Everything seemed to go well with me now, except for one sad visitation--the loss of my dear Uncle William. He, by his brave resignation, and patience, childlike simplicity, and wonderful yarns, as well as pipes, and grog, and quids--whenever he could get them--had endeared himself greatly, in a few days, not only to me, but to all at the Bower. Even _Grip_ went to see him, and took such a fancy to him, that he would sit with his chin in the wasted brown hand, and look at him sorrowfully by the hour; as if they were two poor old broken chaps together. And the night Uncle Bill died, _Grip_ never stopped howling; and he went about the place, and scarcely ate a bit of victuals, until he had attended the funeral. But Uncle Bill's death, though very sad to us, was painless, and placid, and happy to himself. He had said, that he should like to see the chaplain; and accordingly Mr. Cope came in. We left them to themselves, and there was not much said; only they had a little prayer together; and Mr. Cope asked him if he had any doubts, and he said "None whatever." In the morning, he was passed beyond all doubts; and I, who sat up with him, cannot say exactly the hour, when his Angel came for him. He always felt faith in the Lord, all his life; and though he may not have lived up to it, surely his last end was better than that of a man who endeavours to outstrip the Devil, by growing a tail to frighten him. One thing surprised me about Uncle Bill, as soon as I had spirit to think of it; and that was--why had he never said a word about _Jumbilug's_ eyes, to my mother, or myself, when he knew that his last time for business was come? I had even gone so far as to ask him, (when Dr. Flebotham pronounced his own task accomplished) whether he would like me to bring them in, and show them; or whether there was anything he wished to say about them. But he put his pipe-stem to his lips--for he was allowed to do anything now, that would make his last hours tranquil--and he tried to shake his head, as if to say--"all that is settled." And the only provision he made for death, (as regards this world, and its dealings) was to have his favourite pipe buried with him, and a quarter of a pound of bird's-eye, and a box of the "Bottom of the Atlantic Matches," which nothing can prevent from striking. For he had been among savage tribes so much, that all this became orthodox on his part.