Hartford, March 13.
It lacks something of [midnight ], yet—& so there is time at least to say—I love you, Livy, bless your dear old heart.
“And all my life shall lift its hands
In earnest longing toward thy face”1—
The sweetest face that ever turned the cares of life to trifles & its ills to blessings—& the dearest girl, withal, that ever made man look back upon his life & say “Of what use was this [blank?— ] what was the object of [it?— ] was [ this that ] person that lived s that life, & this that lives this new, ampler, grander, happier life, the same person?” It looks so preposterous. How did I ever live without you, Livy? You darling!
I have just answered Mother Fairbanks’ letter, and tried to comfort her in her new misfortune. It seems too bad that after all her trouble & bother & labor in reinstating her household gods & restoring her pleasant home, this new calamity should come, & lay waste the work of her hands.
Why didn’t you put in just a word in Charlie’s letter, you precious Livy? But you would have done it if you had known I was not to hear from you for four whole days—I know you would. If I had only had sense enough to write tell you to write me at the Everett ‸Astor‸ House in New York, I could have got it on [ Monday ] Tuesday.2 Never mind, though—you have been a dear, faithful, generous little correspondent, & are entitled to a [rest. But ] what a vexatious darling it is!—to send me a Beecher sermon, with never a pencil mark in it.3 That isn’t any way to do, honey. I tore off the envelop & looked all the way through it, hunting for some sign or footprint of Livy—but not a mark was there, & I was so disappointed. But I forgive you—I could forgive you anything. Just so you love me, that is sufficient. If it had been marked, I would have dropped my work & read it at once—couldn’t have finished my work in time, then—couldn’t have gone to Boston. Did you have a premonition of that, I wonder? It is all the better, though, as it is. To-morrow will be Sunday, & then I can read it. It is a good girl.
I have examined proofs of some eighty engravings, so far, & like all of them but one. I sent you half a dozen or so this morning—would have sent them all if they would let me. Several of the little views are handsome. Some proof sheets will doubtless reach Elmira before I do. Open the package if you choose, little Curiosity, for you have just as much authority to do it as I have, & I want you to feel that way, & know it—but don’t show them to anybody else, ‸till I come,‸ because to acknowledge the plain truth, I am fully as sensitive about having an article of mine seen in proof, as I could be to have my ordinary m friendly letters in Manuscript read by strangers. But with you it is different—I haven’t the slightest possible sensitiveness on that score with you—you are part of me—you are myself—& I would no more be troubled by your looking over my shoulder than it would embarrass me to look over my own shoulder. So, just read whatever you please, Livy darling, & make yourself entirely at home—plunge your dainty fingers into my affarirs just as much as you want to—& the more you do it the more you’ll delightt me (with two t’s, you mutineer). They [ m ] wanted to make a portrait of me—steel engraving—for a frontispiece; but I naturally objected—refused, rather; that is a sort of impertinent intrusion upon the public that suits should be left to the patent-medicine gentry.
Charlie writes that he has bought a horse that I can’t drive. Well! I’d like to see the horse that I can’t drive. I But if I can’t really drive that horse, what are we going to do, Livy? I don’t like to ask Charlie to do such a thing, but then I don’t see any other way—so when we ride out he will have to walk, & lead the horse. I know it is hard, but it is his own fault, for buying such a beast.4
Had a really pleasant time at Mrs. Hooker’s last night, Twichell & I. I do like Mr. Jno. Hooker—he is splendid.—& I think a good deal of Mrs & Miss Hooker, too. I showed them the little picture., & the first thing Miss Alice said, was: “Why she has a ribbon on her hair—I thought she never wore them.” I said “it was a fancy you had acquired lately, & I thought it a very comely one.” And indeed it is. My darling hardly seems in full dress, now, without her ribbon.5
Mrs. Hooker advanced some theology which [startled ] me—but it did more than that with Twichell—it troubled him, exceedingly. It was a reference to some vague expression in Peter which Mrs. H. construed to mean that Christ preached, & still preaches to the souls in purgatory6—& in it she found authority for believing that those that die suddenly, & all of us, in fact, have another opportunity, hereafter, of compassing salvation. She quoted also the remark to the thief on the cross, about supping with him in “Paradise” (one of whose meanings is equivalent to our term “purgatory.”)7
Twichells was so distressed about it that he was at my bedside soon this morning, & remained a long time urging me to search the Scriptures for myself, & not let one or two vague speeches of the Apostles lift themselves up & overshadow the [ vol ] vast array of evidence which the Testament offers plainly, forcibly & directly in opposition to the doctrines which they seem to promulgate.
I satisfied him that I was not given to taking firm & final hold of things without due deliberation, & that what Mrs. H. had said was not likely to leave a permanent & damaging impression. Good fellow, Twichell is, & faithful & true.—[whole-hearted ]—magnificent. I love him. I gave him all your loving messages to himself & his household idols, & received fervent ones to you in return. He wants us to spend the summer vacation with him & Mrs. T. in the Adirondacks. Said we would, if Mr. & Mrs. Langdon would go, & you were willing. He has been there—last summer—& is perfectly infatuated with the place.
And here I talk, talk, talk—because I can’t let my Livy go [ when ]—want to talk to her all the time—& the first thing I know, that train8 [will ] waltz along & leave me.
Time’s nearly up—take my kiss & my blessing, you worshipped darling, whom I so love & honor.
Always Yours
Sam.
P.S. I love you Livy. I love you will all my might. And next Wednesday9 I shall see you—hasten the day!
Miss Olivia L. Langdon | Elmira | New York. [postmarked:] hartford conn. mar 14
[docketed by OLL:] 
10
56thExplanatory Notes | Textual Commentary
Source text(s):Previous publication:
L3, 171–175; LLMT, 83, 358, brief paraphrases; MTMF, 82, brief excerpt.
Provenance:see Samossoud Collection, p. 586.
Emendations and textual notes:
midnight • mid-|night
blank?— • blank?—|—
it?— • it?—|—
this that • thisat
Monday • [‘y’ partly formed]
rest. But • rest.— |But
m • [possibly ‘w’ or ‘n’]
startled • [possibly ‘starteled’]
vol • [possibly ‘wh’ with ‘h’ partly formed]
whole-hearted • whole-|hearted
when • [possibly ‘where’]
will • [sic]
