Alexandria Gazette

At Boston, on Tuesday, two desperadoes named Lott Budy and Thomas Mooney were convicted of the crime of robbing a gentleman of his watch and $1200 in February last. The day after the robbery both prisoners were "flush"—
Budy fled to New Hampshire and Mooney to
New York. Upon his arrest in New Hampshire Budy threw away some papers which he had
about him; but they were found soon after, and
among them was the following letter from a lady:
"Boston, March 2d, 1847.
Dearest—Write me as soon as you receive
this, as I dare not write till I hear from you.
The sting of each sorrow—the cloud of each care;
Thy fate may be darkness—I ask but to share
Thy brow may be sad, but the shade there will
be
More dear than the smile of another to me.
They bid me fly from thee—they say that thy
love
I—like the false fetters they throw round the dove:
But the chain thou hast linked is more precious
to me
Than liberty, if it divides me from thee.
However rough thy path, that path I can bear,
A cell it were brightness, if thou too wert there.
Like oil to the lamp is thy love to my heart:
It is life to be near thee, and death if we part.
Ever thine
You will know who this is from when I tell
you that Charles Fan* sends his best respects
Write soon.
The Boston Post adds—Budy is now in the
"cell," so ominously alluded to in the third stanza, but the lady has not been allowed to share
its "brightness" with him.