The Sierra citizen., 1854-10-28
Dovnieve Sierra County California Saturday October ss 1854

not captious critics sneer at her intemper
ate zeal, until their sterile intellects have
conceived some more effective remedy
She would not die and be forgotten by al
she loved she would leave behind some
good work that would make her name be
loved long after the frail body had mingled
with its kindred clay. For womans hear
burns with an intensity Of love or hatred
she is a creture of sensibility, existing only
in the outpourings of her sympathies and
emotions. Every earthly blessing, nay
every heavenly hope is sacrificed for hel
affections. She leaves the sunny home O
her childhood, the protecting roof Of hel
kindred, forgets the counsels Of father and
the gentle teachings of her mother; for
sakes all she has ciung to in girlish sim
plicity and follows to the verge Of the
grave, him to whom she has pledged hel
young affections. And yet there are many
in this good State, who have forgotten
all this, and left their wives to struggle
with poverty while they are idling away
their time, squandering their money--never
once thinking Of the fearful eyes that watch
for them through the broken window
The being who would thus abandon the
only confiding heart that trusted him, is
too gross villain to be called man!
Neglect and unrequited affection is
never cause of perfect misery with man.
Other dreams crowd upon his imagination,
the abstraction of business, the pursuit Of
wealth, or the bauble ambition, occupy
his mind and wins him away from early
infatuation. Not SO with woman; the
scene may change, and years, long, inger-
ing and whitening, may steal away the
rose from the cheek, still her fond heart
will beat quicker when his name is men
toned, and still she hopes for his return.
But how time has sped since l began to
write! The fire has burned down to few
dying embers; my watchful little guardian
has forgot his duty and has gone to sleep;
the crickets are chirping merrily in the
wall, and the loud ticking of my watch
admonishes me that the small hours of the
morning are at hand, already | have
"Heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls,
And seen her sable skirts all fringed with
light
From the Celestial walls"
Did you ever when alone in the woods
think of the striking beauty of that line
in the old hymn book
"Watchman! tell us of the night'
A thousand times have l repeated that
line to myself, and thought Of its solemn,
poetic beauty, till l almost fancied l could
see the Watchman that nature had set
over our sleeping valley, striding along
the brow of the mountain, like the spec
tire of the Brocken. The moon is just
appearing over the tree tops, and the
ground is glistening with the hoar frost.
Sur ly old Winter is filling his magazines
with snow and hail, and the halfcongealed
rain-drops pattering on the roof of my
cabin, admonish me, that ] too, like the
wild denizens of the woods, must lock up
my shanty and move off till the winter is
past. The untamed spirit Of the storm
will soon be whirling the snow in clouds
through the valley, and will go shrieking
down the glen in very triumph that he has
chased away summer and hushed the laugh
ing brooks. So good bye to my lodge in
the wilderness, to the shady pine, and the
overhanging cliff, to the blue smoke
wreathing up from the settlers cabin
But when summer comes again / will re-
turn, for
81 love the season well
When forest glades are teeming with
bright forms,
Nor dark and many folded clouds foretell
The coming on of storms"