Letter 83 - May 29th, 1842
My dearest Abagail,
I should hope my words now reside in that deep place hitherto vacant and sorrowful. My thoughts were written with the sincerest of observations and sentiments; I adore the drawing, and the likeness of that heaven-sent fowl who visits your window. There is a kindred melancholy I feel whenever studying your illustration. It is one, perhaps, that has haunted us both. During my boyhood, you see, it was my wont to secretly write poems in my bedchamber—though I always cast them in the fireplace, never wanting any prying eye to scrutinize my midnight contemplations.
Love, yours, who wishes he could dry your sleeves with his own,
William
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