_Boston_, Novr. 20th, ½ past 8 P.M., [1839]
Dearest, you know not how your blessed letter strengthens my heart on
your account; for I know by it that God and the angels are supporting
you. And, mine own wife, though I thought that I reverenced you
infinitely before, yet never was so much of that feeling mingled with
my love, as now. You are yourself one of the angels who minister to
your departing brother--the more an angel, because you triumph over
earthly weakness to perform those offices of affection. I feel, now,
with what confidence I can rest upon you in all my sorrows and
troubles--as confident of your strength as of your love. Dearest,
there is nothing in me worthy of you. My heart is weak in comparison
with yours. Its strength, it is true, has never been tried; for I have
never been called to minister at the dying bed of a dear friend; but I
have often thought, that, in such a scene, I should need support from
the dying, instead of being able to give it. I bless God that He has
made Death so beautiful as he appears in the scene which you
describe--that He has caused the light from the other side to shine
over and across the chasm of the grave.
My wife, my spirit has never yearned for communion with you so much as
it does now. I long to hold you on my bosom--to hold you there
silently--for I have no words to write my sympathy, and should have
none to speak them. Sometimes, even after all I have now learned of
your divine fortitude, I feel as if I shall dread to meet you, lest I
should find you quite worn down by this great trial. But, dearest, I
will make up my mind to see you pale, and thinner than you were. Only
do not be sick--do not give me too much to bear.
Novr. 21st, ½ past 5 P.M. Mine own Dove, your fourth letter came
today, and all the rest were duly received, and performed their
heaven-appointed mission to my soul. The last has left a very cheering
influence on my spirit. Dearest, I love that naughty Sophie Hawthorne
with an unspeakable affection, and bless God for her every minute; for
what my Dove could do without her, passes my comprehension. And, mine
own wife, I have not been born in vain, but to an end worth living
for, since you are able to rest your heart on me, and are thereby
sustained in this sorrow, and enabled to be a help and comfort to your
mother, and a ministering angel to George. Give my love to George. I
regret that we have known each other so little in life; but there will
be time enough hereafter--in that pleasant region "on the other side."
Beloved, I shall come on Saturday, but probably not till the five
o'clock train, unless it should storm; so you must not expect me till
seven or thereabouts. I never did yearn for you so much as now. There
is a feeling in me as if a great while had passed since we met. Is it
so with you?
The days are cold now, the air eager and nipping--yet it suits my
health amazingly. I feel as if I could run a hundred miles at a
stretch, and jump over all the houses that happen to be in my way.
Belovedest, I must bring this letter to a close now, for several
reasons--partly that I may carry it to the Post-Office before it
closes; for I hate to make your father pay the postage of my wife's
letters. Also, I have another short letter of business to write;--and,
moreover, I must go forth into the wide world to seek my supper. This
life of mine is the perfection of a bachelor-life--so perfectly
untrammelled as it is. Do you not fear, my wife, to trust me to live
in such a way any longer?
Belovedest, still keep up your heart for your husband's sake. I pray
to God for quiet sleeps for my Dove, and cheerful awakings--yes,
cheerful; for Death moves with a sweet aspect into your household; and
your brother passes away with him as with a friend. And now farewell,
dearest of wives. You are the hope and joy of your husband's heart.
Never, never forget how very precious you are to him. God bless you,
dearest.