We hope that the American Baptists will continue to occupy the ground they have won, and fill up the gaps, as men fall in the contest. Their Tov or may as yet be small; but the firm foot needs little space on which to plant itself, to sling the pebble that overthrows a Goliath. Let them, however, always bear in mind Judson's advice:-" In encouraging young men to come out as Missionaries, do use the greatest caution. 'One wrong-headed, conscientiously obstinate man would ruin us. Humble, quiet, persevering men; men of sound, sterling talents, ' of decent accomplishments, and some natural aptitude to acquire a language; men of an amiable yielding temper, willing to take the lowest place, to be the least of all and the servants of all; men who enjoy much closet religion, who live near to God, and are willing to suffer all things for Christ's sake, without being proud of it; these are the men we need.”

The religious principles and dogmata of a Protestant and of a Papist Missionary are scarcely in more violent contrast, than are their social existences. What would the celibate Xavier have thought of a soldier of the Cross, going forth upon his Mission, trammelled by the company of a delicate help-mate, by the tender bonds of a wife? To our mind, few circumstances are more remarkable in Judson's career, than that he should have been the husband of three such wives. A Xavier himself would, however, have been shaken in his celibate notions, and struck with astonishment and admiration, could he have witnessed the indomitable spirit and courage, which neither the most severe sufferings and privations, nor the presence of imminent danger could for a moment quell; but which, enduring the most appalling physical pain and misery unaided, strong in the love borne to a husband, strong in the love borne to Christ and his cause, trod under foot despair, and braved all danger, and endured untold misery, in order to alleviate the captivity of her husband by such kind offifice and attention, as exhausted strength, but the unquenchable spirit of a woman's love, could effect. The prison of Oungpen-la, though the name be not euphonious, merits an immortality of renown: for never on earth was witnessed a more truly heroic example of the unconquerable strength of a Christian lady's love and fortitude, than was exhibited at Oung-pen-la by Ann Judson. What the mother and the wife must have endured, we will not endeavour to depict; it must be gathered from her own words; we know not where to quote from that unpretending record of female heroism and devotion. Our readers must turn to her letter of the 26th May, 1826, for a tale of trial, suffering, and fortitude, such as few could imagine, and, we trust, none may ever witness. In every line, her character speaks; and

when, hopeless of recovery, during a short absence at Ava, whither she had gone to procure food and medicines, she says, "my only anxiety now was to return to Oung-pen-la, to die near the prison," near her fettered husband and her famishing babe, one feels that the words might have been her epitaph.

In every scene of her life, whether, when driven from Calcutta in 1812, alone in a tavern half way between Saugor Island and the City-of-Palaces, uncertain where Judson was, when he would come, or what treatment she might meet with at the tavern; or, during Judson's temporary absence in 1818, when alone at Rangoon; or, at Ava, and the prison of Oung-pen-la-we find displayed a constancy and a courage, rising superior to the natural timidity of her sex, to the example of faint-hearted desertion in others, and at last, to a complication of the most appalling sufferings and trials of her own. We know not who the writer was; but the following, from a Calcutta paper, written after their liberation, by one of the English prisoners, who had shared Judson's imprisonment at Ava and Oung-pen-la, we cannot refrain from laying before our readers :

Mrs. Judson was the author of those eloquent and forcible appeals to the Government, which prepared them by degrees for submission to terms of peace, never expected by any, who knew the hauteur and inflexible pride of the Burman Court.

And while on this subject, the overflowings of grateful feelings, on behalf of myself and fellow-prisoners, compel me to add a tribute of public thanks to that amiable and humane female, who, though living at a distance of two miles from our prison, without any means of conveyance, and very feeble in health, forgot her own comfort and infirmity, and almost every day visited us, sought out and administered to our wants, and contributed in every way to alleviate our misery.

While we were all left by the Government destitute of food, she, with unwearied perseverance, by some means or other, obtained us a constant supply.

When the tattered state of our clothes evinced the extremity of our distress, she was ever ready to replenish our scanty wardrobe.

When the unfeeling avarice of our keepers confined us inside, or made our feet fast in the stocks, she, like a ministering Angel, never ceased her applications to the Government, until she was authorised to communicate to us the grateful news of our enlargement, or of a respite from our galling oppressions.

Besides all this, it was unquestionably owing, in a chief degree, to the repeated eloquence and forcible appeals of Mrs. Judson, that the untutored Burman was finally made willing to secure the welfare and happiness of his country by a sincere peace.

What must have been the anguish of Judson, that she, who had been the Guardian Angel of his prison, who had assuaged his sufferings at the expence of her own health and strength, braving and enduring for his sake more than words can tell, was alone-he far from her side-when she laid down her head and

died! Well might he write of her, as "one of the first of women, the best of wives."

A highly gifted and a most noble lady then passed away from earth-but neither more talented, more intrinsically noble, nor more lovely and amiable, than she, who, eight years after, became Mrs. Sarah Judson. She was known to say, never woman had two such husbands;" whilst Judson wrote, thanking God that he had been blest with two of the best of wives. It would be difficult to judge which of the two had the most truth in their remark; but we do know that Sarah B. Judson was a character of very rare excellence; one of those angelic beings to whom Heaven seems to rejoice in pouring out its best and highest gifts; one of nature's own gentlewomen. Exquisite sensibility, a poet's soul and imagination, great natural abilities, thorough unselfishness, and a woman's depth of love and affection, all, shrouded by the most unpretending Christian meekness and devotion, were some of the elements, which blended together to form a character of extreme beauty. Her countenance harmonized with her spirit: for, even after years of toil, of maternal sufferings and sorrows, of exposure, and exposure too, in such a climate-after undergoing all, calculated to break down and exhaust the strength of a delicate and feminine form--as she lay. on the eve of her final embarkation from Moulmein, with the hand of Death upon that worn, pallid visage, it could not touch the uneffaceable lineaments of beauty, which seemed to outlive all suffering, and to smile upon their approaching enemy.

All medical skill had been exhausted; she had returned from a trip down the Coast, touching at Tavoy and Mergui, "weaker and nearer the grave than when she set out." Perhaps this was not much to be wondered at: for to a person of acute sensibility, coupled with great debility, sailing down that Coast must have been a painful review of scenes hallowed by the remembrance of the tender ties of early love, hope, labour, and bereavements. Her stay at Tavoy, so long her happy home, but the spot where Boardman and her eldest child were laid, and where she again met old and dear friends, did her health no good. Nor was the stay at Mergui and the Pali Chan more successful; though at times she seemed to rally and gave hopes of amendment. No disease however is on that Coast more treacherous and deceptive than that under which she laboured; and long years of residence. in that trying climate had effectually sapped her strength. After her return to Moulmein, it was evident that, humanly speaking, the only chance of saving her valuable life lay in removal from the Coast and a voyage to America. It was a forlorn hope: and, in her state of extreme debility, Judson could not leave her to en

counter such a voyage alone. Two high duties were in apparent antagonism; and for a time he hesitated and was in suspense. The devotion of the Missionary to his cause and his wish to die at his post seemed in conflict with the solemn duties of the man and the husband. Many may fancy themselves qualified to judge of the effect upon the mind and feelings from the undeniable claim of the latter class of duties; but few can presume to estimate the weight of the former. That he decided as he did. must afterwards have proved a source of much consolation and of deep thankfulness, for he was thereby saved the anguish of thinking that Sarah Judson had been left to die alone.

He sailed with her, and had the happiness at first of seeing her rally; and there was so promising an amendment, that he resolved to return to Moulmein from St. Helena. On this occasion she wrote the lines, which follow:

"We part on this green islet, love,

Thou for the Eastern main,

I for the setting sun, love-
Oh, 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 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 the 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 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 three,
At home, on Burmah's shore.

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 armour on, love,

Nor faint thou by the way

Till the Budh shall fall. and Burmah's sons

Shall own Messiah's sway.

Their parting was destined however to be of another kind; and he landed at St. Helena to commit to the grave what was

mortal of Sarah B. Judson. What he felt we leave him to express :

MY DEAR MRS.

Barque Sophia Walker, at Sea, September, 1845.

I was so overwhelmed with grief after the death of my beloved wife at St. Helena, that it never occurred to me to write a single line to any of my friends. The only communication therefore which will have probably reached you, is a letter to Mr. Osgood a few days before her death, in which I stated that I had nearly given up all hope of her recovery.-I have just written another letter to Mr. Osgood, to be forwarded from America, which I request him to send for your perusal. I feel that my next is due to you, and dearfor your many and great kindnesses to the dear departed, and on account of the great affection and respect which she felt for you both. She has frequently told me how much she enjoyed your society on board the Ganges, and when, during her seasons of convalescence, we conversed about returning to Moulmein, she would always mention the great pleasure she anticipated in again meeting you: and now, I trust, that though that meeting be deferred, it will ultimately be a more joyful one, in the realms of life and immortality. Her death was not triumphant, as is sometimes the case; but more composure and security, more unwavering trust in the Saviour, and more assured hope of being admitted, through grace, into the joys of Paradise, I never knew or heard of. For some months, no shadow of doubt or fear ever disturbed her peaceful soul. If she felt distressed at the thought of leaving her husband, she fled for refuge to the anticipation of a happy meeting and a joyful eternity together; if distressed at the thought of leaving her children, she fled to the throne of grace, and spent, as she told me, much of the time during her last days, in praying fervently for their early conversion. O, how much more valuable is a well grounded hope in Christ than all the riches and glories of this vain world! and we never feel the value of such a hope so deeply, as when we assist in sustaining the steps of a dear friend towards the verge of the grave and of eternity;-nor shall we ever feel it more, until we are called ourselves to look into the dread abyss, and, losing all support from any earthly arm, find that we have nothing to cling to, but the arm of the Saviour. It affords me, and must afford all her friends, the richest consolation, that she departed clinging to His arm, and evidently supported thereby. It furnishes also some additional consolation, that instead of being consigned to the deep, as I expected would be the case, it was so ordered that she died in port, and was consigned to the grave with those funeral obsequies, which are so appropriate and desirable. I unexpectedly found in the place a dear brother Missionary, the Rev. Mr. Bertram, who came on board and conducted the body to the shore, where it was met by the Rev. Mr. Kempthorn, Colonial Chaplain, who performed the service at the grave: and, though we were perfect strangers, it seemed as if the whole population turned out to attend the funeral; and, would you believe it, these unknown friends, with our Captain, insisted on defraying all the expences of the funeral! They even sent mourning suits on board for the three children! After the funeral they took me to their homes and their hearths: and their conversation and prayers were truly consoling. I was how· ever obliged to leave them the same evening. We immediately went to sea; and, the next morning, we had lost sight of the rocky isle, where we had deposited all that remained of my beloved wife. The children are a great comfort to me in my loneliness, especially dear Abby Ann, who seems to have taken her mother's place in caring for the rest of us. But I must soon