_Salem_, June 27th, 1848
Dearest Phoebe, when I saw thy thick letter, last night, I could not
imagine what might be its contents, unless thou hadst sent a large
package of the precious roses, which I should have kissed with great
reverence and devotion. Thou wast naughty not to do it. But the letter
truly refreshed my heart's thirst; and Una's also were very
delightful. What a queer epistle was that which she dictated! It
seemed as if she were writing from Paradise to comfort me on earth.
Dearest, I long for thee as thou dost for me. My love has increased
infinitely since the last time we were separated. I can hardly bear to
think of thy staying away yet weeks longer. I think of thee all the
time. The other night, I dreamed that I was at Newton, in a room with
thee, and with several other people; and thou tookst occasion to
announce, that thou hadst now ceased to be my wife, and hadst taken
another husband. Thou madest this intelligence known with such
perfect composure and _sang froid_--not particularly addressing me,
but the company generally--that it benumbed my thoughts and feelings,
so that I had nothing to say. Thou wast perfectly decided, and I had
only to submit without a word. But, hereupon, thy sister Elizabeth,
who was likewise present, informed the company, that, in this state of
affairs, having ceased to be thy husband, I of course became hers; and
turning to me, very coolly inquired whether she or I should write to
inform my mother of the new arrangement! How the children were to be
divided, I know not. I only know that my heart suddenly broke loose,
and I began to expostulate with thee in an infinite agony, in the
midst of which I awoke; but the sense of unspeakable injury and
outrage hung about me for a long time--and even yet it has not quite
departed. Thou shouldst not behave so, when thou comest to me in
dreams.
I had a letter from Bridge, yesterday, dated in the latter part of
April. He seems to be having a very pleasant time with his wife; but I
do not understand that she is, as the Germans say, "of good hope." In
the beginning of the letter, he says that Mrs. Bridge will return to
America this summer. In another part, he says that the ship in which
he is will probably return late in the autumn; but he rather wishes
that it may [be] delayed till Spring, because Mrs. Bridge desires to
spend the winter in Italy.
Oh, Phoebe, I want thee much. My bosom needs thy head upon it,--thou
alone art essential. Thou art the only person in the world that ever
was necessary to me. Other people have occasionally been more or less
agreeable; but I think I was always more at ease alone than in
anybody's company, till I knew thee. And now I am only myself when
thou art within my reach. Thou art an unspeakably beloved woman. How
couldst thou inflict such frozen agony upon me, in that dream! Thou
shouldst have caressed me and embraced me.
But do not think, much as I want thee, that I wish thee to come as
long as thou judgest it good for the children to be away, and as long
as thou thinkest we can afford the expense. We have a pervading
happiness, that goes on whether we are present or absent in the body.
Their happiness depends upon time and place; and the difference to
them between town and country must be almost that of a cage or the
free air, to the birds. And then it is so much better for their
health.
Hast thou remembered to ask Mrs. Mann whether little Pick Mann was
named out of pure gratitude and respect for the old refugee Colonel,
or whether there was not a little earthly alloy--an idea of gilding an
ugly name with a rich legacy?
Ownest, if I write any more, it would be only to try to express more
lovings, and longings--and as they are impossible to express, I may as
well close.
My only belovedest,
THY BEST BELOVED.
Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne,
West Newton.