How hard I feel it to-day to rise above the loss of my dear, dear Mary--it seems like a new wound just opened. It is so hard to feel the great honour and great proof of love the Lord has manifested towards me, in removing her I loved from the trials and sorrows of this earth to the ease and joy of his own Paradise, to join our dear little Mary, and sing there together his praise who washed them in his own blood, prepared them as vessels of honour, and then took them to himself. Sometimes I think I ought not to have gone out of our house during the plague, about Major T.'s affairs, but that I should have left them to their own fate; yet, at other times, I think, after all the kindness I had received from him, I ought not to have declined the dangerous service. Then again, I think that when I did go, I should have taken more precautions, and not have joined my dear family immediately, but remained apart; yet at last my heart comes round to the full assurance, that my dear and loving Lord would not have visited undesigned neglect, which sprang mainly from confidence in his loving care, with such a privation, had he not designed by it her speedy glory and my final good: now I shall go to her, but she shall not return to me. The dear little boys are very anxious to leave Bagdad, yet they do not complain, nor appear on the whole otherwise than happy, which is indeed a great mercy. My poor dear little nursling, the object of ceaseless care, seems rather gaining than losing ground, yet is still so frail, that a blast of wind seems enough to extinguish the little fire that burns; but if the Lord will, even this little fire shall yet burn brighter and brighter, and defy in his name the rudest blasts.