DEAREST WIFE, TO MRS. R. HEBER. Dacca, July 19, 1824. Poor Stowe was buried yesterday in the cemetery, which I had consecrated just a week before. All the gentlemen of the station, as well as the military officers, attended unsolicited, and his body was borne to the grave by a detachment of European artillerymen, who though it was the custom on such occasions for the coffin to be carried, when out of the city, by native bearers, refused to allow any persons but themselves "to touch the gentleman." Mr. Parish read the service, and I went as chief mourner. Sincerely as I have mourned, and do mourn him continually, the moment perhaps at which I felt his loss most keenly was on my return to this house. I had always after airings, or other short absences, been accustomed to run up immediately to his room to ask about his medicines and his nourishment, to find if he had wanted any thing during my absence, and to tell him what I had seen and heard. And now, as I went up stairs, I felt most painfully that the object of my solicitude was gone, and that there was nobody now to derive comfort or help from my coming, or whose eyes would faintly sparkle as I opened the door. I felt my heart sick, and inclined to accuse myself, as usual, of not having valued my poor friend sufficiently while I had him, and of having paid during the voyage too little attention to the state of his health; yet, from the hour I knew he was seriously ill, thank God! I can find nothing of wilful neglect to reproach myself with, though some things I might have done better, if I had not myself been in some respects unwell, and if I had not been constantly occupied with business and correspondence. But I hope I did what I could during the few last days, and when his danger was told me, I gave up every thing to him, and neither read nor wrote, nor paid or received visits, nor even went out of his room, for a moment, except for very short and hurried meals. It will be long before I forget the guilelessness of his nature, the interest which he felt and expressed in all the beautiful and sequestered scenery which we passed through, his anxiety to be useful to me in any way which I could point out to him, (he was indeed very useful,) and above all the unaffected pleasure which he took in discussing religious subjects, his diligence in studying the Bible, and the fearless humanity with which he examined the case, and administered to the wants of nine poor Hindoos, the crew of a salt-barge, whom as I mentioned in my Journal, we found lying sick together of a jungle fever, unable to leave the place where they lay, and unaided by the neighbouring villagers. I then little thought how soon he in his turn would require the aid he gave so cheerfully. I have been to-day settling his affairs, and looking over his papers. I yet hope to hear by to morrow's post that you have been able to prevent his sister's wretched voyage. Adieu, the post is going out. REGINALD CALCUTTA. TO MRS. R. HEBER. Dacca, July 21, 1824. I have been sadly disappointed at not hearing from you to-day, but the cause has been explained by the increase of the inundation, and the consequent delays of the Dâk I have, I believe, lost little by these three days' delay, as the wind has been contrary, and I, to say the truth, have had so severe a boil on the cap of my knee, that I am hardly fit to undertake a journey. I have had it coming on some time, and not being able to rest it, and irritating it still more by want of sleep, it had become very painful indeed, and at this moment keeps me a close prisoner. The boat will be a good place for my convalescence; but in the mean time I have been better here. Mr. Todd has absolutely refused to receive any fee for his attendance upon poor Stowe; his conduct has throughout been admirable. He seldom failed to call four and sometimes five times a day. He latterly always sate with Stowe during the times that I was forced to leave him, and he and Mr. Patterson, by turns, sate up the greater part of the three last nights, to watch any turn which might be taken advantage of. Indeed it may be a melancholy comfort to Miss Stowe to know how much interest her brother's youth, recent arrival in India, and, perhaps, the manner in which his medical attendants spoke of him, excited in the whole station. Every day presents of fruits, jellies, things which were thought good for him, and books supposed to be likely to illustrate his case or amuse him, came from one quarter or another, not only from the Europeans, but from the Nawâb and Mirza Israf Ali, while, to Mr. Master's brotherly kindness, I am more indebted than I can say. And thus ends my visit to Dacca! a place which, more than most others in India, I was anxious to visit; my visit to which was opposed by obstacles so numerous, and at which I have passed, perhaps, the most melancholy and forlorn three weeks I ever remember. God's will be done! I have acted, as I thought, for the best, and I now go on, though alone and sorrowful, with an entire trust in His Providence and goodness. To think that I may, perhaps, in three weeks more, meet my beloved wife and children, is itself enough to give me courage. - This letter is a sad scrawl, but most of it has been written on the bed. I send you another curiosity which arrived to-day from two Armenian Bishops of Ecmiazin, at the foot of Mount Ararat, and Jerusalem ! What ideas such names would have excited in England! Adieu, dear Love, REGINALD CALCUTTA. 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 that 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 are now suffering. Had you remained in England when he came out hither, you would have been for a time, divided no less effectually than you are now. The difference of hearing from him is almost all, and though you now have not that comfort, yet even without hearing from him, you |