MISS BOWEN’S LETTER.
Ocean Springs, Miss., March 16, 1859.
J. R. S. Pitts, Esq., Mobile, Ala.:
Esteemed Friend—Happy indeed am I to have the pleasure of acknowledging the reception of your kind favor bearing date 12th instant, the contents of which are so consoling and interesting that I feel entirely inadequate to the task of making the properly deserving reply.
This is the first intelligence I have had from you by letter since I heard of the last unfortunate results of your trial. Ever since the reception of this sad news my mind has been a complete wreck. Both mental and physical strength have visibly declined under the pressure of contemplated burdens which you had to bear; but the relief which this, your last letter, has afforded is beyond the powers of description.
In the first stages every effort was made to conceal a wounded heart, but in vain; the countenance of sorrow was too plainly depicted to be mistaken by those around who are acquainted with former cheerfulness. Laboring under pungent affliction from the silent meditation of your melancholy situation, none but myself can have any correct idea of the internal struggles with which I was contending. Under such a compression of the vital powers, earthly scenes had no charms for me; but the wings of last night’s mail bore the glad tidings from you that all is well, leaving you comfortably situated and cared for in every respect, which affords me the most exquisite relief. From gloom and despair to joy and hope, the transition was rapid and sudden. The following from your pen affords a satisfaction which words are incapable of representing:
“You will please give yourself no uneasiness of mind so far as regards my comfort and well-being. My friends here have situated me as agreeably in every respect as I could possibly have desired. Perfectly composed and resigned myself, I want you to share the same, if possible, in a still higher degree.”
All of us, well knowing your entire innocence, deeply sympathize with you; and, as for my own part, this ordeal has only been a trial of my devotion—not knowing before the real depth of affection, which is now more strengthened and indelibly fixed on thee. Fictitious signatures cannot avail, nor indeed any other cunningly devised schemes for the interruption of the peaceful concord which has so long been maintained between us.
Even a brief narration of little ordinary simplicities may sometimes be enjoyed by minds accustomed to higher ranges of thought, and which frequently soar to loftier spheres of the grander contemplations of nature’s wonderful works. Accordingly you will be disposed to pardon anything which you may here find apparently of a light and frivolous character.
There is nothing new in our village that could, I presume, be of interest to you, unless accounts of frequent marriages would have this effect. In affairs of this sort there has been almost an epidemic. We have had quite an inclement change in the weather for this season of the year. It is just now very cold, lowering, and quite unpleasant indeed; but the joyous cheerfulness manifested by the little birds indicate the early dawn of spring.
There is a charming lovely little mocking bird that makes frequent visits near my window—sings so sweetly, and seems to enjoy life with the utmost fulness of felicity, so much so that I am, in a doleful hour, sometimes inclined to envy the happiness which I cannot at all times share myself. Its warbling melodies echoing as they are wafted along on the zephyrs of the morning and renewed again toward the evening shades, sometimes excite peculiar reflections, which are very wrong to indulge in. I ought to be content with my lot, though it may seem rather hard, yet, perhaps, all for the best. The dispensations of Providence cannot be otherwise; and it is vain to repine against what we do not understand sufficiently. It is true my pathway has been interspersed with many difficulties and heart-rending trials from my earliest childhood; and they seem to still follow me up to the present day. But of what use to murmur? He who has blessed me with innumerable favors will do all things well. “He who has been with and comforted in the sixth trouble, will not forsake in the seventh.”
I fear you will think me enthusiastic on the subject of religion, but hope not. All written has been sincerely felt; and were it not for the comfort of religion hardly one happy moment would I enjoy. Oppressed and fatigued, I can go to Him who hath said, “Come unto me and find rest for your wearied soul.”
The family desire a united remembrance to you. Pardon error, and believe as ever,
Yours, etc., Pauline.