I have suffered only for you, in my babydom. You ought not to
be obliged to undergo the wear and tear of the nursery; it is contrary
to your nature and your mood. You were born to muse, and through
undisturbed dreams to enlighten the world. Una mourns for you. "Oh, I
must go home to see my papa! Oh, when are we going to Salem?" Her
little heart has enough of mine in it to feel widowed without you.
Julian does not walk yet; but he understands everything, and talks a
great deal.
There was a sharp contrast between Mrs. Hawthorne's earlier life of
intercourse with trooping, charming friends, and devotion to art and
literature, and the toils of motherhood in poverty which now absorbed
her days. She refers to this new order of existence with joyful
patience in the following letters to Mrs. Peabody:--
SALEM, September, 1848.
Dora Golden [Julian's nurse] takes this to you. She deferred her
visit to Boston for my convenience, because Mr. Hawthorne thought of
going to Temple, to visit General Miller; but he did not go. Mr.
Hawthorne will contribute to Elizabeth's book, but not for pay. Mary
Chase took Una and me to Nahant to see Rebecca Kinsman at her cottage.
It was a dear little nest, on the brow of a hill commanding the
boundless sea. Una flew around like a petrel; only that her hair
floated golden in the sunshine, and the petrel's feathers are gray.
You are quite right; I am so happy that I require nothing more. No art
nor beauty can excel my daily life, with such a husband and such
children, the exponents of all art and beauty.
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