After our return from Mergui, the doctor advised a still farther trial of the effects of sea air and sea-bathing, and we accordingly proceeded to Amherst, where we remained nearly a month.  This to me was the darkest period of his illness—­no medical adviser, no friend at hand, and he daily growing weaker and weaker.  He began to totter in walking, clinging to the furniture and walls, when he thought he was unobserved (for he was not willing to acknowledge the extent of his debility), and his wan face was of a ghastly paleness.  His sufferings too were sometimes fearfully intense, so that in spite of his habitual self-control, his groans would fill the house.  At other times a kind of lethargy seemed to steal over him, and he would sleep almost incessantly for twenty-four hours, seeming annoyed if he were aroused or disturbed.  Yet there were portions of the time, when he was comparatively comfortable, and conversed intelligently; but his mind seemed to revert to former scenes, and he tried to amuse me with stories of his boyhood—­his college days—­his imprisonment in France, and his early missionary life.  He had a great deal also to say on his favorite theme.  “The love of Christ:”  but his strength was too much impaired for any continuous mental effort.  Even a short prayer made audibly, exhausted him to such a degree that he was obliged to discontinue the practice.

At length I wrote to Maulmain, giving some expression of my anxieties and misgivings, and our kind missionary friends, who had from the first evinced all the tender interest and watchful sympathy of the nearest kindred immediately sent for us—­the doctor advising a sea-voyage.  But as there was no vessel in the harbor bound for a port sufficiently distant, we thought it best, in the meantime, to remove from our old dwelling, which had long been condemned as unhealthy, to another mission-house, fortunately empty.  This change was at first attended with the most beneficial results, and our hopes revived so much, that we looked forward to the approaching rainy season for entire restoration.  But it lasted only a little while, and then both of us became convinced, that though a voyage at sea involved much that was exceedingly painful, it yet presented the only prospect of recovery, and could not, therefore, without a breach of duty, be neglected.

“Oh, if it were only the will of God to take me now—­to let me die here!” he repeated over and over again, in a tone of anguish, while we where considering the subject.  “I cannot, cannot go!—­this is almost more than I can bear! was there ever suffering like our suffering!” and the like broken expressions, were continually falling from his lips.  But he soon gathered more strength of purpose; and after the decision was fairly made, he never hesitated for a moment, rather regarding the prospect with pleasure.  I think the struggle which this resolution cost, injured him very materially; though probably it had no share in bringing about the final result.  God, who saw the end from the beginning had counted out his days, and they were hastening to a close.  Until this time he had been able to stand, and to walk slowly from room to room; but as he one evening attempted to rise from his chair, he was suddenly deprived of his small remnant of muscular strength, and would have fallen to the floor, but for timely support.