Buffalo, Sept. 8, 1869.
Livy, my precious little darling, I am as happy as a king, now that it is settled & I can count the exact number of days that are to intervene before we are married. I am full of thankfulness, & the world looks bright & happy ahead. On the fourth day of February, one year after the date of our engagement, we shall step together out into the broad world to tread its devious paths together the till the journey of life is done & the great peace of eternity descends upon us like a benediction. 1 We shall never be separated on earth, Livy; & let us pray that we may not in Heaven. This 4th of February will be the mightiest day in the history of our lives, the holiest, & the most generous toward us both—for it makes of two fractional lives a [whole; , & ]it gives to two purposeless lives a work, & doubles the strength of each to do it whereby to perform it; it gives to two questioning natures a reason for living, & something to live for; it will give a new gladness to the [sunshine], a new fragrance to the flowers, a new beauty to the earth, a new mystery to life; & Livy it will give a new revelation to love, a new depth to sorrow, a new impulse to worship. In that day the scales will fall from our eyes & we shall look upon a new world.2 Speed it!
I have written to Redpath that my lecture-tour must come to a permanent close a week or ten days before the end of January, & when I hear from him, if he has made no appointments after Jan. 15, I will not let him make any. I ought to have the whole month, if I can get it. I am booked for Newark, N. J., Dec. 29.
It seems a dreadfully long time till Feb. 4, dearie, but I am glad we are to have that day, for it will always be pleasant to keep our engagement & wedding anniversaries together. I would rather have that day than any in the whole 365, for it will be doubly dear to me, & be always looked forward to as one peculiarly & sacredly blessed—the day about which the most precious memories of my life have been concentrated. We can always prepare for it weeks ahead & keep it in state.
Livy darling, I ought not to have told you about Charlie’s trip, maybe, & yet after all, I ought, for we must begin to do something for that boy.3 It is nearly time for him to have finished his wild oats (though he will not cease to sow them for six or eight years yet unless he gets married sooner.) If he is to be married a year hence there is no great need of solicitude, but still there is some need. There is only one uncomfortable feature about him, & that is his disposition to [ do dishonor ]his father’s wishes under shelter of absence. Most boys do that, & so he is not worse [ that than ]his race—but most boys shouldn’t do it, for it is a bad foundation to build upon. I suspect that the most promising course will be to set Ida4 to reforming him. Judging by my experience, you re energetic & persistent little task-mistress, if [ anything anybody ]can change his style of conduct, it is the darling that has her nest in his heart. I gave Charlie a scorching lecture on this fault of his, two months ago, & he [ so seriously ]promised reform—but he needs a lecture a reminder every day, or else he is sure to drift backward.5 I am sorry I made my darling sad about it. Don’t be sad, dearie, Charlie will come out all right, yet. It would be an unnatural marvel if Charlie were a better boy than he is. Let us not expect extravagant things of the fellow. He is another sort better & manlier than ninety-nine out of a hundred boys in his situation in life. Now if you [ b ]knew boys as well as I do, sweetheart, you would know that as well as I do. Let us do the rascal justice, Livy. I suppose I was a better boy at his age, but then you know I—well I was an exception, you understand—my kind don’t turn up every day. We are very rare. We are a sort of human century plant, & b we don’t blossom in everybody’s front yard.6
* * * *. Since I wrote that last line I have read column after column of proof, & now it is so late that I must stop talking with Livy & go home to bed. It has rained all day & I suppose is raining yet, & I told Jo. Larned to stay at home after supper & be a comfort to his wife & I would sit up & do the work for both—though there wasn’t a great deal to do, for that fellow works straight along all day, day in [& a day ]out, like an honest old treadmill horse. I tell him I wish I had his industry & he had my sense.
Good-night my darling little wife, idol of my homage & my worship, & the peace of the innocent abide with you.
Sam
[in pencil:]
In the morning—(got your letter)—O the darling little [ goose ] ‸traducer!‸ when I said “the country,” I meant America. But it was natural for you to m think I was malicious, but I wasn’t, honey—I bear Ishmael not the least malice—certainly none that I would express in an undignified way. Now I kiss you & tell you you the mistake you made was perfectly natural to one who [knew ]Ishmael had abused me in print.7
Darling, I propose to start to Elmira Friday night at 11—& start back at same hour on Monday night. Is my sweetheart answered. I kiss my darling good-bye, now, till Saturday morning.
[in ink:] Miss Olivia L. Langdon | Elmira | N.Y. [postmarked:] [buffalo ]n.y. [sep ] 9 [docketed by OLL:] 117th
Explanatory Notes | Textual Commentary
Source text(s):
Previous publication:
L3, 348–351; MFMT, 17–18, excerpt; Wecter 1947, 69; LLMT, 109–11.
Provenance:See Samossoud Collection, p. 586.
Emendations and textual notes:
whole; , & • [semicolon mended from comma]
sunshine • sun-|shine
do dishonor • doishonor
that than • thatn
anything anybody • any-| thing body
so seriously • soeriously
b • [partly formed]
& a day • [sic]
goose • [heavily canceled]
knew • [‘w’ malformed; doubtful ‘knews’]
buffalo • [bu]f[al]o [badly inked]
sep • [se]p [badly inked]