bliss. O happy hour, which shall
also set my soul at liberty, and unite us, never to part more.

"In the morning I asked the nurse if there was any alteration;
she said, no. I again returned to take another view, and was surprised
to find his color and countenance unchanged. I began to be extremely
uneasy at having consented to so early a burial. I returned again, and
again; O, how I wished to have kept him for ever. Ten o'clock came;
the company assembled; I became very uneasy; at last I discovered it
to Dr. Bowie, begged he would only view him; how fresh the color--how
every way like life. He assured me there was not the smallest doubt
but that he was gone. I was not satisfied with this, but made them all
inspect him. All agreed in the same thing, and I was obliged to yield,
and the dear remains were ravished from my sight. What a night I
passed the night after the funeral! I had ordered our own bed to be
made up, and at the usual time retired; but in vain did I try to
sleep; the moment my senses began to lose sensibility, I was in a kind
of dream. Finding myself alone, I imagined he was out at supper,
though he seldom was without me; now I thought I heard his foot on the
stairs, and started up to listen if it were he, and to bid him
welcome, when my roused senses told me what I could still hardly
credit, that I had no husband to expect, and threw me into a fresh
agony, which kept me awake till I had in some measure again reconciled
myself to my solitary situation. But having only slept a few hours
since my dear doctor was taken ill, I no sooner got my mind a little
composed, than sleep again began to overpower my senses, when the
same, or a similar imagination roused me.

"The morning came. When I was called down to breakfast, the sight
of his empty seat distracted me. I returned to my room, though I
thought it my duty to take some nourishment. I had it brought to me.
Alas, I could nowhere turn my eyes but the sight was connected with
this dear idea, and recalled past delights, never more to return. Our
back windows looked into the garden, on which he had bestowed so much
labor and pains, and which he was just bringing to perfection. Here we
had spent many pleasant hours together, and indulged that freedom of
conversation, the natural consequence of an unbounded confidence. The
double arbor he had reared, and so contrived as to screen from both
the south and the western sun, bid fair, in a short time, to s