University of Virginia Library

LETTER OF EMMA ADAMS, TO HER HUSBAND.

(Enclosed.)

O, my husband! my husband! what shall I say to
thee!—I am blind, and sick, and desolate; and thou
art far away!—William, my husband!—O, come back
to me—Leister is sleeping in his little crib, at my
side, but I—I cannot sleep. I never shall sleep again,
William, if thou art not returned to me. Night after
night, have I watched for thy tread;—night after night,
overcome by drowsiness; and wet to the heart, with the
tears of our child, I have sunk, for a single moment,
into some terrible dream—fancied that we were restored
to one another—that thy strong arm was about me
—thy true heart beating against mine—and woke, with
a shriek, that startled my poor boy; till, brave as he is,
he would cower, and hide his little face and hands in my

bosom, and shiver from head to foot. O, William, where
art thou! On the wide ocean--away from thy disconsolate
wife—thy widow—widow!—God grant me patience
—our own righteous God!—Who can tell that I am not
a widow!—who can tell, that my poor boy,—blessings
on his innocent sleep—is not a fatherless orphan—O,
heaven—heaven, have mercy upon me!—

William, forgive me—on my knees, I pray thee, to
forgive me! Come back to me—love. By all our sorrow
and wretchedness, in our early affection!—by all
that hath followed, of happiness and delight!—by my
dead child, thy daughter, William, the creature of thy
loins!—by thine own boy!—O, I do intreat thee; implore
thee, to come back to me!—come! though it be but to
close my eyes,---and seal them, with one affectionate
kiss---for ever. Come! and death will be welcome to
me, then!—

O, my husband!—my pillow is wet through, with
my tears.—Penitent and broken hearted, I am before
thee. O, pity me!—come to me! I will never doubt
thee, again. Never! never, never!—I will lay my heart
naked, before thee and tell thee all, all—even to the
innermost secret of my thought. O, come to me!—

William!—William—canst thou abandon me—me!
—in whose arms thou hast slept, year after year,
through trouble and darkness, and sorrow; pain and
humiliation—me! the mother of thy babes---me! whom
thou hast so loved—O, William, canst thou abandon
me!— * * * * * I cannot
write---I am blinded with my tears. Nothing that I
can say, but seems cold and unnatural to me. Where
is there language for me---where shall I find aught,
to bring back a father to his child---the cradle of one
child, and the green turf of another---a husband, to the
bosom of his wife---a bosom that—O, no william, I
will not so wrong thee, as to allege my innocence. I
know that it is not in human nature to doubt me—that
thou, thou, thyself, my husband, art sure of my innocence,
even while thou meditatest an everlasting separation—
—I have done---the paper is all blotted---I

cannot see a letter, that I am making---come back to
me---I have no more to say---but---if thou wouldst see
me alive—come to me! come, speedily---I—I—