* * * * God bless you, dear love, in your approaching voyage. How delighted I should be to meet you at Boglipoor! REGINALD CALCUTTA. TO MRS. R. HEBER. this horrid drug, but I now recollect | poor Stowe's only and effectual comall which you told me, and which I fort! myself experienced yesterday, of God's goodness in his Son. Do not let them give me any more, for it prevents my praying to God as I could wish to do." He spoke very often of his " poor, poor sister," and said, "God, who is so good to a sinner like me, will not forget her." He asked, which you will not doubt I promised for us both, that we would be a sister and a brother to her. He said not long before his light-headedness came on, on Saturday morning, "Tell Mrs. Heber that I think of her, and pray for her in this hour." After his hallucination commenced, he rambled very much about our voyage, but whenever I spoke to him it recalled him for the moment, and he listened, and said Amen, to some of the Church "It is very prayers for the dying. strange," he once said, "everything changes round me. I cannot make out where I am, or what has happened, but your face I always see near me, and I recollect what you have been saying." The last articulate words he uttered were about his sister. Even in this incoherence, it was comfortable to find that no gloomy ideas intruded, that he kept up some shadow of his hope in God, even when his intellect was most clouded, and that his last day of life was certainly, on the whole, not a day of suffering. After death his countenance was singularly calm and beautiful, and not like a corpse so much as a statue. I myself closed his eyes. One lesson has been very deeply imprinted on my heart by these few days. If this man's innocent and useful life (for I have no reason to doubt that the greater part of his life has been both innocent and useful) offered so many painful recollections, and called forth such deep contrition, when in the hour of death he came to examine every instance of omission or transgression, how careful must we be to improve every hour and every opportunity of grace, and so to remember God while we live, that we may not be afraid to think on him when dying! And above all, how blessed and necessary is the blood of Christ to us all, which was Dacca, July 19, 1824. DEAREST WIFE,-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 anything 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 con stantly occupied with business and cor- | indeed, and at this moment keeps me a respondence. But I hope I did what I close prisoner. The boat will be a good could during the few last days, and when place for my convalescence, but in the his danger was told me, I gave up every-mean time I have been better here. 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 saltbarge, 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, 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 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 advan→ tage 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 me dical 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 may well be 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, that God never smites his children in vain, or out of cruelty. His severest stripes are intended to heal, and he has doubtless some wise and gracious purpose both for your poor Martin and for you, in thus taking him from your side, and leaving you in this world, with Himself as your sole guardian. A mighty and most merciful Protector be sure He is, and one who always then deals most kindly with us when we are constrained to cast our cares on Him alone, and are most sensible of our utter helplessness. This was your brother's comfort: it should be yours; and thus may both he and you have occasion for unspeakable joy hereafter, if the mysterious dispensation which has deprived you of your brother, serves to bring you to a closer and more constant communion with your God. Meantime, in my wife and myself, you have friends, even in this remote land, who are anxious, as far as we have the power, to supply your brother's place, and whose best services you may command as freely as his whom you have lost. So long as you choose to remain with us, we will be, to our power, a sister and a brother to you. And it may be worth your consideration, whether in your present state of health and spirits, a journey, in my wife's society, will not be better for you than a dreary voyage home. But this is a point on which you must decide for yourself; I would scarcely venture to advise, far less dictate, where I am only anxious to serve. In my dear Emily you will already have had a most affectionate and sensible counsellor. And now farewell! God support, bless, and comfort you! Such as my prayers are, you have them fervently and sincerely offered. But you have better and holier prayers than mine. That the spirits in Paradise pray for those whom they have left behind, I cannot doubt, since I cannot suppose that they cease to love us there; and your dear brother is thus still employed in your service, and still recommending you to the Throne of Mercy, to the all-sufficient and promised help of that God who is the Father of the fatherless, and of that blessed Son who hath assured us, that "they who mourn shall be comforted!" One more consideration I cannot help addressing to you, though it belongs to a subject wrapt up in impenetrable darkness. A little before your poor brother ceased to speak at all, and after I pray of our invaluable treasures. I am going on immediately, with a REGINALD CALCUTTA. his mind had been for some time wandering, he asked me, in a half-whisper, "Shall I see my sister to-night?' I could not help answering, though in a different sense, perhaps, from that in which he meant the question, that I thought it possible. I know not (in-heavy heart indeed, but with trust in deed, who can know ?) whether the His mercies. Farewell! spirits of the just are ever permitted to hover over those whom they have loved most tenderly; but if such permission be given (and who can say it is impossible?), then it must greatly increase your brother's present happiness, and greatly diminish that painful sense of separation which even the souls of the righteous may be supposed to feel, if he sees you resigned, patient, hopeful, trusting on that same Cross which was his refuge in the hour of dread, and that good Providence to whose care he fervently and faithfully committed you. Believe me, dear Miss Stowe, Your faithful and affectionate friend and servant, REGINALD CALCUTTA. TO MRS. R. HEBER. Furreed poor, July 28, 1824. ALAS! alas! my beloved wife, what have you not gone through? Your letter of July 24 has just reached me from Dacca. God's will be done in all things! Your joining me is out of the question. But I need not tell you to spare no expense of sea-voyage, or any other measure which may tend to restore or preserve our dear children or yourself, so soon as such a measure may appear desirable for any of you. TO LIEUT.-COLONEL ALEXANDER, &c. &c. &c. Allahabad, Sept. 24, 1824. MY DEAR SIR,-Many thanks for your kind and friendly letter, as well as for the enclosed paper. I am sincerely sorry that you have had so much trouble about it; and that from our friend the Archdeacon and myself not knowing exactly each other's proceedings, an ignorance arising from the illness which kept him while at Chunar so nearly close a prisoner, we were at the same time taking measures which had a tendency to clash with each other. I cannot close my letter without renewing my acknowledgments for the very agreeable days which I have spent in your house and in your society; and On these points I leave you in assuring you that I shall long rememconfidence to the advice of Dr. Abelber with deep interest some passages in and Mr. Shaw. For the success of our conversation, and in the letters their counsels I humbly hope in the which you showed me. That God may mercy of God, who has in this heavy bless you and yours in all things is the visitation preserved us from still more earnest wish of, bitter sorrow. I am, at this moment, strangely tempted to come to you. But I fear it might be a compromise of my duty and a distrust of God! I feel most grateful indeed to Him for the preservation Dear Colonel, Ever your sincere friend, TO MRS. R. HEBER. Allahabad, Sept. 29, 1824. YOUR letter, and enclosed note, have just reached me at this place, where we have been thus long detained for want of tents. Alas! my love, how have you been tried! Comfortable as your last note is, I dare not yet hope that I shall see my lovely little Harriet again in this world, for I know the insidious nature of the disease. But I shall not return. I have, I feel, duties to fulfil here, and as you truly say, before I could arrive, her doom must be sealed, and your burst of grief, in case of the worst, must have subsided into a calmer sorrow. God support and comfort you! I am well, and I trust I shall be enabled to be patient and resigned. * * There are rumours of wars in this part of the world, and people talk of armies and invasions from the Seiks, Nepal, and Nagpoor. I am not very credulous of such reports, but I mention them to show you that I am aware of them, and will not run into needless danger. God bless you; trust in Him, and pray for His help for your poor babies, and your affectionate husband, REGINALD CALCUTTA. TO THE REV. C. CHOLMONDELEY Bengal is not included within the bounds of Hindostan, and the term of Bengalee is used to express anything which is roguish and cowardly; such as they are, however, I am far from disliking them; and I still am inclined to think some parts of the country the most beautiful, I am sure it is the most fertile, and to an European the most novel and exotic district which I have yet seen in India. But if you wish to obtain an idea of the people or country of Bengal, I know not where I can refer you better than to the large prints of Cook's third voyage; the expression of countenance is remarkably similar to that which his draftsman has given to the Otaheitans. * * * * I ought not to omit that the language of Bengal, which is quite different from Hindoostanee, is soft and liquid. The common people are all fond of singing, Rahmatgunge, between Cawnpoor and and some of the airs which I used to Lucknow, Oct. 19, 1824. MY DEAR CHARLES AND MARY,-I write to both in one letter, because, from the rambling nature of the life which I have been for some time leading, and still more from the number of business letters which I am obliged to attend to, I have far less time than I could wish to thank my friends at home for the kind and interesting packets which I receive from them. Of those packets, I can assure you none has given Emily and myself more pleasure than Charles's account of the birth of your little boy. hear from the boatmen and children in the villages reminded me of the Scotch melodies. I heard more than once 66 My boy Tammy," and "Here's a health to those far away," during some of those twilight walks, after my boat was moored, which wanted only society to make them delightful, when amid the scent and glow of night-blowing flowers, the soft whisper of waving palms, and the warbling of the nightingale, watching the innumerable fireflies, like airy glowworms, floating, rising, and sinking, in the gloom of the bamboo woods, and gazing on the |