Transcriber’s Note:

Footnotes have been collected at the end of each chapter, and are linked for ease of reference.

Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please see the transcriber’s [note] at the end of this text for details regarding the handling of any textual issues encountered during its preparation.

The front book cover was blank, but has been enhanced here with basic information from the title page. New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.

Any corrections are indicated using an underline highlight. Placing the cursor over the correction will produce the original text in a small popup.

Any corrections are indicated as hyperlinks, which will navigate the reader to the corresponding entry in the corrections table in the note at the end of the text.

THE LIFE OF
ADONIRAM JUDSON

BY HIS SON

EDWARD JUDSON

NEW YORK

ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY

900 Broadway, cor. 20th Street

COPYRIGHT, 1883,

BY EDWARD JUDSON.

New York:

EDWARD O. JENKINS,

Printer and Stereotyper,

20 North William St.

ROBERT RUTTER,

Binder,

116 & 118 E. 14th St.

TO THE CHILDREN OF MISSIONARIES,

THE INVOLUNTARY INHERITORS

OF THEIR PARENTS’ SUFFERINGS AND REWARDS,

THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED

BY ONE OF THEIR NUMBER.

It is not my purpose to present a theory of missions, but simply to give a clear and consecutive story of my father’s life. I have been impelled to do this by the desire that his memory should be cherished in the minds of the rising generation. Dr. Wayland’s noble and comprehensive Memoir is now out of print, and it has seemed to me that a career which may be justly said to form the main artery of all American foreign missionary endeavor, needed to be presented anew. In order to bring into bold relief my father’s social, domestic, and personal traits, I have introduced large extracts from his letters and journals, which, however, in a few places, I have taken the liberty of condensing. Free use has also been made of the valuable reminiscences contributed to Dr. Wayland’s Memoir by Mrs. Emily C. Judson.

E. J.

New York, January, 1883.

CONTENTS.

I

THE LAND HEMISPHERE.

II

BURMAH.

CHAPTER I.
EARLY YEARS.
1788-1809.

The traveller who visits Malden, Massachusetts, one of the picturesque suburban towns of Boston, may find in the Baptist meeting-house a marble tablet, bearing the following inscription:

IN MEMORIAM.

REV. ADONIRAM JUDSON.

BORN AUG. 9, 1788.

DIED APRIL 12, 1850.

MALDEN, HIS BIRTHPLACE.

THE OCEAN, HIS SEPULCHRE.

CONVERTED BURMANS, AND

THE BURMAN BIBLE,

HIS MONUMENT.

HIS RECORD IS ON HIGH.

An old wooden house embosomed among the trees is still pointed out as the birthplace of Adoniram Judson. His father, who also bore the quaint, scriptural name of Adoniram, was a Congregationalist minister, born in Woodbury, Connecticut, in June, 1752. He was married November 23, 1786, to Abigail Brown, who was born at Tiverton, Rhode Island, December 15, 1759. Soon after his marriage he settled in Malden, Massachusetts, and here his eldest son, Adoniram, was born.

The boy was very precocious, learning to read when he was only three years old. While his father was absent on a journey, his mother conceived the idea of teaching her child to read, in order that she might give her husband an agreeable surprise on his return. She succeeded so well that upon his father’s return he saluted him by reading a whole chapter in the Bible.

His affection for his father must have been deeply tinged with awe; for the elder Adoniram was a stern man, and very strict in his domestic administration. One who saw him in his later life, when he was over seventy years of age, says:

“He was, as I remember him, a man of decidedly imposing appearance. His stature was rather above the average. His white hair, erect position, grave utterance, and somewhat taciturn manner, together with the position he naturally took in society, left one somewhat at a loss whether to class him with a patriarch of the Hebrews or a censor of the Romans. He was through life esteemed a man of inflexible integrity and uniform consistency of Christian character.”

To the influence of such a father perhaps were due the stately courtesy that characterized Mr. Judson’s social intercourse throughout his whole life, and the dignity of style which pervaded even his most familiar letters.

His father stimulated his ambition to the utmost. He seems early to have formed the hope that his boy was to become a great man, and he took no pains to hide this expectation; so that even in childhood Adoniram’s heart came to be full of worldly ambition, which in subsequent years had to be nailed to the cross. For if a man can sink the desire to be great in a passion for doing good, then his greatness really begins. “No man,” says Carlyle, “rises so high as he who knows not whither he is going.”

The family lived in Malden until Adoniram was about four and a half years old. During that time his sister, Abigail Brown Judson, was born, to become the companion of his childhood and his life-long confidante. She still survives him; and in the old homestead at Plymouth, at the age of more than ninety years, awaits a reunion with that brother of whose “affectionate tenderness” she has still a “vivid recollection.” She remembers hearing her parents relate how even in those early childhood days in Malden, when her brother was only four years old, he used to gather together the children of the neighborhood to play church, he officiating as minister; and that even then his favorite hymn was the one beginning, “Go preach my Gospel, saith the Lord.”

In January, 1793, the family removed to Wenham, Massachusetts, a village about twenty miles north-east of Boston. Here Adoniram lived until he was twelve years old. Here his brother Elnathan, who became a surgeon in the United States Navy, was born May 28, 1794. Here, too, when Adoniram was eight years old, his sister Mary was born, and died six months later. The loss of this little sister must have marked an epoch in his boyhood, for memorable is the hour when the keen ploughshare of sorrow tears up the fresh turf of a child’s heart.

Wenham, too, was the scene of many of the following reminiscences, for which we are indebted to the pen of Mrs. E. C. Judson:

“Adoniram was about seven years old, when, having been duly instructed that the earth is a spherical body, and that it revolves around the sun, it became a serious question in his mind whether or not the sun moved at all. He might have settled the point by asking his father or mother; but that would have spoiled all his pleasant speculations, and probably would have been the very last thing to occur to him. His little sister, whom alone he consulted, said the sun did move, for she could see it; but he had learned already, in this matter, to distrust the evidence of his senses, and he talked so wisely about positive proof, that she was astonished and silenced. Soon after this, he was one day missed about midday; and as he had not been seen for several hours, his father became uneasy and went in search of him. He was found in a field, at some distance from the house, stretched on his back, his hat with a circular hole cut in the crown, laid over his face, and his swollen eyes almost blinded with the intense light and heat. He only told his father that he was looking at the sun; but he assured his sister that he had solved the problem with regard to the sun’s moving, though she never could comprehend the process by which he arrived at the result.

“He was noted among his companions for uncommon acuteness in the solution of charades and enigmas, and retained a great store of them in his memory for the purpose of puzzling his school-fellows. On one occasion he found in a newspaper an enigma rather boastfully set forth, and accompanied by a challenge for a solution. He felt very sure that he had ‘guessed riddles as hard as that,’ and gave himself no rest until he had discovered a satisfactory answer. This he copied out in as fair a hand as possible, addressed it to the editor, and, with no confidante but his sister, conveyed it to the post-office. But the postmaster supposed it to be some mischievous prank of the minister’s son, and he accordingly placed the letter in the hands of the father. The poor boy’s surprise and discomfiture may be imagined when he saw it paraded on the table after tea. ‘Is that yours, Adoniram?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘How came you to write it?’ Silence. ‘What is it about?’ Falteringly, ‘Please read it, father.’ ‘I do not read other people’s letters. Break the seal, and read it yourself.’ Adoniram broke the seal and mumbled over the contents, then placed the letter in his father’s hands. He read it, called for the newspaper which had suggested it, and after reading and re-reading both, laid them on the table, crossed his hands on his knees, and looked intently into the fire. Meantime Adoniram stood silently watching his countenance, speculating on the chances of his being treated as a culprit, or praised for his acuteness. But the father woke from his reverie, the subject of conversation was changed, and the letter never heard of afterward. The next morning Adoniram’s father gravely informed him that he had purchased for his use a book of riddles, a very common one, but, as soon as he had solved all that it contained, he should have more difficult books. ‘You are a very acute boy, Adoniram,’ he added, patting him on the head with unusual affection, ‘and I expect you to become a great man.’ Adoniram seized upon the book of riddles joyfully, and was a good deal surprised and disappointed to find it the veritable arithmetic which the larger boys in Master Dodge’s school were studying. But then his father had praised him, and if there was anything puzzling in the arithmetic, he was sure he should like it; and so he prepared to enter upon the study with alacrity.

“Before reaching his tenth year, he had gained quite a reputation for good scholarship, especially in arithmetic. A gentleman residing in the neighboring town of Beverly sent him a problem, with the offer of a dollar for the solution. Adoniram immediately shut himself in his chamber. The reward was tempting; but, more important still, his reputation was at stake. On the morning of the second day he was called from his seclusion to amuse his little brother, who was ill. He went reluctantly, but without murmuring, for the government of his parents was of a nature that no child would think of resisting. His task was to build a cob-house. He laid an unusually strong foundation, with unaccountable slowness and hesitation, and was very deliberately proceeding with the superstructure, when suddenly he exclaimed, ‘That’s it. I’ve got it!’ and sending the materials for the half-built house rolling about the room, he hurried off to his chamber to record the result. The problem was solved, the dollar was won, and the boy’s reputation established.

“At the age of ten he was sent to one Captain Morton, of whom he took lessons in navigation, in which he is said to have made decided progress. In the grammar-school he was noted for his proficiency in the Greek language. His school-mates nicknamed him Virgil, or (in allusion to the peculiar style of the hat which he wore, as well as to his studious habits) ‘old Virgil dug up.’ As a boy, he was spirited, self-confident, and exceedingly enthusiastic, very active and energetic, but fonder of his books than of play. His sister has a vivid recollection of his affectionate tenderness toward her, and of his great kindness to inferior animals. He was very fond of desultory reading; and as there were no books for children at that period, he alternated between the books of theology found in his father’s library and the novels of Richardson and Fielding, or the plays of Ben Jonson, which he was able to borrow in the neighborhood. It is not probable that his father encouraged this latter class of reading; but the habits of self-dependence, which he had thought proper to cultivate in his son, left his hours of leisure mostly untrammelled; and seeing the greediness with which the boy occasionally devoured books of the gravest character, it very likely had not occurred to him that he could feel the least possible interest in any work of the imagination.

“Before Adoniram was twelve years of age, he had heard visitors at his father’s talk a great deal of a new exposition of the Apocalypse, which they pronounced a work of rare interest. Now, the Revelation was the book that, of all others in the Bible, he delighted most to read; and he had searched the few commentators his father possessed without getting much light upon its mysteries. The new exposition was owned by a very awe-inspiring gentleman in the neighborhood; but Adoniram felt that he must have it, and after combating a long time with his bashfulness, he at last determined on begging the loan of it. He presented himself in the great man’s library, and was coldly and sternly refused. For once, his grief and mortification were so great that he could not conceal the affair from his father. He received more sympathy than he anticipated. ‘Not lend it to you!’ said the good man, indignantly; ‘I wish he could understand it half as well. You shall have books, Adoniram, just as many as you can read, and I’ll go to Boston myself for them.’ He performed his promise, but the desired work on the Apocalypse, perhaps for judicious reasons, was not obtained.”

In the year 1800 the family removed to Braintree, and two years later, when Adoniram was fourteen years old, took up their abode in the old historic town of Plymouth. In 1804 he entered Providence College—subsequently called Brown University—one year in advance.

During his college course he was a hard student; and in 1807, at the age of nineteen, was graduated the valedictorian of his class, in spite of the fact that for six weeks of the Senior year he was absent, engaged in teaching school in Plymouth. He was ambitious to excel; and a classmate says of him, he has “no recollection of his ever failing, or even hesitating, in recitation.” He had a powerful rival in his friend Bailey,[^[1]] and this probably added zest to his ambition. When he received the highest appointment in the commencement exercises, his delight knew no bounds. He hurried to his room, and wrote, “Dear father, I have got it. Your affectionate son, A. J.” He then took a circuitous route to the post-office, that he might quiet the beatings of his heart, and appear with propriety before his classmates, and especially before his rival friend.

To his circumspect and studious behavior while in college, a letter to his father from the President of the College bears unequivocal witness:

“Brown University, April 30, 1805.

“Rev. Sir: Notwithstanding the greatness of my present hurry, I must drop you a word respecting your son; and this, I can assure you, is not by way of complaint. A uniform propriety of conduct, as well as an intense application to study, distinguishes his character. Your expectations of him, however sanguine, must certainly be gratified. I most heartily congratulate you, my dear sir, on that charming prospect which you have exhibited in this very amiable and promising son; and I most heartily pray that the Father of mercies may make him now, while a youth, a son in his spiritual family, and give him an earnest of the inheritance of the saints in light.

“I am, very respectfully,

“Your friend and servant,

“Asa Messer.”

In the autumn of 1807, young Judson opened in Plymouth a private Academy, which he taught for nearly a year. During this time he also published two text-books: “The Elements of English Grammar,” and “The Young Lady’s Arithmetic.”

But the most important event of this period of his life was his conversion. In a condensed journal of his, entitled “A Record of Dates and Events pertaining to the Life of Adoniram Judson,”—a valuable document still preserved in autograph, and reproduced in the Appendix—may be found the following entry: “1808, Nov. Began to entertain a hope of having received the regenerating influences of the Holy Spirit.”[^[2]]

From his earliest years he had indeed breathed a thoroughly Christian atmosphere. He could truly have said with St. Augustine, “This name of my Saviour, Thy Son, had my tender heart, even with my mother’s milk, devoutly drunk in, and deeply cherished; and whatsoever was without that name, though never so learned, polished, or true, took not entire hold of me.”

The following reminiscences of his youth, by Mrs. E. C. Judson, show that years before he had given serious thought to the subject of personal religion:

“When about fourteen years of age, his studies were interrupted by a serious attack of illness, by which he was reduced to a state of extreme weakness, and for a long time his recovery was doubtful. It was more than a year before he was able to resume his customary occupations. Previous to this, he had been too actively engaged to devote much time to thought; but as soon as the violence of the disease subsided, he spent many long days and nights in reflecting on his future course. His plans were of the most extravagantly ambitious character. Now he was an orator, now a poet, now a statesman; but whatever his character or profession, he was sure in his castle-building to attain to the highest eminence. After a time, one thought crept into his mind, and embittered all his musings. Suppose he should attain to the very highest pinnacle of which human nature is capable; what then? Could he hold his honors forever? His favorites of other ages had long since been turned to dust, and what was it to them that the world still praised them? What would it be to him, when a hundred years had gone by, that America had never known his equal? He did not wonder that Alexander wept when at the summit of his ambition; he felt very sure that he should have wept too. Then he would become alarmed at the extent of his own wicked soarings, and try to comfort himself with the idea that it was all the result of the fever in his brain.

“One day his mind reverted to religious pursuits. Yes, an eminent divine was very well, though he should of course prefer something more brilliant. Gradually, and without his being aware of his own train of thought, his mind instituted a comparison between the great worldly divine, toiling for the same perishable objects as his other favorites, and the humble minister of the Gospel, laboring only to please God and benefit his fellow-men. There was (so he thought) a sort of sublimity about that, after all. Surely the world was all wrong, or such a self-abjuring man would be its hero. Ah, but the good man had a reputation more enduring. Yes, yes, his fame was sounded before him as he entered the other world; and that was the only fame worthy of the possession, because the only one that triumphed over the grave. Suddenly, in the midst of his self-gratulation, the words flashed across his mind, ‘Not unto us, not unto us, but to Thy name be the glory.’ He was confounded. Not that he had actually made himself the representative of this last kind of greatness; it was not sufficiently to his taste for that; but he had ventured on dangerous ground, and he was startled by a flood of feelings that had till now remained dormant. He had always said and thought, so far as he had thought anything about it, that he wished to become truly religious; but now religion seemed so entirely opposed to all his ambitious plans, that he was afraid to look into his heart, lest he should discover what he did not like to confess, even to himself—that he did not want to become a Christian. He was fully awake to the vanity of worldly pursuits, and was, on the whole, prepared to yield the palm of excellence to religious ones; but his father had often said he would one day be a great man, and a great man he had resolved to be.”

During his college course he began to cherish skeptical views.

“It was at this period that French infidelity was sweeping over the land like a flood; and free inquiry in matters of religion was supposed to constitute part of the education of every man of spirit. Young Judson did not escape the contamination. In the class above him was a young man by the name of E——who was amiable, talented, witty, exceedingly agreeable in person and manners, but a confirmed Deist. A very strong friendship sprang up between the two young men, founded on similar tastes and sympathies; and Judson soon became, at least professedly, as great an unbeliever as his friend. The subject of a profession was often discussed between them. At one time they proposed entering the law, because it afforded so wide a scope for political ambition; and at another, they discussed their own dramatic powers, with a view to writing plays.

“Immediately on closing the school at Plymouth, Judson set out on a tour through the Northern States. After visiting some of the New England States, he left the horse with which his father had furnished him with an uncle in Sheffield, Connecticut, and proceeded to Albany to see the wonder of the world, the newly-invented Robert Fulton steamer. She was about proceeding on her second trip to New York, and he gladly took passage in her. The magnificent scenery of the Hudson had then excited comparatively little attention, and its novelty and sublimity could not fail to make a deep and lasting impression on one of Judson’s ardent and adventurous spirit. Indeed, during his last illness, he described it with all the enthusiasm that he might have done in his youth. His name was frequently mistaken for that of Johnson; and it occurred to him that, in the novel scenes before him, he might as well use this convenient disguise, in order to see as deeply into the world as possible. He therefore, without actually giving out the name with distinctness, or ever writing it down, became Mr. Johnson. He had not been long in New York before he contrived to attach himself to a theatrical company, not with the design of entering upon the stage, but partly for the purpose of familiarizing himself with its regulations, in case he should enter upon his literary projects, and partly from curiosity and love of adventure.[^[3]]

“Before setting out upon his tour he had unfolded his infidel sentiments to his father, and had been treated with the severity natural to a masculine mind that has never doubted, and to a parent who, after having made innumerable sacrifices for the son of his pride and his love, sees him rush recklessly on to his own destruction. His mother was none the less distressed, and she wept, and prayed, and expostulated. He knew his superiority to his father in argument; but he had nothing to oppose to his mother’s tears and warnings, and they followed him now wherever he went. He knew that he was on the verge of such a life as he despised. For the world he would not see a young brother in his perilous position; but ‘I,’ he thought, ‘am in no danger. I am only seeing the world—the dark side of it, as well as the bright; and I have too much self-respect to do anything mean or vicious.’ After seeing what he wished of New York, he returned to Sheffield for his horse, intending to pursue his journey westward. His uncle, Rev. Ephraim Judson, was absent, and a very pious young man occupied his place. His conversation was characterized by a godly sincerity, a solemn but gentle earnestness, which addressed itself to the heart, and Judson went away deeply impressed.

“The next night he stopped at a country inn. The landlord mentioned, as he lighted him to his room, that he had been obliged to place him next door to a young man who was exceedingly ill, probably in a dying state; but he hoped that it would occasion him no uneasiness. Judson assured him that, beyond pity for the poor sick man, he should have no feeling whatever, and that now, having heard of the circumstance, his pity would not of course be increased by the nearness of the object. But it was, nevertheless, a very restless night. Sounds came from the sick-chamber—sometimes the movements of the watchers, sometimes the groans of the sufferer; but it was not these which disturbed him. He thought of what the landlord had said—the stranger was probably in a dying state; and was he prepared? Alone, and in the dead of night, he felt a blush of shame steal over him at the question, for it proved the shallowness of his philosophy. What would his late companions say to his weakness? The clear-minded, intellectual, witty E——, what would he say to such consummate boyishness? But still his thoughts would revert to the sick man. Was he a Christian, calm and strong in the hope of a glorious immortality? or was he shuddering upon the brink of a dark, unknown future? Perhaps he was a ‘freethinker,’ educated by Christian parents, and prayed over by a Christian mother. The landlord had described him as a young man; and in imagination he was forced to place himself upon the dying bed, though he strove with all his might against it. At last morning came, and the bright flood of light which it poured into his chamber dispelled all his ‘superstitious illusions.’ As soon as he had risen, he went in search of the landlord, and inquired for his fellow-lodger. ‘He is dead,’ was the reply. ‘Dead!’ ‘Yes, he is gone, poor fellow! The doctor said he would probably not survive the night.’ ‘Do you know who he was?’ ‘O, yes; it was a young man from Providence College—a very fine fellow; his name was E——.’ Judson was completely stunned. After hours had passed, he knew not how, he attempted to pursue his journey. But one single thought occupied his mind, and the words, Dead! lost! lost! were continually ringing in his ears. He knew the religion of the Bible to be true; he felt its truth; and he was in despair. In this state of mind he resolved to abandon his scheme of travelling, and at once turned his horse’s head toward Plymouth.”

He arrived at Plymouth September 22, 1808, and in October of the same year entered the Theological Institution at Andover, one year in advance. As he was neither a professor of religion nor a candidate for the ministry, he was admitted only by special favor. On the 2d of December, 1808, he made a solemn dedication of himself to God; and on the 28th of May, 1809, at the age of twenty-one, joined the Third Congregational church in Plymouth. His conversion involved in itself a consecration to the Christian ministry. How complete this consecration was, may be seen in the following extract from a letter to Miss Ann Hasseltine:

“Andover, December 30, 1810. Sunday Eve.

“I have been through the labors of another Sabbath. A preacher can say with Pope, ‘E’en Sunday shines no day of rest to me.’ Brother Nott preaches this evening; but, on account of a cold, I stay at home. I am persuaded that the chief reason why we do not enjoy religion is, that we do not try to enjoy it. We are not like a good man who resolved that he would grow in grace. We pervert the doctrine of our dependence to indulging indolence and sinful ease. I have enjoyed some religion to-day, and I think by means of resolving in the morning that I would avoid everything displeasing to God. I have some hope that I shall be enabled to keep this in mind, in whatever I do—Is it pleasing to God? To assist my memory, I have used the expedient of inscribing it on several articles which frequently meet my sight. Is it not a good plan? But after all, it will be of no use, unless I resolve, in divine strength, instantly to obey the decision of conscience.”

“December 31. Monday Eve.

“It is now half after nine, and I have been sitting fifteen minutes with my pen in hand, thinking how to begin. I have this day attained more than ever to what I suppose Christians mean by the enjoyment of God. I have had pleasant seasons at the throne of God. Those lines of Watts have been very sweet to me:

“‘Till Thou hast brought me to my home,

Where fears and doubts can never come,

Thy countenance let me often see,

And often Thou shalt hear from me.’

(78th of 1st Book.)

God is waiting to be gracious, and is willing to make us happy in religion, if we would not run away from Him. We refuse to open the window-shutters, and complain that it is dark. We grieve the Holy Spirit by little sins, and thus lose our only support. Perhaps the secret of living a holy life is to avoid everything which will displease God and grieve the Spirit, and to be strictly attentive to the means of grace. God has promised that He will regard the man that is of a broken and contrite spirit, and trembleth at His word. He has promised that they that wait upon Him shall renew their strength. The Almighty, the immutably faithful, has made this promise. He is not a man, that He should lie, and His arm is not of flesh. Wait, then, upon the Lord. Of how much real happiness we cheat our souls by preferring a trifle to God! We have a general intention of living religion; but we intend to begin to-morrow or next year. The present moment we prefer giving to the world, ‘A little more sleep, a little more slumber.’ Well, a little more sleep, and we shall sleep in the grave. A few days, and our work will be done. And when it is once done, it is done to all eternity. A life once spent is irrevocable. It will remain to be contemplated through eternity. If it be marked with sins, the marks will be indelible. If it has been a useless life, it can never be improved. Such it will stand forever and ever. The same may be said of each day. When it is once past, it is gone forever. All the marks which we put upon it, it will exhibit forever. It will never become less true that such a day was spent in such a manner. Each day will not only be a witness of our conduct, but will affect our everlasting destiny. No day will lose its share of influence in determining where shall be our seat in heaven. How shall we then wish to see each day marked with usefulness! It will then be too late to mend its appearance. It is too late to mend the days that are past. The future is in our power. Let us, then, each morning, resolve to send the day into eternity in such a garb as we shall wish it to wear forever. And at night let us reflect that one more day is irrevocably gone, indelibly marked. Good-night.”

[1]. The late Hon. John Bailey, member of Congress from Massachusetts.

[2]. See [Appendix A].

[3]. The natural tenderness of the sister from whom some of these reminiscences have been derived, has cast a mantle of charity over this episode in Mr. Judson’s life. There is reason to believe that his course was more wayward than is here indicated.

An English gentleman who, many years after, was his fellow-prisoner in Ava, writes as follows: “I will give the story as I heard it from the actor’s own mouth, and as nearly as I can recollect them, in his words: ‘In my early days of wildness I joined a band of strolling players. We lived a reckless, vagabond life, finding lodgings where we could, and bilking the landlord where we found opportunity—in other words, running up a score, and then decamping without paying the reckoning. Before leaving America, when the enormity of this vicious course rested with a depressing weight on my mind, I made a second tour over the same ground, carefully making amends to all whom I had injured.’”

This, though rather a coarse statement of the case, seems to the author in the main truthful. The author does not wish to gloze over this episode in Mr. Judson’s life. Such a wrong course, succeeded by thorough repentance and reparation, he thinks quite characteristic of Mr. Judson’s positive nature.

CHAPTER II.
CONSECRATION TO MISSIONARY LIFE.
1809-1812.

In September, 1809, young Judson, at the age of twenty-one, began to ponder seriously the subject of Foreign Missions. He had just finished his first year of study at Andover; another year of the theological course remained. At this time there fell into his hands a sermon preached in the parish church of Bristol, England, by Dr. Claudius Buchanan, who had for many years been a chaplain to the British East India Company. The sermon was entitled, “The Star in the East,” and had for its text Matt. ii. 2: “For we have seen His Star in the East, and are come to worship Him.” The leading thought of the sermon was the Evidences of the Divine Power of the Christian Religion in the East. Dr. Buchanan described the progress of the Gospel in India, and especially the labors of the venerable German missionary, Schwartz. This sermon fell like a spark into the tinder of Judson’s soul.

In a letter written many years afterward, he says:

“Though I do not now consider that sermon as peculiarly excellent, it produced a very powerful effect on my mind. For some days I was unable to attend to the studies of my class, and spent my time in wondering at my past stupidity, depicting the most romantic scenes in missionary life, and roving about the college rooms declaiming on the subject of missions. My views were very incorrect, and my feelings extravagant; but yet I have always felt thankful to God for bringing me into that state of excitement, which was perhaps necessary, in the first instance, to enable me to break the strong attachment I felt to home and country, and to endure the thought of abandoning all my wonted pursuits and animating prospects. That excitement soon passed away; but it left a strong desire to prosecute my inquiries and ascertain the path of duty. It was during a solitary walk in the woods behind the college, while meditating and praying on the subject, and feeling half inclined to give it up, that the command of Christ, ‘Go into all the world and preach the Gospel to every creature,’ was presented to my mind with such clearness and power, that I came to a full decision, and though great difficulties appeared in my way, resolved to obey the command at all events.”

Six months elapsed from the time of his reading Buchanan’s “Star in the East” before he made the final resolve to become a missionary to the heathen. This was in February, 1810. He was, no doubt, stimulated to form this purpose by close contact with several other young men of like aspirations. When a man is rocking in the trough of the sea of indecision, it is very reassuring to have his interior conviction matched by an external Providence. His earliest missionary associate was Samuel Nott, Jr., who entered the Seminary early in the year 1810, and was even then weighing the question whether he should devote himself to the work of carrying the Gospel to the heathen. About the same time there came to Andover four young men from Williams College—Samuel J. Mills, Jr., James Richards, Luther Rice, and Gordon Hall. While in college these students had formed a missionary society, and they were accustomed to meet together at night beneath a haystack near the college grounds. At Williamstown, on the spot where now stands the famous Haystack Monument, these young men consecrated themselves to the work of Foreign Missions, and poured out their fervent prayers for the conversion of the world; and this green nook among the Berkshire hills may well be called the birthplace of American Foreign Missions.

As great scientific discoveries have seemed to spring up almost simultaneously in the minds of independent and widely-separated thinkers, sometimes engendering a strife as to the original discoverer, so this grand thought of evangelizing the heathen seems to have been in the atmosphere, and to have floated at almost the same time into the hearts of different young men living far apart. Christian society was like a field which, having been ploughed and sown, has folded up in its bosom a potency of growth. Judson and his associates were like the first green shoots, scattered far and wide, that appear above the ground and promise to be followed by countless others. It was after long meditation and prayer, and in communion with kindred glowing spirits, that the thought in Judson’s mind of consecrating himself to the foreign missionary work became a fixed purpose.

There were many obstacles in the way. He was not going among the heathen because he could not find suitable employment at home. He had received a tutor’s appointment in Brown University and had declined it. The Rev. Dr. Griffin had proposed him as his colleague in “the largest church in Boston.” “And you will be so near home,” his mother said. “No!” was his reply, “I shall never live in Boston. I have much farther than that to go.” The ambitious hopes of his father were overthrown; and his mother and sister shed many regretful tears. He did not go abroad because he was not wanted at home.

“In the spring

And glory of his being he went forth

From the embraces of devoted friends,

From ease and quiet happiness.... He went forth

Strengthen’d to suffer—gifted to subdue

The might of human passion—to pass on

Quietly to the sacrifice of all

The lofty hopes of boyhood, and to turn

The high ambition written on that brow,

From its first dream of power and human fame,

Unto a task of seeming lowliness—

Yet God-like in his purpose.”[^[4]]

It is a mistake to suppose that a dull and second-rate man is good enough for the heathen. The worst-off need the very best we have. God gave His best, even His only-begotten Son, in order to redeem a lost world. The most darkened and degraded souls need the best thinking. When our Blessed Lord was presenting His Gospel to a fallen Samaritan woman, He seems to have preserved His best thought for her; and in order to make a bad woman good, utters in her ears the most august philosophical thesis to be found in any tongue: “God is a Spirit, and they that worship Him must worship Him in spirit and in truth.” Missions have had their grandest successes when England’s best scholars, like Bishop Patteson and Bishop Selwyn, have devoted their splendid talents to the conversion of the fiercest and the lowest savages of Micronesia and New Zealand. It would be a sad day for American Christians if they should ever deserve Nehemiah’s reproach: “Their nobles put not their necks to the work of their Lord.” Christianity will advance over the earth with long, swift strides when the churches are ready to send their best men, and the best men are ready to go.

Judson fully appreciated the dangers and hardships of a missionary life. He seems to have counted the cost. After one of the battles in the Franco-Prussian war, the German Emperor, William, had his attention drawn to one of the wounded soldiers on the field. The King held out his hand to the powder-stained private, and asked him what his trade was. The man said, “I am a Doctor of Philosophy, your Majesty.” “Well, you must have learned to bear your wounds philosophically,” said the King. “Yes,” replied the soldier, “that I had already made up my mind to.” Young Judson, before he had resolved to be a missionary, had made up his mind to the sufferings and privations which he well knew were in store for him. He thus wrote to Mr. Hasseltine, of Bradford, when asking for his daughter’s hand:

“I have now to ask whether you can consent to part with your daughter early next spring, to see her no more in this world? whether you can consent to her departure to a heathen land, and her subjection to the hardships and sufferings of a missionary life? whether you can consent to her exposure to the dangers of the ocean; to the fatal influence of the southern climate of India; to every kind of want and distress; to degradation, insult, persecution, and perhaps a violent death? Can you consent to all this, for the sake of Him who left His heavenly home and died for her and for you; for the sake of perishing, immortal souls; for the sake of Zion and the glory of God? Can you consent to all this, in hope of soon meeting your daughter in the world of glory, with a crown of righteousness brightened by the acclamations of praise which shall redound to her Saviour from heathens saved, through her means, from eternal woe and despair?”

These same anticipations of missionary sorrows pervade a pathetic letter written by him to Miss Ann Hasseltine, during the period of their betrothal:

“January 1, 1811. Tuesday Morn.

“It is with the utmost sincerity, and with my whole heart, that I wish you, my love, a happy new year. May it be a year in which your walk will be close with God; your frame calm and serene; and the road that leads you to the Lamb marked with purer light. May it be a year in which you will have more largely the spirit of Christ, be raised above sublunary things, and be willing to be disposed of in this world just as God shall please. As every moment of the year will bring you nearer the end of your pilgrimage, may it bring you nearer to God, and find you more prepared to hail the messenger of death as a deliverer and a friend. And now, since I have begun to wish, I will go on. May this be the year in which you will change your name; in which you will take a final leave of your relatives and native land; in which you will cross the wide ocean, and dwell on the other side of the world, among a heathen people. What a great change will this year probably effect in our lives! How very different will be our situation and employment! If our lives are preserved and our attempt prospered, we shall next new year’s day be in India, and perhaps wish each other a happy new year in the uncouth dialect of Hindostan or Burmah. We shall no more see our kind friends around us, or enjoy the conveniences of civilized life, or go to the house of God with those that keep holy day; but swarthy countenances will everywhere meet our eye, the jargon of an unknown tongue will assail our ears, and we shall witness the assembling of the heathen to celebrate the worship of idol gods. We shall be weary of the world, and wish for wings like a dove, that we may fly away and be at rest. We shall probably experience seasons when we shall be ‘exceeding sorrowful, even unto death.’ We shall see many dreary, disconsolate hours, and feel a sinking of spirits, anguish of mind, of which now we can form little conception. O, we shall wish to lie down and die. And that time may soon come. One of us may be unable to sustain the heat of the climate and the change of habits; and the other may say, with literal truth, over the grave—

“‘By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed;

By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed;

By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned;’

but whether we shall be honored and mourned by strangers, God only knows. At least, either of us will be certain of one mourner. In view of such scenes shall we not pray with earnestness, ‘O for an overcoming faith,’ etc.?”

But what steps did he and his young associates take in order to execute their sublime purpose? There was at that time no foreign missionary society in America to which they could offer their services, and which would undertake their support in the foreign field.

There was, indeed, the Massachusetts Missionary Society, founded in 1799, the object of which was to diffuse a missionary spirit among the Congregational churches in New England, and to carry the Gospel to the Indians and to the newly-settled parts of our own land. But this Society had not yet launched upon the work of foreign missions; and so Mr. Judson, and the young men who shared his purpose, first proposed to each other to enlist as missionaries under the London Missionary Society. Accordingly Mr. Judson wrote the following letter to the venerable Dr. Bogue, the President of the Seminary in Gosport, England, where the missionaries of the London Society received their training:

“Divinity College, Andover, Mass., April, 1810.

“Rev. Sir: I have considered the subject of missions nearly a year, and have found my mind gradually tending to a deep conviction that it is my duty personally to engage in this service. Several of my brethren of this college may finally unite with me in my present resolution. On their as well as my own behalf, I take the liberty of addressing you this letter. My object is to obtain information on certain points—whether there is at present such a call for missionaries in India, Tartary, or any part of the Eastern Continent as will induce the directors of the London Missionary Society to engage new missionaries; whether two or three young, unmarried men, having received a liberal education, and resided two years in this Divinity School, wishing to serve their Saviour in a heathen land, and indeed susceptible of a ‘passion for missions,’—whether such young men, arriving in England next spring, with full recommendations from the first Christian characters in this country, may expect to be received on probation by the directors, and placed at the seminary in Gosport, if that be judged expedient; and whether, provided they give satisfaction as to their fitness to undertake the work, all their necessary expenses after arriving in England shall be defrayed from the funds of the Society, which funds will, it is hoped, be ultimately reimbursed by supplies from the American churches.

“We have consulted our professors on this subject, particularly Dr. Griffin, Professor of Oratory. He intends writing to several in England, and perhaps to Dr. Bogue. But his engagements being such as will prevent his writing at present, and wishing myself to receive a letter from you immediately, containing the desired information, I have written myself. I close with an earnest request that you will please to transmit me an answer as soon as possible, and a prayer that your answer may be favorable to my most ardent wishes.

“Adoniram Judson, Jr.

“P. S.—I shall deem it a favor if you do not confine your remarks to the points which I have proposed, but are pleased to give such general information and advice as you may think will be useful to me and my brethren.”

While awaiting a reply to this letter, these devoted students made their desires known to their teachers in the Seminary and to several influential ministers in the vicinity. The professors and ministers met for consultation on the matter at the house of Prof. Stuart in Andover, on Monday, June 25, 1810.

These wise and conservative men advised the students to submit their case to the General Association, a body representing all the Congregational churches of the State of Massachusetts, and which was to meet at Bradford the next day.

Accordingly, on June 27, the students laid before the Association the following letter:

“The undersigned, members of the Divinity College, respectfully request the attention of their reverend fathers, convened in the General Association at Bradford, to the following statement and inquiries:

“They beg leave to state that their minds have been long impressed with the duty and importance of personally attempting a mission to the heathen; that the impressions on their minds have induced a serious, and, as they trust, a prayerful consideration of the subject in its various attitudes, particularly in relation to the probable success and the difficulties attending such an attempt; and that, after examining all the information which they can obtain, they consider themselves as devoted to this work for life, whenever God, in His providence, shall open the way.

“They now offer the following inquiries, on which they solicit the opinion and advice of this Association: Whether, with their present views and feelings, they ought to renounce the object of missions, as either visionary or impracticable; if not, whether they ought to direct their attention to the Eastern or the Western world; whether they may expect patronage and support from a missionary society in this country, or must commit themselves to the direction of a European society; and what preparatory measures they ought to take previous to actual engagement.

“The undersigned, feeling their youth and inexperience, look up to their fathers in the Church, and respectfully solicit their advice, direction, and prayers.

“Adoniram Judson, Jr.

“Samuel Nott, Jr.

“Samuel J. Mills.

“Samuel Newell.”

The names of Luther Rice and James Richards were originally appended to this petition, but had been stricken out “for fear of alarming the Association with too large a number.”

The General Association, when they came to act upon this petition, passed the following resolutions:

“Voted, That there be instituted by this General Association, a Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, for the purpose of devising ways and means, and adopting and prosecuting measures, for promoting the spread of the Gospel in heathen lands.

“Voted, That the said Board of Commissioners consist of nine members, all of them, in the first instance, chosen by this Association; and afterwards, annually, five of them by this body, and four of them by the General Association of Connecticut. Provided, however, that if the General Association of Connecticut do not choose to unite in this object, the annual election of all the commissioners shall be by this General Association.

“It is understood that the Board of Commissioners, here contemplated, will adopt their own form of organization, and their own rules and regulations.

“Voted, That, fervently commending them to the grace of God, we advise the young gentlemen, whose request is before us, in the way of earnest prayer and diligent attention to suitable studies and means of information, and putting themselves under the patronage and direction of the Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, humbly to wait the openings and guidance of Providence in respect to their great and excellent design.”

Thus was organized the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, a society widely known and justly revered at the present day as the missionary organ of the Congregational churches of America, and indeed the mother of American foreign missionary societies.

The nine men originally forming this Board distrusted their ability to support in the foreign field those who had offered their services. They feared that the missionary sentiment among the churches of New England was hardly strong enough, as yet, to undertake so great an enterprise; and so they turned instinctively to their brethren in England, represented in the London Missionary Society, for aid and co-operation. They accordingly sent Mr. Judson to England to ascertain whether such co-operation would be agreeable to the London Society.

The English directors gave Mr. Judson a most courteous and affectionate greeting, but a joint conduct of the missions did not seem practicable to them. They were willing to receive and support Mr. Judson and his associates as their own missionaries, but did not feel disposed to admit the American Board to a participation with them in the direction of the work. Such co-operation might occasion complications, and they wisely thought that American Christians were able to take care of their own missionaries.

J. Morris Pinc^t. Alex. Cameron Sculpt.
REV^D. ADONIRAM JUDSON JUN^R. A.M.
Missionary to the East.
Taken in the 23^d Æ t AD1811.

Mr. Judson embarked for England January 11, 1811, on the English ship Packet. She was captured on the way by a French privateer, and so he was subjected to imprisonment and compulsory detention in France. On the 6th of May he arrived in London, and on the 18th of June he embarked at Gravesend, in the ship Augustus, bound for New York, where he arrived on the 17th of August. Some interesting reminiscences of this voyage to England have been preserved by the pen of Mrs. E. C. Judson:

“There were on the ship Packet two Spanish merchants; and these, I believe, were the only passengers beside Mr. Judson. When they were captured by L’Invincible Napoleon, these two gentlemen, being able to speak French, and most likely to furnish a bribe, were treated very civilly. Mr. Judson, however, was very young, with nothing distinctive in his outward appearance, and was, moreover, speechless, friendless, and comparatively moneyless. He was, without question or remonstrance, immediately placed in the hold, with the common sailors. This was the first hardship he had ever known, and it affected him accordingly. He shrank from the associations of the place, and the confined air seemed unendurable. Soon the weather roughened, and he, together with several of his more hardy companions, became excessively seasick. The doctor visited him every day, but he could not communicate with him, and the visit was nearly useless. Sick, sorrowful, and discouraged, his thoughts went back to his dear old Plymouth home, then to Bradford, and finally the Boston church—‘the biggest church in Boston’; and he became alarmed at the strange feeling that crept over him. It was the first moment of misgiving he had known. As soon as he became aware of the feeling, he commenced praying against it, as a temptation of the adversary. It seemed to him that God had permitted this capture, and all his trouble, as a trial of his faith; and he resolved, in the strength of God, to bear it, as he might be called upon to bear similar trials hereafter. As soon as he had come to this resolution, he fumbled about in the gray twilight of his prison, till he succeeded in finding his Hebrew Bible. The light was very faint, but still he managed to see for a few moments at a time, and amused himself with translating mentally from the Hebrew to the Latin—a work which employed his thoughts, and saved his eyes. One day the doctor, observing the Bible on the pillow, took it up, stepped toward the gangway, and examined it; then returned, and addressed his patient in Latin. Through the medium of this language Mr. Judson managed to explain who he was; and he was consequently admitted to a berth in the upper cabin, and a seat with his fellow-passengers, the Spaniards, at the captain’s table.

“His second day on deck was a somewhat exciting one. A sail was reported from the masthead; and while the stranger was yet a mere speck to the naked eye, many glasses were levelled curiously at her, and a general feeling of anxiety seemed to prevail among the officers. Of course, Mr. Judson was all excitement; for although he was now in comfortable circumstances, he dreaded the effect of this detention on his mission to England. Finally the stranger loomed up against the sky, a beautiful brig under a full press of canvas. As they watched her, some anxiously and some admiringly, suddenly her fine proportions became blended in a dark mass; and it was evident to the most inexperienced landsman that she had changed her course. The two Spaniards exchanged significant glances. Mr. Judson felt very much like shouting for joy, but he suppressed the inclination; and the next moment the order came for the decks to be cleared, and he, with his companions, was sent below. The Spaniards informed him that they were pursued by a vessel much larger than their own; that the privateer had little to hope in an engagement, but she was the swifter sailer of the two, and the approaching darkness was in her favor. Mr. Judson passed a sleepless night, listening each moment for unusual sounds; but the next morning, when he carefully swept the horizon with the captain’s glass, not a mote was visible.

“The privateer touched at Le Passage, in Spain, and there permitted the two Spaniards to go on shore. From thence the prisoners were conveyed to Bayonne, in France; and Mr. Judson again, to his surprise and indignation, found himself marched through the streets in company with the crew of the Packet. He had as yet acquired only a few words of French, and of these he made as much use as possible, to the infinite amusement of the passers-by. Finally it occurred to him that he was much more likely to meet some person, either a native or a foreigner, who understood English, than to make his broken French intelligible. Accordingly he commenced declaiming in the most violent manner possible against oppression in general, and this one act in particular. The guards threatened him by gestures, but did not proceed to violence; and of the passers-by, some regarded him a moment carelessly, others show little interest or curiosity, while many laughed outright at his seemingly senseless clamors. Finally a stranger accosted him in English, advising him to lower his voice. ‘With the greatest pleasure possible,’ he answered, ‘if I have at last succeeded in making myself heard. I was only clamoring for a listener.’ ‘You might have got one you would have been glad to dismiss, if you had continued much longer,’ was the reply. In a few hurried words Judson explained his situation, and, in words as few, learned that the gentleman was an American from Philadelphia, and received his promise of assistance. ‘But you had better go on your way quietly now,’ added his new friend. ‘O, I will be a perfect lamb, since I have gained my object.’

“The prison was a gloomy-looking, massive structure, and the apartment into which they were conveyed was underground, dark and dismal. In the centre was a sort of column, on which burned a solitary lamp, though without it was still broad day. Around the walls a quantity of straw had been spread, on which his companions soon made themselves at home; but Mr. Judson could not divest himself of the idea that the straw was probably not fresh, and busied his imagination with images of those who had last occupied it. The weather had seemed almost oppressively hot above-ground; but now he shivered with the chilling dampness of the place, while the confined air and mouldy smell rendered him sick and giddy. He paced up and down the cell, he could not tell how long, but it seemed many hours, wondering if his new friend would really come; and again, if he did not, whether he could keep upon his feet all night; and in case of failure, which part of the straw he should select as the least loathsome. And then his thoughts would wander off again to Plymouth, and to Bradford, and to the ‘biggest church in Boston,’ but not with the feeling that he had before. On the contrary, he wondered that he ever could have been discouraged. He knew that at most his imprisonment could not last long. If he only had a chair, or the meanest stool, that was all he would ask. But he could not hope to walk or stand long.

“While leaning against the column for a moment’s rest, the door of the cell opened, and he instantly recognized the American he had seen in the street. He suppressed a cry of joy, and seeing that the stranger did not look at him, though he stood close by the lamp, tried himself to affect indifference. The American making some remark in French, took up the lamp, and then adding (or perhaps translating) in English, ‘Let me see if I know any of these poor fellows,’ passed around the room, examining them carelessly. ‘No; no friend of mine,’ said he, replacing the lamp, and swinging his great military cloak around Mr. Judson, whose slight figure was almost lost in its ample folds. Comprehending the plan, Mr. Judson drew himself into as small a compass as possible, thinking that he would make the best of the affair, though having little confidence in the clumsy artifice. His protector, too, seemed to have his doubts, for, as he passed out, he slid some money into the jailer’s hand, and again, at the gate, made another disbursement, and as soon as they were outside, released his protégé, with the expressive words, ‘Now run!’ Mr. Judson quite forgot his fatigue from walking in the cell, as he fleetly followed his tall conductor through the streets to the wharf, where he was placed on board an American merchantman for the night. The next evening his friend returned, informing him that his place of refuge had been only temporarily chosen, and as the papers necessary to his release could not be procured immediately, he would be much safer in the attic of a shipbuilder, who had kindly offered this place of concealment. Accordingly he removed to the attic, from which, after a few days, he was released on parole.

“Mr. Judson passed about six weeks in Bayonne, boarding with an American lady who had spent most of her life in France. He told his landlady that he was a clergyman, and frequently held long religious conversations with her; but he did not permit his character to be known generally in the house, as he thought it would interfere with a plan he had of learning as much as possible of the real state of French society. He attended various places of amusement with his fellow-boarders, pleading his ignorance of the language and customs of the country as an excuse for acting the spectator merely; and in general giving such evasive replies as enabled him to act his part without attracting undue attention. It was not long, however, before his companions became pretty well aware that indifference formed no part of his real character. His shrewdness was at variance with his implied ignorance of the world, and his simplicity sometimes wore a solemn impressiveness, from the influence of which it was impossible to escape. The last place of amusement he visited was a masked ball; and here his strong feelings quite overcame his caution, and he burst forth in his real character. He declared to his somewhat startled companions that he did not believe the infernal regions could furnish more complete specimens of depravity than he there beheld. He spoke in English, and at first addressed himself to the two or three standing near him, who understood the language; but his earnestness of manner and warmth of expression soon drew around him a large circle, who listened curiously and with apparent respect. He spoke scornfully of the proud professions of the (so called) philosophy of the age, and pointed to the fearful exhibitions of that moment as illustrative of its effectiveness. He rapidly enumerated many of the evils which infidelity had brought upon France and upon the world, and then showed the only way of escape from those evils—the despised but truly ennobling religion of Jesus Christ. Finally he sketched the character of man as it might have been in its original purity and nobleness, and then the wreck of soul and body to be ascribed to sin, and wound up all by a personal appeal to such as had not become too debased to think and feel. He had warmed as he proceeded with his subject, noting with pain and surprise the great number of those who seemed to understand the English language, and drawing from it an inference by no means favorable to his travelled countrymen. Most of the maskers evidently regarded the exhibition as a part of the evening’s entertainment; but those who understood his remarks seemed confounded by the boldness, and perhaps unexpectedness, of the attack, and when he had finished, stood aside, and allowed him to pass from the place without a word. This incident, I have been told, was reported by some person present on the occasion, and published in a Boston newspaper.

“Mr. Judson, I do not recollect by what means, was introduced to some of the officers of Napoleon’s suite, and travelled through the country in one of the emperor’s carriages. At Paris, he spent most of his time in the society of these officers, and persons whom they introduced, and, in general, pursued the same course as at Bayonne. In view of the opportunity thus afforded for observation, and the store of practical knowledge really gathered, he always regarded his detention in France as a very important, and, indeed, necessary part of his preparation for the duties which afterward devolved upon him.

“In England he was received in a manner peculiarly flattering. He was at this time small and exceedingly delicate in figure, with a round, rosy face, which gave him the appearance of extreme youthfulness. His hair and eyes were of a dark shade of brown, in his French passport described as ‘chestnut.’ His voice, however, was far from what would be expected of such a person, and usually took the listeners by surprise. An instance of this occurred in London. He sat in the pulpit with a clergyman somewhat distinguished for his eccentricity, and at the close of the sermon was requested to read a hymn. When he had finished, the clergyman arose, and introduced his young brother to the congregation as a person who purposed devoting himself to the conversion of the heathen, adding, ‘And if his faith is proportioned to his voice, he will drive the devil from all India.’”

Soon after Mr. Judson returned to America, on the 18th of September, 1811, the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions met at Worcester, Mass., and advised him and his associates not to place themselves at present under the direction of the London Missionary Society. It was also voted that “Messrs. Adoniram Judson, Jr., Samuel Nott, Jr., Samuel Newell, and Gordon Hall be appointed missionaries to labor under the direction of this Board in Asia, either in the Burman Empire, or in Surat, or in Prince of Wales Island, or elsewhere, as, in the view of the Prudential Committee, Providence shall open the most favorable door.” Thus the way was opened for Mr. Judson to realize his ardent desire to become a missionary to the heathen.

But he was not to go alone, for he was already betrothed to Miss Ann Hasseltine. They met for the first time on the memorable occasion already described, when, in June, 1810, the General Association held its session at Bradford, and young Judson and his fellow-students modestly made known their desires to attempt a mission to the heathen.

The story is told that during the sessions the ministers gathered for a dinner beneath Mr. Hasseltine’s hospitable roof. His youngest daughter, Ann, was waiting on the table. Her attention was attracted to the young student, whose bold missionary projects were making such a stir. But what was her surprise to observe, as she moved about the table, that he seemed completely absorbed in his plate! Little did she dream that she had already woven her spell about his young heart, and that he was at that very time composing a graceful stanza in her praise.

She was born in Bradford, December 22, 1789, and was about a year younger than Mr. Judson. Her parents were John and Rebecca Hasseltine. She had an ardent, active, even restless temperament; so that her mother once reproved her in childhood with the ominous words, “I hope, my daughter, you will one day be satisfied with rambling.” She was educated at the Bradford Academy, and was a beautiful girl, characterized by great vivacity of spirits and intensely fond of society. In fact, she was so reckless in her gayety, and so far overtopped her young companions in mirth, that they feared she would have but a brief life, and be suddenly cut off.

At the age of sixteen she received her first deep religious impression.

“One Sabbath morning,” she writes, “having[“having] prepared myself to attend public worship, just as I was leaving my toilet, I accidentally took up Hannah More’s ‘Strictures on Female Education,’ and the first words that caught my eye were, ‘She that liveth in pleasure is dead while she liveth.’ They were written in italics, with marks of admiration; and they struck me to the heart. I stood for a few moments amazed at the incident, and half inclined to think that some invisible agency had directed my eye to those words. At first, I thought I would live a different life, and be more serious and sedate; but at last I thought that they were not so applicable to me as I first imagined, and I resolved to think no more of them.”

After a struggle of several months, she could truly say:

“I began to discover a beauty in the way of salvation by Christ. 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 the new heart which I had been seeking, but felt happy in contemplating the character of Christ, and particularly that disposition which led Him to suffer so much, for the sake of doing the will and promoting the glory of His heavenly Father.... A few days after this ... I began to hope that I had passed from death unto life. When I examined myself, I was constrained to own that I had feelings and dispositions to which I was formerly an utter stranger. I had sweet communion with the blessed God from day to day; my heart was drawn out in love to Christians of whatever denomination; the sacred Scriptures were sweet to my taste; and such was my thirst for religious knowledge that I frequently spent a great part of the night in reading religious books.”

She threw herself with all her native ardor into the joys and labors of the Christian life. She taught school for several years in Salem, Haverhill, and Newbury. Her constant endeavor was to bring her pupils to the Saviour.

Her decision to become a foreign missionary must have required great heroism, for, thus far, no woman had ever left America as a missionary to the heathen. Public sentiment was against her going. It was thought to be wild and romantic. One good lady said to another, “I hear that Miss Hasseltine is going to India! Why does she go?” “Why, she thinks it her duty. Wouldn’t you go if you thought it your duty?” “But,” replied the lady, with emphasis, “I would not think it my duty!”[^[5]]

On the 5th of February, 1812, Mr. Judson was married to Ann Hasseltine, at Bradford. Two days before, at Plymouth, he had taken final leave of his parents. His brother Elnathan accompanied him to Boston. The journey was made on horseback. Elnathan had not yet been converted. While on the way the two dismounted, and among the trees by the roadside they knelt down and Adoniram offered a fervent prayer in behalf of his younger brother. Four days later they parted, never to meet again on earth. The wayside prayer was not unheeded in heaven. Years afterward Adoniram was permitted to have the assurance that the brother over whom his heart so fondly yearned became an “inheritor of the kingdom of heaven.”

On the 6th of February he received ordination at Salem from the Rev. Drs. Spring, Worcester, Woods, Morse, and Griffin; on the 7th he bade good-bye to his younger sister and companion of his childhood; and on the 19th embarked at Salem with Mrs. Judson and Mr. and Mrs. Newell, on the brig Caravan, Captain Heard, bound for Calcutta.

[4]. Whittier’s “The Missionary.”

[5]. For further particulars concerning Miss Hasseltine’s early life the reader is referred to her biography, by the Rev. J. D. Knowles.

CHAPTER III.
VOYAGE TO BURMAH.
1812-1813.

After the shores of America had faded from their eyes, almost four months elapsed before Mr. Judson and his missionary associates caught sight of land. They made the long trip around the Cape of Good Hope, and at last descried the towering mountains of Golconda. Now that the Suez Canal has been opened, and a railroad track laid across our continent, the way to India is much shorter. The modern missionary goes either through the Mediterranean Sea or by the way of San Francisco and Yokohama, the voyage consuming only about two months.

While taking the long voyage from America to India, Mr. Judson changed his denominational latitude and longitude as well. He was a Congregational minister; his parents were Congregationalists; and he had been sent out by a Congregational Board. All his sympathies and affections were bound up with the life of that great denominational body. On his way to Burmah, however, he became a Baptist. His attention was at this time especially drawn to the distinctive views of the Baptists by the fact that he was now about to found a new Christian society among the heathen. When the adult heathen accepted Christ by faith and love, he should of course be baptized, and thus formally initiated into the Christian Church. But ought the children also to be baptized upon the strength of the parent’s faith? This was a practical question.

Again, Mr. Judson expected to meet in India the eminent English Baptist missionaries, Carey, Marshman, and Ward. In the immediate neighborhood of these men, he proposed to institute a Congregational form of church life, and he would, of course, have to explain to the natives these denominational differences. His mind was cast in a scholarly and argumentative mould. Controversy might possibly arise between himself and the Baptist missionaries. He thought it best, while he was on the ocean, to arm himself beforehand for the encounter with these formidable champions, in order successfully to maintain the Pedobaptist position.

In the enforced seclusion of a long sea voyage, he had plenty of time for thought and study on this important subject. The result of his searching investigation was the conclusion, reluctantly formed, that he was wrong and that the Baptists were right. Of course they held many fundamental doctrines in common with Christians of all other evangelical denominations; but there were two distinctive tenets, that faith should always precede baptism, and that baptism is immersion. He was convinced that in these views they had the Bible on their side.

It was only after a great struggle that he yielded; for he had to break with all the traditions and associations of his ancestry and childhood. He pictured to himself the grief and disappointment of his Christian friends in America, especially of his venerable parents. He saw that he would be separated from those young students, the boon companions with whom he had originated this great scheme of American Foreign Missions. In their discussions, his wife always took the Pedobaptist side. He knew that he and she might find themselves without bread in a strange heathen land. For who could expect the American Board to sustain a Baptist missionary, even if he could, on his part, obey their instructions? He could have little hope that the Baptists of America, feeble, scattered, and despised, would be equal to the great undertaking of supporting an expensive mission in distant India. Ah, what long, anxious conversations must he and his wife have had together in their little cabin on the brig Caravan!

The question may have arisen in his mind, Are these doctrines so important after all? Can I not cherish them in secret, and still remain identified with the religious body that I so much love and honor? No; because if individual faith is the prerequisite of baptism, what scriptural authority would he have for baptizing the unconscious infant? If baptism is a symbol, then of course the form is all-important. If faith must precede baptism, and if immersion is essential to baptism, then he had never been baptized at all. He knew that baptism had been expressly commanded by our blessed Lord, and that alone was sufficient to necessitate obedience. Prompt and straightforward obedience to Christ was the keynote of his life. His was too positive a character to try to effect a compromise between conviction and action. He had one of those great natures that can not afford to move along with the crowd. Traces of this intense inward conflict may be seen in the following extracts from Mrs. Judson’s letters:

To a Friend.

“September 7, 1812.

“Can you, my dear Nancy, still love me, still desire to hear from me, when I tell you I have become a Baptist? If I judge from my own feelings, I answer you will, and that my differing from you in those things which do not affect our salvation will not diminish your affection for me, or make you unconcerned for my welfare. You may, perhaps, think this change very sudden, as I have said nothing of it before; but, my dear girl, this alteration hath not been the work of an hour, a day, or a month. The subject has been maturely, candidly, and, I hope, prayerfully examined for months.

“An examination of the subject of baptism commenced on board the Caravan. As Mr. Judson was continuing the translation of the New Testament, which he began in America, he had many doubts respecting the meaning of the word baptize. This, with the idea of meeting the Baptists at Serampore, when he would wish to defend his own sentiments, induced a more thorough examination of the foundation of the Pedobaptist system. The more he examined, the more his doubts increased; and, unwilling as he was to admit it, he was afraid the Baptists were right and he wrong. After we arrived at Calcutta, his attention was turned from this subject to the concerns of the mission, and the difficulties with Government. But as his mind was still uneasy, he again renewed the subject. I felt afraid he would become a Baptist, and frequently urged the unhappy consequences if he should. But he said his duty compelled him to satisfy his own mind, and embrace those sentiments which appeared most concordant with Scripture. I always took the Pedobaptist side in reasoning with him, even after I was as doubtful of the truth of their system as he. We left Serampore to reside in Calcutta a week or two, before the arrival of our brethren; and as we had nothing in particular to occupy our attention, we confined it exclusively to this subject. We procured the best authors on both sides, compared them with the Scriptures, examined and re-examined the sentiments of Baptists and Pedobaptists, and were finally compelled, from a conviction of truth, to embrace those of the former. Thus, my dear Nancy, we are confirmed Baptists, not because we wished to be, but because truth compelled us to be. We have endeavored to count the cost, and be prepared for the many severe trials resulting from this change of sentiment. We anticipate the loss of reputation, and of the affection and esteem of many of our American friends. But the most trying circumstance attending this change, and that which has caused most pain, is the separation which must take place between us and our dear missionary associates. Although we are attached to each other, and should doubtless live very happily together, yet the brethren do not think it best we should unite in one mission. These things, my dear Nancy, have caused us to weep and pour out our hearts in prayer to Him whose directions we so much wish and need. We feel that we are alone in the world, with no real friend but each other, no one on whom we can depend but God.”

Mrs. Judson to her Parents.

“Isle of France, Port Louis, February 14, 1813.

“I will now, my dear parents and sisters, give you some account of our change of sentiment, relative to the subject of baptism. Mr. Judson’s doubts commenced on our passage from America. While translating the New Testament, in which he was engaged, he used frequently to say that the Baptists were right in their mode of administering the ordinance. Knowing he should meet the Baptists at Serampore, he felt it important to attend to it more closely, to be able to defend his sentiments. After our arrival at Serampore, his mind for two or three weeks was so much taken up with missionary inquiries and our difficulties with Government, as to prevent his attending to the subject of baptism. But as we were waiting the arrival of our brethren, and having nothing in particular to attend to, he again took up the subject. I tried to have him give it up, and rest satisfied in his old sentiments, and frequently told him, if he became a Baptist, I would not. He, however, said he felt it his duty to examine closely a subject on which he had so many doubts. After we removed to Calcutta, he found in the library in our chamber many books on both sides, which he determined to read candidly and prayerfully, and to hold fast, or embrace the truth, however mortifying, however great the sacrifice. I now commenced reading on the subject, with all my prejudices on the Pedobaptist side. We had with us Dr. Worcester’s, Dr. Austin’s, Peter Edwards’s, and other Pedobaptist writings. But after closely examining the subject for several weeks, we were constrained to acknowledge that the truth appeared to lie on the Baptists’ side. It was extremely trying to reflect on the consequences of our becoming Baptists. We knew it would wound and grieve our dear Christian friends in America—that we should lose their approbation and esteem. We thought it probable the commissioners would refuse to support us; and, what was more distressing than anything, we knew we must be separated from our missionary associates, and go alone to some heathen land. These things were very trying to us, and caused our hearts to bleed for anguish. We felt we had no home in this world, and no friend but each other. Our friends at Serampore were extremely surprised when we wrote them a letter requesting baptism, as they had known nothing of our having had any doubts on the subject. We were baptized on the 6th of September, in the Baptist chapel in Calcutta. Mr. J. preached a sermon at Calcutta, on this subject, soon after we were baptized, which, in compliance with the request of a number who heard it, he has been preparing for the press. Brother Rice was baptized several weeks after we were. It was a very great relief to our minds to have him join us, as we expected to be entirely alone in a mission.”

The four missionaries arrived in Calcutta on June 17th, and were warmly welcomed by Dr. Carey.

They were invited to visit the settlement of English Baptists at Serampore, a town about twelve miles from Calcutta, up the Hugh River. Here they awaited the arrival of the other group of American missionaries, Mr. and Mrs. Nott, and Messrs. Hall and Rice, who had sailed from Philadelphia in the ship Harmony, and who did not arrive until August 8th. In a note to the Rev. Dr. Baldwin, an influential Baptist minister, of Boston, Mr. Judson discloses his change of denominational views:

“Calcutta, August 31, 1812.

“Rev. and dear Sir: I write you a line to express my grateful acknowledgments to you for the advantage I have derived from your publications on baptism; particularly from your ‘Series of Letters’; also to introduce the following copy of a letter which I forwarded last week to the Baptist missionaries at Serampore, and which you are at liberty to use as you think best.

“I am, sir, with much affection and respect,

“Your obliged friend and servant,

“Adoniram Judson, Jr.”

“Calcutta, August 27, 1812.

“To the Rev. Messrs. Carey, Marshman, and Ward.

“As you have been ignorant of the late exercises of my mind on the subject of baptism, the communication which I am about to make may occasion you some surprise.

“It is now about four months since I took the subject into serious and prayerful consideration. My inquiries commenced during my passage from America, and after much laborious research and painful trial, which I shall not now detail, have issued in entire conviction, that the immersion of a professing believer is the only Christian baptism.

“In these exercises I have not been alone. Mrs. Judson has been engaged in a similar examination, and has come to the same conclusion. Feeling, therefore, that we are in an unbaptized state, we wish to profess our faith in Christ by being baptized in obedience to His sacred commands.

“Adoniram Judson, Jr.”

He also sent a letter to the American Board, in which he breaks to them the startling news that he is to cease to be their missionary:

“Rev. and dear Sir: My change of sentiments on the subject of baptism is considered by my missionary brethren as incompatible with my continuing their fellow-laborer in the mission which they contemplate on the Island of Madagascar; and it will, I presume, be considered by the Board of Commissioners as equally incompatible with my continuing their missionary. The Board will, undoubtedly, feel as unwilling to support a Baptist missionary as I feel to comply with their instructions, which particularly direct us to baptize ‘credible believers with their households.’

“The dissolution of my connection with the Board of Commissioners, and a separation from my dear missionary brethren, I consider most distressing consequences of my late change of sentiments, and, indeed, the most distressing events which have ever befallen me. I have now the prospect before me of going alone to some distant island, unconnected with any society at present existing, from which I might be furnished with assistant laborers or pecuniary support. Whether the Baptist churches in America will compassionate my situation, I know not. I hope, therefore, that while my friends condemn what they deem a departure from the truth, they will at least pity me and pray for me.

“With the same sentiments of affection and respect as ever,

“I am, sir, your friend and servant,

“Adoniram Judson, Jr.

“Rev. Dr. Worcester, Corresponding Secretary of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions.”

At the same time he wrote a second letter to Dr. Baldwin, in which he announced his change of views on the subject of Baptism, and added: “Should there be formed a Baptist Society for the support of a mission in these parts, I shall be ready to consider myself their missionary!”

A letter written at the same time to Rev. Dr. Bolles, of Salem, Mass., points in the same direction:

“Calcutta, September 1, 1812.

“Rev. Sir: I recollect that, during a short interview I had with you in Salem, I suggested the formation of a society among the Baptists in America for the support of foreign missions, in imitation of the exertions of your English brethren. Little did I then expect to be personally concerned in such an attempt.

“Within a few months, I have experienced an entire change of sentiments on the subject of baptism. My doubts concerning the correctness of my former system of belief commenced during my passage from America to this country; and after many painful trials, which none can know but those who are taught to relinquish a system in which they had been educated, I settled down in the full persuasion that the immersion of a professing believer in Christ is the only Christian baptism.

“Mrs. Judson is united with me in this persuasion. We have signified our views and wishes to the Baptist missionaries at Serampore, and expect to be baptized in this city next Lord’s day.

“A separation from my missionary brethren, and a dissolution of my connection with the Board of Commissioners, seem to be necessary consequences. The missionaries at Serampore are exerted to the utmost of their ability in managing and supporting their extensive and complicated mission.

“Under these circumstances I look to you. Alone, in this foreign heathen land, I make my appeal to those whom, with their permission, I will call my Baptist brethren in the United States.

“With the advice of the brethren at Serampore, I am contemplating a mission on one of the eastern islands. They have lately sent their brother Chater to Ceylon, and their brother Robinson to Java. At present, Amboyna seems to present the most favorable opening. Fifty thousand souls are there perishing without the means of life; and the situation of the island is such that a mission there established might, with the blessing of God, be extended to the neighboring islands in those seas.

“But should I go thither, it is a most painful reflection that I must go alone, and also uncertain of the means of support. But I will trust in God. He has frequently enabled me to praise His divine goodness, and will never forsake those who put their trust in Him. I am, dear sir,

“Yours, in the Lord Jesus,

“Adoniram Judson, Jr.”

On September 6th, Mr. and Mrs. Judson were baptized in Calcutta by the Rev. Mr. Ward, and, on the first of November, Mr. Rice, one of his missionary associates, who, though sailing on a different vessel, had experienced a similar change of sentiment, was also baptized. “Mr. Rice was thought,” Dr. Carey says, “to be the most obstinate friend of Pedobaptism of any of the missionaries.”

But becoming a Baptist was only the beginning of troubles for these missionaries. India was ruled by the East India Company, which was opposed to the introduction of missionaries, especially of Americans—for England and America were not at that time on friendly terms. Besides, the English feared that the natives of India, finding themselves beset by the missionaries of a foreign religion, and their own sacred institutions undermined, would rise against the whole English race, and a war ensue which would be rendered more intense by the spirit of religious fanaticism. The Oriental meekly submits to oppression, except when religious questions are involved; it was the greased cartridge which brought on the Sepoy rebellion. The English authorities feared, as was once stated in the House of Lords, “that every missionary would have to be backed by a gun-boat.” There might arise endless complications, and they determined to nip the danger in the bud.

Mr. and Mrs. Judson and Mr. Rice were peremptorily ordered to repair from Serampore to Calcutta. When they appeared at the Government House they were told that they must return at once to America. They asked leave to settle in some other part of India, but this was refused. They then asked if they could go to the Isle of France (Mauritius). This request was granted; but the only ship sailing at that time for that point could convey but two passengers, and, by common consent, Mr. and Mrs. Newell embarked. Mr. and Mrs. Judson and Mr. Rice remained behind for another vessel. After two months, they received an order to go on board one of the Company’s vessels, bound for England, and their names were even printed in the official list of passengers. But a vessel, named the Creole, was just about to sail for the Isle of France. They applied to the Government for a passport. This was refused. Then they asked the captain if he would take them without a passport. He said, good-naturedly, “There was his ship; they could go on board if they pleased.” They immediately embarked under cover of the night. But while sailing down the Hugli River from Calcutta to the sea, they were overtaken by a Government dispatch. The pilot was forbidden to go farther, as there were persons on board who had been ordered to England. They were put ashore on the bank of the river, and took shelter at a little tavern, while the vessel continued her course down the river without them.

After three or four days, however, a letter came from Calcutta, containing the much-desired passport to sail on the Creole. Who procured the passport, has always remained a mystery. But now they had every reason to suppose that the vessel had got out to sea. She might, however, be anchored at Saugur, seventy miles below. With all haste they put their baggage in a boat, and sped down the river. They had to row against the tide, but arrived at Saugur before the evening of the next day, and had the happiness of finding the vessel at anchor. “I never enjoyed,” says Mrs. Judson, “a sweeter moment in my life, than that when I was sure we were in sight of the Creole!” After a voyage of six weeks they arrived in Port Louis, on the Isle of France, January 17, 1813.

The Isle of France, or Mauritius,[^[6]] lies in the Indian Ocean, 480 miles east of Madagascar. It is about 36 miles long and 32 wide. It had, only a few years before, been wrested from the French by the English. During the wars between the French and English it had furnished harborage for the French privateers, which, sallying forth from its ports, attacked the richly-freighted English merchantmen on their way from India.

The Isle of France, the scene of St. Pierre’s pathetic tale of “Paul and Virginia,” was to our missionaries also, who took refuge here, a place of sorrow. They learned of a death which rivals in pathos the fate of Virginia. Mrs. Harriet Newell, the first American martyr to Foreign Missions, had only just survived the tempestuous voyage from Calcutta, and had been laid in the “heathy ground” of Mauritius: one who “for the love of Christ and immortal souls, left the bosom of her friends, and found an early grave in a land of strangers.” She never repented leaving her native country. When informed by her physician of her approaching death, she lifted up her hands in triumph, and exclaimed: “Oh, glorious intelligence!”[^[7]]

What a sense of desolation must have crept over the little band of missionaries, now that death had so early broken into their ranks! On February 24th Mr. Newell embarked for Ceylon, and on the 15th of March Mr. Rice sailed for America, in order to preach a missionary crusade among the Baptist churches there; and thus Mr. and Mrs. Judson were left alone. They were obliged to remain about four months on the Isle of France; and while much of their time was spent in self-sacrificing labors among the English soldiers that formed the garrison of the island, the missionaries still longed to reach their final destination. Mrs. Judson writes: “Oh, when will my wanderings terminate? When shall I find some little spot that I can call my own?” Her mother’s ominous words, uttered long ago, were coming true. She was, indeed, having her fill of “rambling.” They had left America nearly fifteen months before, and yet after all their journeyings they seemed no nearer a field of labor than when they first set out. Their destination was still a mirage—an ever-dissolving view.

They decided to make another descent upon the coast of India. On May 7, 1813, they embarked on the ship Countess of Harcourt for Madras, intending to establish a mission on Pulo Penang, or Prince of Wales Island, lying in the Straits of Malacca. It was a little island, of commodious harbors and salubrious climate, which had recently been purchased by the English, and the small native population of Malays was being rapidly increased by emigration from Hindostan, Burmah, Siam, and China.

On June 4th the Judsons arrived in Madras, where they were kindly received by the English missionaries, Mr. and Mrs. Loveless. But they knew that they could not remain long, for they were again under the jurisdiction of the East India Company. Their arrival was at once reported to the Governor-General, and they feared they would be immediately transported to England. There was no vessel in the harbor bound for Pulo Penang, and the only vessel about to sail in that direction was bound for Rangoon, Burmah. They dreaded to pass from the protection of the British flag into the power of the Burman despot, whose tender mercies were cruel. But their only alternative was between Rangoon and their own dear native land, and they chose the former.

On June 22d they went on board the “crazy old vessel” Georgianna. After a stormy voyage they reached Rangoon July 13th, and took possession of the English Baptist mission-house, occupied by a son of Dr. Carey. This young man was temporarily absent, and soon afterward resigned the mission in their favor, and entered the service of the Burmese Government.

The horrors of the voyage, and the dreariness of their arrival in this strange, lawless land, and of their first settlement in the deserted mission-house at Rangoon, made this the most painful experience through which they had ever passed. Their only refuge was in Him who has said: “Although I have cast them far off among the heathen, and although I have scattered them among the countries, yet will I be to them as a little sanctuary in the countries where they shall come.” They were sustained by the same faith which, three years before, found beautiful expression in the words that Judson wrote to his parents:

“O the pleasure which a lively Christian must enjoy in communion with God! It is all one whether he is in a city or in a desert, among relations or among savage foes, in the heat of the Indies or in the ice of Greenland; his infinite Friend is always at hand. He need not fear want, or sickness, or pain, for his best Friend does all things well. He need not fear death, though he come in the most shocking form, for death is only a withdrawing of the veil which conceals his dearest Friend.”

It is related that the old English missionary, St. Cuthbert, was driven by a snow-storm upon the coast of Fife. His companions repined. “The snow closes the road along the shore; the storm bars our way over the sea.” “But,” Cuthbert said, “there is still the way of heaven that lies open.”

But Mr. and Mrs. Judson can best describe their first taste of life in Burmah.

Extract from a letter by Mrs. Judson to her parents and sisters.

“Rangoon, July 30, 1813.

“We stayed at Madras only a fortnight, when we embarked on board a Portuguese vessel for this place. I had procured a European woman-servant to go with us, as it was not thought prudent to go without one. She went on board two days before us, and when we went on board she appeared in perfect health. We had but just entered the ship when she fell on the floor, apparently in a fit. We made every possible effort to recover her, but she gasped a few times and died. The exertion I made to recover her, together with the shock my frame and feelings received at her sudden decease, brought me also near the gates of death. I indeed thought the time of my departure was at hand, and that all my toils and perplexities were ended. I had no physician, no medicine, no attendant but Mr. Judson. Added to this, we were in a small, dirty vessel, which was kept in continual motion by the violence of the wind and sea. Perfect ease and quiet seemed absolutely necessary for my recovery; but these it appeared impossible to obtain. But all things are possible with God; and we were never so sensible of His care and protection as at this time.

“In the midst of our darkness and distress, and when we had given up all hope of my recovery, our captain informed us that we were close to the Andaman Islands, and that we could escape being driven on them in no way but by going through a narrow channel between two of them. We were in much danger, but the vessel was almost perfectly still, as we were in smooth water as soon as we entered the channel, the wind being broken by the islands. Thus I obtained that ease and quiet which a few moments before seemed impossible to obtain. We were three weeks on our passage, and when we arrived I was not able to walk, nor had I even left my bed for half an hour.... We felt very gloomy and dejected the first night we arrived, in view of our prospects; but we were enabled to lean on God, and to feel that He was able to support us under the most discouraging circumstances. The next morning I prepared to go on shore, but hardly knew how I should get to Mr. Carey’s house, as there was no method of conveyance except a horse, which I was unable to ride. It was, however, concluded that I should be carried in an arm-chair; consequently, when I landed, one was provided, through which were put two bamboos, and four of the natives took me on their shoulders. When they had carried me a little way into the town, they set me down under a shade, when great numbers of the natives gathered around, as they had seldom seen an English female. Being sick and weak, I held my head down, which induced many of the native females to come very near and look under my bonnet. At this I looked up and smiled, at which they set up a loud laugh. They again took me up to carry, and the multitude of natives gave a shout, which much diverted us. They next carried me to a place they call the custom-house. It was a small open shed, in which were seated on mats several natives, who were the custom-house officers. After searching Mr. Judson very closely, they asked liberty for a native female to search me, to which I readily consented. I was then brought to the mission-house, where I have entirely recovered my health.... The country presents a rich, beautiful appearance, everywhere covered with vegetation, and, if cultivated, would be one of the finest in the world. But the poor natives have no inducement to labor to raise anything, as it would probably be taken from them by their oppressive rulers. Many of them live on leaves and vegetables that grow spontaneously, and some actually die with hunger. Everything is extremely high, therefore many are induced to steal whatever comes in their way. There are constant robberies and murders committed. Scarcely a night passes but houses are broken open and things stolen. Yet our trust and confidence are in our heavenly Father, who can easily preserve and protect us though a host should encamp about us. I think God has taught us by experience what it is to trust in Him, and find comfort and peace in feeling that He is everywhere present. O for more ardent, supreme love to Him, and greater willingness to suffer in His cause!”

Extract from a letter by Mr. Judson.

“After a mournful separation from brother Rice, at the Isle of France, in March, 1813, we remained there about two months, waiting for a passage to some of the eastern islands, not venturing at that time to think a mission to Burmah practicable. But there being no prospect of accomplishing our wishes directly, we concluded to take passage to Madras, and proceed thence as circumstances should direct. We arrived there in June, and were immediately informed of the renewed hostilities of the company’s government toward missionaries, exhibited in their treatment of the brethren both at Serampore and Bombay. We were, of course, reported to the police, and an account of our arrival forwarded to the supreme government in Bengal. It became, therefore, a moral certainty that, as soon as an order could be received at Madras, we should be again arrested, and ordered to England. Our only safety appeared to consist in escaping from Madras before such order should arrive. It may easily be conceived with what feelings I inquired the destination of vessels in the Madras roads. I found none that would sail in season, but one bound to Rangoon. A mission to Rangoon we had been accustomed to regard with feelings of horror. But it was now brought to a point. We must either venture there or be sent to Europe. All other paths were shut up; and thus situated, though dissuaded by all our friends at Madras, we commended ourselves to the care of God, and embarked on the 22d of June. It was a crazy old vessel. The captain was the only person on board that could speak our language, and we had no other apartment than what was made by canvas. Our passage was very tedious. Mrs. Judson was taken dangerously ill, and continued so until, at one period, I came to experience the awful sensation which necessarily resulted from the expectation of an immediate separation from my beloved wife, the only remaining companion of my wanderings. About the same time, the captain being unable to make the Nicobar Island, where it was intended to take in a cargo of cocoa-nuts, we were driven into a dangerous strait, between the Little and Great Andamans, two savage coasts, where the captain had never been before, and where, if we had been cast ashore, we should, according to all accounts, have been killed and eaten by the natives. But as one evil is sometimes an antidote to another, so it happened with us. Our being driven into this dangerous but quiet channel brought immediate relief to the agitated and exhausted frame of Mrs. Judson, and conduced essentially to her recovery. And in the event, we were safely conducted over the black rocks which we sometimes saw in the gulf below, and on the eastern side of the islands found favorable winds, which gently wafted us forward to Rangoon. But on arriving here, other trials awaited us.

“We had never before seen a place where European influence had not contributed to smooth and soften the rough features of uncultivated nature. The prospect of Rangoon, as we approached, was quite disheartening. I went on shore just at night, to take a view of the place, and the mission-house; but so dark, and cheerless, and unpromising did all things appear, that the evening of that day, after my return to the ship, we have marked as the most gloomy and distressing that we ever passed. Instead of rejoicing, as we ought to have done, in having found a heathen land from which we were not immediately driven away, such were our weaknesses that we felt we had no portion left here below, and found consolation only in looking beyond our pilgrimage, which we tried to flatter ourselves would be short, to that peaceful region where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest. But if ever we commended ourselves sincerely, and without reserve, to the disposal of our heavenly Father, it was on this evening. And after some recollection and prayer, we experienced something of the presence of Him who cleaveth closer than a brother; something of that peace which our Saviour bequeathed to His followers—a legacy which we know from this experience endures when the fleeting pleasures and unsubstantial riches of the world are passed away. The next day Mrs. Judson was carried into the town, being unable to walk; and we found a home at the mission-house, though Mr. Carey was absent at Ava.”

When the tidings reached America that Mr. and Mrs. Judson and Mr. Rice, Congregational missionaries, sent out by the American Board, had been immersed at Calcutta, the Baptists throughout the whole land were thrilled with a glad surprise. God had suddenly placed at the disposal of the Baptist denomination three fully-equipped missionaries. They were already in the field, and action must be prompt. Several influential ministers in Massachusetts met at the house of Dr. Baldwin, in Boston, and organized the “Baptist Society for Propagating the Gospel in India and other Foreign Parts.” They also, as well as the American Board, first turned instinctively toward England for counsel and help. They proposed to the Baptist Missionary Society in London that Mr. Judson should be associated with Messrs. Carey, Marshman, and Ward, at Serampore, and that the Baptists in England and America should co-operate in the work of foreign missions. This, however, did not seem wise to the English brethren, and so America was again thrown back upon her own resources.

Mr. Rice, upon his return to this country, travelled everywhere, telling the thrilling story of the experiences of these pioneer missionaries. The greatest enthusiasm was aroused, and missionary societies similar to the one in Boston sprang up in the Middle and Southern States. In order to secure concert of action it seemed best that there should be a general convention, in which all these societies might be represented. Accordingly, on the 18th of May, 1814, delegates from Baptist churches and missionary societies throughout the land convened in the First Baptist church of Philadelphia. These delegates organized a body which was styled “The General Missionary Convention of the Baptist Denomination in the United States of America for Foreign Missions.” The sum of four thousand dollars was put into the treasury, contributed by the local societies; and it was thought that possibly an annual income of five thousand two hundred and eighty dollars might be secured. It was the day of small things. In 1845 the Southern brethren withdrew to form a society of their own, called “The Southern Convention.” The Northern organization adopted a new constitution, and assumed the name of “The American Baptist Missionary Union.” Its receipts for 1880 were about a quarter of a million of dollars.

Although Mr. Judson’s change in denominational attitude occasioned considerable irritation at the time, yet good and wise men of all religious bodies, viewing his conduct from the stand-point of the present, are agreed that it proved a blessing to the Christian world at large. It occasioned the formation of a second Missionary Society. There came to be two great benevolent forces at work, where there was only one before. What a history-making epoch that was! The action of those consecrated students at Andover led to the formation of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, and of the American Baptist Missionary Union, the one the organ of the Congregationalists, the other of the Baptists of America. A watershed was upheaved, from which two beneficent and ever-widening streams flowed forth for the healing of the nations.

Mr. Judson’s life also marks the beginning of that wonderful growth which has characterized the Baptist denomination in this country, for in gathering together and rallying for his support the Baptists awoke to self-consciousness. They arrived at the epoch, so momentous in the life either of a society or of an individual, when the infant passes out of a mere sort of vegetable existence into a consciousness of his being and power.

“But as he grows he gathers much,

And learns the use of ‘I’ and ‘Me,’

And finds ‘I am not what I see,

And other than the things I touch.’”

In the history of a social body, as well as of the human infant, the period of self-consciousness is the beginning of all real power. In 1812 the Baptists of America were a scattered and feeble folk, and lacked solidarity. There was little or no denominational spirit. The summons to the foreign field shook them together. A glass of water may be slowly reduced in temperature even to a point one or two degrees below freezing, and yet remain uncongealed, provided it be kept perfectly motionless. If, then, it is slightly jarred it will suddenly turn into ice. The Baptist denomination of America was in just such a state of suspense. It needed to be jarred and shaken into solid and enduring form. Mr. Judson’s words: “Should there be formed a Baptist society for the support of a mission in these parts, I should be ready to consider myself their missionary,” proved to be the crystallizing touch.

[6]. See [Map I].

[7]. For further particulars see “Memoir of Mrs. Harriet Newell,” by Dr. Leonard Woods.

CHAPTER IV.
BURMAH.

Let us now take a look at the country in which Mr. and Mrs. Judson at last found themselves. At the present time there are two distinct Burmahs: British Burmah and Independent Burmah. But at the time when Mr. and Mrs. Judson arrived in Rangoon, these two countries formed one great Empire, ruled by one monarch, whose throne was at Ava. Under successive British invasions the Empire has shrunk to two-thirds of its original size. The English have appropriated the whole of the seaboard, the fertile lowlands forming the richest rice-producing district in the world, and the heavy teak forests of Pegu, which yield ship timber unrivalled for its durability. At the time of the arrival of the Judsons, Burmah was 1,020 miles long and 600 miles wide. It was bounded on the north by Assam and Thibet; on the east by China and Siam; and on the south and west by the Bay of Bengal and the British provinces of India. Its area was 280,000 square miles; so that it was four times as large as the whole of New England.

Burmah is scored by three parallel rivers that flow southward: the Irrawaddy, Sittang, and the Salwen.[^[8]] By far the largest of these is the Irrawaddy, which is navigable by steamers to Bhamo, 840 miles from the mouth. The country is made up of these three parallel river valleys, and the mountain chains which flank them. The land in Asia gradually slopes from the Himalayas southward toward the Bay of Bengal. Starting at the south and moving northward, the traveller finds first broad paddy-fields, submerged during a part of the year by the network of streams through which the Irrawaddy finds its way to the sea; then he traverses upland plains; then a rolling country, with ranges of hills; and finally deep forests, high mountains, and the magnificent defiles, through which the rivers flow.

The southern part of Burmah, like Egypt, owes its fertility to an annual inundation which is thus described by an English officer:[^[9]]

“With the exception of high knolls standing up here and there, and a strip of high ground at the base of the hills, the whole country, fields, roads, bridges, is under water from one to twelve feet, or more, in depth. Boats are the only means of locomotion for even a few yards. You sail across the country, ploughing through the half-submerged long grass, piloting a way through the clumps of brushwood and small trees, into the streets of large agricultural villages, where the cattle are seen stabled high up in the houses, twelve feet from the ground; the children are catching fish with lines through the floor; the people are going about their daily concerns, if it is only to borrow a cheroot from their next-door neighbor, in canoes; in short, all the miseries and laughable contretemps sometimes pictured in the illustrated papers as caused by floods in Europe, may be seen—with this difference, that every one is so accustomed to them that they never create a thought of surprise.”

The northern part of Burmah abounds in mountain streams of exquisite beauty. An eye-witness describes them in glowing terms, as follows:[^[10]]

“In some places they are seen leaping in cascades over precipices from 50 to 100 feet high; in others, spreading out into deep, quiet lakes. In some places they run purling over pebbles of milk-white quartz, or grass-green prase, or yellow jasper, or sky-blue slate, or variegated porphyry; in others, they glide like arrows over rounded masses of granite, or smooth, angular pieces of green stone. In some places nought can be heard but the stunning sounds of ‘deep calling unto deep’; in others, the mind is led to musing by the quiet murmur of the brook, that falls upon the ear like distant music. The traveller’s path often leads him up the middle of one of these streams, and every turn, like that of a kaleidoscope, reveals something new and pleasing to the eye. Here a daisy-like flower nods over the margin, as if to look at her modest face in the reflecting waters; there the lotus-leafed, wild arum stands knee-deep in water, shaking around with the motion of the stream the dew-drops on its peltate bosom like drops of glittering quicksilver. Here the fantastic roots of a willow, sprinkled with its woolly capsules, come down to the water’s edge, or it may be a eugenia tree, with its fragrant white corymbs, or a water dillenia, with its brick-red, scaly trunk, and green, apple-like fruit, occupies its place; there the long, drooping red tassels of the barringtonia hang far over the bank, dropping its blossoms on the water, food for numerous members of the carp family congregated below.”

Having studied the Geography and the Physical Geography of Burmah, we turn to its Natural History. The domestic animals are the ox, buffalo, horse, and the goat. The horses are small, and are used for riding, never as beasts of burden. The dog is not kept as a pet, or for hunting, but, as in other Oriental countries, he roams about the cities in a half-wild condition, devouring offal, and at last becomes the victim of famine or disease. The jungles swarm with wild animals, the monkey, elephant, rhinoceros, tiger, leopard, deer, and wild-cat. The elephants are caught, tamed, and used for riding. The white elephant, or albino, is especially prized. A specimen is always kept at court as the insignia of royalty, one of the king’s titles being, “Lord of the White Elephant.” The tiger sometimes steals out of the jungle into a Karen village, and carries off a pig or a calf, or even a child. When once he has tasted human blood, he is very dangerous. An American missionary, a lady, relates that she came once to a native village which a tiger had formed the habit of visiting every night. On each occasion he would carry off some domestic animal. The villagers had taken no measures to avert the danger. She urged them to try and kill the monster. She described how speedily an American village would rid itself of such a nuisance. And so they built an enormous trap or dead-fall. The trunk of a tree was to fall and break the tiger’s back. A squealing pig was tied up for bait. The following night some English officers arrived. They sat up late talking over their adventures, when suddenly a terrific roar pealed through the village. The officers rushed out and found an enormous Bengal tiger pinned down in the trap. They speared him to death, and his beautiful skin was given to the lady as a trophy.

Even in the towns the dove-cote has to be placed on the top of a high pole, the base of which is sheathed with tin, in order to prevent the wild-cats from climbing up and devouring the doves. One of the author’s childish reminiscences is seeing in a cage a wild-cat that had been caught alive in the belfry of the church at Maulmain.

Venomous and offensive reptiles and insects abound. While you are eating your dinner the lizard may drop from the bamboo rafters upon the table. As you step out of your door the gleaming forms of chameleons shoot up the trunk of your roof-tree and hide themselves in the branches. The scorpion, with its painful sting, and the centipede, with its poisonous bite, may be found in your garden. The children must be warned not to race through the bushes in your compound, lest they encounter the hated cobra, whose slightest nip is sure and speedy death. The author remembers his father taking the Burman spear, the only weapon which he ever used, and going down into the poultry-yard to dispatch a cobra, whose track had first been discovered in the dust beneath the house.

How much discomfort and suffering are caused, even in our own land, by rats, mice, snakes, flies, and mosquitoes! And the foreign missionary has these same pests, but in a more aggravated form. These are larger, more numerous, and in addition to them he has to cope with the white ants that in armies destroy his furniture, the scorpion, the centipede, the cobra, the tiger.

The inhabitants of Burmah next claim our attention. The Burmans belong to the Mongolian race, the characteristics of which are “long, straight hair; almost complete absence of beard, and hair on the body; a dark-colored skin, varying from a leather-like yellow to a deep brown, or sometimes tending to red; and prominent cheek-bones, generally accompanied by an oblique setting of the eyes.”[^[11]]

The Burmans are described by a modern writer[^[12]] as “of a stout, active, well-proportioned form; of a brown, but never of an intensely dark complexion, with black, coarse, and abundant hair, and a little more beard than is possessed by the Siamese.”

At the time of Mr. and Mrs. Judson’s arrival, the population numbered from six to eight millions. This included, however, not only Burmans, who are the ruling race, and dwell mainly in the larger towns and cities, but also several subject races—Shans, Karens, Kakhyens—half-wild people, who live in villages scattered through the jungles and along the mountain streams. These tribes have different habits, and speak a different language from the Burmans. They are related to the Burmans somewhat as the North American Indians are to us, being, perhaps, the original inhabitants of the country, and having been subjugated at some remote period of the past. It would seem that wave after wave of Mongolian conquerors had swept over the country from the North, and these tribes are the fragments of wrecked nationalities.

Major Yule, in his “Embassy to Ava,” gives the following graphic description of the mental and moral traits of the Burmese:

“Unlike the generality of the Asiatics, they are not a fawning race. They are cheerful, and singularly alive to the ridiculous; buoyant, elastic, soon recovering from personal or domestic disaster. With little feeling of patriotism, they are still attached to their homes, greatly so to their families. Free from prejudices of caste or creed, they readily fraternize with strangers, and at all times frankly yield to the superiority of a European. Though ignorant, they are, when no mental exertion is required, inquisitive, and to a certain extent eager for information; indifferent to the shedding of blood on the part of their rulers, yet not individually cruel; temperate, abstemious, and hardy, but idle, with neither fixedness of purpose nor perseverance. Discipline or any continued employment becomes most irksome to them, yet they are not devoid of a certain degree of enterprise. Great dabblers in small mercantile ventures, they may be called (the women especially) a race of hucksters; not treacherous or habitual perverters of the truth, yet credulous and given to monstrous exaggerations; when vested with authority, arrogant and boastful; if unchecked, corrupt, oppressive, and arbitrary; yet distinguished for bravery, whilst their chiefs are notorious for cowardice; indifferent shots, and though living in a country abounding in forest, not bold followers of field sports.”

But what is the industrial life of the Burmans? The soil of Burmah is richly productive of all that is needed for food or clothing or shelter or ornament. The chief crops are rice, maize or Indian corn, wheat, tobacco, cotton, and indigo. It is computed that 80 per cent. of all the rice brought from the East to Europe is produced in the rich paddy-fields of British Burmah.

There is an abundance of delicious fruits—the jack-fruit, the bread-fruit, oranges, bananas, guavas, pine-apples, and the cocoa-nut. After the annual inundation, the subsiding rivers leave behind them, in the depressions of the ground, ponds well stocked with fish. Beef and mutton the Burman learns to forego, as his religion does not allow him to eat cattle or sheep unless they die a natural death. His meal of rice and curry is sometimes enriched by the addition of poultry. The bamboo yields building material for his houses, and the teak forest timber for his ships. The mineral resources are large. The earth yields iron, tin, silver, gold, sapphires, emeralds, rubies, amber, sulphur, arsenic, antimony, coal (both anthracite and bituminous), and petroleum oil, which is used by all classes in little clay lamps.

And yet at the time of the arrival of our missionaries, and even now in Independent Burmah, there is no commerce on a large scale. This is shown by the high rate of interest, 25 per cent., and 60 per cent. when no security is given. The very productiveness of his country made the Burman of fifty years ago feel independent of foreign nations. He took the narrow view that exportation only tended to impoverishment. The Government rigidly prohibited all important exportation except that of the cheap and abundant teak timber. Gold and silver and precious stones must not be carried out for fear of reducing the country to poverty. If in those days an English merchant had carried a large quantity of silks and calicoes to the royal city, and had exchanged them for £5,000 in gold, he could possess and enjoy the money there, but he could not, except by bribery, succeed in carrying it home. His wealth made him practically an exile and a prisoner. The marble could not be exported, because it was consecrated to the building of idols and pagodas. The cotton and the rice could not be exported, lest there should not be enough left for the clothing and food of the population. The only commerce worth mentioning was with China. The Chinese caravans brought, overland, large quantities of raw silk, and received cotton in exchange.

On account of the low state of commerce, the science of navigation was quite unknown to the Burmans. When sailors made their little trips, in the dry season, along the shore of the Bay of Bengal, they took pains never to pass out of sight of land.

There were no extensive manufactures in Burmah, for these required an accumulation of large capital; and a man could never be sure that his wealth would not be wrested from him by the Government. And so the chief article of manufacture is lacquer-ware, as this requires but little capital. Woven strips of bamboo were smeared with mud, and baked, and polished, and varnished, and then manufactured into beautiful boxes and trays.

Most of the Burmans, however, are engaged in agricultural pursuits. They raise rice and catch fish, which they pound up into a mass with coarse salt, and so produce their favorite relish, ngapee. Immense quantities of rice and ngapee are carried up the Irrawaddy in boats, and sold at the capital and in the upper provinces of Burmah.

The government of Independent Burmah is an absolute despotism. The king has supreme power over the life and possessions of every subject. He may confiscate property, imprison, torture, or execute at his pleasure,—his only restraint being fear of an insurrection. An English writer relates that at the sovereign’s command one of the highest officers of the State was seized by the public executioner, and stretched on the ground by the side of the road, under a scorching sun, with a heavy weight upon his chest, and afterward restored to his high position. There are, indeed, two Councils of State, by which the government is administered, but the members of these councils are appointed by the king, and may be degraded or executed at his word. The late monarch of Burmah saw the evils of this despotic system, and, in arranging for the succession, formed a plan by which his successor should be subject to limitation by his prime ministers. But the new king, Thebaw, a brutal and licentious boy of 20, frustrated this benignant purpose. He murdered his counsellors, massacred his blood relations, and Burmah, that had roused herself for a moment from her long nightmare of despotism, sank again into sleep.

The whole country is divided into provinces, townships, districts, and villages. Over each province is a governor, or as the Burmese call him, an Eater. Through his underlings he taxes every family. His officers receive a share of what they can extort, and the rest he divides with the king. In this way the whole land is a scene of enormous extortion. There are no fixed salaries for Government functionaries. The higher officer eats a certain province or district. The lower officer lives on fees and perquisites. Courts of law are corrupted by bribery. It is customary to torture witnesses. The criminal is usually executed by decapitation. He may, however, be disembowelled, or thrown to wild beasts, or crucified, or have his limbs broken with a bludgeon—if he can not effect his escape by the plentiful use of money.

“On the 7th of February, 1817, seven persons found guilty of sacrilege were conveyed to the place of execution near Rangoon, and secured in the usual way to the stake. The first of them was fired at four successive times by a marksman without being hit. At every shot there was a loud peal of laughter from the spectators. The malefactor was taken down, declared to be invulnerable, pardoned, and taken into a confidential employment by the governor. He had paid a large bribe. The second culprit was shot, and the remaining five were decapitated.”[^[13]]

Who can estimate the miseries which the peasantry must suffer under such a system of bribery and extortion? It is not strange that the late Burman monarch, when he came to the throne, uttered the exclamation, “Great God, I might as well be king over a desert!”

The religion of Burmah is Buddhism. Here and in the Island of Ceylon, this cult exists in its purest form. Buddhism originated in India about 500 years before Christ. Here it succeeded in supplanting the ancient religion of the Hindoos, derived from the Vedas, and called Brahminism.

India was in former times saturated with Brahminical philosophy and Brahminical ceremonial. The people were completely priest-ridden. Buddhism was an outgrowth from Brahminism, or perhaps rather a recoil from it. It was related to it somewhat as Christianity is to Judaism, or Protestantism to the Romish Church. For one hundred and fifty years Buddhism had a very rapid and vigorous growth in India, but soon after the beginning of the Christian era it began to decay, and in the eighth and ninth centuries A.D., in consequence of a great persecution, Buddhism was completely extirpated in India. The ancient religion, Brahminism, was reinstated, and Gaudama has no worshipper in the land of his birth.

But a prophet is not without honor save in his country. Buddhism is pervaded by a missionary spirit, and has won its way by peaceful persuasion into Ceylon, Burmah, Siam, Thibet, and China. It is, at the present day, the religion of more than four hundred millions of human beings—about one-third of the population of the globe.

Having considered the distribution of Buddhism, let us contrast it with Brahminism. Buddhism, like Brahminism, holds the doctrine of transmigration of souls. The soul is at first united with the lowest forms of organic life. By successive births it may climb into the bodies of spiders, snakes, chameleons, and after long ages may reach the human tenement. Then comes the period of probation. According to its behavior in the flesh it either rises still higher to occupy the glorious forms of demigods and gods, or it relapses little by little into its low estate, and again takes up its wretched abode in the degraded forms of the lower animals.

“Life runs its rounds of living, climbing up,

From mote, and gnat, and worm, reptile and fish,

Bird and shagged beast, man, demon, deva, God,

To clod and mote again.”[^[14]]