The Sierra citizen., 1854-11-11
povneve Sierra {eunt (iorna Saturday November H. 1851

tell each other everything. You remem
Der that in the short time that we lived
so costly and happily together in our lit
tie home, you would ask me what it was
that made me laugh, when merry, OR when
some petty trouble would cloud my face
for little while, you would coax me with
kisses and pet names to tell what vexed
me. You learned me, dear James, to share
every thought and feeling with you-and
now, though a thousand leagues are
stretched between US, my heavy heart only
hopes for some relief by sharing it's bur-
den with you.
"Four years ago !-can.we ever forget
how the sun shone on that beautiful May
morning, when we were married in my
Fathers parlor? Or how happy we were
when we sat down with the friends who
attended US for the first time at our own
tea-table? When we knelt for the first
time by the same chair and asked God to
bless our love? 0, James, how happy
were we then.
"The first real sorrow, James, | ever
felt, was when you began to read so eager
ly the news from California-and talk so
much with those who had made money
and returned. You never spoke to NE
then about going yourself, and 1 did not
think you ever would. But | was 50
fearful lest you acished to 60, and l, who
loved you so, was clog, an embarrassment
to you.
"Do you know when you first spoke Of
it to me? We were sitting by the fire
it was the first time l had left my room
after our baby was born, and you were
holding her little hand in yours. You
spoke thus: Shall father 60 to California
and bring baby some gold?' 1t was then
March. On the twenty-seventh day Of
April, Friday morning, you left me! My
heart told me that it was dreadful step
you were taking; but it was my duty to
try and be cheerful, and l clung to my
tears and grief until was alone with our
baby! All the gold in California would
not have tempted you, dear husband, il
you could have known beforehand the
agony you were bringing upon me. DO
you fancy that I have been happy since
You write to me (when you do write,) as
though you think me the same happy wo-
man | used to be. But Oh, James, you
are mistaken
81 don't know how it was, but God did
seem to punish me for your going away
| used to hold our little daughter in my
arms, and look at her through the tears
which acould gather when / remembered
that | was California Widow One
day while looking so at my baby, | saw
strange, earnest, old look in her little
eyes. Oh, James, my very heart seemed
to die! knew then that our baby would
die; how, could not tell-but knew it.
| did not cry any more, but day after day
/ watched my baby. The doctor smiled
kindly when | told him, and said it was
young mothers groundless fear'-but !
knew that baby was dying. Hour after
hour when she was waking, l would look
into her blue eyes-hour after hour, when
she was sleeping, would look upon her
closed lids and think of you, James, upon
your slow journey across the plains, and Of
my dying child. Sometimes often, James
l would draw to the side of her cradle the
same chair We first knelt together by, and
feeling all alone, would kneel by it and
say, oh Godp Beyond those words ]
could not frame a prayer. Somehow ]
could not even say, as l used always to do.
Our Heavenly Father don't know
why-but / could not say it. But then ]
would kneel, without word of prayer
without tear-but with full and aching
heart hoping that God would make Il
lighter.
"Baby died. 1t was Sunday, near sun.
set when l stood by the little grave they
had dug for her. Our minister prayed
and the people stood quietly by did
not cry-but when the prayer was done
kissed for the last time her wan, cold face
in the coffin. They fastened the lid-lald
her in the grave-and as my Father LED
me away heard the earth falling on the
boards. The sun was setting in the rec
west-and with calm, but deep grief,
felt the agony of being a childless Cali
fornia widowP Oh, James!
'They we're very kind to me. NV dear
| Father seemed to suffer almost as much as