Chapter X. Life In Maulmain (Continued). 1831-1845.

Chapter X. Life In Maulmain (Continued). 1831-1845.

It now became Mr. Judson’s duty to return to Maulmain. He had been absent thirteen months. The first part of that time had been spent in the futile effort to establish a mission at Prome, and the last part he had labored alone with native converts at Rangoon, distributing tracts, preaching the Gospel and translating the Scriptures. Mr. and Mrs. Wade had repaired to Rangoon soon after his return from Prome; but Mrs. Wade’s health had so completely broken down that it was thought best for her and her husband to take a voyage to America. The ship in which the Wades sailed was driven out of its course by violent gales, and at last put into a port on the coast of Arracan. Here Mrs. Wade’s health was so much improved that the idea of going to America was given up, and they returned to Maulmain instead. But, in the meantime, Mr. Judson’s presence seemed indispensable there. A new party of missionaries had arrived from America, including Mr. and Mrs. Mason, Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid, and Mr. and Mrs. Jones. The Masons had gone to Tavoy. Mr. Jones went to Rangoon to take Mr. Judson’s place, and the Kincaids were still staying at Maulmain.

When he returned to Maulmain, he saw much to delight his heart. The little church had been enlarged by the baptism of many Burmese, Karens, and Talings. Two millions of pages of tracts and translations of Scripture had been printed. The missionaries had also made repeated journeys into the jungle, where a church of fourteen members had been organized at a place called Wadesville, in honor of the missionary who had first preached the Gospel there. At the close of 1831, Mr. Judson reported on behalf of the Burman mission two hundred and seventeen persons as baptized during the year; one hundred and thirty-six at Maulmain, seventy-six at Tavoy, and five at Rangoon.

Soon after returning from Rangoon to Maulmain, he entered upon a new field of operations. Whenever his close confinement to the work of translation necessitated a change of air and scene, it was his custom to take a tour among the wild Karen tribes occupying the jungle back of Maulmain. His restless spirit was always longing to press into the interior of the country, and the great Irrawaddy valley being closed to him, there was nothing left but to penetrate Burmah by the Salwen and its tributaries, which constitute the second of the river systems by which the land is drained.

The Karens, as their very name indicates, were wild men. They are distributed throughout Burmah, Siam, and parts of China, and number from two hundred thousand to four hundred thousand. They are, perhaps, the remnants of an aboriginal and subjugated race. They are looked down upon by the Burmese as inferiors. They speak a different language, and have distinct race characteristics. Mr. Boardman, who was their first missionary, thus describes them:

“The Karens are the simplest children of nature I have ever seen. They have been compared to the aborigines of America, but they are as much inferior, both in mental and physical strength, as a puny effeminate Hindoo is inferior to a sturdy Russian, or a British grenadier. Of all people in the world, the Karens, I believe, are the most timid and irresolute. And the fable, that when some superior being was dispensing written languages and books to the various nations of the earth, a surly dog came along and drove away the Karens and carried away their books, agrees better with their indolent and timid character, than half the other fables in vogue among the wise and learned Burmans do with truth or common sense. These artless people seem contented, and not unhappy in their native forests, treading the little paths their fathers trod before them. It is surprising to see how small a portion of worldly goods satisfies their wants and limits their pursuits. A box of betel, often no other than the joint of a bamboo, a little heap of rice, a bamboo basket for each member of the family to carry burdens in, a cup, a rice and a curry-pot, a spinning-wheel of most simple structure, a knife and an axe, a change of simple garments, a mat of leaves, half a dozen water-buckets of bamboo joints, and a movable fire-place, are nearly all their frail houses contain to administer to their comfort. With these accommodations they are more free from worldly cares than the owners of farms and stalls, and folds, and games, and ships, and stores. Their only worldly care is to raise a little money to pay their taxes, under which they groan. Although indolent in the extreme, they are so remote from the city that they are, I believe, less wicked than most heathen nations. They have no hopes in a future life, and generally disdain all allegiance to the prevailing religion of the country. They are, in general, as careless about the future as about the present, except those who have heard the Gospel, and those who have been encouraged by the Burmans to build kyoungs and pagodas, in the hope of avoiding in the next world the state of hogs, and dogs, and snakes, and worms. They are too idle to be quarrelsome or ambitious, and too poor to gamble, or eat, or drink to very great excess. Their minds are vacant and open for the reception of whatever contains a relish, and it is not a little gratifying to see so many of them finding that relish in religion.”

The Karens are peculiarly accessible to the Christian religion. They are devoid of the pride and dogmatism which characterize the Burmans. Besides they had a hoary tradition that white messengers would come from the sea to teach them. When Mr. Boardman first came among them, he found that they had in their possession a mysterious book.

“On returning from the zayat, I found my house thronged with Karens, and was informed that the Karen teacher had arrived with his much venerated book. After tea, I called them up, and inquired what they wished. The teacher stood forward and said, ‘My lord, your humble servants have come from the wilderness, to lay at your lordship’s feet a certain book, and to inquire of your lordship whether it is good or bad, true or false. We, Karens, your humble servants, are an ignorant race of people; we have no books, no written language, we know nothing of God or His law. When this book was given us, we were charged to worship it, which we have done for twelve years. But we knew nothing of its contents, not so much as in what language it is written. We have heard of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and are persuaded of its truth, and we wish to know if this book contains the doctrine of that Gospel. We are persuaded that your lordship can easily settle the question, and teach us the true way of becoming happy.’ I requested them to produce the book, when the old man opened a large basket, and having removed fold after fold of wrappers, he handed me an old tattered duodecimo volume. It was none other than the ‘Book of Common Prayer with the Psalms,’ published at Oxford, England. ‘It is a good book,’ said I, ‘but it is not good to worship it. You must worship the God it reveals.’ We spent the evening instructing these simple foresters in some of the first principles of the Gospel. They listened with much attention; but the old teacher, who, it seems, is a kind of sorcerer, appeared disappointed at the thought that he had obtained no claim to heaven by worshipping the book so many years.

“September 9, 1828. The Karens left us for their native forest. It was a source of regret to us all, that Ko-thah-byoo was not present to facilitate our intercourse by interpreting for us. Just before leaving, the old sorcerer put on his jogar’s dress, given him, he said, nearly twenty years ago, and assumed some self-important airs, so that one of our native Christians felt it his duty to administer a gentle reproof, and told him there was no good in wearing such a dress, and advised him to lay it aside altogether. ‘If,’ said the sorcerer, ‘God will not be pleased with this dress, I am ready to send it afloat on yonder stream.’ He then presented his reprover with his wand, saying he had no further use for it.”

Mr. Boardman was afterward informed that the teacher, on his way home, tore his jogar’s dress to pieces, and threw it into a brook.

While the Burmans lived in towns and cities, the Karens, like our Indians, occupied villages far back in the jungle by the side of mountain streams. Mr. Judson’s attention was first called to them in Rangoon. “They formed small parties of strange, wild-looking men, clad in unshapely garments, who from time to time straggled past his residence.”

He was told that they were as untamable as the wild cow of the mountains; that they seldom entered a town except on compulsion. They were nomadic in their habits. A British officer gives a singular instance of their wildness:

“An officer was lying on his bed in a little room inside the stockaded police post, which had a narrow gate with an armed sentry on guard; the Hillman, with the minimum of clothing, was introduced by a smart sergeant, who coaxed him to approach. He cautiously and distrustfully, and with great persuasion, advanced stooping to the bed; when close to it, he gave one long, steady look at the white man; suddenly, with a yell, threw himself up straight, turned round, dashed out of the room, through the gate, upsetting the armed sentry, rushed across a little stream at the bottom of the stockade, and, clambering like a monkey sheer up the side of the opposite mountain, never stopped till he was lost to sight in the forest.”

In order to secure permanent churches among the Karens, the first step of the missionaries was to persuade them to settle down in one place and form large and well-ordered villages. It was in this way that the town of Wadesville, before mentioned, sprang into existence. Christianity has thus proved a powerful agent in civilizing the Karens, and a Christian village is easily distinguished from a heathen one, not only by its size, but by its clean, regular streets.

That Mr. Judson’s tours in the Karen jungles were attended with great fatigue and danger, may be inferred from Mr. Boardman’s “Historical Sketch of the Karens”:

“The paths which lead to their settlements are so obscurely marked, so little trodden, and so devious in their course, that a guide is needed to conduct one from village to village, even over the best part of the way. Not unfrequently the path leads over precipices, over cliffs and dangerous declivities, along deep ravines, frequently meandering with a small streamlet for miles, which we have to cross and recross, and often to take it for our path, wading through water ankle deep for an hour or more. There are no bridges, and we often have to ford or swim over considerable streams, particularly in the rainy season; when, however, the difficulties of travelling are so great as to render it next to impossible. Sometimes we have to sleep in the open air in the woods, where, besides insects and reptiles, the tiger, the rhinoceros, and the wild elephant render our situation not a little uncomfortable and dangerous. I have never met with either of these dangerous animals in the wilderness, but have very frequently seen their recent footsteps and their haunts, while others meet them. It is but seldom they do hurt, but it is in their power, and sometimes they have the disposition. And when, after having encountered so many difficulties, and endured not a little fatigue in travelling, and been exposed to so many dangers, we come to a village, we find, perhaps, but twenty or thirty houses, often only ten, and not unfrequently only one or two within a range of several miles.”

On these jungle trips he was always accompanied by a band of associates. He would take with him eight or ten disciples and dispatch them right and left up the tributaries of the Salwen. Two by two they would penetrate the wilderness, and meeting their teacher a few days later, would report to him the results of their labor. The Oriental, under good leadership, makes a faithful and intrepid follower. And Mr. Judson’s magnetism of character held his assistants to him with hooks of steel. He had the gift of getting work, and their best work, out of the converted natives. Promising boys and young men he took under his own instruction and qualified them to become teachers and ministers. His wise and far-reaching views on this primitive and indispensable kind of ministerial education may be learned from his letters to the Corresponding Secretary. His example might profitably be followed by ministers even in our own Christian land:

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

“As to the subject of schools, and the preparation of young men for the ministry, my views are the same with those you have expressed. But I doubt the practicability of a ‘seminary’ all of a sudden. In looking at the subject in its various bearings for a considerable time, I see but one way; and I would respectfully propose that instructions be issued to every missionary, at every station, to collect around him a few boys and young men who may appear promising, and give them such instruction as may be consistent with his other duties; with a view of obtaining, in the course of a year or two, a contribution from each station of at least two or three students, who shall be sent to Maulmain, or Tavoy, or some other station, and thus gradually form a seminary, which shall continue to be sustained by supplies from the several stations, in the same way it was commenced.”

He had a characteristic way of paying his assistants, as may be learned from a letter of advice which he sends to Mr. Mason, who had just taken Mr. Boardman’s place at Tavoy:

“But I can assure you, from long experience, that you can seldom, if ever, satisfy Burmans, Talings, or Karens, by giving them stated, specified, known wages. However much it be, they will soon be murmuring for ‘more ’bacco,’ like their betters. Few of the natives that I pay know how much they get. No word on the subject ever passes between me and them. I contrive, at unequal intervals, to pop a paper of rupees—five, ten, or fifteen—into their hands, in the most arbitrary way, and without saying a word. But I take accurate note of every payment, and at the end of the year, or of the period for which they are employed, I manage to have paid them such a sum as amounts to so much per month, the rate agreed upon with my brethren. This plan occasions less trouble than one is apt to think at first; at any rate, not so much trouble as to be in hot water all the time about their ‘wages’. However, I only show you my anvil. Hammer your tools on it, or on another of your own invention, as you like.”

The following extracts from Mr. Judson’s journal describe his life in the jungle. They relate to his second tour among the Karens:

“We set out from Maulmain, as purposed in my last, and leaving the Salwen on the west, and the Ataran on the east, we followed the Gyne and the Dah-gyne, as it is termed above its confluence with the Houng-ta-rau, which falls in from the east, and in three days reached this place, the distance being, by conjecture, above eighty miles. Accounts, on first arriving, are rather unfavorable.

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

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

“Some of the disciples have gone to Tee-pah’s village to announce my arrival; and while others are putting up a small shed on the bank, I sit in the boat and pen these notices.

“In the evening, held a meeting in the shed, at which several of the villagers were present.

“January 13. My people returned from Tee-pah’s village, bringing with them several disciples, and one woman, the wife of Loo-boo, who presented herself for baptism, with twelve strings of all manner of beads around her neck, and a due proportion of ear, arm, and leg ornaments! and, strange to say, she was examined and approved, without one remark on the subject of her dress. The truth is, we quite forgot it, being occupied and delighted with her uncommonly prompt and intelligent replies. In the afternoon, sent the boat back to Maulmain, with directions to proceed up the Salwen, having concluded to cross thither by land. In the evening, had a pretty full shed; but the inhabitants of the place do not appear very favorably inclined.

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

“January 15. Lord’s day. In the forenoon I held a meeting for the disciples only, and, as I seldom see them, endeavored to tell them all I knew. Had more or less company through the day. In the evening, a crowded house. Tee-pah’s father, a venerable old man, came forward, and witnessed a good confession. Some others, also, begin to give evidence that they have received the truth into good and honest hearts.

“January 16. In the morning Tee-pah’s mother joined the party of applicants for baptism, and her younger daughter-in-law, whose husband was formerly baptized. But Tee-pah himself, though convinced of the truth, and giving some evidence of grace, can not resolve at once on entire abstinence from rum, though he has never been in the habit of intoxication. In the course of the forenoon we held a church-meeting, and unanimously received and baptized eight individuals from this and a small village two miles distant.

“Took an affectionate leave of the people, and prosecuted our journey toward the Salwen. Came to Zat-kyee’s small village, where one man and his wife embraced the truth at first hearing; and the man said, that as there was no suitable place for baptizing at that village, he would follow on, until he could say, ‘See, here is water,’ etc. I gave him leave to follow, not with that view, but to listen further to the blessed Gospel. At night, reached Shway-bau’s village, where they afforded us a shelter rather reluctantly. In the evening, however, had an interesting, though small assembly.

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

“January 18. Shway-hlah, the man who followed us from the village day before yesterday, appearing to be sincere in his desire to profess the Christian religion, we held a meeting, though four disciples only could be present; and on balloting for his reception, there was one dissentient vote, so that I advised him to wait longer. He appeared to be much disappointed and grieved; said that he should perhaps not live to see me again, and have an opportunity of being initiated into the religion of Jesus Christ; and after a while the two Karen disciples insisting that he should be re-examined, we gave him a second trial, when, on cross-questioning him in the Burman language, which he understood pretty well (for we began to suspect the Karen interpreters of being a little partial to their countrymen), some circumstances leaked out which turned the scale in his favor, and he gained a clear vote. After his baptism, he went on his way rejoicing, resolving to tell all his neighbors what ‘great things the Lord had done for him.’ At morning worship, our host and the neighbor mentioned above, appeared to be very near the kingdom of heaven, but the other people of this village decidedly reject the Gospel.

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

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

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

“January 30. In the morning, held a church meeting by the river-side, and received the last two applicants. The chief of the village, Yet-dau’s father, and several other persons, are very favorably impressed. Not a word of opposition to be heard. Took an affectionate leave of this little church, now consisting of six members, and went down the river on the west side of Kanlong Island, having come up on the east side from Poo-ah’s village. Entered the Mai-zeen rivulet, in Burmese territory, and landed at Thah-pe-nike’s village, where we spent the day. In the evening had a noisy assembly. Some professed to believe, but pleaded the fear of Government as an excuse for not prosecuting their inquiries. One young man, Kah-lah by name, drank in the truth, and promised to come to Maulmain as soon as he could get free from some present engagements.

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

“February 2. Went round the northern extremity of Kanlong, and up the eastern channel, to Poo-ah’s village, where we found the two disciples whom we sent away on the 21st ultimo. They have met with a few hopeful inquirers. Some who live near are expected here to-morrow. In the meantime, went down the river a few miles, to Poo-door’s village. My people preceded me, as usual, and about noon I followed them. But I found that the village was inhabited chiefly by Buddhist Karens, and, of course, met with a poor reception. After showing myself and trying to conciliate the children and dogs, who cried and barked in concert, I left word that, if any wished to hear me preach, I would come again in the evening, and then relieved the people of my presence, and retreated to the boat. At night the disciples returned, without any encouragement. One of them, however, accidentally met the chief, who said that if I came he would not refuse to hear what I had to say. On this half invitation I set out, about sunset, and never met with worse treatment at a Karen village. The chief would not even invite us into his house, but sent us off to an old deserted place, where the floor was too frail to support us; so we sat down on the ground. He then invited us nearer, and sat down before us, with a few confidential friends. He had evidently forbidden all his people to approach us, otherwise some would have come, out of curiosity. And what a hard, suspicious face did he exhibit! And how we had to coax him to join us in a little regular worship! It was at least an hour before he would consent at all. But in the course of worship his features softened, and his mind ‘crossed over,’ as he expressed it, to our religion; and I returned to the boat inclined to believe that all things are possible with God.

“February 3. Some of my people who slept at the village returned with the report that the place is divided against itself. Some are for and some against us. The opposition is rather violent. One man threatens to turn his aged father out of doors if he embraces the Christian religion. Perhaps this is not to be regretted. Satan never frets without cause. Turned the boat’s head again to the north, and retraced our way to Poo-ah’s village, where we spent the rest of the day. But the two hopeful inquirers that I left here on the 29th have made no advance.

“February 9. Visited Wen-gyan, Pah-len, and Zong-ing, Taling villages, where we found a few Karens. At the latter place, collected a small assembly for evening worship. A few professed to believe; others were violent in opposing.

“February 10. Visited several Taling villages in succession. In the afternoon, reached the confluence of the Salwen and the Gyne, upon which we turned into the latter, and went up to Taranah, where Ko Shan resides, as mentioned December 29. The inhabitants of this place, like the Talings in general, are inveterately opposed to the Gospel, and Ko Shan has had very little success. Two or three individuals, however, appear to be favorably impressed; but the opposition is so strong that no one dares to come forward.

“February 11. Left Ko Shan, with the promise of sending him aid as soon as possible, and in the afternoon reached Maulmain, after an absence of six weeks, during which I have baptized twenty-five, and registered about the same number of hopeful inquirers. I find that brother and sister Jones have arrived from Rangoon, brother Kincaid having concluded to take their place.”

But this second tour among the Karens was soon followed by a third, of which a brief account is given in Mr. Judson’s words:

“February 29, 1832. Left Maulmain for the Karen villages on the Salwen, accompanied by Ko Myat-kyau, who speaks Karen, three other Taling disciples, and the two Karen assistants, Panlah and Chet-thing. The other Karen assistant, Tau-nah, I expect to meet at Chummerah, according to the arrangement of February 4. At night, reached Tong-eing, and found that the few Karens near the place had concluded to reject the Gospel.

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

“March 2. Spent the forenoon in instructing and examining the wife and daughter. The former we approved, but rejected the latter, as not yet established in the Christian faith. After the baptism, Rajah and his wife united in presenting their younger children, that I might lay my hands on them and bless them. The elder children, being capable of discerning good from evil, came of their own accord, and held up their folded hands in the act of homage to their parents’ God, while we offered a prayer that they might obtain grace to become true disciples, and receive the holy ordinance of baptism. At noon, left this interesting family, and proceeded up the river, stopping occasionally, and preaching wherever we could catch a listening ear. Entered the Mai-san, and landed at the village above Rai-ngai’s, which Ko Myat-kyau has formerly visited. In the evening, had two very attentive hearers.

“March 3. The two attentive hearers were up nearly all night, drinking in the truth. One of them became urgent for baptism; and on hearing his present and past experience, from the time he first listened to the Gospel, we concluded to receive him into the fellowship of the church. His wife is very favorably disposed, but not so far advanced in knowledge and faith. Returned to the Salwen, and made a long pull for Poo-door’s village; but late in the evening, being still at a considerable distance, were obliged to coil ourselves up in our small boat, there being no house in these parts, and the country swarming with tigers at this season, so that none of us ventured to sleep on shore.

“March 4. Lord’s day. Uncoiled ourselves with the first dawn of light, and soon after sunrise took possession of a fine flat log, in the middle of Poo-door’s village, a mile from the river, where we held forth on the duty of refraining from work on this the Lord’s day, and attending divine worship. Some listened to our words; and in the forenoon we succeeded in collecting a small assembly. After worship, the old man mentioned formerly, whose son threatened to turn him out of doors, came forward, with his wife; and having both witnessed a good confession, we received them into our fellowship. Poo-door himself absent on a journey; but his wife ready to become a Christian.

”March 10. Went on to the mouth of the Yen-being, and as far as the great log, which prevents a boat from proceeding farther. Providentially met with Wah-hai, of whom I have heard a good report for some time. He was happy to see us, and we were happy to examine and baptize him. We then visited the village, whence they formerly sent a respectful message, desiring us to go about our business, and found some attentive listeners.

“March 11. Lord’s day. Again took the main river, and soon fell in with a boat, containing several of the listeners of yesterday, among whom was one man who declared his resolution to enter the new religion. We had scarcely parted with this boat when we met another, full of men, coming down the stream; and, on hailing to know whether they wished to hear the Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ, an elderly man, the chief of the party, replied that he had already heard much of the Gospel, and there was nothing he desired more than to have a meeting with the teacher. Our boats were soon side by side, where, after a short engagement, the old man struck his colors, and begged us to take him into port, where he could make a proper surrender of himself to Christ. We accordingly went to the shore, and spent several hours very delightfully, under the shade of the overhanging trees, and the banner of the love of Jesus. The old man’s experience was so clear, and his desire for baptism so strong, that, though circumstances prevented our gaining so much testimony of his good conduct since believing as we usually require, we felt that it would be wrong to refuse his request. A lad in his company, the person mentioned January 30, desired also to be baptized. But, though he had been a preacher to the old man, his experience was not so decided and satisfactory; so that we rejected him for the present. The old man went on his way, rejoicing aloud, and declaring his resolution to make known the eternal God and the dying love of Jesus, all along the banks of the Yoon-za-len, his native stream.

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

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

“I respectfully request and sincerely hope that this article may be neither suppressed nor polished. The principle of ‘double selection,’ as it is termed, that is, one selection by the missionary and another by the publishing committee, has done great mischief, and contributed more to impair the credit of missionary accounts than anything else. We in the East, knowing how extensively this principle is acted on, do scarcely give any credit to the statements which appear in some periodicals, and the public at large are beginning to open their eyes to the same thing. It is strange to me that missionaries and publishing committees do not see the excellency and efficacy of the system pursued by the inspired writers—that of exhibiting the good and the bad alike. Nothing contributes more to establish the authenticity of the writing. A temporary advantage gained by suppressing truth is a real defeat in the end, and therefore μονη θυτεον αληθεια.

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

Truly, the tears fall as I write.”

At the close of the year 1832 Mr. Judson reported one hundred and forty-three baptisms: three at Rangoon, seventy at Maulmain, sixty-seven at Tavoy, and three at Mergui. This made five hundred and sixteen who had been baptized since his arrival in Burmah, only seventeen of whom had been finally excluded.

On the first day of the new year a party of new missionaries arrived in Maulmain from America. These reinforcements seem to have come in response to a stirring appeal for help sent by the missionaries nearly a year before:

“Respected Fathers and Brethren: At our monthly concert this morning, it was unanimously agreed that a joint letter should be addressed to you on the importance of sending out more missionaries to this part of the heathen world. Being, every one of us, exceedingly pressed for want of time, we can not stop to prepare an elaborate statement, but must come at once to the point in hand.

“We are in distress. We see thousands perishing around us. We see mission stations opening on every side, the fields growing whiter every day, and no laborers to reap the harvest. If each one of us could divide himself into three parts, happy would he be, not only to take leave of his native land and beloved connections at home, but of still nearer and more intimate connections. We want instantly to send aid to the Tavoy station, where brother Mason is laboring, almost alone. We want instantly to send a missionary to Mergui, a pleasant, healthful town, south of Tavoy, where a small church has been raised up, and left in charge of a native pastor. Our hearts bleed when we think of poor Mergui and the Karens in that vicinity, many of whom are ready to embrace the Gospel and be saved. But how can we allow ourselves to think of that small place, when the whole kingdom of Siam lies in our rear, and the city of Bangkok, at once a port for ships and the seat of imperial government? We want instantly to dispatch one of our number to Bangkok. One? There ought, at this moment, to be three, at least, on their way to that important place. Another ought to be on his way to Yah-heing, a large town east of Maulmain, from which there is a fine river leading down to Bangkok; there are many Karens at Yah-heing. The Christian religion is creeping that way by means of our Karen disciples. North of Yah-heing and the Thoung-yen River, the boundary of the British territory on that side, lies the kingdom or principality of Zenmai. There have been several communications between the Government of Maulmain and Lah-bong, the present capital of that country. Moung Shway-bwen, one of our disciples, formerly with brother Boardman at Tavoy, is a nephew of the prince, or deputy prince, of that country, and is anxious to return thither. But how can we send him, a very young man, without a missionary? If we had a spare missionary, what a fine opportunity for introducing the Gospel into that central nation! It would open the way to other neighboring nations, not even mentioned in foreign geographies, and even to the borders of China and Tartary. Between Maulmain and Zenmai are various tribes of Karens, Toung-thoos, Lah-wahs, etc. The former are literally crying out aloud for a written language, that they may read in their own tongue the wonderful works of God. From the banks of the Yoon-za-len, on the north-west, the celebrated prophet of the Karens has repeatedly sent down messages and presents to us, begging that we would come and instruct his people in the Christian religion. But how can we think of supplying that quarter, when the old kingdom of Arracan, now under British rule, and speaking the same language with the Burmese, is crying, in the whole length and breadth of her coast, for some one to come to her rescue? In that country are one or two hundred converts, and one country-born missionary, from the Serampore connection, who is laboring without any prospect of reinforcement from Bengal, and desirous that one of us should join him. Kyouk Phyoo, lately established by the English, is esteemed a healthy place. The commandant is disposed to welcome a missionary, and afford him every facility. Our hearts bleed when we think of Kyouk Phyoo, and the poor inquirers that one of our number lately left there, ready to embrace the Christian religion, if he would only promise to remain or send a successor. From Kyouk Phyoo the way is open into the four provinces of Arracan, namely, Rek-keing. Chedubah, Ramree, and Sandoway; and what a grand field for our tracts, and the New Testament, now in press! Of all the places that now cry around us, we think that Kyouk Phyoo cries the loudest. No; we listen again, and the shrill cry of golden Ava rises above them all. Oh, Ava! Ava! with thy metropolitan walls and gilded turrets, thou sittest a lady among these Eastern nations; but our hearts bleed for thee! In thee is no Christian church, no missionary of the cross.

“We have lately heard of the death of poor Prince Myen Zeing. He died without any missionary or Christian to guide his groping soul on the last dark journey. Where has that journey terminated? Is he in the bright world of Paradise, or in the burning lake? He had attained some knowledge of the way of salvation. Perhaps, in his last hours, he turned away his eye from the gold and silver idols around his couch, and looked to the crucified Saviour. But those who first taught him were far away; so he died, and was buried like a heathen. It is true that the one of our number who formerly lived at Ava would not be tolerated during the present reign; but another missionary would, doubtless, be well received, and, if prudent, be allowed to remain. Two missionaries ought, at this moment, to be studying the language in Ava.

“O God of mercy, have mercy on Ava, and Chageing, and A-ma-ra-poo-ra. Have mercy on Pugan and Prome (poor Prome!), on Toung-oo, on the port of Bassein, and on all the towns between Ava and Rangoon. Have mercy on old Pegu and the surrounding district. Have mercy on the four provinces of Arracan. Have mercy on the inhabitants of the banks of the Yoon-za-len, the Salwen, the Thoung-yen, and the Gyne. Have mercy on all the Karens, the Toung-thoos, the Lah-wahs, and other tribes, whose names, though unknown in Christian lands, are known to Thee. Have mercy on Zen-mai, on Lah-bong, Myeing-yoon-gyee, and Yay-heing. Have mercy on Bangkok, and the kingdom of Siam, and all the other principalities that lie on the north and east. Have mercy on poor little Mergui, and Pah-lan, and Yay, and Lah-meing, and Nah-zaroo, and Amherst, and the Island of Ba-loo, with its villages of Talings and Karens. Have mercy on our mission stations at Tavoy, Maulmain, and Rangoon, and our sub-stations at Mergui, Chummerah, and Newville. Pour out Thine Holy Spirit upon us and our assistants, upon our infant churches and our schools. Aid us in the solemn and laborious work of translating and printing Thine holy, inspired word in the languages of these heathen. Oh, keep our faith from failing, our spirits from sinking, and our mortal frames from giving way prematurely under the influence of the climate and the pressure of our labors. Have mercy on the Board of Missions; and grant that our beloved and respected fathers and brethren may be aroused to greater effort, and go forth personally into all parts of the land, and put in requisition all the energies of Thy people. Have mercy on the churches in the United States; hold back the curse of Meroz; continue and perpetuate the heavenly revivals of religion which they have begun to enjoy; and may the time soon come when no church shall dare to sit under Sabbath and sanctuary privileges without having one of their number to represent them on heathen ground. Have mercy on the theological seminaries, and hasten the time when one-half of all who yearly enter the ministry shall be taken by Thine Holy Spirit, and driven into the wilderness, feeling a sweet necessity laid on them, and the precious love of Christ and of souls constraining them. Hear, O Lord, all the prayers which are this day presented in all the monthly concerts throughout the habitable globe, and hasten the millennial glory, for which we are all longing, and praying, and laboring. Adorn Thy beloved one in her bridal vestments, that she may shine forth in immaculate beauty and celestial splendor. Come, O our Bridegroom; come, Lord Jesus; come quickly. Amen and Amen.

“(Signed),

A letter from one of the new-comers to her parents gives us an interesting glimpse of our missionary’s personal habits:

“Our intercourse with Mr. Judson is of a very pleasing nature, and we feel happy to be permitted in the least degree to take off the edge of his loneliness. It is affecting to hear his petitions for a long life, to labor among the heathen, mingled as they are with panting aspirations after heaven. He seems uniformly seriously cheerful. His days and nights are spent in a room adjoining the native chapel, where he spends all his time, except that devoted to meals (twice a day) and exercise, and generally he has a sort of social conversation with some one of the mission families in the evening. He is confining himself as closely as possible to the completion of his translation of the Scriptures. His exhortations to us all to exercise, are practically enforced by his own example. He walks very early in the morning, rain or shine; also after sunset. He told me that he had no doubt that so much loss of health and life to foreigners in this climate is principally due to their negligence on this point.”

But the time had at last come when Mr. Judson’s long domestic solitude was to end. Under date of April 10, 1834, we find in his journal the following important entry:

“Was married to Mrs. Sarah H. Boardman, who was born at Alstead, New Hampshire, November 4, 1803, the eldest daughter of Ralph and Abiah O. Hall—married to George D. Boardman, July 4, 1825—left a widow February 11, 1831, with one surviving child, George D. Boardman, born August 18, 1828.”

Nearly eight years of loneliness had passed since he laid his beloved Ann beneath the hopia-tree. He had arrived at the age of forty-six, when he married Mrs. Boardman. He found in her a kindred spirit. She had spent the three years of her widowhood in heroic toil among the Karens at Tavoy, and had turned persistently away from the urgent appeals of her friends in America to return home for her own sake and the sake of her little boy. She had resolved to continue her husband’s labors alone, and thus wrote concerning her purpose:

“As to my future walk, I feel, I trust, a desire to be guided by unerring Wisdom. I have never been able to think of abandoning forever the cause in which my beloved husband rejoiced to wear out his feeble frame and sink into a premature grave. The death-bed scene has inspired me with a fortitude, or I would hope, faith unknown before, and encircled the missionary enterprise with a glory not until then perceived.”

And again she says:

“When I first stood by the grave of my husband, I thought that I must go home with George. But these poor, inquiring, and Christian Karens, and the school-boys, and the Burmese Christians, would then be left without any one to instruct them; and the poor, stupid Tavoyans would go on in the road to death, with no one to warn them of their danger. How then, oh, how can I go? We shall not be separated long. A few more years, and we shall all meet in yonder blissful world, whither those we love have gone before us.”

And so for three years this beautiful and intrepid woman continued her husband’s work. She was the guiding spirit of the mission. She pointed out the way of life to the Karen inquirers who came in from the wilderness. She conducted her schools with such tact and ability that when, afterward, an appropriation was obtained from the English Government for schools throughout the provinces, it was expressly stipulated that they should be “conducted on the plan of Mrs. Boardman’s schools at Tavoy.” She even made long missionary tours into the Karen jungles. With her little boy carried by her followers at her side, she climbed the mountain, traversed the marsh, forded the stream, and threaded the forest. On one of these trips she sent back a characteristic message to Mrs. Mason at Tavoy: “Perhaps you had better send the chair, as it is convenient to be carried over the streams when they are deep. You will laugh when I tell you that I have forded all the smaller ones.”

Mrs. E. C. Judson relates the following incident concerning her:

“A single anecdote is related by Captain F——, a British officer, stationed at Tavoy; and he used to dwell with much unction on the lovely apparition which once greeted him among those wild, dreary mountains. He had left Tavoy, accompanied by a few followers, I think on a hunting expedition, and had strolled far into the jungle. The heavy rains, which deluge this country in the summer, had not yet commenced; but they were near at hand, and during the night had sent an earnest of their coming, which was anything but agreeable. All along his path hung the dripping trailers, and beneath his feet were the roots of vegetables, half-bared, and half-imbedded in mud; while the dark clouds, with the rain almost incessantly pouring from them, and the crazy clusters of bamboo huts, which appeared here and there in the gloomy waste, and were honored by the name of village, made up a scene of desolation absolutely indescribable. A heavy shower coming up as he approached a zayat by the wayside, and far from even one of those primitive villages, he hastily took refuge beneath the roof. Here, in no very good humor with the world, especially Asiatic jungles and tropic rains, he sulkily ‘whistled for want of thought,’ and employed his eyes in watching the preparations for his breakfast.

“‘Uh! what wretched corners the world has, hidden beyond its oceans and behind its trees!’

“Just as he had made this sage mental reflection, he was startled by the vision of a fair, smiling face in front of the zayat, the property of a dripping figure, which seemed to his surprised imagination to have stepped that moment from the clouds. But the party of wild Karen followers which gathered round her had a very human air; and the slight burdens they bore, spoke of human wants and human cares. The lady seemed as much surprised as himself; but she courtesied with ready grace, as she made some pleasant remark in English; and then turned to retire. Here was a dilemma. He could not suffer the lady to go out into the rain, but—his miserable accommodations, and still more miserable breakfast! He hesitated and stammered; but her quick apprehension had taken in all at a glance, and she at once relieved him from his embarrassment. Mentioning her name and errand, she added, smiling, that the emergencies of the wilderness were not new to her; and now she begged leave to put her own breakfast with his, and make up a pleasant morning party. Then beckoning to her Karens, she spoke a few unintelligible words, and disappeared under a low shed—a mouldering appendage of the zayat. She soon returned with the same sunny face, and in dry clothing; and very pleasant indeed was the interview between the pious officer and the lady-missionary. They were friends afterward; and the circumstances of their first meeting proved a very charming reminiscence.”

Soon after their marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Judson were compelled to part with little George Boardman. He was but six years old, and yet had reached an age when a child begins to be, in a peculiar sense, the companion of his parents. But the children of Anglo-Saxon residents in the East have to be sent at an early age toward the setting sun; otherwise they are in danger of death under the debilitating influence of the Oriental climate; or if they get their growth at all, are liable to feebleness of mind and body. Such a separation between parent and child can not but be peculiarly distressing to the missionary. He devotes himself for life and expects to die on the field, and thus the parting bids fair to be final. Other Europeans and Americans are merely temporary residents in the East, and though also compelled to send their children home, may reasonably hope to clasp them in their arms once more after a short separation. The missionary’s child, on the other hand, must be permanently consigned to the care of distant strangers. This is, perhaps, the keenest suffering that falls to his lot. Who can fail to drop a tear over the scene of the Comstocks parting with their children as thus described by Dr. Kincaid:

“I shall never forget the parting scene of brother Comstock and his wife with their children, when we sailed from the shores of Arracan. They had made up their minds to entrust us with their two children, on account of the difficulty of educating them in a heathen land. We were together one day, at their house, when word came that the ship was ready to sail, and we must prepare to embark immediately. Upon the arrival of this message, which we had been expecting, Mrs. Comstock arose from her seat, took her two children, one in each hand, and walked with them toward a grove of tamarind trees near the house. When she had walked some little distance, she paused a moment, looked at each of her children with all a mother’s love, and imprinted an affectionate kiss upon the forehead of each. She then raised her eyes to heaven, silently invoked a blessing on their heads; returned to the house, and delivering her children into my hands, said, ‘Brother Kincaid, this I do for my Saviour.’

“Brother Comstock then took his two children by the hand, and led them from the house toward the ship, while that tender mother gazed upon them, as they walked away, for the last time. She saw them no more on earth. God grant that she may meet them in heaven! Brother Comstock accompanied his two children to the ship, which lay about two miles off in the bay. When we had descended to the cabin, he entered one of the state-rooms with his children. There he knelt with them in prayer, laid his hands upon their heads, and bestowed a father’s blessing upon them—the tears, all the while, streaming down his cheeks. This affecting duty over, he resumed, at once, his usual calmness. He took leave of me with a gentle pressure of the hand, and I followed him to the side of the vessel, as he descended into the small boat which lay alongside, and which was to convey him to the shore. Never shall I forget the words, or the tone in which those words were uttered, as he turned up his face, still bedewed with tears, and exclaimed, as the boat moved away, ‘Remember, brother Kincaid, six men for Arracan!’

“I never saw brother or sister Comstock after that. The very day that we took a pilot on board off Sandy Hook, April 28, 1843, was the day that sister Comstock died, and in one year afterward, lacking three days, that is, on the 25th of April, 1844, brother Comstock followed her. Now they sleep side by side in the grave-yard at Ramree, under the tamarind trees.”

It was a heavy day for Mrs. Judson when her husband carried to the ship Cashmere the child who had been the sharer of all her sufferings and griefs at Tavoy. It was well for her that a veil hid from her eyes the immediate future, else she might have seen the boy’s hairbreadth escape from pirates and the tortures of terror to which the shrinking child was subjected on board the ship which was bearing him away from his mother’s side.

While in Maulmain, Mr. Judson completed the Burman Bible. It was about the time of his marriage to Mrs. Boardman that he finished the first rough draft. Seventeen years before in Rangoon, all he had to offer of the precious Scriptures to the first Burman inquirer was two half sheets containing the first five chapters of Matthew. From that time on, beneath all his toils and sufferings and afflictions, there moved the steady undercurrent of this great purpose and labor of Bible translation. It was a task for which he had little relish. He much preferred dealing with the Burmans individually, and persuading them, one by one, of the truth of the Gospel. In a letter which states his purpose of relinquishing for many months the pleasure of laboring in the Karen jungles in order to shut himself up to the work of translation, he says, “The tears flow as I write.” Alluding to this same labor of translation, he writes to the Corresponding Secretary, “And so, God willing and giving us life and strength, we hope to go on, but we hope still to be allowed to feel that our great work is to preach the Gospel viva voce, and build up the glorious kingdom of Christ among this people.”

And when, the Bible being finished, the Board at home pressed him to undertake the Dictionary, he sorrowfully exclaims:

“How can I think of leaving this population to perish before me, while I am poring over manuscripts and proof-sheets? I must not do it; I can not do it, unless the Board expressly order it; and then I will obey, believing that vox senatus vox Dei. But before they order the only preaching missionary in the place to spend his time in making books, and above all a dictionary, I beg they will deeply consider the propriety of appointing him a preaching colleague.”

But the translation of the Bible was essentially necessary to the permanent establishment of Christianity in Burmah, and no other living man was qualified for the work. And so, in the brief intervals of preaching, and teaching, and imprisonment, and jungle travel, secluding himself in the garret at Rangoon, and afterward in the little room attached to the mission-house at Maulmain, he quietly wrought at this prodigious task, until, at last, he could write on January 31, 1834, at the age of fifty-six:

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

Some of the peculiar ideas that controlled him in the work of translation, and some of the special difficulties he encountered, are disclosed in his letters:

“My ideas of translating are very different from those of some missionaries, better men than myself, but mistaken, I think, in this particular. I consider it the work of a man’s whole life to procure a really good translation of even the New Testament in an untried language. I could write much on this subject, but I have neither time nor disposition. I would only say that, in many instances, missionary labor has been dreadfully misdirected, and hundreds of thousands most foolishly thrown away. As to us, we wish to proceed slow and sure, and to see to it that whatever we do, in regard to the inspired word, is well done. About four months ago, being convinced that the New Testament, notwithstanding all my labor upon it, was still in a very imperfect state, brother Wade and myself undertook a thorough revision. We have now done one-quarter of it; and I have some hope that by the time the printer and press arrive, we shall be able to warrant the whole. After that, we propose to work and rework at the precious book of Psalms, until we can venture to warrant that also. And so, God willing, and giving us life and strength, we hope to go on.... Allow me to suggest whether the exegetical works of Stuart, Robinson, Stowe, Ripley, Bush, Noyes, and such like, with some of the best German works, ought not to be sent out to the library, as soon as they come from the press, without waiting for an application to be made for them. I frequently see a sterling work on the cover of the Herald or Magazine, and am ready to scream, with some variations, ‘The book, the book! my kingdom for the book!’ Yes, a kingdom, if the same ship which brought the notice had brought the work too; whereas I have to wait for letters to cross the ocean twice or three times, at least, and thus two or three years’ use of the book is lost, during which time I am, perhaps, working upon that very portion of Scripture which that book is intended to illustrate.”

Again he writes to the Rev. Dr. Sharp:

“I ought to have written you long ago; but necessity has no law. I have lately entered upon a plan by which I hope to finish the translation of the Old Testament in two years. I find by experience that I can dispose of twenty-five or thirty verses per day, by giving all my time to the work. One-third of the whole is already done. You may, perhaps, wonder why I make such a tedious work of translating, when some persons dispatch the whole New Testament, and perhaps part of the Old, within a year or two after entering their field of labor. There are two ways of translating—the one original, the other second-hand. The first must be adopted by a missionary whose lot falls in a section of the globe where there is no translation of the Scriptures in any cognate language, or in any language known to the learned men of the country. In that case, he must spend some years in reading a great many books, and in acquiring a competent stock of the language; that, like as the spider spins her web from her own bowels, he may be able to extract the translation from his own brain. The other mode may be advantageously adopted by a missionary who has in his hand the Bible, already translated into some language known by learned natives in the country. In that case, he has only to get a smattering of their vernacular, enough to superintend their operations, and then parcel out the work, and it is done by steam. There have been but few original translations. That by Ziegenbalg and his associates, in Tamil, has served for all the dialects in the south of India. That by Carey and his associates, in Sanscrit and Bengalee, has been the basis of all the other translations which they have conducted. Morrison’s Chinese translation will probably be transferred into all the cognate languages; and the Taling, Karen, and Lah-wah, together with the Siamese, and other Shan translations, will be obtained more or less directly from the Burman. I mention the above as specimens merely; not intending to imply that they are the only original translations that have been made. Nor would I be understood to speak disparagingly of second-hand translations. If the partners employed are faithful, a second-hand translation may be superior to an original one. At any rate, it will probably be more idiomatic, and in all cases, when practicable, it ought undoubtedly to be attempted as a first essay; and as the missionary advances in the language, he can gradually raise it to any degree of perfection.

“But I sadly fear that, if I prolong this letter, it will leave my to-day’s task of twenty verses in the rear.”

The work of translating was done thoroughly and conscientiously. Every Hebrew and Greek word was turned as far as possible into its exact Burmese equivalent. The Greek word for baptism was justly translated into Burmese, Ya-kneat mengalah, that is, the water-bathing or immersing religious rite. But it is taking a long step to infer from this that Mr. Judson approved of a new version in English, which should discard the thoroughly acclimated English word baptize, and substitute the word immerse. His death occurring just as a new project of such a version was appearing on the horizon, he has, of course, left behind no autographic testimony on this subject. That his name can not be claimed as on the side of such a version may be learned from a hitherto unpublished letter written by his widow within three years of his death:

“There is one thing that annoys me a good deal—the New Bible Versionists claim Dr. J., and I know (though I do not feel brave enough to oppose my bare assertion to the ‘weight of testimony’ they would hurl at my head) that nobody could disapprove of a new English version of the Scriptures more heartily and entirely than he. He was very strenuous about his Burmese version, and would no doubt have persevered in his translation if the whole world had been against him. He considered baptize an English word, in virtue of its long use, and thought that it had no complete synonym in the language. It would be a new word to introduce into the Burmese, and would only add to the peculiar mystic importance which always attaches to the ordinance in a heathen mind; and, besides, it was perfectly translatable. The ya-kneat mengalah (literally, the water-bathing, or immersing religious rite) of the Burmans is definite and dignified, and without an equivalent in meaning in English. The circular of the new society reached Maulmain a month too late; but previous to that he had spoken to me in terms of strong reprobation of the movements of the New Versionists. He was a strong, thorough Baptist; he admired the Baptist principle and policy, well carried out; despised all imitations of other denominations, and thought the Baptists ought to be willing to stand for what they really are—the only true representatives of religious freedom in the world. But the abandonment of a word in common use for centuries, and so slightly equivocal in its meaning, he would have regarded as the very extreme of childishness. I have no doubt that Dr. —— and others are honest in claiming him; and I do not know but he may have said and written many things, especially when so deeply interested in the issue of his Burmese version, not difficult for them to appropriate; but I do know that he never contemplated a new English version for general circulation, and that what he heard of the new movements caused him deep pain.”

Great as was the task of thus scrupulously translating the Bible, the revision was still more laborious. Seven years were spent in revising the first work. It was a mental peculiarity of Mr. Judson’s never to leave a thing alone while it could possibly be improved. His besetting sin was, in his own expressive words, alluded to before, a lust for finishing, and it was not until 1840 that he could say:

“On the 24th of October last, I enjoyed the great happiness of committing to the press the last sheet of the new edition of the Burmese Bible. It makes about twelve hundred pages quarto. We are sending you several copies by the present conveyance....

“As for myself, I have been almost entirely confined to the very tedious work of revising the Old Testament. The revision of about one-half is completed, and the books from 1st Samuel to Job, inclusive, have been printed in an edition of two thousand. We should have put the first volume to press some time ago, had we not been obliged to wait for paper, the London paper not matching the American; and now, though paper has arrived, brother Hancock contemplates going to America for new fonts of type, in several languages, and brother Cutter has gone on another visit to Ava, so that we shall not probably recommence printing the Old Testament till his return. I am the more satisfied with this arrangement from having just received a complete set of Rosenmüller on the Old Testament, and some other valuable works, in studying which I am very desirous of going over the whole ground once more.... I thought that I had finished the revision of the New Testament above a month ago; but there is no end to revising while a thing is in the press; so I continued working at it until I went to Dong-yan, and even later; for it was not until the 22d instant that the last proof-sheet went to press....

“The work was finished—that is, the revision and printing—on the 24th October last, and a happy day of relief and joy it was to me. I have bestowed more time and labor on the revision than on the first translation of the work, and more, perhaps, than is proportionate to the actual improvement made. Long and toilsome research among the biblical critics and commentators, especially the German, was frequently requisite to satisfy my mind that my first position was the right one.”

In the glow of enthusiasm that attended the completion of this task of twenty-four years, and believing that the Burmans at that time were especially thirsty for the Word of Life, Mr. Judson advocated the almost wholesale distribution of the Bible throughout the land with a warmth and earnestness which he afterward saw good reasons for tempering.

“The Bible cause in this country is now at a very low ebb. I once indulged the hope that I should live to see a complete copy of the whole Bible (bound in one volume, so as not to be liable to be scattered) deposited in every town and village throughout Burmah and Arracan. It is true that many thousand copies would be requisite; great hardships would be incurred and some sturdy perseverance would have to be put in requisition. But the work once accomplished, there would be seed sown throughout the country that, with the blessing of God, would spring up in abundant fruit to His glory. From the habits of the people who frequently assemble in large or small parties at the house of the schoolmaster, or chief person in the village, to listen to some one reading from a religious book, it appears to me that to deposit the Bible at the principal place of resort in every village is the least we can do for Burmah; and that such a plan will tell more effectually than any other to fill the country with the knowledge of divine truth.”

These views he greatly modified in his later years, as we learn from the following interesting passage in one of Mrs. E. C. Judson’s letters to Dr. Wayland:

“I do not know whether I ought to try to give Dr. J.’s opinion of the Old Testament, for two reasons: first, I do not know how much he would have thought it best to express; and secondly, I can not be very positive what his opinions were. He was very fond of speculation, and had a habit, in private, of thinking aloud, so that although it was easy enough to learn his real views by asking, a mere listener would be liable to mistakes. My impression, drawn from many a long talk, is that he considered the Old Testament as the Scriptures given to the Jews especially, and, as a whole, applicable to them and them only. He did not like the distinction commonly drawn between the moral and ceremonial law, and sometimes spoke, with an earnestness amounting to severity, of the constant use made of the Ten Commandments by Christians. He thought the Old Testament very important, as explanatory and corroborative of the New—as a portion of the inspiration which came from God, etc., but binding on Christians only so far as repeated in the New Testament. He used to speak of the Mosaic law as fulfilled in Christ, and so having no further power whatever; and to say that we had no right to pick out this as moral and therefore obligatory, and the other as ceremonial, and so no longer demanding obedience. Practically we had nothing to do with the Old Testament laws.

“I think he was of the opinion that the Bible, as a whole, without the living teacher, was of but little use, at least that it never ought to be regarded as a substitute. In the power of the Gospels to make their way among the heathen he had more faith. He had reason; for a great many Burmans owed their awakening, if not their conversion, to the Gospel of Matthew, though not more, perhaps, than to the ‘View’ and the ‘Golden Balance.’

“I recollect, too, some remarks that he once made in this country about lazy Christians evading the obligation to preach the Gospel, or do good personally, by placing a Bible in the hands of those who would never read it; which compared very well with my impression of his views afterward. Perhaps you will recollect a remark in one of the letters to Mr. Hough, expressing a fear ‘that the Scriptures will be out of the press before there will be any church to read them.’

“In comparing what he has written, what I have heard him say, and the course he pursued, I am led to the conclusion that, though he regarded the Old Testament Scriptures as much more important while engaged in translating and revising, than afterward, the very study, the prayerful as well as critical examination necessary to the accomplishment of the work, led him by degrees to what some might consider a comparatively extravagant estimate of the New Testament—especially the Gospels. He preached almost exclusively from the teachings of Christ, during his last years; and when I once introduced some lessons from the Old Testament into my Bible-classes, he compared it to groping among shadows, when I might just as well have the noonday sun.

“He spoke also of his favoring the distribution of so many Bibles, after his revision, as the greatest mistake he ever made; though he said he was betrayed into it by Mr. ——’s wonderful reports and his own subsequent impression, that all Burmah was crying for books. He once said, in relation to a man who had stumbled on the Old Testament, and apostatized: ‘It is the last thing such a fellow as he ought even to have touched. I am more than ever convinced that our business is to propagate the Gospel, scatter the good news of salvation, and let everything else alone.’

“With all this, he has told me that he felt, when making his translation, an almost overpowering sense of the awfulness of his work, and an ever-present conviction that every word was as from the lips of God.”

In regard to the merits of his Burman Bible, Mr. Judson’s estimate was very modest. He writes:

“The beau ideal of translation, so far as it concerns the poetical and prophetical books of the Old Testament, I profess not to have attained. If I live many years, of which I have no expectation, I shall have to bestow much more labor upon those books. With the New Testament I am rather better satisfied, and the testimony of those acquainted with the language is rather encouraging. At least, I hope that I have laid a good foundation for my successors to build upon....

“As to the merits of the translation, I must leave others to judge. I can only say that, though I have seldom done anything to my own satisfaction, I am better satisfied with the translation of the New Testament than I ever expected to be. The language is, I believe, simple, plain, intelligible; and I have endeavored, I hope successfully, to make every sentence a faithful representation of the original. As to the Old Testament, I am not so well satisfied. The historical books are, perhaps, done pretty well; but the poetical and prophetical books are doubtless susceptible of much improvement, not merely in point of style, but in the rendering of difficult passages, about which the most eminent scholars are not yet agreed.”

How far his own humble view falls short of doing justice to the excellence of his monumental task, may be gathered from the following statement by the late Dr. Wayland:

“From the incidental allusions to it in Dr. Judson’s letters and journals, we may form some conception of the labor which he spent upon this work. He had enjoyed the best opportunities which this country then afforded for the study of interpretation; and his progress in this department of knowledge had awakened the highest expectations of his future success as a translator. He had made himself familiar with the Burmese language to a degree never before attained by a foreigner. He determined, if it were possible, to transfer the ideas of the Holy Scriptures, from their original languages, into Burman, in such a manner that his work should need as little revision as possible by his successors. He had an intense desire for rendering perfect every labor which he undertook; indeed, he said of himself, that one of his failings was ‘a lust for finishing.’ Hence he availed himself of all the means of information which the progress of biblical science, either in Germany or America, placed within his reach. As early as the visit of Mrs. Ann Judson to this country, his demand for books was large, and it was all for the very best, the foundation books. I well remember the pleasure with which I stripped my library of what I considered some of its choicest treasures, to supply a part of his most urgent necessities. Thus he continued until he had surrounded himself with a most valuable apparatus for carrying on his work in the manner which its importance deserved.

“While, however, he thus sought for aid from all the sources of modern and ancient learning, it is manifest from the whole of his correspondence that he used them all with the discretion of a master mind. It was not in his power to substitute the working of other intellects for the working of his own. He weighed, with critical caution, every recension of the text. He adopted no interpretation unless either convinced of its truth, or else sure that it was the nearest approximation to the truth that could be made in the present state of our knowledge. In order to reach this result, no labor was too great, and no investigation too protracted. United with all this that was intellectual, there was, in his case, a mind deeply impressed with its own fallibility, and turning with unutterable longing to the Holy Spirit for guidance and illumination. The importance of his work to millions of immortal souls was ever present to his view. He had been called by the providence of God to unfold to a whole nation, in their own language, the revelation of the Most High. He conceived it to be a momentous undertaking; and a heavy weight would have rested on his soul if a single idea in the Scriptures had been obscurely rendered in consequence of haste, impatience, negligence, or culpable ignorance on the part of the translator.

“But after he had satisfied himself as to the meaning of the original, a most difficult labor yet remained to be accomplished. It must be now transferred into a language peculiar and strongly idiomatic, and, moreover, a language destitute of terms in which to express the elementary and peculiar ideas of the New Testament. To furnish himself in this respect was the daily labor of his life. He read Burmese prose and poetry wherever he could find it. He was always surrounded by Burmese assistants and transcribers. As fast as his missionary brethren became acquainted with the language, he was incessantly calling upon them for corrections. They cheerfully aided him in this respect to the utmost of their power. Every correction or emendation he examined with the minutest care. Many—I think he says most—of them he adopted; and none of them were rejected without the most careful and diligent inquiry.

“The result of this able and indefatigable labor was such as might have been expected. Competent judges affirm that Dr. Judson’s translation of the Scriptures is the most perfect work of the kind that has yet appeared in India. On this subject it will not be inappropriate to introduce a few sentences from the pen of a gentleman high in rank in India, himself a distinguished linguist, and a proficient in the Burmese language:

“‘To Judson it was granted, not only to found the spiritual Burman Church of Christ, but also to give it the entire Bible in its own vernacular, thus securing that Church’s endurance and ultimate extension; the instances being few or none, of that word, after it has once struck root in any tongue, being ever wholly suppressed. Divine and human nature alike forbid such a result; for, when once it has become incorporated in a living tongue, holiness and love join hands with sin and weakness to perpetuate that word’s life and dominion. We honor Wickliffe and Luther for their labors in their respective mother tongues; but what meed of praise is due to Judson for a translation of the Bible, perfect as a literary work, in a language so foreign to him as the Burmese? Future ages, under God’s blessing, may decide this point, when his own forebodings, as he stood and pondered over the desolate, ruinous scene at Pugan, shall be fulfilled.

“‘One and twenty years after his first landing at Rangoon, Judson finished his translation of the whole Bible; but, not satisfied with this first version, six more years were devoted to a revision of this great work; and on the 24th of October, 1840, the last sheet of the new edition was printed off. The revision cost him more time and labor than the first translation; for what he wrote in 1823 remained the object of his soul: “I never read a chapter without pencil in hand, and Griesbach and Parkhurst at my elbow; and it will be an object to me through life to bring the translation to such a state that it may be a standard work.” The best judges pronounce it to be all that he aimed at making it, and also, what with him never was an object, an imperishable monument of the man’s genius. We may venture to hazard the opinion that as Luther’s Bible is now in the hands of Protestant Germany, so, three centuries hence, Judson’s Bible will be the Bible of the Christian churches of Burmah.’

“The following extract from a letter written in November, 1852, by a missionary in Burmah, expresses very fully the estimation in which this version is held by those who are daily in the habit of using it, and of commending it to the natives:

“‘The translation of the Holy Scriptures into the Burman language by the late Dr. Judson is admitted to be the best translation in India; that is, the translation has given more satisfaction to his contemporaries and successors than any translation of the Bible into any other Eastern language has done to associate missionaries in any other parts of India. It is free from all obscurity to the Burmese mind. It is read and understood perfectly. Its style and diction are as choice and elegant as the language itself, peculiarly honorific, would afford, and conveys, doubtless, the mind of the Spirit as perfectly as can be.’

“Judson might well have adopted the words of the blessed Eliot, the apostle to the Indian tribes, when he had finished his translation of the Scriptures into their dialect—‘Prayer and pains, with the blessing of God, can accomplish anything.’”

Having diverged in order to give the reader a general idea of this work of translating the Bible into Burmese, we again take up the thread of Mr. Judson’s life at the point where he has just finished the first rough draft in 1834. He entered with ardor upon the work of revision without neglecting, however, his favorite employments of teaching and preaching. A letter from Mrs. Judson to her husband’s mother shows his ceaseless, every-day activity:

“Mr. Judson preaches every Lord’s day to a crowded assembly, and every evening to a congregation averaging thirty. We find our old chapel too small, and are about having a new one erected. The native assistants go about the town every day preaching the Gospel, and Mr. Judson holds a meeting with them every morning before breakfast, when he listens to their reports, prays with them, gives them instruction, etc. Besides this, the care of the Burman Church, ninety-nine in number, devolves upon him, as does all the revision, superintendence of the press, etc., etc., etc. He has lately baptized eighteen persons—seven English soldiers, five Indo-Britons, three Burmans, one Hindoo, one Arracanese, and one Mahometan. The latter is faithful old Koo-chil, the Hindoo cook mentioned in Mrs. Judson’s ‘Narrative.’ The poor old man resisted long and stubbornly the truth, and we were sometimes almost discouraged about him. But divine grace was too mighty for him, and on last Lord’s day we saw him bow beneath the Salwen’s yielding wave, and rise, I trust, to ‘newness of life.’ Two others have applied for baptism, and there are many hopeful inquirers both among European and natives.”

The Rev. Dr. Malcolm, who visited Burmah in 1836, gives a glimpse of the interior of Mr. Judson’s zayat:

“Our first Sabbath in this dark land was, of course, full of interest. In the morning we worshipped with the Burman congregation in the zayat. About seventy were present, nearly all Christians. Seldom have I seen so attentive and devout an audience. They sat, of course, on the floor, where mats, made of bamboo, were spread for their accommodation, a large bamboo, about eighteen inches from the floor, serving as a rest to the back. In prayer the Americans all knelt, and the rest leaned forward on their elbows, putting their palms together, and at the close of the petition, all responded an audible Amen. Mr. J. preached with much apparent earnestness, and all listened with rapt attention. Several inquirers were present, some of whom applied for baptism.”

The same observant traveller has drawn a word-picture of Mr. Judson’s personal appearance at this time:

“As my eye rested on this loved little company, it was sweet to contemplate the venerable founder of the mission, sitting there to rejoice in the growth of the cause he had so assiduously and painfully sustained. His labors and sufferings for years; his mastery of the language; his translation of the whole Word of God; and his being permitted now to be the pastor of a church containing over a hundred natives, make him the most interesting missionary now alive. What a mercy that he yet lives to devote to his people his enlarged powers of doing good! And we may hope he will very long be spared. His age is but forty-seven; his eye is not dim; not a gray hair shows itself among his full auburn locks; his moderate-sized person seems full of vigor; he walks almost every evening a mile or two at a quick pace; lives with entire temperance and regularity, and enjoys, in general, steadfast health. May a gracious God continue to make him a blessing more and more.”

From this point on, our narrative naturally assumes a more domestic character; and we are permitted to see Mr. Judson’s deep tenderness as a husband and a father. Some of the greatest objects of his life having been achieved, and his health beginning to decline, his restless spirit turned instinctively to family life for repose. On October 31, 1835, his heart was cheered by the birth of a daughter, whose name, Abby Ann, associates her with his only sister, from whom he had parted so many years before, and also with her whom he left sleeping beneath the hopia-tree. While writing to his mother and sister, he mentions the birth of his child and betrays with what delight the care-wearied man, after his prolonged solitude, turned for rest to the amenities of home:

“Since I have attained, in some measure, the great objects for which I came out to the East, and do not find it necessary to be so exclusively and severely engrossed in missionary labors as I have been for a long course of years, my thoughts and affections revert more frequently, of late, to the dear home where I was born and brought up; and now especially, after having been childless many years, the birth of a daughter, and the revival of parental feelings, remind me afresh of the love with which my dear mother watched over my infancy, and of all the kindness with which she led me up from youth to man. And then I think of my earliest playmate, my dear sister, and delight to retrace the thousand incidents which marked our youthful intercourse, and which still stand, in the vista of memory, tokens of reciprocated brotherly and sisterly affection. Surely, I should have to call myself a most ungrateful son and brother, had I abandoned you forever in this world, as I have done, for any other cause than that of the kingdom of the glorious Redeemer.

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

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

In a letter to his step-son, who had by this time arrived in America, he alludes to the infant Abigail, and encloses a child’s prayer in verse:

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

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

When his son, Adoniram Brown Judson, born April 7, 1837, was almost a year old, Mr. Judson wrote to his own mother and sister a letter in which, with playful tenderness, he alludes to both his children:

“I remember you in my prayers every day, and hope that you do not forget me, my wife, and dear little Abby and Adoniram. Yours of October 15, 1837, I received on the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Stevens in the Rosabella, the 19th of last month. They gave me an account of their visit to Plymouth, and their interview with you both, and how you looked and what you said, and he remembered the exhortation to ‘preach the three R’s.’ He remarked, that my mother was the very picture of the venerable, and she observed that everything about the house was kept in remarkably nice order. And they both thought that, from your appearance and remarks, you were in the enjoyment of much religious feeling. How I wish I could see you once more! I send you a copy of the Burman New Testament, which may be a gratifying curiosity, if nothing more.

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

“Many thanks, dear sister, for your last present of fifty dollars, which I have received. I am obliged to look after the rupees a little more carefully now than when I had no little ones to provide for.

“I suppose you take the Magazine; so I do not introduce missionary affairs into my private letters.”

But Mr. Judson’s iron purposes were not melted in the ease and quiet of home life. He did not cease his efforts to save his poor Burmans. A few weeks after the birth of his son, he wrote:

“My days are commonly spent in the following manner: the morning in reading Burman; the forenoon in a public zayat with some assistant, preaching to those who call; the afternoon in preparing or revising something for the press, correcting proof-sheets, etc.; the evening in conducting worship in the native chapel, and conversing with the assistants or other native Christians or inquirers.”

With what genuine satisfaction must such a worker have looked back upon his work of a quarter of a century in Burmah!

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

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

Upon the completion of the fiftieth year of his life, and of his twenty-fifth year in Burmah, it is not strange that even his wiry physique should begin to give way beneath the strain. Disease fastened first upon his lungs, entailing loss of voice and intense pain. Allusions in his letters at this time indicate his declining health:

“I had been subject to a cough several months, and some kind of inflammation of the throat and lungs, which, for a time, almost deprived me of the use of my voice; and lest the complaint should become confirmed consumption, I was advised to try a voyage to sea.... March 11. For two days I have had a return of soreness, accompanied with some cough. I fear that the atmosphere of this place, loaded with dust and smoke, will bring on a relapse.

“My last informed you that I was on a passage to Calcutta for my health, by the direction of a physician and the recommendation of the brethren at the station. I derived great benefit from the voyage; and my health continued generally to improve during my stay in Calcutta of three weeks, and on the return voyage, until the Sunday preceding my arrival here, when I made trial of my voice, by attempting to conduct Burmese worship in my cabin, with the only native convert on board. And though the effort was very small, I was dismayed to find, in the course of the afternoon, the old soreness of lungs and tendency to cough come on; and for three days I was rather worse than I had been for six weeks. Being at sea, however, I partially recovered from the relapse before I reached home, but am not so well as at my last date. It is a great mercy that I am able to use my voice in common conversation without much difficulty; but when I shall be able to preach again I know not. The approaching rainy season will probably decide whether my complaint is to return with violence, or whether I am to have a further lease of life. I am rather desirous of living, for the sake of the work and of my family; but He who appoints all our times, and the bounds of our habitation, does all things well; and we ought not to desire to pass the appointed limits.... My throat complaint, which seemed to be nearly removed by a voyage to Calcutta, has returned with fresh violence since the commencement of the rains, three days ago. Some advise me to take another voyage, as before; but I have no heart to do so, thinking that the benefit will be but temporary. Others suggest a voyage home to America, and a residence there for a year or two; but to this course I have strong objections. There are so many missionaries going home for their health, or for some other cause, that I should be very unwilling to do so, unless my brethren and the Board thought it a case of absolute necessity. I should be of no use to the cause at home, not being able to use my voice. And lastly, I am in my fifty-first year. I have lived long enough. I have lived to see accomplished the particular objects on which I set my heart when I commenced a missionary life. And why should I wish to live longer? I am unable to preach; and since the last relapse, the irritation of my throat is so very troublesome that I can not converse but with difficulty, or even sit at the table, as I have done to-day, and prepare copy for the press. My complaint, it is said, is very much like that of which the late Mrs. Osgood died—not common pulmonary consumption, but something in the throat, which puzzled even her attending physicians, one of whom maintained, till near her death, that she was not in a consumption, and would recover.

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

The voyage to which allusion is made in the foregoing extracts was begun February 19, 1839; it was thought that a trip to Calcutta would restore his health. After an absence of nearly two months, during which he had a delightful visit with the English Baptists of Calcutta and Serampore, he returned to Maulmain, his health somewhat improved. The sadness of this separation from the faithful wife and mother, whom he left behind at Maulmain, was intensified by the apprehension that he might die on the voyage. Mrs. Judson writes:

“As soon as you left the house, I ran to your dressing-room, and watched you from the window. But you did not look up—oh, how I wished you would! Then I hastened to the back veranda, and caught one last glimpse of you through the trees; ... and I gave vent to my feelings in a flood of tears.

“Then the children came around me, asking to go to the wharf, and the women looked their wishes; and though I said ‘no’ to the little ones, I could not deny the others. After they were gone, I took all three of our darlings into your own little room, told them why you had gone away, and asked Abby Ann and Adoniram if they wished me to ask God to take care of papa, while he was gone. They said ‘yes’; and so I put Elnathan down on the floor to play, and, kneeling beside the other two, committed you and ourselves to the care of our heavenly Father.... How sweet is the thought that, when you go into the presence of God, you always pray for me, and for our dear children. We have family worship mornings in the sleeping-room. Abby and Pwen kneel, one on each side of me, and after I have read and prayed I teach them the Lord’s prayer. I make them repeat it distinctly, only two or three words at a time. They both sit at the table with me, Pwen occupying his beloved father’s place. But these things do not beguile my loneliness. Oh, when shall I see you again, here, in your old seat?

“Your little daughter and I have been praying for you this evening. She is now in bed, and I am sitting by my study-table, where I spend all my time after evening worship, except what is devoted to the children. I wish, my love, that you would pray for one object in particular—that I may be assisted in communicating divine truth to the minds of these little immortals.... At times the sweet hope that you will soon return, restored to perfect health, buoys up my spirit; but perhaps you will find it necessary to go farther, a necessity from which I can not but shrink with doubt and dread; or you may come back only to die with me. This last agonizing thought crushes me down in overwhelming sorrow. I hope I do not feel unwilling that our heavenly Father should do as He thinks best with us; but my heart shrinks from the prospect of living in this sinful, dark, friendless world without you. But I feel that I do wrong to anticipate sorrows. God has promised strength only for to-day; and, in infinite mercy, He shuts the future from our view. I know that there is small ground for hope; few ever recover from your disease; but it may be that God will restore you to health, for the sake of His suffering cause. I do not deserve it; and I have often wondered that I should have been so singularly blessed as to possess that heart, which is far more precious than all the world beside. But the most satisfactory view of our condition is to look away to that blissful world, where separations are unknown. There, my beloved Judson, we shall surely meet each other; and we shall also meet those loved ones who have gone before us to that haven of rest.

“After worship at the chapel, several of the native Christians came in; and we all mingled our tears together. They each in turn committed their absent pastor (father, they called you) to God, and prayed for your restoration to health, and speedy return to us, with a fervor which I felt at the time must prevail.”

In a letter written to his mother and sister after his return to Maulmain, he betrays the fact that he was still far from perfect convalescence:

“On this day I enter my fifty-second year. Fifty-one years have rolled over my head, twenty-six of which have been spent in this heathen land. I believe I write you more frequently than I used to. I am not so much driven in my studies as formerly, and the weakness and irritability of my lungs, though much better, do not yet suffer me to use my voice in public. Add to which that I have a family of young children growing up around me, so that my mind has become more domesticated, and returns with more readiness and frequency to the scenes of my own childhood. Twenty-seven years and a half have passed since we parted in Plymouth and in Boston, during which time my father and brother, and his family, and my first family, have all been swept away by death. You two only remain, and my present family, whom you have never seen. I sometimes feel concerned for my three little children, from the fact that I was advanced in life when they were born, and can not, therefore, expect to live to see them grown up and happily settled before I shall be removed. Even if my present complaint should not terminate in consumption, I can hardly expect to hold out many more years in this climate; so that I have the prospect of leaving them fatherless in the very bloom of youth, when they will especially need a father’s support and care. However, I endeavor daily to commend them to God, and trust that, when I come to die, I shall be enabled to avail myself of the command and promise, ‘Leave thy fatherless children; I will preserve them alive; and let thy widows trust in me’ (Jer. xlix. 11).

“Abby Ann has begun to go to school with Julia Osgood to Mrs. Simons, who, with her husband, is here from Rangoon, expecting a war with Burmah, and has set up an English school. Abby attends every forenoon, and just begins to read words of one syllable. Adoniram says, ‘I want go school’; but he stays at home, and deports himself like a little man. Elnathan has been very ill. We thought we should lose him; but he is now better, and begins to be bright and playful.

“I do wish you could call in and make us a visit. We would try to make you so comfortable that you would not wish to return to old Plymouth. However, it is of little consequence where we spend the short remnant of life. Heaven is before us. Let us pray much, and live devoted to God, and we shall soon be united in that happy world where there is no dividing sea.

“Can’t you give me some account of your house, and furniture, and neighbors, and street, so that I can form a little idea how you are situated? I have tried to glean some particulars from the Stevenses; but transient passers can not be expected to give much satisfactory information. And when you write, leave a good place for the wafer of your letter, as you see I do; otherwise there are sometimes words which I can not make out. I shall be glad when any of the little ones shall be able to conjure out a scrawl to their grandmother and aunt. Pray for them, that they may be early converted to God. Perhaps mother will add a line with her own hand when you write. Dear mother, I wish I could make you some return for all the trouble I once gave you.

The native Christians at Maulmain were glad enough, after an interval of ten months, to hear again the voice of their beloved teacher, though he still spoke in feeble accents.

Mrs. Judson writes to his mother:

“I have during the past year suffered deep anxiety and gloomy foreboding on account of my dear husband’s health. But God has been merciful beyond our fears, and so far restored him that he was able to preach last Lord’s day, the first time for about ten months. His discourse was short, and he spoke low. I felt exceedingly anxious respecting his making the attempt, but he has experienced no ill effects from it as yet. How pleased you would have been to see the joy beaming from the countenances of the dear native Christians as they saw their beloved and revered pastor once more take the desk! He applies himself very closely to study, though he is still far from well. He takes cold very easily, and still feels a slight uneasiness in the chest and left side. But he is so much better than he was, that I am comforted with the hope that he will soon be entirely restored to health.”

In a letter to a fellow-missionary he refers playfully to the birth of another son at the close of 1839. “Master Henry came into notice the last day of the year; but there was no earthquake or anything,” and he alludes to the infant Henry in a letter of affectionate counsel to George, who was now twelve years old:

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

“You observe in your letter that you are sometimes disturbed by frightful dreams, and we hear in other ways that your health is rather delicate. I warmly recommend you to rise every morning between light and sunrise, and take a quick walk of a mile or more, and to the top of some hill, if there be one in the vicinity that will suit your purpose; and in the winter, when you may not be able to walk, get some equivalent exercise in cutting wood or some other work. This is the course that, with some intermissions and with various modifications, I have pursued for thirty-five years; and to this, under God, I ascribe the good health and the long life I have enjoyed in this unpropitious climate. Your mother frequently accompanies me over the Maulmain hills, and she enjoys much better health than she did at Tavoy, where she took no exercise, scarcely. Do, my dear George, take this matter into serious consideration. You may not like it at first. You will, perhaps, feel tired and sleepy for a few days, but when you become a little used to it, you will enjoy it exceedingly. You will find your appetite improving, your health becoming firm, and your repose by night undisturbed. I have now given you the two best pieces of advice in my power. The first relates to your soul, the second to your body. Follow them, and be virtuous and happy. I hope to hear that you have professed religion, and devoted yourself to the ministry. Who knows but that I shall live to introduce you into missionary work in this country, where your own father labored, and where his remains are entombed. Follow your father, my dear George; and we will all, ere long, be so happy in heaven together, even in the presence of the dear, lovely, glorious Saviour, the Friend of sinners, who died for us.”

Mrs. Judson’s health also began to fail. She was attacked by the disease which finally terminated her life at St. Helena. The children, too, were all sick, so that a sea voyage was needed for the very preservation of the family. Mr. Judson reluctantly decided to embark with his wife and four children for Calcutta. The imperative reasons for the voyage he states to the Corresponding Secretary:

“I have been in great distress for several months, and think I have not written a letter to America, except one to my mother and sister, since the beginning of the year. Early in March, Mrs. Judson fell into a decline, and became quite confined to her bed. Three of the children had been, for some months, ill; and the two eldest were repeatedly at the point of death. The physicians, missionary brethren, and all my friends in Maulmain, became clamorous that I should try a voyage, as the only remaining means of saving the lives of the greater part of my family. But, extremely reluctant to incur the expense and encounter the breaking up which a voyage would occasion, I suffered myself to be beguiled by transient symptoms of convalescence, until, having lost two opportunities, and seeing most of my family in absolutely desperate circumstances, I consented to embrace the present opportunity, and embarked on the 26th ultimo.”

The voyage was short, but boisterous.

“We had been out only four days,” says Mrs. Judson,“ when we struck on shoals, and for about twenty minutes were expecting to see the large, beautiful vessel a wreck; and then all on board must perish, or at best take refuge in a small boat, exposed to the dreary tempests. I shall never forget my feelings, as I looked over the side of the vessel that night, on the dark ocean, and fancied ourselves with our poor sick, and almost dying children, launched on its stormy waves. The captain tacked as soon as possible, and the tide rising at the time, we were providentially delivered from our extreme peril.”

When the family arrived at Serampore, just above Calcutta, they hired “a nice, dry house on the very bank of the river.” But though the sea air had naturally revived the invalids, as soon as they came fairly under the hot climate of Bengal they all suffered a relapse. What was to be done? They met at Calcutta a pious Scotch sea captain whose vessel was going to the Isle of France, and from thence to Maulmain. He made the kind proposal to take the whole family on such terms that this circuitous course would cost them no more than to go directly to Maulmain. They dreaded the voyage in the month of August, which is a very dangerous month in the Bay of Bengal, but there seemed to be no other alternative. So Mr. Judson accordingly accepted Captain Hamlin’s kind offer, and decided to set sail for that island, to which he had repaired nearly thirty years before when he had been driven from Bengal by the East India Company. But before leaving Serampore the fond parents were compelled to lay in the grave the form of little Henry, their youngest child. Mr. Judson thus describes this mournful event in a letter to his mother and sister:

“I wrote you on the 24th ultimo. Perhaps this letter will go by the same conveyance. Wife went down to Calcutta, for a few days, to do a little business, leaving the two younger children with me. On the 27th dear little Henry’s disorder took an unfavorable turn. He had derived less benefit from the voyage and change than the other children, being too young to have his mind engaged and diverted, which greatly contributes to bodily recovery; and being considered less dangerously ill than the others, had, perhaps, less attention paid him than was desirable. His disorder had continued to hold on, though at times greatly mitigated. On the 28th he grew worse, and I wrote down for his mother, and in the evening began to despair of his life. On the 29th the doctor gave him up; and my only prayer was, that he might not die before his mother arrived. Oh, what heavy hours now passed! She arrived with the other children in the night, about two o’clock, and sprang to the cradle of the little sufferer, and could not think that he was really in a dying state. I let her take her own way, and she contrived to give him a little wine and water, which, however, could be of no avail; and when morning came, the marks of death on the countenance were too visible for even the unwilling mother to refuse to acknowledge. We spent the day hanging over our dying babe, and giving him some liquid, for which he was always calling, to relieve his burning thirst. When I said, ‘Henry, my son,’ he would raise his sinking eyelids, and try to stretch out his little arms for me to take him; but he could not bear to be held more than a moment before he would cry to be laid down again. Oh, how restless did he spend his last day, rolling from side to side, and crying out, ‘Nahnee,’ his imperfect pronunciation of naughty, by which term he was in the habit of expressing his disapprobation or dissatisfaction. In the afternoon he became convulsed for a few moments, and our hearts were rent to witness the distortion of his dear little mouth and face. After that he was more quiet; but toward evening he probably had some violent stroke of death, for he suddenly screamed out in great pain. In the evening he had another turn of convulsion. His mother lay down by his side, and, worn out with fatigue, fell fast asleep. About nine o’clock I had gone into another room, and was lying down, when a servant called me. He began to breathe loud, indicative of the closing scene. I let the mother sleep—sat down by his side, and presently called, as usual, ‘Henry, my son’; upon which he opened his eyes, and looked at me more intelligently and affectionately than he had been able to do for some time; but the effort was too great, and he ceased to breathe. I instantly awoke his mother; he then gave two or three expiring gasps, and it was all over. I stripped the little emaciated body, and washed it, while his mother, with the help of a servant, made a suitable gown; and by eleven o’clock he was laid out in the same cradle in which he died. For a few days Elnathan had been ill with a severe cough and fever, and my attention had been divided between the two. After poor Henry was quiet, we turned all our attention to the others. The two elder children were much better. Next morning we had a coffin made, in which we placed our dear child; and sometimes, when other avocations permitted, looked at him through the day. And oh, how sweet was his dead face! though there was an expression of pain lurking in some of the features. At night a few of our friends came together, and we carried the coffin to the mission burial-ground, where, after a prayer by Mr. Mack, the body was deposited in its final resting-place. Farewell, my darling son Henry. While thy little body rests in the grave, I trust that thy spirit, through the grace of Jesus Christ, is resting in Paradise. We intend to order a small monument erected with this inscription: ‘The grave of Henry Judson, youngest son of the Rev. A. Judson, of Maulmain, who died July 30, 1841, aged one year and seven months.’

“Elnathan was very ill last night, and is not much better to-day. We tremble for him. The vessel in which we are going to the Isle of France, we hear, is to remain a few days longer, so that I will add a further line before leaving.

“Calcutta, August 6. We have come down to this place with a view to embarking; but the vessel is still detained. Elnathan appears to be very ill, with a complication of complaints. We are in great distress about him. The two elder children continue better.

“August 13. We are still waiting the moving of the vessel, but shall positively go on board the 16th. Elnathan is much better, so that we hope the danger of losing him is past. The other children continue to improve. Farewell for the present.

“P. S.—I enclose a small lock of poor dear Henry’s hair. We are very sad whenever we think of that bright, sweet boy. It was the will of God that he should be taken from us; so we must be resigned, and I hope that he is now waiting to welcome us to the Paradise where, we trust, he has safely arrived. Two vessels have just come in from America, but we have got nothing from you. Perhaps there may be a letter or some box which will be forwarded to Maulmain.”

Bidding farewell to the newly-made grave, Mr. and Mrs. Judson, with their sick children, embarked on board the Ramsay, Captain Hamlin. The voyage to the Isle of France occupied about six weeks, and as the monsoon was drawing to a close, the storms were very frequent, sudden and severe. Mr. Judson writes under date of August 22, 1841:

“Dear Mrs. H.: We are on board the Ramsay, pitching most fearfully. We have been lying several days waiting for the weather, and have now got up anchor, so that I am writing a line or two to send back by the pilot.”

And Mrs. Judson thus records their experience:

“Could you now look on our dismasted vessel you would indeed say, she is a ‘ship in distress.’ For the last three days we have had the most frightful squalls I ever experienced; and yesterday two top-masts, a top-gallant mast, and the jib-boom, with all their sails, were torn away, causing a tremendous crash. For the last two nights I have not closed my eyes to sleep, and I find it quite impossible to sleep now. I have, therefore, taken my pen, though the vessel rolls so that I fear my writing will be quite illegible. Do not infer from anything I have said that I am suffering from terror; my wakefulness has been occasioned only by bodily discomfort, arising from the violent tossing of the vessel. I thank God that I feel perfectly calm and resigned; and I can leave myself and my dear family in His hands, with a feeling of perfect peace and composure.”

But this voyage, severe as it was, proved very beneficial to the invalids, and, after spending a month in Port Louis, they returned to Maulmain, where they arrived on December 10, in greatly improved health.

Captain Hamlin declined to receive any compensation for the passage from Calcutta to Maulmain via the Isle of France, although a fair charge for the double voyage would have been two thousand rupees, or about one thousand dollars. The four hundred rupees which Mr. Judson sent him, merely as an expression of his gratitude, were returned, the noble sailor saying that he considered it a privilege to have been able to show some kindness to the servants of Christ. Mr. Judson wrote at once to the Board, suggesting that they should send to the captain a formal letter of thanks, together with a present, “say of a set of the ‘Comprehensive Commentary,’” to be addressed to Captain Thomas Hamlin, Jr., Greenock, Scotland. The following interesting incidents relating to this voyage found their way into a pamphlet, compiled by “John Simpson, Minister of the Gospel, Greenock”:

“After remaining about four weeks in Bombay, the Ramsay sailed for Maulmain, in Burmah, and from thence to Calcutta. During these passages some favorable impressions seemed to have been produced in the minds of the crew; and on their arrival at Calcutta they conducted themselves with greater propriety than at any of the former ports; here they regularly attended the floating chapel. Whilst the ship was at Calcutta, the captain paid a visit to the Baptist missionary establishment at Serampore. There he fell in with the indefatigable missionary, Dr. Judson, from Burmah, who was at Serampore with his family for the improvement of their health. As the Ramsay was shortly to sail for the Island of Mauritius, and from thence to Maulmain—Dr. Judson’s residence—Captain Hamlin kindly offered them a passage, in the hope that it would be conducive to the object they had in view. Having accepted the offer thus generously made to him and his family, Dr. Judson felt a strong desire to be useful to the seamen, in whose dangers he was about to share. He made it a matter of prayer to God that he might be instrumental in turning some of them from the error of their ways; and, before going on board, expressed a conviction that God Had heard him, and that He would answer him in communicating His grace to some, if not to all, of the crew. After putting to sea, worship was conducted by Dr. Judson and the captain alternately; but on the Sabbaths the whole of the services were conducted by the doctor. Possessing all his mental vigor, and his ardent love for souls having suffered no abatement, he availed himself of these opportunities, in addition to private instruction, to promote the great end he had in view, and for which he had so earnestly prayed, previously to his embarking on board the Ramsay. His manner of address was of the most touching description, and seldom failed in making the big tear roll down the weather-beaten cheeks of his hardy auditors. It soon became apparent that he was not laboring in vain, nor spending his strength for nought. Before their arrival at the Mauritius, three of the seamen gave pleasing evidence of being converted to God. During their stay at the Mauritius, public worship was held on board every Sabbath, and was well attended, both by seamen and landsmen. Religion was in a languid state amongst the inhabitants generally. There were, however, a few who seemed concerned for the advancement of Christ’s kingdom, and by them it had been in contemplation to fit up a seaman’s chapel. They had even gone so far as to make application to the late benevolent governor, Sir Lionel Smith, for the use of an old ship lying there, belonging to Government; the application had been favorably received; still nothing had been done toward effecting the object they had in view, till the captain of the Ramsay, hearing how matters stood, set about raising subscriptions toward fitting up the said vessel as a Bethel; he likewise presented another memorial to the governor, but was obliged to leave at this time, without seeing the work accomplished.

“Leaving the Island of Mauritius, their next port of destination was Maulmain, in Burmah. On the passage, the usual religious services were attended to; and, in addition to the ordinary meetings, an extra one, for prayer and exhortation, was held every Wednesday evening, and conducted by the seamen who had professed the name of Christ. This meeting was the means of effecting much good. Amongst other things which came before their minds was the subject of baptism. By a diligent perusal of the word of God, and the instructions of Dr. Judson, the new converts were convinced that baptism by immersion was the Scriptural mode, and that it was their duty, as believers in Christ, to be baptized in His name. Hence they determined, with the captain—who had doubts regarding the truth of infant baptism, before his leaving home—to be baptized on the first convenient opportunity after reaching Maulmain. Accordingly, on the first Sabbath after their arrival, the captain, mate, and two of the seamen, together with a Burmese female, were ‘buried with Christ by baptism,’ in presence of a large assemblage of natives and others, who appeared to take a deep interest in all the solemn services that were attended to. The ordinance was administered by Dr. Judson.

“At Maulmain there are two Baptist churches—one for the natives, which is supplied by Dr. Judson; the other for Europeans, etc., which is supplied by assistant missionaries. Both churches were in a flourishing condition. The missionary work was being zealously prosecuted, and many of the heathen were renouncing their idols and embracing the Saviour. The labors of the missionaries had been eminently successful among the Karen tribe. Whilst at Maulmain, the captain and mate paid a visit to one of the villages of these interesting people. On their arrival they found the chief—who acts also as their spiritual teacher—with nearly the whole of the villagers, busily engaged in their rice-fields. On the gong being sounded, which was the signal for the arrival of the missionaries, they flocked into the native chapel; and, after greeting affectionately their teachers, they turned to the captain and mate, and asked their chief, ‘Do these men love Christ?’ Being answered in the affirmative, they received them with much cordiality, and, on their departure, loaded their boat with fruit, etc., etc.

“The Ramsay remained at Maulmain eight weeks, during which time the intercourse of the crew with the Christians on shore was of the most pleasing description. The evening before they sailed from this place, Dr. Judson delivered a farewell address on board the Ramsay, which produced a deep and solemn impression. All were melted into tears, as was the case with Dr. Judson himself. He alluded to the providential manner in which he had been brought amongst them, the many happy and profitable hours he had spent in their society, the converting grace of God which they had all been privileged to witness, and some to experience; and those who professed the faith he exhorted ‘that with purpose of heart they would cleave unto the Lord’; and those who had still held out against the entreaties of melting mercy he besought to be reconciled to God. After engaging in solemn prayer for all on board, and giving them his parting blessing, he retired, whilst, like Paul’s Christian brethren at Ephesus, ‘they sorrowed most of all for the words which he spake, that they should see his face no more.’”

Soon after Mr. and Mrs. Judson and their three children returned to Maulmain, Henry Hall Judson was born July 8, 1842. He was named after the little boy whom they had left in his lonely grave at Serampore.

About this time Mr. Judson heard of the death of his venerable mother, who departed this life at Plymouth, Mass., in the eighty-third year of her age. His father and brother Elnathan had died before; and his sister Abigail was now left alone at Plymouth.

And now there was pressed upon Mr. Judson a great task, and one from which he had long shrank. The Board at home urgently desired him to undertake the compilation of a Burman dictionary. His heart longed to be engaged in direct individual work, winning souls to Christ. He had no relish for the seclusion which the work of translation required. Years before, he had written:

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