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.