Portsmouth, Sept. 3d, 1852
Ownest Phoebe,
I left Brunswick Wednesday night, and arrived here yesterday, with Pierce. My adventures thou shalt know when I return, and how I was celebrated by orators and poets—and how, by the grace of Divine Providence, I was not present, to be put to the blush. All my contemporaries have grown the funniest old men in the world. Am I a funny old man?
I am going to cross over to the Isle of Shoals, this forenoon, and intend to spend several days there, until I get saturated with sea-breezes.
I love thee very much-est;—likewise, the children are very pleasant to think of. Kiss Una—Kiss Julian—Kiss Rosebud—for me! Kiss thyself, if thou canst—and I wish thou wouldst kiss me.
A boat passes between Portsmouth and the Isle 220 of Shoals, every forenoon; and a letter, I presume, would reach me in case of necessity.
I long to see thee. It is breakfast time.
Thine ownest
N. Hawthorne.
Mrs. Sophia A. Hawthorne,
Concord, Massachusetts.