CHAPTER XII. JOURNAL. 'July 22.-A long interval has occurred, during which I have had neither time nor heart to continue my journal, having been closely occupied in attending the sick and dying bed of my excellent and amiable friend Stowe, and in the subsequent necessary duties of taking care of his interment and property. 'I this morning left Dacca, after a residence of eighteen days, marked by great, and, to me, most unusual anxiety and sorrow; but during which, I, as well as my poor friend, received in our affliction a degree of hospitality, attention, affectionate and delicate kindness from the civil and military officers attached to the station, and their families, and most of all from our excellent host, Mr Master, which I shall never forget, and for which, I trust, I shall be always grateful. 'July 24.-I met yesterday evening with at severe disappointment. I bad left Dacca cheered with the hope that my wife, who had expressed great anxiety to accompany me in the event of Stowe's illness terminating fatally, would be able to join ine with our children at Boglipoor; but I received a letter from her, forwarded by Mr Master, which made me see that this would be impossible. This news, added to the uncomfortable state of my mind and feelings, kept me awake great part of the night, and I arose ill and unrefreshed. We now proceeded again with the tow-line: the wind was strongly against us, the stream in which we were running almost full south, but the additional coolies did wonders for us. Including the crew, there were no less than twentyeight men at the rope of my pinnace, and eight to each of the other boats. About half-past one we reached the place where our stream rejoined the Ganges, which lay before us with its vast expanse of water. 'July-25.-I slept well, and have seldom wakened with more reason for gratitude. My health, which had been for some time a good deal deranged, appeared renovated, and I felt myself ready to adopt any line of conduct which circumstances might claim from me. 'We were obliged to track our boat, the wind having fallen, and it was 10 o'clock before we reached Furreed poor. Before we had advanced far, a boat came up with a letter from Mr Warner, the magistrate of these districts, and to my inexpressible delight one from my wife, which Mr Master had forwarded. Her account of herself was comfortable, but I was again forcibly convinced that it would be impossible for her to join me at Boglipoor. My main anxiety therefore was, that she should not fret about a separation which was unavoidable, and that she should be convinced that I am likely to do extremely well, and travel very safely; and that, though now alone, I should have companions the greatest part of the way. 'Mr Warner soon after called on me, and I accompanied him to his house, where I found a very well furnished library. At present his house was full of ladies, fugitives from Chittagong; but, except his own family and inmates, he had no society, no Europeans, not even a medical man being within very many miles. In the evening we walked in the garden, and Mr Warner pointed out one tree on which two peli cans never failed to had an eagle's nest. roost, and another which Eagles are, he said, very common on all these rivers, and pelicans by no means rare, and he expressed some surprise at learning how few of either I had seen during my progress. A beautiful and fragrant purple flower was shown me as the jalap plant. Mr Warner then took me a pleasant drive in the carriage, and I had some very interesting conversation with him; on our return to the house I read prayers and a sermon, and then went to my boat. On the whole, between the books I found, the things I saw, and the people I met with, I passed a pleasant, and I trust not unprofitable Sunday.' To Miss Stowe. FURREEDPOOR, July, 1824. 'With a heavy heart, my dear Miss Stowe, I send you the enclosed keys. How to offer you consolation in your present grief, I know not; for by my own deep sense of the loss of an excellent friend, I know how much heavier is your burden. Yet even the many amiable qualities of your dear brother, joined with the deep christian humility and reliance on his Saviour which he evinced in his illness, while they make our loss the heavier,should lead us to recollect that the loss is ours only; that, prepared as he was to die, it was his unspeakable gain to be removed from a world in which he had many sorrows; and above all, that your separation from him will only be for a time, and until He who has hidden him from your eyes shall restore you to his society in a happy and eternal state of existence. Separation of one kind or another is, indeed, one of the most frequent trials to which affectionate hearts are exposed. And if you can only regard your brother as removed for his own advantage to a distant country, you will find, perhaps, some of that misery alleviated under which you now are suffering. remained in England when he came Had you out hith er, you would have been, for a time, divided no less effectually than you are now. The dif ference of hearing from him is almost all, and though you now have not that comfort, yet even without hearing from him, you may be well persuaded, (which there you could not always have been,) that he is well and happy; and above all, you may be persuaded, as your dear brother was most fully in his time of severest suffering, |