Ypsilanti sentinel. [volume] (Ypsilanti, Washtenaw Co., Mich.) 1843-1900, 1846-11-11

n lett the room. The nurse followed, and put
a paper into his hand. a
"My lady babe me give you this, after she
should be gone" shesaid.
He thrust il into his bosom, and hurried into
his study, where, having carefully closed the
door, he again drew it forth and began to read.
1t was short letter, dated but two days back.
something must say to you, "-"something
| must say of all the thoughts thai now, in my
last hours, crowd upon my brain. l have no
friend to sit beside my death bed and listen To
my last words: no friend to 60 with me to the
threshold of the grave, and upholds me when my
faith falters.
ssAIone, and uncared fer I wait for death;
sometimes full of fear, sometimes eagerly long
ing for its coming. For years have had no
friend but my God; He alone has heard the
voice of my sorrows, and He alone with me now
"Do not fear word Of reproach from me-
My short life has been a sad one; but it is to
you l owe the only dream of gladness that has
cheeredi it. For those few months, during which
believed was dear to you, was perfectly
happy. know my belief was vain; but do
not blame you. Our loveis not our own to give
and take back as we will.
at is strange, that though years have passed
since l was undeceived-years in which you
have repused all my efforts to win your conf
dence, and TO be to you even but a companion,
when others failed you,-yet, now, all that long
interval of grief is forgotten, and every kind
word you spoke in that happier time seems sound
ing 10 ms ear once more. @
'.But why do l say this you? Those kind
words came not from your heart: and am no.
thing to you now. can appeal to you only as
dying woman, and pray you, by Heavens
mercy, to attend to my last wish. My baby,
my fair, happy baby! oh, look with pity upon
her when she is motherless! Do not let her grow
up among those who will not love her. 1t is
dreadful thing to live on year by year with
heart full of love, and yet to have that love de-
spised and rejected. iii might dare ask ofyou
compliance with my last wish, i would say let
her be placed with Mrs. Patterson; am sure
she will be happy in that home of peace.
Farewell. | linger over these last words.
Would that might lay my head on your bo-
som, and breathe away my life, dreaming once
more that you love me! My presence has been
burden to you. Even now you will not come
10 me. 1t is almost over.
''Once more commend to you my child
You surely will love her. There is nothing in
her sunny face to remind you of me. am wea-
ry, and can write no more: perhaps, even now,
have said too much; but my poor heart was
full, and had none to comfort me. May God
bless YOU"
The letter fell from his hand, and he wept like
child. A change had come over his feelings
towards his wife. but it was too late.
Some days after the lady had been laid in her
grave, a group of villagers gathered round the
old nurse, questioning her as to all that had hap
pened at Elmwood.
s'You see he must have been very fond of
her, after all, said one. 'IIe has asked Mrs.
Patterson to take the baby, as my lady wished:
and did you see how he cried at the funeral."
s.Bah! don't talk to me of such love-" said
the old nurse, impatiently. ''If he'd shown but
quarter of the Kindness towards her year ago,
that he's shown since she was dead and could
feel 1t no longer, she'd have been happy living
woman this day. Heaven preserve us from all
love like thsr