THE REV. JOHN RUSSELL. 329 



as usual, ' stir her stumps ' to make them com- 

 fortable. But that sort of exertion does her no 

 good ; and sometimes I am led to believe she 

 can't live through the day." 



On the first of January in the following year 

 the long-dreaded blow fell at last ; mercifully 

 releasing the patient sufferer, but overwhelming 

 Russell with unutterable grief. 



Writing subsequently at intervals to an old 

 friend, sometime his curate, he alludes thus 

 painfully to his bereavement : — " I am at home 

 again, though it no longer seems like home to 

 me, for there is a vacant chair in every room, 

 never again to be filled by her, the dear old 

 soul, to whom I was united forty-nine years ago, 

 come Sunday." Again : — " If the sympathv of 

 friendship could soothe my grief, I possess it 

 to a very great extent ; for I have received 

 upwards of a hundred letters of comfort and 

 condolence from friends, far and near. Among 

 them, one from the Prince of Wales, most kindly 

 and feelingly expressed." 



On hearing from the friend, already so often 

 referred to, that he would like to see what the 

 Prince had said, Russell wrote as follows : 



" My dear old Friend, 



" I have sent a copy of the Prince's 

 letter to Lady W^estbury (nee Luttrell) who will 

 give it to you ; but, please remember, not for 

 publication, either before or after I ' sleep the 



