SECTION IV.

Christian Women.

1. HARRIET NEWELL.

"Should fate command me to the farthest verge
Of the green earth, to distant barb'rous climes,
Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam
Flames on the Atlantic isles! 'tis naught to me,
Since God is ever present-ever just,

In the void waste, as in the city full;

And where HE vital breathes, there must be joy."-THOMPSON.

HARRIET NEWELL passed through a short, but shining, course to heaven. She was born at Haverhill, in Massachusetts, on October 10, 1793; her maiden name was Atwood. In her nineteenth year she was married to Mr. Samuel Newell, an American missionary to India, and on November 30, 1812, died at Port Louis, in the Isle of France. Thus, in her, within the short compass of twenty years, were displayed the varied graces of the dutiful daughter, the affectionate wife, the tender mother, the zealous Christian, and the devoted missionary. Within that little span she was all these, and, to crown all, a saint in light.

Before she had completed her sixteenth year she became, in reality, a devoted follower of the great Redeemer; and, during the remainder of her short pilgrimage, walked with God. An abiding impression of her own unworthiness made the cross of Christ her joy and trust. On the precious mount of Calvary," said she, "hangs all my hope. In His atoning blood, who suffered and died, my sins can be washed away; and how

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ever vile and loathsome in myself, in Him I can find cleansing."

After being made a partaker of the grace of God, she panted for the highest attainments and enjoyments of religion. The following extracts of her diary show what were the desires of her soul:

"O that my whole soul might be drawn out in love to God! and may all my faculties unite with the inhabitants of the New Jerusalem in praising the immortal King for what he has done, and still is doing, for rebellious man! But I fall infinitely short of the honour due to his glorious name. When shall I arrive at the destined port of rest, and with the blood-washed millions praise the Lamb of God for redeeming love? Hasten, blessed Immanuel, that glorious period when all thy exiled children shall arrive at their eternal home! O for a tongue to sound aloud the honours of the dear Jesus!"

The time was now approaching when she was to encounter the difficulties of a missionary life. She listened to the call of Providence, and obtained the consent of her affectionate mother. The feelings of her own heart, and the conduct of her mother, she thus describes in a letter to a friend :

'When I bade you a parting adieu, my mind was in a state of agitation which I can never express. Dejected and weary, I arrived at the dear mansion, where I have spent so many pleasant hours. My dear mamma met me at the door with a countenance that bespoke the tranquillity of her mind. The storm of opposition, as she observed, had blown over, and she was brought to say from the heart, Thy will be done.' Yes, C., she had committed her child to God's parental care; and though her affection was not lessened, yet, with tears in her eyes, she said, 'If a conviction of duty and love to the souls of the perishing heathen lead you to

India, as much as I love you, Harriet, I can only say, Go.' Here I was left to decide the important question. Many were the conflicts within my breast. But at length, from a firm persuasion of duty, and a willingness to comply, after much examination and prayer, I answered in the affirmative."

To another friend she wrote:-"I have passed through many interesting and solemn scenes since I last saw you. Returning to Haverhill, I found my dear mamma calm and composed. So completely was she filled with a sense of the shortness of time, and the uncertainty of life, and the duty of giving up our dearest comforts to the Lord, that she never raised one objection, but wished me to act according as my conscience directed. I felt an unspeakable consolation in committing the disposal of this event to God.

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And now, my dear M., what will you say to me when I tell you that I do think, seriously think, of quitting my native land forever, and of going to a far distant country, 'not knowing the things which shall befall me there.' Should I refuse to make this sacrifice -refuse to lend my little aid in the promulgation of the Gospel among the heathen-how could I ever expect to enjoy the blessing of God, and peace of conscience, though surrounded with every temporal mercy? It would be pleasant to spend the remaining part of my life with my friends, and to have them surround my dying bed. But no! I must relinquish their society, and follow God to a land of strangers, where millions of my fellow-sinners are perishing for lack of vision. I have professed, my friend, for these two years past, to derive comfort only from God. Here, then, is a consoling reflection-the ever-blessed Jesus is able to support and comfort me, as well in the sultry climes of India, as in my dear native land. I trust that he will make his promise good-that as my day is, so shall my

strength be. The wintry storms of life will soon be over, and if I have committed my immortal interests into the hands of God, I shall shortly find a sweet release from every woe. The people of this world probably view this subject as they do others. Those who have never felt the worth of their own souls, account it superstition and hypocritical zeal for Christians to sacrifice their earthly pleasures for the sake of telling the heathen world of a Saviour. But all the ridicule that the gay and thoughtless sinner can invent will not essentially injure me. If I am actuated by love to the Saviour and his cause, nothing in earth or hell can hurt me."

Love to the world would have forbidden the sacrifice she was now about to make; but she had learned to confess herself a stranger and pilgrim upon earth. In her diary she says,

"I'm but a stranger and a pilgrim here,

In these wild regions, wand'ring and forlorn,
Restless and sighing for my native home,
Longing to reach the weary space of life,
And to fulfil my task.'

"Yes, my Redeemer, I know by experience, that this life is a tiresome round of vanities hourly repeated. All is empty. My thirsty soul longs for the enjoyment of God in heaven, where the weary and heavy laden find rest. How long, O my Father, shall I wander in this dreary land? when shall I bid a final adieu to these scenes of guilt

'O haste the hour of joy and sweet repose!'"

In a letter to a friend she said, "I go, my friend, where heathens dwell, far from the companions of my playful years, far from the dear land of my nativity. My contemplated residence will be, not among the

refined and cultivated, but among females degraded and uncivilized, who have never heard of the religion of Jesus. How would it gladden my sad heart, in the trying hour of my departure, could I but leave a dear circle of females of my own age, engaged for God, and eminent for their usefulness in Haverhill. Well, I hope to find a circle of Hindoo sisters in India, interested in that religion which many of my companions reject, though blessed with innumerable privileges. But my friend M. will not treat with indifference this religion. O no! I will cherish the fond hope that she will renounce the world, become a follower of Immanuel, and be unwearied in her exertions to spread the triumphs of the cross through the world. I must leave you, my dear M., with God. May you become a living witness for him! When our journey through this barren wilderness is ended, may we meet in heaven!"

At length the hour of her departure from "friends, kindred, country," arrived. She deeply felt the pang of separation, yet said, in a letter to a friend: "Consolations are mine, more valuable than ten thousand worlds. My Saviour, my Sanctifier, my Redeemer, is still lovely; his comforts will delight my soul. Think of Harriet, when crossing the stormy ocean; think of her when wandering over Hindoostan's sultry plains. Farewell, my friend—a last, a long farewell.

"May we meet in yonder world, 'where adieus and farewells are a sound unknown!'"

To another friend, at the same period, she wrote,"The hour of my departure hastens; when another rising sun illumines the eastern horizon I shall bid a last farewell to a beloved widowed mother, brothers, and sisters dear, and the circle of Haverhill friends. With a scene so replete with sorrow just at hand, how can I be otherwise than solemn as eternity! The motives which first induced me to determine upon.