Upon the death of his wife: May 16 [1826]- She died at nine in the morning, after being ill for two days-easy at last. I arrived here late last night. For myself, I scarce know how I feel - sometimes as firm as the Bass Rock, sometimes as weak as the waters that break on it. . . . 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 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 Cryburgh, 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 this moment renounce her in a better world, for all that this world can give me.
