“I wrote you on the 24th ultimo. Perhaps this letter will go by the same conveyance. Wife went down to Calcutta, for a few days, to do a little business, leaving the two younger children with me. On the 27th dear little Henry’s disorder took an unfavorable turn. He had derived less benefit from the voyage and change than the other children, being too young to have his mind engaged and diverted, which greatly contributes to bodily recovery; and being considered less dangerously ill than the others, had, perhaps, less attention paid him than was desirable. His disorder had continued to hold on, though at times greatly mitigated. On the 28th he grew worse, and I wrote down for his mother, and in the evening began to despair of his life. On the 29th the doctor gave him up; and my only prayer was, that he might not die before his mother arrived. Oh, what heavy hours now passed! She arrived with the other children in the night, about two o’clock, and sprang to the cradle of the little sufferer, and could not think that he was really in a dying state. I let her take her own way, and she contrived to give him a little wine and water, which, however, could be of no avail; and when morning came, the marks of death on the countenance were too visible for even the unwilling mother to refuse to acknowledge. We spent the day hanging over our dying babe, and giving him some liquid, for which he was always calling, to relieve his burning thirst. When I said, ‘Henry, my son,’ he would raise his sinking eyelids, and try to stretch out his little arms for me to take him; but he could not bear to be held more than a moment before he would cry to be laid down again. Oh, how restless did he spend his last day, rolling from side to side, and crying out, ‘Nahnee,’ his imperfect pronunciation of naughty, by which term he was in the habit of expressing his disapprobation or dissatisfaction. In the afternoon he became convulsed for a few moments, and our hearts were rent to witness the distortion of his dear little mouth and face. After that he was more quiet; but toward evening he probably had some violent stroke of death, for he suddenly screamed out in great pain. In the evening he had another turn of convulsion. His mother lay down by his side, and, worn out with fatigue, fell fast asleep. About nine o’clock I had gone into another room, and was lying down, when a servant called me. He began to breathe loud, indicative of the closing scene. I let the mother sleep—sat down by his side, and presently called, as usual, ‘Henry, my son’; upon which he opened his eyes, and looked at me more intelligently and affectionately than he had been able to do for some time; but the effort was too great, and he ceased to breathe. I instantly awoke his mother; he then gave two or three expiring gasps, and it was all over. I stripped the little emaciated body, and washed it, while his mother, with the help of a servant, made a suitable gown; and by eleven o’clock he was laid out in the same cradle in which he died. For a few days Elnathan had been ill with a severe cough and fever, and my attention had been divided between the two. After poor Henry was quiet, we turned all our attention to the others. The two elder children were much better. Next morning we had a coffin made, in which we placed our dear child; and sometimes, when other avocations permitted, looked at him through the day. And oh, how sweet was his dead face! though there was an expression of pain lurking in some of the features. At night a few of our friends came together, and we carried the coffin to the mission burial-ground, where, after a prayer by Mr. Mack, the body was deposited in its final resting-place. Farewell, my darling son Henry. While thy little body rests in the grave, I trust that thy spirit, through the grace of Jesus Christ, is resting in Paradise. We intend to order a small monument erected with this inscription: ‘The grave of Henry Judson, youngest son of the Rev. A. Judson, of Maulmain, who died July 30, 1841, aged one year and seven months.’

“Elnathan was very ill last night, and is not much better to-day. We tremble for him. The vessel in which we are going to the Isle of France, we hear, is to remain a few days longer, so that I will add a further line before leaving.

“Calcutta, August 6. We have come down to this place with a view to embarking; but the vessel is still detained. Elnathan appears to be very ill, with a complication of complaints. We are in great distress about him. The two elder children continue better.

“In haste, yours affectionately,

A. Judson.

“August 13. We are still waiting the moving of the vessel, but shall positively go on board the 16th. Elnathan is much better, so that we hope the danger of losing him is past. The other children continue to improve. Farewell for the present.

“P. S.—I enclose a small lock of poor dear Henry’s hair. We are very sad whenever we think of that bright, sweet boy. It was the will of God that he should be taken from us; so we must be resigned, and I hope that he is now waiting to welcome us to the Paradise where, we trust, he has safely arrived. Two vessels have just come in from America, but we have got nothing from you. Perhaps there may be a letter or some box which will be forwarded to Maulmain.”

Bidding farewell to the newly-made grave, Mr. and Mrs. Judson, with their sick children, embarked on board the Ramsay, Captain Hamlin. The voyage to the Isle of France occupied about six weeks, and as the monsoon was drawing to a close, the storms were very frequent, sudden and severe. Mr. Judson writes under date of August 22, 1841:

“Dear Mrs. H.: We are on board the Ramsay, pitching most fearfully. We have been lying several days waiting for the weather, and have now got up anchor, so that I am writing a line or two to send back by the pilot.”

And Mrs. Judson thus records their experience: