gled with blessings and enjoyments. Her real afflic- | tions began with the war between England and the Burman Empire in 1824. On the suspicion of being spies, paid by the English government, Mr Judson, and several other individuals, were imprisoned and treated with great severity. The weight of this calamity was increased by separation from their friends and fellow-labourers; for they were at Ava, while the main body of the missionaries were at Rangoon, On the 8th of June, Mr and Mrs Judson were preparing for dinner, when in rushed an officer holding a black book, with a dozen Burmans, among whom one with a spotted face was immediately recognised as "the son of the prison," or the executioner. This man threw Mr Judson violently on the floor, and began to bind him with cords.

Mrs Judson begged him to be merciful, promising to give him money. "Take her too," exclaimed the brutal officer; "she also is a foreigner." Her husband, with an imploring look, entreated that she might remain, at least till they received further orders. They consented to this; and having bound his fetters very tight, they dragged him off, she knew not whither.

She followed, offering them money, and entreating them too loosen the cords a little. Finding her etforts unavailing, she sent Moung Ing (a native convert to whom they were much attached) to make some further exertions for the benefit of the prisoner; but the unfeeling jailer only drew his cords the tighter. Moung Ing returned with the information that the foreigners had been thrown into the death-prison. It would be an idle attempt to describe how the night was passed by that wretched wife. A guard of ten ruffians was placed round the house, who spared no pains to insult and terrify her. Their loud carousings and fierce language tormented her till morning, when her worst fears were confirmed by hearing that the prisoners had each three pair of iron fetters, and were fastened to a long pole. Her greatest source of anguish was her inability to make any exertions in their behalf. In vain she begged and entreated permission to state her case to some officers of government. At last she wrote a note to the king's sister, but received it again with the cold reply that the princess could not understand it. Another wearisome day and sleepless night passed heavily on, and brought to her no hope. On the third day she begged to wait upon the governor of the city with a present. This was touching the right key. The governor received her graciously, and heard her earnest expostulations against imprisoning Americans, who were a people distinct from the English, and entirely unconnected with their wars. He said it was out of his power to release her husband: he however promised to make him more comfortable, and referred to his head officer for the means. The officer demanded a secret bribe of one hundred dollars, two pieces of fine cloth, and two pieces of handkerchiefs. The money was paid, and the other articles excused, because she did not own them. This fee gave her access to the prison, but she was not allowed to enter. Mr Judson crawled to the door and talked with her a few minutes. Even this poor consolation was grudgingly allowed by the jailers, and they soon ordered her to go away, telling her they would drag her off if she did not.

Again Mrs Judson sought an interview with a female relative of the royal family. With heart-stirring eloquence she represented the extreme injustice of her husband's case; begged the lady to imagine what would be her own wretchedness in a similar situation-alone and unprotected in a strange land, daily expecting the death of the friend she best loved, and that friend innocent of any crime; and

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concluded by imploring her mediation with the Queen.

The lady's feelings were touched, and she promised to use her influence. But the hopes thus excited were dashed to the ground by her Majesty's cool answer-"The teachers will not die; let them remain as they are."

In the mean time, the property of the foreigners was confiscated. Mrs Judson, being forewarned of this, secreted as many articles of value as she could. The officers conducted the business with more regard to her feelings than she expected. Seeing her deeply affected, they apologized, by reminding her of the obedience they owed the king, assuring her their duty was a painful one. They left the books, wearingapparel, and medicines. When they had taken ail the money they could find, they asked, "Is this all the silver you have?" Mrs Judson would not resort to a falsehood even in these trying circumstances, she simply replied, "The house is in your possession; search for yourselves."

Even the sad interviews at the prison gate were now forbidden; and a man who was discovered carrying letters was beaten and put in the stocks. His release could not be obtained under ten dollars. With the rapacity of despotic governments, every pretext was seized upon to extort money from the unfortunate sufferers; and difficulties were multiplied, for the express purpose of trying how much they would give to be extricated.

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The governor of the city was exceedingly angry when he found Mrs Judson had told of the sum she had given him and his officers for a slight amelioration in her husband's condition. "You are very bad!" he exclaimed; "why did you tell of that? The royal treasurer asked me; and what could I say?" she replied. "Say you gave me nothing." My religion forbids a lie. Had you stood by me with your dagger raised, I could not have said what you suggest." Upon this, the governor's wife immediately took her part, saying she liked such sincerity. This lady ever after continued a firm friend to Mrs Judson; and the governor was pacified by the present of a beautiful opera-glass, which had lately been sent from England.

For the seven succeeding months, Mrs Judson daily continued her importunate entreaties to different members of the royal family, and various branches of the government. Sometimes she was cheered with a ray of hope, which only made the succeeding darkness more insupportable. During this period, she suffered under every species of oppression: all the officers, from the highest to the lowest, taxed their ingenuity to invent schemes of extortion.

Liberty to go to the prison was gained by reiterated presents to those in authority; but often, for days in succession, she was not allowed to go till after dark, although it was two miles from her residence.

In a letter to her husband's brother, after relating these particulars, she says: "O how many, many times have I returned from that dreary prison at nine o'clock at night, solitary and worn out with fatigue and anxiety, and thrown myself down on that same rocking chair which you and Deacon L. provided for me in Boston, and endeavoured to invent some new scheme for the release of the prisoners! Sometimes, for a moment my thoughts would glance towards my beloved friends in America; but for nearly a year and a half every thought was so entirely engrossed with present scenes and sufferings, that I seldom reflected on a single occurrence of my former life, or recollected that I had a friend in existence out of Ava."

The only commander who had any success against

the British forces was Bandoola; and he, consequently, had almost unlimited influence with the king. As a last resource, Mrs Judson resolved to apply to this officer for the release of the missionaries, although some cautioned her against this step, lest, being reminded of them, he should order their instant execution. The petition was received graciously; but her excited hopes were soon dashed by a message, stating that the city of Rangoon must be retaken before Bandoola could attend to her cause.

The unhappy wife was, however, allowed to make a little bamboo room within the prison enclosures, where she could sometimes spend two or three hours with her husband.

The birth of a little daughter interrupted these visits; and as she could not, during her illness, make daily presents, and offer daily petitions, the cause of the prisoners lost ground. Besides this, the total defeat of Bandoola exasperated the government still more against all foreigners. The missionaries were removed to an inner prison, in five pair of fetters each, and deprived of their mats, pillows, &c.

Mrs Judson's babe was not two months old when she received these tidings. She immediately repaired to the governor, but was sent away with the assurance that he could not help her. But she persevered until she obtained an audience. With pathetic eloquence she reminded him of his former kindness, of his promise to stand by her to the last, and never, under any circumstances, allow Mr Judson to be put to death. The old man melted into tears, as he listened to her impassioned entreaties. "I pity you," said he, "I knew you would make me feel; and therefore I ordered that you should not be admitted. Believe me, I do not wish to increase the sufferings of the prisoners. When I am ordered to execute them, the least I can do is to keep them out of sight. Three times have I received intimations to murder them privately; but I would not do it. And I now repeat it, though I execute all the others, I will save your husband. But I cannot release him, and you must not ask it."

It was the hot season of that burning climate, and a multitude of prisoners were confined in one room. The consequence was universal debility and loss of appetite. Mr Judson was seized with a fever which threatened to terminate his life.

Mrs Judson entreated permission to attend upon him; and the governor, worn out by her importunities, consented that he should be removed to a little bamboo hut, where she could nurse him. The hovel was too low to admit of standing upright; but to people in their circumstances it seemed a delightful abode. She was sometimes driven out by the brutal jailers, but in general she was able to stay two hours together with her suffering companion.

This gleam of consolation soon vanished. At the end of two or three days, the governor sent to call her from one of these visits. Much alarmed, she hastened to obey the summons. He said he only wanted to consult with her about his watch; but she afterwards found that his object was to detain her until the white prisoners were carried away from the city.

For many months her feelings had been disconsolate enough; but when she heard of this new affliction, her agony amounted almost to distraction. She ran hither and thither, inquiring of every one she met; but no one would tell where the prisoners had been conveyed. At last, an old woman said they were to be carried to Amarapora. The governor confirmed this, pleading the necessity of obedience to the king, and his ignorance of the intentions of government. "You can do no more for your husband," said he; "take care of yourself."

This was indeed a moment of despair. Even the miserable little bamboo prison had become an object of love and pleasant association; now all within it was silent and cheerless. The melancholy occupation of watching the invalid, of preparing his medicines and food, had ceased. He was carried off, she knew not whither, nor for what dreadful purpose. It can easily be conjectured what resolution was taken by a woman of her strong heart. She determined to follow her husband. The governor's charge to take care of herself implied personal danger; and this became more evident by his wish that she should not leave Ava until after dark, when he promised to send a man to open the gates.

She sailed for Amarapora in a covered boat, with her little infant, two adopted Burman children, and a Bengalee cook. The day was dreadfully hot, but they proceeded in tolerable comfort till within two miles of the government house. They were then obliged to take a cart and jostle over the dust under a scorching sun. When they arrived there, they found the prisoners had been sent on two hours before; and it became necessary to go four miles farther, in the same uncomfortable manner, with a baby in her weary arms.

On her arrival at Oung-pen-la, she found Mr Judson in a state of deplorable misery. The prisoners had been tied together two and two, and driven along in the heat of the day, till their feet bled at every step. One of them died in consequence of this treatment. Mr Judson, still suffering under the remains of his fever, narrowly escaped death. His anxious wife, almost exhausted with fatigue and wretchedness, could obtain no refreshment for him or herself.

His first words were, "I hoped you would not follow me; for you cannot live here." The corner of a filthy hut furnished shelter for the night, and after drinking a little half-boiled water, Mrs Judson lay down upon a mat and slept.

In this abode she spent the next six months: without any furniture, even a chair, or a seat of any kind.

The very morning after her arrival at Oung-penla, the Burman child, who was able to assist in the care of the babe, was taken with the small-pox. No assistance or medicine could be procured. All day long Mrs Judson was going from the prison to the hut, and from the hut to the prison, with her infant in her arms. Sometimes she obtained a little relief by leaving the child asleep with its father. The little Burman was delirious with a raging fever, and the babe took her dreadful disorder. This was a load of misery that seems almost too much for mortal strength. The children at last recovered; but Mrs Judson sunk under her extraordinary exertions. She became so weak as to be scarcely able to walk to the prison. In this debilitated state she set off in a cart for Ava, in order to procure some medicines she had left there. There her disorder became so violent that she had no hope of recovery. She says: "My only anxiety now was to return to Oung-pen-la, to die near the prison." Frequent dozes of laudanum so far subdued the disease, that the sufferer was enabled to set off. It was in the rainy season, and the oxen that dragged the heavy cart were buried in mud.

Nature was almost exhausted when she arrived at Oung-pen-la. The good native cook was so much affected by her emaciated appearance, that he burst into tears. This faithful creature seemed to be the only solace left in their forlorn condition. The babe, deprived of her usual nourishment by her mother's illness, was a source of constant anxiety, particularly as no nurse could be obtained. By making presents to the jailers, Mr Judson obtained leave to carry the

poor famishing thing round the village, and appeal to the compassion of mothers. Sometimes, too, the almost dying wife was indulged in the "unspeakable consolation" of seeing her husband for a little while. But, in general, they suffered under the same system of extortion and petty tyranny.

The execution of the prisoners was prevented by the death of the king's brother, who had sent word to keep them till he came to witness it; luckily for their peace of mind, they did not know of this circumstance till the danger was past. At last, the hour of deliverance came. The English, uniformly victorious, compelled the Burmans to submit to such terms as they proposed; and their first demand was the release of all English and American captives. How joyfully these tidings must have sounded, after such a long dark season of despondency! Mrs Judson says: "It was on a cool, moonlight evening in the month of March 1826, that with hearts filled with gratitude to God, and overflowing with joy at our prospects, we passed down the Irawaddy, surrounded by six or eight golden boats, and accompanied by all we had on earth. For the first time, for more than a year and a half, we felt that we were free."

Sir Archibald Campbell, the English commander, treated them with the utmost respect and attention. A tent near his own was erected for them while they remained in the camp, and a large gun-boat was provided to convey them in safety to Rangoon.

It may well be imagined that their friends received them with great joy, after being entirely ignorant of their fate for nearly two years. During the latter part of their captivity, Mrs Judson had twice been brought to the very brink of the grave: indeed, once, after their removal from Oung-pen-la, before they came under the protection of the English, she was supposed to be quite dead. These shocks had en feebled her constitution; but she was restored to tolerable health, and was able to nurse her feeble little infant.

Soon after their return to Rangoon, Mr Judson was obliged to leave her for a short time on business connected with the missionary establishment. In a letter to her mother he says: "Our parting was much less painful than many others had been. We had been preserved through so many trials and vicis. situdes, that a separation of three or four months, attended with no hazard to either party, seemed a light thing. We parted, therefore, with cheerful hearts, confident of a speedy reunion, and indulging fond anticipations of future years of domestic happiness. In a letter to me, dated 14th of September, my wife wrote, For the first time since we were broken up at Ava, I feel myself at home. Poor little Maria is still feeble. I sometimes hope she is getting better; then again she declines to her former weakness. When I ask her where papa is, she always starts up and points towards the sea. May God preserve and bless you, and restore you to your new and old home, is the prayer of your affectionate Ann!'" This was the last letter the wanderer received. The home to which he returned was desolate indeed. Early in December Mrs Judson was attacked with a violent fever, which continued more or less severe until she died. During her illness, she expressed regret at leaving her schools before other missionaries arrived; but her head was much affected, and for the last few days she said but little. Once she murmured, "The teacher is long in coming: I must die alone, and leave my little one; but I acquiesce in the will of God. I am not afraid of death, but I am afraid I shall not be able to bear these pains. Tell the teacher the disease was most violent, and I could not write; tell him how I suffered and died; tell him all

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that you see; and take care of all things till he returns." When unable to notice any thing else, she still asked to see her child, and charged the nurse to indulge it in every thing until its father came home. At eight o'clock on the evening of the 24th of December, with one exclamation of distress in the Burman language, she expired.

In letters written soon after her decease, Mr Judson says: "The news of the death of my beloved wife has thrown a gloom over all my future prospects, and for ever embittered the recollection of the present journey, in consequence of which I was absent from her dying bed, and prevented from affording the spiritual comfort her lonely circumstances peculiarly required, and of contributing to avert the fatal catastrophe, which has deprived me of the first of women and the best of wives. "It affords me some comfort that she not only consented to my leaving her, but uniformly gave her advice in favour of the measure, whenever I hesitated concerning my duty. The doctor thinks her last illness was occasioned by the severe privations and long protracted sufferings she had undergone. With what meekness, patience, magnanimity, and Christian fortitude did she endure those sufferings! But can I wish they had been less? Can I wish to rob her crown of a single gem? Much she saw and suffered of the evil of this evil world; and eminently was she qualified to enjoy the pure and holy rest into which she has entered. True, she has been taken from a sphere in which she was singularly qualified by her natural disposition, her winning manners, her devoted zeal, and her perfect acquaintance with the language, to be extensively serviceable to the cause of Christ; true, she has been torn from her husband's bleeding heart, and from her darling babe; but infinite wisdom and love have presided, as ever, in this afflicting dispensation."

One of the English prisoners who had been confined with Mr Judson, pays the following tribute to the memory of this excellent woman:

"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 inflexible pride of the Burman court.

"The overflowing of my grateful feelings on behalf of myself and fellow-prisoners compel me to add a tribute of public thanks to that amiable and humane woman, who, though living at a distance of two miles from our prison, without 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 the government left us destitute of food, she, with unwearied perseverance, by some means or other, obtained for us a constant supply. When our tattered 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 the grateful news of our enlargement, or of some respite from our galling oppressions."

In a few short months, good angels carried the little orphan Maria to the mother by whom she was so fondly loved. They are placed side by side in that distant land, under the wide-spreading branches of the Hope-tree.