_Brook Farm_, Octr. 9th--Before Breakfast [1841]
_Most dear,_
Here is thy husband trying to write to thee, while it is so dark that
he can hardly see his own scribble--not that it is very early; for the
sun is up long ago, and ought to be shining into my window. But this
dismal gloom! I positively cannot submit to have this precious month
all darkened with cloud and sullied with drizzle.
Dearest, I return the manuscript tale. It is pretty enough; but I
doubt whether it be particularly suited to the American public; and,
if intended for publication, I trust it will undergo a very severe
revision. It will need it. I speak frankly about this matter; but I
should do the same (only more frankly still) if the translation were
my Dove's own.
I wonder whether Munroe has yet returned Grandfather's Chair to
Elizabeth. I send back his books to-day.
Belovedest, I think thou wilt see me in the latter half of next week.
Thou needest not to give up any visit to South Boston on this account;
for I cannot get to thee before twelve o'clock. It will be but an hour
or so's visit.
Thine with deepest and keenest love,