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Emily Chubbuck Judson1846-02-18A. JudsonNew York, NY40.7127837-74.0059413My Own Dear "Home,"--I carried a sad heart with me in the cars yesterday, notwithstanding I was on my way to old friends. The disappearance of Philadelphia seemed like the dissolving of a dream, and I could not make myself believe that my relation to you, my prospects, or even my own feelings, were real. How I longed to have you with me! I reached here about two o'clock, my brain half muddled with thinking, and half disposed to wish for drowning, and found Col. G. waiting for me. We proceeded here forthwith (to the Colgates'), where I met an old school-mate. Col. G. leaves for Albany to-morrow morning, so I hope to reach Utica Friday afternoon. I find myself very well this morning, but think I shall not go out to-day.I told you I was troubled yesterday. There is something so unreal (sometimes) in the position in which I find myself that reflection becomes absolutely painful; and I am half tempted to-- 156 --doubt my own identity. But like the old woman of the nursery rhyme, I hope home will dissipate the mist. They will make it all real when I get to Utica, for they seem to think it a very proper thing for me to become a missionary. I thought it a very nice thing, too, when I went to my room last night and laid my head upon my pillow, perfectly happy. Things were reversed. The bug-bears haunted me in the day-time, and at night they fled. I seemed to feel that you had been praying for me, and thought there was a double guard of angels set for me. Oh, I thank God constantly for the sweet way in which He has chidden my follies, and pointed out a better path for me to walk in. I have been (and am still) a great world-lover, and He might have sent severe punishment--might have led me on to find pain and sorrow in the things I valued. But instead of that He has made the way so attractive! He has sent you, dearest, to love and care for, to guide and strengthen me. I believe what you have so often said that God delights in the happiness of his creatures; and I know that Burmah will be a happier palace for me than any place on earth. Shall I not have your own arm there to lean upon, and your own wisdom to guide me? Mr. Hoffman remarked when in Philadelphia that the reason why literary women are so universally unhappy is, they marry men who can not appreciate them. He said they needed cherishing and guidance more than any other class--that their husbands at first thought them little less than goddesses; but, looking for equality of excellencies, a well-balanced character, and discovering striking defects, weaknesses, and eccentricities, they soon come to think them little better than fools. So, dear, pray do not think me a goddess, for I must have you to think and act for me; but woe be to the day when, for that, you call me fool. Then, just to show you that I am not a fool, I shall set up for myself, and such a house as we shall have! . . .Emily.