STAGES OF GRIEF. 69 



struck, that, instead of yielding their shrillest notes, they 

 have fallen slackened from the stops, and time must re- 

 cover their tone ere they vibrate in unison with the event. 

 In this first stage whole hours pass away of which the 

 memory retains no firmer hold than if they had been 

 spent in sleep. Seven years ago, when residing in In- 

 verness, word was brought me that an uncle, to whom 

 I was much attached, and who, though indisposed for 

 some time previous, was not deemed seriously ill, was 

 dead. I set out for Cromarty, and must have been 

 about four hours on the road ; but all that I next day 

 recollected of the journey was that the road was very 

 dark (I travelled by night), and that, as I drew near to 

 the town, I saw the moon in her last quarter, rising red 

 and lightless out of the sea. 



' Sorrow in its second stage is more reflective. The 

 feelings have in some degree recovered their tone, and 

 we no longer deem them weak or blunted. At times, 

 indeed, we may sink into the apathy of exhaustion, but 

 when some sudden recollection plants its dagger in the 

 heart, we start up to a fearful consciousness of our 

 bereavement, and for the moment all is agony. The 

 mind during this stage seems to exist alternately in two 

 distinct states. In the one it pursues its ordinary 

 thoughts or its common imaginings, but when thus 

 engaged the image of the departed starts up before it 

 without the ordinary aid of association to call it in, it 

 starts up sudden as an apparition, and the heart swells, 

 and the tears burst out. And this forms the second 

 state. I have remarked as not a little strange the want 

 of connection between the two. Occasionally, indeed, 

 some recollection awakened in the first may lead to the 

 second, but much oftener I have found the commoner 

 principles of association set aside altogether, and the 



