d of a tenth part of the letters which I enjoy myself writing to you after I get to bed, you would, though an infinite shoeblack, be satisfied with our correspondence; but through the post-office,—why, the very thought of sitting down and patching together a letter is insufferable to me. Silence is golden and speech is silver ; but pens, ink, and paper are mere rags, galls, and goosequills. .... Laughing and talking on paper may do very well for——, but by Plato!
for me it is too absurd.
Your last letter was really delightful, by far the balmiest I have got since I came here.
I only wish you could find time to write oftener.
I am glad to hear that the pantaloons are finished, not however because, as you hint, I think it necessary to exclude work to make life gracious as roses.
There is, of course, a poetry in pantaloons, as well as in woman and youth; but the point I insist on is that you are not yet able to enjoy it. For our family, work is absolutely necessary; but<
which he afterwards describes as being, in comparison with the three years service, but a mere militia training, his letters to his friends were frequent, bright, and cheering, giving constant evidence of his deep love for home, friends, and country.
He writes from New York: Every day I am swelling with pride for Massachusetts, and the position which she has taken in this struggle; and she will not be behind other States in what comes afterwards, no matter how hard fighting there may be.
June 24, the anniversary of the Class Day of 1859, he writes from the Relay House:—
This morning I received a package from Boston, which I found contained a handsome sword and sword-belt from my classmates.
The note which accompanied it informed me that four of my Class are already in active service.
They will all receive the like present to mine.
Just before the return of the regiment, at the close of the three months campaign, he says: All our talk at present is about going home. . .