Year: 1866

Died, in the city of New Orleans, on the morning
of June 25 1866 CLOTILDE, wife of Geo. H. Penn,
and only daughter of Rufus Dolbear.


Such is the cruel formula that registers human
grief before the world How sadly suggestive of
broken ties; of withered hopes, and blasted joys
One short last gasp, and all that We have loved is
gone The kind friend; the dutifal daughter the
gentle sister; the devoted wife the fond mother,
passes away, and desolation reigns throughout the
circle of these sweet relations.


Husband father, brother, each withdraws into the
sanctuary of his soul and sits in silence under
the shadow of his grief; while pratting child
hood prattles in touching Inconsistencies of its
deep loss.


The subject of this brief sketch was horn in New
Orleans, Sept "a, 1888 and had not therefore, com
pleted the 2sth year of her age. Thus early she
fell beneath the seythe of the Crest Mower; but not
unripe. Gifted with high natural endowments, she
capable of the rich culture bestowed upon her.
Having been taught to read and write before most
children have well learned to talk, her education
was vigorously pressed to the period of womanhood.
Inquisitive and speculative in her mental cast she
improved these advantages to the last degree, and
entered upon life not only stored with useful
knowledge, but embellished with all that refinement
and taste which literature and the arts could in
spire A character thus fitted toadorn society was
moreover, early sanctifed by religion, and the grace
of true piety added twuperior charm to the beauty
sad lovliness of true womanhood. While young, she
united with the Presbyterian Church in whose
communion she died, giving increasing evidence,
especially through her long and painful illness, Of
entire preparation for Heaven Her Bible, marked
upon the margin of almost every page indicates
the uths upon which her faith and hopes delighted
to feed She fell gently asleep upon the Saviours
breast without sigh of reluctance for the joys left
behind her. Her husband and two children of ten





abrother while yet in their bitter grief they wish
her Joy in her grand ascension to be with the I'm
mOrtals-


The following lines, peuned upen bed of suffer
ing parting farewell to her beloved husband
attach to this obituary, not only for their own
beauty, but a memorial of her taste and cult
walton


Call me no more thine own-the summer hours
So loved by me, shall never come gain
Scarce shall I see the springs pale flowers


Here in this lie of weary ache and pain.


shall be thine no more.
The spring shall wake fresh verure through the vale
From gray winter freed, blue shall glow the sky;
But ere the sweet breathed violets grow pale,
This fading form low in the dust shall lie


Then shall not be tine own.
The shadow of parting hour is nigh;


1t falls, dear one, upon my heart and thine;
Alas to leave thee when Efe's morning hour
Is goldened DER by love almost divine


Nay, call me not now thine own
shall leave thee soon, and thou beloved will feel
A gloomy shadow DER thy pathway thrown;
And all too soon this truth viii DER thee stesl.
That in this weary world thou art alone


And from thee feed, thine own,
And thou wilt miss me yet without grief
And illumed by loves far.reaching eve,
know that thou thy purest joy shall find
In dreams of early love that buried lie


Love when was all thine own
No longer thinei To wake for thee, at eve,
The chords of music sweetest to thine ear
To love thee, and through grief or joy.
To be thy truest friend-of all most dear


To be thine own
On those not distant hills where beauty never fades
My lingering feet shall rest. OH do rot w1ep;
With me thou'lt dwell where sadness ne'er invades
With Him who giveth his believe sleep


Forever there thin own
(B MPO CIoTuDE