Letter from Grace Greenwood to James Fields, Feb 3, 1849

Credit

[page 1] My dear friend James
Yours of +++. written "in most Esequimaux [?, sic] weather" came duly to hand. but it took it some time to thaw out, you know. There is a general change of weather this morning. the sunshine is abroad, "positively his last appearance this season", perhaps. 'Tis actually quite warmish, and as just now, I opened your before congealed letter, all at once it rushed upon me like a spring +++ of wit, mirth and +++! Ah, my friend, I am overwhelmed. chin-deep in the flood, and feel as if I were drowning in wine. were about to be sucked down in a maelstrom of burgundy and thrown up in a water spout of Champagne. What letters you do write. sparkling and coruscating and going off in small explosions, from the opening "Grace", to the closing "J.T.F." which I suppose

[page 2] stand for. Joy! 'Tis finished!- It is well that they are no longer. or I should be obliged to keep them in +++, and thaw them out by the paragraph, as I could fear It. Well, you are hurried. by your piteous account, unmercifully furried [sic]. +++, and burdened, - but my friend, this will not do. you will +++ your health – destroy your constitution by these unremitting labors, cares and  +++, – do let me intreat you, go to the gold. mines, or become an editor, or a Yankee school master, for a little leisure and relaxation. Let me congratulate you on the approaching "+++" of your volume. It will I doubt not, stir up the becalmed waves of literature, and leave them ever so wide a wake behind it. Oh my friend, be prepared for the sensation which that publication must produce be neither hardened by pride, nor enervated by adulation. With a sort of prophetic vision, I can foresee

[page 3] what you perhaps are to [sic] modest to hope, respecting that volume. I hear a crowd of envy come from the dens of literature. I see the gentle, heaven-eyed wine At some tea-drinking party, All filling cups [?] and calling names. for the honor of inspiring the glowing strains which all the world Are landing and admiring. As his presentation copy comes, Apollo takes it yawning. But a smile break on his handsome face Like morn on +++ dawning! "What ho!" - he cries, "the golden grain of classic song yet growing! Here are crops of the ripe old +++. And Frields of my own sowing!" I see James crowns above you hang, A begging you to wear 'em. And olden spinsters round you crowd, intreating you to spare 'em Your autograph, in songs and odes. be if your bardship chooses. Small locks of hair, now curling round the temples of the +++.

[page 4] Now my friend, dont [sic] think the +++ going all jest and nonsense. for indeed I am being much in earnest, though writing in a merry strain. I do truly expect much pleasure from your volume, when it makes its appearance. Thanks for your offer to send me new books. I am dying for Whipples' Essay, and Macaulay's History, and would bless you if you would send them to me, as you sent the others. I have not seen +++ +++ "Leth" and would [inserted] bless you with a double blessing if you would favor me with it. You could send it by the mail by taking off the covers. I have been waiting a long time to for the opportunity of congratulating you on an event which I was many months since told was about to make you most happy, most fortunate, most blest. in short, the very Elysian Fields. You dont [sic] know what charming things I have all ready to say. But here I am, cornered! Good bye. Regards to to [sic] Whipple. Giles and Cushman
Yours. Grace.