earing, and create
a city.' To this new city of Amherst Mr. and Mrs. Boardman came in the
spring of 1827, and joined Mr. and Mrs. Wade and Mr. Judson. It was
bitterly painful to them to learn that the wife of the latter, that
noble and beloved woman whose life had been preserved as if by miracle
in a thousand dangers, and from whose society and intercourse they had
hoped and expected the greatest pleasure and profit, was the tenant of a
lowly grave beneath the hopia-tree; and even more immediately
distressing to find that her heart-broken husband was just about to
consign to the same dreary bed the only relic remaining to him of his
once lovely family, 'the sweet little Maria.' One of Mr. Boardman's
first labors in Burmah was to make a coffin for the child with his own
hands! and to assist in its burial. Poor babe! 'so closed its brief,
eventful history.' An innocent sharer in the terrible sufferings of its
parents, in the midst of which indeed it came into the world; like its
mother, it had survived through countless threatening deaths, and
reached what seemed a haven of security, only to wring its father's
heart with an intenser pang, by its unexpected and untimely death. Truly
the ways of God 'are past finding out,' and 'his judgments are a great
deep!'

From a short poem full of sympathy and pious sentiment which was written
by Mrs. Boardman on this occasion, we select some passages.

"Ah this is death, my innocent! 'tis he
Whose chilling hand has touched thy tender frame.

* * * * *

Thou heed'st us not; not e'en the bursting sob
Of thy dear father, now can pierce thine ear.

* * * * *

Thy mother's tale replete with varied scenes,
Exceeds my powers to tell; but other harps
And other voices, sweeter far than mine,
Shall sing her matchless worth, her deeds of love,
Her zeal, her toil, her sufferings and her death.
But all is over now. She sweetly sleeps
In yonder new-made grave; and thou, sweet babe,
Shalt soon be pillowed on her quiet breast.
Yes, ere to-morrow's sun shall gild the west,
Thy father shall have said a long adieu
To the last lingering hope of earthly joy;
For thou, Maria, wilt have found thy rest.
Thy flesh shall rest in hope, till that great day
When He who once endured far greater woes
Than mortal man can know; who when on earth
Received