A letter from Mrs. Bridge, which does not mention the year, is a specimen of many similar ones from other friends:—
PHILADELPHIA, July 1.
MY DEAR MRS. HAWTHORNE,—I heard yesterday by way of Africa that you had not received a note which I left at the Winthrop House for you last summer. You must have thought me very neglectful. I should have acknowledged the receipt of any book you might have sent me; but most sincerely did I thank you for that which had given me so much pleasure. I remember very distinctly my past knowledge of Mr. Hawthorne as an author, and the bitter tears I shed over "The Gentle Boy." When I had read it until I thought myself quite hardened to its influence, I offered to read it to our dear old nurse, who had been the patient listener to the whole family for many a year. I prided myself upon my nursery reputation for stoicism, which I should lose if my voice faltered. I was beginning to doubt my ability to get calmly through the next page, when the old lady exclaimed, in such a truly yet ludicrously indignant tone, "Dretful creturs!" that I had a fair right to laugh while she wiped the tears off of her spectacles. The time gained placed me on a firmer footing, and I got safely through thereby. I enjoy Mr. Hawthorne's writings none the less now that I can laugh and cry when I am inclined. Will you give him my kindest regards. He is very often mentioned by Mr. Bridge, who, by the way, goes to the Mediterranean in September. I hope to join him there.
With much regard, truly yours,
C. M. BRIDGE.
Promptly, in their hour of misfortune, arrived a letter from one of
Mrs. Hawthorne's dearest friends, which I give here:—
STATEN ISLAND, September 10, 1849.
Thank you, my dear Sophia, for your letter. I have been thinking a great deal of you lately, and was glad to know of your plans. Before I heard from you, I had expended a great amount of indignation upon "General Taylor" and his myrmidons, and politics and parties, and the whole host of public blessings which produce private misfortunes. I am glad you are going to Lenox, because it is such a beautiful place, and you have so many warm friends there. Life is a pretty sad affair, dear Sophia; at least, I find it so. . . . We have felt, that Bob [Colonel Robert Shaw] required to be removed from home influences, as he has no brothers; and, being unwilling to send him to a school of the usual order, we chose the Jesuit College at Fordham, near New York, where there are a hundred and fifty boys, and a great many holy fathers to teach and take care of them. I inclose a check from Frank, which he hopes Mr. Hawthorne will accept as it is offered, and as lie would do if the fate had been reversed. He does not ask you to accept his gift,—so pay it back when you don't want it, here or hereafter, or never. I only wish it was a thousand. Dear Sophia, when I think of such men as your husband, Page, and some others, so pinched and cramped for this abominable money, it makes me outrageous. If it were one of those trials that do people good, it would be bearable; but it kills one down so. Shakespeare felt it when he said:—
"Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, As, to behold desert
a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity."
God bless you, dear Sophia,—as He has, notwithstanding General
Taylor. Believe me ever most affectionately your friend, S. B. S.