CONCORD, July 8, 1860.
DEAR SOPHIA,--Mother reminds me that I must write to you, if only a
few lines, though I have sprained my thumb, so that it is questionable
whether I can write legibly, if at all. I can't "bear on" much. What
is worse, I believe that I have sprained my brain too--that is, it
sympathizes with my thumb. But that is no excuse, I suppose, for
writing a letter in such a case is like sending a newspaper, only a
hint to let you know that "all is well,"--but my thumb.
I hope that you begin to derive some benefit from that more
mountainous air which you are breathing. Have you had a distinct view
of the Franconia Notch Mountains (blue peaks in the northern horizon)?
which I told you you could get from the road in Campton, probably from
some other points nearer. Such a view of the mountains is more
memorable than any other. Have you been to Squam Lake or overlooked
it? I should think that you could make an excursion to some mountain
in that direction from which you could see the lake and mountains
generally. Is there no friend of N. P. Rogers who can tell you where
the "lions" are?
Of course I did not go to North Elba,[94] but I sent some
reminiscences of last fall. I hear that John Brown, Jr., has now come
to Boston for a few days. Mr. Sanborn's case, it is said, will come on
after some murder cases have been disposed of here.
I have just been invited formally to be present at the annual picnic
of Theodore Parker's society (that was), at Waverley, next Wednesday,
and to make some remarks. But that is wholly out of my line. I do not
go to picnics, even in Concord, you know.
Mother and Aunt Sophia rode to Acton in time yesterday. I suppose that
you have heard that Mr. Hawthorne has come home. I went to meet him
the other evening and found that he has not altered, except that he
was looking quite brown after his voyage. He is as simple and
childlike as ever.
I believe that I have fairly scared the kittens away, at last, by my
pretended fierceness, which was. I will consider my thumb--and your
eyes.