Volume II Part 16 (1/2)
Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne, Care of Dr. N. Peabody, Boston, Ma.s.sachusetts.
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, Ma.s.sachusetts.
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 bl.u.s.ter of the wind, which at once exasperates and depresses me to the very last degree; and finally, a breakfast (the repet.i.tion 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. h.e.l.l 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! G.o.d 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 suns.h.i.+ne 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 Sat.u.r.day 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, Ma.s.s.
TO MRS. HAWTHORNE
_Salem_, May 9th, 1849
_Dearest_,