Volume I Part 2 (1/2)
TO MISS PEABODY
_Boston_, Monday Eveg July 15th [1839]
_My blessed Dove_,
Your letter was brought to me at East Cambridge this afternoon:--otherwise I know not when I should have received it; for I am so busy that I know not whether I shall have time to go to the Custom-House these two or three days. I put it in my pocket, and did not read it till just now, when I could be quiet in my own chamber--for I always feel as if your letters were too sacred to be read in the midst of people--and (you will smile) I never read them without first was.h.i.+ng my hands!
And so my poor Dove is sick, and I cannot take her to my bosom. I do really feel as if I could cure her. [Portion of letter missing] Oh, my dearest, do let our love be powerful enough to make you well. I will have faith in its efficacy--not that it will work an immediate miracle--but it shall make you so well at heart that you cannot possibly be ill in the body. Partake of my health and strength, my beloved. Are they not your own, as well as mine? Yes--and your illness is mine as well as yours; and with all the pain it gives me, the whole world should not buy my right to share in it.
My dearest, I will not be much troubled, since you tell me (and your word is always truth) that there is no need. But, oh, be careful of yourself--remembering how much earthly happiness depends on your health. Be tranquil--let me be your Peace, as you are mine. Do not write to me, unless your heart be unquiet, and you think that you can quiet it by writing.
G.o.d bless mine own Dove. I have kissed those three last words. Do you kiss them too.
Miss Sophia A. Peabody, Care of Dr. N. Peabody, Salem, Ma.s.s.
TO MISS PEABODY
Wednesday eveg. July 17th [1839]
_My Dearest_,
I did not know but you would like another little note--and I think I feel a strange impulse to write, now that the whole correspondence devolves on me. And I wrote my other note in such a hurry, that I quite forgot to give you the praise which you so deserved, for bearing up so stoutly against the terrible misfortune of my non-appearance.
Indeed, I do think my Dove is the strongest little dove that ever was created--never did any creature live, who could feel so acutely, and yet endure so well.
This note must be a mere word, my beloved--and I wish I could make it the very tenderest word that ever was spoken or written. Imagine all that I cannot write.
G.o.d bless you, mine own Dove, and make you quite well against I take you to your home--which shall be on Sat.u.r.day eveg, without fail. Till then, dearest, spend your time in happy thoughts and happy dreams--and let my image be among them. Good bye, mine own Dove--I have kissed that holy word.
YOUR OWN, OWN, OWNEST.
My Dove must not look for another note.
To Miss Sophia A. Peabody, Care of Dr. N. Peabody, Salem, Ma.s.s.
TO MISS PEABODY
_Boston_, July 24th, 1839--8 o'clock P.M.
_Mine own_,
I am tired this evening, as usual, with my long day's toil; and my head wants its pillow--and my soul yearns for the friend whom G.o.d has given it--whose soul He has married to my soul. Oh, my dearest, how that thought thrills me! We _are_ married! I felt it long ago; and sometimes, when I was seeking for some fondest word, it has been on my lips to call you--”Wife”! I hardly know what restrained me from speaking it--unless a dread (for _that_ would have been an infinite pang to me) of feeling you shrink back, and thereby discovering that there was yet a deep place in your soul which did not know me. Mine own Dove, need I fear it now? Are we not married? G.o.d knows we are.