Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1855-07-19

norm lOr ulnner, lnd our blreu man came II
: from the hill lot, where he was sowing whea
| saw that he had letter in his hand of grea
size and thickness; and, coming into tn,
keeping-room where sat, he said that Squire
White had brought ii over from the Post-of
flee as he came along, thinkig would like tt
have it directly. | was rather 10th to oper
the great packet at first, for | bethought my
} self it was likely to be some Consolation
=, proceedings, which were never otherwise
than irksome to me, and were now weary tc
/, think o., seeing the grass.hopper had become
u burden. | reached my spe :tacles down
from The nail, and found the ipcst-mark to be
that of the Mormon city; and with unsteady
hand opened the seal, and found within
several sheets of written letter-paper, direct
ed to me in Ada's writing, and short letter
from John Henderson, which ran thus:
I"'DRAR SIR,
"'aiy first wife, Adeline Frazer Hender-
son, departed this life on the sixth of Jaly,
at my house in the city of Great Salt Lake.
Shortly before dyrg she called upon me, in
the presence of two sisters, and one of the
Saints, 10 deliver into your hands the enclcs-
ed packet, and tell you of her DEATH Ac-
cording to her wish | send the papers by
mail; and. hoping you may yet be called TO
be partaker, in the faith Of the saints be-
low, remain your afflicted, yet rejoicing
friend,
"'JoHN HENDERSON
| "l was really stunned for moment my
young FRIEND not only with grief at my own,
loss, but with pity and surprise at the entire
deadening, as it appeared, of natural affec-
tion in the man to whom | had given my
daughter; and also conscience was not free
from offense, for | could not but think that
more eervent and wrestling expostu'aton, on
the sin OF marrying an unbeliever, might
have saved Adeline from sorrow in the flesh.
However, said as much as seemed best at
the time, and upon ithat reflection l rested
myself; for he who adheres to a pure nten.
tion, need not repent of his deeds afterwards;
and the next day, when my present anguish
and weakne ss had somewhat abated | read
the manuscript Ada had sent me.
at was, doubtless penned with much re.
luctance, for TIE chilG'S natural pride WAS
great, and no less weighty subject than her
husbands salvation could have forced her to
speak of what she wrote for me; and, indeed,
| should feel no right to put the confidence
into your hands, were not my child beyond
the reach Of mans judgment, and did | not
feel it sacred duty to protest, so long as
life lasts, against this abominahle Mormon
delusion, and the no less delusive preteXt of
doing evil that good may come. l cannot
read Ada's letter aloud to you, for there is to
be funeral at two O'Clock, which | must
attend: but | will give you the papers, and
you may sit in my chair and read; only. be
patient with my bees. if they come too near
you, for they like the hopblOssoms, and never
sting unless you strike"
So saying, Parson Field gave me his
lesthren chair and the papers, and sat down
in the hop-crowned porch, to read Adeline
Hehderson's story, with sort of reverence
for her that prompted me to turn the rustling
pages carefully, and to feel startled if door
swung to in the quiet house, as if were
cav avesdropping; but soon | ceased to hear,
absorbed in her letter, which began as the
first did.
"Dear Uncle,
"To-day begged John to write, and ask
you to come here. could not write you
ters have been my great comfort, and added
few words of entreaty to his, because | am
dying. and 1t seems as if must see you be-
fore | ole; yet fear the letter may not reach |
you, or you may be sick; and for that reason |
write now, to tell you how terrible a ne
cessty urged me to persuade you to such
journey. can write but little at a time.
my side is SO painful; they call it slow con-
sumption here, but know better; the heart !
within me is turned to stone, felt it then
-Ah! you see my mind wandered in that
last line; it still will return to the old theme,
like fugue tune, such as we had in the
Plainfeld singing school. | remember one
that went, 'The Lord is just, is just.'-ls He!
Dear Uncle, must begin at the beginning,
or you never will know. swrote you from
st. Louis, did not! | meant to From
there, we had dreSry journey, not so bad
from Fort Leavenworth, but after that mex
pressibly dreary, and set with tokens of the |
dead, Whc perished before US. A long reach |
of prairie, day after day,and night after night;
grass and sky, and graves; grass, and sky, |
and graves; till hardly kne" whether the !
life dragged along was life or death, as the |
thirsty, feverish Gays wore on into the awful
and breathless nights, when every creature !
was dead asleep, and the very stars in heaven |
grew dim in the hot, sleepy ar-dreadful |
days was too glad to see that bitter in
land sea, blue rs the fresh lakes, with its gray
islands of bare rock, and sparkling sand
shores, still more rejoiced to come upon the
City itself, the rows OF quaint, bare houses,
and such cool wa!er-sources, and, over all,
near enough to rest both eyes and heart, the
sun-lit mountains, 'the shadow of great
rock in weary land
81 liked my new house well. 1t wds too
large for our need, but pleasanter for its air-
ness, and the first thing did, WIS to plant
little hop-vine, that had brought all the
wav with such great care, by the east porch. !
wanted something like Plainfeld in my
home. don't know why linger so, must
write faster, for grow weak all the time.
81 liked the City very well for awhile; the
nainhhors mnra Lind and Tohn p,oro tho N