The effects of the heat have been proved on our mutton (the sheep which James killed three days ago being quite offensive, though washed with chloride of lime), and still more lamentably on Poor Lass, who is staggering about, restless and feverish, and half frantic; at one time coming down to my cabin, at another wandering about the deck, as if in search of something, and paying little attention to her young ones; indeed her doing so would be of little service, her milk being gone; I have given her medicine, and whatever else I could think of as possibly serviceable to her.
24th.—Poor Lass is no more. I grieve at her death, for she formed a link of associations with home and its inmates. Oh! how bitter are the thoughts of the exile!
How often, and with what intense anxiety, do I contemplate successively the many little memorials of affection and friendship, which are almost always before me! Not only those which you, and my father and sister have given, and which are associated in some way or other with all my occupations, whether praying, reading, writing, marking the progress of time, or preparing for eternity; but those tokens of regard which I have received from
