_Truest Heart_,
I cannot come to thee this evening, because my friend Bridge is in
town, whom I hardly have seen for years past. Alas! I know not whether
I am a very faithful friend to him; for I cannot rejoice that he is
here, since it will keep me from my Dove. Thou art my only
reality--all other people are but shadows to me: all events and
actions, in which thou dost not mingle, are but dreams.
Do thou be good, dearest love, and when I come, tomorrow night, let me
find thee magnificent. Thou didst make me very happy, yesterday
forenoon--thou wast a south-west wind--or the sweetest and wholesomest
wind that blows, whichever it may be. I love thee more than I can
estimate; and last night I dreamed of thee. I know not exactly what;
but we were happy.
God bless thee.
Thine ownest husband,