_Brook Farm_, Aug. 22nd, 1841
Most dear wife, it seems a long time since I have written to thee.
Dost thou love me at all? I should have been reprehensible in not
writing, the last time Mr. and Mrs. Ripley went to town; but I had an
indispensable engagement in the bean-field--whither, indeed, I was
glad to betake myself, in order to escape a parting scene with poor
Mr. Farley. He was quite out of his wits, the night before, and thy
husband sat up with him till long past midnight. The farm is
pleasanter now that he is gone; for his unappeasable wretchedness
threw a gloom over everything. Since I last wrote to thee, we have
done haying; and the remainder of my bondage will probably be light.
It will be a long time, however, before I shall know how to make a
good use of leisure, either as regards enjoyment or literary
occupation.
When am I to see thee again? The first of September comes a week from
Tuesday next; but I think I shall ante-date the month, and compel it
to begin on Sunday. Wilt thou consent? Then, on Saturday afternoon,
(for I will pray Mr. Ripley to give me up so much time, for the sake
of my past diligence) I will come to thee, dearest wife, and remain in
the city till Monday evening. Thence I shall go to Salem, and spend a
week there, longer or shorter according to the intensity of the
occasion for my presence. I do long to see our mother and sisters; and
I should not wonder if they felt some slight desire to see me. I
received a letter from Louisa, a week or two since, scolding me most
pathetically for my long absence. Indeed, I have been rather naughty
in this respect; but I knew that it would be unsatisfactory to them
and myself, if I came only for a single day--and that has been the
longest space that I could command.
Dearest wife, it is extremely doubtful whether Mr. Ripley will succeed
in locating his community on this farm. He can bring Mr. Ellis to no
terms; and the more they talk about the matter, the farther they
appear to be from a settlement. Thou and I must form other plans for
ourselves; for I can see few or no signs that Providence purposes to
give us a home here. I am weary, weary, thrice weary of waiting so
many ages. Yet what can be done? Whatever may be thy husband's
gifts, he has not hitherto shown a single one that may avail to gather
gold. I confess that I have strong hopes of good from this arrangement
with Munroe; but when I look at the scanty avails of my past literary
efforts, I do not feel authorized to expect much from the future.
Well; we shall see. Other persons have bought large estates and built
splendid mansions with such little books as I mean to write; so
perhaps it is not unreasonable to hope that mine may enable me to
build a little cottage--or, at least, to buy or hire one. But I am
becoming more and more convinced, that we must not lean upon the
community. Whatever is to be done, must be done by thy husband's own
individual strength. Most beloved, I shall not remain here through the
winter, unless with an absolute certainty that there will be a home
ready for us in the spring. Otherwise I shall return to
Boston,--still, however, considering myself an associate of the
community; so that we may take advantage of any more favorable aspect
of affairs. Dearest, how much depends on these little books! Methinks,
if anything could draw out my whole strength, it should be the motives
that now press upon me. Yet, after all, I must keep these
considerations out of my mind, because an external purpose always
disturbs, instead of assisting me.
Dearest, I have written the above in not so good spirits as sometimes;
but now that I have so ungenerously thrown my despondency on thee, my
heart begins to throb more lightly. I doubt not that God has great
good in store for us; for He would not have given us so much, unless
He were preparing to give a great deal more. I love thee! Thou lovest
me! What present bliss! What sure and certain hope!