s life and immortality to light."

After his return to Amherst, Mr. Judson writes: "Amid the desolation
that death has made, I take up my pen to address once more the mother of
my beloved Ann. I am sitting in the house she built--in the room where
she breathed her last--and at a window from which I see the tree that
stands at the head of her grave.... Mr. and Mrs. Wade are living in the
house, having arrived here about a month after Ann's death, and Mrs. W.
has taken charge of my poor motherless Maria.... When I arrived Mr. Wade
met me at the landing-place, and as I passed on to the house, one and
another of the native Christians came out, and when they saw me they
began to weep. At length we reached the house; and I almost expected to
see my love coming out to meet me as usual, but no, I only saw in the
arms of Mrs. Wade, a poor puny child, who could not recognize her
father, and from whose infant mind had long been erased all recollection
of the mother who loved her so much. She turned away from me in alarm,
and I, obliged to seek comfort elsewhere, found my way to the grave, but
who ever obtained comfort there? Thence I went to the house in which I
left her; and looked at the spot where last we knelt in prayer, and
where we exchanged the parting kiss....

"It seems that her head was much affected and she said but little. She
sometimes complained thus: 'The teacher is long in coming, and the
missionaries are long in coming, I must die alone and leave my little
one, but as it is the will of God, I acquiesce in his will. I am not
afraid of death, but I am afraid I shall not be able to bear these
pains. Tell the teacher that the disease was most violent, and I could
not write; tell him how I suffered and died; tell him all you see.'...
When she could not notice anything else, she would still call the child
to her, and charge the nurse to be kind to it, and indulge it in
everything till its father should return. The last day or two she lay
almost senseless and motionless, on one side, her head reclining on her
arm, her eyes closed, and at eight in the evening, with one exclamation
of distress in the Burman language, she ceased to breathe."

From the physician who attended her he afterwards learned that the fatal
termination of her disease, was chiefly owing to the weakness of her
constitution occasioned by the severe privations, and long-protracted
sufferings which she endured at Ava. "And oh!" adds her husband, "With
w