But Christianity has had other representatives in Burmah than the Jesuits. At an early day American missionaries, as if they could not go far enough away from home, in their zeal to carry the Gospel where it had not been preached before, sought a field of labor in Southeastern Asia. More than sixty years ago they landed on these shores. They planted no colonies, waged no wars, raised no flag, and made no annexation. The only flag they carried over them was that of the Gospel of peace. And yet in the work they wrought they have left a memorial which will long preserve their sainted and heroic names. While in Rangoon I took up again "The Life of Judson" by Dr. Wayland, and read it with new interest on the very spot which had been the scene of his labors. Nothing in the whole history of missions is more thrilling than the story of his imprisonment. It was during the second Burmese war. He was at that time at Ava, the capital of Burmah, where he had been in favor till now, when the king, enraged at the English, seized all that he could lay hands upon, and threw them into prison. He could not distinguish an American, who had the same features and spoke the same language, and so Judson shared the fate of the rest. One day his house was entered by an officer and eight or ten men, one of whom he recognized by his hideous tattooed face as the executioner, who seized him in the midst of his family, threw him on the floor, drew out the instrument of torture, the small cord, with which he bound him, and hurried him to the death prison, where he was chained, as were the other foreigners, each with three pairs of fetters to a pole. He expected nothing but death, but the imprisonment dragged on for months, varied with every device of horror and of cruelty. Often he was chained to the vilest malefactors. Sometimes he was cast into an inner prison, which was like the Black Hole of Calcutta, where his limbs were confined with five pairs of fetters. So loathsome was his prison, that he counted it the greatest favor and indulgence, when, after a fever, he was allowed to sleep in the cage of a dead lion! This lasted nearly two years. Several times his keepers had orders (as they confessed afterward) to assassinate him, but, restrained perhaps by pity for his wife, they withheld their hand, thinking that disease would soon do the work for them.