It is not my business here to write an elegy upon my wife, to give a character of her particular virtues, and make my court to the sex by the flattery of a funeral sermon.  She was, in a few words, the stay of all my affairs, the centre of all my enterprises, the engine that by her prudence reduced me to that happy compass I was in, from the most extravagant and ruinous project that fluttered in my head as above; and did more to guide my rambling genius, than a mother’s tears, a father’s instructions, a friend’s counsel, or all my own reasoning powers could do.  I was happy in listening to her tears, and in being moved by her entreaties, and to the last degree desolate and dislocated in the world by the loss of her.

When she was gone the world looked awkwardly round me, I was as much a stranger in it in my thoughts as I was in the Brasils when I went first on shore there; and as much alone, except as to the assistance of servants, as I was in my island.  I knew neither what to do, or what not to do; I saw the world busy round me, one part labouring for bread, and the other part squandering in vile excesses or empty pleasures, equally miserable, because the end they proposed still fled from them; for the men of pleasure every day surfeited of their vice, and heaped up work for sorrow and repentance, and the men of labour spent their strength in daily strugglings for bread to maintain the vital strength they laboured with; so living in a daily circulation of sorrow, living but to work, and working but to live, as if daily bread were the only end of a wearisome life, and a wearisome life the only occasion of daily bread.

This put me in mind of the life I lived in my kingdom the island, where I suffered no more corn to grow, because I did not want it; and bred no more goats, because I had no more use for them; where the money lay in the drawer till it grew mildewed, and had scarce the favour to be looked upon in twenty years.

All these things, had I improved them as I ought to have done, and as reason and religion had dictated to me, would have taught me to search farther than human enjoyments for a full felicity, and that there was something which certainly was the reason and end of life, superior to all these things, and which was either to be possessed, or at least hoped for, on this side the grave.

But my sage counsellor was gone, I was like a ship without a pilot, that could only run before the wind; my thoughts run all away again into the old affair, my head was quite turned with the whimsies of foreign adventures; and all the pleasing innocent amusements of my farm and my garden, my cattle and my family, which before entirely possessed me, were nothing to me, had no relish, and were like music to one that has no ear, or food to one that has no taste:  in a word, I resolved to leave off housekeeping, let my farm, and return to London; and in a few months after I did so.