_Sweetest Dove_,
Thy father, apparently, did not see fit to carry thy letter to the
Custom-House; and yet I think my intuition informed me that a letter
was written; for I looked into the Desk very eagerly, although Colonel
Hall neither pointed with his finger nor glanced with his eye, as is
his custom when anything very precious is in store. It reached me here
in mine own tabernacle, about half an hour since, while I sat resting
myself from the toils of the day, thinking of thee, my Dove.
Thou didst make me happier, last evening, than I ever hoped to be,
save in Heaven--and still that same happiness is around me and within
me. I am the happier for everything thou dost and sayest--thou canst
not possibly act so that I will not love thee better and be the
happier for that very individual action.
Dearest, it was necessary that I should speak to thee to-night; but
thou must not look for such a golden letter as thou didst write this
morning; for thy husband is tolerably weary, and has very few thoughts
in his mind, though much love in his heart. I cannot do without thy
voice--thou knowest not what a sweet influence it has upon me, even
apart from the honied wisdom which thou utterest. It thou shouldst
talk in an unknown tongue, I should listen with infinite satisfaction,
and be much edified in spirit at least, if not in intellect. When thou
speakest to me, there is mingled with those earthly words, which are
mortal inventions, a far diviner language, which thy soul utters and
my soul understands.
Ownest Dove, I did not choose to go to Malden this evening, to hear
the political lecture which I told thee of; for, indeed, after toiling
all day, it is rather too hard to be bothered with such nonsense at
night. I have no desire to go anywhither, after sunset, save to see
mine own wife; and as to lectures, I love none but "curtain
lectures";--for such I suppose thine may be termed, although our
beloved so far hath no curtains. Dearest, when we live together, thou
wilt find me a most tediously stay-at-home husband. Thou wilt be
compelled to rebuke and objurgate me, in order to gain the privilege
of spending one or two evenings in a month by a solitary fireside.
Sweetest wife, I must bid thee farewell now, exhorting thee to be as
happy as the angels; for thou art as good and holy as they, and have
more merit in thy goodness than they have; because the angels have
always dwelt in sinless heaven; whereas thy pilgrimage has been on
earth, where many sin and go astray. I am ashamed of this letter;
there is nothing in it worthy of being offered to my Dove; but yet I
shall send it; for a letter to one's beloved wife ought not to be kept
back for any dimness of thought or feebleness of expression, any more
than a prayer should be stifled in the soul, because the tongue of man
cannot breathe it eloquently to the Deity. Love has its own
omniscience; and what Love speaks to Love is comprehended in the same
way that prayers are.
Ownest, dost thou not long very earnestly to see thy husband?
Well--thou shalt see him on Monday night; and this very night he will
come into thy dreams, if thou wilt admit him there.
Thy very lovingest, and very sleepiest,
HUSBAND.
Miss Sophia A. Peabody,
Care of Dr. N. Peabody,
Boston.