you know how sweet it is to draw nigh to God. I trust you have both, many times been so near heaven, while engaged in prayer, that you have forgotten all your earthly sorrows. And this, my beloved parents, is sometimes the case with me even now, when I am suffering under the greatest possible affliction that my Heavenly Father could have allotted me. The sweet promises of God are precious to my soul; and I look forward with joy to the blissful moment, when I shall go to be for ever united with my dear husband and children, in a world where there is no sorrow nor weeping."

The following poem was written some time after, at Yalah, a romantic place on the seashore, which she had often visited with her husband. It was her favorite scene; and its principal features, to which she alludes in the verses, have been more distinctly defined in a pencil sketch, taken during one of these visits.

"The moon throws her bright and glistening ray On ocean's heaving breast ;

And with her light is the landscape gay,―
But to me, 'tis in sable dressed.

For the eye is dim, and the voice is hushed,
That with me admired the scene;

And present enjoyments all are crushed,
'Neath the tread of those that have been.

The ocean rolls on in sullen pride,

As for ages past he has done;

But my guide over life's more fearful tide,
The friend of my youth, is gone.

The tree, to which the frail creeper clung,

Still lifts its stately head;

But he, on whom my spirit hung,

Is sleeping with the dead.

The evening star sheds her silvery light,
Bright orbs in their beauty roll;
But to me 'tis a dark and dreary night,
For quenched is the star of my

soul.

'Tis long since they bore thee away And laid thee low in the grave;

But could I forget thee, my soul would be,
Like the rock that repels the wave.

And oh, thou departed and sainted one,

In thy robes of glory clad;

Dost thou e'er, from thy bright abode, look down, On me deserted and sad?

Oh, thine is indeed a bright abode !
And brilliant thy diadem-

The crown of life from the hand of God,
Adorned with many a gem.

For thou didst bear the gospel light
To the heathen world afar;

And the darkness of their moral night
Gave way to the Morning Star.

The youths of China learned of thee
To seek a Saviour's face;

And the ruder Burman at thy knee
Heard the tale of sovereign grace.

And who are the crowds with visage meek,
That come from the mountains high,
The tear of penitence warm on each cheek,
And hope in every eye?

There is manhood, and age with hoary head, And the child, scarce touched with guile, And the forest-maid, from whose native shade, Nor love nor pleasure could wile.

The Karens, for whom thy parting breath
Went forth in fervent prayer,

Who knelt beside thy bed of death,
Are thy crown of gladness there.

A sound, as from some heavenly shrine,
Comes sweetly floating near,

And accents mild and soft like thine,
Fall gently on my ear.

་

Dry, dry thy tears, for sweet my rest,
From sin and sorrow free;

And our cherub babes, on an angel's breast,
Lean till they welcome thee.

· And for thee and thy last remaining one,
Are seats in this bright abode,

And a robe of light, and a glorious crown,
Prepared by our Saviour God.'”

CHAPTER XI.

THE FEMALE MISSIONARY.

"Toiling-rejoicing-sorrowing,"

The Christian onward goes;

Each morning sees some task begin,

Each evening sees it close;

Something attempted, something done.

Has earned a night's repose."

Longfellow.

HAVE been trying," said the lone widow, in a note to a missionary friend, "with fasting,

and prayers, and tears, to inquire what my duty is, about going home soon with little George. I feel conscious of the weakness of my own judgment; and am about writing to Maulmain, Rangoon, and Mergui, to ask the advice of my brethren and sisters." But before these letters had been despatched, she received the following, from a missionary, then in Rangoon-one who knew from his own bitter experience, all the depths of her sufferings, and all