Dorchester Aug 7, 1861
Dear Sister,
This evening is the anniversary of my wedding day, and as my mind’s eye looks back to the 7th of Aug. 1849, and reviews the scenes that which I have passed since the memorable eve, I feel an almost irresistable impulse to throw myself upon the bosom of some sympathetic friend, and unburden the pent-up feelings of my heart. Would I could see you this evening, but this is a vain wish—many long miles separate, and so I seize my pen and improve the only alternative of communing with you. What shall I say, I spend the time in vain regrets and lamentations of woe? Or recognise the many mercies mingled in my -----?
The retrospect is not all a painful one. There have been lights as well as shadows in my path. I trust I am not wholly ungrateful for the many hours of pleasant intercourse I enjoyed with my dear husband. His memory is still very precious, his loss most keenly felt by me, and it seems to me that every day I miss him more.
Two or three nights since, I dreamed of him, and seemed to enjoy his presence as I did when he was here with us. But the pleasant dream was soon broken, and in its place came feelings of fearful anguish.
But “God knows it all.” I dare not allow myself to dwell on my sorrows. If I turn to the “Faithful Promiser,” when overpressed with sorrow, I always find releif. No doubt He took away my “tower of strength” that I might lean upon the “Rock of Ages.”
Dear Sister, I wish I could see you and weigh my tears with yours. You have seen your cherished one suddenly smitten down, and carried away out of your sight. But there are mercies still in this -----. What anguish of heart had you not hope of beholding your dear John Arthur ------in the likeness of his Savior on the right hand of God.
“We shall go to them.” A blessed thought—soon it may be. Let us work while the day lasts. How many hearts are bleeding and will bleed at the loss of sons or brothers and perchance of husbands, smitten down, byt the carnage of War.
What shall be in the future? God reigns and can “turn the hearts of men as the rivers of water are turned.”
Let us rejoice that it is so. I often think of your dear mother. Does she retain the use of her mental powers, or do they partake of the weakness of the body?
How is Jamie? Is he a good boy? Dear boy, how I long to embrace him. Do write soon. I look for Jamie every day.
Aug. 20 I sent you a note last week. Thought I would not send this, but on the whole think I will.
Shall not write Jamie until I get a letter from him. Am most sick with a cold.
Truly and affectionately yours
S.N. French