“Our little comfort, our dear little Roger, has become insensible to our parental attentions and fond caresses; the light of his mild blue eyes is quenched, his sweet face has become cold to our lips, and his little mind, which, to a parent’s discernment at least, discovered peculiar sensibility and peculiar sweetness of disposition, has deserted its infantile tenement and fled—oh, where? Into what strange scenes is it introduced? Who supports and guides its trembling steps across the dark valley? There a parent’s aid could not be extended. But we hope it had a more affectionate and abler guide. We hope that Jesus has repaired the ruins of the fall in regard to all little children. And who but thinks their departed children sweet and lovely beyond compare? Perhaps I am a novice in affliction. Had I lost a wife, I might not thus lament for a little child eight months old. Yet nothing but such a scene of bereavement and anguish as we have passed through can teach us to pity others in like circumstances. Nothing but experience can teach us what feelings agonize the soul of a parent when he puts his face to that of his dear, his only child, to ascertain whether there may not be one breath more; and when satisfied of the truth, when hope expires with life, he tries to raise the bursting aspiration: O Lord, receive the spirit! “Our little Roger died last Saturday morning. We looked at him through the day, and on the approach of night we laid him in the grave. This is the fourth day, and we just begin to think, What can we do for the heathen? But yet it seems hard to forget little Roger so soon, to force off our thoughts from the attractive, painful subject, and to return to our usual employments. O may we not suffer in vain! May this bereavement be sanctified to our souls! and for this I hope we have your prayers. “How is Mrs. Lawson, and your little _ones_? We had only _one_. Might not this have been spared? It was almost all our comfort and our amusement in this dreary place. But, ‘the Lord gave,’ etc.” At this same period Mrs. Judson thus opened her sorrowful heart to a lady in Beverly, Mass.: “RANGOON, _May_ 10, 1816. “The sun of another holy Sabbath has arisen upon us, and though no chime of bells has called us to the house of God, yet we, two in number, have bowed the knee to our Father in heaven, have invoked His holy name, have offered Him our feeble praise, have meditated on His Sacred Word, and commemorated the dying love of a Saviour to a perishing world. Inestimable privileges! Not denied even in a land where the Prince of Darkness reigns!