CHAPTER XI.VISIT TO AMERICA.1845-1846.

While thus plodding on in his gigantic task of compiling a Burman dictionary, Mr. Judson found it necessary to embark on a voyage to his native land. Thirty-two years had elapsed since the memorable nineteenth of February, 1812, when he and Mrs. Judson had stood on the deck of the brigCaravan, and watched the rocky shores of New England fade out of their sight. The young man of twenty-four had become a veteran of fifty-seven. Again and again he had been invited by the Board to revisit his beloved native land and recruit his wasting forces, but he had steadily declined. More than five years before, he had received the following urgent invitation from the Corresponding Secretary:

“Baptist Missionary Rooms, Boston,December18, 1839.“My dear Brother: At the meeting of the Board on the 2d instant, your letter to Mr. Lincoln, of May 1, having been read, it was unanimously resolved to invite you to revisit this country, with a view to the restoration of your health. The invitation was intended to extend to your wife and children, should you judge it advisable for them to accompany you.“This resolution, it gives me much pleasure to add, was adopted not only with great cordiality, but with many expressions of the kindest interest and sympathy, and with the universal desire that, if your health should continue as it was at the date of your letter, you would comply with it by the earliest opportunity. It is due not only to you, but to us, and to the general cause of missions, that all suitable means be employedto re-establish your health, and no considerations of expense or obloquy, incurred by the frequent return of missionaries, should deter you from adopting them.“You will perceive that, in making this proposal, the Board have no respect to the good which might result from your personal intercourse with them, or others who are interested in missions, but which, they trust, would be of great service to them and to the cause at large. Themainobject would be gained if, by a double voyage, your health should be so far restored as to enable you to continue your labors at the desk, and for at least a few years longer supervise the publication of the Scriptures and such other works as your knowledge of Burman and of the Burmese character peculiarly qualify you to prepare.“May the God of missions guide you by His good Spirit in all your way, and of His great goodness restore and preserve your health and usefulness for a long time yet to come.“Affectionately and truly yours,“S. Peck, For. Sec.”

“Baptist Missionary Rooms, Boston,December18, 1839.

“My dear Brother: At the meeting of the Board on the 2d instant, your letter to Mr. Lincoln, of May 1, having been read, it was unanimously resolved to invite you to revisit this country, with a view to the restoration of your health. The invitation was intended to extend to your wife and children, should you judge it advisable for them to accompany you.

“This resolution, it gives me much pleasure to add, was adopted not only with great cordiality, but with many expressions of the kindest interest and sympathy, and with the universal desire that, if your health should continue as it was at the date of your letter, you would comply with it by the earliest opportunity. It is due not only to you, but to us, and to the general cause of missions, that all suitable means be employedto re-establish your health, and no considerations of expense or obloquy, incurred by the frequent return of missionaries, should deter you from adopting them.

“You will perceive that, in making this proposal, the Board have no respect to the good which might result from your personal intercourse with them, or others who are interested in missions, but which, they trust, would be of great service to them and to the cause at large. Themainobject would be gained if, by a double voyage, your health should be so far restored as to enable you to continue your labors at the desk, and for at least a few years longer supervise the publication of the Scriptures and such other works as your knowledge of Burman and of the Burmese character peculiarly qualify you to prepare.

“May the God of missions guide you by His good Spirit in all your way, and of His great goodness restore and preserve your health and usefulness for a long time yet to come.

“Affectionately and truly yours,“S. Peck, For. Sec.”

“Affectionately and truly yours,

“S. Peck, For. Sec.”

Nevertheless the faithful missionary had worked patiently on, refusing to leave his field. At last, however, a return to America became imperative in order to preserve Mrs. Judson’s life. After the birth of two children, Charles,[58]born December 18, 1843, and Edward, born December 27, 1844, her health rapidly declined. She had taken several short journeys along the coast without receiving any permanent benefit. On one of these trips she was accompanied by her eldest child, Abby, who was about ten years old, and also by the little invalid, Charlie. Mr. Judson with his four boys, Adoniram, Elnathan, Henry, and the infant Edward, were left behind at Maulmain. A glimpse of the missionary’s home-life is afforded in a letter which Abby received on this occasion from her absent father:

“Maulmain,March9, 1845.“My dear Daughter: Your letters to me and your brothers, together with the shells from Mergui, arrived this afternoon in the Burmese box, which mamma sent by the steamer. The boys are delighted with the shells, and Henry has picked out some for his own; and they have agreed to giveme for my share the large coral shell. They have already written some letters to you, and mamma, and Charlie, which I shall send by return of steamer; and perhaps they will add some more, as this is such a favorable opportunity. It is now between eight and nine o’clock in the evening. I have had a little meeting with Adoniram and Elnathan, and now they are asleep. Edward has become a fat little fellow; I am sure you would not know him again. He begins to look pleased when he is played with. But he has not yet made any inquiries about his absent mother and sister. Indeed, I doubt much whether he is aware that he has any such relatives. Or if he ever exercises his mind on such abstruse topics, perhaps he fancies that black Ah-mah is his mother, since she nurses him, and does not know what a fair, beautiful, fond mother he has at Mergui, who thinks of him every day. However, when he gets larger, we will tell him all about these matters.“I am getting the carpenters to make a new cot for you, longer than your old one. That I have given to Adoniram, and his to Elnathan. Both the kittens are dead, and the old yellow cat has been missing for several days. She was very thin, and apparently very ill, when we last saw her. So I suppose she crept away into some secret place and lay down and died. Alas! poor pussy!“I pray every day that somewhere during your travels with dear mamma you may receive a blessing from God, so that you will return a true Christian, and set such an example before your brothers as will induce them to try to follow your steps. Think of the dear Saviour every day, and frequently lift up your heart in fervent prayer to God, that He will give you His converting, sanctifying grace, and make you His own child. Try to subdue every evil passion, and avoid all bad conduct.If you trust in the Saviour and try to be good, He will make you good.In your daily deportment and intercourse with others, remember these two lines:“‘Sweet intemper,face, andword,To please an ever-present Lord.’“Your affectionate father.“Love to dear Charlie.”

“Maulmain,March9, 1845.

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

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

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

“‘Sweet intemper,face, andword,To please an ever-present Lord.’

“‘Sweet intemper,face, andword,

To please an ever-present Lord.’

“Your affectionate father.

“Love to dear Charlie.”

But, as has already been stated, these short trips along the Tenasserim coast[59]proved quite unavailing. Mrs. Judson’s condition was almost desperate, and the only hope of saving this precious life lay in a voyage to America. Her husband writes sadly to the Corresponding Secretary:

“The hand of God is heavy upon me. The complaint to which Mrs. Judson is subject has become so violent that it is the unanimous opinion of all the medical men, and indeed of all our friends, that nothing but a voyage beyond the tropics can possibly protract her life beyond the period of a few weeks, but that such a voyage will, in all probability, insure her recovery. All medical skill has been exhausted. She has spent six weeks with our commissioner and his lady in a trip down the coast, touching at Tavoy and Mergui, and returned weaker and nearer the grave than when she set out. She is willing to die, and I hope I am willing to see her die, if it be the Divine will; but though my wife, it is no more than truth to say that there is scarcely an individual foreigner now alive who speaks and writes the Burmese tongue so acceptably as she does; and I feel that an effort ought to be made to save her life. I have long fought against the necessity of accompanying her; but she is now so desperately weak, and almost helpless, that all say it would be nothing but savage inhumanity to send her off alone. The three younger children, the youngest but three months and a half old, we must leave behind us, casting them, as it were, on the waters, in the hope of finding them after many days. The three elder, Abby Ann, Adoniram, and Elnathan, we take with us, to leave in their parents’ native land. These rendings of parental ties are more severe, and wring out bitterer tears from the heart’s core, than any can possibly conceive who have never felt the wrench. But I hope I can say with truth that I love Christ above all; and I am striving, in the strength of my weak faith, to gird up my mind to face and welcome all His appointments. And I am much helped to bear these trials by the advice andencouragement of all my dear brethren and sisters of the mission.“It is another great trial to leave my dear church and people. I never knew till now how much I loved them, and how much they loved me.“‘And ’tis to love, our farewells oweAll their emphasis of woe.’“But I leave them in the hands of my dear brethren, and there are no persons in the world to whom I should be so willing to commit so dear a charge....“Another great trial, not so much as it regards feeling as it regards the anticipated result of long-protracted labor, is the interruption which the heavy work of the Burmese dictionary, in which I have been engaged for two or three years, must sustain; and such is the state of my manuscripts, that if I should die before this work is completed, or at least carried forward to a much more advanced stage, all my previous labor would be nearly or quite lost. But I am endeavoring to obviate this difficulty in some degree, by taking with me my two assistants in that department, whose hearts God has graciously inclined to leave their families and accompany me. They are both Christians, the one a settled character, a convert of long standing, formerly a Government writer in Rangoon; the other a nephew of the late premier of the court of Ava, a person of noble extraction, and though not a tried Christian, I hope a sincere one. And it is my purpose to devote some hours every day, whether on the sea or land, to the work mentioned. I shall be induced to persevere in this purpose while in America, from the fact that I am unable to travel about the country as an agent and preach in the English language. The course that I have uniformly pursued, ever since I became a missionary, has been rather peculiar. In order to become an acceptable and eloquent preacher in a foreign language, I deliberately abjured my own. When I crossed the river, I burned my ships. For thirty-two years I have scarcely entered an English pulpit or made a speech in that language. Whether I havepursued the wisest course, I will not contend; and how far I have attained the object aimed at, I must leave for others to say. But whether right or wrong, the course I have taken can not be retraced. The burned ships can not now be reconstructed. From long desuetude, I can scarcely put three sentences together in the English language.[60]I must therefore beg the Board to allow me a quiet corner, where I can pursue my work with my assistants undisturbed and unknown.“This request I am induced to urge from the further consideration that my voice, though greatly recovered from the affection of the lungs, which laid me aside from preaching nearly a year, is still so weak that it can only fill a small room; and whenever I attempt to raise it above the conversational tone, the weak place gives way, and I am quite broken down again for several weeks. I hope, therefore, that no one will try to persuade me to be guilty of such imprudence while in America; but since there are thousands of preachers in English, and only five or six Burmese preachers in the whole world, I may be allowed to hoard up the remnant of my breath and lungs for the country where they are most needed.”...

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

“‘And ’tis to love, our farewells oweAll their emphasis of woe.’

“‘And ’tis to love, our farewells owe

All their emphasis of woe.’

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

“Another great trial, not so much as it regards feeling as it regards the anticipated result of long-protracted labor, is the interruption which the heavy work of the Burmese dictionary, in which I have been engaged for two or three years, must sustain; and such is the state of my manuscripts, that if I should die before this work is completed, or at least carried forward to a much more advanced stage, all my previous labor would be nearly or quite lost. But I am endeavoring to obviate this difficulty in some degree, by taking with me my two assistants in that department, whose hearts God has graciously inclined to leave their families and accompany me. They are both Christians, the one a settled character, a convert of long standing, formerly a Government writer in Rangoon; the other a nephew of the late premier of the court of Ava, a person of noble extraction, and though not a tried Christian, I hope a sincere one. And it is my purpose to devote some hours every day, whether on the sea or land, to the work mentioned. I shall be induced to persevere in this purpose while in America, from the fact that I am unable to travel about the country as an agent and preach in the English language. The course that I have uniformly pursued, ever since I became a missionary, has been rather peculiar. In order to become an acceptable and eloquent preacher in a foreign language, I deliberately abjured my own. When I crossed the river, I burned my ships. For thirty-two years I have scarcely entered an English pulpit or made a speech in that language. Whether I havepursued the wisest course, I will not contend; and how far I have attained the object aimed at, I must leave for others to say. But whether right or wrong, the course I have taken can not be retraced. The burned ships can not now be reconstructed. From long desuetude, I can scarcely put three sentences together in the English language.[60]I must therefore beg the Board to allow me a quiet corner, where I can pursue my work with my assistants undisturbed and unknown.

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

On April 26, 1845, Mr. and Mrs. Judson, with the three elder children, Abby, Adoniram, and Elnathan, embarked on the shipParagonbound for London. They were accompanied by two Burman assistants, as it was Mr. Judson’s purpose to spend a portion of each day upon the Burman dictionary. The three younger children, Henry, Charles, and Edward, as has been said, were left behind in the tender care of the missionaries at Maulmain. The first part of the voyage was so rough that the vessel sprang aleak, and the captain determined to put in at the Isle of France; and on July 5th the ship, with its precious freight, arrived at Port Louis. Mrs. Judson had so far improved in health that the two missionaries formed the purpose of separating,as it was thought that Mrs. Judson would now be able to continue the voyage to America alone, while Mr. Judson should return to his work in Maulmain. It would be hard to find a parallel for this instance of heroic self-sacrifice. Of these two returning missionaries, one was a poor, shattered invalid, consenting to forego her beloved husband’s society and to take the long westward journey in solitude; the other relinquishing the prospect of again seeing his native land after an absence of thirty-three years, and leaving the side of his sick wife the moment his presence seemed no longer indispensable, that he might resume his labors among the perishing Burmans. It was under these circumstances that Mrs. Judson wrote the pathetic lines which shall be recited for a memorial of her wheresoever the Gospel shall be preached in the whole world:

“We part on this green islet, love,—Thou for the eastern main,I for the setting sun, love,O, when to meet again!“My heart is sad for thee, love,For lone thy way will be;And oft thy tears will fall, love,For thy children and for me.“The music of thy daughter’s voiceThou’lt miss for many a year;And the merry shout of thine elder boysThou’lt list in vain to hear.“When we knelt to see our Henry die,And heard his last, faint moan,Each wiped the tear from other’s eye;Now each must weep alone.“My tears fall fast for thee, love;How can I say, Farewell!But go; thy God be with thee, love,Thy heart’s deep grief to quell.“Yet my spirit clings to thine, love;Thy soul remains with me,And oft we’ll hold communion sweetO’er the dark and distant sea.“And who can paint our mutual joy,When, all our wanderings o’er,We both shall clasp our infants threeAt home, on Burmah’s shore!“But higher shall our raptures glow,On yon celestial plain,When the loved and parted here belowMeet, ne’er to part again.“Then gird thine armor on, love,Nor faint thou by the way.Till Buddh shall fall, and Burmah’s sonsShall own Messiah’s sway.”

“We part on this green islet, love,—Thou for the eastern main,I for the setting sun, love,O, when to meet again!

“We part on this green islet, love,—

Thou for the eastern main,

I for the setting sun, love,

O, when to meet again!

“My heart is sad for thee, love,For lone thy way will be;And oft thy tears will fall, love,For thy children and for me.

“My heart is sad for thee, love,

For lone thy way will be;

And oft thy tears will fall, love,

For thy children and for me.

“The music of thy daughter’s voiceThou’lt miss for many a year;And the merry shout of thine elder boysThou’lt list in vain to hear.

“The music of thy daughter’s voice

Thou’lt miss for many a year;

And the merry shout of thine elder boys

Thou’lt list in vain to hear.

“When we knelt to see our Henry die,And heard his last, faint moan,Each wiped the tear from other’s eye;Now each must weep alone.

“When we knelt to see our Henry die,

And heard his last, faint moan,

Each wiped the tear from other’s eye;

Now each must weep alone.

“My tears fall fast for thee, love;How can I say, Farewell!But go; thy God be with thee, love,Thy heart’s deep grief to quell.

“My tears fall fast for thee, love;

How can I say, Farewell!

But go; thy God be with thee, love,

Thy heart’s deep grief to quell.

“Yet my spirit clings to thine, love;Thy soul remains with me,And oft we’ll hold communion sweetO’er the dark and distant sea.

“Yet my spirit clings to thine, love;

Thy soul remains with me,

And oft we’ll hold communion sweet

O’er the dark and distant sea.

“And who can paint our mutual joy,When, all our wanderings o’er,We both shall clasp our infants threeAt home, on Burmah’s shore!

“And who can paint our mutual joy,

When, all our wanderings o’er,

We both shall clasp our infants three

At home, on Burmah’s shore!

“But higher shall our raptures glow,On yon celestial plain,When the loved and parted here belowMeet, ne’er to part again.

“But higher shall our raptures glow,

On yon celestial plain,

When the loved and parted here below

Meet, ne’er to part again.

“Then gird thine armor on, love,Nor faint thou by the way.Till Buddh shall fall, and Burmah’s sonsShall own Messiah’s sway.”

“Then gird thine armor on, love,

Nor faint thou by the way.

Till Buddh shall fall, and Burmah’s sons

Shall own Messiah’s sway.”

The two native assistants were therefore sent back to Maulmain, and Mr. Judson expected to follow them as soon as he had seen Mrs. Judson fairly on board ship for America. But she experienced a severe relapse, which reduced her strength lower than ever before; and Mr. Judson was soon convinced that it would be impossible for him to leave her, and, although he bitterly regretted the loss of his assistants, he felt obliged, after spending three weeks in the Isle of France, to re-embark with Mrs. Judson. They took passage with Captain Codman, of the shipSophia Walker, which was bound directly for the United States. On the 25th of July they sailed from Port Louis, and after a time Mrs. Judson again appeared to be recovering. But the appearance proved deceptive. There came another dreadful relapse, which soon terminated in death.

“In the cold weather off the Cape of Good Hope,” Mr. Judson writes, “my hopes became again very sanguine. But she never really recovered from her last prostration, and, though sometimes better, continued, on the whole, to decline,until we neared St. Helena, when I gave up all hope of her recovery. She lingered a few days, while the vessel was detained in port, until the 1st instant, when, at three o’clock in the morning, she obtained her release from further suffering, and entered, I trust, into the joy of her Lord. She was buried in the afternoon of the same day; and in the evening we were again at sea.”

Fuller details of this mournful event are given in the appended letter and obituary notice written by Mr. Judson in a letter to a friend at Port Louis:

“On Passage from St. Helena,September2, 1845.“My dear Friend: I shall have no opportunity of sending this till after my arrival in the United States; so that you will probably have heard of Mrs. Judson’s death before receiving this line. I was so overwhelmed with my distress while at St. Helena, that it never occurred to me to write a line to any of my friends. My dear wife continued to decline after leaving the Isle of France. Neither the best medical advice, nor the most careful nursing on my part, nor any change of climate, seemed to have much salutary effect. When we reached St. Helena I had given up all hope of her recovery. That took place on the 26th of August. The vessel remained a few days. She lingered along till the first, that is, yesterday, at three o’clock in the morning, when her spirit took its final flight. The body was carried on shore in the afternoon, and interred in the public burial-ground, by the side of Mrs. Chater, long a missionary at Ceylon, who died on her passage home. The funeral was attended by a crowd of friends, though we were entire strangers in the place. We were surprised to find several pious persons under the pastoral care of the Rev. Mr. Bertram, an excellent, zealous missionary. They took me and the children to their houses and their hearts, and their consoling conversation and sympathizing prayers, in the hour of my distress, afforded wonderful relief. Would you believe that these pious friends and the captain of our ship defrayed all the expenses of the funeral? They even had mourning suitsmade for the children, and sent off to the ship! But I was obliged to leave them all the same evening; and this morning, the rock of the ocean, where reposes all that is mortal of my dear, dear wife, was out of sight. And O, how desolate my cabin appears, and how dreary the way before me! But I have the great consolation that she died in peace, longing to depart and be with Christ. She had some desire, being on her passage home, to see her parents, and relatives, and friends, after twenty years’ absence; but the love of Christ sustained her to the last. When near dying, I congratulated her on the prospect of soon beholding the Saviour in all His glory; and she eagerly replied, ‘What can I want beside?’... May we who remain have grace to follow those who, through faith, inherit the promises.”

“On Passage from St. Helena,September2, 1845.

“My dear Friend: I shall have no opportunity of sending this till after my arrival in the United States; so that you will probably have heard of Mrs. Judson’s death before receiving this line. I was so overwhelmed with my distress while at St. Helena, that it never occurred to me to write a line to any of my friends. My dear wife continued to decline after leaving the Isle of France. Neither the best medical advice, nor the most careful nursing on my part, nor any change of climate, seemed to have much salutary effect. When we reached St. Helena I had given up all hope of her recovery. That took place on the 26th of August. The vessel remained a few days. She lingered along till the first, that is, yesterday, at three o’clock in the morning, when her spirit took its final flight. The body was carried on shore in the afternoon, and interred in the public burial-ground, by the side of Mrs. Chater, long a missionary at Ceylon, who died on her passage home. The funeral was attended by a crowd of friends, though we were entire strangers in the place. We were surprised to find several pious persons under the pastoral care of the Rev. Mr. Bertram, an excellent, zealous missionary. They took me and the children to their houses and their hearts, and their consoling conversation and sympathizing prayers, in the hour of my distress, afforded wonderful relief. Would you believe that these pious friends and the captain of our ship defrayed all the expenses of the funeral? They even had mourning suitsmade for the children, and sent off to the ship! But I was obliged to leave them all the same evening; and this morning, the rock of the ocean, where reposes all that is mortal of my dear, dear wife, was out of sight. And O, how desolate my cabin appears, and how dreary the way before me! But I have the great consolation that she died in peace, longing to depart and be with Christ. She had some desire, being on her passage home, to see her parents, and relatives, and friends, after twenty years’ absence; but the love of Christ sustained her to the last. When near dying, I congratulated her on the prospect of soon beholding the Saviour in all His glory; and she eagerly replied, ‘What can I want beside?’... May we who remain have grace to follow those who, through faith, inherit the promises.”

Obituary of Mrs. Sarah B. Judson.

“Sarah Boardman Judson was born at Alstead, in the State of New Hampshire, November 4, 1803. She was the eldest child of Ralph and Abiah Hall. While Sarah was but a child, her parents removed from Alstead to Danvers, and subsequently to Salem, in the State of Massachusetts. In the latter place she received her education, and continued to reside until she was married to the Rev. George Dana Boardman, July 4, 1825, with whom she embarked in the same month for the East Indies, to join the American missionaries in Burmah. After residing some time at Calcutta and at Maulmain, they settled at Tavoy, April 1, 1828. During her residence in Calcutta and Tavoy she had three children, of whom one only, George Dana Boardman, Jr., born August 18, 1828, survives her. She lost her husband February 11, 1831, and was married again to Adoniram Judson, of Maulmain, April 10, 1834. At Maulmain she became the mother of eight children, of whom five survive her. After the birth of her last child, in December, 1844, she was attacked with chronic diarrhœa, from which she had suffered much in the early part of her missionary life. When, in the progress of the disease, it became evident that nothing but a long voyage and an entire change of climate could save her life, she embarked,with her husband and three elder children, for the United States, April 26, 1845. The voyage was at first attended with encouraging results, but finally proved unavailing, and she departed this life on shipboard, in the port of St. Helena, September 1, 1845.“Like multitudes in the highly-favored land of her nativity, she was blessed with early religious advantages, and in her youth became the subject of serious impressions. When about sixteen years of age, during a revival of religion in Salem, she entertained a hope, received baptism at the hands of her pastor, the Rev. Dr. Bolles, and became a member of his church. Her religious attainments, however, were not of a distinguished order, and though her amiable disposition and her deep interest in missions, especially after her acquaintance with Mr. Boardman, gave her an elevated tone of character, she subsequently felt that at that period she hardly deserved the name of a sincere Christian. And it was not until she was called to part with her eldest child, at Tavoy, in 1829, and to pass through scenes of great danger and suffering during the Tavoy rebellion, that she was enabled to live a life of faith on the Son of God.“‘Sweet affliction, sweet affliction,That brings near to Jesus’ feet.’“In regard to her missionary qualifications and labors, I may state that she applied herself with great assiduity to the study of the Burmese language, in which, in conversation, prayer, and writing, she acquired an uncommon degree of correctness, fluency, and power. She was in the habit of conducting a prayer-meeting of the female members of the church every week, and also another meeting for the study of the Scriptures. Her acquaintance with, and attachment to, the Burmese Bible were rather extraordinary. She professed to take more pleasure and derive more profit from the perusal of that translation than from the English, and to enjoy preaching in the native chapel more than in any other. Her translation of the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ part first, into Burmese, is one of the best pieces of composition which wehave yet published. Her translation of Mr. Boardman’s ‘Dying Father’s Advice’ has become one of our standard tracts; and her hymns in Burmese, about twenty in number, are probably the best in our ‘Chapel Hymn Book’—a work which she was appointed by the mission to edit. Besides these works, she published four volumes of Scripture questions, which are in constant use in our Sabbath-schools. The last work of her life, and one which she accomplished in the midst of overwhelming family cares, and under the pressure of declining health, was a series of Sunday cards, each accompanied with a short hymn, adapted to the leading subject of the card.“Besides her acquaintance with the Burmese language, she had, in past years, when there was no missionary in the Peguan department, acquired a competent knowledge of that language, and translated, or superintended the translationofofthe New Testament and the principal Burmese tracts into Peguan. But when a missionary was appointed to that department, she transferred her work to him, and gladly confined herself to the Burmese.“Something, also, might be said with regard to her labors in the Karen wilderness east of Tavoy, especially during the years of her widowhood, when she made toilsome journeys among the mountains, sometimes amid drenching rains, and always with many privations, and where, notwithstanding that she was wholly opposed to the principle of females acting the part of ministers, she was frequently obliged to conduct worship in the Karen assemblies.“Her bereaved husband is the more desirous of bearing this testimony to her various attainments, her labors, and her worth, from the fact that her own unobtrusive and retiring disposition always led her to seek the shade, as well as from the fact that she was often brought into comparison with one whose life and character were uncommonly interesting and brilliant. The memoir of his first beloved wife has been long before the public. It is, therefore, most gratifying to his feelings to be able to say, in truth, that the subject of this notice was, in every point of natural and moral excellence,the worthy successor of Ann H. Judson. He constantly thanks God that he has been blessed with two of the best of wives; he deeply feels that he has not improved these rich blessings as he ought, and it is most painful to reflect that, from the peculiar pressure of the missionary life, he has sometimes failed to treat those dear beings with that consideration, attention, and kindness which their situation in a foreign heathen land ever demanded.“But, to show the forgiving and grateful disposition of the subject of this brief sketch, and somewhat to elucidate her character, he would add that, a few days before her death, he called her children to her bedside, and said, in their hearing, ‘I wish, my love, to ask pardon for every unkind word or deed of which I have ever been guilty. I feel that I have, in many instances, failed of treating you with that kindness and affection which you have ever deserved.’ ‘O,’ said she, ‘you will kill me if you talk so. It is I that should ask pardon of you; and I only want to get well that I may have an opportunity of making some return for all your kindness, and of showing you how much I love you.’“This recollection of her dying bed leads me to say a few words relative to the closing scenes of her life. After her prostration at the Isle of France, where we spent three weeks, there remained but little expectation of her recovery. Her hope had long been fixed on the Rock of Ages, and she had been in the habit of contemplating death as neither distant nor undesirable. As it drew near, she remained perfectly tranquil. No shade of doubt, or fear, or anxiety, ever passed over her mind. She had a prevailing preference to depart and be with Christ. ‘I am longing to depart,’ and ‘What can I want beside?’ quoting the language of a familiar hymn, were the expressions which revealed the spiritual peace and joy of her mind; yet, at times, the thought of her native land, to which she was approaching, after an absence of twenty years, and a longing desire to see once more her son George, her parents, and the friends of her youth, drew down her ascending soul, and constrained her to say, ‘I am in a strait betwixt two—let the will of God be done.’“In regard to her children she ever manifested the most surprising composure and resignation, so much so that I was once induced to say, ‘You seem to have forgotten the little ones we have left behind.’ ‘Can a mother forget?’ she replied, and was unable to proceed. During her last days she spent much time in praying for the early conversion of her children. May her living and her dying prayers draw down the blessing of God on their bereaved heads.“On our passage homeward, as the strength of Mrs. Judson gradually declined, I expected to be under the painful necessity of burying her in the sea. But it was so ordered by divine Providence, that, when the indications of approaching death had become strongly marked, the ship came to anchor in the port of St. Helena. For three days she continued to sink rapidly, though her bodily sufferings were not very severe. Her mind became liable to wander; but a single word was sufficient to recall and steady her recollection. On the evening of the 31st of August she appeared to be drawing near to the end of her pilgrimage. The children took leave of her, and retired to rest. I sat alone by the side of her bed during the hours of the night, endeavoring to administer relief to the distressed body and consolation to the departing soul. At two o’clock in the morning, wishing to obtain one more token of recognition, I roused her attention, and said, ‘Do you still love the Saviour?’ ‘O, yes,’ she replied, ‘I ever love the Lord Jesus Christ.’ I said again, ‘Do you still love me?’ She replied in the affirmative, by a peculiar expression of her own. ‘Then give me one more kiss’; and we exchanged that token of love for the last time. Another hour passed, life continued to recede, and she ceased to breathe. For a moment I traced her upward flight, and thought of the wonders which were opening to her view. I then closed her sightless eyes, dressed her, for the last time, in the drapery of death, and being quite exhausted with many sleepless nights, I threw myself down and slept. On awaking in the morning, I saw the children standing and weeping around the body of their dear mother, then, for the first time, inattentive to their cries. In the course of the daya coffin was procured from the shore, in which I placed all that remained of her whom I had so much loved; and after a prayer had been offered by a dear brother minister from the town, the Rev. Mr. Bertram, we proceeded in boats to the shore. There we were met by the colonial chaplain, and accompanied to the burial-ground by the adherents and friends of Mr. Bertram, and a large concourse of the inhabitants. They had prepared the grave in a beautiful, shady spot, contiguous to the grave of Mrs. Chater, a missionary from Ceylon, who had died in similar circumstances on her passage home. There I saw her safely deposited, and in the language of prayer, which we had often presented together at the throne of grace, I blessed God that her body had attained the repose of the grave and her spirit the repose of Paradise. After the funeral, the dear friends of Mr. Bertram took me to their houses and their hearts; and their conversation and prayers afforded me unexpected relief and consolation. But I was obliged to hasten on board ship, and we immediately went to sea. On the following morning no vestige of the island was discernible in the distant horizon. For a few days, in the solitude of my cabin, with my poor children crying around me, I could not help abandoning myself to heart-breaking sorrow. But the promises of the Gospel came to my aid, and faith stretched her view to the bright world of eternal life, and anticipated a happy meeting with those beloved beings whose bodies are mouldering at Amherst and St. Helena.“I exceedingly regret that there is no portrait of the second, as of the first Mrs. Judson. Her soft blue eye, her mild aspect, her lovely face, and elegant form have never been delineated on canvas. They must soon pass away from the memory even of her children, but they will remain forever enshrined in her husband’s heart.“To my friends at St. Helena I am under great obligation. I desire to thank God for having raised up in that place a most precious religious interest. The friends of the Redeemer rallied around an evangelical minister immediately on his arrival, and within a few months several souls wereadded to their number. Those dear, sympathizing, Christian friends received the body of the deceased from my hands as a sacred deposit, united with our kind captain, John Codman, Jr., of Dorchester, in defraying all the expenses of the funeral, and promised to take care of the grave, and see to the erection of the gravestones which I am to forward, and on which I propose to place the following inscription:“‘Sacred to the memory of Sarah B. Judson, member of the American Baptist mission to Burmah, formerly wife of the Rev. George D. Boardman, of Tavoy, and lately wife of the Rev. Adoniram Judson, of Maulmain, who died in this port, September 1, 1845, on her passage to the United States, in the forty-second year of her age, and in the twenty-first of her missionary life.“‘She sleeps sweetly here, on this rock of the ocean,Away from the home of her youth,And far from the land where, with heartfelt devotion,She scattered the bright beams of truth.’”“Mournfully, tenderly,Bear onward the dead,Where the Warrior has lain,Let the Christian be laid;No place more befitting,Oh, Rock of the sea!Never such treasureWas hidden in thee!“Mournfully, tenderly,Solemn and slow.—Tears are bedewingThe path as ye go;Kindred and strangersAre mourners to-day;Gently—so, gently—Oh, bear her away.“Mournfully, tenderly,Gaze on that brow;Beautiful is itIn quietude now!One look—and then settleThe loved to her rest,The ocean beneath her,The turf on her breast.“So have ye buried her—Up!—and depart,To life and to duty,With undismayed heart!Fear not; for the loveOf the stranger will keepThe casket that liesIn the Rock of the deep.“Peace, peace to thy bosom,Thou servant of God!The vale thou art treadingThou hast before trod:Precious dust thou hast laidBy the Hopia-tree,And treasure as preciousIn the Rock of the sea.”[61]

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

“‘Sweet affliction, sweet affliction,That brings near to Jesus’ feet.’

“‘Sweet affliction, sweet affliction,

That brings near to Jesus’ feet.’

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

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

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

“Her bereaved husband is the more desirous of bearing this testimony to her various attainments, her labors, and her worth, from the fact that her own unobtrusive and retiring disposition always led her to seek the shade, as well as from the fact that she was often brought into comparison with one whose life and character were uncommonly interesting and brilliant. The memoir of his first beloved wife has been long before the public. It is, therefore, most gratifying to his feelings to be able to say, in truth, that the subject of this notice was, in every point of natural and moral excellence,the worthy successor of Ann H. Judson. He constantly thanks God that he has been blessed with two of the best of wives; he deeply feels that he has not improved these rich blessings as he ought, and it is most painful to reflect that, from the peculiar pressure of the missionary life, he has sometimes failed to treat those dear beings with that consideration, attention, and kindness which their situation in a foreign heathen land ever demanded.

“But, to show the forgiving and grateful disposition of the subject of this brief sketch, and somewhat to elucidate her character, he would add that, a few days before her death, he called her children to her bedside, and said, in their hearing, ‘I wish, my love, to ask pardon for every unkind word or deed of which I have ever been guilty. I feel that I have, in many instances, failed of treating you with that kindness and affection which you have ever deserved.’ ‘O,’ said she, ‘you will kill me if you talk so. It is I that should ask pardon of you; and I only want to get well that I may have an opportunity of making some return for all your kindness, and of showing you how much I love you.’

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

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

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

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

“To my friends at St. Helena I am under great obligation. I desire to thank God for having raised up in that place a most precious religious interest. The friends of the Redeemer rallied around an evangelical minister immediately on his arrival, and within a few months several souls wereadded to their number. Those dear, sympathizing, Christian friends received the body of the deceased from my hands as a sacred deposit, united with our kind captain, John Codman, Jr., of Dorchester, in defraying all the expenses of the funeral, and promised to take care of the grave, and see to the erection of the gravestones which I am to forward, and on which I propose to place the following inscription:

“‘Sacred to the memory of Sarah B. Judson, member of the American Baptist mission to Burmah, formerly wife of the Rev. George D. Boardman, of Tavoy, and lately wife of the Rev. Adoniram Judson, of Maulmain, who died in this port, September 1, 1845, on her passage to the United States, in the forty-second year of her age, and in the twenty-first of her missionary life.

“‘She sleeps sweetly here, on this rock of the ocean,Away from the home of her youth,And far from the land where, with heartfelt devotion,She scattered the bright beams of truth.’”

“‘She sleeps sweetly here, on this rock of the ocean,

Away from the home of her youth,

And far from the land where, with heartfelt devotion,

She scattered the bright beams of truth.’”

“Mournfully, tenderly,Bear onward the dead,Where the Warrior has lain,Let the Christian be laid;No place more befitting,Oh, Rock of the sea!Never such treasureWas hidden in thee!“Mournfully, tenderly,Solemn and slow.—Tears are bedewingThe path as ye go;Kindred and strangersAre mourners to-day;Gently—so, gently—Oh, bear her away.“Mournfully, tenderly,Gaze on that brow;Beautiful is itIn quietude now!One look—and then settleThe loved to her rest,The ocean beneath her,The turf on her breast.“So have ye buried her—Up!—and depart,To life and to duty,With undismayed heart!Fear not; for the loveOf the stranger will keepThe casket that liesIn the Rock of the deep.“Peace, peace to thy bosom,Thou servant of God!The vale thou art treadingThou hast before trod:Precious dust thou hast laidBy the Hopia-tree,And treasure as preciousIn the Rock of the sea.”[61]

“Mournfully, tenderly,Bear onward the dead,Where the Warrior has lain,Let the Christian be laid;No place more befitting,Oh, Rock of the sea!Never such treasureWas hidden in thee!

“Mournfully, tenderly,

Bear onward the dead,

Where the Warrior has lain,

Let the Christian be laid;

No place more befitting,

Oh, Rock of the sea!

Never such treasure

Was hidden in thee!

“Mournfully, tenderly,Solemn and slow.—Tears are bedewingThe path as ye go;Kindred and strangersAre mourners to-day;Gently—so, gently—Oh, bear her away.

“Mournfully, tenderly,

Solemn and slow.—

Tears are bedewing

The path as ye go;

Kindred and strangers

Are mourners to-day;

Gently—so, gently—

Oh, bear her away.

“Mournfully, tenderly,Gaze on that brow;Beautiful is itIn quietude now!

“Mournfully, tenderly,

Gaze on that brow;

Beautiful is it

In quietude now!

One look—and then settleThe loved to her rest,The ocean beneath her,The turf on her breast.

One look—and then settle

The loved to her rest,

The ocean beneath her,

The turf on her breast.

“So have ye buried her—Up!—and depart,To life and to duty,With undismayed heart!Fear not; for the loveOf the stranger will keepThe casket that liesIn the Rock of the deep.

“So have ye buried her—

Up!—and depart,

To life and to duty,

With undismayed heart!

Fear not; for the love

Of the stranger will keep

The casket that lies

In the Rock of the deep.

“Peace, peace to thy bosom,Thou servant of God!The vale thou art treadingThou hast before trod:Precious dust thou hast laidBy the Hopia-tree,And treasure as preciousIn the Rock of the sea.”[61]

“Peace, peace to thy bosom,

Thou servant of God!

The vale thou art treading

Thou hast before trod:

Precious dust thou hast laid

By the Hopia-tree,

And treasure as precious

In the Rock of the sea.”[61]

I.II.Fac-Simile of Mrs. Sarah B. Judson’s Handwriting.As there is no portrait in existence of Mrs.Sarah B. Judson, the above fac-smile of her handwriting may interest the reader. These verses, from Moore, were written by her on the fly-leaf of a small volume of devotional poems, published at Philadelphia in 1828, presented by her to her husband. Many of the poems in this little book bear the marks of Mr. Judson’s pencil as being of peculiar interest to him. Among those marked is the following:＋ THE REFUGE.Art thou oppressed or reviled?Then act but like a simple child,Who does not dare the point contest,But hastens to its mother’s breast;Bows in submission to her laws,And leaves her to support its cause.Thus to thy blessed Saviour flee;Stand still! thy God shall fight for thee.Fac-Simile of Mr. Judson’s Handwriting.The above inscription was written by Mr. Judson on the fly-leaf of a volume of Burmese Hymns, compiled by Mrs. Sarah B. Judson, and presented by him to a lady in New York.

II.

Fac-Simile of Mrs. Sarah B. Judson’s Handwriting.

As there is no portrait in existence of Mrs.Sarah B. Judson, the above fac-smile of her handwriting may interest the reader. These verses, from Moore, were written by her on the fly-leaf of a small volume of devotional poems, published at Philadelphia in 1828, presented by her to her husband. Many of the poems in this little book bear the marks of Mr. Judson’s pencil as being of peculiar interest to him. Among those marked is the following:

＋ THE REFUGE.

Art thou oppressed or reviled?Then act but like a simple child,Who does not dare the point contest,But hastens to its mother’s breast;Bows in submission to her laws,And leaves her to support its cause.Thus to thy blessed Saviour flee;Stand still! thy God shall fight for thee.

Art thou oppressed or reviled?

Then act but like a simple child,

Who does not dare the point contest,

But hastens to its mother’s breast;

Bows in submission to her laws,

And leaves her to support its cause.

Thus to thy blessed Saviour flee;

Stand still! thy God shall fight for thee.

Fac-Simile of Mr. Judson’s Handwriting.The above inscription was written by Mr. Judson on the fly-leaf of a volume of Burmese Hymns, compiled by Mrs. Sarah B. Judson, and presented by him to a lady in New York.

TheSophia Walker, with Mr. Judson and his three children on board, arrived at Boston October 15, 1845. The missionary who had been so long absent from his native land felt considerable anxiety before going on shore as to where he should secure suitable lodgings in the city. He little dreamed that every home would be thrown open to him, and that soon his progress from city to city would almost assume the proportions of a triumphal march. He was ill prepared for such an enthusiastic greeting. He naturally shrank from observation. He was in exceedingly delicate health. His pulmonary difficulty prevented his speaking much above a husky whisper. He had so long used a foreign tongue that it was hard work for him to form sentences in English. He could address an audience only at second-hand, whispering his words to a speaker at his side, who would convey them to the ears of the hearers.Naturally humble and shy, he found it exceedingly distasteful to be publicly harangued and eulogized. On one occasion, an eye-witness[62]relates that while the returned missionary was listening to words of eloquent praise addressed to him in the presence of a great concourse of people, “his head sank lower and lower until the chin seemed to touch his breast.” He wrote to the Corresponding Secretary: “My chief object in writing is to beg that I may be excused from attending any more such meetings until I get a little better. I expect to be in Boston to-morrow, and shall want two or three days for some necessary business, and propose to go to Worcester on Friday or Saturday; and if I could spend next Sabbath alone in some chamber, I should feel it a great privilege, both as a refreshment to the soul and a relief to the body.”

He had come home to find that his native country was almost a strange land. The railroad system had sprung into existence during his absence. He entered the cars at Worcester one day, and had just taken his seat, when a boy came along with the daily newspapers.[63]He said to Mr. Judson, “Do you want a paper, sir?” “Yes, thank you,” the missionary replied, and taking the paper began to read. The newsboy stood waiting for his pay until a lady passenger, occupying the same seat with Mr. Judson, said to him, “The boy expects to be paid for his paper.” “Why,” replied the missionary, with the utmost surprise, “I have been distributing papers gratuitously in Burmah so long that I had no idea the boy was expecting any pay.”

He often disappointed public assemblies by declining to relate his own adventures, telling instead the old story of the cross. A lady thus describes an address which he made in the little country church in Eaton, New York:

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

“‘Why, what did they want?’ he inquired; ‘I presented the most interesting subject in the world, to the best of my ability.’

“‘But they wanted something different—a story.’

“‘Well, I am sure I gave them a story—the most thrilling one that can be conceived of.’

“‘But they had heard it before. They wanted something new of a man who had just come from the antipodes.’

“‘Then I am glad to have it to say, that a man coming from the antipodes had nothing better to tell than the wondrous story of Jesus’ dying love. My business is to preach the Gospel of Christ, and when I can speak at all, I dare not trifle with my commission. When I looked upon those people to-day, and remembered where I should next meet them, how could I stand up and furnish food to vain curiosity—tickle their fancies with amusing stories, however decently strung together on a thread of religion? That is not what Christ meant by preaching the Gospel. And then, how could I hereafter meet the fearful charge, “I gave you one opportunity to tell them of me—you spent it in describing your own adventures!”’”

The following reminiscence of Mr. Judson’s preaching in Plymouth has been kindly contributed by the Rev. Dr. D. W. Faunce, now of Washington, D. C.:

“The old church was crowded, and I was able to find a seat only in a corner of the gallery. Shall I confess my disappointment, at first, when a slim, worn man, with a weary voice, rose in the pulpit after the pastor had conducted the opening exercises, and gave out his text, ‘These are they that follow the Lamb.’“Trained in a religious household, where missionary names, and especially those of Judson and Rice, were familiar words, somehow, in my boyish fancy I had thought of him as a great orator, with a loud voice and commanding tones, who would sweep down all before him with a resistless eloquence. Hence my disappointment. But as he went on, in simple language, to unfold his thought, and repeated over and over again his one theme,pleasing Jesus, somehow I forgot all about eloquence.There stole over me, a boy convert of only a few months’ standing, a great tenderness. Was this venerated man influenced in all he had done by the simple thought ofpleasing Jesus? Well, then, might not I, boy as I was, strive to please Jesus also? My eyes began to fill, and my heart was in my throat. Was there anything I could do to please Jesus? A hundred times since, the single simple thought of that sermon has come to me, and the memory of that summer afternoon in the corner of the gallery, and the scene and the words have been an inspiration. And if that is eloquence which gets its thought written imperishably upon the heart of an auditor, then the simple, almost childlike words of that hour were truly eloquent.”

“Trained in a religious household, where missionary names, and especially those of Judson and Rice, were familiar words, somehow, in my boyish fancy I had thought of him as a great orator, with a loud voice and commanding tones, who would sweep down all before him with a resistless eloquence. Hence my disappointment. But as he went on, in simple language, to unfold his thought, and repeated over and over again his one theme,pleasing Jesus, somehow I forgot all about eloquence.There stole over me, a boy convert of only a few months’ standing, a great tenderness. Was this venerated man influenced in all he had done by the simple thought ofpleasing Jesus? Well, then, might not I, boy as I was, strive to please Jesus also? My eyes began to fill, and my heart was in my throat. Was there anything I could do to please Jesus? A hundred times since, the single simple thought of that sermon has come to me, and the memory of that summer afternoon in the corner of the gallery, and the scene and the words have been an inspiration. And if that is eloquence which gets its thought written imperishably upon the heart of an auditor, then the simple, almost childlike words of that hour were truly eloquent.”

Mr. Judson’s movements in this country were chronicled alike by the secular and religious newspapers. His toils and sufferings had made his name a household word among all Christians, and wherever he went, the churches were crowded with people who desired to see and to hear America’s pioneer missionary. On the evening of the second day after his arrival, a meeting was held in the Bowdoin Square church, Boston. The following words of welcome were spoken by Dr. Sharp:

“There are some feelings,” said Dr. Sharp, “which are too sacred for public utterance. There are sentiments of respect and regard which, when whispered to the ear, or spoken in the privacy of confidential intercourse, are pleasant and refreshing as the breath of spring, but which lose their fragrance in the atmosphere of a public assembly. Were I to express my own feelings toward yourself—my admiration, my confidence, my gratitude, my regard—I should say many things that in this assembly would seem out of place. I may, however, without violating Christian propriety, speakin behalfof the public in thepresenceof the public.“I may say, without the semblance of flattery or adulation, the denomination have cherished a deep, and affectionate, and grateful interest in your labors. They have wondered at your steady and unfaltering perseverance; they have admired your disinterested and self-denying course; and they have tenderly sympathized with you, and prayed for you, when they heard of your personal sufferings, your imprisonment, and loss of personal liberty, and when they have heard of those greater losses, to which, in the death of loved and cherished ones, you have been subjected. And they have rejoiced with you, not, indeed, thatallyour work was done, but that a glorious work was done, when, in humble prostration before the beneficent Author of revelation, you devoutlythanked Him that you had completed the translation of the Holy Scriptures in the Burman language. That was a memorable day, not only in the history of your own life, but in the history of missions.“We can only pray, dear brother, that, after a still more extended and critical knowledge of the Burman language, the result of patient and laborious study and research, your life may be prolonged to revise and amend your translation of those soul-sanctifying and soul-comforting truths which tell with wondrous power in any language in which a version of them is given. Your prosecution of that other great work, to which your mind, and pen, and days are given—a Burman dictionary—at the completion of which you may well rest from your labors, will aid you greatly in giving your last correcting touch to the Burman Scriptures. Our prayer will be, in submission to God’s will, that you may live until you have sent out to the world the volumes which will not only shed their radiant light on the Scriptures, but will quicken and elevate the common mind of India.“And now, dear brother, withdrawn as you have been, by an afflictive dispensation of Providence, from your chosen and loved labors, allow me to say, in behalf of your ministering brethren, and other brethren and friends: We welcome you to your native land; we welcome you to the scenes of your early and manly youth; we welcome you to our worshipping assemblies; we welcome you to our hearts. As the representative of the ministers and private Christians present, I give to you this hand of cordial welcome, of sympathy, of approbation, and of love. And I believe, could all our denomination be collected in one vast assembly, they would request and empower some one to perform this service for them; or, rather, each one would prefer to give this significant token of love, and respect, and good wishes, for himself. Were it possible, and could your strength hold out, and your hand bear the grasp and the cordial shake of so many, I could wish that every one who loves the Bible and missions might be his own representative, and give to you, as I do, the hand of an honest, unchanging, and cordial good-will.”

“I may say, without the semblance of flattery or adulation, the denomination have cherished a deep, and affectionate, and grateful interest in your labors. They have wondered at your steady and unfaltering perseverance; they have admired your disinterested and self-denying course; and they have tenderly sympathized with you, and prayed for you, when they heard of your personal sufferings, your imprisonment, and loss of personal liberty, and when they have heard of those greater losses, to which, in the death of loved and cherished ones, you have been subjected. And they have rejoiced with you, not, indeed, thatallyour work was done, but that a glorious work was done, when, in humble prostration before the beneficent Author of revelation, you devoutlythanked Him that you had completed the translation of the Holy Scriptures in the Burman language. That was a memorable day, not only in the history of your own life, but in the history of missions.

“We can only pray, dear brother, that, after a still more extended and critical knowledge of the Burman language, the result of patient and laborious study and research, your life may be prolonged to revise and amend your translation of those soul-sanctifying and soul-comforting truths which tell with wondrous power in any language in which a version of them is given. Your prosecution of that other great work, to which your mind, and pen, and days are given—a Burman dictionary—at the completion of which you may well rest from your labors, will aid you greatly in giving your last correcting touch to the Burman Scriptures. Our prayer will be, in submission to God’s will, that you may live until you have sent out to the world the volumes which will not only shed their radiant light on the Scriptures, but will quicken and elevate the common mind of India.

“And now, dear brother, withdrawn as you have been, by an afflictive dispensation of Providence, from your chosen and loved labors, allow me to say, in behalf of your ministering brethren, and other brethren and friends: We welcome you to your native land; we welcome you to the scenes of your early and manly youth; we welcome you to our worshipping assemblies; we welcome you to our hearts. As the representative of the ministers and private Christians present, I give to you this hand of cordial welcome, of sympathy, of approbation, and of love. And I believe, could all our denomination be collected in one vast assembly, they would request and empower some one to perform this service for them; or, rather, each one would prefer to give this significant token of love, and respect, and good wishes, for himself. Were it possible, and could your strength hold out, and your hand bear the grasp and the cordial shake of so many, I could wish that every one who loves the Bible and missions might be his own representative, and give to you, as I do, the hand of an honest, unchanging, and cordial good-will.”

And at the close, Mr. Judson rose to reply, Dr. Hague standing at his side and interpreting to the multitude these whispered utterances:

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