Boardman of Tavoy, and lately wife of the Rev. Adoniram Judson of Maulmain, — who died in this port September 1, 1845, on her passage to the United States, in the 42d year of her age, and in the 21st of her missionary life.

She sleeps sweetly here on this rock of the ocean, Away from the home of her youth,

And far from the land, where with heartfelt devotion, She scattered the bright beams of truth.

THE DEATH-BED.

THOMAS HOOD.

We watched her breathing through the night,

Her breathing, soft and low,
As in her breast the wave of life

Kept heaving to and fro.

So silently we seemed to speak,

So slowly moved about,

As we had lent her half our powers

To eke her being out.

Our very hopes belied our fears,

Our fears our hopes belied;

We thought her dying when she slept,
And sleeping when she died.

For when the morn came, dim and sad,
And chill with early showers,

Her quiet eyelids closed; she had
Another morn than ours.

JUDSON'S DEPARTURE FROM ST. HELENA.

REV. S. DRYDEN PHELPS.

"I was obliged to hasten on board ship, and immediately went to sea. On the following morning, no vestige of the island was visible in the distant horizon. For a few days, in the solitude of my cabin, with my poor children crying around me, I could not help abandoning myself to heartbreaking sorrow. But the promises of the gospel came to my aid, and faith stretched her view to the bright world of eternal life, and anticipated a happy meeting with those beloved beings, whose bodies are mouldering at Amherst and St. Helena."-DR. JUDSON.

Farewell, thou rocky isle of deathless fame!
Lonely, and sad, thy fading cliffs I see ;
But not that he, of earth-immortal name ;
There died in exile, bids me turn to thee:
Oh, dearer far to me, that sacred trust,

Which thou shalt hence in solemn stillness keep; Till in the resurrection of the just,

She wakes to life from death's brief night of sleep.

Thus waned Helena from his lingering sight,

As o'er the waves the home-bound vessel sped; While deep he felt, in all its cheerless blight,

A heart bereft, and sorrowing for the dead. Ah! who can tell the grief of that dark hour,

Save he whose spirit knew its keenest pang, When voices of the past, with throngful power,

Thro' memory's halls in mournful cadence rang!

And there's a lovely group, with weeping eyes, Of children dear, bereaved and motherless, For cold in death that precious bosom lies,

On which they oft had shared the sweet caress, To which did they in full affection cleave,

While changeless love watched o'er their infant

years;

'Twas meet-'tis nature's impulse to relieve
The sadness of the heart in gushing tears.

That other scene now fills his heart once more,
Of sorrow deep, which none could feel but he,
When called to lay, on Burmah's distant shore,
His early trust beneath the Hopia tree
Her, who to him with quenchless love had clung,
And cheered his heart in peril's darkest day,
Whose winning voice in angel accents rung,
To guide the lost in wisdom's peaceful way.

The Hand that took the boon itself had given,
Another dear, angelic form bestowed,

A spirit chastened by the love of Heaven,

A soul where naught but pure affection glowed. Again bereft - who shall the grief reveal,

When thus were sundered life's endearing ties ? What untold anguish may the heart conceal, When its own self in its companion dies!

On, speed the ship that bears the man of God,
While o'er his spirit flows the tide of grief;
And sorrowing, sinking 'neath affliction's rod,

His heart with anguish wrung, finds no relief;

Until amid the thick, surrounding gloom,

Come the sure promises of truth divine, And bear his soul aloft, while o'er the tomb Their clustering beams in glorious beauty shine. Faith cleaves the sky, as in an upward flight,

She wings her way to opening realms of bliss; And views those spirits in that world of light, So fondly loved while they sojourned in this : She whispers - Thou, ere long, shalt meet them there,

No more to part while endless ages roll; For Heaven's eternal life excludes all care,

And Heaven's eternal love fills all the soul.

Now, lost in light, the darkest scenes of time, Faith bids the toil-worn pilgrim's heart rejoice; Speaks of the raptures of that holier clime,

And hope and heaven are in her cheering voice. Oh, when the grave at Amherst yields its trust, When lone Helena gives its precious dead, And glorious bodies rise from mouldering dust, What radiant gems will deck each sainted head! Island of fame! when comes the last great day,

That summons all before the judgment-seat; When earth and heaven dissolved, shall pass away,

And each must hear the Judge his doom repeat: Which then, of those who here surrendering life,

On thee were laid in death's deep slumber downThe mighty warrior, and the Teacher's wife

Oh! tell me which shall take the brighter crown?

MRS. JUDSON'S FUNERAL.

H. B. H.

The initials prefixed to the following interesting particulars of the funeral of the late Mrs. Judson, at St. Helena, will be recognized as those of one of the esteemed Professors of the Newton Theological Institution.

The circumstances which attended the funeral of the late Mrs. Judson, at St. Helena, were marked with unusual interest. Nothing appears to have been omitted which the proprieties of the occasion demanded, or which friendship could have desired. The particulars, as communicated to the writer by a friend who was present, have not, so far as is known, been given to the public; and a brief statement of them will not, perhaps, be uninteresting to those who knew the deceased, or feel an interest in her memory.

The death of Mrs. Judson took place on the night of the first of September, on board the ship Sophia Walker, while lying in the harbor at St. Helena. On the following morning, the captain directed the colors of the ship to be hoisted at half-mast; and immediately the other American vessels in port, and some of the English, hung out the same signal. Information