The life and letters of Mrs. Emily C. Judson

Front matter

'^^OtOGICM. SE»^!^

Kendrick,

■1895.

Preface

It is with unfeigned diffidence that the writer commits this work to the public. A niau writing the memoir of a woman — a digger among Greek roots writing the life of a sensitive child of genius and song — a not very intimate acquaintance delineating a character to which the most thorough knowledge could hardly do justice, constitutes a triad of difficulties which he can scarcely hope to have overcome. The author undertook the work reluctantly, and he will be abundantly satisfied if it shall make upon tbe mind of the reader that impression of the rare excellence of its subject which the study of her life and letters has left upon his own.

Mrs. Judson was a very voluminous correspondent, and the selection from her letters, often of very nearly equal merit, was a matter of considerable difficulty. Sometimes, doubtless, the selection might have been made more wisely, and many have been omitted which, with larger limits, he would gladly have inserted. The reader should remember that Mrs. Judson's letters were written amidst the pressing duties of a very busy life ; often from a sick bed ; often when her brain was overtasked, and well nigh exhausted by the drafts for the press ; and her letters, therefore, could be hardly ex-

IV PKEFACE.

pected to be always a fair measure of her intellectual powers. Still they will not, I think, be found unworthy of her reputation.

The true lover of poetry will not, I trust, complain of the number of her poetical pieces inserted in the memoir, for most of these are such as will always find a welcome, and they will, in fact, enhance very considerably the interest of the volume. My chief apology, however, for inserting them is that they belong in a preeminent degree to her life. They grow directly out of the critical passages of her history, and they at once illustrate her feelings amidst these scenes, and derive from the circumstances under which they were written fresh force and beauty. They come from her heart more than from her intellect ; they belong to her life even more than to her works.

In parting with the work, I would express my gratitude to the family and personal friends of Mrs. Judson, who have furnished valuable materials. To Kev. Dr. Bright I am under very peculiar obligations for his patient kindness in listening to the reading of my manuscript during the hot month of August, and for the important information and numerous valuable suggestions by which he has improved the work. With this I submit it to the public, earnestly hoping that it may subserve the great cause to which Mrs. Judson's life was devoted.

Ukiveesitt of Eochesteb, September, 1860.

. CONTENTS.

PAGE

L — Aldekbeook ^

n. — Autobiography op her Childhood 12

m.— The New Life 33

ly. — The School-Teacher , 40

Y. — " Author-Laistd" 53

VI. — ^Lights and Shades "70

Vn.— "PaNxVY Forester" 92

YIIL— The Invalid lit

IX. — The Convalescent 123

X. — The Betrothal 141

XI. — The Consecration 166

Xn.— The Marriage 192

XIIL— Outward Bound 21*7

XIY.— The Orient 235

XY, — Reconnoitering 250

XYL— "Bat Castle" 264

XYII. — ^Unclouded Sunshine 286

XYIII.— Gathering Clouds 298

XIX. — Self-Communings 319

XX. — The Bereavement 329

XXI. — Homeward Bound 348

XXII.— Home 363

XXIII.— The Restrung Harp 3*73

XXIY.— The Mother 385

XXY.— Rest 405

XXYI. — The Retrospect 413

Chapter I. Aldeebrook

" The floating clonds their state shall lend To her ; for her the willow bend : Nor shall she fail to see, Even in the motions of the storm, Grace that shall mould the maiden's form, By silent sympathy.

The stars of midnight shall be dear

To her ; and she shall lean her ear

In many a secret place,

Where rivulets dance their wayward round,

And beauty, born of murmuring sound.

Shall pass into her face."

About thirty miles south from Utica, in Central New York, on the head waters of the Chenango Eiver, and at the head of the charming valley which follows the windings of that stream in its picturesque course to the Susquehanna, lies Hamilton, one of the most beautiful interior villages of the State, and the seat of the literary and theological institution known as Madison University. Here the parents of Mrs. Emily C. Judson spent nearly the last twenty years of their lives ; here Mrs. Judson was married; and hither she finally came back to die. Bordering Hamilton on the southeast, lies the the broken and hilly township of Brookfield ; to the southwest a considerable range of hills separates it from the "neat and thriving village of Eaton, four miles distant. North of this latter place, in the same town, lies the somewhat larger village of Morrisville. Northeast of Morrisville is the small settlement of Pratt's Hollow, or Prattsville ; Smithfield, with its pleasant village of Peterboro', joins it on the north ; and about ten miles west, on one of our lovely little inland lakes, is Cazenovia, the seat of a flourishing institution of learning, founded by the Methodists. These and many other villages lying in Madison county, dot the surface of an elevated and broken, but picturesquely diversified, and not unfruitful region — a region where winter holds a long and rigorous sway, but which blooms into varied and most attractive loveliness under the balmy influence of summer.

About a mile and a half south of Eaton village, the road passes through a sequestered and narrow valley, where nestles in the hillside a small dwelling, known to the 'readers of Fanny Forester's sketches as Underhill Cottage. The road which now winds at its foot formerly ran above it, so that the roof of the cottage scarcely rose above its level, and you did in truth feel half disposed " to step from the road where you stood to the tip of the chimney," that peeped out from its verdurous shelter. For a description of the cottage as it was and is, I must send the reader to Miss Forester's faithful portraiture. Embosomed in trees and shrubbery, the clematis wreathing itself about the humble portico ; the wild vine and the eglantine clambering over the windows and the roof ; the myrtle and the roses blending their green and fragrance, it amply justifies her description, and realizes our ideal of a thoroughly rural residence. At some distance

ALDERBROOK. y-

below, through the bottom of the valley, wound a small streamlet, fringed with alders, while beyond rises a range of hills, covered partly with forests, partly with wild briars — the whole forming a scene of romantic loveliness such as might have inspired the pen that portrayed the scenery of the Lady of the Lake. This spot^-the cottage, the brook, the valley, the hills which embosom them — the pen of genius has consecrated to the world as Alderbrook. Some of the accessories to the picture, Emily, with a romancer's license, borrowed from the neighboring village of Morrjsville, and her use of the term stretches over a somewhat fluctuating territory. But all the actual elements of the scene she has delineated with equal spirit and fidelity.

I said the streamlet wound — not winds — through the valley beneath the cottage ; for that, within a few years, has become a thing of the past. The ruthless march of improvement has invaded these sacred precincts ; the clang of machinery breaks the stillness of the secluded valley ; its broad tributary expanse of water now rolls over the little brook and its fringe of green ; and Aiderbrook, touched by the magic of genius, is "Alderbrook," indeed, still, and for ever — ^but it is alder-brook no longer. Thus does the remorseless touch of enterprise brush away the golden hues of the ideal. So it is to be ; and in an age when omnibuses thunder by the olive garden of Plato, when the steam- whistle startles the hoary centuries that look down from the summits of the Pyramids, and threatens the sacred solitudes of Olivet and Tabor, so humble a bit of romance as Alderbrook may not hope to escape unprofaned. But the true " hallowed ground" of earth is in the human heart ; the consecrated spots of genius, driven from the dusty and noon-day

1* glare of the actual, live inViolate in the haunted realm, the " dim, religious light" of the imagination.

In the little cottage thus signalized, Emily Chubhuck was — ^not born ; but in a small dwelling near by, now no longer standing. But here she spent most of her early childhood ; this she often afterward revisited, and ever cherished with peculiar affection ; and this, perhaps, beyond any other spot on earth, was endeared to her heart and her fancy by the sacred associations of home. In the shade of those embowering trees she and her sisters played ; along that murmuring brook they wandered in childish glee ; and among those wild and romantic hills they learned to love nature in all her varied aspects of suUenness and beauty.

She was born August 22, 1817, of poor, but reputable parents, who removed to this region from New Hampshire in 1816, when the country was 'comparatively new. They had formerly been in comfortable circumstances, though never wealthy. Her father was a man of more than ordinary intelligence ; but failed to combine with it much of that practical shrewdness and energy so necessary to worldly prosperity. Tried hy life's lower, material standard, his life was a failure ; tried by its higher, spiritual standard, it was a gratifying success. Emily's mother also was a woman of fine intellect, and endowed with much of that force of will and practical sagacity in which her husband was deficient. Both, with all who knew them, were in character above any whisper of reproach. Beyond these brief statements, Emily has spared her biographer the labor of an extended record. The following little sketch of her parentage and childhood, drawn up for her husband, is too interesting to be withheld from the reader.

ALDERBROOK. 11

What its details may be thought to lack in dignity will be more than made up by the light which they shed on the hidden springs of her character and destiny They strike to the inner heart of her biography, and show us in what a school of suiFering and self-denial God was fitting her for her life-work. They will be read with tearful interest by her admirers, and teach, we hope, to many youthful hearts lessons of thankful resignation and resolute purpose.

Chapter II. Autobiography Of Hee Childhood

" The roots how bitter !— yet the fruits are sweet I"

"Sorrows that are sorrows still, Lose the bitter taste of woe ; Nothing 's altogether ill In the griefs of long ago."

NOTES OF MY EARLY LIFE, PREPARED PARTLY FROM MEMORY, AND PARTLY FROM LETTERS AND PAPERS. (FOR MY HUSBAKD.)

John Chubbuck was a native of Wales, though of Enghsh parentage. He emigrated to the American colonies somewhere about the year 1700. The vessel in which he sailed being wrecked off Nantucket, he landed and subsequently took up his permanent residence in that vicinity. His son Jonathan, born near Nantucket, was manied to Hannah Marble, a worthy and pious woman, by whom he had several children. Among them was Simeon, my paternal grandfather. Simeon Chubbuck was born at Bridgewater, Massachusetts. At the breaking out of hostilities between England and her colonies, he, though only sixteen years of age, enlisted as a volunteer in the colonial army, and continued in the service until peace was restored, and the army disbanded. He afterward married Lydia Pratt, a native of Bridgewater, by whom he had ^ve sons and five

AUTOBIOGKAPHY OF HER CHILDHOOD. 13

daughters. Charles, the second son, was born at Bedford, New Hampshke, March 3, 1780.

James Richards, the father of my maternal grandfather, was a native of England, and a dissenter. His son Amos married Catharine McCartney, whose father was an Irishman, and her mother, Mary Bois, a French Huguenot. My maternal grandfather was also a boyvolunteer in the war of the Revolution, and a commissioned officer in the last war of the United States with England. Lavinia Richards, the eldest of the thirteen children of Amos and Catharine McCartney Richards, was born June 1, 1785, at Groffstown, New Hampshire. She was piously educated by an excellent mother, and at an early age united with the Presbyterian church.

Charles Chubbuck and Lavinia Richards were married November 17, 1805, at Goffstown, New Hampshire. They subsequently removed to Eaton, Madison county. New York, where they arrived September 27, 1816. While on a visit preparatory to removal, my father gained a hope in Christ, and was baptized May 19, 1816, and my mother followed him in the same ordinance the ensuing November. They brought with them to New York four children.

Lavinia Richards Chubbuck was born at Bedford, New Hampshire, September 28, 1806, and died at Pratt^s Hollow, New York, June 22, 1829,' after a lingering illness of about five weeks. She evinced from childhood singular energy and strength of character, which qualities increased as trials thickened round her path, and through her last years of suffering her activity and cheerfulness never failed. She was converted and baptized at the commencement of her illness, and from that time she daily grew in grace until the end of her life. Materials for a memoir (a journal, several poems, letters, etc.) were placed in the hands of the Kev. Dr. Nathaniel Kendrick, who arranged them for the press, and left them at a publishing house, but they were never heard of afterward.*

Benjamin Chubbuck was born at Bedford, New Hampshire, March 25, 1809. When about seven years of age he had an alarming attack of inflammation of the brain, from the effects of which he never fully recovered. His nervous system was permanently deranged, and some of the mental qualities entirely suspended, while others remained in full and healthful operation. He was on this account a source of constant anxiety up to the time of his death, which took place at the house of our mother's sister in Michigan, September 1, 1846. He left a wife and two children.

Harriet Chubbuck was born at Goffstown, New Hampshire, November 18, 1811, and died at Morrisville. New York, December 6, 1831. She was very beautiful in person, and fascinating in manners, and for a time was the pride of the family. After her conversion, less than a year previous to her death, her natural gaiety was to a great extent subdued ; and so beloved had she rendered herself, that her death, which was sudden, threw a gloom over the whole community, and the funeral services were disturbed by sobbings from different parts of the house. Her mind was much exercised on the subject of missions ; and she once told me, in strict confidence, that she had consecrated herself solemnly to

* Lavinia and her younger sister Harriet arc beautifully commemorated by Mrs. Judson in the small volume entitled "My Two Sisters," written after her return from Burmah.

AUTOBIOGKAPHY OF HER CHILDHOOD. -15

this cause — ^had made a vow which nothing but death could brjeak.

John Walker Chubhuck was born September 24, 1815, at GofFstown, New Hampshire. He learned the business of printing at Morrisville, New York, and afterward conducted newspapers at Hamilton and Cazenovia. He removed to Milwaukee, Wisconsin Territory, in 1834, where he established, in connection with another man, a newspaper which has since been permanent. While residing there he was converted, and united with the Presbyterian church.

Sarah Catharine Chubhuck was born at Eaton, New York, October 25, 1816. She was baptized at Morrisville, April, 1840.

William Wallace Chubhuck was born at Eaton, New York, January 1, 1824. He learned printing, but has devoted his life principally thus far to editing papers and to teaching. ,

I was the fifth child, and the first born out of New England. I was born August 22, 1817, at Eaton, Madison county. New York. I was an exceedingly delicate child, and my mother was often warned that she could " have me with her but a short time.'' I remember being much petted and indulged during my first years (probably on account of the fragility of my constitution), and also being several times prostrated for a week or more after a day's visit with my little cousins. The first event of any importance which I remember is the conversion of my sister Lavinia, when I was about seven years of age. My little cot was in her room ; and as she grew worse after her baptism, the young members of the church were in the habit of spending the night with her, partly in the character of watchers, partly because

16. LIFE OP MRS. EMILY C. JUDSON.

of a unity of interest and feeling. She and her visitors spent the greater part of the night in conversation and prayer, without any thought of disturbing so sound a sleeper as I seemed to be. I was a silent, sometimes tearful listener when they talked; and when they prayed, I used to kneel down in my bed, and with hands clasped and heart uplifted, follow them through to the end. I can not recall my exercises with any degree of distinctness ; but I remember longing to go to heaven, and be with Christ ; some moments of ecstacy, and some of deep depression on account of my childish delinquencies. My sister used often to converse with me on religious subjects ; and I remember on one occasion her going to the next room and saying to my mother, " That child's talk is wonderful ! I believe, if there is a Christian in the world, she is one." For a moment I felt a deep thrill of joy, and then I became alarmed lest I should have deceived them. The effect was to make me reserved and cautious.

April, 1828. Eemoved with my parents to Pratt's Hollow, a small village, where there was a woolen factory, and immediately commenced work at splicing rolls. We were at this time very poor, and did not know on one day what we should eat the next, otherwise I should not have been placed at such hard work. My parents, however, judiciously allowed me to spend half my wages (the whole was one dollar and twenty-five cents per week) as I thought proper ; and in this way, with numerous incentives to economy, I first learned the use of money. My principal recollections during this summer are of noise and filth, bleeding hands and aching feet,, and a very sad heart.

December^ 1828. The ice stopped the water-wheel, and the factory was closed for a few months.

January^ 1829. Entered the district school, and, I believe, acquitted myself to the satisfaction of everybody, my poor sick sister especially. She had taken great pains with my education while I was at work in the factory, though, as we worked twelve hours a day, and came home completely worn out with fatigue, I was not a very promising subject.

March, 1829. The factory reopened, and I left school and returned to my old employment.

3Iay, 1829. It was some time in this month, but I do not recollect the day, that the carding- machine broke, and I had the afternoon to myself I spent all my little stock of money in hiring a horse and wagon, and took poor Lavinia out driving. We spread a buffalo robe on a pretty, dry knoll, and father carried her to it in his arms. I shall never forget how happy she was, nor how Kate and I almost buried her in violets and other wild spring flowers. It was the last time that she ever went out.

June 23, 1829. This was the day of poor Lavinia's death. They released me from the factory four days on this occasion, and 0, how long they seemed to me ! The first day she was in great agony, and I crept as much out of the way as I could, and scarcely moved. The next day she rallied, and took some notice of me ; but the women (very many neighbors had come in) appeared just as busy and anxious as ever, and mother wept incessantly. Every thing appeared strange and unnatural about the house, and I thought it must be unpleasant for her. She Idssed me, and told me I must be a good girl ; but her voice sounded hollow, and her lips were cold. I longed to do something for her, and remembering her extreme fondness for flowers, I went to a neighbor's and begged an apron full of roses. When I retm-ned the house was still as death. I entered her room ; they were kneeling around her bed, and no one took any- notice of me. In a moment, however, she beckoned to me with her finger, and when I put the flowers upon the bed she smiled. She tried again to turn her eje upon me, but it would not obey her wiU. She tried to speak, but her lips gave no sound. She lay quietly a few moments, then suddenly exclaimed, " Glory! glory ! my Father ! Jesus !" and never breathed again. She was buried at Eaton, being a member of the church there.

August, 1829. My health failed very perceptibly after my sister's death, and at last mother called in a physician. He said that I could not live where I was, but must have my freedom and fresh air — a home on a farm, if possible.

1828-9. I believe there was not a decidedly vicious person in the factory, and there were several, both men and women, who were pious. Indeed, there was less coarseness and vulgarity among them than would be supposed, though they were certainly far from being the society one would select for a child. The girls were, most of them, great novel readers, and they used to lend their novels to me, first exacting a promise that I would not tell my mother and sister. When I had finished one I used to carry out the story, and imagine my favorite character going on, on — but it always would end in death. Of what avail, then, was the beauty ? Of what use the wealth and honor ? At other times, while at my work, I used to make a heroine of myself. My

Uncle Jonathan (who was lost twenty years before on a voyage to India) would come home and make me an heiress ; or my face, which people used sometimes to praise, would become so beautiful as to bewitch the whole world ; or I should be a brilliant poetess (my verses were greatly admired by my brother and sisters), and my name would be famous while the world stood. But nothing satisfied me. Whatever I became, I should die and lose it all. Then common sense told me that these great things were unattainable, and I would moderate my plans, and confine my wishes within narrower limits. But all ended in the same way ; death would come at the end, and then, what good ?

One day I took up a little, dingy, coarse newspaper — the Baptist Begister in its infancy — and my eye fell on the words : " Little Maria lies by the side of her fond mother." I had read about the missionaries, and my sister had told me respecting them ; I knew, therefore, at once, that the letter was from Mr. Judson, and that his little daughter was dead. How I pitied his loneliness ! And then a new train of thought sprung up, and my mind expanded to a new kind of glory. No, thought I, though the Burmans should kill him, I will not pity him ; and I — yes, I will be a missionary. After this I had my romantic dreams of mission life ; but they were of a different cast — of suffering, and toil, and pain ; and though they, like the others, ended in death, somehow death in such an employment came pleasantly. I read the "Pilgrim's Progress," and thought of the golden city ; then I read the Bible more, and novels less.

November y 1829. Kemoved to a farm in the vicinity of Morrisville ; Walker entered a printing-office in the village ; and Harriet returned from Courtland county, ■where she had been spending half a year with some cousins. We suffered a great deal from cold this winter, though we had plenty of plain food. Indeed, we never were reduced to hunger. But the house was large and unfinished, and the snow sometimes drifted into it in heaps. We were unable to repair it, and the owner was unwilling. Father was absent nearly all the time, distributing newspapers ; and the severity of the winter so affected his health that he could do but little when he was at home. Mother, Harriet, and I, were frequently compelled to go out into the fields, and dig broken wood out of the snow, to keep ourselves from freezing. Catharine and I went to the district school as much as we could.

January, 1830. There was a revival of religion among the Methodists in the immediate neighborhood, and one evening, at a meeting, those who wished the prayers of Christians were requested to rise. It was something new to me, and I trembled so that I shook the seat, and attracted considerable attention. A girl next me whispered that I had better arise — she was sure she would if she felt as I did ; and a class-leader came and took me by the hand, so that I succeeded in getting upon my feet. After this I attended all the class-meetings, and thought it a great favor to get talked with and prayed for.

February, 1830. A " three days' meeting" was commenced by the Baptist church in Morrisville, and we all attended. The revival among the Methodists had previously prepared our minds, and Harriet, especially, was deeply affected. This meeting was followed by a similar one in the Presbyterian church, not one hour of which was lost to Harriet and myself A great many young persons were added to both churches, among the most joyful of whom was my sister Harriet. They baptized her, while I looked on almost brokenhearted. We joined two weekly bible- classes at the village (a mile distant), and attended all the meetings we could hear of, walking when father was away. When he was at home, though ever so much fatigued and ill, he was too happy to see us interested in religious things not to go with us. I recollect feeling myself very heart-heavy, because the revival had passed without my being converted. I grew mopish and absentminded, but still I did not relax my efforts. Indeed, I beheve my solemn little face was almost ludicrously familiar to worshipers of every denomination, for I remember a Presbyterian once saying to me, as I was leaving the chapel, after having, as usual, asked prayers : "What! this little girl not converted yet! How do you suppose we can waste any more time in praying for you ?"

March, ifeO. Benjamin came home (he had been for five years in the employ of a farmer), and he and father commenced building fences and other spring work. Our house had always, especially after Lavinia's conversion, been the resort of very pious people, and a favorite home for Hamilton students. We had now a large house, and they made it a place of frequent resort. I remember several whose society was very improving. We were also well supplied with choice books, a luxury which, even in our deepest poverty, we never denied ourselvtrs. For we had been taught from our cradles to consider knowledge, next after religion, the most desirable thing, and were never allowed to associate with ignorant and vulgar children. ^

April, 1830. Commenced taking lessons in rhetoric and natural philosophy of Miss L. W. F. C. F. also volunteered to train me in English compositioUj but she proved a dangerous teacher. She had read novels till her head was nearly turned, and had, moreover, imbibed infidel sentiments from a young man of better mind than morals, with whom she was too well pleased. She was, however, supposed to be a safe companion, and as my health was the principal thing that brought us to the farm, I was allowed to spend as much time with her as I pleased. She introduced me to Gibbon, and Hume, and Tom Paine ; but more especially to Voltaire and Kousseau, whose style pleased her better. She read the French v/riters in the originals, though she had access to translations. She was very insinuating, and I not only loved her most sincerely, but really believed her one of the wisest persons in the world. I did not embrace her sentiments, however, though I felt my confidence in the Bible weakened, and lost, to a great extent, my religious impressions. Still I was constant in my attendance upon divine worship, remained a member both of the Bible-class and Sabbath-school, and, I think, never neglected secret prayer. C. F. was a great admirer of the misanthropic school of poetry ; Byron, especially, she was always repeating, and used actually to rave over his Manfred. When she mounted her stilts I always trembled, for though fond of being with her, I still feared for her. She was seven or eight years older than I.

November, 1830. Father's attempt at farming proved, as might have been expected, an entire failure, and for want of a better place, he determined to remove to the village. He took a little old house on the outskirts, the poQjest shelter we ever had, with only two rooms on the