text:  The thought that he is gone cannot yet enter into the order of common evident every-day ideas; one still continues by mechanical habit as it were to seek him; it still seems so natural to expect to see him at certain hours; still amid our conversations seems to resound his voice still seems to ring his lively childlike laugh of gaiety; and there where he was wont to be seen in daily life there nothing is changed there are hardly even any marks of the melancholy loss we have undergone--all is in its common order every thing is in its place; but he is gone from us and for ever