of Death, since the first week of her arrival in Burmah. But she had endured so much, and yet lived, had so successfully resisted so many times, that it seemed scarce possible the place, which she had so long occupied in the dear heaven of earthly love, must be for ever darkened. The skill of the physician was taxed to its utmost; the kindness of the friend and the tenderness of the husband, each strove unweariedly, in turn and togetherthere were wet eyes, and bended knees, and prayerful voices, but the Mighty One bent not His ear: His own wisdom had marked for her a better way than their affection had power to devise.

A kind invitation from the Commissioner of Maulmain to accompany his family in an ex cursion down the coast, gave her, for several weeks, the benefit of sea-air; and though she speaks of her sufferings as sometimes indescribably severe, during this voyage, and returned, paler, thinner and weaker than she left, it was still hoped, that she had made some little improvement. But the hope soon faded; she declined from day to day—always a little thinner, and a little weaker, but cheerful still— till at last a voyage to America was named, as presenting the only prospect of life. To

America! the land of her birth, and the home of many a loved one; where parents, brothers and sisters still trod the soil, and where her darling, her orphan boy might, once again, be folded to her bosom! Oh, should she visit dear, Christian America once more? Yet she could not leave those for whom she had toiled and prayed, during twenty years of exile, without sadness. Had it been right, she would have preferred to die quietly in Burmah, rather than interrupt her husband's labours; and her heart sunk at parting, for years, if not for life, with the most helpless of her babes-the eldest of the three, only four years of age. But duty demanded the sacrifice; and she had too long been obedient to this voice, to think of opposition now. They bore her to the ship, while both fair and dusky faces circled round; and long did the sound of those loved, farewell voices, half-smothered in grief and choked with tears, dwell upon her ear and heart. Near the Isle of France, hope of final recovery grew so strong, that it became almost certainty, (as much certainty as ever attends the prospects of mortals,) and now a voice from poor, perishing Burmah seemed calling on the invalid for one more sacrifice. She dared not go back herself, but there seemed no longer a

necessity for calling her husband from his missionary labour. He should return to his lonely home, and she, with her children, would pursue a way as lonely toward the "setting sun." It was after this resolution that the following lines, the last words ever traced by her fingers, were penciled on a scrap of broken paper :

"We part on this green islet, Love,
Thou for the Eastern main,

I, for the setting sun, Love-
Oh, when to meet again?

My heart is sad for thee, Love,
For lone thy way will be;
And oft thy tears will fall, Love,
For thy children and for me.

The music of thy daughter's voice
Thou'lt miss for many a year;
And the merry shout of thine elder boys,
Thou'lt list in vain to hear.

When we knelt to see our Henry die,
And heard his last faint moan,
Each wiped the tear from other's eye-
Now, each must weep alone.

My tears fall fast for thee, Love,—
How can I say farewell?

But go; thy God be with thee, Love,
Thy heart's deep grief to quell!

Yet my spirit clings to thine, Love,
Thy soul remains with me,

And oft we'll hold communion sweet,
O'er the dark and distant sea.

And who can paint our mutual joy,
When, all our wanderings o'er,
We both shall clasp our infants three,
At home, on Burmah's shore.

But higher shall our raptures glow,

On yon celestial plain,

When the loved and parted here below

Meet, ne'er to part again.

Then gird thine armor on, Love,
Nor faint thou by the way,

Till Boodh shall fall, and Burmah's sons
Shall own Messiah's sway."

"In all the missionary annals," says the editor of the New-York Evangelist, "there are few things more affecting than this. Mrs. Judson's beautiful lines remind us of Bishop Heber's verses addressed to his wife, 'If thou

wert by my side, my love;' but they are superiour in deep, natural feeling. How exquisite the references to her husband's anticipated loneliness! The music of thy daughter's voice, thou'lt miss for many a year! These verses make us think of the refinement, the exquisite sensibility, the tender affection, the deep and fervent piety of many a missionary wife among the heathen. Some of the most admirable women ever born have laid down their lives there, and some are still shedding the sweet light and grace of their holy, patient example, where few, besides the Saviour, can see and appreciate their labours. Oh, great will be their reward in heaven, when from every ingredient of bitterness and trial, in their earthly pilgrimage, there shall spring a harvest. of eternal blessedness and glory. There will be no dearer, sweeter remembrances in heaven, than those of the painful earthly trials of their self-denying, desert-path for Christ. Dr. Judson is an old Christian soldier, but he never heard a more animating and sustaining word, amidst his conflicts, than the parting song of his wife. It will ring in his ear till he dies, and then again he will hear her angel-voice in heaven :