"I have now to ask whether you can consent to part with your daughter early next spring, to see her no more in this world; whether you can consent to her departure for a heathen land, and her subjection to the hardships and sufferings of a missionary life; whether you can consent to her exposure to the dangers of the ocean; to the fatal influence of the southern climate of India; to every kind of want and distress; to degradation, insult, persecution, and perhaps a violent death? Can you consent to all this for the sake of Him who left his heavenly home, and died for her and for you; for the sake of perishing immortal souls; for the sake of Zion and the glory of God? Can you consent to all this in hope of soon meeting your daughter in the world of glory, with a crown of righteousness, brightened by the acclamations of praise which shall redound to her Saviour from heathens saved, through her means, from eternal woe and despair?"

The writer of this letter, who, after nearly forty years of missionary labor in which he endured all and more than all he has thus almost prophetically described, has just gone to join "the noble army of martyrs" and "those who came out of great tribulation," in his final home,—as he looks back on the hour when he thus gave up his life and what was more precious than life to the service of those souls, dear as he believed to the Redeemer, though perishing for lack of vision,—with what deep and serene joy must he contemplate the sacrifice! And she—

"Not lost, but gone before,"

who was there to meet and welcome him to

"happier bowers than Eden knew,"

where they rest from their labors, does she now regret that to his solemn appeal, she answered, "I will go?"

Mr. and Mrs. Judson were married at Bradford on the fifth of February, 1812, and on the nineteenth of the same month embarked on the brig Caravan, bound for Calcutta. Mr. and Mrs. Newell, also missionaries sailed in the same vessel. We will here give some extracts from letters written by Mrs. Judson to her friends at home, dated "at sea."

To her sister she writes, "I find Mr. Judson one of the kindest, most faithful and affectionate of husbands. His conversation frequently dissipates the gloomy clouds of spiritual darkness which hang over my mind and brightens my hope of a happy eternity. I hope God will make us instrumental of preparing each other for usefulness in this world, and greater happiness in a future world."

"June 16.—Day before yesterday, we came in sight of land, after having been out only one hundred and twelve days. We could distinguish nothing but the lowering mountains of Golconda. Yesterday we were nearer land ... and the scene was truly delightful, reminding me of the descriptions I have read of the fertile shores of India—the groves of orange and palm trees. Yesterday we saw two vessels.... You have no idea how interesting the sight—a vessel at the side of us, so near we could hear the captain speak—for he was the first person we have heard speak since we sailed, except what belong to our ship.

"Tuesday.—Last night was the most dangerous, and to me, by far the most unpleasant we have had.... To-day the scene is truly delightful. We are sailing up the river Hoogly, a branch of the Ganges, and so near the land that we can distinctly discover objects. On one side of us are the Sunderbunds, (islands at the mouth of the Ganges.) The smell which proceeds from them is fragrant beyond description.