and then there would be nothing to hinder the propagation of Christianity. He even recollected—so calm and dispassionate were his thoughts—some passages in his translation capable of a better rendering; and then he speculated on the pillow he had lost that day, weighing the probabilities of its ever falling into his wife’s hands, so that the manuscript would be recovered. And then he imagined that she did not find it, and went off into a visionary scene of its being brought to light years afterward, which he smiled at when he gave a sketch of these emotions, and did not fully describe. At length the fatal hour drew nigh. They had no means of ascertaining it precisely, but they knew that it could not be very far distant. They waited with increased solemnity. Then they prayed together, Mr. Judson’s voice for all of them, and then he, and probably each of the others, prayed separately. And still they waited, in awful expectancy. The hour passed by—they felt it _must_ be passed—and there was no unusual movement in the prison. Still they expected and waited, till finally there woke a glimmering of hope, a possibility that they had been deceived. And so, hoping, and doubting, and fearing, they lingered on, till the opening of the door assured them of what they had long suspected. It was morning. Then the jailer came; and, in answer to their questions, chucked them mockingly under the chin, and told then, Oh, no; he could not spare his beloved children yet, just after—kicking the bamboo as he spoke, till all the chains rattled, and the five rows of fetters dashed together, pinching sharply the flesh that they caught between them—just after he had taken so much trouble to procure them fitting ornaments. “I ought to have stated before that the keeper, to whose share Mr. Judson’s old pillow fell on the day they were so unceremoniously thrust into the inner prison, had afterward exchanged it for a better one, wondering, no doubt, at the odd taste of the white man. When he was again robbed of his clothes and bedding, on the day he was driven away to Oung-pen-la, one of the ruffians deliberately untied the mat which was used as a cover to the precious pillow, and threw the apparently worthless roll of hard cotton away. Some hours after, Moung Ing, stumbling upon this one relic of the vanished prisoners, carried it to the house as a token; and, several months from that time, the manuscript which now makes a part of the Burmese Bible was found within, uninjured.