The New York Herald Newspaper, August 16, 1874, Page 4

4 NEW YORK HERALD, SUNDAY, AUGUST 16, 1874.—TRIPLE SHEET. | of writing for the Mdepenaent, But, apparenuy | doding nothing in my Crain worth saylug to my public readers, I have awitched of trom the main track, and aim here scribbling another of my daily notuings to the one dear creature who thinks that my chaff is always wheat. What ts tt that you dad i my letters to excite your praises? iain sure that, after I have written, and turn around to read them, they appear to be poor and | meagre enough. Now and then I come upon some wowwanly, Christian, profouna sentence or expres- Sion 1 your letters, that proves (what l knew be- i \c| fore) that the art of writing beautiful letters does | are merely incidents in the lie Whose main pur- not belong to literary mea and women more than | pose ought to be to love, Let us, therefore, more | to other men and women. mirror one | than ever velore, iove one another with i a | shows his /ace to himself, 80 in @ letter one shows | Jorbearance, earnestness and wisdom. The lis hearc to his iriend, The wriciag may be poor, | we should have achieved nothing besid and yet the letter good. Bus, in a perfect sen- | union of two loving hearts, we aball hi tence, which i8 made to fit like a glove around the | out for ourselves a heaven on eartlt, and perhaps modeled shape of some worthy © ougnt, there 1s | aiterward the heaven above the earth. Yours [or something in the mere expression, Independent of | ever, THEODORB TILION. the thought, that sometimes has @ charm in- describavie. Some of-che finest literature tn the world ts cons | tained tn Wise and rich letters—many of them | never destined to be read by more than one reader. The most interesting books are biograe phic’, mainly ou account of thew personality, But ietters are still more personal. A letter ts mutu- ally enk.adling—it puts both writer and reader in wife is the beat of human characters; tnat I crave nothing more for my wedded life henceforth than that | may grow to be more worthy of God's sweet git of the dearest of pets to one of the least de- serving Oimen. . . . Yourowa THEODORE. “LIPR'S MAIN PURPOSE OUGHT TO BE TO LOVE.” Mr. VERNON, La, Jan, 3, 1867. My LIrTLe Mistress: If we do not love we might | better never have been born, Lt is a very great | saying, “Love is the fulfilling ot the law.” Busi- | ness, public labors, ri reputation—all these THEODORE’S GUSH, Tilton’s Letters to His Wif During His Lecture Tour. THE LITERATURE OF LOVE. MEDITATIONS IN A GRAVEYARD. ON THE CARS PROM INDEPENDENCE TO CepaB RaPtps, la, Jan, 4, 1869. My DaRLina: An oid man ts sitting in the next seal, half dozing, taiking to himself and suing ! asil he were in great merriment. He has soua an invisible circle of pleasure within his owa | mind, and be sits in the centre of it, crowned with Joy. Occasionally he iurches his head, litts nis aglow of love and good will toward the other. lorefinger and gesjiculates like a grand{fainer en- Letters, like prayers, ought never to admit an un- | tertaining his peta 1 would give a good deal to | true Word—never @ conventional fora diregt ex- look in upon the inward spectacie—tLe imaginary pression—never any of the littie les of Polite | picture—tcat is creating 80 much fun 1n is brain. usage ‘This old man has set me to thinking of the foan- For instance, I don’t like a letter to end with, | tains of happiness, Tney are many, it we ouly “Lam your obedient servant,” No form ol ex- knew where to find them. They are ike springs preasion, however custbmary, ought to be used | in meadows, We walk near them sod amoug which is not strictly honest, Accordingly, to @ tuemevery day, but we never think of lookin mau whom I did not like, I a@ never say. under the grass to discover them. I remembe' | “My Gear sir,’ Dut simply .? The more | in Carlyle some such remark a4 this, that “tap- I see of the little fibs current in society the piness is cieap if we only appiled to the right | more I despise them, Let us teach our children | merchant (or it.’ The chief happiness of our | to speak the truth; and, to this end, let us | lives is im istle things. And M we do not learn | speak it ourselves, | have long thought that the | the art of being maue happy by tries we shall | habit of communicating to cach other, as husbands never learn it at all. and wives, as friends and iriends, our secretest | For instance, what Bappiness could I find In my and deepest-hiddea thoughts, witnout disguise | weary journeyings if I did not glean tt nere an and without misrepresentation, wouid finally | there from littie, meagre incidents, enjoyed a breed @ greater reverence lor honesty and truth- | while and then Jorgonant i bad a very happy lulness than now prevails, | hour tuts morning. rapped in my furs, | wan- | Ifa man wilfally misstates an outward fact, it dered along the picturesque banks of @ frozen’ is a ile, and he sins against society. Butit he wil- | stream, and found myseif first in @ grove of oaks, fully deceives by representing ms thoughts to be | and tuen io @ graveyard, I am fond of idung | Tart Disquisitions on Liars and Prayer-Mongers. “MY LITTLE BLACK-EYED LADY.” “Jesus Was, Perhaps, a Married Man, - Instead cf a2 Mated Lover.” ON “THE GOSSAMER OF TEMPTATION” Picture of a Bride and Bridegroom at Cedar Fails, betier than they are, which is usually the case | among tombs, and IL’ shail finally & com. with men who indulge in religious cant, andare § piete idier among them forever. Sweet, eT the prayer mongers at Friday night meetings, sad and solemp thoughts came into my mind, then such & man equally is guilty of lying, although his sin of falsehood 18 not 80 much against society as against himself. IL believe that of all the virtues the greatest is to speak tne truth, With wuich moral, as Kobert Browning says, “I drop my * theorbo.’? ! ‘This is enongh prio pier J was ied by Ue scene, as I am sometimes ted | by plaintive music, Every Lee nad its history | of @ hamao jile begun andended, Afy lite, long | ago begun, might perhaps be already neary | ended, i confess (nat the thought was not with- out @ certain Geilghtial, and yet perhaps delusive, for Saturday night, | satisfaction. My hous pilgrimage through the | 0, my htule, black-eyed pet, I love you vetier than white marbies—too white and new in this fresh my lite trselt, THEODORE. | and new country to show yet a trace of mosy or DISSATISFIED WITH THE CRURCHES. hiehen—maue death iveelf look Iresa, new and e RIPENS LATE.” | “LOVE “Our Sweet Letters Make My Blood Wance.” Teer ee ALTON, Uil., Dec. 23, 1866, | agreeable. The Tan loose and nibbled A VISION OF HOM. My DARLING:—On for a direct gaze into the pure | avout those u d graves, ‘The flocks NO«THWRST MissovRr, | bine! “For now we ste through a giass darkly, seemed iamillar an elcome companious IN TUE CaRs, Dec. 18, Tate, } | but then tace to face.” | or the dead. At some of the mounds, I have lately said to myself, “Let me forget all | perhaps, they represented more innocenve than that l have been taught of sectarianism, of hide- | | the guilty clay sleeping beneath, But, aiter all, bound theologies, 0! stereotyped creeds; and !et | tanocence or guilt, in most of us, depends more on me, instead, go direct to Goa, and ask for his lugnt to shine on my tace, as on Moses of old.” I am dissatisfied with the churches and their Teacdings. ‘hey stand between our minds and My BgLOveD Pet—! have now tour letsers of yours in wy pocket, They make me rich. I oftea take them out and read little choice sentences of love over and over again, | I hyve been thinking of the difference between separa'lon by — = separation by death. {t seems now as if i could not endure to pass & day without writing to you; tt wonld be a vio- | the light. They mean well, but they kuow not | lence to my leciings. Even how, when this old, | What they do, 1 believe in Gou’s daily revela- | shaking and Joltung rail-car almost makes it im- | “ons to the human soul As He makes daily possible for me to write, I nevertheless cannot | gilt of the sun to the earth, so He makes dally dis- help writing, 1 believe that if you were not on | Closures o! His glory to our souls. But if we shut the earth, but in heaven, I could not help writing | the eyes either of our bodies or our souls we can- you a letter every day. My teeungs overflow, and | 20t expect to see, | am striving to tear off, little if 1 do not express them I saffer pain. by little, since 1 cannot do it at a stroke, some of Mrs. ——'s letter, received yesterday, gave me a | the bandages that have hitherto bound’ me blind, littie glimpse o! your perfect’ love for your bua | “atime eyes unto Thee, U Gud.” Your dest lover, band. She said that you showed her one of my Jet- | THEODORE. ters whiie sitting with her in church, and that she Dusvgue, Iowa, Dec. 27, 1566. never kuew any Woman to iavish go much love | | MY Daxtrne: If] nad six tongues instead of one upon a man as you upon me, That was the sweet- | I could empioy them ail and every night, 1 bad a | est word tn ail her letter. 1thank you for your touch of home sickuess suis morning. It came profession of affection. Perhaps 1 oaght not to | {tom the sunsbine that poured into my room irom Speak of changes im myself, the lustrous southeast. The wall, the carpet, the the best judge in my own case; snd . | chairs, all glowed and glittered under the touch of cerely believe that your devotion, fidelity and | the goldsmith. I wanted then a certain mate Javishment of love are making mea bdetcer man, | /@e to eit in my rocking chair, in whose eyes I | should hardiy have held them fast in remembrance In one oi my letters | mentioned that sometimes 1 | Wight look and on whose lips | might hang. | for hall a day. felt as Lf you were praying lor me at that moment. i aliow these, and such like moods, to fll me | J stil aduere to my resolution to do some act of J have had tne same impression many times since. | 4¥hile with a delictous sadaess; ana then! fight | ktndness daily to some fellow creature. And | tind Against such a guardian induence I dare not do or , tiem down, ana go to work. {[ don’t expect, how- | that, thus far, all such acts have been of the cate- ever, to be lonesome muca longer; tor | am to sure of our virtue, Many astrong map 1s conquered and fails, whue many @ weak man escapes be- caused unaitacked, The more look into my own heart, trembling at whatl there see, the more charitable 1 grow towards the common infirmities or human nature, How morally | Christ's word to the woman—‘Neither do I con- demu thee.” ‘The graveyard contributed to my soul’s content- world. Soiue little children walked past and [ | loved them at first sigat. 1saw a perty of skaters | Cutting circies In the distance, and | rejoiced at | their sport Sombre, snow-bearing clouds came | toiling up trom the horizon, and I sauted them with Welcome. Even the dry grass under my feet had something lovable init Un the whole, I do not Oiten acaieve & L ppier morning; and yet my | happiness came altogether trom litue tnings—io- deed, taings so little that, except for my having | hears by keeping itim communion With mine, tuink wrong. Y i about me day and | gory of these self-same littie things. Bus they bight. i have never lived’ £0 viovorious tae ie | meet you in Chicago, Now, that the ocher man has | have given me happiness in the doing. And hap my soul, as daring these lonely winter days, if one om lecturing (as your letter mentions), you | piness is not a litue, but a great thing. Now, the reldsit thoughts come up, ! chide them down. if | ¢4i aford to come to mé. You ought to be enjoy- | best part of bappiness is love. Therefore let us continue to love one another unto the ne maine immortaily, jug what f am enjoylug on this magnificent trip— | for Instance, this aiternoon, a dinner party. Leave | in self-denial, in the patient performance of duty, | ome, children, kith and kiu, and cleave unto hin | in a stead!ast foreiooking te the Eternai Lile, to whom you originally promised to cleave. You The more | think of the whole subject of religion, | Promised ihe other man to cleave to me, and yet of theology, of the Ubureh, of doctrines, of creeds, | YOU leave me all alone and Cleave to hin. | i am incitued to undervalue or rather see the lit- ©, frailty! thy name ts woman. | Ue value of everything but the Onristian chsracter, If you can get anybody to pour tea ‘or you, and All my lute loug 1 have bad a daily familiarity with | to take sauce from the servants, and to rece.ve rollgious creeds, exercises and worship; and still, | pastoral visits, I shall expect to meet you under the spirts of this world seizes my biood, I remem- ber that the only greatness 1 in moral strength, “4 ORBAT MISTAKE." LarayYerrs, lod., Jan. 15, 1867. My DgaR Pet: I have made a great mistake in permiitiog mysel{ to be separated from you for three months, This absence iroin home, and par- ticuarly irom yoursell, ts telling on m | It is breeding a kind of demoral my iaculties, True, | nave my secret aod con- avter all, I am yet to lay a frst foundation of a | oof of Rober: tfeid. Yours eternally, templative hours,—my happy wad profitavie true Cutistian characters “I see eo much in my | “Se foo of Robert Hatfeld. Yours eterialy, | mmogas. But, during the greater part of all these travels that goes to show how men content them- PRIVATE WORTH VS. PUBLIC REPUTATION. | long and toilsome days and nights, my soul is as selves with low lives tustead of high, with vulgar VINTON, lowa, Dec. 20, 1866, | edb tide, re ig something in your personalpn- | fluence over iny habits of thought whico I sadiy | lack during tits separation. I have an inward, dull pam of unintermitting longing for home— sometauing, I suppose, like that whicn the soldiers felt in camp—an 1ncuraodle disease, my heart at this moment, Goodny. THEODORE, “I DO NOT WISH YOUR ECONOMY TO FINCH YOUR DAILY PURSE." Laraygrrs, Ind., Jan. 16, 1867. My Darurna:— . . . economize as much ag possible tul I get rid of the | burden of carrying a house on my back. But I ao not wish your economy either to pinch your datiy | purse or to worry your daily peac We have though. tustead of pure, with seifish greed insiead | of generous seli-sacrifice, that hereaiter I mean to | wake pattern, not atver men, but alter the Great Teacher. ‘The words that keep rising in my ears are, “Be ye therejore perfect, as your Father in beaven is periect.”” Our lives are to be not merely good, but the best; our thoughts not merely high, bus the highest; o@r purposes not only novie, but sick, the nobles. | The older I grow the less do I regard public Now, my darling, I have found outa way of visit- | reputation and the more do { revere Fivate ing home without your knowing it, Ihave bought | worth. A man, like myself, who, for a little dex. @ little Scotch cap, whicu I carry {amy pocket exX- terity in speaking or writing, gets a reputation cept while | ride in the cars, Onace on my bead, It | thar outmeaanres real desert, 1s not to pe com- feels like a gentle hand laid against my forehead. | pared, in point of moral heroism, with huadreds As soon as I get weary in my ride I draw my cap | ana thousands of the brave men and women who My Daruine: . . . Atter lighting my lamp this eveniog, I arranged ail the letters which [ Dave received from my dear pet, each according to its date, and [shail read them all over again (o- morrow, from beginning to end. They make a glittle pocket volume which I carry with me where- ever I go, and which I read whenever I grow home- over my eyes, shut out the daylight, step across | jive in | sand wader thatched roots. Let | been, in many and various respects, so avun- the. Mississippi... the prairies, the Allegue- | Us henceiccth be MONE an iehe courigency | dantly prospered in this life that we ought to be nies and the East River back to Brook- | gna yumbie. Ever yours, THEODORE, | Willing to bear our pecuniary diMcuities with yn. I giide my night key, without noise, | BREVIRWING HIS LIFE. cheeriuiness and patience. By and by I hope to work myself clear of all incumbrances, But, MIeanwuile, it is better to be contented toan | to be rica, and nobler to endure than to complain, | Until] had roofed your head and carpeted your | feet, I feit discontented with my lot and fortunes. into my own door, and step into the hall on tip- | toe. First of all I ait @ moment in the great arm- | chair, and look around at the pictures, the | stataette and the dome. Then I creep soitly into | the parlor and sit on tue red lounge. Nobody is VINTON, Iowa, Dec. 31, 1866. MY Danimc—This is the last night and the last hour of the oldyear. I have returned from ene | lecture and ite crowd to my chamber and tts sol! | tariness. Itis quite probable that t you are sitting at the puno or organ. Where can the jolks be? ‘nis pe! r. | But having periormed # genticman's duty of put 1gee a light in the livrary. It is midnight. You we ae Sear medicine and for the Inde- | ting my wife in a pretty house, | shall endeavor to are sitting at your desk writing @ letter to me, not evi | perform a Christiun’s daty of “Owing no man any- dreaming that 1am at that very moment iooking gj the pre es ental a ohn | thing,’? and particuiarly that other part wach over your shoulder. But, like one ina dream. if | iriends, and nowlam alone with yourself, So 1 | consists in ‘Loving one another.” Ever yours, at out my hand to touch you, I cannot do 1t.4) have nad no time for thoughts appropriate to the THEODORE. There you sit. Ican oaly see you, love you and season, unless | indulge tuem now, LOST LETTERS, blesa you. Icannot make known my presence. I T fee! no disposition to make resolves, seeing BaTTLe CREEK, Mich., Jan, 30, 1867. suppose this 13 the experience of the disembodied | now easily the best intents to live well aro My Ornen SEuv: . . . There is something in dead who revisit the living. Meanwhile the livimg, | thwarted by one’s own weakness against daily | the exchauge ol letters that ranks next to the unaware Of whe dead, cr; temptations. In reviewing my lle, and compar- | greeting of palm to palm. When I receive one of Oh! for the touch of a vanishea hand ing my present views, alms and’ temper with | Your letters the sheet seems to contain more than And the sound of @ voice that is sill. former years, I believe the chief changes are | You Were writing; it is sometaing which has beca I Jeave you at your desk and giide upstairs. The these:—! have now less care for reputation and | touched by your hand, which has caught a pulse two little giris are fast asleep in one bed. 1 peep Spplause, and more admiration ior a sterling | Of your ieeling, aud which represents more than into my oWn chamber and see a ved and pillow un- character. But I believe that I have less s¢ the words can possibly say. I have always lelt ernshed by any sieeper. The pictures on the walla | respect than in jormer days I once thought | little guiity aiter tarowing away even an envel- give me ce and weicome. 1 open the dcorof myself a good, true and upright man. ut | Ope on which you nad writven my name, Think, the dark room and remember its delights of napa | now, when | judge myseif by Chrisv’s rule of | therefore, what @ bankruptcy {sudered wuen and nestlings and prayers. Itake a glimpse of | the thought as well as of the deeda—what [ | Jost the packet of all your daty letters for Cad and Lipbie. J go into the third story think as Wellas what I feel—I find myseltacon- | SIX weeks! JI lost them trom my _ too to see if you pave any company im the | slant sinner. | great care; for I carried them in my pocket, which guest-chamber. No; nopody but ‘the pic Lately 1 have many times bowed my head like a | could always reach, and would not trust them to my valise, which was not: always under my eye. Thad fied them careiuuly, put each in its order of date, inserleaved them With the Jew letters whicn ; the children wrote, and kept’ the roll as sacred archives, I meant on my return home, to put them tn an iron saie and bequeath tiem to the children, to suow to Florence's sons and daughters how mucb their grandfather and grandmother | loved one another in the olden ume, But those | delightful manuscripts belong now to the lost literature of the world, Ever yours, THEODORE, & “SUPREME MOMENT.” ANN ARBOR, Mich., Feb. 1, 1867, O LOVING AND BRLOvED: I have beed paciag | Up and down the hall of a stone mansion during the twilight, indulging in high, solemn and devout | thoughts. The dimness of the closing day was made Ve? darg by tae gloomy carpet, the biack walnut stairways and the dusky-papered halia, | Strains of sad music came Noating back to my re- membrance, Old scenes repainted themseives to my mind's eye, I iooked kward and looked forward, Jonn Foster, wandering up and down the aisies of hig chapel at Chichester by moonlight, was n0t more ofa dreamer than I allowed myself to be during this oue delicious, peas and Neartachiny hour. It was @ sad and sweet season, Aimos every day brings me at least one “‘snpreme mo- ment.” To-day, twilight was to-day’s “supreme | moment." Sometimes I think of life at its true value. Sel fishness iaiis away; ambition retires; love reigns, and peace fills my soul like @ fountain. God knows whether or vot my winter of meditauon and of tempted improvement of character nas wrougnt out any other than an imaginary result. sometimes I tmnk I nave advanced ® higher plane than before; thea J am filled with doubt, and some vared soldier who has returned to find bis wife dead. Better he had falien in the wars. I say to myself, “Am 1 @ ghost or nott Am [| alive or erai mes done wrung under a mere gossamer of dead?’ I come down stairs again, take another temptation. ‘The carriage of my mind in perfect look at the dear writer at her desk, and then sad- | justice toward my fellow-men is a bard thing to deuly rush out o1 tne house, hastening back, over | accomplish every day, It isa white day when I bili and valley, river aod lake, to get to my ap- | even partly succeed. On, New Year! bring me Pointment 2,000 miles from Lome, where I wait | the gift of a higher ideal of life and a stouter Leart wistiully uatil the letter whico I saw you wriung to achieve it Your passionate lover, sual be delivered to my hand. i TARODORE. [told you that { have now jour of your letters. 1 | A RESOLVE TO PERFORM A DAILY ACT OF KIND- NESS. saw you write them ail! O my sweet sister, wile, and angel,—ail in one,—love me for evermore, | WATERLOO, la., New Year's Night, 1867. Yours aevoutiy, THEODORK. | My DaRLine:—I wish you a Happy New Year, I have taken no pains to see the newspapers— | Wonder how you have spent the day. J spent it what they Say Of me; and half that [see I don’t | mainly in a wazon ride of 30 miles over the stop to read. But i think you will be amused at | prairies from Vinton to Waterloo, atarting at 9 the enclosed reierence to yourself. No—I’ve lost | in the morning, aod arriving at $ in the after. the paper after ail. Sat it had an article from the | noon, Bitter cold the day has been, and yet I Cincinnati Gazette describing me a4 ao uumarried | enjoyed my ride as almost @ luxury. ‘There ts man, and a reply by tne Vincinnati Commercial, | something wonderfully invigorating in this Iowa mentioning the “olive plants around Mr, Tulton’s | atmosphere, Wrapped securely sgainst the cold, tabie.”” one makes bis journey with perpetuai reiresi ment of soul, During all my ride I was think- ing of what good resolution would be most rofitable for me with the least fatal ty of breaking it oon as made. At last I de- My Darura—Feeling unusually weary to-day I | termined that to resolve that 1 would be a better brought up your accidental mention that you had | man would simply be vague and intangible; to re- lately fajnted. My darting, I have always noticed solve that I would be more unseidsn, or more self- that wien] have been absent from home for a denying, or more prayeriul, woulda be simply to cousderabie — lreturn to find you degene- | repeat old goodintents which [ had grown in!o & rated in beaitl Be less disturbed in your mind. habit, long ago, o/ non-fulfilling; and accorcingly I It 1s your spirtt that wearies your flesh, You have | resolved that, ineteaa of attempting to attain some @ great soul in @ ama) frame. Sitting op late is | improved inward state, I would chain my mindto not to be pardoned oy your wo-induigent uusband, | tue daily performance of some outward act which But when you are weak and weary I hope that, ag | would Yeact npon my mind and heart within, unto St. Bernard in luis exhaustion, many more of | Finally 1 fixed my resoluwon at this: ‘Resolved, the ministering angels will guide you daily round | Tnat{ will henceforth make it my bounden duty ebout, Kver your own THEODORE TILTON, o perform each day some act of kindness, how- “THy STAR OF THR Fast.’ ever small, to some fellow creatare” 1 snail wry | times fam in the very dust, But at least one thin ALTON Hore, lii., Dec. 21, 1806, tits plan of improving my character, andi think | {8 certain—I bola mysell to @ higher ideal, an ay Dove— , . . You see how often I am | {t will work outa vetter resuit than much of my | judge myself by a severer criticism than in the driven to the comfort of writing you letters, since | religious, and perhaps somewhat morbid, medita- | olden 4: And pad Tam conscious of departiny Lam denied the luxury of seeing you face to face, | tions, reveries and jongings. Will you join mein | More and more from the peculiar religious an The moment my heart begins to ache that moment | the resolution? Let us carry 1t out hand in hand, ; theological views which you regard as sacred, Iseize my pen, My love-ietters have ail been the + + + Oh, how my heart bounds at the sigut of | Perhaps this statement may give you trouble pouring of ol) on’ my own wounds. Some people | your handwriting! / never nave joved you hali ag | but certainly this fact hae gen. me have a beautiiul uberty of expression through ma- | Weil as during my winter's separation. Day by | yours, HEODURE sic, sitting at the keys of a piano, and translating | day, and hour ater bour, 1 think of yon, live in “ONCH A PRINCESS, NOW A QUEEN,” thelr thougtts into “concurd of sweet sounds, | you, cast my bonors at your feet, invoke Heaven's ANN AkBOR, Mich., Feb. 3, 1967, My gates of atterance are only two—speech and | blessing on your life, atid place you before me MY DARLING OF DARLINGS; . . . It is a sweet pen. MY speech goes now to the public; my pen tern of saintahip in this world, Yoo a delight to have @ Wife who Interweaves herself to you. I give thauks daily for Uncie Sam’s kind. | darling! Your sweet jetters make my biood dance | into all her nusband’s highest and purest thoughts. bess in carrying @ mail bag between myself and | with joy. I pour out my soul myom 708 to-night, | I keep turning my soul towards yours day by day, my lady-love. Suppose we lived in the stage- | May the New Year bring you a horn of plenty, iull | 8nd sometimes hour by hour; and {am sure thas, of benedictions, and empty them all into your lap! You are the beat, the truest, the purest and the wifeliest of women | | kiss you good night, THEODORE, “a NEWER TRSTAMENT.!” CBDAB Fa la, Jan. 8, 1867, My SUPREMS Per: . . our letters are & Dulrush. I nave once or twice done right under strong provocation to do wrong, and | have sev- To you, the mother-stalk of these plants, and to the tender pianis them:elves, 1 send my love. Ag ‘wer, THEODORE, | ALTON, Tll., Dec. 21, 1866, | coach days, and were, as now, a thousand mules would take @ letter a month t trip across the prairies from the Mississippt to Brooklyn. To-morrow I shall dedicate mysel! to writing jor the Independent, | have an army, a legion of read- ers im the West, Aimost every man who speaks to me says, “Well, sir, I read what you write Mf I could not write to you often and think of you oftener, I would grow cramped and barren in the highest realm of my thought. I sometimes call | your name aloud, for the simple sake of hearing ite sound, My love has giown young and boyish dur- | ing this winter, Lind in mysei @ conscious re- s turn to the ancient woods o/ our early courtship. every Week.” This has lately been said so often | well of living water from which I dring dually, | I would ike to bave you jor a companion this What! tremble at the responsiblity of writing for | quenching my soul's thirst. I have preserved | evening on @ starlight walk, snct as young lovers $0 many devouring readers. I shail spend my hole | every serap Of your handwriting, together with | take. | keep bringing you belore my mind, not a8 iday at hard work. In lact, writing Was become @ | the children’s, and the package 18 @uttle book of | the mother and wutron, but as tie maiden and hecessary diversion of my mind trom speaking. | sacred writings. They are a Newer Testament | bride, And yet,’on soberer refection, you a Reading does vot answer the purpose. Books aro | than the New. I think, on the whole, you do me | sweeter, dearest, noviest to me as the ripe, rich- rather flat wo me in my present temper of mind. | as mucn good as St. Paul, who hadn’t a very great | hearted woman, the muther of beautual chilaren Still, 1 think I would be content to-morrow tr opinion of women! But 11 he were alive now and | and the wife of @ gray-haired mani! You were once @ Princess; you are now a Queen. O| Blizae beth! the crown is om your head, and you don’t knowit, But the halo {s piain enough wo be seen by your loving Worshipper, THRODOKE TILTON, “| LOVH YOU AS PRRVENTLY 443 ANY MAN KVEB LOVRD ANY WOMAN," FLINT, Mich., Feb. 6, 1867, MY QUFEN AND MISTRESS— , , , I wad ap ing of your letter, It 13 60 full of your jove th: you Nave this day set yoursell unconactously be- jore me iM such Noble orovortions as to hide all He | the Little Lady were ere to read alou1 w her | were acquainted with yoo and your loving ways, husband. Ii, indeed, yuu were here, what fing | what an'apistie ne could write. t Fa sland | At this mowent in the parior of this hotel, & tunes we Big It bevel Are you not coming? | Some morning, when the sky Is unusually bright, | vride and groom aro recetving calla, The pair aro Lehall know that the Star o/ she East is coming to youngisertoas you and [ were-onde, | fobked ‘as | the West, “Hail, boty ugati? Y sever, them with # amile, and said to myself, “Poor crea- vures! you think you are happy; you imagine that THEO ks TILTON, THB ABT OF WRITING LETTRRS—s DISQUISITION ON you know what love bat you pave not yet tasted your happiness, @od have not yet known your LYING. ALTON, Dec. 22, 1868, | love. Watt ten years.” Love ripene late. , Tk, Mr Quan Pm . . . Jeatdown with tie ides | I thank God that my heart at peace: that my | tried bard for the victor, | ever loved any woman on the earth, or pertaps iu Vhe measure oi our temptation thau on the mea- | sublime was | | meat to-day, It set me at peace with all the | here idly pencilled them dowa to please your ows a visibly. | tion Ys | 1 feel it wn | Of course Lt wish you to | rest of the universe; and nothing, either tn | heaven above or eartn beneath, seems at this mo- | Ment so great, BO pure, or’ so beautiul, as your | own true wilely love tor vour unworthy husband, | I am a bard subject for sell-conquering, a8 you | know. And this morning 1 could not get any hon- orable or maply mastery over mysel!, although I But, when your dear Tetser came, my soul took wings ke @ lark. “A word in season, how good it 18.” A little piece of white paper, with a loving woman’s handwriting on tt, changed the whole j face of Nature and the whole temper of my | spirit in a single moment, How powerful and | how benefictens is the influence of love! | And I now see, by the lignt of my wiater’s expe- | rience, that you have been profoundly right 10 demanding, bot only a constant mutual love, ut aconsiant mutual expressiun of it. Here- | after lanai judge the needs of your heart by | he needs of mine, aud be more poner in my | daily outpouring of wnat has bitherto been too often unexpressed or half expressed. Some- times we allow our loves son to be takeu ior granted, whereas we should both enjoy each sner's love the more by coining our own into & repeated confession of words. ‘Confession 1s good for tue soul,” says the proverb, Aud | herevy confess that I love you as fervently a3 any man e the heavens, Dearly belovea, God bless you forevermore! ‘oura, THEODURK. “1 DON’? BELIEVE IN ORTHODOXY," ON THH Cans, Cn1CAGO rO MILWAUKEE, Tuesday, Fev. 12, 1867, ARLING: . . . I su satisfied that whoso | makes no Intimate or coniidential friends, bob among men and among women—iriends with whom he girdies himself round about as with a halo— friends who are props to keep him hited erpetually toward his highest lif2—{rievds whose | riendship ia a kind of sacred wedding that knows | ho sex—such @ man negiects one of the greatest one for inteLectaal, morai and spiritual | growth, . . . | The old religious teachings, the orthodox view, | the dread of punishment, the atonement, have Jess aad less power over iny mind, O1 course you | will mourn over- toils. But I must be an honest | man. I don’t believe in orthodoxy, and therefore | Iwul not pretend to do 80 From you, a8 from | | God, Ihave no secrets; sol tell you day by day my thouguts. And these are my thougots this morning. But the car is now {sete | crowded; a Tan has taken a seat at my elbow and I must stop writing, Biessings on your saintly head. kver yours, THEODORE, HOW WOULD JB3US HAVE A aAEED AS 4 MABBIED | Mal N OsHKosHA, Wis., Feb, 14, 1867. My Dar OntHopox Wire—I have been speculat- ing consideraoly lately on toe character and carcer | of Jesus; and 1 wonder whether you will Le saocked when I mention one of my meditations. | it ts this:—How would He have appeared in toa | character of 3 marricd man? Certainly, even to | j your reverential and adoring view of Him as “God | Manifest in the flesh,’ there ought to bo | | nothing profane in the supposition, If lie | | consented to be born oi a woman, why mizht He | | not bave consented to be married toa woman ? | And, if He was tae son of an earthly parent, way | might He not have been the Facner of & mortal child ? He loyed some of His disciples better than | otaers—as, for instance, Jou, He undoubtedly | | loved some few women’ devutediy, perhaps pase | stouately, Now, why might He hot have | lovea one, chief aud cvosen anoag tHese | women, on whom ile mignt have poured | | the whole fulness of lus heart, and oo Triage ring, | «Whose duger He might have set a i making her, indeed, like the Churcl, tue “Yriae of Christy” F confess that if a vew historic investl- gation should reveai the proof tiat Jesua was a | Inarried man, instead of an unmated lover of all tue world, | would see an additioua giory in the | most wondertul of ali historic characters. Nor do I know of any evidence to show tuat He was ever | married, If either Mary or Martha, or any other saintly Woman, had been His wile, the Jact would prob- ably bave been menuoned; and yet wnat would we Dave Kuown of His iriend Peter's wile except for the fact that her motuer was once sick of a fever? Men's wives are not necessarily known history. Ol course, the probability is that | Jesus was never married; yet this is by Do means | @ certainty. And, as there remains a possibility that He was, it 18 a pleasing reflection lor me that, wile He was living in Capernaum, in the house of eter (ons of His disciples), He mignt there have pups et giso the still sweeter companionship of a wite of | Hisown, Iknow that even Renan says, “Jesus never married.” Evon admitting the iact, how- ever, this does not deny the propriety of His mar. | rying, if He bad chosen to marry. But if Jesus had (aken @ wile and fathered a fam- fly 1 believe that tuts Jact would have so com- pletely humanized Him tm the eyes of all the woria | that he never wowd bave been regarded as God, or the Only-Begoiten Son of God. And yet li, as the sou of Mary, Ho had become the husvand of a Guliievan girt, and these twain had dweit in @ cot- tage by the Lake of Genesaret, and unto them nad | | been born children like those of whom He sald, ‘Sulfer them to come unto me,” let mo inquire whether or pot you woud love the character of | | Jesus any less tuan you love it nowt Answer. | Your heteroaox husband, THEODORE TILTON. PRACE OP MIND. MIDNIGHT, OSHKOSH, WiS., Feb, 14, 1867, MY ABSENT PHP; . . . . Ihave almost ceased to fret at anything, to be displeased ut anyvody, to speak an Ungentie word or to carry any dally trouble. Perhaps shis sounds ke a singular tale Of sell-satis.action. I would uot make such @ state- ment to anyvody but yourself, Nor do I count on any long continuance of this even and resigned | But at least i may enjoy it while Lt lasts, | and may confess it to my wife's ear, that she, | | too, may enjoy it with her husband. Our miuds | Might ve mide beautiful ministers of our | dauy happiness if only we had the skill and | patience to handle our facult:es well, The differ. | ence between bigh spiritual contentment and deep spiritual gioom ts often a mere difference ia the activity of the will Resolving to be happy is itself half the victory over unnappiness. I could | be miserably restiess and discuntented at this mo- | ment il { were to take away the curb with whicn I | scek to briaie my spirit, | foresaw, some weeks | Bgo, that I must either couquer myself or else be | | conquered, and ever since | have been fighting a | battle of the giants. To-night Lam in tue enjoy- | Ment of @ litte victory. 80 I report it to nead | quarters, Good night. Yours, ever, THEODORE. THR LITTLE CHILDREN. Kiron, Wis., Feb, 15, 1867. My Wier AND Culer FRIEND: . . . Your let ter received this evening asks me this question, | “Theodore, do you realize the depth and sacred- | Bess of my love for your Yes, my darling, I | realize it tuily; I realize it as never vefure in all | my life. I realize it each day airesh, and with re- | newed gratitude to God ior the gift oi such a wile, | of whom I am unworthy. I realize that it ts not possible for any woman to love any man more than you love me, And iam humbled and rebuked by | | your strong and wonderful love. it daily chides | ine to a better hie, And now I ask, in retarn, Do you realize how | supremely you are loved, and now sacredly you | are revereiced, by your husband? I nave oftea | ; thought that it could not be in the character of | } any other human being oo the lace of the earth | to” excite mingied love @nd reverence 80 mucu as | i these Ls are excited by my dear wile, | count your love for me as the chief reward and Pleasure of my life; and [ repay it into your | Own bosom vy an outpouring of all the wealth of my own heart's love for tuy own heart's mate, ‘This winter, to me, has been @ seagon of many Sweet and tender experiences, For instance, 1 have never before been so lovingly drawa to all the caildren I have met. But now the sight of a child, anywhere, thrills me with delight. [his evening, for half an hour before my lecture, I held & sweet, sick, loving child in my arms, who looked ‘up into my face with pure and perfect love, Yesterday a little lame girl in the street almost | made me weep, Mr. H——'s little daughter nas | several times come down belore daylight in the morning, clad in ber nightgown, to kiss me pe- | fore.may departure by the early train. 1 have had | & good many children in my arms since I left Brooklyn. Alice asked, th one of her pretty notes, if I sound any iittie children to comfort me in A absence, Tell her i find many—some of them very jovely—but none o: them quite 80 dear as tho three little chicks who live in Livingston street, aod whose names could name. The only Uttle children to whom I have gent valentines are these s@ue three little cuil- dren of Livingston sireet. . . Sitting by this study Gro, at this midnight hour, {ge whole house | temper, asleep, and with only a ticking cl f ep me company, I feel myself drawn towar ay Unutteravle yearnings of love, The lamp light brightens my wedding ring, id makes it othe foiden against my finger, 1 hereby kiss the tokot, in sig Of wedding you anew, now and forever. Amen. Yours lovingly, THEODORE. MB, BEECHER'S “KIND ATTENTIONS” TO MRS. TILTON. ua Oposse, Wis., Fed. 21, 1867, My Daruina: +. 1 am sorry to hear that Mr. Beecher nad a poor house ia Brooklyn, Io ‘View of his kind attentions to you this winter, sil | my old love for him has revived, and my heart would once more greet him as of old. { some- times querrel with my iriends on the surface, bat ever at the bottom, With yoursell, O friend above all iriend! 1am in perpetual jove. Yours, THEODOR, “Ak MUTUAI-ADMIRATION SOCIKTY.!! JACKSONVILLE, IIl., Feb, 12, 1868, My DaRtinc—Though the hour is midnight I will not allow myse¥ vo gu to bed till | have left & few itnes to be maticd to you in the morn- {ng. Two of your letters came to me to-ddy, mak- {0g me bappy and rich. Every line of your hand- writing seems like fine gold tor preciousness, I bave numbered your letters as Daviu numvered Israel, and yet without David's sin iu doing it. This morfing, on the train, I had them ail out, and looked them al! over once more, They are & liltue volume of dear, sweet, sacred writings. 1 fear that my respon: are not worthy of them, You seem wo in mood of over- flowing affection, confidence, pride and rejoic- ing, 00 account of your husvand, Weill, eo am | | on account of my wite, We certainiv are a Mu- tual-Admiration Soeiety. My prevailing secling toward aon ot late has been, you are the culel prop and pillar of my iife. You never were go | neediul to me, and never go heipfal to me as now. 1] not only think of you, bat rely upon you and live for you constantly. I have great peace. We brushed away all clouds on that storm-d spelling pigat, I trust they have gone forever, Certaini I ve ever since been @ cieery, good hearced, Someummes large, hopeiui and oright man. show yourself to me us #0 strong and devout @ characte: you enerous, If | had come away from home ia @ low. instead of | 3 & high, state or mina, this mgnt would not ba’ found me so surrounded lam with somothing brighter than the itseif, Lam lonesome, but not sad; 1 yearn jor you, and yet am cheerful; I think of you longingly, and yet am content to be writing to you, out oj sight and far away. “Come aud abide with me for ever.” Yours faltdiuuy, THEODORE, MY Sweer WIFE: . . . | Peace be with you ail! Toe litte, trifing facts mentioned in the chil- dren’s notes were enouga to bring all the home sccnes—doils, baby rags and all—visibly to my mind, { could see Cad sitting with bis Grandm: in ignorance of the Noah’s Ark awaiung him a home; Alice playing pranks with little Miss B—, dressed a8 @ man; Florence, with ber sedate head, meditating on her new knife; aud /’aul with bis toes heid out to be named at une fre. . . . With kisses all around, Lam, afectiouately yours, THEODORE TILTUN. “A TONIO TO MY WHOLE SYSTEM.” CLINTON, la., Feb. 20, 1868. Par: Hetgho! Five of your letters bave just Come to me all in @ bunch! “Ilere’s richness!” They Ler me into such s merry humor that my blood been laughing up and down my veins, They made an acvual” hand{al—nay, more than buat, a beartiul, . ». How I would like tobe at home to-day! Or else, how I would like to see you herel 1 weacher is Warm enough for grasa to grow, bir to build and hearts to love. You ask me if | like to read the reiteration of your love. Yes, my dar- ling! Every bird loves hear bis mate sing. Your love ior me, a8 expressed in your letters, 19 my ciel joy and rejoicing in this worid, It makes lve seem @ braver thing to me, lt makes my journeys nothing but trides, and my hardships a agatele. It puts vigor inte my step, and joy tuto my work. / look round at my tellow travel- ler in tie cars aud my co-workers everywhere, gud ask myself, “{ wonder 1 these people have as euch spring and mouive ior work as | now have? Toe thought of giving you & howe free and clear of debt tsa tonic to ay whole system. I am some- what wearied, thin und pale, but never was 80 cheering iu all my life, never go free from fretful- ness, never so thankial ior my prosperity, and Dever so happy in my love for wife and children, This makes a Man of me day by day. Give the cuicks my dearcst love round, Faitnfaily yours, BRNEFWING HBK AND THR CHILDREN. Decotay, Ia, March 1, 1868. My Dean WIFE: . , Ebays.een looking at My little collection of home photographs and ishing that I couid to-night sea yae real faces. low precious yuu ali m! My heart grows ig when T think Q! one and anotwer of; my family. Whatu wile aud what children God has give me! Truly [| am blessed as few men are, | To-might IT am graiejul that my labors, travel @nd absence all go to benetis you and the deur children. Thia thougus, whenever it takes possession of lity mynd turas my daily bur- den into a gossamer. My with love limperioiavle, and so I langh at my trials and welcome my cares. Ever since Mrs. G. 3 misfortuves were made known to tte, Ihave been seriously anxious to piave you out Of the reach ot any similar arrow of bitterness, How that woman's heart must dally suffer @ Dew death! cannot but think tage her vecesaitous uly | hole heart is dled | | lam made so miserable that 1 ao not wish to live, situation (jor waich there seeims hardly to be a | suidcient excuse) Must irresistibly cast a shadow over her remembrances of her nusbaud. G— ouce told me thas he Was wort a million of dollars! Now his wie isa beggar! What a world this is for doiag and undoing—ior crowning and discrowuing! “Let him that tuinketh he standeth, take beed leat be walk? . bene 17 und long- ingly, THEODOR BIS AND MER EXTRAVAGANCA AKBON, U0, Jan. 15, 1869, My Dagar Wire—Ever since last Octover I have been lecturing every Weex, sometimes every nigot, and the proceeds have boen ail swallowed up in my extravagant debts. Lf this spendthrits tendeacy Of mine is ever to be curbed it must be by your betpiul criticism of tt, not by a parallel luberauty of outlay by yourselL myself daily to as much fatigae as human Nature can endure, in order, i! possidie, to clear of my obligations to my credit- ors, and to keep alierward abreast wita the world. Your letter, @ lew days ago, stating that you could not live on your salary, made me sick at heart, and temporarily [felt ike giving up my Journey and going hone, To-day you send me a bul Of $53 for Cad’s clowues, an amount waich I re- gard a3 So great for a family Of our resources ag to @ almost as wicked as my own outlays ior pio- tures, Jo all the absence 1 have not made, avove expenses, $400, Noc ome penny o! ail my lecture earn- ings for years has ever gone into a bank. 1 100K upon our money-speluing tendencies as cruely wrong. At this moment I am well nigh broken down in voice, and kuow not vow | shall get througo with to-night’s lec:ure. Am 1 wroug wnen | say tnat 1 cannot look with equanimity on squandering so much money on fine dresses for | the childreut My heart suffers a ang in saying this, but { cagnot help saying it. ¥ e must ettner | Sell our establishment in Brooklyn or else man- age it on w jess expensive scaic. 1 have inade vow to buy not anotuer picture, and pot @notuer unnecessary articie, during the present | Itvis with something like a shudder that 1 look forward to the prolonged slavery of pubilc lecturmg every winter; ud, Mf the proceeds are to be freely throwa away by votu o1 us, 1 may as well stop it now. I bave suffered lor | ten days past an agony of remorse at the fruitless exe:tions 1 have made by three years of speaking—Iruitiess because their harvest nh: been up profitably spea Judging by all th families I visit, J know that we ave iterally throw- ing away our inheritance, At last 1 am aroused; aud I appeal to you to put a peremptory cheok upon any and every uwnuecessary expebditure which you see me make, Dress the children in Calico fur 4 year, and let me fet out of my misery. Yours in dust and ashes, THEODORE TILTON. “NEW YORK LEISURBLY COMPARBD WiTH Cit10aGo!\— A HOPE OF “MARRYING AGAIN.”! ALTON, Lil, Dec, 21, 1866, My Darina: I am growing very familiar with the Mississippi River. Jt has become a companion end iriend. Out of the window of my hotel L look Upon it to-day—broad, ice-covered, Haged with low banks, and gleaming in the sun. This been A as guar day. Que Of my neighbors, an old lady in the opposite house, bas opened ber windows to give 4 breath of the Sunshiny air to her household planta. The {ee is melting and running like a brook in the streets. | A pleasure buat like mice nypes { had one) is sail- ing in the open channel of the river, cakes of ice, But O the mud in the thoroughiares! You never saw such mad in your bfe at home. Small dogs get drowned it it. 1 believe that the fatooats sometimes foatin tt This city bas visi- biy grown and intensified since I spoke here avout two years ago. Ail the iarge Western cities are wouderiuily wide-awake, active, busy and burried, New York 1s leisurely compared with Chicago, | COE buch a City does not exist in tue es! I have walked round town a good deal, bought two little picture cards tor the children, sat ior my photograph, grambicd a little at receiving no letter irom home, but dually nave shoved my tabie near enough to the window to look oat Let the glorious river, in the hope that my peace shall be like unto it, according to the promise. warm, halfsummer air created in me a kind of laasitude, and J feel tn a languishing mood, rather homesick and @ iittie meiancholy, And yet a gen- Veman was in my rooin a lew moments ago who gagements and the consequent Stranger intermeddieth not with tts joy,” our ainte: when [ have been absent irom home for a consid- erable period I return to find you degenerated in health. Be less disturbed P your mind. It is your spirit that wearies your flesh, You have a great soul in @ small frame. Sitting up late is not tu be pardoned by your too Inaulgent basband. when you are Weak and weary, hope tat, a3 unto St. Bernard in bis exhaustion, many more oi the cideatal mention that you had latel, Mr. | 1 am putting | three weeks of my lags ; between the | ‘The | asked me if I do not enjoy hugely my lecturing en- | sight-seeing. | “kvery heart knowech its own bitterness, | Feeling unusually weary to-day [ brought ap | My darling, 1 have always noticed tuat | But | ministering angeis will guide you datly round | about Tnis afternoon I crossed the angel—my own sweet angel of flesh and blood, with black eyes and pretty curls, I was lying on the sofa, trying to make believe 1 was in my own house, and that you were coming up stairs in @ few minutes to read to me from the “Pigrim’s Progress.” But no, you stayed away. Are you not coming to Chicago? Don't say no. Get Klien Deavis to keep house for you, and’ come and join me, To judge irom your Jetters, you wili not be any more wearted by the travel than you are witn the house snd its loneliness, Ido bot abandon the hope of marrying you again next January, Ever your own, THODORE TILTON. DAYS IN DARKNESg, TUgSDAY, March ie) pen} Dav B00 My Dean Wirk: . . . But nn 1 afford to be led away captive of gloominess and bad blood. I mnst endeavor more com pletely to Snee myself ta future, “Greater is he who Tuleth bis own spirit than he who taketh a city.” Deapondency is mny lurking enemy, it lies in wait for me {a my most familiar haunts. And it moss often entraps me under my own root. But I think my two or three recent days in dark. ness have been, on the whole, moral benellt, in that they have revealed to my mind its most easily temptable potuts. It was good ior the Prigrim: go into Vailey of the Shadow of Death, “No c! vening for the present is joyous, but generou nevertheless afterwards it workesh out tue peace- able iruits of righteousness.” So, alter my Overthrow, | rise again well out of the dust, and rebegin the battle of self-conquests— wo bo be rir I doubt not, defeated a thousand times. ‘oil, during all the winter 1 was a8 one clothed in King's apparel; is now high time, therefore, that I should, for a Utue while, wear beggars rags, The soul's life must have its need/ul changes Jrom joy to sorrow. J came home from the West reapectuung myself too highly. My crown then wae suddenly taken off and cast to the earth [am now dispossessed of tay portion, and wander hike an exile banished from my former complacent self, But, oh, happy misiortune! that carries & man first ingo miseravie resence of an | Wretchedness in order that ts may then carry nim, like tne prodigal, back to his sather’s house, As Luther thanked God jor his sins, 80 J, Wo, can thank God tor my sorrowful glooms. 188, assured that, whatever Ped di hie od clouds or clear skies, 1 love you boundl fovever. 7 THHODORK, RETROSPRCTION, Rocuesrex, N. Y., March 21, 1867. My DwAR Pet: Lam, ai ti midnignt bour, in the same hotel, and in the same Foo wherein you and I were quartered eleven and a hall years #40, On our wedding tour! What @ history thes | | $$$ | shall be the ‘aithfullest man in the world, | Is | Month with somethin, thas | ears unfold to our vackward gaze! Gray hairs if é stolen upon us since then, Time aud care e joinuy wrinkled our brows. Joys and sor- rows have checkered our path. Four childrem have been given to us on earth, and one of ee has been tiven back to Heaven. You have hi sickness, and [have had toil. Both of us may pow look back to that wedding pilgrimage, and smile af how little we then knew of human liie! Thank God, tue conquerors of ourselves, we are, neverthel nearer the victory now than then, 1 would no} exchange the present for the past! With whaé self-complacency } looked upon my life in those “green and sa.ad days!” How strong I though myself tor the battle! The revelations of laler years subdue a man’s pride by teaching him hla Weakness. At this retrospective moment, in thid charmed chamber, I am humble, sad and calm. Lit is sober as I now look upon it. Death is near, as now think o1 it. Heaven issweet, as 1 now wall jor it, Ihave not made the best, or even & good uge of my last ten years. I have less faitn ta my moral integrity now thay at any former period of my life. It is hard to live well, Nevertheloss, my dear pet, we will try again to realize more per- fectly our tdeals. May God biess us both, now and ever. Amen! Yours, THEODORE, “QUITE MERRY-HEARTED." KEENARD Hovuss, CLEVBLAND, Ohio, Fed. 4, 1868. MY DgakLy BELOVED Wigs: . . . 1 om quite merry-hearted, Low spirits have not come Dear me for a week, The fact that I am doing something for the enrichineat of my family is & great joy tome, {bound up and down like an Le dia ee ball! 1 novisiey Good aiternoon oul thew THEODORE. “THE CHIRP BULING INFLUENGE OF MY 1.18." CRAWFORDSVILLE, at SUNDAY MORNING, Feb, 9, 1863. My DxaR ANGBL: I dreamed of you ai) last night ana awoke thinking Of you this morning. How much | want to see you! Howl yearn alter you! How wy a0ul bleases you day by day! I can never Gescribo how precious your love vf your husbau@ has appeared to him during these few weeks past Your singleness, your tervor, your purity, your de votion—they lili my mind and heart with rever ence, adoration and humility. Fegurd my Jest evening spent with you at home ag the most memorable peint in my wiote lie, You opened tor me, that o! ane see gate of Heaven, which bad go long seemed spu! Ever since I have had nothing but glory, thanks- Siving and praise. If ever & man was made a now creature that man was I—no more despondency, no more repining, no more vain regrets, no more loss of seii-reapect, no more grovelling in the dust, On the contrary, [am once again a man among men and @ Christian among Christians. Now, thie transiormation I owe to yourself, to your irreprer sible love and devotion, to your ceaseless prayer and to your victorious faith, You always have it in your power either to crowm or to dethrone me. You have the chiei ruling tn- Suence oi my jife, Youy words, fe wishes, your looks, your thoaghts, act oa me like magic. Whem Jam doing you any wmjury, or sligbt, or bardnesa, When | ain making you happy | walk like @ prince newly come into his Kingaom, Your letters, since | have been from home this last time, have been the dearest foes ever penned, They are royal in their love. Hach one fils me with renewed pride and joy in my wife. Oh, my darling, in comparison with auch love as you ex- press, how poor ia the irieudship of ali ovner Intends! I have never seen any one who loves aa ou do, You have the richest of all human hearts. am pledged to you forever. My vows lL shall keep and not break, With God’s help and with youre (3 lesa ings on your soul, this Sabbath Core ‘oura, DORK 4 10MB SCENE, LINCOLN, Iil., Feb. 18, 1866, My Sweer Wirz: .. . Peace be with you all! The little, trifling facts mentioned in the children’s notes were enough to bring all the home scenes—doils, baby rags, and ail—visibly in my mind. I could see Cad sitting with lis Grandm: in ignorance of the Noah's Ark awaiting hin al home; Alice playing pranks with little Miss B—, dressed as a man; Fiorenoe, With ner sedate bead meditating on her new kuife; aud Paul wito bis toes heid out to be named at the fire, . . . With kisses all around, Lam affectionately yours, THEODURB TILTON. “a TONIO TO MY WHOLE sysTZM.”? CLINTON, la., Ped. 20, 1868. Psr: Helgho! Five of your letters have just come to une, all ia @ bunch! “Here’a richness U' They have put me imio such a merry humor thas my blood has been laughing up and gown my veins, They Make a0 actual handiul—nay, more tnan that, a veartial. . « « How 1 would like to be ut home to-day! Or else, how I would like to see you here! The Weather 18 Warm enough ior grass to grow birds to build aud hearts to love. You ask me if I like to read the reiteration of your love. Yes, my darling! Every bird loves to hear his mate sing. Your love for me, as ex- ressed in your letters, is my chie! joy and re~ oicing in this world. It makes life seem @ braver thing tome, It makes my journeys notuing but trifies and my hardships @ bagatelle. It pute vigor into my Step and joy into my work. I look round at my fellow travellers in the cars and coworkers everywhere and ask mysell, “I wonder if these people have as muoh spring and motive for work as] now have?’ fhe thought of giving yoo a home, iree and clear of devt, isa tonic ta iny whole system. lam somewnat wearied, thim and pale, but never was so cheering in all my Iu never 80 (ree irom fretiuiness, never so thanks for my prosperity, and never so happy in my love Jor wife and cuudren, This makes a man of me day by day. ive he chicks my dearest love and a kiss ali round, Faitufuily yours, THEODORE, “IN & HBARTBREAK.” Emrtge House, AKRON, V., Jan. 15, 1869, My Dean Wire: | am in & heartbreak—yea, 1 have been on my, knees in this chamber, orying more bitterly than any child, Two years ago, im this same epoi, 1 bad a terrible wrestling with my souL The moment I entered the room to-day the old experience wad revived, Siuce that occasion— which 1 can never lose out of my Memory—I seom to have suilered much and profited little, sly life looks very much like ® waste—a diank— a blight Of the past 1 thought to~ day that I had saved nothing but Paul— and him, too, I have lost Tn in my pocket seome not to bring but co Keep him farther away. All the afte: have been weeping, trembling and agonizing. I am well nigh sick with very grie/, saying “Liste Paul, come and help your father) My 4 fe seems utterly wretched and unworthy. I cannot bear to Jook fn upon mysell. I wrote to you about our failure to live within our means; out this shore coming i3 nothing to what I feel in myself of moral truthiessness, It seems to me as il 1 were a spirit. ual castaway. I ougut not to trouble you with tuese disclosures; but, if I do not utter them te You they must go unuttered. Your own confes- sions scem to indicate that you are in a perpetual trouble, Ah! the morning of Ile is rosy, but the noon is sometimes leaden and gray. Imake a great many rebeginnin, bat do nm get aiong far before 1 lose the little that l ha gamed You ask for “glimpses in my heart.” Ie is a dark place to look into, God help your som rowful and groaning husband | ot ately, DORE. THA BEST AND TRUEST. WOMAN. Marroon, Ill, March 4, 1869, My Darting: . . was tall of love, and I drank your tender words like @ miue of comiort, My chief title to sele Tespect is, that I have won and kept tho um biemished love of the best and truest woman Whom I have ever knowo, Why you should lo’ me £0 heartily, 60 entirely, and 60 devotedly | see nothing in myself to deserve, My first thousht on Waking this morning was, How (ew men ever Know What it is to be loved so purely, so deeply, 80 passtonately and go sacredily a3 Iam loved by my ever-loving wife, 1 hope that my remaining Mfe on the earth (whether snort or long) will exhibit to you a daily proof that vbis beautiful affection is reverenuy returned. . . . ver yours, ‘HEODORE. “THE MOST WRRTURZD SUMMER OF MY LiFK!" SATURDAY NIGHT, BROOKLYN, August 23, 1899, My Dear Wire! . . , 1 will confess frankly that I have passed the most wretched summor of ¥ life, and no one knows it but myself; indee No ove who has been with me has seen me otue: than outwardly gay and cheerful. All jhe exhibl- tious which | have made of myself to my friends have been of unusual hilarity. This had pee | the utmost shallowness of superficiality. Shing I have enjoyed—that is, m. Das been unusually heavy, and, there fo! unusually beneficent. But, leaving my work agide, all my other pleasures have peem pains. For two or three weeks 1 resolutely re Pikes allallusions to my feelings when writing 0 You, Hot Wishing to mar your vacation. But, a® the tite of your home-coming cannot be very far off, 1 open the food- to-night. I will, there- fore, say that I have missed you for the past of the same awiuiness and heartbreak as if I had lost you forever by death. ‘ But Ihave discovered, by searching my soul, that ] love you more than any buman ought W love another, Ihave seen some noble women this summer. whom I admire, and whom, {n a cer- tain way, llove. All my ite I nave known some- thing of the nature and experience of true iriend- 6 Tom my early years I have loved, and loved you. But all the past experiences his ey eis faerie tions have been aa potning co! usual and solemn sense Snion have had, durin ali the hiarities of ‘this Newport week, that tn only human being who touches my highest nature is yourseif, ‘This deing the case, I am filled with distress to think that I must keep you untniormed, for the sake of your own tranquility, o/ many of my oughts. a would to God I werea man worthy of your odness, your self-denial and your singlencaa of feate “Secasionally, In some supreme Dour, 1am your at mi but, at all other are high abo’ But, tf you Know tho im ward reverence which I have borne toward you for many days past, even while appearing to be absorved in the companionship of otner ladies and particularly at Newport, | am sure you would almost dread w be 80 much loved by any tomas (and therefore infrm and wayward) creatare ike Nave several times tried to keep myaoit from writing you any such leiter a4 this, becanse is unlike most oF My past correspondence, i ia my request that no other eye shall ever see ii except our own. Indeod, after thia letter ia in the maul, shall probably grieve to think J wrote it, but, on the other hand. I shail never feet content anit 1 wave tn some WMeasnire confnssed to you that, al summer long, 1 have trembied at the tnougnt toa yOu are almost 5 much to me as God Aimacit, and yet that 1 am conktanty treating you aa ungrae fully as 1 treat dim Yonra, in iranknesa, THOR work." hours, you Your last night's letter