ense of, though I cannot express it wholly, I am all
over Softness, and am obliged to retire, and give Way to a few Sighs
and Tears, before I can be easy. I cannot but recommend the Subject of
Male Widowhood to you, and beg of you to touch upon it by the first
Opportunity. To those who have not lived like Husbands during the
Lives of their Spouses, this would be a tasteless Jumble of Words; but
to such (of whom there are not a few) who have enjoyed that State with
the Sentiments proper for it, you will have every Line, which hits the
Sorrow, attended with a Tear of Pity and Consolation. For I know not
by what Goodness of Providence it is, that every Gush of Passion is a
step towards the Relief of it; and there is a certain Comfort in the
very Act of Sorrowing, which, I suppose, arises from a secret
Consciousness in the Mind, that the Affliction it is under flows from
a virtuous Cause. My Concern is not indeed so outragious as at the
first Transport; for I think it has subsided rather into a soberer
State of Mind, than any actual Perturbation of Spirit. There might be
Rules formed for Men's Behaviour on this great Incident, to bring them
from that Misfortune into the Condition I am at present; which is, I
think, that my Sorrow has converted all Roughness of Temper into
Meekness, Good-nature, and Complacency: But indeed, when in a serious
and lonely Hour I present my departed Consort to my Imagination, with
that Air of Perswasion in her Countenance when I have been in Passion,
that sweet Affability when I have been in good Humour, that tender
Compassion when I have had any thing which gave me Uneasiness; I
confess to you I am inconsolable, and my Eyes gush with Grief as if I
had seen her but just then expire. In this Condition I am broken in
upon by a charming young Woman, my Daughter, who is the Picture of
what her Mother was on her Wedding-Day. The good Girl strives to
comfort me; but how shall I let you know that all the Comfort she
gives me is to make my Tears flow more easily? The Child knows she
quickens my Sorrows, and rejoices my Heart at the same Time. Oh, ye
Learned! tell me by what Word to speak a Motion of the Soul, for which
there is no name. When she kneels and bids me be comforted, she is my
Child; when I take her in my Arms, and bid her say no more, she is my
very Wife, and is the very Comforter I lament the Loss of. I banish
her the Room,