My Darling!—Your letter of the 8th & 9th is just come, & is the dearest, happiest letter that ever I received in all my life. [ I ] Why, it was like a grand, awakening, unexpected sunburst through a sky that had for many, many days seemed bright, after a fashion albeit its brightness was marred by airy mists scarce [noted, — ]but whose lustre is all at once discovered to have been vague & dim, con when thus suddenly contrasted with the fervent splendors that are flaming out of the Heavens. Bless your heart I would walk twenty miles for such a letter any time, my darling little wife. There isn’t a sad word in all your letter; nor a doubt; o nor a misgiving; nor a shade or shadow of unrest; nor of melancholy or dejection; nor of a passive love. But it is all life, & action; strong feeling; buoyancy; cheerfulness; hope, trust, confidence, belief; and a love that is not passive, but grows, [ exp ]—expands—reaches forward. And so the clouds are gone, & my Livy is happy. It does me more good to think of it than I can tell in words—it so lifts me up & fills all my being with a great contentment, that all my petty vexations fade away & are lost to sight. With all my heart & all my soul I bless you, Livy.
If I had not already been to Mrs. Hooker’s, I surely would drop everything (but my letter to my little sweetheart,) & start this moment. But don’t you see, Livy—I only wanted to be certain I would be treading on safe ground—that was all. My remembrances of my last visit there were still fresh, & were not entirely encouraging. And so I would rather have staid away always than have taken any chances. Under the same circumstances I would have intruded on you, I make no doubt—but then you have been necessary to me, just about ever since I saw you first, but the Hookers are not. And so, with them, I could afford to feel my way. I didn’t know how they had talked to Mr. Langdon, you unreasonable little thing!1 Livy, darling, you don’t know anything of the toiling, struggling, uncharitable outside world, & you can’t readily put yourself in my place. Why, in former years I have been pointedly snubbed & slighted many & many a time—& don’t you know, the necessary effect of that was to beget a habit of caution? Of course—it couldn’t be otherwise.
But when once [al ] body’s confidence is secured, the whole thing [ if is ] different—slights are not expected, then, & seldom discovered. I remember that in a dream, last night, even you snubbed me in the most cruel way—but in my simplicity it seemed perfectly proper & right. I thought I arrived at the side gate in a carriage, & walked around to the front of the house, by the pathway, & as I neared the front door I saw you run [ tw toward ] the drawing-room window, making gestures with your hands which I took to be gestures of gladness & welcome—for I was expecting the same! But alas,! they were w to warn me not to enter yet, because the [ phy- philosophy ] [ lette lesson ] was going on. I burst into the drawing-room door—but Mary stopped me & sent me to the library, & said you would come after a while. And as I went away I heard yours & professor Ford’s voices discussing the properties of light, & heat, & bugs.2 But upon my word I was only disappointed—not hurt, not offended. Why do you treat people that way in dreams, I want to know? Why can’t you behave yourself?
No, my own Livy, it was unpardonable thoughtlessness in me, to tell you that what you revealed about my first visit had touched me.3 It simply brought back to me my desperate temerity in venturing to locate myself for two weeks in a house where I was a stranger—& in what strong anxiety & dread I was sometimes, lest ‸that‸ some humiliation might w visit me in my defenceless position. But you were the magnet, & I could not depart from the influence. It seems impossible that even the faintest slight could have escaped [ me my ] notice during that [ forn fortnight ]—& yet not‸withstanding‸ [ on ] I must have annoyed all of you pretty often, I have no remembrance of ever having seen [ in it ] in any of your faces or your manner. So don’t you bother about that first visit, Livy dear. But for that remark of yours, I would always have fancied I was quite a pleasant addition to the family circle at that time! And but for my stupid remark about your remark, my own precious Livy would have been spared her temporary distress of mind on her first page. So I apologize, Livy—you are not to do [it. You ] close with a remark, though, that comes home to us both—the results of that visit. I am so glad I made it that there are not words enough in the whole language to express it. I will make it my business to forget that it ever caused you [ um uneasiness ], & remember only that it gave me my [darting ],4 my matchless, my beautiful Livy.—my best friend, my wise helpmeet, my teacher of the Better Way—my wife.
Livy, Livy, Livy dear, I did write the letters—but how could I dare hope, then, that you would ever care to read them? And so they are destroyed. ‸And I am very, very sorry, Livy, since you are.‸ I was [ ide idle ] pa every day ‸night‸ & part of every day, then, & could write you to my heart’s content—yet ever since I have been privileged to send letters to you after they are written, I get no time, scarcely. It is well for you, my dear, that it is so—for I guess I would just flood you with letters., if I had a chance. Mrs. Hooker said I must not let you write me oftener than about [ o ] twice a week, because writing was such confining & tiresome work—& [ o ] I said I would most willingly have it so, if it would save you from labor & weariness, but that I must be allowed to hold to my jealously to my privilege of writing you every time I had a chance.
I do like [“Grandmam,” ] but it is hard to talk to her, because sometimes she don’t hear—& it is not easy to find subjects that she takes a lively interest in—& moreover, that after [ you say ‸ one says ‸ ‸you say‸ ] something to her, there is such an awful season of suspense ensues before you can tell whether your shot took effect or not. But [ sh ] we shall get better acquainted.5 It isn’t any hardship to talk to any other member of the family, I am precious certain of that—even that splendid cub of a Charlie, whom I think all the world of.
I am so sorry Hattie Lewis is gone. When is she coming back? I will bring her trunk from the depôt myself.
The printers are so slow about those pictures, that I shall have to bring them, I expect. I have only read thirty pages of proof, so far, & shall read fifty or sixty today or to-morrow (& then leave town). So you see, you’ll have to help read some five or six hundred pages. Oh, I’ll make you useful! You are just as ornamental as ever you can be—all you need is to be useful.
I am not all afraid of the Hookers, now—dine there [to-night ]. Woe! woe! [WOE ]! you blessed little rascal!
How I do love you, Livy! You engaging little scold! I drove you to it at last—& I do love to hear you c scold! But they shan’t pity my I Livy—I won’t have it. I’ll cultivate them with all my might. I’ll fascinate them—I’ll absolutely fascinate them! They shall honor you always.
Of course they abused me for taking you away from them—everybody does [ that. But ] I [ glory ] like it—I glory in it. I wouldn’t want people to say: “Well, thank goodness, he has taken her out of the way!” No—I like to be envied—just as the groups of men used to when I drove you out in the buggy, & the vision of your faultless face rose upon them. Happy dog I was! For I was & am so proud of you, my Livy!
Only five days after this, & I shall clasp my darling in my arms! How I do love you, Livy!
Good-bye—with a kiss of reverent honor & another of deathless affection—and—Hebrews [ xiii ]—20, 21.6
Yours forever—
Sam.
‸Excuse mistakes, Livy—no time to read this over.‸
P. S.—I go to Boston [to-morrow ], at Nasby’s request, to spend two days with him & the [literary ] lions of the “Hub.”7 Monday night I leave there for New York—lecture Tuesday in Newtown, … the—very—next—evening, I spurn the U. S. Mail & bring my kisses to my darling myself!
Miss Olivia L. Langdon | Elmira | New York. [postmarked:] [hartford]conn. mar 13 [docketed by OLL:] 54th
Explanatory Notes | Textual Commentary
never been able, therefore, to make herself a
composite part of this or any family. One generation cometh, another
goeth. It is very high praise to say that this, which she could not
approve, but which could not be changed, she bore and sometimes
criticised with a humor that was almost a pleasure. Power and
progress swept on, and she stood as by a river side declaring that
things were slipping from under her,—not saying it
unkindly, but in a way that amused them about her. (Thomas Kinnicut Beecher 1873,
1, 6–10)
Source text(s):Previous publication:
L3, 161–165; LLMT, 9, 83–84, 358, excerpts and brief paraphrase.
Provenance:see Samossoud Collection, p. 586.
Emendations and textual notes:
12 • [doubtful ‘132’; ‘3’ partly formed]
I • [partly formed]
noted, — • [deletion implied]
exp • [‘p’ partly formed]
al • [partly formed ‘l’; possibly ‘t’ or ‘b’]
if is • ifs
tw toward • twoward
phy- philosophy • ph‸ilos-‸ y- |ophy
lette lesson • lettesson
me my • mey
forn fortnight • forntnight [‘n’ partly formed]
on • [‘n’ partly formed]
in it • int [‘n’ partly formed]
it. You • it.—|You
um uneasiness • umnea-|siness
darting • [sic]
ide idle • idele [‘e’ partly formed]
o • [partly formed, possibly ‘a’]
o • [partly formed, possibly ‘a’]
“Grandmam,” • [‘m’ partly formed]
you say ‸ one says ‸ ‸you say‸ • you ‸ one ‸ ‸you‸ say‸ s ‸
sh • [‘h’ partly formed]
to-night • to-|night
WOE • [‘Woe’ underscored three times]
that. But • that.—|But
glory • [‘y’ partly formed]
xiii • [small capitals simulated, not underscored]
to-morrow • to-|morrow
literary • literary literary [corrected miswriting]
hartford • har [tfo] rd [stamped off edge of envelope]
