_Salem_, Septr. 10th, 1841--A.M.
Most dear wife, thou canst not imagine how strange it seems to me that
thou shouldst ever suffer any bodily harm. I cannot conceive of
it--the idea will not take the aspect of reality. Thou art to me a
spirit gliding about our familiar paths; and I always feel as if thou
wert beyond the reach of mortal accident--nor am I convinced to the
contrary even by thy continual gashings of thy dearest fingers and
sprainings of thy ancle. I love thee into the next state of existence,
and therefore do not realise that thou art here as subject to
corporeal harm as is thy husband himself--nay, ten times more so,
because thy earthly manifestation is refined almost into spirit.
But, dearest, thy accident did make thy husband's heart flutter very
riotously. I wanted to hold thee in mine arms; for I had a foolish
notion that thou wouldst be much better--perhaps quite well! I cannot
tell thee all I felt; and still I had not the horrible feelings that
I should expect, because there was a shadowiness interposed between me
and the fact, so that it did not strike my heart, as the beam did thy
head. Let me not speak of it any more, lest it become too real.
Sweetest, thou dost please me much by criticising thy husband's
stories, and finding fault with them. I do not very well recollect
Monsieur de Miroir; but as to Mrs. Bullfrog, I give her up to thy
severest reprehension. The story was written as a mere experiment in
that style; it did not come from am depth within me--neither my heart
nor mind had anything to do with it. I recollect that the Man of
Adamant seemed a fine idea to me, when I looked at it prophetically;
but I failed in giving shape and substance to the vision which I saw.
I don't think it can be very good.
Ownest wife, I cannot believe all these stories about Munroe, because
such an abominable rascal never would be sustained and countenanced by
respectable men. I take him to be neither better nor worse than the
average of his tribe. However, I intend to have all my copy-rights
taken out in my own name; and if he cheats me once, I will have
nothing more to do with him, but will straightway be cheated by some
other publisher--that being, of course, the only alternative.
Dearest, what dost thou think of taking Governor Shirley's young
French wife as the subject of one of the cuts. Thou shouldst represent
her in the great chair, perhaps with a dressing glass before her, and
arrayed in all manner of fantastic finery, and with an outre French
air; while the old Governor is leaning fondly over her, and a Puritan
counsellor or two are manifesting their disgust, in the background. A
negro footman and French waiting maid might be in attendance. Do not
think that I expect thee to adopt my foolish fancies about these
things. Whatever thou mayst do, it will be better than I can think. In
Liberty Tree, thou mightest have a vignette, representing the chair in
a very battered, shattered, and forlorn condition, after it had been
ejected from Hutchinson's house. This would serve to impress the
reader with the woeful vicissitudes of sublunary things. Many other
subjects would thy husband suggest, but he is terribly afraid that
thou wouldst take one of them, instead of working out thine own
inspirations.
Belovedest, I long to see thee. Do be magnificently well by
Saturday--yet not on my account, but thine own. Meantime, take care of
thy dearest head. Thou art not fit to be trusted away from thy
husband's guidance, one moment.
Dear little wife, didst thou ever behold such an awful scribble as thy
husband writes, since he became a farmer? His chirography always was
abominable; but now it is outrageous.
God bless thee, dearest and may His hand be continually outstretched
over thy head. Expect me on Saturday afternoon.