_Boston_, May 29th, 1840.--6 P.M.
_My dearest_,
Rejoice with thy husband, for he is free from a load of coal, which
has been pressing upon his shoulders throughout all this hot weather.
I am convinced that Christian's burthen consisted of coal; and no
wonder he felt so much relieved when it fell off and rolled into the
sepulchre. His load, however, at the utmost, could not have been more
than a few bushels; whereas mine was exactly one hundred and
thirty-five chaldrons and seven tubs.... Oh, my dearest, I feel the
stroke upon mine own head. Except through thee, I can never feel any
torment of that nature; for all these burning suns have blazed upon my
head, unprotected except by a black hat, and yet I have felt no more
inconvenience than if I had been sitting in the pleasant gloom of a
dewy grot. Belovedest, be a great deal more careful of thyself.
Remember always that thou art not thine own, but that Providence has
entrusted to thy keeping a most delicate physical frame, which belongs
wholly to me, and which therefore thou must keep with infinitely more
care than thou wouldst the most precious jewel. And yet, I would not
have thee anxious and watchful like an invalid; but thou shouldst
consider that thou wert created to dwell nowhere but in the clime of
Paradise, and wast only placed upon this earth, because thy husband is
here and cannot do without thee--and that east-winds and fierce suns
are evil unknown in thy native region, and therefore thy frame was not
so constructed as to resist them; wherefore thine own wise precautions
must be thy safeguard. Blessedest, I kiss thy brow,--at least, I kiss
the air thrice; and if none of the three kisses reach thee, then three
very precious things will have gone forth from my heart in vain. But
if any of thy headache and bewilderment have remained hitherto, and
now thou feelest somewhat like a breath of Heaven on thy brow, we will
take it for granted that my kisses have found thee out. Good bye now,
dearest wife; for I am weary and stupid; and as I need not be at the
Custom-House before eight or nine o'clock tomorrow, thou shalt have
the rest of the letter freshly written in the morning.
Now it will be lucky for thee if thou gettest the last page of this
letter entirely full. Dearest, thy last letter had the fragrance of a
bank of violets--yea, all sorts of sweet smelling flowers and perfumed
shrubs. I can lie down and repose upon it, as upon a bed of roses. It
rejoices me to think that my whole being is not enveloped with
coal-dust, but that its better half is breathing the breath of
flowers. Oh, do be very happy, mine ownest wife, and fill thyself with
all gentle pleasures that lie within thy reach; because at present
thou hast a double duty to perform in this respect; since, so far as
my enjoyments depend on external things, I can contribute nothing to
the common stock of happiness. And yet dearest, nothing that I ever
enjoyed before can come into the remotest comparison with my continual
enjoyment of thy love--with the deep, satisfied repose which that
consciousness brings to me; a repose subsisting, and ever to subsist,
in the midst of all anxieties, troubles and agitations.
Belovedest, I sometimes wish that thou couldst be with [me] on board
my salt-vessels and colliers; because there are many things of which
thou mightst make such pretty descriptions; and in future years, when
thy husband is again busy at the loom of fiction, he would weave in
these little pictures. My fancy is rendered so torpid by my ungenial
way of life, that I cannot sketch off the scenes and portraits that
interest me; and I am forced to trust them to my memory, with the hope
of recalling them at some more favorable period. For three or four
days past, I have been observing a little Mediterranean boy, from
Malaga, not more than ten or eleven years old, but who is already a
citizen of the world, and seems to be just as gay and contented on the
deck of a Yankee coal-vessel, as he could be while playing beside his
mother's door. It is really touching to see how free and happy he
is--how the little fellow takes this whole wide world for his home,
and all mankind for his family. He talks Spanish--at least, that is
his native tongue; but he is also very intelligible in English, and
perhaps he likewise has smatterings of the speech of other countries,
whither the winds may have wafted this little sea-bird. He is a
Catholic; and yesterday, being Friday, he caught some fish and fried
them for his dinner, in sweet oil; and really they looked so delicate
that I almost wished he would invite me to partake. Every once in a
while, he undresses himself and leaps overboard, plunging down beneath
the waves, as if the sea were as native to him as the earth; then he
runs up the rigging of the vessel, as if he meant to fly away through
the air. Do thou remember this little boy, dearest, and tell me of
him one of these days; and perhaps I may make something more beautiful
of him than thou wouldst think from these rough and imperfect touches.
Belovedest, is thy head quite well? Art thou very beautiful now? Dost
thou love me infinitely?
Miss Sophia A. Peabody,
Care of Dr. N. Peabody,
Salem, Mass.