Friday, April 19th. Your Wednesday's letter has come, dearest. Your
letters delight me more than anything, save the sound of your voice;
and I love dearly to write to you--so be at peace on that score. You
_are_ beautiful, my own heart's Dove. Never doubt it again. I shall
really and truly be very glad of the extracts; and they will have a
charm for me that could not otherwise have been. I will imagine your
voice repeating them, tremulously. The _spell_ which you laid upon my
brow will retain its power till we meet again--then it must be
renewed.
What a beautiful day--and I had a double enjoyment of it, for your
sake and my own. I have been to walk this afternoon, to Bunker's Hill
and the Navy Yard, and am tired, because I had not your arm to support
me.
God keep you from East winds and every other evil.
Mine own Dove's own Friend,