gillette house,
ravenna, ohio, Feb. 13 186 9
10 P.M.
I am [able ] to inform the blessedest girl in all the world that the lecture [to-night ] was a complete success—& they said, as usual, that it was the largest audience of the season, a thing that necessarily gratifies me, for you know one naturally likes to be popular. And it is Saturday night, too—think of it!—& I need not hide [to-morrow ], but can go to church morning & evening. Somehow I don’t often make a Saturday success.
Now wasn’t it rascally to badger Fairbanks so much for not telegraphing me about the Alliance lecture, when I was cordially glad, [ all the time ] ‸when I thought it over,‸ that he didn’t? Because if he had done it we could not have knelt in the presence of God & bound ourselves together that night, my Livy.1 I didn’t badger him much, though, & showed no ill humor.
[
L
] I love you, [Livy.—]indeed I do love you, [LivyGood-night]—I love you beyond all expression, Livy—it is
strange I never thought to tell you before. But I do love
you, darling. [remainder
in ink]
Sunday—It rained this morning, & was muddy. I attended the Congregational church—Rev. Mr. Mason. He is florid & flowery, & full of talk, & very disjointed & incoherent. I never made out what he was driving at.2 You could have done it, just as unerringly as you unravel the marvelous ravings of old Mother Browning—now I beg pardon, Livy, with a kiss—you know I am learning to love Browning, but I can’t altogether help poking fun at her a little. I shall always have an affection for Browning because she exhibits your brains so well. It always makes me proud of you when you assault one of her impenetrable sentences & tear off its shell & bring its sense to light.3 Well, as I was saying, Mr. Mason talked, & talked, & talked, without rhyme or reason—but a[t] last he said something. He showed how trifling all the plans & thoughts & deeds of this summer-day’s life of ours were, & of how little real use, unless they were woven into a ladder to scale the heavens with—& how worse than frivolous it is to live only for this world & its [blessings. That ] started a train of thought—or rather it resurrected a train of thought which has been dwelling in my mind for many weeks, & growing more & more comprehensible & more & more tangible day by day. So the sermon was not lost. I don’t know whether I shall go to church again to-night or not. This is my ninth letter, & I have some more to write.4
I am about written out—but then this is St. Valentine’s Day, & I must give the greetings of the occasion to the darling little woman who has lifted the clouds from my firmament & made it glad with sunshine. I must lay at her feet a life which she has reclaimed from its waste & its worthlessness & made valuable; I must consecrate to her the worldly ambitions which were aimless till she gave them [ ob ] an object, a direction, a goal to be attained; I must offer a prayer for the dear heart that first taught my lips to pray; I must beseech Jesus to bless her who has so blessed me; I must take my noble Livy to my arms, & this day, of all days in the year, & swear to love, honor & cherish her, through joy & sorrow, through pleasure & pain, through sun & storm, & toil & scheme & labor for her, with hand & brain, by day & by night, all the years of my life, till the shadows of that evening whose sun rises only in eternity, shall close around me., & thicken into the long night of death. God shield you, & love you & bless you always, my darling!
You will see by the enclosed note from Gen. Hawley, that he [ w ] does not wish to say anything of a definite nature until he can consult with his partner, Mr. Warner.5 I look more & more favorably upon the idea of living in Hartford, & feel less & less inclined to wed my fortunes to a trimming, time-serving, policy-shifteding, popularity-hunting, money-grasping paper like the Cleveland Herald. It would change its politics in a minute, in order to be on the popular side, I think, & do a great many things for money which I wouldn’t do.6 These are hard things to say about a newspaper, but still I think them, & of course I am justified in saying things to you which it would not be right to say to anybody else. I would much rather have a mere comfortable living, in a high-principled paper like the Courant, than a handsome income from a paper of a lower standard, & so would you, Livy. Well, I shall reach Hartford during the last week in this month, no doubt, & then I will talk the matter all over with Gen. Hawley.
Oh, bother! I’m going to bed. I am not doing anything but thinking of you—& I can’t write about other things & think of you all the time, Livy. I could write about you, easy—quires & reams—& never get done; but to write to you, with only one subject in my head & that subject yourself, is impossible. I have the little picture on the table, & it looks on quietly, & never says a word, & don’t smile, or laugh, or offer me a kiss—but it is very pleasant, & comforting & companionable, for all that. It keeps my mind off my work, but I can see that it takes an interest in what I am doing, & so I love it & like to have it about. And better than all, I can never think an impure thought with that honored face before me—I would have to close the case before I could do that. It is my little guardian angel.
I take you to my loving arms in and kiss you fond [good-night ], my Livy.
Sam 7
Explanatory Notes | Textual Commentary
Source text(s):Previous publication:
L3, 94–97; LLMT, 357, brief paraphrase; MTMF, 71, 73, brief quotations.
Provenance:see Samossoud Collection, p. 586.
Emendations and textual notes:
able • ablele [corrected miswriting]
to-night • to-|night
to-morrow • to-|morrow
all the time • [heavily canceled]
L • [partly formed]
Livy.— • Livy.— |—[deletion of period implied]
Livy
Good-night •
Livy | Good-night
blessings. That • blessings.—|That
ob • [‘b’ partly formed]
w • [partly formed]
good-night • good-|night
