George Bolton�s Wife dying.
1. Saturday. This from George Bolton:
Paris. Wednesday night.
�My dear friend T. Gunn,
I know not how to
answer your letter, for I feel so overwhelmed
with misery, inasmuch as I write it listening
to the terrible laugh of my delirious wife and
the crying of my child � I fear she cannot re-
cover, and � oh! Heaven! what do I feel? �
if there was one soul here that loved us � one
to speak to me � I think I could bear it � but
there is not one � and oh! how utterly desolate
and heart-broken I feel! � am I not mad to
feel so weak when I should be strong � but oh!
my brain burns � I have looked death in the
face when I have been as abandoned and soli-
tary as I am now � I did not tremble then � but
oh! to see it approach thus, my darling Wife, �
Tom, Tom! do not go away till you have been
up to see me � you are the only one � only friend
whose words now could do my heart good � oh!
if you knew how fondly we have been expecting
you, to sit with us beneath our shade-tree in
these quiet summer evenings � if you knew how we
have loved each other � I risked all for her �