Alanson St. Clair ALS to Eliza S. St. Clair, June 3, 1845

Moriah June 3rd 1845

Dear Wife; -

Solitary and melancholy and rather courting than shunning
these sad characteristic prompters, I have been doling you a few melan-
choly lines on the other page; - but I hope they will not inspire in you
on reading them, the same sensations I cherished in the writing. The
truth is, since a week ago last tomorrow, when I found Stevens had not
come, I have been so uneasy & unhappy, that most people would, if they knew,
call me miserable, and that is one thing which has called out so many
letters to you; - for, I have considered it a matter of course, that
you have felt no great better than my self. O, my dear, when
I am away from you, alone, and so sad, that I can neither rest
days nor sleep nights, then, I know how how to sympathize with you.
Then, I often think, that I am too apt to be but quite too indifferent
to your little sorrows and complaints when with you, - and reproach
my self as being hard harted and cyniccal.

I arose this morning a little before five, and looking to the east
as I sat half conscious on the side of my bed, saw the brilliant sun,
rolling his disk of diamonds above the horizon, apparently laboring
with resistless energy to dissipate the mists of vapor and smoke that
seemed to linger in his pathway, and to tinge his fleecy gold with
a half melancholy crimson, and causing him to shed a sad mellow
glare over the whole face of nature. So admirably was its appear-
ance adapted to the state of my own aching heart, that ere I was a[text missing]
the tears had stolen to my eyes, and I soon found my whole soul in
deep sympathy with the mellow softening tints of morning. But as
the sun drove forward in his restless course, scattering, and apparently,
annihilating, with his millions of streams of eternal light, those clouds
of mist, which had usurped rule on the earth, during his temporary
absence, and compelled all nature, in spite of opposition, to robe herself
again in cheerful smiles, the tears dried in my eyes, - I was ashamed
of my own cowardly melancholy, and resolved to dress, and acknowledge
to you my weakness.

Thinking that you may reproach me for remaining here so long
as I have and shall, I have for the last week, made this reflection on