"The merry homes of England! Around their hearths by night What gladsome looks of household love Meet in the ruddy light! There woman's voice flows forth in song, Or childhood's tale is told, Or lips move tunefully along Some glorious page of old.

The blessed homes of England! How softly on their bowers Is laid the holy quietness That breathes from Sabbath hours! Solemn, yet sweet, the church bell's chime Floats through their woods at morn; All other sounds in that still time Of breeze and leaf are born."

There is little danger of "The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers" being forgotten. How well the poetess indicated the, motive which led them from their native country to the unknown land!—

"What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? They sought a faith's pure shrine!

Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found— Freedom to worship God!"

As an example of Mrs. Hemans' treatment of sacred subjects, we may quote the concluding verses of "Christ's Agony in the Garden":—

"He knew them all—the doubt, the strife, The faint perplexing dread, The mists that hang o'er parting life, All darkened round His head; And the Deliverer knelt to pray, Yet passed it not, that cup, away.

It passed not—though the stormy wave Had sunk beneath His tread; It passed not—though to Him the grave Had yielded up its dead. But there was sent Him from on high A gift of strength for man to die.

And was His mortal hour beset With anguish and dismay?— How may we meet our conflict yet, In the dark, narrow way? How, but through Him, that path who trod? Save, or we perish, Son of God!"

We are thankful to find that the poetess had such clear views of the atonement as those to be met with in her Sonnets, Devotional and Memorial, for example, in "The Darkness of the Crucifixion."

The last quotation shall be one from "The Graves of a Household," the opening and the closing verses of a literary gem which will never lack appreciation:—

"They grew in beauty side by side, They filled one home with glee;— Their graves are severed far and wide. By mount, and stream, and sea.

The same fond mother bent at night O'er each fair sleeping brow; She had each folded flower in sight— Where are those dreamers now'?

* * * * *

And parted thus they rest, who played Beneath the same green tree; Whose voices mingled as they prayed Around one parent knee!

They that with smiles lit up the hall, And cheered with song the hearth! Alas, for love! if thou wert all, And nought beyond, O Earth."

The lyrics of Mrs. Hemans will ever keep her memory fresh. "In these 'gems of purest ray serene,' the peculiar genius of Mrs. Hemans breathes, and burns, and shines pre-eminent; for her forte lay in depicting whatever tends to beautify and embellish domestic life, the gentle overflowings of love and friendship, home-bred delights and heartfelt happiness, the associations of local attachment, and the influences of religious feelings over the soul, whether arising from the varied circumstances and situations of man, or from the aspects of external Nature."

S.F. HARRIS, M.A., B.C.L.



MADAME GUYON

I.

HER BIRTH AND BRINGING-UP.



Jeanne Marie Bouvieres de la Mothe, afterwards Madame Guyon, was born at Montargis, about fifty miles south of Paris, on April 13, 1648. Her father, who bore the title of Seigneur de la Mothe Vergonville, was a man of much religious feeling. Although Jeanne was a child of delicate health, her mother does not seem to have bestowed much trouble upon her, sending her, when only two years and a half old, to an Ursuline seminary a short time, and then committing her almost entirely to the care of servants, from whom, as a matter of course, her mental and moral culture at that highly-receptive age did not receive much attention. 'When four years old, she was transferred to the care of the nuns in a Benedictine convent. "Here," she says in her autobiography,[1] "I saw none but good examples; and as my natural disposition was towards the good, I followed it as long as I met with nobody to turn me in another direction. I loved to hear of God, to be at church, and to be dressed up as a nun."

[Footnote 1: La Vie de Madame J.M.B. de la Mothe-Guyon, ecrite par elle-meme, premiere partie, ch. ii., 6. The edition from which I quote was published at Paris, in three volumes, by the "Associated Booksellers," in 1791. See also Life by J.C. Upham (Sampson Low & Co., 1872).]

Now, as her opening mind drank in such instruction as came to her, she deeply felt the claims of God upon her love and service. Under the influence of a remarkable dream, she openly expressed her determination to lead a religious life; and one day, with unguarded frankness, she avowed her readiness to become a martyr for God. Her fellow-pupils at the convent, like Joseph's brethren, did not appreciate either her dream or her avowal. With girlish jealousy they laid her devout aspirations at the door of pride, and proceeded to test her professions in a cruel manner. They persuaded her that God had taken her at her word and called her suddenly to undergo the martyrdom for which she had declared her readiness. Her courage did not give way at their summons. So, after allowing her a short time for preparatory prayer, they led her into a room made ready for the purpose, where a cloth was spread on the floor, and an older girl stood behind her, lifting a large cutlass, and seemingly prepared to chop off the child's head. Who can wonder that at this too realistic sight the little girl's valour gave way? She cried out that she must not die without her father's leave. The girls triumphantly asserted that this was a paltry excuse, and let her go, with the scornful assurance that God would not accept as a martyr one who had so little of a martyr's courage.

Poor little Jeanne Marie! This unjust ordeal had a painful effect on her joyous spirit. Child though she was, she saw clearly that, like Simon Peter, she had been too ready and bold in her avowals of devotedness to her Lord. She thought that by her cowardice she had offended God, and that now there was little likelihood of winning His favour and enjoying His support. Her health, always delicate, could not but be injured by this unpleasant episode, and after a while she was taken home and again left to the care of the servants. Placed a second time at the Ursuline convent, she was happy in being under the care of her half-sister,—a good creature, who devoted her excellent abilities to the loving training of Jeanne in learning and piety. While here, the little girl was often sent for by her father; and at his house, on one occasion, she found Henrietta Maria, the widowed queen of England, who was so much pleased with her pretty ways and sprightly answers that she tried to induce M. de la Mothe to place his daughter in her care, intimating that she would make her maid of honour to the princess. The father, much to the queen's annoyance, declined the honour, and Madame Guyon, in after years, considered that perhaps she owed her salvation to his judicious refusal.

At this Ursuline seminary she remained, under her sister's care, until she was ten years old, when she was taken home again, and then placed in a Dominican convent, where she stayed eight months. Here she was left much to herself, but was so happy as to find an abiding companion, a heaven-sent gift, in a copy of the Bible, which had been "providentially" left in the apartment assigned to her. "I read it," she says, "from morning to night; and having a very good memory, I learnt by heart all the historical parts." Whatever were the immediate results of this close acquaintance with the Book of books, it is certain that in after years, when the true light had shined into her soul, her early intimacy with the Bible was of great service to her progress, and helped to qualify her in some measure for writing her Explanations and Reflections on the sacred volume. On her return home once more her religious state seems to have fluctuated considerably. Family jealousies and jars deadened the fervour of her devotion. Preparations for her first Sacrament under her sister's guidance, and the actual participation in that ordinance, had for a time a beneficial effect. But the solemnity of the Supper passed away without permanent influence on her heart.

She was now growing up a fine tall girl, of remarkable beauty and of equal fascination of speech and manner. Her mother became proud of her loveliness, and took great interest in her dress and appearance. Accomplished and attractive, she was welcome in every circle, and her wit and gaiety made her company much sought after. Her serious impressions passed away, and her heart was hot in the chase after pleasure. That it was still tender and susceptible we learn from a little incident at this period. She had gone for a walk with her youthful companions, and during her absence a young cousin, De Toissi, who was going as a missionary to Cochin China, called for a short time at her father's house. On her return home she found that he had already departed, and she heard such an account of his sanctity and of his pious utterances that she was deeply affected and was overcome with sorrow, crying all the rest of the day and night. Once more she sought earnestly "the peace of God, which passeth all understanding," but sought it by deeds of charity and by bodily austerities, instead of by the simple way of faith. At this time, in the fervour of her devotion, she resolved to enter a convent and become a nun. Her father, however, believed that his daughter, whom he tenderly loved, might be truly religious without taking such an irrevocable step. But soon—whether through some juvenile attachment or not we cannot tell—her good desires and resolves grew faint, she left off prayer, and lost such comfort and blessing as had been granted her from above. "I began," she says, "to seek in the creature what I had found in God. And Thou, O my God, didst leave me to myself, because I had first left Thee, and Thou wast pleased, in permitting me to sink into the abyss, to make me feel the necessity I was under of maintaining communion with Thyself in prayer."

In 1663 her father removed his household to Paris, and Jeanne Marie was transferred to a larger and more brilliant arena for the display of her beauty and accomplishments. Louis XIV. was on the throne, and Paris was at the very height of its gaiety and celebrity. The influence of its dissipation and distraction on the spirit of Mademoiselle de la Mothe was of course unfavourable to religion. Her parents found themselves not merely in a fashionable circle, but in a highly-intellectual centre. The grand monarque posed as the great patron of literature and the arts; and society presented splendid opportunities for the exercise of the young lady's conversational powers. She tells us that she began to entertain extravagant notions of herself, and that her vanity increased. In such surroundings it could hardly be otherwise. Her faith and love, such as they were, had died away, and her devotion had dwindled down to nothing. The dazzling world before her was in her eyes something worth conquering; and she set herself to gain its acclamation, and was to a great extent successful. From this high state of worldly gratification, and low state of religious principle and enjoyment, she was aroused and rescued in a very rough and painful manner.



II.

MARRIED LIFE.

Early in 1664, when not quite sixteen, Jeanne Marie de la Mothe was given in marriage to M. Jacques Guyon, a man of thirty-eight, possessed of great wealth, whom she had seen for the first time only a few days before the ceremony took place. Many ladies no doubt envied her, but for her it was an unhappy change. Several suitors had appeared, with whom she felt she could have been content and happy; but M. Guyon's riches and perseverance had carried the day with her parents, and marriage, to which she had looked forward as the period of liberation from restraint, and of freer enjoyment of the gay Parisian life, proved but the commencement of a dreary spell of dulness and misery. Her friends, who came to congratulate her the next day after the wedding, were surprised to find her weeping bitterly, and, in answer to their raillery, were told by her, "Alas! I used to have such a desire to be a nun: why, then, am I married now? and by what fatality has this happened to me?" She was overwhelmed with this regret, this longing to be a religieuse. The sudden transition from being the admired of all beholders, "the cynosure of neighbouring eyes," the witty belle whose every word and look were treasured up, to the hopeless condition of a bird pining in a gilded cage, was very hard to bear.

The details of the poor girl's sufferings in her new home are painful to read; but as Madame Guyon relates these early trials, she devoutly regards them as the means employed by her Heavenly Father to wean her affections from the world and turn them towards Himself. Beset with sore afflictions, guarded and illtreated by a servant devoted to her mother-in-law, cut off from the innocent pleasures of friendly intercourse, perpetually thwarted and misrepresented, she bethought herself of the possibility of getting help from above, and once more turned her mind towards God and heavenly things, doing her best, according to her imperfect light, to propitiate the Divine favour. She gave up entirely the reading of romances, of which formerly she had been passionately fond. The penchant for them had already been deadened, some time before her marriage, by reading the Gospel, which she found "so beautiful," and in which she discerned a character of truth which disgusted her with all other books. She resumed the practice of private prayer; she had masses said, in order to obtain Divine grace to enable her to find favour with her husband and his mother, and to ascertain the Divine will; she consulted her looking-glass very seldom; she regularly studied books of devotion, such as The Initiation of Jesus Christ, and the works of St. Francis de Sales, and read them aloud, so that the servants might profit by them. She endeavoured in all things not to offend God.

Her mind, shut off from all earthly comfort, was now driven in upon itself. Her lengthy meditation, though it helped to give her some degree of resignation, did not produce true peace and joy Though quite natural under the circumstances, it was an unhealthy habit, and doubtless tended to foster the mystic dreaming which grew upon her in riper years. Changes of circumstances now came to her relief. Soon after the birth of her first child, a heavy loss of property called her husband to Paris, to look after his affairs; and she, after a while, was permitted to join him there. This made a pleasant break in the dreary round of her married life. She cared nothing for losses, so long as she could gain from her stern and surly mate some token of affection and acknowledgment; and this, though in very small fragments, she had now occasionally the satisfaction of getting. While at Paris she had a severe illness, and the learned doctors of the city brought her to death's door by draining her of "forty-eight pullets" of blood.

Sad to say, as she regained her health, her husband resumed his moroseness and violent tempers, and her feeble strength was tried to its utmost. But she records, "This illness was of great use to me, for, besides teaching me patience under very severe pains, it enlightened me much as to the worthlessness of the things of this world. While detaching me to a great extent from myself, it gave me fresh courage to bear suffering better than I had done in the past." When at last she regained her health, the loss of her mother and the crosses of every-day life served still further to solemnize her mind, and to turn her aspirations heavenwards. She followed strictly her plan for private prayer twice a day; she kept watch over herself continually, and in almsgiving and other ways endeavoured to do as much good as she could.



III.

LIGHT BREAKS IN.

About this time a pious lady, an English exile, came to reside at her father's house; and though she could but imperfectly understand her devout conversation, Madame Guyon saw in her face a sweet satisfaction which she herself had not as yet attained. Then her cousin De Toissi arrived from the East, and, with sincere concern for her welfare, encouraged her in her search after happiness in God. To him she unburdened her soul, giving him a full account of all her faults and all her wants. He tendered the best counsel he could. She now tried to meditate continually on God, saying prayers and uttering ejaculatory petitions. But all was in vain. The advice of these excellent persons led her to look too much inwardly upon her own heart, instead of upward to the Saviour as revealed in His word. So she still laboured along in deep darkness and depression.

It was with a sudden brilliance that light and joy broke in upon her spirit. In July, 1668, she was once more at the parental home, to nurse her father, who was dangerously ill. Knowing well his daughter's unhappiness, M. de la Mothe recommended her to consult his confessor, an aged Franciscan, who had been of service to himself. This good man, after listening for some time to the story of her restless wanderings after peace, said, "Madame, you are seeking outside what you have within. Accustom yourself to seek God in your heart, and you will find Him there." These few and simple words turned her gaze from her own efforts and feelings to see that peace was a thing to be found not in outward deeds but in a heart right with God; and so she was enabled to realise the bounteous love of God, which at that instant was broadening her heart by the Holy Spirit. The next morning when she told the old Franciscan of the effect of his words, he was much astonished.

"These words," she observes, "brought into my heart what I had been seeking so many years; or rather they made me discover what was there, but what I had not been enjoying for want of knowing it. O my Lord, Thou wast in my heart, and didst require of me only a simple turning inward to make me perceive Thy presence. O Infinite Goodness, Thou wast so near, and I went running hither and thither in search of Thee, and did not find Thee. My life was wretched, yet my happiness lay there within me. I was poor in the midst of riches, and I was dying of hunger close by a table spread and a continual feast. O Beauty, ancient and new, why have I known Thee so late? Alas! I sought Thee where Thou wast not, and did not seek Thee where Thou wast. It was for want of understanding these words of Thy Gospel, where Thou sayest, 'The kingdom of God is not here or there; but the kingdom of God is within you.'" [1]

[Footnote 1: La Vie, premiere partie, ch. viii., 7.]

There can be no doubt that her heart now realised something of the great fundamental truth that "God is Love." She had been trying to propitiate Him, as a Being of awful majesty and purity, by good works, strict conduct, severe penances. Now she saw at a glance the mistakes of her former conceptions of the Divine Being, and all her faculties drank in the grand verity of the boundless love of God.

Her own account of this vital change is as follows: "I told this good father that I did not know what he had done to me; that my heart was totally changed; that God was there, and I had no more difficulty in finding Him; for from that moment was given me an experience of His presence in my soul; not by mere thought or intellectual application, but as a thing which one really possesses in a very sweet manner. I experienced these words of the spouse in the Canticles: 'Thy name is as ointment poured forth: therefore do the virgins love thee.' For I felt in my soul an unction which like a healing balm cured in a moment all my wounds, and which even spread itself so powerfully over my senses that I could scarcely open my mouth or my eyes. That night I could not sleep at all, because Thy love, O my God, was for me not only as a delicious oil, but also as a devouring fire, which kindled in my soul such a flame as threatened to consume all in an instant. I was all at once so changed as not to be recognisable either to myself or to others. I found neither the blemishes nor the dislikes (which had troubled me): all appeared to me consumed like a straw in a great fire." [1]

[Footnote 1: Ibid., ch. viii., 8.]

These extracts from her autobiography are important as giving a key to her subsequent life. We see here the intensity of her affections and emotions, the excitability of her temperament, the tendency to wander into regions of spiritual imagination, the liking for strong dramatic expression, which, though not in themselves blamable, yet gave to the outside world, and even to those about her who were open to adverse prepossessions, false impressions as to the depth and reality of her religion. They, close at hand, could not make the allowance which we can easily make for the extravagances of a soul which had just emerged from the prison gloom of depression and distrust into this realisation of the Divine love and favour. When her enthusiastic spirit led her to subject herself to the severest penances, she joyed in their infliction and could not make them severe enough. And here at once comes out prominently a primary error of judgment in this good woman at the very outset of her Christian life. She gives us details of a specially disgusting penance which she inflicted on herself. In this, as in the rest of her self-imposed tortures and degradations, the impulse manifestly came not from above, but from the mistaken imaginings of an over-wrought mind encased in a frail and delicate frame; and these morbid fancies were based on her intense passion for self-abasement. We must remember that at this critical time, when she most needed counsel, she had really no one to guide her—no one, that is, who possessed spiritual wisdom and common sense.

Though Madame Guyon was much absorbed in a mystical ecstasy, which she describes as prayer without words or even thoughts, she was no mere visionary. Her love to God, her intense devotion to her Saviour, led her to earnest endeavours to do good to those around her. The poor and the sick, young girls exposed to temptation, all who needed temporal or spiritual help, were the special objects of her care and benevolence. In leading others to Christ she was remarkably successful. She had indeed exceptional qualifications for this missionary work. Just over twenty years of age, her youthful beauty and grace, the tender, yearning love which lit up her expressive features, the ready utterance and sweet voice, and the charm of manner which never left her, were no unfitting media to convey the tidings of mercy to many a benighted seeker after rest and peace.



IV.

AFFLICTIONS AND GLOOM.

At this time she found great benefit from the counsel of her friend Genevieve Granger, the prioress of the Benedictine convent, who encouraged her in her determination to avoid all conformity to the world, and to live wholly to God. She once more made progress in the Divine life, and the trials which now came thickly upon her were the means of blessing her soul with increase of purity and peace. Hers were no light trials. Besides the constant annoyance from her implacable mother-in-law and the ill-tempered behaviour of her husband, heavy afflictions befell her. The terrible small-pox attacked her, and spoilt her beautiful face, though it left her alive. Her cruel mother-in-law, instead of tenderly nursing her, basely neglected her, debarred her from medical attendance, and imperilled her life. The loss of her beauty alienated her husband's affection—such as it was—from her, and he became still more open to unfavourable influences. Burdened as she was with these troubles, yet another was added. Her younger son, a lovely boy four years of age, was carried off by the same fearful disease. Yet in all these afflictions she showed a spirit of holy resignation.

In the summer of 1671 she made the acquaintance of Father La Combe, who came with an introductory letter from her half-brother Father La Mothe. He was in search of inward peace, and Madame Guyon's counsels, the outcome of deep thought and Divine enlightenment, were of great service to him. The next year was marked by other trying losses. Her little daughter, who latterly had been her one source of human comfort, died rather suddenly. This was probably the severest trial of her life. In the same month she lost her affectionate father. Yet in these bereavements also she charged not God foolishly, but took them as a part of the discipline wisely ordered to knit her soul in closer union to Him.



On July 22, 1672, the fourth anniversary of the day on which she first found peace, at the suggestion of her correspondent Genevieve Granger, she put her signature and seal to a covenant which that lady had drawn up. "The contract," she says,[1] "ran thus: 'I N. promise to take as my husband our Lord Jesus Christ, and to give myself to Him as His spouse, although unworthy.' I asked of Him, as the dowry of my spiritual marriage, crosses, contempt, confusion, disgrace, and ignominy; and I prayed Him to give me grace to entertain dispositions of littleness and nothingness with regard to everything else." Though we cannot consider such covenants in general as wise in themselves, nor this one in particular as appropriate in its language, yet for a time it seemed to give greater strength to her holy resolutions and increased stability to her pious frame of mind. But about eighteen months afterwards she fell into a state of depression, or absence of joy, which lasted nearly six years.

[Footnote :1 La Vie de Madame Guyon, premiere partie, ch. xix., 10.]

Probably this state of "privation," as she terms it, was in great measure the result of physical causes. She had for many years tried her bodily strength to the utmost by her severe self-denying treatment of herself. And now the death of her intimate friend, the above-mentioned Genevieve Granger, no doubt exercised a lowering effect on her spirits. It was a testing time for her faith, and it is a signal proof of the depth and reality of her piety that through all this trying season she held fast her trust in God, and kept on her way, though uncheered for a time by the joyous emotions with which she had so long been favoured. It was well that her mind, which had been overtaxed and strained by the intensity of her religious fervour, and by its unbroken continuity of introspection, should be brought into a more healthful state by this bitter tonic of joylessness.

In 1676 her husband's health, never very good, completely broke down, and after a long illness he died, leaving her, at the age of twenty-eight, a widow, with three children. As the solemn hour of parting drew near, she swept away all the wretched interference which had helped to cloud the happiness of their married life, and, kneeling by his bed, she begged him to forgive anything she had done amiss. The better nature of the man now at length prevailed, and he said—what he had never said before—"It is I who ask pardon of you. I did not deserve you:" which was perfectly true. He left a large amount of property, but his affairs were in a perplexing state of entanglement, and his young widow, unused to business, had to do her best to make all straight. She proved equal to the occasion, and soon, with her quick perception and uncommon powers of direction and persuasion, she reduced the complicated tangle to order, and then retired to a house of her own, where she was free from the annoying devices of her irreconcilable mother-in-law, and could devote herself to the education of her children, the perfecting of her own education, and the visitation of the sick and poor.

It was in 1680, after nearly seven years of comparative darkness and depression, that her spiritual gloom was broken in upon by a letter from Father La Combe, in which he took the sensible view that by this sore deprivation God was teaching her not to lean on her state of feeling, but to look to Him alone for comfort and strength. On the 22nd of July—a day several times marked in her history as one of signal blessing—her prayers were heard, and God again lifted up the light of His countenance upon her. "On that happy day," she writes, "my soul was fully delivered from all its distresses. It began a new life," a life of steady peace and joy, guarded from dependence on the joy itself by the painful experience from which she had just emerged.

From this time forth she devoted her life to the spread of the knowledge of the love of God. After much deliberation and consultation with others, she left Paris in July, 1681, to commence work in the south-east of France. The preceding winter had been passed in making necessary preparations, in relieving the necessities of the famished poor of Paris, and in other works of charity.



V.

HER PUBLIC WORK.

On that July morning, when Madame Guyon embarked on the Seine secretly, for fear of the interference of her half-brother, she was really embarking on the chief business of her life, the work of spreading the doctrine of inward holiness. She had felt drawn to the district of Geneva by a desire to give temporal and spiritual help to the poor people at the foot of the Jura range. And now, having consulted at Paris the Bishop of Geneva, she was making her way, in company with her little daughter, a nun, and two servants, to the little town of Gex. Passing through Annecy and Geneva, she reached her destination on July 23, and took up her residence at the house of the Sisters of Charity. This was for a time the centre of her labours of love. Besides her works of charity, she felt impelled to tell others of the spiritual blessings which she herself enjoyed.

Situated as she was, a Protestant without herself suspecting it, and that in the very heart of the Roman Catholic Church; a devout reader of the Bible, and one who valued the ministrations of priests as advisers and "confessors," rather than as transacting the penitent's own work for him, her superior intelligence, and her happy art of carrying conviction to the listeners, raised the jealousy of the clergy, just as her pure life was a silent rebuke to all lax livers, whether monk, nun, or priest. D'Aranthon, the bishop, had welcomed her to his diocese, and at first received her doctrines with appreciative favour. But he was a man easily persuaded, swayed by the last person who talked to him, and as her opinions became more pronounced, he began to perceive that they were dangerous to the stability of the corrupt, priest-ridden Church of which he was an "overseer." He had appointed Father La Combe as Madame Guyon's "director," her spiritual guide and instructor. But in practice the position was reversed, and it was she who led La Combe into higher regions of thought and experience, of which he soon became the eloquent exponent.

La Combe's preaching attracted great attention at Thonon, on the other side of the Lake of Geneva; and the bishop was anxious lest these new doctrines should spread, and he himself should get into trouble at Rome on their account. He now wanted to circumscribe Madame Guyon's sphere of influence by getting her to become prioress of a convent at Gex. He evidently thought that by having her here under some restraint, and by keeping her close to the duties of the cloister, he would be able to put a stop to the propagation of her heretical opinions. But though she gave a little too much heed to visions and dreamy imaginings, she had lost no whit of the practical common-sense and clearness of sight which had distinguished her in many mundane emergencies. She absolutely refused to make over her property for the good of the sisterhood, and would not undertake an office which would shut her up from her mission of proclaiming far and wide, as the Divine Hand opened the way, the message of the Saviour's love and the Holy Spirit's sanctifying power. This refusal brought much persecution and annoyance both to herself and to Father La Combe, who had manfully refused to obey the bishop when he ordered him to use his influence in making Madame Guyon comply with his expressed wishes.

A party was now formed at Gex specially for the persecution of Madame Guyon, and after much annoyance and suffering she felt she was providentially called to leave a town where she had many disciples, whose lives she had been the means of brightening and elevating. In the spring of 1682 she crossed the Lake of Geneva to Thonon, where she pursued the same missionary career, and was the means of raising up a little church of believers in the midst of dense bigotry and superstition. She never "preached" in public, but in private she conversed and prayed with individual seekers after salvation, and at times had conferences with several together in a small room. By these means, and by her excellent letters, she effected an amazing amount of good in all that region. For a time, a short and happy time, all went rightly; but she knew only too well that persecution must ensue. It could not but come to this good woman, who devoutly fulfilled what she esteemed to be the lawful commands of her Church, but who took as her highest authority and director the open Bible, explained not by priest or friar, but by the Holy Ghost working upon her own acute intellect and devout heart. It is worthy of notice that under her guidance several small societies or communities were formed by poor girls who had become decided Christians. These young people helped each other in secular matters, and held little meetings for reading and prayer and loving fellowship. Their associations were soon broken up by the priestly party, as, indeed, was to be expected; the girls were deprived of ordinary church privileges, and some of them were driven out of Thonon altogether. Another indication of the rising tide of persecution was that the dominant party ordered all books relating to the inner life to be brought to them, and publicly burnt in the market-place the few which were given up.

At length, through the influence of her enemies, Madame Guyon received from the bishop notice that she must go out of his diocese, and Father la Combe was similarly warned to depart. All espostulation was in vain, and leaving Savoy, in which her labours had been so much blessed, she set out on a wearisome journey into Piedmont, crossing the perilous Mont Cenis on a mule, and came to Turin.

In spite of many annoyances, she had spent two happy years at Thonon in work for her Divine Master; and she would have been more than human if she had not felt, though in a spirit of sweet resignation, the wrench which these frequent changes of habitation inflicted. No wonder that she called to mind the pathetic words in Matthew viii. 20: "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man hath not where to lay His head." "This," she writes,[1] "I have since experienced to its full extent, having had no sure abode where I could remain more than a few months, and every day in uncertainty where I should be on the morrow, and besides, finding no refuge, either among my friends, who were ashamed of me and openly renounced me just when there was an outcry against me, or among my relations, most of whom have declared themselves my adversaries and been my greatest persecutors, while the others looked on me with contempt and indignation."

[Footnote 1: La Vie, seconde partie, ch. xiv., 1.]

At Turin she found temporary refuge and rest in the house of the Marchioness of Prunai, but appears to have spent only a few months of 1684 in that city. She longed to return to evangelistic work in France. Accordingly in the autumn she went to Grenoble, and had great success in her labours, but, through the hatred of her enemies, was obliged to quit the place secretly, leaving her little daughter in charge of her faithful maid La Gautiere. She had already commenced authorship, at Thonon, by writing, during an interval of much-needed rest, her book entitled Spiritual Torrents. At Grenoble she began her commentaries on The Holy Bible, and here she published her famous work, A Short and Very Easy Method of Prayer, which speedily ran through several editions. So, by word of mouth, and by pen, she taught, and "the new spirit of religious inquiry," as she calls it, spread and prevailed. It was indeed the old spirit of inquiry, as old as the days of the apostles, and its basis was the principle which she clearly enunciates, "that man is a sinner, and that he must be saved by repentance and faith in Christ, and that faith in God through Christ subsequently is, and must be, the foundation of the inward life." Such a bold proclamation of Gospel truth could not but rouse the anger of the clerical party at Grenoble. The persuasive missioner was soon the centre of a storm of wrath and indignation, which the friendly Bishop Camus, afterwards a cardinal, was unable to allay. Early in 1686 she left Grenoble for Marseilles, where she hoped to find refuge for a while. But her fame had preceded her. "I did not arrive in Marseilles," she records, "till ten in the morning, and it was only a few hours after noon when all was in uproar against me."

In this excitable city she remained only eight days; but in that short space some good was effected. Now began a series of wanderings in search of a home. Arriving at Nice, she felt acutely her desolate state. "I saw myself without refuge or retreat, wandering and homeless. All the artisans whom I saw in the shops appeared to me happy in having an abode and refuge." After a stormy voyage to Genoa, she reached Verceil, on the Sessia, and after a stay of a few months amongst kind friends, but precluded from public work by ill-health, she decided to return once more to Paris, and there pursue her labours.

Unaware of the king's despotic intolerance, she arrived in the French capital on July 22, 1686, after an absence of five years, and soon became the centre of an enlightened circle of friends, of high rank, who were glad to listen to her teaching and to learn the way of the Lord more perfectly. For a while all was quiet. But her enemies—among whom her half-brother, Pere La Mothe, was ever the most virulent—were meantime very busy, and at length a charge was laid against her before the king. She was seized by warrant of a lettre de cachet, and consigned to solitary imprisonment in the convent of Sainte Marie, in the suburb of St. Antoine. Louis XIV. was now posing as a defender of the faith, and was glad to show his Catholic zeal in the punishment of a lady who was said to hold opinions similar to those of Molinos, whom he had recently induced the Pope to condemn. Nearly four months previously her eloquent disciple, Father la Combe, had been committed to the Bastille for life.



VI.

IN PRISON.

On January 29, 1688—the first month of a year specially dear to English lovers of civil and religious liberty—Madame Guyon was taken to her cell in Sainte Marie. It was a room in an upper story of the convent, with a barred door, and an opening for light and air on one side. Here she was shut up from her friends; her gaoler, a crabbed, hard-hearted nun, who treated her with the greatest rigour, regarding her not only as a heretic, but as a hypocrite and out of her senses as well. Feeble in body and in bad health, her mind was much troubled about her beloved daughter, whom interested persons were trying to force into a marriage of which Madame Guyon strongly disapproved. But though, under harsh treatment, she became very ill, and was nigh unto death, her peace and joy proved their heavenly origin by unbroken continuance in this trying season. As she recovered, she found occupation in writing her autobiography, and in composing hymns and sacred poems. Amongst the latter is the charming cantique given at the end of her Life, and beginning—

"Grand Dieu! pour Ton plaisir Je suis dans une cage,"

which has been happily Englished as follows:—

"A little bird I am, Shut from the fields of air; And in my cage I sit and sing To Him who placed me there; Well pleased a prisoner to be, Because, my God, it pleases Thee.

Nought have I else to do, I sing the whole day long, And He whom well I love to please Doth listen to my song. He caught and bound my wandering wing, But still He bends to hear me sing.

Thou hast an ear to hear, A heart to love and bless, And though my notes were e'er so rude. Thou would'st not hear the less, Because Thou knowest, as they fall, That love, sweet love, inspires them all.

My cage confines me round, Abroad I cannot fly; But though my wing is closely bound, My heart's at liberty. My prison walls cannot control The flight, the freedom of the soul.

Oh, it is good to soar These bolts and bars above, To Him whose purpose I adore, Whose providence I love, And in Thy mighty will to find The joy, the freedom of the mind."

Her liberation from this imprisonment came from a remarkable quarter. Madame de Miramion, a pious lady, often visited the convent with charitable intent. Having heard much about Madame Guyon, she asked to see her; and having seen her and conversed with her, she soon became her warm friend, and pleaded her cause with Madame de Maintenon, who was now at the height of her power and possessed supreme influence with the king, whose wife she had become, by a private marriage, in 1685. Madame de Miramion, having in this way procured Madame Guyon's release from her convent prison, took her to her own house. It was a happy change for this much-tried woman. She was once again among friends, and had the society of her daughter. She went to St. Cyr—a royal institution for the education of the daughters of the poorer aristocracy, in which Madame de Maintenon took interest—to thank the great lady for her kindness. The latter was charmed with the bright, saintly ex-prisoner, whose devout spirit shone out in her countenance and breathed in her fascinating speech. She had many conversations with her, and begged her to give instruction to the girls of St. Cyr.

It was at this time that Madame Guyon first met the great Fenelon, who was a director of St. Cyr, as well as one of the most noted characters of the age. She won his lasting regard. He was cheered by the warmth of her piety and her unwavering faith, while his more logical and better disciplined mind would no doubt moderate and tone down her excess of introspection and rapt emotion. She spent three happy years in Paris, consulted by many persons on religious matters, admired and honoured by several distinguished people, and sheltered from storm in the house of her daughter, now married to the Count de Vaux. But the sunshine was not to last long. Godet, Madame de Maintenon's confessor and one of the directors of St. Cyr, was possessed with a jealous hatred of his co-director, Fenelon, and also disliked Madame Guyon. Breathing into the mind of the great lady—who, though of Huguenot descent, was nothing if not "orthodox"—doubts as to Madame Guyon's correctness of belief, he caused Madame de Maintenon to withdraw her countenance from her protegee, and to discontinue her own visits to St. Cyr. Now was the time for Madame Guyon's enemies to attack her, when they saw the court favourite's countenance withdrawn. An attempt was made to poison her, and so far succeeded that her health was impaired for many years.

Then Bossuet appeared on the scene. In September, 1693, he came to see her in Paris, feeling, doubtless, that he was the man to settle all these Pietistic commotions. At Madame Guyon's request he consented to examine her numerous writings; and when, in the course of some months, he had performed this task, and had also perused her MS. autobiography, he had another long conversation with her, which brought out fully the peculiarities of her doctrine. In this interesting discussion he seems to have adopted a bullying tone somewhat incompatible with his remarkably mild Christian name, Jacques Benigne, and to have forgotten the courtesy due to a lady who, whatever her errors might be in his eyes, was one of the brightest lights and purest saints in the Roman Catholic Church of that day. Finally, the matter became an affair of State, and the king appointed a commission to sit, at Issy, upon her orthodoxy—Bossuet, De Noailles, and Tronson. The two latter were charmed with her mild and teachable spirit. But the fierce Bossuet was not yet satisfied; and as she put herself under his special direction for a time, he consigned her to a convent at Meaux, and at length required her to sign certain doctrinal articles, and a decree condemning her books. To this last, however, a qualifying clause was appended, to the effect that she had never intended to say anything contrary to the spirit of the Church, not knowing that any other meaning could be given to her words. In fact, while conceding to her Church the right to condemn whatever it did not approve in her tenets, she held much the same position as Galileo when his theory as to the movements of our planet was condemned as heretical, and he capped his enforced retractation with the quiet protest, "E pur si muove." In her letter to her three ecclesiastical judges, dated "in August, 1694," she courageously tells them, "I pray you, my lords, to remember that I am an ignorant woman; that I have written my experiences in all good faith, and that if I have explained myself badly, it is the result of my ignorance. As regards the experiences, they are real." [1]

[Footnote 1: La Vie, troisieme partie, ch. xvi., 6.]

Bossuet at length appeared to be satisfied, and gave her a certificate of her filial submissiveness to the Roman Catholic faith, and she thought herself free to return to Paris. It was not perhaps the wisest step to take; the bishop was displeased at it, as was also the bigoted Madame de Maintenon. Madame Guyon went to live in privacy in a small house in the Faubourg St. Antoine, where she hoped to be left in peace. But her enemies got scent of her hiding-place, arrested her, and shut her up in the Castle of Vincennes, whence, after a few weeks at Vaugirard, she was transferred to the Bastille.

Of her life in this famous prison we have little or no detail. Like all its unfortunate inmates, she was forbidden to reveal its secrets; but we gather from her own words that, amid sickness and the many hardships of her prison life, one of her severest trials was found in the rumours which reached her of "the horrible outcry," outside the walls, against herself and her sympathisers. But in this dark season she held fast her confidence in God, and her spirit found utterance and relief in some of those songs, full of love and trust, which are included in the four volumes of her poetical works.



VII.

LAST YEARS.

She was confined in the Bastille for four years, and when at last, in 1702, she was released, her health was completely ruined by the privations she had suffered, the bitter cold of winter, and in the warmer weather the poisonous exhalations from the stagnant waters of the moat. When once more she issued into the sweet air of liberty, "My afflicted spirit," she says, "began to breathe and recover itself; but my body was from that time sick and borne down with all sorts of infirmities." Even now, however, she was not free to go where she liked. After a brief visit to her daughter in Paris, she was required to take up her residence at Blois, a hundred miles south-west, and there, in complete retirement, she spent her remaining days, still writing cheery words of counsel to her disciples in France and other lands, and enjoying spells of happy converse with the steadfast friends who sought her out in her exile.

She lived on in peace and quiet, though often in pain and weakness, for fifteen years after her release from the Bastille. Her final release from all earthly trials and sorrows took place on June 9, 1717, when she had entered about three months into her seventieth year. That her beautiful spirit of resignation was maintained to the last, and that her faith was pure and steadfast, we have proof in these expressions in her will, written a short time before her death: "Thou knowest that there is nothing in heaven or in earth that I desire but Thee alone. In Thy hands, O God, I leave my soul, not relying for my salvation on any good that is in me, but solely on Thy mercies and the merits and sufferings of my Lord Jesus Christ."

We find here no trace of that reliance on the Virgin Mary, or that frequent clamouring for her interest and intercession, which then formed and still forms so integral a portion of the daily routine of Romish worship. It is a remarkable feature of Madame Guyon's religious life that, in an idolatrous age, her faith constantly soared straight up to God, ignoring the mediation of the Virgin and the saints, and regarding the priests themselves, not as intermediaries between Christ and her soul, but simply as her appointed counsellors and guides on the road to heaven. We need not wonder that such bitterness was shown towards her, and that no effort was spared to suppress teaching so dangerous to the very foundations of the ancient edifice of error.



VIII.

HER TEACHING.

On a previous page I have given extracts from her autobiography which show pretty plainly the mistakes into which Madame Guyon fell at the outset of her Christian career. They had their root in the idea that her communion with God was so close and intimate that all her thoughts were not merely devout and God-ward, but even Divine, coming direct from God. So she fell into the Quietist error of intense introspection, looking for guidance, not solely to the written Word, but chiefly to her own inward impressions, or "inspirations," as she considered them to be.

But was it at all wonderful that this good woman, brought up in the bondage of corrupt doctrine and deeply-incrusted prejudices, should entertain some theological errors? The only wonder is that she attained so much of the truth, and, in that age of mingled intolerance and licentiousness, lived a life of purity and charity, of holy aspirations and devout performance. And though her excessive introspection is not at all to be imitated, and many of her views are such as we with our greater light cannot, of course, endorse, yet her mistakes in metaphysics and in theology did not affect the beauty of her life, which was chiefly spent in acts of charity and earnest endeavours to spread the knowledge of her Lord and Saviour. If her benevolent efforts at evangelisation did not always show the successful results she desired, if disappointments crowded some of her later years, yet to her case we can rightly apply the words of the poet:

"Yet to the faithful there is no such thing As disappointment; failures only bring A gentle pang, as peacefully they say, 'His purpose stands, though mine has passed away.'"

Her Works, amounting in all to forty volumes, were published in Paris in several editions. Her Poems and Spiritual Songs occupy four volumes. Some of these simple utterances of a devout heart were beautifully translated by Cowper, and with one of the most characteristic of these renderings this sketch may fitly be concluded:—

"THE ENTIRE SURRENDER.

Peace has unveiled her smiling face, And woos thy soul to her embrace, Enjoyed with ease, if thou refrain From earthly love, else sought in vain. She dwells with all who truth prefer, But seeks not them who seek not her.

Yield to the Lord with simple heart All that thou hast and all thou art; Renounce all strength but strength Divine, And peace shall be for ever thine. Behold the path which I have trod, My path till I go homo to God."

WILLIAM NICHOLS.



ANN JUDSON.

CHAPTER I.

EARLY YEARS.



Ann, a daughter of John and Rebecca Hasseltine, was born in Bradford, Massachusetts, on December 22, 1789. The quiet daily life of the simple New England people from whom she sprang, and amongst whom she was brought up, was as beneficial a training for her future career as could have been found for her. The feverish activity and never-ceasing struggle to be first, which have now taken possession of the American people, were then almost unknown, and the descendants of the Puritan fathers spent their days in peaceful toil. Most of the New Englanders were engaged in farming or small manufactures, and there was a deeply religious spirit throughout the whole of the Northern States.

Of the early life of Ann Hasseltine we know comparatively little. Her family was evidently in moderately easy circumstances, and the Hasseltine household was a happy and closely-united one. The parents, with wise foresight, were careful to give their children as good an education as could be obtained in the neighbourhood, and kept them at school till well advanced in their teens. Ann was distinguished among her sisters for her gay, joyous, and somewhat emotional temperament. There was no half-heartedness about her, and whatever she took up she would throw her whole soul into. As was to be expected in a community where religious matters occupied so prominent a place, the urgent need of a personal faith in Christ was placed before her at an early age. She could not suppress a vague longing after something, she knew not what; and every now and then her conscience would be aroused, and she would quicken her efforts to be good.

When she was sixteen, affairs reached a crisis. A series of religious conferences had been held in Bradford during the early months of 1806, and she regularly attended them. Each meeting deepened the impression on her mind as to the need of a higher life. Her old amusements seemed now utterly distasteful to her, and the fear of being for ever lost weighed heavily on her soul. She was invited to a party by an old friend; but her heart was too sad to care for such things, so on the morning of the party she stole off to the house of one of her aunts, who, she thought, might be able to help her in her trouble. Her aunt spoke seriously to her of the necessity of obtaining salvation while she could, and the poor girl became more downcast than ever. "I returned home with a bursting heart," she afterwards said, "fearing that I should lose my impressions with the other scholars, and convinced that if I did so my soul was lost."

She shut herself in her bedroom, refused to touch any but the plainest food, and for some days pleaded with God for pardon. Gradually the light came in her soul. "I began to discover a beauty in the way of salvation by Christ," she said. "He appeared to be just such a Saviour as I needed. I saw how God could be just in saving sinners through Him. I committed my soul into His hands, and besought Him to do with me what seemed good in His sight. When I was thus enabled to commit myself into the hands of Christ, my mind was relieved from that distressing weight which had borne it down for so long a time. I did not think that I had obtained a new heart, which I had been seeking, but felt happy in contemplating the character of Christ, and particularly that disposition which had led Him to suffer so much for the sake of doing the will and promoting the glory of His Heavenly Father."

With so deep an experience it was only natural that the whole course of her outward life should be completely changed. She soon made an open profession of religion by becoming a member of the Congregational Church at Bradford; and her friends could see the reality of her conversion by her consistent daily walk.

She now threw herself with greater zeal into her ordinary studies, and this soon resulted in her being requested to take temporary charge of a small school at Salem. When the work there was done, a teachership was found for her in another place near at hand, and it was while thus engaged that she became acquainted, with her future husband, Adoniram Judson.

Mr. Judson, who was some sixteen months her senior, was the eldest son of a Congregational minister at Malden, near Boston, and had from his youth been noted for possessing intellectual powers far above the average. When a boy, he diligently read every book that he could get hold of, and at Brown University he graduated head of his class. For a time during his college course he became affected with the sceptical views which were then fashionable; but the death of a friend brought him back to the old faith, and as an outcome of his conversion he became a student at the Theological College at Andover.

While at college, Judson and three fellow-students had their interest deeply aroused in the conversion of heathen nations. They petitioned the General Assembly of their church on the matter, and solicited its advice as to whether "they ought to renounce the object of missions as visionary or impracticable;" and if not, what steps they should take to translate their longings into action.

The importance of this appeal was at once recognised by the churches, and as an immediate consequence the "Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions" was formed, a society which has grown until it is now one of the greatest missionary organisations in the world. Judson went on a visit to England in order to expedite matters, and to consult with the officials of the London Missionary Society. After some delay, caused by the capture of the vessel in which he was sailing by a French privateer, he reached London and saw the directors. They agreed to support him and his companions should the American Board be unable to do so, and with this assurance Judson returned to America.

He now made Miss Hasseltine a formal offer of marriage, and she knew that if she accepted she must of course accompany him abroad. For a time she not unnaturally hesitated. She was asked to do what no American woman had before attempted, and the life of a foreign missionary seemed full of unknown horrors. It meant to leave home and probably never to see friends or native land again, to be worn out in the unhealthy climate of some tropical land, to suffer "every kind of want and distress, degradation, insult, persecution, and, perhaps, a violent death." Friends, with few exceptions, advised her to decline, and public opinion was strongly opposed to such a "wild, romantic undertaking" as a woman going out to the heathen. "O Jesus," she prayed in her perplexity, "direct me, and I am safe; use me in Thy service, and I ask no more. I would not choose my position of work or place of service; only let me know Thy will, and I will readily comply!"

After some weeks of hesitation she definitely made up her mind. "I have at length come to the conclusion," she wrote, on October 28, 1810, "that if nothing in Providence appears to prevent, I must spend my days in a heathen land. God is my witness that I have not dared to decline this offer that has been made me."

Her decision surprised many of her acquaintances. "I hear," said one lady to another, "that Miss Hasseltine is going to India. Why does she go?" "Why, she thinks it her duty. Would you not go if you thought it your duty?" "But," replied the first speaker emphatically, "I would not think it my duty."

On February 6, 1812, an ordination service was held at the Tabernacle Church in Salem, when Adoniram Judson and four others were set apart for foreign missionary work. On the previous day he and Ann Hasseltine had been made man and wife at Bradford; and a few days later Mr. and Mrs. Judson, accompanied by Mr. Newell and his wife, set out in the brig Caravan for Calcutta.



CHAPTER II.

THE ROAD TO RANGOON.

After a four months' voyage the missionary party reached Calcutta, and there they received a warm welcome from Dr. Carey and his fellow-workers. They were invited to the missionary headquarters at Serampore, a spot some few miles from Calcutta, in possession of the Danish Government, where the Baptist missionaries resided in order to avoid the interference of the English authorities. At that time the British rulers of India were opposed to all missionary work, and discouraged it by every means in their power. Foreign preachers were not allowed to reside in India even for a few weeks, and English missionaries were not suffered to remain unless they could obtain special permission from the East India Company. The American missionaries had not been many days in India before they discovered this. They were summoned from Serampore to Calcutta, and there formally commanded, in the name of the Company, to leave India at once and return to America. To do this would have ruined all their plans, so they asked and obtained permission to go instead to the Isle of France (Mauritius), whither a vessel was about to sail. But as it would only accommodate Mr. and Mrs. Newell, the Judsons perforce remained in Calcutta waiting for another ship.

They were allowed to stay in peace for a couple of months; but when the authorities learnt that they had not yet departed, an urgent order was issued, commanding that they should be immediately sent to England in one of the East India Company's vessels. There seemed no possibility of their evading the order this time, but they learned that another vessel was just going to set out for the Isle of France. Unfortunately it was impossible for them now to obtain permission to go there; but the captain of the vessel, on hearing the circumstances, offered to take them without leave. So they quietly got on board. But on the second day of their journey down the river a Government dispatch arrived, ordering the pilot to stop the vessel, as it had among its passengers persons who had been ordered to go to Europe. In consequence of this demand Mr. and Mrs. Judson were at once hurried on shore, and the ship went on its way.

They were landed at the village of Fultah, and here they remained for four days, not knowing what to do. If they returned to Calcutta they would be at once sent to England, and they could not remain where they were for any time without discovery and arrest. Every day their perplexity increased. The sight of a boat coming down the river or a stranger entering the village would fill them with alarm, for they expected at any moment to be seized by Government agents sent after them. At the end of the fourth day relief came in a most unexpected way. A letter was handed to Mr. Judson containing an official permit for them to go on to the Isle of France in the vessel from which they had a few days before been removed. How this permit was obtained, or who had sent it to them, they could never discover; and there was no time then to speculate on the matter. The ship was now at least seventy miles away, in the Saugur Roads, and had probably already set out to sea. In the hope that it might possibly have been delayed in starting, and that they might catch it, they at once started down the river in boats. After being rowed all night and all next day, they found on reaching the roads that they were in time, as owing to the absence of some of the crew the vessel had been delayed. It may be imagined how thankfully they found themselves once more on board.

Before leaving Calcutta an important change had taken place in Mr. and Mrs. Judson's views about the question of infant baptism. While on the voyage from America, Mr. Judson, knowing that he would come in contact with the Baptist missionaries at Serampore, had studied the subject in order to be able to defend his position to them. The result had been that doubts had gradually arisen in his mind as to the correctness of his own point of view, and he spoke on the subject to his wife. She deprecated any hasty action, but they both resolved to give careful attention to the matter. Every consideration of human interest would have led them to cling to their old belief, for, as Mrs. Judson pointed out, "If her husband should renounce his former sentiments he must offend his friends at home, hazard his reputation, and, what was still more trying, be separated from his missionary companions."

"I hope that I shall I be disposed to embrace the truth," she wrote, "whatever it may be. It is painfully mortifying to my natural feelings to think seriously of renouncing a system which I have been taught from infancy to believe and respect ... We must make some very painful sacrifices. We must be separated from our dear missionary associates, and labour alone in some isolated spot. We must expect to be treated with contempt and cast off by many of our American friends—forfeit the character we have in our native land, and probably have to labour for our support where we are stationed."

After prayerful consideration they both applied to Carey for baptism, much to the surprise of the great English missionary, who had known nothing of their struggles. This step necessarily involved their separation from the Congregational Board of Commissioners who had sent them out, and there was then no American Baptist Missionary Society to which they could look for help; but Mr. Judson wrote to the American Baptist churches stating what he had done, and appealing to them to support him in his labours. The Baptists soon afterwards responded to his appeal by forming a Missionary Union, and they appointed Mr. and Mrs. Judson two of their agents. Thus was Mr. Judson an important though indirect instrument in causing another great American denomination to throw itself into the work of evangelising the world.

The first news that Mrs. Judson heard on reaching the Isle of France was that Mrs. Newell, her companion from America, had died a few weeks previously, before even being allowed to commence the work to which she had dedicated her life. The governor of the island had been warned about the coming of the Americans, and advised "to keep an eye on them;" but he gave them a warm welcome, and expressed a hope that they would settle in the place and work among the natives and the soldiers. But the Isle of France hardly seemed to offer a sufficiently extensive field for their energies, and there were other places more in need of their services. Mr. and Mrs. Judson specially wished to go to Burmah, where, with a population of many millions, there was hardly a single Christian teacher. But the character of the people and of the government was such that any strangers going among them must take their lives in their hands, Notwithstanding this they determined, after due inquiry, to go to Penang, and thence to attempt to find access to the country. It was necessary first to go to Madras, in order to find a vessel which would take them eastwards. But on arriving at Madras they found that it would be impossible to procure a passage to Penang; so they took passage in a ship that was going to Rangoon, and after some adventures reached the field of their future work in July, 1813. "We cannot expect to do much in such a rough, uncultivated field," wrote Mrs. Judson, "yet if we may be instrumental in clearing away some of the rubbish and preparing the way for others, it will be sufficient reward."



CHAPTER III.

PREPARATION TIME.

Mr. and Mrs. Judson might well have been excused had they hesitated to settle in Rangoon, for the prospects before them in that place were anything but hopeful. The Emperor of Burmah was an absolute monarch, and rumour gave him the credit of being unjust, tyrannical, grasping, capricious and cruel. The people were described as "indolent, inhospitable, deceitful and crafty;" and in spite of the natural wealth of the land the majority of the inhabitants were miserably poor. This was largely due to the fact that all property was held on the most uncertain tenure, everything being liable to be seized at any time by the emperor or by some of his officials.

More than one unsuccessful attempt had been made to form a missionary settlement in Rangoon previous to the arrival of the Judsons. Preachers had been sent out from Serampore, and by the London Missionary Society; but none of them had been able to occupy the field for any length of time. When the Judsons arrived there was only one other Christian teacher in Burmah, Mr. Felix Carey, who was then at Ava, the residence of the emperor. Mrs. Carey, a native of the country, was staying at Rangoon, in a house built by the Serampore Baptist missionaries, and she welcomed the new-comers to her home, where they stayed for some months.

The first work to which the Judsons set themselves was the study of the Burmese tongue. This was a task of extreme difficulty, for the only part of the language put into writing which would help them was a small portion of a grammar and six chapters of St. Matthew's Gospel, which had been translated by Mr. Felix Carey. Even with all the aids at present in use, Burman is anything but easy to acquire. It has been called the "round O language," on account of each word being made up of a number of small circles; and to an untrained eye the words seem almost exactly alike. "The letters and words are all totally destitute of the least resemblance to any language we have ever met with," Mr. Judson wrote to a friend in Salem, "and these words are not fairly divided and distinguished as in Western writing by breaks, and points, and capitals, but run together in one continuous line, a sentence or paragraph seeming to the eye but one long word; instead of clear characters on paper, we find only obscure scratches on palm leaves, strung together and called a book. We have no dictionary and no interpreter to explain a single word, and must get something of the language before we can avail ourselves of the assistance of a native teacher.... It unavoidably takes several years to acquire such a language in order to converse and write intelligibly on the truths of the Gospel."

Mr. and Mrs. Judson obtained a native teacher, and settled down to a daily struggle with their task. The man was at first unwilling to have Mrs. Judson as a pupil, thinking it below his dignity to instruct a woman: but when he saw that she was determined to persevere he abandoned his opposition. As the teacher knew no English and the pupils knew no Burman, progress was of necessity very slow. "Our only mode of ascertaining the names of objects which met our eye," wrote Mrs. Judson, "was by pointing to them in the presence of our teacher, who would immediately speak the names in Burman; we then expressed them as nearly as possible by the Roman character, till we had sufficiently acquired the power of the Burman."

In order to get more in contact with the people, they left Mr. Carey's hospitable roof and took up their residence in the centre of the town. This obliged Mrs. Judson to commence housekeeping on her own account, and consequently she had less time to devote to study; yet to her surprise she made faster progress now than she had ever done before. She thus described her daily life, in a letter home: "We are busily employed all day long. Could you look into a large open room, which we call a verandah, you would see Mr. Judson bent over his table covered with Burman books, with his teacher at his side, a venerable-looking man in his sixtieth year, with a cloth wrapped round his middle and a handkerchief on his head. They talk and chatter all day long with hardly any cessation.

"My mornings are busily employed in giving directions to the servants, providing food for the family, etc. At ten my teacher comes, when, were you present, you might see me in an inner room at one side of my study table, and my teacher the other, reading Burman, writing, talking, etc. I have many more interruptions than Mr. Judson, as I have the entire management of the family. This I took on myself for the sake of Mr. Judson's attending more closely to the study of the language; yet I have found, by a year's experience, that it is the most direct way I could have taken to acquire the language, as I am frequently obliged to speak Burman all day. I can talk and understand others better than Mr. Judson, though he knows more about the nature and construction of the language."

It was impossible to do any direct evangelistic work until the language had been more fully mastered, and Mrs. Judson was continually spurred on in her studies by the desire to speak to the natives about the Lord Jesus Christ. "O Thou Light of the world," she prayed, as she realised more fully the ignorance of the people, "dissipate the thick darkness which covers Burmah, and let Thy light arise and shine!"



CHAPTER IV.

A HEAVY AFFLICTION.



When Mrs. Judson had been in Rangoon six months she was taken somewhat seriously ill, and it was deemed advisable that she should go to Madras, both for the sea voyage and in order to obtain skilled Medical advice, which could not be had in Rangoon. She met with nothing but kindness all the way. The Viceroy granted her special permission to take a native woman as her attendant, a thing which was deemed a very great favour indeed, as no native woman was usually allowed to leave the country. The captain of the vessel in which she sailed refused to accept any money for the passage; and when she sent the physician who attended to her seventy rupees in payment for his advice, he returned them with an expression of pleasure in having been of any service to her. She went back to Rangoon renewed in health, and a few months later she became the mother of a little boy.

For a short time the baby was the treasure of the mission-house. In their loneliness and separation from all friends, the hearts of the father and mother went out to their little one, and he became even more to them than an only child usually is to its parents. The Burmans regarded him as quite a curiosity, for he was the only purely white infant in the place. The baby would lie quietly for hours on a mat in the study, while his parents were poring over their books, and when work was done they would throw the palm leaves on one side, take up the boy, and carry him in state around the house and garden. His presence seemed to light up the home with a new and sacred joy; but he was not to be there long. When he had completely twined himself around his parents' hearts he was taken away, for after a few days' illness he died when only eight months old.

This sore affliction was the means of drawing out much sympathy from many of the natives. The chief wife of the Viceroy had been greatly attracted by the little lad when he was alive, and on hearing of his death she paid a visit of condolence to his parents, accompanied by her official attendants, numbering some two hundred people. "Why did you not send me word, that I might come to the funeral?" she asked, smiting her breast and showing every sign of sorrow. The heart-broken mother replied that her grief was so great that she did not think of it, and the Burman lady then did her best to comfort her, and strove with warm, womanly sympathy to make her forget her loss.



CHAPTER V.

SOWING TIME.

For three years Mr. and Mrs. Judson devoted themselves solely to the study of Burman, and did not even attempt any directly evangelistic work, beyond the opportunity afforded by casual conversation with a few individuals. They well knew that any impatient attempts to push forward the work would probably result in closing the country against Christianity for many years to come.

It was not without heavy hearts that they saw the years passing away and nothing apparently being done. They had half expected, before leaving America, that it would require little more than a plain proclamation of the Gospel to win converts; but a short experience of the reality of missionary life showed them that the work was not so easy as had been imagined. The people were careless and indifferent, and no permanent impressions seemed to be produced upon their minds. They would listen politely while the missionaries pleaded with them for Christ, and then would lightly dismiss the matter with the remark that all religions were good.

One reason why preaching had not been attempted was because Mr. and Mrs. Judson felt it would be well at first to devote their energies more especially to the printing and circulation of Christian literature. In Burmah almost every man could read, and it would be possible to reach far more through the printed page than by public speaking. A portion of a gospel had been translated by Mr. Felix Carey, but this was lost in a wreck, so Mr. Judson started a fresh translation of the New Testament, and prepared one or two tracts. In 1815 he wrote to Dr. Carey, asking if he could print some Burmese tracts at the Serampore press; the doctor replied that it would be far better for Judson to start a press of his own in Rangoon, and in order that he might do so he sent him a complete outfit, including a press, a supply of type, and other necessary stock.

When the printing press reached Rangoon, there came with it two new helpers, Mr. and Mrs. Hough, sent out by the American Baptist Missionary Society. Mr. Hough had been a printer before leaving America, and so he was able to render practical assistance almost from the day of his arrival, by taking charge of the printing department. Two small tracts were issued as quickly as possible, one a Summary of Christian Doctrine, and the other a catechism; and Mr. Judson hurried on with his translation of the New Testament. The printing of these was the first thing of the kind that had ever been done in Burmah, and the missionaries rejoiced that the art of printing should be introduced into the country directly through Christianity.

Their first serious inquirer was brought to them through these tracts. One day in March, 1817, a man, evidently of good position, came to the mission-house and astonished Mr. Judson with the question, "How long a time will it take me to learn the religion of Jesus?" The surprised missionary replied that it all depended on whether God gave him light and wisdom, and asked how he came to know anything of Jesus. Had he been there before? "No." Had he seen any writings concerning Jesus? "I have seen two little books." "Who is Jesus?" Judson asked, to test his knowledge. "He is the son of God who, pitying creatures, came into the world and suffered death in their stead." "Who is God?" "He is a being without beginning or end, who is not subject to old age or death, but always is."

Mr. Judson was delighted beyond measure to hear these words proceed from the lips of a Burman. He handed him a tract and catechism, but these the man had read, and specially wanted another book. Judson had told him that he was preparing another book, but had not got it ready yet. "Have you not a little of that book done which you would be graciously pleased to give me?" the man asked; and Judson, thinking it better not to let the opportunity pass by, gave him two half sheets which had been already printed, and which contained the first five chapters of Matthew.

The man did not come again to them for some time, but they learned that he was appointed governor of some villages a distance away. The following January he had to visit Rangoon, and once more called at the mission-house. Mr. Judson was away just then, having gone for a short time to India, but Mrs. Judson had a long talk with him, and asked him if he had yet become a disciple of Jesus. "I have not yet," he replied, "but I am thinking and reading in order to become one. I cannot yet destroy my old mind, for if I see a handsome cloth or handkerchief I still desire them. Tell the great teacher when he returns, that I wish to see him, though I am not a disciple of Christ." He requested more books and then left.

Up to this time the rulers had been most friendly, but in 1818 a little event occurred which indicated to the missionaries what might at any time happen. The former Viceroy had left, and a new one was appointed in his stead. It was the time when Mr. Judson was away in India, and one morning Mr. Hough received a command, written in most threatening language, ordering him to at once appear at the court-house to give an account of himself. He went, and was ordered to come next day for examination, and the officials assured him that, "If he did not tell all the truth about his situation in the country, they would write it with his heart's blood."

For two days he was subjected to a severe cross-examination, and the officials seemed to delight in annoying and threatening him in every possible way. He could not appeal to the Viceroy, for he was not sufficiently acquainted with the language; so the native teacher drew up a petition, and Mrs. Judson herself presented it to the Viceroy. He received it kindly, and at once gave orders that Mr. Hough was not to be troubled further. They afterwards found out that the thing had been arranged by the minor officials, in order to extort money from the missionaries.

Before Mr. Judson returned a severe epidemic of cholera broke out in Rangoon, and Mr. Hough was very anxious to take his wife and Mrs. Judson out of the place and go back to India. It was a trying and troubled time, and all missionary-work was necessarily at a standstill. Mrs. Judson was very reluctant to leave Burmah, and for long refused to depart; she had not heard from her husband for many months, and did not know on what day he might return. But Mr. Hough was so persistent that she at last consented, and allowed her luggage to be taken on board a vessel, she herself following. But at the last moment, when the ship was on the point of sailing, she felt that she could not leave, and ordered her things to be taken back to the city again. Mr. and Mrs. Hough went on, and she was left alone, but within a few days her husband returned, and her greatest trouble was over.



CHAPTER VI.

INQUIRERS AND CONVERTS.

Soon after the retirement of Mr. Hough, two other missionaries and their wives came out to Rangoon, and the Judsons felt it was time to commence a more aggressive work. A little house of public worship, or zayat, was erected in one of the main roads and opened to all who liked to come in. The work had to be done very quietly, in order not to arouse the opposition of the Government, for there was much uncertainty at the time about the course the officials would take should any converts be made. When the zayat was finished, Mr. Judson called together some of the people living around, and held his first public service in the Burmese tongue. From this time meetings were held several times a week, and during the day Mr. Judson would sit in the house, talking and arguing with all who chose to come in to him.

Every Wednesday evening, at seven o'clock, Mrs. Judson met a class of women, numbering generally from twelve to twenty. To these she would read the Scriptures and talk in a simple way about God. "My last meeting was very animating," she said when describing one of these classes, "and the appearance of the females (thirteen in number, all young married women) very encouraging. Some of them were inquisitive, and after spending two hours seemed loth to go. One said she appeared to herself like a blind person just beginning to see. And another said she believed in Christ, prayed to Him daily, and asked what else was necessary to make her a real disciple of Christ. I told her she must not only say that she believed in Christ, but must believe with all her heart. She again asked what were some of the evidences of believing with the heart. I told her the manner of life would be changed, but one of the best evidences she could obtain would be when others came to quarrel with her and use abusive language, if, so far from retaliating, she felt a disposition to bear with, to pity, and to pray for them. The Burman women are particularly given to quarrelling, and to refrain from it would be most decided evidence of a change of heart."

During the daytime, while Mr. Judson was talking with any man who called, Mrs. Judson would sit in another part of the place and see all the women visitors. By this plan she was enabled to preach the Gospel to many. What time she could spare from this work she now devoted to a study of Siamese. A number of people in Rangoon knew only that language, so she learned it sufficiently well to be able to converse with them, and to translate a gospel and several tracts into their tongue.

In 1819 the hearts of the missionaries were cheered by a native, Moung Hau, coming out and openly professing Christianity—the first fruit gathered after seven years of labour. Many had partly accepted their teachings, and had been evidently impressed by their message; but up to that time no real, definite converts had been made.

Moung Hau soon showed that a real work of grace was progressing in his heart. He told the missionaries that he had found no other Saviour but Jesus Christ, from all the darkness and uncleanness and sins of his whole life, that he could look nowhere else for salvation, and that therefore he proposed to adhere to Christ for ever. "It seems almost too much to believe that God has begun to manifest His grace to the Burmans," the members of the little mission band said one to another; but the sincerity of Moung Hau was such that they could not doubt it, and after a time of probation he was publicly baptized.

There were signs that this convert was only the first of an abundant harvest. In the autumn of the same year, two more men requested baptism, but this time the rite had to be performed privately, for the Viceroy had begun openly to avow himself hostile to Christianity. Dark rumours of persecution were heard, and one inquirer was summoned before the authorities and warned to beware of what he did. So serious did matters become that public preaching had for a time to be abandoned, and many inquirers ceased their visits to the mission-house, and were heard of no more.

The missionaries thought that if they could only appeal to the Emperor, and obtain his permission to carry on their work, all might be well again; so after much deliberation Messrs. Judson and Colman went on a journey to the royal city of Ava, and obtained an audience of the Emperor. They humbly requested that his subjects might be permitted to become Christians without incurring the wrath of the authorities; but when the monarch heard their petition he treated it with open disdain, and they had to return to Rangoon saddened and disappointed beyond measure.

The news that nothing must be expected from the Government but persecution seemed to give strength to the three converts and to several really earnest inquirers. When the missionaries spoke of going to another part of Burmah, where they could have more liberty, their disciples implored them to remain. "It is useless to remain under present circumstances," Mr. Judson said. "We cannot open the zayat; we cannot have public worship; no Burman will dare to examine this religion, none can be expected to embrace it." "Teacher," one of the converts replied, "my mind is distressed; I can neither eat nor sleep since I find you are going away. I have been around among those who live near us, and I find some who are even now examining the new religion. Do stay with us a few months. Do stay till there are eight or ten disciples; then appoint one to be teacher of the rest." Many others said the same, and at last it was decided that Mr. and Mrs. Judson were to remain in Rangoon, while Mr. and Mrs. Colman, the other missionaries there at the time, should move to Chittagong, a place near at hand under British protection, and try to form a station there.