Mr. Rhea, another very able member of the mission, was suddenly removed from earth on the 2d of September, 1865. He was on his return from Tabriz, with his wife and children. The whole scene, as described by Mrs. Rhea in the Memoir of her husband, is one of the most touching in missionary history.[1] He was ill when they left Tabriz, and not until they had gone too far to return did his wife awake to the alarming fact, that his disease was cholera. [1] See _The Tennesseean in Persia and Koordistan, being the Scenes and Incidents in the Life of Samuel Audley Rhea_, by Rev. Dwight W. Marsh, for Ten Years Missionary in Mosul, pp. 338-349. She then hoped to reach Ali Shah, a village four hours from Oroomiah. It was necessary to put the bedding on one of the loaded horses, and then to place Mr. Rhea upon it, and for two men to hold him on; which was done by the faithful Nestorians, Daniel and Guwergis. The motion of the horse extorted frequent, though gentle, groans of pain. He was very thirsty, and both the children were crying for water. There was none. At a brackish brook he had tried to drink, but spit out the bitter draught in disgust. "At length the moon rose, and the children became quiet. Daniel passed a rope around Mr. Rhea's back, and over his shoulders, to keep him from shaking about on the horse; and, taking off his hat, protected his head with a flannel. He grew quiet, and I said, 'He sleeps.' So we rode on and on in the still night; no sounds except from the horses' feet, or an occasional word about the precious load. 'Will the village never appear?' They said it was very near. O, how long the way seemed! "My mind was very active, picturing that comfortable room where we should rest, the refreshing water, the quiet rest, the soft bed for the dear invalid, the quick cup of tea, his sweet words, our subsequent journey home in the takhterawan, our safe arrival there. All this time my eyes were on him, and my ears strained to catch a sound. 'How long he sleeps! How still he is!' "At length the weary, weary road was passed. We reached the village, and stopped at a house where they said we could find a room. Daniel and I ran in to see it first, opened the windows, and spread down the shawl and pillows where he could rest; then went back to the gate, and I charged the men not to let him exert himself at all, but to take him down like a little child, and carry him carefully in. I ran forward then, opened my satchel, and got out the wine and camphor, and spreading a pillow on my lap, received him in my arms. "Just as they deposited him in my arms he drew one long, deep sigh. I wet his lips, bathed his face, spoke to him, called his name, raised him up, kissed him, and entreated him to speak. I chafed his soft, warm hands, felt his heart, his pulse, his temples, his neck, seeking everywhere for signs of life. In vain. He was dead!"