The spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1840-1844, 1842-07-01


him, in his utter loneliness! May he be sustained
by Almighty strength. All, how unworthy am of
all this love and regret,
Permit me 10 request, dearest, that you will
praise the children when they do well, The hu-
man heart needs commentator for its encourage
Inent in the path of reclilude; and we have the
example of our blessed Saviour, and his inspired
apostles, to warrant its usefulness and propriey.
May further request, that you leave them not too
much to the care and instruction of others. No
one like yourself can train them up to virtue and
piety,
To-day have been thinking Of our parting in
November. 1t came fresh to my memory, as an
unheeded sound will return on the ear. The re-
membrance Of your look of anguish, when about
leaving u.s. wrings my heart with sorrow and re-
gret. How could be so unleeng then For
give me, o, forgive me, dearest husband!
The shadows lcngthen my sun declines"
My heart, at times, sinks in my bosom like lead
When the paroxysms of fever pass away, most
distressing lassi,ude follows, o. that might be
permitted to breath my last breath on your kind
and aflectionate bosom! But if it is otherwise or
dercd, thy will, 0 Father be done!
Dear husband, we shall meet again. Beyond
the grave all looks bright and glorious. Here the
shadow of death rests upon every thing, lIowev"
er good, hover beautiful however precious any
thing may be, that fearful shade is by, to blast aud
destroy. But there is Iife'-fe in un(ading ,gor,
and bloom, and purity You must-you will give
your heart 10 the gracious Redecmer, that you
may be made "meet TO partake of the Inheritance
of the saints in ligLt,' and then in what blessed
ness shall we meet to part no more-ioreycr!-
Precious, cheering, sustaining thought!
My fntterlng heart, my trembling hand' and the
irregular characters that trace, admouish me that
what do must be done quickly. Once more dear
est husband, permit me to express to you the
decp,tho ardent and the ralhomlcss love bear YOU.
o, that could yet once again gaze on your face,
with long-Iong look oflovc and gratitude %,
that could hear You pronounce my full forgive
ness.
Were It no, for parting with you, the dear chill
dron and my father, | should feel no shrinking from
death, o, supply a mothers place to these help
less ones. 70 You commend them; TO God |
commend both them and you,
The letter ended thus abruptly, No doubt Hell !
en- hoped to write more, but her strength failed |
Had the heart of Mr. Howard been capable Of deep
er love and regret, or more bitter self upradng, |
thnn it nlready knew this eiusion from that warm, |
ailcconate, and chiIdIike heart, now cold and 81.
lent in the grave would have produced il. Re-
pca,cdedly he laid it aside, as more lhrn h. could
bear; but would seize it again with rs much ca
gerncsS, as if IL cOncn would rGnd the cloud of
darkness in which he was cnyeIoped or restore
to him his lost treasure
The life OLA mourner would be short indeed, |
did he always feel rs during the first months of
bereavement, bu, our infinitely wise and brncvo-
lent Creator has so constituted Us, that the bitter
ness of grief will pass away, As time rolled on,
the agony of N!r lioward's sorrow suhsidpd,-
but he was always mourner. Helen wa, cnshrin-
ed in his heart, and there was no room for new
love. In vain were attractions displayed to the
sill Young and elegant iiower; he saw them not
In vain was deep sympathy expressed for the |
moheress condition orhis children he understood
not its purport. And when two or three years
after IIecn's death, Mr. Atwood himself injured. |
If his happiness would not be promoted by marry
ing again. he ended the subject forever ny sayn, |
- Never mention it my dear sin" "lIclcn was |
too gentle, too good too lovely for earth! never
deserved such treasurc-but having possessed .
her, conld ever hope to love another"
Beside pursued he,mentally, " | could never
treat another so blrblrousIy as did hcrand should
treat successor more lenderly, would not those
gentle eyes ever be looking on me, in their sorrow
that it was not thus with her No, IIecn-crue
and unleeling as was, loved lhce-and will
love-,hce alone-ti we meet in IIenven!'
To Mr. Atwood, Mr. Howard was ever the ten
dcrest and most sympalhisng of sons; to his chill
drcn the most devoted Of fathers. The later grew
up under, his instruction and his example, all he
could wish; and among the lessons he taught them
he fiId moi TO enforce the trulh--that no correct
ness ofpIincipe, no recitude of conduct, can sup
ply the place Of kindness, gcntIcness, and urbani-
~ of manner. That IN all our intercourse with
our feow-creaturcs;- in all the relations of life,
we mus; make it manifest, that it is as painful TO
rcprovc, as TO be reproyed; and that it affords as
much pleasure to commend as to be com mended.
That if we could be truly good, and live to make
others happy, we must look with eniiy on their
derects,-and with severity and an unlorgiying