Surveyor's Office, [Salem,] June 19th, 1848
Only Belovedest,
I received thy letter on Saturday evening, and was more refreshed by it than if it had been a draft of ice-water a rather inapt comparison, by the way. Thou canst have no imagination how lonely our house is. The rooms seem twice as large as before and so awfully quiet! I wish, sometime or other, thou wouldst let me take the two children and go away for a few days, and thou remain behind. Otherwise, thou canst have no idea of what it is. I really am half afraid to be alone, and feel shy about looking across the dimly moon-lighted chamber. I expend a great deal of sentiment as often as I chance to see any garment of thine, in my rambles about the house, or any of the children's playthings. And after all, there is a strange bliss in being made sensible of the happiness of my customary life, by this blank interval.
Tell my little daughter Una that her dolly, since her departure, has been blooming like a rose such an intense bloom, -- indeed, that I rather suspected her of making free with the brandy-bottle. On taxing her with it, however, she showed no signs of guilt or confusion; and I trust it was owing merely to the hot weather. The color has now subsided into quite a moderate tint, and she looks splendidly at a proper distance; though, on too close inspection, her skin appears rather coarse -- not altogether unlike that of thy good Aunt B. She has contracted an unfortunate habit of squinting; and her mouth, I am sorry to say, is somewhat askew. I shall take her to task on these matters, and hope to produce a reformation. Should I fail, thou must take her in hand. Give Una a kiss, and tell her I love her dearly. The same to little Bundlebreech, who has probably forgot "faver" by this time.
Dora complains terribly of lonesomeness, and so does Aunty N. In short, we are pretty for lorn. Nevertheless, I have much joy in your all being in the country, and hope thou wilt stay as long as thou feelest it to be for the best. How I love the children ! -- how I love thee, best of wives! and how I shall make thee feel it, when thou comest home! Dost thou love me?
THINE OWNEST HUSBAND.
Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne
Newton, Mass
Only Belovedest,
I received thy letter on Saturday evening, and was more refreshed by it than if it had been a draft of ice-water a rather inapt comparison, by the way. Thou canst have no imagination how lonely our house is. The rooms seem twice as large as before and so awfully quiet! I wish, sometime or other, thou wouldst let me take the two children and go away for a few days, and thou remain behind. Otherwise, thou canst have no idea of what it is. I really am half afraid to be alone, and feel shy about looking across the dimly moon-lighted chamber. I expend a great deal of sentiment as often as I chance to see any garment of thine, in my rambles about the house, or any of the children's playthings. And after all, there is a strange bliss in being made sensible of the happiness of my customary life, by this blank interval.
Tell my little daughter Una that her dolly, since her departure, has been blooming like a rose such an intense bloom, -- indeed, that I rather suspected her of making free with the brandy-bottle. On taxing her with it, however, she showed no signs of guilt or confusion; and I trust it was owing merely to the hot weather. The color has now subsided into quite a moderate tint, and she looks splendidly at a proper distance; though, on too close inspection, her skin appears rather coarse -- not altogether unlike that of thy good Aunt B. She has contracted an unfortunate habit of squinting; and her mouth, I am sorry to say, is somewhat askew. I shall take her to task on these matters, and hope to produce a reformation. Should I fail, thou must take her in hand. Give Una a kiss, and tell her I love her dearly. The same to little Bundlebreech, who has probably forgot "faver" by this time.
Dora complains terribly of lonesomeness, and so does Aunty N. In short, we are pretty for lorn. Nevertheless, I have much joy in your all being in the country, and hope thou wilt stay as long as thou feelest it to be for the best. How I love the children ! -- how I love thee, best of wives! and how I shall make thee feel it, when thou comest home! Dost thou love me?
THINE OWNEST HUSBAND.
Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne
Newton, Mass
No comments:
Post a Comment