“Mr. Judson was not naturally of an even temperament. Hopeful and earnest he was, beyond most men, and withal very persevering; but at this period of his life, and up to a much later time, he was subject to a desponding reaction, from which his faith in God, the ruling principle of his later years, was not now sufficiently ripe to set him entirely free. His peculiar mental conformation was eminently active; so that the passive suffering of his prison discipline was more galling than to a mind differently constituted. So long as he could contend with difficulties, he was appalled by nothing; but whatever he might have been in after-life, he was at this time better fitted to _do_ than to _endure_. For some time previous to the birth of poor little Maria, he had been filled with the gloomiest forebodings; and not without cause. His wife, from the peculiar customs of this land of semi-civilization, was more alone than she would have been among the wild Indian women of an American forest; and he could do nothing for her. When the dreaded crisis was past, and a pale, puny infant of twenty days was brought to his prison, no person not thoroughly conversant with the secret springs of feeling which made his the richest heart that ever beat in human bosom, would be at all able to appreciate the scene. His first child slept beneath the waters of the Bay of Bengal, a victim to Anglo-Indian persecution, a baby-martyr, without the martyr’s conflict; the second, his ‘meek, blue-eyed Roger,’ had his bed in the jungle graveyard at Rangoon; and here came the third little wan stranger, to claim the first parental kiss from the midst of felon chains.
“Mrs. Judson had long previous to this adopted the Burmese style of dress. Her rich Spanish complexion could never be mistaken for the tawny hue of the native; and her figure, of full medium height, appeared much taller and more commanding in a costume usually worn by women of inferior size. But her friend, the governor’s wife, who presented her with the dress, had recommended the measure as a concession which would be sure to conciliate the people, and win them to a kindlier treatment of her. Behold her, then—her dark curls carefully straightened, drawn back from her forehead, and a fragrant cocoa-blossom, drooping like a white plume from the knot upon the crown; her saffron vest thrown open to display the folds of crimson beneath; and a rich silken skirt, wrapped closely about her fine figure, parting at the ankle, and sloping back upon the floor. The clothing of the feet was not Burman, for the native sandal could not be worn except upon a bare foot. Behold her standing in the doorway (for she was never permitted to enter the prison), her little blue-eyed blossom wailing, as it almost always did, upon her bosom, and the chained father crawling forth to the meeting!
[Illustration:
_N. Rogers Pinx^r_ _Alex Cameron Sc._
_Ann H Judson_
_Ob^t Oct. 24^{th} 1826._ ]
“The following verses, of which the writer says, ‘They were composed in my mind at the time, and afterward written down,’ commemorate this meeting:
_Lines addressed to an Infant Daughter, twenty days old, in the condemned Prison at Ava._
“‘Sleep, darling infant, sleep, Hushed on thy mother’s breast; Let no rude sound of clanking chains Disturb thy balmy rest.
“‘Sleep, darling infant, sleep; Blest that thou canst not know The pangs that rend thy parents’ hearts, The keenness of their woe.
“‘Sleep, darling infant, sleep; May Heaven its blessings shed, In rich profusion, soft and sweet, On thine unconscious head!
“‘Why ope thy little eyes? What would my darling see? Thy sorrowing mother’s bending form? Thy father’s agony?
“‘Wouldst view this drear abode, Where fettered felons lie, And wonder that thy father here Should as a felon sigh?
“‘Wouldst mark the dreadful sights, Which stoutest hearts appal— The stocks, the cord, the fatal sword, The torturing iron mall?
“‘No, darling infant, no! Thou seest them not at all; Thou only mark’st the rays of light Which flicker on the wall.
“‘Thine untaught infant eye Can nothing clearly see; Sweet scenes of home and prison scenes Are all alike to thee.
“‘Stretch, then, thy little arms, And roll thy vacant eye, Reposing on thy mother’s breast In soft security.
“‘Why ope thy paly lips? What would my darling say? “My dear papa, why leave us thus? Why thus in prison stay?
“‘“For poor mamma and I All lonely live at home, And every day we watch and wait, And wish papa would come?”
“‘No; all alike to thee Thy mother’s grief or mirth; Nor know’st thou one of all the ills Which mark thy mournful birth.
“‘Thy lips one art alone, One loving, simple grace, By nature’s instinct have been taught; Seek, then, thy nestling-place!
“‘Spread out thy little hand; Thy mother’s bosom press, And thus return, in grateful guise, Her more sincere caress.
“‘Go, darling infant, go; Thine hour has passed away; The jailer’s harsh, discordant voice Forbids thy longer stay.