Lamoille newsdealer. [volume] (Hyde Park, Vt.) 1860-1877, 1869-10-12
For the Newsletter.
Old Letters.

Old Letters.
How precious they are, and yet many
of them must suffer the loss of being tried
by fire Bring down the bundles so long
carefully packed away. We will open
and look them over, selecting those most
highly priced for further preservation, but
devoting the remainder to destruction. A
most unwelcome duty, this last, but high
rates for freight, and space far too small
for an accumulation of such packages, de-
mand that it be done. Besides, what
would the writers say if they should all
be preserved to meet the curious gaze of
another generation? Doubtless it is best,
this trial by fire
1t would be the labor of years to read,
but we must take hasty glance at each
one. Here is small package put away
in corner by itself. Only a te'o letters,
but very precious! Not one can burn.
The writer was my dearest earthly friend
In the absence of both, she was to me at
once a sister and mother. Gentle and
affectionate in disposition, her influence
was powerful in checking my waywardness
and giving right direction to my after life.
But she was to be the wife Of my brother.
Just ten years ago,
--'When Autumn wove her tints
Of gold and crimson, and the gladdened earth
Was laughing mid her joyous harvest home,
The graceful orange decked that fair young brow,
And many an ardent wish of long, long life,
And peace and joy, and happiness, went forth
With the beloved one to her western home.''
These letters were written from that
pleasant western home. They are full of
hope and joyTand love. Alas, the pleas
ures are the joys of a brief day. She saw
but one western Autumn. When that had
passed, anu
Winters breath
Was merging into Sring,--tlen came a voice.
An angel whisper, Sister, bither comc
Thy mission is fulfilled life path is bright;
Come hither ere tbs dmmcd for Earth hath tearsr
Then, trustingly, as when loving bride,
She placed her hand in His, and calmly trod
The solemn pathway to eternal Spring."
In the home of her childhood it was
permitted me TO look upon her form again.
Scarce sixteen months ago, in this very
room, "kind friends twined the beauteous
orange wreath in her fair hair"-but she
is robed for another bridal now! The
frost sparkles upon her features and the
lips are motionless Never, until the
gates of eternal gladness open and meet
her there, can l forget the anguish of that
hour
Reader, do you wonder that can not
part with these letters
Hardly less dear are the hundreds writ
ten by one yet living, though far away
my own sister. Hers has been life of
labor and of sorrow, yet has she, from
the multitude of her cares, found time and
strength to follow me from weak and way
wary boyhood to stronger manhood, with
these precious epistles, so full of love,
sympathy, and kind counsel
Hard as it is, some Of these must be
burned. But their influence for good can
never perish. 1t will live long after the
hand that wrote them has ceased to move !
Here is letter laid away by itself. 1t
bears the post-mark Of one of the pleasant
villages nestled in among the green hills
Of Vermont. / remember it reached me
when with the soldiers in the far South
west.
The writer calls me brother. She has
taken the place Of the one l loved SO
much. She can never take her place in
my heart-but am glad to hear from one
who is my brothers. wife. She writes Of
her visit to her native State, and says she
is soon to join her husband whose regi-
ment is following the Missouri to its source
in fruitless chase after the red man.
have never seen her and this is her first
and last word to me! Alone she makes
the long perilous journey and is spending
the winter in that desolatc region, with
her husband. Sickness overtakes her
there, and, after many long weeks Of pain
deprived Of the comforts of civilized life