_Salem_, March 12th (Saturday), 1843
Own wifie, how dost thou do? I have been in some anxiety about thy
little head, and indeed about the whole of thy little person. Art thou
ill at ease in any mode whatever? I trust that thy dearest soul will
not be quite worn out of thee, with the activity and bustle of thy
present whereabout, so different from the intense quiet of our home.
That poor home! How desolate it is now! Last night, being awake, my
thoughts travelled back to the lonely old house; and it seemed as if I
was wandering up stairs and down stairs all by myself. My fancy was
almost afraid to be there, alone. I could see every object in a sort
of dim, gray light--our bed-chamber--the study, all in confusion--the
parlor, with the fragments of that abortive breakfast on the table,
and the precious silver-forks, and the old bronze image keeping its
solitary stand upon the mantel-piece. Then, methought, the wretched
Pigwigger came and jumped upon the window-sill, and clung there with
her forepaws, mewing dismally for admittance, which I could not grant
her, being there myself only in the spirit. And then came the ghost of
the old Doctor stalking through the gallery, and down the staircase,
and peeping into the parlor; and though I was wide awake, and
conscious of being so many miles from the spot, still it was quite
awful to think of the ghost having sole possession of our home; for I
could not quite separate myself from it, after all. Somehow, the
Doctor and I seemed to be there tete-a-tete, and I wanted thee to
protect me. Why wast not thou there in thought, at the same moment;
and then we should have been conscious of one another, and have had no
fear, and no desolate feeling. I believe I did not have any fantasies
about the ghostly kitchen-maid; but I trust Mary left the flat-irons
within her reach; so that she may do all the ironing while we are
away, and never disturb us more at midnight. I suppose she comes
thither to iron her shroud, and perhaps, likewise, to smooth the
doctor's band. Probably, during her lifetime, she allowed the poor old
gentleman to go to some ordination or other grand clerical celebration
with rumpled linen, and ever since, and throughout all earthly
futurity (at least, so long us the house shall stand) she is doomed
to exercise a nightly toil, with spiritual flat-irons. Poor
sinner--and doubtless Satan heats the irons for her. What nonsense is
all this!--but really, it does make me shiver to think of that poor
house of ours. Glad am I that thou art not there without thy husband.
I found our mother tolerably well; and Louisa, I think, in especial
good condition for her, and Elizabeth comfortable, only not quite
thawed. They speak of thee and me with an evident sense that we are
very happy indeed, and I can see that they are convinced of my having
found the very little wife that God meant for me. I obey thy
injunctions, as well as I can, in my deportment towards them; and
though mild and amiable manners are foreign to my nature, still I get
along pretty well for a new beginner. In short, they seem content with
thy husband, and I am very certain of their respect and affection for
his wife.
Take care of thy little self, I tell thee! I praise heaven for this
snow and "slosh," because it will prevent thee from scampering all
about the city, as otherwise thou wouldst infallibly have done. Lie
abed late--sleep during the day--go to bed seasonably--refuse to see
thy best friend, if either flesh or spirit be sensible of the
slightest repugnance--drive all trouble out of thy mind--and above
all things, think continually what an admirable husband thou hast! So
shalt thou have quiet sleep and happy awaking; and when I fold thee to
my bosom again, thou wilt be such a round, rosy, smiling little dove,
that I shall feel as if I had grasped all cheerfulness and sunshine
within the span of thy waist.
Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne,
Care of Dr. N. Peabody,
Boston, Mass.