_Custom House_, October 10th, 1839--½ past 2 P.M.
Belovedest, your two precious letters have arrived--the first
yesterday forenoon, the second today. In regard to the first, there
was a little circumstance that affected me so pleasantly, that I
cannot help telling my sweetest wife of it. I had read it over three
times, I believe, and was reading it again, towards evening in my
room; when I discovered, in a remote region of the sheet, two or three
lines which I had not before seen, and which Sophie Hawthorne had
signed with her own name. It is the strangest thing in the world that
I had not read them before--but certainly it was a happy accident;
for, finding them so unexpectedly, when I supposed that I already had
the whole letter by heart, it seemed as if there had been a sudden
revelation of my Dove--as if she had stolen into my room (as, in her
last epistle, she dreams of doing) and made me sensible of her
presence at that very moment. Dearest, since writing the above, I
have been interrupted by some official business; for I am at present
filling the place of Colonel Hall as head of the measurers'
department--which may account for my writing to you from the Custom
House. It is the most ungenial place in the whole world to write a
love-letter in:--not but what my heart is full of love, here as
elsewhere: but it closes up, and will not give forth its treasure now.
I do wish mine own Dove had been with me, on my last passage to
Boston. We should assuredly have thought that a miracle had been
wrought in our favor--that Providence had put angelic sentinels round
about us, to ensure us the quiet enjoyment of our affection--for, as
far as Lynn, I was actually the sole occupant of the car in which I
had seated myself. What a blissful solitude would that have been, had
my whole self been there! Then would we have flown through space like
two disembodied spirits--two or one. Are we singular or plural,
dearest? Has not each of us a right to use the first person singular,
when speaking in behalf of our united being? Does not "I," whether
spoken by Sophie Hawthorne's lips or mine, express the one spirit of
myself and that darlingest Sophie Hawthorne? But what a wilful little
person she is! Does she still refuse my Dove's proffer to kiss her
cheek? Well--I shall contrive some suitable punishment: and if my Dove
cannot kiss her, I must undertake the task in person. What a painful
duty it will be!
October 11th--½ past 4 P.M. Did my Dove fly in with me in my chamber
when I entered just now? If so, let her make herself manifest to me
this very moment, for my heart needs her presence.--You are not here
dearest. I sit writing in the middle of the chamber, opposite the
looking-glass; and as soon as I finish this sentence, I shall look
therein--and really I have something like a shadowy notion, that I
shall behold mine own white Dove peeping over my shoulder. One moment
more--I defer the experiment as long as possible, because there is a
pleasure in the slight tremor of the heart that this fantasy has
awakened. Dearest, if you can make me sensible of your presence, do it
now!--Oh, naughty, naughty Dove! I have looked, and saw nothing but my
own dark face and beetle-brow. How could you disappoint me so? Or is
it merely the defect in my own eyes, which cannot behold the
spiritual? My inward eye can behold you, though but dimly. Perhaps,
beloved wife, you did not come when I called, because you mistook the
locality whence the call proceeded. You are to know, then, that I
have removed from my old apartment, which was wanted as a parlor by
Mr. and Mrs. Devens, and am now established in a back chamber--a
pleasant enough and comfortable little room. The windows have a better
prospect than those of my former chamber, for I can see the summit of
the hill on which Gardner Greene's estate was situated; it is the
highest point of the city, and the boys at play on it are painted
strongly against the sky. No roof ascends as high as this--nothing but
the steeple of the Park-street church, which points upward behind it.
It is singular that such a hill should have been suffered to remain so
long, in the very heart of the city; it affects me somewhat as if a
portion of the original forest were still growing here. But they are
fast digging it away now; and if they continue their labors, I shall
soon be able to see the Park-street steeple as far downward as the
dial. Moreover, in another direction, I can see the top of the dome of
the State-House; and if my Dove were to take wing and alight there
(the easiest thing in the world for a dove to do) she might look
directly into my window, and see me writing this letter. I glance
thither as I write, but can see no Dove there.
(Rest of letter missing)