“Dear little Rose,—perhaps she would not let a Rebel kiss her, and I don’t know but I’d turn Federal for half an hour or so for the sake of tasting her sweet lips once more. I do love Rose, and I feel a mysterious lump in my throat every time I look at her picture, taken just before I left home. I never show it, for somehow it would seem like profanation to have the soldiers staring at it. So I wear it next my heart, and when I go into battle I shall keep it there. Perhaps it will save my life, who knows?
“I am getting tired, and must close ere long. Now, mother, please don’t waste too many tears over me. The time will come when you’ll see we are right; and if it will be any consolation, I will say in conclusion, that I have written a heap worse than I really believe. I am not a fool. I u
