n-life as a "slow martyrdom of
sacrifices and sorrows;" * * * as "filled with bitterness,"--speaks,
too, of the agony wrung out of her heart by suspense in regard to her
husband's fate, expressed in that exquisite piece to her mother, (page
334,) as "one hour of the _years she suffered_ in Burmah." That the
life of any faithful missionary is one of exile, toil, and privation, we
are not disposed to deny. The world knows it too well; and seeing that
such toils are uncheered by the acquisition of fame or wealth--the only
reward it can appreciate--the world considers the life of the missionary
a living death, endured like martyrdom, only for the sake of its crown
in the life to come. But not in this light was their life considered by
the noble three whose history we have sketched in this volume, nor by
Dr. Judson. The elevated sources of happiness opened even in this world
to those who literally obey the command to forsake all for Christ, cast
far into the shade all merely selfish enjoyment; while the pure domestic
affections, and the bliss resulting from them, are as much the portion
of the missionary, as of his favored brethren at home. Who can read the
letters of Dr. Judson, in Dr. Wayland's memoir of him, or the exquisite
letters of his widow found in this volume, without the conviction that
the latter years of her life, privileged as they were with the high
companionship of one so gifted and so dear as was her husband, and in
the midst of social and domestic duties that brought their own exceeding
great reward, were, of all her years, the richest and the happiest!

But her own idea of the comparative happiness of her _two lives_, may be
best gathered from her poetry, for it is a characteristic and charm of
her verse that it is the pouring forth of her deepest feelings at the
moment when they swayed her soul with strongest influence. We extract a
few verses from a poem written at Rangoon, during that period of great
physical suffering to which we have alluded, but of which Dr. Judson
writes: "My sojourn in Rangoon, though tedious and trying in some
respects, I regard as one of the greenest spots, one of the brightest
oases, in the diversified wilderness of my life. If this world is so
happy, what must heaven be?"

TO MY HUSBAND.

"Tis May, but no sweet violet springs
In these strange woods and dells;
The dear home-lily never swings
Her little pearly bells;
But search my heart and thou