“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 screen us also from every eye.  Hitherto we had been confined to morning hours, or afternoon, when it was shaded by the house; but had often pleased ourselves with the hours we should spend in this cool retreat, even at noonday, while, screened from the sun’s scorching rays, we might enjoy the refreshing breeze through its leafy openings; but these delightful prospects were now for ever at an end.  I might, indeed, there take my seat; but the tongue which everywhere charmed, was buried in deepest silence.  The company which rendered every scene pleasant was gone, never to return:  his sheep, his goats, nay, even the poultry, were often fed from his hand:  every thing served to distract.  As for my children, they were by kind friends kept for some time out of my sight; for not only to view them fatherless distressed me, but their thoughtless mirth and play was altogether insupportable.