A HEAVY AFFLICTION.
[Illustration: Ann Hasseltine Judson]
When Mrs. Judson had been in Rangoon six months she was taken somewhat
seriously ill, and it was deemed advisable that she should go to Madras,
both for the sea voyage and in order to obtain skilled Medical advice,
which could not be had in Rangoon. She met with nothing but kindness all
the way. The Viceroy granted her special permission to take a native
woman as her attendant, a thing which was deemed a very great favour
indeed, as no native woman was usually allowed to leave the country. The
captain of the vessel in which she sailed refused to accept any money
for the passage; and when she sent the physician who attended to her
seventy rupees in payment for his advice, he returned them with an
expression of pleasure in having been of any service to her. She went
back to Rangoon renewed in health, and a few months later she became the
mother of a little boy.
For a short time the baby was the treasure of the mission-house. In
their loneliness and separation from all friends, the hearts of the
father and mother went out to their little one, and he became even more
to them than an only child usually is to its parents. The Burmans
regarded him as quite a curiosity, for he was the only purely white
infant in the place. The baby would lie quietly for hours on a mat in
the study, while his parents were poring over their books, and when work
was done they would throw the palm leaves on one side, take up the boy,
and carry him in state around the house and garden. His presence seemed
to light up the home with a new and sacred joy; but he was not to be
there long. When he had completely twined himself around his parents'
hearts he was taken away, for after a few days' illness he died when
only eight months old.
This sore affliction was the means of drawing out much sympathy from
many of the natives. The chief wife of the Viceroy had been greatly
attracted by the little lad when he was alive, and on hearing of his
death she paid a visit of condolence to his parents, accompanied by her
official attendants, numbering some two hundred people. "Why did you not
send me word, that I might come to the funeral?" she asked, smiting her
breast and showing every sign of sorrow. The heart-broken mother replied
that her grief was so great that she did not think of it, and the Burman
lady then did her best to comfort her, and strove with warm, womanly
sympathy to make her forget her loss.