From Egypt to Japan

by Henry M. Field

the illusion would have been complete. Thus in a dreamy mood, and with a gentle motion, we glided up the beautiful Salwen, between low banks covered with forests, a distance of thirty miles, till at five o'clock we reached the lower end of Maulmain, and went ashore, and rode two or three miles up the river to Dr. Haswell's, where Miss H. claimed C—— for her guest, while I was entertained at her brother's in the old missionary compound, where Dr. Judson lived for so many years, and which he left only to die. These American friends, with their kind hospitalities, made us feel quite at home in Burmah; and as if to bring still nearer Christian England and America, we were taken the same evening to a prayer-meeting at the house of an English officer who is in command here, where they sang Sankey's hymns!

Maulmain is a place of great natural beauty. Though on the river, it rises from the water's edge in steep and wooded banks, and has a background of hills. One can hardly find a lovelier view in all the East than that from the hill behind it, on which stands an old Buddhist monastery and pagoda. Here the eye ranges over a distance of many miles. Several rivers which flow together give the country the appearance of being covered with water, out of which rise many elevated points, like islands in a sea. In clear weather, after the rains, one may see on the horizon the distant peaks of the mountains in Siam. This was a favorite resort of Dr. Judson, who, being a man of great physical as well as intellectual vigor, was fond of walking, and loved to climb the hills. Miss Haswell, who as a child remembered him, told us how she once saw him here "playing tag" with his wife, chasing her as she ran down the hill. This picture of the old man delighted me—to think that not all his labors and sufferings could subdue that unconquerable spirit, but that he retained even to old age the freshness of a boy, and was as hearty in play as in preaching. This is the sort of muscular Christians that are needed to face the hardships of a missionary life—men who will not faint in the heat of the tropics, nor falter at the prospect of imprisonment or death.

While we stood here the Buddhist monks were climbing slowly up the hill, and I could but think of the difference between our intrepid missionary and these languid, not to say lazy, devotees. We had a good chance to observe them, and to remark their resemblance to similar orders in the Church of Rome. The Buddhist monk, like his Romish brother, shaves his head, eats no animal food (the command of Buddha not to kill, is interpreted not to take life of any kind), and lives only by the alms of the faithful. Seeing them here, with their shaven heads and long robes, going about the streets, stopping before the doors to receive their daily tributes of rice, one is constantly reminded of the mendicant friars of Italy. They live in monasteries, which are generally situated, like this, on the tops of hills, retired from the world, where they keep together for mutual instruction, and to join in devotion. They do no work except to cultivate the grounds of the temple, but give up their lives to meditation and to prayer.

It would be wrong to speak of such men but with proper respect. They are quiet and inoffensive; some of them are learned; still more are serious and devout. Says Dr. Williams: "Their largest monasteries contain extensive libraries, and a portion of the fraternity are well acquainted with letters, though numbers of them are ignorant even of their own books." "Their moral character, as a class, is on a par with their countrymen, and many of them are respectable, intelligent, and sober-minded persons, who seem to be sincerely desirous of making themselves better, if possible, by their religious observances."

But this life of a recluse, while favorable to study and meditation, does not inspire active exertion. Indeed the whole Buddhist philosophy of life seems to be comprised in this, that man should dream away existence here on earth, and then lapse into a dreamy eternity.

"To be or not to be, that's the question;"

and for them it seems better "not to be." Their heaven—their Nirvana—is annihilation, yet not absolute non-existence, but only absorption of their personality, so that their separate being is swallowed up and lost in God. They will still be conscious, but have no hope and no fear, no dread and no desire, but only survey existence with the ineffable calm of the Infinite One. This passive, emotionless state is expressed in all the statues and images of Buddha.

If that be heaven, it is not earth; and they who pass life in a dream are not the men to revolutionize the world. This whole monastery, full of monks, praying and chanting for generations, cannot so stir the mind of Asia, or make its power felt even in Burmah, as one heroic man like Judson.

Miss Haswell belongs to a family of missionaries. Her father and mother were companions of Judson, and the children are in one way and another devoted to the same work. She has a school for girls, which is said to be the best in Burmah. The Chief Commissioner at Rangoon spoke of it in the highest terms, and makes special mention of it in his Report. She told us with great modesty, and almost with a feeling of shame, of the struggle and mortification with which she had literally "begged" the money for it in America. But never did good seed scattered on the waters bear richer fruit. If a deputation from all the Baptist churches which contributed to that school could but pay it a visit, and see what it is doing, it would never want for funds hereafter.

Burmah is a country which needs all good influences—moral and religious. It needs also a strong government, just laws rigidly enforced, to keep peace and order in the land. For though the people are so gay and merry, there is a fearful degree of crime. In Maulmain there is a prison, which holds over a thousand prisoners, many of whom have been guilty of the worst crimes. A few days since there was an outbreak, and an attempt to escape. A number got out of the gate, and were running till they were brought up by shots from the military. Seven were killed and seven wounded. I went through this prison one morning with the physician as he made his rounds. As we entered a man was brought up who had been guilty of some insubordination. He had once attempted to kill the jailer. The Doctor inquired briefly into the offence, and said, without further words: "Give him fifteen cuts." Instantly the man was seized and tied, arms extended, and legs fastened, so that he could not move, and his back uncovered, and an attendant standing off, so that he could give his arm full swing, gave him fifteen cuts that made the flesh start up like whip-cord, and the blood run. The man writhed with agony, but did not scream. I suppose such severity is necessary, but it was a very painful sight. In the hospital we found some of the prisoners who had been concerned in the mutiny. The ringleader had been shot in the leg, which had been amputated. They had found that the ways of transgressors were hard.