Sidney June 29 1866

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My dear wandering son

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It has been a long time since we have got a letter from you except one Barlow sent home written last August I think but it has got mislaid and I can’t remember. Tempe wrote soon after receiving your letter but I don’t expect you ever get half the letters we send but I intend to write occasionally as long as I am able to write and can learn where you are. Whether you answer me or not I want to hear from you often and now the war is over I can’t see any reason why our letters can’t go and come if it is a long way and under another government and if it is your fault I hope you will mend your ways and when you get this remember you have a poor old mother feeling very anxious to hear from her long absent son and if I don’t hear from you soon probably I shall not be here for our friends and acquaintances are being called away by death and I can’t expect to live a great while longer for I now number almost four score years and your Uncle William Barlow and his Grandson William H. Biers died a year ago last March. Last October your Uncle Wheeler Robertson and his son Daniel’s wife and little girl died last November, my niece Fanny Wheeler died last March, your Uncle John Barlow died in less than a year. Mr. Daniel Birdsall and Harvey and Warren have all died, only Lurissa and Dan are left. Warren died in California last winter, Adelbert, Orrin Houghton’s oldest son, died last winter with typhoid fever. He was a little boy when you left this place but he was a young man before he died. I could mention a number more deaths that have taken place not far away, mostly young people, but I presume you would not remember them, they were children when you left. Emeline Humphrey died May 18 of consumption. We have left the old homestead and moved into the old red house. It ain’t half as good as the house we left but our landlords wanted so much rent Lucius thought it didn’t pay so he gave it up. It don’t look much like home here. I wish you could think it best for you to come into some one of the states and build you a house and get one of your sisters to live with you. It seems to me you could live happier than you can wandering over the mountains and suffering as I think you must with cold, if not with hunger. If you don’t handle quite as much money what then. If you make a comfortable living what more do you need. If you could heap up millions you must soon leave all the hour of death will come. You say you can’t return to the States because you haint enough property to live independent here. Well it seems you have to work and toil where you are and I have no doubt had you stayed in the States and kept at work at your trade and been saving as you was you would be worth more property than you are now. Think of it and if you conclude to take my advice settle within a thousand miles of me. perhaps with your consent I would go and spend my few last days with you. You say you have go into some more expensive habits than you used to have. I hope you don’t drink nor gamble or smoke or chew tobacco. If you do then for manhood’s sake and for the love of friends and for the good of your soul break off now, don’t wait to think. Can’t you have firmness enough and resolution enough to say I will and stick to it. I hope better things. I hope you haint formed any immoral habits. And now my son where ever you go or what business you attend to don’t neglect the salvation of our soul. For that your father prayed till his dying day and as long as you and I both live I intend to pray daily that you may be an heir of God and a joint heir with Jesus Christ. Tempe is here, we are all well as usual. Lucius don’t enjoy good health and he has a weakly wife and a big mischievous boy for one of his age, between nine and ten months old. Barlow and the girls were all well when last heard from. I remain your affectionate old Mother.

 

Whitfield Chase