sacrifices in your work of love. You sometimes feel that you are making
sacrifices. It may be comparatively so; but really, if you look at it as
it is, you will find it no very great sacrifice. Here are our brethren
who have left their homes and friends, who have gone among strangers and
heathens. We have heard the story of their deprivations, of their labors,
of their sorrows, of their chains, and of their imprisonment. Many of them
mourn over departed happiness; many of them have fallen in the great work,
and now sleep in heathen lands; many of them have gone down to the bottom
of the great deep, where the seaweed is their winding sheet, the coral
their only tombstone. One sleeps in Helena till the sound of the last
trumpet arouse her; and when she comes up she will be attended by a retinue
ten thousand times more pompous and more splendid than ever surrounded the
maddened emperor who had his grave in that island. His tomb was there,
and after a few years, when it was opened, his military dress was wrapped
around him as when he was laid there; but the star upon his bosom, the
emblem of his glory, the pride of his life,--it was corroded and black,
a true representation of human glory, of the glory of a conqueror and an
imperial murderer. But when the grave shall open, and that loved sister
Judson shall come forth, there will be no corroded stars over that heart.
But those who are there, as I said before, have certainly made sacrifices
compared with us, with the brethren and friends they left behind; but when
they look in another direction, when they turn their eyes to the great
field, they feel fully compensated. They may live upon rice and milk, and
often not have enough of that. Their frail tenements are broken down by the
storms; and they are exposed to the roaming tigers, who may spring upon and
rush through the thin walls of their habitations. They may be imprisoned
for a while and racked by the chains of tyranny. Yet never have they been
compelled to exclaim, as did that Savior who came to his own and his own
received him not, when a Pharisee proposed to be his follower, 'The birds
of the air have nests and the foxes have holes; but the Son of man hath not
where to lay his head.' Think of that, ye heralds of the cross,--think of
that, brethren in foreign lands,--the Being who made the world, while here
in the flesh, declaring that the birds which he had made had nests, and
the foxes he had created had holes, where they could rest and sleep in
security, but no place on this earth he had made where he could quietly lay
that majestic, godlike head! Sometimes you feel as though your friends had
forsaken you. Go to Gethsemane; see there that Master who but a short
time before, with the twelve surrounding the table, had told them of the
approaching trials and dangers: urged to rashness, the unthinking Peter had
declared that, although all others might forsake him, he would not. He goes
into that lonely garden, separating himself from his disciples; but he
takes Peter, with two others, and asks them to watch here a while, while
he goes yonder and prays. And then that traitor Judas had gone to make his
bargain; and the Savior knew the bands were hunting him. O, think of that
hour and that garden! Think of the agony of that Savior's heart, which made
him say, 'My heart is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death'! Think of
the agony, when the blood from the pores of his skin dropped down on
Gethsemane's garden, and when he came up to the judgment hall the noisy
rabble insulting him; his followers abandoning him; the man who two short
hours before had said to him, 'that though all others forsake thee, I will
not,' uttering curses in his hearing and denying that he ever knew him;
then the scarlet robe and that crown of thorns! O, has earth ever witnessed
such a spectacle as that? And then that cowardly Roman governor, though he
knew he was innocent, yielded him up to the hands of a vociferous, noisy,
and infuriated mob; and he was by him condemned to an ignominious death. In
the service of such a Master, who of his followers would talk of sacrifice?
And then the consummation upon the cross, when all the powers of darkness
on earth and hell were defeated! Three days, and on the morning of the
first day of the week that buffeted, that down-trodden, and crucified
Savior burst the shackles of the tomb, laid the monster Death at his feet,
and rose a triumphant conqueror over the grave."
X.
MARY E. VAN LENNEP, OF TURKEY.
The maiden name of Mrs. Van Lennep was Mary Elizabeth Hawes. She was born
in the beautiful city of Hartford, Connecticut, April 16, 1821. She was the
daughter of Rev. Dr. Hawes, who has so long and so honorably filled one of
the pulpits of that place, and who, with all his contributions for human
good, has given no richer treasure to a fallen world than the one he
resigned in the person of his lovely and accomplished child.
Born of gifted parents, Mary Elizabeth inherited much of her father's
penetration and judgment, and much of the virtue and excellence of her
mother, under whose training hand she grew up to womanhood.
In the memoir prepared by that mother something like justice is done the
virtues and labors of her child; while the part she performed in the early
culture of the mind and heart is modestly omitted. While the fair portrait
of female excellence, as seen in the life of her daughter, is drawn with
great distinctness, we are not told who laid the basis of that excellence,
and who with ceaseless vigilance guarded the young mind from error and sin.
We are hardly reminded, in the whole volume, of a mother's solicitude,
tears, prayers, warnings, and counsels. It shall be ours to say, that all
the daughter was reflects back with mild and gentle light upon the mother's
memory.
The childhood of Mary E. was spent mostly in Hartford, where her advantages
were great. Her parents were qualified, mentally and morally, to give her
suitable instruction. Favored by God with literary and pecuniary ability,
they lavished both upon their child, and brought her under all those
wholesome influences which were so well adapted to cultivate her abilities
and expand her mind. Besides this, the company with which she mingled in
her father's house was of the highest order. Her home was the centre of
delightful associations. She met there the minister of God, the missionary
from heathen shores, the gifted and the good, and from all these obtained
many lessons of wisdom. Perhaps she could not have been placed under more
favorable circumstances for the development of an amiable and lovely
character than those which clustered around her early years. Unlike some
young people who are obliged to struggle against adverse and unpropitious
circumstances, and who urge their way to usefulness and happiness under the
heavy pressure of want and embarrassment, Miss Hawes had every current in
her favor, and the whole tide of circumstances conspired to make her what
she afterwards became.
In early youth she was distinguished for numerous traits of character which
adorn and elevate the young man or woman and render them deserving of
esteem. While yet a child she was remarkable for her veracity and honesty.
Her mind seemed to dread a wicked or deceitful thing; and in all her
intercourse with her parents and her young associates there was a noble
frankness which opened to her the hearts of all. The earliest lessons of
her childhood were calculated to impress her mind with the enormity of all
falsehood and the value of truth; and as she grew up to womanhood she was
distinguished for this endearing virtue.
Gentleness of disposition was another characteristic of Miss Hawes. She
seemed formed to weep with those who weep, to sympathize with those who
were distressed, to administer consolation to the torn heart of affliction.
When by the bedside of the dying, or in the homes of bereavement and
sorrow, her hand was gentle and her voice mild and musical. There was a
sweet and unobtrusive kindness of manner, a mild and touching sympathy,
which won the heart of the sufferer and introduced her at once to the inner
temple of the wounded spirit.
She early became familiar with the Holy Bible. Time which many young
persons give to foolish and vain reading was spent over the book of God;
and, when young in life, she was more familiar with the history and poetry
of the Old Testament than are many persons at an advanced age. Her young
mind seemed to enter with intense interest and delight into the scenes
described by patriarchs and prophets and so beautifully discoursed upon by
the sweet singers of Israel.
While in her tenth year Mary E. was called to part with a brother younger
than herself. Notwithstanding her extreme youth, she received this
affliction with all the philosophic calmness of mature life. While her
father and mother were weeping around the bedside of the dying boy, while
their hearts were almost broken by this new stroke of divine Providence,
the little daughter clung around them, and in their ears whispered words of
peace and hope. The hymns of consolation which they had taught her to sing
she now rehearsed to them; and many a word of confidence in God which they
had uttered in bar hearing she now called up from the depths of memory, to
comfort their hearts and mitigate their sorrows. Her conduct at such an
hour was a restoring cordial to the wounded hearts of the parents, who
found in the heavenly mindedness of one child consolation for the loss of
another.
Shortly after the death of this brother Mary became in heart and life a
Christian. She passed through that mysterious change which some denominate
"regeneration;" which she described by the expression, "I have found God."
The cautious father waited long ere he advised his child to make a public
profession of the religion of Christ. She was very young, and liable to be
deceived; and he wished her to examine well the foundation of her hope,
and see whereon it was built. He could not endure the idea that she should
enter the church without a saving, evangelical change, and substitute the
sprinkling of water for the baptism of blood. Hence from time to time he
deferred the subject until his doubts all vanished; until the correct,
consistent deportment of his child subdued the fears of parental fondness;
until the world became impressed with the religious character of the young
disciple. Then he led her to the altar, broke to her the bread of life, and
welcomed her to the tribes of God.
From this time her life was one of true, consistent piety. That cautious
father never to the day of her death had occasion to regret the union
formed between her and the people of God. To her young Christian associates
she was a pattern of excellence, and to her many an eye was turned for a
good and faithful example. Nor were the expectations formed of her at all
disappointed. She lived no dubious life; hers was not a strange, erratic
piety. Brighter and brighter grew her sun, until it set, _at noon_, in a
flood of light and glory.
No sooner Was she a member of the church than she began to feel the
importance of being a faithful laborer in the vineyard of God. The false
views which so many have of the church relation she did not cherish. She
did not regard the church as a place of rest and repose--a spot where she
would be free from temptation, trials, and toils. On the contrary, she
clearly saw the obligations which are laid upon a servant of God, and
determined to discharge them to the best of her ability. To her young
friends she stated her own feelings, and urged them to love the same Savior
and embrace the same religion. With all the ardor of a young convert, and
all the enthusiasm of a soul inspired by the hopes of heaven, she presented
to their minds the value of faith in Christ and the necessity of a new
heart, and, by all the arguments and motives within her reach, besought
them to love and serve God.
Nor was she satisfied with this alone. She labored with her hands and
contributed of her money to advance the glory of God. Impressed with the
importance of missions, she formed a society among her young associates to
sew and knit for the purpose of providing clothing for the families who
were abroad. For this circle of children, which convened from time to time,
she prepared work and furnished employment until a box was ready, and,
under the direction of older friends, sent to a missionary who was laboring
for God in distant China.
As she grew older, her missionary interest increased. The claims of a dying
world were spread out before her, and her heart burned to be on heathen
soil where the gospel had never been preached and where the story of Christ
had never been told. She felt for dying men as she saw them, in all the
degradation of heathenism, bowing down to wood and stone and worshipping
the lifeless images which can neither see nor speak. The sunken condition
of heathen females, denied their legal and moral rights, deprived of the
advantages which elevate the other sex, drew her attention and claimed her
sympathy. The missionary concert was regularly attended; the Missionary
Herald was regularly read; the missionary contribution was regularly paid.
In the Sabbath school she was a devoted and successful laborer. Her place
in the class was occupied except in cases of necessity; and for the
children committed to her trust she felt deep and anxious solicitude. Often
in her closet and in the place of social prayer did she commend them to the
gracious care of God and pray that they might all be members of the fold of
Christ.
There were two circumstances which had powerful influence upon her
religious life and character, and which, to some extent, seem to have given
a direction to after years.
The _first_ was a season of sickness by which Miss H. was brought to the
borders of the grave. This occurred in the summer of 1841. The season of
sickness became an inestimable blessing. It gave her time for reflection
such as she seldom obtained, and led her to feel the vanity of human life
and the emptiness of earthly pleasures and joys. She saw in her own wasting
form and pallid cheek the evidences of mortality, and, realized the
necessity of securing treasure in the heavens, where sickness and death
will never disturb the visions of peace.
The _second_ circumstance was the revival which occurred in the
congregation with which she was connected in the same year of her illness.
That revival was deep, powerful, all-pervading. The Church fell upon her
bended knees before the throne of God; the wayward disciple came, with
tears and penitence, and besought forgiveness of God and the Church. The
old man, with his white locks and streaming eyes, asked, "What shall I do
to be saved?" The, young and gay were turned from sin and vanity and led
to seek an interest in the world's only Savior. The whole city felt the
influence of the work of grace; and the sceptic, in amazement, asked, "What
do these things mean?"
On one communion occasion about one hundred united with that one church,
most of whom were young in years and strong in heart. The prayers of God's
people were answered; the labors of the church were crowned with the divine
blessing; and a season such as causes joy in heaven among the angelic hosts
was enjoyed.
This revival was like a purifying fire to our subject. As a matter of
course, she became deeply interested in its progress and results. Led to
prayer and effort, she realized the worth of souls, the value of religion,
the bliss of heaven, and the horror of despair; and, as one young associate
after another gave her heart to God, the young disciple was full of joy.
In 1843 Miss Hawes was called seriously to decide upon a missionary life.
She well knew the trials of such a life. In her father's house she had
often met with those who had tried "the life of danger and death," and
had returned broken down with disease and sorrow. She had listened to the
narration of their labors, their sufferings, and their success, and was
better prepared to judge of the privations and pain to be experienced than
most who depart on such errands of mercy.
But the decision was soon made. When it became evident to her mind that she
could be more useful in Turkey than in America, when it was settled that
duty to God and a dying world required her to leave home and native land,
when Jesus seemed to beckon her away, the question was soon settled, and
settled in such a manner as to involve a separation from loved friends and
a removal from all the enjoyments of a civilized country.
On the 4th of September, 1843, Miss Hawes was married to Rev. Henry J. Van
Lennep: and, amid familiar scenes and countenances, the father gave his
daughter to her missionary husband, to the toils and sacrifices of a
missionary life. The pious and happy couple immediately started on a short
pleasure tour previous to sailing for the East, where they were to labor
and die. The time which intervened between the joyful marriage service and
the sad departure was crowded with incidents of a thrilling character; and
the month was one of excitement, anxiety, and care.
Mr. Van Lennep was a missionary under the patronage of the American Board
of Commissioners for Foreign Missions. He was destined for Turkey, to which
Oriental clime he was about to take his fair companion. In him Miss Hawes
found a tender and devoted husband, who, when her sickness came and weary
hours were appointed unto her, watched over her with the most considerate
attention, and deprived himself of rest and sleep that he might cheer his
sick and dying companion, whom he had taken from a home of plenty, ease,
refinement, and luxury, and removed to a cheerless and lonely spot, to
labor with him for the perishing.
It required no slight effort for Mrs. Van Lennep to part with so many
familiar scenes and go forth to return no more. There was her mother, whom
she tenderly loved, and whose declining years she had hoped to comfort and
cheer. How could she leave that parent? How could she say "Farewell,"
and do it with the consciousness that she should gaze upon that mild
countenance and that loved form no more? How could she take that hand which
had led her up to womanhood,--a hand which wiped her brow when sick and
suffering, and wet her throbbing temples when pained with fever,--how
could she grasp it for the last time?
Then there was her Sabbath school class, over which she had prayed and
wept, and to the members of which she had imparted instruction so often and
so tenderly.
There was also the house of God, in which she had so often heard the music
of a father's voice; the Sabbath bell, which had so often called her to the
temple and the place of prayer; the organ, whose tones had often thrilled
her soul as she sat with the worshipping assembly, chanting the praise of
God. How could she leave all these? The separation cost an effort such as
those only know who have made the trial.
She sailed from Boston, in company with her husband and father, in the bark
Stamboul, on the 11th of October, 1843. The Stamboul was a fine vessel; and
our missionaries were well accommodated on board. The gentlemanly officers
and crew omitted nothing which could render the situation of the female
voyager pleasant and comfortable as a "life on the ocean wave" would allow.
Besides this, the kindness of friends had provided every little comfort and
convenience which could be needed; and the trunks and boxes of Mrs. Van
Lennep were stored with articles which her Hartford and Boston friends had
gathered for her use. She went out, not as Mrs. Newell went, on a cold,
severe day, with but few comforts, with but few conveniences, with but few
friends to: bid her farewell, with no sermon, no song, no prayer on the
deck; but every thing which money could purchase or the ingenuity of
friends devise was brought forward to add to her comfort. Before the
Stamboul sailed a service was held on board, which was attended by
deeply-interested friends. The missionaries, the passengers, the crew were
committed to the care of God. The parting hymn rose on the breeze, echoed
over the waves, and its sad strains died away on the hearts of the
listeners. The parting hand was given; and as kind friends left the deck
the ropes were loosed, and in noble style the vessel swept out into the
harbor, and the mother and child gazed upon each other for the last time.
"Ye who, forsaking all,
At your loved Master's call,
Comforts resign,
Soon will your work be done;
Soon will the prize be won;
Brighter than yonder sun
Ye soon shall shine."
Most of the voyage was spent by Mrs. Van Lennep in preparing herself for
future usefulness and in the study of those languages which she would most
need. She enjoyed the passage more than any other lady on board, and was on
deck in some scenes of peril which made even the hearts of strong men to
tremble.
More than any thing else did our subject miss the privileges of the
Sabbath. The daughter of a clergyman, she had been reared beneath the
shadow of the Christian temple, and taught from infancy to love and revere
the day of rest. And though upon shipboard she heard the song of praise,
the solemn prayer, and the interesting discourse from the same lips which
led the devotions at home, yet the church-going bell, the pealing organ,
and the countenances of early associates were not found on the ocean. All
was strange and wild as the tempest itself.
On the Sabbath day, November 5th, the eyes of the voyagers were greeted
with a view of that noble monument which rises from the blue waters of the
Mediterranean-the Rock of Gibraltar. They looked upon it as the rising sun
glanced lines of light all around it and painted it with gorgeous beauty,
making even its very barrenness appear, attractive.
Whoever has sailed along the shores of the Mediterranean Sea will remember
the many objects of interest which present themselves on every side. There
are seen convents which have stood for ages, braving change and time, from
whose turrets the vesper bell has sounded forth over the waters, calling
the ghostly father and the young recluse from the cell and the cloister to
mingle in the devotions imposed by the Holy Mother Church; castles frowning
from bare and beaten rocks, reminding one of other days, when feudal strife
and knightly warfare demanded such monuments of barbarism to prove that
"might makes right;" beautiful gondolas, with richly-dressed Orientals,
manned with slaves, and propelled by the broad, flat paddle, reminding one
of the songs which cast their witchery around the knights of yore, and from
the blue bosom of the sea gave back the melodious echo; the highlands,
clad in beauty and arrayed in all the verdure of perpetual summer; villas
standing amid groves of trees in full blossom, and cultivated slopes
which extend to the very billows of the sea; ruined temples, monasteries,
convents, cathedrals, standing like some relics of the past, fit emblems of
the decaying faith once taught within them.
About the 1st of December, the Stamboul, with its precious freight, arrived
at Smyrna; and when the new year with all its hallowed emotions came,
they were comfortably located in their new home, surrounded with every
circumstance to make them happy. Their home stood near the sea shore, and
from its verandas they could look far out upon the waters and behold the
passing vessels as on the busy voyage they sped to and fro. In the garden
sweet roses bloomed, and the orange and lemon gave delicious fragrance and
more delicious fruit.