To Miss Peabody
Boston, June 2nd, 1840
Before Breakfast
My dearest,
Thy Friday’s letter came in clue season to the Custom-House; but Colonel Hall could not find time to bring it to the remote region of the earth, where I was then an exile; so that it awaited me till the next morning. At noon, came thy next letter, at an interval of several hours from the receipt of the former – a space quite long enough to be interposed between thy missives. And yesterday arrived thy letter of the Sabbath and all three are very precious to thy husband; and the oftener they come the more he needs them. Now I must go down to breakfast. Dost thou not wonder at finding me scribbling between seven and eight o clock in the morning? I do believe, naughtiest, that thou hast been praying for the non-arrival of salt and coal – not considering that, if thy petitions are heard, the poor Measurers will not earn a sixpence.
Belovedest, I know not what counsel to give thee about calling on my sisters; and therefore must leave the matter to thine own exquisite sense of what is right and delicate. We will talk it over at an early opportunity. I think I can partly understand why they appear cool towards thee; but it is for nothing in thyself personally, nor for any unkindness towards my Dove, whom everybody must feel to be the loveablest being in the world. But there are some untoward circumstances. Nevertheless, I have faith that all will be well, and that they will receive Sophie Hawthorne and the Dove into their heart of hearts; so let us wait patiently on Providence, as we always have, and see what time will bring forth. And, my dearest, whenever thou feelest disquieted about things of this sort if ever that be the case do thou speak freely to thy husband; for these are matters in which words may be of use, because they concern the relations between ourselves and others. Now, good bye, belovedest, till night. I perceive that the sun is shining dimly; but I fear that there is still an east wind to keep my Dove in her dove-cote.
Towards night Ownest wife, the day has been without much pleasure or profit – a part of the time at the Custom-House, waiting there for the chance of work – partly at the Athenaeum, and partly at a bookstore, looking tor something suitable tor our library. Among other recent purchases, I have bought a very good edition of Milton (his poetry) in two octavo volumes; and I saw a huge new London volume of his prose works, but it seemed to me that there was but a small portion of it that thou and I should ever care about reading so I left it on the shelf. Dearest, I have bought some lithographic prints at auction, which I mean to send thee, that thou liiayst show them to thy husband, the next afternoon that thou permittest him to spend with thee. Thou art not to expect anything very splendid; tor I did not enter the auction-room till a large part of the collection was sold; so that my choice was limited. Perhaps there are one or two not altogether unworthy to be put on the walls of our sanctuary; but this I leave to thy finer judgment. I would thou couldst peep into my room and see thine own pictures, from which I have removed the black veils; and there is no telling how much brighter and cheerful ler the parlor looks now, whenever I enter it.
Belovedest, I love thee very especially much today. But then that naughty Sophie Hawthorne – it would be out of the question to treat her with tenderness. Nothing shall she get from me, at my next visit, save a kiss upon her nose; and I should not wonder if she were to return the favor with a buffet upon my ear. Mine own Dove, how unhappy art thou to be linked with such a mate – to be bound up in the same volume with her! – and me unhappy, too, to he forced to keep such a turbulent little rebel in my inmost heart! Dost thou not think she might be persuaded to with draw herself, quietly, and take up her resilience somewhere else? Oh, what an idea! It makes my heart close its valves and embrace her the more closely.
Well, dearest, it is breakfast time, and thy husband hath an appetite. What dost thou eat for breakfast? – but I know well enough that thou never eatest anything but bread and milk and chickens. Dost thou love pigeons in a pie? I am fonder of Dove than anything else it is my heart’s food and sole sustenance. God bless us.
THINE OWN HUSBAND.
Boston, June 2nd, 1840
Before Breakfast
My dearest,
Thy Friday’s letter came in clue season to the Custom-House; but Colonel Hall could not find time to bring it to the remote region of the earth, where I was then an exile; so that it awaited me till the next morning. At noon, came thy next letter, at an interval of several hours from the receipt of the former – a space quite long enough to be interposed between thy missives. And yesterday arrived thy letter of the Sabbath and all three are very precious to thy husband; and the oftener they come the more he needs them. Now I must go down to breakfast. Dost thou not wonder at finding me scribbling between seven and eight o clock in the morning? I do believe, naughtiest, that thou hast been praying for the non-arrival of salt and coal – not considering that, if thy petitions are heard, the poor Measurers will not earn a sixpence.
Belovedest, I know not what counsel to give thee about calling on my sisters; and therefore must leave the matter to thine own exquisite sense of what is right and delicate. We will talk it over at an early opportunity. I think I can partly understand why they appear cool towards thee; but it is for nothing in thyself personally, nor for any unkindness towards my Dove, whom everybody must feel to be the loveablest being in the world. But there are some untoward circumstances. Nevertheless, I have faith that all will be well, and that they will receive Sophie Hawthorne and the Dove into their heart of hearts; so let us wait patiently on Providence, as we always have, and see what time will bring forth. And, my dearest, whenever thou feelest disquieted about things of this sort if ever that be the case do thou speak freely to thy husband; for these are matters in which words may be of use, because they concern the relations between ourselves and others. Now, good bye, belovedest, till night. I perceive that the sun is shining dimly; but I fear that there is still an east wind to keep my Dove in her dove-cote.
Towards night Ownest wife, the day has been without much pleasure or profit – a part of the time at the Custom-House, waiting there for the chance of work – partly at the Athenaeum, and partly at a bookstore, looking tor something suitable tor our library. Among other recent purchases, I have bought a very good edition of Milton (his poetry) in two octavo volumes; and I saw a huge new London volume of his prose works, but it seemed to me that there was but a small portion of it that thou and I should ever care about reading so I left it on the shelf. Dearest, I have bought some lithographic prints at auction, which I mean to send thee, that thou liiayst show them to thy husband, the next afternoon that thou permittest him to spend with thee. Thou art not to expect anything very splendid; tor I did not enter the auction-room till a large part of the collection was sold; so that my choice was limited. Perhaps there are one or two not altogether unworthy to be put on the walls of our sanctuary; but this I leave to thy finer judgment. I would thou couldst peep into my room and see thine own pictures, from which I have removed the black veils; and there is no telling how much brighter and cheerful ler the parlor looks now, whenever I enter it.
Belovedest, I love thee very especially much today. But then that naughty Sophie Hawthorne – it would be out of the question to treat her with tenderness. Nothing shall she get from me, at my next visit, save a kiss upon her nose; and I should not wonder if she were to return the favor with a buffet upon my ear. Mine own Dove, how unhappy art thou to be linked with such a mate – to be bound up in the same volume with her! – and me unhappy, too, to he forced to keep such a turbulent little rebel in my inmost heart! Dost thou not think she might be persuaded to with draw herself, quietly, and take up her resilience somewhere else? Oh, what an idea! It makes my heart close its valves and embrace her the more closely.
Well, dearest, it is breakfast time, and thy husband hath an appetite. What dost thou eat for breakfast? – but I know well enough that thou never eatest anything but bread and milk and chickens. Dost thou love pigeons in a pie? I am fonder of Dove than anything else it is my heart’s food and sole sustenance. God bless us.
THINE OWN HUSBAND.
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