STATEN ISLAND, August 6, 1843.
DEAR MOTHER,--As Mr. William Emerson is going to Concord on Tuesday, I
must not omit sending a line by him,--though I wish I had something
more weighty for so direct a post. I believe I directed my last letter
to you by mistake; but it must have appeared that it was addressed to
Helen. At any rate, this is to you without mistake.
I am chiefly indebted to your letters for what I have learned of
Concord and family news, and am very glad when I get one. I should
have liked to be in Walden woods with you, but not with the railroad.
I think of you all very often, and wonder if you are still separated
from me only by so many miles of earth, or so many miles of memory.
This life we live is a strange dream, and I don't believe at all any
account men give of it. Methinks I should be content to sit at the
back door in Concord, under the poplar tree, henceforth forever. Not
that I am homesick at all,--for places are strangely indifferent to
me,--but Concord is still a cynosure to my eyes, and I find it hard to
attach it, even in imagination, to the rest of the globe, and tell
where the seam is.
I fancy that this Sunday evening you are pouring over some select
book, almost transcendental perchance, or else "Burgh's Dignity," or
Massillon, or the _Christian Examiner_. Father has just taken one more
look at the garden, and is now absorbed in Chaptelle, or reading the
newspaper quite abstractedly, only looking up occasionally over his
spectacles to see how the rest are engaged, and not to miss any newer
news that may not be in the paper. Helen has slipped in for the fourth
time to learn the very latest item. Sophia, I suppose, is at Bangor;
but Aunt Louisa, without doubt, is just flitting away to some good
meeting, to save the credit of you all.
It is still a cardinal virtue with me to keep awake. I find it
impossible to write or read except at rare intervals, but am,
generally speaking, tougher than formerly. I could make a pedestrian
tour round the world, and sometimes think it would perhaps be better
to do at once the things I _can_, rather than be trying to do what at
present I cannot do well. However, I shall awake sooner or later.
I have been translating some Greek, and reading English poetry, and a
month ago sent a paper to the _Democratic Review_, which, at length,
they were sorry they could not accept; but they could not adopt the
sentiments. However, they were very polite, and earnest that I should
send them something else, or reform that.
I go moping about the fields and woods here as I did in Concord, and,
it seems, am thought to be a surveyor,--an Eastern man inquiring
narrowly into the condition and value of land, etc., here, preparatory
to an extensive speculation. One neighbor observed to me, in a
mysterious and half-inquisitive way, that he supposed I must be pretty
well acquainted with the state of things; that I kept pretty close; he
did n't see any surveying instruments, but perhaps I had them in my
pocket.
I have received Helen's note, but have not heard of Frisbie Hoar
yet.[29] She is a faint-hearted writer, who could not take the
responsibility of blotting one sheet alone. However, I like very well
the blottings I get. Tell her I have not seen Mrs. Child nor Mrs.
Sedgwick.
Love to all from your affectionate son.