“The Karens are the simplest children of nature I have ever seen. They have been compared to the aborigines of America, but they are as much inferior, both in mental and physical strength, as a puny effeminate Hindoo is inferior to a sturdy Russian, or a British grenadier. Of all people in the world, the Karens, I believe, are the most timid and irresolute. And the fable, that when some superior being was dispensing written languages and books to the various nations of the earth, a surly dog came along and drove away the Karens and carried away their books, agrees better with their indolent and timid character, than half the other fables in vogue among the wise and learned Burmans do with truth or common sense. These artless people seem contented, and not unhappy in their native forests, treading the little paths their fathers trod before them. It is surprising to see how small a portion of worldly goods satisfies their wants and limits their pursuits. A box of betel, often no other than the joint of a bamboo, a little heap of rice, a bamboo basket for each member of the family to carry burdens in, a cup, a rice and a curry-pot, a spinning-wheel of most simple structure, a knife and an axe, a change of simple garments, a mat of leaves, half a dozen water-buckets of bamboo joints, and a movable fire-place, are nearly all their frail houses contain to administer to their comfort. With these accommodations they are more free from worldly cares than the owners of farms and stalls, and folds, and games, and ships, and stores. Their only worldly care is to raise a little money to pay their taxes, under which they groan. Although indolent in the extreme, they are so remote from the city that they are, I believe, less wicked than most heathen nations. They have no hopes in a future life, and generally disdain all allegiance to the prevailing religion of the country. They are, in general, as careless about the future as about the present, except those who have heard the Gospel, and those who have been encouraged by the Burmans to build kyoungs and pagodas, in the hope of avoiding in the next world the state of hogs, and dogs, and snakes, and worms. They are too idle to be quarrelsome or ambitious, and too poor to gamble, or eat, or drink to very great excess. Their minds are vacant and open for the reception of whatever contains a relish, and it is not a little gratifying to see so many of them finding that relish in religion.”
The Karens are peculiarly accessible to the Christian religion. They are devoid of the pride and dogmatism which characterize the Burmans. Besides they had a hoary tradition that white messengers would come from the sea to teach them. When Mr. Boardman first came among them, he found that they had in their possession a mysterious book.
“On returning from the _zayat_, I found my house thronged with Karens, and was informed that the Karen teacher had arrived with his much venerated book. After tea, I called them up, and inquired what they wished. The teacher stood forward and said, ‘My lord, your humble servants have come from the wilderness, to lay at your lordship’s feet a certain book, and to inquire of your lordship whether it is good or bad, true or false. We, Karens, your humble servants, are an ignorant race of people; we have no books, no written language, we know nothing of God or His law. When this book was given us, we were charged to worship it, which we have done for twelve years. But we knew nothing of its contents, not so much as in what language it is written. We have heard of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and are persuaded of its truth, and we wish to know if this book contains the doctrine of that Gospel. We are persuaded that your lordship can easily settle the question, and teach us the true way of becoming happy.’ I requested them to produce the book, when the old man opened a large basket, and having removed fold after fold of wrappers, he handed me an old tattered duodecimo volume. It was none other than the ‘Book of Common Prayer with the Psalms,’ published at Oxford, England. ‘It is a good book,’ said I, ‘but it is not good to worship it. You must worship the God it reveals.’ We spent the evening instructing these simple foresters in some of the first principles of the Gospel. They listened with much attention; but the old teacher, who, it seems, is a kind of sorcerer, appeared disappointed at the thought that he had obtained no claim to heaven by worshipping the book so many years.