... "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 fort.i.tude, of female heroism, and of all the n.o.ble and generous qualities which const.i.tute 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 G.o.d 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 a.s.semble there, and Mrs. Judson made vigorous preparations to open a school. Mr. Crawford of the British Emba.s.sy 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 G.o.d 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 n.o.ble 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 circ.u.mstances 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. Ha.s.seltine 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 G.o.d 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 grat.i.tude 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 fort.i.tude, 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 pa.s.sed 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 G.o.d, 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 const.i.tution 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 fort.i.tude, 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 n.o.ble 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 sh.o.r.es 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 t.i.tle 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 n.o.ble, 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 G.o.d, 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 a.s.suages 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 canva.s.s. They must soon pa.s.s 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 ma.s.s of mankind, always virtuous and n.o.ble. 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 G.o.d, 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 n.o.ble 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 Ma.s.sachusetts. 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 circ.u.mstances, and which must be met with energy and resolution, give habits of patient endurance, and n.o.ble 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 un.o.btrusiveness.

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 ill.u.s.tration 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 circ.u.mstances 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 'f.a.n.n.y 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 n.o.ble 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 G.o.d.

Ye daughters of Israel, s.n.a.t.c.h 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 n.o.ble 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 n.o.bler 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.