MY DEAR MARY,--You mistake much when you say you will not hear from me
after I have gone to my own home. I shall tell those who are dear to
me that I love them still. I feel to-day like a rising Phoenix.

Mr. Hawthorne has been here, looking like the angel of the Apocalypse,
so powerful and gentle. It seems as if I were realizing the dreams of
the poets in my own person. Just think of the felicity of showing him
my inscriptions with pencil and sculpturing-tool--and he so just and
severe a critic! He is far the best critic I ever had. The agent of
Heaven in this Concord plan was Elizabeth Hoar; a fit minister on such
an errand, for minister means angel of God. Her interest has been very
great in every detail. . . . Yours affectionately,

SOPHIA.

The following note is descriptive of the real happiness in the
marriage, which was felt and often uttered by friends:--

DEAR SOPHIA,--I am not much used to expressing to others what I feel
about them, but I will give way to the feeling which prompts me to
tell you how much I think about you now. An event like your marriage
with Mr. Hawthorne is, like the presence of a few persons in this
world, precious to me as an assurance of the good we all long for. I
do not know your husband personally, but I care for him so much that I
could well do the thought of him a passing reverence, like the young
man who, I was told, uncovered his head as he passed Mr. Hawthorne's
house. Perhaps you are too much absorbed to recognize now, even in
thought, the greeting of a friend; perhaps we shall meet very little
hereafter, as indeed we have hardly been intimate heretofore; but I