d; while poor Pinapah stood at a little
distance weeping bitterly. The table had been spread in the cuddy, as
usual, and the officers did not know what was passing in the cabin, till
summoned to dinner. Then they gathered about the door, and watched the
closing scene with solemn reverence. Now--thanks to a merciful God! his
pains had left him, not a momentary spasm disturbed his placid face, nor
did the contraction of a muscle denote the least degree of suffering;
the agony of death was passed, and his wearied spirit was turning to its
rest in the bosom of his Saviour. From time to time, he pressed the hand
in which his own was resting, his clasp losing in force at each
successive pressure; while his shortened breath (though there was no
struggle, no gasping, as if it came and went with difficulty) gradually
grew softer and fainter, until it died upon the air--and he was gone.
Mr. Ranney closed the eyes, and composed the passive limbs,--the ship's
officers stole softly from the door, and the neglected meal was left
upon the board untasted.

They lowered him to his ocean-grave without a prayer; for his freed
spirit had soared above the reach of earthly intercession, and to the
foreigners who stood around, it would have been a senseless form. And
there they left him in his unquiet sepulchre; but it matters little, for
we know that while the unconscious clay is "drifting on the shifting
currents of the restless main," nothing can disturb the hallowed rest of
the immortal spirit. Neither could he have a more fitting monument, than
the blue waves which visit every coast; for his warm sympathies went
forth to the ends of the earth, and included the whole family of man. It
is all as God would have it, and our duty is but to bend meekly to his
will, and wait, in faith and patience, till we also shall be summoned
home.

CHAPTER II.

CONCLUSION.

* * * * "Last scene of all
To close this sad, eventful history."

Scarcely four years ago,--in sickness and loneliness, and sad
suspense,--in her Burman home, from which had departed (alas, forever!)
its light and head--Emily C. Judson penned the foregoing beautiful
letter. Read again its closing sentence,[11] and note how short a time
she has "waited in faith and patience;" how _soon_ she has been
"summoned home." For _her_, it would be wrong for us to mourn. She has
rejoined that circle, which she loved so well on earth, in a land where

"Sickness and sorrow