closure of mango-trees, in the centre of which is
erected a small bamboo house, on a rising spot of ground, which looks
down on the new-made grave of our infant boy. Here I now sit, and though
all nature around wears a most delightful, and romantic appearance, yet
my heart is sad, and my tears frequently stop my pen. You, my dear Mrs.
L. who are a mother, may imagine my sensations, but if you have never
lost a first born, an only son, you can never know my pain. Had you even
buried your little boy, you are in a Christian country, surrounded by
friends and relatives, who could soothe your anguish and direct your
attention to other objects. But behold us, solitary and alone, with this
one source of recreation! Yet this is denied us, this must be removed,
to show us that we need no other source of enjoyment but God himself.

"Do not think though I write thus, that I repine at the dealings of
Providence. No! though he slay me yet will I trust in him!... Though I
say with the Prophet, Behold and see if there be any sorrow like unto my
sorrow, yet I would also say, It is of the Lord's mercies that we are
not consumed because his compassions fail not. God is the same when he
afflicts, as when he is merciful, just as worthy of our entire trust and
confidence now, as when he entrusted us with the precious little gift.
There is a bright side even to this heavy affliction."

The following tender and beautiful effusion was written by the Rev. J.
Lawson of the Serampore Mission and presented to Mrs. Judson on this
occasion. As it has not been published in former notices of Mrs. J. we
take pleasure in inserting it here.

"Hush'd be the murmuring thought! Thy will be done
O Arbiter of life and death. I bow
To thy command--I yield the precious gift
So late bestowed; and to the silent grave
Move sorrowing, yet submissive. O sweet babe!
I lay thee down to rest--the cold, cold earth
A pillow for thy little head. Sleep on,
Serene in death. No care shall trouble thee.
All undisturbed thou slumberest; far more still
Than when I lulled thee in my lap, and sooth'd
Thy little sorrows till they ceased....
Then felt thy mother peace; her heart was light
As the sweet sigh that 'scaped thy placid lips,
And joyous as the dimpled smile that played
Across thy countenance.--O I must weep
To think of thee, dear infant, on my knees
Untroubled sleeping. Bending o'er thy form,
I