This one, written upon the eve of our wedding:—
"My little Love,—Even to-day, the last that separates us, must I write to tell you of my love and longing for the morning that will make you mine, as I am for ever yours."
And this! a whole month after our marriage:—
"My darling Wife,—When will this separation end? The week has seemed an endless one to me. I long to hold you in my arms never to part again."
Never to part again till death comes to one of us now we have grown weary of one another. "Never to part again." The little time granted us upon earth marked from the altar to the grave with every year a new stone bearing the one record, "Thus far have you gone upon your way," engraved on all—the dreary monotony of days alike. I could write almost word for word and act for act my life from now until the end. Every day the same face before me, the same grumble at every dish, the same hurry to catch the train to town,
