It will be seen that nothing but his intense grasp of the doctrine of the Incarnation saved him from drifting into the wildest vagaries of mysticism. He would never open out to any one who he thought was not spiritually minded. A commonplace neighbouring parson, visiting him once, asked him what were his views and opinions. Mr. Hawker drew him to the window. “There,” said he, “is Hennacliff, there the Atlantic stretching to Labrador, there Morwenstow crag, here the church and graves: these are my views. As to my opinions, I keep them to myself.” The flame, after long flickering in the breast of his dearly loved wife, went out at length on 2nd Feb., 1863. She died at the age of eighty-one. He had a grave—a double grave—made outside the chancel, beside the stone that marks where an ancient priest of Morwenstow lies, and placed over her a stone with this inscription:— HERE RESTS THE BODY OF CHARLOTTE E. HAWKER, FOR NEARLY FORTY YEARS THE WIFE OF ONE OF THE VICARS OF THIS CHURCH. SHE DIED FEB. 2, 1863. There is sprung up a light for the righteous, and joyful gladness for such as are true-hearted. The text had reference to her blindness. At the bottom of the stone is a blank space left for his own name, and a place was made by his own orders at the side of his wife for his own body. MORWENSTOW, Oct. 16, 1864. _My dear Mrs. M——_,—I have intended every day to make an effort, and go down to Bude to see you, and to thank you for all your kindness to me in my desolate abode; but I am quite unequal to the attempt. If you return next year, and you will come, you will find me, if I am alive, keeping watch and ward humbly and faithfully by the place where my dead wife still wears her ring in our quiet church. If I am gone, I know you will come and stand by the stone where we rest. My kindest love to Mr. M—— and your happy little children. After the death of Mrs. Hawker, he fell into a condition of piteous depression. He moped about the cliffs, or in his study, and lost interest in everything. Sciatica added to his misery; and to relieve this he had recourse to opium. He took it into his head that he could eat nothing but clotted cream. He therefore made his meals, breakfast, dinner and tea, of this. He became consequently exceedingly bilious, and his depression grew the greater.