[I.J.Martin note: First letter in the
collection written after engagement.]
December 21, 10 o'clock p.m.
My Dear Rose:
I promised Mrs. Link to bring you to the hotel after the festival tomorrow
evening to play euchre but Mr. Peadro informs me that we will be invited
to go to Mr. Patterson's. Of course we must go there. It is rather late
and I know you will excuse me from writing a long letter. A passage of poetry
comes to my mind and though I hardly ever make quotations, I will use this
one. I shall put it on the next page as there is not room on this one. And
now please to come to the festival with the understanding that we go from
there to the party. I suppose no one will object to our attending the festival
first.
I must ask again to be excused from writing a long letter as it is getting very late and I grow weary when not cheered by your presence; besides the pen is such a poor instrument to express feeling. Eyes, lips and finger tips are better mediums.I admit you are handsome--but still I should guess,
That others are handsome as you;
I have heard you called charming, but you must confess
That all things we hear are not true.
You think me the slave of your charms; I allow
That in graces but few are above you;
Yet charming and fair as I see you, I vow
That--I cannot deny it--I love you!
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I expect your affection to be calmer than mine for I confess that I love you with all the strength of my nature.Ours, too, the glance none saw beside,
The smile none else could understand,
The whispered thoughts of hearts allied,
The pressure of the thrilling hand.
No achievement that the future may have in store for me would be of any value without you to share its blessings. My youthful dreams are again swaying my mind and though they are not so extravagant as at first, they take upon them a rosier hue.
But I must close.
My dear, I am
Devotedly yours,
Ivory J. Martin
December 22, 9 a.m.
p.s. I have heard no more about the party this evening. If they do not have it we can spend the evening at the hotel.
Yours as before,
Ivory
December 23, 1885
My Dear Rose:
I think I can get so far along with my work that I can make a longer call than I thought of doing this evening. Since thinking the matter over, I believe that our leaving the party last evening was rather unfortunate. I am convinced that nothing was intended by filling up a progressive euchre set and leaving us out. We would better say nothing about it to outside parties, and remember, my dear, that we must not sacrifice friends by our rashness even if we do feel that we have a grievance. I am not scolding, because I know about what your feelings were. I only wish to caution you a little. I had a talk with Mr. Patterson this morning and told him that the reason we left was that you
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were feeling so badly because of your reflections over our unpleasantness. He said that he had thought that was the trouble.
But this evening I hope we shall have plenty of time to talk about it. You need not answer as the boy is on his way to school, unless you have a chance to send it some other way.
Yours devotedly,
Ivory
December 26, 1885
My Dear Rose:
Our friends seem to be assisting us in our or my desire for frequent meetings. I shall come down this evening for the purpose of taking you and Emma to Mr. Cummins. I don't know whether they intended to send you an invitation or whether they expected my note to answer for that purpose. We must go prepared to stay until the party are ready to go home.
My dear, you can't imagine how proud I felt last evening while we were playing; and how I wondered if any one else could interpret the ardent glances that I cast at my cherished partner in the game. I know it is unnecessary to tell you my feelings. You know my love well enough but then I could not restrain myself were I to try to do so.
The only effort I shall make is to keep in bounds of propriety. Propriety is a cold word, but I shall not give it a very strong definition.
It shall not smother a single expression of love that I can make without a vigorous protest from me.
My dear, I am forever yours.
Ivory J. Martin
December 26, 1885
My Dear Ivory,
Mrs. Cummins invited us this morning and I have been looking for your note. Yes we will go and be prepared to stay till the last one is gone home, if that is all night. Emma regrets that she cannot attend on account of a very bad cold.
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You know well how glad I am to receive such a kind good note. I have thought ever since the last party at Mr. Patterson's that I was unworthy of so much happiness, but you always excuse my faults. And I am so grateful, but then I pay it all back in love.
Yours,
Rose
December 29, 1885
My Dear Rose:
I wish I could begin my note by using a more endearing address. But I am compelled to use the common place terms that are employed by others whose love is not half so strong as mine. I try to infuse the warmth I feel into my notes, but they always seem cold and passionless no matter what I say.
But, as I have said before, you know my heart and I don't think you doubt my love, notwithstanding the uneasiness that you sometimes express. Would that I could give you a proof so strong that your mind would never be harassed again by a single doubt, but then I would lose the pleasure of reassuring you of my constancy.
My darling, I never loved any one but you and you need not fear that I every will. I have known what fancy is; and I have since felt a passionate yearning for something to fill the vacancy in my affections; but I did not know what thrilling joy such a possession would afford. I have had a taste of heaven and while I may reasonably expect that the future has many discouragements for me, I feel that I can meet them bravely without any fear of being overwhelmed.
I don't know where I saw this poetry. I never read it but once, and never perceived its truth and beauty until it began to uncoil itself from my trailing pen. Yes, "We'll stand by each other, however it blow."Let come the rough weather, come wind or come snow,
We'll stand by each other, however it blow;
And sunshine and darkness, pleasure and pain,
Will be to our true love as links to a chain.
But I wanted to tell you that we have been invited to attend the supper at the Masonic hall tomorrow evening. Shall we go?
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I shall come down early, but we may not start till late. I want you to write me a long letter and put in the mails tomorrow morning. I think you will have plenty of time to do so. The boys are shrieking for copy and I will have to close this note in order to supply them. I have half a notion to hand it to them and let them print it. I expect that in my ecstasy sometime I shall commit some act of madness like that. But then you know that I shall never do anything to embarrass you. Or at least you think you know it. I shall see you tomorrow evening; till then, GoodbyeYou need not answer, your confession speaks
Already reddening in your blushing cheeks.
Ivory J. Martin
December 30, 1885
My Dear Ivory,
Your letter received yesterday has been read many times, and if you could have seen the happiness which I felt shining out of my brown eyes, you would have thought brown eyes were good for something after all. And perhaps you would have smiled at me. But I love to see you smile--I can see you, my dearest friend, all the time--you are present in my thoughts till I almost imagine you are right here.
I have thought so often during the last two weeks of the future--its discouragements--its pleasures.
Let come the rough weather, etc.
We'll stand by each other, etc.
If we meet with misfortunes, then I can give another proof of my love and devotion--for nothing can change me--only let me love you--life is not worth living without that. What a happy home we will have! For you will be there and I need your help so much in all the future for I am not brave enough to stand alone and fight life's battles all by myself, without anyone to care for me. I wish it were tonight now, for I want to see you right away.
I intended writing to you last night, but Mr. Pike called for me to go over to Mr. McDonald's, so we did not get home until after eleven,
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and as you know I don't keep late hours usually. I was too sleepy to write--strange to say. I could not help thinking of you while we were playing. I hope our friends had a good time at Mr. Harbaugh's--I am glad Mr. Peadro does not desert us, and I like him because he likes you--and because he doesn't think so unkind of me as some others. Bonnie says "mew," "mew"--that means give him my love.
I wanted to go calling yesterday, but Mrs. Cummins spent the day with us and we had such a good time. I shall go the first pretty day. Please don't forget and give this to the boys for copy--but I know you won't. I think I know a great many things, but I am certain of a few--my own dear Ivory. You know me so well--I need not write any more. I almost forgot to say that I shall be ready to go to the supper this evening, and will look for you early.
Yours,
Rose
December 30, 1885
My Dear:
I am suffering so much with a sore throat and head-ache this morning that I do not believe I shall be able to go out this evening. I would come down anyway, but I know you will excuse me. If I do not see you before, you may expect me next Saturday evening to attend the Shakespearian reading. If, however, I feel well enough, I shall come down this evening for, really, I should like to attend the supper; but do not be disappointed if I do not come, because I do not expect to be able to do so.
My Dear, it is on such mornings as this that I feel my need of you the most keenly. Your love is an inestimable treasure but you are a greater one; when I have both, my happiness will be complete.
Yours devotedly,
Ivory J. Martin
December 31, 1885
My Dear Ivory,
Can't you write me a few lines and tell me how you are? I will go down to the office this afternoon for an answer. I know you are real
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sick this morning and I want to tell you again to be sure and send for a physician, and stay at home till you get well. Now I have given my orders and you must obey.
I am impatient to hear from you today--hoping you have improved since last night.
I am, Yours with love, Rose
December 31, 1885
My Dear Rose:
I was somewhat surprised on receiving a note from you this morning, but it was a very natural thing for you to do and it pleased me very much. The medicine I took last night I think will work a perfect cure. Love's honey balsam cures all diseases. I assure you that I am almost well today. If you had let me stay until eleven o'clock, I think I should have forgotten that I had been sick. Aside from a little cold and a somewhat irritating cough, I am all right again.
My dear, would it not be as easy to come to the Progress office to see how I am as to go to the post office for a letter. Of course, I do not expect you to do so, but I thought I would give you something to think about. Well, the boy is ready to start to the office and I must close. You can imagine a great many pretty things that I would say if I had time, for my love never felt stronger than it does now. My Dear, how many times am I compelled to say,
Goodbye,
Ivory J. Martin
January [?], 1886
My Dear Rose:
Are you going to church this evening? You must tell me what you would have done had you not received this. I will not excuse you if you allow my note to change your plans.
Yours truly,
Ivory J. Martin
(Page 30)
January 5, 1886
My Dear Rose:
I will call down a few minutes this evening trusting that it will be agreeable. I shall come for only a short call and trust you to make me carry out my intentions. And as you may like short letters as well as short calls and as my time is very limited, I shall have to close my note. The last reason is the one I act upon, as you know I do not regard your preferences in the other.
Yes, "brown eyes are good for something," especially those of my darling when,
But I promised to quit and so I will not impose upon your patience further.Her hair lies in waves and rings,
And kisses lie on her lips like dew;
And her eye-lids, like an angels wings
Half hide the love light shining through.
My Dear
I am devotedly yours,
I.J. Martin
January 6, 1886
My Dear Rose:
I have plenty of work to do this evening, but I am determined to discharge my duties toward you before all things else. I would like to see you tonight but I know that I must practice a little self-denial in this respect. I have been troubled ever since I left you last evening, not from any feeling of having done anything intrinsically wrong; but from a consciousness of having been offensive or displeasing to you.
My Dear, I have not a single thought that is not loyal to you and I shall be more thoughtful in the future and guard myself against doing or saying anything that will be embarrassing or displeasing to you. I did not misunderstand you. I know you blamed yourself and, if you only knew it, my dear, that is the surest way to bring me to terms. I
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shall defend you against yourself as strenuously as I would against anyone else.
I have thought, since, that one little innocent remark that I made caused all your uneasiness. My dear, you must learn that I never do or say anything with the intention of being unkind to you and that any interpretation of unkindness is unjust to me as well as cruel to yourself.
You asked me if I were easily offended; I said no, but that I was easily disgusted. I then said that that was not exactly the word I should use. I meant that I was apt to become indifferent with respect to persons who were so peevish as to be troublesome. I had in mind at the time one of our friends who has recently given me a great deal of annoyance in that way. But you thought that I meant you. My dear, how could you think so? I never thought of your so interpreting it until today when the idea flashed through my mind. I think I shall be half-afraid to say anything in your presence again lest it should be capable of bearing some terrible construction. You must promise me that you will not attribute such a cruel import to my remarks.
I had almost forgotten that you were unwell yesterday evening. I suppose you will be discreet enough to take some of the medicine that you have been prescribing for me. At any rate I hope you are getting well.
I understand that you are to have services at the church next Sunday morning and evening. If you think best, I can defer my call until Monday or Tuesday evening. You know it would not do to invite censure from your brethren by staying away from church. I am sure that I do not want you to do so.
I have, in previous notes, almost exhausted my vocabulary of endearing phrases and I am glad that they are exhausted for they were inadequate to express the thoughts which prompted their use. But you know my heart as well as I do myself, for I have laid it open before you time after time, and I know you have read the message it bears. It is not simply a mirror to reflect your image; it is a canvas on which your portrait is indelibly engraved. It has not been subjected to a score of erasures to make room for its new idol. It is entirely a different organ from the one I possessed eight years ago, composed of new tissue and new affections. And in its freshness I have dedicated it to your service and it shall never be moved by any desire which is inconsistent
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with your happiness. I firmly believe, yes I positively know, that my happiness depends upon yours.
I hope you will answer my letter as soon as it is convenient, and write me a good long letter and do not hesitate to introduce any subject about which you have anything to say, no matter whether I have mentioned it or not.
I should like to see you a little more outspoken in your opinions, because I know they are worth expressing.
Yours devotedly,
Ivory J. Martin
January 7, 1886
My Dear Ivory,
I love to receive your dear letters. I have just finished reading the one you wrote last night. As I am not well enough to go out of the house today, it is a pleasure to spend some of the time writing to you who are in my thoughts all of the time. Yesterday I was real sick and my head was full of all sorts of fancies and dreams, and Tuesday night I had a good dream, as you may imagine--so you can't think I was displeased with you.
My dear one, I was only afraid you might lose faith in me, and I could brave anything now except the loss of your love, which is so precious to me because I never before realized the happiness of having a true loving friend--one to whom I could give all of my heart without any doubts. And it is my delight to tell you so and express my feelings in all of my actions, which you must try to put up with since it gives me so much pleasure and doesn't hurt you much. You must express your thoughts freely to me for I believe nothing could make me take it unkindly unless you would convince me yourself. Sometime you will know me so well you will find out that I have great faith in what you do and say, and almost think it gospel. That reminds me of church Sunday evening. Yes "I ought to go" now that we have a new preacher and you were thoughtful to suggest it. Monday evening is a long time off--if you think best, come before Sunday evening--if not, come on Monday evening.
Your letter does me so much good. Mother prescribed for me yes-
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terday and I am much better now, but Emma makes me stay right by the fire. Emma is going down town and I want to send this by her so I write in haste--and this I know is a poor answer to your good letter. I hope to see you before next week.
I shall read the Progress now and as Emma is waiting will say adieu from one who loves you.
Rose Eden
January 8, 1886
My Dear Rose:
I was gratified to receive so prompt a reply to my note yesterday, but sorry to learn that you were so poorly. I did not expect an answer yesterday and so I did not go to the office in the afternoon until late. When I unlocked my box, I found it full of papers, letters, circulars, etc., and I began to feel a weariness in contemplating the task of disposing of so much mail. I began to lift it out, one package at a time until I reached your note about the middle of the box, sandwiched between two huge bundles of circulars. I don't think any one noticed the change that came over me for it was getting dark in the room. I did not spend much time inspecting the rest of the mail, but gathered it all up and started for the office. That little note had leavened and lightened the whole pack, and I never disposed of a lot of mail more cheerfully. I think I spent more time perusing your note than it took to dispense with all the rest, and I did not neglect any of it either. I devoted as much time to these as such commonplace matters should demand.
But I forgot to tell you the reason I am writing this morning. I am anxious to hear from you. A kind of ominous dread prompts me to think that you are much worse than you intimated in your note. You must let me know how you are every day until I see you. Be sure not to disappoint me. I would come down this evening or tomorrow evening, but I think I would better not until you get well. However, if you get very ill, I do not think that anything on earth can keep me away from you.
So there are two ways in which you can manage to see me--get well or get worse. If this snow-storm continues, you must get better fast, for I may need you soon. But then I need you all the time.
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I saw your cousin this morning and tried to signal him to come up to the office but he did not see me. Mr. Birdsall of Bethany was in the office, and as he was just starting down, he said he would send him up; but I think he lost him in the crowd. I hardly know what I wanted to see him for unless it was because he had seen you since I had. I would have certainly asked him how you were and that would have been excuse enough for calling him up. But if he had said that you are better, I would not have believed him, and I don't think I should believe it from you unless you protest it twice; then I shall know it is true.
Why is it that sometimes a person is so very slow to believe that which he is the most anxious to think is true? But then fear has as much influence over one's belief as inclination has. I know this is not a very brave view of the matter, but it is a truthful one, and you know what a stickler I am for truth. I have no use for the draperies and coverings of falsehood and deception. Those "who live together or hide apart," would be happier if the face were always the mirror of thought instead of a deceptive curtain to dissemble the workings of the mind. I believe in revelation, especially between those who love and trust each other. You see by my scoring that I think it is possible to love without fully trusting the object of affection. This is an idea that I had long before I met you. It may be erroneous for I have had no experience lately to verify the opinion.
I have just discovered that this is a very different kind of letter from those that I have been writing. But then you must not think that I have changed in the least. I was just in a more philosophical mood this morning, that was all. But I do not believe that you are very fond of philosophy, especially my realistic philosophy, but then you must remember that you are to put up with my eccentricities as well as with my pleasant qualities, if I have any.
But I am about to form a collision with the head of my note. Then it will be an endless note and will answer for a symbol of my love, but then all my notes do that.
Write each day and do not wait for me to reply.
Yours devotedly,
Ivory J. Martin
(Page 35 )
January 9, 1886
My Dear Ivory,
The first question I asked Will Eden on his return home yesterday evening was, "Is there a letter for me?" (in an innocent way), and notwithstanding my hope for one, I was happily surprised on receiving it. Before writing any more, please let me apologize for this poor paper. I have neglected getting any lately and so borrowed this.
I have not felt so badly for a long time as during the last three days--the family insisted on my having a Doctor. Dr. Goodell for instance--but I wouldn't. This is the first day I have felt better, and now I am looking forward to Monday evening and seeing you.
You say "write every day and don't wait for a reply." What selfishness! Don't I want to hear from you too?
This is not very beautiful weather, but it will please me if we don't have any sleighing right away for I could not go--that isn't selfish is it? You might take Miss Lowe. I was thinking of that--the last few lines of your letter were just like you, so of course they pleased me. Your philosophy is good; write some more, and I will be more philosophical myself hereafter.
I am dependant on someone to take this to the office this blistery day (is there such a word as that?) and as Will is going down right away, I shall only write a short note -- hoping you are having a good time and wishing you every good wish, I will write no more today.
Yours ever,
Rose Eden
Eden House, January 10, 1886
My Dear Rose:
Good morning. How do you feel? You are quite sure that your improvement is not only imaginary, wrought by "fiery expectation's dower"? Or possibly I have anticipated a wrong answer and you are worse instead of better this morning. I hope for the best and fear the worst, but your answer must not be too cheerful for the facts, for you know that I want the truth no matter how disappointing it may be.
You misunderstood me when I said to "write every day and not wait for reply." You know that we must both write in the forenoon to
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be sure of the note's reaching its destination on the same day--that is, we would both write a note in the morning and receive one in the afternoon. If you had written on Friday, as I did, then I would have written one yesterday morning and you would have received it in the afternoon as I did yours. But I began to conclude that possibly you thought I was meddling a little more than my legitimate business gave me a right or privilege of doing. I had not heard from you since Thursday and had determined that if I heard nothing yesterday, I would call last evening to see what was the matter. You intimate that I have no greater reason for wanting to hear from you than you have from me, and that my anxiety in regard to you is prompted by selfish motives. To save you from worrying over the matter, I will hasten to say that I know you did not mean it in that way. Neither do I wish to see any good sleighing until you are able to ride out, for it would be provoking to me to see others enjoying so much pleasure that was denied me. But I want you to get well anyway. However, you need not let your jealousy be an incentive to your improvement for I am as loyal in sickness, ay, in death, as I am in health.
I have many faults but treason or disloyalty is not among them. Do you think it is? I know you do not. But don't you think I would better not call tomorrow evening? Much as I would like to see you, I do not wish to do so at the expense of your health. If you are as unwell as I think you are, I know it would be unwise to receive evening calls. Of course it is unnecessary to advise you not to go to church. If your judgment is the same as my suspicion that you will not be well enough tomorrow evening to receive me, we can leave the appointment open, and I can come down the first evening we think it advisable.
You say that my "last lines were so like me," etc. My dear, you leave yourself open to attack so often in your letters, but then you know that my attacks are always made in fun. Of course you did not mean to say that the body of my letter was unlike myself. But I feel that this letter is rather cold and business like; but then my heart is as warm as ever, if I am unable to infuse any warmth into my message.
I wish I could see you for a few moments that I might give you fresh proof of my fervent affection. I feel that I have no desire or ambition that is not subordinate to my wish to promote your happiness so far as lies in my power. And if I ever long for more power and
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strength, it will be for the purpose of enabling me to better show my devotion to you. I find myself repeating the same story only in different words. You know that I love you and it is useless for me to protest it every day. It would certainly be unnecessary if I could see you oftener for there is more expression in one look of a true lover than there is in a volume of letters.
But I must close this note and go down stairs and find a way to take it to you. If I knew that Mr. Baker would call on you today, I might induce him to take it. No matter whom I send it by, I want you to take your time to answer it. I want as long a note as you feel like writing, no matter how long he has to wait. It is very kind in you to always wait to write to me until someone is about ready to start to the office. But then I do not want to dictate in regard to your correspondence, only you must not accuse me of selfishness. But remember that I shall expect a letter every day until you get well and (I will say now) no matter whether I write every day or not. It is you that is ill, not I. And I shall judge of your health and of your love by the length of your letters. I believe you said that you used this standard at one time and I believe it is a very good one. If I ever change my notion about it, I will let you know in time.But eyes were made to see,
Cheeks were made to blush;
Hands were made to squeeze,
And lips were made--oh hush!
I am as ever your true loving friend.
Ivory J. Martin
Eden House, January 12, 1886
My Dear Rose:
I have just finished my last reading for the evening and as it is not quite bedtime, I thought I would inflict on you another letter. I hope you will excuse me, but when I am thinking of you all the time I can't resist the temptation to write rather often. Then I confess that one object of my writing is to call out a reply from you.
I am in my room with a good fire and everything comfortably arranged. I am seated in a rocking chair with my writing material on
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my lap. Before me is my library case with its shelves of precious books staring me in the face. Were any of my friends to come in they would probably congratulate me on my comfortable situation. Yet I feel that there is something else needed. Can you tell me what it is? In former times when I felt a sense of loneliness I would plunge into a book in order to busy my thoughts and to seek a refuge
But now when I am lonely I have hope instead of despair to keep me company. You do not appreciate the change that has been wrought in me by your witchery. The past seven months have been so pleasant that I fear that I have been too enthusiastic in contemplating the future, and fixed a place for you in my life that no woman would be able to fill. But if I have, disappointment will not bring regret nor loss of love because no shortcomings of yours could destroy my love no matter what effect they would have upon my happiness.From the black companion, care;
From the demons of despair.
But why am I talking this way? It is only some of my philosophy applied to future possibilities. I assure you that I have great confidence in your devotion and I shall never believe that you will ever do anything to impair my happiness unless it be proven to me by your conduct. This is but one day of the seven between last night and our next meeting. It is rather long to contemplate, but I suppose we must use a little self restraint for a while.
But you told me not to quote any more poetry, and I had forgotten.I believe in self-denial
And its secret throb of joy
In the love that lives through trial
Dying not though death destroy.
Have you seen Miss Spitler again? I think you should see her and mention that matter as you did to the other girls. She will probably feel slighted if you do not.
But you can see by my style that I am getting sleepy. So good night.
Yours respectfully,
Ivory J. Martin
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p.s. My Dear. I have woke up to say good bye in a more loving way.
I am devotedly yours,
Ivory
January 14, 1886
My Dear Ivory,
It is very early in the morning but I cannot put off writing to you--every day that passes without seeing you I feel like writing and assuring you that I am not forgetful nor neglectful--and reminding you that my best and happiest thoughts are with you while you are working. And although I was very busy myself yesterday doing some work for Belle, still my thoughts wandered away to the future. The present gives me much enjoyment but my anticipations of the future are cheerful and hopeful--not that our lives shall be without any discouragements, but the thought that I shall keep your love always.
You know my faults are many and I shall make a great many mistakes, but I feel so confident of my happiness and yours--while I always think of you as my ideal hero, and have attributed to you many noble qualities, and never expect to change my opinion in that regard. Still I know men as a general rule are not perfect creatures, but are often impatient, exacting tyrants.
O dear me! I know you won't speak to me now, but indeed I don't think that of you. You have always been all tenderness with me--and I know how to appreciate your kindness, after my experience of several years without any sympathy. I know the value of sincerity. Your words painted a plain picture of your comfortable room and yourself night before last. If I had been there the picture would have been complete. You suggested that there was something else needed.
I am afraid I shall not read any more books until it is my privilege to help myself to your library, for I cannot get my mind on reading now. But I am learning and enjoying what is more valuable to me than all the books I have ever read.
I don't want you to never write me any poetry--you have expressed some treasured thoughts in poetry, and you know very well I only referred to that one verse.
I shall try to see Miss Spitler today, for I want to have my party
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soon. If I go down to the city this afternoon I would be so glad to see you look for me up at the Progress office. No doubt your next note will be about six lines and all about the weather and people, and then signed "Respectfully," which you know would be very entertaining.
I am glad you woke up to write "devotedly" because according to Webster, that word has a precious meaning.
Again I must write good bye--Don't work too much, but have some regard for your health, which sometimes I think you are very careless about.
With love,
Rose
January 16, 1886
My Dear Rose:
Were I a Quaker man I would say that the spirit moves me to write this morning; as I am not, I have no excuse to offer.
This reminds me that a religious belief is very serviceable sometimes. My Dear, I think an indifferent religion is the handiest one in existence. What a cloak for error and ignorance is furnished by the simple sentence, "It makes no difference." Jonathan Edwards would have been silenced by such an argument (?). Thus, out of the mouths of babes, etc. are the wise confounded.
But, pardon me, I do not mean to write a sermon. Indeed, I am going to quit preaching. I am afraid that I shall conclude that it makes "no difference." But that idea coupled with my fatalism would make a very dangerous creed.
My Dear, you must not think that I have made any personal allusions to individual opinions, for indeed I did not think of saying a word upon the subject until my opening sentence seemed to introduce it. I would not say a word to give you any uneasiness on religious or any other subject. My desire is, by every word and action of mine, to promote your happiness. I can conceive of no state of misery in which I could be thrown more terrible than the consciousness of having caused you any unhappiness.
My darling, I know that my happiness can never be divorced from yours. (Right here is where I stopped to see you from my window;
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what a vision of loveliness!) Indeed, I could almost be contented without you if I could be assured that you were happy, but then it would not be contentment either; it would be resignation in misery. Only let me be assured of your happiness and I shall be contented.
O it seems that you are still very far from me; but sometime, yes sometime, you will not pass by and content yourself with only a glance at my window. I know you will not. But until then, you must pass anyway at every opportunity. Even a glance at my window is like a flash of light from heaven.You lend to earth a vague emotion;
My self a stranger seems;
Your glance is mixed with sky and ocean;
Your voice is heard in dreams.
The good I choose is weighed with that I miss,
My idlest laughter mated with a sigh,
And moving in your happiness,
Happy am I.
Your last two or three notes are among the very best you have written, and yet they have all been good (no point for attack there). I am bold to say that you do not very often "write like yourself." You are afraid to do so. You possibly know why you are so timid, I do not. You were half afraid to look up at my window this morning. Possibly you imagined that someone would see the glance, or would interpret the smile of pleasure that you could not conceal no matter how you tried.
Now you will want me to quit quoting poetry again.But then a time will come, my dear--
A time will come, I say,
When your timid maiden fear
In bliss will pass away.
By the way, the outside of the Progress for next week has just come to my desk. I shall clip a part of the "pickle dish" [I.J.Martin's column] and enclose it in this note. You are so good in detecting the jokes that I write, can you discover anything in this that you have written. I warrant that you have read the clipping before you read my letter. But then I excuse you for you thought there was something good in it as I
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sent it to you. But I must close or I shall not get this in the eleven o'clock mail. I have been annoyed some with visitors since I saw you an hour ago. I hope to receive a note from you in the 2 o'clock mail. Please do not disappoint me.
I had almost forgotten you misspelled one word in your last note--the first one since you have been writing to me. You may think it strange that I noticed it, but then you know that I am a proof reader.
My Dear, I am yours, as ever
I.J. Martin m.d. (most devoted)
Rose Eden, m.d.
[Two enclosures:]
Progress Pickle Dish
Seasoned With Stolen Spices.
--The lot of a successful congressman in Washington is generally a corner one.
--Dr. Fenner's improved Cough Honey relieves any cough in one hour or less.
--A good way to slap an enemy on both cheeks at the same time is to buy his boy a drum.
--The man who likes whisky better than beef, walks not after the flesh but after the spirit.
--The Spaniards have a proverb: "When mothers-in-law fall out we get at the family facts."
--Editors are like the girl who told her lover, "I don't want you to never write me any poetry."
"Separation"
A wall was grown between the two --
A strong, thick wall, though all unseen;
None knew when the first stones were laid,
Nor how the wall was built, I ween.
And so their lives were wide apart,
Although they shared one board, one bed;
A careless eye saw naught amiss,
Yet each was to the other dead.
He, much absorbed in work and gain,
Grew soon unmindful of his loss;
A hard indifference worse than hate
Changed love's pure gold to worthless dross.
She suffered tortures all untold;(Page 43)
Too proud to mourn, too strong to die;
The wall pressed heavily on her heart;
Her white face showed her misery.
Such walls are growing day by day
'Twixt man and wife, 'twixt friend and friend--
Would they could know, who lightly build,
How sad and bitter is the end.
A careless word, an unkind thought,
A slight neglect, a taunting tone --
Such things as these, before we know,
Have laid the wall's foundation stone.
January 17, 1886
Ivory m.d.,
The next time you pass by without even looking over this way, I won't never look up at the Progress offices any more, except when you are not there--for it would be difficult to break off a bad habit suddenly and entirely. I must reserve my right to look up at your window on prayer meeting evenings and times when I know you are not looking.
Yesterday I had some remorse for writing you such a short note after receiving yours, which gave me so much pleasure. Notwithstanding the remorse, yesterday was one of the happiest days. I was almost in ecstasy nearly all day. O my dearest friend, I owe so much to you, and I feel that no one can love you as I do. The poetry you sent, "Separation," expresses the truth as it is with some people, I believe, and how much of life's happiness they are missing! I feel that whatever happens, ours can never be such a fate as that. I shall never allow you to be in love with your newspaper.
You think "it makes no difference" is my creed, don't you? No, it is not. I love religion and the little old church in the east part of town where I have attended for years and years and years--but I confess my ignorance of a great many doctrines taught by different denominations and so differently taught by others. We have but one Revelation and must use our common sense in believing that, not trusting to our own opinions.
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I thought a while on my pun in the "pickle dish." But now I think it is one of the best you have ever written.
Robert Mize took dinner with us today--he comes over about once a month to see Miss Kenny.
I am sorry about misspelling that word, and will try to study the dictionary in the future.
This time tomorrow evening you will be here if nothing prevents. It is not twelve yet, but it seems late as I am all alone. I must bid you good night. My last thought will be of you tonight, and my first thought in the morning for that is the way it has been for several weeks.
From one who loves you,
Rose Eden
January 18, 1886
My Dear Ivory,
I am going down to Mrs. Kliver's this morning and don't like to pass the P.O. without putting a post note in for you. It seems like you are a thousand miles away when I don't see you for several days. Still I know there is a day coming soon when you will come to see me for you have never missed an engagement yet. Except one. And if it were not for looking forward to the evening you are coming, the time would be very long.
I went to see Miss Spitler. She was rather dignified when I spoke to her about our trouble, but very polite. I think Mr. Harbaugh has been talking to her. Mary has come home I guess. And what evening will be the best for my party? I wish Frank Harbaugh would come, but suppose there is no hope of that. Well, I shall not break my heart about it, but I would be so pleased to have him come. They all think I am terrible, no doubt, or they would not be so angry.
I shall see you Monday evening. In the meantime, I shall waste a great many thoughts. Will you write today if you are not too busy? I hope so.
Yours always with love.
Rose Eden
(Page 45 )
January 19, 1886
My Dear Rose:
Can you go out for a short drive this evening? However, you must fix up so that you will not freeze if we stay out all night for I shall decline to make any definite promise about the time of returning. All night long after I went to sleep last night in my dreams I was turning leaves backward--what you call turning over a new leaf. It was such a wretched dream, such ceaseless toil and endeavor, such bootless struggling against the seeming decrees of fate. Over and over the taunting leaves would whirl, bringing me nearer to the initial page in the volume of love. And then to expect every moment to see again the frowning frontispiece of wretched despondency, colored with all the terrors of so many years of sad experience.
You may tie my hands, you may make me shut my eyes, yes, you may close the book; but, my dear, you can neither coax nor compel me to assent to a retrogression. Close the volume and I will study the design on the covers, but leave it open and I will plunge into the heart of the theme and not linger over the frontispiece, preface or title page.
But I had forgotten to tell you what time I expect to start this evening--about 6:30. You might be so that you can get ready in a moment's notice at any time after half-past five.
I feel like apologizing for my apparent cruelty last night, but, really, it was only my curiosity that prompted me to question you so closely. Not, my dear, that I doubted either your honor or your honesty. There are a great many things that I need to make me worthy of so pure a woman as I know you to be; but God knows that I need nothing to increase either my love or my faith. I know that in my eagerness I have often used unworthy methods to induce you to tell what I wanted to know; but if I ever intimate, again, that you may offend me by withholding any information in regard to yourself before I became acquainted with you, just treat such intimations with the contempt that implied falsehoods deserve. If I am favored with any shrewdness, I should not, in my thoughtlessness, use it to vex or embarrass you.
My love, I am faithful and trustingly yours,
Ivory J. Martin
January 19, 1886
Rose Eden, M.D.
(My Darling)
(Page 46 )
My Dear Ivory,
I shall be delighted to go sleigh-riding this evening. I believe Byron himself could not write such a note as yours this morning. Your dear loving words take away all of the uneasiness I could have. I am sorry I was in such a disagreeable mood last night.
Yours lovingly,
Rose
January 19, 1886
My Dear Rose:
Thanks for your compliment. Please to be ready by 4 or half-past 4. We are talking of going to Windsor for supper. If the party goes I will be around early; if not I will come at the time I mentioned this morning.
Yours devotedly,
Ivory
p.s. You need not answer.
January 20, 1886
My Dear Rose:
You must excuse me for writing to you this evening if you can do so without my offering an apology. You know that when an apology is offered, courtesy demands that you accept it. But then I shall offer none.
I shall take my time to write this as it is only half-past 6 o'clock and I intend to do nothing else until bed time. I have put off posting the books until tomorrow as I think I have done enough work today. It was fortunate that we took our drive yesterday as the sleighing seems to be over with for awhile. Yet it may snow again in a day or two.
If it is good sleighing Saturday afternoon, I expect some of us will take another drive, and if some one else writes you a note, just do as you did before--conclude that I have gone back on you, and accept
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his company. But, seriously, we may make an arrangement by which you may be asked to go with some one else and though it is a pleasure to believe that you would prefer to go with me, yet I hope you will go cheerfully and contribute as much as possible to the pleasure of the party. As for me, I shall endeavor to entertain whomsoever I take. Of course my conversation will be very different and a great deal less interesting to me than one that you and I would have. She need not expect to hear any poetry, or if she does it will be very different from what you have been hearing.
My dear, there is but one thing that I dislike about sleigh riding--it necessitates such a cold good-night. I have been feeling like I were swindled ever since I said goodbye last night; but then Friday night we will say goodbye in the usual way. I hope it is not necessary to turn any leaves back in this respect.
Mr. Harbaugh has just come into my room for the first time since--but he was hunting Mr. Peadro and they are gone now. Mr. Peadro was writing a letter to his girl and in his haste he has left it lying on the table. Shall I read it? He would read mine under the same circumstances. But that does not justify me in reading his. No, I shall be able to tell him, truthfully, when he comes back that I have not touched it. He would like to see this; but not until I wish to take the town into my confidence will I make a confidante of him. He can't keep a secret to save his life. He does not keep his own. I pride myself on my power to hold my tongue when necessary.
And while I think of it, it is best to say but very little, if anything, about our sleigh ride next Saturday as we intend it as a surprise for Miss Patterson. She must not know anything about the one Tuesday night or she will understand this one.
I suppose you are at prayer meeting this evening. I hope you will remember me while you are kneeling at the alter, but I had forgotten, your folks stand in prayer; that takes all the poetry out of the allusion. I don't suppose that more than one woman has ever prayed for me unless you have done so. But then I suppose if I had a thousand friends who were on their knees in my behalf every day in the year, that it would not improve my fortunes in the least. I confess that I cannot comprehend the efficacy of prayer, while I do not believe that it is entirely useless. I am glad that my prayers have not been answered. But I have not offered any lately. I do not believe in asking
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assistance in doing what I ought to do myself, and as for praying for happiness and peace of mind, etc., I do not think it is necessary at this time. I only have one wish now and I think it is a very modest one; it is that I could be with you all the time that is not occupied with my business. Sometime that wish will be gratified, and I don't know what more I can ask.
My dear, I am having very pleasant times now, but when I analyze it I find that nearly all of the pleasure is derived from anticipations of the future or memories of the recent past. The present furnishes but very little real enjoyment that is not borrowed or stolen except when I am either with your or perusing your letters. I have wondered if you really appreciated letters from me as I do from you. There is one thing I am sure of: you do not enjoy writing them or you would not so often write half sheets instead of two whole sheets as I do. But then of course you can't write more than you have to say. I always feel like I have written very little even after I have drawn my pen over quite a large space.
I can hear Mrs. E.B. Eden's sewing machine running in an adjoining room. It reminds me that a woman may be good for something besides companionship. I don't devote much thought to that part of her usefulness. I made up my mind some time ago that when I wanted merely a cook I could consult an advertising agency; but that when I wanted a wife I would take the woman I loved, and rest assured that her love and devotion would teach her more of her duties as a wife than I know of the duties of a husband.
But I am getting very near the margin of this sheet and as I do not want to fill another, I must quit writing.
Yours Devotedly,
Ivory J. Martin
My Dear Ivory,
I have just read your four pages and will now proceed to fill a half sheet in reply. First I have put away my sewing so the letter you wrote while listening to the inspiring music of a sewing machine running in the adjoining room was greeted with the same kind of music here this morning. The flying wheels are still and the work unfinished, but I
(Page 49 )
feel it my duty to write immediately for you are in need of some good advice and who more capable of giving it than I?
I want to tell you that a good cook is right convenient to have and you had better be finding out if your girl knows anything about that accomplishment. Seriously, it has been my observation that a too too industrious woman never has time to enjoy any of the beauties of life. You may be assured I shall guard against anything of that kind.
If any of your friends care to go sleigh riding with me at anytime, I shall be glad to go and consider it a compliment, and hope the sleighing will be good next Saturday. I have been thinking that as the rest of the party were changing around, you ought to do the same, but since some of the gentlemen think me such a terror--especially since the last party at Sam's--I hardly thought you could get any one to take your place.
I think you are right about not being very confidential with your friends. I myself have not thought it necessary to tell all of my arrangements to the family, though sometimes I feel that it is too bad not to let them have a share in my own happiness. There are some such good things that would interest them so much, but I hardly ever speak on the subject. Still I find it hard to keep still.
I have not enjoyed that paper of candy half so much as I did that we always had on our drives last summer. I don't want you to never give me any more unless you are going to have half. I gave your share to Blanche.
I am going down town this afternoon but have no hopes of seeing you. There isn't much in this letter but I have tried to spread out a half page all over four pages, knowing you prefer quantity to quality. I hope to receive another letter some day soon. Good bye until tomorrow evening.
I have something to say to you about a thought you expressed in your note this morning, but I will reserve my remarks until tomorrow evening. Good bye again--not like the good bye Tuesday evening. (I guess you won't receive this till morning.)
Yours with love,
Rose Eden
(Page 50 )
January 23, 1886
My Dear Rose:
You must pardon me for making a suggestion for your preparation for the drive this afternoon. However pleasant it may look, it is going to be a cold trip and you must make your arrangements accordingly. Allow me to suggest that in addition to your wraps, you should furnish one or two heavy comforts to supplement the lap robes that go with the sleigh. Put one of these in the seat in such a way that you can draw it over you from behind so that it will fall over your head and face if necessary. By observing this direction and by carefully wrapping your feet, you can go very comfortably. There is no excuse for a lady suffering with cold in a sleigh ride if she will prepare for it. But be careful not to smother yourself to death, but keep warm at any sacrifice. Probably you can imagine now, in which sleigh I take the most interest. But then I shall not let Miss Lowe freeze if I can help it.
My Dear, I am yours, devotedly,
Ivory J. Martin
January 24, 1886
My Dear Rose:
I shall come down this evening very early, as soon as I can get supper, at 5 or half-past if possible. Of course you will want to go to church. Do you think we can go and keep away from the choir and organ? Did you invite Mr. Peadro to your party? Of course you wish him to be there. If you happen to see him today you can mention it.
Mr. Harbaugh has just been up to see me and I fear has prevented my sending this before you go to church. I had a very pleasant time yesterday evening, did you? I was afraid Mr. Spitler would let that team run off with you. If they had started to run by me, I think I would have jumped from my sleigh and caught them. It would have been sacrificing some one else to save you. It was quite reassuring to you for Mr. Spitler to admit that he couldn't hold them. I came very near offering to change places with him. If I had been with any one else I should have done so. But you know that I couldn't leave the one
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I was with. But then I will tell you "all about it" this evening. Remember I am coming early.
Yours devotedly
Ivory J. Martin
January 26, 1886
My Dear Rose:
No doubt you are either thinking of your party or of me this morning, but for fear that you are not, I thought I would make you think of both. Henry Jennings and Lou Scott cannot be there. They each have a good excuse. Mr. Harbaugh also excuses himself. Miss Emma Thunemann is very ill. Miss Patterson is still at Lovington but will come home today if her sister, Mrs. McMullin, is well enough. All of the others that you expected will be there. Eden Jennings will go alone. If Miss Patterson should not come home, Mr. Spitler will go alone. There will be 13 in the party counting Miss Patterson. Without her there will be 12, a progressive euchre set or two 6 hand sets. This includes you and Emma both.
I shall not make any effort to look unusually handsome this evening for fear of offending you. However, you need not fear my making an impression on Miss Lowe. She does not like me any better than you do, possibly not quite so well.
But I haven't time to write more.
My dear, I am devotedly yours,
Ivory J. Martin
p.s. If there should be an odd number at the party, you and Emma can
play alternately. It would not do for you to stay out of the game all evening,
nor the greater part of the time.
I am still yours,
Ivory
(Page 52 )
January 27, 1886
My Dear Rose:
I suppose I ought to be at work this evening as I have plenty of it to do, but I have decided to put it off until tomorrow. It is because I am thinking of you and do not wish to disturb my thoughts. If my mind were left free, it would never seek another subject of reflection. I never see a lady on the street but what your image makes its appearance. I believe I saw you this evening though I am not sure. But it does me but little good to see you unless I know that you are aware of my ardent glance. It seems that you could almost feel the keenness of my vision.
Last night I could hardly trust myself to look at you for fear of betraying the feelings that I could scarcely repress. My dear, I was glad to see you and everyone else enjoying the evening so well. I don't think you were jealous of my friend, in the least; at any rate, you did not show it if you were. (I hear the church bell ringing. I would go if I knew I could see you by going.) When I make a practice of escorting young ladies without asking your permission, you may accuse me of falsehood and I will answer to the charge with a plea of "guilty."
Seriously, my dear, I think we should be careful how we upbraid each other, in this manner, even in fun. Before you make the charge, I will confess that I am to blame for beginning this method of employing our wits, and you were compelled to resort to something as a means of self defense. But one time shedding tears over it is enough, is it not? It is a dangerous weapon to play with.
Ah! many a shaft at random sentI know you would struggle a long time to be able to attribute a playful meaning to anything I might say rather than think I had any desire to wound your feelings. I would hate myself for the rest of my life if I were guilty of saying an unkind word to you with full knowledge of its cruel effect. I remember a picture of suffering portrayed in a little sonnet that I once read:
Finds mark the archer little meant;
And many a word at random spoken
May soothe or wound a heart that's broken.
(Page 53 )
Swift through the fragrant air it fell,Words are sometimes powerful weapons, Will Carleton says:
A single word;
The harm it did no tongue can tell
For no one heard,
Save one soft heart whose very life
Is love and truth;
This heart the word pierced like a knife,
No pain of ruth
Felt he who aimed the cruel word,
He willed and spoke;
But bright eyes dimmed, soft lips stirred,
A fond heart broke.
Careful with fire is good advice I know,I am probably using too many quotations, but I can't resist the temptation to use them when they express exactly what I want to say.
But careful with words is ten times doubly so.
Boys when flying kites haul in their white-winged birds,
You can't do that when you're flying words;
Thoughts unuttered may sometimes fall back dead,
But God himself can't kill them when they're said.
This is Wednesday evening. You know I used to work on this evening. Sometime when I can space my work out on a table in a room, cheered by your presence, I can resume my custom of posting books on Wednesday evenings and perusing exchanges on other evenings. Do not understand that I believe in converting a home into a workshop. I think that love and labor can go hand in hand without any friction whatever. Anything that we do will have to work in harmony with love for that shall be the rule of our lives.
Well, that sewing machine has just started again. I shall not give myself over to the same train of thought that it led to last Wednesday evening.
My dear, if you will allow me to do so I shall change my appointment from Saturday evening to Friday evening. Saturday is too far off. I know it is calling quite often, but I hope you will not object. If you should answer this I hope you will not persuade yourself that I have
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written but half a sheet. There are more words on this than you would put on two whole sheets--8 pages--of your note paper. I am always very glad to receive a letter from you, but am usually disappointed when I finish it. There is so much unsaid that you might have expressed. But then I spend as much time as it would require to read a long letter in rereading and studying the ones you send me. My dear, you leave me to imagine a great deal and you know the imagination is not always a safe guide. I suspect that I have imagined things that you would rather not have me think, especially on a certain Thursday evening.
But I see that I am about to knock the head off of my letter. I could interline the space below, but it would make you trouble in reading it. I think you will admit that this sheet is very well loaded with words if nothing else.
I am devotedly yours,
Ivory J. Martin
January 28, 1886
My Dear Ivory,
I had been wishing for one of your good letters today, and you kindly wrote although I owed you a letter. Yesterday I intended answering yours of Saturday but was prevented after the morning's work was done by company coming for dinner. If a day or two passes without one word from you I do not feel contented. It is pleasant to think of the future, and your thoughts on "evenings at home" bring to my mind many happy anticipations. I shall never be jealous then, and indeed I have no reason to be now, but no doubt would be on the slightest excuse.
Although Ella seemed to smile a triumphant smile at me just as she started home, no it was a kind smile, but very knowing. Yes I had a very pleasant evening and sincerely hope that all did. You know I have no fears of you accompanying the other girls whenever it seems best, even if I was so displeased about the first party at Sam's. Then I did not know you so well, and I was disappointed and hadn't much faith in anyone. But now I have great confidence in you, and what has troubled me most for the last few weeks is that you might think you had some reason to doubt my sincerity. But when I receive your dear
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letters assuring me of your love, I am so happy and thankful that you do not regard any of my past history as a reason to doubt me. It is a thought worthy of tears, for I am so powerless to tell you and prove it that I do return all the devotion you can give me. "It is more blessed to give than receive"--applied to us. I know the greatest pleasure is in giving and receiving too. Your love could not make me happy if I had none to give in return.
I have not forgotten what you wrote about coming down tomorrow evening. That will suit me for I want to see you, and as you perhaps already know, it will be agreeable with me to change the evening from Saturday to Friday.
Did you observe in your letter today and one other, I think, that you entirely obscured my name in signing your own? Now what is that done for? Please explain. I am so glad you are coming tomorrow evening. It seems impossible for me to say anything to you real stern without following it up immediately with some expression of my true feelings. I am afraid I shall never be able to give you a genuine scolding, even if you really need one. Now, I have about finished this letter, but will not attempt to dot all of the i's and cross the t's --
Good night,
Truly yours,
Rose Eden
Chas. Shuman, Clerk
I.J. Martin, Deputy
Office of the Clerk, Moultrie County
January 30, 1886
My Dear Rose:
I am going home [his parents' farm on Whitley Creek] today and will not be back before Monday morning. Mr. Patterson said (perhaps jokingly) that he would take you to church tomorrow evening. I told him to do so, and I believe he thought of complying with this suggestion. I am afraid that unless you heard from me, that you would hesitate should he attempt it. I wish to assure you again that I do not object to your going with any gentleman whom I regard as my intimate friend. Indeed, I think it is better for you to be rather liberal. Of course, if they understood our relations they would not mistake your refusal.
(Page 56 )
You must excuse my paper as I am not at my office. You can see where I am. But then you see my name on the corner of the sheet. I used to write on this paper before I knew you. It is not accustomed to bearing the kind of messages you have been receiving. So you must excuse me if this note has a kind of business appearance.
But I must say goodbye as I am in a great hurry.
Yours devotedly,
Ivory J. Martin
February 1, 1886
My Dear Rose:
I will drive around for you to take a sleigh ride before the theater opens this evening. I shall be there by 6:30 and we will drive for an hour and stop at the hotel to warm before going to the opera house.
I have a vivid recollection of seeing you yesterday evening. I came back earlier than I expected, but it makes no difference; I would not expect you to refuse the company of a friend even if I were in town if I had not engaged your company myself.
Mr. Harbaugh was up a few minutes ago and told me to engage two seats for him in close proximity to ours. But I have not much time to write. You smiled very sweetly on me yesterday evening. Was it a smile of triumph? If I could have said good night to you in my way as you passed me, I would have been better satisfied.
My dear, I am devotedly yours,
Ivory J. Martin
February 9, 1886
Dear Ivory,
I think Spring is coming. This morning is so warm--the sun is melting all of our snow away, and "what will I do then," poor thing!!
O this has been such a dear winter to me. I can't keep from exclaiming this morning as it seems to be passing away. Although the snow and sleighing will soon be over, and the happy winter's evenings, only marred by the shrill whistle of the midnight train, will be numbered with the past, still this one winter of 1886 will come back to me in all
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the future years and be a precious memory. I wish we had a picture of those happy days to hang up in our parlor, just above the mantle piece, or in the library.
I had planned to practice an hour this morning, but I know you will never write until I answer your last letter, and perhaps you might not come down Thursday evening if I don't be right good. You must have some poetry ready for me when you come--not about a bag of sand--and you must write. I get so accustomed to saying "must" to you and being obeyed that I can't say "please," any more.
Emma and I are going out calling this afternoon. You had better sweep your office and prim up some--so as to receive us.
I enclose you a picture and as you are a judge of art I want to know your opinion of it. It is for my crazy quilt, so you must return it.
I wish you were here this morning for I am keeping my self company. There are Milton, Shakespeare, Byron, and a great many books I would like to read, but I have not read any for about two years--really I have very little time.
I wonder what you are doing today. I hope everything is working to your advantage, and that your business is not giving you any anxiety. I desire your success in your work. At the same time, I am so glad that your happiness and mine does not depend on being rich. I think we are above that.
I don't like to tell you good bye, but it is not for a very long time.
Your own true and loving,
Rose
February 9, 1886
My Dear Rose:
It is almost bed-time and yet I must write you a letter this evening. I have just finished reading six galleys of proof. I thought a time or two since Saturday that if you wrote to me before Thursday I would not answer your letter. I imagined that you deserved to know just how a person feels when a letter is left unanswered by someone you are almost dying to hear from. I do not know whether my failing to answer would teach you the lesson; at any rate I concluded not to try it as soon as I received your letter.
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My dear, when I began reading your letter I began to think you had forgotten yourself and I was about to launch out with a magnificent spring poem. I was not very much alarmed, however, as the "editors waste-basket" was near at hand. It was a kind of "Spring-has-come-my-darling" poem mixed with a lamentation for the "beautiful snow." Yes, my darling, this has been a pleasant winter to more than one. Is not pleasant a tame weak word to use in this connection. I did not observe its utter worthlessness until I had spread it on paper. But then our language does not furnish words to adequately express the thrilling, seething, boiling current of happiness that has seized my very soul and carried it into an ocean of delightful ecstasy. I feel better now, but still those words were traitors to my thought and did not half convey my message. I don't know but what a sheet of pure virgin white paper, before it is soiled with one drop of ink, is a better emblem of truth and devotion than the one that is writhing under the tread of crippled sentences and hobbling paragraphs.
Now if you were to write such a sentiment as this, I would accuse you of making a suggestion to govern me in my writing. However, if I need such a suggestion, you do not as you send plenty of blank paper as it is. The worst objection I can make to your letters is that they are too short. I believe that I have made that objection before, but it is treated with contempt.
Why did you not call this evening? I saw you pass. I had nine lady callers today. They did not all come at once either. Some of them were married ladies. Miss Lowe was among the single ones; there was another lady with her today, though she has called alone on other occasions. So you see, all ladies do not think it a disgrace to be seen entering the Progress office. I believe you would prefer to go into the saloon, would you not?
My dear, I do not expect you to visit my place of business now, and I believe or hope that you are just as anxious as I am for our relations to be made such that you can do so with propriety.
You say we need not be rich. But I shall consider myself rich as soon as I am able to make you comfortable and happy. You seem so happy now that I sometimes shudder at the thought that something may happen to dampen your ardor and enthusiasm. Your unhappiness would make me one of the most miserable wretches that ever lived. But I feel that fortune, which has never entirely deserted me, will not
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do so now when I have so much more to live and hope for. But then whatever good fortune I have met with in the past has come uncourted and unsought; now when I begin to woo her favors she may desert me entirely. But time will tell, and courage and energy shall have what they can achieve.
You see I am hopeful. I could not be otherwise with such a prize before me. And, more yet, I shall succeed. I think I understand my business and can see its possibilities.
You ask me what I think of "Stolen Sweets" as a work of art. I think it is well suited for a crazy quilt; at least I believe a few such specimens would fit me for an insane asylum. Please do not send any more that are so suggestive, so long before I can see you.
You are getting so particular about the quality of poetry I quote that I fear I shall have to give over the practice altogether. But I must quit before I run into the headlines of this letter or I might get another scolding.
My dear, I am ever lovingly, truly yours,
Ivory J. Martin
February 17, 1886
My Dear Rose:
I have just finished posting my books and I think I can take time to write you a few lines before retiring. I received a letter from your father today but too late to answer the purpose for which I wanted the information I enquired after yesterday evening. I suppose that you know by this time that he is coming home the last of this week or the first of next. I don't think I shall go home this week, so you can look for me Friday evening. I don't think I can take time to go home very often now; indeed, I feel very much at home in Sullivan, yes more at home than I do anywhere else.
What a change the newspaper business (?) has made in me in the past few months! If I could manage to see you a little oftener without attracting the criticism of our friends, I think I could or would or should enjoy life better. I believe you once said that you could not endure a kiss three times a day. I should like to test your endurance for awhile. But I would not tire you long for I have too much pride to allow myself to bestow a single token of affection where it is not
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appreciated or desired, no matter how strong my affections were. Probably you know why I am writing in this way. I do not unless it is because I can think of nothing else to say.
I have exhausted my vocabulary of tender words in my previous letters and I never did like repetition. Besides, you know me so well and trust me, as I believe, so implicitly that a renewal of my pledges of fidelity and a reassurance of my love is not only unnecessary, but would be an impudent intrusion upon your patience. If you believe what I have previously said, I need not say more; if you do not, my declarations are useless. My dear, I fear that my words tonight have a harshness about them that does not harmonize with my feelings. If I could infuse the warmth of my spirit into my letter you would have no cause to complain of its coldness.
Mr. Patterson told me today that he and Miss Thunemann wanted to play us a game of whist and talked like they might call down tomorrow evening to do so. Of course we want to beat them. If they should decide to play tomorrow evening, I will either send you word or come down early in the evening in time for you to make preparation. If I do neither, you may conclude "the game is off," if you will allow me to use sporting language. Really, I don't expect that we shall play tomorrow evening. I would much rather put it off for awhile.
I am about to reach the bottom of my page, and I think you will cheerfully grant me the privilege of closing.
I am truly yours,
Ivory J. Martin
February 18, 1886
My Dear Ivory,
I am going to compliment your drawing and then ask you to draw me some designs for my embroidery--the flower is a very pretty ornament for the close of your letter--the stem is really graceful and true to nature. Now you can't refuse to make some designs for me.
I just heard the door-bell and went flying down stairs thinking it was you. I am looking for you most any time, and always listen breathlessly now when that bell rings. Of late you enjoy surprising me, and that reminds me of what I said once about a kiss three times a day, no
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fewer and no more, but just according to programme. Three--especially if one's friends happen to be present and it is very necessary to display one's affections, as I have observed myself. I thought people would enjoy a surprise once in a while. It is very well that you said "I believe" you once said so and so--no, I would prefer more than three if you please.
I wonder if you are all coming to play whist this evening. I know we are better players than they. Blanche is teasing me to go to the supper.
Friday morning--I intended coming home early last evening and was disappointed when Emma told me you would not come. I have read your letter over several times to make it long. I am glad you don't write me cold letters--you are not afraid to use the most loving words. For a while there, affectionate terms seemed strange to me, and their sound, though charming to listen to, was new and surprising to me. Words do express a great deal after all. They have helped me to realize the great blessing of love in my life.
O I would not go back a few months to those days of indifference and loneliness for anything!
I hear Emma's voice calling me to my work, so I must cease my wandering meditations and leave a small expressive space of white paper.
Yours most truly,
Rose Eden
[drawing]
This is a four-leafed clover.
February 20, 1886
My Dear Rose:
I think we would better go to the concert this evening if you wish to do so. I am feeling some better today. I found plenty of work to do this morning and I have just received my mail, 27 papers and 9 letters. I will receive two more mails yet this afternoon but I expect to dispose of it all before night if I don't have too many visitors. I shall call early with your permission.
In spite of all that thought can do;(Page 62 )
In spite of judgment tried and true,
And all experience brings to view,
The heart will have its way.
Take your time and write me a good long letter as I will have more time to read than I have to write and the boy has nothing to do but wait your pleasure. I can dispose of twice as much mail if a letter from you is in it.
My Darling, I am ever yours.
Ivory J. Martin
February 20, 1886
My Dear Ivory,
I shall be pleased to attend the concert this evening, but no doubt it is your company more than the concert that will give me pleasure. You have my permission to call early.
I like those four lines of poetry and don't know which line I like the best. I know, however, that the last six words of your letter contain some of the sweetest words in the English language.
I am so glad you are feeling better today. I have thought of you all day and wondered if you were sick or well. Good bye for a few hours.
Your loving,
Rose Eden
February 21, 1886
My Dear Ivory,
I am so lonesome tonight. I am sorry I told you not to come back, and half hoped that you would come for me to go to church. As you did not, I could not go. But I am only writing to tell you good night once again. The candle is burning low--and I shall soon be in the land of dreams. As the "evening shadows deepen," my thoughts are of the one I love best. And my earnest wishes are for your welfare and happiness.
Yours,
Rose
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February 22, 1886
My Dear Rose:
I think tonight will be my last chance to see you this week. Shall I come? I went to the Christian church last night under vigorous protests, for I knew that you would not be there. But the gentlemen I was with would go nowhere else.
I see Walt [Eden] starting to the country on horseback. I don't know why this should interest me enough to make me write it; but it does.
Mr. [John R.] Eden called on me this morning. We had a pleasant talk, mostly on politics. I felt like telling him something, but I decided that it was a little too early to do so. I have not time to write more this morning, but I am thinking of the lines:
O sad are they who know not love,I have known the terrors of both conditions. If it be true that "A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things," then happiness is more precious because of former woe.
But far from passion's tears and smiles
Drift down a moonless sea, beyond
The silvery coast of fairy isles;
But sadder they whose longing lips
Kiss empty air and never touch
The dear warm lips of those they love;
Waiting, wasting, suffering much.
The Rose is reddest when 'tis budding newMy Dear, I am devotedly yours,
And hope is brightest when it springs from fears
The Rose is sweetest when washed in morning dew
And Love is loveliest when bathed in tears.
But Will has come up and I will stop this nonsense and deliver my note to him.
Ivory J. Martin (Page 64 )