“She was taken ill before I left Amherst. When her case became dangerous, she was removed to the mission-house, after which she indulged but little hope of recovery. She therefore made her will, and gave up every worldly care. In her will she bequeathed fifty rupees to her brother, the husband of Mah Doke, one hundred and fifty to the missionaries, and the remainder (two hundred, perhaps,) to her two adopted boys. She has left the boys in our charge, most earnestly desiring and praying that they may be brought up in the Christian religion. No one influenced her to give us any part of her little property, nor had we the least idea that she intended to do so until she desired Moung Shwa-ba to write an article to that effect. “When her will was written, she said, ‘Now I have done with all worldly things.’ Since that, she has enjoyed great peace of mind. She does not express a doubt that her name is written in heaven, and that she is hastening to a blissful immortality. She suffers considerable pain with much patience, and, in order to fortify her mind, often compares her sufferings to those of her divine Master. She is not inclined to converse much; but how delighted _you_ would be to hear her, now and then, talk of entering heaven, and _of meeting Mrs. Judson_, and other pious friends! The other day, after having dwelt for some time on the delightful subject, and mentioned the names of all the friends she should rejoice to meet, not omitting _dear little Maria_, she stopped short and exclaimed, ‘But first of all, I shall hasten to where my Saviour sits, and fall down, and worship and adore Him, for His great love in sending the teachers to show me the way to heaven.’ She says that she feels a choice in her mind to die now rather than to be restored to health, but desires that the will of God may be done. She was much gratified with your letter to-day, and more reconciled to the idea of not seeing you again on earth. I feel it a pleasure to do anything for her, she is so grateful and affectionate.” Sorrows do not come as single spies, but by battalions. Six months intervened between the deaths of Mrs. Judson and little Maria, and within three months of the burial of the latter, even before leaving Amherst, Mr. Judson heard of the death of his venerable father, who departed this life at Scituate, Massachusetts, November 26, 1826, in the seventy-fifth year of his age. Mr. Judson writes these words of comfort to the beloved ones in the distant homestead at Plymouth: “MAULMAIN, _December_ 13, 1827.