Salem, July 18th, 1848
Belovedest, thy letter came yesterday, and caused my heart to heave like an ocean. Thou writest with a pen of celestial fire; none ever wrote such letters hut thou none is worthy to read them hut I and I only because thou purifiest and exaltest me by thy love. Angels, I doubt not, are well pleased to look over thy shoul der as thou writest. I verily believe that no mortals, save ourselves, have ever known what enjoyment was. How wonderful that to the pure in spirit all earthly bliss is given in a measure which the voluptuary never can have dreamed of.
Soon -- soon -- thou wilt be at home. What joy! I count the days, and almost the hours, already. There is one good in our separation that it has enabled us to estimate whereabouts we arc, and what vast progress we have made into the ever-extending infinite of love. Wherefore, this will not be a blank space, but a bright one, in our recollection.
Dearest, I told Louisa of thy wish that she should come on Saturday; and it seemed that the proposal found favor in her eyes. If not, she will perhaps commission thee to buy her a gown.
Elizabeth came down to see me last evening, and we confabulated till eleven o'clock.
Dora is dying to see thee and the children. The fortune teller has foretold that she is not to marry poor Mr. Hooper, nor anybody else that has been hitherto in question; but a young man, who, Dora says, lives in Boston. She has thorough faith in the prediction.
I forgot to take those two volumes of Cooper's Miles Wallingford; and when I was last in Boston, I looked for them on the shelf in vain. If they may conveniently be had, when thou comest home, wilt thou please to give thyself the trouble of taking them.
Kiss our beloved children for me.
Thou art coming home! -- Thou art coming home!
THINE OWNEST HUSBAND.
Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne,
Care of Dr. N. Peabody,
Boston, Massachusetts!
Belovedest, thy letter came yesterday, and caused my heart to heave like an ocean. Thou writest with a pen of celestial fire; none ever wrote such letters hut thou none is worthy to read them hut I and I only because thou purifiest and exaltest me by thy love. Angels, I doubt not, are well pleased to look over thy shoul der as thou writest. I verily believe that no mortals, save ourselves, have ever known what enjoyment was. How wonderful that to the pure in spirit all earthly bliss is given in a measure which the voluptuary never can have dreamed of.
Soon -- soon -- thou wilt be at home. What joy! I count the days, and almost the hours, already. There is one good in our separation that it has enabled us to estimate whereabouts we arc, and what vast progress we have made into the ever-extending infinite of love. Wherefore, this will not be a blank space, but a bright one, in our recollection.
Dearest, I told Louisa of thy wish that she should come on Saturday; and it seemed that the proposal found favor in her eyes. If not, she will perhaps commission thee to buy her a gown.
Elizabeth came down to see me last evening, and we confabulated till eleven o'clock.
Dora is dying to see thee and the children. The fortune teller has foretold that she is not to marry poor Mr. Hooper, nor anybody else that has been hitherto in question; but a young man, who, Dora says, lives in Boston. She has thorough faith in the prediction.
I forgot to take those two volumes of Cooper's Miles Wallingford; and when I was last in Boston, I looked for them on the shelf in vain. If they may conveniently be had, when thou comest home, wilt thou please to give thyself the trouble of taking them.
Kiss our beloved children for me.
Thou art coming home! -- Thou art coming home!
THINE OWNEST HUSBAND.
Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne,
Care of Dr. N. Peabody,
Boston, Massachusetts!
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