Part 4

Soon after the death of her babe, Mrs. Newell discovered symptoms of the malady which soon carried her to an untimely grave. From the first, she had no hope of recovery. Several of her friends had died of the same disease; and when it fastened itself upon her system, she knew that her time had come. The slow, wasting consumption was on her frame, and her days were nearly run out. But the approach of death she viewed with perfect composure. Though far from home, far from all the endeared scenes of youth, from the roof which sheltered her in infancy, from the mother whose gentle hand guided her up to womanhood, she was tranquil. Death was only a dark shadow, which retreated before her as she advanced, and left her standing in the light of a cloudless day.

While on her dying pillow she read through the book of Job, and derived from its hallowed counsels much divine support and comfort. While contemplating the sufferings of that godly man, her own trials dwindled away, and she lost sight of her own anguish in the deeper woes, of another. Often did she ask, as she remembered what others had endured and thought what trials some had experienced,--

"Shall I be carried to the skies On flowery beds of ease, While others fought to win the prize, And sailed through bloody seas?"

Sometimes she wondered why she should be thus early taken away. She had left home and friends to labor for God in a heathen land; and why at the very onset he should call her to the grave, she could not understand. The great desire of her heart was to be the humble instrument in the conversion of sinners. She wished to win souls to Christ--to turn the attention of the dying heathen to the saving cross. Hence, when she found that, ere her work had fairly commenced, she was to be summoned away to her reward, torn from the arms of her husband, and removed beyond the province of toil, she failed to read the purpose of her Maker. All was gloom, and in calm submission she bowed her head to the coming storm. What was dark now she hoped to understand when the secrets of all hearts are known, and trusted that God was able to glorify himself as much in her death as in her life.

During her sickness she gave expression to the feelings of her heart, and proved to all around her that death had lost dominion over her; that the grave had secured no victory; and when she met the terrors of one and the silence of the other, it was as the conqueror meets his smitten foe. Her last words were, "How long, O Lord, how long?" and with this sentence on her lips she passed away.

Mrs. Newell died on Monday, the 30th of November, 1812, at the Isle of France, leaving her husband to labor alone for the conversion of the heathen. After the death of his wife Mr. Newell removed to Ceylon, and from thence to Bombay, where, after laboring a few years and doing his Master's work in tears and sorrow, he went down to his grave on the 17th of May, 1821.

The scene now closes. We have followed a devoted servant of Christ from youth to womanhood--from early childhood to an early grave. It is pleasant to contemplate such an example, to shed tears of gratitude over such a tomb. The name we pronounce deserves to be recorded in a more conspicuous place in the book of fame than any name which has gathered gory laurels on the wet field of carnage; she deserves a higher monument than rises over the resting-place of earth's proudest conqueror--a monument not of marble, nor of brass, nor of gold, but one which shall lift its summit until a halo of eternal light shall gather about it and gild it with the beams of glory. And such a monument she has. When the clouds and mists of earth are dissipated we shall see it, sinking its base deep as the darkness of a world of heathenism, and lifting its summit high as the throne of God.

Harriet Newell was the great proto-martyr of American missions. She fell wounded by death in the very vestibule of the sacred cause. Her memory belongs not to the body of men who sent her forth, not to the denomination to whose creed she had subscribed, but to the church--to the cause of missions. With the torch of Truth in her hand she led the way down into a valley of darkness, through which many have followed. Her work was short, her toil soon ended; but she fell, cheering, by her dying words and her high example, the missionaries of all coming time. She was the first, but not the only martyr. Heathen lands are dotted over with the graves of fallen Christians; missionary women sleep on almost every shore; and the bones of some are whitening in the fathomless depths of the ocean.

Never will the influence of the devoted woman whose life and death are here portrayed be estimated properly until the light of an eternal day shall shine on all the actions of men. We are to measure her glory, not by what she suffered, for others have suffered more than she did. But we must remember that she went out when the missionary enterprise was in its infancy--when even the best of men looked upon it with suspicion. The tide of opposition she dared to stem; and with no example, no predecessor from American shores, she went out to rend the veil of darkness which gathered over all the nations of the East.

Things have changed since then. Our missionaries go forth with the approval of all the good; and the odium which once attended such a life is swept away. It is to some extent a popular thing to be a missionary, although the work is still one of hardship and suffering. It is this fact which gathers such a splendor around the name of Harriet Newell, and invests her short, eventful life with such a charm. She went when no foot had trodden out the path, and was the first American missionary ever called to an eternal reward. While she slumbers in her grave, her name is mentioned with affection by a missionary church. And thus it should be. She has set us a glorious example; she has set an example to the church in every land and age; and her name will be mingled with the loved ones who are falling year by year; and if, when the glad millennium comes and the earth is converted to God, some crowns brighter than others shall be seen amid the throng of the ransomed, one of those crowns will be found upon the head of HARRIET NEWELL.

II.

ANN H. JUDSON, OF BURMAH.

Notoriety is one thing, and true glory is quite another thing. Many persons have become notorious around whose lives no true glory or dignity has appeared; and many men have been honorable in the highest sense who have lived unknown to fame, and unheard of beyond a narrow boundary.

The world's estimate of glory is a false one. It attaches too much importance to physical force, to noisy pomp, to the glitter and show of conquest, and gives too little honor to the silent but majestic movements of moral heroes.

Had any body of men labored long and suffered much to save poor human life and draw from burning dwelling or sinking wreck some fellow-man, their deeds would be mentioned in every circle; humane societies would award them tokens of distinction and approbation; and they would be deemed worthy of exalted honor. Nor would it be wrong thus to give them praise. The man who risks his life to save another deserves a higher, prouder monument than ever lifted itself above the tombs of fallen warriors who on the gory field have slaughtered their thousands.

Nor will the deserved approbation of the great and good of earth long be withheld from the heralds of salvation on heathen shores. The majesty of the missionary enterprise is beginning to develop itself; success is crowning the toil of years; and heathendom is assuming a new aspect. Under the faithful labors of self-denying men, the wilderness is beginning to blossom as the rose. Here and there, amid the sands of the wide desert once parched by sin and consumed by the fiery blaze of heathenish cruelty, the plants of grace are beginning to appear, and Christian churches are springing up to spread themselves like green vines upon the broken ruins of demolished idols.

It is too late now in the world's history, too late in the progress of thought, to vindicate the course pursued by the two pioneer female missionaries. When the Caravan sailed down the harbor of the "City of Peace," there were enough to curl the lip and point the finger of scorn. The devoted messengers of Jesus were charged with indelicacy, with a false ambition, with a spirit of romance and adventure, with a desire for ease and gain. As time rolled on, all these charges were withdrawn; the characters, views, and feelings of these heroic women were raised above suspicion, and now they are enveloped in a flood of glory.

"They left not home to cross the briny sea With the proud conqueror's ambitious aim, To wrong the guiltless, to enslave the free, And win a bloodstained wreath of dreadful fame By deeds unworthy of the Christian name."

Their errand was to carry mercy to the perishing and hope to the despairing; and in the name of their great Master they executed their high commission. Depending alone on God, and inspired by his grace, they labored on, amid all the doubts and sneers of others, until their holy lives and correct deportment challenged the approbation of the most sceptical,--until God honored their work by great success,--until men, hardened men, began to yield.

"And by degrees the blesséd fruits were seen In many a contrite and converted heart, Fruits which might cause unbidden tears to start From eyes unused to weep; because they told Faith was their polar star, and God's word their guide."

And future ages will honor them. When the names of Mary and Elizabeth, of Joan of Arc with her wild enthusiasm, of De Staël and her literary contemporaries, have all been lost, these will live as fresh as ever.

Ann H. Judson was born at Bradford, December 22, 1789. She was the daughter of John and Rebecca Hasseltine, worthy inhabitants of that pleasant village. Her childhood was passed within sight of the home which contained the friends, and around which clustered the employments and pursuits, of Harriet Newell. With only a narrow river rolling between them, these two devoted servants of God passed through the period of youth, little thinking how their names and fortunes were to be linked together in the holy cause of human good. Like her beloved associate, Miss Hasseltine was early in life a pupil at Bradford Academy, and made commendable progress in her studies. There she was beloved by all. The teachers regarded her as an industrious, dutiful, and talented scholar; her associates looked upon her as a sincere, openhearted, cheerful companion. Unlike Mrs. Newell, who was sedate and grave, exhibiting a seriousness almost beyond her years, Miss Hasseltine was ardent, gay, and active. She loved amusement and pleasure, and was found seeking enjoyment in all the avenues of virtuous life. One of her schoolmates, speaking of her, says, "Where Ann is, no one can be gloomy or unhappy. Her cheerful countenance, her sweet smile, her happy disposition, her keen wit, her lively conduct, never rude nor boisterous, will dispel the shades of care and hang the smiles of summer upon the sorrows of the coldest heart." Her animation gave life to all around her, and made her, at school, an unusual favorite; at home, the joy of her father's dwelling. It was probably this cheerfulness of her natural disposition which in after years enabled her to endure such protracted sufferings, and, by the side of her missionary husband, smile amid clanking fetters and gloomy dungeons. She loved to look upon the bright side of every picture, and seldom spent an hour in tears over any imaginary sorrow. On the front of evils she generally discerned signs of good; and often, while others were in sorrow, her heart was glad. Her sedate parents looked upon these exhibitions of cheerful disposition with some feelings of regret, and often chided their child for what they deemed an uneasy and restless spirit, little thinking that this very cheerfulness was to sustain her under many a trial which would have bowed others to the earth with crushed and broken spirits. God seemed to have adapted her to the very position in which he designed to place her; and her whole after career gave evidence of the wisdom of the divine arrangement. Had she been of different mould, she would have sunk ere half her work was done, ere half her toils were over.

While at Bradford Academy, Miss Hasseltine became a subject of renewing grace. Her own account of her conversion, found in her published memoir and elsewhere, is of the deepest and most thrilling interest to every pious heart. During the first sixteen years of her life, she, according to her own statement, had few convictions. She had been taught that she must be moral and virtuous, and in this way avoid suffering and secure peace of conscience. The awful necessity of being "born again" did not press itself upon her attention. Light and vain amusements engrossed much of her time, and employed many hours which should have been given to God and the practice of holiness. The prayers which she learned in youth were now forgotten, her Bible neglected, and her mind given up to vain and sinful pleasure. She did not realize that she was immortal; that she was a traveller to a long and unknown eternity; but the present hour, the present moment, received all her care and engrossed all her attention. From this state she was aroused by seeing in a little volume which she took up to read on Sabbath morning, just before going to the house of God, this solemn sentence: "She that liveth in pleasure is dead while she liveth." The words sunk deep into her thoughtless heart. In vain she strove to banish them; but they would return upon her memory, and linger there with tormenting obstinacy. Vain was it that she mingled in scenes of gayety and mirth; vainly did she become "the gayest of the gay." The conviction became stronger, as each week rolled away, that she was a lost sinner. Under the influence of divine truth she continued to become more deeply impressed with the importance of giving her heart to God and being a new creature. She herself says, "I lost all relish for amusements; felt melancholy and dejected; and the solemn truth that I must obtain a new heart, or perish forever, lay with weight upon my mind." At length her feelings-became so overpowering that she could not confine them within her own bosom. God had rolled such a weight of conviction on her mind that she was almost crushed to the earth. How God could forgive her sins, she could not see. How one so guilty, so rebellious, so hardened, could obtain mercy, she did not know. Instead, at this time, of giving her heart to God, she resorted to other means to find relief from sin. She gave up many of the comforts of life, locked herself into her room, and spent many weary hours in self-imposed penance. Against the holy claims of God her heart soon rebelled, and she longed to be taken out of her misery.

At length she attained a more scriptural view of the way of salvation; she saw Christ as a vicarious sacrifice, and felt that, if saved at all, it must be by his blood, and not by her own imperfect righteousness. This view of Jesus was sweet and precious. He had become, not the Savior of the world, but her own Savior; he had died, not merely for the sins of the race, but for her sins; and in this sacred contemplation her soul found sweet relief. The torturing load of fears was gone; one sight of Christ had changed the heart and taken away its grief and sin. Like a liberated slave she rejoiced in perfect freedom, and her happy soul went out in joyful thanks to Him who had wrought the work.

With a heart changed by God, she seemed to pass from rapture to rapture, from bliss to bliss. Beneath the operations of grace her mind and her heart seemed to be enlarged, and to a wonderful extent she drank in the truth of the inspired word. Doctrines which until now had been all shrouded in darkness were readily comprehended. The great plan of salvation by the cross excited her wonder and admiration, and she loved to dwell upon it as the way in which she herself had been saved. All the energy of her soul seemed to be aroused to action. She was in a new world, inspired by new hopes, living a new life, a new creature.

The character of Miss Hasseltine's mind may be inferred from the nature of the books which, at this period of her experience, she read with the greatest eagerness. Instead of resorting to works of a superficial cast for instruction, she selected the profound dissertations of our most learned theologians, and read with much interest, as we are informed by her biographer, "the works of Edwards, Hopkins, Bellamy, and Doddridge." In the investigation of the deep and awful things of God she spent much of her time, and, with a humble desire to know the truth and obey it, sought wisdom from on high.

On the 14th of September, 1806, Miss Hasseltine made a public profession of religion, and connected herself with the Congregational church in Bradford, and for the first time partook with the company of believers of the broken emblems of a Savior's infinite compassion. The observance of this ordinance was full of blessing; at the table, according to her own testimony, she renewed her covenant with her Maker, and more solemnly than ever gave herself to the holy work of God. She felt how needful the assistance of a higher power was to keep her from the snares into which young Christians are so liable to fall.

After leaving the academy, Miss H. engaged as a teacher, and with considerable success employed herself in her vocation, in Haverhill, Salem, and Newbury. Teaching with her was not an ordinary employment; she remembered that her pupils had souls as well as bodies; and while she was striving to expand the youthful mind, she also endeavored to improve the youthful heart, and impress upon the conscience those lessons of truth which time could never efface. It was at the same conference in which the acquaintance between Mr. and Mrs. Newell commenced that Mr. Judson was introduced to the subject of this sketch. He was then in need of a companion who would share his anxieties, his labors, and his sorrows; and he fixed upon Miss Hasseltine as the one whose tastes and feelings most accorded with his own. He was probably attracted by her ardent piety, her brilliant intellect, and her joyous spirit. Having duly considered the subject, he gave her an invitation to go out with him to distant India, and be his companion in the brightest hour of his prosperity and in the darkest moment of his adversity. To decide the question was not an easy matter. It was connected with obligations which she did not hastily assume, and hence it was several months ere she had resolved to go. She was at times fearful that her disposition for what was in itself romantic and strange would bias her judgment and lead her to pursue a course which she should regret when too late to turn back. Hence she brought all her feelings and motives to a severe test, and looked down deeply into the hidden mystery of her heart. Before God she laid herself completely open, and sought, by humble supplication, his divine direction. With no example but that of Harriet Newell, who had just consecrated herself to the work, she decided to make India her home, and suffering and privation her lot. Her letters upon this subject, about this time, abound with passages of thrilling interest, and give evidence that the subject of missions absorbed her whole attention and pervaded her whole nature.