“I was then desired to leave the room, which I did, saying, ’My doctor is gone.  I have accompanied him to the gates of heaven:  he is safely landed; that is now not him that lies there.  You, nurse, will see it decently dressed; then I may again be permitted to take another parting kiss.’  So, embracing the precious clay, I went into the parlor.  Some friends came in to see me.  My composure they could not account for:  our sincere and tender regard for each other was too well known to allow them to impute it to indifference.  My distress at parting with him, even for a couple of months, when he went to St. Vincent, and dejection of spirit the whole time till his return, left them as little room to impute it to want of sensibility:  at last they imagined that I was stupefied with grief and fatigue; but they little knew that at that hour I rejoiced; indeed I told them, but I suppose was not believed.  I was asked if I had any thing particular to say respecting the funeral.  I said, ’Nothing—­my charge is gone to rest; I would leave it to them.’  It was then proposed to bury next day at ten o’clock.  I said that was very early; they answered, by that time I would be satisfied it was not too early.

“In the evening I returned to our bed-chamber to take a last farewell of the dear remains.  The countenance was so very pleasant I thought there was even something heavenly, and could not help saying, ’You smile upon me, my love; surely the delightful prospect opening on the parting soul left that benign smile on its companion the body.’  I thought I could have stood and gazed for ever; but for fear of relapsing into immoderate grief, I withdrew after a parting embrace, and with an intention not to ask for another, lest a change in his countenance might shake my peace; for Oh, we are weak, and at certain times not subject to reason.  I went to bed purely to get alone, for I had little expectation of sleep; but I was mistaken; nature was fairly overcome with watching and fatigue.  I dropped asleep, and for a few hours forgot my woes; but Oh; the pangs I felt on my first awaking.  I could not for some time believe it true that I was indeed a widow, and that I had lost my heart’s treasure—­my all I held dear on earth.  It was long before day.  I was in no danger of closing my eyes again, for I was at that time abandoned to despair, till recollection and the same considerations which at first supported me brought me a little to myself.  I considered, I wept for one that wept no more; that all my fears for his eternal happiness were now over, and he beyond the reach of being lost; neither was he lost to me, but added to my heavenly treasure, more securely mine than ever.  Those snares and temptations arising from the corrupt customs of a degenerate age, which had so often caused my fears, could never reach him there.  The better, dearer half of myself was now secure beyond the possibility of falling, and waiting my arrival to complete his bliss.  O happy hour, which shall also set my soul at liberty, and unite us, never to part more.