He was of a singularly happy temperament, although not of that even cast, which never rises above a certain level, and is never depressed.  Possessing acute sensibilities, suffering with those who suffered and entering as readily into the joys of the prosperous and happy, he was variable in his moods; but religion formed such an essential element in his character, and his trust in Providence was so implicit and habitual, that he was never gloomy, and seldom more than momentarily disheartened.  On the other hand, being accustomed to regard all the events of this life, however minute or painful, as ordered in wisdom and tending to one great and glorious end, he lived in almost constant obedience to the apostolic injunction, “Rejoice evermore!” He often told me that although he had endured much personal suffering, and passed through many fearful trials in the course of his eventful life, a kind Providence had also hedged him round with precious, peculiar blessings, so that his joys had far outnumbered his sorrows.

Toward the close of September of last year, he said to me one evening, “What deep cause have we for gratitude to God!—­do you believe there are any other two persons in the wide world so happy as we are?” enumerating, in his own earnest manner, several sources of happiness, in which our work as missionaries, and our eternal prospects, occupied a prominent position.  When he had finished his glowing picture, I remarked (I scarcely know why, but there was a heavy cloud upon my spirits that evening), “We are certainly very happy now, but it cannot be so always—­I am thinking of the time when one of us must stand beside the bed, and see the other die.”

“Yes,” he said, “that will be a sad moment; I felt it most deeply a little while ago, but now it would not be strange if your life were prolonged beyond mine—­though I should wish if it were possible to spare you that pain.  It is the one left alone who suffers, not the one who goes to be with Christ.  If it should only be the will of God that we might go together, like young James and his wife.  But he will order all things well, and we can safely trust our future to his hands.”

That same night we were roused from sleep by the sudden illness of one of the children.  There was an unpleasant, chilling dampness in the air, as it came to us through the openings in the sloats above the windows, which affected your brother very sensibly, and he soon began to shiver so violently, that he was obliged to return to his couch, where he remained under a warm covering until morning.  In the morning he awoke with a severe cold, accompanied by some degree of fever; but as it did not seem very serious, and our three children were all suffering from a similar cause, we failed to give it any especial attention.  From that time he was never well, though in writing to you before, I think I dated the commencement of his illness, from the month of November, when he laid aside his studies.  I know that he regarded this