avenly glories have
been unfolded in a wonderful and unexpected manner to her view." And
again he says, seemingly losing for a moment his strong confidence,
"What will become of my children, what will become of the schools--of
the poor native women--what will become of _me_, if she die?" But she
recovered, and "his thankfulness knew no bounds, his letters are
eloquent in their utterance of joy and praise."

In a letter of Dec. 2, 1830, Mrs. Boardman records another affliction.
"God has come very near to us and wounded our hearts afresh. Our
youngest child, aged 8 months, went from us to meet his sainted sister,
in September last. We mourn, but not without hope; for we shall soon be
in that blissful world--be pure and lovely like our departed ones in
glory." And Mr. Boardman says: "Our hearts have been pierced anew by the
loss of our dear babe.... He was 8 months old, and though generally
feeble, one of the most lovely and interesting of babes. The Lord has
dealt with us severely, but not unkindly. He gave and he hath taken
away."

Both these devoted missionaries knew, however, that the best defence
against such trials as they endured, is found in a steady performance of
duty. In trouble as well as in joy, they devoted themselves to their
great object--saving souls.--How different from those who make a sort of
merit of "indulging the luxury of grief;" and show their regard for the
memory of the dead by neglecting their duties to the living!
Christianity, while it inculcates and fosters the tenderest sensibility
to the chastisements of our heavenly Parent, never allows us in any
calamity, to fold our hands in inactive despair. Our pathway is filled
with duties; and,

"Heart within, and God o'er head,"

we must, like our Master, "go about doing good," though we may feel
"cast down, pressed out of measure," by affliction.

Speaking of a severe illness about this time, Mr. Boardman says: "Death
seemed near, ... but had no alarms, no terrors.... My beloved family and
the perishing heathen, were all that made me in the least degree
unwilling to die. And even them I could resign to the hands of a
gracious and covenant-keeping God." In one of the last letters he ever
wrote, he thus records his testimony to the devotedness of his beloved
wife. "During my present protracted illness, and when I was at the worst
stage, she was the tenderest, most assiduous, attentive and affectionate
of nurses. Without her, I think I shoul