Tuesday. March 6th.

My birthday!—[1] My thoughts will go to the past—the past—to the ever ever beloved!— My happy days went away with her!— If I were to count up every happy hour since, how few they wd. be!— But there is no use in all this! The tears which I am shedding at this moment are as vain, — — —as if they were smiles!— In another year, where shall I be,—& what shall I have suffered?— A great deal I dare say—and my heart appears to be giving way even now.

1. Her 26th.

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