_Boston_, June 22d, (Monday) ½ past 4 [1840]
Ownest, Colonel Hall put thy letter into my hand at our eating-house,
so that its reception was timed very like that of mine to thee; but
thy husband cared not for ceremony, nor for the presence of fifty
people, but straightway broke the "long-legged little fowl" asunder
and began to read. Belovedest, what a letter! Never was so much beauty
poured out of any heart before; and to read it over and over is like
bathing my brow in a fresh fountain, and drinking draughts that renew
the life within me. Nature is kind and motherly to thee, and taketh
thee into her inmost heart and cherisheth thee there, because thou
lookest on her with holy and loving eyes. My dearest, how canst thou
say that I have ever written anything beautiful, being thyself so
potent to reproduce whatever is loveliest? If I did not know that thou
lovest me, I should even be ashamed before thee. Sweetest wife, it
gladdens me likewise that thou meetest with such sympathy there, and
that thy friends have faith that thy husband is worthy of thee,
because they see that thy wise heart could not have gone astray.
Worthy of thee I am not; but thou wilt make me so; for there will be
time, or eternity enough, for thy blessed influence to work upon me.
Would that we could build our cottage this very now, this very summer,
amid the scenes which thou describest. My heart thirsts and languishes
to be there, away from the hot sun and the coal-dust and the steaming
docks, and the thick-pated, stubborn, contentious men, with whom I
brawl from morning till night, and all the weary toil which quite
engrosses me, and yet occupies only a part of my being which I did not
know existed before I became a Measurer. I do think that I should sink
down quite disheartened and inanimate if thou wert not happy, and
gathering from earth and sky enjoyment for both of us; but this makes
me feel that my real, innermost soul is apart from all these unlovely
circumstances,--and that it has not ceased to exist, as I might
sometimes suspect, but is nourished and kept alive through thee.
Belovedest, if thou findest it good to be there, why wilt thou not
stay even a little longer than this week? Thou knowest not what
comfort I have in thinking of thee and those beautiful scenes; where
the east wind cometh not, and amid those sympathizing hearts, which
perhaps thou wilt not find elsewhere--at least not everywhere. I feel
as if thou hadst found a haven of peace and rest, where I can trust
thee without disquiet, and feel that thou art safe. It thou art well
and happy, if thy cheek is becoming rosier, if thy step is light and
joyous there, and if thy heart makes pleasant music, then is it not
better for thee to stay a little longer? And if better for thee, it is
so for thy husband likewise. Now, ownest wife, I do not press thee to
stay, but leave it all to thy wisdom, and if thou feelest that it is
now time to come home, most gladly will he welcome thee.
Dearest, I meant to have written to thee yesterday afternoon, so that
thou shouldst have received the letter today, but Mrs. Hillard pressed
her husband and myself to take a walk into the country, because his
health needed such an excursion. So, after taking a nap, we set forth
over the western avenue--a dreary, treeless, fierce-sunshiny, irksome
road; but after journeying three or four or five miles, we came to
some of the loveliest rural scenery--yes, the very loveliest--that
ever I saw in my life. The first part of our road was like the life of
toil and weariness that I am now leading; the latter part was like
the life that we will lead hereafter. Would that I had thy pen, and I
would give thee pictures of beauty to match thine own; but I should
only mar my remembrance of them by the attempt. Not a beautiful scene
did I behold but I imaged thee in the midst of it--thou wast with me
in all the walk, and when I sighed it was for thee, and when I smiled
it was for thee, and when I trusted in future happiness, it was for
thee; and if I did not doubt and fear, it was altogether because of
thee. What else than happiness can God intend for thee?--and if thy
happiness, then mine also. On our return, we stopped at Braman's
baths, and plunged in, and washed away all stains of earth, and became
new creatures. Dearest, I sympathize with thee in thy love of the
bath, and conveniences for it must not be forgotten in our domestic
arrangements. Yet I am not entirely satisfied with any more contracted
bath than the illimitable ocean; and to plunge into it is the next
thing to soaring into the sky.
This morning I rose early to finish measuring a load of coal, which
being accomplished in the forenoon, and there being little prospect of
anything more to do, Colonel Hall, who perceived that thy husband's
energies were somewhat exhausted by the heat, and by much brawling
with the coal-people, did send me home immediately after dinner. So
then I took a nap, with a volume of Spenser in my hand, and awaking at
four, I re-re-reperused thy last letter, and sat down to pour myself
out to thee, and in so doing, dearest wife, I have had great comfort.
And now the afternoon is beautiful in its decline; but my feet are
somewhat afflicted with yesterday's excursion; so that I am in doubt
whether to go out again, although I should like a bath.
Belovedest, I must not forget to thank Mr. Emerson for his invitation
to Concord; but really it will not be in my power to accept it. Do
thou say this in the way it ought to be said, and let him know what a
business-machine thy husband is. Now, good-bye. Art thou very happy? I
trust so, dearest. Thou hast our whole treasure of happiness in thy
keeping. Keep it safe, ownest wife, and add to it continually. God
bless thee.
Miss Sophia A. Peabody,
Care of Rev. R. W. Emerson,
Concord, Massachusetts.
(Forwarded, Salem).