that even in the dim light we
saw their clear blue,--looked forward for a moment with an earnest gaze,
as if seeing something afar off, then closed them, and with one or two
quiet breaths left pain and suffering behind, and entered into life.

For a few days his body lay at rest in his pleasant study, surrounded by
the flowers he loved, and the place was a sweet domestic shrine. A grand
serenity had returned to the brow, and all the features wore a look of
peace and happiness unspeakably beautiful and comforting. Then, with a
quiet attendance of friends and neighbors, it was borne to the grave in
the shadow of his native hills.

In those last weeks he wrote still a few letters, almost illegible, and
written a few lines at a time, as his strength permitted.

To Rev. John W. Chadwick.

SHEFFIELD, Feb. 2, 1882.

MY DEAR BROTHER CHADWICK,

--A few lines are all that I can write, though many would hardly suffice
to express the feeling of what I owe you for your kind letter, and the
sympathy it expresses for the loss of my friend. [356] You will better
understand what that is, when I tell you that for the last two or three
years he has written me every week.

I have also to thank you for the many sermons you have directed to be
sent to me. Through others, I know their extraordinary merit, though my
brain is too weak for them.

Do you remember a brief interview I had with you and Mrs. Chadwick at
the "Messiah" on the evening of the [Semi-] Centennial? It gave me so
much pleasure that it sticks in my memory, and emboldens me to send my
love to you both.

Ever yours truly,

ORVILLE DEWEY.

To his Sister, Miss J. Dewey.

ST. DAVID'S, Feb. 7, 1882.

DEAREST RUSHE,--Your precious, sweet little letter came in due time,
and was all that a letter could be. I have not written a word since that
came upon us which we so sorrow for, except a letter to his stricken
partner, from whom we have a reply last evening, in which she says
his resignation was marvellous; that he soon fell into a drowse from
morphine, and said but little, but, being told there were letters from
me, desired them to keep them carefully for him,--which, alas! he was
never to see.

Dear, I can write no more. I am all the time about the same. Give my
love to Pamela.

Ever your loving brother,

ORVILLE DEWEY.

[357]To Rev. John Chadwick.

SHEFFIELD, Feb. 26, 1882.

MY DEAR CHADWICK,--When Mary wrote to you, expressing the feelings of us
all co