAREN DISCIPLE.--SOME ACCOUNT OF THE KARENS.

The permanent collection of so many Missionaries at a single station was

not approved by the Board, nor was it deemed desirable by the

Missionaries themselves. In accordance, therefore, with instructions

received from America, it was decided that Mr. and Mrs. Boardman should

remove to Tavoy. This city is situated on the river Tavoy, 150 miles

south of Maulmain, and had at that time a population of 6000 Burmans and

3000 foreigners.

The city was the stronghold of the religion of Gaudama, and the

residence of two hundred priests.

On every eligible point stood an emblem or image of idolatry. Tall

pagodas crowned every eminence, and humbler ones clustered around them,

while thickly set groves of banyan and other sacred trees, sheltered

shrines and images of Gaudama, and on festival days were crowded with

devotees, kneeling in the gloomy pathways, or festooning the sacred

trees with the rarest flowers. The tops of some of the thousand pagodas

in the city, are hung with innumerable little bells, which, moved by the

wind, chime sweetly their calls to devotion, reminding one of a passage

in Moore's description of an eastern city:

"But hark! the vesper call to prayer,

--As slow the orb of daylight sets,--

Is rising sweetly on the air

From Syria's thousand minarets."

This change in their place of abode could not fail to be a severe trial

to our missionaries. To Maulmain they were bound by many ties,--the

sweet companionship of fellow-Christians, and the love which attaches

the missionary to those spiritual children which the Lord has given

him;--moreover it was their first _home_, sanctified by signal

deliverances and countless mercies;--nevertheless, like Abraham who at

the call of Jehovah, "went out, not knowing whither he went,"--these

"followers of them who through faith inherit the promises," obeyed the

voice of duty, and feeling themselves "strangers and pilgrims on the

earth," went without murmuring to their new sphere of labor. "One thing

is certain," says Mr. B. in a subsequent letter "we were brought here by

the guidance of Providence. It was no favorite scheme of ours."

On arriving at Tavoy, they were kindly received by Mr. Burney the

English resident, and within ten days from their arrival, had procured

a house, and begun to teach inquirers in the way of salvation Much as

there was to discourage them in this _city of pagoda_, "the missionary

looked out on the strange magnificence of shrines and temples that lay

around him,--upon the monuments that had perpetuated for many ages this

idolatrous worship,--upon the priests who taught it, and the countless

devotees who practised it; and as he prepared to strike the first blow

at the hoary superstition which they all enshrined, he felt to the full

the sublimity and greatness of the undertaking. He stood alone, the

herald of truth, before this mighty array of ancient error; but he

trusted implicitly in the promises of revelation, and felt assured that

the day was at hand when all this empty adoration of Gaudama would give

place to the worship of the living God!"[8]

A new difficulty occurred here, which however was speedily surmounted by

the diligence and zeal of the missionaries; the dialect of Tavoy was so

different from pure Burmese as to be almost unintelligible to those who

knew only the latter, but both, fortunately, employed the same written

characters. Mrs. Boardman's employments at this time are enumerated in

their letters. After unwearied toil, and repeated repulses and

discouragements, she succeeded in establishing a girls' school, in

which she employed a woman who could read, as an assistant. She

describes a visit to her school thus: "I am just returned from one of

the day-schools. The sun had not risen when I arrived, but the little

girls were in the house ready for instruction. My walk to this school is

through a retired road, shaded on one side by the old wall of the city,

which is overgrown with wild creepers and pole-flowers, and on the other

by large fruit-trees. While going and returning, I find it sweet and

profitable to think on the shortness of time, the vanity of this

delusive world,--and oh I have had some precious views of that world

where the weary are at rest; and where sin, that enemy of God, and now

constant disturber of my peace, will no more afflict me."

In another letter of a later date, she describes herself as sitting at

her table in a back porch, from which she can see her "dear husband," in

a room before her, teaching nine little heathen boys; while in one of

the long verandahs on each side of the house, the native Christians are

holding a prayer-meeting in their own language, and in the other, a

Chinese convert is urging three or four of his deluded countrymen to

turn from their stupid superstitions to the service of Jehovah.

She mentions also the baptism of a _Karen_, (the name of a tribe in

Burmah,) "a _poor man_, who had been converted while in the service of

Mr. Judson;" little knowing the importance of the fact thus recorded.

This "poor man," in fact formerly a slave, and whom the writer of an

article in a former number of the _Quarterly Review_ would have sneered

at as he did at the "fisherman," the _wonderful trophy of divine grace_,

mentioned in Mrs. Judson's history of the mission, was the famous

Ko-thay-byu, whose life has been written by Mr. Mason, and who, by his

zeal and success in missionary labor, obtained the name of "the Karen

Apostle." He was the first to introduce to the notice of the

missionaries, the tribe to which he belonged, a people so remarkable,

that we are unwilling, even in our brief sketch, to pass them over

without notice.

The Karens, according to a writer in the _North American Review_, are a

savage and ignorant race of men, (their _name_ in the Burman language

signifying _wild men_,) scattered in vast numbers over the wilds of

Farther India, and inhabiting almost inaccessible tracts, among the

mountains and forests. Their peculiar physiognomy, strange traditions,

and some of their customs have led to the opinion that they were of

Hebrew origin, though some think they are of the Caucasian variety of

the human species. They differ much from the Burmans, by whom they are

heavily taxed and grievously oppressed, and in every way treated as

inferiors.[9] "Their traditions have been preserved, like the poems of

Ossian, by fond memories delighting to revive the recollections of

former glory and prosperity; repeated by grandsires at even-tide to

their listening descendants, and sung by mourners over the graves of

their elders.

"They believe in a God who is denominated Yu-wah," a name certainly

similar to the Hebrew Jehovah. Some of their traditional songs are

curious and interesting. For instance,