_Very dearest-est_,
I have hitherto delayed to send these stories, because Howes'
Masquerade was destroyed by the printers: and I have been in hopes to
procure it elsewhere. But my own copy of the Magazine, in Salem, is
likewise lost; so that I must buy the Boston Book and request Mary's
acceptance of it.
Belovedest, how dost thou do this morning? I am very well; and surely
Heaven is one with earth, this beautiful day. I met Miss Burley in the
street, yesterday, and her face seemed actually to beam and radiate
with kindness and goodness; insomuch that my own face involuntarily
brightens, whenever I think of her. I thought she looked really
beautiful.
Oh, dearest, how I wish to see thee! I would thou hadst my miniature
to wear in thy bosom; and then I should feel sure that now and then
thou wouldst think of me--of which now, thou art aware, there can be
no certainty. Sweetest, I feel that I shall need great comfort from
thee, when the time of my journey to the far wilderness actually
comes. But we will be hopeful--thou shalt fill thy husband with thy
hopefulness, and so his toil shall seem light, and he shall sing
(though I fear it would be a most unlovely sort of screech) as he
drives the plough.
Now, belovedest, good-bye. My visit to Salem will be so brief, that a
letter would hardly reach thee, before I myself shall return; so it
will not be best for me to write. God bless thee and keep thee; which
he will do without my prayers, because the good and pure, of which
class my Dove is the best and purest, always dwell within the walls of
Heaven. I am in great haste, most beloved; so, embracing thee,