_Salem_, Jany. 20th, 1842--11 o'clock A.M.
_Truest Heart,_
Here is thy husband in his old chamber, where he produced those
stupendous works of fiction, which have since impressed the Universe
with wonderment and awe! To this chamber, doubtless, in all succeeding
ages, pilgrims will come to pay their tribute of reverence;--they will
put off their shoes at the threshold, for fear of desecrating the
tattered old carpet. "There," they will exclaim, "is the very bed in
which he slumbered, and where he was visited by those ethereal
visions, which he afterward fixed forever in glowing words! There is
the wash-stand, at which this exalted personage cleansed himself from
the stains of earth, and rendered his outward man a fitting exponent
of the pure soul within. There, in its mahogany frame, is the
dressing-glass, which reflected that noble brow, those hyacinthine
locks, that mouth, bright with smiles, or tremulous with feeling,
that flashing or melting eye, that--in short, every item of the
magnanimous phiz of this unexampled man! There is the pine
table--there the old flag-bottomed chair--in which he sat, and at
which he scribbled, during his agonies of inspiration! There is the
old chest of drawers, in which he kept what shirts a poor author may
be supposed to have possessed! There is the closet, in which was
reposited his threadbare suit of black! There is the worn-out
shoe-brush with which this polished writer polished his boots. There
is--" but I believe this will be pretty much all;--so here I close the
catalogue.
Most dear, I love thee beyond all limits, and write to thee because I
cannot help it;--nevertheless, writing grows more and more an
inadequate and unsatisfactory mode of revealing myself to thee. I no
longer think of saying anything deep, because I feel that the deepest
and truest must remain unsaid. We have left expression--at least, such
expression as can be achieved with pen and ink--far behind us. Even
the spoken word has long been inadequate. Looks are a better language;
but, bye-and-bye, our spirits will demand some more adequate
expression even than these. And thus it will go on; until we shall be
divested of these earthly forms, which are at once our medium of
expression, and the impediments to full communion. Then we shall melt
into [one] another, and all be expressed, once and continually,
without a word--without an effort.
Belovedest, my cold is very comfortable now. Mrs. Hillard gave me some
homo--I don't know how to spell it--homeopathic medicine, of which I
took a dose last night; and shall not need another. Art thou likewise
well? Didst thou weary thy poor little self to death, yesterday? I do
not think that I could possibly undergo the fatigue and distraction of
mind which thou dost. Thou art ten times as powerful as I, because
thou art so much more ethereal.
Sweetest, thy husband has recently been both lectured about and
preached about, here in his native city. The preacher was Rev. Mr. Fox
of Newburyport; but how he contrived to hook me into a sermon, I know
not. I trust he took for his text that which was spoken of my namesake
of old--"Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no guile."
Belovedest, if ever thou shouldst happen to hear me lauded on any
public occasion, I shall expect thee to rise, and make thine own and
my acknowledgments, in a neat and appropriate speech. Wilt thou not?
Surely thou wilt--inasmuch as I care little for applause, save as it
shall please thee; so it is rather thy concern than mine.
Mine ownest, it is by no means comfortable to be separated from thee
three whole days at a time. It is too great a gap in life. There is no
sunshine in the days in which thou dost not shine on me. And speaking
of sunshine, what a beautifullest day (to the outward eye, I mean) was
yesterday; and to-day seems equally bright and gladsome, although I
have not yet tasted the fresh air. I trust that thou has flown abroad,
and soared upward to the seventh heaven. But do not stay there,
sweetest Dove! Come back for me; for I shall never get there, unless
by the aid of thy wings.
Now God bless thee, and make thee happy and joyful, until Saturday
evening, when thou must needs bear the infliction of