“Through the mercy of God I am permitted to stand before you here this evening a pensioner of your bounty. I desire to thank you for all your sympathy and aid, and I pray God’s blessing to rest upon you.... All that has been done in Burmah has been done by the churches, through the feebleand unworthy instrumentality of myself and my brethren.... It is one of the severest trials of my life not to be able to lift up my voice, and give free utterance to my feelings before this congregation; but repeated trials have assured me that I can not safely attempt it. And I am much influenced by the circumstance that it was a request of my wife, in her dying hour, that I would not address public meetings on my arrival.... I will only add, that I beg your prayers for the brethren I have left in Burmah; for the feeble churches we have planted there; and that the good work of God’s grace may go on until the world shall be filled with His glory.”
“Through the mercy of God I am permitted to stand before you here this evening a pensioner of your bounty. I desire to thank you for all your sympathy and aid, and I pray God’s blessing to rest upon you.... All that has been done in Burmah has been done by the churches, through the feebleand unworthy instrumentality of myself and my brethren.... It is one of the severest trials of my life not to be able to lift up my voice, and give free utterance to my feelings before this congregation; but repeated trials have assured me that I can not safely attempt it. And I am much influenced by the circumstance that it was a request of my wife, in her dying hour, that I would not address public meetings on my arrival.... I will only add, that I beg your prayers for the brethren I have left in Burmah; for the feeble churches we have planted there; and that the good work of God’s grace may go on until the world shall be filled with His glory.”
When he had finished, Dr. Hague continued to address the audience in an eloquent strain until the thread of his address was strangely interrupted. A man had pressed his way through the crowded aisles and had ascended the pulpit. He and Mr. Judson embraced each other with tears of joy and affection. It was Samuel Nott, Jr., the only survivor, except Mr. Judson, of that group of seminary students who had conceived the stupendous idea of American foreign missions. He was one of the five who had first gone to India, but had been compelled to return to America on account of ill health, and now, after a separation of thirty-three years, was permitted to meet his former fellow-student under these circumstances of thrilling interest. Mr. Nott addressed the meeting, with much emotion, and said:
“More than thirty years ago he gave his brother the right hand of fellowship, and when he became a Baptist it was not withdrawn. One reflection most solemnly impressed him—of the five who went out to India, three are dead. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth, but the word of our God shall stand forever. In a little while they would all be gone, and every agency now employed pass away; but God’s word will stand fast, and prevail over all the earth. He then referred to the small beginning of the American Board, as well as the Baptist, their trust in God, and the present great and glorious work which is exhibited to us in contrast. The missionary movement in this country originated simultaneously in different hearts; the spirit of the Most High, and not human influence, gave it birth. He deemed it a very trifling question whether AdoniramJudson or Samuel J. Mills was the originator of foreign missions. Samuel Nott, Jr., certainly was not. They were all mere boys, but with God’s blessing on their puerile efforts, they had begun an influence which is spreading over the world.”
“More than thirty years ago he gave his brother the right hand of fellowship, and when he became a Baptist it was not withdrawn. One reflection most solemnly impressed him—of the five who went out to India, three are dead. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth, but the word of our God shall stand forever. In a little while they would all be gone, and every agency now employed pass away; but God’s word will stand fast, and prevail over all the earth. He then referred to the small beginning of the American Board, as well as the Baptist, their trust in God, and the present great and glorious work which is exhibited to us in contrast. The missionary movement in this country originated simultaneously in different hearts; the spirit of the Most High, and not human influence, gave it birth. He deemed it a very trifling question whether AdoniramJudson or Samuel J. Mills was the originator of foreign missions. Samuel Nott, Jr., certainly was not. They were all mere boys, but with God’s blessing on their puerile efforts, they had begun an influence which is spreading over the world.”
In November Mr. Judson visited Providence, the seat of Brown University, where he had been graduated about forty years before, with the highest honors. A public meeting was held in the old First Baptist church, which was filled to overflowing. Prayer was offered by Dr. Granger, the pastor of the church, and Dr. Wayland made an address. Mr. Judson then said a few words, which were interpreted to the audience by Dr. Caswell:
“The first wish of his heart was to express, in behalf of himself and his missionary brethren, his deep sense of gratitude to the church usually worshipping in that house, as one of the foremost of the Baptist churches in the work of missions, and especially for their contributions to the support of the pastor of the native church in Rangoon. In the early part of his residence in Rangoon, a Burman philosopher, attended by his pupils, on their way to a neighboring pagoda, was wont to pass the place where he lived and from which he instructed the people. On one occasion the philosopher was stopped by the crowd gathered about him, and his eye accidentally fell upon the first tract that was published in the Burmese language, the opening words of which announced the existence of aliving, eternal God. These significant words arrested his whole attention, and he stood a long time, as in profound thought, his whole soul absorbed with the great truth which they taught. To himself, as well as the whole nation, this was a new idea, and it led to a long course of study and investigation, which finally resulted in the renunciation of the religion of his country, and the adoption of Christianity.“He was baptized, and commenced a course of zealous labor as a Christian teacher. He soon became obnoxious to the Government, and was tried and condemned to death. But before the day of execution came on, he effected his escape,and fled from the city. Since that time he had never seen him, nor learned any particulars of his life, but had frequently heard of him through persons who came a long distance from the interior in search of tracts and Bibles, having been awakened to inquiry, and converted to the Christian faith, by his instructions. The native pastor, to whom reference had been made, was once a pupil of this Burman philosopher, and afterward his disciple in the better school of Christian truth. After this interesting allusion to this signal instance of the effect of Christian missions, Dr. Judson observed that for more than thirty-three years he had been living in the midst of a people of practical atheists, whose sole object of worship was the image of a being called Gaudama, who had lived some two thousand years ago.“The image of this being they were taught to worship from their earliest infancy; mothers bringing to it their little children in their arms, and teaching them to clasp it with the affection of infantile devotion. Through the blessing of God much good had been done, multitudes converted, and churches formed; and nothing but the toleration of Government seemed wanting to give the blessings of Christianity to the whole nation. On returning to his native land after so long an absence, he saw on all sides much to admire and love; but he must confess that the conversion of one immortal soul on those heathen shores awakened within him deeper emotion than all the beauty of this glorious land. The greatest favor he could ask of his Christian friends was, to permit him to return as soon as possible to his home on the banks of the Salwen; those banks from which he had led so many happy converts into the baptismal waters; those banks which had so often resounded with the notes of a baptismal song, composed by her whom he had so lately lost, who had now left her task of making hymns on earth for the higher and better one of singing with angels and ransomed spirits that ‘new song of Moses and the Lamb.’ ‘May it be ours,’ were the last words of the speaker, ‘to meet her there at last, and join that holy throng whom no man can number, who rest not day and night, saying, Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty!’”
“The first wish of his heart was to express, in behalf of himself and his missionary brethren, his deep sense of gratitude to the church usually worshipping in that house, as one of the foremost of the Baptist churches in the work of missions, and especially for their contributions to the support of the pastor of the native church in Rangoon. In the early part of his residence in Rangoon, a Burman philosopher, attended by his pupils, on their way to a neighboring pagoda, was wont to pass the place where he lived and from which he instructed the people. On one occasion the philosopher was stopped by the crowd gathered about him, and his eye accidentally fell upon the first tract that was published in the Burmese language, the opening words of which announced the existence of aliving, eternal God. These significant words arrested his whole attention, and he stood a long time, as in profound thought, his whole soul absorbed with the great truth which they taught. To himself, as well as the whole nation, this was a new idea, and it led to a long course of study and investigation, which finally resulted in the renunciation of the religion of his country, and the adoption of Christianity.
“He was baptized, and commenced a course of zealous labor as a Christian teacher. He soon became obnoxious to the Government, and was tried and condemned to death. But before the day of execution came on, he effected his escape,and fled from the city. Since that time he had never seen him, nor learned any particulars of his life, but had frequently heard of him through persons who came a long distance from the interior in search of tracts and Bibles, having been awakened to inquiry, and converted to the Christian faith, by his instructions. The native pastor, to whom reference had been made, was once a pupil of this Burman philosopher, and afterward his disciple in the better school of Christian truth. After this interesting allusion to this signal instance of the effect of Christian missions, Dr. Judson observed that for more than thirty-three years he had been living in the midst of a people of practical atheists, whose sole object of worship was the image of a being called Gaudama, who had lived some two thousand years ago.
“The image of this being they were taught to worship from their earliest infancy; mothers bringing to it their little children in their arms, and teaching them to clasp it with the affection of infantile devotion. Through the blessing of God much good had been done, multitudes converted, and churches formed; and nothing but the toleration of Government seemed wanting to give the blessings of Christianity to the whole nation. On returning to his native land after so long an absence, he saw on all sides much to admire and love; but he must confess that the conversion of one immortal soul on those heathen shores awakened within him deeper emotion than all the beauty of this glorious land. The greatest favor he could ask of his Christian friends was, to permit him to return as soon as possible to his home on the banks of the Salwen; those banks from which he had led so many happy converts into the baptismal waters; those banks which had so often resounded with the notes of a baptismal song, composed by her whom he had so lately lost, who had now left her task of making hymns on earth for the higher and better one of singing with angels and ransomed spirits that ‘new song of Moses and the Lamb.’ ‘May it be ours,’ were the last words of the speaker, ‘to meet her there at last, and join that holy throng whom no man can number, who rest not day and night, saying, Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty!’”
The missionary organization which had sustained Mr. Judson in Burmah for so many years, opened its triennial convention in New York city on the 19th of November, 1845. The occasion was one never to be forgotten. Services were held in the Baptist Tabernacle, and Mr. Judson was present. Dr. Cone offered some appropriate resolutions of sympathy and welcome, and then, taking Mr. Judson by the hand, he introduced him to Dr. Wayland, the President of the Convention, asJesus Christ’s man. In the presence of the vast and deeply-affected concourse, Dr. Wayland gave the veteran missionary a most impressive welcome:
“It is with no ordinary feelings, my beloved brother, that I rise to discharge the duty imposed upon me by the resolution which you have this moment heard. My own heart assures me that language is inadequate to express the sentiments of your brethren on the present occasion.“Thirty-three years since, you and a few other servants of the most high God, relying simply upon His promises, left your native land to carry the message of Christ to the heathen. You were the first offering of the American churches to the Gentiles. You went forth amid the sneers of the thoughtless, and with only the cold and reluctant consent of many of your brethren. The general voice declared your undertaking fanatical, and those who cowered under its rebuke drew back from you in alarm. On the voyage your views respecting Christian ordinances became changed, and this change gave rise to the convention now in session before you.“When at length you arrived in India, more formidable obstacles than those arising from paganism were thrown in your path. The mightiest empire that the world has ever seen, forbade every attempt to preach Christ to the countless millions subjected to her sway, and ordered you peremptorily from her shores. Escaping from her power, you took refuge in the Isle of France, and at last, after many perils, arrived at Rangoon, where, out of the reach of Christian power, you were permitted to enter upon your labors of love.“After years of toil you were able to preach Christ to the Burmans, and men began to inquire after the eternal God. The intolerance of the Government then became apparent, and you proceeded to Ava to plead the cause of toleration before the emperor. Your second attempt was successful, and permission was granted to preach the Gospel in the capital itself. But how inscrutable are the ways of Providence! Your labors had just commenced when a British army took possession of Rangoon,and you and your fellow-laborer, the late Dr. Price, were cast into a loathsome dungeon, and loaded with chains. For nearly two years you suffered all that barbarian cruelty could inflict; and to the special interposition of God alone is it to be ascribed that your imprisonment was not terminated by a violent death. On you, more than any other missionary of modern times, has been conferred the distinction of suffering for Christ. Your limbs have been galled with fetters, and you have tracked with bleeding feet the burning sands between Ava and Oung-pen-la.“With the apostle of the Gentiles you may say, ‘Henceforth let no man trouble me; I bear in my body the scars of the Lord Jesus,’ Yet, even here God did not leave you comfortless. He had provided an angel to minister to your wants, and when her errand was accomplished, took her to Himself, and the hopia-tree marks the spot whence her spirit ascended. From prison and from chains, God, in His own time, delivered you, and made your assistance of special importance in negotiating a treaty of peace between these two nations, one of whom had driven you from her shores, and the other had inflicted upon you every cruelty but death.“Since this period, the prime of your life has been spent in laboring to bless the people who had so barbarously persecuted you. Almost all the Christian literature in their language has proceeded from your pen; your own hand has given to the nation the oracles of God, and opened to the millions now living, and to those that shall come after them to the end of time, the door of everlasting life. That mysterious Providence which shut you out from Burmah proper has introduced you to the Karens—a people who seem to have preserved, from remote antiquity, the knowledge of the true God, and who were waiting to receive the message of His Son. To them you, and those who have followed in your footsteps, have made known the Saviour of the world, and they by thousands have flocked to the standard of the cross.“After years spent in unremitted toil, the providence of God has brought you to be present with us at this important crisis. We sympathize with you in all the sorrows of your painful voyage. May God sustain you in your sore bereavement, and cause even this mysterious dispensation to work out for you a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.“How changed is the moral aspect of the world since you first entered upon your labors! Then no pagan nation had heard the name of Christ from American lips; at present churches of Christ, planted by American benevolence, are springing up in almost every heathen nation. The shores of the Mediterranean, the islands of the sea, the thronged cities and the wild jungles of India, are resounding with the high praises of God, in strains first taught by American missionaries. The nation thatdrove you from her shores has learned to foster the messenger of the cross with parental solicitude. You return to your native land, whence you were suffered to depart almost without her blessing, and you find that the missionary enterprise has kindled a flame that can never be quenched in the heart of the universal Church, and that every Christian, and every philanthropist comes forward to tender to you the homage due to the man through whose sufferings, labors, and examples these changes have, to so great a degree, been effected. In behalf of our brethren, in behalf of the whole Church of Christ, we welcome you back to the land of your fathers. God grant that your life may long be preserved, and that what you have seen may prove to be but the beginning of blessing to our churches at home and to the heathen abroad.”
“It is with no ordinary feelings, my beloved brother, that I rise to discharge the duty imposed upon me by the resolution which you have this moment heard. My own heart assures me that language is inadequate to express the sentiments of your brethren on the present occasion.
“Thirty-three years since, you and a few other servants of the most high God, relying simply upon His promises, left your native land to carry the message of Christ to the heathen. You were the first offering of the American churches to the Gentiles. You went forth amid the sneers of the thoughtless, and with only the cold and reluctant consent of many of your brethren. The general voice declared your undertaking fanatical, and those who cowered under its rebuke drew back from you in alarm. On the voyage your views respecting Christian ordinances became changed, and this change gave rise to the convention now in session before you.
“When at length you arrived in India, more formidable obstacles than those arising from paganism were thrown in your path. The mightiest empire that the world has ever seen, forbade every attempt to preach Christ to the countless millions subjected to her sway, and ordered you peremptorily from her shores. Escaping from her power, you took refuge in the Isle of France, and at last, after many perils, arrived at Rangoon, where, out of the reach of Christian power, you were permitted to enter upon your labors of love.
“After years of toil you were able to preach Christ to the Burmans, and men began to inquire after the eternal God. The intolerance of the Government then became apparent, and you proceeded to Ava to plead the cause of toleration before the emperor. Your second attempt was successful, and permission was granted to preach the Gospel in the capital itself. But how inscrutable are the ways of Providence! Your labors had just commenced when a British army took possession of Rangoon,and you and your fellow-laborer, the late Dr. Price, were cast into a loathsome dungeon, and loaded with chains. For nearly two years you suffered all that barbarian cruelty could inflict; and to the special interposition of God alone is it to be ascribed that your imprisonment was not terminated by a violent death. On you, more than any other missionary of modern times, has been conferred the distinction of suffering for Christ. Your limbs have been galled with fetters, and you have tracked with bleeding feet the burning sands between Ava and Oung-pen-la.
“With the apostle of the Gentiles you may say, ‘Henceforth let no man trouble me; I bear in my body the scars of the Lord Jesus,’ Yet, even here God did not leave you comfortless. He had provided an angel to minister to your wants, and when her errand was accomplished, took her to Himself, and the hopia-tree marks the spot whence her spirit ascended. From prison and from chains, God, in His own time, delivered you, and made your assistance of special importance in negotiating a treaty of peace between these two nations, one of whom had driven you from her shores, and the other had inflicted upon you every cruelty but death.
“Since this period, the prime of your life has been spent in laboring to bless the people who had so barbarously persecuted you. Almost all the Christian literature in their language has proceeded from your pen; your own hand has given to the nation the oracles of God, and opened to the millions now living, and to those that shall come after them to the end of time, the door of everlasting life. That mysterious Providence which shut you out from Burmah proper has introduced you to the Karens—a people who seem to have preserved, from remote antiquity, the knowledge of the true God, and who were waiting to receive the message of His Son. To them you, and those who have followed in your footsteps, have made known the Saviour of the world, and they by thousands have flocked to the standard of the cross.
“After years spent in unremitted toil, the providence of God has brought you to be present with us at this important crisis. We sympathize with you in all the sorrows of your painful voyage. May God sustain you in your sore bereavement, and cause even this mysterious dispensation to work out for you a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.
“How changed is the moral aspect of the world since you first entered upon your labors! Then no pagan nation had heard the name of Christ from American lips; at present churches of Christ, planted by American benevolence, are springing up in almost every heathen nation. The shores of the Mediterranean, the islands of the sea, the thronged cities and the wild jungles of India, are resounding with the high praises of God, in strains first taught by American missionaries. The nation thatdrove you from her shores has learned to foster the messenger of the cross with parental solicitude. You return to your native land, whence you were suffered to depart almost without her blessing, and you find that the missionary enterprise has kindled a flame that can never be quenched in the heart of the universal Church, and that every Christian, and every philanthropist comes forward to tender to you the homage due to the man through whose sufferings, labors, and examples these changes have, to so great a degree, been effected. In behalf of our brethren, in behalf of the whole Church of Christ, we welcome you back to the land of your fathers. God grant that your life may long be preserved, and that what you have seen may prove to be but the beginning of blessing to our churches at home and to the heathen abroad.”
Mr. Judson, who had been warned by his physicians against speaking in public, could only express his thankfulness in a few simple and touching words. Subsequently, in the course of the convention, the proposition was made to abandon the mission in Arracan. This brought him to his feet. “Though forbidden to speak by my medical adviser, I must say a few words. I must protest against the abandonment of the Arracan mission.” These opening words were audible to all present. Then his voice sunk into a whisper as he stated the reasons why the mission should not be given up. His closing words were: “If the convention think my services can be dispensed with in finishing my dictionary, I will go immediately to Arracan; or if God should spare my life to finish my dictionary, I will go there afterward and labor there and die, and be buried there.” It would be impossible to describe the thrilling effect upon the audience of these broken words, uttered in a low whisper, and reproduced by Dr. Cone. The Arracan mission was saved.
While Mr. Judson was visiting Bradford, the native town of his beloved Ann, he learned of the death of Charlie, one of the little ones whom he had left behind in Burmah. He conveys the sad intelligence to his sons Adoniram and Elnathan, and adds:
“So it appeared that Charlie died twenty-six days beforehis mother, and he was ready to welcome her at the gates of Paradise. They must have had a very happy meeting. As he was her favorite child on account of being long ill, how happy she must have been to take him in her arms in that state where there is no more sickness or death! O that we may all meet them and be so happy together!”
“So it appeared that Charlie died twenty-six days beforehis mother, and he was ready to welcome her at the gates of Paradise. They must have had a very happy meeting. As he was her favorite child on account of being long ill, how happy she must have been to take him in her arms in that state where there is no more sickness or death! O that we may all meet them and be so happy together!”
A few of the addresses which Mr. Judson delivered while in this country have been preserved, and the reader may be interested in the appended extracts.
Address at a Missionary Meeting in Philadelphia.
“Be ye imitators of me, as I am of Christ, is a divine command. There is one Being in the universe who unites in Himself all the excellences of the human and divine nature—that being is Jesus Christ. To become like Jesus Christ, we must be like Him, not only in spirit and character, but in the whole course and conduct of life; and to become like Him ought to be our whole aim. In order to this, it is necessary to ascertain the leading characteristics of that glorious Being. It appears from the inspired writings, that one leading characteristic of Christ was, that ‘He went about doing good.’ To be like Him, we must go about—not merelystayand do good, butgoand do good. There is another characteristic which we should consider. He led the life of a missionary. In order, therefore, to be like Him in this particular, we must endeavor, as far as possible, to lead the life of missionaries. Before my arrival in Burmah, there were about seven millions of men, women, and children, who had no knowledge of the true God, and of salvation through Jesus Christ. They did not believe in the existence of an eternal God. They believed that when they died they would be changed into beasts, or be annihilated. Their only object in worship was to obtain some mitigation of suffering. They never expected to meet their friends again after death. Imagine yourselves, my Christian friends, in their state without a knowledge of God. Suppose, while in that state, you heard that in some isle of the sea were those who had received arevelation, informing them that God had sent His own Son to open a way to everlasting life; would you not rejoice, if some one should come to show you that way to heaven? Would not some of you believe? Would you not leap with joy, and kiss the feet of those who brought you the good tidings? Would you not, under these circumstances, desire that a messenger should come to you? ‘As ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.’ I should rejoice to address the assembly at large, but my physicians have forbidden me, and I must commit this duty to others who are to follow. But allow me to say, that I regard the office of the missionary as a most glorious occupation, because thefaithfulmissionary is engaged in a work which is like that of the Lord Jesus Christ; and a missionary who isunfaithfulsinks the lowest of his species in guilt and ignominy. Happy are they who can in this respect follow Christ. But the Lord Jesus is not now a missionary. He has retired from this employment, and now employs Himself in sustaining His missionaries, with the promise, ‘Lo, I am with you alway, even to the end.’ If you can not, therefore, become a missionary, sustain by your prayers, your influence, and your property, those who are. In these ways Jesus Christ now sustains them. By Hisprayers, as Advocate and Intercessor with the Father; by Hisinfluence, as He is vested with all power in heaven and earth; by Hisproperty, by pouring out fresh supplies of His Spirit, and opening the hearts of His children to contribute. In order, therefore, to be like Christ,go aboutdoing good; and if it is not in your power to give yourselves to this work, give your prayers, your influence, and your property. So far as we are like Christ in this world, so far shall we be like Him through eternity. So far as we sustain this cause, which is peculiarly the cause of God, so far shall we be happy through endless ages.”
“Be ye imitators of me, as I am of Christ, is a divine command. There is one Being in the universe who unites in Himself all the excellences of the human and divine nature—that being is Jesus Christ. To become like Jesus Christ, we must be like Him, not only in spirit and character, but in the whole course and conduct of life; and to become like Him ought to be our whole aim. In order to this, it is necessary to ascertain the leading characteristics of that glorious Being. It appears from the inspired writings, that one leading characteristic of Christ was, that ‘He went about doing good.’ To be like Him, we must go about—not merelystayand do good, butgoand do good. There is another characteristic which we should consider. He led the life of a missionary. In order, therefore, to be like Him in this particular, we must endeavor, as far as possible, to lead the life of missionaries. Before my arrival in Burmah, there were about seven millions of men, women, and children, who had no knowledge of the true God, and of salvation through Jesus Christ. They did not believe in the existence of an eternal God. They believed that when they died they would be changed into beasts, or be annihilated. Their only object in worship was to obtain some mitigation of suffering. They never expected to meet their friends again after death. Imagine yourselves, my Christian friends, in their state without a knowledge of God. Suppose, while in that state, you heard that in some isle of the sea were those who had received arevelation, informing them that God had sent His own Son to open a way to everlasting life; would you not rejoice, if some one should come to show you that way to heaven? Would not some of you believe? Would you not leap with joy, and kiss the feet of those who brought you the good tidings? Would you not, under these circumstances, desire that a messenger should come to you? ‘As ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.’ I should rejoice to address the assembly at large, but my physicians have forbidden me, and I must commit this duty to others who are to follow. But allow me to say, that I regard the office of the missionary as a most glorious occupation, because thefaithfulmissionary is engaged in a work which is like that of the Lord Jesus Christ; and a missionary who isunfaithfulsinks the lowest of his species in guilt and ignominy. Happy are they who can in this respect follow Christ. But the Lord Jesus is not now a missionary. He has retired from this employment, and now employs Himself in sustaining His missionaries, with the promise, ‘Lo, I am with you alway, even to the end.’ If you can not, therefore, become a missionary, sustain by your prayers, your influence, and your property, those who are. In these ways Jesus Christ now sustains them. By Hisprayers, as Advocate and Intercessor with the Father; by Hisinfluence, as He is vested with all power in heaven and earth; by Hisproperty, by pouring out fresh supplies of His Spirit, and opening the hearts of His children to contribute. In order, therefore, to be like Christ,go aboutdoing good; and if it is not in your power to give yourselves to this work, give your prayers, your influence, and your property. So far as we are like Christ in this world, so far shall we be like Him through eternity. So far as we sustain this cause, which is peculiarly the cause of God, so far shall we be happy through endless ages.”
At a meeting in Washington, D. C., he said:
“When he first visited Burmah, the idea of an eternal God was not believed nor entertained by any of the Burmans;and nothing more than this idea was entertained by the Karens; but now the former had in their own language the whole Word of God; and the New Testament, and parts of the Old, had been translated, by American missionaries, into several other languages of the East. He spoke of our missions asexpensive, as requiring much for the outfit of missionaries, and for sustaining them in that field; but sacrifices of apecuniarycharacter were not the only or the greatest ones to be encountered. There was the sacrifice of domestic and social comforts here enjoyed, and the sacrifice of life. He remarked that the average life of American missionaries to the East was only about five years. But we must have men and money for this work; and we must all co-operate and make sacrifices together. If men were found willing to go, the Church at home should feel willing to send them out, and support them, that they might give themselves wholly to their work. Dr. Judson said that his heart was full, and it was a great privation to him that he was not able to speak out, and unburden himself, to the satisfaction of himself and of the audience; but this the providence of God prevented him from doing, and he must submit.”
“When he first visited Burmah, the idea of an eternal God was not believed nor entertained by any of the Burmans;and nothing more than this idea was entertained by the Karens; but now the former had in their own language the whole Word of God; and the New Testament, and parts of the Old, had been translated, by American missionaries, into several other languages of the East. He spoke of our missions asexpensive, as requiring much for the outfit of missionaries, and for sustaining them in that field; but sacrifices of apecuniarycharacter were not the only or the greatest ones to be encountered. There was the sacrifice of domestic and social comforts here enjoyed, and the sacrifice of life. He remarked that the average life of American missionaries to the East was only about five years. But we must have men and money for this work; and we must all co-operate and make sacrifices together. If men were found willing to go, the Church at home should feel willing to send them out, and support them, that they might give themselves wholly to their work. Dr. Judson said that his heart was full, and it was a great privation to him that he was not able to speak out, and unburden himself, to the satisfaction of himself and of the audience; but this the providence of God prevented him from doing, and he must submit.”
And at a meeting in Utica, N. Y.:
“When mingling in scenes like the present, and like that in which he participated on the preceding evening, at which he believed some then listening to him were present, he was led into trains of meditation which excited the most deep and subduing emotions. At such times he involuntarily recalled many spots memorable in his history. One of these was the prison at Ava, to which allusion had already been made. In that gloomy place, on one night when he was more heavily fettered and was enduring more suffering than usual, he rose from the painful posture in which he reclined to lean, for an interval, against the wall. As he cast his eyes around upon the mass of wretchedness before him, he was able, by the dim light which was always kept burning in the prison, to observe the condition of the miserable beings among whom he was confined. It was an appalling sight.About a hundred condemned felons were before him, some sentenced for murder, all for atrocious crimes. While looking on that spectacle, he felt that if ever, by God’s mercy, he should obtain his freedom, he would endeavor to bear without repining the ills he might be called to endure. Another spot brought to his recollection was that where he stood to witness the worship of the Bengalee Juggernaut—not the great Juggernaut of Orissa—for there are several in India—but one in the province of Bengal. The idol car moved onward. Before him, extending as far as the eye could reach, was a vast expanse, a sea of human heads. The whole concourse of deluded worshippers were shouting as with one voice. Again his mind reverted to a scene that fell under his observation, not many years since, in the Karen jungles. It was one of the festivals of the Karens. He saw three hundred persons, prostrate upon the earth, men, women, and children, promiscuously mingled, covered with filth, in a state of brutal intoxication—a spectacle not to be described to a Christian audience. Scenes like these forced themselves upon his recollection, in view of our places of worship and happy homes. When coming among us, and seeing the contrasted comfort, elegance, and refinement, that make our dwellings so inviting and their inmates so happy, the question spontaneously arose, What is the cause of all this difference? O, it is the Gospel—the Gospel! While surrounded with these manifold blessings, we could but very imperfectly appreciate the sole cause of them all.“It was to a world suffering under such wretchedness as had been spoken of, that the Lord Jesus Christ, in compassion for mankind, descended in the reign of the despotic and abandoned Herod. Amid such scenes He mingled, till He expired on the cross. If His Gospel is able to effect all that we have seen, to transform the ignorant, sensual, and degraded heathen, and to elevate a nation to such a height of dignity and enjoyment, and all this in a world still so full of sin, how will its power appear in the world to which we are advancing? If here, where sin yet reigns, so great a contrast can be wrought, how much greater the contrast betweenthis imperfect state and heaven, free from every defilement!“In Burmah, after all that has been done, there is still the same prison at Ava, with its manacled convicts. The same Bengalee Juggernaut is still surrounded by its countless worshippers. The same orgies are still celebrated in the Karen jungles; and scenes innumerable, as revolting as these, are witnessed in all heathen lands. O, let us pray for the millions who know nothing of a God or a Saviour, a heaven or a hell.”
“When mingling in scenes like the present, and like that in which he participated on the preceding evening, at which he believed some then listening to him were present, he was led into trains of meditation which excited the most deep and subduing emotions. At such times he involuntarily recalled many spots memorable in his history. One of these was the prison at Ava, to which allusion had already been made. In that gloomy place, on one night when he was more heavily fettered and was enduring more suffering than usual, he rose from the painful posture in which he reclined to lean, for an interval, against the wall. As he cast his eyes around upon the mass of wretchedness before him, he was able, by the dim light which was always kept burning in the prison, to observe the condition of the miserable beings among whom he was confined. It was an appalling sight.About a hundred condemned felons were before him, some sentenced for murder, all for atrocious crimes. While looking on that spectacle, he felt that if ever, by God’s mercy, he should obtain his freedom, he would endeavor to bear without repining the ills he might be called to endure. Another spot brought to his recollection was that where he stood to witness the worship of the Bengalee Juggernaut—not the great Juggernaut of Orissa—for there are several in India—but one in the province of Bengal. The idol car moved onward. Before him, extending as far as the eye could reach, was a vast expanse, a sea of human heads. The whole concourse of deluded worshippers were shouting as with one voice. Again his mind reverted to a scene that fell under his observation, not many years since, in the Karen jungles. It was one of the festivals of the Karens. He saw three hundred persons, prostrate upon the earth, men, women, and children, promiscuously mingled, covered with filth, in a state of brutal intoxication—a spectacle not to be described to a Christian audience. Scenes like these forced themselves upon his recollection, in view of our places of worship and happy homes. When coming among us, and seeing the contrasted comfort, elegance, and refinement, that make our dwellings so inviting and their inmates so happy, the question spontaneously arose, What is the cause of all this difference? O, it is the Gospel—the Gospel! While surrounded with these manifold blessings, we could but very imperfectly appreciate the sole cause of them all.
“It was to a world suffering under such wretchedness as had been spoken of, that the Lord Jesus Christ, in compassion for mankind, descended in the reign of the despotic and abandoned Herod. Amid such scenes He mingled, till He expired on the cross. If His Gospel is able to effect all that we have seen, to transform the ignorant, sensual, and degraded heathen, and to elevate a nation to such a height of dignity and enjoyment, and all this in a world still so full of sin, how will its power appear in the world to which we are advancing? If here, where sin yet reigns, so great a contrast can be wrought, how much greater the contrast betweenthis imperfect state and heaven, free from every defilement!
“In Burmah, after all that has been done, there is still the same prison at Ava, with its manacled convicts. The same Bengalee Juggernaut is still surrounded by its countless worshippers. The same orgies are still celebrated in the Karen jungles; and scenes innumerable, as revolting as these, are witnessed in all heathen lands. O, let us pray for the millions who know nothing of a God or a Saviour, a heaven or a hell.”
Before the Boardman Missionary Society at Waterville College he spoke as follows:
“Upon an occasion like this, dear brethren, a multitude of thoughts crowd upon me, so that I know not where to begin or what to select. Probably many of you have the ministry in view, and some perhaps look forward to a missionary life. You will expect me to speak of missions and missionary life. I have seen so much of the trials and responsibility of missionary labors that I am unwilling to urge any one to assume them.The urging must come from a higher source.One important thought just occurs to me. You have butonelife to live in which to prepare for eternity. If you had four or five lives, two or three of them might be spent in carelessness. But you have one only. Every action of that one life gives coloring to your eternity. How important, then, that you spend that life so as to please the Saviour, the blessed Saviour, who has done everything for you!“If any of you enter the Gospel ministry in this or other lands, let not your object be so much to ‘do your duty,’ or even to ‘save souls,’ though these should have a place in your motives, as toplease the Lord Jesus. Let this be your ruling motive in all that you do. Now, do you ask,howyou shall please Him? How, indeed, shall we know what will please Him but byHis commands? Obey these commands and you will not fail to please Him. And there is that ‘last command,’ given just before He ascended to the Father, ‘Go ye into all the world, and preach the Gospel to every creature.’It is notyetobeyed as it should be. Fulfil that, and you will please the Saviour.“Some one asked me, not long ago, whetherfaithorloveinfluenced me most in going to the heathen. I thought of it a while, and at length concluded that there was in me butlittle of either. But in thinking of whatdidinfluence me, I remembered a time, out in the woods back of Andover Seminary, when I was almost disheartened. Everything looked dark. No one had gone out from this country. The way was not open. The field was far distant, and in an unhealthy climate. I knew not what to do. All at once that ‘last command’ seemed to come to my heart directly from heaven. I could doubt no longer, but determined on the spot to obey it at all hazards, for the sake of pleasing the Lord Jesus Christ.“Now, my dear brethren, if the Lord wants you for missionaries, He will set that command home to your hearts. If He does so,you neglect it at your peril.”
“Upon an occasion like this, dear brethren, a multitude of thoughts crowd upon me, so that I know not where to begin or what to select. Probably many of you have the ministry in view, and some perhaps look forward to a missionary life. You will expect me to speak of missions and missionary life. I have seen so much of the trials and responsibility of missionary labors that I am unwilling to urge any one to assume them.The urging must come from a higher source.One important thought just occurs to me. You have butonelife to live in which to prepare for eternity. If you had four or five lives, two or three of them might be spent in carelessness. But you have one only. Every action of that one life gives coloring to your eternity. How important, then, that you spend that life so as to please the Saviour, the blessed Saviour, who has done everything for you!
“If any of you enter the Gospel ministry in this or other lands, let not your object be so much to ‘do your duty,’ or even to ‘save souls,’ though these should have a place in your motives, as toplease the Lord Jesus. Let this be your ruling motive in all that you do. Now, do you ask,howyou shall please Him? How, indeed, shall we know what will please Him but byHis commands? Obey these commands and you will not fail to please Him. And there is that ‘last command,’ given just before He ascended to the Father, ‘Go ye into all the world, and preach the Gospel to every creature.’It is notyetobeyed as it should be. Fulfil that, and you will please the Saviour.
“Some one asked me, not long ago, whetherfaithorloveinfluenced me most in going to the heathen. I thought of it a while, and at length concluded that there was in me butlittle of either. But in thinking of whatdidinfluence me, I remembered a time, out in the woods back of Andover Seminary, when I was almost disheartened. Everything looked dark. No one had gone out from this country. The way was not open. The field was far distant, and in an unhealthy climate. I knew not what to do. All at once that ‘last command’ seemed to come to my heart directly from heaven. I could doubt no longer, but determined on the spot to obey it at all hazards, for the sake of pleasing the Lord Jesus Christ.
“Now, my dear brethren, if the Lord wants you for missionaries, He will set that command home to your hearts. If He does so,you neglect it at your peril.”
And thus to the students at Hamilton, N. Y.:
“Brethren, look to Jesus. This sight will fill you with the greatest consolation and delight. Look to Him on the cross; so great is His love that, if He had a thousand lives, He would lay them all down for your redemption. Look to Him on the throne; His blessed countenance fills all heaven with delight and felicity. Look to Him in affliction; He will strengthen you. Look to Him in temptation; He will succor you. Look to Him in death; He will sustain you. Look to Him in the judgment; He will save you.”
“Brethren, look to Jesus. This sight will fill you with the greatest consolation and delight. Look to Him on the cross; so great is His love that, if He had a thousand lives, He would lay them all down for your redemption. Look to Him on the throne; His blessed countenance fills all heaven with delight and felicity. Look to Him in affliction; He will strengthen you. Look to Him in temptation; He will succor you. Look to Him in death; He will sustain you. Look to Him in the judgment; He will save you.”
But Mr. Judson did not belong exclusively to any one city or section of the country. Not only in New England and in the Northern States was his name revered. His memory was most warmly cherished by Southern hearts. The eminent Dr. Jeter, in a meeting held at Richmond, Va., on the 8th of February, 1846, welcomed Mr. Judson in an eloquent and affectionate address, the closing words of which are appended:
“But I must close my remarks. Brother Judson, we are acquainted with your history. We have marked your labors, have sympathized in your various sufferings, have shed many a tear at the foot of the ‘hopia-tree’; have gone, in fancy, on mournful pilgrimage to the rocky Island of St. Helena; have rejoiced in your successes and the successes of your devoted associates, and have long and fervently wished to see your face in the flesh. This privilege we now enjoy. Welcome, thrice welcome are you, my brother, to our city, our churches, our bosoms. I speak as the representative of Southern Baptists. We love you for the truth’s sake, and for your labors in the cause of Christ. We honor you as the father of American missions.“One thought pains us. To-morrow morning you will leave us. We shall see your face no more. You will soon return to Burmah, the land of your adoption. There you will continue your toils, and there, probably, be buried. But this separation is not without its solace. Thank God, it is as near from Burmah to heaven as from Richmond, or any other point on the globe. Angels, oft commissioned to convey to heaven the departing spirits of pious Burmans and Karens, have learned the way to that dark land. When dismissed from your toils and sufferings, they will be in readiness to perform the same service for you. God grant that we may all meet in that bright world. There sin shall no more annoy us, separations no more pain us, and every power will find full and sweet employ in the service of Christ.“And now, my brother, I give my hand in token of our affection to you, and of your cordial reception among us.”
“But I must close my remarks. Brother Judson, we are acquainted with your history. We have marked your labors, have sympathized in your various sufferings, have shed many a tear at the foot of the ‘hopia-tree’; have gone, in fancy, on mournful pilgrimage to the rocky Island of St. Helena; have rejoiced in your successes and the successes of your devoted associates, and have long and fervently wished to see your face in the flesh. This privilege we now enjoy. Welcome, thrice welcome are you, my brother, to our city, our churches, our bosoms. I speak as the representative of Southern Baptists. We love you for the truth’s sake, and for your labors in the cause of Christ. We honor you as the father of American missions.
“One thought pains us. To-morrow morning you will leave us. We shall see your face no more. You will soon return to Burmah, the land of your adoption. There you will continue your toils, and there, probably, be buried. But this separation is not without its solace. Thank God, it is as near from Burmah to heaven as from Richmond, or any other point on the globe. Angels, oft commissioned to convey to heaven the departing spirits of pious Burmans and Karens, have learned the way to that dark land. When dismissed from your toils and sufferings, they will be in readiness to perform the same service for you. God grant that we may all meet in that bright world. There sin shall no more annoy us, separations no more pain us, and every power will find full and sweet employ in the service of Christ.
“And now, my brother, I give my hand in token of our affection to you, and of your cordial reception among us.”
Mr. Judson’s reply attested his capacity for taking a broad and catholic view of the religious situation at a time when the country was agitated by disturbing sectional jealousies:
“I congratulate the Southern and Southwestern churches,” he said, “on the formation of the Southern Baptist Convention for Foreign Missions. I congratulate the citizens of Richmond that the Board of that Convention is located here. Such an organization should have been formed several years ago. Besides other circumstances, the extent of the country called for a separate organization. I have read with much pleasure the proceedings of the Convention at Augusta, Ga., and commend the dignified and courteous tone of the address sent forth by that body. I am only an humble missionaryof the heathen, and do not aspire to be a teacher of Christians in this enlightened country; but if I may be indulged a remark, I would say, that if hereafter the more violent spirits of the North should persist in the use of irritating language, I hope they will be met, on the part of the South, with dignified silence.”
“I congratulate the Southern and Southwestern churches,” he said, “on the formation of the Southern Baptist Convention for Foreign Missions. I congratulate the citizens of Richmond that the Board of that Convention is located here. Such an organization should have been formed several years ago. Besides other circumstances, the extent of the country called for a separate organization. I have read with much pleasure the proceedings of the Convention at Augusta, Ga., and commend the dignified and courteous tone of the address sent forth by that body. I am only an humble missionaryof the heathen, and do not aspire to be a teacher of Christians in this enlightened country; but if I may be indulged a remark, I would say, that if hereafter the more violent spirits of the North should persist in the use of irritating language, I hope they will be met, on the part of the South, with dignified silence.”
It was his desire to go further South, but his frail health imperatively forbade him, and so after visiting Baltimore, where he was welcomed at a most enthusiastic missionary meeting, he turned northward again.
While on this tour through the country, everywhere kindling missionary enthusiasm, he met, during a visit in Philadelphia, a young lady, Miss Emily Chubbuck, who, under thenom de plumeof Fanny Forester, had achieved a wide literary reputation. The acquaintance culminated in marriage. This lady, who was to take the place at his side left successively vacant by Ann Hasseltine and Sarah Boardman, had been disciplined in the hard school of poverty. She was born August 22, 1817, at Eaton, a little town in Central New York, and near a stream which, with its fringe of alders, murmurs here and there in her prose and poetry under the name of Alderbrook. Her parents, Charles Chubbuck and Lavinia Richards, had moved to Eaton from New Hampshire. Her childhood days were spent in a little house which can still be seen on the road from Eaton to West Eaton, perched against a hill so close beneath the road that, as she says, one would feel half disposed “to step from the road where you stood to the tip of the chimney.”[64]Her parents were very poor, and she thus describes a winter she passed when she was about thirteen years old:
“We suffered a great deal from cold this winter, though we had plenty of plain food. Indeed, weneverwere reduced to hunger. But the house was large and unfinished, and the snow sometimes drifted into it in heaps. We were unable to repair it, and the owner was unwilling.Father was absent nearly all the time, distributing newspapers; and the severity of the winter so affected his health that he could do but little when he was at home. Mother, Harriet, and I were frequently compelled to go out into the fields, and dig broken wood out of the snow, to keep ourselves from freezing. Catherine and I went to the district school as much as we could.”
“We suffered a great deal from cold this winter, though we had plenty of plain food. Indeed, weneverwere reduced to hunger. But the house was large and unfinished, and the snow sometimes drifted into it in heaps. We were unable to repair it, and the owner was unwilling.Father was absent nearly all the time, distributing newspapers; and the severity of the winter so affected his health that he could do but little when he was at home. Mother, Harriet, and I were frequently compelled to go out into the fields, and dig broken wood out of the snow, to keep ourselves from freezing. Catherine and I went to the district school as much as we could.”
Again she wrote:
“November, 1830.Father’s attempt at farming proved, as might have been expected, an entire failure, and for want of a better place he determined to remove to the village. He took a little old house on the outskirts, the poorest shelter we ever had, with only two rooms on the floor, and a loft, to which we ascended by means of a ladder. We were not discouraged, however, but managed to make the house a little genteel as well as tidy. Harriet and I used a turn-up bedstead, surrounded by pretty chintz curtains, and we made a parlor and dining-room of the room by day. Harriet had a knack at twisting ribbons and fitting dresses, and she took in sewing; Catherine and Wallace went to school; and I got constant employment of a little Scotch weaver and thread-maker at twisting thread. Benjamin returned to his old place, and Walker was still in the printing-office.”
“November, 1830.Father’s attempt at farming proved, as might have been expected, an entire failure, and for want of a better place he determined to remove to the village. He took a little old house on the outskirts, the poorest shelter we ever had, with only two rooms on the floor, and a loft, to which we ascended by means of a ladder. We were not discouraged, however, but managed to make the house a little genteel as well as tidy. Harriet and I used a turn-up bedstead, surrounded by pretty chintz curtains, and we made a parlor and dining-room of the room by day. Harriet had a knack at twisting ribbons and fitting dresses, and she took in sewing; Catherine and Wallace went to school; and I got constant employment of a little Scotch weaver and thread-maker at twisting thread. Benjamin returned to his old place, and Walker was still in the printing-office.”
Her little hands very early learned to contribute to the support of the family. When eleven years old she earned a dollar and twenty-five cents a week splicing rolls in a woolen factory. She says of this period: “My principal recollections are of noise and filth, bleeding hands and aching feet, and a very sad heart.” Little did the residents of Eaton then dream that this little factory-girl was afterward to become such an honor to their humble village. Subsequently, when she first applied for the position of teacher in the district school, a young farmer who was acting trustee replied, “Why, the scholars will be bigger than their teacher.” But the little schoolmistress made her teaching a success, and before she was twenty years of age had contributed to the village newspaper poems of great literary merit. About this time she attracted the attention of the Misses Sheldon, who were conducting a well-known ladies’ school at Utica. They offered her gratuitous instructionfor a single term, and subsequently proposed to complete her education without present charge. This afforded her an excellent opportunity for self-improvement. Her health, however, had been shattered by the hardship and labors of her earlier years, and it was through great weakness and suffering that she pressed toward higher literary excellence. She was continually spurred on by her desire to secure a home for her aged parents. It was for this purpose that she wrote those charming stories in which grace and strength of style are combined with the purest moral tone. It was under such circumstances as these that she sent to the press the stories for children, entitled “The Great Secret,” “Effie Maurice,” “Charles Linn,” “Allen Lucas,” “John Frink,” and also the fascinating tales for older readers, which were afterward gathered together, under the name of “Alderbrook.” Her biographer[65]relates the following incident:
“As Miss Sheldon was at one time passing near midnight through the halls, a light streaming from Emily’s apartment attracted her attention, and, softly opening the door, she stole in upon her vigils. Emily sat in her night-dress, her papers lying outspread before her, grasping with both hands her throbbing temples, and pale as a marble statue. Miss S. went to her, whispered words of sympathy, and gently chided her for robbing her system of its needed repose. Emily’s heart was already full, and now the fountain of feeling overflowed in uncontrollable weeping. ‘Oh, Miss Sheldon,’ she exclaimed, ‘Imustwrite, Imustwrite; I must do what I can to aid my poor parents.’”
“As Miss Sheldon was at one time passing near midnight through the halls, a light streaming from Emily’s apartment attracted her attention, and, softly opening the door, she stole in upon her vigils. Emily sat in her night-dress, her papers lying outspread before her, grasping with both hands her throbbing temples, and pale as a marble statue. Miss S. went to her, whispered words of sympathy, and gently chided her for robbing her system of its needed repose. Emily’s heart was already full, and now the fountain of feeling overflowed in uncontrollable weeping. ‘Oh, Miss Sheldon,’ she exclaimed, ‘Imustwrite, Imustwrite; I must do what I can to aid my poor parents.’”
While making a visit in New York during the month of June, 1847, Miss Chubbuck wrote a letter to theEvening Mirror, which at that time was an exceedingly popular magazine, edited by George P. Morris and N. P. Willis. In a graceful and sportive vein she offered her literary services to this periodical:
“You know the shops in Broadway are very tempting this spring.Suchbeautiful things! Well, you know (no, you don’t know that, butyou can guess) what a delightful thing it would be to appear in one of those charming, head-adorning, complexion-softening, hard-feature-subduing neapolitans; with a little gossamer veil dropping daintily on the shoulder of one of those exquisitebalzarines, to be seen any day at Stewart’s and elsewhere. Well, you know (this youmustknow) that shop-keepers have the impertinence to demand a trifling exchange for these things even of a lady; and also that some people have a remarkably small purse, and a remarkably small portion of the yellow ‘root’ in that. And now, to bring the matter home,Iam one of that class. I have the most beautiful little purse in the world, but it is only kept for show; I even find myself under the necessity of counterfeiting—that is, filling the void with tissue paper in lieu of bank-notes, preparatory to a shopping expedition.“Well, now to the point. As Bel and I snuggled down on the sofa this morning to read theNew Mirror(by the way, Cousin Bel is never obliged to put tissue paper in her purse), it struck us that you would be a friend in need, and give good counsel in this emergency. Bel, however, insisted on my not telling what I wanted the money for. She even thought that I had better intimate orphanage, extreme suffering from the bursting of some speculative bubble, illness, etc., etc.; but did not I know you better? Have I read theNew Mirrorso much (to say nothing of the graceful things coined ‘under a bridge,’ and a thousand other pages flung from the inner heart), and not learned who has an eye for everything pretty? Not so stupid, Cousin Bel; no, no!“However, this is not quite the point, after all; but here it is. I have a pen—not a gold one, I don’t think I could write with one, but a nice, little, feather-tipped pen, that rests in the curve of my finger as contentedly as in its former pillow of down. (Shocking! how that line did run down hill! and this almost as crooked! dear me!) Then I have little messengers racing ‘like mad’ through the galleries of my head; spinning long yarns, and weaving fabrics rich and soft as the balzarine which I so much covet, until I shut my eyes and stop my ears and whisk away, with the ‘wonderful lamp’ safely hidden in my own brown braids. Then I have Dr. Johnson’s dictionary—capital London edition, etc., etc.; and after I use up all the words in that, I will supply myself with Webster’s wondrous quarto, appendix and all. Thus prepared, think you not I should be able to put something in the shops of the literary caterers? something that, for once in my life, would give me a real errand into Broadway? May be you of theNew MirrorPAYfor acceptable articles—may be not.Comprenez-vous?“O, Idohope that beautiful balzarine like Bel’s will not be gone before another Saturday! You will not forget to answer me in the nextMirror; but pray, my dear Editor, let it be done very cautiously, for Bel would pout all day if she should know what I had written. Till Saturday,“Your anxiously-waiting friend,“Fanny Forester.”
“You know the shops in Broadway are very tempting this spring.Suchbeautiful things! Well, you know (no, you don’t know that, butyou can guess) what a delightful thing it would be to appear in one of those charming, head-adorning, complexion-softening, hard-feature-subduing neapolitans; with a little gossamer veil dropping daintily on the shoulder of one of those exquisitebalzarines, to be seen any day at Stewart’s and elsewhere. Well, you know (this youmustknow) that shop-keepers have the impertinence to demand a trifling exchange for these things even of a lady; and also that some people have a remarkably small purse, and a remarkably small portion of the yellow ‘root’ in that. And now, to bring the matter home,Iam one of that class. I have the most beautiful little purse in the world, but it is only kept for show; I even find myself under the necessity of counterfeiting—that is, filling the void with tissue paper in lieu of bank-notes, preparatory to a shopping expedition.
“Well, now to the point. As Bel and I snuggled down on the sofa this morning to read theNew Mirror(by the way, Cousin Bel is never obliged to put tissue paper in her purse), it struck us that you would be a friend in need, and give good counsel in this emergency. Bel, however, insisted on my not telling what I wanted the money for. She even thought that I had better intimate orphanage, extreme suffering from the bursting of some speculative bubble, illness, etc., etc.; but did not I know you better? Have I read theNew Mirrorso much (to say nothing of the graceful things coined ‘under a bridge,’ and a thousand other pages flung from the inner heart), and not learned who has an eye for everything pretty? Not so stupid, Cousin Bel; no, no!
“However, this is not quite the point, after all; but here it is. I have a pen—not a gold one, I don’t think I could write with one, but a nice, little, feather-tipped pen, that rests in the curve of my finger as contentedly as in its former pillow of down. (Shocking! how that line did run down hill! and this almost as crooked! dear me!) Then I have little messengers racing ‘like mad’ through the galleries of my head; spinning long yarns, and weaving fabrics rich and soft as the balzarine which I so much covet, until I shut my eyes and stop my ears and whisk away, with the ‘wonderful lamp’ safely hidden in my own brown braids. Then I have Dr. Johnson’s dictionary—capital London edition, etc., etc.; and after I use up all the words in that, I will supply myself with Webster’s wondrous quarto, appendix and all. Thus prepared, think you not I should be able to put something in the shops of the literary caterers? something that, for once in my life, would give me a real errand into Broadway? May be you of theNew MirrorPAYfor acceptable articles—may be not.Comprenez-vous?
“O, Idohope that beautiful balzarine like Bel’s will not be gone before another Saturday! You will not forget to answer me in the nextMirror; but pray, my dear Editor, let it be done very cautiously, for Bel would pout all day if she should know what I had written. Till Saturday,
“Your anxiously-waiting friend,“Fanny Forester.”
“Your anxiously-waiting friend,“Fanny Forester.”
“Your anxiously-waiting friend,“Fanny Forester.”
“Your anxiously-waiting friend,
“Fanny Forester.”
This letter attracted the attention of Mr. Willis, and drew from him a characteristic reply:
“Well, we give in! Onconditionthat you are under twenty-five, and that you will wear a rose (recognizably) in your bodice the first time you appear in Broadway with the hat and balzarine, we will pay the bills. Write us thereafter a sketch of Bel and yourself, as cleverly done as this letter, and you may ‘snuggle down’ on the sofa, and consider us paid, and the public charmed with you.”
“Well, we give in! Onconditionthat you are under twenty-five, and that you will wear a rose (recognizably) in your bodice the first time you appear in Broadway with the hat and balzarine, we will pay the bills. Write us thereafter a sketch of Bel and yourself, as cleverly done as this letter, and you may ‘snuggle down’ on the sofa, and consider us paid, and the public charmed with you.”
Mr. Willis at once introduced her through his columns to the American public, and, though they never saw each other but once, he became from this time on her life-long literary adviser and friend. And so, after the long struggle with poverty and ill-health, this woman, by dint of an imperious will and an unmistakable genius, began to take her place among the foremost literary characters of America. We quote from her biographer, Dr. Kendrick, who is well qualified by his intellectual acumen and fine poetic nature to judge of the quality of her mind:
“Those who now turn over the stories of Alderbrook will, I think, be at no loss to explain the popularity which they attained. They will find in them a truth to nature—a freshness and raciness of thought and diction—a freedom from the hackneyed conventionalisms of ordinary story-telling, a descriptive and dramatic power, which lend to them an unfailing charm. The language is ever plain and simple. They never affect ‘big’ words, nor deck themselves out in fripperies of expression. If there are occasional conceits of thought—and such are almost inevitable in a young woman’s first converse with the public—the style is almost wholly free from them. It delights in that plain Anglo-Saxon that comes freighted with home associations to every heart; and yet this simple style, under her delicate handling, has all the grace of ornament.“Another source of the popularity of her sketches is found in the spirit and vivacity of her descriptions—showing a clear and close eye for the observation of nature—and in the lifelike truthfulness of her character-drawing.Her personages are not mere pegs on which to hang a story—a train of external incidents: they are themselves the story. They are not mere labelled embodiments of the virtues and vices of the Decalogue, but actual men and women, brought by a few simple but effective touches livingly before the eye, and, even in her lightest sketches, sharply individualized. Thus the interest of her stories is emphatically a human interest. It is not what the actorsdo, but what theyare, that rivets our attention, and chains us to her fascinating pages. As might be inferred from this, she possesses extraordinary dramatic power. Thedramatis personælive and breathe and move through the story. The author transports herself into the scene; identifies herself with her characters; and instead of conducting her narration by cold, second-hand details, makes it gush warmly and livingly from the lips of the speakers. Not unfrequently nearly the whole story is unfolded by dialogue, natural, racy, and spirited, and that which in its mere outward details would be but a trivial incident, under this warm, dramatic handling, and imbedded in human passion, is impregnated with life and interest. Equally happy, too, is Emily in the conduct of her narrative—in the management of the plot—in so seizing upon the hinging-points, thenodesand crises of the story, and so coloring, and grouping, and contrasting them, as to give them their utmost effect. With the instinctive eye of genius, she separates the incidental from the essential, and strikes to the inmost core of her subject.“And finally—and here perhaps was pre-eminently the secret of Emily’s power—she was drawing from her own life, ‘coloring from her own heart.’ With every stroke of her pen she daguerreotyped herself upon the page before her. The trials of her youth—her own harsh experiences—quivered through her bright and glittering fancies, and compelled many a tear from hearts unknowing of the cause. She was unconsciously obeying the dictum of the great Master; she moved others because she had first been moved herself. The tear that trembled in their eye answered to that which had first glistened in her own. The emotion that swelled their bosoms was responsive to that which had throbbed in her own breast. True to herself, she was true to the universal elements of humanity.“And yet she was far from being the mere recorder; she dealt not in the mere statistics of experience. Her power of fancy was equal to her power of feeling. The germ of her conception sprung from the actual, but it developed itself in the realm of the ideal. When fancy supplied the groundwork, her feelings insensibly blended themselves with it, giving it genuineness and vitality. When she started from experience, fancy instantly stood as its servitor, ready to invest the creation with herbright and glittering hues. Thus her heart and life-experiences were so transfigured and idealized that she did not obtrude herself indelicately or painfully before the public. ‘Grace Linden,’ ‘Lilias Fane,’ ‘Dora,’ ‘Nora Maylie,’ ‘Ida Ravelin,’ even, were all born in he depths of her own nature, all embodied a certain portion of her spiritual essence; yet all were so wrought and moulded, so blended with imaginative elements, that she for whom they really stood ‘passed in music out of sight.’ So amidst the deeper emotions of later life her power of imagination kept pace with her power of passionate emotion. ‘My Bird,’ ‘Watching,’ ‘My Angel Guide,’ are beautifully idealized, and it is only perhaps in ‘Sweet Mother’ that the bleeding, agonizing heart of the stricken wife and daughter comes nakedly before the public. And with all this, there breathes through all her pages a tenderness and delicacy of sentiment which impart to them a nameless charm.“In this slight analysis I am not claiming for ‘Fanny Forester’s’ sketches the highest order of genius. They are a woman’s production, and are thoroughly womanly. They aspire to no heights of masculine eloquence, no depths of philosophical teaching. They deal with the heart, the fancy, and the imagination. Nor in mere vigor and grasp of intellect is she, perhaps, to be classed with Joanna Bailie, Mrs. Browning, and Miss Bronté; although looking atallwhich she did, I am satisfied that she approaches much nearer to them in intellectual vigor than they do to her in womanly delicacy and softness. It is one of her high excellences that she never compromises her womanhood; and yet to her who could write the ‘Madness of the Missionary Enterprise,’ and render such contributions as she did to the memoir of her husband, is to be assigned no mean rank among the intellects of the world. Mr. Willis, Dr. Griswold, and Mr. H. B. Wallace, than whom our country has produced no more competent literary critics, estimated her genius as of a very high order, and regarded her true sphere as that not of popularity, but of fame.”
“Those who now turn over the stories of Alderbrook will, I think, be at no loss to explain the popularity which they attained. They will find in them a truth to nature—a freshness and raciness of thought and diction—a freedom from the hackneyed conventionalisms of ordinary story-telling, a descriptive and dramatic power, which lend to them an unfailing charm. The language is ever plain and simple. They never affect ‘big’ words, nor deck themselves out in fripperies of expression. If there are occasional conceits of thought—and such are almost inevitable in a young woman’s first converse with the public—the style is almost wholly free from them. It delights in that plain Anglo-Saxon that comes freighted with home associations to every heart; and yet this simple style, under her delicate handling, has all the grace of ornament.
“Another source of the popularity of her sketches is found in the spirit and vivacity of her descriptions—showing a clear and close eye for the observation of nature—and in the lifelike truthfulness of her character-drawing.Her personages are not mere pegs on which to hang a story—a train of external incidents: they are themselves the story. They are not mere labelled embodiments of the virtues and vices of the Decalogue, but actual men and women, brought by a few simple but effective touches livingly before the eye, and, even in her lightest sketches, sharply individualized. Thus the interest of her stories is emphatically a human interest. It is not what the actorsdo, but what theyare, that rivets our attention, and chains us to her fascinating pages. As might be inferred from this, she possesses extraordinary dramatic power. Thedramatis personælive and breathe and move through the story. The author transports herself into the scene; identifies herself with her characters; and instead of conducting her narration by cold, second-hand details, makes it gush warmly and livingly from the lips of the speakers. Not unfrequently nearly the whole story is unfolded by dialogue, natural, racy, and spirited, and that which in its mere outward details would be but a trivial incident, under this warm, dramatic handling, and imbedded in human passion, is impregnated with life and interest. Equally happy, too, is Emily in the conduct of her narrative—in the management of the plot—in so seizing upon the hinging-points, thenodesand crises of the story, and so coloring, and grouping, and contrasting them, as to give them their utmost effect. With the instinctive eye of genius, she separates the incidental from the essential, and strikes to the inmost core of her subject.
“And finally—and here perhaps was pre-eminently the secret of Emily’s power—she was drawing from her own life, ‘coloring from her own heart.’ With every stroke of her pen she daguerreotyped herself upon the page before her. The trials of her youth—her own harsh experiences—quivered through her bright and glittering fancies, and compelled many a tear from hearts unknowing of the cause. She was unconsciously obeying the dictum of the great Master; she moved others because she had first been moved herself. The tear that trembled in their eye answered to that which had first glistened in her own. The emotion that swelled their bosoms was responsive to that which had throbbed in her own breast. True to herself, she was true to the universal elements of humanity.
“And yet she was far from being the mere recorder; she dealt not in the mere statistics of experience. Her power of fancy was equal to her power of feeling. The germ of her conception sprung from the actual, but it developed itself in the realm of the ideal. When fancy supplied the groundwork, her feelings insensibly blended themselves with it, giving it genuineness and vitality. When she started from experience, fancy instantly stood as its servitor, ready to invest the creation with herbright and glittering hues. Thus her heart and life-experiences were so transfigured and idealized that she did not obtrude herself indelicately or painfully before the public. ‘Grace Linden,’ ‘Lilias Fane,’ ‘Dora,’ ‘Nora Maylie,’ ‘Ida Ravelin,’ even, were all born in he depths of her own nature, all embodied a certain portion of her spiritual essence; yet all were so wrought and moulded, so blended with imaginative elements, that she for whom they really stood ‘passed in music out of sight.’ So amidst the deeper emotions of later life her power of imagination kept pace with her power of passionate emotion. ‘My Bird,’ ‘Watching,’ ‘My Angel Guide,’ are beautifully idealized, and it is only perhaps in ‘Sweet Mother’ that the bleeding, agonizing heart of the stricken wife and daughter comes nakedly before the public. And with all this, there breathes through all her pages a tenderness and delicacy of sentiment which impart to them a nameless charm.
“In this slight analysis I am not claiming for ‘Fanny Forester’s’ sketches the highest order of genius. They are a woman’s production, and are thoroughly womanly. They aspire to no heights of masculine eloquence, no depths of philosophical teaching. They deal with the heart, the fancy, and the imagination. Nor in mere vigor and grasp of intellect is she, perhaps, to be classed with Joanna Bailie, Mrs. Browning, and Miss Bronté; although looking atallwhich she did, I am satisfied that she approaches much nearer to them in intellectual vigor than they do to her in womanly delicacy and softness. It is one of her high excellences that she never compromises her womanhood; and yet to her who could write the ‘Madness of the Missionary Enterprise,’ and render such contributions as she did to the memoir of her husband, is to be assigned no mean rank among the intellects of the world. Mr. Willis, Dr. Griswold, and Mr. H. B. Wallace, than whom our country has produced no more competent literary critics, estimated her genius as of a very high order, and regarded her true sphere as that not of popularity, but of fame.”
But, besides her intellectual gifts, Miss Chubbuck had an intensely religious nature. She was the child of pious parents, and was subject to very early religious impressions. She writes: