Clay County MO Archives Obituaries.....Bowles, Frances February 16, 1861
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Ronald J. Reid rreid21@cox.net September 8, 2007, 3:19 pm

The Liberty Tribune, Mar 1, 1861
Liberty Weekly Tribune, Mar 1, 1861.
Obituary.
Died in this county, February 16th, 1861, Mrs. Frances Bowles, wife of Stephen 
D. Bowles, and daughter of Alex. Judy, Esq., in the 32nd year of her age.
No more shall the bitter winds, or the scorching sun, disturb her.  She is 
gone!  Yes, she is gone to that distant land, where brightly shines the orb of 
day; there to meet the bright, glowing angels, who will lead her to those 
bowers on high, where endless pleasures and virtuous deeds are repayed.  Before 
she parted from us, it seemed as though Heaven had imprinted on her brow 
something beyond this world – something which claims kindred with yonder skies. 
Oh! that lovely smile, that tender look, that awakening and watchful eye, which 
kept its fond vigil o’er her slumbering babe, is forever gone.  He who could 
enter an apartment, and behold the tender babe, feeding on its mother’s beauty, 
nourished by the tide of life, which flows through her generous veins, without 
a panting bosom, and a sorrowful eye; is no man but a monster.  This is an 
object which neither the pen nor the chisel can touch; which poetry fails to 
exalt; which the most eloquent tongue in vain would struggle at, and on which 
all description becomes ineffective.  Although under those circumstances I am 
forced to write, and I would write, tho’ my pen were doubly weak.
Oh! what can idle words avail,
Unless the heart could speak.
She had long been a member of the Old Baptist Church, and her career through 
life had been one with which she had gained the affection of all who knew her.  
She died with what the best physician deemed consumption; her sufferings were 
unknown, although they were many; she bore them with unremitting fortitude, and 
when the pangs of death were bearing heavy upon her fluttering heart, her last 
words were, “Let the will of God be done.”  During her hours of illness, which 
were many, she was treated with the most unlimited kindness and respect, by her 
neighbors – which shall never be forgotten.  She leaves a husband and four 
children to mourn her loss.  In his heart lies this lovely picture; it lives in 
his sympathies; it reigns in his affections; his eye looks around in vain for 
such another object on earth.  But alas! he cannot find it; he is left to share 
its consequences.  That lovely smile which once met us face to face, sis so 
twined round our hearts, that they must cease to throb ere we forget it.  We 
can call up in long review the whole history of virtues and gentleness, and a 
thousand other endearments which are lavished upon us almost unheeded in our 
daily intercourse, but when we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful 
tenderness of parting from one whom we loved so dearly; the bed of death which 
all it agonies, its noiseless attendancies, its mute watchful assiduity, the 
last testimonies of love expiring, the last fond look of that glaring eye, 
turning upon us, even from the threshold of existence, that faint, fluttering 
accent, struggling in death to give one more assurance of affection.
Soft rebukes, in blessing ended,
Breathing from her lips of love.
Every past endearment is gone of that departed one, who can never, never return 
to soothe the aching heart.  Ah! who would not shed tears at such thoughts if 
they ever had added one affectionate look to the eye, or a smile on the 
silvered brow of an endeared sister.  Not one, though he be a friend; now let 
all who read these feeble lines contemplate upon their future days; we often 
complain that we are unhappy; that we tread in a thorny path, and drink of a 
bitter stream; but from whence do our sorrows flow?  do they not, in a great 
measure, proceed from our own selfish and poisoned hearts?  Banish malice, envy 
and hatred; let love towards each other prevail, and a great portion of our 
human misery will fade away, like darkness before the rising sun; it will 
dissipate the gloom which often clouds the countenance, and remove the grief 
which often preys upon the heart.    
Alex. S. Judy.



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