It is told of Dido, that she was not only capable and brave, but also—like many of the opposite sex—somewhat sharp in a bargain; and that she tricked the Africans into giving her more territory than they designed doing. The story is—though it is not generally believed—that having bargained with the natives for as much land as an ox-hide would encompass, she cut it up into the smallest possible strips, and by this means made it capable of surrounding a large extent of ground; and, as a bargain is a bargain, she gained possession of the inclosure by agreeing to pay an annual tribute for it. But whether or not this rather improbable story be true, avarice and tyranny on the part of a brother seems to have roused the dormant power in Dido's nature; and the indomitable perseverance, fortitude, and faculty for government displayed by the outraged woman, were the forces which brought about the founding of a powerful nation. King Pygmalion is only remembered because he was the brother of the illustrious Queen Dido.

CLEOPATRA.

The character of Cleopatra forms a striking contrast to that of Dido, in many particulars: the one the first princess and founder of a nation destined to live in history ages after it had ceased to exist; the other the last princess of a land equally famed in story, whose kingdom was to suffer extinction, in a great measure in consequence of her vices—not because she was too weak to sway the scepter, but because she was too wicked to rule justly.

The last representative of the dynasty of the Ptolemies, she seemed to possess an undue share of the evil propensities of an evil race; and, with this, the gift of rare beauty, added to very winning manners and remarkable powers of fascination. In her constitution was blended a dangerous combination of varied charms and varied vices. The learning of the Egyptian schools she had mastered; there were none of the then modern accomplishments of which she had not made herself mistress; wealth and regal honors were hers; and yet what a sad picture she presents! Evil passions were allowed to rankle in her breast unchecked, till she became one of the vilest creatures, in a country become the vilest and basest of nations. The powers of mind with which she was endowed, used for the benefit of her country, might have been the means of its salvation; but instead of appealing to the patriotism of her people—if, indeed, they then possessed any—she chose rather to court the favor of the rising Roman general, and gain by flattery and crime what might have been denied to virtue. Though her kingdom was in danger, and her own position and the inheritance of her children were at stake, she reveled in sinful pleasure with the enemy. By the power of her charms, she effected a compromise with the first Caesar, which left her in possession of Egypt; but not on honorable terms. How could terms, dictated on the one side and agreed to on the other by base passion, be aught but shameful and humiliating?

Caesar in the west, and the Roman legions far away, Cleopatra paid no more regard to the treaty between them than if it had never been made. Such a violation of contract the Romans never forgave; and Mark Antony, who had striven to rise to the supreme power after the assassination of Julius Caesar, as soon as he had leisure from his other ambitious schemes, bent his steps toward Egypt, to punish the faithless queen. Again she had recourse to her personal charms. The stern but vicious general, though in name a conqueror, became an easy victim of her wiles; and was himself in fact the conquered one. If Cleopatra had been Mark Antony's most bitter foe, she could not more surely have lured him on to utter, hopeless ruin.

At last, the crisis came. Augustus Caesar had arrived upon the shores of Egypt to avenge his sister's wrongs. Mark Antony's fate was sealed. Once more the wretched woman tried her powers of fascination; but youth and sprightliness were gone. She failed to captivate Augustus by her winning manners, or move him by a display of her distress. Her power, she realized at last, was gone; but grace his triumph in Rome she was determined she would not. As a crowned queen she had lived; as one she would die. The deadly asp, it is said, became the executioner of her wicked will; and when the victor came to stay the act which would rob him of a part of his revenge, he found the work accomplished. Cleopatra would try her wiles no more.

Here was a woman who, by her adroitness and tact and a passionate will, wielded an almost incredible power over some of the greatest men of that age; whom she brought under her influence, and for years led them whither she would, according to the whim which possessed her. Which was the weaker mentally, Mark Antony or Cleopatra? It is for the historical student to determine for himself. In licentiousness, they certainly were on a par.

LUCRETIA.

Contrast the depravity of the wretched Cleopatra with the virtue of Lucretia, wife of Collatinus, a distinguished Roman. Beautiful and, for the time in which she lived, highly accomplished, she was the idol of her husband. Loving and faithful to him, and attentive to the ordering of her household, she was pronounced a model Roman dame. Virtue was pre-eminently a characteristic of the Roman matron. A heartless libertine, annoyed that Lucretia should stand so high, and fired by wine and evil passion, determined to accomplish her downfall; and, while she was helplessly in his power, effected his vile purpose. The outraged woman waited till her husband and father could be summoned; and, having told her dreadful tale, and entreated them to avenge her dishonor, she plunged a dagger to her heart. A heathen, she knew not there was sin in suicide, and preferred death to a tarnished reputation.

PORTIA.

Like Lucretia, Portia was a Roman matron of noble lineage, and still nobler powers of mind. The daughter of Cato and wife of Brutus, it was her ambition to prove herself worthy of such a sire and such a husband; and, after the pagan fashion of the time, she subjected herself to an exceedingly painful physical ordeal, in order to test her powers of endurance. Having established the fact beyond a doubt that she was fully equal to her husband in fortitude and strength of character, she became his confidant and counselor, sharing his trials and misfortunes as readily as she had shared his prosperity. The ambition of Brutus, together with the jealous rivalries of the time, effected his ruin; and, finding his case hopelessly desperate, he caused himself to be mortally wounded, and expired shortly after. Portia had been so fondly attached to her husband that her friends feared she would determine not to survive him, and in consequence took measures to prevent her from taking her own life; but she foiled all their prudent forethought by swallowing a handful of live coals. Faithful to her husband to the last, according to her idea of fidelity, one can but lament that she had not the knowledge of a purer faith than that of paganism. She was worthy of a better fate and brighter age.

ZENOBIA.

Lucretia and Portia adorned private life, and—except in the manner of their respective deaths—were model matrons, the equals of their husbands in integrity and understanding. Zenobia takes a somewhat higher rank; though no more virtuous—that being impossible—she was called to exercise her talents in a different sphere. Though born in Asia, she claimed descent from the Macedonian kings of Egypt. In her youth, notwithstanding the restraints put upon her sex, she acquired a liberal education, and made herself mistress of the Latin, Greek, Egyptian, and Syriac literature.

She took an active part in the promotion of learning, and even compiled an epitome of Oriental history for her own use. Palmyra, "the gem of the desert," was favored in possessing such a princess. As beautiful as she was accomplished, she might in these respects be compared to her famous ancestress, Cleopatra; but here the resemblance ended. She was as famous for her virtues as was Cleopatra for her vices.

Arrived at maturity, she united her destiny with that of Odenathus, a man who had risen from an obscure position to the highest rank in the land. An intrepid general, he had not only subdued the neighboring tribes of the desert, but had, in a measure, humbled the haughty Persian king, and avenged the cruelty practiced upon the unfortunate Valerian, which the dissensions among the Romans prevented them from doing themselves, and had made himself master of the dominion of the East. In Zenobia he found a true helpmeet. She inured herself to hardships in order that she might accompany her husband in his hazardous undertakings, and assist him by her counsels or cheer him by her presence. To her prudence and fortitude Odenathus owed much of his success, both as a general and a monarch; so that in a few years, from the small possessions adjoining Palmyra, he had extended his territory from the Euphrates to the frontiers of Bithynia. During the intervals between the wars in which he engaged from time to time, he spent much of his leisure in hunting or other wild sports; and in these active amusements his wife also accompanied him. She even marched, when the occasion required it, at the head of their troops. For years every thing went prosperously; then Odenathus was snatched away by death, and the entire responsibility of the Government devolved upon Zenobia alone. The Romans, now grown stronger than they had been for some time after the defeat of Valerian, disputed the right of the widow of Odenathus to assume the reins of government, and sent out generals to compel her to submit to the dictum of the Senate. One of these she met, and obliged to retreat with the loss of his army, his mortification at defeat being increased by the fact that he had been beaten by a woman.

By judicious tact, she attached both her subjects and her soldiers to her cause, and enlarged the borders of her dominion very considerably. Even Egypt yielded to her prowess, and haughty Persia solicited an alliance with her. She was, in fact, as powerful as any of the Eastern potentates, if not the most powerful. No petty passion or malice was allowed to mark her conduct in the treatment of her subjects. The good of her country was her principal object in government, and for the good of the State she would forgive, or at least not punish, a personal injury. And, though surrounding herself with all the splendors of royalty, she yet managed the financial affairs of her realm with economy.

But the prosperity of her kingdom, and her own success as a sovereign, only increased the envy and resentment of the Romans. Aurelian had gained the supreme power in Rome, and, once established in his authority, he determined to make good the old boast—once so true—that Rome was mistress of the world. Zenobia was a powerful rival, and her he determined to humble. Finding her kingdom menaced by so powerful a foe, she set herself to defend it, and met the approaching enemy a hundred miles from her capital. Here the tide of fortune turned against the hitherto prosperous queen. In two successive battles she suffered defeat, and then she shut herself up in Palmyra, hoping to starve Aurelian into leaving her in peace; but his star was yet in the ascendant, the last obstacle was overcome, and Palmyra fell.

Zenobia, with some of her attendants, fled; but was overtaken and brought back a prisoner, destined to grace the triumph of her conqueror. She who had for more than five years ruled a powerful nation so nobly and so well, was henceforth to be subjected to the indignities of a captive.

With Zenobia, fell the dominion of the East, and its once beautiful capital dwindled into insignificance.

HYPATIA.

Rather more than a century had passed since the subjugation of Zenobia and her Empire by pagan Rome, when Hypatia, the philosopher of Alexandria, attracted the attention of the then civilized world by her marvelous talents and varied accomplishments. The daughter of Theon, the celebrated mathematician of Alexandria, she possessed unusual facilities—for a woman—for acquiring knowledge; and especially for becoming acquainted with the abstruse sciences. Of these facilities she availed herself with commendable earnestness; and at an early age she had made herself mistress of both Geometry and Astronomy, as far as either science was then understood or taught in any of the schools. As is the case with less profound natures, the mind grew on what it fed upon; reasoning, and the elucidation of knotty mathematical problems, became her delight; and, by general consent, she ranked as one of the first philosophers of her time, if not indeed the very first.

It has often been asserted that the possession of great mental power unfits the woman possessing it for the common amenities of life. That it does not necessarily do any thing of the kind, is sufficiently evidenced in the life of Hypatia. Though elevated to the very pinnacle of fame, in consequence of her mental attainments, she was nevertheless gentle and courteous in her manners, toward those by whom she was surrounded. She was very beautiful, yet without vanity; indeed, true strength of mind precludes the idea of vanity, for few but the mentally weak are vain; and she was as chaste as she was mentally strong and physically beautiful.

Convinced of her superior merits, the authorities of the School of Philosophy in which Plotinus and his successors had expounded their theories, importuned her to become preceptress therein; and, overcoming her natural diffidence, she consented. Thenceforth, instead of the frivolous adornments, considered too foolish to be worn by men, but quite fitting and becoming for women, she was arrayed in the cloak of the philosopher, and took her proper position as head of the most noted school in a city distinguished as the chief seat of learning of that age. As a public speaker—for her lectures were not altogether confined to her school—she was fluent. Her elocution may be said to have been faultless, and her manner of address pleasing; and these, combined with the very remarkable amount of information which she was capable of conveying in her lectures, drew crowds of warm admirers and enthusiastically devoted students to listen to her.

Was it possible that one so gifted, so beautiful and pure, could arouse malicious envy, or make an enemy by the exercise of talents God had given her?

Ah, yes! She knew more than Cyril—a professedly Christian bishop, who then filled the patriarchal chair. Thenceforth she was marked as his prey.

Allied to the State, the Church had lost its purity, and become the bitterest of persecutors; and Cyril was one of the bitterest of these. The Jews had enjoyed a degree of liberty in Alexandria, which latterly had been denied them elsewhere; and this the haughty spirit of the arrogant bishop could not brook; and, assuming that his power as an ecclesiastic was in consequence superior to the civil authority, he, after treating the Jews with most outrageous cruelty, banished them from the city. The Jews had been allowed to inhabit Alexandria from the time of its foundation, and had materially contributed to its prosperity; therefore, the civil authorities were not willing to see them suffer such indignities without raising their voice against the oppressive act. Orestes, Prefect of the city, appealed to the emperor on their behalf. He, trammeled with his Church connections, and yet not wishing to break with the prefect, declined to interfere in the matter, thus leaving them to settle the dispute by themselves; and soon the ecclesiastics and the citizens joined issue. Orestes, being attacked by a party of monks as he was peaceably pursuing his way through the streets in his carriage, was succored by the citizens, who came to his relief; and in the affray a monk was taken prisoner, whom the justly exasperated Orestes ordered to be executed. The sentence was carried into effect, and Cyril caused the name of the would-be murderer to be enrolled among the martyrs.

Hypatia was neither Jew nor Christian; but her love of truth and justice caused her to espouse the side of the persecuted victims of ecclesiastical tyranny. She had previously been the object of Cyril's bitter hatred, because her mental attainments were superior to his own. Now, that hatred was intensified to the highest degree of malignity. She had openly and boldly censured the conduct of the bishop, and was deemed the friend of Orestes; therefore she must die. Having committed no crime, she could not be brought before the civil tribunal for condemnation; therefore, as her death had been determined upon, murder was the next resort.

She was surrounded and seized by a mob in the interest of Cyril, as she was one day returning from her school, and hurried into the Caesarian church, where she was brutally murdered, every barbarity being practiced upon her which monks were capable of inventing, even to tearing her limb from limb, and afterward burning her; and Cyril, if indeed he did not sanction the murder by his actual presence while it was being committed, sanctioned the horrid deed by his protection of the perpetrators when the infuriated populace would have avenged her death.

Thus tragic was the end of one of the most highly gifted women the world has ever produced. She flourished in the reign of the Emperor Theodosius II, in the early part of the fifth century.

The record of the Famous Women of Antiquity might be lengthened out indefinitely: Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi, so famous in Roman history; Octavia, the deeply injured wife of Mark Antony; Eudosia, the wife of Theodosius, with her equally famous sister-in-law, Pulcheria; the Aspasia of Pericles, who is represented by some writers as having composed many of the orations given to the world as those of her husband; the Aspasia of Cyrus, so famous for her gentle modesty and wise counsels; and Marianne, the last and most unfortunate princess of the illustrious line of the Maccabees, and wife of the monster, Herod the Great. Each of these, to do justice to their merits, or to the transactions which rendered them famous, would require a biography. The mere mention of their names must suffice just here. Who has not read or heard of Sappho, the Greek poetess, concerning whose life and moral character there has been so much controversy—one class of writers condemning in unstinted measure, as all and utterly vile; the other class applauding her as being possessed of every virtue? Says one of the latter: "In Sappho, a warm and profound sensibility, virgin purity, feminine softness, and delicacy of sentiment and feeling, were combined with the native probity and simplicity of the Eolian character; and, although endued with a fine perception of the beautiful and brilliant, she preferred genuine conscious rectitude to every other source of human enjoyment." It is probable a medium between these two extremes would give the true character of this remarkable woman.

Many scores of names, besides those given, might be added to the list of eminent women; but the examples cited suffice to prove the assertion made—so far as the women of antiquity are concerned—that they were capable of an equal amount of mental effort with the men with whom they were contemporary; and that, where they arose to the supreme power, they governed as wisely and as well as the kings of the same period.



CHAPTER IX.

Eminent Women of Modern Times.

It now remains to be seen whether the women of modern times have been worthy of note, or what they have in any way accomplished.

COUNTESS OF MONTFORT.

In the troublous times about the middle of the fourteenth century, when every petty prince in Europe was trying to overreach his immediate neighbor and grasp his lands, and when ties of blood seemed only to intensify feuds, there arose two claimants for the principality of Brittany. The Count of Montfort, half-brother of the last duke, and Charles of Blois, were the rivals; and each prosecuted his claim with vigor. The army of Charles laid siege to Nantz, in which Montfort happened to be, and from which he found it impossible to escape.

Here was a dilemma. The partisans of Montfort were without an efficient leader; and his chances of gaining what he claimed were exceedingly doubtful. In this crisis of his affairs, however, an unexpected diversion was made, which changed the current of fortune. His wife, Jane of Flanders, now Countess of Montfort, had hitherto limited her administrative abilities to the careful management of her domestic concerns; and, it is to be supposed, was not deemed capable of a thought beyond. The tidings of the virtual captivity of her husband roused in her a determination to defend what she considered to be his rights, since he was unable to defend them himself.

She was at the time residing at Rennes, the inhabitants of which she caused to be assembled, and made known the disaster which had befallen their sovereign. Her infant son she presented before them as the last of an illustrious line, which must become extinct unless his father's fortunes were retrieved; and she besought them to prove now, by actions, the attachment they had formerly professed for the count. Nor was her address in vain. The citizens, inspired by courage and eloquence, vowed they would fight under her standard alone, and live or die with her. The garrisons throughout Brittany followed the example of Rennes, and she found herself at the head of a respectable army; but, fearing that she was not sufficiently strong to cope with Charles, who was backed by the strength of France, she applied to Edward III, of England, for help. Then, having put the affairs of the province in the best possible position, she established herself at Hennebonne, where she awaited the issue of events; having first sent her son to England, that he might be out of danger.

In the mean time, Charles of Blois was not inactive. Hennebonne was, of itself, too important a fortress to be overlooked; and, besides that, the heroic countess was there. If he could take the city and make prisoner its defender, his cause would be gained. With both the count and his wife in his power, he would be sure of the succession. Accordingly, before the supplies which Edward was sending could reach Hennebonne, he laid siege to it; but did not find its capture so easy a matter as he had expected.

The besieged made frequent sallies, in which the enemy lost both men and reputation, though they were not compelled to raise the siege. On one of these occasions the return of the countess was intercepted, and she found it impossible to regain the fortress. Nothing daunted she commanded her men to disperse themselves over the country, while she made her own escape to Brest. As soon as was possible, she collected another and larger force, and, forcing her way through the enemy's camp, made good her entrance into the city, to the great joy of her almost discouraged partisans.

Subsequently, the re-enforcements expected from Edward not having yet arrived, it was thought the garrison would be obliged to capitulate, and negotiations were actually commenced. The countess, deeply mortified at the turn her affairs were taking, had mounted a high turret, and there remained, looking sadly out over the sea in the direction whence the long-expected, but now despaired of, supplies should have come. Perhaps there was still a slight hope in her heart that, even yet, the desired aid might be afforded. If so, that hope was destined to be realized. As she kept her position, gazing sorrowfully over the wide expanse of waters, she descried dark objects on the very verge of the horizon. The despairing look gave place to one of eager, hopeful watching. The objects increased in size as she strained the eye to determine what they really were. A favorable breeze was wafting them nearer, and presently they took a tangible form. "Sails! sails!" cried the delighted countess. "Behold the succors—the English succors. No capitulation!" The opportune arrival of the re-enforcements sent by Edward had saved the garrison. Charles was obliged to raise the siege. He had neither taken the city nor captured the countess.

Edward's six thousand gallant troops did the cause of the countess and her still besieged husband good service. They had not appeared upon the field at an earlier period in the struggle in consequence of contrary winds. But the delay itself had accomplished very much in bringing out the strong points in the character of the countess. She had proved to the world that she could not only collect an army, but do even more—efficiently command it.

Subsequently, the cause of Charles of Blois seemed to gain fresh strength, and his party greatly outnumbered that of Montfort, whose friends decreased as those of Charles increased. Edward again sent re-enforcements. The English fleet, having with them the countess, were met on the passage to Brittany by the enemy, and an action ensued, in which the countess behaved with the utmost courage, charging the foe as valorously as any other officer among them. A storm put an end to the bloody conflict, and the fleet, without further adventure, reached the shores of Brittany. Thenceforth the dispute of the succession became inextricably mixed up in the quarrel between England and France, becoming indeed a part of it; and we trace the career of the heroic Countess of Montfort no further.

ANNE ASKEW.

In the preceding sketch, it has been shown what a woman could—did, in fact—do and dare, as an ardent patriot and loving wife. The fortitude of Anne Askew was of a different stamp. She proved what she could endure for conscience' sake. The Reformation produced many women such as she; but her simple story must suffice, here, for all.

She was a young lady of high family, and exercised a remarkable influence, for one so young, over the ladies at the Court of Henry VIII; and even stood in the relation of a friend to the queen—no great passport to the favor of the monster Henry. Being possessed of considerable mental ability, she gave much of her attention to the study of the theological questions which were disturbing the peace of Europe at the time; and being also of an independent turn, and withal deeply pious, she dared to question Henry's dogma concerning the "real presence" of the body of Christ in the Sacrament. Henry was furious that a woman should dare to hold any tenet other than he allowed, or dispute one which he had decreed must be believed. The infamous Bonner was commissioned to confer with her respecting her religious views; and, finding her firm in her determination not to yield to either his dictates or those of the king, he pronounced her a heretic. His conduct in representing her as such was the more reprehensible, as, while refusing to give entire credence to the doctrine they wished to impose upon her, she told the bishop and wrote to the king that, "As to the Lord's-supper, she believed as much as Christ himself had said of it, ... and as much as the Catholic Church required."

But the king, though professing to be a reformer, would brook nothing which did not accord precisely with his own dogmatic utterances. Her presuming to write to him, when she did not submit to his dictation, he chose to construe as a fresh insult to himself.

Her youth (she was but seventeen), her beauty, and her innocence were no protection. The rack, and then the stake, were all that remained, unless she could be prevailed on to recant. This she gently but firmly refused to do.

The king was determined to root out the heresy—if it existed there—from the court; and those who knew him, knew that there was no cruelty of which he would not be guilty to accomplish his end. Wriothesley, the chancellor, waited on the unfortunate Miss Askew to examine her concerning the religious sentiments of the other ladies of the court; but, though bold in professing her own religious views, she was just as firm in refusing to implicate any of her former associates. Threatenings and promises were alike found useless. Then she was subjected to the most excruciating torture; but, though every limb was dislocated, the noble girl remained true to her friends and to her God. So enraged was the chancellor at her fortitude, that when the lieutenant of the tower refused to obey his order to screw the rack still more tightly, he seized the instrument himself, and wrenched it so violently as almost to tear the "body asunder." But her constancy was unshaken. Torture having failed, the poor, mangled body was thrust into a chair, and carried to the stake. A Catholic priest and two other persons were conducted with her to execution, all condemned in like manner for the violation of the king's mandates. Bound to their respective stakes, these victims of intolerant bigotry and unlimited tyranny awaited with patience the kindling of the fagots which were piled around. But they were to be still further tempted ere they were released from suffering. While they were thus publicly exposed in the most painful of positions, suffering all the physical agony it was possible to endure and live, a message was sent to them that, if they would even at that late period recant, their lives would be spared. But they refused to purchase life at such a price, and calmly met their doom, Miss Askew with as much fortitude as either of the others.

Thus, amid smoke and flame, the pure spirit of Anne Askew was wafted, by attendant angels, to the paradise of God, whom she was not ashamed to honor before men. In all the struggle of the Reformation, what man exhibited more courage or greater strength of character or fortitude than this beautiful girl of but seventeen Summers? In what respect did she exhibit inferiority to those men associated with her in the trying year (1546) in which she earned her crown of martyrdom? There were many martyrs, but not one more steadfast.

ESTHER INGLIS.

The reign of Elizabeth has been styled the Augustine age of England. Under this queen's sanction, literature flourished more than ever before in that kingdom; and as a consequence her people became less barbarous, and men learned to look with less admiration upon the sword, and more respect on books. The influence of the encouragement given to men of letters by Elizabeth tells for good upon our literature, even after this lapse of time.

Among the personages eminent in this reign was Esther Inglis, who was exceedingly zealous, and industrious withal, in translating and transcribing the Scriptures into various languages, particularly French and Latin. Copies of these she presented to persons of distinction, one of which—a copy of the Psalms, and a rare specimen of calligraphy—she presented to the queen, who graciously accepted it, and subsequently had it deposited in the library of Christ's Church, Oxford.

She was pronounced by the most exacting critics to be the most accurate chirographist that had been known up to that period; nor has her peer been found since. She excelled even the celebrated Ascham and Davies, both in the number and variety of styles. Her copy of the Book of Proverbs is perhaps her most elaborate work of art, and is a marvel for the ingenious combination of writing, of which there are forty specimens, and fine pen-and-ink drawings. Every chapter, which is embellished both at the beginning and end with beautiful decorations, is written in a different hand, and there are variations of hand in some of the chapters. The book is entitled "Les Proverbes de Solomon, escrites in diverses sortes des lettres, par Esther Anglois, Francoise: A Lislebourge en Escosse, 1599," and is dedicated to the Earl of Essex. It is further ornamented by an exquisitely neat representation of the arms of the unfortunate nobleman, with all their quarterings, and by a pen-and-ink likeness of herself.

Several others of her works are carefully preserved in both England and Scotland; and some, as late 1711, were in the possession of her own descendants.

At the age of forty, she married a Scottish gentleman, named Kello, or, as we would spell it in these modern times, Kelly. The issue of this marriage was one son, named Samuel; and it was her grandson, Samuel Kelly, who was in possession of various portions of her works in the last century.

LADY PAKINGTON.

This celebrated lady, who flourished in the latter part of the seventeenth century, was the daughter of Lord Coventry, Keeper of the Great Seal, and the wife of Sir John Pakington. She was justly considered one of the celebrities of her day, and her society sought by the learned divines with whom she was contemporary. She was the well-known author of several works of merit, and the reputed author of others.

Ballard, who has given the world so many sketches of worthy and eminent women, with several other writers of note, claims that it was she who wrote the treatise entitled "The Whole Duty of Man;" and his reasoning is so much to the point, though quaint, that we simply append what he says of her, with his apt quotations from her writings, as a sufficiently clear delineation of the character and talents of this worthy woman. He writes:

"Yet hardly my pen will be thought capable of adding to the reputation her own has procured to her, if it shall appear that she was the author of a work which is not more an honor to the writer than a universal benefit to mankind. The work I mean is 'The Whole Duty of Man;' her title to which has been so well ascertained, that the general concealment it has lain under will only reflect a luster upon all her other excellencies by showing that she had no honor in view but that of her Creator, which, I suppose, she might think best promoted by this concealment. (The claims of other authors are not difficult to be disposed of.) If I were a Roman Catholic, I would summon tradition as an evidence for me on this occasion, which has constantly attributed this performance to a lady. And a late celebrated writer observes, that 'there are many probable arguments in "The Whole Duty of Man," to back a current report that it was written by a lady,' And any one who reads 'The Lady's Calling,' may observe a great number of passages which clearly indicate a female hand.

"That vulgar prejudice of the supposed incapacity of the female sex is what these memoirs in general may possibly remove; and as I have had frequent occasion to take notice of it, I should not now enter again upon that subject, had not this been made use of as an argument to invalidate Lady Pakington's title to those performances. It may not be amiss, therefore, to transcribe two or three passages from the treatise I have just now mentioned. 'But, waiving these reflections, I shall fix only on the personal accomplishments of the sex, and peculiarly that which is the most principal endowment of the rational nature—I mean the understanding—where it will be a little hard to pronounce that they are naturally inferior to men, when it is considered how much of intrinsic weight is put in the balance to turn it to the men's side. Men have their parts cultivated and improved by education; refined and subtilized by learning and arts; are like a piece of common which, by industry and husbandry, becomes a different thing from the rest, though the natural turf owned no such inequality. We may, therefore, conclude that whatever vicious impotence women are under, it is acquired, not natural; nor derived from any illiberality of God's, but from the ill-managery of his bounty. Let them not charge God foolishly, or think that by making them women, he necessitated them to be proud or wanton, vain or peevish; since it is manifest he made them to better purpose; was not partial to the other sex; but that having, as the prophet speaks, "abundance of spirit," he equally dispensed it, and gave the feeblest woman as large and capacious a soul as that of the greatest hero. Nay, give me leave to say further, that as to an eternal well-being, he seems to have placed them in more advantageous circumstances than he has done men. He has implanted in them some native propensions which do much facilitate the operations of grace upon them,'

"And having made good this assertion, she interrogates thus: 'How many women do we read of in the Gospel who, in all the duties of assiduous attendance on Christ, liberalities of love and respect, nay, even in zeal and courage, surpassed even the apostles themselves? We find his cross surrounded, his passion celebrated, by the avowed tears and lamentations of devout women, when the most sanguine of his disciples had denied, yea, foresworn; and all had forsaken him. Nay, even death itself could not extinguish their love. We find the devout Maries designing a laborious, chargeable, and perhaps hazardous respect, to his corpse; and accordingly it is a memorable attestation Christ gives to their piety by making them the first witnesses of his resurrection, the prime evangelists to proclaim those glad tidings, and, as a learned man speaks, apostles to the apostles.'

"There are many works of this lady besides 'The Whole Duty of Man,' enumerated in her biographies."

MRS. MARY WASHINGTON.

The material at hand is too meagre to admit of giving such a sketch of this lady as would afford any adequate idea of her character; and yet it is due to her memory, and to her nation, that there should be some tribute to her worth.

The mother of General Washington is as much the mother of the Great Republic as was Mrs. Susannah Wesley the mother of Methodism; for Washington owed the distinction to which he rose, and the high niche he occupies in the history of the world's heroes, to the early and careful training of his mother. Left a widow in a comparatively new and wild country, when her son George was but ten years old, she fully realized the very great responsibility resting upon her as sole remaining guardian of her children, and set herself to watch the bent of their inclinations, and to direct their energies into a proper channel. Respecting the influence she exerted upon them, her daughter-in-law, the wife of the President, many years afterward remarked: "You speak of the greatness of my husband. His dear mother ever looked well to the ways of her household. She taught him to be industrious by her example."

By her mild but firm management of her boy, she established a hold upon his affections, which strengthened instead of decreasing with years; and when, in the later part of his life, honors and distinctions were heaped upon him, he considered them rather as tributes to the worth of his mother than to his own. As was natural to so adventurous a spirit, George early manifested a predilection for the sea, and his elder brother encouraged him in thinking he might attain distinction as a gallant mariner. A midshipman's berth was procured for him, at the age of fifteen, on board of one of his majesty's ships, then off the coast of Virginia; and it seemed as if the ardent desire of his boyhood was about to be realized. But when all was ready, his mother gave expression to her disapproval of the expedition. Though sorely disappointed, he at once acquiesced, and yielded to the representations made by her. Nor did she expect him to give a ready acquiescence to her views without giving him valid reasons. She deemed him quite too young to be removed from the salutary restraints of home, and from the influences of its dearer ties. Years after, the colonists of Virginia and the North-west blessed the day upon which Mrs. Washington refused her consent to her son's entering the navy, and thus kept him to do them invaluable service in driving back from their territories the hostile Indians, or more hostile French. Though a genuine F.F.V., she was never arrogant in her demeanor. In her intercourse with those by whom she was surrounded, or with whom she came in contact, she was simple and unaffected, the model of a true lady and a Christian.

Even in old age, she still watched carefully over the interests of her son. During the Winter of 1777-1778, when the American soldiers were in such extremity at Valley Forge, she, as well as the wife of Washington, spent her time in preparing comfortable clothing for them. Her spinning-wheel and knitting-needles were rarely idle in those times of trial. A woman of proper discernment and good judgment, it is scarcely necessary to say that she disapproved of extravagance of every kind; and when the necessities of her country demanded the sacrifice of every thing not an absolute necessity, she was found foremost in setting an example of plainness of dress.

Lafayette, with his aids-de-camp, paid her a visit of congratulation on the occasion of Washington's successful passage of the Delaware, and found her dressed for their reception in a plain printed gown, with her knitting—probably a stocking for some needy soldier—lying on a table near her. Did the noble Frenchman and his companions deem their reception to have been less cordial than they would have thought it had she arrayed herself in costly satin and lace, and received them in idle state? Lafayette's own testimony of his appreciation of her remarkable worth answers for itself.

At a good old age she died, and her country still reveres her memory.

MRS. WESLEY.

Taylor, the historian, gives Mrs. Wesley quite a prominent position in his account of the work accomplished by her sons, and gives the following reason for doing so: "The mother of the Wesleys was the mother of Methodism." One who was so intimately connected with the leaders of the Reformation of the eighteenth century deserves a prominent position among the eminent women of modern history.

Mrs. Wesley was distinguished, from childhood, for rare mental ability; and, even at so early an age as thirteen, had made theology a favorite study. Arrived at mature years, she made practical use of the knowledge so carefully acquired in youth, and manifested unusual judgment and skill in the early training and general management of her very large family. She did not confine herself to the management of her domestic concerns alone, as many good mothers would have done, though she carefully superintended them, but also overlooked the studies of her children; and it was really her thorough training, and her subsequent counsels to John and Charles while at Oxford, which produced in them the bent of mind that finally resulted in the great Methodist movement.

Accustomed all her life to read with care the productions of the most eminent writers of her own and preceding times, and to reflect upon what she read, she was able to arrive at correct conclusions concerning questions of importance, whether they related to private matters or to the public well-being. She had no more dread of Mrs. Grundy than her sons had. Once she knew she was right, "Society" might either blame or praise, as it saw fit; she remained firm in the carrying out of the measure—true to her principles.

When her sons, John and Charles, collected the common and poorer people about them, and began preaching to them in the open fields, there was a fearful outcry. Old-time customs had been innovated. Clergymen of the Church of England had departed from accustomed usage, and from field or horseblock had proclaimed a full and free salvation through Christ to the very vilest of the land, if they would but comply with the conditions laid down by him. The Profession were aggrieved at such irregular proceedings. "Society" was scandalized that outcasts were bidden to the same feast upon the same conditions with those reputed decent. Even Samuel Wesley felt called upon to rebuke his brothers sharply for the reproach he considered they had brought upon the Church by their "intemperate zeal," But where was their mother meanwhile—she whose counsels experience had proved it best to follow? Examining the Scriptures, and the history of the primitive Church, to see wherein her sons had gone astray, that she might be in a position to convince them of their error, if she found them to be in it. Careful study, however, convinced her that they were only practicing the course followed by Christ and his apostles; and her determination was taken. She would not only encourage them by her letters, but sustain them and sanction their course by her presence. Accordingly, she went with her son John to Kensington Common, and stood by him while he preached to a congregation of about "twenty thousand people."

It was Mrs. Wesley who counseled John to ponder well what he did before he forbade laymen to address congregations; and her arguments on this point were so conclusive that they led him to alter his mind and make use of them as an agency for good in the Church, though previously he had considered such a proceeding a dangerous innovation.

During the life-time of her husband, it was her custom, in his absence, to allow those who chose to come to assemble in a room of the old rectory at Epworth, on Sunday, and either read them a sermon herself or have one of the elder children do it. Frequently, the office of reader devolved upon her daughter Emily.

No matter into what department of her life you inquire, she is still found the same active, energetic, and strong-minded woman. Nothing weak or puerile is found in her character. From girlhood to maturity, from maturity to gray hairs, she pursues the same steady, uniform course. Her life is consistent with the principles which she had laid down for her own self-government, and which she believed were deduced from the Word of God.

At seventy-two years of age, she closed a long career of usefulness, dying, as the Christian might be expected to die, in the triumphs of faith. Five of her daughters, and her son John, were permitted to stand at her bedside and witness her peaceful end, and to comply with a request made shortly before she died, that, as soon as the last struggle was ended, they should unite in singing a psalm of praise for her release.

Very appropriate were the lines of her son Charles on this occasion:

"In sure and steadfast hope to rise, And claim her mansion in the skies, A Christian here her flesh laid down— The cross exchanging for a crown."

MRS. FLETCHER.

Miss Mary Bosanquet, afterward Mrs. Fletcher, may also be numbered among the great women of the eighteenth century. While yet unmarried, she identified herself with the Methodists; and as a consequence was subjected to bitter persecution, even to being excluded from her father's house, and forbidden to have any intercourse with the younger members of the family.

Circumstances led her to believe that it was her duty to exercise the talents given to her, in addressing public audiences, and she accordingly began speaking to such congregations as she chanced to have. Such a departure from established usage brought down upon her a storm of invective and abuse. Her family and friends felt aggrieved that she should have allowed her enthusiasm—as they termed it—to lead her into what they deemed such an indecorous proceeding; and for a time she found it exceedingly difficult to stem the tide of opposition raised against her. But her natural good sense and independence of character were greatly in her favor. Ultimately, without her having yielded to the pressure brought to bear upon her, she overcame all opposition, and her family became reconciled to her.

She preached in various parts of England with acceptance, as she had opportunity, from shortly after her conversion till her marriage; and then, as it would have been a violation of a canon of the Church of England—of which Mr. Fletcher was a minister—for a woman to occupy the pulpit of the church at Madeley, her husband had a large building erected, in close proximity to the rectory, for her especial use. Here, for the few years that he was spared to his wife, it was Mr. Fletcher's pleasure—though he had few equals in erudition—to listen to the gentle teachings of this amiable woman. Her eloquence was so very remarkable, that more than twenty years of public speaking had not in the least diminished the interest with which she was listened to. Crowds attended on her ministry, not from idle curiosity, but for edification.

So beneficial had Mrs. Fletcher's ministrations at Madeley been found to be, that on the death of her husband, and the appointment of a successor, the new rector, not wishing to retard the progress of true Christianity in his parish, requested her to continue to use the building erected for her convenience just as she had formerly done. Mrs. Fletcher accepted the invitation so cordially given, and for many years was an efficient co-laborer with the rector.

Nor did the public career of Mrs. Fletcher mar her efficiency in the management of her domestic concerns. Both at Laytonstone and at Madeley, she attended carefully to her household, overseeing every thing connected with what is technically termed the women's department, with particular scrupulousness. At last her long and active life was nearing its close. For thirty years she had mourned the loss of her venerated husband, of whom, in her seventy-sixth year, she thus makes mention in her journal:

"August 13, 1815.—Thirty years, this day, I drank the bitter cup and closed the eyes of my beloved husband, and now I am myself in a dying state." Then, in view of her own approaching end, she continues: "Lord, prepare me. I feel death very near. My soul doth wait and long to the bosom of my God." A little earlier in this year she had written: "O, I long that the year fifteen [1815] may be the best year of my life." With the great apostle she could say, "Having a desire to depart, and be with Christ." And now she was realizing the fulfillment of that longing desire. Her labors were about ended. Soon she was to enter into the Christian's promised rest. On the 9th of December, 1815, she closed her eyes to sublunary objects to open them in the paradise above. Rev. Mr. Dodson, who attended her funeral, said of her: "Her congregations were fully as large, after thirty years' labors, as when she first opened her commission among them."

Where is the clergyman of whom more can be said?

MISS CROSBY.

While Miss Bosanquet was still living at Laytonstone, she had associated with her two other ladies equally eminent for their earnest piety, and for the diligence with which they prosecuted every good work. It was their delight, among other things, to assist Miss Bosanquet in dispensing her munificent charities, which were so managed as to be given without ostentation. These two intimate friends of Miss Bosanquet were Miss Crosby and Miss Tripp. From the very commencement of a regularly organized movement among the Methodists, class and band meetings had been found very useful as a means of instructing the people who had united with these societies, and, in the capacity of class-leaders and band-leaders, these three ladies were perhaps unsurpassed in England.

By what some would perhaps call a mere accidental circumstance, Miss Crosby found herself, upon an occasion, in a position where she must speak to a congregation or send them home disappointed, and be guilty of what she deemed an omission of a duty clearly pointed out to her by Providence. She had given no intimation of any intention, on her part, of doing more than she usually did at this place—simply leading her ordinary class—and had designed doing nothing more, when, on her arrival there, she found nearly two hundred persons present anxious for instruction. To lead the class in the customary manner was impossible. She, therefore, after conducting the preliminary services, delivered a general address, dwelling particularly on the necessity of repentance, and presenting Christ as a compassionate Redeemer. This extempore address was attended with such beneficial results, that her friends insisted upon her exercising her very evident talent in this direction, and, though averse to any thing like forwardness, she did not feel that she was justified in refusing to comply with the wishes of those on whose judgment she relied. Wherever she went, success attended her efforts, and she traveled extensively throughout the kingdom, speaking sometimes to very large audiences.

Dr. Stevens, the celebrated American Methodist historian, thus sums up the work of a single year. "In that time," says he, "she traveled nine hundred and sixty miles to hold two hundred and twenty public meetings, and about six hundred select meetings, besides writing one hundred and sixteen letters, many of them long ones, and holding many conversations in private with individuals who wished to consult her on religious subjects." In this latter department of the Christian ministry she particularly excelled.

Like her friend, Mrs. Fletcher, she lived to a very old age; and at seventy-five, or nearly that, calmly composed herself for death, by a vigorous effort of the will closing her own eyes and mouth. Her demise occurred October 24, 1804.

ANN HASSELTINE.

The first wife of the Rev. Adoniram Judson was a brilliant exemplification of the truth of the position we have advanced—namely, that a woman may be endowed with intellectual powers of a high order; that she may assiduously cultivate those powers and employ them in advancing objects that commend themselves to her judgment outside of her own family circle; that she may become an active and efficient participator in affairs of a public nature, requiring of her wisdom, eloquence, and courage; and all this without her deteriorating in the slightest degree in any of the valuable qualities or attractive graces that characterize a truly womanly woman.

Mrs. Judson's history, as connected with the Burmese Mission, which her husband and herself were instruments in the hand of God in establishing, is too well known to require extended notice here. A few points, however, may be glanced at. Throughout the difficulties which beset them during the first year after their arrival at Calcutta, when there seemed to be no open door through which they might enter upon their destined work, and all their hopes of usefulness seemed doomed to disappointment, Mrs. Judson was as little disposed to succumb to these adverse circumstances as her husband.

The British East India Company did not favor Christian missions, and were at that time (1812) particularly unfriendly to American missionaries. They had spent but a few days in the congenial society of the venerable Dr. Carey's hospitable home, when they were ordered, by the Government, to leave the country and return to America. Hoping to be allowed to prosecute their work in some country not under the Company's jurisdiction, they solicited and obtained permission to go to the Isle of France. But before Mr. and Mrs. Judson were able to secure a passage there, they received a new order from the Government commanding them to embark on a vessel bound for England.

Just then they heard of a vessel about to sail for the Isle of France, and applied for a passport to go on her, but were refused. The captain, however, though knowing of the refusal, allowed them to embark. The vessel was overtaken by a Government dispatch, forbidding the pilot to conduct it further seaward, because there were persons on board who had been ordered to England. They were obliged to land; but finally the captain was induced to disregard orders so far as to allow Mrs. Judson to return to the vessel, and to convey her and their baggage to a point opposite a tavern, a number of miles down the river, Mr. Judson being left to make his way as best he could.

Let us imagine that refined and tenderly reared lady, landing from the pilot's boat, which he had kindly sent to take her ashore, alone, a stranger in a foreign land, uncertain of the character of the place in which she was obliged to seek shelter, and not knowing what might occur to prevent her husband rejoining her. Instead of weakly yielding to despondency, she promptly engaged a boat to go out after the vessel, to bring their effects ashore. Then, though impenetrable darkness so shrouded their future that she could not see how the next step was to be taken, she looked for light upon their pathway, and deliverance from their perplexities, to Him whom they served, and calmly trusted the issue to Him. Before night, Mr. Judson arrived at the place where his wife waited, in safety, as did also their baggage.

For three days they could see no way out of their difficulty. Then they received, from an unknown friend, the necessary pass. Hastening down the river at a point seventy miles distant, they found the vessel they had left, were received on board, and allowed to continue their voyage.

When they dropped anchor at the Isle of France, the dangers of the voyage, and the trials that had preceded it over, they were looking forward to a season of enjoyment in the society of their associate missionaries, Mr. and Mrs. Newell, who had accompanied them on the voyage from America, and had preceded them from Calcutta to the Isle of France. But disappointment deeper, sadder than any that had gone before, awaited them. Mrs. Judson says: "Have at last arrived in port; but O, what news—what distressing news! Harriet (Mrs. Newell) is dead. Harriet, my dear friend, my earliest associate in the mission, is no more. O death, could not this wide world afford thee victims enough, but thou must enter the family of a solitary few, whose comfort and happiness depended so much on the society of each other? Could not this infant mission be shielded from thy shafts?" "But be still, my heart, and know that God has done it. Just and true are thy ways, O thou King of saints!"

To her sorrow for her friend and her anxiety at the uncertainties of their situation, was added, while on the island, a severe attack of illness. But when a field supposed to be accessible to missionaries was determined upon, though only partially recovered, she cheerfully prepared to brave new dangers and the repetition of former trials. They sailed for Madras; and, on their arrival there, found but one ship in the harbor ready for sea, and that not bound for their desired port, but for Burma. They had intended going to Burma when they first arrived in India, but had been dissuaded from so doing by the representations of their friends that the country was altogether inaccessible to missionaries. They dared not remain long in Madras, lest the officials of the East India Company should send them back to America. Thus, every other way being closed up against them, they were obliged to turn their faces toward that country in which they became so eminently useful.

The voyage was one of discomfort and peril. When they arrived at Rangoon, then the capital of Burma, Mrs. Judson was so weak that she had to be carried in an arm-chair from the landing. Thankful to have at last found a resting-place, they as quickly as possible established themselves in the house they were to occupy.

As soon as Mrs. Judson's health was sufficiently restored, they gave their attention to the study of the Burmese language. It is worthy of remark, that although Mrs. Judson charged herself with the entire management of family affairs, in order that Mr. Judson might not be interrupted in prosecuting the study of the language, yet she made more rapid progress in acquiring it than he did. Subsequently, she studied the Siamese language also, and translated a Catechism and one of the Gospels into that tongue. As soon as she was able to make herself understood, she diligently endeavored to impart the knowledge of the truth, as it is in Jesus, to those who would listen to her instructions. Though they were attentive and inquisitive, it was long before fruit appeared; but undiscouraged, she, with prayer and faith, continued to sow beside all waters.

Mrs. Judson was surprised at the native intelligence and reflecting minds possessed by some of the Burmese women. The case of a woman named May-Meulah is given as an instance of this:

"Previous to the arrival of the missionaries in her country, her active mind was led to inquire the origin of all things. Who created all that her eyes beheld? she inquired of all she met, and visited priests and teachers in vain; and such was her anxiety, that her friends feared for her reason. She resolved to learn to read, that she might consult the sacred books. Her husband, willing to gratify her curiosity, taught her to read, himself. In their sacred literature she found nothing satisfactory. For ten years she prosecuted her inquiries, when God in his providence brought to her notice a tract written by Mr. Judson in the Burmese language, which so far solved her difficulties, that she was led to seek out its author. From him she learned the truths of the Gospel, and, by the Holy Spirit, those truths were made the means of her conversion."

Mrs. Judson's politic mind seeing the probable importance to the mission of making friends in high places, she procured an introduction to the wife of the viceroy, and, while visiting her, met the viceroy also. After giving an interesting account of the visit, she adds: "My object in visiting her was, that if we should get into any difficulty with the Burmans, I could have access to her, when perhaps it would not be possible for Mr. Judson to have an audience with the viceroy."

Thus studying, teaching, and planning; laboring with her hands, and enduring pain, sickness, and sorrow; unsolaced by Christian society, except her husband's,—three anxious years passed.

In their course, her first-born had come to warm her heart with a new love, and, for a few brief months, to delight them with the unfolding of his baby graces. Then death entered, and bore away their darling, and left hearts and home more lonely than before.

The arrival of additional missionaries from America—Mr. and Mrs. Hough—in the Autumn of 1816, for a time greatly cheered and encouraged them. But fresh trials were in store for them. Mr. Judson had embarked for the province of Arracan; and when they were daily looking for his return, a vessel arrived from the port to which he had sailed, bringing the disheartening tidings that neither he nor the vessel in which he had sailed had been heard of there. While, tortured by suspense on Mr. Judson's account, new terrors alarmed the mission family. Mr. Hough was ordered to the court-house, and detained there for days under a threat that "if he did not tell all the truth in relation to the foreigners, they would write with his heart's blood." Not understanding the language of his accusers, he was unable to plead his own cause, and he had no male friend to do it for him. Had Mrs. Judson, in this extremity, allowed herself to be absorbed in her own sorrow, or yielded to timidity, Mr. Hough would probably have suffered a long and rigorous confinement, if indeed he had escaped with his life. But undaunted by the odium, or even danger, that might accrue to herself, she, in violation of court etiquette, presented herself at the palace with a petition in Mr. Hough's behalf. The viceroy, without manifesting any displeasure at the breach of etiquette, ordered Mr. Hough to be set at liberty.

Six months of painful suspense passed, and yet no tidings of Mr. Judson. That dreadful scourge, the cholera, was raging, and they were alarmed by rumors of war. Mr. Hough resolved to remove his family to Bengal, and urged Mrs. Judson to accompany them. She says: "I have ever felt resolved not to make any movement till I hear from Mr. Judson. Within a few days, however, some circumstances have occurred which have induced me to make preparations for a voyage. There is but one remaining ship in the river; and if an embargo is laid on English ships, it will be impossible for Mr. Judson—if he is yet alive—to return to this place." Therefore she yielded to the solicitations of Mr. and Mrs. Hough, and embarked with them. But, reviewing all the conditions of the case as the vessel slowly made its way down the river, it became clear to her mind that whatever were the dangers of her position at Rangoon, yet there was her post of duty. Once convinced of what was duty, this heroic woman was not to be deterred from it by dangers, however formidable. Her resolution was taken; and, having prevailed upon the captain to send a boat up the river with her, she returned alone to the mission-house. The wisdom of her decision was proved in a short time by the safe return of Mr. Judson. Later, when failing health necessitated a change of climate, Mrs. Judson showed herself as well adapted to moving gracefully in cultivated and refined society as she was to contending with adversity and danger in a heathen land.

Her eloquent appeals, both in England and America, in behalf of the perishing millions of the East, and her history of the Burmese Mission, prepared during her visit to the United States, stirred up missionary zeal in the heart of Protestant Christendom, and gave an impetus to the cause of missions that has gone on accelerating to the present time.

In the mean time, other missionaries had arrived in Burma, among whom was Dr. Price, the fame of whose skill in medicine reached the ears of the king; and Dr. Price was ordered to Ava, then the capital. Dr. Price obeyed the summons; and Mr. Judson, anxious to make another effort to procure toleration for the Christians, accompanied him. The king received them kindly, determined to retain Dr. Price at Ava, and urgently insisted upon Mr. Judson's remaining also. Rejoiced to find the king so favorably disposed toward the Christians, Mr. Judson resolved to accept the invitation, but represented that he must return to Rangoon for his wife.

A few days after Mrs. Judson arrived from America, they therefore left Rangoon, and commenced a mission at Ava; which soon became to them the theater of such martyr-like sufferings and exalted heroism as to do justice to which would require a volume. Erelong, the war so long feared between the British and the Burmese actually broke out. The Englishmen at Ava were all seized and imprisoned, and with them Mr. Judson and Dr. Price. In vain the missionaries protested that they were not Englishmen. Identical with the latter in language, religion, manners, dress, etc., and receiving their funds through an English house, the Burmese could not, or would not, understand that they belonged to another nation.

Mrs. Judson was not allowed to leave her own house till the third day; a guard having been placed around it, and no one allowed to enter or leave it but at the penalty of life. She obtained egress at last, by causing the governor to be informed that she wished to visit him with a present. The guard were then ordered to allow her to pass. Her plea for their release was without effect; but she was directed to an officer with whom she might arrange with regard to making them more comfortable. By paying a considerable sum of money to this man, she obtained a promise that their sufferings should be mitigated.

The Governor gave her an order for her admittance to the prison, but she was not allowed to enter. She saw Mr. Judson at the door, whither he crawled to speak with her. But even this sad communing was cut short by a rude order to Mrs. Judson to "depart, or they would pull her out." She was, however, allowed to supply the prisoners with food, and mats to lie upon.

This was the beginning of a long series of such visits to the prison—of efforts for the comfort of the prisoners, and appeals in their behalf to jailers, petty officers, magistrates, governors, or members of the royal family.

She was subjected to all manner of extortion and annoyance, being repeatedly brought before the authorities on the most absurd charges. The fear that her husband would be put to death so haunted her, that she was willing to meet the most exorbitant demands, hoping thereby to conciliate his persecutors.

After she had succeeded in effecting some slight improvement in their condition, all was reversed by a disastrous battle; the success of the British being visited upon the prisoners, by the withdrawal of all the little comforts Mrs. Judson had at so much cost and trouble obtained for them. When they were dragged from one city to another, she followed, renewing the same wearing round of toiling, pleading, paying, to procure some alleviation of their misery.

The estimation in which she was held by those acquainted with the facts, may be seen by the following, written by one of Mr. Judson's fellow-prisoners:

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

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

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

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

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

The war being over, Mr. Judson determined to remove into one of the provinces ceded to the British; and the new town of Amherst was selected as their place of residence.

The natives converted to Christianity through the instrumentality of the missionaries, had been dispersed during the war; and many of them now gathered to Amherst, to enjoy again the instructions of their beloved teachers. Their prospects now seemed highly encouraging; and Mr. Judson departed on a journey by which he hoped to advance the interests of the mission, leaving Mrs. Judson engaged with her characteristic energy in carrying forward arrangements to facilitate their work.

But never more were that clear head, ready hand, and sympathetic heart to aid or encourage him in his labors, or succor him in the hour of calamity. Her work was done.

A fever seized her, and her constitution, undermined by the exhausting sufferings, mental and physical, through which she had passed during the war, was not able to withstand the violence of the disease. There, without husband or kindred to receive her frail infant from her paralyzing arms, or to speak words of love or comfort in her dying ears, she battled with the last enemy, and terminated her singularly eventful and useful life.

In 1848, more than twenty years after her death, a writer in the Calcutta Review thus speaks of her:

"Of Mrs. Judson, little is known in the noisy world. Few, comparatively, are acquainted with her name—few with her actions; but if any woman, since the first arrival of the white strangers on the shores of India, has, on that great theater of war stretching between the mouth of the Irrawaddy and the borders of Hindoo Koosh, rightly earned for herself the title of a heroine, Mrs. Judson has, by her doings and sufferings, fairly earned the distinction—a distinction, be it said, which her true woman's nature would have very little appreciated. Still, it is right that she should be honored by the world. Her sufferings were far more unendurable, her heroism far more noble, than any which in more recent times have been so much pitied and so much applauded.... She was the real heroine. The annals in the East present us with no parallel."

SARAH HALL BOARDMAN JUDSON.

Who so worthily followed in the footsteps of the first Mrs. Judson, arrived in India with her first husband, the Rev. George D. Boardman, while Mr. Judson and his fellow-sufferers were still prisoners in Ava. They remained in Calcutta till the close of the war, and some time after, preparing themselves by the study of the Burmese language, etc., for their subsequent career of usefulness in Burma.

After they had joined the other missionaries at Amherst, Maulmain was determined upon as the scene of their future labors, and thither they repaired. The dangers that encompassed their new residence were such as in the presence of which even stout hearts might have been excused for quailing. The mission-house was a slight structure of bamboos, constituting scarcely any obstruction to assailants disposed to effect an entrance, and in such close proximity to the jungle that the slumbers of the missionaries were frequently disturbed by the howling of the wild beasts, whose lairs had so recently given place to human habitations. Maulmain was then a new city that had suddenly sprung into existence within the territory ceded to the British.

They had been settled in their new abode but a few weeks, when it was entered in the night by robbers, who overhauled all their effects, and carried away most of their valuables while they slept.

Mrs. Boardman, speaking of the event, says: "After the first amazement had a little subsided, I raised my eyes to the curtains surrounding our bed, and, to my indescribable emotion, saw two large holes cut, the one at the head and the other at the foot of the place where my dear husband had been sleeping. From that moment I quite forgot the stolen goods, and thought only of the treasure that was spared. In imagination I saw the assassins, with their horrid weapons, standing by our bedside, ready to do their worst had we been permitted to wake. O, how merciful was that watchful Providence which prolonged those powerful slumbers of that night, not allowing even the infant at my bosom to open its eyes at so critical a moment!"

After the robbery, a guard was sent from the English barracks to protect the missionaries in case of another visit from the marauders. One of the guard narrowly escaped death from a wild beast, which, rushing out of the jungle, leaped upon him while he was seated upon the veranda of the mission-house. Happily there was help at hand, and the animal was frightened away before the man had sustained serious injury.

Do we find Mrs. Boardman, while thus continually exposed to attacks of ravenous beasts and fierce banditti, deploring her situation, or expressing a desire to relinquish their work and return to the security and comfort of civilized life? On the contrary, she characterizes the months in which these events were transpiring as among the happiest of her life, because she felt that they were in the path of duty.

Afterward, in order to the further extension of missionary operations in the country, it was judged advisable for Mr. and Mrs. Boardman to leave the infant Church and the schools they had so successfully established at Maulmain, to the care of the other missionaries, and to proceed themselves to Tavoy. Accordingly, they sundered the ties that bound them to their first Indian home, and to the natives in whose conversion they had been instrumental, and again devoted their energies to breaking up new ground.

At Tavoy, after overcoming various obstacles and discouragements, they succeeded in establishing schools, and were cheered by indications of prosperity and some conversions among the natives.

The conversion of a Karen having attracted Mr. Boardman's attention to that interesting tribe, he, though scarcely recovered from a dangerous illness, made a tour among them with very gratifying results. It required no small amount of courage and of exalted devotion to the cause in which they were engaged to make Mrs. Boardman willing to be left, with her two little ones, among the natives in such a place, and with no better protection from outside dangers than a bamboo hut, her mind, at the same time, distressed by sad forebodings as to the probable consequence to her husband's feeble health of the exposures, toils, and dangers inseparable from his journey. But she was equal to this and to sorer trials which yet awaited them at Tavoy. Some of these were consequences of the rebellion of the Tavoyans against the British.

It was fortunate for Mr. and Mrs. Boardman that they, at that time, resided in a place occupied by a British force; small though the force was, yet to its presence they were probably indebted for their exemption from aggravated sufferings, if not from death itself.

From a letter of Mr. Boardman's we take some extracts. He says: "On Lord's-day morning, the 9th instant, at four o'clock, we were aroused from our quiet slumbers by the cry of 'Teacher, master, Tavoy rebels!' and ringing at all our doors and windows. We were soon awake to our extreme danger, as we heard not only a continual report of musketry within the town, but the balls were frequently passing over our heads and through our house; and, in a few moments, a large company of Tavoyans collected near our gate, and gave us reason to suspect they were consulting what to do with us. We lifted our hearts to God for protection, and Mrs. Boardman and little George were hurried away through a back door to a retired building in the rear. I lay down in the house (to escape the bullets), with a single Burman boy to watch and communicate the first intelligence."

On the kind invitation of Mrs. Burney, the wife of the English resident, who happened to be absent, they sought shelter from the storm of bullets in the Government-house. Mr. Boardman continues: "We had been at the Government-house but a short time, when it was agreed to evacuate the town and retire to the warf—a large wooden building of six rooms. Our greatest danger at this time arose from having, in one of the rooms where many were to sleep, and all of us were continually passing, several hundred barrels of gunpowder, to which, if fire should be communicated accidentally by ourselves, or mischievously by others, we should all perish at once. But, through the kind care of our Heavenly Father, we were preserved alive, and nothing of importance occurred until the morning of Thursday, a little before daybreak, when a party of five hundred advanced upon us from the town, and set fire to several houses and vessels near the warf. But God interposed in our behalf, and sent a heavy shower of rain, which extinguished the fire, while the Sepoys repelled the assailants."

Mrs. Boardman's biographer says: "What could be more appalling to the stoutest heart than the situation of Mrs. Boardman and her helpless family? Forced to flee from her frail hut, by bullets actually whizzing through it, and to pass through the town amid the yells of an infuriated rabble, her path sometimes impeded by the dead bodies of men who had fallen in the conflict; driven from the shelter of the Government-house, again to fly through the streets to the warf-house, and there, with three or four hundred fugitives crowded together, to await death, which threatened them in every form; hearing over their heads the rush of cannon balls, and seeing from burning buildings showers of sparks falling, one of which, if it reached the magazines under their roof, was sufficient to tear the building from its foundations, and whelm them all in one common ruin; or, if they escaped this danger, to know that hundreds of merciless barbarians, with knives and cutlasses, might, at any moment, rush into the building and destroy them,—can the female heart, we are ready to ask, endure such fearful trial? Yes: her mind was stayed by a 'courage not her own;' ... its calmness was that of a child who, in its utter helplessness, clings to its father's arm."

Her distress was aggravated by the alarming illness of her little boy, caused by the foul air of the warf-house and the absence of accustomed comforts; but, by the blessing of God upon her watchful care, it was spared to her.

"With what transports of joy did that suffering company hail the sight of the thin blue smoke that heralded the arrival of a steamer from Maulmain! Amid what distracting fears for her husband, left in the revolted city, her infant and herself, did Mrs. Boardman decide to go on board the steamer returning to Maulmain! And with what gratitude and joy did she, after several days of painful suspense, welcome to the same city her husband, and hear the tidings of the triumph of British power and the restoration of tranquillity!"

The rebellion being suppressed, Mr. Boardman set about repairing the mischief it had wrought. Their house had been cut to pieces, and their books, clothing, furniture, etc., carried off, mutilated, or destroyed. He gathered up such fragments as remained, and made the best arrangements in his power for future comfort and usefulness. Illness and other causes detained Mrs. Boardman for some time at Maulmain; but, before Winter, she had returned, and they were again engaged in their "loved employ," and were greatly strengthened and encouraged by seeing the good seed they had so faithfully sown amid opposition and discouragement, bringing forth fruit in the conversion of the heathen. But, even while rejoicing in these triumphs of the truth, Mrs. Boardman could not conceal from herself the conviction that a greater sorrow than any she had yet known was coming upon her. She had already twice experienced the agony that wrings the hearts of bereaved parents. Of their three children, two had been taken from them by death,—their first-born, a lovely and promising little girl of two years and eight months; and, afterward, their second son, a beautiful babe of eight months. But all the suffering and sorrow that she had yet endured seemed as nothing in comparison with that which now threatened to overwhelm her. Her beloved husband, who had been her comfort and solace under previous bereavements, was now himself too evidently passing away.

Ardently affectionate in her nature, she suffered intense anguish of spirit; but instead of giving way to rebellious repinings, the poor bruised heart carried its sorrows to the Great Healer, and in his strength she girded herself with fresh courage to do all that might yet be done.

When her dying husband could not be dissuaded from employing the last remnant of his ebbing life in another visit to his beloved Karens, we find her taking her place beside his portable couch, that his sufferings might receive every possible alleviation; that he might lack no tender attention that the most devoted love could give.

They arrived at their destination on the third day, and found awaiting them nearly a hundred natives, more than half of whom were applicants for baptism. The place prepared for the accommodation of Mr. and Mrs. Boardman and their little boy, was a room five feet wide and ten feet long, so low that Mrs. Boardman could not stand upright in it, and so insufficiently inclosed as not to shelter the sufferer from the cold and damp of the night air, or the scorching rays of the sun by day. Those who have known what it is to watch beside dying loved ones, witnessing suffering that they were powerless to relieve, can imagine the anguish that Mrs. Boardman endured in seeing her husband so near his end in that miserable place, destitute of the little comforts so needful in sickness. But with heroic determination she repressed her own sorrow, lest it might incapacitate her for assisting him while rallying his expiring energies for one more effort in his Master's cause. The poor worn body, though, was found unequal to the task assigned it by the zealous spirit, and he was forced to admit that his work was done.