“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?