Part 8

Una behaves (as thou wouldst affirm) like an angel. We rode out to Lynn, yesterday afternoon, and had a long walk--much to her delight. I bathed her this morning; and I believe she has not shown the slightest wilfulness or waywardness, since thy departure. We have very loving times together.

I had a great mind to come to Boston, yesterday, with Una, instead of alighting at Lynn. I felt thy magnetism drawing me thither.

THINE OWNEST.

If thou canst get me a book or two, I shall be glad. Kiss old Bundlebreech, and ask him if he remembers me. If thou art very desirous of it, thou mayst stay till Monday--or, indeed, a week or two longer--or ten years, if thou thinkest proper. I seem already to have been solitary at least so long.

Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne, Care of Dr. N. Peabody, Boston, Mass.

TO MRS. HAWTHORNE

Surveyor's Office, [_Salem_,] June 19th, 1848

_Only Belovedest_,

I received thy letter on Saturday evening, and was more refreshed by it than if it had been a draft of ice-water--a rather inapt comparison, by the way. Thou canst have no imagination how lonely our house is. The rooms seem twice as large as before--and so awfully quiet! I wish, sometime or other, thou wouldst let me take the two children and go away for a few days, and thou remain behind. Otherwise, thou canst have no idea of what it is. I really am half afraid to be alone, and feel shy about looking across the dimly moon-lighted chamber. I expend a great deal of sentiment as often as I chance to see any garment of thine, in my rambles about the house, or any of the children's playthings. And after all, there is a strange bliss in being made sensible of the happiness of my customary life, by this blank interval.

Tell my little daughter Una that her dolly, since her departure, has been blooming like a rose--such an intense bloom, indeed, that I rather suspected her of making free with the brandy-bottle. On taxing her with it, however, she showed no signs of guilt or confusion; and I trust it was owing merely to the hot weather. The color has now subsided into quite a moderate tint, and she looks splendidly at a proper distance; though, on too close inspection, her skin appears rather coarse--not altogether unlike that of thy good Aunt B. She has contracted an unfortunate habit of squinting; and her mouth, I am sorry to say, is somewhat askew. I shall take her to task on these matters, and hope to produce a reformation. Should I fail, thou must take her in hand. Give Una a kiss, and tell her I love her dearly. The same to little Bundlebreech, who has probably forgot "faver" by this time.

Dora complains terribly of lonesomeness, and so does Aunty N. In short, we are pretty forlorn. Nevertheless, I have much joy in your all being in the country, and hope thou wilt stay as long as thou feelest it to be for the best. How I love the children!--how I love thee, best of wives!--and how I shall make thee feel it, when thou comest home! Dost thou love me?

THINE OWNEST HUSBAND.

Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne, Newton, Mass.

TO MRS. HAWTHORNE

_Salem_, June 27th, 1848

Dearest Phoebe, when I saw thy thick letter, last night, I could not imagine what might be its contents, unless thou hadst sent a large package of the precious roses, which I should have kissed with great reverence and devotion. Thou wast naughty not to do it. But the letter truly refreshed my heart's thirst; and Una's also were very delightful. What a queer epistle was that which she dictated! It seemed as if she were writing from Paradise to comfort me on earth.

Dearest, I long for thee as thou dost for me. My love has increased infinitely since the last time we were separated. I can hardly bear to think of thy staying away yet weeks longer. I think of thee all the time. The other night, I dreamed that I was at Newton, in a room with thee, and with several other people; and thou tookst occasion to announce, that thou hadst now ceased to be my wife, and hadst taken another husband. Thou madest this intelligence known with such perfect composure and _sang froid_--not particularly addressing me, but the company generally--that it benumbed my thoughts and feelings, so that I had nothing to say. Thou wast perfectly decided, and I had only to submit without a word. But, hereupon, thy sister Elizabeth, who was likewise present, informed the company, that, in this state of affairs, having ceased to be thy husband, I of course became hers; and turning to me, very coolly inquired whether she or I should write to inform my mother of the new arrangement! How the children were to be divided, I know not. I only know that my heart suddenly broke loose, and I began to expostulate with thee in an infinite agony, in the midst of which I awoke; but the sense of unspeakable injury and outrage hung about me for a long time--and even yet it has not quite departed. Thou shouldst not behave so, when thou comest to me in dreams.

I had a letter from Bridge, yesterday, dated in the latter part of April. He seems to be having a very pleasant time with his wife; but I do not understand that she is, as the Germans say, "of good hope." In the beginning of the letter, he says that Mrs. Bridge will return to America this summer. In another part, he says that the ship in which he is will probably return late in the autumn; but he rather wishes that it may [be] delayed till Spring, because Mrs. Bridge desires to spend the winter in Italy.

Oh, Phoebe, I want thee much. My bosom needs thy head upon it,--thou alone art essential. Thou art the only person in the world that ever was necessary to me. Other people have occasionally been more or less agreeable; but I think I was always more at ease alone than in anybody's company, till I knew thee. And now I am only myself when thou art within my reach. Thou art an unspeakably beloved woman. How couldst thou inflict such frozen agony upon me, in that dream! Thou shouldst have caressed me and embraced me.

But do not think, much as I want thee, that I wish thee to come as long as thou judgest it good for the children to be away, and as long as thou thinkest we can afford the expense. We have a pervading happiness, that goes on whether we are present or absent in the body. Their happiness depends upon time and place; and the difference to them between town and country must be almost that of a cage or the free air, to the birds. And then it is so much better for their health.

Hast thou remembered to ask Mrs. Mann whether little Pick Mann was named out of pure gratitude and respect for the old refugee Colonel, or whether there was not a little earthly alloy--an idea of gilding an ugly name with a rich legacy?

Ownest, if I write any more, it would be only to try to express more lovings, and longings--and as they are impossible to express, I may as well close.

My only belovedest, THY BEST BELOVED.

Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne, West Newton.

TO MRS. HAWTHORNE

_Salem_, July 1st, 1848

Ownest, How long is it since I heard from thee--and what an eternity since thou didst go away! It seems at least as long as the whole time that we have been married. My heart calls for thee, very loudly, and thou comest not. And I want to hear our children's voices;--it would be pleasant, even, to see little Tornado in one of her tantrums. She is a noble child. Kiss her and Bundlebreech for me, and talk to them about me, lest I be entirely forgotten.

If this had been a pleasant day, I should probably have gone to New York on Custom-House business; but it being thick and dismal, I shall give up the expedition, although it would have been a very favorable opportunity. I should have been back here on Wednesday morning; and as one of the intervening days is Sunday, and another the Fourth of July, only a single day of attendance at my office would have been lost. Best of all, it would have cost nothing.

Dora has a great deal of work to do; but she neglects nothing appertaining to my comfort. Aunty 'Ouisa has favored me with one cup of coffee, since thou wentest away, and with an occasional doughnut; but I think thy lectures on diet and regimen have produced a considerable effect.

Dearest, is thy absence so nearly over that we can now see light glimmering at the end of it? Is it half over? If not, I really do not see how I am to bear it. A month of non-existence is the utmost limit----

I am continually interrupted as I write, this being pay-day, and a very busy time. I don't know exactly what will be the amount of our fees; but I should think it would be about as good a month as the last. Thirty-five dollars, however, have already been drawn for our quarter's rent. If thou wantest any more money, as probably thou dost, write me how much, and I will send it. How much must I reserve to pay Rebecca's wages? Any surplus, I intend to apply in lessening Millet's bill.

Here comes somebody else.

Ownest wife,

I am the best, and truest, and lovingest husband that ever was, because thy goodness makes me so.

Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne, West Newton, Mass.

TO MRS. HAWTHORNE

_Surveyor's Office_, July 5th, 1848

Unspeakably belovedest, thy letter has just been handed me, and I snatch a moment from much press of business to say a word to thee. It has made my heart heave like the sea, it is so tender and sweet. Ah, thou hast my whole soul. There is no thinking how much I love thee; and how blessed thy love makes me. I wonder how thou canst love me.

Thy letter was also most comfortable to me, because it gives such a picture of thy life there with the children. It seemed as if I could see the whole family of my heart before my eyes, and could hear you all talking together. I began to be quite uneasy about little Bundlebreech's indisposition, until thy latest intelligence reassured me. Yet I shall be anxious to hear again.

Dora could not come to Boston yesterday, to meet Rebecca, because she has an infinity of work, and moreover, yesterday morning, she had to go to bed with the tooth-ache.

I went to Boston to see the fireworks, and got home between 11 & 12 o'clock, last evening. I went into the little room to put on my linen coat; and, on my return into the sitting room, behold! a stranger there--whom dost thou think it might be?--it was Elizabeth! I did not wish to risk frightening her away by anything like an exhibition of wonder; and so we greeted one another kindly and cordially, but with no more _empressement_ than if we were constantly in the habit of meeting. It being so late, and I so tired, we did not have much talk then; but she said she meant to go to walk this afternoon, and asked me to go with her--which I promised to do. Perhaps she will now make it her habit to come down and see us occasionally in the evening.

Oh, my love, my heart calls for thee so, that I know not how to wait weeks longer for thee. Yet I would not that thou shouldst deprive the children of the beautiful country on that account. All will be repaid us in the first hour of meeting.

Own wife, the coat does not crock the shirtsleeve in the least--so thy labor in lining it would have been thrown away. I gave the vest to Louisa soon after thou wentest away, and have seen nothing of it since.

I wish Una, and Julian too, would write a letter to Aunty 'Ouisa. I know it would give her as much pleasure as anything can.

With infinite love,

I am THINE OWNEST.

Naughtiest, I do not leave thy letter about. I would just as soon leave my own heart on the "walking side," as Una calls it.

Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne, West Newton.

TO MRS. HAWTHORNE

_Salem_, July 7th, 1848

Ownest, when thy letters come, I always feel as if I could not have done without them a moment longer. Thou must have received one from me since the date of thine, but I hope it will not weary thee to receive this brief scribblement. If my hand would only answer to my heart, what letters I should write thee! It is wonderful--the growth of our love! Six years ago, it seemed infinite; yet what was the love of that epoch to the present! Thou badest me burn two pages of thy last letter; but I cannot do it, and will not; for never was a wife's deep, warm, chaste love so well expressed, and it is as holy to me as the Bible. Oh, I cannot begin to tell how I love thee.

Dearest, I should not forgive myself if I were to deprive the children of the country. Thou must keep them there as long as thou canst. When thou hast paid thy visit to Sarah Clark, I must come and see thee in Boston, and if possible (and if I shall be welcome) will spend a Sunday there with thee.

There is no news. Miss Derby has finished her picture, and it is now being publicly exhibited. I have not yet seen it, but mean to go.

Mr. Pike is going to dine with me to-day, on green peas.

Oh, for one kiss!

THY LOVINGEST HUSBAND.

Did Julian have a tooth?--or what was the matter? Why did all the children have fever-fits? Why was Horace jumped in a wet sheet?

Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne.

TO MRS. HAWTHORNE

_Salem_, July 12th, 1848

Dearest Phoebe, I enclose an advertisement of silks. Aunty 'Ouisa would like to have you get some patterns of those which she has marked with a pencil.

A letter from Mrs. F. Shaw came for thee to-day; and I opened and read it. It contains nothing that requires thy immediate perusal; and as it is rather bulky, I do not send it. She is well, and so is Caroline Sturgis.

I hear great accounts of the canary birds, now exhibiting in Boston; and it seems to me thou mightest please Una very much by taking her to see them.

I need thee very much indeed, and shall heartily thank God when thou comest back to thine own home--and thine ownest husband. What a wretched time thou art having on that infernal mattress----Truly do I pity thee, cooped up in that hot and dusty house, such a day as this. Were it not for Dr. Wesselhoeft, I should think it best for thee to get away immediately.

Did Una remember me, when she waked up?--and has little Bundlebreech wanted me?--and dost thou thyself think of me with moderate kindness? Oh, Phoebe, it is too great a sacrifice--this whole blank month in our wedded life. I want thee always.

THY LOVINGEST SPOUSE.

Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne, Care of Dr. N. Peabody, Boston, Massachusetts.

TO MRS. HAWTHORNE

_Salem_, July 18th, 1848

Belovedest, thy letter came yesterday, and caused my heart to heave like an ocean. Thou writest with a pen of celestial fire;--none ever wrote such letters but thou--none is worthy to read them but I--and I only because thou purifiest and exaltest me by thy love. Angels, I doubt not, are well pleased to look over thy shoulder as thou writest. I verily believe that no mortals, save ourselves, have ever known what enjoyment was. How wonderful that to the pure in spirit all earthly bliss is given in a measure which the voluptuary never can have dreamed of.

Soon--soon--thou wilt be at home. What joy! I count the days, and almost the hours, already. There is one good in our separation--that it has enabled us to estimate whereabouts we are, and what vast progress we have made into the ever-extending infinite of love. Wherefore, this will not be a blank space, but a bright one, in our recollection.

Dearest, I told Louisa of thy wish that she should come on Saturday; and it seemed that the proposal found favor in her eyes. If not, she will perhaps commission thee to buy her a gown.

Elizabeth came down to see me last evening, and we confabulated till eleven o'clock.

Dora is dying to see thee and the children. The fortune teller has foretold that she is not to marry poor Mr. Hooper, nor anybody else that has been hitherto in question; but a young man, who, Dora says, lives in Boston. She has thorough faith in the prediction.

I forgot to take those two volumes of Cooper's Miles Wallingford; and when I was last in Boston, I looked for them on the shelf in vain. If they may conveniently be had, when thou comest home, wilt thou please to give thyself the trouble of taking them.

Kiss our beloved children for me.

Thou art coming home!--Thou art coming home!

THINE OWNEST HUSBAND.

Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne, Care of Dr. N. Peabody, Boston, Massachusetts.

TO MRS. HAWTHORNE

_Castle Dismal_, Novr. 18th, 1848

_Ownest Phoebe_,

Thy letter did not come till to-day; and I know not that I was ever more disappointed and impatient--for I was sure that it ought to have come yesterday, and went to the Post Office three times after it. Now I have nothing to tell thee, belovedest wife, but write thee just a word, because I must. Thou growest more and more absolutely essential to me, every day we live. I never knew how thou art intertwined with my being, till this absence.

Darlingest, thou hast mentioned Horace's sickness two or three times, and I have speculated somewhat thereupon. Thou hast removed to West-street, likewise, and reservest the reasons till we meet. I wonder whether there be any connection between these two matters. But I do not feel anxious. If I am not of a hopeful nature, at least my imagination is not suggestive of evil. If Una were to have the hooping-cough, I should be glad thou wast within Dr. Wesselhoeft's sphere.

What a shadowy day is this! While this weather lasts, thou canst not come.

THY BELOVEDEST HUSBAND.

Do not hasten home on my account--stay as long as thou deemest good. I well know how thy heart is tugging thee hitherward.

Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne, Care of Dr. N. Peabody, Boston, Massachusetts.

TO MRS. HAWTHORNE

14 Mull street, Monday, [_Salem_,] 16th April, 1849

_Ownest wife_,

I suppose thou wilt not expect (nor wish for) a letter from me; but it is so desolate and lonesome here that I needs must write. This is a miserable time. Thy and the children's absence; and this dreary bluster of the wind, which at once exasperates and depresses me to the very last degree; and finally, a breakfast (the repetition of yesterday's) of pease and Indian pudding!! It is a strange miscellany of grievances; but it does my business--it makes me curse my day. This matter of the breakfast is the most intolerable, just at this moment; because the taste of it is still in my mouth, and the nausea and disgust overwhelms me like the consciousness of sin. Hell is nothing else but eating pease and baked Indian pudding! If thou lovest me, never let me see either of them again. Keep such things for thy and my worst enemies. Give thy husband bread, or cold potatoes; and he never will complain--but pease and Indian pudding! God forgive me for ever having burthened my conscience with such abominations. They are the Unpardonable Sin and the Intolerable Punishment, in one and the same accursed spoonfull!

I think I hardly ever had such a dismal time as yesterday. I cannot bear the loneliness of the house. I need the sunshine of the children; even their little quarrels and naughtinesses would be a blessing to me. I need thee, above all, and find myself, at every absence, so much the less able to endure it. Come home come home!

Where dost thou think I was on Saturday afternoon? Thou wilt never guess.

In haste; for it is almost Custom House time.

THY HUSBAND.

Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne, Care of Dr. N. Peabody, 13 West Street, Boston, Mass.

TO MRS. HAWTHORNE

_Salem_, May 9th, 1849

_Dearest_,

Thy letter was received last night. What a time thou hast!--and I not there to help thee! I almost feel as if I ought to come every day; but then I should do so little good--arriving at 4 o'clock; and the children going to bed at six or seven; and the expense is so considerable. If thou canst hold out till Friday, I shall endeavor to come in the afternoon and stay till Monday. But this must depend on arrangements hereafter to be made; so do not absolutely expect me before Saturday. Oh that Providence would bring all of you home, before then! This is a miserable time for me; more so than for thee, with all thy toil, and watchfulness and weariness. These sunless days are as sunless within as without. Thou hast no conception how melancholy our house can be. It absolutely chills my heart.

If it is necessary for me to come sooner, write by express. Give my love to Una and Julian, and tell them how much I miss them. God bless thee and them.

THINE OWNEST.

Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne, Care of Dr. N. Peabody, 13 West-street, Boston.

TO MRS. HAWTHORNE

_Navy Yard_, April 26th, 1850

_Ownest wife_,

Thy letter (dated 22d, but postmarked this very day) has just arrived, and perplexed me exceedingly with its strange aspect. Thy poor dear thumb! I am afraid it puts thee to unspeakable pain and trouble, and I feel as if I ought to be with thee; especially as Una is not well. What is the matter?--anything except her mouth? I almost wish thou hadst told me to come back.

It rained so continually on the day of my departure that I was not able to get over to the Navy Yard, but had to put up at the Rockingham House. Being recognized there, I was immediately lugged into society, whether I would or no; taking tea at one place, and spending the evening at another. I have since dined out, and been invited to a party--but escaped this latter infliction. Bridge's house, however, is the quietest place imaginable, and I only wish thou couldst be here, until our Lenox home is ready. I long to see thee, and am sad for want of thee. And thou too so comfortless in all that turmoil and confusion!

I have been waiting for thee to write; else I should have written before, though with nothing to say to thee--save the unimportant fact that I love thee better than ever before, and that I cannot be at peace away from thee. Why has not Dr. Wesselhoeft cured thy thumb? Thou never must hereafter do any work whatever; thou wast not made strong, and always sufferest tenfold the value of thy activities. Thou didst much amiss, to marry a husband who cannot keep thee like a lady, as Bridge does his wife, and as I should so delight to keep thee, doing only beautiful things, and reposing in luxurious chairs, and with servants to go and to come. Thou hast a hard lot in life; and so have I that witness it, and can do little or nothing to help thee. Again I wish that thou hadst told me to come back; or, at least, whether I should come or no. Four days more will bring us to the first of May, which is next Wednesday; and it was my purpose to return then. Thou wilt get this letter, I suppose, tomorrow morning, and, if desirable, might send to me by express the same day; and I could leave here on Monday morning. On looking at the Pathfinder Guide, I find that a train leaves Portsmouth for Boston at 5 o'clock P.M. Shouldst thou send me a message by the 11 o'clock train, I might return and be with thee tomorrow (Saturday) evening, before 8 o'clock. I should come without being recalled; only that it seems a sin to add another human being to the multitudinous chaos of that house.

I cannot write. Thou hast our home and all our interests about thee, and away from thee there is only emptiness--so what have I to write about?

THINE OWNEST HUSBAND.

P.S. If thou sendest for me to-morrow, and I do not come, thou must conclude that the express did not reach me.

Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne, Care of Dr. Nathl. Peabody, Boston, Massachusetts.

TO MRS. HAWTHORNE

_Lenox_, July 30th, 1851

_Dearest Phoebe_,

We are getting along perfectly well, and without a single event that could make a figure in a letter. I keep a regular chronicle of all our doings; and you may read it on your return. Julian seems perfectly happy, but sometimes talks in rather a sentimental style about his mother. I do hope thou camest safely to West Newton, and meetest with no great incommodities there. Julian is now out in the garden; this being the first time since thou wentest away, almost, (except when he was in bed) that he has left me for five minutes together. I find him really quite a tolerable little man!

Kiss Una for me, and believe me,

Thy affectionate husband,

N. H.