_Salem_, August 25th, 1845
_Dearest Phoebe Hawthorne_,
Already an age has elapsed since I parted from thee, mine own life;
although, according to human measurement, it is but about twenty-seven
hours. How I love thee, wife of my bosom! There is no telling; so
judge it by what is in thine own deepest and widest little heart.
Sweetest, what became of that letter? Whose fault was it, that it was
left behind? I was almost afraid to present myself before thy mother
without it. Nevertheless, the Count and I made it our first business
to call at 13 West-street, where we found Madame Peabody (I will call
her so to please my Dove) in the book room alone. She seemed quite as
well as usual, and regretted, I believe, that she had not gone to
Concord--and so did thy husband; but thou needest not say so to the
good old gentleman who sits looking at the outside of this letter,
while thou art reading the inside. I gave her all the information I
could about thy condition--being somewhat restrained, however, by the
presence of O'Sullivan.
Taking leave of thy mother, I went with the Count to Mr. Bancroft's
door, and then parted with him, with some partial expectation of
meeting him again at dinner. Then I looked in at the Athenaeum
reading-room, and next went to George Hillard's office. Who should I
find here but Longfellow, and with him Mr. Green, the Roman consul,
whom, as thou knowest, it was Bridge's plan to eject from office for
thy husband's benefit. He has returned to this country on a visit.
Never didst thou see such an insignificant looking personage (or
person rather;) and it surprised me so much the more, for I had formed
a high idea of his intellectual incarnation from a bust by Crawford,
at Longfellow's rooms. Longfellow himself seems to have bloomed forth
and found solidity and substance since his marriage;--never did I
behold a man of happier aspect; although I know one of happier
fortunes incomparably. But Longfellow appears perfectly satisfied, and
to be no more conscious of any earthly or spiritual trouble than a
sunflower is--of which lovely blossom he, I know not why, reminded me.
Hillard looked better than I have ever before seen him, and was in
high spirits on account of the success of his oration. It seems to
have had truly triumphant success--superior to that of any Phi Beta
Kappa oration ever delivered. It gladdened me most to see this
melancholy shadow of a man for once bathed and even pervaded with a
sunshine; and I must doubt whether any literary success of my own ever
gave me so much pleasure. Outward triumphs are necessary to him; to
thy husband they are anything but essential.
From Hillard's I went to see Colonel Hall, and had a talk about
politics and official matters; and the good Colonel invited me to
dinner; and I concluded to accept, inasmuch as, by dining with the
Count, I should have been forced to encounter Brownson--from whom the
Lord deliver us. These are the main incidents of the day; but I did
not leave Boston till half past five, by which time I was quite
wearied with the clatter and confusion of the city, so unlike our
quiet brooding life at home. Oh, dear little Dove, thou shouldst have
been with me; and then all the quiet would have been with me likewise.
Great was the surprise and joy of Louisa when she found me at the
door. I found them all pretty well; but our poor mother seems to have
grown older and thinner since I saw her at last. They all inquired
for thee with loving kindness. Louisa intended to come and visit us in
about a week; and I shall not thwart her purpose, if it still
continue. She thinks she may be ready in a week from to-day. And,
dearest little wife, I fear that thy husband will have to defer his
return to thy blessed arms till the same day. Longfellow wants me to
dine with him on Friday; and my mother will not be content to give me
up before Thursday; and indeed it is not altogether unreasonable that
she should have me this long; because she will not see me again.
But, sweetest Phoebe, thou knowest not how I yearn for thee. Never
hadst thou such love, as now. Oh, dearest wife, take utmost care of
thyself; for if any harm should come to thee during my absence, I
should always impute blame to myself. Do watch over my Dove, now that
I am away. And should my presence be needful before Saturday, I will
fly to thee at a moment's warning. If all continue well, I shall
proceed to Boston on Thursday, visit Longfellow on Friday, and come
home (Oh, happiest thought!) on Saturday night, with Louisa, if she
finds it possible to come. If anything should detain her, it will be
our mother's health. God bless thee. Amen.
Afternoon.--What a scrawl is the foregoing! I wrote fast because I
loved fervently. I shall write once more before my return. Take care
of thy dearest little self and do not get weary.