The daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1848-1851, 1851-05-05

A GEM-TAe Dying Wife to Her Husband.
The following most touching fragment OF Let
ter from Dying Wife to her Husband, was found
by him some months after her death, between the
leaves of religious volume which she was very
fond Of perusing. The letter, which was literally
dim with tear marks, written long before the
husband was aware that the grasp OF a fatal DIS
ease had fastened upon the lovely form OF his
wife, who died at the early age Of nineteen
"When this shall reach your eye, dear c.,
some day when you are turning over the relics oil
the past, l shall have passed away forever, and the
cold white stone will be keeping its lonely watch
the lips you have so often pressed, and the sod
will be growing green that shall hide forever from
your sight the dust of one who has so often nes-
tied close to your warm heart. For many long and
sleepless nights, when all beside my thoughts was
at rest, | have wrested with the consciousness of
approaching DEATH until at last it has forced itself
upon my mind and although to you and to 9TH
ers it might now seem but the nervous lmaglnings
of girl, yet dear G., it is SO. May weary
hours have passed the endeavor to reconcile
myself to leaving you, whom love SO well, and
this bright world of sunshine and beauty; and
hard indeed is it to struggle on silently and alone
with the sure conviction that am about to leave
all forever, and go down alone into the dark valley
8 But know in whom | have trusted and lean
ing upon His arm fear evil Don't blame
me for keeping even all this from you. How could
subject you OF all Others to such sorrow as feel
at parting, when time will soon make 1t appa-
rent to yon | could have wished to live, if only
to be at your side when your time shall come, and
pillowing your head upon my breast, wipe the
death damps from your brow, and usher your de-
parting spirit into its Makers presence, embamed
in womans hottest prayer. But it is not to be
| and submit Yours is the privilege of watching,
through long and dreary nights, for the spirits
| final flight, and Of transferring my sinking head
| from your breast to my Savior's BOSOM And
you shall share my last thought the last fain
pressure of the hand, and the last feeble kiss sha
be yours; and when flesh and heart shall
| have failed me, my eye shall rest on yours unit
glazed by death, and spirits shall hold one las
| fond communion until gently fading from my
| view-the last of earth-you shall mnge with the
first bright glimpses of the unfadng gores of tha
better world, where partlngs are unknown. Wei
| do | know the spot, dear c., where you will
| lay me ; often have stood by the place. and a
| we watched the mellow sunset it glanced il
quiverng flashes through the leaves, and FURNISHED
the grassy mounds around with stripes of bur
nished gold, each perhaps has thought that soms
| day one of us would come alone, and which eve
| it might be, your name would be the stone
| But we loved the spot and know you'll love
none the less when you see the same quiet sunligh
| linger and play among the grass that grows owe
your Mary's grave. l know you'll go often alon
| there, when | am laid there, and my spirit will b
| with you then, and whisper among the wavin
branches, Il am not lost, but gone before -"