ATWOOD-L Archives

Archiver > ATWOOD > 1998-11 > 0911276371


From: "Mary Darling" <>
Subject: [ATWOOD-L] Harriet ATWOOD Newell - editoral p 1-3
Date: Mon, 16 Nov 1998 20:19:31 -0800


The following is an editorial of Harriet - the first women missionary to die
that was sent from America. Pages 4 -7 include a letter from Samuel Newell
to Polly Atwood after Harriet died. Some of this information was on the
internet and the rest I typed from the book of letters and memoirs that I
copied at the Univ. of Madison

HARRIET ATWOOD NEWELL

An Editorial

Instead of attempting a formal sketch of the life of Harriet Newell, we
shall make a few excerpts from the materials before us. The first is from
Womans Record, written by Mrs. S. J. Hale:

Sketch by Mrs. S. J. Hale

The first American heroine of the missionary enterprise was born at
Haverhill, Massachusetts, October 10, 1793. Her maiden name was Atwood. In
1806, while at school at Bradford, she became deeply impressed with the
importance of religion, and at the age of sixteen she joined the Church. On
the 9th of February, 1812, Harriet Atwood married the Rev. Samuel Newell,
missionary to the Burman Empire; and in the same month Mr. And Mrs. Newell
embarked with their friends, Mr. And Mrs. Judson, for India. On the arrival
of the missionaries at Calcutta they were ordered to leave by the East India
Company; and they accordingly Mr. and Mrs. Newell embarked for the Isle of
France. Three weeks before reaching the island she became the mother of a
child, which died in five days. On the 30th of November, seven weeks and
four days after her confinement, Mrs. Harriet Newell, at the age of twenty
(19), expired, far from her home and friends. She was one of the first
females who ever went from this country as a missionary; and she was the
first who died a martyr to the cause of missions. That there is a time,
even in the season of youth and the flush of hope, when it is better to die
than to live, even to attain our wish for this world, Harriet Newell is an
example. Her most earnest wish was to do good for the cause of Christ, and
be of service in teaching his Gospel to the heathen. Her early death has,
apparently, done this better and more effectually than the longest life and
most arduous labors of any other of the noble band of American women who
have gone forth on this errand of love and hope. In the language of a
recent writer on this subject, Heroines of the Missionary Enterprise,
Harriet Newell was the great proto-martyr of American missions. She fell,
wounded by death, in the very vestibule of the sacred cause. Her memory
belongs, not to the body of men who sent her forth, not to the denomination
to whose creed she had subscribed, but to the Church, to the cause of
missions. With the torch of truth in her hand she led the way down into a
valley of darkness, through which many have followed. Her work was short,
her toil soon ended; but she fell, cheering by her dying words and her high
example the missionaries of all coming time. She was the first, but not the
only martyr. Heathen lands are dotted over with the graves of fallen
Christians; missionary women sleep on almost every shore, and the bones of
some are whitening in the fathomless depths of the ocean.

Never will the influence of the devoted woman, whose life and death are here
portrayed, by estimated properly till the light of an eternal day shall
shine on all the actions of men. We are to measure her glory, not by what
she suffered, for others have suffered more than she did. But we must
remember that she went out when the missionary enterprise was in its
infancy when even the best of men looked upon it with suspicion. The tide
of opposition she dared to stem, and with no example, no predecessor from
American shores, she went out to rend the vail of darkness which gathered
over all the nations of the East.

Things have changed since then. Our missionaries go forth with the approval
of all the good; and the odium which once attended such a life is swept
away. It is to some extent a popular thing to be a missionary, although the
work is still one of hardship and suffering. It is this fact which gathers
such a splendor around the name of Harriet Newell, and invests her short,
eventful life with such a charm. She went when no foot had trodden out the
path, and was the first American missionary ever called to an eternal
reward. While she slumbers in her grave, her name is mentioned with
affection by a missionary Church. And thus it should be. She has set us a
glorious example; she has set an example to the Church in every land and
age, and her name will be mingled with the loved ones who are falling year
by year; and if when the glad millennium comes, and the earth is converted
to god, some crowns brighter than others shall be seen amid the throng of
the ransomed, one of those crowns will be found upon the head of Harriet
Newell.

History is busy with us, said Marie Antoinette; and the hope that her
heroic endurance of ignominy and suffering would be recorded, and insure the
pity and admiration of a future age, doubtless nerved her to sustain the
dignity of a queen throughout the deep tragedy of her fate.

The noblest heroism of a woman is never thus self-conscious. The greatest
souls, those who elevate humanity and leave a track of light as stars go
down when passing away from earth, never look back for the brightness. A
woman with such a soul is absorbed in her love for others and in her duty
toward God. She does what she can, feeling constantly how small is the mite
she gives; and the worth which it is afterward discovered to bear would,
probably, astonish the giver far more than it does the world.
Harriet Newell died at the early age of twenty, leaving a journal and a few
letters, the record of her religious feelings and the events of 'her short
missionary, life. These fragments have bear published, making a little book.
Such is her contribution to literature, yet this small work his been and is
now of more importance to the intellectual progress of the world than all
the works of Madam de Stael. The writings of Harriet Newell, translated into
several tongues, and published in many editions, have reached the heart of
society, and assisted to build up the throne of woman's power, even the
moral influence of her sex over men, and their intellect can never reach its
highest elevation but through the medium of moral cultivation.

MR. NEWELL'S LETTER ANNOUNCING THE DEATH
OF His WIFE TO HER MOTHER
As a, supplement to this beautiful sketch we quote the affecting letter of
Mr. Newell, written after the death of his wife to her mother:
To Mrs. Atwood
Port Louis, Isle of France, Dec. 10, 1812.
My dear mother,

On account of the unhappy war between us and England, it is probable I
shall have no opportunity for a long time of sending directly to America. I
enclose this letter to Joseph Hardcastle, Esp. of London, depending on his
benevolence to pay the postage at the general Post Office there, without
which it would not be forwarded. I beg your particular attention to this
circumstance, because it is the reason why my letter is not longer, and also
the reason why I did not write to my other friends. You will oblige me by
informing my friends of this particularly Drs. Woods, Griffin and
Worcester.
"'When I sit down to address you, my dear mother, from this distant land, to
me a land of strangers and a place of exile, a thousand tender thoughts
arise in my mind, and naturally suggest such inquiries as these, How is it
now with that dear women to whom I am indebted for my greatest earthly
blessing, the mother of my dear Harriet, And mine, too? (for I must claim
the privilege of considering you as my own dear mother.) Does the candle of
the Lord shine on her tabernacle, and is the voice of joy and praise yet
heard in her dwelling? Or, what is not improbable in this world of
disappointment, has some new affliction, the death, perhaps, of a dear child
or of some other beloved friend, caused her heart again to bleed and her
tears to flow? Ah, my mother, though we may live many years and see good in
them all, yet let us remember the days of darkness, for they, too, will be
many. It is decreed by Infinite Wisdom alone that through much tribulation
we must enter into the kingdom of heaven. You, my dear mother, have had your
share of adversity, and I, too, have had mine; but we will not complain.
Sanctified afflictions am the choicest favors of Heaven. They cure us of our
vain and foolish expectations from the world, and teach our thoughts and
affections to ascend and fix on joys that never die. I never longed so much
to see you as I have these several days past. What would I now give to sit
one hour by that dear fireside, where I have tasted the most unalloyed
pleasure that earth affords, and recount to you and the dear children the
perils, the toils, and the sufferings through which I have passed since I
left my native land! In this happy circle I should for a moment forget. . .
.Yes my dear friends, I would tell you how God has disappointed our favorite
schemes and blasted our hopes of preaching Christ in India, and has sent us
all away from that extensive field of usefulness, with in intimation that he
has nothing for us to do there, while he has others to enter in and reap the
harvest. I would tell you how he has visited us all with sickness, and how
he has afflicted me, in particular, by taking away the dear little babe
which he gave us--the child of our prayers, of our hopes, of our tears. I
would tell you - but, 0! shall I tell it, or forbear. . . .
Have courage, my mother, God will support you under this trial, though it
may for a time cause your very heart to bleed. Come, then, let us mingle our
griefs and weep together, for she was dear to us both, and she, too, is
gone. Yes, Harriet, your lovely daughter, is gone, and you will see her face
no more, Harriet, my own dear Harriet, the wife of my, youth and the desire
of my eyes, has bid me a last farewell and left me to mourn and weep. Yes,
she is gone. I wiped the cold sweat of death from her pale, emaciated face,
while we traveled together down to the entrance of the dark valley. There
she took her upward flight and I saw her ascend to the mansions of the
blessed!

But I must hasten to give you a more particular account of the repeated
affictions with which God has visited me.

Harriet enjoyed good health from the time we left you, until we embarked on
our voyage from Calcutta to the Isle of France, (excepting those slight
complaints which are common to females in her situation.) During the week
previous to our sailing for this place, she sent through much fatigue in
making calls on those dear friends in Calcutta, who were anxious to see her,
and who kindly furnished her with a large supply of those little things
which she was soon expected to want, and which on account of her succeeding
illness, she would not have been able to prepare on the voyage. The fatigue
of riding in a palanquin, in that unhealthy place, threw her into a fever,
which commenced the day after we were on board. She was confined about a
week to her couch, but afterward recovered and enjoyed pretty good health.
We le

This thread: