denominations have planted mission stations within the hallowed enclosures of the proud monarch of that great empire, and in the midst of superstition and abomination planted the saving cross.
The station to which Mrs. Shuck belonged was under the control of the Baptist Missionary Convention. It was at Macao, a beautiful peninsula, four miles in length, peopled with about forty thousand Chinese and Portuguese. Mrs. Shuck describes the climate as delightful and the situation of the place beautifully romantic. Though destitute of many of the dear associations connected with stations in and about Palestine, yet to a mind like that of Mrs. S. there was much in the wild beauty of the scenery and the strange customs of the people to interest and please; and all her letters give evidence that in that spot she found a home where she could labor with pleasure to herself and profit to others around her.
But she was not destined to spend all her days at Macao. The providence of God soon suggested a removal to Hong Kong, forty miles east of Macao. Her own health seemed to require such a step, as the unprotected state of the peninsula was fast wearing her into the grave. Certain advantageous offers were also made, and a prospect of increased usefulness presented to her husband; and in 1842 Mr. Shuck bade farewell to his old field of labor, and entered upon one where the prospect of success was much more abundant.
The maiden name of Mrs. Shuck was Henrietta Hall. Her father was Rev. Addison Hall, a faithful, devoted minister of the gospel. Her mother was daughter of Colonel Elias Edmonds, of Virginia. They were both remarkable for intelligence and piety, and were universally esteemed. They were members of the Moratico Baptist Church, having been received by Rev. S. L. Straughan.
On the 28th of October, 1817, Henrietta was born in the beautiful little village of Kilmarnock, but a few miles from the rolling waves of Chesapeake Bay. Her early days were spent near this beautiful spot, where she was known as a frank, amiable, kind-hearted girl. Her youth was passed with her parents, who exerted themselves to expand her mind and improve her heart. To the fond hearts of the parents she was an object of tender solicitude and care, and they longed to see her brought to the feet of the Lord Jesus.
In 1831 extensive revivals were enjoyed throughout the country, and in these revivals Virginia largely shared. It was during this year that Miss Hall was converted. A camp meeting was being held near her birthplace, in which her father was much interested; and feeling that moral and religious training was much more important than intellectual culture, he sent for his daughter, who was attending school at Fredericksburg, to return home and enjoy the privileges of the work of grace. She came, not thinking of the change which was soon to take place in her moral character. Young and happy, she put far off the evil day; and the awful conviction that she was a sinner had not produced any serious impression upon her mind. But God’s hand was in her timely return, and his grace had marked her as one of its choicest subjects. She no sooner commenced attending the meeting than she began to feel the force of truth and hear the voice of the Spirit and the monitions of the Holy Ghost. Under the solemn presentation of the sinner’s lost condition, young Henrietta began to realize that she was lost without a Savior. The fact was before her mind day and night, and she found no rest. True, she had lived on earth but a short time, and, when compared with others, had committed but few sins; but these few were aggravated and overwhelming. God she had not loved; Christ she had not embraced. She had violated the wise and holy law of the universe, and, to complete the work of woe, had rejected the blood of the Son of God. She had a view of sin as God presents, it in his word; and when she saw _herself_ as a sinner, the contemplation was crushing and terrible. But these feelings of deep anguish did not long continue. God heard her cries of penitence, and for the sake of Christ forgave all the past, and caused joy, like a deep, strong tide, to flow into her soul. Her rapture was as ecstatic as her sorrow had been oppressive; and on the listening ear of her sister penitents she poured the story of her change from death to life.
She was baptized on the 2nd of September, 1831, by Rev. J. B. Jeter. It was a holy spectacle. The youthful candidate for the sublime ordinance was not yet fourteen years of age; and, as she descended the bank and entered the flood, a deep and awful silence gathered over the crowded shores. The voice of mirth and profanity was hushed; and to many a heart came the spirit tone, “This is the way; walk ye in it.” As she came up out of the water a cheerful smile was seen playing upon her countenance, which told of sweet and precious peace and delightful communion with her Maker. The pastor who administered the ordinance, the church which received her to its fellowship, the anxious parents, have had no reason to regret the important step then taken; and though they must have seen her baptized with fear and trembling lest she should in her youth be deceived and eventually return to the cold and heartless service of the world, yet they commended her to that Being who is able and faithful to keep all who are committed to his care. Nor did the world with its curling lip and contemptuous tone ever tell how the youthful disciple witnessed a good profession and afterwards denied it.
A few months after her baptism Henrietta was called to part with her beloved mother, who died in December of the same year. To the young Christian this bereavement was full of sorrow and full of blessing. While it deprived her of a mother’s counsels and prayers, while it took from her one to whom she had looked for maternal sympathy and encouragement, it taught her the uncertainty of life, threw her more upon herself and on her Savior, placed a greater weight of care upon her, and thus fitted her for the duties which she afterwards performed so faithfully as a missionary of the cross.
In the early part of 1835, or the latter part of the year preceding, Miss Hall became acquainted with her future husband, who had recently decided to become a missionary in the East. He made, with an offer of marriage, the proposal of a missionary life. She had not then reached her eighteenth year, and was a young, freehearted girl, who knew but little of toil or anxiety. Her extreme youth caused her to hesitate; and she accepted the proposal only when it appeared to be a solemn and imperious duty. Her mind wandered forward to the parting with her dear parent and other fond friends; to the tender farewell at sailing; to long years of labor, perhaps of suffering, in China; to a rude home there, and perhaps a grave. Then followed the prospect of usefulness; the hope of saving souls from death and doing a work of benevolence on soil not before cultivated by the Christian laborer. And perhaps with these were some vague and romantic notions about a missionary life and a missionary home. Youth is fond of new and strange objects; and our heroine doubtless became attracted by the novelty and romance of the life she was to live. Strange were it not so in the ardor and inexperience of youthful piety; and the fact that romance casts its sombre shadow over the pious missionary female, as she leaves home and native land, detracts but little from the admiration with which we gaze upon her lofty career. The oldest, most prudent, man seldom fails of being interested in such enterprises by their novelty; and should we cast away all around whom it gathers its strange witchery, few would be left to toil for human good. He who moves above all such motives must have a mind perfectly trained and a heart perfectly alive to the glory of God. After a due consideration of the subject, Miss Hall decided to go forth a servant of her Master. She was married to Rev. J. Lewis Shuck on the 8th of September, 1835. The service was performed by Rev. H. Keeling, in the city of Richmond. On the 10th Mr. S. and Rev. R. D. Davenport were consecrated to the work of God in one of the Baptist churches in the same city, and soon after embarked for Boston, one to sail for China and the other for Siam. The vessel in which passage had been engaged for Mr. and Mrs. Shuck was the Louvre, which was to carry out a large delegation of missionaries. They sailed on the 22d of September, a beautiful day, on which Nature seemed to have bestowed her charms in profusion. On board were eleven ordained ministers, who were leaving, home to do good in distant lands. Among these was Rev. Howard Malcom, D. D., who went out at the request of the Baptist Triennial Convention to visit the stations of that denomination and advise and encourage the toilers in the East. The large number of ministers on board, one of them having long been an esteemed pastor of a flourishing church, drew together an immense crowd of pious people, who came to exchange parting tokens and give the parting hand to the faithful brethren and sisters who were about to fulfil the command of our ascended Savior–“Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature.” The wharf was crowded with people; and the rigging of vessels in the harbor was filled with strong men, who looked with strange feelings upon a sight the like of which is seldom witnessed. The hour arrived. The ship swung off from her moorings and floated down the harbor. One sail after another was thrown out to the breath of heaven; and in beautiful style the vessel was borne onward and soon lost from sight. The spectators slowly and sadly returned to their homes, praying the God of ocean and storm to keep the precious cargo safe from danger.
To Mrs. S. the voyage was not a pleasant one. A violent seasickness commenced as soon as she left the Harbor of Boston and continued a long time. This was succeeded by sickness of other kinds, and the whole voyage was spent in suffering. In her published letters to her friends she gives thrilling descriptions of her sorrow, and declares that while she did not dream of half the suffering which she had experienced, yet the same voyage would she take again, were there no other way to reach her field of labor. Admirable woman! Worn down with sickness and scarcely able to hold the pen, she writes the sentence at a time when we would suppose she would be shrinking back and ready to faint.
On the 4th of February, 1836, anchor was cast at Kedgeree, nearly a hundred miles below Calcutta. At night they all disembarked and for the first time slept on heathen soil. From Kedgeree they sailed along to Amherst, where sleep the forms of Mrs. Judson and her babe in the silence of the grave. What were the feelings of Mrs. Shuck as she stood there over the spot so dear to every pious heart, or plucked a small branch of the “hopia tree” to send home to her sire, we do not know; but doubtless her mind was filled with sad forebodings and awful thoughts. “Am I to sleep in such a grave? be buried away from home, with such a tree as this to wave over me?” “Am I to fall in China, and see my friends no more? Have I looked upon the shores of America for the last time?” Questions like these must have been suggested to her as she stood with her husband beside the grave of Burmah’s proto-martyr.
After stopping a while at Maulmain and Singapore, the missionaries arrived at Macao in November, 1836, and here commenced immediate preparation to engage in the gospel work. Their first son was born shortly before their arrival at Macao. They called him Lewis, for his father. On the 29th of October the second son was born, who was named Ryland Keeling. With these two babes around her, the labor of the mother was materially increased and essentially changed. Her own family required more of her care, and gave her less time and opportunity to do good abroad. Yet, with her family as it was, she is said to have found much time for the usual purposes of missionary life, and was zealously engaged in plans for the spiritual improvement of those around her.
While at Macao her heart was cheered by hearing that God was pouring out his Spirit in her own dear land; that he was converting sinners, and among them some who had been her intimate friends. Her own sisters were led to give their hearts to God; and when the intelligence crossed the deep, and was told in the hearing of the sad and perhaps almost discouraged missionary, her joy knew no bounds. It was as a cup of cold water to one dying with thirst; and the letter which brought the tidings was read over and over again, and frequently bathed in tears of joy. Her letters to her sisters express her deep interest in their spiritual welfare. She pleads with them by the love of Jesus that they be faithful to the Savior of their souls and walk worthy of Him who has bought them with his own blood. To do this, she urges them to study the word of God, and be constant in the closet, and meditate much upon spiritual things, and watch and guard the heart from temptation and sin. Nor does she forget to recommend the cultivation of a missionary spirit, but, with all the eloquence of a sister’s love, urges them to do good as they have opportunity.
In January, 1837, Mr. Shuck baptized the first man who had been converted through his agency. His name was Ah Loo. [+] For about a year previous [Footnote +: The baptism of Ah Loo is thus described by Mr. Shuck: “At seven o’clock this evening we repaired to the water; and although the natural sun was not permitted to attest this first baptismal scene in China, yet the effulgence of the Sun of Righteousness shone upon us; and if ever we felt his genial rays, it was then. Contrary to our expectations, we did not go half so far as we anticipated, but stopped upon the beach at a suitable place, within a few rods-of a large Portuguese fort with mounted ramparts. Here, in broken sentences, we united our hearts in prayer to God that he would forgive–our weakness and many imperfections, and grant us his smile and heavenly grace now and during our whole lives. Then handing my cap and cane to Mrs. Shuck, who stood on the bank, the only earthly witness of the joyful event, I had the privilege of burying with Christ in baptism this willing convert from heathenism, being the first Chinese that was ever baptized within the confines of this vast and idolatrous empire.”] to his baptism he lived as cook in the mission family. During the year he became greatly attached to those whom he served, and would let no opportunity pass without showing his gratitude. They, of course, instructed him in the principles of the Christian religion. He was a willing learner, and soon gave evidence of being a changed, regenerated man. Yet the missionary was cautious, and for a long time held back his disciple; but at length, convinced of the genuineness of his conversion, led him down into the flowing tide and baptized him. This event was an occasion of great joy to our sister, who, with her husband, had done so much to enlighten the poor idolatrous Chinaman. Ah Loo maintained a constant walk for a long time; but at length, temptation proving too powerful for him, he was overcome, and sinned against God. This fall was full of sorrow to the missionaries, as his conversion had been full of joy and hope; and when the news came that he had disgraced his high profession and wronged his blessed Savior, they bowed their hearts in sadness, and prayed to Heaven that the wanderer might yet be restored and the straying child brought back to the Father’s arms.
In 1841 Mrs. Shuck gave birth to a beautiful little daughter, who was called Henrietta Layton, for her mother, and a family by the latter name who had been exceeding kind to them during all their residence at Macao. To justify her course in conferring this name instead of one selected from her numerous friends in America, she relates numberless instances of kindness on the part of the family alluded to; instances of kindness without which the missionary family would have been put to considerable inconvenience and perhaps acute suffering. In 1842 Mr. Shuck removed to Hong Kong. The providence of God clearly indicated this as the path of duty; and though the separation with pleasant acquaintances at Macao was trying, the step was cheerfully taken. A beautiful spot was selected for a chapel, and money raised with which to erect it; and the divine blessing manifestly attended every step. To complete the work, Mr. Shuck made great sacrifices and practised great self-denial. He employed his own funds, expended his own means, to complete the work; and deemed it no sacrifice, though he was often deprived of the comforts of life. He was well aware that God would prosper him; and though he knew not how, he rested in the confident hope that he would ultimately receive at the hand of God far more than he had expended in his service,
The health of Mrs. S., instead of improving, seemed to fail at Hong Kong, and no means which were taken could restore it. Physicians were consulted and journeys made, but all to no purpose. The hand of disease was laid heavily upon her sinking system; and day by day her eye became more dim and her cheek more bloodless. Still she labored on, and counted it her meat and drink to do the will of her divine Master. Her language was,–
“Shall I be carried to the skies
On flowery beds of ease,
While others fought to win the prize And sailed through bloody seas?”
Mrs. S., according to her biographer, seemed to have premonitions of her death. For a whole year previous to the occurrence of the event the conviction was deepening in her mind that her race was well nigh run and her days nearly finished. The idea that _something_ was soon to arrive, and that something to be of importance to her, weighed upon her mind. Filled with emotions which such a presentiment was calculated to produce, she made preparation for the grave. She endeavored to have her family arrangements made so that she could depart at a moment’s notice. She was also led to prayer and self-consecration; and her heart, as well as her family arrangements, was in order. The premonitions which many persons suppose they have are generally the results of an excited fancy, and as often prove false as true. Every person may find in his or her daily life many events which appear mysterious; and should importance be attached to them, we should be rendered miserable. Many are alarmed at the breaking of a mirror the crowing of a bird at midnight, the sudden extinguishing of a lamp by the wind, and other things equally as simple. These common occurrences are to them omens of approaching evil, and they allow them to have all the influence of reality. Whether they prove true or false, they are sources to the superstitious of unhappiness. With Mrs. S. there appeared to be an indefinable impression, which might have arisen from the precarious state of her health and from the fact that the period of her fifth confinement was rapidly hastening, and it was doubtful if she could endure the trials of such an occurrence in her weak and debilitated condition. But, whatever may have been the cause of her forebodings, they were acted upon as facts: and had she known of her death with absolute certainty, she could not have made more temporal and spiritual preparation for it.
At three o’clock on the morning of the 27th of November, 1844, she died. The evening previous to her death was spent in prayer with her husband and children. Early on the night of the 26th, the long-expected and dreaded event announced itself by the premonitory symptoms. The physician was summoned, and the dear friends anxiously awaited the result. But nature was unable to sustain the fearful burden imposed upon it, and gradually gave way until the hour mentioned, when the spirit was released and all was over.
“Vital spark of heavenly flame,
Quit, O, quit this mortal frame;
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying, O, the pain, the bliss, of dying!
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife, And let me languish into life.”
It was hard for the husband to give up his companion under such trying circumstances, and harder still to have her die without the utterance of a single expression; but who that knew her life would doubt the character of the thoughts which crowded thick and fast upon her mind as the time of her departure was at hand? Religion was her life; and the last words she uttered were of high and holy import. A few hours before she died she called her husband to her couch and asked him to kneel in prayer. He did so, and to every expression of love to Jesus she responded by the warm pressure of his hand. We cannot doubt the evidence which such a saint gives; and though the last hour may be spent in a silence which nothing disturbs but the sobs of friends, we can leave the cold clay in the tomb, with the sweet consolation of _knowing_ that the ransomed spirit has fled to a land of holy rest. We can say,–
“How blest the righteous when she dies, When sinks a weary soul to rest!
How mildly beam the closing eyes!
How gently heaves th’ expiring breast!”
The funeral of Mrs. Shuck was attended from her late home, and she was borne to the grave by the European police corps, who volunteered their services for the occasion. There have been cases in which missionary women have died and had only _one_ to follow them to the grave. On some occasions the husband has prepared the shroud, made the coffin, dug the grave, and followed the corpse to the tomb, accompanied only by a weeping, motherless child, or by the unseen One, who said, “Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end.” But on this occasion there were many mourners. A large company followed to the grave in which her remains were placed. The religious service on the occasion was performed by Rev. Mr. Devan. At the grave Rev. Mr. Brown offered prayer and made appropriate remarks to the crowd who assembled.
Thus mysteriously departed on the passage of death a most worthy and beloved wife, a fond mother, and a faithful Christian. There were many circumstances connected with her death to make it a sad one. Her husband was not the only sufferer by the dreadful bereavement. Five motherless children were left among strangers in a strange land; and from many who had experienced her kindness went up a wail of lamentation over her early grave.
One who knew her well, and who labored for Jesus and the dying heathen in the same land, [Footnote: Rev. William Dean.] writes of her as follows: “She was married to Rev. Mr. Shuck in 1835, and in September of the same year sailed with her husband, in company with a large number of missionaries, for the East. They remained in Singapore four months, where their eldest son was born, and in September, 1836, arrived in China. They remained in Macao till March, 1842, when they removed to Hong Kong. While at Macao they were allowed to prosecute the study of language, the instruction of youth, and teaching the people. On their arrival at Hong Kong they were prepared to renew their labors on an enlarged scale and without restraint. Chapels were erected, assemblies collected, and schools gathered from the Chinese; and while her husband labored among the former, Mrs. Shuck instructed the latter. She possessed considerable knowledge of the written language, and still greater familiarity with the colloquial of the Chinese, and devoted joyfully and successfully her acquirements, time, and talents to the interests of the mission. During the last year of her life a new school house had been erected and a school gathered under her care of twenty Chinese boys and six girls, besides her own four children; making, in all, thirty under her supervision. In this work she took the greatest interest, and all the time and strength which could be spared from the care of her family and the culture of her own children were joyfully devoted to the instruction of the children of the heathen. Her prospects of usefulness had never been greater, and her heart had never been more encouraged, than during the last year of her life. But in the midst of her highest hopes, while children were seeking instruction, the heathen were inquiring the way to Christ, and the general prospects of the mission were brightening, and herself in comfortable health and active life, she was cut down in a single night, and her family overwhelmed with grief and the mission again overshadowed with gloom.
“Under the influence of a secret conviction that her end was near, she had ‘set her house in order,’ and was prepared for the event; while, at the same time, she prosecuted her daily duties with her accustomed cheerfulness, and laid out plans for labor which would have required a long life to perform.
“It is a matter of devout gratitude to the wise Disposer of all events, that, just before the death of Mrs. Shuck, her particular friends, Dr. and Mrs. Devan, should become members of her family; and now the five motherless children may find in Mrs. Devan one so well qualified and so sincerely desirous of supplying, to the extent of her power, their irreparable loss. Mrs. D. will also act as the superintendent of the school for Chinese children. The friends of the mission will unite their prayers that life may be preserved and health and grace may be adequate to the responsibilities and duties of the station she is by such a mysterious and painful providence so unexpectedly called to occupy.
“Mrs. Shuck left her father’s house and native land in her eighteenth year, and, by thus giving the freshness of her youth to the cause of Christ and the good of the heathen, has left us the best proof of the purity of her faith and the sincerity of her piety. During her eight years’ residence in China she has done much for the happiness of her family and to aid her husband in his work, besides giving much direct instruction to those around her. Her house was ever open to the stranger, and her heart ever sympathized with the needy and afflicted, and her hands were diligently employed in acts of kindness and charity.”
Let us now draw the veil over the scene, and bow our hearts to the superior wisdom of Him who cannot err; and, while we lament for the early fallen, may we pray the Lord of the harvest to send forth new laborers into his vineyard. The heathen are not yet converted, the world is not yet redeemed, the throne of Satan is not yet overturned.
“O’er the realms of pagan darkness
Let the eye of pity gaze;
See the kindreds of the people
Lost in sin’s bewildering maze!
Darkness brooding
O’er the face of all the earth.”
Impressed by the terrible aspect of the world, let the contemplation of missionary biography urge us on to missionary labors and missionary piety, until the voice of joy and praise shall resound from pole to pole.
IX.
SARAH B. JUDSON, OF BURMAH.
Ralph and Abiah Hall lived in quiet Alstead, New Hampshire. On the morning of November 4, 1803, their first child was born. They named her Sarah, in memory of a deceased relative. While in her youth the parents removed from New Hampshire to Massachusetts, and established themselves in Salem, where the younger days of our subject were spent. Of her childhood but little can be said. She was like other children, and spent her time in a childish manner; and connected with her early years were but few circumstances of any special interest.
Up to her sixteenth year she seems to have had but few convictions of sin. The great subject of the soul’s salvation, if presented at all, made slight impression upon her mind and heart. The warnings and invitations of the gospel were alike unheeded, and she lived until this period in sinful thoughtlessness. In 1820 she found hope in the Savior, and on the 4th of June made a public profession of religion, and in the presence of a great congregation gave herself away to God and to his people. The solemn, awful step she fully realized; and when she was led down into her baptismal sepulchre, and buried there, her heart was fully given up to God. The venerable and departed Dr. Bolles administered the ordinance, and received her by the impressive rite of “fellowship” to the First Baptist Church in Salem, of which he was then pastor.
At that time the missionary spirit was beginning to pervade the churches of America and exert its holy influence upon the minds of the members. Young Sarah Hall caught the holy enthusiasm. Just converted, fresh from the public vows of consecration, the anxious question, “Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?” upon her lips, she was in the exact frame of mind best adapted to be moulded by holy zeal for a dying race.
The feelings which struggled in her soul found utterance through the columns of the Christian Watchman in various prose and poetic effusions. These articles do not exhibit any extraordinary poetic merit. They hardly do credit to her real abilities. Bearing the marks of haste, these early productions never gave any peculiar pleasure to the authoress; but for deep feeling and pathos they are remarkable. They seem to be the outgushings of a soul stirred up with holy enthusiasm and flowing out in channels of its own formation. She evidently wrote, not for the severity of the critic, but for the warm heart of the Christian; not to awaken feelings of admiration, but to kindle up the flame of divine animation; not to win fame for herself, but to inspire others with love for the perishing.
One of these poems was the instrument in bringing her into an acquaintance with George D. Boardman, her future husband. The poem was upon the death of Coleman, whose fall in a distant land, ere he had buckled the armor on, produced feelings of sadness in the hearts of all American Christians. Boardman saw it, and his soul was moved by it. Who the writer was he did not know, but determined to discover, if possible, what heart kept time with the wild beatings of his own. The first verse of that poem runs as follows:–
“‘Tis the voice of deep sorrow from India’s shore; The flower of our churches is withered, is dead! The gem that shone brightly will sparkle no more, And the tears of the Christian profusely are shed. Two youths of Columbia, with hearts glowing warm, Embarked on the billows far distant to rove, To bear to the nations all wrapped in thick gloom The lamp of the gospel–the message of love. But Wheelook now slumbers beneath the cold wave; And Coleman lies low in the dank, cheerless grave:
Mourn, daughters of Arracan, mourn! The rays of that star, clear and bright, That so sweetly on Chittagong shone,
Are shrouded in black clouds of night; For Coleman is gone!”
Mr. Boardman at once determined to discover the writer of these thrilling lines, and in a short time was enabled to trace them to the pen of Miss Hall. Ere he had seen her who was to be the companion of his arduous labors, the sharer of his success, and the attendant of his dying bed, he seems to have sought for the youthful authoress with a kind of intuition that God had fitted her to be his companion. Nor was he disappointed on an acquaintance with his young friend. He found her in possession of an active mind, a warm heart, and an agreeable person. He made proposals to her immediately, and requested her company to the heathen world. To such an enterprise all her friends were averse. To Mr. Boardman they had no objection; but the idea of sending out the flower of their family to wither and die on heathen soil they could not endure. The parents were oppressed with sorrow at what they considered the wild and romantic notions of their child, and for a long time withheld all consent, and steadfastly resisted every movement towards a missionary life. And when the daughter did gain their permission, it came like water wrung from the solid rock. These pious people did not understand the claim which God has upon the services of all his children; they did not understand the honor and glory of having a child in heathen lands laboring for the salvation of the dying; they did not know what a halo of light would in after years be thrown around the name of her who was about to embark on the perilous voyage; and when she left them they looked upon her as buried out of their sight.
Probably much of Miss Hall’s enthusiasm in the missionary work was caught from Mrs. Judson, who visited this country in 1823. They became acquainted shortly after the arrival of Mrs. J., and continued correspondence as long as she remained in America; and when she sailed forth again, to return no more, no prayer of greater fervency was offered for her safety and success than was breathed forth by young Sarah Hall, who was so soon to follow her illustrious example in scenes of trial and self-devotion.
George D. Boardman and Sarah Hall were married in Salem, by Rev. Lucius Bolles, D.D., on the 3d day of July, 1825. Her personal appearance was good. Though not positively handsome, her countenance was agreeable and prepossessing. She usually wore a pleasant smile; and an air of frankness and ingenuous openness was a peculiar characteristic. She was affable and courteous, with sufficient dignity and grace. We may, however, suppose her husband to have been more attracted by her intellect and heart than by the outward ornament of person.
The vessel which conveyed Mr. and Mrs. Boardman to the “shades of moral death” sailed from Boston in 1825; and in due time the missionaries arrived in Calcutta. Here they remained nearly two years, employed in missionary work and doing good as they had opportunity. On the 17th of April, 1827, they entered Amherst, and found there the grave of Ann H. Judson and the bending form of her bereaved husband. That good man’s trials were not at an end. His dear daughter Maria was dying; and Boardman’s own hand formed her little coffin, and dug her grave, and supported the trembling form of the father, when his child, the daughter of the sainted mother and wife, was laid to rest.
While at Calcutta, the union of husband and wife was cemented by the birth of the first child–a daughter, whom they called Sarah Ann. The occurrence of this event, while it withdrew the devoted mother from the labors and toils of her missionary life, awakened in her bosom feelings which had never been stirred there before. A new world of thought and action was before her mind; and, to use her own language, she “was another creature.” On his arrival at Amherst Boardman conferred with the other missionaries, who, after mature deliberation, advised him to commence labors at Maulmain, about twenty-five miles from Amherst, to which place he proceeded with his little family. Soon a bamboo house was erected for him, and his work of self-denial and suffering commenced. They were annoyed in various ways by the natives, and several times were plundered by the hordes of robbers that descended from the mountains at night and assaulted every dwelling which promised considerable booty. Their house was pillaged in this manner but a short time after they arrived at Maulmain. One night they went to sleep as usual, after committing themselves to the care of Him whose eyes are never closed to sleep. Awaking at midnight, Mrs. B. found the lamp, which had been left burning, extinguished, and in the dim moonlight the furniture of the room appeared to be in confusion. To light the lamp was but the work of a moment, on which a fearful scene was presented. Every thing of value had been taken away, and all that remained was in terrible confusion. During this robbery Mr. Boardman was painfully awake to every thing which transpired; while his wife, wearied with toil, slept as sweetly as if the villains who had caused such havoc had been kind attendants on errands of mercy. And providential was it that she did not awake. While some were carrying away the property, others stood over the prostrate forms of the sleeping family, ready to murder them if they awoke. Boardman knew it all–he knew that fierce eyes were watching him–that the uplifted weapon was ready to drink his blood. A single movement on the part of the sleepers would have brought down that weapon and hurried them from the scene of their labors to the bar of Him who had sent them forth to do his work, declaring, “Lo, I am with you alway.”
In the early part of 1828 it was deemed advisable for Mr. Boardman to remove to Tavoy, about one hundred and fifty miles south of Maulmain; and, in accordance with certain instructions from the Board, he took up his residence there in April. On his arrival he found the “whole city given to idolatry.” On every hand were the melancholy evidences of heathen worship, heathen superstition, and heathen cruelty. Gaudama was worshipped by all the people, and upwards of two hundred priests ministered at the various temples. The faithful missionary commenced his labors immediately on his arrival: his zayat went up within sight of the great pagoda, and daily he sat at the door to instruct the passing population. While at Tavoy, Mrs. Boardman was employed with her domestic duties, and with the instruction of the children who could be gathered into the school, which was commenced on their arrival. We deem the cares of one’s own family enough to employ all the time of a female in this country; but the labors of Mrs. B., in her feeble state of health, were augmented, not merely by the children of the boarding school, but also by the care and instruction of the school itself. Uncomplainingly she performed her arduous labors, while day after day her health grew poorer and her cheek paler. It was at Tavoy that Ko Thah-byu was “buried with Christ by baptism.” In his early days he had been a very wicked man. His path was stained with blood, and to all around he gave evidence of his ferocious, bloodthirsty nature. He was converted at Maulmain, and removed with Mr. B. to Tavoy. After his baptism he was a most faithful and devoted laborer. His nature seemed to be entirely changed. From being one of the most ferocious and dreadful tyrants, he became gentle, humble, forgiving, and merciful. His case presents us with a wonderful instance of what the gospel can do to soften the savage nature and bring even the most stubborn heart into sweet and willing subjection to our dear Redeemer. He was made a preacher of the gospel which had performed such wonders on his heart, and to the day of his death continued a faithful and devoted minister of the Lord Jesus.
While at Tavoy, a second child was born to this missionary family. They called him George, for his father. He yet lives–perhaps to bear the gospel forth to those who swarm around his father’s grave.
At Tavoy, too, little Sarah died, when nearly three years old. This child, the first born, seems to have twined its affections sweetly and tenderly around the mother’s heart. She was indeed a lovely child. “Her bright-blue eyes and rosy cheeks,” her amiable disposition and obedient deportment, won the kindness of all around her. She inherited the warm heart of her missionary mother, and fond hopes were cherished that she might live to fill her mother’s place on heathen ground. But God’s ways are not as our ways. He removed the lovely flower, and blasted in an hour all the fond expectations of her parents. In his infinite wisdom he saw the hinderance the little one would be to his laboring servant, and in kindness took her to his own arms.
When children die in this loved land they depart in the midst of tears and sighs; kind friends sympathize and pray; the voice of sorrow is heard along the line of many dwellings; and in many families is uttered the voice of grief. At such times and under such circumstances the hand of friendship and benevolence will be stretched out to assist and perform the little acts of charity which at such an hour come with sweet fragrance to the parting and weary spirit. But when little Sarah closed her eyes in death but few tears were seen, but few hands of sympathy held out. The broken-hearted mother herself washed the cold form of the dead child and arrayed the pale body in its little shroud.
On the mind of Mrs. Boardman this affliction exerted a most salutary influence. She had admired and adored her child. She loved the precious gift more than the gracious Being who had bestowed it, and, wrapped up in its possession, imagined it could not be taken from her arms. But when God removed the loved and lovely one she began to feel how deeply she had erred, and forthwith restored her supreme affection to the great Creator. Her attention was called from the vain and transitory things of earth; she saw the narrow limit of human life more plainly than ever; she learned the lessons of mortality; and her sad bereavement became to her torn heart an inestimable blessing. Besides this, the idea that their little family had a representative in heaven was unutterably precious; and she feared less that hour when her own labors would be done and that reward entered upon which is prepared for all who obey God and love his Son Jesus Christ.
To Mrs. Boardman another child was also given, which was called Judson Wade Boardman–a trio of as illustrious names as ever were engraved on the records of the church militant. He lived but a short time, descending to the grave leaving another vacant place in the mother’s heart.
In 1828 Mr. Boardman determined to leave Tavoy for a while and visit the Karen villages in the interior. He was accompanied by Ko Thah-byu and some other converted Karens. They had heard of him by means of persons who had visited Tavoy for business and pleasure, and religious books and tracts had been distributed among the people who had never heard a sermon or seen the pale face of the missionary. As he passed through their villages he was every where met with kindness. Food was brought and many valuable presents given him. At one village they found a zayat which the people had put up for them; and here they tarried and preached and explained the gospel several days. Many were converted; God’s Spirit was poured out; and ere Mr. B. left the place several came and requested the ordinance of baptism. This matter, however, was prudently deferred, that the converts might “learn the way of the Lord more perfectly.” He found the people in gross darkness: he left them with beams of light from the cross strong upon them. He found them without the word of God–without the Sabbath–without the way of salvation: he left them in the possession of all these good gifts, and at the end of nine days returned to his family at Tavoy, again to labor and suffer in the cause of his Master.
One of the most exciting incidents which occurred at Tavoy during the stay of Mr. B. was a rebellion, which commenced on the 9th of August, 1829. The English had withdrawn most of their soldiers from Tavoy and quartered them at Maulmain. Almost the whole force at the former place consisted of a hundred Sepoys, commanded by a man who, at the moment of the revolt, was, believed to be in the agonies of death. On the 9th, at midnight, the missionary family were aroused by horrid cries around their rude dwelling. Boardman sprang from his bed, and, bending his ear to the open window, heard the cry, “Teacher, Tavoy is in arms! Tavoy is in arms!” In an instant the ready mind of the missionary comprehended the difficulty and the danger. He at once aroused his family, and began to prepare for resistance or flight as the case might require. After a time the insurgents were repulsed, and, retiring to a distance, took refuge in rear of the mission buildings; consequently the station was placed between the two contending parties; and over the heads of the little band the balls whistled, carrying death to hated foes. In the morning the Sepoys were driven from the city and took refuge in the Government House, to which place the missionary family repaired, seizing for this a momentary quiet. Their situation here was terrible. The house was crowded with women and children: soon it became unsafe, and the whole party retired to a vacant building, having six rooms, on the margin of the river. Into this house, containing more than a hundred barrels of powder, were three hundred persons crowded together; while without were heard the wild and frantic yells of the savages, thirsting for blood. On the morning of the 13th Mr. Burney, the civil superintendent, who was away at the time of the outbreak, returned. To him the whole people were indebted for their safety and their lives. Under his management the Sepoys rallied and advanced upon the city, and, after several desperate conflicts, succeeded in driving the insurgents from it and capturing several of the leaders in the revolt. The overwhelming number of the foe was not proof against the superior skill of the English; and when the vessel which had been sent to Maulmain for help returned, Major Burney was in quiet possession of the town.
Mrs. Boardman immediately embarked for Maulmain; to which place her husband soon followed her, taking with him all the scholars in the school who were willing to go. They remained at M. until the mission house was repaired and quiet restored.
From this period up to the time of her husband’s last sickness we find but little in the history of Mrs. Boardman of a marked character. She labored on under discouragements and difficulties and amid sickness and sorrow. Often did her own system give way; and more often did her child utter the wail of sickness and distress, and plead for rest and quiet which could not be granted. During this interval Mr. B. made repeated journeys from Tavoy to Maulmain, and was busily engaged in the great object of his life. He saw to some extent the fruits of his toil; and on his abundant labors Heaven placed the broad seal of divine approbation. One after another yielded to the force of truth and bowed in homage to the cross of Christ. He did not die, like Coleman and Wheelock, ere he had seen the heathen eye overflow with tears, the heathen heart burst with rapture into life, and the heathen knees bowing, not before Gaudama, but before Jehovah.
During the year 1830 it became evident to all that Mr. Boardman must die. The disease contracted in consequence of sleeping on the cold ground and being exposed to the damp fogs of night came on slowly but surely, and all hope of recovery took its flight. Feeling himself that he should soon depart, he called the converts around him and instructed them in the way of life. Others who had not been baptized he prepared for the ordinance. Three days were devoted to the examination, and eighteen were accepted as candidates for the holy service. The missionary was unable to rise from his bed; and many of the questions which he desired to put to these persons were first given to his wife, who, sitting on the bed beside him, put her ear to his lips and caught the sound as it struggled for utterance. On the 20th of December the baptism took place under circumstances of thrilling interest. The candidates, with the administrator, and the sick teacher, borne on a little cot upon the shoulders of the Karens, passed along to a fine lake, into which Moung Ing descended and immersed the young disciples. It was a sight of interest to God and angels; and doubtless they bent over the scene with holy satisfaction. As they went to the place and as they returned the wicked idolaters jeered and scoffed, and heaped their maledictions upon the head of the dying Boardman, who in a short time was to be far beyond the reach of injury and insult.
The administration of the Lord’s supper followed the baptismal service, to which the little church of twenty-seven members sat down, eighteen of them for the first time. The bread was broken by the trembling, dying hand of Mr. Boardman, who was performing the deed for _the last_ time.
In January, 1831, Mr. and Mrs. Mason arrived at Tavoy, having been sent out to reenforce the mission, and were immediately conducted to the residence of their dying fellow-laborer. The meeting of the two devoted men and their wives must have been of deep and solemn interest. One was fresh from the land of his birth, ready to engage with zeal in the Master’s work; the other had fought the fight, had kept the faith, had finished the course, and was about to receive the robe of victory and the crown of glory.
Wishing to make one more effort in the cause of his Savior, Mr. Boardman determined to visit the village where a short time before he had preached several days and where several persons had been converted. These he wished to gather into the fold, and, ere his departure, see them buried in the liquid grave. He went forth with his newly-arrived associates and his own family. A company of Karens carried Mr. Boardman on a bed and Mrs. B. in a chair. After a journey of three days they arrived at the place and found the villagers in anxious expectation. They had erected a church on the banks of a lovely stream and prepared accommodations for the missionaries. After the converts had been properly instructed, they were baptized by Mr. Mason. Thirty-four submitted to the ordinance and were added to the little band of believers. The journey and the effort made to commune with the people were too much for the exhausted frame, and the good man began to sink rapidly. Carefully they took him up to remove him to the boat which was to convey him to the river; but as they passed along, the anxious wife, who watched the countenance of her husband, saw a change. Death had stamped his signet on those pale features; and, when they arrived at the water side, all that remained of Boardman was a cold, inanimate corpse. The voyage down the river was a sorrowful one. Every cheek was flowing down with tears and every heart was bleeding with anguish.
At Tavoy they were met by the sad disciples, headed by Moung Ing, the converted Burman. Slowly they bore forward the dead body of the man of God, and laid it down in the mission house in which he had so often discoursed of Jesus. Around him in that hallowed spot gathered a company more precious to God than ever assembled around the bier of a fallen emperor; there went up to heaven a wail of sorrow as heartfelt as ever was uttered over the grave of son or sire; and the death was as full of sadness and importance as could have been the demise of a laurelled chieftain or a titled senator. True, the throng who came out to see that pale form and marble brow were not gathered from the proud and great of earth. No king came weeping to the house of death; no noble _cortege_ came in sackcloth and stood as mourners there; but the elect of God, the fruits of missionary labor on heathen soil, the converted sons and daughters of darkness, were the sincere, humble, faithful mourners.
They buried him in lowly pomp–_the pomp of death_. All the European residents of the place and crowds of natives to whom he had endeared himself followed him to his burial. They laid him down on the right side of his first born, and returned home to weep, and many to _forget_. But there was one who could never forget–no, never. The object of her early love had been stricken down, and in lonely widowhood she was left to bewail his loss. But, though cast down, she was not forsaken. The Savior was her portion; and in this hour of trial she leaned on him. In her terrible visitation she saw the traces of Jehovah’s care; and, committing herself and her fatherless child to him, her soul rested in hope.
During the time which elapsed between the death of Mr. Boardman and her marriage with Dr. Judson the afflicted widow labored with all her might to do the will of her Master. Not content with instructing the lisping child and tender youth, she travelled from village to village with her little boy and a few attendants. Wherever she went she was met with kindness. The death of the white teacher had unsealed even the wild heart of heathenism; and the widow was an object of universal interest. It is doubtful if at any period of her life she exhibited more lovely traits of character, or accomplished a greater amount of good in an equal space of time, than while moving along her tearful way from the grave of one husband to the marriage chamber of another.
After having remained a widow four years, Mrs. B. was, in April, 1834, united in marriage to Dr. Judson. The parties were well acquainted with each other, and both understood the wants and privations of a missionary life. This new marriage was a new proof of devotion to Christ and his cause; and when Mrs. B. a second time gave herself to a missionary husband, it was a new and sublime token of her determination to live a missionary life. Had she been so disposed, she might have returned to the home and friends of her youth; but, with a full conception of all that would await her, she again gave herself, for life, to Jesus and the perishing heathen.
Her little George, who had been to her torn and lacerated heart such a source of comfort, began to fail; and his mother determined to send him to America. But how could she part with her darling one? How could she behold him borne away to a distant land, to see her face no more? But with the same submission which she had ever manifested she bowed to this new bereavement, and kissed the cheek of her child and sent him away. It was a trial for which she had prepared herself; and it proved almost equal to any which had preceded it. But, knowing the importance of the step, she cheerfully acquiesced with the fortitude of a Christian.
It was not alone on heathen minds that Mrs. Judson produced a pleasant influence. The English residents at Tavoy, Maulmain, and Calcutta remember her with affectionate interest. Many of them have in their houses or about their persons the tokens of her kindness; and not a few can look back to hours of sickness and affliction when a gentle hand smoothed the pillow and a kind voice whispered in the ear words of hope and heaven. Often did she meet in the praying circle with those who, like her, were far from home, and exhort them to love and serve God; and in obedience to her kind instructions many sought and found the Savior. For a prayer meeting of mothers she wrote a beautiful hymn, which appeared in a journal in our country, which is truly touching and beautiful. It is as follows:–
“Lamb of God, enthroned on high,
Look on us with pitying eye
While we raise our earnest cry
For our babes to thee.
Once thy followers infants spurned;
But thy bosom o’er them yearned,
Nor from Canaan’s daughters turned Thy all-pitying eye.
Thou didst give our spirits rest,
“When with sin and grief oppressed, In thy gentle, loving breast:
Shelter, then, our babes.
Breath divine they breathe, and wear God’s own image; yet they bear
Sin and guilt a fearful share:
Pity them, we pray.
Guide and guard them here below,
As through dangerous paths they go; Be their joy’mid earthly woe–
Thou, their heavenly Friend.
When, to call thy children home,
Robed in glory thou shalt come,
For these little ones make room,
Lamb of God, we pray.”
Her union with Dr. Judson was a happy one. Four little babes were born unto them ere the mother was called to try the realities of that world where there are no separations. In the care and culture of these much of her time was necessarily spent; and so excessive and fatiguing were her labors that she soon began to sink under them. After the birth of her last child, which was born in December, 1844, it became evident to her husband that he was soon to be left alone. The wasting disease made its appearance, and the pale form bowed beneath it. Her kind and experienced physicians, as a last resort, recommended a voyage to America; and, after much consideration and prayer, she determined to turn her back on Burmah and once more visit the land of her nativity. A passage to this country was immediately secured; and, in company with her husband, she set sail in the early part of 1845. They had no sooner embarked than her health began to amend; and when they reached the Isle of France Dr. Judson determined to return to his labors, and leave his companion to visit America alone. They made their arrangements to part–the one to labor and faint, the other to greet kind friends in an often-remembered land. On the Isle of France the beautiful poem, commencing,–
“We part on this green islet, love,”–
was written–a poem as affecting and heart-touching, when the circumstances are recounted, as any one ever written.
But, on putting out to sea again, the disease returned with new symptoms of alarm, and continued to increase until September 1, 1845, when she died within sight of the rocky Island of St. Helena.
Thus a second time was the venerable Judson bereaved of his dear companion, and in the midst of strangers called upon to surrender up the remains of the loved one to corruption and decay. They buried her where the hero of Lodi and Austerlitz slept, and a long train of mourners followed her to the tomb. The flags of the vessels in the harbor were seen waving at half mast, and signs of woe were observed in all directions.
She died in holy triumph, feeling that her labors were done, her toils finished, her race ended, and her warfare accomplished. To the husband who sat beside her when her last breath was drawn she said, just before she expired, “I ever love the Lord Jesus;” and with her hand in his, her soul leaning for support on the almighty arm, she sunk to rest. The sight which St. Helena saw that day was a sad one–more sad than when the leader of the defeated armies of France was laid to rest beneath its soil.
Perhaps this sketch of Mrs. J. cannot be brought to a close more appropriately than by the introduction of a beautiful extract from an address made by a distinguished statesman of New England at a missionary convention in Philadelphia–an address which contains a beautiful reference to the fallen missionary, to the labors of those who are now on heathen soil, and to the sufferings of our Lord Jesus Christ while on earth performing his labor of love and fulfilling his mission of grace to fallen man:–
“It is undoubtedly true that you are sometimes called upon to make sacrifices in your work of love. You sometimes feel that you are making sacrifices. It may be comparatively so; but really, if you look at it as it is, you will find it no very great sacrifice. Here are our brethren who have left their homes and friends, who have gone among strangers and heathens. We have heard the story of their deprivations, of their labors, of their sorrows, of their chains, and of their imprisonment. Many of them mourn over departed happiness; many of them have fallen in the great work, and now sleep in heathen lands; many of them have gone down to the bottom of the great deep, where the seaweed is their winding sheet, the coral their only tombstone. One sleeps in Helena till the sound of the last trumpet arouse her; and when she comes up she will be attended by a retinue ten thousand times more pompous and more splendid than ever surrounded the maddened emperor who had his grave in that island. His tomb was there, and after a few years, when it was opened, his military dress was wrapped around him as when he was laid there; but the star upon his bosom, the emblem of his glory, the pride of his life,–it was corroded and black, a true representation of human glory, of the glory of a conqueror and an imperial murderer. But when the grave shall open, and that loved sister Judson shall come forth, there will be no corroded stars over that heart. But those who are there, as I said before, have certainly made sacrifices compared with us, with the brethren and friends they left behind; but when they look in another direction, when they turn their eyes to the great field, they feel fully compensated. They may live upon rice and milk, and often not have enough of that. Their frail tenements are broken down by the storms; and they are exposed to the roaming tigers, who may spring upon and rush through the thin walls of their habitations. They may be imprisoned for a while and racked by the chains of tyranny. Yet never have they been compelled to exclaim, as did that Savior who came to his own and his own received him not, when a Pharisee proposed to be his follower, ‘The birds of the air have nests and the foxes have holes; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.’ Think of that, ye heralds of the cross,–think of that, brethren in foreign lands,–the Being who made the world, while here in the flesh, declaring that the birds which he had made had nests, and the foxes he had created had holes, where they could rest and sleep in security, but no place on this earth he had made where he could quietly lay that majestic, godlike head! Sometimes you feel as though your friends had forsaken you. Go to Gethsemane; see there that Master who but a short time before, with the twelve surrounding the table, had told them of the approaching trials and dangers: urged to rashness, the unthinking Peter had declared that, although all others might forsake him, he would not. He goes into that lonely garden, separating himself from his disciples; but he takes Peter, with two others, and asks them to watch here a while, while he goes yonder and prays. And then that traitor Judas had gone to make his bargain; and the Savior knew the bands were hunting him. O, think of that hour and that garden! Think of the agony of that Savior’s heart, which made him say, ‘My heart is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death’! Think of the agony, when the blood from the pores of his skin dropped down on Gethsemane’s garden, and when he came up to the judgment hall the noisy rabble insulting him; his followers abandoning him; the man who two short hours before had said to him, ‘that though all others forsake thee, I will not,’ uttering curses in his hearing and denying that he ever knew him; then the scarlet robe and that crown of thorns! O, has earth ever witnessed such a spectacle as that? And then that cowardly Roman governor, though he knew he was innocent, yielded him up to the hands of a vociferous, noisy, and infuriated mob; and he was by him condemned to an ignominious death. In the service of such a Master, who of his followers would talk of sacrifice? And then the consummation upon the cross, when all the powers of darkness on earth and hell were defeated! Three days, and on the morning of the first day of the week that buffeted, that down-trodden, and crucified Savior burst the shackles of the tomb, laid the monster Death at his feet, and rose a triumphant conqueror over the grave.”
X.
MARY E. VAN LENNEP, OF TURKEY.
The maiden name of Mrs. Van Lennep was Mary Elizabeth Hawes. She was born in the beautiful city of Hartford, Connecticut, April 16, 1821. She was the daughter of Rev. Dr. Hawes, who has so long and so honorably filled one of the pulpits of that place, and who, with all his contributions for human good, has given no richer treasure to a fallen world than the one he resigned in the person of his lovely and accomplished child.
Born of gifted parents, Mary Elizabeth inherited much of her father’s penetration and judgment, and much of the virtue and excellence of her mother, under whose training hand she grew up to womanhood.
In the memoir prepared by that mother something like justice is done the virtues and labors of her child; while the part she performed in the early culture of the mind and heart is modestly omitted. While the fair portrait of female excellence, as seen in the life of her daughter, is drawn with great distinctness, we are not told who laid the basis of that excellence, and who with ceaseless vigilance guarded the young mind from error and sin. We are hardly reminded, in the whole volume, of a mother’s solicitude, tears, prayers, warnings, and counsels. It shall be ours to say, that all the daughter was reflects back with mild and gentle light upon the mother’s memory.
The childhood of Mary E. was spent mostly in Hartford, where her advantages were great. Her parents were qualified, mentally and morally, to give her suitable instruction. Favored by God with literary and pecuniary ability, they lavished both upon their child, and brought her under all those wholesome influences which were so well adapted to cultivate her abilities and expand her mind. Besides this, the company with which she mingled in her father’s house was of the highest order. Her home was the centre of delightful associations. She met there the minister of God, the missionary from heathen shores, the gifted and the good, and from all these obtained many lessons of wisdom. Perhaps she could not have been placed under more favorable circumstances for the development of an amiable and lovely character than those which clustered around her early years. Unlike some young people who are obliged to struggle against adverse and unpropitious circumstances, and who urge their way to usefulness and happiness under the heavy pressure of want and embarrassment, Miss Hawes had every current in her favor, and the whole tide of circumstances conspired to make her what she afterwards became.
In early youth she was distinguished for numerous traits of character which adorn and elevate the young man or woman and render them deserving of esteem. While yet a child she was remarkable for her veracity and honesty. Her mind seemed to dread a wicked or deceitful thing; and in all her intercourse with her parents and her young associates there was a noble frankness which opened to her the hearts of all. The earliest lessons of her childhood were calculated to impress her mind with the enormity of all falsehood and the value of truth; and as she grew up to womanhood she was distinguished for this endearing virtue.
Gentleness of disposition was another characteristic of Miss Hawes. She seemed formed to weep with those who weep, to sympathize with those who were distressed, to administer consolation to the torn heart of affliction. When by the bedside of the dying, or in the homes of bereavement and sorrow, her hand was gentle and her voice mild and musical. There was a sweet and unobtrusive kindness of manner, a mild and touching sympathy, which won the heart of the sufferer and introduced her at once to the inner temple of the wounded spirit.
She early became familiar with the Holy Bible. Time which many young persons give to foolish and vain reading was spent over the book of God; and, when young in life, she was more familiar with the history and poetry of the Old Testament than are many persons at an advanced age. Her young mind seemed to enter with intense interest and delight into the scenes described by patriarchs and prophets and so beautifully discoursed upon by the sweet singers of Israel.
While in her tenth year Mary E. was called to part with a brother younger than herself. Notwithstanding her extreme youth, she received this affliction with all the philosophic calmness of mature life. While her father and mother were weeping around the bedside of the dying boy, while their hearts were almost broken by this new stroke of divine Providence, the little daughter clung around them, and in their ears whispered words of peace and hope. The hymns of consolation which they had taught her to sing she now rehearsed to them; and many a word of confidence in God which they had uttered in bar hearing she now called up from the depths of memory, to comfort their hearts and mitigate their sorrows. Her conduct at such an hour was a restoring cordial to the wounded hearts of the parents, who found in the heavenly mindedness of one child consolation for the loss of another.
Shortly after the death of this brother Mary became in heart and life a Christian. She passed through that mysterious change which some denominate “regeneration;” which she described by the expression, “I have found God.” The cautious father waited long ere he advised his child to make a public profession of the religion of Christ. She was very young, and liable to be deceived; and he wished her to examine well the foundation of her hope, and see whereon it was built. He could not endure the idea that she should enter the church without a saving, evangelical change, and substitute the sprinkling of water for the baptism of blood. Hence from time to time he deferred the subject until his doubts all vanished; until the correct, consistent deportment of his child subdued the fears of parental fondness; until the world became impressed with the religious character of the young disciple. Then he led her to the altar, broke to her the bread of life, and welcomed her to the tribes of God.
From this time her life was one of true, consistent piety. That cautious father never to the day of her death had occasion to regret the union formed between her and the people of God. To her young Christian associates she was a pattern of excellence, and to her many an eye was turned for a good and faithful example. Nor were the expectations formed of her at all disappointed. She lived no dubious life; hers was not a strange, erratic piety. Brighter and brighter grew her sun, until it set, _at noon_, in a flood of light and glory.
No sooner Was she a member of the church than she began to feel the importance of being a faithful laborer in the vineyard of God. The false views which so many have of the church relation she did not cherish. She did not regard the church as a place of rest and repose–a spot where she would be free from temptation, trials, and toils. On the contrary, she clearly saw the obligations which are laid upon a servant of God, and determined to discharge them to the best of her ability. To her young friends she stated her own feelings, and urged them to love the same Savior and embrace the same religion. With all the ardor of a young convert, and all the enthusiasm of a soul inspired by the hopes of heaven, she presented to their minds the value of faith in Christ and the necessity of a new heart, and, by all the arguments and motives within her reach, besought them to love and serve God.
Nor was she satisfied with this alone. She labored with her hands and contributed of her money to advance the glory of God. Impressed with the importance of missions, she formed a society among her young associates to sew and knit for the purpose of providing clothing for the families who were abroad. For this circle of children, which convened from time to time, she prepared work and furnished employment until a box was ready, and, under the direction of older friends, sent to a missionary who was laboring for God in distant China.
As she grew older, her missionary interest increased. The claims of a dying world were spread out before her, and her heart burned to be on heathen soil where the gospel had never been preached and where the story of Christ had never been told. She felt for dying men as she saw them, in all the degradation of heathenism, bowing down to wood and stone and worshipping the lifeless images which can neither see nor speak. The sunken condition of heathen females, denied their legal and moral rights, deprived of the advantages which elevate the other sex, drew her attention and claimed her sympathy. The missionary concert was regularly attended; the Missionary Herald was regularly read; the missionary contribution was regularly paid.
In the Sabbath school she was a devoted and successful laborer. Her place in the class was occupied except in cases of necessity; and for the children committed to her trust she felt deep and anxious solicitude. Often in her closet and in the place of social prayer did she commend them to the gracious care of God and pray that they might all be members of the fold of Christ.
There were two circumstances which had powerful influence upon her religious life and character, and which, to some extent, seem to have given a direction to after years.
The _first_ was a season of sickness by which Miss H. was brought to the borders of the grave. This occurred in the summer of 1841. The season of sickness became an inestimable blessing. It gave her time for reflection such as she seldom obtained, and led her to feel the vanity of human life and the emptiness of earthly pleasures and joys. She saw in her own wasting form and pallid cheek the evidences of mortality, and, realized the necessity of securing treasure in the heavens, where sickness and death will never disturb the visions of peace.
The _second_ circumstance was the revival which occurred in the congregation with which she was connected in the same year of her illness. That revival was deep, powerful, all-pervading. The Church fell upon her bended knees before the throne of God; the wayward disciple came, with tears and penitence, and besought forgiveness of God and the Church. The old man, with his white locks and streaming eyes, asked, “What shall I do to be saved?” The, young and gay were turned from sin and vanity and led to seek an interest in the world’s only Savior. The whole city felt the influence of the work of grace; and the sceptic, in amazement, asked, “What do these things mean?”
On one communion occasion about one hundred united with that one church, most of whom were young in years and strong in heart. The prayers of God’s people were answered; the labors of the church were crowned with the divine blessing; and a season such as causes joy in heaven among the angelic hosts was enjoyed.
This revival was like a purifying fire to our subject. As a matter of course, she became deeply interested in its progress and results. Led to prayer and effort, she realized the worth of souls, the value of religion, the bliss of heaven, and the horror of despair; and, as one young associate after another gave her heart to God, the young disciple was full of joy.
In 1843 Miss Hawes was called seriously to decide upon a missionary life. She well knew the trials of such a life. In her father’s house she had often met with those who had tried “the life of danger and death,” and had returned broken down with disease and sorrow. She had listened to the narration of their labors, their sufferings, and their success, and was better prepared to judge of the privations and pain to be experienced than most who depart on such errands of mercy.
But the decision was soon made. When it became evident to her mind that she could be more useful in Turkey than in America, when it was settled that duty to God and a dying world required her to leave home and native land, when Jesus seemed to beckon her away, the question was soon settled, and settled in such a manner as to involve a separation from loved friends and a removal from all the enjoyments of a civilized country.
On the 4th of September, 1843, Miss Hawes was married to Rev. Henry J. Van Lennep: and, amid familiar scenes and countenances, the father gave his daughter to her missionary husband, to the toils and sacrifices of a missionary life. The pious and happy couple immediately started on a short pleasure tour previous to sailing for the East, where they were to labor and die. The time which intervened between the joyful marriage service and the sad departure was crowded with incidents of a thrilling character; and the month was one of excitement, anxiety, and care.
Mr. Van Lennep was a missionary under the patronage of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions. He was destined for Turkey, to which Oriental clime he was about to take his fair companion. In him Miss Hawes found a tender and devoted husband, who, when her sickness came and weary hours were appointed unto her, watched over her with the most considerate attention, and deprived himself of rest and sleep that he might cheer his sick and dying companion, whom he had taken from a home of plenty, ease, refinement, and luxury, and removed to a cheerless and lonely spot, to labor with him for the perishing.
It required no slight effort for Mrs. Van Lennep to part with so many familiar scenes and go forth to return no more. There was her mother, whom she tenderly loved, and whose declining years she had hoped to comfort and cheer. How could she leave that parent? How could she say “Farewell,” and do it with the consciousness that she should gaze upon that mild countenance and that loved form no more? How could she take that hand which had led her up to womanhood,–a hand which wiped her brow when sick and suffering, and wet her throbbing temples when pained with fever,–how could she grasp it for the last time?
Then there was her Sabbath school class, over which she had prayed and wept, and to the members of which she had imparted instruction so often and so tenderly.
There was also the house of God, in which she had so often heard the music of a father’s voice; the Sabbath bell, which had so often called her to the temple and the place of prayer; the organ, whose tones had often thrilled her soul as she sat with the worshipping assembly, chanting the praise of God. How could she leave all these? The separation cost an effort such as those only know who have made the trial.
She sailed from Boston, in company with her husband and father, in the bark Stamboul, on the 11th of October, 1843. The Stamboul was a fine vessel; and our missionaries were well accommodated on board. The gentlemanly officers and crew omitted nothing which could render the situation of the female voyager pleasant and comfortable as a “life on the ocean wave” would allow. Besides this, the kindness of friends had provided every little comfort and convenience which could be needed; and the trunks and boxes of Mrs. Van Lennep were stored with articles which her Hartford and Boston friends had gathered for her use. She went out, not as Mrs. Newell went, on a cold, severe day, with but few comforts, with but few conveniences, with but few friends to: bid her farewell, with no sermon, no song, no prayer on the deck; but every thing which money could purchase or the ingenuity of friends devise was brought forward to add to her comfort. Before the Stamboul sailed a service was held on board, which was attended by deeply-interested friends. The missionaries, the passengers, the crew were committed to the care of God. The parting hymn rose on the breeze, echoed over the waves, and its sad strains died away on the hearts of the listeners. The parting hand was given; and as kind friends left the deck the ropes were loosed, and in noble style the vessel swept out into the harbor, and the mother and child gazed upon each other for the last time.
“Ye who, forsaking all,
At your loved Master’s call,
Comforts resign,
Soon will your work be done;
Soon will the prize be won;
Brighter than yonder sun
Ye soon shall shine.”
Most of the voyage was spent by Mrs. Van Lennep in preparing herself for future usefulness and in the study of those languages which she would most need. She enjoyed the passage more than any other lady on board, and was on deck in some scenes of peril which made even the hearts of strong men to tremble.
More than any thing else did our subject miss the privileges of the Sabbath. The daughter of a clergyman, she had been reared beneath the shadow of the Christian temple, and taught from infancy to love and revere the day of rest. And though upon shipboard she heard the song of praise, the solemn prayer, and the interesting discourse from the same lips which led the devotions at home, yet the church-going bell, the pealing organ, and the countenances of early associates were not found on the ocean. All was strange and wild as the tempest itself.
On the Sabbath day, November 5th, the eyes of the voyagers were greeted with a view of that noble monument which rises from the blue waters of the Mediterranean-the Rock of Gibraltar. They looked upon it as the rising sun glanced lines of light all around it and painted it with gorgeous beauty, making even its very barrenness appear, attractive.
Whoever has sailed along the shores of the Mediterranean Sea will remember the many objects of interest which present themselves on every side. There are seen convents which have stood for ages, braving change and time, from whose turrets the vesper bell has sounded forth over the waters, calling the ghostly father and the young recluse from the cell and the cloister to mingle in the devotions imposed by the Holy Mother Church; castles frowning from bare and beaten rocks, reminding one of other days, when feudal strife and knightly warfare demanded such monuments of barbarism to prove that “might makes right;” beautiful gondolas, with richly-dressed Orientals, manned with slaves, and propelled by the broad, flat paddle, reminding one of the songs which cast their witchery around the knights of yore, and from the blue bosom of the sea gave back the melodious echo; the highlands, clad in beauty and arrayed in all the verdure of perpetual summer; villas standing amid groves of trees in full blossom, and cultivated slopes which extend to the very billows of the sea; ruined temples, monasteries, convents, cathedrals, standing like some relics of the past, fit emblems of the decaying faith once taught within them.
About the 1st of December, the Stamboul, with its precious freight, arrived at Smyrna; and when the new year with all its hallowed emotions came, they were comfortably located in their new home, surrounded with every circumstance to make them happy. Their home stood near the sea shore, and from its verandas they could look far out upon the waters and behold the passing vessels as on the busy voyage they sped to and fro. In the garden sweet roses bloomed, and the orange and lemon gave delicious fragrance and more delicious fruit.
They here found the former associates of Mr. Van Lennep, who received them with the greatest kindness; and their residence in Smyrna soon became delightfully pleasant. One who loved the wonders of Nature, and could appreciate the goodness of God in the works of his hands, the scenes of natural beauty every where spread out, could not fail to be attracted by so many displays of divine wisdom and power. To go from our cold, austere climate, our bare fields and rock-ribbed mountains, to dwell amid the luxurious vineyards and gardens of the south of Europe, seems like being transported from a cheerless desert to a blooming paradise. Our beautiful things are not connected with our climate or our unproductive fields, but with our free institutions, our systems of education, our public morality, our well-regulated government, our well-administered laws, and the industry, intelligence, and religious habits of the people. Our fields and vineyards, our rich groves and beautiful scenes, are our churches, our schools, our colleges, our asylums for the poor, for the blind, for the insane. These constitute the pride and glory of the land of the Pilgrims. The glory of the East arises from the natural beauty of the country; from the adornments of Nature; from the skill and care of God.
Early in August, 1844, she was afflicted with dysentery, which increased upon, her gradually until all hope of life was taken away. Finding that she could not live, she gave her time to meditation and prayer. The idea of leaving earth and parting with her husband, and being buried in a strange land, though terrible in some respects, did not alarm her. She wished to live for her husband, for Jesus, for the souls of sinners; but if it was the will of God she was ready–ready to die at anytime and be buried in any place. During her sickness, her husband, alarmed at the prospect of his loss, used all means to restore her wasting health; he remained by her bedside, and with the most tender care endeavored to mitigate her sorrows and lift her soul above the pains of sickness. He could not endure the idea of a separation at the moment when she seemed most useful and best prepared to labor with success. He had taken her from home, from loved scenes, to die amid strangers; and the responsibility of his position made him, in that period of anguish, a most tender nurse and a most faithful watcher.
Her last hours were spent in a manner which gave the brightest evidence of her future bliss to all who saw her. With a firm hope in the merits of the crucified One, she descended into the waters of the dark, deep Jordan, whose billows broke upon the shores of human life with such melancholy moanings. There was no fear; her soul was stayed on God; and a divine hand lifted her heart in the last conflict.
About one o’clock, September 27, she breathed her last, and the spirit took its everlasting flight from the abodes of flesh and the tenements of men. Her last words were, “O, how happy!” and earth was exchanged for heaven. She felt the tender and confiding spirit of that beautiful and touching hymn of Wesley, and repeated it with dying voice and a countenance all radiant with smiles:–
“Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to thy bosom fly.”
THE END.