She sweetly sang, and died.”
In a letter written to his mother and sister after his return to Maulmain, he betrays the fact that he was still far from perfect convalescence:
“Maulmain, August 9, 1839.
“On this day I enter my fifty-second year. Fifty-one years have rolled over my head, twenty-six of which have been spent in this heathen land. I believe I write you more frequently than I used to. I am not so much driven in my studies as formerly, and the weakness and irritability of my lungs, though much better, do not yet suffer me to use my voice in public. Add to which that I have a family of young children growing up around me, so that my mind has become more domesticated, and returns with more readiness and frequency to the scenes of my own childhood. Twenty-seven years and a half have passed since we parted in Plymouth and in Boston, during which time my father and brother, and his family, and my first family, have all been swept away by death. You two only remain, and my present family, whom you have never seen. I sometimes feel concerned for my three little children, from the fact that I was advanced in life when they were born, and can not, therefore, expect to live to see them grown up and happily settled before I shall be removed. Even if my present complaint should not terminate in consumption, I can hardly expect to hold out many more years in this climate; so that I have the prospect of leaving them fatherless in the very bloom of youth, when they will especially need a father’s support and care. However, I endeavor daily to commend them to God, and trust that, when I come to die, I shall be enabled to avail myself of the command and promise, ‘Leave thy fatherless children; I will preserve them alive; and let thy widows trust in me’ (Jer. xlix. 11).
“Abby Ann has begun to go to school with Julia Osgood to Mrs. Simons, who, with her husband, is here from Rangoon, expecting a war with Burmah, and has set up an English school. Abby attends every forenoon, and just begins to read words of one syllable. Adoniram says, ‘I want go school’; but he stays at home, and deports himself like a little man. Elnathan has been very ill. We thought we should lose him; but he is now better, and begins to be bright and playful.
“I do wish you could call in and make us a visit. We would try to make you so comfortable that you would not wish to return to old Plymouth. However, it is of little consequence where we spend the short remnant of life. Heaven is before us. Let us pray much, and live devoted to God, and we shall soon be united in that happy world where there is no dividing sea.
“Can’t you give me some account of your house, and furniture, and neighbors, and street, so that I can form a little idea how you are situated? I have tried to glean some particulars from the Stevenses; but transient passers can not be expected to give much satisfactory information. And when you write, leave a good place for the wafer of your letter, as you see I do; otherwise there are sometimes words which I can not make out. I shall be glad when any of the little ones shall be able to conjure out a scrawl to their grandmother and aunt. Pray for them, that they may be early converted to God. Perhaps mother will add a line with her own hand when you write. Dear mother, I wish I could make you some return for all the trouble I once gave you.
Yours ever, A. Judson.”
The native Christians at Maulmain were glad enough, after an interval of ten months, to hear again the voice of their beloved teacher, though he still spoke in feeble accents.
Mrs. Judson writes to his mother: