MRS. BIRDSALL TO MR. DICKINSON. BINGHAMTON, February 12, 1847. MY DEAR UNCLE-I received the letter you inclosed, last evening. I thought at first it was from yourself, and was somewhat disappointed upon opening it. I can hardly be thankful enough that you were preserved in safety during that fearful gale. Aunt Lydia read us your letter. I go to see her as often as possible. I rode past the churchyard a short time since. Never before did it seem so desolate, nor yet so sacred. I cannot think of dear Virginia as I last saw her, but with the bloom of health on her cheek; her countenance beaming with joy and animation. She spent a few days with me last summer, when the roses and syringas were in bloom. I can almost see her now, as then, and hear her merry laugh as she gathered them for bouquets, or gaily twined them in her shining hair herself the loveliest flower. But she has gone where " fadeless flowers immortal bloom"-herself to fade no more. I did not see her from the time she was married till she returned with "the icy hand of death upon her brow, her bridal robes exchanged for the drapery of the tomb." I kissed her cold forehead, but she felt not the embrace, nor knew what tears of anguish were flowing there. But she was lovely even then: so calmly, so purely had her spirit passed away. Death to her had no sting, and the grave over her no victory. Dear uncle, is there not some comfort in thinking you have a child in heaven, where pain and death can never reach her more; perchance, the first to welcome you to that bright abode? But instead of affording the solace I would gladly impart, I fear I only cause your tears to flow afresh. That God may sanctify to you this bitter cup is the sincere prayer of Your affectionate LOUISE. MR. DICKINSON TO MRS. DICKINSON. WASHINGTON, February 14, 1847. MY DEAREST LYDIA--I am distressed to hear that you are VOL. II.-26 ill, though dear Lydia L.'s note received this morning says you are a little better. Oh how I long to join you again! I am quite well, but all looks dark and desolate, and I desire to be with you and the children. If the session were to be long, I should certainly have you come, but as it is short, I shall try to drag out the residue of it alone. Our friends sympathize deeply with us, and inquire anxiously for you; but it has been so trying to my feelings to meet our associates and friends that I have been compelled to avoid seeing them. I have not been out since I returned. I engaged the other evening to go and introduce two gentlemen to the President and Mrs. Polk, but when I reflected upon meeting our friends there, I knew it would overcome me, and I got excused. I have not seen Mrs. Polk, and do not feel as if I could; but I shall try to call before I return. All are as usual here. I had several copies of the Pittsfield Sun, and sent them to our friends. Mr. Croswell was quite anxious to get a copy of the Democrat containing the obituary notice. He wished it for Mrs. Croswell, who had desired to see it. If a spare copy can be found I would like to have it forwarded to him. Do, my dear, endeavor to bear up under this affliction until I shall be with you to share together our sad bereavement. My choicest love to the dear children. Affectionately, D. S. DICKINSON. MR. DICKINSON TO LYDIA L. DICKINSON. WASHINGTON, February 15, 1847. MY DEAR LYDIA L.-Yours came to me this morning. I am exceedingly pained to hear of your dear mother's illness. I hope and pray she may be better when I hear again. You, my dear child, must bear our painful affliction with all the fortitude you can summon. I know, you and your little sister will imitate the virtues of our departed one; and may it be your lot "Like her to live, like her to die; " but, Oh, my child, not so soon. Love to all. Your affectionate father, D. S. DICKINSON. MR. DICKINSON TO MRS. DICKINSON. WASHINGTON, February 16, 1847. MY DEAREST LYDIA-I did not hear from you this morning, but hope to to-morrow, when I pray I may hear that you are more comfortable. I feel deeply pained for your loneliness and affliction, but, my dear one, we have long been blessed with the loveliness of one dear daughter, and let us patiently bear this chastising of our Heavenly Father. I send a letter from Mrs. Downing. It has been over to Binghamton, and returned. Mrs. Ann S. Stephens has written some lines upon the death of our dear Virginia.* I will send them as soon as I receive them. Yours affectionately, D. S. DICKINSON. * LINES BY MRS. STEPHENS. Published in the Washington Union. To the Editor of the Union: Mrs. VIRGINIA ELIZA MURRAY, a daughter of Hon. D. S. Dickinson, of New York, was given away in marriage at the chancel of Christ's Church, Binghamton, October 20th, 1847. Just three months from her bridal day, the same clergyman, at the same altar, was performing the last solemn offices over her remains. Her father reached Binghamton only in time to witness her funeral. These touching facts gave rise to the following lines, which you will honor me by accepting for the Union. ANN S. STEPHENS. She stood before the altar, meekly pale, As wild flowers blush and tremblingly exhale start And tremble at the beating of her heart. The father stood beside her, calm and mildFor he had learned that power upon the will, By which all passions, turbulent and wild, Are softened to a glad or painful thrill; Her hand was yet in his-O! she had been The dearest thing to which his hopes had clung: But he had nerved his soul to yield her up-- Her child, her household joy, was now a And she was married!--from that altar-stone, Trembling with timid hope and bashful love, She turned half tearful to the chosen one, And sought his shelt'ring care, like some young dove Lost from its nest-home in the skies above. In joy, she sought the parent arms again- Cherished beneath a roof-tree, proud and Like the soft drops of that delicious rain, green, On which a thousand laurels had been flung, they hung. Where clouds and sunshine struggle for the start, And, with bright tumult, claim an equal part. GENERAL CASS TO MR. DICKINSON. WASHINGTON, March 4, 1847. Still I MY DEAR FRIEND-Though much pressed at this moment, yet I cannot refrain from writing you this hasty note. have nothing more to say than I said last evening, though my opinions have gathered strength since that time, and others fully accord with me in sentiment. I beg you, therefore, to lay aside any thought of resigning. I beg you for my sake, for the sake of the great party to which we belong, to abandon the idea. I shall stay here four or five days-shall then go to New York. I will write you again before I leave here. Could you drop me a line at New York? Ever your friend, Hon. D. S. DICKINSON. LEW. CASS. With that sweet, angel smile upon her brow, They left the altar, some with mirth pleasant, How still and calm, how silently she lay! Dash with one sweep the shadows half away. And then, oppressed with many a sweet regret, The parents sought their darkened hearth once more, With saddened hearts, and eyes all dim and wet; They learned to bless the stranger youth who bore The jewel from their home, the sunbeam from their door. Three months-three little months, and lo, again The bride came to the temple-not alone; For with her swept a dim funereal train, That slowly gather'd round that altarstone, And bowed themselves with many a stifled moan. The mother sent for him-that noble sire- As if a wandering saint had passed that way, Was that cold statue all his hopes might The loved and lost no more? Again! again! claim? Angels were hymning out that soft refrain! MR. CLINTON TO MR. DICKINSON. BUFFALO, April 14, 1847. MY DEAR SIR-I was hugging the comfortable conviction that I was a forgotten and disregarded nobody, when I received the assurances of your kind remembrances and copies of your able and excellent speech, and the beautiful volume of the constitution. You have raised my spirits, and confirmed my attachment to yourself. Sooth to say, I am not altogether satisfied with your position on the Wilmot Proviso, but I am perfectly satisfied with you; and the man who assails your motives, denies your eminent ability, or decries your talents, is not my friend. That vexed question will, perhaps, be laid in the tomb of the Capulets, and repose in eternal quietude with the faction who conjured with it, in the hope of raising a tempest whose wings should waft them into place and power. You have, however, incurred the enmity of certain Democratic politicians. Their enmity, however, can do you little injury, so long as you combine, with the good-will and respect of so many disinterested persons, who do not entirely coincide with you in your notions upon abstract questions, the warm support of the great masses, who sustain you throughout. The constitution is a fitting companion of your speech. You place yourself upon that sacred instrument, and no unprejudiced person will deny your ability or sincerity. Abolitionism, Wilmot Provisoism, and all party and all factional distinctions, bid fair to be swallowed up in Taylorism. The current controversies of our politics are all abandoned, and forgotten in national gratulation. The hero of Buena Vista is exalted by the people above all party. Claimed by both and identified by neither, he is regarded by many as the man raised up by Providence to calm our dangerous agitation, and command the elements of disunion into peace. I doubt whether the present popular fervor is, as some suppose, a transient feeling. It seems deep and fixed. In passing through Albany I saw prominent politicians of all sections, of both parties, and ascertained that all of them were anxious to hitch on to Taylor's triumphal car. Sewardites and Youngites, Barnburners and Hunkers, alike claim him, applaud him, and prophesy his elevation to the presidency. What is to be done? Many democrats here say, |