_Boston_, Novr. 19th, 6 P.M., [1839]
_Belovedest Wife_,
My heart bids me to send you a greeting; and therefore I do it,
although I do not feel as if I had many thoughts and words at command
tonight, but only feelings and sympathies, which must find their way
to you as well as they can. Dearest, I cannot bear to think of you
sitting all day long in that chamber, and not a soul to commune with
you. But I endeavor, and will still endeavor, to send my soul thither,
from out of the toil and tedium of my daily life;--so think, beloved,
whenever solitude and sad thoughts become intolerable, that, just at
that moment I am near you, and trying to comfort you and make you
sensible of my presence.
Beloved, it occurs to me, that my earnest entreaties to you to be calm
and strong may produce an effect not altogether good. The behests of
Nature may perhaps differ from mine, and be wiser. If she bids you
shed tears, methinks it will be best to let them flow, and then your
grief will melt quietly forth, instead of being pent up till it breaks
out in a torrent. But I cannot speak my counsel to you, dearest, so
decidedly as if I were with you; for then my heart would know all the
state of yours, and what it needed. But love me infinitely, my wife,
and rest your heart with all its heaviness on mine. I know not what
else to say;--but even that is saying something--is it not, dearest?
I rather think, beloved, that I shall come home on Saturday night, and
take my chance of being able to come again on Thanksgiving-day. But
then I shall not be able to remain the rest of the week. That you want
me I know; and, dearest, my head and heart are weary with absence from
you; so that it will be best to snatch the first chance that offers.
Soon, mine own wife, I shall be able to spend much more time with you.