My child-life in Burmah, or, Recollections and incidents

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MY

Child-Life in Burmah;

OR,

Recollectiojts and Incidents,

OLIVE JENNIE BIXBY.

H. M. BIXBY, M.D.,

PROVIDENCE, R.I.

Copyright, 1880,
By W. G. CORTHELL.

Stereotyped and Printed

By Rand, Avery, d- Company^

117 Franklin Street,

Boston.

INTRODUCTION.

To the literature of Christian missions in foreign
lands, there have been added of late frequent and
excellent contributions. It is a cheering fact, that
the number of those who read books treating of
heathen communities, and of the labors, the struggles,
and the achievements of the heroic men and women
who have been and are now engaged in the noble
work of propagating the gospel of Christ in unevan-
gelized countries, is being rapidly multiplied. The
geography, the topography, and the natural produc-
tions of the lands to which missionaries, in increasing
numbers, are being sent from Christian countries ; the
pohtical governments, the social customs, the home
life, the moral condition, the religious worship, and
the spiritual destitution of the dominant nations and
numerous subject tribes among whom missions are
being planted, — are more extensively and far better
known to-day than ever before. As a result, there is
a more prevalent, intelligent, and fervid zeal among
Christians in Christian lands, to enlighten and save
the benighted and perishing millions of souls in

VI INTRODUCTION.

heathen lands. Let such books be multiplied and
read, let such knowledge as they convey be more
widely and rapidly disseminated in Christian churches
and family circles at home, and we may confidently
anticipate, as the outcome of an advancing acquaint-
ance with missions, a more general, vigorous, and
efficient prosecution of the grand work of the world's
evangelization.

The manuscript of this unpretentious volume, now
to be sent forth on its errand of instruction and useful-
ness, was placed in my hands by its author, with the
request that I would examine it ; and, if upon exam-
ination I should think it worthy of publication, she
would have me write for it an introduction. The
manuscript I have read through with unabating inter-
est ; and it gives me unfeigned pleasure to perform the
slight service which has been asked of me.

The \vriter, who here tells the story of her child-
hood passed with her worthy missionary parents in
Burmah, presents herself before the public in the
capacity of an author, with very great hesitation. It is
simple justice to say in her behalf, that she has found
it difficult to overcome her reluctance to prepare this
narrative for publication. She has braced herself to
the task under appeals and encouragement from
friends, who heard her read, at a woman's missionary
meeting, a brief paper in which she simply attempted
to give a few reminiscences of her early life among a
heathen people. Those friends felt persuaded that,

INTRODUCTION. VU

with such amplification as that paper was capable of
receiving at her hands, she could make a book that
was much needed, and might be eminently attractive
and useful in Sunday schools and family circles. Thus
prompted to extend her effort in that direction, and
encouraged to hope that she might render some valua-
ble service to the cause of missions, she proceeded to
make a larger draft upon her memory, and to call up
such scenes and incidents in her child-life in Burmah
as are found described in the following pages. She
has, we think, performed the task, undertaken at the
solicitation of others, with admirable simplicity and
directness. In a style unaffected and lucid, she pre-
sents simple facts, making no attempt to attain to the
romantic and sensational, though that were easy and
allowable with such materials as she had at her com-
mand. But she gives us a map instead of a painted
landscape. Macaulay, contrasting two methods of
writing history, remarks, " The picture, though it places
the country before us, does not enable us to ascertain
with accuracy the dimensions, the distances, and the
angles." The map, he proceeds to say, " presents no
scene to the imagination, but it gives us exact infor-
mation as to the bearings of the various points, and is
a more useful companion to the traveller or the gen-
eral than the painted landscape could be." The
author of this book on " My Childhood " is evidently
and supremely intent on presenting her readers with
" exact information," aiming at verity, simplicity and

via INTRODLXTION.

usefulness, rather than embeUishment, picturesque-
ness, and fascination. But we venture to say that ah
who shall begin to read this book will continue to
read to the close. It deserves, and we hope it will
have, a wide circulation.

w. s. Mckenzie,

District Secretary, A. B. M. U.
Boston, June 22, 1S80.

PREFACE.

On board the sailing ship " Ino," May, 1856, off the
coast of the Cape of Good Hope, a missionary was
walking the floor of his cabin, carrying in his arms the
tiny, wasted form of his infant child ; while in the berth
near by lay the fond, suffering mother, unable to min-
ister to the simplest wants of her babe. Deprived of
all natural nutriment, and sustained only by the sweet-
ened, soft-boiled rice, prepared by the father's hand,
the life of the sick child hung by a very slender thread.
The mother's feet were even now bathed in the first
rippling waters of the river of death ; but, looking up
into the face of him who was almost crushed by his
weight of woe, she said, " I shall die, but little Jennie
will live to be a solace to her father when I am gone."

From my earliest recollection an intense desire has
possessed my soul to consecrate the life, so wonder-
fully spared, to the work of leading to Jesus the desti-

X PREFACE.

tute millions in the land of my birth. And if through

the following pages any are led to devote themselves,

their means, or their prayers, to this glorious cause, I

shall be amply repaid.

THE AUTHOR-
PROVIDENCE, R.I., June 22, 1880.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

BuRMAH, First Impressions. — Stay in Rangoon.—

Up the Toungoo River 13

CHAPTER II.

Home of My Childhood. — The Bazaar. — The Pa-
goda.— Early Converts 23

CHAPTER III.

The New House. — Reptiles and Insects. — The
Century-Palm. — Fruit-Trees. — The Banian.
Flowering and Medicinal Plants. — Cultiva-
tion OF Rice 3^

CHAPTER IV.

The Animals of Burmah 5^

CHAPTER V.

Transmigration. — Religious Festivities. — Races

and Costumes. — National Peculiarities. . 67

CHAPTER VI.

Heathen Funerals. — The Priesthood. — Buddh-
ism 79

3d

Xii CONTENTS.

CHAPTER VII.

The Seasons. — Glimpses at Missionary Occupa-
TioNS. — The School. — Mountain-Travel. —
Story of Moung Ong 86

CHAPTER VIII.

Travel in Burmaii 98

CHAPTER IX.

Shway-da-Gong. — Mah MGng 106

CHAPTER X.

The First Separation. — Boghyee. — Moung See

Dee. — The Padoung:: 121

CHAPTER XI.
Seven Weeks upon the Mountains . • . .132

CHAPTER XII.

Last Days in Burmah. — Return to America. —

Missionaries' Children 164

MY

CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH,

CHAPTER I.

BuRMAH, First Impressions. — Stay in Rangoon. — Up

THE TOUNGOO RiVER.

THE Burman Empire lies between the
Salwen River on the east and the Brah-
mapootra on the north-west and north; while
its western and southern shores are washed
by the Bay of Bengal, which separates it from
the peninsula of Hindostan.

Besides the noble rivers which form its
boundaries, its entire length from north to
south is traversed by the Irrawaddy, which,
after a course of twelve hundred miles, empties
by many mouths into the Bay of Bengal.
Rangoon, the chief seaport of Burmah, is sit-
uated on one pf the mouths of this river, and
has a fine harbor.

«3

14 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

Imagine yourself on board a British steam-
ship, slowly making its way into the harbor of
Rangoon.

It is one of the perfect days so well known
in the tropics. There is a softness entirely
new to you in the breezes that come from the
shore, laden with the breath of flowers and the
odors of sweet spices. There is a profounder
depth to the fathomless blue above, and a
fairer tint to the fleeting clouds, than you are
accustomed to see in our dear New Enccland.
Land, which a few hours ago presented itself
in dusky line along the horizon, is now clearly
visible. An extensive plain lies before you,
presenting the varied beauties of a tropical
landscape. As you approach the city, little
boats come out, bringing mangos, cocoanuts,
plantains, and other fruits for sale. You see a
confused mass of trees, houses, and pagodas,
rising, apparently, to the clouds ; but gradually
confusion gives way to order. You see dis-
tinctly the great Shway-da-Gong pagoda, whose
gilded '' H'tce" or umbrella-top, glistens in the
sunshine. You hear a grating sound : it is the
anchor thrown overboard, and the cable paid
out. The noble ship that has been your home
for forty days rests. You clamber down the

ARRIVAL IN RANGOON. 1 5

sides into the ship's boat, or native sampan,
waiting to receive you. A few strokes of the
oars by the half-naked, brawny boatman, and
you are clambering up the wet and slippery
steps of the ''fdah,'' or wharf. You hear the
hum and noise of a busy city ; you are sur-
rounded by dusky faces, and bewildered by
strange sights and sounds.

It was thus that my father and my mother
found the long journey with its perplexing
changes over, and themselves on Burmah's
shore. I was then five years old, and looking
for the first time consciously upon my native
land.

The ever-open door of the hospitable mis-
sionary received us to its friendly shelter.

Toward evening the day after our arrival, my
father and mother, taking me with them, drove
out to a neighboring: villasfe to secure for a

o o o

teacher a man who had been recommended to
them as speaking several languages. We found
hmi surrounded by a group of natives, a marked
man among them. Lithe of figure, with a bril-
liant black eye and intelligent face, he seemed
just the one they wanted. He promised to come
the next day ; and, true to his word, he arrived
before six o'clock in the morning. It was inter-

l6 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

esting to see his awe and wonder as he entered
the Christian home, so different from his own.
He could hardly return the salutations, but sank
upon his heels in the centre of the room, and
thrusting his cigar into the lobe of one ear, —
a beautiful orchid ornamented the other, — he
gazed about the room. Arrangements were
completed, and he became my parents' teacher
in the Shan language during their month's stay
in Rangoon.

Our home was to be in Toungoo, about two
hundred miles, by the river, north of Rangoon.
When the time for our departure arrived, Moung
Saing, the teacher, wished very much to accom-
pany us ; but his wife was unwilling to go. II
he left her she would be free, according to Shan
custom, to marry whomsoever she chose. He
was ready to risk that, but of course my father
would not allow it. Not long after, she died,
and he came to us in Toungoo. The second
day after his arrival, he came to the house early
in the morning, his black eyes twinkling, and
his face all aglow. Sitting down on the floor
directly in front of my father, he began to talk
rapidly and earnestly. The substance of his
communication was this : He had met among
our people, the day before, a Shan woman, who,

A VISIT FROM MY NURSE. 1 7

with her father, had just arrived from the Shan
States. He said she was beautiful and interest-
ing, and wilUng to marry him ; and, if the teacher
did not forbid, he would take her for his wife.
The teacher asked if he was sufficiently ac-
quainted with her. " Oh, yes ! very well ac-
quainted," he said: *'he had talked with her
the evening before."

It was not exactly in accordance with the
Christian view of the acquaintance that should
precede a marriage that is to be a sacred, last-
ing obligation ; but it was native heathen cus-
tom, and nothing better could be expected of
them. They were married by eating rice to-
gether, and remained with us as long as I staid
in the country.

While in Rangoon we received a visit from
Mah Men Tha, who was my nurse during the
first three months of my life, for I was born in
Maulmain during my father's first residence in
the country. My nurse was very glad to see
her '' mengalayj' or little girl. She then had a
nice family of children, and was bringing them
up in the fear of the Lord.

At the end of a month my father had com-
pleted his arrangements for going up the river.
He had hired a native boat, stored it with pro-

1 8 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

visions for twenty days, and loaded it with sup-
plies for future use in Toungoo. It had no bed,
chair, or table ; but, having spread some clean
mats on the bottom, we took possession of it for
the journey. How can I give an idea of this
floating habitation? The Burmans estimate the
size of boats by the number of baskets of
paddy, or unhusked rice, which they will hold.
A boat that would contain three hundred bas-
kets of paddy answered our purpose. It was
about thirty feet long. The helmsman occu-
pied a high chair in the stern, while at his feet
a little coop covered with thatch served as a
shelter for us. A large barrel tipped over on
one side, and open at either end, would resem-
ble it in shape. A little in front was a place,
emphatically sitting-room, for the thatch roof
was so low that no grown person could stand
erect. Our seats were lockers on either side ;
a board placed from end to end was our table.
In this elegant style we passed a little more
than three weeks. The boatmen with their
oars and poles and chatties and rice occupied
the front of the boat. Rowinc: when the tide
was favorable, poling when there was no tide,
catching at the stout grass and bushes on the
bank when some quick, sharp eddy would carry

A RIVER IN BURMAH. I9

UP THE TOUNGOO RIVER. 21

US down, we made our slow, monotonous way
up to our future home. The banks of the
river were diversified with impenetrable jungle,
groves of tall trees, patches of cultivated lands,
and here and there a village, a priest's kJiy-
oung, and a pagoda. Most of the pagodas were
old, some in ruins ; one in particular was over-
grown quite to the summit with grass, weeds,
and flowers. Along the banks, as the tide re-
ceded, we saw the tracks of numerous croco-
diles ; and in the eddies, or little pools which
the waters left, were many little fish cut off from
retreat, which the tall white rice-bird, the bril-
liant flamingo, and the pouch-billed pelican
eagerly devoured, or carried away for their
young.

Sometimes a huge crocodile would be seen
basking in the sun. What man or boy, with a
gun in the boat, could resist the impulse to fire
at him } The surprised creature with a sudden
plunge would disappear, but we soon saw him
again floating as calmly as if nothing had trans-
pired.

Monkeys grinned and chattered in the trees,
sometimes following us along the banks, making
what might seem, with a little stretch of the
imagination on the Darwin side, frantic efforts

22 MV CHILD-LIFE L\ BURMAH.

for the recognition of their cousins in the boat.
Indeed, as I recall the scene, the monkeys, the
natives, and the missionaries, I am half inclined
to ask. Are we evolved ? But there is this fact
for answer : the monkeys are monkeys still ;
they grin no more gracefully, they chatter no
more grammatically, than they did ages ago.
The natives, some of them, are chansied. In-
stead of wallowing stolid and half-nude in the
mud, they are sitting clothed and in their right
minds. They have been evolved from the
depths and darkness of heathenism into the
light of the knowledge of God.

The solitary palm-tree, giving name to the
village of Tantabin, and the steep banks of the
river, showing that we were near Toungoo, were
a welcome sight. As we approached the land-
ing, we saw the venerable Dr. Mason walking
up and down the bank with his step-daughter,
Miss Helen Bullard, waiting our arrival. The
sight of those bright Christian faces in the
midst of heathenism was like a gleam of sun-
shine to our hearts.

HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 23

CHAPTER II.

Home of my Childhood. — The Bazaar. — Pagoda. — Our
First House. — Early Converts.

We were now in Toungoo, a city dear to the
Burmans as the ancient capital of the empire,
their pride as a populous, thrifty city, their joy
as a centre for peaceful homes. To the English
it was an important military station, the last
taken by them from the Burman king : it was
also a centre of trade, consisting largely in tim-
ber, earth-oil, salt, rice, and lacquer-work. To
the missionary it was a hot-bed of heathenism,
the city and district containing hundreds of
thousands who had never heard the gospel. It
was, nevertheless, a hopeful field. Refreshing
dews of heavenly grace had already fallen on
the parched and thirsty ground, and showers of
xnercy were yet in store. It was to me my
childhood's home, beautiful Toungoo. Never
to be forgotten are the emotions and experiences
associated with it. Its picture is clear upon
memory's tablet. Standing on the river's bank

24 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

not far from our home, and looking eastward,
the turbid current of the Sitang River rolls at
your feet. Beyond it is an interval of open,
cultivated land, Burman and Karen villages,
dense jungles, tall forests, and lofty mountains ;
and spread over all — sometimes like a filmy
gauze, sometimes like burnished gold, and some-
times a clear ethereal blue — is the eastern sky.
Turning to the west, a little streak of civili-
zation — the English department — lies before
you, separated by a moat from the crumbling
walls of the pagan city.^ Crossing the moat by
the principal thoroughfare, you enter the city's
crowded streets, and soon come to the busy ba-
zaar. At the entrance you notice the ** tables,"
with little piles of rupees and other coins upon
them, and **the money-changers sitting." Pass-
ing along through numerous stalls, you will find
in one a turbaned Mohammedan selling bright-
colored handkerchiefs. In another, a wide-
trousered Hindoo ready to serve you with mus-
lins, calicoes, and white cloth : the larger the
number of yards you buy, the higher the price
he wishes per yard. In other places are Bur-

* This moat was formerly easily filled with water. It is now
dry, and in many places filled up, and cultivated with vegetables
and flowers.

THE PALACE-GROUND. 2$

man women with trays of jack-fruit, plantains,
oranges, and cigars ; Shans with beautiful lac-
quer boxes, and coolies with odorous *' nga-
pce^ ^ Here and there sits a Persian, calmly
smoking his fragrant hookah. Timid Karens,
black, white, and red,^ flit back and forth, mak-
ing purchases for their mountain homes. The
brisk Chinaman, the sauntering English soldier,
the proud Jew, old and young, boys and girls,
meet and mingle, buy and sell, barter and get
gain. You hear a jargon of voices that makes
you think of the Tower of Babel ; you see sights
(rom which you instinctively turn away ; and you
inhale odors that send you in haste, and half
breathless, into the outer and open air.

Leaving the bazaar, and passing through the
city by the principal street, which the English
government has made a pleasant drive, you come
to the old palace-ground, a beautiful level green-
sward. Not a vestige of its former grandeur
remains. Tall century -palms are growing from
the ruins of its old wall, and native huts are
crowding into its sacred precincts. Near this

* Fish are spread upon mats, and exposed to the sun for sev-
eral days. They are then gathered up, and spices put in to
arrest the decomposition. It is then potted, and kept for use.

* So called on account of the prevailing color of their dress.

26 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

ground is a somewhat remarkable pagoda. It is
called Shway-san-daw, or the Pagoda of the
Golden Hair, because it is said that three of
Gaudama's hairs were laid beneath its founda-
tions. Near the pagoda, as usual, is the idol-
house. The principal idol in this is a reclining
image of their dead and annihilated god, Gau-
dama. Smaller images in sitting posture, made
of marble, bronze metal, brick or wood, gilded
or ungilded, are placed in niches or on shelves
around the walls. There are often thank-offer-
ings from persons who have received special
blessings, as they suppose, in answer to their
prayers. Before the image are placed little
wooden candlesticks, holding very small candles
which are sometimes lighted ; and small carved
pedestals to which are fixed strips of paper on
which a prayer is written, and thus continually
offered, bringing great merit to the suppliant.
Sometimes bamboo sticks, split at one end and
driven into the ground at the other, hold these
continually offered prayers ; but, the costlier the
gift, the greater the blessing. Before all these
are placed clean mats, on which men and boys
kneel, or prostrate themselves, to say their
prayers. Farther removed and lower down,
trampled over by careless feet, is the place for

HEATHEN DEVOTION. 2/

the women and girls in their devotions. Their
touch would pollute the higher platform ; but
here they may humbly worship their partial god.
A wooden shelf is placed on bamboo sticks near
by. as an altar to receive the offerings of rice,
plantains, and hard-boiled eggs, which crows
and dogs speedily devour ; but it makes no dif-
ference to the devotee : he obtains merit, what-
ever becomes of his offering. The inhabitants
of the town and villages around come often in
great numbers to this pagoda, to bring their
gifts, and say their prayers. They have no sab-
bath, but every eighth day from the new moon
is a worship-day, and special offerings are car-
ried to the pagoda. Sometimes a fit of devotion
seizes some man who wishes special merit, or
hopes to become a god ; and, taking a little sil-
ver gong, he goes through the city every even-
ing before sunset, beating his gong, and calling
in a sing-song tone for the people to come and
worship at the pagoda. He soon has a train of
followers, increasing as he proceeds, chiefly of
women and children, bearing bright flowers,
parched rice, and paper prayers, to leave at the
sacred shrine. TJiey worship with their sub-
stance : when shall all Christians learn to honor
God with theirs ?

2S MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

Returning to the bazaar, wc find near it our
chapel, the only one in all that city devoted to
the worship of the true God. Around it cluster
precious memories. Not far from it is a Catho-
lic church, a Mohammedan mosque, a Jewish
synagogue, and an elegant Brahmin temple.
All forms of Paganism and all kinds of sin are
found in these Eastern cities. The missionary
dwells here, as did the church in Pergamos,
"even where Satan's seat is."

In Dr. Mason's hospitable house we made our
home for three or four weeks, until my father
succeeded in obtaining a house for himself.
This was no easy matter, for "a tenement to
let" is not often found in a native town. At
last he secured a house situated in cantonment,
and once occupied by an English officer. It
was in a dilapidated condition, the roof being
almost entirely gone, and the walls falling to
pieces. As this was the rainy season, a roof
was indispensable. The natives soon constructed
one of thatch, and, platting wide strips of bam-
boo for the walls, tied them to the upright posts,
and our house was ready. It fronted the parade-
ground, which was a source of great pleasure
to me ; for, as Toungoo was under the Queen's
protection, part of a British regiment was sta-

EARLY CONVERTS. 29

tioned there, and used the ground for their drills
and dress-parades. Occasionally the band played
there for an hour in the evening.

A short time before our arrival, several thou-
sand Shans had taken refuge in British Burmah
from oppressive Burman taxation, and had set-
tled about seven miles from Toungoo. For
incidents connected with our work among them,
see the book entitled ** Our Gold-Mine," written
by Mrs. Ada C. Chaplin.

The first convert to Christianity was a Burman
woman, baptized in 1 861. Others soon followed,
notwithstanding bitter persecution. The case
of Moung O was particularly interesting to me.
He was employed in the care of our ponies, but
spent much of his leisure time in reading the
Bible. God's word is quick and powerful, and
he soon accepted it as the guide of his life.
One day, while he was leading my pony, I asked
him, ''Moung O, do you love Jesus.?" He
quickly answered, ''Hoke, mengalay'' ("Yes,
little one "). ** Then, why are you not baptized,
as Jesus commands } " — " Ah ! " he said, ** if I
confess Christ, my friends will all persecute me."
Not long after, he took up his cross, and followed
Jesus into the watery grave. Immediately the
storm of persecution which he foresaw burst

30 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

upon him. His wife refused to live with him,
and his friends forsook him. I remember well
the evening when he came from his house with
a little bundle under his arm ; and, sitting down
our steps, he said, '' Teacher, I have no friends
now : I have come to live with you. I love my
wife, but I love Jesus more'' He began imme-
diately to prepare himself to preach. It was
not long before his wife returned to him, and,
after much urging, consented to live on our
premises ; still she avoided all religious influ-
ence. After a while, at the hour of our evening
Burman worship she would sit on the steps out-
side, where she could hear the singing. Soon
she came to the doorway, and one evening crept
inside. It was not long before she joined the
praying band, and for years the two were faith-
ful laborers for the Master. Both have since
died in the faith.

CHANGE OF RESIDENCE. 3 1

CHAPTER III.

The New House. — Reptiles and Insects. — The Cen-
tury-palm. — Fruit-trees. — The Banian. — Flower-
ing AND Medicinal Plants. — Cultivation of Rice.

When I was about eight years old, my father
built a house for the mission on a lot opposite
the main entrance to the city, where four prin-
cipal streets met. It was a most favorable loca-
tion for access to the people. The house was
built mainly of plain teak boards, and resem-
bled, on the inside, a country barn, with beams
and rafters in plain view. To secure the free
circulation of air, the house was raised upon
posts so high that a carriage could drive under
it, and from its piazza I have stepped upon the
back of an elephant. The building of a house
in Burmah is a very different affair from what
it is here. The first thing to be done is to send
to the forests for timber. Two kinds of timber
are chiefly used in building, — teak and iron-
wood. Teak is prized for its durability, delicacy
of fibre, and beauty of finish, in which respect

32 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

it greatly resembles mahogany. It is also proof
against white ants, who delight to devour almost
every thing else. Ironwood, as its name implies,
is valuable for hardness and durability. Natives
are very careless of the forests, and would cut
down any and every tree as their present inter-
est or caprice might dictate ; but the English
government has an interest in preserving these
valuable woods, and they are watched over by
persons called, as in England, foresters. The
trees being selected, they are cut down by na-
tives, not with axes, for they have none, but with
'' dahsy' or large knives. The branches are cut
off, and the trunks are dragged by elephants to
the river, whence they are floated down to a con-
venient place near the town. Here a pit is dug,
across which the logs to be sawed into boards
are placed. Two men taking a long saw with
a handle at each end, and standing one in the
pit and one on the log above, slowly and labori-
ously accomplish the work of sawing. The
ironwood trunks that are to be the po^ts of the
house are taken to the spot selected for building.
Then follows the raising, which reminds one of
the old times in New England. Forty or fifty
men are gathered together. First, with narrow
spades about two inches in width, they dig holes

THE RAISING. 33

in the earth four or five feet deep and about ten
feet apart. Into these holes the solid trunks of
the trees are placed, and made to stand upright.
These vary in length from fifteen to thirty feet,
the shortest supporting the floor and the longest
the roof. Great excitement prevails when these
are set up ; as they have no machinery but ropes,
bamboos, and their brawny hands. When these
posts are placed, and fixed by means of cross-
pieces nailed to them, the ** raising " is done, and
then follows the feast. A bushel of rice has been
boiled without salt, and a condiment (or curry)
made to eat with it, consisting of a little beef or
fish, a great deal of red pepper, a plenty of some
vegetable oil, and a variety of aromatic seeds
carefully rubbed into a paste between two
stones. A washbowl-full of rice and a cup of
curry are taken out for the head man, or master
workman, w^ho eats by himself ; and the rest is
poured into large trays, around which all indis-
criminately ''fall to," and, without knives or
spoons, soon leave nothing but the trays re-
maining. Unfortunate is the one who eats
longest, as he must wash the tray. After this,
a basket of bananas or pine-apples and cigars
completes the festival, and the satisfied, care-
less coolies saunter home. The carpenter then

34 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

takes up the work, and with a " dahj' hammer,
and chisel, for his box of tools, slowly con-
structs a habitation which, when occupied by a
Christian family, has in it all the elements of
home.

Sometimes a post will be too long. The car-
penter carefully measures the amount to be cut
off, and then, lest he should remove too much,
takes about half of it for his first cutting. With
hammer and chisel, bit by bit he cuts off this
portion, and then measures again. Of course it
is still too long, and in the same way he re-
moves another portion ; sometimes he makes a
third cutting before it is right. It is for his
interest not to get the work done too soon, as
he is paid twenty-five cents a day, and it may
be a Ions: time before he builds another house
for a white man.

You must not think our Burman home was
utterly devoid of beauty. It was in a land

" Where every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile."

In front of the house was a garden full of bril-
liant, sweet-scented flowers ; and among them
many of my childish hours were spent. There
was a large red flower with which I used to

REPTILES AND INSECTS. 35

black my slippers. Rubbing the flower on the
slipper imparted to it all the shine one could
wish. Back of the house stood a large cluster
of bamboos, which is connected in my mind
with a snake adventure. Two large snakes
took refuge in the bamboos one day. After the
natives had killed the first one, they climbed
up, spear in hand, until within reach of the
other. When ready to strike at him, he disap-
peared among the leaves, and soon thrust his
head out far above them, and looked down with
a wise, saucy look, as if to say, " Did you catch
me.''" This he repeated again and again. Af-
ter a long struggle they killed him ; and, having
exhibited him in triumph, some of the natives
carried him away to eat.

For a long time after moving there, daily war
was waged with snakes. The place had been
neglected, and the thick grass afforded them a
nice home. A nest of cobra's eggs was found
one day, and destroyed with great celerity.

Reptiles and insects, though numerous, never
caused us much serious injury. We were con-
stantly on our guard, however. At night our
stockings must be carefully put away lest the
rats carry them off, and every article of clothing
must be examined before dressing in the morn-

^6 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

ing, lest some poisonous visitor be concealed
therein. Ten little scorpions were found one
day snugly ensconced in my father's hat. A
little red centipede slept under my pillow one
night. Beautiful lizards constantly ornamented
our walks, darting hither and thither in pursuit
of flies and moths which constitute their food.
It was no unusual thing for one to fall from the
ceiling upon our table, as we sat at dinner or
tea, sometimes breaking off his tail by the fall.
When that happened, the astonished little crea-
ture would turn, look sadly upon his severed,
wriggling member, and then dart away. One,
at least, of a large species of lizard always dwelt
in the rafters and eaves, whence his loud and
solemn voice frequently startled us. The native
girls used to tell fortunes by the utterances of
this lizard. When he called out tojiktch, they
said, ** city chap;" toiikteh again, "country fel-
low;" and so they alternated till the animal
wound up with teh-tcJi-tcJi. The appellation last
used with his call would be that, as they thought,
of their future betrothed. Pretty little birds
called myftahs built their nests in the eaves of
the house, and these large, ugly tojiktcJis ate
their eggs. They also infested dovecotes, some-
times quite breaking up the homes of the beau-
tiful birds.

WHITE ANTS. 37

The little white ant, or termite, was a formid-
able foe to the comfort of our daily life. The
earth everywhere seems to be full of them.
They are most voracious little creatures : noth-
ing but teakwood, metals, and earth-oil seems to
" come amiss " with them. All bureaus, trunks,
and boxes containing books or clothing must be
raised from the floor on bricks or teak blocks,
and frequently examined, or, ere you are aware,
their contents are riddled by these little pests.
Although so destructive to things immediately
before your eyes, they are seldom seen, as they
work always in the dark. They build for them-
selves a covered way from their nests in the
ground to the article they propose to devour.
The careful housekeeper often interrupts their
designs by discovering a little line of mud across
the floor, or up a post, or along the ceiling.
This is their covered road ; and with broom and
boiling water, and no small degree of impatience,
she puts an end to their advances in that direc-
tion. The natives, once a year, take a grand
revenge for their depredations. They eat them.
When the rains have fallen, and softened the
earth, a part of the white ants take wings, and
for one short night disport themselves in the
open air. They begin to come out of the earth

38 MV CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAII.

at about sunset, and the air until dark seems to
be full of them. Like other insects flying in
the night, they are attracted to light. The na-
tives spread mats, place upon them basins of
water and a light. The unsuspecting ants fly
through the light, singe their wings, and fall
into the water, whence they are taken by the
delighted natives, and fried for the next morn-
ing's breakfast.

A variety of fruit-trees grew around the house.
In one corner of the compound there was an
old well, around which clustered several banana-
trees, and towering above them all stood a grand
old century-palm. Very beautiful was this tree
in its hundredth year, crowned with its pyramid
of white flowers, which soon ripened into fruit.
Then its work was done ; its life was lived. It
had spent a hundred years in growth. It had
consumed a hundred years of rain and sunshine
for one short year of flowers and fruit. The
first wind that followed the perfected fruit laid
the lofty centenarian low. It had shown no
signs of decay. We only knew its end was
near by the perfection of its beauty and utility.
What scenes had this palm-tree witnessed in its
hundred years ? A king proudly strode by, when
with his own hand he could have torn it from

THE COMPOUND. 39

the soil. He bad lived and reigned and died ;
his palace had crumbled into dust, and other
palm-trees were growing where be had "eaten
rice." Idols of different nations bad been cai-
ried in gay procession beneath its fan-like leaves ;
priests bad rested and cooled themselves in its
shade, and bad been carried past it to their final
burning. Warriors and boatmen, coolies and
children, had fought and wandered, worshipped
and played, grown old and died, while it was
slowly growing, counting its years by each circle
of leaves that drooped and dried, above which
the towering top was always green, and beneath
which the stalwart trunk was never bowed. At
the commencement of its last decade there was
mingled with the rustle of its leaves the sound
of the English fife and drum, harbinger of re-
treating Burmese dominion, waning Buddhism,
religious liberty, and Christian triumph. Ere
the trees that are now springing from its ripened
seed shall bear their fruit, and die, the

" Boodh shall fall, and Burmah's sons
Shall own Messiah's sway."

Other parts of the compound ^ were occupied

* The compound, in India and Burmah, is the enclosure con-
taining ih5 dwelling, other houses, and gardens. It varies in
size from two or three to eight or ten acres.

40 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

by houses for native preachers and teachers, and
the Shan schoolhouse. Not far from the house
was the river ; and on the other side, in the
distance, rose range after range of hills and
mountains.

The fruit-trees of Burmah are numerous, and
fruit forms a considerable part of the food of
the natives. The mangosteen is one of the
most delicious of fruits, but not very widely
spread. The dorian is regarded by the natives
as second to none, and the King of Burmah
requires a tax of many hundreds annually to be
contributed to the royal table. It has this pe-
culiarity : to those who like it, it is most deli-
cious ; to those who do not like it, it is most dis-
gusting. The mango is a general favorite, rich
and juicy. It is often compared to the peach,
but is far more delicious in flavor and delightful
to the taste. The fruit on the table for dessert
the day of our arrival in Burmah was the paw-
paw, or papaya. It somewhat resembles a melon
in shape ; but its pulp is golden and fragrant,
and its small black seeds have a peppery taste.
It also grows in our own Southern States.
Several guava-trees grew in front of our house ;
and their white fruit, resembling in shape our
email pear, afforded me much pleasure. There

FRUIT-TREES. 4I

was also the custard-apple, in size and taste
resembling a rich cup-custard, but in outward
appearance more like a huge green raspberry.
The pine-apple is very abundant, and needs no
description. The plantain, or banana, is as
much prized there as the apple is with us.
There are as many as twenty-five varieties.
Some kinds are eaten as fruit ; others are very
nice fried or roasted, and eaten as a vegetable.
Orange-trees are abundant and prolific. A tree
planted by Dr. Mason produced, in its ninth
year, more than two thousand oranges. Sweet
limes resembling oranges, the small acid lime,
and the citron, or large acid lime, are found
almost everywhere. The mulberry-tree is culti-
vated extensively where the silkworm is raised.
The jujube, from which the famous jujube loz-
enges are made, is a small sour berry of which
the natives are very fond. The locust-trees,
which grow in many parts of America, some-
times remind one of the tamarinds in Burmah,
though the tamarind is larger, handsomer, and
has yellowish instead of white blossoms. It is
very valuable for its acid fruits used in curries.
It is not indigenous, but grows well with care.
The jack-fruit is very abundant. The tree is
large, and affords a dark, grateful shade. The

42 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

fruit, large as watermelons, grows from the
trunk and large branches : obviously the small
branches could not hold them. The bread-fruit,
which sometimes has served missionaries for
breakfast instead of bread, grows in the south-
ern parts ; and the tapioca, whose root roasted
resembles potatoes, grows in the mountains.

The most remarkable, in appearance, of forest
trees is the banian. Its trunk sends out branches
horizontally, which at intervals drop down shoots
that descend to the ground, take root, and be-
come trunks themselves ; thus spreading till
one tree has become a large grove, and, as our
geographies say, a thousand men may rest be-
neath its shade. This tree often nourishes
itself at the expense of other trees. Its winged
seeds find lodgement in the axils of the leaves
of the palm-tree, and, moistened by the rains,
send out rootlets that wind around the trunk of
the palm, in and out among its old axils, till
they take root in the earth. These rootlets
grow till they seem like the folds of some huge
serpent embracing the noble palm, gradually
crushing out its life and consuming its body till
there is finally no palm-tree there. A converted
Burman who was one day talking with my father
to a group of native people used this to illustrate

THE BANIAN. 43

the nature of little sins. He said, "A little
banian-seed said to a palm-tree, ' I am weary of
being tossed about by the wind : let me stay
a while among your leaves.' — ' Oh, yes ! ' said
the palm-tree : ' stay as long as you like,' and
by and by forgot the little seed was there. But
the seed was not idle. It sent out little fibres
and tiny root? and they crept around the trunk
and under tiic bark and into the heart of the
tree itself ; and then the tree cried out, ' What
is this } ' And the banian said, ' It is only the
little seed you allowed to rest among your
leaves.' — * Leave me now,' said the palm-tree :
'you have grown too large and strong.' — *I
cannot leave you now : we have grown to-
gether. I should kill you if I tore myself
away.' The palm-tree bowed its head, and
tried to shake the banian off, but could not;
and, little by little, the palm-leaves withered,
the trunk shrivelled, and only the banian could
be found. Beware of little sins."

Of the many flowering trees of Burmah, the
Amherstia is one of the most remarkable. The
English gentleman who discovered it says,
" There can be no doubt that this tree when in
full foliage and blossom is the most strikingly
superb object which can possibly be imagined."

44 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

The mesua is a favorite with the priests, and
is planted around their monasteries. The Bur-
mese say that their next Buddha, Aree-ma-daya,
will enter the divine life while musing beneath
its shade. The lofty champac shades the streets
of towns and villages ; and its rich, fragrant blos-
soms are used by Buimese maidens to adorn
their "long, dark hair." The delicate, sweet-
scented blossoms of the mimusops are also
prized for the same purpose. I have spent
many a happy hour with the schoolgirls in
stringing them upon a thread, and twining them
about my hair. The gorgeous rhododendron
delights us on every hand. Under the beauti-
ful jonesia, it is claimed, Gaudama was born.
**At the instant of his birth," say the sacred
writers, *'he walked seven steps; and, with a
voice like the roaring of the king of lions, he
exclaimed, * I am the most excellent of men, I
am the most famous of men, I am the most
victorious of men.' "

There is a species of butea which the Pwo
Karens plant in their sacred groves ; and the
deep, rich, orange blossoms, seen under a tropic
sun in the dry season, present the appearance
of a burning jungle. The henna-tree is exten-

FLOWERS. 45

sively cultivated. The fresh leaves beaten with

catechu,

" Imbue

The fingers' ends with a bright roseate hue,
So bright, that in the mirror's depths they seem
Like tips of coral branches in the stream."

The various species of jasmine, the trumpet-
flower, the clerodenclron, chaste-tree, and pas-
sion-flower are all prized for fragrance and
beauty. One of the prettiest annuals is a spe-
cies of sonerilla, with bright purple flowers.
"The tuberose with her silver light" is exten-
sively cultivated. The flower has a delightful
fragrance, and throws out its odors strongest at
evening. White, red, and blue water-lilies are
abundant. Various species of amaranth abound,
also the pretty four-o'clock and the balsam.
Orchids, or air-plants, most of which grow on
trees, flourish everywhere, and the blossoms are
surprisingly beautiful. Nearly every species is
worth more in England than its freight over
land, and they are often exported. Of one beau-
tiful species the Karens are required to send
aeveral thousand annually as tribute to the king
of Burmah.

Ferns are very interesting and numerous.

From the number and quality of medicinal

46 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

plants found throughout the country, it would
seem, that, if they were fully understood, provis-
ion would be found among them for all the ills
that flesh is heir to. The camphor-plant grows
everywhere with the luxuriance of a common
weed. The nux vomica, from which strychnos
is extracted, grows in the vicinity of Toungoo.
Dried senna-leaves are constantly for sale in
the bazaar. Indian squills, ipecacuanha, gum-
arabic, tragacanth, and the Toungoo gentian
grow freely. The castor - oil and croton - oil
plants, and the wood-oil tree, are largely culti-
vated. It is said that tobacco was introduced
from America ; but my father found it growing
in great quantities upon the mountains, among
savage tribes who had never held communica-
tion with people in the plain. It was univer-
sally used among them.

Coriander, anise, and cardamom seeds, sassa-
fras, aloes, cinnamon, cloves, allspice, nutmeg,
and mace are found. Black and cayenne pep-
per, ginger, and betel-nut are articles of com-
merce.

A great variety of vegetables is cultivated by
the natives, but those best for Europeans are
scarce. Nearly every plant is used as food by
the natives. Several species of yam are culti-

VEGETABLES. 47

vated. A very inferior sweet-potato is abun-
dant, and native children eat them as we do
apples. Varieties of beans are found, also rad-
ishes, mustard, the brinjal or vegetable egg, the
tomato, and the onion. Cucumbers are eaten
in large quantities ; but the natives prefer them
when large, ripe, and yellow, and think us very
wasteful and mistaken in choosing those that
are green and tender. More important than all
these is rice, upon which the natives chiefly
subsist. Scarcity or plenitude depends upon
this grain. If the rice-crop is good, there is
plenty, and the people are happy. If it fails,
there is famine and distress. There are many
varieties, both of mountain and lowland rice ;
and they are of all colors, from ivory-white to
coal-black. From the black rice the Karens
make a kind of bread, which is to them what
gingerbread is to us. There is also a glutin-
ous rice, which was very convenient for us in
journeys. Joints of bamboo are filled with a
quantity unboiled, a little water is added, and
the opening closed. It is then roasted, and,
when done, far surpasses any cake I ever ate.
Mountain-rice is planted in the dry ground
about the month of April, and the early kinds
are reaped in August. Lowland rice, on the

48 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

contrary, is in June sown broadcast upon the
flooded fields ; and the rice grows as the rain
increases, keeping its head just above the water.
If the water overflows the rice, the crop is
spoiled or greatly damaged. When the rains
cease, and the water decreases, the rice begins
to ripen ; and by November, when the ground
is hardened, the fields are ready for the reapers.
They cut the grain with a small sickle, tie it in
bundles, and pile it on a smooth piece of ground,
previously prepared, with the heads in the cen-
tre. In some places young people tread out
the rice : in others they use buffaloes ; and, as
the latter help themselves to a mouthful when-
ever they choose, one is reminded of the verse
in Scripture, "Thou shalt not muzzle the ox
when he treadeth out the corn." The next
thing is to remove the husks. This may be
done in several ways. I most frequently saw
them use a large wooden mortar and pestle :
two and often three women would pound in the
same mortar, alternating their strokes with
mathematical precision. In other cases the
pestle was moved by a foot-treadle. The moth-
er would often tie her baby to her back, and,
standing with one foot on the treadle, thereby
lift the pestle ; when she removed her foot, the

RICE. 49

pestle would fall, the monotonous swinging of
her body at the same time rocking her baby to
sleep. The last thing is to winnow it. With
large quantities they often build a scaffolding
several feet high, mount a bamboo ladder with a
basketful at a time, and pour it down upon mats
spread on the ground. The wind blows away
the husks, and the clear rice remains.

50 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

CHAPTER IV.

The Animals of Burmah.

As Burmah lies partly in the torrid and
partly in the temperate zone, it comprises
among its animals many that are peculiar to
both zones ; so that the missionary is con-
stantly surprised, now with delight in behold-
ing the familiar creatures of his native land,
and now with wonder as he gazes upon some
denizen of the heated earth.

It is ten o'clock in the morning. A mission-
ary's child is sitting on the veranda, gazing,
half dreamily, into the heated atmosphere, and
listening to the quiet sounds that fill it with
life. She hears a gentle cooing, and rises to
feed her beautiful tame pigeons, not with oats
or corn, but with the delicate white rice. Her
speckled pet fowl hastens, with motherly cluck,
to call her downy brood of white chicks to
share the feast ; and a train of ducks, with
their '* Quack, quack," and outstretched glossy
necks, waddle up the narrow path to get at

AN ORIOLE NEST. 5 1

AN ORIOLE NEST.

BIRDS. 53

least a grain; *'Ahn, ahn," from the jack-tree
close by, shows at least a half-dozen hun-
gry crows ready for their share, but far more
eager to seize the tiny pat of butter the mis-
sionary mother is so carefully putting away, or
to pounce upon the bit of beef the cook has
laid upon the shelf by the door, while he takes
off his turban and white dress. There is a
chattering in the bamboo hedge ; and the child
looks eagerly for the little green parrots, which
she can scarcely distinguish from the leaves.
She hears a scream, and, look ! there is a kite,
or hawk, slowly sailing off with one of the
beautiful birds in its talons. She looks across
to the open lot yonder, and sees a group of buz-
zards lazily lifting their wings, and giving a few
heavy jumps about, as they tear in pieces the
dead cat or dog left there for these scavengers,
who ravenously devour it. In the marshy moat,
the tall heron stalks, the pelican, coot, and
water-hen hide. Twitterings and a gush of
song greet the child's ear ; and she looks up to
see the golden orioles darting in and out the
lono- necks of their curious nests, hanging from
the sheltered side of the palm-tree in the gar-
den, or the eaves of her own dwelling. She
scatters another handful of rice, and the hoopoe

54 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

with wavering crest, and the trustful mynah
with her five little ones just fledged, hop al-
most at her feet in picking it up. She hears a
loud trumpeting. If her mother catches the
sound, she is instantly transported to her na-
tive country, and half fancies she hears the
hoarse whistle of the incoming train. But the
little girl knows it is the elephant over yonder,
dragging logs from the river to the saw-pit, or
piling them up with his flexile trunk as evenly
and exactly as any man could do. I never tired
of watching the elephants. The keen twinkle
of their small eyes, the lazy flap of their broad
ears, the measured lifting of their huge feet,
the nervous quiver of their thick skin, and the
restless, swaying, sniffing, touching, searching
movement of the long trunk, filled me with
wonder. They seemed to belong to some far-
away, early period of the earth's history, left
over and forgotten by the years as they glided
by. I tried to take a ride upon one once ; but
the see-sawing motion of the JiowdaJi made me
nervous, and his loud trumpeting filled me with
fear, so I quickly asked to be put down. My
father was about to make a journey into the
jungles, and the elephant he had procured was
fastened with an iron chain to a palm-tree in

THE ELEPHANT. 55

our yard. He had remained with apparent con-
tent during the day, feeding upon the limbs of
an Indian fig-tree near by, crunching, as if
they had been sugar-cane, the branches three
or four inches in circumference. But at night,
when the natives had gone into town, and every
thing was quiet, we heard the dragging of a
chain, and said, "The elephant is loose." My
father went to the door, but in the darkness
could see nothing ; and, as he heard no move-
ment, he concluded we were mistaken, and
came back. As soon as all was still again, we
heard the chain, as before. My father went
very softly to the door, and found the elephant
just going out at the gate. Mother hastily took
a pan of rice, which she thought would take
him a considerable time to eat, and held it out
to him : what was her surprise to see him put
the end of his trunk into the pan, draw up its
entire contents, and pour them as one mouthful
into his capacious throat ! My father, however,
liad picked up the end of the chain, and the
elephant patiently allowed himself to be refast-
ened to the tree. Later in the evening, his
driver, returning, found him just outside the
compound, apparently considering which way
to go. He made no resistance as he was led

$6 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAIL

back again, and this time fastened with so
many turns and twists and ties, it was thought
impossible for him to get away ; but in the
morning there was no elephant to be seen.
After three days search, he was found quietly
feeding in a jungle, a mile and a half away.
My father decided, that, though he seemed the
most gentle and docile of his race, he was far
too independent, and skilful in picking ties, to
be useful in a jungle trip ; and the elephant was
sent home. Wild elephants are numerous and
dangerous in the jungles ; and the catching and
training of them is a source of excitement, dan-
ger, and profit to those who are daring enough
to engage in it.

The tiger is the most formidable of the wild
animals. In making jungle-trips, it is neces-
sary, when threading the narrow paths, to keep
close together by day, and to keep large fires by
night, lest some stealthy prowler pounce upon
man or pony before any one is aware of his
approach.

Only six miles from the city stood a heathen
monastery on the edge of a jungle. One night
a tiger entered the open house, and carried off
a priest : he repeated these visits until he had
carried away six men. The. natives then went

ELEPHANT-HUNTING.

57

'i'L«^'

THE BUFFALO. 59

out to hunt for him, and soon carried him in
triumph through the town.

The buffalo is tJie animal of Burmah, as the
camel is of Africa, and the llama of South
America. It differs from the American buffalo,
which is not a buffalo at all, but a bison, and also
from the African animal of the same name. It
is larger than the common ox, and more power-
ful in figure. It has a thick, dun-colored, almost
hairless skin, and huge wide-spreading horns of
the same color as the skin. Its milk is rich and
nutritious, and, dying of itself, its flesh is used
for food. The Burmans never kill it : the Karens
often do.

It is their habit to feed and work during the
night, or in the cool of the morning and even-
ing. When the heat of day begins, they at once
seek the rivers or pools, and submerge them-
selves, leaving only their heads in view ; or they
seek some marshy place, and burrow in the mud
until completely covered, thus protecting them-
selves from mosquitoes, flies, and the scorching
rays of the sun. The buffalo is managed by a
ring thrust through the nose, to which is attached
the rope, by which it is led about or driven as
with reins. In the hands of the natives, it has
something like the patience and docility of the

60 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

OX, but is Utterly intractable by Europeans.
Unlike any other animal, it possesses a special,
inveterate, and undying hatred for white people,
and will often attack them. His repugnance is
so great that he cannot endure the odor of a
white person. If one comes within sight of a
drove, they will immediately arrange themselves
in line, elevate their noses in the air, and sniff
and snort with the most intense disgust depicted
upon their faces. One day, as a missionary and
I were riding on our ponies, we saw a drove of
buffaloes comins: down the road. One broke
loose, and was rushing down the street at full
speed, when, seeing us, he charged for us. The
gentleman was a little in advance of me. Just
as the buffalo lowered his head to toss horse and
rider into the air, he so managed his pony that
he reared, and the buffalo glided under his fore-
feet. He was going too fast to stop, and rushed
on.

It is most humiliating to a white person, if
he wishes to take a trip in a buffalo-cart, to be
obliged to steal round to the back of the cart,
and carefully climb in, while the native driver
endeavors to soothe and divert his sensitive
span. I remember, with* curious emotions, a
night's trip taken in one of those buffalo-carts.

A BURMAN CART.

6i

RIDE IN A BUFFALO-CART. 63

Mats were spread in the rude wooden-wheeled
vehicle, some articles of baggage were stowed
away, and then we tried to dispose ourselves in
the remaining space, too small for three to lie
down. With a child's happy faculty of adapting
one's self to circumstances, I fell asleep, lulled
by the monotonous creak of the huge wheels and
the nasal trills and quavers of the driver's weird
song. The night was warm : we did not advance
as rapidly as was necessary in order to reach
our destination in the cool of the morning, and
the scorching rays of the sun found us with
several miles still to traverse. The driver de-
clared we must wait until night, as he dared not
use his buffaloes in the heat of the day. My
father, feeling obliged to hasten, insisted on
pressing forward. After much grumbling on
the driver's part, we proceeded ; but, whenever
we passed a stream or little pool of water, he
would run with a bamboo, dip up water, and
pour it upon the backs of his buffalos, to enable
them to endure the heat.

The zebu, or Indian ox, with the large hump
on its shoulders, is employed in some parts of
Burmah as the buffalo is in others.

A missionary lady, describing a three days'
ride in a bullock-cart, says, "The respect and

64 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

admiration for Burman carts and bullocks with
which that ride inspired me, I do not think I
shall ever outgrow. Any other vehicle would
have been overturned and smashed to pieces at
a dozen different stages ; and any other beast
would have grown restive, and broken loose
before the distance was half made. As for the
driver, no words of mine could do justice to his
equanimity of mind, as, squatted upon the
tongue of the cart, he punched with a long
bamboo first one bullock and then the other,
uttering at intervals a soul-inspiring groan."

My mother used to say the one luxury of the
country was its beautiful ponies ; and yet they
were not so much a luxury as a necessity.
Smaller than the horse, more timid, less patient,
and less to be relied on, they were neverthe-
less admirably adapted to the saddle and jungle
travel. They were our pets at home and our
friends abroad. They were so cheap and easily
kept, we could each have one. My little broth-
er's, " Minnie Gray," cost five dollars ; the light
sorrel in which I delighted, ten dollars ; my
mother's, twenty, and so on.^ A short daily
ride was essential to health when at home ; and

* Such were the prices then. They are much higher now,
and the cost of keeping them is greater.

man's power. ^ 6t

in a country where there were no raih'oacls,
coaches, or horse-cars, in fact, where there were
no roads at all, with the exception of boats and
elephants, ponies are the European's only means
of travel. The buffalo hates the pony as he
does the white man, thus making the pony more
the white man's friend.

I should make this chapter quite too long,
were I to describe the monkeys, bears, wild
dogs, jackals, leopards, wildcats, squirrels, rats,
mice, wild hogs, deer, and rhinoceros, or even
mention, more than I have done, the great vari-
ety of birds of brilliant plumage and sweet song,
the multitude of reptiles that crawl at your feet,
the swarms of insects that fly in the air, or the
finny tribe that swim in the waters. No one
here need search in vain for any thing that

"O'er bog or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or
rare,
With head, hands, wings, or feet pursues his way,
And swims or sinks, or wades or creeps or flies."

No part of the globe is more abundant in
vegetable productions, or diffuse and prolific in
its animal kingdom. Here too, as in all other
parts of the world, man holds universal sway
over every living thing. There are none so

66 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

large, so strong, so fierce, so wild, but he is able
to tame or conquer. When shall he be con-
sciously, devoutly, lovingly, subject to the great
Ruler, the Creator of all ? It remains very
greatly with us, the young people of America,
to answer that question. Shall we give them
the light ?

RELIGIOUS BELIEF. 6/

CHAPTER V.

Transmigration. — Religious Festivities. — Races and
Costumes. — National Peculiarities.

The Burmans believe in the transmigration
of souls ; i.e., when any living being dies, some
other being is born, and the soul of the dying
enters into the body of the living, and so passes
through another period of conscious existence.
There is a '' Kahn'' or fate, that governs these
changes. When some soul is sufficiently ad-
vanced to become a man, if he is a wicked man,
his soul must go back again through the lower
orders of life, till, having borne penalties for
some of its sins, it is permitted to be a man
again. If he now leads a devout life, he may
hope, in the next stage of existence, to be a
nat, and finally to be annihilated; i.e., delivered
from this wearisome round of being.

Woman, as such, can have no hope even of
annihilation. The law is made so difficult for
her to keep, that she is forced to believe it most
likely she will sink at once to the world of woe.

68 MV CHILD-LIFE IX BURMAH.

If she should escape that by leading a most
devout, benevolent, and self-denying life, by
worshipping continually her husband, the priests
and pagodas, she may possibly, in her next stage
of existence, be — a man. No higher hope than
this can ever enter a Buddhist woman's heart.

The social element enters largely into the
religious observances of the Burmans, as it did
into those of the Jews in their early history.
They make annual festivals at sacred places,
where they gather in great numbers, clad in
their gayest attire, and with merry hearts spend
several days in worship, feasting, and amuse-
ment. At such times they make costly offerings
to the priests and the pagodas. The women
gather up all their little savings for the year,
and buy yellow silk robes for the priests. The
men make or purchase idols with which to dec-
orate the idol-houses ; or obtain pieces of gold-
leaf, which they plaster upon the idols or pago-
das, one joining his piece to some other's, till
the whole is covered. They give always of their
best to their helpless idol.

About eight miles from our house, were the
"Seven Pagodas," a sacred place where Gau-
dama is said to have scratched for his breakfast
when he was a rooster. These pagodas were

THE SEVEN PACxODAS. 69

built in honor of that event. There is a foot-
print cut in a flattened rock not far from our
house, said to be that of Gaudama ; and the
next footprint is at these seven pagodas, — it
being but one step for him from the one place
to the other. The footprints are enormous, and
are covered with figures that may be hieroglyph-
ics. My father and mother took me with them
to these pagodas on one of these annual gather-
ings. They remained several days, distributing
tracts, and talking to the people. My childish
heart was greatly saddened by the sight of such
idolatry, and filled with a longing to lead these
poor, degraded ones to seek "the Way, the
Truth, and the Life." One woman had with
her two little girls about my age. She took
them with her before the idol, and, placing some
parched rice in their little hands, taught them
to place them before their faces, bow to the
image, and repeat their prayers. Where are
those little girls now.^ I sometimes ask. Oh, if
I could have led them to Jesus then !

The people were mainly Burmans ; but Shans,
Karens, and Hindoos mingled with them. The
Burmans, in their gay ^^ftsos^' and white-mus-
lin jackets, with their long black hair coiled on
top of their heads, and often encircled by a gay

70 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

silk turban, formed a striking contrast with the
Shans in their loose blue pants, white jackets,
and broad-brimmed straw hats ; as also to the
numerous tribes of Karens in their varied and
fantastic attire, and to the swarthy Hindoos in
their loose white robes and snowy turbans.

Heathen Burmese women wear a gay-colored
^^fmaing'' of cotton or silk, lined with muslin,
folded about the form, extending from the arm-
pits to the ankles, and open in front, so that in
walking the limbs are exposed. In full dress, a
white-muslin jacket with long close sleeves is
worn over the '' t' maiiigy Among the laboring
classes and many married women, the fmaing\?>
fastened at the waist, and nothing else is worn.
Their hair is very abundant, black, and glossy.
They, comb it smoothly, and form it into a
graceful knot behind, frequently adding chap-
lets of fragrant flowers. To increase their
beauty, they rub on the face a delicate yellow
powder. They adorn themselves with huge
earrings, numerous and costly necklaces, gold
chains, rings, bracelets, and anklets. Mission-
aries always strive to teach the native Christians
to dress modestly and without extravagance ;
accordingly in all our schools the girls wear the
closed loonghee instead of the open fmaing.

CHRISTIAN KAREN GIRLS.

71

CHRISTIAN KAREN GIRLS.

THREE NATIONALITIES. 73

They also lay aside their expensive ornaments,
and the teachers endeavor to lead them to seek
the better "ornament of a meek and quiet
spirit."

Burmese boys often do not wear any thing
until they are eight or ten years of age, nor the
girls until four or five years old, except gold and
silver and other ornaments in profusion. The
boy then dons his ftso, or strip of gay cloth,
and the girl her tiny t'maing. Poor little things !
they have a hard time in learning to keep them
on ; for they use no buttons or pins, but merely
tuck in the corners with a peculiar twist. The
little inexperienced girl starts to run with a
playmate, when off drops her t'maing ; but she
only stops for a moment, picks it up, and runs
along again, carrying it in her hand.

There are marked differences between the
three principal nationalities now existing in
Burmah, — the Burmans, Shans, and Karens.
The Burmans are very intelligent, polished,
haughty, and somewhat indolent. The Shans
are equally intelligent, less proud, and more dili-
gent. Like the Burmans, they are Buddhists.
The Karens are by far the most docile and
lovable. They have been crushed by oppressive
Burman rule, and there is an element of sadness

74 ' MY CUILD-LIFE IN BUKMAIL

in their disposition. They are not Buddhists,
but worship spirits, and seem more susceptible
to the gospel. We cannot, therefore, compare
and judge of the work of missionaries among
these different peoples ; for we cannot under-
stand the helps and hinderances they meet with
in the peculiar characteristics of the people for
whom they labor. If we estimate success by
the amount of error removed, and the difficulties
overcome, it will probably be seen that as much
has been accomplished for the Burmans as for
the Karens. A Burman is well read in all their
religious and scientific theories. The Karen
has no books but what missionaries give him :
he knows nothing, but he very readily acquires
knowledge. It was Dr. Judson, I think, who
remarked that the Karen stood with his empty
chattie, into which the missionary could freely
pour the precious truths of salvation ; while the
Burman held his chattie filled with odious earth-
oil, which the missionary must induce him to
throw away, and cleanse the chattie, before it
could be filled with the water of life. After
baptizing two Burman men. Dr. Judson said,
*I baptized one hundred Karens when I worked
among them before their missionaries were sent
out, and these two Burmans have cost me more

KAREN TRADITIONS. 75

than the whole of that liundred Karens." Dr.
Mason writes, •* The first Burman I baptized
had his attention drawn to Christianity by a
tract that fell into his hands ; and he kept read-
ing and thinking to himself for two years before
he called on me ; and we had to converse and
discuss every point of the Christian system and
every doctrine of Buddhism a whole year before
he could fully accept the offer of a free salva-
tion ; but, from the time that that point was
reached, there has been no more faltering. He
knows whom he believes. The faith of a Bur-
man is the faith of a man, welling up from the
depths of his mental faculties ; but the faith of
a Karen is the faith of a child, with no deep
roots in the understanding. The Karens are
like the Samaritans, who, at the first hearing,
*with one accord gave heed unto those things
which Philip spoke ; ' but the Burmans are like
the Bereans, who ' searched the Scriptures daily,
whether these things were so.' "

It is a striking fact that the Karens have
traditions of the scattering of the nations,
and beyond this, of the deluge, and then of the
creation and fall of man, coinciding wonderfully
with the statements of the Bible. The follow-

76 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

ing stanzas, translated by the late Dr. Mason,
clearly illustrate this fact : —

"Anciently God commanded, but Satan appeared bring-
ing destruction.
Formerly God commanded, but Satan appeared deceiving

unto death.
The woman E-u and the man Tha-nai pleased not the eye

of the dragon.
The persons of E-u and Tha-nai pleased not the mind of

the dragon.
The dragon looked on them, — the dragon beguiled the

woman and Tha-nai.
How is this said to have happened ?
The great dragon succeeded in deceiving — deceiving

unto death.
How do they say it was done ?
A yellow fruit took the great dragon, and gave to the

children of God ;
A white fruit took the great dragon, and gave to the

daughter and son of God ;
They transgressed the commands of God, and God turned

his face from them.
They transgressed the commands of God, and God turned

away from them.
They kept not all the words of God — were deceived,

deceived unto sickness.
They kept not all the law of God — were deceived,

deceived unto death."

The Karens believe that every object in na-
ture has its spirit lord, and every man a guard-

KAREN BURIAL. 77

ian spirit and many unseen foes; to all these
they must make annual offerings to secure
their blessings, and avert their wrath and the
calamities which they inflict.

The Karens usually bury their dead ; but
sometimes, if circumstances require haste, burn
them, and then a bone is taken from the ashes,
often the backbone. When at leisure a feast
is made, and the bone is buried. At the feast
the bone is placed in the centre of a large booth,
and around it are hung the articles belonging
to the deceased. A torch is placed at the head,
and another at the foot, to represent the morn-
ing and evening stars, which, they say, are
spirits going to Hades with lights in their hands.
Around the whole a procession marches, sing-
ing dirges. The following is a specimen : —

" Mother's daughter is proud of her beauty ;
Father's son is proud of his beauty ;
He calls a horse, a horse comes ;
He calls an elephant, an elephant comes ;
On the beautiful horse, with a small back,
He gallops away to the silver city.
O son of Hades, intensely we pity thee,
Panting with strong desire for the tree of life.

The jambu fruit, the jambu fruit
Hangs drooping o'er the lake,

78 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

Red jambu flowers, red jambu flowers,

Hang drooping o'er the lake.
Should seeds of the tree of life still exist,
Then man wakes up from death in Hades.
O son of Hades ! intensely we pity thee,
Panting with strong desire for the tree of life."

HEATHEN FUNERALS. 79

CHAPTER VI.

Heathen Funerals. — The Priesthood. — Buddhism.

One of the saddest sights to be seen in Bur-
mah is a heathen funeral ; and there is scarcely
a day but that one or more passes through the
principal streets. The coffin, covered with tin-
sel and bright-colored paper, is placed upon a
fantastic-looking car, that is decorated in the
same way, and often has the addition of a large
peacock-plume in each corner. This is borne
upon men's shoulders, and is accompanied by a
band of native music {}). They stop frequently,
and go through with a kind of drill or dance ;
and it often seems as if the car would topple
over, and the coffin be broken to pieces. In the
procession frequently appear eight or ten carts,
bearing offerings to priests, besides a great
number of women carrying loaded trays upon
their heads. Children are buried, but the
bodies of adults are usually burned. The place
for burning, in Toungoo, was three miles out
of the city.

80 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

I once attended the funeral of one of their
priests. It was an occasion of great festivity.
The body had been embalmed for more than a
year. It was a hot, sultry day. There was not
a cloud to shield from the scorching rays of the
sun, nor a breath of air to refresh the panting
devotees ; but, regardless of this, the eager
throng was slowly wending its way through the
dusty streets. Not a tear, nor an expression of
real sorrow, was seen or heard among the joy-
ous crowd ; but, in the distance, we heard the
groans and lamentations of the hired mourners.
Mounting our ponies, we joined the procession.
As we passed the pagodas and khoungs, we saw
men, women, and children prostrate before the
idols, muttering over their rosaries their *' vain
repetitions," such as, ** There is nothing real,
there is nothing eternal, all is trouble."

On arriving at the grounds, we found bamboo
booths scattered here and there, where native
confectionery and fruits were displayed to great
advantage. In the centre of the field was a
curious structure, about twenty feet in height,
resembling a pagoda. It was made of bamboos
and paper, and covered with tinsel and lace.
On the top was a large '' Htce'' or umbrella, its
rim surrounded with little tinkling bells, and

FUNERAL OF A PRIEST. Si

with long lace streamers, which, floating in the
breeze, wafted prayers to Gaudama in behalf of
the departed one. About ten feet from the
o-round, in the centre of the structure, was an
enclosed platform, upon which the body, ele-
gantly attired and surrounded by gaudy trap-
pings, was eventually placed for the burning.
Above and below, the structure was filled with
combustible materials. On each side of the car
upon which the body was carried, were long
ropes, held on the one side by Shans, and on
the other by Burmans. The Shans tried to pull
it towards themselves, crying, ** You shall not
carry this priest away ; " while the others, pull-
ing in the opposite direction, replied, "We
will, yes, we will." In this manner they spent
the greater part of the forenoon. Finally they
attached it by the ropes to several similar but
less gorgeous structures, and a herald announced
that the burning would take place at four in the
afternoon. In the mean time, we examined the
various objects of curiosity, visited the stands,
telling the way of life to all who would listen.
In one circle drums were beating, girls were
dancing, and people were laughing and quarrel-
ling, a medley of confusion. In another group
we found the jugglers, the snake-charmers, and

82 MV CIIILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

fortune-tellers. At the appointed hour the peo-
ple gathered round the lofty bier. Rockets,
made to represent cannons, with grotesque im-
ages seated upon them, were sent shooting
along the ropes into the car. It was soon after
set on fire by the nearest relative, and the body
of the priest speedily consumed, amid the shout-
ings of the people, the beating of the drums,
and the roaring of the flames. The several at-
tendant cars were burned ; and the jaded crowd
returned to their homes without a tender re-
membrance of the departed, or a thought of
the solemn future. They returned to liv-e on
in their ignorance and superstition, unless some
ray of light from the Sun of righteousness
should find its way to their hearts, and shed a
radiance there.

Buddhist priests are usually a lazy class of
men who enter the priesthood for the sake of
an easy, comfortable life. They practise all
manner of wickedness under the cloak of sanc-
tity. The laws of their religion forbid them to
wear any covering upon their heads, or sandals
upon their feet, or even to carry an umbrella.
They must beg their food from door to door ;
their clothing must be made of rags ; they must
not touch money, nor look at a woman. If a

BUDDHIST PRIESTS. 83

priest's own mother fall into the river, he must
not touch her to help her out, though he may-
throw her a stick, or something she can lay
hold of. They are intensely devoted to some
of the forms of their religion ; but those requir-
ing personal privation, they pass lightly over.
They go about the streets every morning, it is
true, to collect their food for the day ; but the
best of every thing is given them. Their cloth-
ing, so far from being made of rags, is often of
the most costly material ; though, where they
are particular to carry out the letter of the law,
it is cut into small pieces, and then sewed
together. They often acquire large sums of
money by the sale of articles that are presented
to them ; and in some cases they then throw
off their yellow robes, allow their hair to grow,
and, as they say, ''become men again." The
priesthood in Burmah is arranged into a regu-
lar hierarchy. The highest man, called a rahan-
da, is a kind of archbishop, who presides over
all other priests, and appoints the chiefs of the
monasteries. He resides at the imperial court,
where he is regarded one of the greatest men
in the kingdom. Below him are various ranks
of priests, all supported by the so-called volun-
tary offerings of the people. Their power over

84 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

the people is almost unlimited. If a priest re-
fuses to receive the offerings of any one, that
person is immediately regarded as tabooed, and
calamity, disaster, and ruin stare him in the face.
The priests are worshipped in the same manner
as the pagodas and images of Gaudama.

"Buddhism in its moral precepts," says one
who had personal acquaintance with it, ** is, per-
haps, one of the best religions ever invented by
man ; but its basis is entirely false. Instead of
a heavenly Father forgiving, and filial service
from a pure heart as the effect of love, it pre-
sents nothing to love, for its deity is dead ;
nothing as the ultimate object of action but
self, and nothing for man's highest and holiest
ambition but annihilation. Their doctrine of
merit leaves no place for holiness, and destroys
gratitude either to God or man. It ministers
to pride ; for the very fact of his being now a
man assures the Buddhist, that in former trans-
migrations he must have acquired incalculable
merit, or he would not now occupy so distin-
guished a place in the scale of being. Their
system of balancing evil with good reduces all
sin to a thing of little importance. 'If any man
sin,' in Burmah, his religion tells him of 'no
advocate with the Father,' to whom he may

BUDDHISM. 85

bring a believing, penitent heart ; but, instead,
it tells him he may repeat a form of words, he
may feed a priest, he may build a pagoda, he
may carve an idol, and thus balance his iniquity
with merit."

An intelligent Burman, talking with my
mother, said that his sins were as broad and
deep as the ocean ; but his good deeds were the
ship in which he sailed safely over.

If any man suffer, in Burmah, his religion
points him to no place where " the wicked cease
from troubling, and the weary are at rest," and
where '' God himself will wipe away all tears ; "
but it dictates proud submission to unalterable
fate, and flatters him that his sufferings here
may free him from torment in some future
existence.

If any man die, in Burmah, his religion tells
him of no Saviour who has "passed through the
grave," and swallowed up death in victory; but
it threatens degradation, perhaps into a soulless
brute, or, at best, into a place of expiatory
misery. In short, living or dying, the Burman
may be said to be *' without hope and without
God in the world."

86 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

CHAPTER VII.

The Seasons. — Glimpses of Missionary Occupations.—
The School. — Mountain-Travel. — Story of Moung
Ong.

In Burmah there are two seasons, the wet and
the dry. About the loth of May, showers com-
mence, and increase in frequency, until late
in June it rains daily. This continues until the
middle of September. Heavy rains then cease,
but showers continue until the middle of Octo-
ber. Even in the rainy season the sun shines
a part of the day, and the rankest vegetation
covers every thing.

To give a clearer glimpse at missionary life,
let me recall a day or two which are samples of
most of the days in the dry season, when mis-
sionaries are not absent on jungle-trips. As
there are no schools for missionaries' children,
and no associates for them but natives, I was
necessarily the companion of my parents in their
visits among the people, as well as in their work
at home.

MORNING RIDES. 87

Missionaries rise early, — some at four, most
at five o'clock, — and take immediately their
"little breakfast," a slice of bread and cup of
tea. We would then mount our ponies, and
ride two or three miles to some neighboring
village, thus reaching the people before they
began their daily toil. Sometimes the presence
of the little white child would be sufficient to
draw the whole village together ; sometimes my
father would sing to attract them, and sometimes
a desire to know more of the strange religion
of which they had heard a little would bring
them together. Often a group of women would
gather about my mother, more curious about
the whiteness of her hand, the length of her
fingers, and the number of her garments, than
desirous to know the way of life. But with
these for a text, and their curiosity for a line of
are:ument, she would weave into her answers to
their questions the principal points of the "old.
old story," and leave them with thoughts of Jesus
stirrins: in their dark minds.

Sometimes these rides were prolonged tD a
village, or group of villages, at a greater dis-
tance, and the day spent among them. Of one
such day my mother writes : " Spent the day at
a Burman and some Shan villages. At first we

88 M\ CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

saw only young persons, and inquired if there
were no old people in the village ; whereupon
the * oldest inhabitant ' was immediately sent
for. He was an unusually intelligent old man,
eighty years of age. His hair was white as
snow, but his eye brilliant and sparkling, and
his teeth unimpaired. When he came to the
house where we were, he stopped at the thresh-
old, and repeated his Burman prayer, * Anneitsa,
dokah, annatta, P'yah.'

"We were sitting in the upper part of the
house, and to reach us he must climb a little
ladder. As he stepped upon the ladder, he
stopped, and repeated his prayer again, and
then greeted us most cordially. I wanted to
lead his mind to the truth, and tell him of Jesus ;
so I spoke to him of his great age, his white
hair, and the fact that we must all die. * Yes,'
he said with great earnestness, * there are three
evils we must all endure, — sickness, old age,
and death.' Two of these he had already expe-
rienced, and now death was near. Though he
prayed very much, he could not be delivered
from this last evil, — his god could not deliver
him. 'Do you know any god,' he asked, that
can deliver from these evils.'*' — 'Yes,' I told
him : " my God can deliver from all these. He

AN AGED INQUIRER. 8g

is not like Gaudama, who was sick, who grew
old, and died when he was just your age ; for my
God is the Eternal, forever established, always
the same. He is never sick ; he cannot grow
old ; he can never die. He can and will deliver
all who trust in him from all the evils of this
world and the greater evils of the next.' I
tried to tell him it was sin that broufrht death
into the world, and separated us from God ; so
that it was right for God, though he had all
power, to let us suffer and die before he received
us again to himself. But his mind seemed to
grasp only the one truth, that my God could
not grow old, be sick, or die.

" Soon he heard the assistant talkins: with
some men down-stairs, and he said, ' I will go
down, and listen.' As soon as he had joined the
group, he repeated what I had said, and asked
him if I meant it. The assistant assured him
that I did, and that it was very true. But again
and again the old man said it over, * She says
her God cannot be sick, grow old, or die.' It
seemed as if it were a truth he wanted to grasp,
and longed to rest upon ; but it was too wonder-
ful for him. The assistant tried to impress that
and other truths upon him ; and he listened with
great interest, seeming to feel that if there

90 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

could be such a God, it would be well to worship
him.

"When we came away, after I had mounted
my pony, he took my hand in both of his,
stroked and patted it as if I had been his little
child, asked me to come again, and said that
when he came to town he should certainly come
to see us." A year later my mother visited the
village again, and found the old man still living,
though he had failed in mind and body. " He
came tottering to see us," she writes, **and
sJiikocd, that is, bowed as they do in worship,
but without his heathen prayer. He said he
had been very lonely for us : he had thought of
us with loving regret, but he could not get to
town to see us. I asked him if he had prayed
to the God who is free from sickness, old age,
and death. He said, 'Yes.' I asked him if he
trusted in Jesus, and he said ' Yes ; ' still I could
not feel sure that he understood sufficiently
who Jesus is to exercise a saving faith in him.
Nevertheless I am not without hope that he
may be saved."

At about the same time, my aunt met in the
same village an old woman in whom she was
greatly interested. She tried to talk with her,
telling her she had come to bring her good

AN AGED UNBELIEVER. 9I

news, to show her the way in which she might
escape the evils of transmigration, they so much
dread, and attain a state far more desirable than
nigban. After putting forth Jesus as lovingly
as she could, she asked her if that was not good
news. You may judge how her heart fell to
hear her, though striving to be polite, indiffer-
ently reply, '* If the teacher says it is good, it is
good." — *' But do you not know it is good .-^ "
— "Oh !" said she, "I am a woman : how can I
know any thing.-*" Thus we have encourage-
ments and discouragements ; our hearts now
tremble with hope, and now quiver with despair.
But still the word of the Lord is, ** Go teach ; "
and what are we, that we should say it is in
vain .'' who knoweth which shall prosper, or
whether both shall be alike good } Again,
mother writes : *' At another village, a crowd of
httle girls gathered around me, and I wanted
very much to fix in their minds at least one
truth that day ; but I could not get them to
say a word. So I took out my Burman spell-
ing-book, showed them the letters, and tried to
have them call them after me, but still not a
word. Then I thought I would hire them, if
possible, for in some way I must reach them
with the truth. I hastily thought over every

92 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

thing I had with me, but could hit upon noth-
ing transferable but a needle. I held it up, and
asked who wanted that. Several wistful eyes
were fastened upon it, but not a word was said.
I told them the one that would say the letters
after me should have it, and began calling them.
Soon in a whisper one of them said, * kahghyee'
and then another whisper, till at last half a doz-
en voices were repeating the letters as nicely
as I could wish. After going through the let-
ters several times, I said I thought they had all
earned the needle, but, as it was only one, I
must give it to the one who spoke first : but
I found a pin-ball in my pocket, so I gave each of
the others a pin, the first, I suppose, they had
ever seen. Observing the head, they wanted to
know what they must do with that : so I ex-
plained how they could fasten a jacket — sup-
posing they had one — with it, at which they
were greatly pleased. I then took the cate-
chism, and asked them the first question, ' Who
made the heavens and the earth and all things.'*'
Not one of them knew, as I expected. So I
gave them the answer, making them repeat it,
and apply it to the various objects and animals
they could see, till I felt sure they would not
forget it. Then I took the second question,

LINE UPON LINE. 93

*Who is God?' and the answer, 'God is with
out beginning or end, eternally existing, forevei
established, unchangeably the same.' This I
made them repeat again and again, till I thought
they would remember the words, though they
might not comprehend the meaning, even in a
slight degree, till I came again. I did not
burden their minds with any thing further that
day. If they remember this one truth, that
God made all things, I shall feel that the labor
of the day was not in vain. You see how we
have to work, beginning at the lowest possible
point, giving line upon line, precept upon pre-
cept, till, were it not for the everlasting arms
beneath, we should weary and despair."

If our ride was planned only for the morning,
the increasing heat of the sun would soon force
us to return ; and, reaching home about nine
o'clock, we ate our heartier breakfast.

From nine till four, my parents were occu-
pied with varied work, preaching, teaching, re-
ceiving inquirers and other visitors, and explain-
ing to them the religion of the living God. Of
the number of things demanding the mission-
aries' attention, people here have but little idea.
The missionary and his wife are not only teach-
ers, but doctors and nurses for the sick, judges

94 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

and lawyers for those who have any quarrel,
and servants of all.

We dined at four o'clock, principally upon
rice and curry ; often upon soup, fowl, fish, and
in some places we could obtain a piece of meat.
A few vegetables, cucumbers, yams, tomatoes,
and a poor quality of sweet-potatoes, were some-
times added.

The day closed as it began, in visiting the
neighboring villages, distributing tracts, and
sowing the seed of the kingdom.

Burman worship was always held in our
house, at dark. This closed the public labors
of the day. The natives do not venture out
much at niirht ; and it is not safe for anv one to
do so, unless provided with lantern or cane, on
account of snakes and dogs. The weary mis-
sionary is only too glad to retire early, after a
/ittle reading and writing, in order to be ready
for an early start the next morning.

The school was held for a time at the chapel,
but was afterwards on our compound, and some-
times in both places. The scholars were gath-
ered from the Burmans, Shans, and Eurasians,
and were first taught to read and write the Bur-
mese language. A Bible-lesson was given to
the whole school daily, and there were classes

SCHOOL-TRAINING. 95

In both Old and New Testaments. Even before
they could read, every pupil was thoroughly
taught the catechism prepared by the first Mrs.
Judson, which was such an epitome of the sav-
ing truths of the gospel, that we felt sure, that
having committed it to memory, even though
they learned nothing else, they might, by the
power of the Holy Spirit, be brought to Christ.
They were further taught something of arith-
metic, geography, and astronomy ; the two
last being especially useful in undermining the
Buddhist religion. The average cost for each
pupil was about five rupees, or two dollars and
a half, per month. This includes board, cloth-
ing, books, and medicines. The most difficult
part of their education is training them in
habits of order and neatness. When they first
enter school, all smoke cigars, and chew the
betel-nut ; and the giving up of these two prac-
tices costs them a great effort. They have
very fixed and foolish ideas in regard to work ;
but they soon learn that no useful labor is
degrading to Christian people. A prayer-meet-
ing was held sabbath morning at six o'clock,
preaching in Burmese at ten o'clock, Sunday
school at one, and preaching again at five
o'clock. In the evening another prayer-meet-
ing fitly closed the day.

96 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

The school-work and preaching in town is
only one department of missionary labor, which
is carried on in the wet season, when the inces-
sant rains, swollen streams, and flooded roads
render travel impracticable. In the dry season
the missionaries travel amonsr the mountains
and jungle-villages, preaching and distributing
tracts. My father had made several journeys
to the north of Toungoo, visiting people who
had never seen a white person until he went
among them. His journeys were often attended
with great danger; but he w^as repaid in being
able to plant churches, and supply them with
native preachers. These mountaineers and jun-
gle-people often came into town for purposes
of trade and to visit the missionaries. Negh-
yan, a mountain chief, with a large number of
followers, on such a visit, became acquainted
with Moung Ong, one of our most promising
Burman disciples, and greatly desired to take
him home with him as a teacher for his people.
My father asked Moung Ong if he were willing
to go. His countenance fell, and without reply-
ing he went away to his house. It would be a
great sacrifice for a comparatively refined, intel-
ligent Burman to leave his home, and go to
dwell among those ruder savages. His life and

MOUNG ONG. 97

health would be imperilled ; and, moreover, he
would be cut off from the Christian influences
and instruction which he was learning to prize.
Moung Ong knew this, and a stern conflict was
going on in his mind. The day wore away ; and
in the twilight he came to my father, and calmly
said, ''Teacher, when people are thirsty we
must give them water, for when their thirst is
gone they will not drink." Oh that all Chris-
tians would consider this ! Is it possible that
with the bread of life and the refreshing
waters of salvation in our possession, we can
withhold them from the millions now perishing ?
A few days later he started with the chief and
his company, on his journey. One of the men
bore upon his back the first whole copy of the
Bible that had ever made its way up these
mountains. It was a well of water at which
many thirsty souls have been refreshed and
saved. Moung Ong labored there a few years,
was then taken ill, and came home. He died
on our compound, and was buried in the mission
burying-grounds. Not long after, my eldest
brother was taken from us, and sorrowfully we
laid him to rest by the side of Moung Ong.
Their bodies lie side by side, the missionary
child and the native Christian, while their
spirits are "present with the Lord."

93 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

CHAPTER VIII.

Travel in Burmah.

Ten years ago there was not a single railroad
in all Burmah, though now there is one from
Rangoon to Prome. There were some cart-
roads, but no good carriage-roads outside the
large towns.

Journeys by land must be on elephants, in
bullock or buffalo carts, or on ponies. The
latter were chiefly used in all our mountain-
travel ; for through forests and over mountains
we had only a narrow footpath, and were often
obliged to cut away vines and branches to secure
that. Once, when riding rapidly, a slender vine
growing athwart our path caught one of our
party across the shoulders ; and a sudden, not
to say surprising, sitting-down was the result.
Sometimes, where the forests were dense, we
were obliged to follow the bed of a stream for
miles. On one trip we crossed the same river
twenty times. Not far from home was a large
stream, deep and with a strong current. It was

FORDING THE STREAM. 99

necessary to cross by boat, holding the pony's
head above water, and making him swim, care-
ful to keep him on the upper side of the boat,
so that the current might not carry the boat
upon his back.

Father was once returning home, after an
extended trip among the hills, and, on reaching
the stream, found only a woman there to ferry
him over. The pony had a special dislike for
water, and obstinately refused to enter the
stream. At length the idea seemed to come to
him that home was on the other side. Suddenly
he plunged in on the wrong side of the boat,
swimming with such force as to carry every
thing with him. Father held the reins, and the
woman tried to steady the boat. As soon as the
pony touched bottom, he rushed for the shore,
dragging the boat, father still clinging to the
reins. The woman was jerked off into the
water ; but hastily gathering up her falling
robes, paddle in hand, she waded after. A
representation of the scene were worthy the
genius of a Nast.

When travelling in the- jungle, we must be
constantly on our guard against wild beasts and
poisonous reptiles, especially if we are obliged
to camp in the woods. The missionary then

lOO MV CHILD-LIFE IN DURMAIL

pitches his tent ; or, if he is not so fortunate as
to have one, he constructs a bamboo shelter,
and builds a large fire in front. Then his
attendants form a circle around him, and build
other fires, which they keep burning all night.
If they sleep too soundly, and the fires die, they
are often roused by the crashing of a wild ele-
phant among the trees, or by some mysterious
crackling of twigs and bushes ; and they speedily
renew the fires. If we stop for the night in a
village, the missionary and perhaps the native
preacher occupy the chapel, or the zayat built
for the accommodation of travellers. On one
occasion my father had fastened his ponies to
trees near by, and had retired for the night.
He was soon awakened by their stamping and
snorting : he hurried out to see what was the
matter. Immediately some wild beast bounded
away through the bushes. The men were soon
on the spot, shouting and pounding on the house
to frighten him still more. The footprints proved
it to be a tiger.

By water, we journeyed in the little boats
before described, subject to the caprices of indo-
lent boatmen, and were often obli2:ed to resfulate
our course by the ebb and flow of the tide, lest
we be cast upon the quicksands or ingulfed in

A BURMAN ZAYAT.

10]

A NIGHT OF DANGER. IO3

a flood of water. The tide, as it comes up from
the sea and bay into the Sitang River, finds its
path suddenly narrowed, and in proportion as
the space diminishes, the formerly gentle tide
swells to a flood of angry waters many feet in
height ; and, as if enraged with its restrictions,
the dee, or bore, rushes, with a headlong speed
and a noise like thunder, up the river, carrying
destruction for all that may come in its way.
It is said that no ordinary ship could stand the
force of this roaring, seething mass of water,
which every twelve hours makes its way along
these shores. It may be possible then to form
some idea of our danger in our frail boat. The
only way of escape is to turn aside, when time
for the tide, into one of the many little creeks
fortunately scattered along the river, and there
wait till the dee has passed.

Never shall I forget the experience of one
dreary night. The tide had been very low, and
consequently our boat had run aground often,
and we had been obliged to move slowly, so that
darkness came upon us before we came to a
creek. The time for the dee was approaching,
and almost certain death was before us unless the
creek could be reached. Often the boatmen
were ready to despair, and to forsake all and

I04 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

escape to land ; but my father urged them on
with repeated assurances that a creek must be
near. At last we heard the roar which sicrnalled
its approach. Though several miles distant, it
would soon be upon us. What anxiety filled
our hearts ! What earnest prayers went up to
the Ruler of the waves ! And were not our
prayers answered ? We gained the creek, and
had barely entered it when the dee thundered
past. We soon entered the river again to take
advantage of the current. Danger was still
ahead. The night was dark. The boatmen who
were propelling the boat by planting one end of
the pole in the bank, and thus pushing the boat
along, could not see where to put their poles ;
and at one time several tons of earth loosened
and fell just as we passed from its reach. A
little nearer, and it would have sunk the boat.
Again, an old tree partly overhanging the bank
fell within a few inches of our stern, and we
were saved. My little brother's prayer that night
had been, " O Lord, take good care of us to-nighty
and don t let any thing bite its'' We had occa-
sion to remember that ; for in the morning, when
my father awoke, he discovered a large snake
lying along the edge of the boat, where, if he
had stretched out his arm, it would have bitten

DELIVERANCE. IO5

him. We afterwards learned that early on this
fearful night a dear missionary whom we hac
visited in Rangoon awoke feeling greatly trou-
bled about us. She awoke her husband, and
said, " Our friends are in trouble : we must pray
for them." And they did pray, scarcely sleeping
again until morning. It proved to be the time
when we were so wonderfully rescued from those
successive perils. "The angel of the Lord
encampeth round about them that fear him, and
delivereth them."

[06 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

CHAPTER IX.

Shway-da-Gong. — Mah MOng.

There are names the very mention of which
opens the windows of imagination and the flood-
gates of memory, and carries us swiftly through
the scenes of joy or sorrow associated with them.
The pulse of the whole world quickens at the
word Rome. We think of her magnificence
and power ; we see the blood of the martyrs
poured out ; we tremble at the horrors of the
inquisition ; and we shrink from the thought of
the spiritual thraldom in which she now holds
thousands of devotees.

We speak of Mecca, and behold vast proces-
sions crossing burning deserts or threading
lonely wilds, enduring suffering and even death,
that they may kneel at that sacred shrine.

W"ashington, our own Washington !

" Breathes there the man with soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said,
' This is my own, my native land ' ? "

So the mention of Shway-da-Gong sends a

PAGODA.

107

PAGODA.

THE SACRED SHRINE. IO9

thrill to the heart of every Buddhist. Its power
is felt not only throughout Burniah, but in ah
surrounding countries. It is the Buddhist's
most sacred shrine. Eight hairs of Gaudama
are said to have been deposited beneath it when
it was built many hundred years ago ; and choi-
cest blessings are to be bestowed on those who
most frequently and devoutly bow before it.

Like our church-spires, the pagoda tapers, like
an uplifted finger, toward the skies ; but its
golden H'tee at the top turns downward again
to earth, — fit emblem of the reaching-up of
heathen hearts toward heavenly things, yet
crushed to earth again by the gilded shelter of
good works.

Nine pilgrimages to that pagoda entitle one
to annihilation, — the Buddhist's only heaven;
and so the fond mother fastens her babe upon
her back, and toils on foot over mountains and
valleys, fording streams, pillowed by night on
the ground, and canopied by the sky, in the
hope that some time during his life her child
may make the requisite number of journeys,
counting this as one of them ; and, though she
may fail, he may attain the desired haven.

See the pilgrims gather, — from all Burmah,
from Assam and Siam, from the numberless

no MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

mountain-tribes, from Shanland, and even from
China; "these from the North, these from the
South, and these from the land of Sinim " — to
prostrate themsch^es before this mass of brick
and mortar and outward gilding. When, O
Immanuel I shall these multitudes turn unto
thee as doves to their windows ? Oh, hasten
the time when the heathen shall be given thee
as thine inheritance, and **the knowledge of the
Lord shall cover the earth as the waters cover
the sea" !

It is painful to witness the zeal of idolaters
in worshipping their false gods. " Only yester-
day," writes a missionary, **the streets were
filled with an eager, excited throng, all wending
their way to the pagoda. A new idol had just
been brought from Mandelay, for which hun-
dreds of rupees had been paid ; and the crowd
was going to see it placed in a niche of the
pagoda." Never a day passes that the idol
shrines are not filled with offerings of fruit and
flowers and food. Beggars and lepers line the
approaches. Heathen nuns, with shaven heads
and white robes, hover around to clean the altars
and sweep the walks, in order to gain merit.
Aged men and women creep up the steps, and
pluck every blade of grass growing between the

THE NEW H TEE. 1 1 1

bricks. Numbers of deluded worshippers are
constantly prostrate before the various altars,
and the murmur of their prayers is interrupted
only by the frequent tones of the great bells.

Not long ago the king of Burmah, the father
of the present king, Theebaw, placed a new
H'tee upon this pagoda ; and, being a very meri-
torious deed, it drew together a great concourse
of people. It had been said that whoever
should put a H'tee upon Shway-da-gong should
become ruler of Pegu ; and, doubtless, some
hope of political power, as well as religious
merit, entered into the mind of the king.

The cost of this //V^^was estimated at about
six lacs of rupees, or three hundred thousand
dollars. It consisted of a frame-work of iron
covered with gold-plate. This frame was made
of seven rings, or terraces, growing smaller
towards the top : the diameter of the largest is
twelve feet. Each of these rings is studded
with gems ; but they are too small to be seen
when on the top of the pagoda, three hundred
and seventy-three feet from the ground.

The gem of greatest value is an emerald in
the very top of the structure. The H'tee was
carried in pieces from its landing-place to the
pagoda; and the road for a distance of two

fI2 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

miles was covered with white cloth by a devout
resident of the town. It was placed under a
building erected for the purpose, enclosed by
a railing, inside which only a favored few were
permitted to enter. Four large golden candle-
sticks of elaborate workmanship, presents from
the four queens at Mandelay, were placed on a
stand near the H'tee, with many other costly
gifts.

It remained on exhibition a month. During
that time, two missionary ladies, assisted by
two or three native Christians, distributed twen-
ty thousand tracts among the strangers that
came from all parts of the country. They
spread mats in the little zayats built on either
side the steps leading to the pagoda, and, seated
upon low stools, talked to the crowd who gath-
ered around. In only two or three instances
was a tract destroyed. Numbers were probably
carried to places where no preacher or white
book has ever been. This was sowing seed by*
the wayside, and some of it will bring forth good
fruit.

During these weeks of religious festivity,
offerings of gold and silver were day by day
poured into the treasury at the pagoda. The
more lavishly money was spent on this occasion,

MERITORIOUS OFFERINGS. II 3

the greater merit would be attained. An old
woman would totter up to the railing, and, care-
fully unrolling her old soiled handkerchief, de-
posit a precious stone, or a roll of gold, the
savings of years. Mothers stripped the chains
and bracelets from their little ones, and divested
themselves of their own ornaments, while those
who had nothing else to give cut off their hair
for an offering ; and one poor old woman, in the
warmth of her zeal, cut off a finger, and burned
it up.

The pagoda from base to summit was incased
in a network of bamboos which made the
ascent comparatively easy. Many Europeans
scaled the height, and were rewarded by a mag-
nificent view of the surrounding country. The
old H'tee was removed with great care, and re-
ceived its full share of adoration. The storms
of centuries had not left it unscathed. It was
a poor, dilapidated piece of iron frame, with
scarcely a bit of gold remaining. Ring after
ring, the new H'tee was elevated, by a contriv-
ance of ropes and pulleys, to its place.

The day on which the first ring was to be
placed in its position, seventy thousand people
were estimated to be present. ''Such a com-
pany and such a scene," writes a missionary,

114 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

*' beggars description. When the signal was
given to pull the ropes, men, women, and chil-
dren seized them frantically, and slowly the car
was raised above the heads of the excited multi-
tude. Shouts and cheers of the wildest sort
rent the air, which, mingled with the din of
their horrible instruments of music, was almost
deafening. Parents held their little ones high
up in their arms, that they might not lose the
sight. Men and women danced wildly about,
waving their hands in response to the shouts
and 2:esticu]ations of those who had ascended
the frame-work of the pagoda. Old men and
women, who had probably dragged their feeble
limbs up the steep ascent for the last time,
were prostrate on the ground, with hands clasped
and eyes raised with such an intensity of desire
and eagerness in their expression, as was pain-
ful in the extreme to witness. As the car rose
higher and higher, the enthusiasm increased.
It was near the top when a rope broke, then
another. Is the judgment of God about to de-
cend upon the heads of this guilty throng .'' It
was a moment of terrible suspense. But no !
vengeance is delayed : the remaining ropes hold
fast. With a faint, suffocated feeling, we
forced our way out of the crowd and down the

PAGAN MONUMENTS. II5

Steps. We felt as if the whole structure was
about to fall in token of God's displeasure with
idolatrous worship."

The next day, in attempting to replace the
ropes that were broken, two Shans fell from
the top, and were instantly killed. One old
woman was crushed to death. Another made a
vow that she would walk around the pagoda
seven times ; but before the seventh round was
accomplished she fell and expired. IMany such
incidents occurred. Two children were born
there, and their mothers were considered most
fortunate beings.

At last the H' tee is fixed, the offerings ended,
and the crowd dispersed ; and Shway-da-gong
still stands, as before, a mass of brick and mor-
tar and outward gilding. Like human merit,
the foundation of the religion it symbolizes, it
is the wonder and admiration and end of desire
to multitudes ; but it saves none, and has no
power to bless mankind.

Pagodas are scattered throughout Burmah and
in all Buddhist countries. They are the monu-
ments of Gaudama, the visible indications of
his present power over the hearts of men. Pa-
ganism and the various forms of false religion
have need to mark their existence by material

Il6 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

symbols : they make no change in men. The
heart that is impure and unholy when it embraces
Buddhism, Brahminism, or Mohammedanism, is
impure and unholy still. It produces no change
in life, and in death it gives no light.

What are thy monuments, O Christ ? What
marks thy presence and power among men ?
Come with me to our unobtrusive, ungilded,
unornamented chapel in Toungoo. It is sabbath
morning. Behold, among the natives gathered
there, a woman pale and weary ; beside her are
two little girls, also tired, travel-stained, and
footsore. They are Shans. A neighbor of
theirs last year came down to Toungoo, and
was employed by my father to take care of his
pony. In doing this, he heard the truth, and
was converted ; and like Andrew and Philip,
who quickly made known the Messiah they had
found, he wrote back to his native village that
there was a teacher in Toungoo who knew the
way to heaven ; and that he had found that way,
and it was very good. He urged them all to
come, and enter with him that blessed way.
This woman, a widow, with her two little daugh-
ters and several neighbors, at once came down.
They were obliged to steal away ; for the Burman
king, to whom the Shan States are tributary, had

THE ORPHAN GIRLS. 11/

all the roads guarded by soldiers to prevent the
emigration of Shan families to the mild, attrac-
tive government of British Burmah. They hid
in the jungle by day, and made their way cau-
tiously through it by night, till they were out of
the territory of the Burman king. They were
the first of their race to undertake a religious
journey, not to worship at pagodas, but to hear
of Jesus. The mother soon sickened and died ;
but the daughter, some years after, when she
was a Christian, said of her, ** I think my mother
is in heaven, for she believed in Jesus as soon
as she heard of him."

My mother took the little girls, — Mah Mong
and Mah Shway, — and taught them the way of
life their mother had brought them so far to
learn. They were both converted. Mah Shway
married a Shan disciple, and is still living, a
faithful, loving wife, a devoted mother, and use-
ful Christian. Mah Mong married a Burman
disciple, and, with him, engaged in service in
the family of an English officer. So faithful
and trustworthy were they, that, when the famil)
left Burmah for India, they took them with them.
After a few years they returned to Burmah,
bringing with them their only child, a little boy,
the delight of both their hearts. This Httle boy

Il8 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

was not taught to fold his hands, and worship
idols, but to lisp the name of Jesus, and to re-
peat the sweet words, "Suffer little children to
come unto me." When four years of age, just
when he was most closely twined with every
fibre of his mother's heart, one of the many
diseases that prey upon little ones there fell
upon him. Mah M5ng did not shriek, tear her
hair, or rend her garments ; but, sustained by
the love of Christ, stronger than any earthly
love, she sat by his side, and told him the way
of life. When he felt the chill touch of death,
his little heart shrank, and he said, " I 'fraid,
rnamma." Choking back her tears, she said,
" Do not be afraid, my darling. The Saviour
calls you : he wants you in his beautiful home
above." And the little child, assured and com-
forted, went to be with Jesus.

Mah Mong was ever ready to do what she
could to make known the glad tidings to her
people. She was the companion and friend of
missionaries. Said one who was with her in
her last days, "We all loved Mah Mong so much.
She was like a sister to me." But her hen.Ith
failed, and she was called to endure a long and
painful illness. She was a most patient sufferer,
grieving most of all that the time necessarily

MAH MONG. 119

Spent in caring for her could not be devoted to
teaching those who were not Christians ; and,
when the missionary mamma put off her jungle-
trip to remain with her, she said, ** O mamma, I
am so long in dying ! If I could go home now,
you could go to the jungle, and carry the good
news."

As the missionary was entering her room one
day, she heard her praying, and paused at the
door. She was saying, " O Lord, let thy will
be done. Thou knowest how long I have suf-
fered, and how glad I shall be to come to Thee.
Call me now, if Thou canst. Thy will, not
mine, be done." The missionary was not well ;
and Mah Mong quickly noticed her pale face,
and tenderly urged her to take medicine, that
she might be strong to tell her people the way
of life. When the missionary went in the next
day, her husband said, " Mah Mong had a pecul-
iar experience last night. She awoke me by
making a strange noise. I asked her what was
the matter. She said, ' I am trying to sing. My
heart is full of light. Oh, I am so happy ! I
thought I had arrived at the heavenly city.
The door was open, and I saw the golden streets,
and an angel came out and talked with me.
He said, '* You must wait a little, Mah Mcng

I20 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURxMAH.

The Lord will call for you after Christmas." I
asked him about the mamma : would she come
soon? but I could not hear what he said about
her.' " And so said she to the mamma, " Do not
put off the Christmas-tree," referring to Christ-
mas plans that were likely to be deferred on ac-
count of her precarious state : " I shall not die
till after Christmas, and I want you all to have
a good time." So the Christmas gathering was
held, and those who made presents remembered
her. The morning after, the missionary car-
ried Mah Mong's presents to her. Her face
was full of joy. She received the presents
gratefully, and said, " How kind every one is to
me ! These are beautiful presents ; but one
thought of the home to which I am going is
worth more than all these, and I am going soon
now." The next day she heard the call, and
went up higher. Such are thy monuments, O
Prince of Peace ! When Shway-da-gong shall
have crumbled into smallest dust, Mah Mong
" shall shine as the brightness of the firmament
and as the stars for ever and ever."

THE FIRST SEPARATION. 121

CHAPTER X.

The First Separation. — Boghyee. — Moung See Dee.—
The Padoungs.

My first experience of the great trial — sep-
aration from parents — which sooner or later
must darken the life of every missionary child,
was in the dry season of 1864, when my father
and mother made the first missionary journey
to the Shan States. They committed my baby
brother and myself to the care of kind mission-
ary friends, at whose house we all passed the
night previous to their departure.

Well do I remember the events of the follow-
ing morning. After a hasty breakfast we gath-
ered in front of the house. There were the
ponies upon which my father and mother were
to ride, the Burman and Karen preachers who
were to assist in proclaiming the truth, and the
coolies with their baskets of provisions and
books.

Conspicuous among them all was the venera-
ble San Quala, who always reminded me of

122 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

David of the Old Testament, or Paul of the
New, ready to give his parting benediction, re-
joicing that still farther into his darkened coun
try the light of life was to penetrate. A hymn
was sung ; Rev. Mr. Cross then fervently com-
mended the travellers to loving Omnipotent
care ; a last kiss was bestowed upon baby fast
asleep in \\\^ paketty and upon the tearful little
girl standing near, and they were gone. Should
we ever see them again } Yes, sooner than we
expected ; for, having penetrated to the borders
ot Shan-land, a mutiny of the coolies com-
pelled them most unwillingly to abandon the
journey, and return to Toungoo.

On their way back, they were met by Bo-
ghyee, the most powerful of Geckho chiefs, who
said, " Why do you go to the Shans t They are
a bad people ; they have no truth : why do you
not preach to us ? My people have not heard
your law so much as once. Preach to me."
My father began by telling of God, the creation,
the first human beings, pure and holy, their fall,
and the consequent sin, sorrow, suffering, and
death of the human race. To all this Boghyee
assented. ^^ KoiLug-deJi^ kotnig-dcJiy' said he,
" it is good, your words are very true : we have
all sinned, we all have sorrow and suffering, and

A PAKETT OR BURMAX CRADLE. 123

A PAKETT OR BURMAX CR.\DLE.

SEEKERS FOR TRUTH. 125

must die." My father went on to say, that,
while in this present state all men were in very
much the same condition, in the future state
there would be a difference : there was a world
of woe, and a heaven of eternal glory. The old
man eagerly interrupted, '' Koicng-ghm Ian pyah
bah,pyah bah, ter yoiik ghyn the.'' ''Show me,
show me the road to heaven : I very much want
to arrive there."

My father then preached to him Christ, the
way to eternal life. He received the truth with
gladness. "You must come to my village,"
said he. "I have twenty villages. We will build
a chapel in every village, and my people will
learn books and worship God."

My father heard these words with feelings of
mingled gladness and grief ; glad that a spirit
of inquiry was given to these hearts, and grieved
that he had not a man to send, or the means to
support him there.

But behold the hand of God! Among the
letters in Toungoo, awaiting his arrival, was
one from a gentleman residing in Rochester,
N.Y. He had earnestly desired in early life to
be a missionary, but circumstances had prevent-
ed. His heart was in the work, and he wished to
have some one preach for him among the hea-

126 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAIL

then. He would not ask for a Paul or an Apol-
los ; but for **a good man, full of faith and the
Holy Ghost," the funds for whose support he
would gladly furnish. Here were the means.

He also found awaiting him a young man, a
Karen by birth, who had spent two years at the
theological school in Rangoon. He spoke Bur-
mese fluently, as well as several Karen dialects,
and was anxious to work for the Master wher-
ever he was needed. Here was the man ; not
twenty men, but one man ; and in these coinci-
dences the leading hand of God was manifest.

This young man, Moung See Dee, was sent
as soon as possible to Shway-nan-ghyce, one of
the principal Geckho villages, where he entered
upon his life-work of preaching and teaching
the gospel, and the people gathered about him
with confidence and regard. To encourage the
women and girls to learn, my mother told him
she would give a Testament and jacket to every
one of them who learned to read the Bible.
Before the end of the dry season, Moung See
Dee came down to Toungoo, attended by a
group of Geckhos ; and among them six girls
came to claim the promised gift. It was a day
never to be forgotten. I thank God it was
given to me, as a little child, to hear their low

th'rah tah dee. 127

voices timidly reading tlie second chapter of
Matthew, to prove their right to the prize, and
to see put into their hands the first copies of
his Word ever any woman of their tribe had
owned.

The jackets were of caHco, a yard and a half
in each. They were of very little real value ;
but in their eyes, when the promise was first
made to them, worth more than many Bibles.

The word of God has never yet returned void.
Ere long my father was called upon to organize,
at this village, the first church among the Geck-
hos. A beautiful group was baptized, among
them the chiefs daughter, one of the six above
mentioned, who afterwards became the young
preacher's wife.

Several other chapels were opened among
these tribes, when my father was obliged to
leave the country. The Rev. Mr. Bunker then
took charge of this field, to whom we are indebt-
ed for further accounts of Moung See Dee's —
now called Th'rah Tah Dee ^ — interesting
work.

* The various races of Burmah have no family names, and
the names by which they are called are changed according to
age, situation, and circumstances. Moung See Dee is the Bur-
man name by which he was known as a young man. Moung is
a general appellation, meaning brother. Th'rah means teacher,
and he is now known as Teachsr Tah Dee.

128 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

After this church at Shvvay-nan-ghyee was
well established, Tah Dee was anxious to push
into new regions, and took up his abode in a
very wild village called Prai-so, a full day's jour-
ney beyond. After two or three years' work
here, a church was organized; and, after settling
a pastor over it, Th'rah Tah Dee again pushed
on This time he crossed the watershed range
of mountains, between the Salwen and Toun-
goo Rivers, which had never before been crossed
by a religious teacher, save once by my father
and his company, years before. This range
runs north and south. Passing over it towards
the east, you look down into a long, narrow val-
ley of peculiar beauty.

The boundaries of several tribes meet here ;
and Tah Dee, perceiving how important a posi-
tion this valley would be in the advance of
Christianity, established himself at a Padoung
village called Wah-thaw-ko.

These Padoungs are a very interesting peo-
ple, and, until Tah Dee went among them, very
few had heard the name of Jesus.

The first to hear the glad tidings came down
to Toungoo with the Geckho chief Neeghyan,
on one of his visits to my father. He started
to return with him ; but after two days' journey

THE FIRST PADOUNG. I29

he left the company, and came back to Toungoo.
He gave the reason for this step as follows :
" He had pondered by the way, the things he
had heard of the teacher : they had deeply im-
pressed his mind ; he wanted to know more
about them. He was the first of his tribe who
had heard about Jesus Christ, and he wanted
all his people to hear. He did not understand
enough to be their teacher ; but he thought if
he came back to the teacher, and studied books,
he would soon be able to teach his people, and
perhaps he could persuade the teacher to go
home with him when the rains were over."
Father gladly took him into school. He was a
sprightly young man about twenty-five years of
age, and spoke Shan perfectly. He gave inter-
esting descriptions of his people. After study-
ing a while, he reluctantly went back to his
country as a guide to a party of travellers ; but
he soon returned, brinscino^ with him six of his
countrymen.

Some time after this, while at a mountain vil-
lage, a Padoung chief and seven men visited
my father. They had never seen a white per-
son ; and, when they had a fair view of him,
the old chief exclaimed, "■ Amai ! amai ! is it
possible such men can be good ? " Three of the

130 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BUKMAH.

number were persuaded to shake hands ; but
the others turned their backs, and no amount
of persuasion could win them.

There are about nineteen thousand Padoungs,
distributed in sixty-two villages. The tribe is
very thrifty, and their villages are permanent.
Their country is from seven thousand to eight
thousand feet above the sea, and has a compara-
tively cool climate, and the people are more ro-
bust than their neighbors. When the mission-
ary first visited this people, their villages were
surrounded by stockades and ditches, and the
whole country was in a state of feudal war.
Tab Dee labored for several years, and in 1876
the Rev. Mr. Bunker organized the first church
among the Padoungs. He found then no stock-
ade or ditch around the village. He saw no
frightened people, with arms for protection,
save as he visited other villages in the neigh-
borhood. There were eleven young men and
women awaiting baptism. Peace had come
into the beautiful valley, and war had retired
to the hills about. A good schoolhouse and
chapel had been erected ; and altogether the
changes that had been wrought by Tab Dee, as
an instrument in the hands of the Holy Spirit,
were truly inspiring. Last accounts give more

FRUIT GATHERED. I3I

baptisms and evidences to show that the light
is reaching many villages.

Tah Dee has made many and extended jour-
neys throughout the Padoung country, and we
may confidently expect a large harvest from
this people in the future. He has peculiar
qualifications for pioneer-work. He is a born
leader and a good organizer. He is a brave
man, and entirely weaned from the superstitions
of his people. He has been instrumental, alto-
gether, in the planting of ten churches, and
there is great hope of future usefulness. Has
not the gentleman in Rochester, who was the
means of putting Th'rah Tah Dee into the field,
found that which he asked for, "a good man,
full of faith and the Holy Ghost " } Has he not
through him abundantly preached the gospel
to the heathen ? After some years this gentle-
man's health failed ; and he reluctantly con-
sented that the Cranston-street Sunday school,
in Providence, R.L, should furnish Tah Dee's
support, which they still gladly do. Mr. Phin-
ney was not a rich man ; but he brought a fev/
loaves to Christ, and thousands have been fed.
Will not other men and other Sunday schools
do likewise }

132 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

CHAPTER XI.
Seven Weeks upon the Mountains.

No period of my child-life in Burmah do I re-
call with greater interest than the seven weeks
I spent among the mountains lying to the north-
east of my home. Upon their wooded depths
and dusky outline I had often gazed with a kind
of awe, wondering what of life was hidden there ;
and great was my delight as I heard talked over
the plans of a jungle-trip in which I was includ-
ed. These mountains are the homes of vari-
ous Karen tribes, — Bghais, Geckhos, Saukoos,
Brecs, Harshwees, Padoungs, and Red Karens ;
and beyond these lie the Shan States, called in
our school-geographies "Laos."

We left home early in the morning, my fa-
ther, my aunt, and myself, accompanied by two
native preathers and several coolies. Our pio-
visions, cooking-utensils, beds, and books were
carried by the coolies in bamboo baskets sus-
pended from bamboo poles borne across their
shoulders. These poles are the lifelong com-

ONE DAY S JOURNEY. I33

panions of the coolies, and to them they profess
very great attachment. An indignity offered
to the coolie's bamboo is resented much more
promptly and severely than if offered to his
mother. He says he loves his bamboo just as
much as he does his mother, his wife, or his
child.

We travelled about twenty miles the first
day. A large part of the way lay over a burn-
ing plain, with the sun almost over our heads.
Then we entered shady forests, our narrow
pathway winding along the banks of a river,
where our eyes were constantly delighted by
the heavy foliage and beautiful flowers. Occa-
sionally we were obliged to stop to cut away
vines and branches, or to climb over some large
tree fallen across the path. At three o'clock
we arrived at Karen Khyoung, the first in the
line of Christian villages which now dot the way
to the Shan States, and made ourselves com-
fortable in the little zayat. No sooner had we
spread our mats, and seated ourselves, than we
were surrounded by the villagers ; and the rest
of the day was passed in preaching, singing, and
teaching.

Early the next morning we proceeded on our
journey, and soon began to climb our first moun-

134 MY CHILD-LIFE III BURMAH.

tain, called Pan Doung, or Flower Mountain.
Its summit was a fair garden of the Lord, cov-
ered with a charming variety of wild flowers,
ferns, and trees. At noon wc rested by the side
of a dashing mountain-stream, the water of
which was delightfully cool.

The chief of Kyah Maing, the next village,
met us here. He and his people had received
the teacher coolly on his first visit, and demand-
ed exorbitant prices for all supplies. Now he
welcomed him with the affection of a son, and
sent back at once for an elephant to take up
our baskets.

We stopped for the night on an elevation at
the foot of Long-Rock Mountain, so called be-
cause of a large granite rock upon it, thirty-four
feet high. It is shaped like a sugar-loaf, and
on its top were growing beautiful orchids whose
heavy blossoms we would fain have gathered.
At its foot were a multitude of ferns and flowers
in all their wealth of tropical delicacy, luxuri-
ance, fragrance, and color; but my aunt was
more moved by a single monotropa (as we call
it in America, the Indian pipe, but which the
natives of Burmah call English pipe) growing
in an old paddy-field. Such is the charm of
early association and native land.

ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 135

While quietly resting we heard a distant shout
far above us. My father recognized the call,
and replied. It was soon followed by another ;
and, guided by responding shouts, a company of
ten men made their way to our camp. They
were disciples from Kyah Maing. They heard
of our coming on their return from their paddy-
fields at dark ; and, after eating rice, they came
through the dense jungle, a distance of at least
six miles, to help us on our way in the morning.
It was pleasant to receive such cordial greetings
in those dark wilds.

After some hard climbing the next morning,
we reached the village, about three thousand
feet above the Toungoo plain. There we found
ourselves literally above the clouds. A dense
fog filled the plain beneath. So it is in this
world's plain : dark, cold, and cheerless are the
clouds that often hang over the soul. It is im-
possible for us to see the bright sunlight above,
where God perpetually shines; but we may rest
assured that the Sun of righteousness and
truth will soon dispel the clouds, and the clear,
beautiful blue of God's unchanging love, our
eternal canopy, will be revealed.

The people were joyful at our coming; and
the whole village, bearing rice, fruit, and flowers.

136 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

came out in procession to welcome us. Each
one gave us a cordial shake of the hand. I had
seen representatives of these tribes in town,
but to meet them on their native hills was a
new experience. Their whole appearance was
novel and striking. They were stouter and
stronger than the people in the plains ; they
were ruder in manners and dress, more timid,
and yet more confiding and thoughtful of
strangers. The men wore only a simple tunic,
r£aching to the knee. The women wore a short
skirt of many colors, and an upper tunic of min-
gled cotton and bright red silk, all of their own
manufacture.

We took up our abode in the chapel, and re-
mained here four days. During the day, men,
women, and children worked hard in the rice-
fields ; but morning and evening they gathered
for instruction. Late on Saturday evening we
heard the people pounding rice. They had
been in the field all day, and were now working
till near midnight to prepare their food, so that
they might rest on the Lord's Day.

At the early morning prayer-meeting between
fifty and sixty were present. We met in the
middle of the day for preaching and Bible-study,
and again in the evening for preaching. Sev-
eral gave evidence of conversion.

TRAVELLING BY ELEPHANT

A BAPTISM. 139

On Monday the head-man of Lapet Ing
came over with his elephant to take us to his
village, where we met a warm reception. We
occupied a temporary house built for us by the
people. Here we found a large company of
Shan traders, direct from the Shan country,
going with their wares, ponies, and cattle to
Rangoon and other towns in British Burmah.
These Shans have been called " the merchant-
princes of Burmah ; " but certainly not on ac-
count of any princely bearing. Their appear-
ance was uncouth and wild, but my father
spoke to them of the love of Christ.

On Thursday we returned to Kyah Maing,
to meet again the band of young converts ;
and, after a careful examination, thirteen were
accepted as candidates for baptism. Difficulty
was found in preparing a baptistery. Men
worked hard to make a dam across a moun-
tain-stream, but were disappointed on Sunday
morning to find the water would not stay. It
was decided that we must go a long distance to
the foot of the mountain. After singing and
prayer at the chapel, we started down the hill.
Looking back from the foot of a steep descent,
we saw the whole village filing down the nar-
row path, the men with their blankets thrown

140 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

loosely about their shoulders, and the women
in their bright-colored tunics, — all solemn, yet
cheerful and happy. The baptistery was in the
bed of a large, cold mountain-stream, which ran
through a deep, wild gorge, from which the
banks rise almost perpendicularly to a dizzy
height, covered with heavy timber and bamboo
thickets, through whose closely locked branches
it seems as if the sunshine could never pene-
trate. A solemn stillness rested here, broken
only by the murmur of the stream. Very
sweetly sounded the voice of praise and prayer,
as they rang out for the first time in this wild
mountain pass. Our hearts melted as our
dusky brethren and sisters were buried with
Christ in baptism, and came forth to a new
life in him.

" Blest be the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love."

In the evening the Lord's Supper was ad-
ministered to about eighty. The collection
amounted to fourteen rupees, or seven dollars.
It was a delightful day to all.

The next morning we bade farewell to this
warm-hearted people. The chief took our bas-
kets on his elephant ; and we went to Ko Aik's
village, and spent the night. The women of

A MOVING VILLAGE. I4I

these villages are usually shy ; but the presence
of the white lady and child gave them assur-
ance, and we always had a lively group about us.
The last day of the closing year found us at
Shway-nan-ghyee. It was pleasant to contrast'
our reception with that my father met on his
first visit. Most remarkable changes had taken
place. Then he was compelled to cut his way
to the villages through tangled thickets, often
thickly planted with poisoned spikes, and was
received with spears, bows and arrows, guns,
and sullen faces. Now, how different! We
find good roads and warm Christian friends,
who hailed our coming as a joyful event, and
supplied all our wants without price.
- Here we had the pleasure of witnessing the
removal of an entire village. Those who have
experienced the protracted bustle and labor of
a New-England moving of a single family will
scarcely believe me when I say that a whole
village in one day changed their place of resi-
dence, and by night were resting as quietly as
if nothing had transpired. The people of this
village suffered greatly from malaria, owing to
their unhealthy location. My father helped
them to select a suitable place ; and the next
day they collected their families, and prepared

142 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

for their journey. Their baggage was light.
All the clothes they possessed were those they
had on ; and their articles of furniture would all
be made new, clean, and fresh, from portions of
the bamboos now growing where in a few days
their houses would stand. A few of the men,
armed with large knives, spears, bows and
arrows, led the way with the droves of buffaloes.
In single file they descended the steep moun-
tain-side ; and we followed on our ponies, with
our party. After us came the women and chil-
dren, while another band of armed men closed
up the rear.

For several hours we descended, sometimes
amused and entertained by their wild mountain
songs, and now and then stopping to rest in
some lovely nook. At the foot of the mountain
was a deep, wide ditch half full of mud ; and it
required no little care to see the whole proces-
sion safely across. The easiest way for us was
to make our ponies leap over. My father and
myself landed safely on the other side ; but my
aunt's pony became frightened, and, missing his
foothold, sank floundering in the mire.

One of the natives immediately sprang in, and
seized the bridge to guide the animal ; but, wheel-
ing suddenly, he gave the man an unexpected

THE NEW SITE. 1 43

push, SO that he was compelled to take a very
humble seat, which, though soft, was not agree-
able. We shall never forget the look of injured
innocence with which he gazed up at us before
he could recover himself sufficiently to rise.

Having crossed this Slough of Despond, we
commenced the ascent of the mountain, which
was long and tedious, often leading over heights
which seemed almost perpendicular.

Late in the afternoon we gained the site of
the new village, a beautiful place. We looked
down upon fleecy clouds floating like a veil
between us and the valley v here our feet so
lately trod. Around us, as far as eye could see,
rose range after range of mountains, over which
soft lights and shadows played.

" Methinks it should hav j been impossible
Not to love all things in a world so filled,
Where the breeze warbles, and the mute, still air
Is music slumbering on her instrument."

But the natives could not linger to admire the
lovely landscape. They turned their faces to
the waving forest of bamboos, where they must
prepare themselves shelter for the night. They
began to fell trees, and soon had a space cleared,
where they constructed little bamboo booths for

144 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

immediate use. In the evening, gathered in
groups, they seated themselves upon the ground
around the different fires. The women had been
busy gathering the long dry grass, and were
now tying it to strips of split bamboo stems
about three or four feet in length, that they
might be in readiness to roof the houses, which
must be begun on the morrow. The men took
tall, slender bamboos, and splitting them into
thin, smooth strips about three inches in width,
wove them in and out to form a matting, which
they would use for the walls.

We slept that night on the ground, lulled to
rest by the wind in the trees and by the buzz
and hum of the myriad insects ; and all night
long the twinkling stars looked at us through
our leafy bower, and kept their silent watch.

Early in the morning the men went to work
in the forest, while the women prepared the
breakfast. For utensils they turned to their
never-failing friend, the bamboo. Selecting one
about six inches in diameter, they divided it just
below each joint, thus obtaining a vessel two or
three feet in length, open at the top, perfectly
tight, and possessing in itself a sweet, delicate,
flavor, which is no detriment to the food. Fill-
ing this one-third full of rice, with a little water,

THE NEW CHAPEL. I45

they placed it in the fire, resting it in an inclined
position on a horizontal pole. The bamboo,
being green, does not burn. When the rice is
cooked, they cut the bamboo open lengthwise,
and, laying open the two parts, had their rice
all ready. It was a breakfast which cannot be
equalled in this country.

Among those tribes which had begun to re-
ceive Christian ideas, it was pleasant to notice
their respect for God evinced in many ways.
In building their village, for instance, they
erected God's house before they commenced
their own.

The chapel was to be the centre of the vil-
lage. They first placed in the ground four tall
bamboo posts. About fifteen feet from the
ground, they fastened to these posts, on each
side, other bamboos placed horizontally. Across
these they laid smaller pieces of bamboos, fas-
tened closely together by natural strings of reeds
growing abundantly with the bamboos and grass.
This is the floor. The walls were made by tying
to the upright posts the bamboo matting already
mentioned. For the roof they fastened the dry
thatch, prepared by the women, to the bamboo
rafters, and the chapel was done.

The native houses were made in the same
general way.

146 MV CIHLD-L1F£ IN BUftMAH.

There is hardly a tree in the world so useful
and necessary to man as the bamboo to these
mountaineers. It often grows in symmetrical
clustersj varying in diameter at their base from
six tc* thirty feet or more. For about eight or
ten feet from the ground, each of these clusters
presents a form nearly cylindrical ; after which
they begin gradually to swell outwards, each
bamboo assuming for itself a graceful curve,
and rising often to the height of eighty or one
hundred feet, the extreme end drooping lightly.
It bears fruit at long intervals, and the leaves
are narrow and small. Articles of furniture
are made from it, also umbrellas, hats, musical
instruments, baskets, cups, brooms, pipes, pens,
bows and arrows, and wicks of candles. Its
fine fibre is made into twine ; its leaves are
employed as a cloak in wet weather. The pulp
is formed into paper, tender shoots are boiled
and eaten, or made into pickles and sweetmeats,
and its thick juice is said to be an excellent
medicine. Indeed, it would be more difficult
to say what the bamboo is not used for, than
what it is. Through life the native is depend-
ent upon it for support, he is borne upon it to
his last resting-place, and its waving branches
mark his tomb.

A KAREN CHAPEL.

J47

MOUNG DOO. 149

It did not take our villagers long to become
established in their new homes, and they were
soon ready to work in their rice-fields.

We were surprised one night by a visit from
Moung Doo, a savage old chief, who lived a dis-
tance of two days' journey from Shway-nan-
ghyee, and who had long been the terror of the
country. He had previously made friendship
with my father. He reached this village at
dark, and said that he dreamed the white
teacher had arrived, and came to see if it were
true. He manifested the greatest delight on
seeing the teacher, taking hold of him with
both hands, and shaking him heartily, exclaim-
ing, ''Ro-ro-ro'' ("Good, good, good"). He
repeated this salutation several times during
the evening.

On the sabbath our worship was held in open
air, the congregation sitting upon the ground
in a half-circle. Never was there a more atten-
tive audience. At the second service my father
spoke to them for two hours, then they bowed
reverently in prayer; and when the hymn
"Come tc Jesus, just now," was sung, young
and old joined in the chorus, the children cov-
ering their faces with their hands, that they
might not be seen. Their pastor, Th'rah Tah

150 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

Dee, had been very successful in teaching them
to sing.

After visiting other villages, we returned to
Lapet Ing, where my father left my aunt and
myself for a few days. We staid in the house
of one of the native Christians — if I may dig-
nify by the name of house what seemed a large
box, elevated upon bamboo posts, ten or twelve
feet from the ground. The interior contained
a single large room, with no opening, save the
entrance, for the admission of light or air, and
no chimney. It was occupied by five families, —
fourteen persons besides children. Each fam-
ily had a fireplace of its own ; and, as the
nights were chilly, the fires were often kept
burning until near morning, the smoke mean-
while creeping along the rafters, penetrating
every corner, settling to the floor, and bringing
abundant, though griefless, tears to our eyes.
The only ornaments were lovely cobwebs spun
in the corners, and festoons of soot which hung
from ceiling and wall with a natural grace.
The most cheery corner was given to us, and
with our curtains and mats we made ourselves
quite comfortable.

One night we were awakened by a great chat«
taring and laughing, and, on inquiring the cause,

MOUNTAIN HOUSE.

151

MYSTERIES OF COOKING. 1 53

discovered that there had been an addition to
the family, and we were lulled to sleep again by
the cries of the new arrival. We were sur-
rounded every day by women and children, and
we hope some seeds of truth were planted in
their minds.

We had taught a young Shan Christian, who
accompanied us, to prepare our simple meals.
One day we thought we should enjoy a change,
and, instead of our usual rice and curry for
breakfast, would have grilled chicken. We
called Toonlah, and explained to him that we
were weary of ''hen'' (curry), and would like a
chicken grilled. He assented, and hastened out
to meet our wishes. After waiting an hour we
felt hungry, and went out to find him. There
he sat on the ground before the fire, with the
plucked chicken in his hands, his face wearing
a most doleful expression. He looked up, as
we approached, heaved a deep sigh, and said,
"Grill ter ket-the-go, hen ter Iwai deh," '*To
grill is very hard, but to make curry is very
easy." We allowed him to make the curry.

After my father rejoined us, we visited several
other villages, among them that of Neeghyan, a
powerful Geckho chief. On one of my father's
visits there, he found Neeghyan and his brother

154 J^I^' CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

very ill with cholera. The brother was then
past hope of recovery ; but my father undertook
to save the chief. "O teacher!" said he, "if
you will only save me, I will build a chapel, and
have a teacher; and we will nil Ipnrn your law,
and worship the living God." Our God blessed
the remedies, answered pmyer, and the chief
recovered. He kept his promise, built a chapel,
and came down to Touniroo after Mouni^ Oner,
as before described. After some months of
study, he came to town again, and with earnest-
ness said, "Teacher, this religion is good. I
want you to come up, and baptize my whole vil-
lage." Interesting groups were from time to
time converted and baptized, but the chief had
recently died. His wife and brother were rul-
ing in his place, and received us kindly.

We learned some of the circumstances re-
specting Neeghyan's burial, which were interest-
ing. For the coffin, a tree was felled, a slab
was cut off from one side, and it was then hol-
lowed out to receive the body. They had bur-
ied with him eight pants, eight jackets, and
eight turbans, saying, "So may he have plenty
of clothing in the world to which he has gone."
Six dahs (knives), one silver-plated, three spears,
and five guns were added : so may he have

FUNERAL GIFTS. 155

plenty of weapons. One keezeCy one gong, fif-
teen rupees, two strings of precious stones, and
three pairs of silver bangles : so may he abound
in these things in the world to which he has
gone.

They killed four buffaloes, and placed the
heads in the grave ; also the heads and feet of
fourteen pigs and six fowls, that he might not
lack for food in his new abode. At first we
were surprised at this ; for we hoped he, and
others in the village, had accepted Christ as
their portion here and forever. But we soon
found, that, while believing in Jesus for the for-
giveness of sins and the saving of their souls, it
seemed too much to them that he should supply
all their wants. They had yet to learn that in
him ''all fulness dwells."

They were not very unlike many professing
Christians here, who seem willing enough to
have Christ forgive their sins and save their
souls, but wish to spend all their tim'e here in
arlc'lng to their possessions, beautifying their
homes, and making and arranging their dress.
These more simple natives thought only to pro-
vide for the future, as well as the present.

The people here are profusely ornamented.
The chief's wife took my aunt and me aside, and

156 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

displayed her jewels. She had ornaments for
the ears, of gold, silver, and brass ; chains of
beads, precious stones, and silver coins, for the
neck ; bracelets for the arms ; bangles and brass
ornaments for the ankles and limbs. We spoke
of some articles as very pretty, when, with a
little toss of the head, she replied, " Oh, no ! they
are not pretty." She next called our attention
to some nice blankets, by saying they were not
very good ; but would doubtless have been dis-
appointed, had we expressed the same opinion.
At last she brought forward a box containing a
hymn-book, several tracts, and portions of the
Scriptures. These were treasures indeed, which
she was learning to prize.

The whole village came together in the even-
ing, and listened attentively to the preaching.
At the close, the chief's wife turned to the peo-
ple, and told them "to consider what had been
said, for the words were delightful."

We then visited Bo-ghy-ee, the Geckho chief
mentioned in the preceding chapter. He was
a fine-looking old man of about eighty years of
age. His bearing was majestic and dignified.
He said, " I am an old man, but I want to learn
your law."

We thought that among the Geckho women

ORNAMENTS. 1 57

the love of finery had reached its utmost limit ;
for in addition to strings of beads, glass, and
buttons around the neck, and ear-rings and fin-
ger-rings, they wore coils of brass wire as large
as the little finger, reaching from the ankle to
the knee, seven pounds weight sometimes on
each foot^ But here at Boghyee's, we found
some Padoungs who had been driven from their
villages, and had taken refuge here. Among
them the mania for brass wire was much more
evident. Besides the heaviest leg-ornaments,
they commence in infancy to coil this brass or
lead wire around the neck, increasing the num-
ber of coils from time to time. On an adult I
counted thirteen coils on the neck and eight
spreading on the shoulders. These are never
removed ; and the wearers are obliged to carry
the head, with chin elevated, in such a position
that they cannot see the ground on which they
tread. The weight of brass on one person is
often forty pounds. My aunt and I gazed at
them, and they at us, with mutual astonishment.
We were the first white women they had seen.
They covered their faces with their hands,
peeped at us between their fingers, keeping up
a constant chatter, and uttering queer exclama-
tions. At length they grew bold enough to

158 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

draw near us, and touch our hands and faces to
see if the white would not rub off. They won-
dered if we were so white all over, and actually
asked me to take off my shoes and stockings.
I told them it was not our custom to remove
them before people, and they did not urge it.
Natives of the East are very polite, and never
ask us to do what we say is not our custom.

While we were at this village, Boghyce offered
to purchase me for one keezee, while his nephew
offered three keezees. A keezee is a kind of
gong made of bell-metal, and worth from fifty
to six hundred rupees. They are manufactured
by Shans, and are sometimes inlaid with gold :
such are very handsome and expensive. These
mountaineers invest their property in keezees.

These tribes are very different from the Bur-
mans and Shans, who are Buddhists. Instead
of worshipping idols of wood and stone, these
tribes pay homage to spirits, both good and evil,
which they believe to be constantly hovering
around them. They believe in one supreme
good spirit and one evil spirit, each attended by
countless myriads of subordinates. Whenever
illness or misfortune attends them, they consider
it a punishment for some misdemeanor, and im-
mediately offer some costly sacrifice to aj^pease

BLESSINGS OF THE COSPEL. 1 59

the spirit's wrath. One old man, whose wife
Was very ill, said to my father, " I have offered
one buffalo, ten hogs, five dogs, and thirty fowls ;
but the iiats are still angry with me, and my
wife does not recover. Now pray to your God,
and see if he is able to save her." He did
pray, and gave her medicine, and in a short
time she was much better. When the old man
saw her returning to health, he exclaimed,
"Teacher, I'll never worship the nats again!
I will trust in God and medicine."

Although uncivilized and warlike as a people,
they possess many noble qualities ; and those
who enjoy the privileges afforded by the mission
schools often astonish the teachers by their rapid
progress, sometimes proving themselves capable
of profound thought and reasoning. They are
very fond of music ; and, although they have no
musical system of their own, they learn very
quickly to sing the Christian hymns taught by
the missionaries.

We, who have enjoyed the blessings of Chris-
tianity all our lives, cannot realize the joyful
changes which it brings to these benighted ones.
The chief of Shway-nan-ghyee said to us, " Be-
fore the gospel was brought to us, we never slept
in our village at this season of the year. We

l60 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

were not afraid during the rains; but, when the
dry season came, we always hid about in the
jungles."

They lived in a state of constant fear, always
going well armed, and sleeping upon their arms
at night.

In a letter to " The Missionary Magazine," in
March, 1863, my father writes, "The divine
light is spreading ; it has already reached some
of the Shan mountains, and the time is not far
distant when it will shoot across the country to
the land of Sinim. * Behold, these shall come
from far, and lo, these from the north and from
the west, and these from the land of Sinim*
(Isa. xlix. 12). 'It is evident [that Sinim means
China, and that the Toungoo mountains and
these Shan mountains, as well as the sea, are to
be made the Lord's way for introducing the gos-
pel to the great empire of China. Hitherto
Sinim has been reached only by the sea, and a
few fires have been kindled on the seashore.
When the Lord makes all these mountains a
way, and the approach from the west as well as
from the east and south, then the Celestial
Empire will hear the thunder of God's law 'all
around the heavens,' and the time of her redemp-
tion will be near. Commercial enterprise is

THE OPEN DOOR. l6l

urging its way through Burmah and the Shan
States, to get hold of the wealth of Western
China. Various plans have been laid, roads
projected, exploring tours set on foot, all with
the conviction that China can be reached advan-
tageously from the west. Must it always be
true that the men of this world are wiser than
the children of light ? Should we not be equally
anxious to carry the gospel to Western China ?
And can we not make these Shan and Karen
mountains a way } "

Now a wide and effectual door is open to us.
Who of us will grasp the banner of our King,
and hasten to take the land in his name ? Who
will carry on the charge till final victory is won,
unless the young people of America awake to
the responsibility that is resting upon them .?
As I look upon the great work already accom-
plished by our missionary organization, I feel
that there is no more glorious occupation to be
found than that of carrying the refreshing waters
of life to those whose parched and thirsty lips
might never quaff them from other hands than
ours.

In October of 1865, my father wrote, *'The
Missionary Union is abundantly worthy of all
the confidence and support it receives, and

l62 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

vastly more ; for it is doing a great work, — a
work exceeding, in the grandeur of its propor-
tions and its far-reaching influence, the highest
conceptions of its warmest friends. Have the
friends of the Union ever considered in how
many dialects and with how many voices the
Union preaches the gospel every Sunday, and
nerhaps every day in the year? In Burmah
j.lone, the Union preaches in at least twelve
dialects, and I dare say the whole number ex-
ceeds twenty. Take into account also the
numerous preachers that speak in these various
dialects, including the printed pages that pro-
claim the way of life, and the Union's gospel
heralds would be numbered by hundreds and
thousands.

" If a preacher were found who could use
freely twenty different languages, and whose
heart burned within him to preach the gospel in
those languages, and only asked to be fed and
clothed and transported from place to place that
he might do so, who would not feel that it was
very important to give him an ample support .-*
Who would not covet the privilege of giving
something to help him in the good work ?
Such a preacher is the Missionary Union. If
an angel were to fly in the visible heavens with

AN ANGEL OF LIGHT. 163

the everlasting gospel, proclaiming the way of
life in a score of languages and with a thou-
sand voices, who would not say, ' God speed thee
in thy glorious flight ! ' Who would not be will-
ing to give him wings ? Such an angel is the
Missionary Union. These languages and voices
are being multiplied, — the fame and influence
of this many-tongued preacher are annually
widening. Let contributions also be multi-
plied, and let the resources of the Union be
commensurate with the importance and gran-
deur of its work ! God grant it, for Christ's
sake!"

164 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

CHAPTER XII.

Last Days in Burmah. — Return to America. — Mis-
sionaries' Children.

While on this journey my father became
very ill, and we were obliged to turn our faces
homewards. The long journey over mountains
and through narrow passes was wearisome even
for a well person ; but for an invalid, unable to
partake of any nourishment except a little rice-
water, and scarcely able to sit upon his pony, it
was exceedingly difficult. Our spirits lost their
buoyancy, and we failed to mark the beauty by
the way. We were filled with the one idea of
reaching home in safety, which our kind heaven-
ly Father permitted us to do.

Sad were the days that followed our return.
Several of the native disciples were ill. Sick-
ness entered our school and family, and my dar-
ling brother Willie died. My father's illness
increased, and the physician said he must leave
the country. My parents' hearts had long quiv-
ered with the thought that I must soon be sent

THE DEPARTURE. 1 65

to America ; and now, if my father must go, it
would be the most favorable opportunity for
me, so much better than to go with strangers.
We hastily made arrangements to go to Ran-
goon. As the physician's verdict there was the
same as in Toungoo, there was no alternative
but to sail for America as soon as possible.

Bitter tears fell as swift fingers fashioned the
garments needed for the voyage. Anguished
hearts made earnest supplication to the ever-
present Friend, who alone can sustain in the
hour of trial.

But why linger upon these painful scenes ?
The last hour came, the good-bys were said,
and from the deck of the ship we watched the
little boat that carried back to shore mother
and aunt and brother. They returned to carry
on the work : we turned our faces towards the
trackless ocean.

Shut up as I had been to the plain dwellings
of the missionaries and the rude huts of the
natives, the steamer seemed to me fit for a pal-
ace, and the broad ocean and blue sky filled my
soul with a sense of ever-varying beauty. I re-
joiced in the grandeur of the storm encountered
in the Indian Ocean, the sight of the canal then
in process of construction at Suez, and the

l66 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

glimpse at the Pyramids, and the marble
mosques of Cairo. I was amused with the don-
keys and their drivers at Alexandria, and de-
lighted with our short pause at Messina, with
the view of the coast of Sicily, and Mount
Etna, and Stromboli then smoking from its pent-
up fires ; with our passage between Scylla and
Charybdis, and our glimpse at the home of
Garibaldi.

Another storm met us in the Mediterranean,
but we arrived safely at Marseilles.

I cannot describe the emotions with which I
gazed upon the peculiarities of civilized lands,
in France and England : the people everywhere
wearing full suits of clothes, the good roads,
the convenient, elegant carriages, the beautiful
homes, the magnificent public buildings, and
landscapes cultivated as far as the eye could
reach. As I think of them now, I recall the
question of another little child, not a mission-
ary's, "Is it dark in the country where you
lived } " and I answer her, " Yes, little one,
dark, — not for want of sunlight, but for want
of heart-light."

The broad Atlantic seemed but a little step
between us and America. The Fourth of July
saw us in New York, and the next day we were

PECULIAR TRIALS. 1 6/

among dear friends. The fairy-like land of
America, with its schools, its churches, and
many wonders, was at last a reality to the mis-
sionary child ; and she felt, among its throngs of
people, like a grain of sand on the seashore.

The reader here may pause, and say, ** I do
not find much 'child-life' in this book." True.
A missionary's child has very little real child-
life. People in this country can hardly under-
stand how peculiar the life of a missionary's
child is. It is begun with enfeebled physical
conditions. The first few years are spent in
the midst of heathenism. His playmates, if
any, are native children. He has none of the
opportunities of a Christian land. He has no
instruction but that which his parents, already
overburdened with work, can give; and the
shadow of the coming separation hangs over
every day's experience. When the time is fixed,
who can describe the emotions of the weeks
that follow.? the dread, the fear, the heart-
rebellings of the child; the scalding tears, the
prayers, the heart-breaking struggles of the par-
ents. Then comes the hour of parting. The
last loving words are said, the last embrace is
given, the last united petition laid before the
throne of a covenant-keeping God, and the ves-

l68 MV CHILD-LIFE IN BURIHAH.

sel sails. In vain do the children lean over the
vessel's side, and cry, " Speak to me once more : '*
only the waves reply.

Mothers, can you form any idea of the anguish
of those loving hearts, and of the strange deso-
lation of the child ? Do you sympathize with
them as they bear this trial "for Jesus' sake" ?

Through the dreary weeks that follow, in the
midst of storms and sea-sickness and exhaus-
tion, in perils by sea and perils by land, how the
heart yearns for the soothing presence and ten-
der hand of the mother, and for the strong, lov-
ing protection of the father ! But the journey
ends ; and the missionary child treads upon the
soil so dear to his parents, but so new and
strange to him.

Here he occupies an anomalous position.

Children in this country are often compelled
by circumstances to go from home to obtain
their education, or enter upon other pursuits ;
but they carry with them sweet remembrances
of a home to which they may return in the hour
of need, and find a glad welcome. It takes but
a few days, at most, for them to return.

But the missionary's child is a stranger in a
strange land. Oceans and continents lie be-
tween him and his home ; weeks or months

COMPENSATIONS. T69

must pass before even a letter can reach him.
Too often his sore heart is wounded by com-
menls upon his outlandish, unfashionable ap-
pearance. Too often he is caressed and evert
flattered, not for his own, but his parents' sake.
Questions, too, are asked which pierce his heart.
New scenes and untried paths are before him,
which he must meet and pass alone. In health,
in sickness, and in death, he is peculiarly alone.
These are some of the trials of missionaries'
children ; but there are compensations also.
The Lord of hosts has not forsaken them, the
God of Jacob is still their refuge. The earnest
prayers of the parents, who thus sacrifice their
all for Christ's sake, are not unheard. They
reach the ear of the Father, ''who so loved the
world that he gave his only begotten Son," to
endure sorrow and shame such as mortal has
never known, that he might redeem the world
unto himself. His heart beats in tender sym-
prthy with the torn and bleeding hearts of the
parents, who thus, in their part, ''fill up the
measure of Christ's sufferings." He heals their
wounds, and strengthens their faith. He cares
for their children, I believe, with a peculiar ten-
derness. He calls them all "by name," and
hides them in the secret of his pavilion. He

I/O MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

makes the crooked places straight, and the
rough places smooth, before them. He gives
them friends and educational advantages.

It is now nearly seventy years since our mis-
sions began ; and the children of our missiona-
ries are scattered in various parts of our country,
and are engaged in every variety of honorable
pursuit. At least twenty-five have returned to
the mission-field. Others are studying with
that in view.

Many have fallen victims to the climate, and
are buried on mission ground. There is scarcely
a missionary mother who cannot count one or
more little graves. The first Christian grave at
Bahmo was that of a missionary's child. In
Burmah alone, we can count at least fifty little
ones who have died. ** Little Maria sleeps by
the side of her mother." Many are buried side
by side with native Christians ; some are sleep-
ing in the solitary wilds of the jungle, with
nought but the waving branches of the bamboo
to mark their resting-place.

Which is the more bitter cup, to lay the loved
one in his last little bed, when we know he is
safe in the arms of Jesus ; or to send him home
to a strange land, where he must bear tempta-
tions and trials without a parent's guiding hand ?

HOME FOR MISSIONARIES CHILDREN. I/I

" In Ramah was there a voice heard, lamenta-
tion and weeping and great mourning ; Rachel
weeping for her children, and would not be com-
forted, because they are not." In Ramah, not
in Burmah. The missionary mother utters no
complaint when her loved ones are taken. She
turns to her labor for others, and "the days go
on."

But the thought of sending her little ones
home weighs like a heavy burden upon her
heart. How shall the children be provided for
in a distant land ? is the question which con-
stantly returns. In the past, many precious
homes have been opened to these children, and
friends have kindly given them a place among
their own. But sometimes parents have been
obliged to return to the field, leaving their chil-
dren without a settled home ; though this may
now be avoided by the opportunities of the
** Home for Missionaries' Children," recently
opened. It is the outgrowth of the motherly
sympathies of the Woman's Foreign Missionary
Society ; and may the blessing of God rest upon
it!

In addition to the unavoidable anguish, mis-
sionaries are often compelled, on leaving their
children, to contend with bitter opposition on

172 MY CHILD-LIFE IN BURMAH.

the part of those who should be their sympa-
thizers and friends. Reproaches are heaped
upon them, which render their heavy burden
almost unbearable. Oh, rather, let every Chris-
tian worker feel the tenderest sympathy for
these parents, help them by their prayers, and
do all in their power to render the lives of mis-
sionary children happy and successful !

RARK BOOK
COLLFXTION

THE LIBRARY OF THE

UNIVERSITY OF

NORTH CAROLINA

AT

CHAPEL HILL

Travel

DS527.6

.B5

1880