_Salem_, March 18th, 1841
Dearest wife, here is thy poor husband, enduring his banishment as
best he may. Methinks all enormous sinners should be sent on
pilgrimage to Salem, and compelled to spend a length of time there,
proportioned to the enormity of their offenses. Such a punishment
would be suited to sinners that do not quite deserve hanging, yet are
too aggravated for the States-Prison. Oh, thy naughty husband! If it
be a punishment, he well deserves to suffer a life-long infliction of
it, were it only for slandering his native town so vilely. Thou must
scold him well. But, belovedest, any place is strange and irksome to
me, where thou art not; and where thou art, any place will be home.
Here I have made a great blot, as thou seest; but, sweetest, there is,
at this moment, a portrait of myself in the mirror of that inkspot. Is
not that queer to think of? When it reaches thee, it will be nothing
but a dull black spot; but now, when I bend over it, there I see
myself, as at the bottom of a pool. Thou must not kiss the blot, for
the sake of the image which it now reflects; though, if thou shouldst,
it will be a talisman to call me back thither again.
Thy husband writes thee nonsense, as his custom is. I wonder how thou
managest to retain any respect for him. Trust me, he is not worthy of
thee--not worthy to kiss the sole of thy shoe. For the future, thou
perfectest Dove, let thy greatest condescension towards him, be merely
an extension of the tip of thy forefinger, or of thy delicate little
foot in its stocking. Nor let him dare to touch it without
kneeling--which he will be very ready to do, because he devoutly
worships thee; which is the only thing that can be said in his favor.
But, think of his arrogance! At this very moment.--
March 19th. Forenoon.--Dearest soul, thou hast irrecoverably lost the
conclusion of this sentence; for I was interrupted by a visitor, and
have now forgotten what I meant to say. No matter; thou wilt not care
for the loss; for, now I think of it, if does not please thee to hear
thy husband spoken slightingly of. Well, then thou shouldst not have
married such a vulnerable person. But, to thy comfort be it said, some
people have a much more exalted opinion of him than I have. The Rev.
Mr. Gannet delivered a lecture at the Lyceum here, the other evening,
in which he introduced an enormous eulogium on whom dost thou think?
Why, on thy respectable husband! Thereupon all the audience gave a
loud hiss. Now is my mild little Dove exceedingly enraged, and will
plot some mischief and all-involving calamity against the Salem
people. Well, belovedest, they did not actually hiss at the praises
bestowed on thy husband--the more fools they!
Ownest wife, what dost thou think I received, just before I
re-commenced this scribble? Thy letter! Dearest, I felt as thou didst
about our meeting, at Mrs. Hillard's. It is an inexpressible torment.
Thy letter is very sweet and beautiful--an expression of thyself. But
I do trust thou hast given Mr. Ripley a downright scolding for
doubting either my will or ability to work. He ought to be ashamed of
himself, to try to take away the good name of a laboring man, who must
earn his bread (and thy bread too) by the sweat of his brow.
Sweetest, I have some business up in town; and so must close this
letter--which has been written in a great hurry, and is not fit to be
sent thee. Say what thou wilt, thy husband is not a good
letter-writer; he never writes, unless compelled by an internal or
external necessity; and most glad would he be to think that there
would never, henceforth, be occasion for his addressing a letter to
thee. For would not that imply that thou wouldst always hereafter be
close to his bosom?
Dearest love, expect me Monday evening. Didst thou expect me sooner?
It may not be; but if longing desires could bear me to thee, thou
wouldst straightway behold my shape in the great easy chair. God bless
thee, thou sinless Eve--thou dearest, sweetest, purest, perfectest
wife.