_Pride's Crossing_, Thursday, Aug. 8th, '61
_Dearest wife_,
This is a very ugly morning, and, I am afraid, will keep Julian and me
at home. The old gentleman had planned a fishing expedition and will
probably insist upon it pretty strenuously, in spite of the imminent
danger of rain. He seems insatiable in his love of the sea, and
regrets that we have but a day or two more to stay, as much as I
rejoice of it.
Thou dost insist too strongly upon the inconveniences and discomforts
of our present abode. I rather need to have the good side of our
condition presented to me than the bad one--being sufficiently prompt
in discovering the latter for myself; and this is true in almost all
cases. I first look at matters in their darkest aspect, and having
satisfied myself with that, I begin gradually to be consoled, to take
into account the advantages of the case, and thus trudge on, in my
heavy way, but with the light brightening around me. Now, while this
process is going on, methinks it would be more advisable to assist the
benigner influence than to range thyself on the side of the sinister
demon, and assure me that I am suffering a thousand inconveniences, of
which I am beginning to be unconscious.
I doubt whether I could have been more comfortable anywhere else than
here. The people of the house are very worthy souls, both of them,
entirely unobtrusive, doing everything they can for us, and evidently
anxious to give us the worth of our money--and kindly disposed,
moreover, beyond money's worth. We live better than I care about
living, and so well that Julian dreads the return to the simple fare
of the Wayside. The vicinity is very beautiful--insomuch that if I had
seen it sooner, I doubt whether I should have built my tower in
Concord--but somewhere among these noble woods of white pine and near
these rocks and beaches. In fact, were it not for the neighborhood of
the railway, the site of this little black house would be an excellent
one; for the wood is within half a minute's walk, and the shore may be
reached in ten minutes. Well;--our sleeping accommodations are
poor;--that is not to [be] denied, but leaving out that matter, we
have nothing to complain of--except the heat, which would have
pervaded any abode, unless it were an Italian palace.
Mrs. Dana (the elder poet's wife, I believe) called here in a barouche
the other day, while Julian and I were out, to see Una, whom she
sup[posed] to be stopping here? She had two or three young ladies with
her, and would probably have asked Una to make a visit at their villa.
Elizabeth came to see us, Tuesday afternoon, and brought some more
books. I proposed that she should take advantage of our escort to
Concord; but she says she cannot be ready before the first week of
September.
It is time we were gone from hence; for everybody seems to have found
us out, and Julian says the boys shout at him from the cliffs, crying
"Mr. Hawthorne! Mr. Hawthorne!!" I don't know whether they mistake him
for his father, or pay him these courteous attentions on his own
account.
You may await tea for us on Saturday--unless the old people chance to
be very hungry.
With utmost love,
N. H.