Washington Telegraph

A WIFE.

In comparison with the loss of a wife, all other bereavements are trifles. The wife! she who fills so large a space in the domestic heaven; she who is so busied, so unwearied-bitter, bitter is the tear that falls on her clay. You stand beside her grave and think of the past; it seems an amber colored pathway, where the sun shone upon beautiful flowers, or the stars hung overhead. Fain would the soul linger there. No thorns are remembered above that sweet clay, save those your own hand may have unwillingly planted. Her noble, tender heart lies open to your inmost sight. You think of her as all gentleness, all beauty and purity. But she is dead! The dear head that so often laid upon your bosom, now rests upon a pillow of clay. The hands that ministered so untiringly are folded, white and cold, beneath the gloomy portals. The heart whose every beat measured an eternity of love, lies under your feet. And there is no white arm over your shoulder now; no speaking face to look up in the eye of love; no trembling lips to murmur, "Oh it is too sad!"

There is so strange a hush in every room! No smile to greet you at nightfall: and the clock ticks and strikes and ticks!-it was sweet music when she could hear it! Now it seems to knell only the hours through which you watched the shadows of death, gathering upon her sweet face. But many a tale it telleth of joys past, sorrows shared and beautiful words and deeds registered above. You feel that the grave cannot keep her You know that she is in a happier world, but feel that she is often by your side, an angel presence. Cherish these emotions: they will make you happier. Let her holy presence be as a charm to keep you from evil. In all sad and pleasant connections, give her a place in your heart. Never forget what she has done to you-that she has loved you. Be tender to her memory.