‸I love you, Livy.
———‸
‸Will Livy enclose the enclosed book notices to Bliss, 147 Asylum?‸
1
Buffalo, Wednes– Night.
My Livy, my faithful little wife, this is the last letter I shall write before I see you—& I use the pencil because I am in bed & cannot well use ink.2 [in margin: You little rat, there is no letter for me this morning {Thursday.}] Larned, & a Mr. Johnson3 & I, took a small row-boat, to-night, & went out into the Lake, & around a jutting stone breakwater, intending to reach a sandy beach beyond, & go in bathing—but the wind rose & a heavy sea came on & pitched the poor little shell about in the wildest way—& the spray came over the size side, & a capsize was imminent. Think of poor Larned in such a sea, far from shore, in water a hundred feet deep & he not able to swim. I tell you I felt a good deal more concern for him than I “let on.” And then both of them wanted to land (I was steering,) but I knew that would never do, in such a surf—such a poor little boat wouldn’t have lived a quarter of a second—& so I headed her out in the Lake again & they had to fight those great waves all the way back again—& I tell you the planning of how to take hold of a drowning man without letting him get hold of me, (those people who can’t swim always get frightened & do that,) was a[s] tangled a question as I have had on my mind lately—but we seemed bound to go over presently. We didn’t, though, darling, because I do know how to handle a boat—& we weathered that [breakwater] in safety. And to this moment I cannot think of any safe way of taking hold of a drowning man. If it were you, I wouldn’t feel any concern—because I would say, “Place your hands on my shoulders, Livy, & kick out when I do with your legs & you are just as safe here for the next hour or two as you could be anywhere”—& you would do that trust me & do it, & it would be all right & the little rascal wouldn’t be [afraid. But ] I felt ever so much more comfortable when we got in the smooth water again inside the breakwater.
Honey, I shall start home at 3 P.M. Friday (I think that is the hour,) & arrive about 8 I guess4—I don’t expect to telegraph—& I hope you will let me kiss you when I come—I have almost forgotten my what a kiss is like—I wonder how people can go off on long voyages of [y] months & years & leave their wives at home. They are not Livies or they couldn’t.
I am reading the sermon, & I like it. I have already read all the places the dainty little fingers marked, & have gone back to start at the beginning. I see [t] enough to know I shall like the sermon.5 Bless your darling heart—nobody has such a dear, good, precious, priceless, darling little sweetheart as I have, & I do [love,] you Livy, with all my whole heart—& I love you more & more every day & am so satisfied, & restful & peaceful in your love, & can never be tossed on the sea of life again.
[no signature]
[in ink:] Miss Olivia L. Langdon | Elmira | N. Y. [return address:] office of the buffalo express14 east swan st., buffalo, n. y. [postmarked:] buffalo n.y. aug 26 [docketed by OLL:] 108th
Explanatory Notes | Textual Commentary
Source text(s):
Previous publication:
L3, 322–24; LLMT, 359, brief paraphrase.
Provenance:See Samossoud Collection, p. 586.
Emendations and textual notes:
breakwater • break-|water
afraid. But • afraid.— |but
y • [partly formed]
t • [partly formed]
love, • [possibly ‘love⁁’]