at your home, Sunday, Aug. 8, 1847.
Dearly beloved Henry,—I came here yesterday morning, and an monarch of all I survey; my right there is none to dispute.
I seize a moment in the 1111 of the grinding labor of committing my address to memory, to send you and Fanny a benediction.
I wander through the open rooms of your house, and am touched by and indescribable feeling of tenderness at the sight of those two rooms where we Have mused and mourned so often together.
Joy has washed from your mind those memories, but they cling to me still.
I looked at the place where stood the
extempore cot bedstead.
I hope that is preserved; if I ever have a home of my own, I shall claim it as an interesting memorial.
Then the places where we have sat and communed, and that window-seat,— all seemed to speak to me with soft voices.
Most sacred is that room to me,— more so, than any other haunt of my life.
2 I remember all your books as they then looked upon me gently from the shelves.
Have you forgotten the verses of
Suckling which we once read together?
I leave for Armherst on Tuesday, and shall be back on Friday.
Let me have a note for you or Fanny.
I wish I were not quite so sad as I am disposed to be.
Felton says my address is very fine.
How says it will astonish by its practical character.
It is more plain, less ornate, than the others.
Its title is “Fame and glory.”
I have said nothing, however, which your “Psalm of life” does not embody.
One touch upon your harp sounds louder and longer than all I can do.
Ever and ever thine,
C. S.