Edward Judson · 47 of 47

Appendix · A. Autobiographical Record of Dates and Events · F. WAYSIDE PREACHING.

The sunlight fell aslant upon the fragile framework of a Burman zayat; but though it was some hours past midday, the burning rays were not yet level enough to look too intrusively beneath the low projecting eaves. Yet the day was intensely hot, and the wearied occupant of the one bamboo chair in the centre of the building, looked haggard and care-worn. All day long had he sat in that position, repeating over and over again, as he could find listeners, such simple truths as mothers are accustomed to teach the infant on their knees; and now his head was aching, and his heart was very heavy. He had met some scoffers, some who seemed utterly indifferent, but not one sincere inquirer after the truth.

In the middle of the day, when the sun was hottest, and scarcely a European throughout all India was astir, he had received the greatest number of visitors; for the passers-by were glad of a moment’s rest and shelter from the sun. The mats were still spread invitingly upon the floor; but though persons of almost every description were continually passing and repassing, they seemed each intent on his own business, and the missionary was without a listener. He thought of his neglected study-table at home; of his patient, fragile wife, toiling through the numerous cares of the day alone; of the letters his friends were expecting, and which he had no time to write; of the last periodicals from his dear native land, lying still unread; and every little while, between the other thoughts, came real pinings after a delicious little book of devotion, which he had slid into his pocket in the morning, promising it his first moment of leisure. Then he was naturally an active man, of quick, ardent 590temperament, and with such views of the worth of time as earnest American men can scarcely fail to gain; and it went to his heart to lose so many precious moments. If he could only do something to fill up these tedious intervals! But no; this was a work to which he must not give a divided mind. He was renewing a half-tested experiment in wayside preaching, and he would not suffer his attention to be distracted by anything else. While his face was hidden by his book, and his mind intent on self-improvement, some poor passer-by might lose a last, an only opportunity, of hearing the words of life. To be sure, his own soul seemed very barren, and needed refreshing; and his body was weary—wearied well-nigh to fainting, more with the dull, palsying inanity of the day’s fruitless endeavors, than with anything like labor. Heavily beat down the hot sun, lighting up the amber-like brown of the thatch as with a burning coal; while thickly in its broad rays floated a heavy golden cloud of dust and motes, showing in what a wretched atmosphere the delicate lungs were called to labor. Meantime a fever-freighted breeze, which had been, all the hot day, sweeping the effluvia from eastern marshes, stirred the glossy leaves of the orange tree across the way, and parched the lip, and kindled a crimson spot upon the wan cheek of the weary missionary.

“God reigns,” he repeated, as though some reminder of the sort were necessary. “God Almighty reigns; and I have given myself to him, soul and body, for time and for eternity. His will be done!” Still, how long the day seemed! How broad the space that blistering sun had yet to travel, before its waiting, its watching, and its laboring would be ended! Might he not indulge himself just one moment? His hand went to his pocket, and the edge of a little book peeped forth a moment, and then, with a decided push, was thrust back again. No; he would not trifle with his duty. He would be sternly, rigidly faithful; and the blessing would surely come in time. Yet it was with an irrepressible yawn that he took up a little Burman tract prepared by himself, of which every word was as familiar as his own name, and commenced reading aloud. The sounds caught the ear of a coarsely-clad water-bearer, and she lowered the vessel from her head, and seated herself afar off, just within the shadow of the low eaves. Attracted by the foreign accent of the reader, few passed without turning the head a few moments to listen; then, catching at some word which seemed to them offensive, they would repeat it mockingly and hasten on.

Finally the old water-bearer, grinning in angry derision till her wrinkled visage became positively hideous, rose, slowly adjusted the earthen vessel on her head, and passed along, muttering as she went, “Jesus Christ!—no Nigban!—ha, ha, ha!” The heart of the missionary sunk 591within him, and he was on the point of laying down the book. But the shadow of another passer-by fell upon the path, and he continued a moment longer. It was a tall, dignified looking man, leading by the hand a boy, the open mirthfulness of whose bright, button-like eyes was in perfect keeping with his dancing little feet. The stranger was of a grave, staid demeanor, with a turban of aristocratic smallness, sandals turning up at the toe, a silken robe of somewhat subdued colors, and a snow-white tunic of gentlemanlike length and unusual fineness.

“Papa, papa!” said the boy, with a merry little skip, and twitching at the hand he was holding, “Look, look, papa! there is Jesus Christ’s man. Amai! how shockingly white!”

“Jesus Christ’s man” raised his eyes from the book which he could read just as well without eyes, and bestowed one of his brightest smiles upon the little stranger, just as the couple were passing beyond the corner of the zayat, but not too late to catch a bashfully pleased recognition. The father did not speak nor turn his head, but a ray of sunshine went down into the missionary’s heart from those happy little eyes; and he somehow felt that his hour’s reading had not been thrown away. He had remarked this man before in other parts of the town; and had striven in various ways to attract his attention, but without success. He was evidently known, and most probably avoided; but the child, with that shy, pleased, half-confiding, roguish sort of smile, seemed sent as an encouraging messenger. The missionary continued his reading with an increase of earnestness and emphasis. A priest wrapped his yellow robes about him and sat down upon the steps, as though for a moment’s rest. Then another stranger came up boldly, and with considerable ostentation, seated himself on the mat. He proved to be a philosopher, from the school then recently disbanded at Prome; and he soon drew on a brisk, animated controversy.

The missionary did not finish his day’s work with the shutting up of the zayat. At night, in his closet, he remembered both philosopher and priest; pleaded long and earnestly for the scoffing old water-bearer; and felt a warm tear stealing to his eye, as he presented the case of the tall stranger, and the laughing, dancing ray of sunshine at his side.

Day after day went by, as oppressively hot, as dusty, and bringing as many feverish winds as ever; but the hours were less wearisome, because many little buds of hope had been fashioned, which might yet expand into perfect flowers. But every day the tall stranger carried the same imperturbable face past the zayat; and every day the child made some silent advance towards the friendship of the missionary, bending his half-shaven head, and raising his little nut-colored hand to his forehead, by way of salutation, and smiling till his round face dimpled all over like 592ripples in a sunny pool. One day, as the pair came in sight, the missionary beckoned with his hand, and the child, with a single bound, came to his knee.

“Moung-Moung!” exclaimed the father in a tone of surprise blended with anger. But the child was back again in a moment, with a gay colored Madras handkerchief wound around his head; and with his bright lips parted, his eyes sparkling, and dancing with joy, and his face wreathed with smiles, he seemed the most charming thing in nature. “Tai hlah-the!” (very beautiful) said the child, touching his new turban, and looking into his father’s clouded face, with the fearlessness of an indulged favorite.

“Tai hlah-the!” repeated the father, involuntarily. He meant the child.

“You have a very fine boy there, sir,” said the missionary, in a tone intended to be conciliatory. The stranger turned with a low salaam. For a moment he seemed to hesitate, as though struggling between his native politeness and his desire to avoid an acquaintance with the proselyting foreigner. Then taking the hand of the little boy who was too proud and happy to notice his father’s confusion, he hastened away.

“I do not think that zayat a very good place to go to, Moung-Moung,” said the father, gravely, when they were well out of hearing. The boy answered only by a look of inquiry strangely serious for such a face as his.

“These white foreigners are——.” He did not say what, but shook his head with mysterious meaning. The boy’s eyes grew larger and deeper, but he only continued to look up into his father’s face in wondering silence.

“I shall leave you at home to-morrow, to keep you from his wicked sorceries.”

“Papa!”

“What, my son?”

“I think it will do no good to leave me at home.”

“Why?”

“He has done something to me.”

“Who? the Kalah-byoo?”

“I do not think he has hurt me, papa; but I can not—keep—away—no—oh, no!”

“What do you mean, Moung-Moung?”

“The sorcerer has done something to me—put his beautiful eye on me. I see it now.” And the boy’s own eyes glowed with a strange, startling brilliancy.

“’Mai, ’mai! what a boy! He is not a sorcerer, only a very provoking 593man. His eye—whish! It is nothing to my little Moung-Moung. I was only sporting. But we will have done with him; you shall go there no more——”

“If I can help it, papa!”

“Help it! Hear the foolish child! What strange fancies!”

“Papa!”

“What, my son?”

“You will not be angry?”

“Angry!” The soft smile on that stern, bearded face was a sufficient answer.

“Is it true that she—my mother——?”

“Hush, Moung-Moung!”

“Is it true that she ever shikoed to the Lord Jesus Christ?”

“Who dares to tell you so?”

“I must not say, papa; the one who told me said it was as much as life is worth to talk of such things to your son. Did she, papa?”

“What did he mean? Who could have told such a tale?”

“Did she, papa?”

“That is a very pretty goung-boung the foreigner gave you.”

“Did she?”

“And makes your bright eyes brighter than ever.”

“Did my mother shiko to the Lord Jesus Christ?”

“There, there, you have talked enough, my boy,” said the father, gloomily; and the two continued their walk in silence. As the conversation ceased, a woman who, with a palm-leaf fan before her face, had followed closely in the shadow of the stranger—so closely, indeed, that she might have heard every word that had been spoken—stopped at a little shop by the way, and was soon seemingly intent on making purchases.

“Ko Shway-bay!” called out the missionary. A man bearing a large satchel, which he had just newly filled with books, appeared at the door of an inner apartment of the zayat.

“’Ken-payah!”

“Did you observe the tall man who just passed, leading a little boy?”

“I saw him.”

“What do you know about him?”

“He is a writer under government—a very respectable man—haughty—reserved——”

“And what else?”

“He hates—Christians, Tsayah.”

“Is he very bigoted, then?”

594“No, Tsayah; he is more like a päramät than a Boodhist. Grave as he appears, he sometimes treats sacred things very playfully, always carelessly. But does the teacher remember—it may be now three, four—I do not know how many years ago—a young woman came for medicine——?”

The missionary smiled. “I should have a wonderful memory, Shway-bay, if I carried all my applicants for medicine in it.”

“But this one was not like other women. She had the face of a nät-thamee” [goddess or angel], “and her voice—the teacher must remember her voice—it was like the silvery chimes of the pagoda bells at midnight. She was the favorite wife of the Sah-ya, and this little boy, her only child, was very ill. She did not dare ask you to the house, or even send a servant for the medicine, for her husband was one of the most violent persecutors——”

“Ay, I do recollect her, by her distress and her warm gratitude. So this is her child! What has become of the mother?”

“Has the teacher forgotten putting a Gospel of Matthew in her hand, and saying that it contained medicine for her, for that she was afflicted with a worse disease than the fever of her little son; and then lifting up his hands and praying very solemnly?”

“I do not recall the circumstance just now. But what came of it?”

“They say,” answered the Burman, lowering his voice, and first casting an investigating glance around him—“they say that the medicine cured her.”

“Ah!”

“She read the book nights, while watching by her baby, and then she would kneel down and pray as the teacher had done. At last the Sah-ya got the writing.”

“What did he do with it?”

“Only burnt it. But she was a tender little creature, and could not bear his look; so, as the baby got out of danger, she took the fever—”

“And died?” asked the missionary, remarking some hesitation in the manner of his narrator.

“Not of the fever altogether.”

“What then? Surely, he did not—”

“No, Tsayah! it must have been an angel-call. The Sah-ya was very fond of her, and did everything to save her; but she just grew weaker, day after day, and her face more beautiful; and there was no holding her back. She got courage as she drew near Paradise, and begged the Sah-ya to send for you. He is not a hard-hearted man, and she was more than life and soul to him; but he would not send. And so she 595died, talking to the last moment of the Lord Jesus Christ, and calling on everybody about her to love him, and worship none but him.”

“Is this true, Shway-bay?”

“I know nothing about it, Tsayah; and it is not very safe to know anything. The Sah-ya has taken an oath to destroy every body having too good a memory. But,”—and the man again looked cautiously around him—“does the teacher think that little Burman children are likely to run into the arms of foreigners without being taught?”

“Aha! say you so, Shway-bay?”

“I say nothing, Tsayah.”

“What of the child?”

“A wonderful boy, Tsayah. He seems usually as you have seen him; but he has another look—so strange! He must have caught something from his mother’s face just before she went up to the golden country.”

The missionary seemed lost in thought; and the assistant, after waiting a moment to be questioned further, slung his satchel over his shoulder, and proceeded up the street.

The next day the missionary remarked that the Sah-ya went by on the other side of the way, and without the little boy; and the next day, and the next the same. In the meantime, the wrinkled old water-bearer had become a sincere inquirer.inquirer. “The one shall be taken and the other left,” sighed the missionary, as he tried to discern the possible fate of his bright-eyed little friend.

The fourth day came. The old water-bearer was in an agitated state of joy and doubt—a timid but true believer. The self-confident philosopher had almost ceased to cavil. Fresh inquirers had appeared, and the missionary’s heart was strengthened. “It is dull work,” he said to himself, though without any expression of dullness in his face; “but it is the Saviour’s own appointed way, and the way the Holy Spirit will bless.” Then his thoughts turned to the stern Sah-ya and his little boy; and he again murmured, with more of dejection in his manner than when he had spoken of the dullness of the work, “And the other left—the other left!”

The desponding words had scarcely passed his lips when, with a light laugh, the very child who was in his thoughts, and who somehow clung so tenaciously to his heart, sprang up the steps of the zayat, followed by his grave, dignified father. The boy wore his new Madras turban, arranged with a pretty sort of jauntiness, and above its showy folds he carried a red lacquered tray with a cluster of golden plantains on it. Placing the gift at the missionary’s feet, he drew back with a pleased 596smile of boyish shyness, while the man, bowing courteously, took his seat upon the mat.

“Sit down, Moung-Moung, sit down,” said the father, in the low tone that American parents use when reminding careless little boys of their hats; for, though Burmans and Americans differ somewhat in their peculiar notions of etiquette, the children of both races seem equally averse to becoming learners.

“You are the foreign priest,” he remarked civilly, and more by way of introduction than inquiry.

“I am a missionary.”

The stranger smiled, for he had purposely avoided the offensive epithet, and was amused and conciliated by the missionary’s frank use of it. “And so you make people believe in Jesus Christ?”

“I try to.”

The visitor laughed outright; then, as if a little ashamed of his rudeness, he composed his features, and with his usual courtesy resumed, “My little son has heard of you, sir; and he is very anxious to learn something about Jesus Christ. It is a pretty story that you tell of that man—prettier, I think, than any of our fables; and you need not be afraid to set it forth in its brightest colors; for my Moung-Moung will never see through its absurdity, of course.”

The missionary threw a quick, scrutinizing glance on the face of his visitor. He saw that the man was ill at ease, that his carelessness was entirely assumed, and that underneath all, there was a deep, wearing anxiety, which he fancied was in some way connected with his boy. “Ah! you think so? To what particular story do you allude?”

“Why, that of the strange sort of being you call Jesus Christ—a nät, or prince, or something of that sort—dying for us poor fellows and so—ha, ha! The absurdity of the thing makes me laugh; though there is something in it beautiful, too. Our stupid pongyees would never have thought out anything one half so fine; and the pretty fancy has quite enchanted little Moung-Moung here.”

“I perceive you are a pâramät,” said the missionary.

“No—oh, no; I am a true worshipper of Lord Gaudama; but of course neither you nor I subscribe to all the fables of our respective religions. There is quite enough that is honest and reasonable in our Boodhistic system to satisfy me, but my little son” (here the father seemed embarrassed, and laughed again, as though to cover his confusion) “is bent on philosophical investigation—eh, Moung-Moung?”

“But are you not afraid that my teachings will do the child harm?”

The visitor looked up with a broad smile of admiration, as though he would have said, “You are a very honest fellow, after all;” then regarding 597the child with a look of mingled tenderness and apprehension, he said softly, “Nothing can harm little Moung-Moung, sir.”

“But what if I should tell you I do believe everything I preach, as firmly as I believe you sit on the mat before me; and that it is the one desire of my life to make everybody else believe it—you and your child among the rest?”

The Sah-ya tried to smile, tried to look unconcerned; but his easy nonchalance of manner seemed utterly to forsake him in his need; and finally abandoning the attempt to renew his former tone of banter, he answered quietly, “I have heard of a writing you possess, which, by your leave, I will take home and read to Moung-Moung.”

The missionary selected a little tract from the parcel on the table beside him, and extended it to his visitor. “Sah-ya,” said he, solemnly, “I herewith put into your hands the key to eternal life and happiness. This active, intelligent soul of yours, with its exquisite perception of moral beauty and loveliness,” and he glanced toward the child, “cannot be destined to inhabit a dog, a monkey, or a worm, in another life. God made it for higher purposes; and I hope and pray that I may yet meet you, all beautiful, and pure, and glorious, in a world beyond the reach of pain or death, and above all, beyond the reach of sin.”

Up to this time the boy had sat upon his mat like a statue of silence; his usually dancing eyes fixed steadfastly upon the speakers, and gradually dilating and acquiring a strange, mystic depth of expression, of which they seemed at first incapable. At these words, however, he sprang forward.

“Papa! papa! hear him! Let us both love the Lord Jesus Christ! My mother loved him; and in the golden country of the blest she waits for us.”

“I must go,” said the Sah-ya hoarsely, and attempting to rise.

“Let us pray!” said the missionary, kneeling down.

The child laid his two hands together, and placing them against his forehead, bowed his head to the mat; while the father yielded to the circumstances of the case so far as to re-seat himself. Gradually, as the fervent prayer proceeded, his head drooped a little; and it was not long before he placed his elbows on his knees, and covered his face with his hands. As soon as the prayer was ended, he rose, bowed in silence, took his child by the hand, and walked away.

Day after day went by, the Sah-ya, as he passed the zayat, always saluting its occupant respectfully, but evincing no disposition to cultivate his acquaintance farther. He was accompanied by the boy less often than formerly; but, from casual opportunities, the missionary remarked that a strange look of thoughtfulness had crept into the childish face, 598softening and beautifying, though scarcely saddening it. And when occasionally the little fellow paused for a moment, to ask for a book, or exchange a word of greeting, the gay familiarity of his manner seemed to have given place to a tender, trustful affection, somewhat tinctured with awe.

Meanwhile that terrible scourge of Eastern nations, the cholera, had made its appearance, and it came sweeping through the town with its usual devastating power. Fires were kindled before every house, and kept burning night and day; while immense processions continually thronged the streets with gongs, drums, and tom-toms, to frighten away the evil spirits, and so arrest the progress of the disease. The zayat was closed for lack of visitors; and the missionary and his assistants busied themselves in attending on the sick and dying.

It was midnight when the over-wearied foreigner was roused from his slumbers by the calls of the faithful Ko Shway-bay.

“Teacher, teacher, you are wanted!”

“Where?”

The man lowered his voice almost to a whisper; but, putting his hands to each side of his mouth, sent the volume of sound through a crevice in the boards. “At the Sah-ya’s.”

“Who?”

“I do not know, Tsayah. I only heard that the cholera was in the house, and the teacher was wanted, and so I hurried off as fast as possible.”

In a few minutes the missionary had joined his assistant, and they proceeded on their way together. As they drew near the house, the Burman paused in the shadow of a bamboo hedge.

“It is not good for either of us, that we go in together; I will wait you here, Tsayah.”

“No, you need rest; and I shall not want you—go!”go!”

The verandahverandah was thronged with relatives and dependents; and from an inner room came a wild, wailing sound, which told that death was already there. No one seemed to observe the entrance of the foreigner; and he followed the sound of woe till he stood by the corpse of a little child. Then he paused in deep emotion.

“He has gone up to the golden country, to bloom forever amid the royal lilies of Paradise,” murmured a voice close to his ear.

The missionary, a little startled, turned abruptly. A middle-aged woman, holding a palm-leaf fan to her mouth, was the only person near him.

“He worshipped the true God,” she continued, suffering the individuality of her voice to glide away and mingle the wail of the mourners, and 599occasionally slurring a word which she dared not pronounce with distinctness; “he worshipped the true God, and trusted in the Lord our Redeemer—the Lord Jesus Christ, he trusted in Him. He called and he was answered, he was weary, weary and in pain; and the Lord who loved him, He took him home to be a little golden lamb in His bosom forever.”

“How long, since, did he go?”

“About an hour, Tsayah.” Then joining in the wail again, “An hour amid the royal lilies; and his mother—his own beautiful mother—she of the starry eyes and silken hand——”

“Was he conscious?”

“Conscious and full of joy.”

“What did he talk of?”

“Only of the Lord Jesus Christ, whose face he seemed to see!”

“And his father?”

“His father—oh, my master! my noble master! he is going, too! Come and see. Tsayah!”

“Who sent for me?”

“Your handmaid, sir.”

“Not the Sah-ya?”

The woman shook her head. “The agony was on him—he could not have sent, if he would.”

“But how dared you?”

There was a look such as might have been worn by the martyrs of old upon the woman’s face as she expressly answered, “God was here!”

In the next apartment lay the fine figure of the Sah-ya, stretched upon a couch, evidently in the last stage of the fearful disease—his pain all gone.

“It grieves me to meet you thus, my friend,” remarked the visitor, by way of testing the dying man’s consciousness.

The Sah-ya made a gesture of impatience. Then his fast stiffening lips stirred, but they were powerless to convey a sound; there was a feeble movement, as though he would have pointed at something, but his half-raised finger wavered and sunk back again; and a look of dissatisfaction amounting to anxiety passed over his countenance. Finally renewing the effort, he succeeded in laying his two hands together, and with some difficulty lifted them to his forehead; and then quietly and calmly closed his eyes.

“Do you trust in Lord Gaudama in a moment like this?” inquired the missionary, uncertain for whom the act of worship was intended. There was a quick tremor in the shut lids, and the poor Sah-ya unclosed his eyes with an expression of mingled pain and disappointment; 600while the death-heavy hands slid from their position back upon the pillow.

“Lord Jesus, receive his spirit,”spirit,” exclaimed the missionary, solemnly.

A bright, joyous smile flitted across the face of the dying man, parting the lips, and even seeming to shed light upon the glazed eyes; a sigh-like breath fluttered his bosom for a moment; the finger which he had before striven to lift, pointed distinctly upward, then fell heavily across his breast; and the disembodied spirit stood in the presence of its Maker.

The thrilling death-wail commenced with the departure of the breath; for although several who had been most assiduous in their attentions, glided away when it was ascertained that he who would have awarded their fidelity was gone; there were yet many who were prevented, some by real affection, some by family pride, from so far yielding to their fears, as to withhold the honors due to the departed.

“You had better go now,” whispered the woman, “you can do no further good, and may receive harm.”

“And who are you that you have braved the danger to yourself of bringing me here?”

“Pass on, and I will tell you.”

They drew near the body of the child, which, by the rush to the other apartment, had been left, for a moment, alone.

“See!” said the woman, lifting the cloth reverently. A copy of the Gospel of Matthew lay on his bosom.

“Who placed it there?”

“He did, with his own dear little hand—Amai! amai-ai!” and the woman’s voice gave expression to one swell of agony, and then died away in a low wail, like that which proceeded from the adjoining room. Presently she resumed, “I was his mother’s nurse. She got this book of you, sir. We thought my master burned it, but he kept, and maybe studied it. Do you think that he became a true believer?”

“To whom did he shiko at the last moment, Mah-aa?”

“To the Lord Jesus Christ—I am sure of that. Do you think the Lord would receive him, sir?”

“Do you ever read about the thief who was crucified with the Saviour?”

“Oh, yes; I read it to Moung-Moung this very day. He was holding his mother’s book when the disease smote him; and he kept it in his hand, and went up, with it lying on his bosom. Yes, I remember.”

“The Lord Jesus Christ is just as merciful now as he was then.”

“And so they are all——oh, ’ken-payah! it is almost too much to believe!”

601“When did you first become acquainted with this religion, Mah-aa?”

“My mistress taught me, sir; and made me promise to teach her baby when he was old enough; and to go to you for more instruction. But I was alone, and afraid. I sometimes got as far as the big banyan tree on the corner, and crawled away again so trembling with terror, that I could scarcely stand upon my feet. At last I found out Ko Shway-bay, and he promised to keep my secret; and he gave me books, and explained their meaning, and taught me how to pray, and I have been getting courage ever since. I should not much mind now, if they did find me out and kill me. It would be very pleasant to go up to Paradise. I think I should even like to go to-night, if the Lord would please to take me.”

It was two or three weeks before the missionary resumed his customary place in the zayat by the wayside. His hearers were scattered widely; in the neighboring jungles, in far-off towns, and in that other place from whence “no traveller returns.”

Where was his last hopeful inquirer?

Dead.

Where the priest?

Dead.

Where the philosopher?

Fled away, none knew whither.

And the poor old water-bearer?

Dead—died like a dog in its kennel; and but that some pitying Christian had succeeded in discovering her at the last moment, without a human witness. But—and the missionary’s heart swelled with gratitude to God as he thought of—there were other witnesses, nobler, tenderer, dearer to that simple, lone old creature, than all the earthly friends that ever thronged a death-bed; and these had been her bright, rejoicing convoy to the Saviour’s presence.

Oh! how full of awe, how fearfully laden with the solemn interests of eternity, appeared this wondrous work of his! And how broad and clear seemed his sacred commission, as though at that moment newly traced by the finger of Jehovah!

FINIS

On p. 65, there is an unmatched opening double quotation mark. There does not seem to be a clear place to close it, and were it removed, the following words (“he himself heard him mutter...”) make better sense.

The final line on p. 244 seems to end a paragraph (‘...to open the gate.’). However, the first line on the following page begins in mid-sentence (‘...used to carry’). It is apparent that p. 244 should end with ‘I’, which we have adopted.

Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.