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I have not heard from home for six months, heart-sick with hope deferred. These tardy ships! Will the steam communication ever be established?
"A merry heart doeth good like a medicine, but a broken spirit drieth the bones."
"I could lie down like a tired child,
And weep away this life of care,
Which I have borne, and still must bear."
When shall I feel energy enough to mount my horse again? for three months I have been unable to ride. Nothing is going forward, stupid as possible, shut up all day, languid and weary: this India is a vile country!
"The heart knoweth its own sorrows, and no man interfereth with its joys."
Woe is me that I sojourn in this land of pestilence, that I dwell afar from the home of my fathers!
