The above inscription was written by Mr. Judson on the fly-leaf of a volume of Burmese Hymns, compiled by Mrs. Sarah B. Judson, and presented by him to a lady in New York. ]
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The _Sophia Walker_, with Mr. Judson and his three children on board, arrived at Boston October 15, 1845. The missionary who had been so long absent from his native land felt considerable anxiety before going on shore as to where he should secure suitable lodgings in the city. He little dreamed that every home would be thrown open to him, and that soon his progress from city to city would almost assume the proportions of a triumphal march. He was ill prepared for such an enthusiastic greeting. He naturally shrank from observation. He was in exceedingly delicate health. His pulmonary difficulty prevented his speaking much above a husky whisper. He had so long used a foreign tongue that it was hard work for him to form sentences in English. He could address an audience only at second-hand, whispering his words to a speaker at his side, who would convey them to the ears of the hearers. Naturally humble and shy, he found it exceedingly distasteful to be publicly harangued and eulogized. On one occasion, an eye-witness[62] relates that while the returned missionary was listening to words of eloquent praise addressed to him in the presence of a great concourse of people, “his head sank lower and lower until the chin seemed to touch his breast.” He wrote to the Corresponding Secretary: “My chief object in writing is to beg that I may be excused from attending any more such meetings until I get a little better. I expect to be in Boston to-morrow, and shall want two or three days for some necessary business, and propose to go to Worcester on Friday or Saturday; and if I could spend next Sabbath alone in some chamber, I should feel it a great privilege, both as a refreshment to the soul and a relief to the body.”
He had come home to find that his native country was almost a strange land. The railroad system had sprung into existence during his absence. He entered the cars at Worcester one day, and had just taken his seat, when a boy came along with the daily newspapers.[63] He said to Mr. Judson, “Do you want a paper, sir?” “Yes, thank you,” the missionary replied, and taking the paper began to read. The newsboy stood waiting for his pay until a lady passenger, occupying the same seat with Mr. Judson, said to him, “The boy expects to be paid for his paper.” “Why,” replied the missionary, with the utmost surprise, “I have been distributing papers gratuitously in Burmah so long that I had no idea the boy was expecting any pay.”
He often disappointed public assemblies by declining to relate his own adventures, telling instead the old story of the cross. A lady thus describes an address which he made in the little country church in Eaton, New York:
“After the usual sermon was over, he spoke for about fifteen minutes, with singular simplicity, and, as I thought, with touching pathos, of the ‘precious Saviour,’ what He has done for us, and what we owe to Him. As he sat down, however, it was evident, even to the most unobservant eye, that most of the listeners were disappointed. After the exercises were over, several persons inquired of me, frankly, why Dr. Judson had not talked of something else; why he had not told a story, etc., etc.; while others signified their disappointment by not alluding to his having spoken at all. On the way home, I mentioned the subject to him.
“‘Why, what did they want?’ he inquired; ‘I presented the most interesting subject in the world, to the best of my ability.’
“‘But they wanted something different—a story.’
“‘Well, I am sure I gave them a story—the most thrilling one that can be conceived of.’
“‘But they had heard it before. They wanted something new of a man who had just come from the antipodes.’
“‘Then I am glad to have it to say, that a man coming from the antipodes had nothing better to tell than the wondrous story of Jesus’ dying love. My business is to preach the Gospel of Christ, and when I can speak at all, I dare not trifle with my commission. When I looked upon those people to-day, and remembered where I should next meet them, how could I stand up and furnish food to vain curiosity—tickle their fancies with amusing stories, however decently strung together on a thread of religion? That is not what Christ meant by preaching the Gospel. And then, how could I hereafter meet the fearful charge, “I gave you one opportunity to tell them of me—you spent it in describing your own adventures!”’”
The following reminiscence of Mr. Judson’s preaching in Plymouth has been kindly contributed by the Rev. Dr. D. W. Faunce, now of Washington, D. C.: