rather write up, if I could. I wonder how I
shall do with the large portion of thoughts which were hers for thirty
years. I suspect they will be hers yet for a long time at least. But I
will not blaze cambric and crape in the public eye like a disconsolate
widower, that most affected of all characters.

_May_ 17.--- Last night Anne, after conversing with apparent ease,
dropped suddenly down as she rose from the supper-table, and lay six or
seven minutes as if dead. Clarkson, however, has no fear of these
affections.

_May_ 18.--Another day, and a bright one to the external world, again
opens on us; the air soft, and the flowers smiling, and the leaves
glittering. They cannot refresh her to whom mild weather was a natural
enjoyment. Cerements of lead and of wood already hold her; cold earth
must have her soon. But it is not my Charlotte, it is not the bride of
my youth, the mother of my children, that will be laid among the ruins
of Dryburgh, which we have so often visited in gaiety and pastime. No,
no. She is sentient and conscious of my emotions somewhere--somehow;
_where_ we cannot tell; _how_ we cannot tell; yet would I not at this
moment renounce the mysterious yet certain hope that I shall see her in
a better world, for all that this world can give me. The necessity of
this separation,--that necessity which rendered it even a relief,--that
and patience must be my comfort. I do not experience those paroxysms of
grief which others do on the same occasion. I can exert myself and speak
even cheerfully with the poor girls. But alone, or if anything touches
me--the choking sensation. I have been to her room: there was no voice
in it--no stirring; the pressure of the coffin was visible on the bed,
but it had been removed elsewhere; all was neat as she loved it, but
all was calm--calm as death. I remembered the last sight of her; she
raised herself in bed, and tried to turn her eyes after me, and said,
with a sort of smile, "You all have such melancholy faces." They were
the last words I ever heard her utter, and I hurried away, for she did
not seem quite conscious of what she said. When I returned, immediately
[before] departing, she was in a deep sleep. It is deeper now. This was
but seven days since.

They are arranging the chamber of death; that which was long the
apartment of connubial happiness, and of whose arrangements (better than
in richer houses) she was so proud. They are treading fast and thick.
For weeks